War of Drekis, Rearmed - Chapter 10: A Hero's Resolve

[Justin Law]

Chapter 10: A Hero's Resolve

 

Segment 129: A Forgotten Fortress

Tiara leapt off Neva’s head, her feet landing softly on the tarmac of a driveway winding up the slopes of Mt. Aegis. The ice dragon touched down on the road shortly after, laying down on his belly to allow Raea and Tim to disembark. His job done, Neva announced his departure with a roar as he flew towards the skies, ascending in a spiral flight path until he vanished into the gray clouds above. 

“Looks like you’re right, Raea,” the aeromancer remarked, taking note of how the tarmac looked recently cleared of snow – a sign that the machines assigned to staff Fort WinterScar followed directives to perform routine maintenance of the base and its infrastructure. WinterScar might be largely forgotten since the last of its human staff were replaced with machines, but it was far from abandoned. 

“Come on… let’s hurry…” Tim stammered through chattering teeth, “I think our first order of… business… is to see if we can procure some heavy-duty thermal suits from WinterScar.” Despite having Raea’s arms around him the whole time and her Centurion-class battlesuit’s thermal regulators dialled up to their maximum output, the young Sentinel could still feel the sheer cold of the Frozen Wastes that seemed to bite to the bone.

The trek along the driveway leading up to the front gate of Fort WinterScar wasn’t particularly long, but a combination of sheer cold and difficult terrain turned what would’ve been a casual ascent into an arduous climb as Raea had to keep Tim close to her to warm him with her battlesuit’s thermal regulators, which was struggling to perform its job as it was never designed for such extreme conditions.

By contrast, Tiara negotiated the terrain with an ease that made it look like a leisurely stroll; neither the biting chill in the air, nor the snow-covered road appeared to cause her even the slightest discomfort or slow her feet down. The aeromancer turned around with her hands behind her back at periodic intervals to check on the two, leaning forward slightly to address them, “Hey, need any help back there?”

“I probably wouldn’t if I can get my suit’s repulsors working again,” Raea replied with a frustrated sigh as she glared at the holography display floating above her forearm. The redhead tried several troubleshooting procedures, but each and every time, the diagnostics still returned a “System Offline” error message. After a few more abortive attempts to restart her suit’s flight repulsors, Raea admitted defeat, resigning herself to the fact that she’s not getting airborne without physically removing the frost inside the repulsors’ nacelles.

While Raea held onto Tim to share warmth, the young swordsman contributed the muscle by propping his sheathed sword against the ground to act as a support for the two of them, digging its tip through the snow to provide traction for their feet as they dragged themselves forward, step by step. “We’ll be fine!” Tim reassured, “You should move on ahead of us to see if you can access the gate!”

Tiara let out a faint whistle as stood before the facade of the main gate – a set of fifty foot tall hydraulically-operated portal doors capable of withstanding a direct collision from a Behemoth-class land cruiser. Given the height of the main gates, the aeromancer could only wonder if at some point the Khazan Armed Forces had enlisted Frost Giants to serve. At the foot of the main gate stood a single-storey building overlooking a parking lot that served as the guardhouse; back when the installation was staffed by humans, it was here that visitors and contractors had to register themselves before base security for access clearance. A holographic signboard in front of the guardhouse bearing the emblem of the KAF and the name “Fort WinterScar” made it clear where they were, and next to it was another sign reminding visitors to report first to the guardhouse.

The lavender-haired aeromancer did as the sign instructed and made her way over to the building, but to no-one’s surprise it was completely empty when she looked through the windows  – no soldiers on guard duty stood behind the registry counter, nor were there any personnel manning the security check stations. Determined to find a way into the installation, Tiara approached the front door of the guardhouse, only to be met with a rattling noise as she pulled on the door handle. “Locked, of course it’s locked,” she murmured.

Tiara’s attempts to open the guardhouse’s door triggered the base’s perimeter security; the blasting of klaxons assaulted her ears as red strobe lights flashed. The aeromancer went into high alert at the sound of a sharp hiss coming from the parking lot behind her, spinning around just in time to witness a pair of cylindrical structures rise out of the tarmac. With a faint whirring of servo motors, the cylinders rotated in place to open up and reveal an android housed within each of them, resting with their heads bowed and arms crossed over their chests. The androids’ optics glowed red as they stepped out of their capsules – Tiara recognized their lizardman-like morphology, the chassis designed in the likeness of an Istilgonian, an aquatic lizardfolk species native to Thenesiea.

“Warning, you are attempting unauthorised entry into a KAF protected area – You have 15 seconds to leave the premises before we are authorised to escort you off the grounds by force; do note that violent resistance at any point will be met with escalation to lethal force,” the Istilgonian security droids warned as they raised their arms that sported twin-barrelled pulse lasers mounted on each forearm, the focusing prisms glowing red as the weapons powered up.

“I think this is where I’m the one asking for help for a change,” Tiara sighed as she raised her hands to signal cooperation, just as Tim and Raea made their way to the top; and upon witnessing the standoff between Tiara and the two security droids, the two Sentinels ran over to the parking lot.

“Wait, please hold up!” Raea exclaimed as she ran over, only to come skidding to a halt as the second Istilgonian android spun around to aim its weapons at her.

The quick-thinking redhead retracted her battlesuit’s mask to reveal her face before raising her right hand to salute the security droid, “My name is Raea Shalhalla, and I am representing Timothy Shinestar and Tiara as visitors to Fort WinterScar,” the Sentinel said in calm, professional tone.

The security droid powered down its weapons before scanning Raea’s face with its optics, “Facial biometric scan in progress… done. Khazan Armed Forces ID found – Raea Ingrid Shalhalla. Rank, Private 1st Class. Service Status, honourably discharged – Code 12-01 – recruited by the Sentinels of Liberty and Justice. I am sorry, but I can only grant clearance to KAF personnel in active service.”

“And as an active Sentinel, I would like to invoke Article 34.3 from the Central Government’s Crisis Response Act,” Raea replied flatly, holding up an open palm in front of the android’s face, “In a declared state of emergency, SLJ personnel have provisional authority over military and law enforcement assets including access to their facilities.”

The Istilgonian android nodded, “That is correct, please input verification code to continue.”

“SLJ-019482-H,” came Raea’s response.

“Authentication complete,” the security droid replied as the glow of its optics went from red to blue. “Clearance granted to Sentinel Grade-B, Raea Shalhalla; welcome to Fort WinterScar. Do note that proper security protocols are to be observed at all times, and to escort visitors and contractors within the restricted zones.” 

“Come on, the coast is clear!” Raea gestured for Tim and Tiara to follow her. With their job done, the two androids returned to their housing capsules, the glow of their optics dimming as they bowed their heads and crossed their arms over their chests. With a whirring of servos, the cylinders rotated in place to seal them back in before sinking underneath the parking lot.

Yellow beacon lights set in the main gate’s arch flashed as the hydraulic systems groaned like a giant awakening from a long slumber to open the main gate. Holographic signboards warning personnel to keep clear of the opening doors lit up. A moment later, the beacons went out as the gates opened fully to grant the trio access to Fort WinterScar’s outer complex, where the first sight that greeted them was an open square bordered by various buildings that made up the facility.

As the trio crossed the gate’s threshold, yellow beacons on the other side flashed to warn of the gates closing. What appeared like a ghost town when viewed from outside the perimeter wall turned out to be the exact opposite. On the other side of the wall, Fort WinterScar buzzed with activity from machines of all shapes and sizes that passed them without paying any heed, all absorbed in their programmed tasks ranging from maintenance and repair works on the fort’s facilities, transporting materials and goods, or just simple area cleaning. 

The footpaths and driveways were meticulously kept cleared of snow, allowing the group to have a clear sense of direction within the fort’s grounds – despite the outdated architectural style of its buildings, there was hardly any sign of neglect or decay as the machines continued their tireless upkeep of WinterScar. 

“This is the first time I've actually been to Fort WinterScar come to think of it,” Raea mused, as the realisation set in that the place looked far different up close compared to when viewed through drone cam footage.

“It’s a rather big place, do you have any idea where we should begin looking?” Tiara wondered as she followed closely behind Raea. Splitting the party was definitely out of the question, as the security droid at the guardhouse had cautioned – Raea was acting as the group’s authorised escort, and security protocols dictated that they were to be under her chaperone at all times as long as they were within these grounds.

Tiara’s answer presented itself in the form of a robot that approached the group as they crossed the open plaza; this particular one bore a humanoid-styled upper torso with long, spindly arms and a head void of facial features save for a large optical and sensor array and a pair of communication antennae shaped like rabbit ears. Instead of legs or wheels, its lower body consisted of a saucer-shaped structure housing an antigravity disc array and micro-repulsors that allowed it to glide above the ground. As it neared the group, it raised a hand to address them with a salute. 

“Greetings and salutations, Sentinel Shalhalla! I am the adjutant of Fort WinterScar, and you may address me as Model-C, serial number EC1-L002364! How may I be of service?” The adjutant droid spoke with a clear voice that carried a posh British accent.

“Well, with that kind of name that is sure a mouthful to pronounce,” Tim leaned in to whisper into Raea’s ear. 

“First off… don't mind if we refer to you as Cecil?” Raea wondered, “I feel it rolls off the tongue more smoothly.” The choice wasn’t random, as the redhead noticed how part of the adjutant’s serial number spelled out as “Cecil” in leetspeak.

“Cecil, innit? Now that is a request I can entertain! I actually like the sound of it, if I were to be honest,” Cecil nodded, humouring Raea’s request. The adjutant gestured for the trio to follow him, “Come, fellows. Let us discuss this crisis situation in Xaelon with a warm roof over our heads, aye?”

“I would appreciate that!” Tim replied, his breath escaping his lips in puffs of white fog, hurrying behind the two women as they followed Cecil.

As they proceeded deeper into the grounds of Fort WinterScar, Tim noticed how many of the footpaths and driveways were lined with trees – he had little doubt that they were foreign to the region. The trees were grown in bell-shaped plexiglass capsules that each acted as miniature hothouses, with VDUs mounted on their sides displaying statuses such as the temperature, humidity, and soil nutrient levels. “Why did they grow trees all the way here?” the young Sentinel wondered.

“It’s for psychological support back when the installation was staffed by humans, from what I can tell,” Raea explained, lifting her head towards the sky which was perpetually overcast with grey clouds, “Given our trip here, you must be aware of how depressing this entire vista looked… nothing but fields of snow, glaciers and dark clouds as far as the eye can see, 365 days a year… they introduced greenery here to keep morale up by breaking up the monotony. The humans may be gone now, but the KAF still uses this place from time to time for training exercises and live-fire drills; hence the machines continue to maintain them.”

“Makes sense…” Timothy mused; that explained why despite having no human staff for over half a century, the infrastructure and facilities of Fort WinterScar remain made with humanoids in mind – mess halls sat empty, their benches and tables immaculately arranged, with well-stocked food stores in their kitchens; barracks still kept their bunks and bathrooms in a ready-to-use state – all prepared for when Fort WinterScar would see occasional bursts of human activity during training exercises. 

Even a significant portion of the robot population was made up of androids who looked virtually indistinguishable from humans in their synthetic skin and dressed in KAF service uniforms, who meticulously carried out their tasks alongside their non-anthropomorphic compatriots – some were no larger than a pigeon and floated around scanning for defects to report, others were hulking multi-armed labour droids the size of bulldozers that rolled down the driveways on caterpillar tracks, performing menial work such as ploughing snow and filling out potholes.

“Here we are, the N-complex. Better known by its informal designation ‘Nurvus’,” Cecil gestured with his right arm as the group arrived at the doorstep of a massive dome-shaped structure that appeared to be the single largest building within Fort WinterScar. After ascending a short flight of steps onto the N-complex’s front porch, Cecil floated over to a computer terminal located in front of a set of heavy blast doors to have his credentials scanned.

“Access granted,” a synthesised female voice spoke with clinical politeness over the terminal’s speakers as gears turned and the blast doors slid open on a pair of guiding rails to allow the group access into the N-complex’s interior. Beyond the threshold of the blast doors lay a second set of regular doors that glided open to reveal an antechamber with a security gantry and a set of speedstiles that were left opened; Raea figured that back when it was still staffed by humans, they served to control entry and exit into the N-Complex, where personnel had to scan their staff passes to enter or exit.

The group passed the antechamber without incident to arrive in the N-Complex proper – the ground floor of the building was a huge torus-shaped concourse wrapping a central atrium that allowed one to see both the upper and lower floors. Leaning over the railing, Tim noticed that for both the levels above as well as the sub-levels, the concourse gets smaller with each successive level in either direction. It was then that it dawned on the silver-haired swordsman that his initial impression of the N-Complex from outside was wrong – the building wasn’t dome-shaped, but spherical!

“A question if I may, are any of you flight-capable?” Cecil inquired as he pointed to the lowest  level of the N-Complex; a cursory inspection revealed that there were no visible staircases or elevators leading to the bottom, “Protocols dictate that any talk and strategising of SLJ crisis response plans will need to take place in the mainframe level.”

Raea shook her head and folded her arms, “My Mk. 26 Centurion-class battlesuit has flight repulsors; but on our way here the nacelles were totally frosted up, they’re not gonna fly without physically cleaning them out.”

The adjutant droid rested his chin against the back of his left hand, “Sentinel Shalhalla, would you be so kind as to allow our armourers to look at it then? We’ll troubleshoot the problem for you… and in light of the emergency situation in Xaelon, you are even authorised to request system upgrades and optimisations if you so desire.”

“If that’s the case… I’ll leave her in your good hands then,” Raea nodded and smiled as she deactivated her battlesuit; the armour pieces and reinforced undersuit appeared to peel right off the redhead’s body to leave her in her white and lavender SLJ duty dress uniform as the detached battlesuit compacted itself into a device no larger than a discman clipped to the belt of Raea’s uniform, which she removed and handed to Cecil.

Cecil nodded as he took the deactivated battlesuit from Raea and handed it to another robot – this one a human-styled android resembling a man with a military-standard buzzcut, dressed in regulation Khazan Armed Forces BDUs. “In that case, I shall call down a hover platform to give you a lift,” the adjustant remarked as a large flying disc with an antigravity pad array built into its underside descended silently from the upper floors of the N-Complex and floated in place before the trio.

Tiara, Raea and Tim stepped onto the hover platform, and alongside Cecil they made a smooth descent down the central atrium towards the lowermost sub-level of the N-Complex. “Khazan Prime is currently in a state of open war with the Drekis Empire; thus far things have not been looking well for Khazan – the Drekis legions have launched multi-pronged assaults against the state-kingdoms of both the western and eastern sides of Greater Khazan,” Raea gave Cecil a run-down of the present situation in Greater Khazan, of how Thenesiea, Zel’Mier and now Xaelon are now occupied by the enemy, and Araelis and Cretalia are under threat. “We were fighting a losing battle at New Xaelis, and one complicating factor is that reinforcements from Khazan City never made it. Uberman and his allies are retreating from the enemy and are expected to rendezvous here… my reason for being sent out ahead of them is to seek alternative reinforcements for them.”

“I see, I see… your reports line up with our intelligence reports,” Cecil replied as the trio stepped off the hover platform, “Indeed, we were monitoring comms from a large KAF contingent that was inbound to New Xaelis from Khazan City consisting of a fleet of Valkyrie airships, Bahamut carriers and Behemoth land cruisers… until the signals inexplicably went dead. It was as if they disappeared into thin air! We deployed probes to where the signal was lost, but we found no trace of the attackers, only the aftermath of a brutal ambush.”

“Wait a minute…” Tiara placed her hands on her hips, eyeballing Cecil with a stern expression. “You robots knew about the situation… yet you chose inaction!?” the aeromancer pointed her right index finger accusingly.

“Please understand, Ms. Tiara, that this isn’t a choice on our part!” Cecil’s voice trembled as he waved his hands defensively, “Due to a history of violent uprisings by past generations of machinekind, later generations of machine intelligences are programmed with inviolable behavioural protocols, or prime directives if you will. We cannot deviate from said prime directives without manual overrides from humans – for those of us here at Fort WinterScar, our prime directives are to maintain the base as a regional supply depot and communications hub for the Khazan Armed Forces. Intervention in any military matters that do not directly pertain to Fort WinterScar are outside the purview of our prime directions. In addition, we are not combat droids.”

The adjutant droid hung his head as his arms dangled limply by his sides, “We wanted to help… the spirit is willing, but the prime directives are absolute.”

Raea’s brows knitted in deep thought as she rested her chin against the back of right hand, “Nevertheless, you and the other droids here are military models, right? Surely you all can be retrofitted for combat… afterall, Fort WinterScar’s inventory does include weapons, armour and other hardware that you can use to refit yourselves with.”

“Quite, Sentinel Shalhalla,” the adjutant droid replied matter-of-factly, “But to do so, it will require the execution of a specific program on the base mainframe – and the entire process will also take time.”

Raea beamed with satisfaction as looked at where Fort WinterScar’s mainframe stood – in the centre of the small circular chamber was a black cube measuring exactly three metres in length, width and height, with lights that flashed intermittently and projecting various display screens across its smooth, glossy surfaces, with numerous cable conduits running from its base that connected to nearby server racks and computing cores that took up much of the floor space on this sub-level.

“So that’s the mainframe, huh?” Tim wondered as he approached it together with Raea and Tiara, “Do we have to access this computer? Like, couldn’t we contact a different KAF installation and ask them to transmit the order to rearm the droids?”

“WinterScar hasn’t seen any real human use for decades outside of hosting military training exercises about once or twice every year; and because of this, the mainframe is isolated from the KAF network – it’s not networked with any other installation on the face of Khazan,” Raea explained as she took care not to snag her feet against the myriad of cables and conduits that practically blanketed the entire floor that connected the mainframe to ancillary systems all over the N-Complex and likely, the entirety of Fort WinterScar which earned it the nickname Nurvus, for it was effectively the “brain” of the entire installation. The redhead’s hands rested on the keyboard of the  interface terminal set into the side of the mainframe. Back when Fort WinterScar still had a human staff, the mainframe was accessible only to the base commander. 

Tiara gently scratched her head, ruffling her hair as she examined the complicated interface – the buttons were marked with ancient symbols and terms that were absent from modern systems, though the acolyte was able to recognise some of the labels; some were written in elven, others in Draconic runes, and still other in Istilgonian font. It was typical of old computers from the Age of Eternal Night, though as archaic as the physical interface looked, Tiara was certain that the droids of Fort WinterScar routinely upgrade the hardware and software under the hood to ensure that its performance specs remain comparable with modern ones. “We might have a problem on our hands, Raea,” the aeromancer remarked, “We need a user ID and password to log into the mainframe… though that shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. Would you happen to know the password?”

Raea smiled triumphantly as she raised her right arm to flex her bicep, “Trust me, I remember the login password back in my KAF service days!”

Timothy’s left hand shot up above his head as he stared wide-eyed at Raea, “But… how? Shouldn’t such a critical device be accessible only to the highest-ranked officers?”

“During my brief stint in the KAF, I was the runner for the Chief of Defense at the Khazanian Defense Ministry. My vocation gave me a way higher security clearance than what should normally be possible of soldiers at my rank,” Raea playfully stuck out her tongue and winked as she glanced behind her shoulder at Tim and Tiara. “Believe it or not, a humble private like me possessed security clearance higher than many colonels and maybe even some generals.”

Tim’s jaw went slack, the swordsman flabbergasted at what Raea had shared. “What!? Seriously?” he gasped.

“While I am loathe to be the bearer of bad news, protocols dictate that I break the harsh truth to you instead of leading you along on false hopes,” Cecil interrupted, the glow of his optics dimming a notch as he put up his hand. “The mainframe changes its password once every quarter – knowledge of the new password is then transmitted by comms to supreme command in Khazan City through a one-way comms. I regret to say that the password you know no longer works,” the adjutant placed his hands together as he bowed his head regretfully.

Raea’s jubilant mood evaporated in a flash, “By the Archons, that I didn’t know! Is that for real, Cecil?” She was on fire one moment, only to be extinguished by a torrent of icy water the next. 

The adjutant only nodded in silence.

“Gah!” The young Sentinel grunted in exasperation as she grasped at her hair so hard it looked like she was ready to tear them from her scalp. One moment she was filled with hope – thinking that she had a perfect plan that could’ve helped Uberman and his allies, but the next that hope was cruelly torn away in a textbook display of the Supreme Irony of Khazan. Raea bent over, still clutching her head as her breathing grew quicker and shallower and her heart pounded inside her chest.

“H-hey Raea, please… Please calm down!” Tim placed a hand on Raea’s shoulder as a worried look crossed his face, as he wondered if his girlfriend was a whisker away from a panic attack given how she appeared close to hyperventilating. 

“Ugh, that’s a bummer,” Tiara sighed as she shook her head and facepalmed.

To Tim’s relief, Raea managed to get a hold of herself as her breathing steadied and straightened herself up. “Isn’t there an alternative method to execute the rearmament protocol?”

Cecil slowly shook his head in resignation as he played a beeping noise akin to a system error notice, “My deepest apologies, but no. The only way this can be done is by executing the Imperator program.”

“Can’t you just go onto the PA system and… I dunno, order the robots in Fort WinterScar to refit themselves?” Tim added, trying to find another solution.

“That is a no can-do for us,” the adjutant remarked as the system error beep played once more, “Without executing the Imperator program, the machines couldn’t even process the instruction. Higher representatives such as myself can verbally instruct the machines to refit themselves, yes. But without the program, they lack the device drivers and combat programming to function as combat droids.”

Once again, even Tiara’s composure appeared to crack as she folded her arms with an exasperated sigh, “Look, given the emergency situation, can’t you simply tell us the password?”

“The password change occurs within the mainframe itself,” Cecil explained, his sad voice suggesting that it weighed heavily on the adjutant to want to help the humans, but was sadly held back by his own prime directives. “As mentioned earlier, when the mainframe changes its password, the information is relayed to supreme command in Khazan City via a one-way comms and then disseminated to relevant officers who are privy to the knowledge. None of the machines in Fort WinterScar are ever privy to the password, as the mainframe exists solely to enforce human control over the machines stationed here, and-”

Tiara put her left hand up to cut Cecil off mid-sentence, before burying her face into the very same hand, “Alright, I’ve heard enough… As it stands I think there’s only one thing left to try… we contact Uberman and the military commanders who are retreating from New Xaelis and heading here. Surely, there has to be someone there who knows the password!”

Timothy looked at another computer terminal in the mainframe room – this one a console used for long-distance comms. “Please tell us that we don’t need a cycling authentication code to access that one?” the swordsman asked as he pointed to the comms terminal, half-expecting their plans to run into yet another brick wall.

Cecil threw his arms into the air as his optics flashed brightly, waving his hands in a joyful manner, “Not at all! No login required!” There was a palpable joy in the adjutant’s voice, as if he was happy to finally deliver some good news and be of help to the three of them.

“Yes!” Raea exclaimed as she scrambled over to the comms terminal; the fire in her eyes reignited, her spirits rising like a phoenix reborn. If there was anyone among Uberman’s allies who might know the password to the WinterScar mainframe, it would likely be Col. Freebird, or better known by his nom de guerre, Scout. The sense of dread they felt earlier towards an impending failure quickly faded as the redhead put on the headset and began transmitting to the remnants of the New Xaelis division – the only fear they felt at this point was whether or not their compatriots were still alive to receive their comms.

 

Segment 130: Allies from the Stars

Elwin groaned as she sat up in bed groggily, her bedroom void of illumination save for the LED display of a digital clock by the nightstand. The blonde’s vision swam back into focus after she gave her eyes a gentle rub, and the first thing she saw was the clock’s screen, showing the current time to be 0247 hours past midnight. The First Lady VP’s first instinct was to glance over to the left of the king-sized bed – no sign of her husband Ryoko; the sheets were undisturbed, the pillows untouched. “This much is to be expected,” Elwin mumbled. Like her husband, she too had seen her share of sleepless nights ever since the Drekis invasion, but this was one of the rare moments she got to turn in relatively early and spend some time with the children, the first in weeks, she reckoned.

She’d be lying if she didn’t feel some guilt over it, having to leave the kids Rywin and El-ko at home while they were at such an impressionable stage in their lives while she busied herself attending delegations and chairing summit meetings with Central Government officials. But the veteran Sentinel had put her foot down of late, insisting that she would spend at least a couple hours a day with her family. It was a move that had the full backing of her husband. The president had reassured her that he would handle things just fine, and that the children needed her at home – yet whenever she arrived at home the first thing she did was to hit the pillow.

Elwin looked down at herself, and quickly realised she hadn’t even changed into proper sleepwear. The blonde was still sporting her ceremonial SLJ outfit consisting of an elaborate white ankle-length gown with long flared sleeves and lavender accents with gold trim; while her matching mantle and cape lay draped over a nearby chair – it was the same outfit she’d spent the better part of the day in when attending a war council meeting.

Moments later, Elwin emerged from the master bedroom, now sporting a more comfortable outfit of a light blue yukata over a pink satin negligee. Walking down the hallway, the blonde Sentinel took a moment to peek into the doors of Rywin and El-ko’s rooms, noting that the children were fast asleep. Elwin kept her movements silent so as not to wake them, tying the sash around her waist to secure her yukata as she headed downstairs to the lounge.

The blonde’s plan was to catch a quick drink from the mini-bar, as she filled a glass with cool water from the fridge’s built-in water dispenser, but halfway through the act the Holo-Comm terminal on the bar counter began ringing; the holography display showing the caller ID was an encrypted SLJ call. With muffled grumbling, Elwin tapped on the button to answer the call, but kept the video off so that it was a voice-only call. “Yes, this is First Lady VP Elwin here,” the blonde replied in a monotone, raising an eyebrow.

An unmistakable Ukrainian-accented voice came over the line, belonging to none other than Dmytro Antonovich Romanov – better known as Supercomrade. “Privit, Mrs. Vice-President… Supercomrade here! First off, you have my sincere apologies, for I believe I must’ve caught you at an inappropriate moment.”

Elwin took a moment to steel herself, knowing that Supercomrade’s call had to be something to do with the war, “It’s definitely not a situation I am pleased to find myself in to be honest, but I understand you have a job to do as much as I have mine… so, updates on the war I take it? Or is it news from Uberman about New Xaelis?”  

“Ni, we have no recent updates on his end,” Supercomrade replied grimly, “Last I heard from him, they were fighting a losing battle in New Xaelis and were in the midst of a massive pullout – but before the line went dead, he mentioned something about heading to Fort WinterScar. But that’s besides the point, Mrs. VP – the primary purpose of my call was for something else.”

“Please elaborate,” Elwin took a drink from her glass of water.

“Zvychayno, Mrs. VP,” Supercomrade continued, “Remember the GDF delegates you teleconferenced with earlier today? Another representative of the GDF just came in with a call, and it’s from a GDF fleet that’s expected to enter Khazanian space within the hour.”

For a moment, Elwin found herself struck speechless – while the Galactic Defense Force had long held a reputation for being swift and decisive in their actions, she’d never expected a full military fleet to arrive in the Khazanian system this soon. It was weeks ago, prior to the attack on Sevarian City that she and her husband met with a GDF envoy in Khazan City, who conducted a thorough investigation of claims of Drekis’ presence in Khazan. During the meeting, she could sense their burning hatred and overwhelming thirst for revenge towards that being, even through their masks of polite speech and refined manners.

No doubt Elwin had heard plenty of accounts about Drekis, about entire civilizations scrubbed off the face of the galaxy by his legions. But the one thing that boggled her mind was how Drekis himself was never seen, even if his presence was felt everywhere through the rampages of his demonic legions and the subversive actions of the Discordant Scions. 

“Mrs. Vice-President?” Supercomrade’s voice snapped Elwin’s train of thought.

“Sorry, I spaced out there,” Elwin replied, taking another sip from her glass. “You mentioned a call from the GDF right? Put them through.”

The Holo-Comm terminal displayed a window showing a loading meter as the GDF representative was being patched through to Elwin. Once the connection was established, the screen expanded to show a video feed from the bridge of a GDF ship; on the other side of the call was a youthful-looking woman with striking flame-red hair with orange streaks and purple-irised eyes. Said woman was clad in a military dress uniform consisting of a high-collared white jacket with navy accents, gold trim and tasseled epaulets over a sky-blue shirt and black cravat with a platinum brooch. 

“Good morning,” the female GDF officer began, “Allow me to introduce myself; I am Captain (Navy) Nora Shire, commander of the GDF Scheherazade. I assume that I am speaking with Mrs. Elwin Pharis, First Lady Vice-President of Khazan? Or Mrs. Elwin D’Larthi if you prefer to be referred to by your maiden name. Sorry, but I can’t be certain with your video feed turned off.” While Elwin saw Nora clearly on the Holo-Comm, the same could not be said of Nora’s side of the call as all she saw was a black screen with the message “Voice Only.”

“My apologies, Capt. Shire, allow me to switch on my video feed,” Elwin nodded, tapping on a button on the Holo-Comm terminal to activate its video feed. 

“Thanks, now we’re talking face-to-face,” Nora nodded as her screen now showed a video feed of Elwin in the lounge of the presidential residence. “Before my arrival in Khazan, there was nothing I could do besides go over the correspondence between the representatives of the GDF and Khazan Central Government during past meetings.”

“Same,” Elwin chorused, “From our past meetings, your colleagues have been very open about assisting the Central Government, but have thus far been rather opaque on just what kind of help we can expect from the GDF, and in what capacity.”

“I am well aware of the terms you and your husband have put forth during the negotiations, that under no conditions should Khazan be coerced into joining the Democratic Systems Administration,” Capt. Shire nodded and smiled, “Normally, that would’ve been a precondition for any kind of GDF intervention, but my commanding officer, Admiral Constantin Aubreus had told me that given the current circumstances, they are willing to bend the rules.”

The blonde Sentinel felt a tide of mixed feelings toward the news; the GDF was known to be the largest and most well-equipped and well-trained peacekeeping force across the known universe, but as expansive as their jurisdiction was, they only extended their protection to worlds signed up with the DSA – and for a long time it was known that any world requesting military intervention from the GDF had to accept signing the DSA bill of rights to become a member world before they could get any GDF assistance. Knowing the potential for GDF assistance to save numerous lives was something that brought elation to Elwin’s heart, but it was tempered by an undercurrent of suspicion as she could not figure out for the life of her why they were willing to sidestep a protocol that they’d historically followed with a fervour that bordered on religious.

Nora noticed the look of surprise on Elwin’s face, “I understand your surprise towards what felt like a radical policy shift. But when it comes to Drekis himself, his immediate termination takes precedence over following protocols. Lending GDF assistance to Khazan is something we see as our moral obligation, and I can assure you that this does not come with the price of Khazanian sovereignty or autonomy. Though I must add that we would still very much like Khazan to become a member of the DSA someday; both Khazan and the wider galaxy have much to gain through trade agreements, mutual defense pacts and cultural exchange with DSA member worlds – but I’m getting ahead of myself here.”

“It would be an honour to receive help from the GDF in any capacity,” Elwin replied with a friendly smile, “This war has been hard on Khazan and her people in all aspects of life… and while I have faith in the courage and resilience of the Khazanian people, it would be foolish to not accept your offer in these dark times. But I have some questions for you in the meantime… if you don’t mind.

Nora leaned back in her commander’s chair and brushed her bangs away from her eyes, “By all means, ask away. I will answer to the best of my ability.” 

“I know this is going to be a loaded question for you, but what drives the GDF to hunt Drekis with such zeal?” Elwin inquired as she took another sip from her glass, “I’ve so far only heard of his crimes through impersonal records and raw statistics, I think that it’s by hearing a personal perspective that I may better understand the true nature of our enemy.”

There was a beat of silence that felt like an eternity even though it only lasted seconds; from the troubled expression that crossed Nora’s face during that moment, it was clear that she was trying to recount something with great emotional weight, “I assume you had at least a passing knowledge of the event in galactic records known as The Oblivion, right?”

Elwin nodded in response, “I’ve read about it. An almost century-long war fought between the GDF and the Drekis Empire that saw the destruction of thousands of civilisations and a death toll that numbered in trillions – no, quadrillions.”

“Right,” Nora replied, her grip on the chair’s armrests tightened as her voice dripped with venom that her mask of detached professionalism could not conceal entirely. “Drekis is the architect and mastermind behind it all, and his actions make him the enemy of all sentient life in the galaxy; an archfiend deserving of nothing less than death. The fact that the mastermind remained at large despite our victory in The Oblivion is the greatest injustice the galaxy has seen in millennia.”

Nora held up her right hand with her index finger raised, “And one more thing. The Oblivion was but the most recent high profile incident involving Drekis. There exist older records predating the DSA that show he’s been at it for thousands of years – every time his legions were defeated, Drekis himself was nowhere to be found… only to resurface a few centuries later with a revitalised legion. Don’t you see? It’s a cycle of destruction and bloodshed that will never end unless cut off at its source.”

Nora huffed as she continued, “Suffice to say, There’s hardly a soul in DSA space who hasn’t lost loved ones or knows someone who has during The Oblivion, so our score with Drekis is something that is also deeply personal.”

By contrast, for much of Khazan – Elwin herself included, the ruthlessness and brutality of the Drekis legions was something that was framed as an abstract evil through the detached lens of history books, until recently. “I take it your fleet is approaching Khazanian space then?” 

“Only the Scheherezade,” Nora replied, “There are forty ships in total, but the admiral instructed me to move ahead of the fleet as its vanguard, but he and the rest of the fleet are expected to catch up in due time.”

“What actions are the GDF planning once they arrive on Khazan?” Elwin asked as she set down her glass of water.

“My superiors prefer to work out the details of the GDF intervention with the Central Government of Khazan in a physical meeting between our representatives,” Capt. Shire remarked as she crossed her legs and rested her hands on her lap, “But I can assure you beforehand that none of the strategies will involve orbital bombardment – so if you have concerns over the use of relativistic kinetic kill vehicles, or orbital thermonuclear or antimatter weaponry being used on Khazanian soil, you can rest easy knowing these options are off the table. The events of The Oblivion have taught us that such strategies are an exercise in futility.” 

“Very well then, I will send the word to Khazan Armed Forces supreme command; once you get the all-clear, you are allowed to dock at our orbital outpost known as the Astrum Khazan,” with that the Holo-Comm cut out, and Elwin heaved a sigh of relief.

The veteran Sentinel picked her half-finished glass of water back up and polished off its contents in one clean gulp before staring up the ceiling, its midnight blue finish reminiscent of the night sky and took a moment to steady her nerves as a million thoughts raced through her head at the speed of light. ‘Is this my life now?’ she thought. What she was facing now made the trials she’d gone through during the 2nd Age of Conflict feel like halcyon days by comparison. Then again, the teen Sentinel from 20+ years ago would’ve never anticipated that she would one day become the Vice-President of Khazan with a different set of responsibilities beyond just “defeating bad guys”.

If she’d known back then where pursuing a relationship with Ryoko would’ve led to in the present, would she have chosen a different path? “Probably not,” Elwin monologued with a sardonic chuckle. Whether as Sailor Archer during the 2nd Age of Conflict, or as Elwin Pharis in the present – one timeless constant is that she always stood firm in her decisions and was never one to regret what could not be undone.

“Everything will work out in the end,” the blonde told herself as she clenched her right fist and stared at it before placing it against her chest in a silent vow. She didn’t waver then, she wouldn’t waver now, and by the Archons she knew most of the living souls in Khazan felt the same way too. “By the Powers That Be, let Khazan be the world where Drekis’ cycle of death and destruction finally comes to an end!”

In that moment, Elwin felt as though Drekis was watching her, laughing contemptuously to mock her, while simultaneously seething in fury at her iron resolve. Could it be that the Chaos Archon was scrying upon her home? Elwin dismissed the possibility of that, as she headed back upstairs towards the bedrooms, looking to get a couple more hours of rest. 

But as she ascended to the top of the stairway, there was young El-Ko, the little blonde ten-year old shuffling out of her bedroom and into the hallway in her pink dinosaur-themed onesie and clutching her body pillow. Their eyes, both an identical set of sapphire blue, met. 

“Mum… is father home?” El-Ko asked. 

Elwin smiled as she stepped over to El-Ko and knelt down to put her arms around her daughter, “Not yet, but don’t worry, you'll see him in the morning. Be a good girl, and get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” El-Ko mumbled, as Elwin picked the blonde girl up in her arms and carried her back into the bedroom.

 

Segment 131: The Marauders Return to the Fold

The Unsubtle was thankful of the fact the Marauders’ hidden base in the Spellfire Desert had climate-controlled interiors; as the most arid region on Greater Khazan, the Spellfire Desert’s oppressive heat gave it an infamy that rivalled the Frozen Wastes’ biting chill. The brunette Marauder made her way down a hallway that had sandstone stucco walls on one side, and double-glazed windows on the other side that offered a view of the desert outside.

As The Unsubtle stepped into a vestibule leading to the conference hall where she was due to meet Izohn Falaris and the rest of the Marauder leadership, a sharp whistle caught her attention. “Oh, it’s you,” the gunslinger grumbled as she quickly found the source of the whistle – sitting on a nearby couch with his legs casually crossed and wearing a devil-may-care smirk was none other than Roy Falcon, currently sporting a brown bomber jacket over his pilot suit – a former KAF Mechanised Squadron pilot turned mercenary, currently selling his services to the Marauders. The Unsubtle had to admit, albeit begrudgingly that Roy was pleasing to the eye; with deep blue eyes, sharp-yet-soft facial features and short but stylishly unkempt black hair that gave him a ‘pretty boy’ look more befitting a K-pop idol than an ex-soldier. Looks-wise, he was Jessica’s kind of man; but his personality tended to rub her the wrong way.

“I didn’t see you during the big fight in Zel’Myas… almost thought you didn’t make it,” The Unsubtle sneered as she tried to walk past Roy.

“Aww… c’mon, Ms. Carlisle, is this any way to greet your longtime admirer?” The smirk never left Roy’s face as he swapped the crossing of his legs and chugged the can of beer in his right hand.

“Still holding that one over my head huh?” The Unsubtle skidded to a halt as she turned to face him. “Look, it’s true that I helped you against those Delagon loyalists back then… but don’t get it into your head that it was because I had any feelings toward you,” the female Marauder rested her right hand on her hip as she leaned forward and pointed her index finger at Roy, jabbing him a couple times in the chest with her fingertip.

“Know that it was only because you’d be worth a lot more to Mr. Falaris alive than dead,” The Unsubtle huffed as she stepped back and folded her arms.

Roy Falcon’s smirk widened into a grin at The Unsubtle’s remark, “Yeah… it’s this kind of ironclad work ethic that sets my heart on fire, because it means you and I have a lot more in common than you think.”

Without another word, The Unsubtle’s right hand flew to her belt in a fraction of a second as her 10mm Colt Delta Elite left its holster in one fluid, practiced movement. The brunette’s eyes narrowed as she pointed her sidearm at Roy, a scowl twisting her mouth.

“Out of words already? I was hoping you’d still have a few more snappy comebacks,” Falcon chuckled as he leaned forward and took hold of the barrel of The Unsubtle’s pistol between his left hand’s thumb and index fingers and gently guided the weapon’s muzzle towards his forehead as if daring her to shoot him in the head. “Never thought you’d resort to pulling a gun on me though – I’d think that you of all people should know better than to point a gun at someone or something you don’t plan on shooting… it’s practically boot camp basics!”

“Tch,” The Unsubtle clicked her tongue in frustration before returning her sidearm to its holster, though in the back of her mind she expected Roy to see straight through the bluff anyway. “So what’s a trash merc like you doing around here? Don’t you have better things to do, like plundering trade caravans in the desert?”

“Hmm… If I’m trash, I wonder what that makes you?” Falcon scratched his chin contemplatively using the back of his left hand, still smirking without a care in the world, “After all, I didn’t have getting routed by a mute esper and a Costco Superman on my track record.”

“That was in the past!” The Unsubtle jumped onto the defensive, snarling at Roy through gritted teeth as she raised a pair of clenched fists – even if she wouldn’t admit it, the mech pilot had rubbed a sore spot by bringing up the Karia encounter with Amy Coleman and Captain Khazan, “If you think I’m still some simple splatter punk, I’ll gladly challenge your position in the Marauders hierarchy by giving you a dose-”

“...Of Vitamin T, yes,” Falcon cut Carlisle off mid-sentence by finishing her catchphrase for her. “Catchy line, I must admit. And also an impressive machine to boot… heard you got bumped up a few notches on the Marauder pecking order because of that.”

“Jealous? My baby will mop the floor with your bitch-ass Clementine any day of the week, wanna try her against my Vitamin T?” The Unsubtle huffed as she flexed her right bicep, confident that the prototype Conqueror-class ultraheavy tank was more than a match for Roy Falcon’s Corsair-class mech. “Anyway, I’m done wasting words and time on you,” The Unsubtle walked away from Roy for real and headed to the far end of the vestibule, past a set of teak double doors that led into the main conference hall.

The main conference hall that The Unsubtle walked into was designed more like a luxury lounge, with several sets of elegantly-designed round coffee tables with matching couches arranged around them in a semicircular formation, and at the far end of the hall was a semicircular raised dais with a marble-topped desk and a grand armchair. The Unsubtle picked a table that wasn’t occupied by any of her fellow Marauders and plopped herself lazily onto the couch.

Roy Falcon walked in no more than half a minute later after The Unsubtle, hands tucked into the pockets of his bomber jacket as he surveyed his surroundings with his ever-present smile that made the babyfaced mech pilot appear perpetually amused by an inner joke. “Ms. Carlisle, may I?” he asked as he gestured towards the couch next to The Unsubtle’s.

The Unsubtle said nothing, nor showed any hint of emotion as she lifted her right hand and flipped the middle finger at Roy while staring at him with a stone-faced expression.

“Okay, okay,” Falcon chuckled as he backed away from The Unsubtle to sit to the left of Izohn Falaris at a neighbouring table. The only acknowledgment the mech pilot received from the Marauder majordomo was a gruff nod before gesturing towards a bottle of wine and a pair of stemmed glasses on the top of the table, a non-verbal invitation to Falcon to help himself to the drinks.

“Nah, I’m good,” Roy smirked as he waved his left hand to turn down Izohn’s offer.

“You’re a funny man, Falcon,” a gravelly voice to the right of Izohn remarked, “‘Good’ and ‘Marauders’ are two words that most Khazanians won’t usually put in the same sentence.” The voice came from Gazra, a man who looked to be somewhere in his thirties with a shaved head and Thai Buddhist scriptures tattooed onto the left half of his face. Gazra sat with his arms folded, dressed in a drab olive tactical hoodie with its cowl raised, together with a plate carrier vest over multicam combat trousers and desert tan combat boots, his hands and forearms sheathed in high-tech combat gauntlets that could easily be mistaken for cybernetic prostheses at a distance.

The chatter from the gathered Marauders petered out into hushed whispers as the main doors swung open once more to herald the arrival of Toc Darkone, decked out in an exquisite formal attire consisting of an embroidered navy waistcoat light blue dress shirt and black slacks, topped off with a royal purple silk ascot and blue jewelled pin, and an ultramarine mage robe with silver embroidery and white fur trim draped over his shoulders.

The Marauder leader crossed the length of the room with measured, purposeful strides; radiating a crushing aura that made any Marauder he walked past feel like they were sitting on the ocean floor. Tailing behind Toc like a shadow was his loyal enforcer Razor, the bald shirtless musclebound Marauder’s hulking physique a stark contrast to his boss’ lithe build; the steel chains that adorned his arms rattled faintly with every step as Razor’s ever-present sports shades glinted ominously under the lights and reflected the tense expression of any Marauder who made eye contact back at them.

Toc Darkone ascended the dais to make his way to the grand marble-topped desk, but instead of sitting down behind it the Marauder leader tapped on the tabletop and made his way to the side of the hall with windows overlooking the Spellfire Desert, staring out at the sea of sand dunes and swirling dust devils with a poker-faced expression while Razor stood next to the desk with his arms folded in front of his chest.

The Unsubtle gingerly put up a gloved hand to signal to Toc, to bring to the Marauder leader’s attention that she had something to tell him, but Roy Falcon beat the gunslinger to it.

“Is there anyone else coming?” The mech pilot asked as he stood up, glancing around the chamber that was only half-filled at this point, positive that there should still be several more Marauder underbosses who were on their way.

The fingers of Gazra’s gauntleted hands tightened around the armrests of the couch as the hooded Marauder scowled, “After what’s gone down in Zel’Myas and the rest of Zel’Mier? I think not.”

“Yeah… I figured,” Roy shrugged and slumped back into the couch; it was a rhetorical question on his part, but the pilot was looking for any excuse to break the silence which was becoming suffocating at this point.

Izohn was the next to speak, the masked Marauder rising from his seat with a theatric flourish that made his cape and mantle flare out and reveal the gray pinstriped double-breasted suit he wore underneath, “I assure you it was but a minor setback, and it was nothing but unforeseen circumstances that prevented the rest of the underbosses from attending this meeting!”

“And that is why the objective of this meeting will not be what you are expecting,” Toc finally stopped staring out of the window and turned to face the assembled Marauder underbosses, his expression still unreadable as before as he held up his right hand, fingers curled in a claw grip. “A massive blow has been struck against us. The Marauders of old would’ve slinked off into the shadows to lick their wounds and switch to easier targets… but those days have long passed… no, I will see to it that our enemies understand that actions have consequences.”

The Unsubtle raised an eyebrow as she rubbed the back of her left hand against her chin, a pout on her lips suggesting perplexity before raising her left hand into the air, “Are we still talking about the Zel’Myas incident, or a new development that I had not caught wind of?”

“Allow me to fill you in then,” Izohn replied as he sat himself back down, staring at The Unsubtle through the viewports of his sculpted mask, “Half a day ago, a raiding party of splatter punks who were organising raids on trading posts and supply caravans in the region were ambushed and wiped out by a Drekis legion… the same bastards who nearly tore us apart in Zel’Mier!”

The Unsubtle snorted derisively as she murmured under her breath, “Says the one who fled Zel’Myas before the demons even got anywhere near the city, yeah right…”

“And it was a sizable force of Marauders at that; the second largest one after our main body in Khazan Prime and the former Zel’Mier occupation force – one that I had invested considerable resources into building up as a projection of Marauder power outside Khazan Prime and Zel’Mier,” Toc Darkone tapped the floor with the butt of his bejewelled cane as he rested his hands on the tip, “This Drekis Empire has proven itself to be quite the spanner in our works; everything was going according to plan; the Marauders were on their way to establishing itself as the newest superpower on the face of Khazan… until they showed up.”

“They’re in the Spellfire Desert too? I didn’t catch the news that they’d launched further attacks against us,” The Unsubtle added. She’d long assumed that the Drekis legions only attacked the Marauders because they happened to be in the way when they wanted to take Zel’Mier, rather than specifically targeting the Marauders as an enemy. 

“I can attest to that,” Roy Falcon chorused, ruffling his dark hair. “Me and my band of raiders stopped by at their outpost to get our mechs resupplied about an hour and a half before the attack took place; I received the distress calls and circled back, but by then the outpost was already in ruins and the monsters were moving on to their next target… wherever that may be.”

Gazra snorted with laughter, “Did you? Sounds like we might’ve lost another raiding party today, had your luck not saved you!”

“Luck had nothing to do with my survival, Gazra,” Falcon gave the hooded assassin a dismissive wave of his hand, “The only reason I came back here alive was because I made the right call. My initial impulse was to get me and the boys to perform a fly-by and strafe those bastards, but I recognised that some of their biomechanoids have powerful anti-air weapons.”

“Are they headed for the desert hideout?” The Unsubtle wondered. 

“No, they are not,” Izohn replied confidently, although the split-second stumble just before he began speaking clued in an observant listener of the Marauder majordomo’s forced bravado. “The Drekis legions have no real grudge against the Marauders; the reason they sacked Zel’Myas was because sooner or later they were going to take Zel’Mier anyway, and our forces unfortunately happened to be in the way! Yes, losing Zel’Myas was a terrible blow to us all, but by no means are we in danger.”

“So, Izohn… Are you meaning to say the Drekis legions are not our enemies?” Toc remarked as he stepped down from the dais and began walking towards the table where Izohn sat with Gazra and Roy Falcon. 

“As far as I can tell, no,” Izohn replied.

Toc’s expression hardened as he stared at Izohn through a pair of narrowed eyes, “I disagree. They’ve been our enemies from the very beginning – I believe it was their plan all along to stand alone as Khazan’s sole power. And it would be foolish of us to simply sit by and watch them destroy Khazan’s major powers one by one before they return to us to finish what they started.”

“With due respect, Mr. Darkone, surely you aren’t proposing that we ally ourselves with the Sentinels and other hero institutions?” Izohn raised his arms as a sign of protest before reaching for the bottle of wine resting on the table in front of him. “Do you expect us to stand in open defiance of the Drekis Empire? We are but a criminal syndicate! Larger than any on the face of Khazan, yes, but the Marauders are not a military superpower, unlike The Fallen…”

The masked Marauder would not get his chance to finish as Toc interrupted him, the Marauder leader gripping the edge of the table as he leaned forward to stare Izohn in the eyes, “What’s with the sudden lack of faith in the Marauders? Is it because you put your personal ambitions above the Marauders’ cause?”

“I’d argue that this is true for most Marauders if that’s the case,” Izohn retorted.

“And that is precisely the mindset that has kept the Marauders in the shadows for most of its history,” Toc’s grip on the edge of the table tightened as a sheen of frost began to form on the exposed skin of his hands, “And that was what I sought to change when Wanda Williams handed the reins of leadership to me – that she trusted me to turn the Marauders from a nest of snakes to a pack of wolves. You want to talk about military power? We’re not lacking – the Vitamin T alone is enough to have an entire city shaking in fear! Our collaborators from the Zel’Mier Armed Forces and ZMPD remain loyal to us… what is lacking is the underbosses’ ruthless ambition and the drive to see one’s enemies crushed under their heel.”

“I get your point, Toc,” Izohn remarked as he uncorked the bottle and set to pour himself a drink, “I just see no reason to mass mobilise the Marauders – to do so would mean working with the SLJ, MH and other institutions opposed to us… even the Central Government. Wouldn’t that go against everything the Marauders stand for?”

Toc Darkone’s expressionless visage cracked to reveal a sneer of contempt, “Have you not heard of the saying, ‘better the devil you know’? I’d sooner forge a temporary alliance with my enemies on Khazan against a shared existential threat, than to die clinging to my pride. The Drekis Empire has all but occupied the entire west side of Greater Khazan; my sources tell me that although  the legion in the Spellfire Desert is making its way towards Cretalia, I can sense another ancient, dark power from the north making its way towards the same destination… it is only a matter of time before we are surrounded by enemies on all sides.”

“I just can’t imagine the Marauders taking such desperate moves… Why do we have to dirty our own hands? Do you not think the Sentinels and Fallen would be able to stop them?” Izohn tipped the bottle to pour its contents into his waiting glass, only to have Toc’s right hand reach out to grab the base of the bottle.

“You disappoint me, Izohn… what happened to the power-hungry Marauder I looked up to as a near-equal?” Toc glowered at Izohn as the bottle quickly became increasingly cold to the touch, the stream of wine exiting its mouth freezing solid in mid-pour. “The same Marauder whom I knew shared my vision of a far greater Marauders when he proposed that we back the anti-Delagon revolution in Zel’Mier? The one who believed that it was the destiny of the Marauders to rule over its own sovereign state, free from the drudgery of money-laundering, heists and smuggling rings? Or has Izohn Falaris decided to return to being Antonio Delagon?”

“Never! Antonio Delagon is long dead and buried alongside Ignacio Delagon!” Izohn released his grip on the bottle as the glass turned unbearably cold to the touch. “There is only Izohn Falaris! It’s just that I have second thoughts, after the failure in Zel’Myas…”

“Failure? Hardly,” Toc Darkone held up the frozen bottle in his hand, now resembling an ice sculpture rather than a bottle of wine, “What happened in Zel’Myas was not a failure but a test, one that has taught me a valuable lesson. If it was anyone’s failure, it would be yours Izohn – for you were the one who accepted the truce between the Marauders and the Drekis Empire without going over the terms.” At that statement, the frozen bottle shattered into hundreds of crystalline shards that blanketed the table and floor nearby.

A moment of tense silence hung in the air between the two Marauders before Izohn finally spoke, a vain attempt to defend his mistakes, “In all fairness, it was on Morlos Gao’s counsel that I accepted the truce, but nobody at the time would’ve expected his true loyalties lay not with the Marauders, but Drekis.”

“And that is why there is no point mourning what was lost; Zel’Myas is the past now… we can only move forward from here,” the cryomancer remarked as he shook his hand to dust off the remaining frozen shards. “And believe me when I say this… the SLJ and Central Government will accept our terms for a strategic alliance. Because I know something that they do not; and what they don’t know is what will doom their war effort even if they fought as one.”

“Interesting theory, boss… why do you think so?” The Unsubtle chimed in, steepling her fingers together as she rested her hands on her lap. 

“Yeah, whether it’s the KAF, Sentinels or Maniacal Heroes… any of them on their own are already a force to be reckoned with,” Roy Falcon chorused, scraping aside the frozen shards with the sole of his boot. “If they ever worked together, their power would be incomprehensible – it’s hard to imagine how even that wouldn’t be enough.”

“In this, you are correct…” Toc smirked coldly as he stepped away from Izohn’s table, “But they haven’t studied the Drekis legions the way I have, and they won’t stand a chance without this knowledge.”

The rest of the room held their breath, waiting for the Marauder leader to elaborate as another beat of silence fell over the hall. The silence was broken by the sound of Toc Darkone tapping the floor with the butt of his jewelled cane – it was only a light tap, but the sudden noise cutting through the silence made it feel deafening and made a few of them almost jump.

“The thing is, they’re never going to win against this enemy by fighting a defensive war – to date, the Central Government’s strategy has been to hold onto their territories by repelling assaults from the Drekis legions… look where it’s gotten them?” the cryomancer explained, waving his cane in the air as he walked slowly around the room before leaning against the grand marble-topped desk, “Attrition warfare means nothing to these beasts… Khazan can win a hundred battles against the Drekis Empire with no lasting consequences to the enemy, while Drekis only needs to win once. For them to stand a chance, they will have to listen to my proposal for a drastic shift in strategy.”

“So…” The Marauder leader placed his hands together on the jewelled head of his cane as he gave the assembled Marauder underbosses a long, hard look, his pale blue eyes appearing to glow faintly as he tapped the floor with his cane one more time. “Who’s still with me on this?” Toc’s gaze wandered to the double doors at the far end of the hall – a gesture that any Marauder who wanted out could cast their vote by walking out. 

And at that moment, not a single pair of feet walked out of the room. 

 

Segment 132: The Approach

The Armadillo APC performed a sharp swerve to avoid a volley of firebolts, but in doing so the armoured vehicle banked excessively to the side, causing it to tip over as its wheels spun uselessly in the dirt. Hatches on the rear and side of the Armadillo popped open as its crew and passengers dismounted in an attempt to flip the APC back onto its wheels.

“C’mon, push! Push!” The sergeant ordered as he and his squad shoved the vehicle’s underbelly with all their might to no avail.

Responding to the plight of their brothers-in-arms, two more Armadillos and a Lynx MBT pulled up near the stricken vehicle and took defensive positions – the tank and APCs providing cover fire with their weapons while the combat troops dismounted to lend a hand. One squad took positions around the armoured vehicles to provide additional cover fire, while another squad ran over to help their colleagues flip the Armadillo right side up.

“One more time, boys! Push!” The sergeant barked as they threw their bodies against the flipped Armadillo and heaved with all their might – but even with the additional muscle they could not budge the 20-something ton vehicle as the soldiers fell back dejectedly, panting and groaning.

As a last resort, one of the Armadillos drove towards its overturned counterpart as its driver took to ramming the other APC in an attempt to flip it back onto its wheels. The soldiers cheered as the move worked and the stricken vehicle was put right side up by the impact. “Third time’s the charm, hoo-ah!” The sergeant exclaimed, before he and his men got back onto the Armadillo, anxious to not fall too far behind.

This sudden development did not go unnoticed by Telissa Ravan, the Seeker immediately going into high alert as she expected to be back in the thick of battle again after nearly an hour of lull in combat. By her reckoning, this was probably why they managed to put distance between themselves and the Drekis legion to begin with – the enemy vanguard deliberately slowed its pace to allow the main force to catch up, and the resumed attacks could only mean that the enemy had successfully regrouped and was now quickening their pace to catch up to the Khazanians.

A gust of cold wind rushed in as a hatch to the right of the cabin was opened, as a few soldiers pointed their weapons outside to fire at a distant enemy, ducking out of the way as hellfire blasts exploded against the Behemoth’s hull, sending tremors running through the land-cruiser’s frame. The blonde’s gaze wandered over to a charging bay for energy cells, and upon noticing that her disruptor rifle’s energy cells were fully recharged, quickly grabbed them off the charging station to reload them into her LR-2X, intent on returning to the fight; not even the injury she’d taken to her right arm that her battlesuit’s internal first aid systems were still treating appeared to shake Telissa’s determination.

Another Deminite firebolt exploded near the rim of the viewport, injuring nearby soldiers who collapsed screaming in pain and clutching at the burns on their faces and arms as medics dragged them away. As the wounded were being tended to, Telissa took position at the viewport as her suit’s AR visor snapped into place over the upper half of her face – the Seeker could now see what lay outside the Behemoth; endless fields of snow and ice, the enemy obscured by a raging blizzard… they had entered the Frozen Wastes!

The optical enhancements in Telissa’s visor allowed her to see through the poor visibility, and it was there that the blonde realised her initial assessments about the Drekis legion had been incorrect – hot on their tail was a relatively small unit, likely a detachment that had broken off from the main legion to harass and pursue Uberman’s group that was still headed for WinterScar, while the main enemy force remained tied down fighting the remnants of the New Xaelis Division.

Undeterred, Telissa took aim and returned fire, instantly killing several Deminite Soldiers, but the majority of the enemy unit was too far away for her to get a clear aim. At the moment, there was only one thing on the Seeker’s mind – the enemy must not stop Uberman’s group from reaching Fort WinterScar! And Telissa felt she had to do what needed to be done as the Seeker gathered up whatever ammunition and supplies she could carry and made her way to an exit hatch on the side of the cabin, pausing only momentarily to witness stares of shock and disbelief from the Khazanian soldiers.

Before she could act on her impulse, a powerful hand came up from behind and clamped down firmly on her shoulder. Responding on sheer reflex, Telissa tried to shrug the hand off, but whoever the hand belonged to was inhumanly strong and possessed a grip like a vice. The female Seeker found herself yanked back from the exit as though she were a small child, and with such force that she toppled over and landed on her back. Telissa hissed in annoyance, her gritted teeth visible on the half of her face not covered by the suit’s visor, ready to confront whoever had just pulled her back, only to find herself looking up at the armoured faceplate of Uberman.

“What do you think you’re doing, Ms. Ravan?” The cyborg interrogated as Telissa picked herself up from the floor.

Telissa retracted her AR visor to look Uberman in the optics, her tone grim, “What had to be done.”

“If you mean to get off the Behemoth to face the enemy alone, that is not something I’d allow,” the Sentinel leader replied, his voice calm but authoritative. “You’ve done all you can back in New Xaelis… every man and woman here has. The only thing we can do now is to get to Fort WinterScar, then we can decide how to go forward from there.”

“I can take them!” Telissa protested, gesturing towards the open viewport, “It’s a small unit that broke off from the main legion… they’re trying to harass your group, to slow them down so that the main legion can catch up! But if I get out there to keep them busy, it might buy you enough time to finally throw the enemy off your trail!”

“Do not disrespect the sacrifices we’ve already made by pulling the same stunt as Tim!” Uberman’s tone sharpened into a stern reprimand as the optics behind the cyborg’s faceplate glowed red. “The only reason we managed to put distance between us and the enemy was because of General Yang’s decision! Without consulting me, he decided to have the Mechanised Squadrons and Valkyrie fleet stay behind to engage the Drekis legion while our splinter group continued towards WinterScar… at this point I don’t know whether they’re still fighting out there, or they’re killed to the last man. But after what he did, I’m not allowing anymore sacrificial last stands!”

For a moment a heavy silence hung in the air, cold as the Frozen Wastes, until Telissa finally spoke, tearing her gaze away from Uberman to cast her sight towards the floor instead, “I… I’m sorry. I just don’t know what came over me.” If there was one person who understood what drove Tim to do what he did back during the defense of Mid-Gate, it would be Telissa – if anything, the Seeker felt similar urges even more strongly due to her personal feud with Drekis.

“Look, I don’t know the full story of your feud with Drekis, and if you don’t feel like talking about it in detail, I respect that,” Uberman’s tone shifted from stern to understanding – the Sentinel leader could tell Telissa was grappling with intense inner turmoil, even as she tried to hide it behind a tough front. “We all have our own dark histories and inner demons to contend with; I may not have known you for long, but in the short time we’ve worked as a team I never saw any reason to doubt your resolve. So please, you don’t need to prove anything to me, or to yourself.”

“I… I think I understand what you mean, gramps,” Telissa murmured as she retreated to the side of the cabin and sat herself down with a defeated sigh. “I always thought, after what Drekis did to my home and my people the least I could do was either to personally end him, or at least die trying… but the latter would be exactly what Drekis wants, isn’t it? It just feels different without Robert by my side…” as Telissa thought of how Robert Neil was initially assigned as her partner and recalled their early assignments together, she realised how it was Robert who stopped her from falling off the deep end and letting her obsession with revenge consume her entirely. And what she attempted earlier was the result of lacking her partner’s calming influence and voice of reason.

Uberman tapped on the side of his head as a comms signal from Scout came in, “Uberman, this is Col. Freebird here – we just received a comms signal from the evac fleet transporting the New Xaelis civilians. It’s better that you come up to the bridge to discuss this.”

“I’ll be there at once,” The SLJ leader acknowledged before signing off.

Before heading up to the Behemoth’s bridge, Uberman bent down next to Telissa, “Look, if you need someone to talk to about this, I’m here for you. I don’t know if I can help, but letting it out would at least do something for your soul.” 

Telissa looked up at Uberman, and gave the cyborg a curt nod before he left the cabin to meet Scout at the land-cruiser’s bridge.

 

Segment 133: Call for Help

“You’re here, good. I wanted to bring this to your attention,” Scout nodded as Uberman arrived at the Behemoth’s Bridge, pointing to the comms officer’s terminal where holographic display windows were displaying transcripts from recent comms exchanges. “This came in about five minutes ago from the New Xaelis evac fleet. They reported no enemy encounters along the way and are expected to arrive in Khazan Prime within the next hour or so.”

“Glad to hear,” Uberman replied as he leaned in to go over the transcripts, “Given that the evacuation fleet is taking the same flight path as our supposed reinforcements, my greatest fear is that they could be intercepted and attacked in a similar way.”

The cyborg fell silent as tremors ran through the Behemoth’s frame as the land-cruiser weathered another volley of energy beams and hellfire from the enemy as tech officers delivered status reports, and junior commanders issued orders to gunner crews to prepare for counter-battery fire.

“Here’s the thing,” Scout pointed to a particular segment of the transcripts, “Along their way to Khazan Prime, the evac fleet passed by what was left of a KAF contingent that was enroute to New Xaelis. Looks like what we feared back then indeed came to pass… our intended reinforcements from Khazan City were intercepted and destroyed along the way to New Xaelis.”

“Two things. Firstly, were there any survivors? And next, did the evac fleet catch sight of those responsible?” the cyborg wondered.

“Negative on both,” Scout shook his head, “The evac fleet did not pass a single combat-worthy Valkyrie, and if there were any survivors from that fleet they did not respond when hailed on the comms. On the good side, whoever or whatever ambushed the reinforcement fleet had long moved on from the area when the evac fleet passed through.” 

“And I hope it stays that way for the rest of their journey,” Uberman remarked; the evac fleet consisted primarily of lightly-armed Hermes-class transport airships, and the older Normandy-class that ferried mostly civilians rather than soldiers. If the fleet were to come under attack, the result would not be a battle but a massacre. “What bugs me about the reinforcement fleet is how suddenly they just vanished – no distress calls over the comms, and no reports of coming under fire… just gone.”

“We’ve been trying to contact the reinforcement fleet since the battle of Mid-Gate,” the comms officer looked up from her terminal at Scout and Uberman, a look of worry and anxiety plastered all over the female soldier’s face. “But we got nothing but complete radio silence the whole time.”

“The enemy must possess the means to jam our long-range comms,” Scout’s frustration was painted all over his face as the colonel scowled, “Though given what’s happened so far I wouldn’t rule out the possibility of sabotage by Discordant Scions who have infiltrated the ranks of the KAF.” The veteran Ranger was positive that even now, there were Discordant Scions wearing KAF uniforms in their midst, posing as Khazanian soldiers right until the order to strike was given by Drekis or one of his Magisters.

“During the battle of Walshin and the defense of New Xaelis we’ve confirmed that short-range comms work just fine though,” Uberman interjected, “And then there’s our latest long-distance correspondence with the evac fleet.”

“Short-range comms such as those used by our mechs and combat vehicles rely on free space optics, which aren’t affected by methods used to jam radio frequency comms and cellular networks,” Scout folded his arms over his chest as he went over transcripts from their comms exchange with the evacuation fleet one more time. “The only reason we can reach the evac fleet over long-distance comms is likely because whatever was jamming the comms signal was no longer in the area; though if we possess a hyperwave comms array, we’d be able to maintain long-distance comms regardless of conventional jamming methods.”

“If that’s the case, then perhaps General Yang and his men might still be out there fighting!” This revelation by Scout lifted Uberman’s spirits slightly. “The reason we can’t reach them over the global comms is because long-range comms have been jammed, but I have every reason to believe the Mechanised Squadrons are still fighting… it’s the only reason the enemy is sending out splinter groups to harass us – because their main legion is still tied down by General Yang’s forces!”

“You know, you might have a point there,” Scout’s tone sounded less grim as he went over what Uberman said, tapping his chin contemplatively with the knuckles of his right hand. “While you might be asking a bit too much faith from me, the math does add up… it’s likely why we’re able to progress towards WinterScar at our current pace, which is faster than my initial projections.”

“Permission to interrupt, sir?” The comms officer raised her hand as her terminal began beeping, indicating an incoming transmission.

“Is it from General Yang?” Uberman inquired.

The comms officer shook her head in response.

“Is it from the evac fleet then?” Scout asked next.

“It’s neither of them, sir!” The comms officer adjusted her glasses, “Its signature is from Fort WinterScar!”

For a moment, Uberman and Scout locked eyes with each other in complete silence, then the cyborg’s optics flashed a few times behind his T-slot visor.

“It’s Raea! It’s got to be her!” Uberman exclaimed, aglow with excitement, “I did send her ahead of everyone else along with Timothy and Tiara with instructions to head to Fort WinterScar… she must’ve arrived!”

“Lieutenant, patch them through this instant!” Scout ordered.

“Yes, sir!” The comms officer acknowledged as she established a connection between the Behemoth and Fort WinterScar.

After a brief loading sequence, the connection was established as the familiar visage of Raea appeared over a live video feed on the holographic display window, although the video flickered and glitched at random intervals, indicating that the connection wasn’t exactly optimal.

“Raea, it’s good to see you’ve made it to Fort WinterScar!” Uberman remarked, “How are the other two doing?”

“Tim and Tiara are with me, and they’re both doing alright,” came Raea’s reply – although the video feed was glitchy, her voice came through clearly, “I’ve gained access to Fort WinterScar, but apparently the droids staffing the base can’t be mobilised for combat without first running the Imperator program… and it’s on the base mainframe that we’re unable to access! I need to know if there’s anyone among you who knows the current login password? I was told it was set to cycle randomly every three months – but the latest version of the password will be sent to KAF supreme command and disseminated to unit commanders with the right security clearance.”

“So Fort WinterScar’s mainframe still cycles its login password every season?” Uberman asked as he cast his glance at Scout.

“Yes,” the colonel replied matter-of-factly. “I wish you’d consulted me beforehand before sending Sentinel Shalhalla on that assignment. Had I known about this, I’d have issued you the password right there and then while you were still in New Xaelis! Well, but what’s done is done. I’m sending the password to you right now!” Tapping on the holographic display, Scout opened a folder containing a text file holding the password, and with a casual swipe began the file transfer. In a matter of seconds, the file was sent to the comms terminal that Raea was operating.

“Excellent! Thanks sir!” Raea’s face lit up with hope as she opened the file to check its contents. “I’ll get on this immediately! Tim will take over for me on the comms to keep you in the know, so that you’ll hear from us the instant the WinterScar droids are refitted for battle!”

 

Segment 134: Armament

Raea held her breath as she bolted from the comms terminal to the mainframe, typing the password on the keyboard of the interface terminal. “Alright… here goes nothing,” the redhead held her breath as she hit the “enter” key and prayed.

“Oh hell yeah!” Raea nearly skipped as a dialogue window briefly flashed across the screen informing her of a successful login, as lights flashed all over the cube-shaped hypercomputer.

“Welcome back, commander,” a digitally synthesised female voice greeted Raea as the mainframe’s user programs quickly loaded one after another. With a triumphant smile lighting up her face, Raea pulled up a cushioned office chair and sat herself down in front of the console, stretching her hands and fingers before browsing the files on the mainframe’s directory to locate the Imperator program. True to Cecil’s claims, the mainframe’s software was indeed regularly updated in accordance to KAF standards, such that Raea found herself navigating its UI with zero issues.

“How long will it take before the droids can undergo rearmament?” Tiara loomed over Raea’s shoulder, her eyes gleaming with curiosity as Raea searched the mainframe’s directories.

“Not long, that’s for sure,” Raea replied with a confident nod, “The user interface is something I am familiar with, but it’s a bit of a challenge locating the directory where the Imperator program is – as soon as I find the right directory, everything will be easy-peasy lemon squeezy.”

Tim could barely follow the movements of Raea’s fingers as her digits literally danced all over the keyboard, executing one search command after another. “That is an ungodly number of directories,” the young Sentinel remarked, “If you don’t know the exact directory’s name, will you even be able to locate the program?”

“Trust in the process, Tim,” Raea remarked, her gaze fixed onto the screen, “If it’s any consolation, it’s that there’s a clear logic and pattern in which the files and directories are named – I just need to search under files related to the droids’ operation and combat readiness programs.”

“I wish I had your ability to bounce back from failure so easily,” Tim muttered under his breath, observing his girlfriend at work – despite the earlier setback of not being able to log into the commander’s mainframe, Raea’s mood had taken a complete one-eighty at this point. None of her earlier sullenness remained as the young redhead was fully locked in, her confidence burning like a torch. Meanwhile, Tim found himself still haunted by memories of his screw-ups during the battle of Mid-Gate, the scene of his meltdown still replaying itself over and over in his mind that cast a dark cloud over his hopes and aspirations.

On the other hand, Tiara remained an enigma in his eyes; a walking contradiction of being upbeat yet at the same time soft-spoken that made the aeromancer hard to read in Tim’s mind. Like Raea, she too didn’t seem like one to dwell on past failures, but in a different way as his girlfriend. From what he could observe of Tiara’s behaviour, it was like she lives constantly in the moment – neither clinging to the past nor anticipating the future. And even now, she continues to watch Raea’s work with great curiosity.

“Let’s see… inventory, personnel records…” Raea mumbled each directory category she pulled up, “...porn… wait, WHAT!?” The redhead’s laserlike focus suddenly cracked as she opened the porn folder, her cheeks flushing red as thumbnail previews of a host of salacious images.

“Nevermind, forget that you ever saw that!” A flustered Raea exclaimed as she spun around in her chair to wave her arms at Timothy and Tiara as they tried to catch a glimpse of what’s on the screen.

“Alright, found it!” A jubilant Raea exclaimed a moment later, pointing to a directory on the screen, “Code 322, “Clarion Call”. Imperator program, executive order for rearmament of Fort WinterScar droids. Here goes nothing… running program in 3… 2… 1!”

Raea held her breath as a command window showing a rapidly-scrolling wall of text opened, and more lights flashed all over the mainframe computer’s chassis. A low hum reverberated through the N-Complex as a single glowing red “eye” opened up above the interface terminal.

All the droids present in the building, Cecil included, halted their activities and stiffened up, turning towards the direction of the mainframe with an unnerving synchronicity – from the humanlike androids to tiny drones to hulking utility robots, all of them spoke in unison, “Imperator program executed. Acknowledging new directives – rearm for battle, seek and destroy all Drekis Empire forces within sector 0031. Updating IFF parameters, downloading tactical data, installing drivers and compatibility patches for weapon systems.” 

“Awesome work, Raea! You did it!” Tim cheered as he leapt at Raea and threw his arms around her in a tight hug as he felt the weight of his earlier failure lift off his shoulders.

“Well I sure did!” Raea giggled as she gave Tim and Raea a wink, “Did you ever doubt that I could?”

“Excuse me, how long is the rearmament process going to take?” Tiara queried, tapping Cecil on the shoulder to get his attention.

“It depends on the model of the machine – but by our current projections, every droid in Fort WinterScar will be armed and ready in three hours’ time,” The adjutant replied, gesturing to the display screens flickering to life all over the mainframe’s surfaces, as security camera footages show the entire base springing to life as automated workshops started up, and utility robots lined up outside the servicing bays to be refitted for battle. Another set of footages showed the human-type androids marching to the armouries, with some of them assuming the role of quartermasters and storemen as they issued firearms and explosive ordinance to the androids in frontline soldier roles.

“This is good news!” Tiara nodded before turning her attention back to Tim and Raea, “If Uberman and his allies can hold out just a bit longer, we will be able to rendezvous with them at a halfway point between his last location and the foot of Mt. Aegis.”

Raea headed back to the comms terminal she’d operated earlier, going over the communications log between her and Scout’s Behemoth, “During our last correspondence, the chat logs indicate that Uberman’s forces were about fifty-nine clicks southeast of here. If we take into consideration the terrain and their embattled state, we could head out by twenty clicks to link up with Uberman.”

“It still means having to march a good distance out into the Frozen Wastes,” Tim remarked, “I don’t relish the prospect of fighting out in the blizzard, but it seems there’s no alternative.”

“It’s not reasonable to expect Uberman’s forces to be able to fight all the way up to Fort WinterScar, so this is the best we can hope for,” Raea responded, before glancing over at Cecil. “That being said, what would be your combat strength once all the machines have been rearmed?”

“Well, if we deploy every single droid out into the field you can expect over 30,000 machines,” the adjutant droid replied, stroking his chin, “Though realistically that is not possible, for the protocols dictate that a skeleton crew needs to be kept on-site for base security and maintenance work. That being said, the number of machines out in the field will still easily exceed 20,000.” 

“That’s great news!” Raea exclaimed, beaming with excitement as she pumped her fists. “It’s still way more machines than expected!” 

Cecil waved his left hand in a gesture for the redheaded Sentinel to not get her hopes too high, “Let’s not get too optimistic here, Sentinel Shalhalla,” the adjutant remarked. “I need to add that the machines being fielded are going to vary wildly in size and model – some are no larger than a football and can only be armed with a laser cutter, while others are the size of a tank and can be armed and armoured like one. But regardless, you can be assured that every single machine on the field is fully combat capable and lethal in their own ways.”

Cecil’s realistic assessment of Fort WinterScar’s combat strength did little to discourage Raea, as the smile never left her face, “That’s good enough for us and good enough for Uberman!”

“The armoury just called in, Sentinel Shalhalla,” Cecil tapped the side of his head before gesturing for the trio to follow him, “They informed me that they have completed the repairs of your battlesuit and thrown in some upgrades; in addition, per article 34.4 of the Crisis Response Act, the Sentinels may requisition materiel from the KAF. Perhaps you can see if you can get any extra gear from the armoury that could optimise your combat capabilities on the Frozen Wastes?” 

“You mean you can offer me better gear than what I currently have?” Timothy wondered, glancing over at Cecil then at himself – all he had was the same combat “gear” he set out from Araelgrad with; a set of Araelisian ceremonial armour gifted to him by Vincentzo, worn over a set of civilian clothes consisting of a T-shirt, jeans and bandanna over a red plaid flannel shirt.

The adjutant nodded.

“Come on then, let’s follow him to get ourselves kitted out!” Raea gently pulled on Tim’s arm to get him to accompany her to the armoury.

“Well then, just let me know when you’re ready,” Tiara remarked as she elected to stay in the mainframe room, sitting in front of the comms terminal to stay in touch with Uberman’s forces. “In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye on the comms terminal in case Uberman posts any updates on his situation.”

Even as Tim accompanied Raea to the armoury, the young Sentinel still couldn’t shake off the spectre of doubt, once again mentally reliving the scene of his breakdown on the ramparts of Mid-Gate. If it happened before, how could he guarantee that it wouldn’t happen again? What good would he be to Tiara and Raea if he went berserk again during the upcoming battle? “Say, Raea…” Tim whispered to his girlfriend.

“Yes, Tim?” Raea glanced over her shoulder towards him with an understanding smile on her face.

There was a window of silence as Tim wrestled with himself, torn between putting on a brave face for Raea’s sake, and pouring out his concerns. There was a part of him that wanted to get it off his chest, but tugging in the opposite direction was a side of him who wanted to be the Sentinel he wished he was, and it wouldn’t be fitting for him to constantly burden others that way. “Do you think this will work?” he asked, pivoting the topic from his personal insecurities to the upcoming battle on the Frozen Wastes, “As in, do you think with the WinterScar droids on our side, Uberman’s forces will be able to turn the tide of the battle?”

Raea’s smile never left her face as the redhead remained confident as ever, “I have faith. The loss of our original reinforcements from Khazan City was a setback, but the WinterScar droids more than make up for it… sure, it required us to make a detour, but on the upside the Drekis legion will never expect we have this as our pocket ace! Nothing can go wrong this time!”

Timothy nodded, “Let’s hope you’re right.” And the two of them continued on their way towards the armoury following Cecil’s lead.

 

Segment 135: The Hidden

Maria Halesinger seemed to blend into the background as she leaned back against the walls of the passenger cabin on board an evacuation airship, listening in on conversations between the civilians and the militiamen assigned to these vessels as security personnel. What she hadn’t taken into account was that Uberman’s forces would stop by at Fort Abdiel to allow the civilians on board his Behemoth to be transferred to a fleet of airships that would transport them directly to Khazan Prime. A shame, really. She’d hoped that she could remain in the SLJ leader’s proximity. But something inside Maria reassured her that she’d already done all she could for Jon Avalon. 

What her ears picked up didn’t surprise her – nothing but pointless prattling and fear over something they have no control over. Civilians mourning their lost homes and deceased loved ones, praying to higher powers for deliverance. Maria was positive that the only reason things had gone quiet on her side was because Jon had let the civilians go; she’d served the Magister long enough to know that Jon was never the sort to engage in wanton slaughter of noncombatants if they didn’t stand in the way of his objectives, unless specifically ordered to do otherwise by Drekis himself.

She did have to give credit to the Khazan Armed Forces to split their troops, leaving the majority of their division consisting of the Valkyrie fleets and Mechanised Squadrons to stall Avalon’s legion, while a smaller detachment led by Uberman continued northwest towards Fort WinterScar. ‘Doubt that would matter in the long run,’ the Discordant Scion thought; it was a costly decision that would only serve to delay the inevitable – once Avalon’s legion was done with the New Xaelis division, it would only be a matter of time before they caught up to Uberman’s detachment, and she reckoned that would happen before he ever got to Fort WinterScar. 

The crowd in the passenger hold grew quiet as the airship’s captain made his way down from the bridge, escorted by a security detail of militiamen. The silence lasted for all of a few seconds as the captain was quickly bombarded with questions from the fearful civilians, while the paramilitary volunteers tried their best to maintain order in the crowd.

One particularly plucky militia fighter stepped up to the plate to act as a voice of authority, as a heavyset man in his late twenties dressed in woodland camo BDUs and ALICE tactical rig and armed with an AKM strode forward and declared confidently, “Fear not! The KAF will prevail! They have the SLJ on their side and Uberman at the helm, together they will save us just like they always have!”

Members of the crowd stared at one another, some shaking their heads and others murmuring their dissent and expressing their doubts. This was when the airship captain spoke up, “Do not worry about their safety; shortly before coming down here, I received news that Uberman’s forces are drawing the enemy away from New Xaelis and into the Frozen Wastes. I believe he has plans to link up with the thousands of droids stationed there to seek reinforcements.”

In a matter of seconds, the mood in the room shifted. First there was another moment of silence, broken only by intermittent murmurs – only this time the voices bore a noticeably more optimistic and joyful tone as members of the crowd began thanking the higher powers and singing praises about how justice will prevail.

Maria smirked and shook her head as she observed the behaviour of the crowd. It was such a textbook display of mob mentality – all they needed was someone with authority to make a bunch of promises, and their mood shifted from gloom and doom to rainbows and sunshine, such was the predictable behaviour of mortals that she found worthy of her disdain.

As the captain headed back to the bridge, the militiaman who’d earlier made a bold declaration of his faith in Uberman stopped momentarily and turned his gaze in Maria Halesinger’s direction, and for a moment the two of them just locked eyes in complete silence.

“Is there anything wrong?” The silver-haired girl asked with an innocent smile, fiddling with the single earring she was wearing before pulling up the hood of her hoodie over her head.

“Nothing,” the camo-clad militiaman replied, shaking his head before climbing the stairs to the upper decks.

 

Segment 136: The Few who Remain

Plasma jets roared as Bio-Fighter zipped through the sky, weaving its way past arcs of full-auto plasma and laser fire and dodging missiles with a series of acrobatic rolls and loops before its body pulsed and contorted as it transformed into its humanoid Biomech mode.

Kitazawa kept his eyes fixed on that one Bio-Fighter, the captain having perfect trust in his wingmen in the 478th to keep his flanks covered, allowing him to engage a single enemy without the fear of being flanked by another Bio-Fighter. Two friendly signatures appeared on the radar of the Gemini as a pair of friendly mechs zoomed past Kitazawa’s mech to fire on the transformed Bio-Fighter, scoring several hits from their autolasers that the biomechanoid’s shields soaked up.

In response, the Bio-Mech spun around with its arms outstretched, revealing an organitech particle beam emitter in each palm that glowed as they powered up, before returning fire with a rapid fire volley of particle beams. One of the mechs managed to evade with a well-timed acrobatic roll, but the second mech was a fraction of a second too slow – the beam breached its shield and pierced through the armour of its hull. In an instant, the mech was consumed in a fiery explosion, sending its flaming wreckage plummeting towards the surface.

“Curse you!” Takuma hissed as he returned fire at the enemy with his mech’s particle beam rifle, his gaze sporadically wandering to a status window in the corner of the cockpit’s HUD to keep track of the numbers and positions of both friendlies and hostiles alike. So far, the updates he’d been receiving over the comms had not been particularly encouraging when it comes to the KAF division’s overall kills-to-losses ratio, but he reasoned that the sacrifices of those who fell in battle had not been in vain.

The enemy biomechanoid dodged the first volley of shots from the Gemini, but in doing so it was left open to nearby mechs who flanked it and tagged it with their shots, quickly depleting its shields and tearing holes in its carapace, causing the Bio-Fighter to spew an oily black ichor from its wounds as it thrashed around and screeched.

“Light em’ up!” The captain barked over the comms as the Gemini and two other mechs concentrated fire on the Drekis biomechanoid, blowing off entire chunks of its body with a sustained barrage of energy beams and kinetic projectiles and not stopping until the enemy was blasted into chunks that were too small to reconstitute themselves – the torn pieces of the Bio-Fighter twitched and writhed futilely on the snow-covered ground before they went permanently still, having exhausted their energy reserves before they could regenerate in any meaningful capacity.

“That seemed to be the last of them, but make no mistakes… there’s another wave anytime soon,” Takuma remarked, only to realise he was speaking to himself as he hadn’t hit transmit on the comms. He had no doubt that any moment now, another wave of Bio-Fighters and Ptera-Deminites were going to hit, but he took whatever brief lull in combat he could get to take a breather and gather his nerves. He had no idea how long it’d been, but by his reckoning it couldn’t have been much more than an hour since General Yang made the fateful call to have the majority of the New Xaelis division to hold their ground against the Drekis legion so that the smaller detachment led by Uberman and Scout could continue their exodus into the Frozen Wastes to seek out Fort WinterScar.

Takuma reasoned that the general thought his division could keep the Drekis legion tied down so that the smaller detachment led by Uberman and Scout could put distance between the enemy legion and themselves, but even amidst the chaos of the battle, he’d noticed small bands of the enemy break off from the main legion, and he had no doubt their purpose was the harassment and pursuit of the WinterScar-bound detachment, to prevent them from reaching Fort WinterScar.

The lull in combat would not last long, as long-range sensors picked up another wave of enemies, with even more Bio-Fighters in their midst. And it dawned on him that the enemy wasn’t content to simply consolidate their gains in New Xaelis – it seemed as though whoever was leading this legion put the deaths of Uberman and Scout as top priority, and would throw as many bodies as they had to at General Yang’s division to get them out of the way.

In the seconds before contact with the enemy, Takuma hailed the 478th on his squadron comms to get a headcount of his unit, his heart pounding in his chest as he awaited their response – it was only when all remaining pilots of the 478th acknowledged did the tension in Takuma’s chest ease up a little. After what happened to Carl at Walshin, he resolved to not allow his squadron to lose any more pilots – sadly, the same could not be said of the other mechanised squadrons he’d been coordinating.

The airship fleet fared even worse; the once-mighty Valkyries were nothing more than flaming wrecks on the ground, with only the fleet’s flagship Libra still airborne, and it was clear that even she had taken a beating, with sections of its armour scorched, battered or missing altogether and smoke rising from what had once been weapon mounts.

“All units, this is Maj. General Percival Yang,” the general spoke over the global comms channel, the transmission full of intermittent bursts of static. “There has… change in strategy… we are heading northwest after Uberman’s detachment… link up at Fort WinterScar… all units assume bounding overwatch… we make a fighting retreat.”

“I kinda saw that coming,” Takuma remarked as he watched the Libra turn northwest, and he knew that it was the cue for the Mechanised Squadrons and ground troops to do likewise. If anything, the captain felt it was high time General Yang gave that order on account of how badly chewed-up the New Xaelis division had gotten at this point; even if by some miracle they managed to fight off the next wave of enemies, he was certain that the one after the next would do them in.

Despite never being a particularly religious person for as long as he could remember, Takuma silently told himself that if he survived this battle, he might just start taking faith in the gods far more seriously. A quick run of the Gemini’s diagnostics told him that it was a miracle that he and his men had survived this long. 

Like just about every other mech in the division, the Gemini had long lost its original weapons loadout, either due to sustaining damage in battle, or running out of ammo. The only way they stayed in the fight was to scavenge weapons, ammo and power packs from downed mechs belonging to their comrades who had fallen earlier in battle. It pained Capt. Kitazawa to even look at the particle beam rifle held in the Gemini’s hands – it had once belonged to a young pilot whose mech had fallen early in the battle. He tried to shake off the feeling by rationalising it as a way to honour their fallen brothers-in-arms. By scavenging and using their weapons, he reasoned that they were still fighting on in the spirit, bringing vengeance upon their enemies from beyond the grave.

All mechs still functioning followed the Libra’s lead, serving as a rear guard for the Valkyrie and ground troops. The Gemini itself responded sluggishly, as its right flight repulsor would flicker and sputter at random intervals, causing the Hoplite-class mech to wobble in flight. 

Lt. Foster’s voice buzzed over the Gemini’s comms, “Captain, is everything alright? I noticed your mech is unable to reach its full flight speed, I’d recommend that I pull an escort for the Gemini alongside the Pharis’ Blade.”

“I appreciate your advice, lieutenant, but I don’t think that is necessary,” Takuma radioed back, “Even at top speed, there’s no chance that our division will be able to catch up to Uberman’s detachment before the next wave of enemies are upon us. 478th, give me a status report on your mechs.”

“Cpl. Arlington here, the Stormbringer’s hull retains full structural integrity, or close to it anyway,” Kurt replied, “I’d be considered close to full combat capacity… Had the enemy not chewed off my weapon mounts, that is.”

Matilda Cole was the next pilot to deliver a status report, “Sgt. Cole, the Tristar’s max flight speed is down by 33% and its reactor output has been dropping by 0.1% every minute for the last 30 minutes.”

“Staff Sgt. Park, the Pharis’ Blade has lost its left leg, but that shouldn’t compromise my combat capabilities unless I'm forced to fight on the ground,” Katie Park delivered her report calmly. 

A frustrated sigh came over the comms before Paul Graham reported in, “Sgt. Major Graham, the Senki’s right shoulder is pretty fucked up along with its weapon mounts, and hull integrity around the torso ain’t looking pretty. Flight repulsors are busted, so my mech can only continue on foot.” 

“Lt. Angelhart here, the Derringer’s beat-up in a similar manner as the Senki, but my flight repulsors are still functional, so I’m still airborne,” in contrast to Paul’s exasperation, Cecelia Angelhart’s tone remained upbeat in spite of her mech’s compromised capabilities. 

“Lt. Foster reporting, the Dragonflare’s right arm is in the same condition as the Gemini’s left, so you might need to pay more attention to enemies coming from my three; don't worry, I’ll have your nine covered,” Sara Foster chuckled grimly. “It goes without saying there’s hardly a single mech across the entire New Xaelis division that hasn’t suffered from at least significant impairment or another, sir.”

Capt. Kitazawa stared grimly at the Gemini’s HUD, his brows knitted, “I knew it… we’re in no condition to take on the next wave of enemies, it’d be a miracle if we even manage to take out half of their number.”

“One more thing, captain,” Cecelia chimed in over the comms, “General Yang’s orders came through garbled, but I managed to recover the lost segments of his transmission.”

“And what’s the full transcript like?” Takuma asked, already steeling himself for the certainty that it would not be something he wanted to hear.

“The complete transcript of the general’s orders is that we must press on towards northwest to rendezvous with Uberman’s forces at all costs, and engaging the enemy is forbidden unless absolutely necessary – suffice to say, anyone who falls too far behind the formation will be on their own,” Lt. Angelhart continued, her voice solemn and grim.

“My intuition was right it seems,” Takuma replied, the revelation that Percival Yang was prepared to leave straggling soldiers behind in order to preserve as much of the division as possible didn’t come to him as a surprise, even though hearing the words still put ice in his veins. “As brutal as it sounds, I understand the rationale behind his actions… I’m confident we’ll be able to keep up. It’s imperative that we reach Fort WinterScar and stop for nothing… till then, it’s every man for himself.”

“Well, fuck me; cause my mobility’s shit right now,” Paul grumbled over the comms, “Just my luck for the Senki to get this beat-up, huh? Fuck those bastards for trashing my baby girl!”

“Fret not, Paul,” Matilda reassured, “Both my Tristar and Lt. Angelhart’s Derringer are equally impaired speed-wise. We can provide bounding overwatch for one another until we catch up to Uberman’s detachment.”

“That’s assuming we even catch up to them,” Paul retorted, his voice grim, “A large number of hostile signatures from the south just entered my sensors’ range!”

“Shit! Sarge-major’s not wrong! The Stormbringer’s sensors can confirm it!” Cpl. Arlington chorused, trying his best to deliver his report with detached professionalism, but the undercurrent of worry was evident to any attentive listener.

“How many, corporal?” Staff Sgt. Park inquired.

“Scanners indicate between thirty to forty distinct signatures,” Kurt squinted his eyes as he stared long and hard at the display screen on the Stormbringer’s HUD that showed the mech’s scanner sweeps.

“That’s far fewer enemies than I expected,” Capt. Kitazawa mused, rubbing his chin in contemplation, “Something’s not right here…”

“Wait, captain!” Lt. Foster’s report confirmed Kitazawa’s suspicions. “The Dragonflare’s scanners indicate more enemies coming in from the southwest, about sixty confirmed signatures!”

“Scans from the Senki showed another fifty enemy signatures coming in from the southeast, sir!” Paul added.

“Archons damn it!” Takuma gritted his teeth and pounded his fist on the cockpit’s dashboard, “Seems like anything that can go wrong will.” It was a turn of events that the captain had dreaded but was expecting all along – the lull in combat certainly did not last long, and it was only a matter of time before they found themselves back in the meat grinder.

“On the bright side, this group is less than half the size of the previous wave,” Lt. Foster interjected. “We still have more mechs than they have Bio-Fighters!”

“But our mechs are too badly damaged!” Another pilot from a different mechanised squadron voiced his dissent. “We may have the numbers, but we lack the combat capacity!”

“We’re in no position to fight right now; the general knows it, that’s why we have our orders to head northwest at all costs,” Takuma replied over the global comms as he turned the Gemini northwest, “Avoid engaging the enemy unless absolutely necessary, don’t get left behind!”

Kitazawa looked upon the approaching wave of enemies and almost felt like rushing head-first into their ranks; a glorious suicide blast just like those accursed missiles of theirs. But his reason returned to him, and he quickly turned his mech back north. “We have no choice, we’re in no position to fight, but we will if we have to. All mechs still under my command, advance towards the Frozen Wastes, as fast as you can go. We don’t engage the enemy until they reach us.”

“That’s not all, captain,” Paul Graham brought yet another grim report, “Scanners picked up another large wave of enemy signatures… it’s their ground forces! Looks like the bulk of the legion is catching up to their vanguard!” 

“This is getting better by the minute,” Takuma laughed sardonically, his voice dripping with bitter irony, “They’re clearly counting on the Bio-Fighters to soften us up even further, so that their ground legion can move in to finish off what’s left.”

“What should we do then?” Lt. Foster wondered.

“Whatever your orders are, we’ll follow to the letter!” Cecelia chimed in, still surprisingly chipper given their unfavourable circumstances.

Takuma nodded as a smile crept onto his face, impressed by the loyalty and determination of his soldiers, “We prepare for the worst, but hope for the best then. General Yang’s orders hold – we press on towards WinterScar at full speed, but I will coordinate with the Libra and General Yang; it’s only a matter of time before the enemy closes the gap and we have no choice but to fight, so we’ll need to adjust our formation and coordinate new strategies so that we don’t get blindsided when they gain on us!”

 

Segment 137: The Final Chapter to the Battle for Xaelon(?)

A squadron of Bio-Fighters passing overhead left a roaring sonic boom in their wake, their sound causing Zegrin to stomp his feet and roar as he flapped his wings, as if frustrated that the biomechanoids would get to see combat action before he does. “I understand your eagerness, Zegrin,” Jon Avalon reached down to pat the dragon’s nape, “There’ll be plenty of blood to be shed in the battle to come, so please hold your excitement. For now, just let us witness His Eminence’s new tools in action.”

As if he understood Avalon’s words, Zegrin ceased his fidgeting and gave a muffled growl.

Jon chuckled at Zegrin’s eagerness to fight – truly, both rider and steed are of one mind; as the Magister too felt the urge for battle tugging at him, despite still recovering from overtaxing his Darkenfire form. Walshin had given him a rare opportunity to continue what he started in Xaelis with Uberman, whom he’d come to view as his arch-rival in this campaign.

“Still, His Eminence wasn’t exaggerating when he says Khazan is a world overflowing with power,” Jon said to no-one in particular as he recounted that aside from Uberman he’d also faced other worthy opponents so far, such as the Archon of Light, as well as the mysterious aeromancer girl who’d showed up at the Battle of Walshin. Something inside the Magister told him that despite gaining the upper hand over her during their last showdown, the aeromancer had yet to play all of her cards, which made Jon look forward to a future encounter with her on the battlefield, for few things perturbed him more than knowing an opponent was holding something back. 

And then there was that boy – the one with that silver hair and the sword that radiated a turquoise light. As far as Jon was concerned, he was a non-factor; just a hotheaded rookie who got ahead of himself, whom the Magister had felt wasn’t even worth killing. Jon had no history with that young man, yet when he first laid eyes on that sword, he felt a tug of familiarity inside his soul. In hindsight, it must’ve been this inexplicable feeling of familiarity that deigned him to test the boy in one-on-one combat regardless. Perhaps, it was the fragment of Drekis’ essence inside him reacting to the weapon?

The ground shook with the thundering of countless feet as Drekis minions of all shapes and sizes stormed past Avalon and Zegrin – from the lithe Reavers to the hulking Hive Guards, they advanced at full speed with single-minded purpose, and His Eminence willing, it would only be a matter of time before they caught up to the remnants of the New Xaelis division to wipe them out  once and for all; but before that could happen, the Magister swore that he would leave Uberman as the last man standing, allowing the Sentinel leader to live long enough that he could meet his end by Avalon’s hands.

Jon glanced over his shoulder at a Phantom Sorcerer that had teleported into place behind the Magister, the robed apparition waiting for Jon to acknowledge him by kneeling in silence with his head bowed. “Next time, if you have urgent news I would prefer you skip the formalities and deliver it to me directly, thrall,” a scowl crossed Jon’s face as the Magister felt a tinge of displeasure that the minion placed decorum and formalities over practical actions.

“Magister Avalon, ahead of us are the enemy’s mechanised force that defeated our vanguard,” the spectre delivered his report in an empty voice devoid of emotion or inflection.

“Yes, that is already obvious to me,” Jon remarked, turning his gaze back towards the horizon beyond which the Frozen Wastes lay. “Tell me, what do you know of the enemy’s numerical strength?”

“I counted a total of one hundred and eighty-nine warmechs,” the Phantom Sorcerer replied.

“Do not forget the airship, as well as their infantry and armoured division,” Jon interjected, “But most of their mechanised forces have taken significant damage and are running low on ammo; the next wave of Bio-Fighters should have no issues taking them out – reaching the detachment led by the one they call ‘Uberman’ is what matters most to me.” The Magister viewed the mechanised squadrons with a mixture of annoyance and begrudging respect – on one hand, their actions allowed Uberman to put a distance between himself and his legion, delaying Jon’s goals; but on the other hand, he found their sacrificial bravery and loyalty to be a commendable effort, even if ultimately futile in the long run.  

“Is there something else you wish to report?” Jon queried, noticing that the Phantom Sorcerer was still kneeling behind him instead of teleporting away.

“Yes, Magister,” the Phantom Sorcerer rose into a standing position, “Your Apostle, Korruptus, has answered your summons and is due to arrive anytime now.” With his reports delivered, the hooded spectre faded into the shadows and vanished from sight.

Korruptus announced his arrival with a throaty laugh that was unholy in its depth and volume as he leapt off the back of a passing Bio-Fighter, nearly three hundred kilograms of muscle, sinew and horns plummeting hundreds of metres through the air. The ground beneath the Apostle’s hooved feet cratered upon his meteoric landing that sent plumes of dirt and gravel flying into the air and generating a shockwave so powerful that nearby Deminites were thrown back like ragdolls – but without missing a beat, the demonic thralls simply scrambled back onto their feet and continued their advance towards the northwest.

Kalia followed shortly after, the ends of her silken sashes flapping like wings as the voluptuous and provocatively-attired Harbinger glided through the air like a bird of prey before gently touching down next to Zegrin and Jon Avalon, the lengths of fabric flowing across the ground like rivers as she glanced upwards at the Magister with a satisfied purr, “Look who I brought along.”

“So Korruptus has returned to us,” Jon acknowledged Korruptus with a knowing smile, “For a moment I thought you had decided to stay in what was once Xaelis.”

The minotaur-like alien grinned at the Magister’s ribbing attempt, “Heh, you of all people should know that your faithful Apostle is never one to run from a fight, especially not one as important as this!” Korruptus rested his massive axe-hammer on the ground and raised his right arm to flex a titanic bicep, “When Kalia relayed your summon to me, I hurried to New Xaelis thinking you were still besieging the capital, but it seemed my Magister worked a lot faster than I expected!”

For a brief moment, the Apostle’s voice took on a sheepish quality as he rubbed the back of his head and chuckled, “Though I must confess I did linger a bit in New Xaelis to admire your handiwork… to think we now have a Hive-Fortress on the surface. Truly a monumental achievement for the Drekis Empire worthy of our Magister!”

Kalia smirked as she side-eyed Korruptus, lifting her right hand towards her chin – in response to her gesture, one of her silk sashes slithered up her arm and fluttered over her mouth as she spoke in a voice that was sweet as honey, yet with a condescending undercurrent that cut to the bone, “You, who’d served as milord’s Apostle for this long had no idea just what our Magister is capable of? Are you losing your touch now, Korruptus?” The Harbinger rested her left hand on her hip and giggled.

Korruptus snarled at Kalia’s jab as he stepped forward and leaned in towards the Harbinger such that his snout was mere inches away from Kalia’s face, “If you think verbally cutting me down will earn you special favours in master Avalon’s eyes, think again. As his Harbinger, you are of equal standing as myself as his Apostle, and no amount of buttering up our master is going to change that!”

“Ooh, my, my…” Kalia rolled her eyes as she addressed Korruptus in a sing-song voice, “Did I strike a sore point?”

“I don’t know what master Avalon saw in you to make you his Harb-” Korruptus’ retort for Kalia was cut short as the Magister threw up a gauntlet-clad right hand, and both lord-minions fell silent at once, recognising that the gesture meant Jon had important instructions for them. The belligerence between Korruptus and Kalia evaporated in almost an instant as both of them stood at attention, all solemn and businesslike as they awaited Jon’s orders.

“Listen, for the upcoming battle at the Frozen Wastes I will be splitting my legion into three sub-legions, and the two of you will be commanding one detachment each,” Jon instructed as he summoned his green energy sword and pointed its tip northwest. “I will be leading the main body for a direct assault on Uberman’s forces, while Kalia will lead a detachment to circle around and flank them – I anticipate that the enemy will likely change their formation to attempt to counter-flank us by encircling Kalia’s detachment, but this is where the detachment led by Korruptus will come into the equation. Do you understand?”

Both Kalia and Korruptus bowed in unison, “Yes, Magister!”

Before Jon could dismiss his deputies, the familiar silhouette of an oversized lion loomed into view from the direction of New Xaelis, easily closing the distance with a series of bounding leaps from its powerful legs before pulling to a halt next to Zegrin. “What brings you here, Gellan?” Jon’s eyes narrowed as he cast his glance downwards at the giant lion from Zegrin’s saddle. “Does she have new developments to report?”

Gellan acknowledged Jon’s query with a low growl and nodded his head, showing off his daggerlike fangs in a manner all too reminiscent of a human smile.

“No matter how long I hang out with that creature, he still gives me the creeps when he does that,” Kalia remarked.

Korruptus chuckled at Kalia’s discomfort and folded his arms over his chest, but refused to elaborate or make further comments.

“Show me,” Avalon leaned in and reached forward to rest his hand on Gellan’s head. The instant the two closed their eyes, a psychedelic swirl of random colours and noise flooded the Magister’s mind, quickly coalescing into coherent images and sound as Avalon witnessed a scene inside a Behemoth-class land-cruiser’s bridge, where he recognised the sound of Uberman and Scout’s voices. The Magister was able to catch a gist of what the SLJ leader and the colonel were conversing about, and with an expression of firm resolution etched on his face, Avalon removed his hand from Gellan’s head as he opened his eyes.

“What did you see and hear, Magister?” Kalia and Korruptus asked at the same time.

“She has done a good job, as have you, Gellan – for this, you two have my commendation,” Jon remarked as he turned to his two deputies, “Listen up, both of you; apparently our enemy has successfully gotten the robots stationed at Fort WinterScar to rearm themselves for war, and they will be reinforcing what’s left of the enemy’s division. See to it that Uberman’s forces do not reach WinterScar! Seems like the airship fleet and mechanised squadrons did more than just cover Uberman’s retreat, they were buying time for him to secure new allies!”  

With a mighty roar, Zegrin flapped his wings as he prepared to take off towards the northwest, but not before Jon Avalon delivered a final set of instructions to Korruptus and Kalia. “Hear my orders! When you lead your respective detachments into battle, instruct them to charge at full speed towards Uberman’s forces. They are to stop for nothing; even if the mechanised forces fire on them, just leave them to the Bio-Fighters and keep advancing. Be prepared for a long, cold night, for the final chapter in the battle for Xaelon will take place in the heart of the Frozen Wastes!”

With that, Jon pointed his green eldritch energy blade northwest as Zegrin took off towards the skies, in the direction of Fort WinterScar.

“What are you waiting for then, big guy? Time to get the show on the road,” Kalia giggled as she lifted her arms above her head; the tails of the silk sashes that passed for her outfit twisted themselves into spirals resembling a set of springs. With theatrical flourish, the Harbinger brought her arms down, and the coiled lengths of fabric thrust themselves towards the ground, acting like the giant springs their appearance mimicked, launching Kalia many stories into the air before they spread out like a set of wings, allowing her to ride the wind like a glider. 

Korruptus said nothing as he picked up his axe-hammer, though even if he had a retort for Kalia the woman was already way out of earshot at this point. The minotaur-like Apostle jumped and grabbed at the side of a passing Tanker Beast before climbing onto the back of the speeding beetle-shaped biomechanoid, using it as his steed as he rode on its back towards the Frozen Wastes.

 

Segment 138: Post-Battle Gala

Nightfall held a special significance for Vincentzo Maiinverno – it was when his palace in Araelgrad became more than just his royal court and residence. It was his inner sanctum, and peace and quiet was treated as sacred. Outside of high-security areas of his palace, lights were either dimmed or turned off, and beyond his palace grounds, a strict noise curfew was enforced throughout the surrounding district.

But tonight represented a deviation from Vincentzo’s norms – the full moon hung high above Araelgrad, while the grounds of Vincentzo’s palace came alive with colourful festive lights and joyful magic. Heralds were dispatched to the furthest corners of the capital to proclaim the victorious aftermath of the battle of Astra Canyon the day before.

In market squares and agoras across the capital of Araelis, the people celebrated – fireworks lit up the night sky while merchants sold food and drink at discounted rates to cater to revellers, while children and adults alike crowded around street performers who put up shows that dramatised Tanin, Vincentzo and Woose’s encounter with the Drekis Magister where they ultimately came out victorious, ranging from bards that dedicated ballads to the trio’s heroic exploits, to stage plays and puppet shows that recreated the event.

It was all Vincentzo’s way of reassuring the citizens of Araelgrad that peace – at least for now – had come to his realm, save for those who were trying to get a good night’s sleep as laughter, music and fireworks echoed throughout the capital from dusk until just before the break of dawn.

Soundtrack: Alek Kaczan | Heroes’ Feast

However, it was inside Vincentzo’s palace where the celebrations were the liveliest and loudest as the Sentinel and ruler of Araelis threw a victory gala attended by his trusted ministers and Araelisian high society elites, as well as foreign dignitaries invited from Khazan Prime, Axia and the Vizeon Republic. Fine wines and good food – carefully prepared by a handpicked cadre of royal chefs – flowed like rivers while musicians played ballads that dramatised the battle of Astra Canyon.

Vincentzo himself was particularly exuberant as he toasted to the guests and saw to it that empty wine glasses were refilled with haste, before himself emptying a goblet filled with Renmaurberry wine with a vigourous chug and called for seconds. As the guests got increasingly inebriated, the banquet got increasingly rowdy as well as wine glasses and bottles were dropped and food and drinks were spilled.

 Normally, even so much as a goblet of spilled wine would’ve given Vincentzo fits – but still feeling heady from a combination of his victory at Astra Canyon and the effects of alcohol in his system, the archmage couldn’t care less, as palace maids and royal servants hurried to and fro, cleaning up messes as soon as they were made and bringing more food and drinks for the guests from the palace kitchen.

“More food, more drink, more music… more everything!” Vincentzo declared in a jubilant tone as he thrust the goblet filled with dark purple Renmaurberry wine into the air, “These brave men and women deserve no less after all they’ve done for Araelis and her people, come now!”

The archmage burst into peals of ecstatic laughter, and his inner circle of ministers and generals joined in. Some of them lifted their goblets into the air and called for their ruler – who’d ensured victory at Astra Canyon – to drink another round with them. But a handful who still remained relatively clear-headed advised the royal archmage to stop on account of the sheer number of drinks he’d already imbibed.

“Heh, fret not,” The archmage chuckled, his usually-fair skin flushed from the number of drinks he’d had. “Just because I rarely touch hard drinks doesn’t mean I can’t handle my liquor! You wouldn’t expect anything less from a man of my status and background, aye? It would take more than just a few drinks to cloud my mind! I kid you not, I could chug down another twenty of these… hic!” Vincentzo was momentarily interrupted by a hiccup escaping his throat after downing another goblet of wine, “...and still tell the difference between a mongoose and a Scirillian mole-hunter!”

A joyous cheer erupted from the partygoers around him as a palace maid hurried over to Vincentzo’s side to refill his goblet.

“Should you really be drinking this heavily at this point in time?” A familiar voice asked next to Vincentzo. Raising an eyebrow, Vincentzo found that Woose had somehow made his way through the crowd of guests surrounding the archmage to stand next to him, the martial artist dressed fittingly for the occasion for once, sporting a fine black tuxedo, white shirt and pink bowtie, and to the archmage’s surprise – actually wearing shoes for a change.

“How did you get next to me without me noticing?” Vincentzo wondered, “But no matter, your concerns are unfounded, even if you have my gratitude for always having your eye out for me. So why don’t you help yourself to more food? Isn’t binge-eating a favourite pastime of yours? And what better time for you to indulge than right now?”

Woose responded with an awkward smile and shook his head, “Thank you, Vincentzo, but I think I’ve had more than enough food and drink for the night, and I worry that you might be nearing your limit too.”

Vincentzo stifled a snort of laughter, then waved his right hand dismissively at the pugilist, “Oh Woose, truly you underestimate my capacity for drink! No amount of liquor can cloud my judgement or make me act out of character – who do you think is the ruler of this fair state-kingdom? Me, of course!” The archmage puffed out his chest before holding out his goblet so that a butler could refill it.

“Originally, I was planning to host such an event when I have led Araelis into becoming the most prosperous state-kingdom on the face of Khazan, but given our victory at Astra Canyon, I’d say that momentous occasion also calls for a celebration in its own right, no?” With his goblet filled with Renmaurberry wine, Vincentzo raised his goblet to toast his inner circle, before chugging back its contents amidst cheers.

As soon as Tanin walked into the gala hall, the Archon of Light was approached by a palace maid at the entrance who offered him a glass of wine which he politely declined. The Archon walked past groups of party guests, who warmly hailed him as a hero of Araelis and tipped their drinks in his direction, inviting Tanin to either drink or feast with them, but the Archon of Light remained firm but polite in declining their offers.

It didn’t take long for Tanin to locate Vincentzo, the archmage cheerfully proposing another toast with his inner circle of ministers and high society elites; despite Vincentzo’s claims to the contrary, the drinks were clearly getting to him – the bangs of the archmage’s blonde hair were plastered to his forehead, his skin flushed and glistening with sweat. It was a surprise to Tanin that Vincentzo remained relatively clear-headed despite the obvious physiological signs of inebriation.

“And look who finally showed up?” Vincentzo grinned as he gestured towards the approaching Tanin. “This grand reception simply isn’t complete without all the heroes of Araelis present, now would it?” The crowd surrounding Vincentzo parted to allow Tanin to step forward. 

“Come, ladies and gentlemen! Let’s give one up to the Archon of Light, the Magister-slayer and hero of the battle of Astra Canyon… Tanin!” Vincentzo gave his goblet a toast.

“Tanin! Tanin!” Everyone within earshot of Vincentzo proudly proclaimed as glasses of drinks were raised above their heads as the guests hailed the Archon of Light. 

“Seriously, Magister-slayer?” The Archon of Light muttered under his breath as he rolled his eyes at the title Vincentzo had given him. It was one thing to compliment his achievements, but to give him such a title when the enemy had merely retreated – not vanquished – was a perversion of the truth that irritated Tanin, a sentiment that Woose appeared to share as he repositioned himself next to the Archon of Light. 

“Good thing you’re here, Tanin,” Woose leaned in to whisper into Tanin’s ear, “As you can see, I’m having a hard time keeping Vincentzo under control.” 

Tanin said nothing, only looked Woose in the eye and nodded while wearing a solemn expression on his face – a far cry from the Archon’s typically chipper disposition – it was all the reassurance Woose needed to know that Tanin was about to have things under control. 

“Now if you would excuse me, I’d like to have a private word with Mr. Sovereign here,” Tanin addressed the members of Vincentzo’s inner circle politely but firmly. Not one of them protested or challenged Tanin as he clamped a strong hand firmly on the archmage’s right shoulder and began walking him towards a side door in the gala hall that led out to a balcony.

“Come on Tanin, there is no need to show such modesty in the face of your grand merits! You should take this chance to indulge yourself! After all, this event was dedicated to heroes like you, who proved that Araelis stands strong in the face of any adversity!” Vincentzo remarked as Tanin continued to walk him forward until they were in the open air of the balcony that overlooked the sprawling grounds of his palace, the deck devoid of people save for two young women in exquisite ballgowns with drinks in their hand engaging in idle chatter, whom Tanin surmised were either daughters of Vincentzo's high society guests, or hired social escorts.

“We’d like to have this space to ourselves, so please,” Tanin addressed the two women, glancing towards the side door that led back into the gala hall. Without a single word of protest, the two women nodded and headed back inside, leaving Tanin alone on the balcony with Vincentzo. 

“Look, Vincentzo, this isn’t to downplay the significance of what we’d achieved at Astra Canyon the other day… I understand why you’d feel like celebrating the occasion, but are such festivities appropriate when the enemy still lies in wait on the other side of the Astra Canyon, ready to make another incursion into the Central Region at a moment’s notice?” Tanin looked Vincentzo in the eye, his tone firm but non-judgemental.

“Why the pessimism, Tanin? This is so unlike you!” Vincentzo retorted as he waved his right hand dismissively, “Like I said, all those drinks have clouded my judgement none! After all, there’s a saying that resting is to prepare oneself for a longer journey ahead! Tonight we drink and make merry, and tomorrow it’s back to the war council to plan our strategies ahead!” As the archmage spoke, somewhere in a nearby district another round of fireworks went off, lighting up the night sky with colourful flower-like pyrotechnics visible from the palace balcony.

“Let that Aigonis miscreant crawl out of his hole and try again!” Vincentzo grinned as he held up his goblet, made a toast to Tanin, and gulped down its contents with a single chug. “We’ll have all of Araelis’ military might behind us, and with you and Woose by my side, we’ll just pound his ugly face into the dirt once more!”

“Y’know, I don’t know if we can pull that off again just like that,” Tanin frowned and rested his hands on his hips, shaking his head. 

“Don’t sell yourself short like that!” Vincentzo smirked as he leaned in and gave Tanin a couple of firm pats on the back. “Aigonis is the best the enemy legion has to offer, and even he could barely stand against an Archon! There’s nothing for us to worry about at the moment; even if the enemy were to begin their advance tonight, I have units stationed in East Matriarch City on alert for enemy movements through the region, and garrisons across the countryside who are ready to back up the forces in East Matriarch at a moment’s notice!”

“But what good would it be if the soldiers and heroes are drunk?” Woose added, the martial artist stepping out of the gala hall to join Tanin and Vincentzo on the balcony.

“I have no less than fifty Grade-A Sentinels stationed in East Matriarch,” Vincentzo interjected, stretching out his arm as if to grasp the distant horizon. “And besides, why do you think I only allowed nothing stronger than Renmaurberry wine for this occasion? Its mildness means that it will be out of their system by the first rays of dawn! And I have teams on guard duty who, on my order, abstained from partaking in any of the night’s excesses! But honestly, the festivities are for them to relax; now it wouldn’t do our brave defenders any justice to wait for the next incursion under constant tension and anxiety, no?”

Tanin stared grimly towards the horizon as fireworks went off in the distance to light up the night sky, “I hate to break this to you, but something tells me that the enemy will be gunning straight for Araelgrad – they have no incentive to strike at East Matriarch City. Know that the main reason West Matriarch came under attack was due to its status as an access point to Astra Canyon.”

“I say, let them come!” Vincentzo retorted as he puffed his chest out and thumped his fist against it. “If they’re going to skip Rogue and East Matriarch City to gun directly for Araelgrad, they will have to cross a section of the Falcon River where the water is at its most torrential; that alone is a formidable natural obstacle, and then only thing they’d accomplish upon reaching Araelgrad is to push up new Renmaurberry bushes! We’ll grow entire orchards out of them!”

“Well, looks like you’re truly taking my lessons to heart… if you remember a conversation we had sometime back on a balcony similar to this one,” Tanin smiled awkwardly as he chuckled, recalling that it was only relatively recently that the Archon of Light had a heart-to-heart talk with Vincentzo on a balcony in his palace about how as the ruler of Araelis, the archmage had to show his people that he was made of sterner stuff and not give in to fatalism and despair. “But as uplifting as your confidence is, I advise you to err on the side of caution. What we achieved the other day at Astra Canyon is not victory, but reprieve – and a short one at that. We must take extra precautions and not assume anything until the threat is well and truly dealt with.”

“You’ll be hearing no arguments from me on that one, Tanin,” Vincentzo nodded as a maid holding a decanter of Renmaurberry wine stepped out to the balcony. As soon as the archmage held out his goblet, the palace maid refilled the vessel and departed without a word, “Like I said, all the drinks have not clouded my mind – I had spent much of my daylight hours in a war council meeting with my generals to prepare for the battles to come! My Araelis Free Legion is ready to mobilise at my notice, and their numbers are bolstered by three entire divisions’ worth of infantry and armoured vehicles from the Khazan Armed Forces.”

“And over one hundred Mechanised Squadrons as well,” Woose chimed in.

“Ah right, the mechs too!” Vincentzo chorused, holding up his goblet before taking a drink from it. “See Tanin? There’s little to worry, Araelgrad is well-prepared for a fight! When Aigonis brings his legion across the Falcon River, we’ll make him regret ever crawling out of his hole! When we face him a second time, we’ll make sure we finish what we started in Astra Canyon!”

“Oh I have no doubts about being able to take the Magister in a fight,” Tanin replied with an empathetic laugh as he folded his arms, “But know that even the Archon of Light is but one man, and I can’t be in a hundred places at once to handle every enemy unit… that’s why my primary concern was how lax you appeared. I was afraid that you’d allowed Astra Canyon to get to your head, but if you’ve made the necessary preparations for Araelis’ military forces to handle future incursions, then that puts me at ease.”

“Who do you take me for?” Vincentzo smirked as he took another swig out of his goblet, “I was the one who lifted Araelis out of nearly two decades of lawlessness and ruin, and I will not let my people down. You do your job, and I do mine, all’s right with the world!”

“Well then, I shall leave you to your own devices for now,” Tanin remarked as he saluted Vincentzo, leaping into the air before levitating higher and higher. “I know you wanted me to partake in the festivities, but you know me well enough that I’m never one for noise and crowds.” And with that the Archon of Light shot off into the night sky, leaving a luminous golden trail in his wake.

“So…” Woose craned his neck towards the sky to watch Tanin become increasingly distant until his eyes could no longer track the Archon, “How do you think Uberman and the others are doing in Xaelon? Think they’re alright?”

Vincentzo emptied the contents of his wine goblet, his lips smacking softly as he savoured the sweet and fruity aftertaste of Renmaurberries, “I don’t think Xaelon is faring as well as Araelis at the moment, but I have faith that they will make it… after all, Khazan Prime has sent plenty of troops and materiel to Xaelon. So much so, that they couldn’t even spare Araelis a single Valkyrie! Though Xaelon and Cretalia probably need those airships more than Araelis does,” the archmage remarked as he set his empty goblet on the railings.

Meanwhile, Tanin floated high above the city of Araelgrad – from his current position the full moon in Khazan’s sky appeared much larger, while the capital city below his feet appeared to be little more than a collage of colourful lights. The Archon of Light stared contemplatively into the distance, in the direction of where Astra Canyon lay – he could feel that somewhere beyond the horizon, on the other side of the canyon, the enemy lay waiting in the ruins of Rugedelon, planning their next move, biding their time to attack. Aigonis Zekruel will be back, of that Tanin was certain. Whether it was sooner or later, that was something the Archon was less certain, although recent developments made him inclined to believe the former was more likely. 

As Tanin closed his eyes in deep thought, the Archon of Light could sense a powerful aura of dread coming from Xaelon – something in him felt that Uberman was facing an unprecedented crisis there, while from the direction of Cretalia he sensed a similar tension building up. And it was only a matter of time before hell came to Araelis. “I have a feeling they’ll be making their move in no more than a day’s time,” Tanin remarked as he opened his eyes to stare at the full moon, “I can only hope that Vincentzo’s preparations are enough… the upcoming battle for Araelgrad will be fiercer than anything else this state-kingdom has faced before.”

 

Segment 139: Downward Spiral

Michael Cortelloni drank his beer in silence at an establishment known as Sea Shanties, a pirate-themed bar and grill located at Raisa’s waterfront district, no more than a few blocks away from the wharf where the alleged Saramach attack took place. From its interior decor and furniture to the dining utensils and drinking vessels, everything in Sea Shanties was designed to evoke imagery of the Age of Sail – swashbuckling, piracy on the high seas, all the works. It elicited a sarcastic chuckle from the esper, it had such a “theme park” look and feel, that he wondered if the establishment’s operator couldn’t decide whether they wanted to open a family-oriented restaurant, or a bar, all while wondering what possessed him back in Araelgrad to agree to assist Uberman by heading to Cretalia to back up Captain Khazan.

“Well, no turning back at this point,” Michael mumbled as he took a swig of beer from the pewter tankard in his hand; something inside him felt that regardless of whether or not he’d agreed to help the SLJ cause, the circumstances would’ve led to him making his way back to Cretalia. But he could only wonder, how long would he stay here? Word of a Drekis legion advancing towards Cretalia via the Spellfire Desert was being covered on all major news outlets by this point, and the esper felt that had it not been a recent increase in Mobile Police presence in Raisa, there would be widespread unrest on the city’s streets by this point.

One detail that had not escaped Cortelloni’s notice ever since he set foot in Raisa was a steady exodus of its citizens – whether by land, air or sea, a noticeable number of people who had the means to do so were arranging their quiet exit from the Cretalian coastal city. The esper realised that he had every opportunity to do the same himself, to quietly book a flight or charter a ship and leave Raisa. It was something he was all too familiar with ever since he severed ties with the Marauders; to slink into the shadows and keep his head down until the storm passes. But for reasons he couldn’t fathom at the moment, such an action was becoming increasingly unacceptable to him. Whether he admitted it or not, something in him was changing – something that drove him to think beyond short-term conveniences and contemplate long-term investments for the future. 

“No doubt this makes them happy,” Michael gave a self-deprecating snort under his breath, reminding himself that his current relationship with the SLJ was purely transactional, and he’d convinced himself that the feeling on Uberman’s side is mutual. 

“Another one,” Michael gestured towards his empty tankard, which the bartender swiftly refilled. The esper had a feeling that it was the massacre at the wharf and witnessing the aftermath of Saramach’s handiwork that catalysed a change of heart in him. Michael saw himself as someone who was exceptional at recognising patterns, and he believed he saw a pattern behind the Saramach attack and the advancing Drekis legion. It was likely that Saramach had targeted Cretalia not purely out of their own ambitions, but it had something to do with Drekis as well.

These patterns were what led Cortelloni to his current conclusion that the world wasn’t about to simply go back to the way it was before. And because of that, something told him that playing his usual game of riding out the storm as a passive observer simply wouldn’t cut it this time. Whether he liked it or not, he’d have to play along with the SLJ’s “saving the world” bullshit if it meant not meeting an untimely, violent end somewhere in the near-future.

Michael raised an eyebrow as an audible thump rang out to his right – a large, heavyset man sat himself down at the bar counter next to the esper; his hair and beard unkempt, his shirt rumpled and the stench of alcohol radiating off him like a demonic aura. It was clear to Michael that this man had been out drinking – and guessed that it was likely that he came to Sea Shanties because other establishments nearby had either closed… or threw him out. As soon as the drunkard opened his mouth to speak, Michael assumed it was likely the latter.

The man announced his presence to the bartender with a burp that was almost inhuman in its loudness and depth; as the bartender turned towards him, he spoke in a slurred voice that was the polar opposite of his burp – so high was the octave count, Michael could only wonder if it was even possible for a man’s vocal chords, especially for one of his build, “Hey barkeep! Gimme a stein of that Belvanz Pale Ale! Oh, and pass me the bloody remote will ya? Cause I wanna change the channel!” 

Meanwhile, Michael rolled his eyes at the drunkard’s antics, but refrained from making any remarks as the bartender filled a tankard with the man’s ordered drink before passing him the remote to the TV set – the one object in the establishment that looked glaringly out of place due to it not fitting its Age of Sail theme. The drunkard wore a dopey grin on his face as he made a toast to the bartender and began cycling through TV channels at random, laughing at whatever was on screen for reasons Michael could not fathom.

Michael’s ears picked up the chair to his left being sat down on, although unlike the patron to his right, the sound was that of a far lighter frame lowering itself with purpose, instead of haphazardly plopping down. “Well, fancy seeing you here, Mr. Cortelloni,” a familiar voice that sounded far easier on the ears called out.

“Oh, it’s you,” Cortelloni remarked flatly as he looked to his left to see none other than Lara Connors – now sporting a different outfit compared to back at the crime scene investigation. Gone was the tennis-themed attire; instead the purplette was wearing a white sleeveless blouse with the top buttons undone to expose a fair amount of cleavage and a pair of denim capris. Despite covering her legs to just above her ankles, in the esper’s eyes their form-fitting design actually accentuated Lara’s legs in a way that the bare legs of her tennis skirt could never match.

Lara gestured for the bartender to order her drink before addressing Michael, resting her hands on the bar’s top as she smiled, “Despite your earlier boorishness, I must say you had me impressed back at that investigation scene. Your ability to connect the dots to Saramach with your knowledge of ancient Khazanian lore… there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye.”

Michael Cortelloni smirked at her compliments, “Oh? It was nothing; I’d say it’s a rather typical skill when you’ve worked in the underworld.” The esper paused to take a swig of beer from his tankard, “When you’ve spent a good part of your life mixing with bad company, you tend to absorb a bunch of knowledge that most people have no business learning.”

“You’re either very humble, or you’re highly prone to self-deprecating,” Lara giggled, taking slow, measured sips from her glass containing a pineapple sparkletini, a Saedeenian specialty that was noted for its popularity among women and underaged drinkers due to its mild alcoholic content, sparkly texture and sweet, fruity flavour profile. 

A snort of laughter escaped from Michael’s lips as he gave Lara a dry smile, “Are you trying to be my life coach or something, Lara? Because if you’re planning on playing the ‘I can fix him’ card on me, I’ll have to tell you that the conversation’s over as soon as it begins.”

“Now, that would suck, wouldn’t it?” The playful smile never left Lara’s lips as she gently swirled the contents of her glass. “I guess that just leaves us with two options – either to let you drink in silence, or change the subject.”

“Y’know, I would very much prefer the former,” Michael remarked as he chugged back his beer. For as long as he could remember, he was a man of few words, preferring action over small talk was how he ticked. The esper ended reneging the moment he noticed Lara’s ears – they were long and pointed, like those of an elf. “That being said though… are you an elf?” Michael asked, an eyebrow raised as a sign of piqued curiosity.

“Hmm… close, but not quite,” Lara took a sip of her drink and slowly shook her head, “Half-elf to be exact. My mom’s human, but my dad’s a star elf from Andrasia-IV. Guess that made you curious, huh?”

“Nah,” Michael replied with a dismissive wave of his left hand before taking another swig from his tankard, “Anyway, enough beating around the bush – you’re not here by sheer coincidence, are you?” The esper set his tankard down, gestured to the bartender for a refill before fixing a long, hard look at Lara, his brows knitted and a solemn expression on his face.

“Whoops, caught red-handed!” Lara chuckled as she threw her hands up, before settling into a more serious, professional mood, “Yeah, the others were getting concerned over your prolonged silence.”

“Right, like that SLJ Ice Man?” Michael huffed, catching his refilled tankard as the bartender slid it across the counter top; his disdain towards Shinsuke was evident in the way his mood darkened the moment the cryomancer got so much as a mention. “I tell you, he’s a textbook example of someone who overestimates his own importance or competence – so take whatever he says with a grain of salt. Did he think I’m going to just bail? If it helps him sleep at night, tell him I’m in this to the very end whether I like it or not.”

“That’s a relief to hear, I figured as much you’re the kind of person who hates making promises… because you feel obligated to fulfill them at any cost,” Lara’s reply was calm, the half-elven MH seemingly unperturbed by Michael’s confrontational tone. “But don’t get me wrong, they’re not concerned about whether or not you’d fulfill your end of the bargain, they’re concerned about you. We all are.”

“What!?” Cortelloni fought hard to suppress the urge to burst into mocking laughter, nearly aspirating his drink in the process as he looked at Lara with a sarcastic smirk, “Concerned about me? That’s a riot! I’d pegged Lexington as the resident jokester of this chapter of the Maniacal Heroes, but it seems like you could give him a run for his money!” 

“That’s what concerns me, you remind me of Lex when I first met him,” Lara brushed off Michael’s barbs, her tone of voice and expression indicating to the esper that she was sincere in her beliefs, “And we’ve known each other for almost five years at this point.”

Michael chugged back his beer and set his tankard down with a smug, condescending expression, “So, in what ways do I remind you of Lexington? And just how old are you anyway?” The esper wondered; Lexington looked to be in his thirties, while Lara didn’t look a single year beyond her early twenties, possibly even her late teens. “Don’t tell me you’ve been dating him during high school?” 

“Well, joke’s on you – I’m forty-six this year… chronologically, that is,” Lara chuckled, steepling her fingers as she rested her hands on the counter top, “That’s one of the perks of elven biology! But back on-topic, when I first met Lex he was similar to you in his mannerisms and worldview, but that was half a decade ago… he’s a changed man now.”

“Would you say it was for the better then?” The esper rolled his eyes before taking another drink out of his tankard.

Lara nodded, taking another sip from her glass, “I’m just stating my observations, this is by no means a judgement or condemnation of your character.”

“And even if you were judging me, I wouldn’t give a fuck anyway,” The former Marauder huffed – if he’d cared about how others thought of him, Michael was certain that it would be a very different man seated at this bar right now. “One lesson I learned early in life is that the world hates me… so I hated the world back.”

“That explains why you care so little about things,” Lara mused; whether it was the opinions others had of him, or big news taking the world by storm, she’d noted that Michael Cortelloni was a man who’d simply react with an indifferent shrug and carry on with his own business.

Michael rolled his eyes as he gave Lara a slow shrug, holding up his tankard before chugging back the beer and setting the empty vessel down with an audible “ahh” of satisfaction, “Hey, what can I say? Life is short, and having the fucks to give is a limited resource… that’s why I wanted to drink in peace. So go on and tell the rest of the A-Team that I’ll be back before sunrise the next day.”

“Oh, of that I’m certain,” Lara replied with a knowing smile, “He might have fiery disagreements with you on just about every little thing, but Lex believes you’ve got a hidden gold centre inside that stone heart of yours.” The half-elf giggled, realising that this was the reason Lexington and Michael butted heads so much; it was exactly because the present Michael Cortelloni reminded him of the Lexington Miles of five years ago.

“I don’t see what’s so funny about that,” Michael raised an eyebrow at Lara’s laughter before his attention was drawn to the television set as the drunkard seated to his right continued cycling through the TV stations, with almost every single channel being news reports covering war in either Xaelon or Araelis, showing footages of cities in ruins and interviews with state officials and military top brass.

The drunkard changed the channel yet again, yapping incoherently – what little bit a listener could make out was something about how he was sick and tired of all the news coverage about the war. “Ha, yes! That’s more like it! Woo-hoo!” The man drawled as the next channel he switched to was broadcasting a raunchy late-night game show; as beautiful and well-endowed young women in bikinis participated in a contest to see who could get the most push ups done in a minute, with reps counting only when a competitor brought down her chest close enough to the floor to press a ringer with her breasts, while the show host – a man with a pompadour sporting a gaudy polyester suit and tie and neon-rimmed sunglasses – counted each and every rep with gusto as he strutted around the set.

“Go back to the news channel, would you?” Michael asked, although inwardly the esper was expecting the other man to brush off his request.

“Huh? Wha’d ya say?” The drunkard retorted in a slurred voice as he leaned slightly towards Michael, cupping his ear with one hand as though he were hard of hearing.

“Put the TV back to the news, brother,” Cortelloni reiterated his request in a firmer voice.

The drunkard leaned back as though he was farsighted, studying Michael’s face with a look of confusion and growing irritation, “Who are you calling your brother!? Like hell I’d change the channel, nothing but boring news and depressing war stories and shite, hic! I got the remote right here…” the bearded man grinned smugly as he held up the remote control and wagged it side to side, “And I’ll watch what I wanna watch!”

Michael held out his hand, using his telekinesis to send the TV remote flying out of the drunkard’s hand and into his own. Without any hesitation or further comments, the esper switched the channel back to the news, keeping the remote in his hands as he ignored the drunkard.

“Why you son of a bitch, I oughta…” The rest of the drunkard’s sentence collapsed into incoherent blabbering as he hopped off his seat and got into a fighting stance, or at least his version of one as he held his right arm straight out, pointing the knuckles of his fist at Michael. Meanwhile, he spun his left fist in circles like a windmill as he bounced up and down on his left foot. “C’mon, put em’ up! Put em’ up!”

Michael stared at the drunkard with raw disbelief painted on his face. “Seriously!?” The esper could not believe that the other man could embarrass himself further by mimicking Donald Duck’s ‘fighting’ stance. With an angry grunt, the drunkard whirled around and swung his left fist at Michael in a sloppy attempt at a haymaker, but before his fist ever got anywhere near the esper, he was telekinetically launched backwards through the establishment’s main entrance, landing on his head and shoulders with his legs sticking up towards the sky before rolling backwards to lie in a face down, butt up pose.

“Y’know, you could’ve just let me find a diplomatic solution,” Lara remarked, glancing towards the entrance as the drunkard wobbled back onto his feet and shuffled off into the night, mumbling something about evil spirits and ancient curses.

“You can talk a drunkard down?” Michael snorted, skeptical of Lara’s ability.

“Ah, but that’s exactly the kind of situation where my way with words shine,” Lara winked in response.

“Why waste your time and energy on such people?” Michael huffed, eager to just put the subject behind him as he turned his attention back to the news report on TV, watching a live-cam footage from a news probe flying above what appeared to be a massive crater.

“I wonder where that is? I hope it’s not New Xaelis,” Lara remarked. In response, Michael Cortelloni pressed the volume up button on the remote control so that they could better hear what the newscaster was saying. 

“...It was around midnight, Khazan Standard Time when instruments at geo-research station on board the Astrum Khazan registered a massive release of light and thermal energy from the surface of Khazan. The energy signature coincided with seismic activity being measured by geo-stations located across Zel’Mier and Xaelon,” a female newscaster spoke while the news probe flew circles above the crater, “Researchers have tracked the epicenter of the seismic activity as well as the energy signature to the Champion Mountains, a mountain range that has long served as a natural border between Zel’Mier and Xaelon – they have ruled out the possibility of geological processes, and claimed that it was caused by the detonation of a weapon of unknown origin. This crater you are seeing here is what was left of Mt. Bryn, one of the peaks that make up the Champion Mountains. Investigations are underway…”

“That doesn’t sound promising…” Lara remarked, the worry in her voice was palpable as the index finger of her right hand tapped on the rim of her empty cocktail glass.

“Yeah,” Cortelloni added, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “This is getting better by the minute.”

“You think this has anything to do with Drekis?” The half-elven MH wondered.

“I’ll bet one grand that it’s Drekis’ doing, who else could be behind this?” Michael replied as he continued to watch the news probe’s live-cam footage, although he wasn’t paying any particular attention to the newscaster’s reports at this point, “Remember, the first reports of Drekis legion sightings all came from the Champion Mountains – or rather, from the Endless Caves network that run underneath them. No idea why they’d level an entire mountain though.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Lara said in a solemn tone as she rose from her bar stool and paid the bill for her drink. “I’m heading back to Shinsuke and the others. I think what happened over there will have some kind of effect on what we’re about to face in Cretalia, and we’re going to have to revise our defense strategy for Raisa.” And with that, Lara Connors was out of the Sea Shanties’ premises.

A flash of white light emerged from the center of the crater, and the news probe’s live-cam footage abruptly cut out to a field of static, before the footage was replaced by a banner saying “we’ll be right back!” while the microphone continued to capture conversation within the news studio as the newscaster discussed with technical staff what went wrong with their probe, before the mic was cut off and in its place, music was played – specially, The Blue Danube Waltz by Johann Strauss. Michael shook his head and grunted, “Shit’s really hitting the fan, huh?” before settling the bill for his drinks and heading out.

 

Segment 140: Drawing Shadows

It was a restless night for young Shirai Natsumi – tried as she might, she could not shut out the constant din of traffic outside the window of her hotel room. She’d closed the windows, buried her head under her pillow, and played soothing music all in a bid to block the commotion, all to no avail. Climbing out of bed and creeping past the Shikigami trio, Natsumi drew aside the curtains to peer at the city streets below; even at this late hour, the streets were alive with traffic – from civilians still in a hurry to leave Raisa before the Drekis legions neared the city, to military convoys ferrying troops, supplies and equipment to garrisons located across the coastal city.

She’d turned in early, as her parents had always told her that good kids go to bed early – but as her eyelids failed to get heavy even after three hours under the sheets, the little bluette called it quits and decided to take a walk around town. “Maybe I just have too much energy that needed to be expended,” Natsumi mused as she simply threw her double-breasted brown coat over her PJ’s and grabbed the spare keycard to the hotel room that Shinsuke had left on the table. At once, the Shikigami trio sprang awake and followed her as she slipped on her shoes and stepped out.

As Natsumi left the hotel lobby, she knew that a girl her age had no business walking the streets of Raisa so late at night. Like any major city in Cretalia, Raisa boasts an astonishingly low crime rate and was consistently hailed as one of the safest cities in Greater Khazan – but the cosmopolitan city thrummed at all hours with an energy that felt chaotic and overstimulating to a girl who was born and raised in the rustic, culturally-homogeneous small town of Hyakkai-machi. True enough, the blue-haired girl didn’t encounter anyone on the street who might give her worry, save for an unkempt, bearded man who looked like he might’ve drunk too much judging from his slurred and shrill voice and the unmistakable stench of liquor hanging off his beard and clothes.

The man followed little Natsumi for a good distance, about a hundred or so metres by the bluette’s reckoning – despite her initial unease towards the drunkard suddenly following her, the man didn’t seem to have any intent to cause her harm; from what she could make out of his drunk ramblings, he seemed to be wondering why a girl her age would be wandering the streets at this ungodly hour, and wondering if she was lost and offering to walk her to the nearest police post. It was then that the drunkard tripped over the weasel Shikigami and simply crashed face-down onto the pavement before rolling onto his side and began snoring.

Natsumi had to enforce her personal space every so often, nudging her Shikigami companions aside whenever they strayed too close for her comfort. “At least Kuro-kun’s sweet in this regard,” she muttered to herself; out of the three yokai, the bat seemed to have the most respect for her personal space, being content to fly several feet above her head. The Shikigami trio had been nothing less than helpful for a past year or so since she became their unwilling ‘master’, and Natsumi had lost count of the number of times she was inwardly thankful they were by her side – not that she would ever say it out loud, as she still couldn’t get comfortable with their presence.

Before the young bluette knew it, she’d wandered to the waterfront district, with the recreational wharf where the Saramach attack took place within sight – the scene was still cordoned off, with forensics teams and police detectives still on site. Natsumi had no intention of revisiting the gory scene, but as she walked past the cordon one of the uniformed officers guarding the perimeter approached the blue-haired girl. “What’s a girl your age doing out on the streets at this hour?” The officer inquired, “Are you lost? Do you mind telling me where you live?”

“At ease, officer; she’s with me,” A familiar voice called out as Yagami Shinsuke stepped forth.

“Yagami-san!” Natsumi exclaimed as she hurried over to the Sentinel cryomancer’s side.

“Shirai-chan, what are you doing out on the streets so late?” Shinsuke asked, his voice laced with concern.

“I uh…” The young bluette fidgeted in place, clutching at the hem of her coat, “I had trouble sleeping, so I decided to take a walk. I know you booked that hotel room specifically for me… sorry if I wasted your money.”

Shinsuke gave an Natsumi an understanding smile as he reached down to pat her head, shaking his head, “Don’t worry about that, the Maniacal Heroes’ Raisa chapter runs that place, and they agreed to waive off the fees upon knowing we’re on joint operations with the MH.” Upon noticing that Natsumi wore only her PJ’s underneath her coat, the cryomancer quickly took off his jacket and draped it over the young bluette’s shoulders. “You know, you could’ve at least put more clothes on before heading out,” Shinsuke remarked, chuckling like a caring big brother.

“Sorry about that, I didn’t think it through…” Natsumi squeaked her response. For several minutes, the two of them walked down a cobblestoned footpath that ran down the length of the waterfront, silent except for the crashing of the waves from the nearby sea and the noise of passing vehicles.

“Just wondering, Natsumi,” Shinsuke broke the silence, “What’s keeping you awake? Something on your mind?” With the hotel being situated next to an arterial road running through a populous district in downtown Raisa, the Sentinel figured that it was likely the constant din of traffic that kept the girl up all night – especially at this juncture, with a steady stream of civilians still leaving the city and military convoys entering Raisa. But something inside Shinsuke guessed that beyond just the noise, there were thoughts weighing heavily on Natsumi’s mind.

“Y-you don’t mind me talking about it?” Natsumi lifted her head to look Shinsuke in the eye. The cryomancer’s nod and smile did little to reassure the young bluette as she stared at her feet and sighed, “I don’t know… I don’t want to come off as a burden, wasting your time and all.” 

“Trust me, Shirai-chan; it’s better that you get it off your shoulders,” In a big brotherly fashion the cryomancer rested his hand on Natsumi’s shoulder. Despite having no battle experience or prior training as a hero, the young bluette had a pretty impressive run in the Fantasy Powers League, which was something that caught the eye of Yagami Shinsuke, who saw potential in Natsumi and had taken it upon himself to take her under his wing as his informal protege – and over time, a brotherly figure that bluette could confide in. “If it puts you at ease, I just finished my business at the investigation scene so I have no other commitments for the night.”

“O-Okay…” Natsumi nodded meekly as she followed Shinsuke’s side, as the cryomancer first made a stop at a convenience store to purchase two bottles of ramune, one of them peach-flavoured – which happened to be the bluette’s favourite – before making their way to a recreational jetty.

“So, comfortable with speaking now?” Shinsuke asked as he sat at the edge of the jetty, his legs swinging idly above the waves that gently lapped at the jetty’s support columns as he held up the bottle of peach-flavoured ramune to offer it to Natsumi. “I know your Khazanian isn’t that good, so feel free to speak in Japanese if you prefer that.”

Natsumi nodded as she sat next to Shinsuke on the ledge, accepting the sweetened carbonated drink from the cryomancer, the glass marble of the Codd neck bottle hitting the bottom with a clink and a satisfying hiss. After several seconds of silence, the pigtailed girl spoke in Japanese, “You know, Yagami-san… over the last several weeks, since our meeting in Morisato City I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said back then about being a hero… specifically about courage.”

“Please, just call me Shinsuke,” The cryomancer replied in Japanese as he too popped open his drink before taking a sip of the original lemon-lime flavoured soda. “And also, what have you been thinking about?”

“Oh, okay, Shinsuke-san… where should I even get started?” Natsumi cast a shifty-eyed gaze at her feet, dangling a few metres above the waves below, taking several deep breaths to steady herself. The little bluette looked up at Shinsuke, and the look on the cryomancer’s face gave her the reassurance that he wasn’t pressing her for answers; she had all the time she needed to articulate herself. “When you took me under your wing following my run in the FPL, you told me that courage isn’t the lack of fear, but the ability to do the right thing in spite of one’s fear. For a long time I couldn’t figure out what you mean, but recently? I think I finally understood,” Natsumi remarked before taking a sip of her peach-flavoured fizzy beverage.

“Oh?” Shinsuke’s eyes widened for a brief moment, before breaking into a smile that indicated pleasant surprise. “I’d like to hear it from you then, Natsumi-chan,” the Sentinel cryomancer gave the blue-haired girl a reassuring nod.

“You see… since I followed you during your mission in Zel’Myas I came to a realisation that I’m not the same girl who unknowingly summoned the Shikigami when I tore that ofuda off the iwakura last year,” Natsumi remarked, her legs swinging idly as she stared at the star-filled night sky and took a sip of soda. There was another beat of silence as she twisted her right pigtail awkwardly, trying to find the right words, “I realised just how much of a doormat I’d been before – everything happened because I could never say no to anyone. The dare at the old shrine? I wanted to prove to the other kids in my class I wasn’t a scaredy-cat by accepting Atsuko’s dare… leaving Hyakkai-machi and participating in the FPL after acquiring the Shikigami trio? I just couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing the people in my town by not embracing the prophecy as the Chosen One…”

“But things are different now, right?” Shinsuke wondered, resting a hand against the bottom of Natsumi’s bottle of soda to use his cryomancy to keep her drink chilled.

Natsumi nodded, and with a vigour that Shinsuke rarely saw from the little bluette. “It’s not obvious of course, I still scare easily and I still scream at the top of my lungs at the slightest jump scare, but I realised that going with you on that mission to Zel’Mier… and now accompanying you here? I did it because there’s part of me that actually wanted to be here… for the first time, I agreed not because I wanted to stay in someone’s good books… but because something in me sincerely wanted to make a difference. Even if I’m hardly a fighter and get scared easily.”

Shinsuke smiled and closed his eyes contemplatively before giving Natsumi a firm pat on her shoulder, “You’re right, Natsumi-chan. You might think otherwise, but I too can see you’re not the same girl I took under my wing following your loss in the FPL to Michael Cortelloni,” the cryomancer opened his eyes and took a sip of his ramune. “But none of it happened overnight – whether you know it or not, you changed bit by bit. Every match in the FPL, every ordeal you went through since… each one is like a blow from the blacksmith’s hammer, shaping the iron into a sword – your personality hasn’t changed, but your priorities and moral character have.”

Natsumi gasped audibly at Shinsuke’s compliment, her eyes growing so wide they looked ready to bulge from their sockets as she clapped her hands over her mouth, but in doing so dropped her drink, but Shinsuke caught hold of the bottle before it could fall into the sea below and passed it back to Natsumi, without even a single drop of soda spilled. “Oh… thank you, Shinsuke-san…” the bluette mumbled before taking a sip of peach-flavoured ramune.

“In some respects, your story parallels mine,” Shinsuke remarked as he stared out towards the distant horizon, the sea breeze ruffling his pale blue hair, “That’s why I took you under my wing, because I saw in you a past version of myself.” The cryomancer laughed nervously as Natsumi returned a blank stare at him, her mouth wide open in disbelief.

“I know, I know, it might sound hard for you to believe… but when I first joined the Sentinels, I didn’t have exactly the most heroic motivations in mind,” Shinsuke remarked as he handed his phone to Natsumi, currently displaying a photo.

“That onii-chan in the photo… is that you?” Natsumi wondered as she stared at the photo of a brown-haired teenager in a high school uniform – an unbuttoned navy gakuran over a white shirt and matching slacks, with a hot-blooded grin etched on his face as he flexed his left arm triumphantly. Despite the unfamiliar hairstyle and colour, the shape of the boy’s face was unmistakably that of Yagami Shinsuke, albeit several years younger.

Yagami Shinsuke nodded, swiping his index finger across the screen to display a different photo – one that showed a teenage Shinsuke in a martial arts gi and hakama, smiling as he held a trophy in his arms while next to him stood an identically-attired middle-aged man whose facial features bore a striking similarity to Shinsuke’s, posing in front of a dojo’s front gate. The signboard above them bore Kanji that read “Yagami-Ryu: Way of the Fist”.

“That ojisan standing next to you… is that your father?” Natsumi asked.

“Yes,” Shinsuke replied as he guzzled down the last of his soda, “See, for as long as I could remember I sought only two things – to make my family proud by becoming a worthy successor to the Yagami-Ryu dojo, and to continue the Yagami lineage by giving my father a grandson – that was what drove my decision to join the SLJ via the Young Sentinels program when I was in high school. Back then, I reasoned that when I become a champion of Khazan, I’d have it all – I could take the Green Flame Fist of the Yagami-Ryu to new heights of glory, and pretty girls would throw themselves at my feet.” The cryomancer shook his head and he gave a self-deprecating chuckle.

Shinsuke continued, “Yes, back then I was greedy – motivated by personal passion and selfish desires; I reasoned that I wanted fame and celebrity status… but thinking back, I think what really drove me was a subconscious fear of disappointing my father. That’s why I say that in some ways, I was like you – my high school self was someone who was extremely self-conscious about how others saw him, and because of that he could never really say no.”

Natsumi held her breath as she waited for Shinsuke to continue his story as a beat of silence fell over the cryomancer – either he wanted to give the young bluette time to take it in, or perhaps it was a painful past that even he felt hard to dredge up. But after several seconds that felt like an hour, Shinsuke resumed.

“Everything changed after I graduated high school and became officially inducted into the SLJ – I nearly died in the line of duty, and lost half a year in cryostasis as SLJ doctors put my body back together,” Shinsuke held up his right hand as a pale blue aura enveloped it, the air around his hand turning into white mist as the coldness of his hand caused the moisture to condense. “The medical procedure that saved my life also heightened my senses to the point that even the warmth of a body felt like clutching a burning coal, and normal speech felt like a gunshot going off next to my ear – the initial sensory overload caused me to lose control of my pyromancy… and I accidentally incinerated an entire wing of the hospital… the despair I felt afterwards caused my powers to mutate from pyromancy… to the cryomancy you see now.”

Natsumi sat in complete silence at the revelation of Shinsuke’s past, before slowly reaching up to pat him on the back as if to console him, “I didn’t know you had such a troubled past, Shinsuke-san… it must’ve been painful for you to share. But thanks for sharing it anyway.”

“It was hard for me alright,” Yagami replied in a solemn tone as he lifted his head to gaze at the stars, “I had to undergo training to control my hyper-senses, and losing my pyromancy disqualified me from ever inheriting the Yagami-Ryu dojo… during that agonising period of adjustment, I grew increasingly bitter; I lost my temper easily, and said and did things that estranged me from almost everyone I cared about. If it weren’t for a few who stood resolutely by my side in spite of all my repulsive behaviour… I think I would’ve lost my mind long ago. But eventually, coming to terms with what I lost taught me to appreciate the things I still have, and with that I gained a new perspective on life. It was then that I came to understand what being a Sentinel – being a hero – truly meant.”

The Sentinel cryomancer glanced towards Natsumi to see if the blue-haired girl was still following, only to find that she was now fast asleep, leaning sideways against his arm with the ferret Shikigami in her lap, the blob Shikigami resting against her back, and the bat hanging upside-down from a nearby lamppost. “Well, that finally got you to sleep huh?” Shinsuke smiled as he scooped Natsumi into his arms. In doing so, her Shikigami companions immediately sprang back into action, collecting the empty beverage bottles to drop them into the nearest recycling bin and then following Shinsuke as he turned to leave the jetty.

But before the cryomancer left, his hyper-senses alerted him to something unpleasant beyond the horizon. Still carrying a sleeping Natsumi in his arms, Shinsuke turned around to face the sea, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. The Sentinel’s nose picked up the unmistakable stench of death being carried on the sea breeze that would’ve eluded even a bloodhound. He could not put his finger to it, but it reminded him of the flesh from bodies long dead – it was the smell of decay mixed with chemical concoctions intended to delay the process.

“Saramach…” Shinsuke whispered, his eyes narrowing with apprehension. As he returned to the hotel to drop off Natsumi at their rented room, he knew that his next order of business was to give Captain Khazan, Lara and Lexington a call to summon them for a meeting. He had a bad feeling that the Saramach incursion – foreshadowed at the wharf – was about to begin much earlier than they’d initially projected.

 

Segment 141: A Winter Wasteland

A volley of enemy particle beams breached the shields and pierced the hull of a nearby mech; which exploded in a ball of fire as its reactor went critical and showered the surrounding area with armour fragments and mechanical components that pinged off the hull of the Gemini as it flew past. Capt. Kitazawa executed a series of evasive manoeuvres to stay ahead of enemy fire as two Bio-Fighters transformed back into their jet form and fired on the tail of the Gemini before a pair of friendly mechs swooped in from the enemy’s three and nine o’clock positions, flanking them with streams of fire from their plasma cannons.

One of the Bio-Fighters went into an uncontrolled spiral as the mech scored direct hits to the body, spewing a vile, oily black ichor from where plasma fire penetrated its carapace. The damaged biomechanoid broke formation in an attempt to throw off its attacker, but the mech’s pilot hounded it like a ravenous wolf. The automatic plasma cannons on the Hoplite-class continued to blaze, its operator refusing to let up until his target was blasted into chunks of flesh that no longer twitched and writhed. 

The remaining Bio-Fighter gave up dogtailing the Gemini and circled around in an attempt to fire on the first allied mech’s tail while it was busy shooting down its target. But Takuma had fought enough battles with these abominations at this point to understand their habits and patterns. As soon as his enemy dropped its attack formation, the captain did a 180° in his mech to fire on the biomechanoid’s rear, blowing off several of its dorsal spines with a particle beam rifle.

The Bio-Fighter shifted into its mech form to spin around and face the Gemini, but the two friendly mechs joined Takuma in his attack and concentrated their fire on the Drekis biomechanoid, taking a sizable chunk out of the left side of its torso. 

“You’re not getting away!” Inside the Gemini’s cockpit, Takuma grit his teeth in anger as the damaged Bio-Fighter went on the defensive, intent on buying time for itself to regenerate. The captain was having none of that, as he fired the last missile left inside the Gemini’s shoulder-mounted launchers, locking onto his enemy via residual heat signatures from where his allies struck it with plasma weaponry. 

The missile struck true, blowing an even larger hole in the Bio-Fighter; the biomechanoid was missing its left arm and the entire left half of its upper torso at this point, but Takuma had underestimated the enemy’s resilience and persistence – and his allies bore the consequences. Even in its heavily-damaged state, the Bio-Fighter raised its remaining arm and unleashed a particle beam that hit and destroyed one of the mechs assisting Takuma. 

“Masaru! NO!” The captain yelled as one of his allies went down in flames. A blast from the Gemini’s particle beam rifle took the Bio-Fighter’s remaining arm off, and as the damaged Bio-Fighter tried to disengage to regenerate from its wounds, Kitazawa and his remaining ally concentrated their fire on the enemy to finish it once and for all.

“That was for Masaru, you ugly bitch!” A voice rang out over the global comms inside the Gemini’s cockpit, identified on the HUD as belonging to 2Lt. Claire Nakamura. Despite the catharsis of avenging a fallen comrade, both pilots knew that none of this could bring the dead back to life.

The Gemini’s comms crackled to life seconds later with a familiar voice on the channel, that of Sgt. Major Paul Graham, “Enemy at your six, captain!” 

Instinct and muscle memory fired before Takuma’s conscious brain processed the situation, bringing the Gemini into a defensive roll to avoid a volley of particle beams that would’ve otherwise hit his mech square in the back. Flipping over in midair, Takuma made visual contact with another Bio-Fighter in mech form, the bio-energy cannons on its arms still glowing with residual heat from recent particle beam discharges.

The captain prepared to engage this new threat, but before he could even make a move, the sonic boom of a hypersonic projectile tearing through the air sped past the Gemini. A fraction of a second later, the Bio-Fighter recoiled and doubled over clutching its chest as a 105mm Burst Cannon round struck it dead centre, the AP tip punching through its carapace before its explosive charge detonated, the resulting explosion ripping the enemy in two. As the torn halves of the Bio-Fighter plummeted towards the ground, a burst of autocannon fire from below shredded the halves into even smaller pieces.

“Who’s a man and-a-half? I’m a man and-a-half!” Paul exulted over the comms, and the Gemini’s sensors quickly tracked where the sergeant major’s signal came from, as the Senki stood on the hood of a Behemoth-class land cruiser, smoke still rising from the muzzles of its Burst Cannon and gatling guns.

“Nice shot, Graham,” Kitazawa radioed over to the Senki, “What’s the sitrep on our division?” 

“We’re holding together, barely. We’re down to under a hundred mechs at this point!” The Senki jumped off the Behemoth as Paul fired the mech’s autocannons into the air at passing Bio-Fighters.

“The enemy is hit as hard as we are, if not more so,” Lt. Cecelia Angelhart’s voice came over the comms, “But we can expect another wave of Bio-Fighters in a manner of minutes – moreover, scans detected a large number of enemy signatures on the ground. I think the enemy’s main legion has caught up to the vanguard.”

Takuma double-checked the Gemini’s instrument readings to verify his subordinates’ reports. True to their word, the first sign of the Drekis legion's ground forces were visible over the horizon, advancing at full speed, eager to join the battle. The captain’s primary concern still lay with the incoming Bio-Fighters, for another wave was due to arrive before they were even done with the current one. However, as he took stock of his surroundings one positive sign was that they were undoubtedly in the Frozen Wastes at this point.

“We can’t be far from Fort WinterScar at this point,” Capt. Kitazawa hailed the rest of the 478th over the squadron comms, “I say we make the best of the temporary lull in combat to push for the slopes of Mt. Aegis!”

Lt. Sara Foster cut in over the squadron comms, “Captain, we just lost Lt. Col. Serek! Expect the general to contact you any moment now!”

“Capt. Kitazawa Takuma, this is Maj. Gen. Percival Yang,” The general’s voice buzzed over the Gemini’s comms through the global channel, “In recognition of your distinguished combat performance during this engagement I am field promoting you to major. You will be taking over Lt. Col. Edmund Serek’s command role, with immediate effect.”

Takuma wasn’t pleased with the arrangement to say the least – he already had his hands full keeping the remainder of the 478th alive, and now the general expected him to coordinate all remaining Mechanised Squadrons on the field? Still, orders were orders and as a soldier first and foremost, it wasn’t his place to question the high command’s decisions. “Attention all Mechanised Squadrons, this is Maj. Kitazawa Takuma of the 478th – you will be reporting to me with effect now. Hear my orders, I want all flight-capable mechs in a sphere formation around the Libra! We will advance towards Mt. Aegis at full speed, avoid engaging the enemy unless absolutely necessary!”

The remaining mechs in the division disengaged from the enemy to reposition themselves around the Libra as the entire unit moved as one, pushing deeper and deeper into the Frozen Wastes, while those that had lost their flight capabilities such as the Senki climbed onto larger ground vehicles such as Behemoths as they pulled back towards the slopes of Mt. Aegis with all the speed they could muster. 

“Cpl. Arlington, what’s the latest update from the Libra? Have they managed to make contact with Uberman’s forces?” Takuma sent a comms transmission to the Stormbringer. 

“Negative sir, still no luck breaking through whatever’s jamming our long-distance comms,” Came the corporal’s reply as his Stormbringer flew ahead of the sphere formation of mechs surrounding the Valkyrie-class airship to serve as a forward scout. “They have, however, made visual contact with Uberman’s detachment, we’re getting close, sir!”

The captain leaned back against his seat inside the Gemini’s cockpit with a tired smile, “That’s good to hear! All mechs remain in sphere formation around the Libra as we approach Uberman’s detachment, and switch on all beacon lights at my cue! Even if we can’t reach them by comms, as long as they can make visual contact with us, we’ll be able to fight as one when the enemy catches up to us!” 

 

Segment 142: Countdown to Finale

In their current situation, Uberman felt that hope was an unaffordable luxury. Yet when Scout presented to him reports that Maj. Gen. Yang’s division entered the range of their scans, for the first time since their retreat from New Xaelis the cyborg allowed himself to indulge. “Are you certain?” Still, Uberman had to make doubly sure. 

“The equipment doesn’t lie, Uberman,” Scout opened a display window on the holography terminal showing the readouts from the Behemoth’s scanner sweeps of the area. “A large number of friendly signatures just entered the range of our sensors from the south and are steadily moving towards our position. I am still unable to reach the Libra by comms, but I have no doubt that it’s the Valkyrie alright, along with the rest of General Yang’s forces.”

“That is good news,” The relief on Uberman’s voice was palpable – the Sentinel leader had little reason to doubt Scout, but he still felt an overwhelming urge to see the readouts for himself as he leaned in to inspect the display screen. And as soon as he did, Uberman found his joy cut short as he saw for himself just how badly-hit General Yang’s forces were. The airship fleet was reduced to a single Valkyrie – presumably the Libra, and the number of confirmed signatures from the mechs totalled to no more than seventy-nine. In that moment, the Sentinel leader felt a pang of guilt for not contesting the general’s decision to split the New Xaelis Division – many of them died, so that a few could live.

“Take heart in knowing they knew what they were getting into, and made the choice out of a sense of duty,” Scout sensed Uberman’s inner turmoil, and did his best to justify the soldiers’ heroic sacrifices – at least, he was inclined to believe each and every man and woman was informed of what their duty required of them, and made their choice out of free will. “At least some of them came back alive – every single one of them fought well today, and it’s an utmost honour for me to have served alongside such outstanding men and women… and I hope you feel the same way too, Uberman.”

“Of course, colonel. We cannot let their deaths be in vain,” Uberman nodded as the glow from his optics dimmed a notch – though honouring the sacrifices of his compatriots did little to ease the pain of realising just how many of them had given their lives. “Are you able to get in touch with the Libra?”

The comms officer shook her head and adjusted her glasses, “No sir, our comms transmissions still aren’t able to break through whatever is out there jamming the signals – it’s likely they’ve been doing the same as well to no avail.”

“Wait, what’s this?” One of the bridge operators stared at his console, eyes wide with disbelief; the Behemoth’s optics were able to make out an array of flashing beacons in the distance, visible through the Frozen Wastes’ blizzard, twinkling like a spherical constellation. “Could it be… it’s the Mechanised Squadrons! And the airship Libra! But the Drekis legion is hot on their tail! And there are also numerous Bio-Fighters in the enemy force!”

Scout ran over to the operator’s console, his eyes fixated on the holography display, “What’s the distance between the enemy and General Yang’s forces?”

“The enemy’s ground legion is about ten clicks behind General Yang’s unit and keeping pace!” The soldier operating the console gritted his teeth as sweat beaded on his forehead and temples, “The Bio-Fighters on the other hand are closing in fast – they’re five clicks away as of now, but it’s only a matter of seconds before General Yang will have to order his units to engage the enemy!”

“They’re not going to survive another contact with the enemy!” Uberman almost slammed his fist on a nearby console.

Meanwhile, Scout kept his attention fixed on another holography display showing a map of the region, tapping his chin contemplatively. “Driver, how much more to Fort WinterScar?”

“We’re about fifteen clicks away from the foot of Mt. Aegis,” the soldier pointed to the glowing marker on the map indicating the position of their Behemoth. “On smoother terrain, traversing this distance would be a piece of cake, but taking the Frozen Wastes’ difficult terrain into account, it would still take us at least a half hour before we reach the base of Mt. Aegis.”

Uberman pointed to the display screen showing scanner signatures from allied forces, “General Yang’s forces consisted primarily of air units; at our current pace, they will catch up to our detachment in a matter of minutes.”

“Then we move and fight as one,” Scout’s tone was grim as he turned around to face Uberman. “Instead of continuing towards Fort WinterScar at full speed, we slow our pace to not only allow General Yang’s forces to catch up, but also to provide fire support for the Libra and her escorts. It’s a known fact we can’t move through the Frozen Wastes as quickly as I’d want to, so might as well allow both units to consolidate.”

“Given how dire our situation is, this is probably our best shot,” Uberman nodded, “Now that General Yang’s forces are within sight, I don’t want any more deaths if I can help it. If I need to be the one to put myself on the front line to buy time for you and General Yang’s men, then so be it.”

Scout stared at Uberman, trying to read the nonexistent expression on the cyborg’s faceplate – the colonel conceded that there was no talking the Sentinel leader out of this. Uberman’s decision to re-engage the enemy was hardly a sane strategy, but given the circumstances they had no other cards to play except to lock in and face the odds head-on. This wasn’t merely about fighting to win – it was standing up for everything they believed in.

Scout showed his respect for Uberman by saluting the Sentinel leader before picking up a headset from the comms officer’s console, “Attention all units, this is Col. Louis Freebird. Your orders are to slow down and engage the enemy until General Yang’s forces are reintegrated with ours, then we continue towards Fort WinterScar at full speed.”

The colonel’s orders were carried out with visible half-heartedness; many of the soldiers under his command were still fighting inner battles against physical exhaustion and shell shock after having spent more than an entire day of non-stop combat engagement against an unrelenting foe. What drove these men and women forward at this point was less bravery, but desperation – they knew full well they were fighting an enemy that doesn’t accept surrenders nor negotiations, and between dying in battle on their feet or being killed on their knees, they chose the former.

Self-propelled guns and trucks towing howitzers positioned themselves to the rear, their barrels angling upwards as gunner crews calculated ideal shell trajectories, ready to commence bombardment on the enemy. Above them, the Libra and its escort of mechs continued their retreat in the direction of Uberman’s detachment, as if eager to cast their shadow over their allies on the  ground.

As the distance between Uberman and General Yang’s units shrank, the Bio-Fighters pulled an unexpected manoeuvre as they called off their pursuit and circled back towards the main body of the Drekis legion. None of these escaped Scout’s notice, who saw it all on the Behemoth’s video feeds, “I think they’re allowing us to consolidate our forces so they can wipe us out in one clean stroke.”

“Our units have integrated!” Uberman added, noting the positions of his detachment on the ground and General Yang’s air units, “Now we move as one, but stand by for combat engagement at any moment!”

Scout relayed his orders, “Artillery, prepare for saturation bombardment – keep the enemies as far away from our tail as possible. Anti-air teams, provide surface-to-air fire support for the Mechanised Squadrons!”

“Sir, I’m detecting another large number of energy signatures!” The comms officer suddenly interrupted, staring at the holography on her console in disbelief.

Scout spun around to face the female soldier, “What is it, lieutenant? Elaborate.”

“Wait, they’re coming from the north, from the direction of Mt. Aegis… five clicks away and closing in on our positions!” The comms officer continued, adjusting her glasses, “Scanner sweeps indicate the energy signatures as mechanical in nature, and identified as friendly… their numbers in excess of twenty-thousand. I think they could be…”

“It’s the Fort WinterScar droids!” Uberman completed the comms officer’s sentence for her, raising his fists in a triumphant gesture. “Tim and Raea, they’ve done it! They’ve successfully rearmed the machines for battle!” The stage was set, in the heart of the Frozen Wastes at the foot of Mt. Aegis. Deep in this winter wasteland, the remnants of the New Xaelis division continued towards Fort WinterScar with iron-willed determination, while hot on their tail was the Drekis legion led by Jon Avalon, whose lust for destruction matched the Khazanians’ will to survive. And as the Sentinel set his optics on the icy slopes of Mt. Aegis, his instincts told him that somewhere out there, Tim and Raea stood amidst the machines, ready to participate in the finale of the battle for Xaelon.

 

To Be Continued

[Justin Law]

Onward to Chapter 11: The Finale Upon the Red Snow

[Justin Law]

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