"Condense it more!" Alez yelled. "Burn everything in your path!"

Lycan screamed, unleashing his tenaga with all his might. His arm ached. His head throbbed. His tenaga faded. Alez caught him before he could fall. The familiar, cool touch of the healing stone soothed him.

She let go after five seconds and made her way to the metal wall. She rubbed the soot on her fingers. "Much better," she complimented.

"I can't do it," Lycan panted. "How'd the hell did they do it?"

"Slow your horses," Alez replied, showing him her fingers. "You did well."

"Not good enough," Lycan shook his head. "In the academy. I saw Bhayangkara Bakar did it so easily."

"He had more years on you, Lycan," Alez pointed out. "He's also a prodigy of his time. Even then, it took him many decades after becoming a master to finally achieve it."

"Decades!" Lycan exclaimed.

"Yes," replied Alez. "But you're missing my point."

Lycan waited for her to continue.

"My point is that you don't need blue flames to be effective." Alez tossed a rolled paper from her back pocket at her squire. "Our orders."

Lycan unrolled the parchment and read it. He looked up at his Knight. "Assassination, ma'am?"

Alez nodded, not noticing the concern in Lycan's voice.

"Who is she?" Lycan asked.

"She's been stealing supplies from our shipments to the front lines."

Lycan thought that that did not warrant the woman's death.

"Isn't this a bit much, ma'am?" he asked.

Alez shrugged. "It's a simple mission to measure your capabilities in a real-world combat."

"I meant killing her," Lycan explained.

Alez raised an eyebrow. She did not look outraged. Instead, she looked disappointed. "And how many of our soldiers do you think died due to the late supplies?"

Lycan gulped and stayed silent.

"It's easy to have a moral high ground when someone else suffers," Alez continued.

Lycan closed his eyes and hung his head. "I understand, ma'am."

"Good. Because you're going in alone, and you're going to burn everything. No witnesses."

-----------

Mataram ducked. Swerved right. He extended his palm, drying the eyes of the mudman coming at him. The man shut his eyes, and Mataram took the opportunity to bury his sword in the man's gut. Lightning thundered as Akar's lightning sorcerers shot down the enemies high above.

He eyed his surroundings, looking for his squadmates. Amid the chaos, they had been separated. Mataram saw cropped blonde hair and immediately recognised Eunuch. Blood and gore covered her. He hoped none of it was hers.

Mataram bolted towards her. Eunuch was fighting an enemy knight. She was holding her own, but Mataram knew she would not last much longer. Her legs were wobbly, and the grip on her sword looked weak.

Mataram flew through the air and fell to the side. The right side of his stomach burned. He looked at the direction of the fireball and saw an enemy fire elementalist pointing at him. Mataram rolled to the side, dodging the incoming fireball.

When Mataram got up, he saw the assailant was already on the ground, an arrow sticking through their face. He turned to where he last saw Eunuch. Her blonde hair was now invisible underneath the red.

Eunuch's grip faltered, and she dropped her sword when the enemy parried it. Mataram dashed as fast as he could, the burn on his side slowing him down. The enemy had kicked Eunuch down and was now lifting their sword to stab her.

He was too far, but Mataram tried anyway. He stretched his palms, commanding the wind. His wind dispersed as it was about to meet its mark. The man looked up at Mataram and grinned.

Mataram finally realised what had happened. The man was a wind elementalist and had undone Mataram's attempts. Before Mataram could make a second attempt, someone pulled him backwards by his shirt.

Whoever had pulled him was yelling at him, but Mataram did not pay attention. He could only watch as the enemy soldier pushed down his blade through Eunuch. Her body convulsed for a second, and then she went still. Her face turned to face him as the life in her eyes disappeared.

Mataram thought he screamed; he was not sure. The person who had grabbed him turned him around. Mataram did not recognise the man. He was shouting at Mataram, but Mataram could not discern what the man was saying. The man nudged a small box at Mataram's chest before pushing him. Mataram fell, and the light disappeared. He was in a tunnel.

Mataram's breaths were frantic. He was unable to think or focus. He looked up through the hole he had fallen into. A body covered it, blood dripping down on Mataram's face.

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His instincts took over, and he transmuted tenaga. His breathing calmed, and his ears twitched. The tunnel was silent.

He reached for his scabbard and found his sword and knife missing. He looked closer at the small box the man had given him. It was a matchbox.

Mataram lit the match, and duck walked his way through the tunnel. He dawdled, making sure his footsteps were silent. The passageway grew shorter, and Mataram had to crawl on all fours.

He felt his left leg brushed upon something small, and Mataram screamed. Something sharp had pierced through his left calf, and the pain was overwhelming. He turned his body around to see what had caused it. A sharpened branch had punctured his leg, a loose wire connected on one end.

Mataram bit his lips to silence himself. He tasted blood. He shifted his position into a sitting one to assess the damage.

Mataram's back slammed against the wall as a hand gripped his neck and pulled. Mataram transmuted the air and forced it into his lungs through his tightened throat. He was able to turn his head and saw the hand sticking out of the wall. Someone was inside.

Mataram slammed a palm against the wall and began to transmute. He tried to recreate what he had previously done as an accident. He ordered the air to leave. He heard someone choke and gasped for air. Mataram doubled his effort.

The grip around Mataram's neck tightened, and Mataram struggled further for air. He opened his mouth in an attempt to allow more air to enter, but it was a mistake. A ball of soil shot from the opposing wall and into Mataram's mouth. Mataram slammed his mouth closed, but the soil had entered his throat. No air could enter any longer. It was now a race on who could hold their breath longer.

Mataram felt his head grew lighter and euphoric. He saw the dreams he had as a child. He had forgotten about them, he realised. With its golden wings stretched, the god of war touched Mataram's head with its nail, granting him its power.

The grip around Mataram's hand loosened, and he vomited the soil that was stuck in his throat. The hand sticking out of the wall grew limp, but Mataram did not undo his transmutation. He would make sure his assailant was dead.

After Mataram was sure they were dead, he focused on his breathing. He groaned as he was reminded of the pain in his leg.

Rage filled Mataram. These people were worse than scum. They knew the Empire of Akar was fighting to save humanity, yet they still defied them. They killed his people. Defiled them. Mataram would make them pay.

Mataram screamed, his voice thundering through the tunnels. The air rushed out towards him. He heard choking and gasped from deeper inside. Mataram did not stop. He would ensure that every living thing in this tunnel would die, not even the insects.

The enemy must have realised what Mataram was doing as sections of the tunnel began closing. That only slowed him down. He forced the air to leave the tunnel through any opening they found, no matter how small.

When the last of the choking and gasping turned to silence, Mataram released his transmutation. The tunnel was dead silent. Only Mataram's panting could be heard. Everything went black.

Mataram was not sure how long had passed when he woke up. His leg stung. He crawled back towards the hole he had entered from. Screaming in pain whenever the sharpened stick in his leg was disturbed. It felt like an eternity. He could no longer hear the chaos from above.

As he neared the entrance, he saw light. The body covering it was no longer there. Mataram heard footsteps near the entrance.

"Help," Mataram groaned. His voice was soft and husky, but he used tenaga to try and amplify it.

"Did you hear that?" A woman said from above.

"Yeah," a man replied. "I thought it was only me."

"I think it came from the tunnel."

The footsteps came closer, and Mataram groaned as loud as he could. "Help!"

A head popped through the opening. Mataram could only see their silhouette.

"Shit," the woman swore. "Jon, we got a survivor!" the woman yelled.

"What?" the man exclaimed in surprise.

The woman's head disappeared momentarily before Mataram saw her jumping down. She was tall and had to crawl to reach him.

"I got you," the woman said as she grabbed Mataram's hand.

Mataram's vision was blurry. He could only make out her dark hair.

The woman pulled, and Mataram screamed. She finally noticed the sharpened stick that had pierced his leg.

"Jon, he's poisoned!" she shouted. "He needs an antidote immediately!"

"Fuck! Got it!" The man above, Jon, yelled back.

"Bring some bandages, too!" The woman yelled again.

She turned to face Mataram. "This is going to hurt like a son of a bitch. But bear with me."

Mataram nodded. He yearned to be outside.

"Okay. On three," the woman said. " Two. One."

She began dragging him, and Mataram's screams returned. He was close to losing consciousness again, but the sun's light brought him back. He was lifted onto a stretcher.

"You'll be okay," the woman said.

Mataram could see her clearer now. She was wearing plate armour caked with dried blood.

Mataram turned to watch his surroundings. Buildings were charred, and blood stained the ground, but there were no bodies. He saw a crowd had gathered around him. They were all still battered and dirty from battle. He did not recognise any of their faces. They gave him a hard stare. They were paying their respects.

"Jon, hold him still," Mataram heard the woman say.

"I got him," Jon replied.

Mataram felt his limbs pinned to the ground by the larger man. His breathing grew hard, and he struggled to push the man off. But he was too weak.

"Three. Two. One," the woman counted and pulled.

Mataram cried out. It was not a scream like he had done before. The pain was too much, and what came out was a shriek. He kept screaming and saw some people in the crowd squirming at his sight.

Someone grabbed his hand and held it tight.

"Whore, I'm here," a different woman said to him.

Mataram recognised the voice. It was Scissoring's. He held her hand tighter. The intensity of the pain in his legs increased.

"It's out," Scissoring said, cupping his cheek with her other hand.

Mataram felt liquid poured onto his wounded leg. It stung, but the pain subsided. He felt Jon let go of his limbs and lifted Mataram to a sitting position.

Mataram saw the woman who had saved him bandaging his leg.

"Thank you," Mataram croaked.

"You're welcome," the woman nodded. She turned to face the other man. "Jon, get him some water."

"Yes, ma'am," Jon replied, handing Mataram a small waterskin.

"Good thing we found you on time. Poison would've killed you otherwise. You must've been unconscious. Our earth elementalists didn't detect any movements," the woman said as she wiped her hand on a clean cloth Jon had handed to her. "Are you his squadmate?" She asked Scissoring.

"Yes," Scissoring replied.

The woman nodded. "He'll need a day of rest. His wound isn't that bad once the poison is out. He'll be ready for tomorrow."

Scissoring nodded in response.

The woman signalled for her squire to follow and left.

"What's happening tomorrow?" Mataram asked as Scissoring lifted him to his feet.

"They told us we are going to be deployed again. Some large attack, according to rumours," answered Scissoring.

Together, they made their way towards their barrack. Barrack 58 was whole. There were scorch marks and blood spatter, but the structure remained intact. The only difference was the silence.

"Where's the others?" Mataram whispered.

Scissoring shook her head in dismay. Tears formed on the edge of her eyes. "I helped carry Cutie's and Eunuch's body onto the transport board. They're dead."

Mataram's heart mourned. "I saw Eunuch die," he muttered. "I was too far away to save her."

He felt Scissoring nod. "We'll mourn them together," she whispered.

------------

It was late at night that the survivors of barrack 58 sat together inside their barrack. Mataram's leg still hurt when he tried to walk, so Scissoring brought them their supper.

They sat side by side against one of the bed frames.

"I'm glad you're alive," Scissoring muttered. "I thought I was the only one left."

"Me too," replied Mataram. "I'd hate the silence."

They quietly sat for a moment.

"Cutie always said we should honour our losses by keeping something that belonged to them," Scissoring giggled. Her laughter was tinged with sorrow. "But we're lowborns, so none of us have much stuff to begin with."

"Makes sense," Mataram laughed.

Then Scissoring's eyes lit up. "But Cutie had a bag."

She stood up and made her way to Cutie's bed. She rummaged through his mattress and pillow. Her hand stopped as she felt something inside. Opening the pillowcase, she took out a small bag. She shook it close to her ears, and her face brightened. She brought it to Mataram.

"Is that what I think it is?" Mataram asked.

Scissoring opened the bag, revealing its contents. It was filled with zoots.

"They wouldn't want us to honour them any other way," Scissoring smiled sadly.

Mataram sighed and formed his own bitter smile. "Yeah. They wouldn't."

--------------

Mataram coughed ferociously as he inhaled another hit from the zoot. "And you say they smoke this on the regular?" Mataram said between coughs.

Scissoring was coughing too, but not as much as Mataram. "I don't know how they do it," she wheezed.

Mataram's head felt hot, and he could feel the intense beating of his heart. He looked at Scissoring, her eyes were squinted.

"Almost finished," she drawled, taking another hit and passing the zoot to Mataram.

Mataram groaned but accepted it anyway.

---------------

They shared the same bed that night. Mataram had wrapped his arms around Scissoring as she faced away from him. They were wearing new, clean uniforms. It was not sensual or intimate. Neither bore those kinds of feelings for one another. They did not want to be alone. And in the silence, the loneliness was deafening.