Logan’s hands were firmly planted in his pockets as he watched the fan continue its ceaseless job to ventilate the cavern. The day’s rest had worked wonders for the farmers and, in their boredom, they had swept the cave mouth clean from the dust that had irritated their lungs for generations.
Such was life in Cradle - that a small piece of machinery in the right place could do so much good; setting off a chain reaction of beneficial side-effects that could potentially lead to their recovery.
Isaac watched his dark friend from afar, well aware that he had been that machine many times over - his name was a legend told even in Anza. But it was not the name he used, nor was it one he seemed to welcome. Any other citizen of their region would’ve clamored to the name, held it up high to gain what they could from it. But this sullen, dark figure hadn’t spoken a word of his past to anyone, nor had he attempted to use his status for any gains. He was just an ordinary man with a mask, some weapons and a hound. A learned man, Isaac gathered - learned beyond his years.
“Good morning, priest.” Logan spoke as Isaac arrived behind him to look over his shoulder and mire in the efficient construct.
“Good morning, Ghast. Or is it evening for you? Hard to tell - the sun’s not up yet.” Logan turned to the tall wall’s gate and exhaled a snort of a scoff, it was hard to tell through the porcelain.
“Unless you’ve got a prayer or a miracle for bad dreams, it’ll probably be both for me.” He sounded weary; perhaps even exhausted. But sadly, Isaac had no such remedy for his expressed problem.
“I wish I did. If anyone deserves to rest, it’s our protector.” Again, a scoff.
“Protector? I haven’t protected you against anything. All I’ve done was run an experiment and try to stay out of people’s way. I conscripted a few of your people and declared one of you my lover - I’d say I’ve gotten more from you than you have from me.”
Isaac drew his hood back, feeling the warm air rush past his scarred, rugged face, grinning widely at the comfortable sensation.
“On the topic of your conscripts… I spoke to them. They had some unsettling news to share…”
Logan smiled back at the rugged warrior-priest, ashamed he had ever misjudged him. He was no mere washed-up veteran, he was good. Smart.
The Ghast cut him off by answering: “It’s what you think. It’s a hive - somewhere between here and the tree-line. I haven’t seen them move that much biomass in a while…” The priest’s expression turned grim.
“A behemoth?” Logan nodded immediately. “No doubt. I’ll have to find it first, then I’ll have to find a way to deal with it. I don’t suppose you have artillery to back me up?” He jested, only for the priest to point a thumb over his shoulder.
“Only the cannons on the walls. What if we were to come with you? If it’s still being grown, it can be stopped before it begins to move, yes?” But Logan shook his head at his hopeful host.
“No, not necessarily. There’s a risk it activates as soon as the hive senses us, in which case it’ll begin moving immediately… it’s well aware you’re here.” The grim prophecy hung in the air between them for a moment. The priest’s frown faded as he lowered his head to sigh.
“But I’ll deal with it. It’ll take a few days of scouting to gather the information I need and I’ll use that time to train the boys and the girl. Until then, I need everyone to stay inside the walls. And check on those cannons, just in case.” Isaac’s head bobbed and his joviality returned as he retorted: “The tactics have changed, I see. I am a student of the human mind, so I hope you will forgive me for asking, but… what brought about this change?” Logan didn’t need to hear what change he was referring to. It was obvious. While a Behemothine Monstrum was busy destroying a village, it was weak - open for attacks and easily confused. That was the tactic the priest referred to.
“I wish you could tell me, priest. I really do. Sadly, there are few students of the Monsters’ minds - few, save for myself.” The Ghast paused to stare back down into the cave. “Or maybe I just need someone alive to man those cannons?”
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Bear’s obstacle-course was an impressive field of torture. After his brief talk with the Ghast, he had gone back to the drawing-board to engineer an assignment worthy of the feedback he had received and, Bravelle willing, it might finally teach the boys to shed their arrogance.
The arena had been transformed to a field of torture and, with the Ghast at his side, he had never felt more proud to reveal his torturous exercises. The boys shambled their way in from the courtyard, gripping their clammy foreheads while biting back bile and blood - struggling with the after-effects of the root.
From the moment they passed under the archway, they knew something was wrong. Bear and Logan stood in the ring, but all three were struck by a shared sense of foreboding as they saw that yellow grin hidden in the wild forest of braided, red beard.
The arena itself had been cleared of the heavy benches and the entirety of the colosseum had been lined with barbed wire, crushed glass and countless knives.
Abraham, rubbing his forehead, looked around the plaza of pain and stuttered a question in Bear’s direction: “S-Sir… y-you said ‘nothing sharp in the arena’... this looks pretty sharp to me.” Abraham raised a finger to touch the uncoiled spool of razorwire strung across the dust floor.
“That was between me and the kids, Abe. Now that you’ve been outside, you’ve ascended to the next ranks. He’s the one designing your training from now on - I’m only helpin’ him out.” He pointed a thumb towards Logan’s eerily still form. The Ghast pocketed his hands and bowed his head at Bear, grateful to be given the assistance in training the young.
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“As conscripts of the Ghast, I expect you to be able to handle yourselves outside the walls. Our excursion taught me many things and, like myself at some point, you’ve got lots to learn when it comes to watching your step. A careful step is a silent step - I take it you understand what you’re doing here.” He spoke so coldly, so matter-of-factly that it chilled Abraham to the bone. The arena was a death-trap of sharp edges and blades - one wrong step and they’d be cut to the muscle.
“S-Sir, I think… I think this’ll be dangerous. If I’m understanding you correctly, you want us to navigate this?” Abraham motioned through the air. Logan quickly nodded.
“Yes, you are right on all accounts. It’ll be dangerous. It’ll be painful. You’ll cut yourselves, you’ll bleed, but you’ll do it together. Out there, I need to be able to trust you to have my back. If I had taken you to the frontier yesterday, your noise would’ve attracted them to us. Thousands of ours would’ve died and been added to the enemy’s numbers, which would’ve killed thousands more. By the end of today, you’ll have learned to watch your steps and the steps of one-another. What affects one of us, affects us all.”
Bear was proud to see the startling look of realization on his boys - that the dire warning had gotten through their youthful bravado like his words never had. He hated to say it, but Isaac seemed right in pegging this oddly Ghast for who he was.
Logan raised a hand to his chest and offered: “What I’m saying is that you’ve got a choice. Live here, as warriors and protectors of the town that holds all you love. Or come with me to die as Ghasts. You’ve a hundred rounds back and forth through this course until I expect an answer.”
The boys could hardly believe their ears. Their conscription had clearly been a ruse at first - a way to keep them out of the hands of the other Ghast. But now, it seemed through some otherworldly means, they were actually being given the chance to train under one of the legendary heroes.
The sobering speech ended with an agreeing nod from Bear - immediately springing the boys into action, raising their feet to cross the first line of barbed wire and glass.
“Don’t forget to take your boots off, boys.” Bear grinned.
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The boys were not the only ones to receive training that day. In fact, their training was relatively kindly compared to what Luna was receiving further out on the pale, naked flats of the mountain. There, she had been given an old long-range rifle crafted from finely cared-for wood and with a neatly polished metal barrel. It was long, its magazines were low-capacity and loaded from the inside. But it was still the most impressive machine she had ever held in her hands.
Well-oiled metal slid against metal where she lay prone on the stone and took aim at an old helmet graciously donated from the Order’s monastery.
The morning had been spent looking at diagrams and schematics; teachings she had devoured with ease, fueled by the knowledge that she would soon use this information to fire the life-ending weaponry.
She trained the old iron sight on the distant helmet and, as Logan had instructed, she felt her trigger-finger come to a halt against the pressure. Then, with a smooth press, she felt the explosion kick the rifle back into her shoulder as the bullet’s charge went off - propelling the smoldering metal across the vast landscape.
Neither needed binoculars to know she had missed - they could see it by the resulting cloud of gray blowing to the southwest.
“Again.” Logan commanded. She drew back the hammer, felt another bullet slide into the chamber and cocked it. Another miss. And another… then another.
In the end, she fired one magazine per minute and with every round discharged, her hands moved quicker - her breathing steadied; her aim improved until finally, at noon, she saw the black helmet soar through the skies - propelled by the collision of metal to metal.
She grinned as she pulled back the hammer and laid the rifle down next to her. She was surprised to see that Logan had prepared food - yesterday’s leftovers coupled with numerous bottles of water. His own, empty bowl and an empty bottle stood next to Zeke’s sleeping form, again disappointing her she’d missed her opportunity to see his face. Logan did not look at her as she ate, instead, he looked at the distant helm still rolling down the mountainside.
“A normal human wouldn’t even be able to see the helmet from here, you know. I’m not sure if it’s the symbiote or your Logoruum eyes that’s letting you see - and aim - that far away.” Being reminded of the ‘symbiote’ made her momentarily lose her appetite, only for it to quickly return again. She kept eating from her bowl and threw him a sideways glance. He looked quite majestic really - mysterious and tall, his hands folded behind his back as his coat blew on the winds around him.
“When are you gonna teach me how to cut them up? Like you do?” He chuckled and shrugged.
“In time. For now, I’ve got three frontmen to take the heat and you in the back doing damage. It might not be much of a team, but it’s a team.” She appreciated his honesty and let it be known with a giggle.
“Will this ‘team’ be of any use to anyone? What are you planning?” Something was off about Logan - she might not have known him well, but he seemed very different from the day before, as if his shoulders were heavier and his voice was markedly flatter. He looked to his companion with a sigh and bobbed his head agreeingly.
“I haven’t told the boys. I haven’t told most of the town, but I believe their power-station is a hive. I’ve reason to believe the Monstrum are creating a Behemoth there.” Looking up, she hoped he’d see her confusion.
“A behemoth is a class of Monstrum meant for battle. It crushes the resistance for the others to move in and recover the biomass and spread the creep. Like I said, their biology is different depending on where they’re attacking. So, in the forest it’d make sense to have something capable of hiding in the greenery. In the sea, you’d need something capable of swimming and so forth.” She understood the jist of it, even if certain terms were unclear.
“I’ll help you kill it. I just need to shoot it enough times, right?” She earned herself a hearty laugh from Logan before he went on to recount:
“A colleague of mine once told me he killed a behemoth with a rifle. Quick hands and a good eye. He said it still took thousands of high-caliber rounds… no, rifles are definitively the best support you can have, but it’s not enough. Rifles, cannons and these might be enough in a head-on battle.” He flashed the blades at his hip. Again, she was struck with that feeling of him leaving something unsaid; a reason for the slump to his shoulders.
“I can tell you’re leaving something out. If we’re gonna work together, I want full honesty.” She leaned on her knee and pulled her hood off - revealing her bright, red eyes, her pale skin, her sharp nose and narrow chin. Her loose, freshly combed hair - courtesy of Ethel - flowed in the air like Logan’s coat did.
“When it comes to fighting them, the winner is usually the bigger monster. There are ways to make them vulnerable, but it requires sacrifice.” She waited for him to go on.
“In other words, the perfect time to have struck at the monster that destroyed our home would’ve been as it destroyed your home.” She put the spoon back into her bowl and stared down at the granite ponderously.
“Is that how you’ve been fighting them?” Logan’s silence all but confirmed her suspicion - this was a confession, rather than a tactical discussion.
“Sometimes you’ve gotta make shitty choices, Logan. D’you regret it?” She looked up to see the mask shake back and forth.
“No. If I had something to lose, I might’ve. But like you, I’ve lost enough not to care anymore.” Without actually saying it, she got the feeling he knew - he knew how she had hated the Logoruum… and he wanted to hear it.
“I’m not gonna convince you one way or another. If you wanna use the city, do it. If you wanna kill it where it is, do that. But you’re gonna show me how you do it, either way.”
He clapped her shoulder twice. “You will be.”