From atop the garrison’s tallest tower, Logan beheld the city with narrowed eyes through the slits of his mask. Down there - somewhere, the old Monstrum lurked, just waiting for an opportunity to strike.
Its function and capabilities were still unknown to him, but the implications were obvious. This Monstrum had, for the lack of a better term, leaned to manipulate weak-minded people into doing its dark bidding - into feeding it all it needed to grow into a more unimaginable threat.
The morning winds blew on his coat, baring the blades in the direction of the few engineers tinkering with the artillery. Naturally, they were frightened of the Ghast and his porcelain-clad ilk who had begun to pop up all around the town. Dark whispers of a coup circulated every nook and cranny of the town, but if the Governor’s appendages had decided to shift the politics in Cadia, all knew that there was little anyone could do about it.
Over the cranks and clangs of wrenches, Smile approached Logan from the stairs leading up to the battlement and threw a glance down at his tightened, right fist to see the two missing fingers. “Will it take long for them to heal?” She asked as she approached.
Logan shook his hooded head. “No. A few days at most. Good thing I’m a better shot with my left hand.” He threw a glance down at the black, long box in her right hand.
“Is that it?” He questioned.
Smile motioned for the box and informed: “I take it this one’s for your apprentice? The female.” He chuckled and reached down to take it from her hand before setting it down atop the roof to open the cache.
“Her name’s Luna, Smile.” He informed yet again as he swung the cache open to view the most beautiful rifle he’d ever seen - complete with its barrel elongation unit, should such a thing be desired. The rifle itself had been freshly painted black and measured one-and-a-half meters; a monster of a firearm capable of firing powerful, lower high-caliber shells with shoulder-shattering recoil, should one not be fortunate enough to have the correct enhancements.
These weapons were not meant to be fired by or on humans. These were the weapons of monsters.
“I am aware.” She informed again as she watched Logan raised the rifle up to view the town’s inhabitants through the crystal-clear scope.
“If you’ve got something to say, say it. It’s not like you to be so diffuse.” He urged as he put the rifle down to sling the strap over his shoulder and test its maneuverability.
Smile watched the display and with a smidgen of emotion offered: “She’s unprofessional. Crass. Loud. And I think she’s affecting your judgment.” He scoffed, reared his head and locked his gaze on his straight-backed apprentice-turned-veteran.
“Oh? How so?” It wasn’t like Smile to shy away from a challenge of stares, so he savored the taste of victory as she turned to look out across the bustling town.
“The girl told me what you did- Mara. The Logan of old would’ve made the cut, himself. You took a risk expecting him to do it.” He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was about something more than the task-at-hand. As if she was determined to speak about everything except the issue bothering her.
“If this is about the purge, then I’m well aware. The General will get back to us by tomorrow.”
“The Purge starts today, Logan.” She spoke decidedly. Logan quickly turned to face his apprentice, only to see her avoidantly stare down at the battlement - an unusually apparent indignation in front of mere mechanics, but one she did not see fit to hide.
“That would be a mistake. A big one. Find Commander Iris and tell her to-”
“Just stop, Logan… it’s too late. We failed. We had our window, but we couldn’t do it.” She spoke. It was clear that she had lifted the suppression to wallow in the shame. But Logan wasn’t done - for him, the grandest battle still lay ahead.
“Smile, we’ve-” Before he could finish, she shook her head and cut him off:
“I… Do you know what a Purge feels like?” He’d seen them before - that dramatic, last-measure protocol if all else failed. Through powers outside his understanding, the Eyes would unleash their chaotic abilities on the population. The combined strength of the attack would transmit a single desire - a need for the person to die. He’d stood in the middle of one, once, years past, but such was his nature that he hadn’t even the most basic understanding for what would drive a man to slam his head into a wall until nothing but brain slapped against the wet bricks.
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Logan shook his head.
“It’s… it’s not like they want to die. They still think and feel, but every thought and emotion is warped by the field - turned to extremes and opposites. And I can feel every part of it.” She looked down at her hands, as if cursing the power they held.
“Then that should give you all the motivation you need to stop it. Come on-” She grabbed hold of his arm before he could depart.
“Logan, I-...” There it was again, that truth balancing at the tip of her tongue that she failed to communicate. Whether it was her cowardice or her incapabilities that upset her, she’d never know. Logan simply pulled his arm free and demanded: “What!? You’ve been trying to tell me something ever since we got here - either tell me what it is or I’m leaving to go deal with Iris. Make up your mind!”
Without warning, she grabbed hold of his hands and sunk her own into his pockets - keeping him still and stationary. With her mask close to his, she whispered: “I can’t. That’s just who we are, Logan. Duty-bound monsters… For what it’s worth, I think you’re right. Once the Purge starts, the Spawn is going to come. And we’re going to die.”
He couldn’t tell what had gotten into her, but something was direly amiss with his companion. She whispered as if she was on the brink of tears and went on to ask:
“What if we just packed up and left - right now? No one would know. We could go to the Frontier to live with the savages. Anything but this.” If she’d been slightly less coherent, Logan would’ve deemed her a madwoman. But this wasn’t the first time he’d had to talk a warrior down or remind them of their station.
“You’ll be fine, Smile. I’m not sure what’s gotten into you, but trust me - you’ll be fine. I’ll find a way to deal with this, but in the meantime I need you to keep Jarek and Mara safe. Make sure they’re not in that field once it goes up.” He quickly withdrew from her hands and with a quick twirl and made for the battlement - his mind too preoccupied with the looming dread to process that, in his right pocket, was something far too familiar for his liking.
"Stop." Her decided voice spoke from behind his back. Something about her plea made him stop - frozen in his tracks. She had let her suppression slip, conveying her emotions again. He turned to see her grab for her mask and spoke in a whisper, more than anything: "This... This is your fault, Logan. You're the reason I have to do this again and again - you're the reason I know what their desperation feels like... I don't want to do this anymore..." His expression turned grim beneath his mask. Her judgement came not from her sadness, but from a deep-seated anger. A rightful anger.
Before he'd managed to open his mouth, she'd taken off her mask to reveal her puffy eyelids and the streams of tears running down her cheeks - an expression of agony, rather than the fury her voice conveyed. "Just... tell me why you did it. Why did you have me transferred? Why did you give me away?" He wished to speak - to explain himself. But his words stopped dead in his throat. "This isn't the time nor the place, Smile. We can talk after this is over." He returned to walk towards the battlement, hearing a choked utterance from behind:
"I... you..."
|
“Hey, filly - wake up!” Jorn’s unmistakable, scruff voice preceded some gentle slaps on Luna’s cheeks.
“It’s Luna. What? I’m tired.” She mumbled and reached for her covers, only to find her hand gripping a long, furred object. The unexpectedness of the fuzzy, phallic shape in her hands awoke her in full. By the time her confused hand had made it to the tip of Pupper’s tail, she was fully awake and up on her buttocks, casting panicked glances about the darkness.
“Filly - can you hear her out there?” She shrieked as Jorn’s pale, drowsy face appeared before her - staring directly into her eyes.
She couldn’t tell what he’d eaten, but such was the intensity of his breath she was almost certain she could taste it in the hot air he blew at her.
“Logos help you, Jorn - what the hell have you eaten!?” She retched and found the answer in his hands - a thoroughly boiled snapping-turtle, likely retrieved from one of the now-evaporated pools out in the smoldering mires.
He got back up to his height and raised the turtle to take another bite of the top of its head and continued his slurred verbal stumbling.
“Ain’t got time for your questions - c’mon, we gotta go. He torturin’ his meat real bad tonight - think he’s callin’ out for us… y’hear it?” His pale features seemed to shine with a life of their own.
Finally, she rose from the mire and mumbled the last of her incoherent dreams off in a series of obscenities. It was only then that she heard a familiar whimper from behind and turned to see Braille in all her long-nosed glory star down at her with an exhausted, fur-clad form atop her back. Abraham appeared as if he’d been crying - his eyes were puffy and his lips quivering as he pleaded:
“P-Please, Sir. I just w-want to sleep-”
“Oh, we both know you wutn’t gonna sleep none. Toofy ain’t the only one who been joslin’ to torture his meat tonight - I know you youngsters. But that ain’t important, there’s time to tear into yourself later.” Luna squeezed her eyes shut as a distant echo of a scream echoed across the vast, empty mires. It wasn’t loud - not at this distance. But as she sharpened her ears, she could hear just how faint and distant it was.
She attempted to identify the sound, only to realize that it wasn’t truly a sound at all, but more of a… sensation. An emotion - a feeling transmitted across a vast distance.
Her heart sank to her stomach as she heard yet another one of the melancholic, pained yowls in the still night, filling her with the same dread as when she’d heard Pupper whine a few days prior.
“Y’hear it too, don’tcha?” She grimaced and nodded.
“I-Is that Logan’s sym- his backmeat? Is that what you meant with him torturing it?”
The old man sniffed the air and nodded his stoic expression of narrowed eyes and the habitual frown. “Yeah - breaks the heart, don’t it? Tha’s all he can do with it - torture it to make it squeal like that. He knows we listnin’.” As much as she hated to hear the heart-breaking howls of pain and dread, the implication was clear - for whatever reason, Logan was calling for them. His means of doing so aside, he was obviously attempting to reach them.
“Then let’s go make him stop.”