The magical curtain of darkness of the abyss that everyone had accepted as a fact of life was just gone. Maybe Ayala dispelled it, or maybe it had been broken, or the city was entirely out of juice, but no matter the cause, the entire group of humans could see what was going on below. James was quite impressed by the theatrics, the absolute horror that was playing out on everyone else’s face. He struggled to keep his mind on how traumatic and terrifying the sights below were and not on the morbid comedy of it all, that this was for show. The fight had been damn impressive, Gen and Kat had practiced that to the ground, but he wasn’t sure if even Kat knew about the changes that had been made to the pit. It might have been a secret for just the two of them, Gen and himself, another quiet betrayal to take to the grave. Granted, it wouldn’t be hard to act traumatized and terrified and angry, since those feelings were real. The longer he looked at the carnage below, the more real it felt.
It was one thing to know the brutality of war. It was another entirely to privy to it in person, to be trapped in a convenient place to witness every atrocity, to let your morbid curiosity overtake you and force you to a cliff’s edge- literally- and make you see it. The pit was a very different place, not in the least for the brand new red paint that coated its base hundreds of feet below, a very different shade from the ‘pitch black, infinite abyss’ flavor they were used to. He couldn’t even know if the hundreds of tunnels that went off in every direction were new or not- he and Gen had covered quite a range of things, but that hadn’t even come up. As things stood, the whole array of humans could see the little green specs scrambling about so far below, pitter-pattering about in a sea of corpses. None were injured, none rest immobile. This hadn’t been a fight- it had been a massacre. The bottom of the pit proved it, if not the terrible state the Goblins had left the corpses in. He could even see the corpse of the giant that Gen had taken down, left pooling in his own blood and the blood of his army. James peeked a glance to the side, and sure enough, some of the other people hanging over the precipice looked quite a bit squeamish, if not outright ill. He suspected that when the scent wafted its way up, they’d look quite a bit worse than that. He shuffled back over, looking down, refocusing.
Alcatraz hung quite a distance above the ravines’ base. It had been transformed, too. Hundreds of carefully-carved stone spikes were woven into the ropes and chains in nearly every direction. Reptilian corpses were caught on their points, gravity shish-kebabbing them in the air, never even falling the rest of the way. Based on how the other Kaenid had fared, James wasn’t quite sure if that was a bad thing. Still, the imagery transformed the half-way-home slash prison into a shrikes’ nest, and that gave him pause. Somehow, the idea of Gen having any parallels with that horrid bird terrified him far more than the carnage below. If the kid incorporated ‘impaling people and eating them’ into his tyrannical bad-guy getup, James really would have to go to war. The ones who fell onto Alcatraz itself were impaled by an entirely different sort of spear. Gomen stood in rows, still hoisting their weapons high, whether or not they had caught their prey. James had to appreciate the implications, and the little twinge of fear that even gave him. Not only had the madman taken absolute control of the Goblins, an army of hellions that were clearly far more intelligent and vicious than any RPG had ever claimed, but he also had the absolute loyalty of the Gomen, the Frankenstein’s Monsters that could punch holes in stone or run miles in minutes. Sure, he was the General of mankind, but was he really leading humans?
The man himself was walking slowly along a rope. It, and the others in proximity, were completely devoid of spikes. Gen was in full stride now, all of the drama he had exuded earlier replaced with cold hard steel. Sure, if you looked at it objectively, he had led them to unprecedented victory, the scale of which the others would likely never really understand. James, himself wasn’t sure if he believed it all. Gen had forged solid alliances with sympathetic races, and even guaranteed them a solid place to stay in the process, subjugating an entire city with a grand total of three people and then somehow convinced them that standing in rows and spearing falling Kaenid would make for a fun evening outing. On paper, Gen was incredible, a hero of scale that none of them could hope to match. People didn’t live on paper, though, and even if the damn lizards were the lizards, no living thing deserved the cruelty displayed below. Even the dead deserved their rest. James let the snarl creep into his face, a carefully crafted irrationality that choked out the myriad other expressions he could wear- sorrow at how badly the boy himself was traumatized, bemusement at how overblown his supervillain-act was and how everyone else was eating it up, or even simple terror at how he had actually gone through with that God-forsaken plan. He whipped his head around, locking eyes with some of the others. Some were equally angry, no doubt entirely genuine in their disgust and animosity. Far more were apathetic, shocked and appalled and otherwise completely okay with the fact the enemies were dead. They were the true believers, the fighters, the ‘desperate for survival’. He paid them no heed, shoving as many meaningful glances, angry grimaces, and crocodile tears as he could towards the would-be revolutionaries.
By the time Gen began his ascent, the rest of the army was being shoved slowly into the pit. They had been encircled by Goblin and Gomen alike, and without any true leadership to lead or the morale to fight, they couldn’t break through the trap. As Gen climbed, bodies fell. They seemed to be slow in the air, but he- and all of them- could see the intensity of the drop when they finally crashed. Flailing lizards caught hold of the pits’ walls, playing hell on their hands and arms and razer-sharp nails, only to be hit by another unfortunate soul headed towards the abyss. He could almost hear the sickening crunch as some fell limp on the the ropes and chains or bent into uncomfortable angles on the floor so far below. The anger became just that little bit more real, and he was quite uncomfortable to notice that there were no new ‘rebels’. The people who were as broken as Gen simply stayed broken, even in the face of a sort of brutality that would have been considered a ‘war crime’ even back when people thought that fire was an element and leeches were a perfectly reasonable medical device. He shuddered to think that he, himself, for all the lip-service he gave his ‘totally functional’ emotions, had yet to actually act on them. He was in control. He was the Shepherd first and James second, war crimes or no. When he looked at Gen, he should have seen a monster among man, but no matter how hard he tried, the kid just looked so human. ‘Maybe’, James wondered, ‘it’s just that we’re all monsters now. Maybe I just can’t tell the difference anymore.’
The terrible display was finally finished, and a hook speared the cliff, sinking into the ground uncomfortably close to his face. He had been zoning out like the massacre was just a nature documentary, but the sickly thunk as Gen clawed himself back to the top of the ravine woke him right the fuck up. He reeled back, some genuine fear providing him with the ‘method actor’ pizazz to really sell it. Gen loomed over James as he rose to his feet, a gangly incarnation of menace. The stony face he wore was significantly less ‘determined leader’ from this angle and far more ‘I’m-about-to-murder-you’, and it worked to great effect. James galvanized himself, flipping over onto a knee, and pointing an accusatory finger at Gen. “You monster,” he spat, practically slapping the words across his face- which deepened into a frown. “I did what had to be done,” he retorted, swaying back a little. The people who were sympathetic seemed to actually relax, and the people who weren’t looked just that little bit more disgusted. So far, so good. James scrambled to his feet. “How can you expect me, expect us, to trust you now?” he asked incredulously, backing away a gentle pace. Gen stepped forward, ready to speak, but then he seemed to falter. James groaned. He wasn’t even an actor and he was still stuck to handle the improv. If he forgot his lines, he could have at least set the stage. “You’ve got nothing to say for yourself, do you?” growled, still backing away. Gens’ eyes lit up, suddenly more confident. “I’ve got an army?” He said, rounding out each word. It was almost like he was flirting, and given the way things had been going, that might not have been far off. It certainly wasn’t romantic, but they were going to be in a relationship of sorts. Rivals, enemies, ‘definitely-trying-to-kill-each other’, and maybe even friends. James scowled and turned around dramatically, stomping away. He could hear a few people stomp after him, equally ‘enraged’, and eventually the sounds of a crowd making way.
The rest of the evening was grueling. It was a lot of hushed conversation, even more uncomfortable glances- if the ‘not rebels’ took action on their own or got too curious about the whispering, things would get tough. With some effort, James was starting to rebuild his flock. He wasn’t sure if having all of the overly-emotional, moralizing people together was a good idea, but even with that limitation things were going okay. He had spotted a few solid recruits. To his surprise, Jim had seemed quite keen on getting the hell out of dodge, even if the other soldiers were quite apathetic. He hated to take Jim away from Merrilyn and company, but frankly, he needed a powerful mook or two. It’d help that he was a relatable enough guy. James was content to be a singular figure, but the more pillars, the sturdier the structure. Some other familiar faces fell into the mix. He was especially excited that his favorite singer fell strongly in the ‘rebel’ camp, too. The hard part was Kat. Kat was also of the ‘rebel’ sort, but she simply couldn’t leave with them. If he even tried, Gen might actually execute them all. Add in the wheelchair ordeal, and she was a wildcard. He could only hope that whatever relationship they had would keep her from quietly killing him in the night. He couldn’t fathom how she could reconcile the two people in her head, her crush (supposed) and the monster Gen was steadily becoming, but with any luck, she’d find some balance. For her sake, and the kids’ sanity. Merrilyn being a loose cannon was bad enough, and James was starting to feel like she had been entirely too passive about the whole ordeal. Apparently, she only had a little of the ‘plan’ at large, but she hadn’t seemed surprised when her explosives and chemicals were used to blow the bridges.
Night came. It was time for his great escape, and he couldn’t be late. Gen had made it quite clear that both before and after the caper, the ‘only escape route’ would be closed. If he missed his window, he wasn’t competent enough to be the insurgent Gen needed. This was his one shot, and if it was a blank, he was down and out. So, James lifted himself from the bed, and quietly stumbled from his room and out into the corridor.
The corridor was pitch black in the dead of night. He had to get used to life by moonlight, especially since it would be quite a while before they forced civilization along to where they could make their own candles. Practically no one knew little things like that- it had been entirely on the graces of their co-inhabitants that they kept things lit, and they used artificial light sparsely even still. He could still remember the time when Ayala had finally asked why they were so busy improving everything except the lights- the look on her face when she learned the score was priceless. One of the few times she was something other than “stern” or “brooding” for as long as he’d known her. James pondered for a moment if he should bring Ayala along, but for all of her frustration at losing power, she seemed all too responsible to reject the aid of the guy who obliterated the Kaenid- not unlike himself. Pragmatic. Broken.
He went from room to room, collecting all of the good little girls and boys in the night. He skipped the children, of course- Gen only needed time to turn them into soldiers. No, he went around and gathered all of the people who still retained a shred of dignity. They woke one by one, running silent sorties in the night, “stealing” supplies and food and weapons. If they paused to think, they might have noticed that there was an unusual and total absence of guards, but they didn’t pause. They didn’t so much as slow, hustling and bustling at James’ command. It was a good feeling, one he had quite honestly missed. Control. He hadn’t known how thoroughly the intoxicating elixir had sunken its claws until they were ripped free, along with part of him. It was all back now, though, and it felt a little bit like damnation and a lot like ecstasy.
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They gathered outside the fort. It was the best night raid he could have hoped for, even if it was a farce. Not one recruit rejected his appeals, and not one unfortunate bystander was woken up in the night. He was impressed. The people here would be leaving behind sisters and brothers, friends and lovers, simply because he told them it had to be done, that it was necessary. They didn’t question or not his decision was the best- his decisions were fair and just in comparison to the Tyrant’s, weren’t they? Why not listen?
He had struggled to come up with a snappy title for their resident teenage menace. Everyone needed a bad guy, and throughout history, you needed a snappy title for them. He had taken note of it long before he’d been taken. If you could be neatly dropped into a category that was easy to laugh at or hate, then you were dead meat. The most conscientious and reasonable of people would flip to piranhas at the drop of a slogan. The only name that seemed to stick to Gen was ‘The Tyrant’, and frankly, it wasn’t impressive. Sure, it contrasted ‘The General’ nicely, but he felt like even ‘Cao Cao’ was better. Still, you couldn’t sell a nickname to someone if they couldn’t intuit the meaning, and hardly anyone knew what the hell a “Cao Cao” was. James himself still wasn’t quite sure, but he had to appreciate the name’s affects regardless.
They were all supposedly gathered here to resist the Tyrant. In reality, they were running in the complete opposite direction, and if he could manage it, they’d never stop running. The first few steps were the hardest part- it would gather steam from there. He stood gallantly in front of them, trying to ignore the fact his scraggly beard and facial hair was really messing with his ‘clean-cut rebel’ motif. “We’ve got to get out of here, and fast,” he said, flourishing a little for emphasis.
“Where would we go?” a confused voice asked.
Damn. To be completely honest, he wasn’t quite sure either. On the other hand, he had a pretty good idea. “Down, of course,” he said, hoping he sounded confident. Judging by the way the crowd shuffled, he hadn’t quite sold it. He thought back, and thought hard. How would Mister Moses handle this?
“He wants us to think there’s no way out. A magician can’t hide all his tricks, though,” he continued. “There were huge tunnels down there. A way out. How do you think so many Goblins popped up from nowhere, that army we saw crowd out the last of the Lizards?”
“Yeah, but they could have just been hiding in the city!” a voice objected. They were a little too chipper for the night, and a little too rigorous. Honestly, he had no real way to object. So he didn’t. He ignored the question and turned around, slowly walking away. “If you want to try your luck with the Tyrant-“ the crowd bristled with that. Their vitriol was already starting to get quite focused- “but I’m going to get out of here, before it’s too late.” He walked, and walked.
He could hear the pitter-patter of the horde as they trailed after him. He couldn’t turn- indecision would ruin the illusion. Still, he had to smile. People would follow you off a cliff if you made it look fashionable enough. In this case, he hoped that was true in the most literal sense. Even by the time they made it to the giant pit, people began to falter. The regular drum-beat of sandals on grass turned into a nervous, arrhythmic stomping by the time he made it to the end. Finally, he turned, posturing himself to put a foot down over the edge.
James peaked a glance up at the crowd as he began his descent. No one was missing, which was good- if anyone ratted them out, they were all fucked. Forgiving or ignoring traitors tended to undermine a dictator’s cred, and Gen would have to go for plan B- a proper purge, quite possibly including James himself. It was a risk he had to take, but so far, things were looking good.
He nearly panicked when he realized he was going to be descending a cliff in the dark. It hadn’t really dawned on him until he realized that the only reason he hadn’t fallen to his death was that most of the top of the cliff was lined with grasps and holds, along with various other climbing aides. As he descended further, his legs kicked air, and he very nearly let himself go. He gripped close to the wall, thoroughly spooked, and stopped. None of the Flock had caught up to him, even the true believers who had entered the descent at nearly the same time. Apparently, they weren’t dumb enough to go full speed at night time. Oops. James’ bravado (stupidity) seemingly convinced the whole group, and shadows clustered along the wall, carefully helping each-other descend.
He struggled to think of a safe way to get further down. No amount of proverbial head-scratching seemed to help, and the rest grew ever nearer. He had a spark on inspiration- cats. Cats could see in the dark, couldn’t they? He strained to remember how they did it, pumping mana to his eyes. At first it seemed a little better, but then his sight went pitch black. James scrambled to fix it, shifting all of his internal mana back to the inner ear, and he kept trying to remember basic anatomy. It took an uncomfortable amount of time, but finally, he remembered the bit he needed- the Retina. More specifically, the rods that lined it. As vague and stupid as that thought was? It worked. He couldn’t see nearly as well as the day, but even in the dim light of the waning moon, he could at least make out the cliff-face.
“Are you okay?” Jim asked, looking intently at him. He had caught up, neck and neck with his position- but not a step further. James quickly nodded, grunting. He called up, loud enough to be audible to everyone nearby. Risky, but given the circumstances, necessary. “Focus mana to your… eye rods? Retina rod cells. Night vision,” he spluttered, desperately trying to convey what he meant. The crowds’ speed ebbed and flowed, but thankfully, they began to move- faster than before. More confidently. Jim, for his part, went from ‘perplexed’ to ‘relieved’. They were in business.
James restarted his descent, now far too aware of how high they still were. He’d wager it was at least forty stories up, and that was scary, one way or another. He renewed his pace, hurried descending. He contemplated the contents of the conversation of that evening a while ago, digging for the info he might need, and simply reminiscing.
“…look for a sign,” Gen said. “It’ll be there.” James shrugged. “What kind?” he asked. Gen chuckled and smiled, a refreshing smile for someone who had been juggling ‘depressed’ and ‘resolute’ for the past twenty minutes. “You’ll know,” he said, and James suddenly had a bad feeling…
“Wouldn’t it be easy to just walk out?” He asked, curious. Gen shook his head, sadly. “I’m afraid those bridges are going to have to go. Whoever set the city up was impressively theatric, but frankly, they’re worthless. I need to redo the whole city plan,” he said, “I’d like to do some… explosive redecoration?” James laughed, and then chuckled, and then froze. “You’re serious!?” He asked, incredulously. Gen just held a finger to his mouth, pointing gingerly towards the door with his hook…
“Why didn’t we just make our own city?” He asked. It had been a burning question in his mind, and it seemed quite important. Sure, the manpower and walls were nice, but it was a huge stroke of luck that he had even got control of the Goblins, let alone the Gomen. From how he told the story, there was still no guarantee he wouldn’t get put on the chopping block. Gen smiled gently. “Don’t you know, James? There’s some romance in stealing Constantinople.” He shrugged, excessively nonchalant. James reached across the table and just bopped him on the head. Gen rubbed at the bump. “What?” He asked, offended…
The long haul down seemed to fly by. James quite hoped that wasn’t because he had let go of the cliff while mid-flashback, but thankfully, autopilot had escorted him safely to the bottom. No one else seemed to have fallen, either, judging by the fact that the blood was just crusty and not fresh. He got his bearings and strode forth, turning to address the group that was reforming at the base of the pit. “Just a bit further,” he said, consoling. The mob seemed relieved to be done with that bit of their valiant escape, and as vacuous as his words were, they took solace in the idea that the worst was over. He didn’t know how to tell them that they might meander through dark tunnels for days, but perhaps it was better left unsaid.
The base of the abyss was largely flat and divided. On one side- fort side- there were no caves. The opposite wall, however, was riddled with them. He wasn’t sure if it was necessarily safe to take out so much stone and dirt- maybe the hill would be ten feet shorter next time they saw it. He quite hoped it could wait until they escaped, though. He half-walked, half-ran to the tunnels, letting some urgency enter his steps. It had the desired effect. The others ran forth, crowding around him and following closely. James needed to find a sign, and if the crowd realized the Tyrant had guided them out, it may have had some unpleasant effects to their psyche and his own well-being. Not even traitors liked traitors, especially if that traitor was in fact betraying the traitors.
Thankfully, it didn’t take long to find the ‘sign’. It was much harder to keep himself from giggling and/or swearing at the stupid kid they were running from. He had scanned each cave-mouth, and sure enough, something had been carved into the roof of one. It was shaped kind of like a ribbon, sort of oval that had a V-shaped tail appended to it. He hadn’t even known what it was until after his abduction. In times long past, the Christians had used it as a secret sign to identify each-other, although most modern Mid-West sort probably wouldn’t recognize it. He was left curious as to how Gen had known it, but considering the guy’s background in Rome, he had some guesses. Mister Moses followed the fish, leading the rebels deep into the dark cave.
It was a long walk, but a safe one. Nothing unusual or dangerous happened in the darkness, other than the usual toe-stubbing and jostling that happens with crowded places. They just walked and walked, a tunnel that never seemed to end. Finally, they came to a ‘Y’ intersection, lit by a single candle on a tiny stone candelabra, and James had to decide which way to go once more. Sure enough, the ‘sign’ was there, off to the right.
“How do you know which way to go?” a nervous voice asked. The poor soul seemed to be getting more nervous now that they had thoroughly entrenched themselves in the caves. What if the Goblins found them? Would they be allowed back? The answer was no, but James focused on the original question. “I just feel it, man,” he said, channeling his best ‘charismatic leader’ attitude. It came across more like ‘stoner wannabee’, but one way or another, it had the desired effect. The crowd still followed, trailing after their errant Shepherd. He snagged the candle, and noted excitedly the gentle incline of the tunnel, until finally, they were free. It opened into a strange ‘trap-door’ sort of opening, normally covered in a woven quilt of matter that approximated the grassy forest floor. They were free.
There was a Home for Mankind, and in their (supposed) "disgust", they had left it behind to rot- and damn the consequences. Runaways, strays, destined to struggle to wander and fight for a new civilization, one without any of the brutal efficiency they had experienced first-hand. James honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. Sure, despite the fact his Flock was effectively ‘misfits’ who couldn’t handle the logic of the New World, it was still his Flock, and he was leading it out to pasture. In some ways, it was almost like a homecoming, all on its own. They stood under the night sky, eagerly awaiting his next ‘suggestion’ (order) and completely certain he would still somehow make them freer in the process- regardless of if that was even possible. James didn’t any of that, though. Gen had plans that needed enacting. James had plans of his own, tasks he had been neglecting, and a role that only he could fill.
Mister Moses was back in action.