The midday sky almost seemed to darken as Ma’at crossed the threshold. The dark, dank alleys of Indigo District weren’t exactly the most pleasant places one could see in the city. The wonderful shops, the string instruments, the smell of grinded coffee beans; they had all vanished.
In their absence, pawn shops and obvious fronts lined the crowded routes hoisted in tents or built into the walls surrounding them. The pleasant music was gone entirely save for an elderly person or two breathing hoarsely through silver harmonicas. And the smell. The smell, if it wasn’t being blocked out by pipe smoke, was indescribable at best. But there was a great deal of smoke billowing from pipes held by people of all ages and races. It swirled in bluish purple plumes. If Ma’at couldn’t avoid breathing it in, she felt it. It was intoxicating indeed. It settled even the most jagged, edged nerves. Settled them into a tranquil lake sat underneath a veil of violet mist.
“Some Tranquility, lady?” A man at the side holding a black, ornate pipe held it out to her. The same mesmerizing smoke grew upward from its end like some ancient plant.
Ma’at looked at him at first with annoyance, then relaxed as she realized he was simply being kind. At least, it seemed that way. Maybe he was just trying to get another buyer addicted to the stuff. “No, thanks. If I wanted a good night’s rest, I wouldn’t be a merc.” She gave him a faint, wry grin.
“Heh! You’re a funny one. How ‘bout me and you-”
There it was. All shades of kindness led back to selfishness in the end. Ma’at held up a palm dismissively. “I’m busy. Looking for a hideout. If you can tell me where I might find,” she leaned in close and drew her voice into a fine whisper, “the Gunblades, I could pay you. Anything at all?”
The man scratched his bristly chin and coughed, colorful vapor escaping his throat briefly. “Yeah? And what’s it to you, merc? Who’s your handler?” Rejection had angered the man somewhat, but he hid it beneath a mask of Indigo comradery. “Real gutsy asking about them. What if the Nye Inkorpt are listening in, eh? Ya think of that, lady?”
“I don’t care. And I don’t think they’re interested in some goons like them. If you won’t give me any info, I’ve got my own ways. I’ll find them regardless.”
He glanced at her twin blades, then at the ground, then at her face. Beautiful… and terrifying, he thought. He sighed, pushing off the veneer of coldness he’d donned and coming back to himself. “Fine, fine. Don’t know much, but I know they’ve got a guy on their side named Cloak. Bad guy. Think he’s a merc. Heard he works for some shady companies, but I don’t know which rumors are true and which ain’t.”
“Rumors?”
“Yeah, well… one says he works for Inkorpt. Another says he works for Vroque. But I can’t believe either of those. The Nye Inkorpt uses and tosses away mercs like dirty rags. And Vroque… Vroque is too… normal for that, I guess?”
“Normal?”
“You know Vroque, yeah? Everyone there is a nutcase, but what they actually do isn’t all that shady. They wouldn’t want a guy like Cloak. I mean, I heard the guy fought in the Relic War. He’s gotta be out of his mind.”
Ma’at narrowed her gaze. “Really? You think everyone who fought is crazy, huh?”
The man took a long drag from his pipe, turned his head, and breathed out purple fumes into the surrounding air. “‘Course. You can’t even talk about specifics about the war without an official breathing down your neck. Talk about shady. Everything about the war is shady.”
Ma’at rested a hand on her right blade. She fell into silent contemplation for a few seconds. “Yeah… you’re not wrong about that.”
He looked at her wearily, as if he were trying to approach some wild animal. “I’m Grin, by the way. Freelance merc on the side. Though I haven’t finished a job in a while.”
“Grin, huh? Interesting name.”
“Oh, yeah. Nevermind it. It’s a sad story. So why are you trying to find these guys, miss…?”
“Ma’at. And that’s none of your business.”
“Right, right. Sorry. Well, that’s about all I know. Sorry about… well, you know. Just getting tired of people coming to Indigo for answers all the time. These people have enough on their plates.”
Ma’at cast a sideways glance at the beggars and the slumped, Tranq-addicted folk. She turned back to Grin and flipped a coin she’d brought out of her pack at him. He caught it easily. “That’s for the info. If I were you, I’d use it to do merc-work on the regular. Better than peddling Tranquility.”
Grin studied the coin carefully, then bit into it with his molars to test its authenticity. “Thanks, lady. I’ll think about it. I realize it’s a bit hypocritical to care about the same people I’m gettin’ hooked on this stuff, but… what are you gonna do? I’ve gotta make ends meet somehow.” He smirked sadly, taking another puff from his pipe. “Good luck with your hunt, Ma’at.” He chuckled to himself and left through a dark, narrow alleyway.
She traced his walk through the alley with her eyes until he disappeared behind a bastion of dirty, cracked walls.
Zzzzzzzzt! Zzzzzzzzt! Zzzzzzzzt!
“Ack!” Ma’at shot up in surprise and cried out uncharacteristically. She took out the Arcane Construct the Writer had given her once again. It was making an ungodly racket. “Asophi… this thing never stops.” Upon inspection of the tool and her surroundings, she realized she had finally gotten close enough. The alleys led to the main street, much like the nicer alleys did, but this one was much dirtier. Gang members cracked their knuckles and eyed the Sirithisian merc with a mixture of suspicion and antagonization as she passed through.
As she neared a blocky, abandoned warehouse, the tool suddenly stopped. It began melting into a black, viscous goo that slowly dripped through Ma’at’s fingers and landed on the ground. With each passing moment, it grew translucent and seemed to fade from existence.
She was about to complain about its odd way of signaling that she’d found the right place when a party of people came bumbling out of the back door. She ducked behind the nearest corner and cocked her head to listen in on them.
A young girl wearing a black suit extended her arms outward as if to catch something. She breathed in and let out a heavy breath. “Pwaaa~ See? Isn’t it nice?”
“What, going out for a smoke?” A burly man, also wearing a suit, slung a unique firearm over his shoulder. It was long-barreled and featured a slim, silver edge along its bottom. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what faction the grunts belonged to.
“No, no! The afternoon air! Ain’t it refreshing? Can’t stand being cooped up in there with that grumpy asshole.”
“Come on, he’s not that bad. He might not have the cleanest vocabulary, but at least he tells it to you straight up. Lotta sneaky fucks don’t think twice about lyin’ or stabbin’ you in the back. Cloak ain’t like that at least.” A younger man with long, black hair began putting strange flower petals into the end of his pipe and lighting it.
“Shut the hell up, Duco. He wouldn’t want you yapping about him this loudly. I doubt you’d like him when that rifle of his is ten feet up your ass.”
“Yeah! Shut up, Duco!” the woman yelled and erupted into laughter. Her hair was long and tied into braids at the sides. It was a purplish color which matched her crazed eyes.
“You too, Kalaya. You have a death wish?”
“Is that a serious question?”
“Rhetorical, really. Just testing if you’re as dumb as you sound. And look.”
“Yeah!? I’ll kill ya right here, dumbass. I’ve killed twenty o’ guys just like you, bitch. I’ll rip you apart! I’ll skin you alive! I’ll-”
“What? You’ll what!?”
“Shut up. Look over there.” The mad woman pointed toward a figure approaching them.
“A dark-skin,” Duco said. “What’cha doin’ out here, huh?”
Ma’at continued to approach them silently. She moved both arms up and unsheathed her blades. They slid smoothly up through the metal and leather until they were fully exposed to her enemies. Then, she flipped both of them upward in a fluid motion and caught them mid-air so that both blade-ends were facing the right direction.
“You should walk away. You don’t-”
“Cram it, Duco.” The burly man lowered his gunblade and checked its revolving chamber. It was fully loaded, as he expected. He flicked it to the side again, the chamber neatly clicking back into place.
“What? Just some third-rate merc trying-”
“She ain’t third-rate,” Kalaya snapped. “Remember the group they sent out that was bein’ tracked?” With every word, the woman’s fang-like teeth gleamed in the shadow of the old warehouse. Two small sharp horns jutted out of her head, a trait intrinsically linked with that of the demonite race.
“Sure. What about ‘em?” The man continued to smoke his Tranquility without a care in the world, as if the mercenary out for their blood was no more than some pissant challenging a god such as him.
“That’s the bitch that got ‘em,” Kalaya continued, her voice entangled in a violent mixture of confidence and fear. “Her name’s… Matt… or Marmalade… or somethin’...”
Ma’at stared at them in utter fascination. It was awe-inspiring just how miraculously stupid these people were. “It’s Ma’at.”
“Don’t sweat it, chumps. I can handle her. Y’all just stand back and let ol’ Duco handle it, as per usual.” The neatly-dressed, narcissistic man spun his gunblade around and around his right pointer finger like some legendary desperado.
“Woah!” Kalaya yelped. “Where’d you learn to do that, Duco!?”
“Shut up. Not telling. Gotta focus.”
“Why’d you never teach me, huh!? You can actually do somethin’ that cool and you never taught me? The hell’s the matter with you, Duco!? I thought we were friends!”
The man didn’t answer her. He continued to spin the gunblade around his finger at a blistering, rapid pace. The pipe in his mouth sizzled and let out a small stream of violet smoke as he did so.
“You,” Ma’at said while pointing at the burly man with one of her swords. “What’s your name?”
“What’s it to you!?” The man raised his weapon up and near his head much like how a duelist might prepare before shooting a perfect shot through his opponent’s skull.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“I usually like to know people’s names before I kill them.”
The burly man chuckled dryly. “Alright, lady. You got spunk, I’ll give you that. I’m Luthe. I ain’t gonna ask any questions. You’re after us. That’s all that matters, right?”
Ma’at was relieved that at least one of them was capable of having a discussion, no matter how trivial it was. She stood about ten feet away, waiting for them to make the first move.
“On the defensive, eh? That’s a mistake, dark-skin.” The human known as Duco narrowed his gaze. Time seemed to slow. Everything unimportant to his muscle memory faded away into the back of his muddled subconscious. All he could see through the tearing, white reality his mind had constructed for him was the mercenary woman in front of him with her twin blades at the ready. His pupils shrunk to two fine points in his ocular nerves. The spinning stopped.
Blam!
A gunshot rang out, the noise traveling across the old buildings and throughout the avenues of Indigo District.
Pale smoke wafted out from Duco’s handcannon and danced in the air, merging with the mesmerizing smoke leaking from the pipe haphazardly dangling from his lips.
“Did ya get her!?” Kalaya asked as she peered into the swirling miasma.
The lone woman held one blade up, as if to deflect something. The moment had already passed.
“No… ain’t no way you deflected that, lady. Bullshit. What’d you do, huh!? Huh!?” Anger visibly grew on Duco’s face, filling his bulging veins like blood clots. His pride was being tested.
“I deflected it,” Ma’at replied simply. “All those gun tricks do nothing but distract you more than they distract me.”
“Grrgh… I’ll…” Duco sputtered with rage.
“Hold on, Duco. Somethin’ ain’t right,” Luthe said. “She’s only holdin’ one blade.”
“Eh? You’re right. Where’d you put the other one, huh? Show it to us. Or do you really think you can kill us with just one of those rusty swords!? Huh!? Talk, bitch! Show us where it-”
A sound, like a whistle or maybe a violin being played ever so quietly, entered their ears. Then, a serrated noctite blade entered Duco’s ears. It had flown around the entire building as if being pulled by some extremely durable, unseen thread. It whirled around the warehouse and slashed in a forward motion toward the gunman like the scythe of a grim reaper. His head was cut cleanly in half horizontally. The top fell, then the rest of his body followed.
“Holy shit!” Luthe cried. He stared in blind disbelief for just a moment, then turned and readied his gun.
What he hadn’t noticed, though, was that the serrated blade hadn’t been thrown. It was being controlled. A small blue gem on the bottom of each of her blade’s hilts had been created especially for her. There was once a time when Ma’at had thought she had no magical ability at all. It turned out that she did, although it was very specific and a niche case at best. However, when her power was linked so firmly with an object, she could manipulate it just as fluidly and quickly as she could one of her own arms. Each noctite blade was a solid part of her, like two phantom limbs.
The blade sat idly in the air as Luthe aimed his gun at Ma’at. Still, he hadn’t noticed. The blue gem on its hilt gleamed in the shady afternoon light, then it flew forward with the speed of a bullet.
“Arrrrgh!” The blade passed straight through the man’s right arm, suit and flesh, slicing it to the bone. His arm dangled lifelessly by the last remaining tendons. With every movement, searing white pain streaked up his arm and torched his mind. He screamed uncontrollably.
“You! You whore! I’ll kill ya for that!!!” Kalaya screamed wrathfully and ran straight at the merc. She slashed at her, but in a unique way of fighting with such a weapon. As she made the slice, she also shot the gun in the instant it was aimed at her foe. Ma’at barely deflected it and cursed herself for underestimating her enemies, even for a moment.
Luthe fought through the pain and pulled the trigger on his gunblade four times. Four silver bullets were cast toward the Sirithisian mercenary.
Ma’at held out the blade in her hand and tipped it to one side. The azure gem glowed brilliantly. The sword began picking up speed at a miraculous rate, spinning and spinning just as Duco had spun his gun in an act of showmanship. However, Ma’at was not a show-off nor was she anything close to a narcissist. The ever-spinning blade acted as a razor-sharp shield of black steel, easily destroying all four of Luthe’s bullets as they attempted to pass through and injure its mistress.
“For Duco!” Kalaya, not noticing the futility of the action, fan-fired all of her remaining bullets at Ma’at to no avail. Each and every one exploded from her gunblade only to be launched straight into her enemy’s revolving shield. They were cut into metal ribbons and scrap that littered the bloody street corner.
Ma’at stopped her blade, caught it, and kicked Kalaya with all her weight. With a cracked whimper, the demonite girl fell to the ground hard.
“I’ll… Duco…” Luthe stumbled forward, the gun in his hand loosening in his grip. A seemingly endless stream of blood cascaded down his mutilated arm and onto the ground in a sickening mess.
The blade that penetrated his arm was hanging above him now, preparing to deliver the blow that would put an end to his misery.
Ma’at stared at them both with an absent expression, free from any guilt a common citizen would feel in that moment. It was just a job, after all. And it was time to finish it. She called for the levitating blade to kill Luthe and for the one in her hand to launch forward into Kalaya, who was still heaving on the ground.
But no sooner had the thoughts entered her mind that they escaped her entirely. She felt a painful bump on the back of her skull, then the ground, then the world and her consciousness falling into darkness.
***
Voices in the dark spoke to her from beyond the shadows. Hushed whispers. People talking from a very far distance. Was it… a dream? Her imagination?
“Ma’at. Wake up, Ma’at. You’re in trouble now. What did I tell you? You’ll die if you keep this up. Even you know that. One more job. One more tired blood-filled job, and it will all be over, right? That’s what you’ve been saying for years. I couldn’t watch you suffer anymore. How do you do it, from where you are? How do you watch from behind those eyelids of yours? Please, find something new. Search. Seek. Explore and learn this world before your time is cut short.”
“Who…? Is that…? No, it can’t be. This is just my imagination.”
“It is me, but I’m not there. And I will never be there. You have to come find me, Ma’at. Otherwise, you’ll be stuck in this limbo for the rest of your life.”
Firelight illuminated the void, dotting it with thousands of brilliant stars.
“Find people. People who care. Care for them and help them. Then, eventually, you’ll find me.”
“I… I don’t understand…”
“You will. Like all things, it must be given time.”
The stars began to fade, one by one. Until only one was left. The last light in the dark expanse. Then, it too danced into ash and faded into darkness. It was time to wake up.
***
Water splashed across Ma’at’s face, the downpour tearing her from primordial sleep. Something restricted her movement and locked her limbs. She was tied tightly to an excruciatingly uncomfortable chair in the middle of a large, open room. The black night sky could be seen through open windows high near the rafters. Moonlight poured in, painting her and others in the room in a solemn, white shade.
“So this is her. The Swordstress of Ironside. Hmph. That’s an old tale.” A hoarse, raspy voice came from a tall man in front of her. He wore a long, dark brown cloak that whirled around his neck and draped down like a mantle from his shoulders and back down to his feet. His arms were loosely crossed. He had a squarish, edged face with strong features. Deep wrinkles sunk his skin to the bone of his skull, though he didn’t look famished in any way. He was muscular, but more lean than anything. He had a bristly, gray beard that grew no longer than an inch. Bandoliers could barely be seen underneath the cloak. They held dozens and dozens of silver bullets for the rifle that sat upon his back in a leather scabbard.
Ma’at immediately recognized it as a 30-C Girris lever-action rifle, the very same kind the Gunblades had stolen a few days back. Had they made a trade-off without her knowledge? Or was it simply a coincidence? It didn’t really matter either way. She scanned the room once more, gauging her location. About a hundred, maybe two hundred large wooden crates lined the interior around her and her captors. She gathered that they hadn’t taken her very far. It was the very same warehouse that she had killed Duco outside of. The Gunblades’ hideout.
“Looks like you’ve got a lot on your mind, Ma’at. So much so that a loudmouth like me was able to knock you upside the head with this ol’ baby. I’m a bit disappointed, really. I’d heard about the Swordstress when I used to do freelance work across the wastes. I always wanted to fight her, one on one. But, well, we don’t really have time to mess around right now.”
Ma’at coughed and cleared her throat, then shook off the droplets of water clinging to her hair. “Cloak, I assume?”
The side of the gruff man’s mouth upturned into a small half-grin. It was genuine. “Heh. You know, for a sorry-ass merc doing work for that idiot of a writer, you’re more of a detective than anything. You should be an investigator for the Nye Inkorpt. I’ve heard they pay real well.” He chuckled lightly to himself.
“How long are you gonna take to slit her throat!? She killed Duco!” Kalaya walked out of the shadows into the moonlight. Her hair looked like a bluish gray in it rather than its normal nightshade tinge.
Cloak turned his head to his colleague and launched a fist into her face, knocking her flat on the concrete floor. “Shut the fuck up, demonite. I told you to wait.” He sighed while rubbing his shoulder, then turned back to his captive. It appeared as though he had a totally different demeanor when talking to those he respected. “You won’t find the boss of the Gunblades here. Not even I know where he is. He’s a shitty leader, but he sure knows how to disappear when things get bad.”
Ma’at looked at the nameless members resting in the back. Two were sitting on a large crate. When she looked at it, she felt a sort of crushing sensation, as though something extremely heavy was pressing down on her arms.
“Sorry, Ma’at. Couldn’t take any chances. That big box there and those idiots sitting on it are on top of your blades.” He scratched the side of his face. “Beautiful swords once you get a better look at them. Enchanted black steel. Noctite, right? Where’d you get ‘em?”
Ma’at’s vision wavered to another corner where the man she’d injured was sleeping on a bedroll. Or, perhaps he was in a coma. A person near him had wrapped the severed portion of his arm and was casting a small spell on it that emanated a faded, green light. “Friend of mine gave them to me. So, what’s the game here, Cloak? Are you going to kill me or are we just going to talk until the sun comes up?”
A displeased look wiped the small smile he’d had away. He adjusted his belt and the bandoliers above it. He knelt down to her and his voice hushed into a whisper. “Well… that job offer wasn’t entirely a joke. I’m technically a Nye Inkorpt agent. They don’t know I do this stuff on the side, but I know their tricks. And you can bet they never see me on those shitty Technicist drones.” He glanced around to make sure none of the Gunblades could hear. “Work with me. Forget about that one-eyed freak. Wouldn’t even have to be with the Inkorpt. We could work as a two-man office. What do you say?”
“I’d say you’ve made a lot of enemies. And you’ll make even more, letting me go.”
“Hmph. Oh, Ma’at. Anyone that ever dares to harm you will be dead the moment the thought even enters their mind. I can protect you. I’ve killed more men in a day than you ever have.”
Ma’at stared into Cloak’s deepset, black eyes. “I can assure you… that’s not true.”
His face scrunched up, his edged features losing their weight for a moment. “Maybe so. But it still stands. Let me help you, and we can make a good team. Mercenary work is as lucrative as it’s ever been. We could go to the far west. Altruin and New Aza are attacked by horrifying shit all the time. We could make a name for ourselves.”
“Cloak! I’m gettin’ real tired of this! Just bash her brains in already! We’re lucky the Inkorpt didn’t hear our shots earlier. We’ve gotta get outta here!” Kalaya complained from the floor. She was tenderly rubbing her bruised face.
“She’s right. Better if they find the hideout without us than with us!”
“Yeah, true.”
“Somebody’s gotta carry Luthe, though.”
“I’ll carry ‘em. Start packing up whatever you can.”
Anger boiled up inside Cloak in an instant, and he turned around with fury in his eyes, ten times the amount that he held for Kalaya. “Shut the fuck up and don’t move! All of you! Unless you want me to report to the boss that his underlings haven’t been following my orders. Unless you WANT to be skinned alive, crippled, and hanging from a lightpost, I suggest you stop moving right fucking now!”
A hush came across the warehouse. Even Kalaya had gone totally silent.
“We’ll pack up and go when I give the word. Now…”
It was at that moment that Ma’at peered up again at the moonlit windows. The full moon was in view, and in front of it was a truly beautiful woman dressed in strange attire. Despite there not being a single cloud in the sky nor a droplet of rain otherwise, she wore a black raincoat. In her hands she held an umbrella of the same color, its top extended and puffed out like the tailfeathers of a peacock. “Who’s that?”
Cloak looked at her, muddled in confusion. He traced her sight to the windows, and there he saw the same silhouette as well. The mysterious woman took a tiny step onto the metallic windowsill, then jumped and landed in the middle of the room beside Ma’at and the rifleman. “Who the hell are you!?”
The woman peered down at Ma’at from beneath her shimmering umbrella, then at Cloak with a posed look. “I am Sato, Maiden of the Rain. I have come to collect this warrioress and unleash a deluge of rainwater and pain across this building. I’ve come to eliminate you all, here and now.”