The Iron Trail felt as if it was a skillet spanning for miles on end, heated by the burning sun, with the stream of limping Sentinels being the cooked ingredients.
Four days had it been since the Heart Corp began their march to Screwpile, and the summer haze had not fared well for the unripe bannermen who had spent more time in bars than barracks.
Their wish for repose would soon be granted, for the sun has begun to wane its cruel spells, allowing the rally to set up camp in the meadow by the Steelroad.
Six hundred strong, that ought to suffice to quell some pesky rebels, yet less than half of them knew how to pitch a tent and start a fire – it was a wonder how they had persisted so far under the leadership of the Commander of the Heart Corp, Idavi Senu, or Der’tien as per his serial-name.
Atop a dwarf hill by the field, Six gazed down at his rally – a rather pitiful sight it would have been if not for the accompanying scenery of the slumbering sun and velvety clouds above the lustre verdant pasture.
With the sun bidding its passing parting, the army’s temperament seemed to ameliorate alongside. Their lips curved to a wide arch now that the pleasant breeze of dawn chilled their body under their stuffy armour, and their hands packed with warm grubs and cold ales – or perhaps, because the Heart Corp seldom needed to rally their banners, their carefree gist came easier than the two other corps.
Six took in a deep breath of the fresh country’s breeze, untainted by cities’ filths, and unloosed his knotted golden locks so they may relish the draft as well. The pleasant yet sharp scent of patches of grass prickled his nose while the aromatic smoke bubbling from pots of boiling stews prepared by the army cooks clouded his golden orbs. Scenes of sored and cherry folks enjoying their evening feast, flesh and steel critters alike retreating to their nests and burrows for the nightfall, beds of colourful flowers dimmed as the sunlight dwindled – all sights that Six hadn’t seen for so long, but the one cherished piece has yet to return.
Six’s fleeting delight in sightgazing was intruded upon by two looming figures ascending the hill he was on.
“Good evening, Lord Six.” The Commander of the Heart Corp trudged towards Six – though he looked less like a commander and more like a sweating swine, panting and limping with each passing step.
“To you as well, Lord Senu.” Six greeted the plump commander.
“Another day has passed, and the day of reckoning upon those rebellious heathens further encroaches. How I long for that day to come about sooner,” the Heart Commander mourned theatrically as he casted his flamboyant scarlet cape to the side, revealing the many honoured emblems and accolades badged onto his black vest – though Six was unsure how many of them he actually earned.
“So do I, Lord Senu.” Six said boringly.
Idavi slicked his golden curly mane back and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his cape. “I’m glad we both agree on that. Which is why I can’t help but wonder why–”
“A new Wing you got there?” Six interrupted the Commander’s pointless speech, for he found more interest in the ashen lad tailing behind Idavi.
“This lad here? Nothing of the sort. A man of my stature needs not the succour of a Wing,” Idavi’s purple eyes creased from laughing at his own praise.
Six held his breath – ever since he became the Prime Sentinel, he had always found himself doubting the Heart Commander’s claims.
“He’s a boy lent to me by His Heavenlier himself,” Idavi grabbed the boy by his wrist and yanked him forward. “Green he still is, so the Prophet wished for me to teach him the ropes,” he laughed further.
Him of all people? Really, Nine? Six sighed.
“It’s an honour to meet you, Lord Prime. I go by Symon.” the silvered orbs lad greeted Six – he was nearly as tall as Six, though he could grow more meat on his bones. “If I had a serial-name, I’d have greeted you with such out of respect, but I unfortunately was not blessed with one at birth.” Symon bowed deeply, pointing his dark, buzzed head forward.
Though the boy was coated under a dark cloak which hid away the Sentinel’s prideful garment, Six skimpily sighted an Arkive clenched between the lad’s palm – perhaps that was why Nine took a fondness for him, a fellow faithful follower of Ark.
“You’re a man of faith?” Six pointed at the holy tome cloaked beneath Symon’s robe.
“Ark’s teachings are my prayers, and His Heavenlier’s prayers are my muses. The least I could do to honour their grace is to carry their faith in my heart and body.” Symon uttered as if he was reciting an oath. “Humbly pardon me for speaking my mind, Lord Prime.” He bowed his head once more.
“No need. Rise, Sentinel Symon.” Six gestured for the lad to rise.
“I told you he’s a good lad,” Idavi pat the dark-skinned Sentinel as if he was a mere boy, though he was towering half a head over the Commander of the Heart Corp. “He learned courtesy from the best there is.”
Of all the tattles that he had blabbed to Six, that gloat he believed – for when all one does is warm their hide in the hearth of Sentry, no doubt they’d have time to brush up on their decorum.
“I can see that.” Six muttered, longing for the natter to end post-haste. “So what were you meaning to say before I so rudely interrupted you, Lord Commander?” Six probed, trying his darndest to conclude the dialogue himself.
Idavi took a sit on a giant boulder at the peak of the hill, almost flawlessly moulded to be a cushion for his rump. “Nothing much really, Lord Six,” he shrugged. “It’s just that I noticed you’ve made a change in the course for the upcoming days. Instead of directly heading to the heart of Screwpile, you wish for us to comb the Junkwoods first. May I please inquire as to why we should waste our time in that mets-infested forest?” the Heart Commander crossed his arm as if he were a throned king speaking to his vassal.
“Think of it as practice, if you will.” Six paid no heed to the impertinent Lord – his golden eyes were wholly charmed by the hazy auburn horizon.
“Practice? Whatever sorts of practice could my elite soldiers even require?” Idavi goaded, flailing one arm downward at the meadow where the Heart Corp frolicked – their body warmed, their belly full, and their mind worriless.
“Even the sharpest swords would dull if lay sheathed for too long. And frankly, the Heart Corp has lay rested for far too long,” Six pointed down at the same camp of soldiers – though, unlike all the goods that Idavi saw in his troops, Six saw less of Sentinels and more glorified and prideful men in armour.
“With all due respect, your indictment bears no merit. I’m afraid your time in the mountains has blinded you from all the goods that I’ve done for my men,” the Heart Commander slapped his own knee – whether the jeer was, in fact, funny or not, Six was hardly the most knowledgeable man in that affair.
“The goods you’ve done,” Six snorted with contempt. “Such as spending the Heart Corp’s fundings on lavish revelries and depraved pleasures?” He no longer found joy in the sight of the slumbering sky – not until the deluded intruder was gone.
The Lord tumbled slightly off his stony chair before resitting. “Steel or not, my men need breaks as any other would.” Idavi stuttered.
“Their breaks have lasted for the last eleven years,” Six rebuked the Commander. “And now that they’re back, it is to clean up the mess that they’ve failed to quell all those years ago.” Six grinded his teeth as he glared down at the shivering Lord.
After all, it was the Heart Corp who failed to cease Four and vanquish the Firstkind over a decade ago – and Eight was subjected to ire and guilt, even though the Heart Commander himself was treated with impunity until this day.
“How dare you speak to me that way… When you were the one… This is… But… but…” Idavi grumbled as his purple pupils ran frantically, desperately avoiding Six’s orbs of gold.
“Enough. This slight detour would hardly halt the whole expedition,” Six silenced the defiant Commander. “If our men can’t even handle such trifle pests, then they won’t do much better against armed rebels.” Six averted his gaze to the horizon once more.
“My men…” the growl of a spiteful lout ruined Six’s leisure just as he had reclaimed it.
It wouldn’t be long until the sun was wholly consumed by the dusk – and Six’s calmed temper waning alongside it if the Commander would not leave soon. Six spun back and approached Idavi once more, all while porting a glare that could melt stones – as if to dare the unruly Lord to speak again.
Though it seemed, for once, Idavi did not hide from Six’s scowl. “My men.” Idavi roared, though feebly.
“Yes. Your men.” Six derided. “Your men that you failed to keep them abled and spirited,” Six encroached closer until his head was directly above Idavi’s, glaring down at the Lord. “Your men who did not rise to action when the banners called,” the further he reached, the more the Heart Commander’s bravado waned. “Your men who twiddle their thumbs in Sentry while the other Corps have to risk life and limbs on burning fields and foreign lands,” Six’s eyes pierced and shattered the craven’s mettle – having the folly king toppled off his stony throne and crumbled to the grass. “Your men whom you did not do right by.” Standing atop the then-fallen Lord, Six muttered.
Idavi’s face was paler than he ever was, even for a man as pasty and shaded away from the sun as himself. His pristine scarlet cloak and kempt black garment were smeared in the dirt, while his many badges unbuckled from his soft chest and plump belly. He could not conjure even a single word – with his mouth spasming open and close while his pupils quivering up and down. As if he were a helpless damsel, Idavi held his shivering arms up and shielded himself from the looming Prime Sentinel.
“But I suppose you are my man as well. Your mishap is also mine to bear.” Six did not answer to Idavi’s fear with contempt, for the reprimand has been parted. Instead, he extended his hand down to the tumbled Lord.
The prideful Lord struck Six’s hand away from his sight, though his feeble strength barely fared to budge the giant’s palm. “Prime Sentinel or not, don’t think that you could just steal my Corp on a whim. I was kind enough to let you steer the reins this time around, but there won’t be a next,” Idavi cursed while flippantly lifting himself – his stubby legs tumbling in circles as he rose. “If only Lady Eight was still here…” he clenched his teeth and mumbled – though no matter how feeble his whisper was, it could not possibly evade Six’s faultless hearing.
Six did not blame Idavi for his desire regarding the Sentinel’s leadership – after all, Idavi had been the Heart Commander far before Six was instated as the Prime Sentinel, and his bond with Six could not hope to match his with Eight.
“Return to your camp, Der’tien. The days ahead are long and treacherous, so you best get rest while you can.” Six ordered his vassal with a wave of his hand, uttering his serial-name instead of his chosen name.
“Until tomorrow, Prime Sentinel.” The Heart Commander did not leave without parting words of his own. Idavi spat on the patch of grass near where Six stood before trampling heatedly down the hill.
“May Ark bless your night and shield your slumber, Lord Prime.” The mellower Symon bid his farewell and steadily followed his Lord’s frantic footsteps.
Six sighed faintly, vigilantly gazing down from above at the fleeing Commander and his squire until he was sure they had withdrawn to their tents, causing no further antics.
The bother was gone and pacified, granting Six to lift his gaze towards the fleeting sunset once more before it slumbered wholly – though his peace was not to last.
“The stuck-up geezer really gave you an earful, didn’t he?” Six’s own squire crept up behind him, though Six had noticed his shabby sneaking attempt far before he even managed to take ten steps near him.
“It was unacceptable for a man of his rank to speak in such manners.” As the Prime Sentinel, Six taught his Wing Sentinel. “Yet ranks aside, I could understand his sentiment.” As a man, Six imparted to Astra.
“Well, that’s a first for you.” Astra seemed to be taken slightly aback at Six’s statement, yet he still smiled, nonetheless. “Though, the balls to scream in your face, I can’t help but kinda’ respect that. Whatever laced wines they’re guzzling and spiked smokes they’re puffing o’er in Sentry – I want in,” his Wing grinned.
Six did not bother to respond to such a stupid remark – merely creasing up his face in disapproval was more than Astra deserved. Just when Six had thought his Wing had matured any so slightly, his hope was shattered once more – if not for the dazzling lights and pleasing breezes of nightfall gracing Six’s body and mind, perhaps his anger would have been unjustly imposed upon the gullible Wing.
“Mighty view, ain’t it, Boss?” Astra joined Six. He slicked back his black wavy hair, revealing his glossy pupils of lavender – though not for long before the fool shut his lids away from the blinding rays.
“I suppose so.” Six murmured.
“Just a handful of tiny hamlets in the middle of nowhere, housed with puny flesh and steel alike, all trying to get by with the cards they were dealt,” Astra pointed his finger at the faraway and unwary town – soon to be unwillingly greeted by men of the crown. “A shame that we have to rain on their parade.” He mumbled as his eyes drooped slightly.
“If they’re found to be guilty of treason, then let it not weigh on your mind.” Six stared at the far-flung hamlet – from where he stood, it seemed no bigger than an anthill, devoid of any bustling life.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Astra rested his palms behind his head. “As if guilt was all it is needed to convict a man.”
“What are you insinuating, Sentinel Astra? Surely you are not thinking of vilifying the Centum rule,” Six glared at Astra – the faraway outpost seemed to no longer be the sole cesspit for rebellion.
“Stop scaring me like that, Boss,” Astra screeched at the mere glower of Six. “I just pity the fools who would end up buried under rubbles and chisels, whether they had it coming or not,” the Wing muttered beneath his breath.
“You think too highly of yourself.”
“Sorry?” Astra uttered with his brows rose.
“It’s always in one ear and out the other with you.” Six sniggered. “Your position warrants not for you to weigh your mind on this,” he crossed his arms as he turned to his moping Wing. “The burden, I shall bear alone.” After all, as the Prime Sentinel – it was only right.
The awestruck lad dropped his hands from his dome. “So does that mean I can scurry back to Sentry then–”
“You’re free to do so.” Six halted the tactless youngster before he could spout any more drivel. “Though do not forget, the Sentinels are hunting down traitors to the realm – deserters included.”
“–is what I would have said if I was a no-good treacherous scoundrel. Of which I’m not. Naturally…” Astra stumbled on his words, rarely enough for such a silver-tongued deviant.
“Retreat to your camp and rest, Sentinel Astra,” Six smirked. “The coming days won’t be so forgiving.” He waved his hand at the stumped ecliant.
“Alright, don’t stay up too late yourself either, Boss.” Astra yawned as he began to saunter sluggishly down the hill, even though he had hardly done any errands to warrant his drowsiness. “Oh, and also–” Astra stopped dead on his track, nearly twisting his ankles and tumbling down from the peak.
“What?” Six asked irately, with his voice gravened – people seemed to have a habit of not leaving him alone when he most desired.
“Pay no heed to the silver-spooned commander. Even if the troops do not, I’m sure the folks would appreciate it,” Astra bellowed.
“I do not know what you are inferring to.” Six dodged the question.
“Is that so? It is always so hard to get a good read on you.” Astra waved as he strolled away lastly – the brazen brat always knew how to peeve Six off.
Six was alone at last, with the sight of the auburn meadow, sprightly flowers, soaring birds, and bubbly clouds all to be cherished for himself – each reminded him of times when he spent not as the Prime Sentinel but something much more mundane yet far more precious.
Six smiled ever so feebly as the wind graced and softened his frozen face – the scent of blossoms blessed and prickled his nose – and the light of the mounting moon calmed and rested his eyes. A while longer wouldn’t hurt, right?
*
“Squadron Six, engage!” Astra ordered the Rook Sentinels to charge forward and surround the raging meteras.
The supposed mavens of the Heart Corp crept forward clumsily, barely reaching near enough to the beast for the tip of their swords and lances to pierce any flesh.
The meteras ported the pelt and might of a bear, though it was coated in a fleece of grey as if it was wearing armour and carried claws of steel instead of keratin. There was less flesh and more steel etched onto the bear’s body – yet as long as it bleeds red, it could be slain.
The Sentinels, as if they were no more than helpless villagers wailing pitchforks, stood still with their quivering legs and shivering arms, unwilling to move a single step forward and face the foe – even though they outnumbered the beast twenty to one.
It was the first day of their hunt in the Junkwoods, and the current squadron to test their might was being instructed by Astra, while the remaining squadrons were led by their respective Squad Captains. Though the meterases dwelling in the woods numbered many, it seemed that many carcasses had already begun to rot by the times the Sentinels arrived – their corpses had been etched upon by steels not found within Six’s army.
The sight of the pitiful soldiers struggling against a single meteras brought memories of when Six first had to test his mettle and fend away the metal beasts himself. After all, it was his son and his associate who brought about the birth of the meterases – as his father, Six had to uphold his duty and take responsibility for his family’s blunder.
Six approached Astra from behind – it was rare to see his Wing Sentinel work so hard on a given task. “Any progress?” he tapped Astra on his back.
“If we’re lucky, they oughta’ nab one mutt’s carcass before sundown,” Astra let out an exhausted sigh that Six had never seen before. “I swear, give me fifty good men from the Hunt Corp, and we’d rid the forest of these pesky mets in half a day.” He rubbed his forehead, no doubt endless aches and sores were surging through his temple.
“We all have our own specialities. Don’t give up on them so soon.” Six advised his impatient Wing – it wasn’t as though Astra himself was the perfect soldier the moment he enlisted into Six’s rank.
“Easy for you to say. Given you’re the Prime Sentinel and all, you’re more than welcome to try, you know?” Astra looked up to Six, trying to typically run away from his duty once more.
“Weren’t you the one who was vying for that preferment? If so, you best be putting in the work, lest you want to be outdone by your peers.” Six pointed the failing Wing to the failing Sentinels whom he was failing to instruct.
“I want a simple raise, not a promotion,” Astra moaned. “In fact, neither you nor I should be doing this. Where’s the bumbling oaf prancing about? After all his time pleasuring himself in Sentry, no doubt he’d have more than enough energy to burn,” Astra flailed his head wildly in circles as if he was a fowl, eyeing every nook and cranny of the Junkwoods – yet no Heart Commander was to be found in sight, commandeering his own squadron.
“Less questions and more directions, Sentinel Astra. Don’t keep your eyes away from your party.” Six nodded his head towards the bunch, who was neglected by their leader.
Amidst Astra’s self-pity and negligence of duty, he had outwardly forgotten to keep a check on his squadron of twenty strong – though it had now reduced to nineteen strong.
Without a leader at the helm, the disarrayed squadron scattered, and each ran in their own path. One Sentinel was not so fortunate and fell prey to a wild charge from the meteras who flung the poor lad across the air and landed upon tree bark – he would live… but just about. Six should know, for he had been thrown far harder by far bigger beasts.
“Shit,” Astra cursed. “Shielders, take the front! Retrieve the wounded! ” Astra ordered, yet his commands fell on deaf ears of the rattling soldiers. “A little help here, Boss?” he pleaded, keeping his eyes away from his men once more.
“Suppose it’s time for me to act my part,” Six sighed as he carefully uncoated his navy coat and rolled up his sleeves. As much as he wanted to deny it – his limbs and joints were rusting and aching for a good bout.
Astra scrambled over to fetch Six his olden glaive, Deuslayer, as his Wing childishly named it – its blade was sharpened, yet its body was tattered in marks and splinters. “Your arm, Boss,” he knelt down and presented it to Six on both hands.
“That’s unneeded.” Six shrugged the hundred-year-old glaive aside, for it held little worth to him nowadays. “Watch closely. This is the perfect chance to instil motivation in these lots.” Six cracked his knuckles and tied up his long golden mane to a tail, all while resisting the hardest urge to crack a grin.
The Prime Sentinel marched leisurely towards the sloppy squad. He could hardly believe that a mere meteras would give so much trouble to twenty ecliant strong – alas, it was his duty to discipline their tawdriness when required and resolve their harms when needed.
“Squadron Six, withdraw!” Six commanded.
“Yes, sir!” the once uncoordinated crew all answered in unison before carrying their injured comrade and retreating behind Astra in an orderly fashion that was expected of even a Rook Sentinel.
It was then only Six and the steel bear. Though Six was a giant amongst men, even he paled when he stood next to the meteras. Its paws were twice the size of Six’s head, and its jaws could gnaw Six’s entire body in half – yet, Six felt little fear in the face of this wrathful beast, for he had stood under the shadow of far bigger freaks of nature.
As if it was a rampaging bull instead of a bear, the meteras charged headfirst towards Six – yet its jaws never managed to wrap between Six’s flesh, nor did his paws shatter his bones.
With his bare hands, Six sunk his fingers into the bear’s snout and chin and halted the beast at its track – his muscles felt as if they were tearing and reweaving with each passing second he held back the meteras’ jaws, while the sole of his feet being buried into the dirt slightly. The bear’s growl fell faint in Six’s ears as all he could hear was the sound of his own heart pumping and the wild gnawing of his teeth. With the might he had cultivated for over two centuries, Six rose his arms to the air – with his hands still wedged deep inside the metal plates of the meteras.
A steel boulder the size of a carriage flung into the air as if it was a hollow ball – yet when it tumbled back onto the forest ground, it left behind a giant crater alongside the dazed beast buried within.
Six gasped relentlessly for air as his rampant heartbeat deafened his ears, and his limbs felt as if they had been ripped and torn from his bones. He glanced briefly towards Astra and his squadron, and all but his Wing had faces paled as snow and wet as rain. Here comes the final stretch, the pressure was on, and Six could not give up now, no matter how much it felt as if his body was being scorched all over or how much his mind was wrestling itself to stop his limbs from moving.
Six picked up a stone the size and shape of an Arkive and hopped atop the belly of the collapsed bear. With both palms gripping tightly onto the rock, he rose his arms high into the air – and as if his fists were a catapult, he launched the rock down onto the beast’s dome before raising once more and descending altogether.
Six panted ceaselessly. It was perhaps even more taxing than hurling the bear itself. His arms could barely lift any longer, and his palms could hardly hold onto the rock without it slipping away from his blood-drenched fingertips. He had lost count of how many times he had swung his hands up and down – but the once pure stone had chipped and dowsed in red, while the meteras’ steel dome and pointy snout had caved inward as if it had a metal bowl for a skull.
With the beast no longer twitching its snout and swinging its paws, Six climbed off its carcass and walked sprightly towards the stunned Sentinels and smug Wing Sentinel, adorning a smirk as if he played any part in the triumph.
Few scared men amongst the squad, but most had eyes not of fear but awe – Six should know, for his orbs glimmered the same shine when he witnessed the might and valour of his brother, Three, during the Iron War.
“You expect me to imitate that? No thanks.” Astra tossed Six a towel.
Six dabbed the sweat off his face and scrubbed the blood off his fists. “It’s not the act of slaying that I want you to remember, but remember when you should act.” He taught Astra a lesson – whom himself has yet to take it to heart.
“Yeah, sure. It seemed like you just wanted to show off to me–”
“Don’t you have work that needs to be done, Sentinel Astra?” Six coughed awkwardly before commanding his Wing.
The once fearful and silent Rook Sentinels burst out in light and cheery titters at the sight of their Prime Sentinel’s awkward blunder – it was not the respect nor correction that Six expected, perhaps he himself still had much to learn.
*
The morn of the ninth had arrived, and the march of the Heart Sentinels lastly loomed at the doorstep of the foulest city of Xearth.
The besieged city could no doubt gander in awe at the prideful golden hexagram embroidered banners and flags of the Sentinels fluttering with the gale, beheld by hundreds of marchers cladded in steel – or they should have, yet instead, a battered and clumsy horde of lifeless men whom could barely lift their arms were the sole sight that could be seen from miles on end. Their white armour weighed down their body and limbs as if boulders were attached to their back. Their swords, lances, and glaives served more as walking canes rather than armaments. The gold hexagram sigil decorated onto their chestplate could hardly be seen as they hunched and hobbled across the streetway.
As the army limped into the hearth of the Bottom Barrel, the disdainful glares and snide chuckles from the denizens made the Heart Sentinels seem no more than boy scouts.
The few ecliants who were unfortunate enough to be imprisoned in the bottommost corner of Screwpile carried about their menial labours whom they pawned off to their servants and slaves regardless, unbothered by the invading force.
The several steelborns who were incapable to bout and struggle their way out of the Bottom Barrel gazed in awe at the soldiers coated in black garments and silver armours parading the streets – perhaps many would see this as a once-in-a-lifetime chance to either join the fray or defy it.
The flocking swarm of humans infesting the Bottom Barrel hid away in their huts, beneath shades, and in narrow alleyways – no doubt most of them were illiterate and inane, yet the desire to hide and run came to them as if it was their instinct.
Yet for all of their differences in blood and body – they all shared eyes of contempt, fear, elation, and bewilderment at the foreigners who marched upon their land and spoiled it with the trails they’ve left behind.
At the helm of the rally, the man who received the brunt of the people’s scorn and ire walked tall and benignly – affronts of this sort were hardly uncommon to him.
The masses’ derision held no worth nor bother to Six as he calmly glanced back to his army amidst the spats and shouts.
The once jaunty yet indolent Corp now looked weary yet hardened. Even Six was impressed at the once ragtag Corp, after all, they had spent the last two days in the Junkwoods, tiredly slaying hordes of meterases – though after months of cold and sleepless nights venturing in the Dragon’s Ranges, steel bears and wolves seemed like mere cubs and pups in Six’s eyes.
They may never value the struggles, but know that I do. Six gazed at every single one of his six hundred strong.
Though no words nor orders left Six’s mouth, the hundreds of men felt compelled to glance back at their Prime Sentinel, and their body rose ever so feebly as their march persisted slightly firmer – yet not with a somnolent sulk, but a gallant grin.
Yet one man seemed to refuse to yield to Six’s tenet – he had his own pedigree to flaunt and engrave.
The lousy Commander of the Heart Corp fled from his entourage and ran towards the hearth of the town square. He was rather fast on his toes despite his stout body jiggling about with each bootsteps. As if he deemed he was the Prophet or Ark himself, Idavi commanded Symon to set a wooden stool for him to stand upon and gaze down at the many folks whom he did not lord over.
What is that fool planning? Six sighed as he watched him alongside the crowd in silence – perhaps the greatest remedy for idiocy would be indignity.
“People of Screwpile!” Idavi shouted at the top of his lungs, flinging his hands to the air as if he were praying. “Hear my words and obey. For I came on the behest of His Heavenlier–”
“That old fool…” Astra whispered by Six’s side.
“Be not afraid, for the mighty Heart Corp has come to shield every man, woman, and child of Xearth!” Idavi professed. “As the Commander of the Heart Corp, I assure you that all would be safe under my watch.”
Six and Astra looked at each other and facepalmed.
“As for the traitorous miscreants lurking amidst the fine and honest denizens of Xearth, my Sentinels will hunt you all down – from the peaks of the Centum Alps ‘till the depths of the Sparkling Sea, there are nowhere you could hide,” the Heart Commander squeezed his fist tightly and bared it to the folks below. “But I am a merciful Lord, and my men move at my will. So if you surrender now, I shall let you live the rest of your days shackled behind bars at the Ironmount.” He unloosed his fist and puffed out his chest.
Yet, instead of the crowd falling in awe and grovelling at his feet, the horde had already begun to scatter halfway through his grand speech. Ecliants closing up their shops, steelborns returning to their sheds, and humans escaping into dark alleys and dens.
“Wait! Wait!” Idavi shouted desperately as he jumped off his stool – trying to chase after the hundreds of fleeing habitants, yet it did not take long until his limbs and breath gave up on him. “By the will of His Heavenlier, I demand you to halt–” the Commander of the Heart Corp shouted until his gorge too gave up on his cause and his once prideful roar reduced to mere whimpers – yet even then, none would heed his command. “Don’t leave…” Idavi murmured as if he were a child who lost the attention of his parents.
“Are you satisfied now?” Six marched towards the crumbled Lord.
The shaken Heart Commander did not answer. His lips were quaking too much for his tongue to roll and his mind too frantic to act. He subtly glared at Six from the corner of his purple orbs before storming back to his distant entourage of gagged Sentinels – his face twisted and reddened like a squashed tomato as if Six was the one who spelt his downfall.
Symon did not rush after Idavi and instead bowed on the behest of his Lord. “On behalf of the Heart Corp, we sincerely apologise for our Commander’s reckless act.” The young yet temperate Sentinel offered his humility. “There are just a lot on his mind these days. I do hope you could find it in your heart to understand and forgive.”
“You could’ve fooled me,” Astra mumbled beneath his breath.
A quick glare from Six was enough to hold the snarky Wing’s tongue, forcing him to whistle away in his own world.
“There will be time for discipline later, but now we are running on borrowed time,” Six glanced at the people escaping in flocks. The situation had further complicated now that the folks of the Bottom Barrel were more vigilant.
“Of course. Humble my station may be, but henceforth, I’ll do my utmost best to rein My Lord in the right path.” The promising lad bowed his head once more and swiftly walked away to attend to his Lord. Idavi did claim that Symon was a fine soldier handpicked by Nine himself, so Six had few reasons to doubt his mettle.
“Very well. Let us commence.” The Prime Sentinel cleared his throat. “Astra, signal the squadrons to begin the manhunt.”
“You got it, Boss.” With his fist pressed firmly against his chest, his Wing nodded and sprinted towards the rows of standby troops.
With the fair sun of the new morn above as his heavenly witness, Six rose his scarred and roughed fist to the sky and flaunted his fulsome back to the six hundred Sentinels behind him – the coattail of the navy coat whom he so cherished flapped with the wind, fiercer and higher than any flags or banners. And so it begins... Time to put an end to this farce, sister.