“Send ‘em to Ark, boys!” Abe’s battle cry could be heard from the depth of the Junkwoods to the edge of the Iron Trail. As the spearhead of the band, he led men of valour running into the dusky meadow and engaged against their cunning and beastly foes. His forehead was shielded by a cloth with the colour of their cause. His hulking arms held nought but a torch to light his men’s way and a warhammer to crush foes hampering their path.
At the giant’s rear stood men with swords preparing to slash down any obstacles in their path – archers nocking their arrows to rain fury upon their marks – bannermen beating their drums and waving flagpoles of their black four-pointed star sigil. The disarray foes occupied with their own bitter struggle fell prey to a surprise encirclement from the fresh force.
Stelie dashed gracefully behind Abraham, her blonde ponytail fluttered along the wind – one hand adorning a round shield, while the other held a spear with a body of black wood. Her hands wavered and dampened – if she hadn’t gripped onto her arms tightly, no doubt they’d have slipped out of her grasp. Still yourself, Stelie… Stelie huffed in the cold nightly air and gripped tightly onto the orange cloth wrapped around her forearm, all to calm her quaking heart – after all, it had been over a decade since she last stepped foot on the battlefield.
Their ambush on the enemy’s camp, in the guise of the night, while the Blacks were busy with dealing against the meterases, all of it was devised by the Chief – a shame that she could not join the fray to enjoy the fruits of her labour. Her crafty yet lazy plan ensured that a concentration of meterases would ravage the woodlands by Screwpile – and wreaked havoc onto the Sentinel’s forces that frequented the land. The steelmen and beasts could have their dance – and the band of rebels would join when the curtains came to close.
“We’re under attack! Full retreat!” the battered Sentinels sounded their horns, ordering a mass retreat – outwardly not wanting to engage against two types of enemies at once.
“That’s what I like to see! Now it’s a fair fight!” Abe chuckled at the sight of maimed Sentinel corpses scattered throughout the field – dwindling the foe’s mighty force down to the same meagre size as their own. The Blacks had slayed down most of the steel pests at the cost of their own numbers.
“Stop right there, criminal scum!” a youngling of a Rook Sentinel foolishly tested his might and pointed his blade at Abe – no doubt he believed that his ecliant’s might would have granted him the upper hand against a mere human.
Stupid boy… Stelie mumbled, closing her eyes to the sight to come.
“To the moon, you go!” As if he was swatting a fly away, with his warhammer coated in spikes, Abe caved the poor lad’s chest inward and flung his drilled body into the sky. “Charge ahead, boys!” With a rose of his hammer, the dance between men, steelmen, and beasts ensued.
The tired army of Sentinels and the few remaining meterases stood no chance against the spirited band of rebels that had been resting and lurking in the shadow, vying for the perfect time to swoop in the field and clash against their tattered rivals.
The scene on the field of fire was like something that a wetnurse would tell children to scare them to bed – Stelie would always wince at such grisly sights.
Rivers of blood flooded the once peaceful meadow, painting its verdure pasture to the colour of red wine – effacing any semblance of natural beauty it once had.
Thunderous roars of the meterases who found themselves in the crossfire of a petty squabble.
Rains of arrows pierced the limbs and bodies of men and beasts alike. Clashes of steel between the well-crafted irons of the Sentinels and the scavenged blades of the rebels – both served well to behead drunken men and have their heads tumbled through the grass.
Flames razed the grassland, engulfing the field wholly and suffocating all with the acrid scent of smoke – leaving the men upon its domain no longer needing torches and bonfires to light their war.
As if he was a tide ramping against the coast, Abe stormed through swarms of Blacks and mets alike, hurling them away with his might as if they were no more than pebbles on the road. Such a feat of might would normally be impossible for a human to enact against steelmen.
Good grief… Stelie sighed at Abe’s boorish antics before returning to her assigned duty. Where is he? He should be here if our intel is right… Stelie’s orange orbs twisted back and forth to every nook and cranny of the battlefield until she could siphon out the lordly pig amongst his men in dark armour. In the corner of her eye, she lay sight upon the giant bonfire the size of a keep at the hearth of the site, and on the other side of that fiery shroud was a swine of an ecliant crawling away from the battlefield – uncaring that his fancy scarlet cloak was stained in mud, and his medal of valour had unbuckled and fallen off his soft chest. “There he is! The Heart Commander is by that big bonfire!” Stelie pointed at the fleeing Lord, abandoning his men to save his own hide – but his stubby legs would not be fast enough for him to escape their long-awaited grasp.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Go get ‘em, Stel.” Despite stucking in his own bitter bout with three other Sentinels at the same time – Abe still had the energy to command Stelie around.
“On it,” Stelie smirked at the boorish man before rushing towards the great flame – though her path to the commander was stricken by approaching threats.
A Rook Sentinel crept on her left, swinging his sword across her torse – and at the same instant, a steel hog stood afront, baring its tusks before lunging towards her. Without halting her pace, Stelie dug her spear into the dirt, and using it as a pole, she leapt her whole body off the ground, skimpily dodging the edge of the Sentinel’s blade – and like a potter’s wheel, she spun an airborne kick across the Sentinel’s jaws. Having her bootprint engraved upon the Sentinel’s cheeks – with her foe’s face as a foothold, she reclaimed her spear and hurled it at the squealing pig, skewering it from mouth to rear.
I can’t believe I did that, Stelie panted shallowly as she drew her spear out of the beast’s corpse – though her mind may have wished to forget those memories of old, her body sure had not. The Heart Commander was in her sight and merely a few paces away from her grasp – yet just as her fingers were near gripping onto his furry cloak, a mighty breeze escaped from the dusk of night and blew at her. With no moment to think, Stelie relinquished the target and leapt backwards to dodge the blow. Who was that there… Stelie gasped as she fixed her sight forward – only to find another Sentinel standing between her and her prey.
The hooded Sentinel in black stood his ground with nought a weapon in hand and no words from his tongue.
So that gust was merely a punch of his? Stelie gulped at the mere thought of it – staying around men like Abraham had almost made her forget how terrifying the might of ecliants were. “Please step aside. We only need your commander,” Stelie conjured fleeting courage to her spine, but she wasn’t sure if it’d be convincing enough when her arms were trembling so much.
“Lord Commander, please retreat ahead. I’ll make my way to you soon.” The Sentinel commanded his commander without ever diverting his eyes away from Stelie’s.
“Fine job, Symon! As expected, for one under my wings. You better hurry up, or else I’ll leave you behind!” the Commander of the Heart Corp shouted before continuing his retreat.
“Oh, no, you don’t–”
Mere fists, unarmed with any sword or spear, and a body unshielded by any armour besides a thin cloak – those lone stood before Stelie, yet they felt like a mighty fortress wall. “Are you who I think you are?” the Sentinel asked, his tone was calm despite the chaos surrounding him.
“Think whatever you want,” Stelie retorted while sweat trailed down her golden hair and stuck it to her forehead – trying to scurry past the man in black, but she could not spot any fault in his stance. The Heart Commander was scuttling further away down the Iron Trail the longer she was stalled away here.
Her foe did not seem to mind standing still and biding his time – in fact, his silver eyes hardly seemed to find any interest in Stelie any longer now that his Lord was safe. His neck was twisting back and forth, looking across the entire razed grassland – as if he was seeking something else.
His aloofness served more worth to Stelie than his wariness. As the ecliant was busy scouring the field, Stelie quickly dashed forward and closed the gap between them. With her spear in hand, she pierced it at her target’s head – but the Sentinel returned to duty and parried her blow to the side with his mere palm. What? Stelie gasped – the parry was so seamless that it almost felt as if he didn’t even touch her spear, and it just deflected by itself. There was no time to be in awe at the opponent’s feat. With her spear shunted out of bound, using her shield as a gauntlet, she delivered a strike at her foe’s stomach – yet once again, the hooded brawler blocked her punch and gripped his fingers onto her shield, halting her movement wholly. She tried to pull her fist back, but as if it was lodged between boulders, the tip of her shield remained tightly within his unmovable clutch.
“I suppose one would have to do,” the Sentinel murmured. With Stelie’s spear still wobbling in the air, the ecliant gripped the neck of it with his free hand and then effortlessly snapped the tip off of the spear’s shaft. Armed with a makeshift shiv, he returned a swift pierce towards Stelie’s chest.
With the tip of the spear being a hair away from her leather chestplate, Stelie released the broken spear from her hand – and in an instant, she unsheathed the shortsword by her waist and parried the shiv, launching it away from her foe’s grip. Still yourself, Stelie told herself and gritted her teeth as sweat dampened her brows and palms – she could taste the saltiness on the edge of her lips.
With his weapon disarmed, the faintly frustrated ecliant yanked her shield and pulled Stelie closer to him before executing a side kick to her stomach.
The kick threw Stelie a few paces backwards. The sole of his boot smeared dirt all over her leather armour. The blow from his foot felt as if a log of wood was hurled at her belly. That’s an ecliant, alright… Stelie groaned as her vision blurred slightly, her steps were staggering, and she felt as if she was about to retaste her dinner any moment soon. She dug her shortsword into the ground and leaned on it as if it were a cane.
“A pity. You rebels should have known better than to go against the Prophet’s rule.” The Sentinel mumbled as he leapt towards the dazed Stelie with his fist clenched.
“Watch out, Stel!”
The ecliant’s fist never reached Stelie. It merely grazed the tip of her nose and breezed her face – but a far stronger and faster gust blew past her face as if it was a boulder launched from a catapult and landed between Stelie and the Sentinel. Shards of shattered wood sprinkled between the two and pasted to the Sentinel’s knuckles.
What was that? Stelie was frozen in shock at the bolide that skimmed past her fleece. She glanced down at the space between where she stood and the ecliant’s – a warhammer the length of her entire body, its spike-coated iron head fully buried in the dirt – yet its wooden handle had been wholly snapped apart from protecting Stelie. Abe? Stelie turned her head to the side, only to find the captain of the band rushing down the hill like a raging bull.
“You alright, Stel!?” he screamed out from across the field, yet his roaring voice made it seem as if he was right next to her. The musclehead fool had hurled his warhammer from halfway across the meadow to shield Stelie away from the ecliant’s fist – uncaring that he’d be left unarmed amidst a swarm of hungry and spiteful hyenas.
“Just my luck…” The Sentinel clicked his tongue as he held onto his bloody and splintered knuckle. “Our bout will have to halt here, I’m afraid.” The skilful ecliant lastly tucked his tail between his legs and fled just like his commander.
Stelie fitted her boots and hastily paced forward. “As if I’d–” Before she could finish her words – a sharp feeling graced her shoulder. Her body lunged back slightly from the blow as she felt the sleeve on her right arm slowly becoming heavier and drencher. She gazed to the right, and as if she had grown a pike on her arm, an arrow was lodged deeply into her shoulder. The shot was clean and seamless, Stelie hardly even noticed the bolt, nor could she feel much pain despite her punctured flesh. Who could’ve… Stelie panted as she lifted her head to where the arrow could have been loosened from – only to sight the swine that she was after, nocking an arrow by the Iron Trail.
“Make haste, Symon! Let us dally no longer!” the Heart Commander, who had not fled yet, ordered his man. “If you perish now – how would I ever face the Prophet again?” he shouted before aiming his wooden arrow at the scorching meadow once more – and with his thick fingers, he let loose another stream of straight arrows. For a man of his plump stature, his archery stance was flawless and still – befitting for a nobleman who should have received the best mentors that arks could hire in Xearth.
“As if I’d ever fall from this,” the Sentinel named Symon sighed, though it was hard for him to hide his grin. He continued his retreat with his back facing Stelie, knowing that he had his lord covering him with rains of arrows.
The ecliant was fast – far faster than Stelie or any other rebels, and her injury and the hails of arrows falling upon her head were surely not helping her predicament.
Might as well… Though her body was quaking and her arm was going numb, Stelie took in a deep breath of the smoky air and snapped the arrow off of her shoulder – before braving into the storm of arrows. Leaping and ducking, yet never halting – she charged through the field, with arrows skimming past but never piercing her hide. Yet no matter how much her legs strained and her feet swelled, the ecliant was still far too fast for her to catch him in time. Take this then, with no other plan at her disposal, Stelie unbuckled her round shield from her forearm – and as if it was a silver platter, she poured all of her remaining vigour into her left arm and threw it from the field of fire to the stream of the Iron Trail.
The shield surfed the waves of the sky – and for a brief moment, all combatants and beasts halted their ceaseless squabbles to gaze in awe at the low-slung shooting comet.
The swine armed with a bow could never hope to dodge it with his stubby legs, and it collided against his pudgy stomach – if not for his thick skin and fat, it would have surely pierced into his innards. The Heart Commander fell to the dirt as he cowered and hugged his belly – his cry could be heard all the way from the Iron Trail to the grassland, scaring even the mightiest of beasts and grizzliest of men.
Stelie’s moment of triumph was ephemeral, for Symon had reached his crumbled Lord.
Though his right fist was shredded and splintered, with his left, the Sentinel effortlessly lifted his commander off the dirt and rested him upon a steed before he, too, mounted the stallion and saddled away down the Iron Trail – leaving the rebel foes and their morose troops behind.
Damn it… Stelie kicked the lump of grassy dirt by her feet while staring bleakly as the shadow of the fleeing horse dwindled little by little. What would they think of me now? The thought plagued Stelie’s head as her nails dug deeply into her palms, and her lips were pierced by her fangs. The cries of dying men, the wails of perishing beasts, the sounds of breaking steel – all drowned out of her ears, while her head felt empty as if the water had been sucked out of it, all except for the repeated beating of her heart. Who’s that? Trapped in the prison of her mind, her body shook side to side by itself, and faint screams tried to etch themselves into Stelie.
“Stel! You good!?”
Being violently shaken awake, Stelie broke free from her own spell, and afront her was Abe, his sweaty hands were shoving her shoulders – his heavy grip slightly stung the wound on her right.
“Did that Black whooped ya’ harder than I thought?” To add insult to injury, he pressed his palm on Stelie’s forehead as if she were a child who succumbed to a fever.
If her head wasn’t steaming then, it sure was now. “Knock it off,” Stelie slapped his giant hand aside. “Sorry. I let them escape.” She gritted her teeth, with her rosy face losing its tint.
“Lighten’ up, dolly. No use moping about it now, nor is it the best time for it.” Blithe as ever, Abe cackled as if Stelie’s mishaps were no more than mere happenstances. “A commander’s head would be a fine gift for Frou and all – but a hostage isn’t what we’re here for.”
“Of course,” Stelie mumbled as she stared across the grassland once more. Beyond the flames of war and seas of corpses – her orange orbs lay their sight upon the spoils. Crates and wagons of rare ores and precious gemstones that were to be transported to the Ironmount Institution were left on the campsite for the taking – no doubt hundreds of deserters from both sides have already fled the battle with their pockets filled as much as possible.
“Glad ya’ back in high spirits! It’s nigh-time for this night to come to an end, don’t ya’ think?” Abe roared, not only for Stelie but for all to bear his command – and warning. Even though his warhammer was ruined by the Sentinel, Abe still charged back onto the field, with only his arms and legs as weapons to mow down ecliants and beasts in his path.
A droplet of water caressed the tip of Stelie’s nose, and it wasn’t her sweat. She lifted her neck upward, and more droplets poured onto her little by little – drenching her body and cleansing her wounds.
As if Ark himself had intervened, the rain of night descended upon the scorching meadow – quelling the fiery furies imposed upon it by Ark’s prodigal servants and released steamy smoke unto his heavenly abode.
Streams of water cleansed the land of tainted flesh and blood that spoiled the soil – returning glimmers of its former glory.
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The water pacified the remaining meterases and forced them to tuck tail and seek shelters within the Junkwoods, under the forest’s embrace.
The torrent halted any arrows from trying to reach their heights. With no commander at the helm and nature having turned their back on them, the Sentinels retreated from all directions, looting treasures and corpses as they ran. The valiant few who remained, instead of their steel colliding against their foes’, merely slipped away from each other and never reached the mark’s flesh.
The once mighty fiery beacon that stood tall at the hearth of the site, too, succumbed to the rain’s wrath – until the great bonfire was no more than a blackened grave, haunted by smoke and ashes.
An act of His? If only… Stelie reached her hand out to catch the rain, but her delicate palm was unable to hold no more than a few droplets.
Amidst the heavy rain, the sounds of paws pacing speedily stood out from the downpour. Small steps of steel pressing onto the muddy ground, yet never halting and only moving faster – as if it was on a mission.
What is that? Stelie pointed her sword at the source of the clamour – only to find a steel mutt rushing towards her. The meteras was no bigger than a toddler, yet it still braved the storm despite its ilk having retreated to the forest – its small body was wrapped in dampened cloth as if it was a bandage. Wait… Stelie posed her sword down gently.
The dog dashed past Stelie and kept going – unminding of the rain weighing down its small body, nor the giants who could crush him under their boots at any moment. It kept racing through the grassland until it reached the end of the quenched bonfire.
Who are those? Stelie squinted her eyes towards the mutt that was barking away and wagging its tail blissfully – and afront it was three humans, though they hardly seemed humans any longer under all of their drenched welts and scars.
Two naked prisoners, a boy with skin of charcoal and the other of chalk, were carrying a freak of a human on their shoulders – if not for his faint panting and twitching, Stelie would not have believed that a carcass littered with that many mutilations could still be warmed with life. Their steps were heavy and sluggish despite not bearing any clothing. Their bodies were lathered with purple bruises, darkened gashes, and swollen bumps as if they had braved into the fray against the vilest beasts – yet they persisted with their march. The unforgiving rain poured upon their drained bodies as if it was pushing them down to their graves – and they soon succumbed to their injuries and fell to the mud where they stood. Though its owners had perished, the mutt refused to leave their side – whimpering and licking its wounds away in the rain despite its own stomach wound behind the layer of bandage.
I’m sorry. May your souls find rest… Stelie bid her prayers to the strangers of the battlefield – though even she herself had never found solace in these verses. She gripped her sword tightly within her palm as she descended into the flooded field once more. People are counting on me… She looked down at a puddle of water by her feet, and her face upon it was blank and colourless, she could hardly tell who that person was – yet herself did not matter, but only her mandated duty.
The battle has been cruel and long, and as the rain of judgement began to abate – so too must the bloody night be curtained.
*
The rain has ended – to make the stage for the rising sun. Birds soared in the sky to welcome the new morn with their songs, while vultures and flies swarmed the bloody grassland to receive their breakfasts. The morning mist scattered and revealed the sight of the ended battle. Corpses and torn limbs rooted themselves into the soil as if they were saplings to be nurtured.
The squad of Sentinels had all but been subdued, and the six-star sigil had been toppled by the four-star. A first proper victory for the rebels in a long while, though not at a hefty cost of their own. If it had not been for their ambush being under the shroud of night and following the Blacks’ interference by the mets – Stelie doubted that their squad of feeble humans would have been able to defeat ecliant elites.
Stelie walked across the field. The foul stench of rotting corpses filled her nose, yet she did not plug them away nor hide her eyes – it would be a dishonour for the fallen to not bear their grisly ends.
The remaining members of the band of rebels were scavenging the campsite for loots, freeing prisoners, and detaining any surrendered Sentinels – though Stelie could tell from their sullen grimace and faded scars that there was nothing they wanted more than to execute them on the spot.
Stelie held onto her shoulder, and it had yet to stop stinging. The wound she received from the hooded Sentinel had been bandaged over with a loincloth – awaiting proper care when they would return to their hideout.
Stelie kept wandering the meadow until she reached where Abe was – his stature as mighty as ever, with not even a single scratch on his charcoal pelt. He was standing atop the last enemy – a boy writhing helplessly in the mud.
Abe outwardly heard her footsteps and turned his head back. “Oh, Stel? How’s everything on your end?”
“Good so far. Some prisoners are willing to join our cause. The few Sentinels still kicking should serve well as hostages.” She paused to think of how to best word the next part. “However, only twelve out of the seventeen wagons of ores were collected – the Blacks’ deserters took away the rest amidst the battle,” Stelie reported – not a detail missing. It was a victory, but a feeble victory – their olden days of rebellion had surely not returned yet.
“Frou wouldn’t be too happy ‘bout this. Oh well, what can you do about it? I’m sure we’ll have other chances.” Abe laughed as he always does, yet his smile did not persist for long – its arc dropped when he stared down at the dying Sentinel.
Stelie, too, stared at the ecliant.
His right arm was gnawed off entirely, chunks of meat puffed out like red cotton, and his bone looked as if it was sawed off – no doubt only a meteras could have committed such an act. His stomach was also pierced by an arrow – it was still lodging inside his body, plugging away the blood ever so slightly and delaying the inevitable. His once kempt black garment, decorated with the Sentinel’s prideful gold hexagram, was no more than tattered rags now. Living seemed worse than dying for the crawling ecliant, yet his death couldn’t come soon enough. Though Abe wasn’t as bright as his brother, even he no doubt knew that the ecliant’s day was numbered.
Abe crouched down next to the boy and met his gaze. “That’s a hell of a predicament you caught yourself into, friend. I fear that ain’t getting better anytime soon,” though his words were crass, his voice wasn’t as abrasive as usual and, instead, mellower.
“Save your empty words, you motherless bastard!” the struggling lad cussed, with blood trailing down his lips. “The Centum Order will crush you all like ants, as we once had – mark my last words when yours comes!” Even at his dying breath, the ecliant still had a lot of verve left to scream at his foe.
“I fear not of the end – so long as there were meaning to reach there,” Abe muttered to the boy or perhaps to himself or even others.
The ecliant gave no rebuttal. If looks could kill – his orbs of red surely would have slain Abe on the spot.
“Tell me, boy. The glamours and splendours that you steelmen indulged in at the wake of the night – did you partake in such acts?” Abe asked the dying man as he gazed around the campsite that once hosted a fete for ecliants – remnants of human cages, torture devices, leather whips, and tattered garments rested upon the grass as if they were parts of nature.
“Such frivolous deeds are meaningless to me. Ark, be my witness and judge, I live to defend my land from you scoundrels – nothing else matters.” With no hesitation, the Rook Sentinel replied as if to condemn his fellow men in black.
Nothing else matters… Stelie brewed upon his words.
“Fine enough answer for a steelman.” Abe chuckled faintly before standing up and unsheathing the sword by his waist. He swiftly pointed the blade at the ecliant’s throat, which the lad did not try to dodge nor beg. “Last words, perhaps?” Abe kindly offered.
“Wait, Abe…” Stelie mumbled by his side – she could not even tell if it was loud enough for him to hear her chords.
“I fear that he does not have much time left to wait,” said Abe. His eyes were ever-fixed upon the bleeding boy.
“Please, just a moment…” Stelie pleaded. She stood between Abe and the ecliant, forcing his wavering brown eyes to meet her still orange orbs.
At last, Abe stared back at her – and for once, he had no crude nor snarky remarks to make. The giant reluctantly drove his sword away and granted some space to Stelie and the ecliant.
Stelie steeled her nerve and knelt down next to the ecliant. “Whose faith do you hold, bitter stranger?” she whispered to the fading soul.
“As if you’d need to ask?” he spat at Stelie’s face. “The one and all… Ark Almighty… Oh Lord, wait for me. I’ll be by your side soon…” With feeble strength, he pledged his fidelity to one who was not even there for his final moment.
Neither his spit nor crude words slighted Stelie. With her eyes closed, she then gently wrapped both of her hands between his one hand – it was stony and rough as if it had not felt a touch from another flesh in years. “Oh Lord, be kind and just. Another to yield and bask in your grace. Judge nought for his departure but for his deeds. May you bless him with eternal rest. May you carve his time among the stars. May you grant him passage to your faraway abode,” Stelie prayed with his hand between hers, warming his cold fingers ever so little, “…or at least to somewhere far away from here.” She muttered a last verse that existed nought in any Arkive.
With her prayer finished, Stelie slowly opened her eyes – only to find the ecliant’s hand had softened as faint droplets of tears rolled down his face. His once grim grimace painted red with rage had worn away – revealing a blank visage of a man who had no thoughts left. No words needed to be uttered as the unfortunate soul shut his eyes and grasped onto Stelie’s hand tightly – no matter how hard his grip was and how deep his chipped nails were digging into her skin, Stelie would not let go.
As gentle and quick as a man of Abe's size could make, he drove his sword into the ecliant’s heart. The sound was silent. No lamentations nor curses. No blood splatters or iron clashes.
The morning birds lone lulled for the young ecliant’s farewell as his breath dwindled slowly and slowly until the ballad was no longer needed.
Only after his body no longer moved did Stelie gently pry his fingers away from hers. The marks that his palm left behind on hers ached in a way that she had not felt for a long time.
“The boy better be countin’ his blessings that he had Sister Stelie herself to part his last rite,” Abe tried to muster a laugh. He wiped the blood off the edge of his blade with his own garment – normally, he would have just wiped it onto the cloth of a corpse.
“I told you to stop calling me that.” Stelie sighed as she stood back up. “I’m just glad that it is over.”
“For today, yes. A first of many.” Abe chuckled wryly. “We should return soon. Frou ought to hear the tales of our conquest,” his common laughter at last returned.
“Yes, let’s.” Stelie chortled lightly.
The two comrades in arms began to walk their way back to their band – and readied to bid their farewell to this soiled morn. From a distance, Stelie could spot their brethren wrapping things up on their end – the prisoners were freed, the hostages were bound, and the cargos were secured.
As they reached the grave of the once mighty bonfire, beyond its ashy remnants were the three boys and the steel mutt that Stelie noticed earlier.
Nude, tattered, beaten, and coated in ash – they had all collapsed when Stelie last saw them, yet as if it was a miracle from Ark, the two naked boys twitched their fingers slightly. Stelie rubbed her eyes repeatedly before eyeing their corpses once more – and what was once merely feeble twitches became sluggish movements and faint squirms. Like dead men risen back from their graves, the two lads slowly stood back up on their feet – and despite being naked and covered in ashes and bruises, their brittle arms never faltered away from their scarred friend in the middle, as they, too, raised him up.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Maybe I oughta’ actually start believing in this Ark fella,” Abe jested – he was no man of faith, but even he could not believe the sight before him. “Those little punks sure got some spunk left in them.”
“So it’d seem.” Stelie worded briefly while her eyes stretched open widely – she was a woman of faith, and even she could not believe the sight before her.
Stelie hastily marched towards them, with Abe following behind her.
Their arrival wasn’t met with a warm welcome, however. Though strength had seeped from their limbs, and the morning breeze was freezing their nude body – the two ashen boys and the steel mutt all took a defensive stance and barked at the armed strangers before them.
“Stay away, you beasts!” the boy with one leg cried out frailly as he tried to swipe his slender hand at Abe – but of course, he missed.
Though the feeble attempt met with no success, nor did it even come close to grazing Abe’s auburn vest, his eyes still scowled as his muscles tensed up. “You little… Listen here–”
Before Abe could finish his words, the desperate boy quickly unbuckled his wooden leg and tried to hit Abe with it as if it were a club. Abe effortlessly caught the leg and pushed the crippled down to the ground with a light touch. “Now I’m mad!” If not for his bald head, Stelie was sure that Abe’s hair would have spiked up in rage by now.
The boy with an egg head rested his maimed friend to the ground once more before stepping in front of his friends and raising his hands up. “I will take the full merit for slaying the monkey. These fools could never have accomplished such a feat without me. So no need to take away those useless clowns as well, just me is plenty.” His voice was weak and soft, yet it remained unshaken – as were his eyes of sapphire, never hiding away from Stelie and Abe’s.
The small meteras joined in the fray and barked raucously as if to make an argument of their own.
Abe scratched his unkempt beard as the boys’ words fell on deaf ears. “The monkey? What? Will you both calm down? We’re not one of the Blacks. We’re the Firs–”
“We’re against them.” Stelie stopped Abe. “If you wish, we could help you.” She proposed.
Her words did not seem to move the boy’s resolve. “Go, Peg. Bring Evens and Scrapper back to Miss Num. I’ll try to hold them back for as long as I can.” Though he could barely stand, and even a light breeze could topple him over, the ashen boy lifted up both fists and stood before his friends.
The crippled boy readjusted his wooden leg and approached the bald boy as if he was the enemy. “You run with Evens, I’ll stay. What makes you think that I could run with my leg – let alone while carrying someone on top of it.”
“Shut it for once, Rupert. Just let me have it this time,” the bold kid pushed his one-legged friend aside.
In return, the peg-legged kid, too, pushed his bald-headed friend aside. “You shut it. A scrawny runt like you won’t be able to hold them for nothing – let me do it. Just promise to take care of Ruby for me–”
“How about you both shut it and listen to the pretty lady here?” A voice not of their own or anyone Stelie knew of came forth. It was eery yet jovial at the same time.
Who’s there? With her hand firmly rested upon the hilt of her sword, Stelie turned her head around to find the source of the intruding voice, but she could not find anyone – until she gazed at the quelled bonfire, the burial of ashes seemed to be unable to contain its host.
From the pile of cinders, a man rose up from it. His hair was as white as snow, and his eyes as blue as the sky. His skin was of ivory and was shrunken like a prune. The ashes slipped away from his naked body like water.
Who is he? Stelie thought as she hesitantly unsheathed her blade – unable to tell whether he was a foe or not.
“Blueyard? How are you still–” the boy named Rupert asked with a shocked look as if he had just seen a man rose from the dead.
“Let’s chalk it up to a mean twist of fate.” The man jeered. “But that is hardly important right now – if you two don’t act fast, patch-lad o’er there won’t be seeing the sun of the next morn.” With his slender finger, thinner than a branch, he pointed down at the lone boy who was not partaking in this quandary.
The boy named Owl looked back to Rupert in a hurry. “No time to waste. You need to run back–”
As if he had teleported behind the boy, the pale man smacked his bald head – his footsteps were so soft like a cat that Stelie did not even notice he had moved. “Run back? To the Bottom Barrel? Ya’ sure you even know how to get back there? Or even have the strength for that?”
The two boys did not have a retort – their once gallant fronts turned to awkward laughter.
“And even if you could somehow find your way back – do you honestly think that a backwater hole such as that would have the means to cure your buddy there?”
The two boys did not have a retort – their awkward laughter was soon replaced by stammering faces.
“And even if he does get by – do you think the Barrel wouldn’t be the first place that the Sentinels would revisit after this little scuffle?”
The two boys did not have a retort – their stammering faces soured, and their heads drooped from their necks as if it was about to roll off at any moment.
“Splendid. So be good boys – lower your heads and beg the pretty lady and burly gentleman to save your hinds.” The man named Blueyard wrapped his skinny palms around both of their domes and pressed them down to face the dirt – he, too, bowed alongside them.
Though the snowy man looked no more than a pitiful husk – his bowing form, however, was impeccable. His body and stance were swift, straight, and unwavering – Stelie could hardly believe that a common prisoner such as him could execute such sophisticated etiquettes that even most Lords and Ladies of the Centum Order struggled to uphold.
“Please help Evens!” The peg-legged boy bowed and begged – his form was crooked and bent slightly to the right.
“Please. I’m begging ya’.” The bald lad bowed and mumbled – his form was sound, but his limbs were a bit tense.
The steel dog, too, bowed its head until its snout could huff in the dirt while wagging its tail left to right – its form was faultless.
“I don’t know if I want to anymore after what you’ve done,” Abe grunted, it wasn’t like him to be peeved off this much at mere kids’ antics.
“Abe…” Stelie smacked his massive arm, though it didn’t seem to hurt him much.
“I’m serious here. Even if I wanted to adopt these little shits – our camp isn’t exactly brimming with so many resources that we could just share with any misfortunate sap.”
“They can take my share then.” Stelie stomped her foot.
“Stelie… Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” Abe sighed, his eyes wandering away from Stelie’s eyes and to the wound on her shoulder. “Stop being unreasonable, for once.”
“I believe it’d do you some good to heed that lesson as well, brother.”
Stelie and Abe turned to the silky and temperate voice – only to find the man that Abe deemed to be anything but silky and gentle.
Though they were brothers, it was only in name. The doctor had chalky skin and orbs of brown – his stature could not even begin to match Abe’s. He adorned a brown coat and a leather bag strapped onto his back – no doubt carrying items that only a practitioner of the healing arts would need. Yet no matter how oddly cladded he may be, wrapped between his waist was the same colour of the band of rebels – entwined tightly and untattered.
“Took you and your squad long enough. Only after the battle ended at that.” Abe scoffed.
“Well, my line of work needs me not to be at the heart of the battle. You are much more suited for that, brother.” The doctor returned Abe’s jeer in kind before approaching the three boys and the pale man. He crouched down next to the boy littered in scars and blanketed under a tattered Sentinel flag. “This boy… It’s a wonder that he is alive at all…” Callen mumbled, his eyes tracing every wound and scars on the boy’s body.
“Please, you need to save him.” Unable to sway his big brother, the bald boy resorted to begging Callen instead.
The kind doctor of the rebel band offered the owl boy a brief smile before turning his head back to Abe. “Brother, I’ve taken a great interest in this boy here. May I please bring him along with us back to camp? I will take care of his wounds.” His mere words brought deep gasps and widened pupils to the ashen lads.
“And how would you do so? We have our own to take care of – and wounds like his aren’t so cheap to treat,” Abe’s sardonic tongue only seemed to surface whenever his brother was around.
“He could use my portion. And if there’s any left, please share it with others.” Stelie stepped forward – shielding strangers and standing against her ally.
Stelie’s mind had begun to become hazy. Her eyes were losing their vision as her limbs tired all over – her body had yet to reacclimate to the strain of war. Yet she could not stand down yet, even if she had to dig her sword into the dirt to use it as a support pillar. Everyone’s eyes were aiming at hers – eyes as if they were sighting someone perhaps crazy, caring, or cool.
“Stel…” Abe grumbled as he glared down at Stelie’s red-soaked shoulder once more – yet his anger did not compel him to shake Stelie aside.
“C’mon, surely you would not want to abandon three poor boys and a charming chap to their demise? Aren’t you supposed to be the good guys here?” the pale man with silky hair wept crocodile tears.
“You be quiet. What do you even know about us?” Abe grouched at the nosy convict.
“Please, brother.” Callen pleaded by Stelie’s side, on the behest of people whom he had just met.
The giant gnashed his teeth to a terrifying sound, as if stones were crushing against each other. If he wanted to, his hulking hands could have easily swatted away everyone in his path – yet as if they were bounded by invisible shackles, Abe merely crossed his arms. “Oh enough,” Abe sighed tiredly – he looked more exhausted here than he was during the battle. “If both the doctor and the princess insist upon it – what could I possibly do then? Suit yourselves,” Abe glowered before turning his back and walking away from the burial site of the once great flame.
“Thank you, brother.” Callen smiled – his words were so faint that Stelie doubted Abe could have heard them. “Alright, follow me, everyone. We’re about to depart soon.”
“Thank you!” the two boys bowed until their foreheads touched the ground alongside the mutt.
“We’re going on another adventure! Isn’t this exciting, boys?” the blue-eyed ashen man cheered as he wrapped his arms around the two boys – he seemed even happier than the lads were.
Stelie smiled gently at the tender sight amidst the wake of a bloodbath. Though their bodies were bared, ragged, and marred – their beams ever held. Such fleeting moments, Stelie hadn’t felt ever since their humble band of rebels first shared cups of the same wine – and those boys did it all for a friend at death’s door. She glanced down at the boy littered with scars and faded stitch marks – if she hadn’t squinted her eyes, she doubted that she’d be able to notice how many there were and how old they could be. May Ark bless you… Stelie bid her last prayer of the day to both the fortunate and the unfortunate ones. She gazed her eyes back to the ruined meadow, housing people that did not belong on the cold and desolated plains but warm and wistful homes – if only Ark had blessed them too.