Morning had come, its golden rays melting away at the miasma left behind. Despite dawn fading away to a new day, a biting chill lingered in the air—a residue of the night’s terror and the lingering edge of the abyssal storm, gnawing at the rangers as they made amends with the shadows of the night.
A deep hum cut through the quiet dawn as a Medglider descended into Circh Station, its descent slow and measured. Much like Trant Station, the night had been merciless here, leaving scars on the land and in the souls of those who had survived. The doors slid open with a quiet rush of air, and Siegwick Strand stepped out, scanning the scene before him with a quiet but heavy resolve.
The forest nearby crackled with the low consuming flames of resentment burning away at the ethereal forest. Its pink canopy disintegrated into the morning as the fire rended its crown of blossoms. A culling had started under no one’s command. Siegwick sighed at the sight, recognizing that the night’s events inevitably would have led to this slow purge.
He strode forward, his boots heavy against the dark, coarse gravel, as he led the med team toward the station’s front. The scene around them was bleak. Rangers lay still, scattered, their bodies eeriely intact. Siegwick knelt beside one of the fallen, unlocking the young ranger’s helmet. The visor lifted, releasing a thick, crimson flow of blood that had somehow remained trapped beneath the seal.
Siegwick shook his head as he tenderly rested the body down. Looking around, other first responders were encountering the same unsettling stillness in their search for survivors. Yet as Siegwick’s gaze swept the perimeter, he froze. Across the clearing, a lone figure hunched in the shadows—a figure whose silhouette was unmistakably that of a Rak’da.
But what really caught his attention was the figure standing besides the Rak’da. Siegwick’s eyes widened as the timid-looking man standing next to the Rak’da recognized him too.
“Laurence?!” he whispered, his voice edged with disbelief.
Without hesitation, Siegwick moved toward him, his stern expression softening with a hint of relief. There was Laurence Russo. A mixture of relief and confusion washed over him as he approached his friend, who, to his surprise, was alive. Somehow the skinny man was standing there in seemingly decent condition, standing beside a Rak’da
Siegwick embraced his old friend and, despite his stern expression, managed a small, almost serene smile upon meeting Laurence. “Laurence, I... we thought you were gone.” his voice was low, laced with disbelief. “What happened?”
Laurence looked around the ruins of the station, his expression softening with a kind of solemn acceptance. “You know me, Siegwick. Lucky as a boat in a desert.” He nodded to the Rak’da. “Oh right! This good sir here is K-11... without him, I’d be a gonner.”
Siegwick’s gaze flicked to the Rak’da, K-11. In its steady gaze, there was a stillness that caught him off guard. “I see...” Siegwick’s words were cautious. “And you're... unharmed?”
Laurence’s face faltered slightly. “I’m a-okay, at least in body. But Siegwick…the things I saw. What those things are…” He paused, his voice weighed with an uncharacteristic darkness. “Did you kill them all?”
A hint of confusion crossed Siegwick’s face. “You mean the infected?”
“No,” Laurence’s voice trembled. “I mean those pale crawlers. The humanoids.”
Siegwick’s heart sank, a dread coiling within him. “Crawler—S?” he looked at Laurence, whose hands were now shaking, the horror resurfacing in his eyes. Even K-11 turned his gaze fully to Siegwick, silent yet bearing a weight of knowing.
“Laurence…” Siegwick’s voice steadied, though his eyes betrayed a deeper unease. “How many did you see?”
For a moment, they stood in silence, surrounded by the hollowed-out rangers and the aftermath of the night. Siegwick placed his hands on Laurence’s shoulders, a steadying presence as he met his friend’s gaze. “Laurence, what did you see?”
Laurence shook his head, voice unsteady. “There were three. Pale, tall… with these tongues that spiraled into. Into. They were like…”
“Blossoming flowers?” Siegwick asked, causing Laurence to nod.
The weight of this revelation hung heavy between them. There were more.? The question rung in Siegwick’s mind as he relieved his encounter with the Anomaly at Trant. His thoughts spiraled into a mess of horrid possibilities as he turned to face the burning forest. The fire roared fiercely as the smoke clouded the shattered sky above.
“Commandant Strand!” A loud voice shattered Siegwick’s silent panic. Collecting himself, he turned to see a young ranger, bloodied but standing. A grim look shrouding his face.
“What is it?”
“We have a report on the missing personnel... it’s extensive,” the ranger replied, handing a list to Siegwick. “Including both stations, the toll stands at fifteen personnel lost, with twenty-four unaccounted for. Most fatalities are from Circh, and several field teams have vanished entirely. Reports have also emerged from the coastal settlement of Reval, detailing the troubling abduction of civilians.”
Siegwick studied the list. The world suddenly fading around him as he read the first name on the missing personnel team—Anneli Strand, his granddaughter. He stared at the name as a turbulent sea of emotion moved into motion as he held the tablet harder and harder.
“Sir?!” the ranger asked. “Is everything in order? Do we go forth with purge protocols?”
Siegwick inhaled deeply, his voice slipping between calm professionalism and the swell of emotion beneath. “Right… Contact Vizor for details,” he replied, his tone steadier than he felt.
“Uh, sir—Revenant Vizor has vanished as of this morning,” the young ranger reported to Siegwick.
“What?” Siegwick asked, confused. “I heard from him after dealing with the Coarseblood. How is he missing?”
“A C-C-Coarseblood?!” Laurence stammered, his face paling as he finally stepped in, wide-eyed.
“I’ll explain later,” he gestured to Laurence before turning back to the ranger. “Contact Morray about the details. Prioritize informing the public before the zealots from The Dispassion add fuel to the fire.”
The ranger straightened, saluting as he stole a wary glance at the Rak’da. “Yes, sir!”
Siegwick exhaled, steadying himself. He then turned to Laurence, his tone softening. “Right…. Laurence—you should head on back to Krreat. Your son... he was attacked, but he’s alive.”
“Lucas... attacked?” His voice cracked slightly, barely concealing the panic rising within him. “Is he infected?!”
“No, no.” Siegwick shook his head firmly. “This infection doesn’t spread by any physical means that we’re aware of. Your son is clean, but he was attacked pretty viciously. But a Coarseblood saved him.”
“Thank the Fifteen…” Laurence exhaled, relief flickering across his face before curiosity took over. “Wait—what’s this about a Coarseblood? They’re extinct. How is one even here?”
Siegwick crossed his arms, his bandaged fingers brushing against his white beard thoughtfully. “That’s just it. We don’t know. Your son seems to have formed some bond with the Coarseblood. It’s still unclear how he fits in all this, but he helped save lives,”
The Rak’da, K-11, seemed to resonate with the conversation for the first time. “Was the Coarseblood the crimson beast that killed Primer/R/56?” it asked with a synthesized voice from a little device near its neck.
“A Prime Rak’da made an appearance here too?” Siegwick asked, turning to K-11 with surprise.
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K-11 nodded.
“Is Primer/R/56 also known as Clashscale?”Siegwick continued, a hint of realization dawning on his face.
K-11 gestured solemnly toward the nearby row of bodies. “Internal bleeding,” he stated simply.
“That explains the damage…” Siegwick muttered. He looked back at K-11. “So, the crimson-scaled creature was the Coarseblood. I didn’t know he made it here too, but if that’s what you saw, then it was him.”
K-11 turned to Laurence, his reptilian eye regarding him steadily. “Mr. Russo, while you were unconscious, a crimson-scaled creature arrived. It killed Primer/R/56. I was… surprised.”
Laurence’s face brightened, his fear momentarily forgotten. “Well, darn. I’d sure like to thank the guy personally—for saving my son and you!” He offered K-11 a warm smile.
“It would be thrilling to meet such a person!” K-11 replied, his synthetic voice carrying a calm enthusiasm.
“I have… some unfortunate news.” Siegwick’s voice cut in, his tone turning somber. “That kid—the Coarseblood—they’re doing everything they can to save him, but…his body endured far more than it could. It was a miracle we managed to keep him alive long enough to send him back to Krreat…”
K-11 tilted his head in confusion. “But he lives, correct?”
Siegwick, “As far as I’m aware, he’s alive.”
"Well, as Mr. Russo has taught me... we hope?” K-11 asked, a hint of unfamiliar optimism in his voice.
“We sure do.” Laurence agreed, giving a reassuring nod.
Siegwick felt some of the unease leave him, but the notion of multiple anomalies hadn’t left him. “Laurence, did all the anomalies you saw look the same?”
Laurence’s demeanor shifted back into a gloomier one: “I’m not sure... with the abyssal storm going on and the bright lights, it was hard to tell, but I felt three distinct abyssal Kyyr signatures.”
“Where did this happen?” Siegwick asked.
K-11 lowered his head as he began to recount the events. “It happened while me and my podmates were celebrating the Selection. We rarely come together so it was a strange time for me. We had gathered at the point you human’s refer to as Durang Crown. Amidst our meal, a strange device flew in. Inside was Mr. Russo. He was afraid, and at first we planned to salvage his metal, but then we felt it. Their presence.”
K-11’s gaze seemed to darken as he continued. “The air grew damp, and then there was darkness even amidst our fire. A-78 tried to add more fire to light the way, but he was suddenly taken into the black. Then V-23. Then Y-54. Mr. Russo used his Kyyr to create a chemical flashbang. It worked on the monsters. We ran aimlessly. Then M-07 was taken. Then U-94. Then AL-32. Then it was only K-11, Mr. Russo, and V-44. We ran through the dark until we arrived here. The storm was loud, and communication with the Steel Dragon was severed.
K-11 paused, the synthesized voice carrying a weight of sadness. “The humans were wary of us, but Mr. Russo spoke on our behalf. Not long after the infected came, I didn’t recognize them except for Primer/R/56. The night was bad; many of the humans died. V-44 died. I did what I could to return the kindness Mr. Russo showed, but it was difficult. They… would not die, no matter how much lead I drove into their heads.”
K-11 pulled back, his gaze distant as he stared into the dark, charred forest. “Primer/R/56 had been fishing by the coast that day. I wonder when he was turned. I wonder… how we never heard.”
Siegwick absorbed this quietly, his voice low. “I see…”
“Well,” Laurence added, breaking the silence with a weary chuckle, “he’s left out a lot of the details, but it does really boil down to us... running in the dark.”
“We’ll discuss what you saw in more detail later, Laurence I think you should head back home and check on Lucas. The Medglider is leaving soon…” SSiegwick said, his voice softening as he glanced between the two.
K-11 turned to face Laurence, his reptilian gaze steady, yet there was an almost tentative hesitation in his movements. “Is this… farewell?” he asked, the synthetic tones of his voice carrying an uncharacteristic softness.
Laurence gave a small, bittersweet smile. “For the time being, K-11, I hope you’re able to make it back up. I never thought I’d befriend a Rak’da, but here I am.”
K-11 tilted his head, processing the unfamiliar phrase, his scaled brow furrowing slightly. “Be… friend?” he repeated slowly, the words foreign but intriguing.
“Yes, that’s right,” Laurence nodded, his smile growing. “A friend. Someone you can rely on.” He hesitated, then added, “And someone who’s grateful… for all you did.”
K-11’s gaze lingered on him, as though he was trying to etch the memory of this strange exchange into his mind. “I… will remember this.” He paused, as if searching for something else to say, before adding, “If ever you need… I will be where you found me.”
Laurence gave a nod, feeling an ache in his chest he hadn’t expected. “Until we meet again, K-11.”
K-11 bowed his head with a slight, deliberate movement, his synthetic voice softening further. “Goodbye… friend.”
Laurence waved back at K-11, a warm but bittersweet gesture, as he gathered his few belongings. Siegwick walked beside him, his expression unreadable yet seemingly unbothered by the unusual farewell they’d shared.
As they moved away, Laurence broke the silence. “Siegwick, isn’t it strange when we see glimmers of what the Rak’da used to be?” His voice was tinged with melancholy, his gaze drifting back to the solemn figure of K-11 standing alone.
Siegwick paused, letting the words settle before offering Laurence a solemn smile. “Time is a cruel thief…” he murmured, his voice quiet. He raised his eyes to the smoky sky, a glint of longing in them as he searched the darkened heavens for a glimpse of the Steel Dragon—the Super Starglider, the one and only home of all Rak’da.
Bidding his dear friend farewell, Siegwick turned his attention to the worn and beaten Circh Station. Along the fenceline were the charred and dismemebered corpses of infected Rak'da, their limbs weakly trying to attack to no avail. Groups of rangers moved carefully among the remains, gathering fragments into containers, their faces grim with the night’s toll. Siegwick made his way past the line of bodies and entered the station.
Circh Station loomed over the landscape, far larger and more imposing than its counterpart, Trant Station. Nestled at the base of the jagged Cau Mountain Range, it occupied a commanding position that overlooked the sprawling, abyssal expanse of the Primordía Forest. The structure’s three floors towered against the rugged mountainside, each level fortified with reinforced steel and weathered concrete, that now bore fresh wounds from the night's encounter. Circh once had been a bastion for rangers, a central outpost designed not only to repel the unknown but to observe and endure its constant encroachments.
Unlike Trant’s smaller, more intimate setting, Circh Station had a bygone sense of gravitas. The upper floors contained observation decks and research chambers dedicated to studying abyssal phenomena, while the lower levels held medical bays and barracks, each space meticulously organized to accommodate the larger ranger teams stationed here. Among its utilitarian halls and dreary white corridors, shadows whispered of the old glory of Circh Station.
Overseeing this massive outpost was Vizor, a Revenant Stalker, a mechanoid from the age of the ENN.KORR—a forlorn relic. Vizor’s metallic frame had always been hidden under drap white ghostly cloaks, leaving many questions about the history of the old machine. Once a stalker for Revenant Super Intellitat, he had witnessed the fall of the machines, the rise of a myriad of alien races, and endured through Calamity. His memory banks held fragments of civilizations lost to time, battles that had reshaped worlds, and legacies forgotten by all but himself. Trapped now on the desolate world of Esthes-3, Vizor had presided over Circh Station with an almost bitter diligence, a being once grand now relegated to the role of glorified home computer, forgotten by time.
Siegwick entered Vizor’s office, a barren, shadowed space on the station’s top floor. Old, frayed blinds hung limply, allowing thin slivers of light to slice through the darkness, barely illuminating the room. In the center, a massive, jagged ivory stone commanded attention, its surface etched with deep claw marks. Powdery dust lay around the stone, the residue of grinding force that had chipped and worn away at it over time. As Siegwick moved closer, the fine dust rose, tickling his throat and bringing on a cough that echoed in the still air.
He knelt, studying the strange tracks that led away from the stone and out of the room. Their deranged gait was hard to discern under the confusion of whatever lay beneath the ghostly mantle that hid away Vizor's body. But even amidst the chaos of the tracks, Siegwick could tell he had deliberately left.
All that was left was a room that held lingering, stale air, dust settling over loose wires that snaked across the floor. Siegwick’s gaze lingered on the jagged stone, the scars upon it a silent testament to Vizor’s presence here—until now.
Why now? What happened to Vizor? The question lingered as Siegwick rose and cast one last look at the empty room.
Siegwick descended to the base floor, his boots echoing down the worn steps. He passed clusters of young rangers, their faces desolate, a look all too familiar to the old man. Exiting the building, he scanned the grounds, seeking out the search and rescue coordinator. His gaze getting caught on K-11, who stood tall by the fence line, gazing out into the distance with a silent intensity.
As Siegwick approached, K-11 turned, meeting his eyes briefly before raising his organic hand to point across the fence. Siegwick raised a brow, curiosity piqued, and walked over to join him.
“What’s wrong, K-11?” he asked.
“Two humans,” K-11 replied, lowering himself to sit, his tail coiling around him in a steady, protective loop. “They look dead… but they are not.”
Siegwick’s eyes widened as he ran to the entrance, peering down the gravel path. Down the road were two figures—a woman with long black hair, her face concealed by a cracked mask, and in her arms was the limp body of a young man. His body hung lopsidedly from her grasp, his single remaining leg dangling as she struggled under his weight.
Siegwick wasted no time. He called out to the medical team and hurried to meet them. “Can you tell me your name?” he asked as he approached the woman. Her mask shifted, revealing a crimson-pink eye, dry and swollen with exhaustion.
With a trembling nudge, she pushed the young man’s body toward Siegwick, her voice barely a whisper. “He…l…p h…im.”
As she relinquished her hold, her strength gave out, and she collapsed to the ground, exposing deep claw marks that raked across her back. Siegwick caught the young man, quickly feeling for a pulse. A faint but steady heartbeat thrummed beneath his fingers. The young man was ghostly pale, had a missing leg, and he appeared to be in some sort of coma.
Recognition flickered in Siegwick’s mind as he handed him over to the medical team. “It can’t be,” he murmured, piecing together the young man’s identity as the medics worked swiftly to stabilize him.
He watched them both being taken away, a heavy dread settling in his chest. The faces of the missing personnel flashed through his mind, each name a ghost from the night’s toll. He remembered the names of those in Anneli’s squad. In particular the name of a boy he’d once mentored, a young, bright man by the name of Ryan Rasor.