I rolled my eyes back as a wave of calm coursed through my body. I could feel myself lift off the ground ever so slightly, and Treden's green glow began to drift towards me. That same wave reached my head and began travelling through my brain.

Somehow, I could see the inside of my head. Every connection in my brain, every single neuron firing signals throughout my mind. The calm seeped into my brain as it crawled upwards accompanied by a faint green glow, and began tracing every single part. A wave of pleasure replaced the calm as it reached every nerve ending it could find.

This was some serious psychedelic shit, and it felt fucking awesome.

I let myself enjoy the pleasure for a moment, thinking this was heaven. I couldn't think about much else, just how fucking amazing this shit was. As it travelled further, the pleasure stopped abruptly, giving way to a very sharp pain in my head.

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I awoke to the same scene I left, with Treden sitting in front of me and an arm extended towards my chest. Lamps of floating yellow orbs lit the very small but sturdy shack. The short woman before me cast her gaze to the wooden floors beneath me, tears forming at the corner of her eyes.

"You got what you need?" I asked, no longer fawning over her. Must've been some magic bullshit again. "I really don't like how you can see what I can't. In my own fucking head, no less."

"Yes, I've seen enough. What must we do?" Said the shorty, lifting her gaze to meet mine.

"Do for what?"

"To join you."

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Sergeant Thraus Volloga and ten others walked through the forests as they searched about for more enemies. They'd radioed back to base, but no answer was received. It was like this for a while, since they went into the forest. Their last broadcast simply wasn't acknowledged, and it seemed likely that something was jamming their comms.

How, however, wasn't known.

Volloga was the epitome of a sergeant in the Regime's Army. Regulation haircut, visible veins running from his neck to his chin, lean body with toned muscles -- almost your run-of-the-mill grunt if it weren't for the veins, and the veins ran deep with this one. 

His section had been tasked to patrol the perimeter and report back to base before nightfall. He and his men were now to the north-west of the encampment, deep in the forest. They still moved with great caution, however, as this Sergeant didn't want any surprises. They stayed low to the ground and made full use of their adaptive camouflage. After all, no one knew what kind of threats they'd be facing -- they'd have to be ready for all of them.

"Sarn't, over there," said one of the more scrawny corporals in the group, holding a pair of binoculars to his head. He nodded to the east, near the edge of the clearing where a dark ellipse formed just behind the trees. Lines of armoured men emerged from the portal to who-knows-where, which to the base must have looked like a massive army emerging from the trees.

"On the ground, stay still and shut up," said Volloga in a raspy whisper through the radio. "Contact base if you can. We'll keep eyes on the enemy as we go, stay alert."

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The men of the first section lay flat on the ground, guns raised and pointed at the appearing mass of enemies -- getting louder as they marched towards the base. Each man remained in absolute silence, and with their uniforms, almost couldn't be told apart from the forest floor. They remained like this until the same scrawny corporal began whispering into his radio.

"This is some weird shit, sarge. Fucking portals? How convenient is that?"

"Shut the fuck up Vedremo," replied Volloga in a cool, collected voice. "Not a word 'til I say so, unless it's to the Major. How are we with the rear?"

As if on cue, a small man-sized ring appeared silently behind the group, widening into an oblate shape. A man's wizened old face emerged first from the portal and began looking around with a scowl. He searched about for a bit, still unable to find whatever it was he searched for. He let out a soft grunt.

"Where in the gods' names even are they?" said the old man, followed promptly by a strange beat all around him. 

Three taps, two taps. Everyone else responded with a tap. This was their method of communicating in case of surprises, and it was being employed against this unsuspecting portal-dweller. Through the radio, a single tap slapped against the mic, and the swift rustle of leaves began in earnest. 

Eleven figures jumped up and turned around towards the new appearance, weapons raised and pointed towards this unwelcome visitor. Those around the old man pointed their weapons right at him, and the rest began scanning the flanks and rear. If these enemies could be wherever they wanted, the soldiers needed to be extra vigilant.

Those doing so seemed to be somewhat jumpy, but whatever it was, it didn't seem important enough to warrant interrupting the more prevalent issue at hand.

"Step out and place your hands behind your head," said Volloga in a firm, commanding voice. The man didn't comply and simply looked at him with his head tilted in curiosity. "Get down on the ground, now."

"Calm down, I'm not here to fight," shrugged the old man as he stepped out of the portal, revealing his long purple robes and an even longer white goatee. Holding a curved slate staff like a crutch, he held his hand out to Volloga. His hand was being enveloped by a black aura. He jerked his hand to the rest of the group, and a dark bubble covered each of them.

Suddenly, everything began to move faster and faster. One of the soldiers called out to their sarge, and they turned to face the scene unfolding before them. Crowd-molesters were sent into the field, followed by fast-forwarded yelling, then gunfire. 

The group turned to face the old man and raised their weapons once more, throwing commands and curses his way. He simply hunched onto his staff and sighed.

"So that's how those things work, hm?"

He planted his staff into the ground and a blurry haze surrounded him. The men began firing, each bullet frozen in the air as they slammed into his protective blur. Through the haze, the man could be seen reaching out with his hand, and a black aura surrounded his head, not unlike the censorship used in pictures of special operators.

"Sarge, the other sections are leaving!"

Volloga turned to find their three vehicles leaving with haste amidst a field of blood and metal. He knew in his mind they needed to catch up and warn them of the threats they might have to face, but not until he dealt with the one in front of them. 

The old man scanned the fields and seemed surprised by what he saw. "Impressive, you could do some real harm with this," he added. "If you'd like to get back to your friends, you need to answer some questions for me."

"What do you need?" Asked the sergeant, looking for a way out of the mess he was in. The rest of the company had already fled to the trees, and his company wouldn't do well for long without their supplies. Fortunately, the company had left the armoury at the base, and they couldn't have carried all of it with --

Three shots rang out from an autocannon near the tree line, and the armoury exploded.

"You'll need to answer some questions for me, good sir," said the old man with more gravity. "I predict you'll need to come to your friends' rescue sometime soon."

Volloga looked at his men as his rifle remained trained on the old man for nought. Each one returned his glance with a look of confusion, they didn't know what to make of this, either.

"I understand, do with us as you will."