Mazael was quantifiably shorter than the other soldiers in the platoon- a whole ten centimeters below the regulation standard (172 centimeters) and so noticeably shorter that it had been the punch line for much of the division since he had joined. Some had called him a diversity hire; others had called him pipsqueak. It wasn't until he had collapsed someone's ribcage with an axe kick that he stopped facing such ridicule. As it turns out, such a thing would earn you respect in any circumstance; applying for a job? Axe kick. Working for Charity? Axe kick. Asking your crush out on a date? Axe kick. Try it next time you find yourself in a precarious circumstance.

Trudging through the halls of the barracks, Mazael never met uniform standards- he had taken off his jacket to reveal the threadbare tank top underneath, his pants weren't cuffed into his boots and his hair was a mess- as always. He was allowed to break a few rules in regards to uniform standards due to his "special designation" as a Tryarch- something he wished he could distance himself from. His introduction into the Royal Military was a difficult one to be sure, but now? he was a welcomed facet after nearly a whole year in the forces. He was their secret weapon, their ace in the hole- to have a Tryarch on your team was a boon and a curse. They were lucky to have Mazael, because out of all of the remaining Tryarchs on Yearn, he at least had some semblance of civility left in him. The others were beasts.

Mazael had been called for a meeting with the Lightier himself; Roze.

Roze was unnaturally tall and obscured in a deep red trench coat and wide-brimmed hat; thick leather gloves and a scarf obscured any possible visible skin. The only distinguishing characteristic of Roze was the slight violet glow that emanated from one of his eyes- the right one, to be precise. It was his trademark, one of the things that made Roze Lightier so prolific, a regional celebrity of sorts. His presence was distinguished and difficult to explain; Most would explain it as being in the room with a Tiger that you couldn't find, but knew was there; A sense of lurking danger that was incalculable and subtle. To Mazael, Roze felt like heat, it felt like standing in a Sauna of sorts, a sweaty trepidation that stung his eyes and made his breath catch in his throat. Roze was intimidating, and to be able to intimidate a Biological Super Weapon like Mazael was a feat that none had claimed so far- none besides the King himself and Roze Lightier.

"There's our Dentist in Training," Roze remarked, sitting behind the heavy iron desk that sat in the far corner of his study; the room was warmly lit, minimalist, a single window, a few meager ornamental plaques and trophies, wooden floors and walls. Not a bad setup.

Mazael winced at the comment; his jaw still felt the electric pain from a week ago. The impromptu tooth surgery was a harrowing endeavor and yet Mazael found himself grateful for having done it- no longer having to see the disgusting fangs in the mirror anymore.

"Wish you paid me as much."

Roze let out a guffaw, sorting through papers on his desk, only half paying attention to Mazael.

"Right. We got your next assignment, if you're ready for it, Doctor."

Roze had turned to face Mazael, his eye was difficult to look at; It was like staring directly into the sun. Something radiant and disorienting, something powerful.

Mazael smiled, a gap-toothed yet still remarkably sharp gesture.

"Of course, boss. I'm always ready."

A reconnaissance job; Funny.

Mazael was a weapon. Sure, he was fast, he was agile, he was small- But his combat potential was his main point of utility. To be sent on a reconnaissance mission felt a smidge degrading; Minus the blow to the Ego though, it was an easy job. He was tasked with scoping out a Rebellion encampment- There was an entire political issue going on that Mazael wasn't informed on, nor did he particularly care about the details of. He did know that there was an active rebellion that committed some acts of terrorism, which was pretty bad. Excuse enough to wipe them out, he supposed.

Mazael ran through the forest, keeping a low profile the entire time- Not a difficult task for someone of his stature. Being short had its perks. He never really let it get to him, but it was always grating to be teased by his compatriots for something so far out of his control. Humans were funny like that. He had been given an estimated location of the Terrorist encampment- The Kor Rebellion was what they called themselves. Mazael thought it was a stupid name, but no less original than "The Royal Military of Kreat", so who was he to judge, really?

The full moon's light streamed through the tree tops in speckled patterns, the old growth forest was filled with enormous oak trees and thick brush that made Mazael wonder how a group of humans could navigate it at all- Being raised in such an environment would make one capable of navigating it, but from Mazael's understanding, they were not native to this region. An observation that Maz would have to tuck away for now.

He climbed trees and acrobatically kicked off them to pass over hedges and through tree passes, using the landscape to his advantage; it was the perfect playground for someone as gymnastically inclined as Mazael who was able to flow through the environment like water- the moonlight giving him guidance through the thickets until a new light graced him: The distant lights of a fire.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Bingo

He had stumbled into the right area and found the Rebel's encampment; he didn't have a proper search strategy, there was no method to his looking- and yet by sheer dumb luck he had stumbled upon the enemy encampment, a brightly lit camp fire who's dancing flames flickered through the forest, visible from thousands of feet away in the darkness of night. Mazael grinned- it didn't seem like a particularly big camp. A burgeoning ambition caused Mazael to grin wickedly. Dashing through the trees, getting closer, he could confirm that it seemed like only a small group- most likely a dozen figures, No readings of anything else.

Easy pickings.

He was about to show Roze what happened when you sent a weapon of mass destruction on a Recon dive.

He approached the edge of the clearing and froze upon getting closer- he smelled something rotten and burnt. The group of figures surrounding the camp fire were not human. Mazael's hair stood on end as he looked out into the clearing to notice that there was only one fire in the center of a rather large clearing- small tents were scattered through out the tall grass numbering in the dozens. Mazael counted about seventy tents, crushed and trampled- and yet there were only about a dozen humanoids around the campfire, all hunched and eating something- a creature sat on the spit, nothing but charred remains. It was with a chilling sobriety that Mazael made the observation that he couldn't tell what the roasting creature was- but he could tell it was bipedal.

One of the creatures stood up. It was tall, bipedal, nude, lanky, and gaunt with skin that twisted with the sinewy muscle beneath it, its head was unnervingly spherical and smooth. There wasn't a human in sight. Mazael's breath quickened as a sense of danger became present; what were these things? Were they eating the Rebels? Mazael scanned the clearing one last time before slowly backing up. He looked back at the campfire and was startled, an involuntary gasp escaping his throat as all twelve of the lanky humanoids were now standing, looking towards the tree line where he stood. He had no idea how they had sensed him but something told him it had something to do with the fact that he was a Tryarch and had a unique psionic footprint.

It was now or never; he didn't know what these things were but he didn't care- they were going to die.

He walked out of the clearing and popped his knuckles, rolling his neck. The creature's had no faces- only a smooth, flesh colored bulb. No genitalia or nipples- only a flat, blank space.

"Alright fuckers-"

he said walking through the tall grass, balling his fists, a cerulean energy radiating from his knuckles as the static electricity began to build. The tension in his body reached a climax before his foot caught on something. Pausing for a moment, he looked down to see a dead body- a dead body wearing Kreat royal military armor.

Choosing to focus on the matter at hand, he turned to face the creatures, and to his horror they suddenly had mouths. A thin toothy slit had split their spherical heads in two to reveal rows and rows full of teeth; Mazael was confident that their brains had to be somewhere else, as their was no room in its head that wasn't wholly filled with sharp jagged marble. Mazael felt his blood run cold- which only made him angrier. He wasn't about to let a couple of lanky weirdos scare him.

He felt the vivacity of his nervous system spike and he knew he had to make the first move- he pushed off his back foot and the ground exploded, sending Mazael flying through the air in a flash of explosive lightning- he immediately emulsified the center-most Monster who exploded in a thick paste of bones and meat, Mazael's body heating up from the speed, so that when he landed his skin smoked and his clothes had begun to char. His pants were lightning-proof, his shirt, on the other hand, was not.

The eleven remaining creatures set upon Mazael with a shocking ferocity. He spun and kicked off his back foot again in a violent pivot only to send it rocketing into the torso of the second beast, cleaving a clean swipe through its torso and splitting it in half. When the third beast slipped in and clamped onto Mazael's arm, he was shocked by the tight pain that shot through his body as it grabbed a hold of him and hoisted him into the air, chomping on his arm and ripping at the muscle with its shredding mandibles. Mazael had the disconcerting sensation that the thing's teeth were moving, as if they were saw blades that slowly rotated in its mouth, further shredding the meat of his arm. He shot his arm straight through its forehead and then kicked off of it, flying through the air and landing on the ground in a three point stance. His arm -led profusely, but the pain was lost in a sea of adrenaline. These things were fast, strong, and mean- But Mazael was all of those things and electrified.

He kicked off the ground with both legs and pirouetted through the air; the monsters didn't stop pursuing him, but Mazael was fine with that; it made them predictable. He hurdled towards one, and as it swiped at him with a set of foot-long claws, he caught its thin wrist and kicked through its chest, flying through the newly made hole with momentum, pulling its arm through the newly made hole in its chest and then ripping it clean from its body. It stood, dazed, before turning around to attempt to swipe at Mazael who ducked underneath it. He was now surrounded, but he had a weapon thankfully. He began to tear off the fingers from the things arms, the foot-long spikes that would make terrific darts- all as he ducked and rolled underneath the frenzied swiping of the ten remaining monstrosities. It was no simple task, but he noticed they lacked any greater coordination, often bumping into each other or outright damaging themselves as they flailed about and snapped at Mazael, his short stature and blurry speed made him a difficult target to hit, especially for such tall assailants.

He had five darts; now? He just needed some distance. He braced himself and then dashed, blowing through the legs of one of the monstrosities before being cut along his bare back by another that had been gaining on him. He felt the claws delicately slice through the dermis of his back, the warm blood freely flowing as he gasped with pain- he was losing a lot of blood and the fight was becoming increasingly dire.

He made it about seventy feet out before he stopped, pivoted, and channeled his energy into the talons of the monster before he threw them all in one concentrated scatter gun shot of blades that were heated up with enough lightning to frighten a storm cloud. Mazael watched as the piercing blast shredded the crowd of monsters like swiss cheese, piercing through them in tracers of light that left sizzling holes that steamed and crackled with galvanic fervor.

There was one left- the one missing an arm, now perforated and stumbling, still coming after Mazael. Maz furrowed his brow; he was tired, his energy reserves tapped, and while this thing was in an even worse state it was still dangerous and he wasn't going to risk anything.

(Do you remember what I said about precarious situations?)

Mazael rushed towards the thing, leapt into the air, and before it could even raise its arm to swipe, he axe kicked it in the head, caving in its dome shaped skull.

Mazael landed and collapsed; he had inadvertently caught one of the teeth right in his ankle. He bled profusely but he was alive and all of the rebels were dead.

Maybe Axe Kicking things wasn't always the best option...