Mhaieiyu
Arc 1, Chapter 17
An Excuse to Die
Two military personnel—men with grossly differing notorieties—walked hurriedly through the corridors, having left the classroom with notable urgency. With seconds to count on, wasting time on philosophical traits of war and the more taboo, underappreciated practices to avoid seemed meritless in comparison to the noble cause spurred by an alcoholic, of all people. As if the last puzzle piece had clicked into place, Xavier anxiously took that piece and excitedly dragged it to his board, the planning room, in hopes of finalizing this much-too-urgent problem. Whatever conditions applied would be met. For the sake of the small country, they had to be.
"Oy... I don't know about this, champ. Never been much of a nerdy strategy guy," Emris implored, scratching his head as he walked alongside Xavier.
"If you wish to lend aid, then you'll have to bear with me. We can't take any chances," Xavier remarked, trying to hide his flushed excitement. The warrior looked more akin to a child restless to see his favourite vacation spot.
"Aye cap'n, just remember..." Emris reminded, gritting his teeth. "The lads in Yanksee need help too."
"Of course, as we agreed. It would do me well to give this Facility a quick service before I leave. I might be gone for a while." The First Brigadier smiled fondly, looking at Emris' confused, concerned face.
"Don't dance in the sun when ye get there, aye? Extract the folks and get out."
Shaking his head, Xavier stopped in front of the destined door, looking back at Emris with a look not even angels could replicate. Standing there, tears hiding in his swollen eyes, Xavier's smile only grew.
"Please, Emris. We both know there won't be time for that. It's far more likely for me to have to fend them off as they make way, lest they catch up to us."
"What?! No, man! Just take the dingies, you'll outrun 'em!" Emris protested, stunned at the always-collected officer's words.
"There won't be enough of them to get the people to safety. We'll have to depart them with the gunship itself, and you know how slow those things are. If the Crimsoneers caught up, they'd tear it apart. When the time comes, I'll have to hold them back," Xavier stated, showing no remorse or displeasure at the possibility.
"The hell are ye sayin'?! We'll do yer mission first, then! It'll buy ye more time to——"
"Forget it. You'll need Corvus and Erica at their strongest when the war begins," the brig denied, earning a dissatisfied grunt from the inferior Brigadier.
"Damn it, champ! Why are ye so acceptin' of this?!"
"Because..." Xavier started, pressing a hand against the doorknob. "It's likely my time will come in the next month or so, when all hell breaks through again. I hope you all can forgive my selfishness, but I think I speak for all when I say that I'd rather die for my people, in the land I was raised in, than to be subjected to war among the pollution of modern society; to be buried within the sea of the deceased here, forgotten as just another soldier."
With this, Xavier turned the handle, impeding any reply from the slack-jawed Emris. Upon entering the meeting room, all those presently occupying the busy room raised their heads in silence, their mutterings ceasing. Willow, the eldest Brigadier, raised his voice.
"Ah, damn it all. It seems the miracle man still walks. Did you two solve your squabble? We can't afford to waste time here," the eldest veteran asked, proclaiming his impatience, and for good reason.
"Yes, sir. I... do still apologize for that. Though I never did to you directly. Ahem, I'm sorry," Xavier replied, his nervousness slipping up as he failed to suppress it.
Emris only chuckled, patting Xavier's shoulder. "Vicks, yer hopeless with words."
"And the fairy tale is over. Can we go back to work now?" another interloper sharply requested, their hair in disarray from the sheer pressure their situation dealt. To their request, the First Brigadier bowed.
"Of course, though I have good news. Third Brigadier Emris..."
"Way to punch in status there..." Emris mumbled.
"...has agreed to assist us on the naval dominance mission, alongside his platoon," Xavier announced, much to the uncomfortable disapproval of the mentioned soldier.
"You what? That daft drunk? He's more likely to sink the bloody things!" Willow exclaimed, exasperated at the prospect of bringing the haphazardly man into the loop. Mutters of concern and disagreement flooded the room, Emris responding with an eye-roll and a few pounds to his chest.
"Alright, shut it. I'm loud, I have a tendency to drink, and I do wreck pretty much everything I touch," Emris started, earning a mocking, accusatory laugh from Willow. "But, I'll see to it the job's done. I take things serious when they get serious, and I know to compensate an honest man's work. I've mulled over it—pretty much 'cause I had no choice, but still—and I've decided I ain't much happy knowin' there's a heap of kids in trouble, be it or not my fault. It's affected me more than I'd like to admit. So don't fret. I'll get this man to those shores right and proper. Count on it," the Guardian finished, proclaiming his intentions with a voice full of life and spirit, imitating his younger, more honest years.
"I suppose that's what makes him the Guardian... I'd like to hope it ain't just a bunch of bark, though," Willow sighed, clearing his old throat and jutting out an authoritarian finger. "That said, I'm dead on it when I say this: you can't fuck this up. Those people need us more than they'll ever need us for at least another decade. If you slip up on this, they're as good as dead. And if that happens, I'm coming for you."
"Heh, aye. Don't worry. I ain't plannin' on havin' ye haunt me when yer old age takes ye. Not with what little I got left," Emris joked, earning an honest laugh out of the elder, among the awkward chortles of a few others.
"It looks like you'll fit right in, mister no-wings. Now, his assistance does come at a cost," Xavier noted; a fact that made several of the workers groan and bash their heads into the table.
"Are you serious? Since when do we have to pay to get our Guardian to do his job?"
"It's a good cause, and he can't do it alone. One that might determine the outcome of the wars ahead," Xavier spoke up, silencing their complaints. "The liberation of Sixth Lieutenant Corvus and Second Brigadier Erica from Yanksee territory."
A range of new mutters of concern seeped into the ambience of the room, once again flooding the space with a nigh-laughable hopelessness.
With a raised hand, a younger specialist stood up, speaking with newb-ish politeness.
"If it concerns one of our top Brigadiers, I'll have to say I'm in favour. That said, will we have time to undergo this mission before extraction? We're already racing against the clock here."
"We're doin' this tonight. Plan to get here before mornin'," Emris slipped in, popping a knuckle.
"Tonight? That's jumping the gun a bit, isn't it? We're not exactly talking about an issue within our borders."
"Aye, we're gonna need suits. I'll have mine ordered ASAP," Emris stated, countering the strategist's concerns.
To his rebuttal, however, stood Willow. "I wouldn't trust those machines more than I could throw them. They haven't had a decent tuning since Hephaestus became Head of Arms."
"We'll have to make due with what gifts we've been given. Even if they fall apart, we'll persevere." Xavier stood firm by the plan, his eyes set on a now conceivable goal.
"Even if the pieces of junk tear you apart?" another deviser asked.
"It's not the craft that's at fault, but the way you use it. These 'pieces of junk' are invaluable to our survival, even to this day," a new voice spoke, earning a gasp from several of the workers as they quickly stood at attention, pounding a fist to their hearts in a militaristic salute.
"General!" one shouted.
"It's an honour, sir!" another hollered, enamoured.
"Heh, are you lost, Captain Apex?" Willow chuckled, a smile blooming on his face as he witnessed the worn man, still recovering from his many days of combat.
"Not at all. In fact, I'd like to believe I'm in just the right place," Kev grinned, giving a salute for himself. Emris diverted his gaze from the man, still somewhat frustrated. "It's nice to see three Brigadiers holed up in one spot. Almost as rare as us Heads getting bunched together — reminds me of older days."
"Ain't exactly a fond memory..." Emris maffled between prickly teeth.
"I'd disagree, but I can read a room well enough at my age." The General nodded, raising a palm. "I'll be joining you two on the rescue mission."
"What?! Oi, don't go doin' nothin' stupid, aye? Yer in bad enough a state as is!" the Guardian, fittingly to his title, asserted in disagreement. Kev was in shambles even now, and as a human, even the suggestion of casting him off into a three-man invasion would seem profane.
"For once, I agree. There's no chance we could justifiably send you out there, you must understand!" Xavier implored, his tone beginning to stumble and flail.
Even as several other workers of varying statuses complained, a single elder simply shook his head, maintaining that sly-yet-familiar smile. Raising a hand that many times had silenced even the heaviest of gunfire, Willow interjected. "At ease. You should all know better than to underestimate your superiors; especially one such as himself. There's a reason he became the Head of Military, after all," the Brigadier sniggered, standing from his seat once more to better captivate his co-worker audience. "This man be the sturdiest, most stubborn sod I've ever laid eyes on. At times when death was assured, like a fish, he slipped right through the bastard Death's hands. I've seen him clear decks of soldiers like it were sport. Frankly, even if he's just human, if the next man or woman who comes around doesn't play it even half as well as he does, I won't be too winded. And you can drop them by the dog den for all I care."
"Oh, for shité's sake. Real inspirational," Emris snarkily spat, visibly bothered by the boasting.
"Do you have a complaint, drunkard?" Willow challenged, intentionally pressing the aggressive man's buttons.
In a predictable response, Emris snapped his teeth together and growled. "Aye! Yer my subordinate, so ye'll be answerin' to me, ye hear?!"
"Of course! Next you'll ask an old man to wash your feet?"
"That's enough, both of you," Kev demanded, suppressing his own laughter rather minimally.
"I do appreciate your concern, mates. But, as the old man said, I've already decided on this. Besides, at least one of these hopeless men are bound to botch up their suits somehow. They'll need guidance."
Slamming a fist into the desk, Emris angrily blasted: "I can feel yer eyes starin' me down, ye bastard!"
With an exasperated, amused look, Xavier brought a fist down upon Emris' head, earning a groan-like yelp from the bloke.
"That said, I can't assist you with the issues concerning Zwaarstrich. As much as I would love to help, I'm needed as the figurehead of the battlefield," the General concluded with an apologetic gesture.
Pressing a nervous thumb against his forehead, the First Brigadier raised his head high, admiring the many volunteers that chose to pitch in to aid in his cause; even if indirectly.
"Don't worry yourself about that. You're doing more than enough already." Xavier smiled.
"So, does that settle this already? Can we go do our jobs now?" Willow asked, raising a brow.
"Aye, I need to get a move on. I'll see ye tonight, ye freaks," Emris cackled through a wheeze, hyena-like, before heading for the door. The First Brigadier and the General, each just one rank apart, looked at each other as Emris stumbled by, sharing a short, brotherly laugh. With some hope in his kin restored and a chance at salvation in arm's length, Xavier felt mentally prepared for the many skirmishes that lie inevitably ahead.
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He was prepared for Hell itself to break through the dam of prolonged security, just to brace through its damnatory currents with a grin to his cherished name. The Champion of the Syndicate.
♦ ♥ ♣ ♠
A opaque-haired young man, who had just sullied himself in his hateful outburst, paced nonsensically around the room he was assigned to, piecing together the latest events as well as figuring out how to approach the situation at hand, all while Chloe lied upside down, her paws dangling and her eyes closed as she patiently waited for the lad to process it all.
With a promise—or rather, an offer—denied to him mere hours after it being made, Tokken had learned nothing of their morbid discovery. And, ironically, in that same bout of unclarity, a torrent of renewed distress overwhelmed the teen's senses — he scratching his head furiously as he kept pacing the room's enclosure. Chloe watched Tokken go back and forth; her eyes rolling like a clock.
The walls became darker and even claustrophobic to the youth. The sense of security he once felt within this place, limited and off-putting as it was, was now replaced by obscurity and delirium, which soon lead to his breaths becoming more ragged and desperate. As if a uselessly-floundering salmon caught in a net, Tokken's panic became more visible, and his body drenched in anxious sweat. Chloe up-righted herself, but her soon-to-be-vocalised concern was cut off as Tokken immediately beelined for the bathroom, barely caring to strip before entering the shower.
Of course, his actions worried Chloe. But, as her social nature was underdeveloped and naive, she had no right to believe his behaviour was abnormal. Humanity—— nay, bipeds as a whole were so truly different from the Howlers she grew up beside. Their culture was so distinct. While the society these bipeds built relied on the hustle and bustle of structured work, living beside innumerous other individuals, Howlers lived far more isolated lives. Calmer, quieter, almost uncaring lives. Death was viewed completely differently. The bipeds mourned their loved ones' passing, while Howlers in particular seemed almost entirely unfazed. Unaffected. To some, it could even be considered a gift of eternal rest.
The pups rarely cried a single tear when their mothers came to pass. Why should they? If the mother raised them right, the pups would be prepared to face the world on their own, to reassert the cycle of their repetitive existence. To achieve nothing unique. To face the same hurdles and raise their litter in the exact same, mundane way. Personality was rare, as everyone almost seemed a carbon copy of their ancestors — and thus, each other. Talks were short, and purely informative. There were no jokes; not even casual speech. If the talk had nothing of value to learn from, it simply didn't happen.
Chloe discovered this, recognised it, and questioned it. Her parents ignored her questions, of course. After all, her queries were fruitless in the end, and nobody truly knew the answer to life itself. Why ponder an unsolvable question, when it's already been recognised as such? Insanity is often defined as repetition of action while expecting a different outcome. And so, to try to answer the unsolvable would be insanity. But is life as a Howler not itself insanity, if you expect anything to change?
Of course, her kin clearly didn't see or expect change. And so, if Chloe was to prove anything beyond having lost her damn mind, she was to change her actions. Learn new things. Share, or at least attempt to share conversations with people, even if they were casual and fruitless. To discover more, and to see past the forest's edge. Her life's desire lay in front of her.
But, was she satisfied? Could and would she ever truly grasp these strange creatures and their unusual cultures? Could she truly cry like they did, when their acquaintances died? Could she feel the gravity of their ominous find, to the degree he did?
Even in the shower, Tokken couldn't distract himself with a wash. Pressing his head against the smooth wall with his hands cupping his head, Tokken let the warm water cascade upon his back as tears of frustration left his eyes, finally venting his angers and fears into the warmth of a voiceless, caressive, steamy air.
Several minutes of this gentle water's touch had passed as each second struck like a bell inside his mind. His shaky voice slowly diminished as his mind and body finally soothed; a single, firm thought popping into his mind, displacing the seemingly endless mess of tangled wires that constituted his constant barrages of overthought nonsense.
I need to get out of here. Now.
Before the wolves get me.
Just like that night, I just have to keep running, and running, and running...
It's insane how even among angels I don't feel as safe as when I'm with you miserable farmers.
Oh, how I miss you people. My saving grace. I'll find you yet again, like you found me that night.
And so, after watching the water drain hypnotically by his feet, the boy exited the showers, draped a white gown over his skin, and exited the bathroom anew — as if reborn from his own impulsion. Reformed, but arguably worse.
Turning to Chloe, who stood at attention, Tokken furrowed his brows. How could he do this to her? She's been nothing but loyal to him, but was that really a reason to exploit her timid, indecisive nature?
Of course, he thought. I'm doing this to protect her too.
"Chloe," he called, his voice colder and more disconnected than she had ever heard before.
Gulping, she replied with an inquisitive nod.
"It's time to go."
♦ ♥ ♣ ♠
With a sickening wheeze, Emris choked upon his own saliva as he approached the door to the Head of Arms' workshop. It'd been a while since he had visited the man in private, and he wasn't exactly pleased with the prospect. While the old giant was far from intolerable, the veteran's own mood would surely be his downfall. With a sturdy knock and a wipe of his maw, Emris took in a deep breath, hearing the clatter of Hephaestus as he worked himself towards the door, obstructed by his own junk.
As the old, rickety door swung open, the giant poking his massive head out for all to see, the two disgruntled, unpleasant gazes met; almost clashing their expressions against each other in a mutually assured dislike-disposition, with a professional tolerance remaining as the last thread keeping them associated. Neither of the pair hated the other, but their incompatibly disgruntled nature guaranteed such a humorous outcome.
"What? Can't you see I'm busy in here?" Hephaestus inquired impatiently, rubbing his sore back with his pillow-sized palms.
Clicking his teeth with a deadpan and a snarl, Emris tilted his head. "Nay, can't see shité through a door, can I? I'm here for a suit."
"The hell's that supposed to mean? Use your own," the giant disregarded, trying to shake off the nagging Brigadier's interest, proceeding to slam the door upon the man.
Popping a few knuckles, Emris shoved his foot into the doorway, preventing the smith from locking him out. "I trashed it."
"What?! By who?" Hephaestus demanded, slamming a hand against the door.
"Yanksies— Let me in!" Emris barked.
Peeking through the gap, the Head of Arms asked: "Did you recover any of it?"
"Oy, I'm gettin' tired of this. If ye want it, ye can go and swim for it yerself!" Emris shouted, finally pushing back against the giant's efforts as he forced himself into the workshop.
"You didn't save any of it?! You mutt!" Hephaestus barked back, giving the soldier space despite his abrasiveness. While a tempered soul, the old smith knew better than to fight the Guardian, wilted as he may be. "You want me to make you a brand new one?!"
Rolling his eyes, Emris' slipper tapped against the floor. "Nay. Just get a pre-made and fix it up."
"You'll be the death of me!"
"Has to be someone, right?" Emris shot, crossing his arms. "Will ye do it? Or will I have to get Alpha involved?"
"Ghr, fuck you. I'll get it done; but you owe me sixty favours for this!" Hephaestus growled, demanding compensation.
To this, Emris chuckled, waving a wrist. "I don't owe ye jack shité. But I'll bring ye a bottle of brandy for yer efforts." Taking a glance around, the veteran leaned down to pluck one of the many pieces of junk in the room—a chest-piece—before dragging it toward the table, slamming it down uncaring towards any other scraps already on its surface.
"Oi— Oi! What the fuck are you doing, maggot!" the giant rushed to his side, heartbroken as shrapnel from his work flew around the room.
"Gettin' ye started early. Yer a total procrastinator, and I can't have ye muckin' about. We need this stuff pronto; my mates are on the line," Emris clarified, stepping aside for the giant to tend to his station.
Rubbing—nay, scratching—the skin off his face, Hephaestus took the gear in hand, before tossing it aside. "I heard that line dozens of time, maggot. And you haven't got a clue what you're doing. That was a prototype. Urgh..." Slamming his head onto the table, the Head of Arms shooed away Emris, who already made way to the exit. "Now get out of here. And when it's done, you come back in here and thank me, hear?!"
With a smug laugh, the Brigadier spared the giant of his presence, closing the door on his way out. Under his breath, he murmured: "Sure thing, bud," as if his gratitude were something to conceal out of shame. Truth was, Emris pitied the old fool. But their dynamic was long set, and he wished not worry the giant by acting out of character. Not just him, either. If he wanted peace among his peers, he couldn't drop his attitude out of the blue; not without making a few dozen question the veteran's suicidal tendencies, or if they'd witnessed an impersonator. Not to mention how fun it could be, to get away with messing with his lot in such a way.
The thought of his kin made him smile, even if the thought of what was to come proved overwhelming at times.
"I really hope none of ye die, ye know," Emris murmured, still standing in front of that same door. He didn't turn away; not yet. An overwhelming presence seemed to manifest behind him, and despite temptation, Emris refused to look back. Not so much out of fear for seeing something he swore not to believe, but to not give some wanderer the satisfaction of seeing him in a more humble, sentimental light.
And so, a blurry, distant voice echoed in his ears. A voice that, even distorted by time, sounded so beautiful to him.
"If you keep them safe, and commit to your duties, they won't ever. It's different if their time has come, but there's nothin' you can do about that, now can you, sugar?"
A voice of an angel. A true angel. Not the bullshit Celestials tried to represent themselves as, motivated by the ignorant common-folk's perceptions, nor the Angels that had long since died or corrupted to the world's influence. With a nostalgic, loving smile, Emris breathed in deeply, staring idly at that door.
"Yer right. Always are," he replied, his complexion softening. Even the troubles and guilt that tormented him so hatefully failed to stiffen his softening face. "I'm scared, though."
"Of course you are, sugar. Anyone would be," that voice explained, not drawing closer nor diminishing in the distance. "It's part of what makes you human, now isn't it?"
"I don't think I like bein' human," Emris admitted, venting his woes. "It don't suit me."
"Of course it does, don't be silly, darlin'. You just don't want the workload that comes with it. I don't want to catch you bein' lazy, now!" The Voice scolded, though its gentleness rippled in Emris' old ears.
"Heh, I know. I'm sorry."
"Emris?"
"Yeah...?"
"Will you visit me soon?"
"Not until I do Xavier right. I don't want Molly seein' me knowin' I let those folks die."
The Voice giggled, its chimes feeling like soothing nectar. "That's more like it."
Inhaling deeply, Emris rambled on, trying to grasp The Voice's attention for as long as he could. "Do ye think this war'll be the last for me? The Crimsons, I mean? I miss trainin' the boy, so I was thinkin' that once I'm set, the two of us could swing the old swords for a bit..."
To his questions, his playful words of hope and desire, no reply came. A void-like emptiness instilled instead, as if a cold breeze had swept away the last of the falling sun's kissing warmth. Turning around, Emris found nobody standing behind him. Not a single soldier walked through this stretch of the hallways, and The Voice's origin was all but lost to him. Of course, he never expected to find her watchful eyes behind him. But somehow, he wished he did. Perhaps then he would truly go insane.
Day slipped by faster than usual for the anxious, yet confident trio. A feeling often shared by veterans, contrary to the eternity recruits experience before facing the turbulence of combat. The day was silent; almost knowing of the dangers ahead. To invade a country was no small task, especially on the brink of war, when the country in question was arguably most guarded. The decision to break the prisoners from the confines of deep Yanksee territory was not only foolish, but borderline suicidal. At least, such would be the case if the trio were composed of anyone else.
Emris' self-preservation capabilities were lacklustre, but his destructive blows were unmatched, paralleling his position as 'Guardian'. And, saved by his regenerative abilities, there was little to be concerned with whenever the old drunk decided to set out on his usual human-bombshell runs. Xavier was among the most capable of the Syndicate; surpassing even his superiors through his balanced diet of magical and physical prowess, combined with his level-headed reflexes. And, of course, the General of the Syndicate himself: Kev. Being human is, by far, his greatest weakness. But where he lacks in endurance and offensive capabilities, he makes up for with incredibly precise tactical efficiency and quick wit, even in the heat of battle. The truest captain to steer the great battleship that was this proud empire's army.
And so, the Guardian, the Champion, and the General faced the cold horizons in earnest, watching in tranquillity as the sun dropped beneath the distant mountains, welcoming the blue darkness of night. Suited up with gear at the ready, the three elites gave a silent nod to each other, and as Kev stood from his chair, the visor on his helmet clasping shut, he gave an awe-inspiring pound to his heart as a time-honoured gesture of their creed.
"Come, men, for we shall ride by bike. To the northeastern borders and furthermore — to Yanksee territory!"