Mhaieiyu

Arc 1, Chapter 19

Give Them Hell

"Minzhei, min Rhabpha. Lady Eclipse has left us still, with body in tow. Our Chameleons claim to have seen them entering the complex," a knight, coated in vegetative armour, spoke.

"And what of Ezequiel?" the monarch demanded, her speech riddled with concern.

"Brimming with life; soaked with little more than his own hurt pride. He was found sulking by the captivity cliff." The knight stood, his short sword jolting from its gentle touch against the marble beneath. Turning around to greet him, the chevalier saw the hiding figure by the doorway's shadowy edge unhinge from the darkness, revealing his unmarked features to the Queen who sighed, reassured.

"Four limbs, two eyes, no bandages... my intuition never ceases to amaze me," Zylith listed, her complexion twisting to that of a scolding mother as she thrust a finger in his direction. "You churlish, precipitous boy! You could've been ruined by the exile! Do you still not know of her might?"

The primitive aristocrat's questions were met in shameful silence, tarnished in part by his resurfacing childishness which robbed him of his freezingly stern attitude; one considered a requirement to be of his status. Instead, he let his emotions waver and singe upon him, thinking only of the childhood friend he had lost to the world, this time assuredly for good. Regardless, the Queen's angered, concerned rants continued.

"If you're still laced with pride, then you must train against such. Cockiness leads only to one's own detriment, you know so! Eclipse is not one to be meddled with. She's as tricky as she is sharp, and I'm not just talking of her claws!"

Zylith's petite-yet-fierce bodyguard, whose chin rested lazily upon a flap-like protrusion her gigantic, jet-propelled axe offered, raised an idle hand before adding: "That's why I prefer big weapons. Overwhelm the enemy with mass — aren't you supposed to be fast? Why didn't you just swing faster than she could dodge?"

"One cannot underestimate an enemy until they're certain to have faced their every card, Minnota. And such is often never the case," the previous knight offered, showing the fanged girl his respect through gesture.

"Haaah, I guess you're right. However," she interjected, stomping over Ezequiel's chance at rebuttal. With this, she lurched forward, her weapon hugged against her as it followed the girl's miniscule body weight. "As the Keeper, it's your job if anythin' goes to shit and back. It's up to you to keep your job—and your people—safe, so you better not make a habit of this. I can tell you wussed out!"

"H—Huh——?"

Before he could even retort, the girl brought her axe down by him, he narrowly dodging her attack due to his distracted nature. Despite her sudden assault, the edge hit the ground lightly.

"See that? You could've at least pulled out your sword, but ya kept it tucked in. Don't be afraid to strike your buddies if it means keepin' us safe, ya hear?!" She yelled, trying to get her point across as quickly as possible, much to her impatient personality.

With a small smile unbefitting the situation at hand, Zylith stepped off her humble mahogany throne, approaching the nerve-struck Keeper with a motherly gaze. Instead of striking him down, spitting in his face or demonstrating her wrath as a threat of consequence, she wrapped her dark, slender arms around his neck, and pulled him into an affectionate embrace.

Stunned and speechless, the Keeper could only reply in kind, shoving his face into her shoulder, as if shying away from the world. Often times, the young man had faced deathly encounters, and yet felt nothing but exhilaration and determination for his goals. Often times, he had been dealt with head-splitting pain, even during his years of infantile practice. And yet, for all that he had lived, crying was the furthest thing from his mind.

From the very start of his journey, as just a young child unknowing of the circumstances the world had to work with or against. Without naught but imagination to guide him, as he hadn't even seen the wonders of the New World. Even then, he knew exactly who we wanted to be, and who he wanted to protect. The people that raised him had given him everything. Without them he had nothing, and to those who had given so much, it felt right to once say, even in a distant future, that he did everything he could. To one day say, he gave his life to a cause more noble than any. Devoid of political or opinionated interference. Whether it was right or wrong, to just say he gave his life—his whole life and soul—to the people he loved most.

But how was he to do so now? How was he to do so if one of his most fundamental puzzle pieces had wandered off to that same New World he could only dream of as a child? How was he to save both her and his people, now that they had become two sides of a coin? For this utter confusion and destruction of his life-long dream — for the definitive, untreatable rupture of his whole-hearted desire, he wept silently into her skin. The fragrance of the one person he deemed a mother was unendingly calming, matched only by that of the one person he called his sister; neither of the two true, of course. Even knowing so, his thoughts for them never wavered.

Just where had his sister gone to? And why had she done so to leave all, including him, behind?

"Will she find happiness...?" His question was genuine, unmuffled even by his own silent sadness. To his worries, the motherly Queen gently stroked his hair, in a vain replication of Eclipse's touch.

"Of course. If she's willing to lose so much, she would surely do so for good reason."

"And if she doesn't?"

"She'll come back to us then, idiot," Minnota jabbed, though her tone was far more dulcet and compassionate than her statement. To this, he laughed. And then cried.

To cry for the first, and last time. To become an adult for evermore, and to face his burdens without even his own troubled past to wear and tear at his tasks. Not to become a husk, but to become hollow enough to allow new experiences to build him from the ground up.

Who knows? Perhaps when he is reformed, he will save everyone. Even if they're too far away.

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

Strapped to the wall, suspended onto his feet, with barely a wink of sleep to his comfort, Corvus stood hopelessly against the smooth concrete wall which had warmed up after prolonged exposure to his warm skin. The pressure on his wings was fierce, and he wondered if the stiffness would fade if he simply broke them off. The pain, at this point, would've been worth it, if only to reawaken once again from his forced meditation.

It had been a considerable amount of time since he had fallen victim to the country's imprisonment, and he was beginning to question his sanity. With not even a clock to guide his perception of time, Corvus could rely only on the light perforating that tiny gap on the door to his right. He had witnessed all kinds of colours seep through that rectangular hole. The brightest white, the dullest orange, the strangest purple, the most nauseous green, black, yellow... Most likely figments of either his corroding imagination or just his cell-ridden dreams.

He dreamt more than once that he had managed to somehow break through these steel bounds clinging to his body. More than once, he even dreamt of busting that door open just to greet the outside again, even as guards pooled behind him. They would always come so close to grabbing him, but the angel would take off like a bird.

And yet, once he crossed the barrier separating the prison from the exterior, his dreams would snap away, reminding him of his hopeless situation once more.

How long has it been... he pondered, his head shuffling drowsily and desperately as he scoured for an answer. Two hours? Three, four, sixteen? A week? A year? Forever?

He had seen the courtyard merely once before, and the conversation he held with that peculiar aristocrat-lookalike was all he could cling to as far as conversation would go. Was it really that unusual? Was he just going mad? Maybe they both were, what with he claiming to have spent a week in this hell. With such thoughts lingering in his mind, his tired eyes caught rest once more, as he soon dozed off from exhaustion. Yet another horrifically uncomfortable slumber, but his body burned for it regardless.

He had succumbed so deeply to his sleep that he didn't wake when the iron that held him was removed from his torso and legs. It was only when the cable that solidified his cuffs to the wall that he fell and narrowly awoke to barely catch himself from smashing against the ground, his legs faltering even with his consciousness restored. The Celestial unleashed a miserable groan, but strangely enough, it was filled also with a bizarre vigour. Finally. Disjointed from that fucking wall. Even restless labour would've been preferable to this. Perhaps that very exercise was forbidden from these men for the very reason of prohibiting their strength.

Corvus didn't respond to the guard's taunts, if any. He allowed himself to get dragged to the door; his legs stumbling to keep up, but failing regardless. That door. That hateful door that robbed him of the world pried open at the simple turn of a key. The simplicity of the act almost seemed insulting, and as Corvus was thrown outside, the misplaced anger was visible on his face.

His body collided against the industrial stone floor before rolling to a stop. For a moment, the Celestial relished from the pain and newly-found position. He almost fell asleep, but such a waste would be ill-advised, especially in his state. After gathering a sliver of his wits, Corvus slowly rose to his feet — his legs wobbling uncontrollably beneath him.

Even the act of walking had become unfamiliar to the angel, stumbling about as he did. After a few minutes, he reached a wall, and leaned against it, resting his body from his ill state. It wasn't long before he was joined by a frustratingly joyous character, whose lack of physical or even psychological detriment was a mixture of astounding and unforgivable.

Pushing a coal-grey tuft of hair aside, the welcoming vibe of Noire's wide-armed gesture suffocated Corvus' view. "You look awful, my friend...! Had a rough day, I take it?"

It was only now that Corvus' dulled state realised there was no sun to speak of. In fact, the only light was that of the moon and lamps. It was night.

"How long has it been...?" the Sword asked, his voice scraping in his throat after a prolonged period of not using his vocal cords.

"Roughly twelve hours, give or take. Not the best schedule, I know," Noire shrugged, smiling smugly. Why was he so happy? What could he possibly have to be cheerful for? These doubts had been surging in his mind for hours now. In fact, it drove him bonkers. With an irritated quip, Corvus' rugged voice slipped from his dried lips.

"Why the hell are you... so damn golden?"

To his question, Noire tilted his head. Rubbing his teeth together, Corvus' gaze dropped to the floor. "You look so fucking pleased with yourself. It's so deplorable, I hate it. How...? How could you, a human, possibly have anything to be happy about here?!" He stood up, grabbing the inmate's neck and smashing it against the wall behind him. Even through the restrictions of his cuffs and his weakened state, Corvus' confused anger tore through.

"This place is hell, and I've been here for a day. What the fuck could you possibly be smiling for?! Are you insane?! Is that it?!"

"Inmate! Drop him right now!" a soldier, having entered the courtyard through one of the many holding chambers, yelled at the Celestial, rifle at the ready. In spite of this, the heavenly man didn't even offer a glance. "I said drop the fucking prisoner!"

"Because..." Noire narrowed his eyes, observing the Celestial's hateful actions even as his own eyes reddened from asphyxiation. "...Today is due, and tomorrow will be judgement day."

Corvus' complexion dropped to his statement. His spiteful, tooth-lined scowl turned into a scared frown, his eyes widening, his pupils shrinking. Even now, the Celestial didn't understand. He couldn't comprehend a word this bizarre freak was saying, and yet, somehow, it permeated through his body so treacherously that it made every hair on his body stand up.

"Open fire!" the guard commanded, joined by two other officers. Their fingers managed to graze over the triggers for a moment, before being tackled to the ground the next. A small group of the inmates had run up to the guards, defying orders and protocols, just to give the pair a few more seconds of life. One of the soldiers managed to point his barrel under the inmate atop of him's chin, blasting his brains out the next second.

The prisoner rolled off of the guard's body lifelessly as the soldier stood up, aiming the barrel towards the other few convicts. The gun fired four times—three blanks and a hit to a shoulder— before the gun's man was tackled to the ground once more by a far more ferocious flying blur. This same blur swiftly stood tall, peppering the remaining soldiers with the gun she wrestled out of the guard's hands. While inaccurate, her bullets spent, all three had been either killed or incapacitated.

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This figure, blessed with wings, had somehow managed to fly out of containment into the courtyard. Even without turning back, Corvus immediately distinguished the woman, who's face was splattered with coagulated blood.

"...Erica——?" he asked, stumbling on her name alone. He cut himself short as he turned to face Noire, who's ramblings started to make sense in part. But how in the world could he have predicted this? Just who was this man, to know more of her than even he did?

His thoughts were interrupted as the lass sprang towards Corvus, grasping the brace that held his wings together, before employing all of her strength to bend the metal out of shape. It took significant effort, her face reddening and veins almost popping out of her skin, but she managed to dent the restraint enough to make it ineffectual.

"C'mon, we're going," Erica demanded, trying to snap the jaw-dropped Celestial out of his trance.

"Going?" Corvus asked. "We can't just leave, they'll kill us."

"A trapped mutt chews through its own bones if only to free itself," Noire stated, stepping into view with a dismissive, casual gesture.

"Who's this?" she asked.

"...I'll tell you later. Please tell me we at least have a plan this time," the angel asked, extending his wings for the first time in over a day, letting them warm and unstick with a sigh of relief.

"Sort of?" Erica smirked, happy to have reunited with her counterpart in this bickering duo. Before Corvus could quite blow a fuse, the presumptuously bombastic lass wagged her finger in self-gratification. "Don't worry, I took a few measures first. Electricity's down for maintenance, so we just have to fly the heck out of here."

"Really? That seems fishy... There's likely to be a few dozen people shooting at us! And besides, how is he going to escape? I can't carry a man in this state, and nor can you!" Corvus dejected, defending the smiling aristocrat in a show of empathy.

"Oh... I feel so cherished."

"On second thought, he might be a psychopath..." Twisting his own motivations, the angel stopped to think, earning an amused chuckle from Noire.

"Worry not. You can always keep me hostage where you abide... As for my escape," Noire started, his smile widening almost sinisterly as he closed his eyes to focus. For a moment, nothing changed; a sight Erica showed visible frustration towards, particularly due to their lack of time. And yet, the two Celestials' mouths quickly fell agape as they witnessed his collar gently deform, as though a mere knot was being undone by the gentlest of incorporeal, imperceptible hands. Soon, the metal lining had been reduced to a straight cable which spun smoothly by his shoulder, sharpening to a ludicrously-acute point.

Two more officers arrived at the scene, armoured and gunned. They stumbled upon seeing the bodies of their comrades, coupled with the extended wings of the newly released Celestials. To see any high-risk prisoner unbound would be startling enough, but to see the two heavenly beings in such a position was endlessly more frightening, glorious as they may appear.

In this distracted state, neither the officers nor the couple of escapees would have time to register as that sharpened wire shot through the neck of one officer, whilst the other was impaled by the flying shrapnel of the annihilated glassy wall.

To this ruthless display of violence, the Celestials could only stare back in disbelief at Noire, who covered his smile with a few fingers. With this, he apologized.

"Ah, it seems I might've been too sudden, no? We'll exchange forgiveness later."

Almost on cue, the emergency alarmed linked to the prison suddenly blared; a pre-recorded message of immediate reaction being blasted through the many speakers that overlooked the concrete establishment. It wouldn't be long before they were overwhelmed by officers.

"Damn it! We have to get out of here now!" Erica managed to yell out, slapping Corvus out of his delirium. To this, he shook his head, still distracted by the humble steps this incredibly powerful individual made as he advanced with them. Looking back at Erica, Corvus managed to spot the cold sweat that fell from her forehead, she likely just as alarmed as he was. In this paused state, several officers arrived at the scene from the containment cells, peppering the inmates with gunfire regardless of whether or not they acted out the escape. A few of the mowed down prisoners were even huddled in corners, covering their heads in fear, and yet, they were destroyed.

Turning to face them, Corvus' face twisted in anger. Was the Syndicate truly as bad as these monsters? Were they really comparable in the slightest? Neither side was pleasant, but surely firing against helpless prisoners was a war crime in some capacity.

Several rifles glinted their barrels towards them as they prepared to open fire. A slab of stone was discreetly removed from the floor in that moment, before flying between the opposition and exploding into a cloud of dust. In that same instant, gunfire was heard. But not all of it was enemy fire. Several bullets flew out of the dirt clouds, all of them failing by a suspicious margin.

The trio stood in their place. On the opposing side, however, bodies audibly struck the ground.

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

It was morning by then, and the sun's light steadily peaked over the orange skyline. Even so, the darkness of night still loomed, and the frozen blanket of humid, cold air still shook the taxi driver's bones to the core; he muttering silent incoherence to himself in a show of displeasure towards his latest fare's suggestion of keeping the windows as open as possible. Of course they did, smoked to hell as they looked. The smoke in their lungs likely kept the bastard warm, while the underpaid driver met the consequence of being blasted with the frigid air, all while trying to maintain his professional front.

Shivering in his seat, the hefty driver rubbed his arms against each other; doing so would keep him awake, at least until the end of his shift, which was minutes away. He smiled to himself at the thought of a nice hot beverage before flopping on his bed, and then frowned as he heard a loud knock against his car's window. In fact, he could've sworn the mere impact of the person's fingers rocked the car slightly, though he shrugged the possibility off to his own imagination.

To his own displeasure, the taxi opened his co-pilot's window halfway, peaking his round face to try to see who knocked. Of course, he couldn't see much beyond a few silhouettes. Creepy as it was, the light was always obscured just enough by the buildings around him to give such an ominous effect. As such, the cabby spoke with as little poison as possible.

"Can I help you?"

"Need a lift. Three of us," a somewhat gentle, somewhat stern voice replied back. To this disarming presence, the driver sighed in relief, chuckling his worries away.

"Sure, hop in."

Two individuals slipped into the car seats behind him—their combined weight putting some more pressure on the suspension of the vehicle—swiftly joined by the third, who took the seat next to him. The driver failed to show his characteristic nervousness, rubbing his palms against the steering wheel unconsciously while turning away from the lot as they got comfortable, waiting for their order. The focused, gentle voice of the man from earlier spoke, having taken the seat in front, much to the taxi's silent appreciation.

"Take us to the Al. Bernard Headquarters, Harrows."

To his request, the driver put his car into motion, and did a double-take. For the first time, he looked to his right, and to his wide-eyed concern found that the man—and likely the men behind him—wore a bandanna across his face to conceal his identity.

Troublemakers at least, but at worst...

The drive was silent for several minutes, and by the Goddess was it both awkward and harrowing for the cabby. For all he knew, he might be assisting in a bank heist. Would he be held accountable too? To stifle this possibility, the driver spoke out, chuckling uneasily while internally clutching and suffocating his loud heart.

"So, uhm... busy day at the office?" he asked, earning a short laugh from one of the men in the back. The other, who hadn't spoken yet, replied:

"Aye, it's a gruelling industry. But we just keep pushing."

"R—Right, I betcha." Sticking his hands firmly to the wheel, the driver stared directly in front of him, almost paralysed. "I'm just a... Well, you know."

"Busy night?" the third spoke, his voice noticeably gravelly and intimidating, as if every word he spoke was meant to threaten or mock.

"Huh? Oh, Goddess, no. People don't have the kind of cash to be getting rides no more; the ones that do just get cars." He wiped his brow of sweat. The sun hadn't even come up yet. "Yeah, it's a right mess, all this. Cuts into the little ones the most, because of course it does."

The three held their tongues to his comments, feigning knowledge over the matter. The man in the back almost kicked his feet up with how cosy he was getting.

"Yup. It's just how the shit hits it," the man spoke, sharing a drink with himself.

"So... What do you guys do, anyway?" the cabby finally asked, feeling a piercing air sting him for his prodding. The man in the front spoke, though he seemed to regret it midway.

"We're... working on a business trip."

"For who?"

"Aren't you nosy, kid?" the man from the back spoke, his voice a warning.

"Pipe down, man," the second man behind him demanded, scolding the other.

"Sorry, it's just..." The taxi driver gulped, his head dropping as they parked by a considerably tall building. "I've never seen business men wear cloth on their face."

A few seconds of silence was exchanged between the four, as if sharing a mutual understanding of each other. An emergency button was located under the steering wheel, one that could call the authorities without raising any alarms within the car. In spite of this, the driver's hand hesitated. Noticing this, the second man in the back, Kev, spoke in a calm, persuasive tone.

"Listen, kid. We're going to pay you, and leave you be, okay? There's no need to get hasty doing something we'll all regret, okay?"

The first man behind him with the crooked voice, Emris, raised a palm in arrogant protest. "Nay, I'm stickin' with the lad. Need to get a few things, so it'll suit me. 'Sides..." He cracked his neck, giving the driver in front a look through the mirror. "I'll make sure Mister Jumpy don't twist his cables around too much."

"You intend to arrive late on the rescue of your friends?" Xavier asked, raising a displeased brow at the Brigadier's suggestion. To his gesture, Emris' imperceptible smirk grew on his face.

"'Course not. Just gonna fix some preparations set, is all."

"Alright, shrimp. Just know, when the bell rings, we're getting out of here with or without you," Kev reminded.

"Sure thing, Cap'n. Any chance to drop me like bird shité, eh?" Emris teased, to which Kev scoffed with a small laugh. After paying the terrified driver their fare, the two soldiers in disguise departed from the vehicle, leaving the pair alone.

With a whisper, the taxi asked: "Are you gonna kill me?"

"Oy, 'course not. Take us starboard, we'll have a chat. Say, do ye got a family to ye?"

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

The pair of discreet soldiers walked towards the building's entrance as quickly as they could, their seconds striking away on the clock. With a quick inspection around his surroundings, Kev signalled his ally to act; Xavier doing so through an act of magical interference, using concentrated wind to silently erode the door's weak locks without setting off any alarms. They wouldn't have much time to act, as they had arrived later than intended, and the day shift was mere moments from commencing. The pair made haste for the elevator shaft, Kev prying the doors open with the assistance of his suit, which they had hurriedly eased back onto their bodies in the meantime.

"That better mark the end of your acting career, let me tell you," Kev mocked, giving Xavier a sleazy smile through his open visor. They rushed inside, finding the elevator itself within, as well as the shaft on the ceiling. With a combined effort of strength, magical prowess and Xavier's impatience, the lid was forced open, to the expense of whatever mechanic would be sent to fit it in.

Kev boosted Xavier up to the roof, before being pulled up with the impressive strength the Brigadier provided. With that, they slotted their robotic wrists against the metal wires, which acted as wire climbers, before zooming high up to the ceiling platform.

Reaching the roof itself proved to be a nimble and efficient job, just as expected of the two highest positions in their military. Little chit chat, quick-thinking and a task-oriented mind. If only all the brigs were so responsible. Now all that was left was to set up shop, survey the area of the prison and come up with the best plan possible all while still taking less than fifteen minutes at most.

The General dropped his bag to the ground, retrieving from it what looked like a bizarre cast or clutch, but proved in fact to be a folded, compact sniper rifle. In seconds the ergonomic apparatus had been set up, locked, loaded and manned — the day's morning rays giving just the right amount of light to see without any glare. Perfectly executed, just as he liked it.

With little else to do, Xavier examined his only weapon available: a handgun he had somewhat neglected these last few years. Unfortunately, taking his trusty war hammer would've been just a bit too hazardous for the mission at hand.

Ten minutes passed, and not a word was exchanged between the two professionals. At no point did Kev unglue his eyes from his scope; watching carefully and trying desperately to map out the environment and the guards' patrol cycles.

"Any sign of Emris...?" Xavier finally asked.

"None at the moment," Kev answered bluntly, too focused to be polite. Even as he spoke he kept eyes on his target. "Don't dread it much. We'll do fine alone if he screws up somehow."

"I wish that wouldn't be an option to begin with. I mean, I get that he's not exactly fresh anymore, but a Guardian should be better at——"

"What in the hell...?!" Kev interrupted, raising his voice as he looked away from the scope in disbelief to what he was seeing.

"What's wrong?!"

"That crazy lass'...! Erica's escaped, she's starting a hell-pot down there!" Kev yelled, repositioning his scope.

"Right, let's pick these fuckers off," the General stated, met by no reply. "Xavier?"

Before he could say another word, Kev watched in stupefied awe as the First Brigadier demonstrated his admirable determination——

——by jumping right off the building, sky-bound for the prison's courtyard, propelled by the mediocre flight capabilities the imperfect armour the elite Syndies wore, could offer.