Mhaieiyu

Arc 1, Chapter 24

The Famine He Wreaks

"Anh— LOOK at that shrivelled complexion! Did I rob you of something precious? Does it hurt? Oh, does it? Treacherousness indeed! Indeed! A trivial sacrifice for one's satiation can be such great encumbrance to another! But how, with who, with what am I meant to stave off my nature otherwise, hm?"

The ramblings of a monster with the appearance of common man. Stepping out from the dimly lit alley, someone who couldn't have turned into adulthood by long made his presence clear to the distraught Xavier, his unsettling features gleaming under the reddening, darkening sky. The monster was of modest size for a man, his age similar to the Champion's own. He wore a white formal t-shirt—one you would expect to wear to a college or a job interview—with black trousers of similar suit; its cuffs rotting and torn. The slouching posture the youthful adult waddled with looked about as unhealthy as his hygiene — or lack thereof.

Clinging to every inch of his clothes and skin were morbid patches and blotches of dried red, dressing him in full-body warpaint and matting his neat clothes and medium length hair in a completely different colour. In fact, the colour of his hair had become entirely indistinguishable, having turned to a detestable crimson. His eyes seemed worn and tired with black rings and pinprick pupils that gave him the looks of an overly caffeinated obsessive who'd never met a bed in years. His mouth hung agape ever so slightly, displaying every single one of his smooth, sharp incisors and fangs; his lips curled up into a disturbing, overly enthusiastic grin.

His body shifted from left to right as he walked, his hanging arms swinging in equal course. His nails were ruined and blackening with filth, and in his right hand he carried an unholy arm-long scarlet sabre whose bizarre anatomy would never bubble within even the most inadequate smith's conscience: bent forward at the midsection, and topped off with three irregular, anchor-like protrusions, as if somebody had mangled the original sword's tip — an ornate bowl its guard, a testament to the meals it served. Regardless of how ineffective it might've been to common reason, the sword had certainly met its fair share of victims in the last hours or days, stained with gore as it was.

Standing at a significant distance from the tormented soldier, the madman raised himself properly, widening his arms in a graceful taunt as if to hug the air itself; his gaze skyward.

"Ah, and what impeccable feast! Not once had I, and I tasted morsel in my time, enjoyed such splendid bounty... A luxury to behold! Good God! I, your lamb and faithful servant thank you for such unending generosity! And yet!"

Hacking down his crooked blade to meet Xavier's watchful eyes, he continued.

"The meal is far from over! For this one— this one is the one I was promised! Oh, how I loathe to wait. Time is of the essence, and by the Sun and the Moon, you smell absolutely delicious!" The man yelled out in an emotional outburst, laughing uproariously as if atop a great stage, overjoyed tears falling from his darting eyes.

Displaying his impatience, his head swung from left to right, buying time if only to give the miserable brig a chance to speak before the feast took place. And yet, no words could be squeezed from Xavier's throat. No words but one.

"Why..." he muttered under his breath, his voice cracking as though he were dehydrated. Falling to his knees, the tears welled up in his eyes dropped and splashed against the stone floor.

Ceasing his tirade of boundless joy, the man's smile only broadened as he stared back at the awestruck military.

"What's this? If you desire to speak, speak. Speak!"

"Why... you..."

"Louder! My food tastes leaner when it's exuberant!"

"Why would you... What could you possibly..." Xavier dropped his face into his palms, his body shaking.

"Knave! Your people died just to stave my endless hunger. ROAR FOR THEM!"

With shivering breath, Xavier exclaimed. "What could possibly... compel you... to do such a thing? Goddess, I——"

The poor man was beyond gobsmacked, keeling over as nausea finally manifested within him. As Xavier spilled his guts, the madman's voice continued to echo inside his mind unintelligibly as he ranted and rambled on over his obsessive needs.

"I explained, didn't I? Did you not care to even listen? To repeat myself would be so wasteful. Ah...! Just for that I can feel my stomach need. Want. Desire. Lust. Demand...!"

"You're a fucking lunatic," the soldier spat, hurling the last of his lunch. Wiping his lip, the Champion stood up on shaky legs, giving the crazed murderer a deathly gaze.

To his insults, the young man let out another bout of loud laughter. "You call me such and look at me like that! But yes, yes, yes! I am. A lunatic, maddened by my hunger. The famine I WREAK!"

Letting the words fizzle through one ear and out the other, Xavier finally contemplated his surroundings resignedly. The humble plaza they stood upon, the same one he often visited throughout his childhood, had been turned into a nightmarish resting place littered with the gore and cadavers of both civilian and livestock alike; their mangled bodies strewn over several locations. Most of them had been eviscerated or severed in twos and threes, and those that preserved their facial features all showed their dying remorse and terror — a sign of their merciless departure.

The lunatic could spew all the excuses he wanted. His actions could never be apologised or forgiven. Even under the guise of uncontrollable psychopathy; even under the impressions of the soft-hearted Brigadier; even with the truest, Goddess-confirmed promise that he would rectify his behaviour, this deed would never pass the reluctant military's mind. Xavier would never cease to despise this foul excuse of a man, and since conversation would never revert his deeds, the soldier took a single, uneasy breath, before unsheathing his slender war hammer: the so-called Longevity.

"Mhm... Look, look!" the binge-eating murderer chanted, teetering further in excitement. "He looks repented. He looks certain. And ghoulish! How repulsive!" he laughed, bringing a hand to his face as he leaned back in amusement.

A gust of wind splashed Xavier's surroundings violently, bringing with it a thundering sound that only grew in intensity.

"Come now, then. My stomach howls for this delicacy. It's already dissatisfied with the fallen town! How childish, how needy of it. And what a buffet it was!"

"Shut up," Xavier muttered, earning yet another sickening smile. With forcefully reignited determination, the wind caster lunged forward in a torrent of hurricane-strong air, hammer in hands. The distance covered was unpredictably long, an impressive feat given the lowly assistance of the air jets. In the same instance contact was near enough, Xavier swung his body to the right, delivering with it a steel-crushing arch of the mallet. Before it could quite make contact with the killer's skin, the strike was impeded by a quick parry of the sword, displaying an admirable amount of strength in the man. Despite this, the psycho was still pushed back by the force of the blow, dragging his feet against the solid ground before being sent rolling a few feet — gravel and torn stone trailing with him. Reaching a bump on the road, the man quickly stood up, wiping the blood off his lip with yet another manic chuckle that only grew in intensity as Xavier imposed himself in slow, hateful strides.

Outstretching his arms once more, blade still in hand, the man's cut smile glinted off the vengeful veteran's glassy eyes. Where there was once a complexion of ideal servitude was now one of scrunched up hate, unfathomable to any not in his shoes. Despite the emotional turmoil, the rants continued.

"Well, well, well! Look at you! You look so, absolutely, irredeemably pitiful right now! Oh, but I didn't expect you to be so quick, no. I figured that hammer of yours would slow you down, and yet you work with your harnessed winds to flatten me! Unrelenting, hm?!"

Xavier's lips wouldn't budge.

"I spoke just now. Do you offer nothing? Not even the slightest bit of raw wrath to speak?"

Having closed enough distance, Xavier repeated his previous advance, dashing forward with a blast of air. Gritting his teeth, he sent the iron down upon him once more, striking the sword much to his anticipation. Expecting this, the soldier quickly chained the attack with a series of additional swings, the likes of which would've required admirable strength to pull off. To so swiftly manoeuvre such significant heft was yet another skill in Xavier's arsenal that he was so feverishly adored for. And yet, each strike was met with an even swifter swipe of the sword, its devil-sent anatomy catching the steel and redirecting wherever pleased. To his own amazement, Xavier's advance had been thoroughly pushed back, and the tides were soon pitted against him.

This man—or monster—never stopped grinning as he hacked away at the hammer's force, as if he were chopping down a tree with a knife. In fact, the blade itself seemed entirely weightless to the lunatic, almost defying physics with its sheer velocity. This was no common threat, though the massacre of his kin was more than enough evidence of such.

They might've been impoverished, and lacking proper guns certainly didn't help, but Xavier knew this town kept a plethora of skilled knights and lancers. The lack of other visible enemies or bizarre corpses seemed to prove that this youthful maniac had fulfilled the slaughter alone. The thought of that being true terrified the deep-down nervous brig. Worse still, even in his wrath, Xavier found his efforts blunted by beguilement, nausea and a will that speedily lost flame.

Wrapping his mind of his impeding thoughts, Xavier let out a mighty war cry, staggering the man for just a moment. Taking this opportunity swiftly, Xavier unleashed a chain of hits that knocked the man off-kilter, before slamming the face of his mallet directly into his opponent's right shoulder, smashing bone and sending him flying off his feet.

For a short moment, the Brigadier breathed, swallowing gulps of air if only to attempt to to regain his composure. The wind had been knocked out of his chest multiple times during their spar, the man having used his entire body to weaken and devour his prey. The individual responsible for all this carnage had flown right into a stone hut, destroying a good portion of it. As heavy stones and bricks fell upon his fallen enemy, and with the dust settling, Xavier fell to one knee. The threat had been eliminated, and he could now continue his limp to the acclaimed island bunker. That's what he had hoped. But of course, it could never be that easy. There were times where Xavier even questioned whether his father had been right after all.

"Whether it's today, tomorrow or in fifty years, the world will always win, son."

Xavier's tired eyes quickly shifted toward the rubble as the dust cleared, with the man re-emerging from the lot with no sign of the damage dealt in sight. His body should've been destroyed, never mind his shoulder.

"What a waste. Don't you see how long it'll take before I can have that nectar back? You disgust me, like litter. Do you find wastefulness fulfilling?"

The ramblings of a madman only continued. Xavier's gaze dulled. He was exhausted, and he knew it well.

"Tell. In your blind hatred, did you not once ponder just who you're facing?"

The angered spouts of a smiling devil. The blade was lobbed up ahead, flailing and spinning several feet in the air, forming a bridge between them.

"I am one of the Four Holy Harbingers, the Harbinger of Famine, Karma!"

Running forth, the perpetrator of the carnage forced Xavier's tired body back on his feet, preparing a counterattacking wind blast. And still, Karma continued, his sinister smile broadening to the limits of his face.

"And you'll come to find hunger as the eternal greed of one's truest, rawest self. The most indignant, unstoppable, remorseless, society-tarnishing WRATH."

In a reflexive reaction to the attacker's unarmed approach, Xavier lunged his weapon forth, only to meet a complete absence of an opponent. It was in that instant he remembered the flying blade. The brig managed to face the sky for a full second before the blur passed him by, and with it, in a single swipe, his right arm was hacked off by the terribly asymmetrical sword, which dug into several sections of his upper arm and tore away at sundry chunks of its flesh, leaving an unsightly wound that couldn't be less clean.

Xavier managed to keep himself off his knees, but the pain was unbearable. Once the realisation had fully sunk in, he screamed, gagged and cried out between clenched teeth. Blood flowed unstoppably from the mangled stump just below his shoulder. He only managed to keep his weapon due to its two-handed nature, and soon found himself leaning against it for support.

The sensory overload racked his brain as Xavier suddenly laughed out in a futile attempt to nullify the intensity, stomping his boot against the pavement to silence his nerves. Just behind him, the lunatic stood still, raising the freshly filthied blade high to meet the last fading rays of sunlight. Karma sniggered, chuckled, and then burst into laughter at the sensations coursing through his veins. The experience, entirely opposite to the man he brutalised, were those of extreme pleasure and warmth. The residue blood not painting the sword dripped down its handle and fell upon his cheek and neck, which only seemed to further empower the sensation as he shouted out in neurotic delight; the fingers on his unequipped hand cracking and spasming uncontrollably. The deed had finally been fulfilled. He had successfully tasted Xavier's life, and thus, his task was so suddenly complete.

Turning back to the screaming man, Karma turned his feet towards him before breaking into a sprint, sword swinging by his right, dripping more of the essence upon the land it had been nourished on. To literally give back to nature.

To Karma's surprise, however, a sudden blast of wind struck him full force, forcing him back some distance while managing not to lose his footing. With a rattling yell, the dismembered Xavier flew forth in a fit of rage, forcing the pair into yet another spar of speedy iron clashes. With an arm gone and his life quickly gushing out of his veins, Xavier had both little time and less speed as he would've otherwise. Worse still, Karma had become inexplicably faster, reducing his hacks and slashes to a faint blur of motion as the sabre swept through the air, knocking the hammer back each time.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Recognising his own liability, Xavier engaged every bit of his energy and mana to simultaneously assail his enemy with air-based attacks, slicing away at Karma's skin albeit with little effect. Ultimately, not a single blow of his landed. Instead, with a well-timed duck and slash, Xavier's balance was robbed from him, leading him to crash upon the ground, just beside a tree.

Yet another barrage of pain struck the agonising soldier as a new hole was punched into the hull of the vessel his body pertained to. His left leg had been taken, and yet Karma showed complete indifference, walking towards the once-legend-now-crippled Xavier with an almost impatient strut; his blade hanging by his leg as if to mock the brig's gaze with the downpour of his lifeblood. The tip of the sword clattered against the earth as it bobbed up and down, its anatomy disallowing it to simply drag against the stone; the metallic clanks serving as a horrific swan song.

With a shaking neck and a pale-white face, the First Brigadier, Champion of the Syndicate stared up at the man he hated more than anything's smile for a few moments, before letting his upper torso drop to the ground. Moments before his body would definitively stop, he reached a hand forth, not to his hammer, but to a cold, stiffened hand that lay near him, which laid still connected to its owner. The fallen townsman had long passed, and yet the warmth of his presence somehow filled Xavier with the will to give one last grin.

While not the death he wanted, he would cherish to welcome his end on this land, next to one of his own. He never did see the man's face. Likely just a casual farmer caught in the flurry of death this monster enacted upon such a harmless village. It wasn't his concerned father, his loving mother, or his idolising brother; of that he was sure, just from the hairs on his skin. Funnily enough, Xavier could even say he knew his family like the backs of their hands. Had he not lost so much blood, he would've chuckled in that instant.

It's not them, but it's more than enough. Thank you.

Clutching those cold, solid fingers, Xavier placed his head down against the grass to rest.

The blade was brought up to meet the air, and with the gentleness of everlasting starvation, hacked down to the earth below.

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

The escape was a success. At long last, after a needless ten minute run from the Facility they had been kept, the youths could take a moment to breathe; though Tokken's fatigue was much more visible. Yet another flaw in the human race. They had opted to take a detour off the roads, favouring the trees and their hiding comfort; not to mention they kept the sun off their back. Even so, the human and Cryptid were sweating heaps and gulping breaths respectively, neither of the two all too familiar with exercise.

After a quick break and a survey of their surroundings, the pair had agreed to continue forth, recognising the lack of troops on their tail. With this into account, the lad presumed that they had either made a bigger fuss over their leave than necessary, or that their absence had not yet been noted. If the latter were to be the case, they were now racing against the clock, and despite his ancestor, Tokken was not the type to toy with chance.

The plan once they had escaped couldn't be rougher. Most of their efforts had been placed in just the leave, with a multitude of convoluted nonsenses in the event something turned out less than prettily. And as they peered through the last of the trees after half an hour of hurried, aimless wandering—taking a good look at the stretch of empty grasslands that lead to the gigantic city in the distance, the pair realised just how hopeless their intentions were. Chloe had unintentionally discovered that the location of the Syndicate's main base of operations was located on the north of the country whilst the mountainous region they originated from steered by the near southeastern mountains. It would take a four hour car drive just to make such a stretch to begin with, or about a full day of continuous walking. Baring in mind their resources, it'd likely take the pair a few days at least before they could dream of hitting home, and considering their lacklustre performance at self defence if ever they were to run into trouble, and the rumours they had both heard regarding this territory's infamous crime rate, such odds were certainly not worth taking.

As much as Chloe disliked the thought, they had to resort to getting help. From that fuming city's folks, no less. With a bit of luck, a Samaritan or two might be able to cut the distance, at least through to the city's edge. If worse came to worse, they could always rely on the safety hazard they had been blessed with by a certain not-so-responsible giant.

With a take of fresh air, Tokken gave a triumphant sigh. The joy on his face from having just left that hell show behind had clearly lighten a new fire in his soul. That said, Chloe wasn't all too convinced yet. They might've been cruel at heart, but they never mistreated them. With a raised brow and a lowered head, the Howler observed the cheered up teen with a look both content and concerned.

It took them an hour or so, but soon enough, they had reached the northern edge. There were no security nor inspections, much to their relief. If there had been a search party, the city would've deemed itself a major risk to take. But with few options under their belt, they started to explore the dingy streets of the lower class estates. While not slums by any means, these buildings were noticeably less flashy than the centre and southernmost buildings. The atmosphere was clearly more impoverished, which didn't help dissuade the two's trepidation.

The location of these buildings was no accident, either. The closer they were to Yanksee territory, the cheaper the rent. Especially at a time where war was just around the corner. The same could apply to the more western fronts, though theirs were far less noticeable, in part due to the long periods of inaction between Crimsoneer invasions; an event that seemed to transpire almost ceremoniously every decade at only slightly differing dates.

The duo spent a good chunk of time just walking through the outer edges of the streets, venturing into the city's core bit by bit. Luckily, traffic here was fairly light, with only the passing car zooming by now and then. Ironically, even the vehicles here seemed less impressive, as if the area had been coated in a field of lower class standards that would envelop and transform any who passed by. Tokken did feel pretty filthy, though that could be accredited to the sweat building on his shirt. They spent a fair hour lurking within the cacophony of a society filled with work-oriented stressors or unsightly vagabonds just trying to get some help. Even a drive to the city's southern edge would be a huge help, and would slice their time of walking in half. Unconsciously, whenever they did ask a stranger for help, Tokken would hover his hand over his improvised holster. The lad knew for certain that, if it came down to it, he'd never manage to will himself to shoot someone down. So by training his hand to withdraw and fire in a quick motion, he hoped he might bypass that cowardice in the split-second reflexive chance between a threat's appearance and the realisation soon after.

Chloe had spoken many times for him; without his consent of course. Tokken's cheek puffed up each time, but he was happy to see her act so social. It was surprising to see, in fact. For a beast which in the short time he had come to know as such a timid yet unpredictably brave creature, the fact that she so casually waltzed up to even giant residents showed her superior knack for socialisation. Perhaps it was simply the unpredictability of a separate species at play. To be outmatched by a purely antisocial being...

Goddess, am I really that pathetic?

The teen chuckled at the thought.

The really troubling fact was, however, the rejection she especially seemed to face by the strangers. At first, Tokken assumed it might be due to his reputation that they spoke to him with such differing respect, however baring in mind that none seemed to call him by his family name, he soon figured it was more due to Chloe's species than his own importance. It was then he also remembered the words of a certain feline Cryptid some days ago.

A city build by bipeds for bipeds, huh? Tokken frowned as he recalled, putting a finger to his chin in contemplation.

Despite this society's tolerance towards the more humanoid Cryptids, the same couldn't be said for those with more animalistic features. It would explain their unusual placement in the hierarchy, and would certainly explain the lack of quadrupeds wandering the streets. Many of those that did, strangely enough, seemed to always be accompanied by another biped. Despite this harsh, unfair treatment, Chloe's will seemed unwavering. What had happened for her to be so cheery all of a sudden? What's with her sudden valiance? Why did it seem like the rejections lashed upon her hurt him more than it even fazed her?

Ah... Realisation struck like a bolt of lightning. It's not just that she's strong. I'm just that weak.

The fact alone was unavoidable. His bickering and whining had only dragged him down. If it weren't for Chloe's stern consolation, he might not have had the guts to even get up in the morning. She had to adapt and thrive both not just for her's, but for the two's sake.

I'm not just pathetic, I'm downright despicable...

"Tokken?"

Her heart-melting voice came from below. The shade was nice here. He hadn't been paying attention. Still wasn't, in fact. The thought of her unbending allegiance to such a cowardly young man warmed his soul. He had to repay her kindness someday, and he knew well enough how. The unification of their micro-societies... Even the idea was exciting to the childish teen. And if he wished to pull it off...

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I was just thinking."

She said nothing, pointing forth with a paw and a worrisome look. Facing ahead, Tokken cleared his throat. They had walked into an alleyway after recklessly shifting direction from a noisy construction site. The fact his mind motorised his body in such a way just to have clearer thoughts was either a great pro or a total con, and the con would win this time.

The place wasn't the dingiest he'd seen. The sky atop them was still clear, and provided ample lighting. The walls of this alley were littered with multiple apartment balconies, many of which looked like they hadn't housed much of anyone in years, judging by the planks barricading their windows. Upon one of the rusted rails of a third-story balcony sat a single individual; their stature noticeably unimpressive as they bundled in an oversized hoodie, under which they hid their features. The moment the duo were spotted, their smoked voice blurted:

"Oi, not too fond of people on my turf. Lookin' for business, are ya?"

An Urchin or a poser, no doubt.

Trying to gather up a sliver of respect for himself, Tokken decided to step forth, responding in a yell.

"We're just walking, we got here by accident. We don't want anything uh... weird from you, sorry."

A thick clump of rouge slipped out from their hoodie as the kid rubbed their thumb against a crescent-shaped knife's edge.

"Oh yeah? Weird how, exactly?" they asked, amused and provokingly.

"Just... drugs and stuff, I guess?" Tokken replied awkwardly.

Chloe too stepped forth. "Look, we're going to leave now, okay? I apologize if we wasted your time."

Turning back to where they came from, the pair stood in shock as they took in the sights. The alleyway had been blocked off by three thugs, two of which were bulkier than the teen and the pup combined, and the walls of apartments steadily revealed a plethora of idling Urchins, each with some tool or weapon in hand as they passively smoked, drank and stared like ravenous hyenas. Turning back to the kid upon the rails, they found he had relocated, entirely silently, to the pavement they stood upon.

He must've jumped, judging from the awkward squatting posture the child raised from. For even Chloe not to pick up the sound of his fall, the pair must've been truly distracted, for except a few murmurs, the other hooligans remained silent.

"No need to be so hasty, ah? We're just negotiatin', after all," the youth spoke, pushing the hood back so as to expose his features, of which the most important is no doubt a slender, long, curled smile filled with prickly teeth.

The young two's throats constricted as they realised their situation. They couldn't be deeper into the mud hole of these streets, for this lowly alleyway just so happen to be one of the many 'dens' these criminals lived within.

"Look, we've already said we don't want anything——"

The kid raised a brow, interrupting the older teen's statement with his own, unsheathing his second blade if only to look all the more terrifying to the nervous heaps.

"Yep, yeah— look, ya must be gettin' this wrong. We serve customers regardless of their needs, y'hear? Pirate's courtesy."

The kid's sinister grin and clenched, amused eyes were filled with impeccably white teeth, all of which glinted at Tokken's fears. Leaning in, breaching the teen's personal space, the long-haired criminal pushed his head into his chest as if to listen to his heartbeat, his eyes staring up at Tokken's with a look that promised a bitter outcome lest he comply.

"Now then. Name's Pride. Who's the boss you mutts're dealin' with——?"

Just as Tokken predicted and hoped, his reflexes kicked in in a rapid response to the thief's unpredictable approach. And with his comfort zone so easily breached, Tokken's body stiffened for a moment, before flinging forth the next, pushing back at Pride's chest with enough force to pry him off before withdrawing his weapon from his pocket. In a flash, the deed was done, but it couldn't have been more gobsmacking for either of the two.

The weapon drawn was not the gun, like Tokken expected, but rather the blade. In a thoughtless swipe, he had managed to slice a fine, tilted line across Pride's cheek, just short of his eye and down by ear's length. The cut wasn't deep, but it drew blood, and the shorter lad was left reeling and stuttering for a moment.

In that same instant, Chloe screamed out for the guards — her higher voice hopefully reaching the ears of any unlikely officers nearby. Wordlessly touching his seeping wound, Pride stammered for a moment, and then grinned once more the next.

"Nobody calls the cops that. And nobody calls the Syndies if they're straight civvies," the infantile crime lord noted out loud, letting the sinking feeling boil in the pair's bodies.

"So y'all are with them, ah? Fuckin' perfect!" Pride—known to few as Mumble—hissed, his grin reflecting the movement of his underlings. But for the first time in his life, Tokken shivered not from fear, but with ecstasy.

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

The marching of the men and women charged with the war was nigh omnipotent in volume, their steps cascading in unison to form a barrage of sounds that would bring any proud leader great satisfaction, and any lowly opponent tremendous fear — an earthquake of soldiers orchestrated by a small team of elites. The leader of the charge wouldn't miss a single one, either, as he too had embarked on the hazardous journey, acting as the lead for his many hundreds of subordinates alongside his trusty right-hand man; the awe-inspiring Kev, who's respect and adoration was equal to none among his battle brethren.

The Brigadiers too lead the team just behind the forefront, to which Emris had adhered to, next to Erica. The absence of Xavier weighed heavily in their hearts, but those aware knew well enough that his company was better suited for his homelands; they still unaware of the tragic outcome of such.

Whilst the others marched on in such uniform ways, with musical joy aplenty as they sung of an old wives' tale, Emris couldn't get his mind out of the pits, drinking away at his flask with unending inquietude. Erica, noticing this, spoke.

"You pulling through there, Em? I'm pretty bummed out about it too. I didn't even get to walk with Corvus this time around; lame!"

"Urgh, ye should just shag and get married already. Vicks..." Emris sighed, taking another sip.

"You'd be jealous, I'd bet. No wonder, considerin' what you're looking at," Erica teased, nudging Emris' arm until he nearly dropped the thing.

"Hush it. Ye know I lack feelings like them these days," the veteran defended, showing his displeasure with a snarl.

Of course, Erica just sniggered. "You've been looking at her all day, dude."

"And evermore! I just fuckin' got here! 'Sides, I'm just surprised. Who in the hell wakes up in the mornin' and decides 'fuck it, I'm bored. I'll join a war!'"

Looking back at the woman they spoke of—a darker skin lass with a vicious yet humoured look to her—as she walked by casually a few rows behind them.

"It is pretty weird... I'm surprised they trusted her with it," the Celestial commented.

"Hm, aye. Probably a good excuse to get rid of 'er. Doubt she'd get involved in a crossfire just to screw us over," Emris shrugged.

"Yeah, guess so. Eclipse, right?"

"Aye aye, that's the lass. Haven't even seen her up since we did, now she's in this?"

"Worried about her?"

"Keep yer eyes on Corvus, ye bag."

"Hah! That's a confession! Will do..." Erica nudged him suggestively.

Shaking his head, Emris guzzled down the little remains of the flask, before almost choking as Alpha gave a loud yell. The army halted in place with one last thundering slam of their boots. The sky above was a haze of old smoke; remnants of previous battles.

The toying and prodding was over, and the true battle was moments from beginning. The blackened sands they stood upon were nostalgic for all the wrong reasons, and some soldiers in the rear visibly struggled to keep their anxieties stifled.

Their closeness to the mountains granted a howl of wind as they stood stock still, awaiting the enemy's presence. And soon, from the opposite side of one of the ash-laced dunes, a distant march could be heard.