Mhaieiyu
Arc 2, Chapter 10
And Off She Went
The jeep’s interior bumped and jumped as the vehicle drove with little regard for the rough terrain. Every few seconds the trinkets of the engine therein would shake around and produce a metallic jittering sound. The less-than-gentleman steering the jeep drove with one hand, the other pressing a canteen to his lips every millisecond, wiping his lips with his sleeve compulsively after until it was drenched with liquor. Even he thrashed about in his seat from the unsteady road.
It was Emris. He had passed the street connecting the Facility to the rest of the world, and so, he was scalded by the unshielded sun.
“Pompous fuckin’... shite stain…” he gruffed, his sharp molars grinding. “Too good to fear, ah…?”
He could see the city in the distance. It was impossible to miss it. The vast expanse of empty grass surrounding the northern helm of the city felt so deserted. To tread this land would feel like walking through dunes, with the only comfort being that of the moist, carpeted floors. Hubbites, residents of this country, referred to this empty space as Expansionary Territory, and it would be intentionally left barren so as to facilitate the inevitable growth of the megapolis’ clutches. The south had already stretched down to the forest’s edge. The fortunate and the affluent would inevitably seek refuge there; furthest away from the ceaseless skirmishes the Syndicate, Yanksee and the Crimsoneers practised.
In half an hour, Emris’ car passed through the slums that wrapped around the outer edges of the urban hellscape. It was so dim here compared to the neon crap the core had become. Heavens, it was a dramatic shift. In just an hour the jeep’s surroundings transitioned from a decrepit, filthy, unlit, depressing pigsty of crumbling buildings and grey concrete to a complexity of crossing roads; bridges with more roads above and below; flickering beams; illuminated and excessive signs everywhere; sleek and lavish vehicles; echoing radios; a pedestrian density that quintupled the slums; gigantic towers of glass, refined metals and luxurious stone that shone brightly all the way from the earth to the heavens they skewered… A paradise for money to move freely, and nothing more. One where the rich get richer and nobody else. Where happiness grew, but only if you were out of your mind.
But where else to go? The forests, to get mauled by beasts? Yanksee, to get shot to smithereens or eaten by birds? This was it. The only place Hubbites could prosper as a civilisation. Without it, the Hub itself would collapse entirely.
Almost two hours after his departure from the Facility the jeep came to a screeching halt as it slotted itself precariously between two other cars. Patience was a virtue Emris didn’t understand.
He turned off the ignition, cranked up his handbrake and whipped off his seatbelt. Before he stood up, he made sure to stare at himself in the mirror and give himself a rousing smack.
The first thing he saw upon exiting the jeep was the sheer magnitude of this colossal white building. The other skyscrapers didn’t look cheap, but by the Goddess, they must’ve poured every penny in the world into this one’s aesthetics. It didn’t even look that good — it was just very expensive. And then he saw, stapled to its massive lateral, the pinkish, blaring lights of the symbol he had grown too conflicted about. A silhouetted, droop-eared Lypin’s head, posing in such a way that it looked ‘cute’ or even ‘provocative’, and beneath it, in the same flashy neon, the name ‘Cryptomania’; each letter thrice the size of a Mynotaur.
With a grumble and a shake of his head, the Syndie walked through the main doors. The left one hit his back as it slid back into place.
The interior looked even more costly to make, with pristine marble, exotic wood and quartz outfitting every square inch of the place. The room had three exits, one to the left, one in the back and another to the right, and in the middle stood a booth for the receptionist. The person inside looked to be a male Felyn of some sort with a jaguar’s pelt and a big black blotch where his left eye was. For a Cryptid of his kind, he looked thinner than a street cat. Almost ghastly-looking.
With a strike of the Guardian’s palm on the desk, the receptionist shook his head and stirred fully awake. “Can I help you, sir?” the feline biped asked, still drowsy.
Emris scowled, his tone dry. “Aye. Lookin’ for Stitches.”
“He’s unavailable at the moment. Can I see your VIP badge? I’ll let him know you were here——”
His voice came to a sharp stop as Emris reached into his back pocket and produced a wallet. Opening it, he let it unfurl in front of the receptionist, and among several other papers, a very special credentials card made itself known.
“O—Oh, my goodness. Of course, mister Brigadier, sir. I’ll see you with him right away,” the worker said in a hurry, dropping a stack of papers to vigorously write something down. Once done, he slipped Emris the paper and gave him a bow. He had manners at least. “Please, excuse my ignorance. He’s to the right exit. Take two lefts and then a right and you’ll find him in his office at the end of the corridor.”
The veteran took the paper and nodded, failing to hide a satisfied smirk. “Thank ye,” he said, taking the directions to heart and following them. Emris loved asserting his status like that. To just be a Syndie felt like owning a key to the whole city; except it worked on people, too. And to be one of such power within its hierarchy… Well, it had its perks, didn’t it?
The halls of this place were long, outfitted with a red carpet and walls painted with a diagonal pattern of light and dark wood. Every now and then one could spot a picture frame displaying album covers, dancer groups, concert openings and widely recognised singers in poses; of which an owl-like biped and a familiar Lypin seemed most prominent. Emris gave a disgusted snarl at how differently the males were dressed from the female performers, who vastly outnumbered the former. While the men would often wear dichromatic suits and stylish outfits, a good portion of the ladies were made to robe in far more revealing, suggestive or downright exploitive wear. Emris eyed the rooms he passed by with curiosity; each door fitted with a gold-dipped plaque and black writing. He could’ve sworn that each time he came here, they rearranged what went where. Dormitories, a lounge room, a game room, bathrooms, several changing areas and make-up booths…
Before he knew it, Emris was standing in front of a smoothly crafted mahogany door with a jewel-encrusted silver knob. Next to it stood a Wylven of considerable proportions; the scars on his right arm visible through his fur. Before he could pass through, the dog beast stood in the way and gave a growl, to which Emris just frowned.
“Oi, I’m a Syndie, are ye kiddin’ me? Let me through.”
“Invitation card,” the two-legged canine demanded. Emris just stared at him, astounded, as if he had defiled the Goddess’ name in a holy sanctum. The silence that filled after told him more than enough. “If you don’t got an invitation card, piss off. Boss is busy.”
Emris’ snarl only grew, but soon after, he loosened up and chuckled. “Oy, oy. Vicus ye beaut. How thoughtful are ye? I was feelin’ peckish just now.”
The Wylven raised a brow and crossed his arms. Raising his voice, he said, “Did you hear me, old man? Piss. Off.”
The Guardian, supposed protector of the lessers, extended his arms and gave the taller Cryptid a wicked, toothy grin. “Did ye listen to me, ye lousy mutt?”
Dropping his hands on its shoulders, Emris yanked the dog down, pulling his face to meet his. Inches from his mouth, the Wylven was made to witness as the human lookalike’s jaw unhinged slowly, pouring saliva and foam over those sharpened teeth and exhaling the pungent breath of booze and meat stewing deep in his stomach.
The wolf biped grabbed Emris’ hands and tried in vain to pull away. He could not believe a human was overpowering him, and less so could he imagine the pits of the anthropic maw would look so bottomless and all-consuming. It’s as if he were staring into the hungry gullet of Gluttony itself.
Before he could break from shock and shout, Emris took the wolf’s muzzle in his hand and squeezed it shut, looking down at the whimpering canine with drooping ears who had just stood over him so boldly.
With this, nought came but a warning.
“If ye ever try to impede, challenge, or commandeer me again, I’ll eat yer pretty face right off yer head, AYE?!”
The Wylven nodded his head violently, to which the veteran finally closed his dangerous mouth.
“Right. And let this stick to yer brain like a fuckin’ tumour: the Syndicate is your, nay, the predominant authority. Pull that shite on the next bloke and ye’ll find yerself nailed by the nuts to that there door ye’re standing so fierce by. Clear as crystal, right?”
“Yeah— Uh-huh— Yes sir!” the door guard stammered once his snout was released.
Emris grinned as the wolf stepped out of the way and pushed himself to the wall opposite the doorknob. Satisfied, the veteran reached forward and turned the knob, but before he pushed the door open, he gave the nauseous canine a hellish look. “Remember. We’re watchin’. And we’ll always be back.”
With that, the door was closed behind him, and the muscular beast was reduced to a shivering mess sat down in the corner. With any luck, the women wouldn’t spot him before he rebuilt his courage.
Two pitiful scowls and frowns stared each other down like a contest as Emris sat opposite the hefty bloke across him.
They were now in the kingpin’s own residence, and by all accounts, a glorified office-bedroom. A nice, complicated, waxed oak wood desk occupied a good deal of the space with a great big bed behind him. It was a long enough room not to feel too cramped, but the endless decor asphyxiated the place. Mantels and blankets lining the windows; fabrics of royal and plentiful patterns for the bed; a platinum chandelier clustered with strung up jewels; dusty ornaments and pottery on little tea tables; a completely absurd amount of ceramic vases and plates mounted on the walls… If ever an earthquake struck, this place would be reduced to rubble from the adornments alone. On the farthest corner of the room to the left was a door to somewhere. Likely a kitchen or bathroom.
Emris had walked through the door, picked up the chair opposite the other man and scraped it against the delicate wood under him just to bring it closer. When he took his seat, the backrest was to his chest, and so he draped his arms around it and just stared. They’d said nothing for nearly a minute when the majerdomo took a deep breath in, propping his back up and letting his papers and pen drop to the table with a thud.
“What do I owe the pleasure tae?” he said.
Emris raised his nose and brow. “Who’re ye talkin’ to?”
The larger man undid his tie and wiped his brow. “Brig Em, I don’t think we need to introduce ourselves at this point.” His tone was snobbish but his voice was gangly, stiff and sickly.
“We’re friends now, are we, Stitches?” Emris said haughtily, coughing a chuckling, hazy breath.
This man, Stitches, was never named such by his mother. His own name was lost to both the world and especially lost to him. They called him ‘Stitches’ because every time he made an appearance, his yellow skin seemed to spawn more scars and stitched wounds. Nobody knew where they came from. Most people believed he harmed himself on purpose to seem more battle-worn than he actually was. Perhaps pain was an addiction to him. A guilty pleasure? A disease? Self-loathing?
His arms were thick, his legs were big, his shoulders were broad and his frame matched him. He wasn’t too tall either. The type of life he led had given him some weight. Something quite rare these days. He was suited up in a hash of uniform and informal, condemning his fashion sense with an ugly combination of a finely tailored white and grey suit covered by a brown leather coat with a tall collar. His wrists were lined with blue bracelets and most of his fingers were bright with rings of gold and silver; one of which had a ruby finish, outside engravings and a big white diamond.
Stitches snorted, took out a plastic baggie from a drawer and tapped the pen tip into it. “I’d say, yeah. You could be kinder to me, Emris. I only went and gave Holly a cush life.”
The veteran’s complexion scrunched up more as he watched the entrepreneur bring the baggie to his nose for a sniff. “Aye. Moldin’ her into some kind of pseudo-stripper.”
Stitches closed his eyes and pulled his gaze away to allow the drug to take effect. “No clue where you got that idea.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“The clothes. The dances. She’s a singer, not a whore.”
The man shifted in his seat and let out a satisfied exhale, his arms trembling from the effects of the suspicious dust. “I don’t control what they wear.”
“Ye own the fuckin’ studio, Stitches,” Emris growled, lowering his head and bearing his teeth like a beast.
“She lives off o' audience satisfaction. If the market demands it, she’s gotta supply. Money goes where the spotlights are. And the spotlights always move, Em.”
The Guardian raised himself off the chair and brought it to the ground with a harsh clatter as he stepped up to the desk. “She’s the face of the whole damn business. She doesn’t need to impress shite — the crowd already chose her.”
“Mm, yep, and the crowd moves too, right?” Stitches said, pushing himself back a notch from the angered father towering him. “The competition is constantly going. It’s a blessing for 'er, too. Whole ‘rivalry with Faith’ shtick's what’s really baking the bread ‘round here.”
“Faith doesn’t fuckin’ dance like that!” Emris shouted, snapping his teeth like an alligator. “So why’s my daughter out there lookin’ like that?! What’re ye bastards doin’ with her dignity?!”
“Saintess, it’s not like she’s an actual prostitute! It’s a show! Performances don’t mean shit, Em!” Stitches shot back, standing up to butt heads with the veteran.
“She’ll be gettin’ harrassed ‘cause of this shite! If my daughter runs into any trouble for yer money, I’ll get my iron levels straightened out with those there fingers of yers!”
With a smash of his head against the smaller man’s, the kingpin was brought back down to his seat with a thud, he bashing his head with the backrest. “Lady Vicks… My head, my head! Gah, it was already throbbin' before you got here…!” Stitches moaned, caressing his skull and applying pressure. “Will you chill out? She’s fine. We took extra special care of the girl, as you said. But if she wants to stand a chance at the top she has to improvise! Faith’s good with the dresses and spectral shit, Holly has tae win the lot through other means! Ain’t my fault sex appeal’s the best crowd pleaser!”
Emris leaned closer. “Find an alternative. She’s related to a Syndie of top brass. If ye want to keep her, put in the work.”
A puzzled brow furrowed on the entrepreneur's face. “C’mon, you know she won’t wanna leave. 'Sides, are you sure Sally’s still comfortable with you calling the girl 'yours'? Hah, like, I heard she’s fed up with youse.”
The veteran narrowed his eyes. “She’s still my daughter. William’s consent.”
“Alright, whatever you say, my man. Here to see 'er, I guess?”
“Aye.”
“Let’s see… She’ll be in the VIP booths again. We moved her crib there; room A6 if my brain works. Finest suites for your finest possession, heh, see?” Stitches tried to console, standing up to put an arm around the Brig’s shoulder.
He flicked it off. “She ain’t my possession, for Vicks’ sake,” Emris said, turning to the door. “I’m dead serious. I don’t want the next poster I see of the lass to make me feel like pukin’.”
“You’ll have to talk to 'er about that, I don’t——”
“Do it, vermin. ‘Else I’ll give yer name a brand new meanin’,” Emris barked, pushing the door open and letting it slam behind him.
Stitches sighed, dropping his head on the table. “Fuck me. Can't stand the bastard.”
“You’re alive,” a voice optimistic, firm and feminine said from behind him.
Raising his head, he gave a fake smile. “Of course. But we might have tae do somethin’ about the hare.”
“She has a name. Use it.”
“Holly, then.”
The maw of a vixen leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Good boy... I like her. I say we don’t change a thing. She’s free to express herself, right?”
“Emris said he’ll——”
“Fuck him. Who cares?”
“He’ll kill me this time, babe…”
The vulpine wrapped her long, slender arms around his neck and dangled her claws above his collarbone. She was ominously tall; enough to stand a head above him.
Rubbing her face affectionately into his, she said, “Mm… Change a thing and see what happens.”
“...Yes, Mistress…”
♦ ♥ ♣ ♠
The Facility was in full motion. Not a single worker was left without duties as the rush of inevitable, oncoming conflict stormed the estate; the news of the fallen island striking like a lightning bolt on a sunny day. Strategists scrambled to put together a course of action whilst the soldiers said their prayers, stocked up with supplies and prepared for a large-scale defence. The Crimsoneers, after nigh-on a decade of silence, had made their presence known once again with a fell sabotage during turbulent times. Amid the deafening gunfire of the eastern battle, they had taken everything that Zwaarstrich was and reduced it to a ghost town atop a memory isle.
Corvus’ hands shook as he worked to resharpen the steel of his sword and repair the damages to his armour. His bullet wounds still had some lead in them, even to the best of the medic’s abilities, but their time had been cut short. Sweat formed on his brow and his breath became ragged as he worked tirelessly to prepare and psyche himself up. Then came a knock on his dorm door, robbing his attention as he shot his gaze towards it.
“Who is it?” he called. The door just kept being banged on. “Victus’ sake, hold on.”
He dropped his tools, pushed gauze into his chest wound and staggered over to the door. Behind it stood another Celestial as he with long ginger hair and arms folded by her chest. He could see a halberd’s end peeking behind and over her shoulder. It was Erica. And while she was smiling, he could tell she looked nervous.
“Corvee,” she said, “did you get your role assigned?”
“Not yet. Emris went off to gather Holly, and Goddess knows when and where he will find himself engaged in this mess,” Corvus said, grabbing his face. “Honestly, how can he live like this…”
“Oof, he’s getting her, huh? Sounds like a mess I want no part in,” Erica said, cringing. “No clue, dude. But you know you have to be there for him.”
“I know, but am I supposed to stand around and wait for his call before I make myself useful? We don’t have time to lollygag.”
“Then find him. Go to the city; that’s where he went off to, right?” Erica insisted, dropping a hand on his shoulder as he turned to face the mess of his room.
“Yes. He went to collect Holly.”
Erica chuckled. “I imagined. He’d lose his shit if something happened to her.”
“And ‘losing his shit’ is far from ideal right now. Goddess forbid he gets captured.”
“We won’t let that happen. Especially not with you around.”
“Don’t sell yourself short; you’ve made a right effort yourself,” Corvus said.
“Yeah, well, honey keeps the water at bay,” Erica sniggered, reaching over to help press the gauze into Corvus’ flesh. “I can’t believe she got you.”
The Guardian’s Sword clenched his teeth, putting a hand over hers. “She’s a Wraithsman. I’d say I was lucky. And be careful, you’ll get my blood on you.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Celestial blood is hot; does it not scald you?”
“I don’t mind, Corvee,” Erica said, her voice a bit distant and melancholic.
“Erica…”
"I got my role.”
“Lucky you. At least you get to be organised——”
“I’m on the front lines,” she finally said, giving a huff as she spoke.
Corvus’ eyes widened. “You're what?! No, no that doesn’t make sense, we——”
“The top nerds said we need an imposing and ‘illuminating’ presence on the coast, whatever that means. You know, for morale.”
“But that’s suicide!” Corvus said in a panic.
Erica gave a short giggle. “You need to be more optimistic. Besides, I want to get a good shot at taking down one of the Harbingers before I go, y’know?”
“Erica!”
She laughed, raising her palms innocently. “Relax, relax. I don’t intend on a suicide run. I’ll fly off as soon as it gets too hot, okay? But I’m no pussy cat.”
“That’s exactly what unnerves me! Do you know when to stop?! Erica, you’ve never been perceptive of your limits!”
“Sheesh, now you’re just hurting my feelings!” Erica shot back. “Look, like it or not, we’re facing a horde of these guys one way or another. It’s not like I’m going alone. My odds just aren’t as good as yours.”
Corvus grabbed her shoulders, earning a gasp from her. “Then let me go with you! Two Celestials fight better as one than with any other species!”
Erica was left stunned for a moment, but looking at the desperate Celestial amused her so much she broke out laughing. “Oh, relax. You and I are both primarily close-ranged attackers, so there’s no real support there. We fight great together, but Emris needs you, remember?”
“But he… can fend for…” Corvus stammered to find the words, his expression souring. Erica’s palm caressed his cheek as he breathed heavily, trying to find a solution.
“For himself? Come on, sweetie. We both know he can’t save a bird, less himself.”
“Don’t assume that. He’s a capable man. If we hurry, we can catch up to him together,” the angel pleaded.
Erica shook her head. “Come on. Pull yourself together, Corvee. You know that’s just not true.”
“Erica please!”
“Corvus.”
“...Goddess’ sake!”
“Listen to me.”
“No, look th—there’s another way. Aquila’s waiting for you to return, you can’t just do this to her!” Corvus sobbed, trying in vain to pull pieces of something together. But that ‘something’ was already broken beyond repair.
Erica hummed a chuckle and brought him close to her so suddenly. Her arms wrapped around his neck, she stuffed her face into his shoulder and her wings draped over him like a blanket.
“She’s a good mom, huh? Taught you everything you know. Me too,” she said.
“Erica…”
“She must’ve been pretty disappointed when it turned out I didn’t become the Guardian’s guard. Hah, funny how we have to protect our protector like that.”
Corvus exhaled a shaky breath. “Don’t say it like that, I know she’s so proud of you. To what end do we work to save a lost soul?”
“You should be nicer to your friends, Corvus. He’s your bestest.”
“He’s an alcoholic. There are days where it seems he hates everything.”
Erica pulled back to look into his eyes. “Not You. Not his platoon, and especially not his squad. You’ll see. One day, he’ll stop being a jackass, say something sweet and you’ll miss him when he’s gone.”
“If you die, he’ll miss you too. I’ll miss you.”
Erica’s lips curled into a lovable grin. Before he could stop her, she reached in for a quick kiss. A soft, swift, passionate touch of the lips that meant the whole world to her.
“I’ll miss you as well,” she said. “You’ve been the best friend I could ever ask for. Thanks for lifting me off my ass back in our youth. You made training fun for me.”
“Erica…” Corvus muttered.
“I know, I know. I shouldn’t have done that, but I deserve at least something from you.”
A man in a Nynx suit walked up to the pair, stood firm and performed the Syndie salute. “Madam Brigadier, the halls are clearing. It’s time to move.”
Erica noticed how quickly the place had become empty. Just a few minutes ago there were people trampling every inch of these carpeted floors. Now there were only the three of them.
Erica turned back to face Corvus, who was still paralysed and in tears. “Looks like it’s time for me to go.”
“Erica, wait…” he begged, his legs becoming wobbly.
She giggled, looking into his scrambling eyes and pinching the skin of his cheek. “I’m sorry if I don’t make it back. I really hope you find Lyth someday. Dead or alive. Gosh, I hope she’s alive. Somebody has to take care of the anxious, calculating, overly-trusting Corvee I know and love after Em’s kicked it.”
“I want to go with you,” he barely whispered.
“I want you to, too. But that wouldn’t be fair on Lyth, would it…?”
“She’s…” Corvus hesitated to speak.
“She’s out there somewhere, Corvee. Don’t you dare back up on that confidence now.”
The Celestial lifted his shaking head to face her. “And if I lose you both?”
“Well, I guess we’ll be bitching a whole lot in your heart. But we’ll be there.”
Erica gave a long, hearty little laugh. Tears streamed down his face, and they did on hers too.
He just stood there. He couldn’t process it all. He held his hands out to hug her. To caress her hair. To feel her touch. It must’ve been an hour that he was in that same position. But when he finally came to, he realised he wasn’t holding anyone anymore. She had already gone. His arms were in the same place as they were since he brought her closer. For a brief moment, he felt as stiff as he was back in the Yanksie penitentiary.
Alone he stood in front of his dorm. Nobody had come to collect him, for he wasn’t needed yet. He remained the last person in those halls, recalling the memory of that same sentence over and over and over and over again.
“Take care. Stay safe. Keep living. Do it for her, and do it for me. I love you, Corvee.”