Mhaieiyu

Arc 2, Chapter 4

And the Old Would Slumber

The dunes showed no kindness and never did for as long as time itself. The winds lacerated the soft tissue of humanity with brief yet frequent bursts of magic, which combined with the more passive, turbulent rivers of air from the distant mountains. Many legs came to a bleeding point if unarmoured, and clothing served as a hazard in such unpleasant temperatures.

This didn’t help. The Yanksies were hard-pressed enough, what with their limited diversity and rapidly dwindling numbers. When munitions were scarce, the supply boxes were the only salvation. Problem is, most of the supplies were taken over as they all rested in the southern half of the army; improperly divvied up likely due to an improper strategy against a supposed miracle telling of the future — or a manipulated one, perhaps.

The Syndies suffered many losses; far more than was to be expected of such an insignificant war. The Syndicate was known for its unrelenting victory streaks, and where Yanksee had numbers, the Syndies commanded perfected soldiers filled to the brim with proper, individual training whilst the Yanksies factory-pressed mould after mould of just barely prudent armies. What’s more, women were mostly absent. This lack of half of a population proved a terrible decision, as more numbers would only benefit the mediocre country. The only reason the Syndicate hadn’t already conquered the nation was because of the abundance of machinery defending their land; with large gun emplacements crowding the city long before the Syndicate had gathered the strength it had. A depressing sight for their civilians, but a threat to be reckoned for any mass intruders.

Human casualties were considerably high for the Syndies, whereas many of the beasts remained relatively intact. Machinery in battle was at an all-time low as Yanksee had expended its higher calibre munitions, by exception of the mortar. With the more accessible rear end crushed without relief, the shells no longer shot into the sky. Instead, the barrel clunked and shuddered, swivelling the barrel around until it met a stop with a loud thud. For a moment, a false feeling of silence took over the battlefield. The Syndies gasped. They took too long.

Several cylinders were lobbed into the sky with an ear-splitting bang, only to cascade down with a ghastly whistle. Ducasse’s tank was struck head-on, followed by a barrage of inaccurate falls that emitted a sequence of ear-splitting explosions that deafened both armies. Less than half of the shells actually exploded on impact, but a large cloud of smoke and dust settled upon the impact zone, whirling a fierce sandstorm in its wake.

People coughed and wheezed, stopping the fight for a moment as they fought through the elements. Cries of despair filled the area. Both armies knew who harboured the area. The footmen could only pray their leaders were safe and sound.

“Fucking Victus! What... was that?!” Emris yelled, coughing and sputtering a mixture of sand and blood.

Ignus, who had plucked the Head of Men in just enough time to jump away from the shell and shield the man, couldn’t even move the knees from under him. His back was lacerated all across, his shirt ripped to nothing, leaving exposed his bleeding skin to the unhealthy air.

The trio of combatants was far enough from the blast to only be disturbed for a moment. The event was large enough for all three to pause their fight, observing the aftermath, which allowed Erica the time to drag an unconscious Avel to a safer location.

Kev was projected against the earth, rebounding several times and rolling to a stop. His body was mostly protected by his gear, but a recent wound reopened.

Ducasse was nowhere to be found.

“Bo… Urgh… Boss…?” Ignus said, prying himself off the Head of Men’s body. He laid there, a neutral look on his face. He looked neither joyful nor unhappy. Alpha simply slumbered.

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

Stone crumbled and fell apart as the beast’s body was hurled into the cobble walls, leaving less and less of the decayed house’s existence behind. The armour Bruttus did wear whittled away in little time as he was consistently harassed by his brother, whose physical mass and raw strength surpassed him considerably. Occasionally, the smaller Mynotaur would manage to hack Midas’ skin with his spear, but the cuts left behind might as well have been papercuts. Unpleasant, but far from dramatic. The two bulls’ resilience were well matched, and so, the spar between them was of no short lapse. Still, with each of the four fists connecting, a new force smashed into the Brigadier’s face and body, bruising his flesh and splintering his bones. Even his shields suffered damage significant enough to wear away at their shape.

Corvus avoided the fight to the best of his ability, although his stunted speed made it difficult to avoid the dust and stones propelled his way. He had little interest in that now. The woman in his arms, there was something so strange about her. She was positively human, but he could sense not even the slightest bit of magical potential. She wasn’t even a überhuman — those of mankind who still articulated and translated mana into spells and other fantastical abilities despite not possessing inhuman features.

So how, in that case, could it be possible? In what situation could a human be so well-versed with weaponry to lay waste upon a quarter of their army’s marksmen without explosives or aid of any sort? Simply impossible.

“Could she be an Anomaly…?” Corvus muttered, trying not to bump into anything as he pondered on.

He called Elena’s name once more, hearing nothing.

“Ah… Hah…”

“Vicks, ah? Weren’t expecting this.”

The siblings commended each others’ work with looks alone, though they still displayed a distinct wrathfulness and spite for one another. Unlike the rivalry between Alpha and Ducasse, there was little respect amongst the two. Ultimately, it always came down to who could ruin the other first, without necessarily killing them. But now? Amid battle? A finishing blow didn’t seem that far out. Both of them knew this, and it added an air of tension they both tried hard not to show discomfort with.

Using his spear to upright himself, Bruttus raised an arm.

“Even if you beat me, you’re dead. Look at your lot. Reduced to ribbons.”

Midas let out a burst of roaring laughter, saying, “Oi, don’t go bringin’ them lot into this. It’s ya bro and you in this one.”

“I don’t want to kill you, Midas.”

“I wouldn’t worry ‘bout that.”

His two right fists landed upon his shields, before using both of his lefts to clutch and pull the pole into his grasp. With a wobble and a snap, the spear started to bend and lose shape, twisting by the midsection.

“You little shit——!”

Midas guffawed.

“What? Fight like a man, three-bones. No usin’ garbage trinkets.”

Looking back at him, Bruttus’ lips contorted into an involuntary grin.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Uh, yeah?”

"You don't know why they gave me a spear, do you?"

As Midas loosened his hold in confusion, Bruttus responded thusly by dropping the weapon before slamming his fist into Midas’ side, sucker-punching him where his liver should be. The hit was far from the brutal punches the Yanksie Cryptid could pull off, but still, it was more than enough force. Midas’ eyes watered instantly, and in seconds, he fell upon his hands and knees, coughing and writhing as the Syndie stood tall; a show of the kind of cruelty the Syndicate was capable of.

“Holy… fuckin’...!” Midas choked, his voice sharp as he could barely breathe.

“What? Can’t take a hit?” Bruttus challenged, flaring that grin of his. It’s as if the tables had turned in seconds. The bull’s bloodied smile only looked more sickening as he raised his two shields and slammed them against his brother’s back. And then again. And again. And again.

The hits cut into the leather bit by bit, letting small trails of blood seep as he bludgeoned his spine. When Midas tried to stand up, Bruttus’ unused arm would smash into the softer tissues of Midas’ body, reciprocating as little mercy as his brother had shown as he purposefully aimed for the liver, the kidneys and the stomach.

“I asked you a question, didn’t I?!” Bruttus mockingly said, kicking his side hard enough to send the mass rolling. “Did you learn nothing at all, then? Aiming for my head, the strongest bone in my body, are you stupid?”

Midas sputtered, spitting the last of his lunch. He tried to stand, leaning against a slab of stone, but his efforts were cut short as the shields came down upon two of his arms, wounding the muscles that bulged so close to his skin.

“Agh! Vicks, that fuckin’ hurt!” the hulking beast growled, grasping his two extremities with the opposite pair. “Th’ hell’s gone on with——?!”

“Why do you think they called me ‘Bruttus’, ah, little brother?”

A fist came upon Midas’ left temple.

“ ‘I suppose I oughta show ya some new tricks since I’m the oldest one an’ all.’ Those were the kinds of comments you would make. Do you remember?”

A shield crashed against Midas’ throat.

“I’ll teach you something then, you Yanksie shit. Learn to hit where it counts.”

Midas’ nose was crunched.

“Nose.”

Midas’ jaw was hammered.

“Jaw. We call that the glass breaker.”

The Mynotaur’s knee was crushed.

“Kneecaps… There are just so many great places to hit people to make things work out.”

“Asghlf…” Midas’ words came out a squelch. He couldn’t even beg or moan in pain without sounding broken.

“If you’re strong enough, you can target the ribs and break those. Not worth trying, but hey, if it works… Of course, if it’s bulls we’re talking about, well…”

Taking his older brother’s still intact right horn and yanking it accordingly, Bruttus gave his despairing sibling a look of pure horror. Up until now, the fight had been rather one-sided. The younger of the lot had gotten a foothold at most, but it was mostly a defensive stalemate. And yet, as if a switch had been flipped, Midas was left with nothing to fight back with.

“Aren’t you gonna say something to your adoring lil’ brother?” Bruttus toyed, putting his teeth right in the fellow Cryptid’s face.

“Ahgch… Pleasche… Broschler…” Midas pleaded, “Ih hursch…”

“Mm, I know, right?”

CRUNCH

Corvus plopped down his wounded body upon the uncomfortable ground, lying behind a wasted mess of stones and construction excesses. A female soldier too rested behind such barricade, heaving and gritting her teeth.

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“How are you holding up, Elena…?” Corvus said, rolling his head to meet the sight of her.

“I’m barely pullin’ through. And that’s Colonel to you.”

Corvus chuckled. He knew Elena to be the type to be cold for a good laugh, and he could appreciate her attempt to lighten the mood. Truth was, nobody had expected this kind of outcome. Battle’s end was soon on the horizon, and as to be expected, the Syndicate was leaning towards victory. But it was so far from clean. So many great riflemen had been lost, some of which he might have known personally.

Elena had managed to make a makeshift tourniquet and bandage with the few medical supplies she had. Corvus could tell it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

“We pulled through, at least,” Elena said, some optimism still left.

“Yes… Though not without heavy casualties. I don’t even want to think what the Crimsoneers will do this time,” Corvus said.

“Then don’t. Just let time pass; you’ll figure something out.”

“It’s hard to be so laid back. This heaviness in my chest…”

“Pay it no mind, then,” Elena groaned. “You’ll pop if you keep stressing over things you can’t change. We got cocky. We got shot. Some of us are dead, but we’re still here, right?”

The thundering bang of a mortar shell rocked the earth, making sand fall from the rocks and onto their faces.

“Phteh! Looks like the artillery’s still not been dealt with,” Elena commented, turning to face the troubled angel. “Oh, get your head in the game, why don’t you!”

Despite her excited visage, her face had turned pale from blood loss.

“You’re dying, Elena,” Corvus said.

“Yeah, probably. So who’s she?” Elena asked, redirecting the centre of attention towards the dropped markswoman.

Corvus closed his eyes in resignation, contemplating the Yanksie’s body.

“No clue, but she’s a sturdy shot.”

“I can kind of feel it right now,” Elena chuckled, giving the body a kick for the pleasure. “So, keeping her as a trophy or something?”

“The way you people say things! No, she’s alive. I’d end her, but I need to find something out first,” the Celestial said, to the suspicion of the Colonel.

“Okay… That’s the second prisoner you’re holding captive out of curiosity. Who was the first guy again?”

“Noire. He’s an odd man, but he kept us alive during the breach. I’ve never seen so much raw magical potential in a single person before, or at least not in a long time. I feel he could rival Bellum in time, and if there’s any chance he can, then he’s a bet worth taking,” the angel explained.

Rolling her eyes, Elena set her head back on the slab, propping her rifle up. “And this chick?”

“Same logic. If she’s a weapon we can get on our side, then there’s potential for a new ally. We need all the help we can get right now. It’s out there, but…”

“Makes sense, I guess…”

The lass closed her eyes, trying to get some rest before hearing a sound most disturbing.

“Are you hearing those… uh…?” Elena said, noticing Corvus’ concern.

“Yes, I heard it too.”

Peering over the barricade, the Celestial was surprised to meet an absence of the rough noises the clash had provided. He was so stunned in his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed the ambience go quiet all of a sudden. What replaced the fight instead was——

THWACK

CRACK

CRUNCH

Blow after blow, knuckle after knuckle, Midas’ body was riddled with pain. The look on Bruttus’ face was almost indifferent and neutral, yet the destruction he caused his brother was plain morbid. The last place he’d hit was his skull. Instead, the Mynotaur was left with four broken ribs, three shattered teeth and a ruptured kidney. What’s more, two of the bull’s arms had been snapped by the elbows, leaving the bulky Cryptid with one less functional arm than even he had.

“Saintess bloody Victus! Bruttus cut that out, he’s out!” Corvus shouted, met with more silence as the Brigadier gave him a fleeting look.

“Stay in your line, Lieutenant.”

“Are you off your rocker? Get off him before you collapse his lung——!”

As Corvus approached him to pry the dying bull from his assaulter, the angel was surprised to see his hands slip their grip, before getting decked with a brutal swipe.

“I said, stay in your line. I’m your superior. Answer their orders.”

“Gah, what’s gotten into you…?!” the Celestial demanded, horrified at how suddenly his ally had acted up. It was commonplace for one to lose some stability in the face of such adversity, but this mental snap was almost too surreal.

“Is he dead…? Haven’t you done enough? He’s your brother, for the Goddess’ sake!”

“He’s a threat. Aren’t you showing too much sympathy for your enemies, Corv? Go. Hide behind the rocks,” Bruttus ordered one last time, the tone of his voice indicating he was seconds from losing all his patience.

Corvus was having none of it.

“ ‘Corv’? You’re getting arrogant. How would Alpha see this brutal display? How would Brigadier Emris react? Are you trying to get demoted?”

“Oi…” Bruttus snorted, “you’re pissing me off. Let me do my job, ah?”

The angel responded with a clammer of steel against his horn, forcing him to fall on his knees as the shockwave shook his skull down to the brain.

Corvus proceeded with closed eyes and a concentrated look, saying, “Your job is to get the enemy to submit, primarily through violent means. This is overdoing it. You’ve won. Look at the poor bastard.”

Pointing his sword down to the fallen bull, the two looked at him in silence. He was groaning, gurgling blood and barely breathing with his beaten lungs.

"He could get up," Bruttus said, folding two of his arms.

"Dude, he's done. I'll clap if he lives through this."

"Shouldn't we… prevent the odds?"

"He's your brother, Bruttus. I don't know what the hell has gotten into you, but you can't just kill your only sibling. It's not right."

Bruttus huffed, wandering off with thumping steps. Corvus looked at the beast beneath him, startled at the damage done. He had never seen Bruttus behave in such a way. It was entirely opposite his more calm self; he inherited the brains between the two. So what was this? What could Midas have done to trigger such a response? Maybe instinct?

"We have to get to the others," Elena said, using her rifles as canes.

"Vicks, Elena. You really are reckless," Corvus simpered, giving the soldier a shoulder to lean on.

"Down to the core. You don't look too pretty yourself. Don't worry, I bet Erica won't mind..."

Corvus sighed.

"It might take an eternity before I convince you people that it's not like that. Even if I wanted to, I can't."

Elena gave him a sympathetic look. It was natural to feel desperate, but at this rate, he would never overcome the pain.

"Corvus, buddy, you know the chances she's alive are pretty much null, right? Sorry to be blunt, but if you keep wallowing on the possibilities——"

"She is still out there; I just know it."

"Corvus——"

"You don't know her like I do. She's the Guardian's Bow. If I can survive a day in the Badlands, she's set for years."

Elena opened her mouth but said nothing. He was confident. The smile on his face said so. Speaking any more would only sour his mood.

"Goddess, you're so stubborn," Elena chuckled.

"I would call it one of my redeeming qualities," the winged man jested, giving her a playful nudge. "Now then. You should get to safety. I'll go and see how badly we cocked up."

"Ay, Corv," Elena hollered, resting by a slab.

"Why can't people call me by my name——?!"

"Erica's best quality is her optimism. Try and take a page out of her book, yeah?"

Corvus quirked an eyebrow.

“Is that a double entendre of some sort?”

“Victus, no. You’re clinging to the idea too much. Now come on, you just ruined a perfectly good send-off,” she jokingly complained with a snigger, taking a health break by a less-than-smooth slab.

Rolling his eyes, Corvus set off to find Bruttus; the Fourth Brigadier — nobody was yet aware that the place for First had become vacant as of late.

The brig was soon found standing by one of the extremes of the demolition site, pressing a hand into his face. Approaching the bull as carefully as his damaged body could, Corvus placed a palm against his featureful back, using his sturdy figure to lean on for support.

“Doing alright here, fellow scumbag?” Corvus joked.

“Victus, Corvus. What was that?” Bruttus snorted, rubbing into his hand.

“You nearly killed him. You might have already.”

“He’s a Yanksie, Corv. An important one! He’ll get back on his feet, patch up and start killin’ us again!” the anger-ridden bull shouted, trying hard not to lose his temper.

Corvus sighed, slipping his sword into its handle.

“This isn’t about murder, Bruttus. It’s about submission.”

“You’re getting soft, Celestial. What happened to that fighting spirit?” Bruttus challenged, unconsciously dropping a hand on the angel’s back.

“It’s plain humanity.”

“You aren’t human!” the Brigadier bellowed, only to meet a face he hated to see. One of his distant subordinates looking back at him with a stare he wouldn’t dare challenge.

“I’m close enough,” the angel said flatly, forcing the Mynotaur to look away in discomfort, withdrawing his enormous hand for safety.

Status within the Syndicate often led to misguided views on power. Higher positions left many of the lesser ranks to believe that those on the top were the best soldiers they had to offer, and thus, respect wasn’t just commonplace, it was considered a necessary measure to survive within the Facility’s walls. Even though the rules forbade it, those at the bottom commonly had this predisposed understanding that if ever they were forced to face the likes of the General or even the Harbingers, the odds would be entirely stacked against them. In truth, this ranked measure meant nothing more than a poorly tested compilation of attributes that featured, among them, one’s combat mastery, capacity for leadership, loyalty to the organisation and overall thinking ability regardless of the pressures that might engulf an individual. All these features and more combined are accounted for and ranked among a vast list of militaries to provide you with a rank.

This meant that, while one can overshadow another from a ceremonial standpoint, in truth, fickle and individual traits such as physical prowess or martial talent aren’t represented the way many might believe when taking a look at this order of power. By common sense, the Fourth Brigadier would be decisively superior by several accounts to the Sixth Lieutenant; surpassing him by two ranks and titles. However, this couldn’t be further from the truth. If there ever was such a thing as a ‘master race’, the Celestials beat the rest to it.

“Bruttus, what you did back there, where did that come from?” Corvus said, removing his deadly eyes from the beast.

The Mynotaur produced an awkward noise, tilting his head away.

“I’m doing my job, Lieutenant.”

“Was it necessary to take it that far?”

“Corvus, you’re neglecting your duties. You know that, right…?” Bruttus reminded, averting his eyes from the man.

“Is it… that bad to believe in a bit of empathy…?” Corvus challenged, softening his tone.

With another hum, the beast scratched his head, saying, “Work first, man. Think and dwell on it later. I’m not askin’ you to be a killing machine, just… think about your buddies and what you’re trying to protect.”

Placing a hand on the angel’s shoulder, this time more gently, he asked him, “Doesn’t it make sense to keep your friends alive first and foremost? Sympathy and all that’s fine, but don’t let too much get to your head. If your people die because you wanted to be a hero for everyone, doesn’t that make you an accessory for your opponents? Or is it alright somehow, because you thought it was the better thing to do?”

Corvus scanned their surroundings, watching as stones fell from the torn walls.

“And what if, in doing so, we could unify our goals?”

“That’s speculation, Corv. We don’t know how the world will pan out. Is that a gamble you’re willin’ to take? Staking your folks?”

The Celestial sighed.

“In a world like this? I don’t think I would. It’s unfortunate.”

Bruttus gave a sly chuckle, facing the horizon opposite the battle. It was quieter here somehow. It felt right.

“This ain’t a world I’d trust as much as you, but I’ll give it a shot,” Bruttus said.

Corvus smiled, nodding.

“I’ll try to be more strict. Zebulos was fairly good at it.”

“Yeah, well, Zeb and you aren’t the same kind of man. Take notes, but don’t uh…”

“Explode?”

“Yeah, I was trying not to be insensitive.”

The angel chuckled, his amusement escalating to a hearty, infectious laugh that soon had his comrade guffawing with him.

“I’ll do my best not to take it that far,” Corvus said, wiping away his tears.

“Hey, he did change the world…”

“Indeed. In a strange way, I’m almost envious, but not. Slaying the old bastard was worth it in the end, though it wasn’t my sacrifice. May he rest in peace with the Goddess.”

Bruttus bared his teeth in a chuckle.

“Aye. And forever be damned, Ir-Thildan.”