Mhaieiyu

Arc 2, Chapter 5

Let It Be So

“Count to three. What do you see, mate?”

The voice called, met by ringing ears. The soldier’s throat was dry from the screaming. He could barely keep reality in check.

“Nothing. I can’t see, sir. I can’t see anything.”

He breathed quickly as panic froze his body. Adrenaline poured into his blood. Explosive shells smashed against the sands one after the other, sounding like bells from hell and startling those trapped in their stations with each blast — every trench a river of earth hiding dozens of terrified soldiers.

“That would be shock. Open your eyes, they’re glued shut. Can you hear me? Can you see me?”

“I don’t think I can. I can’t see, Brigadier. Help me. Help me please.”

“Control your breathing. We haven’t time to wail and cry; not now, mate!”

The man who sat with a rifle, blinded yet aware, choked a sob.

“I can’t see. I can’t do it. I’m not going to live through this, am I? It’s impossible.”

“Listen to me,” the other said, his voice profound and brimming with healthy confidence. “You won’t make it if you sit here and die. It has little to do with war, it’s just no way to live. Here. Take my hand.” The Brigadier showed the soldier his massive palm, inviting him to stand. “The very meaning of life is to struggle and squirm against and by all means be stubborn to the Devil, lest he chooses to claim you.”

“I can’t even see in front of me. How am I to fire a gun or run to safety?”

“You can see. You just don’t want to, because you don’t want to fight,” the young yet wise man said, grabbing the soldier’s arm and helping him to his feet. The soldier stumbled forward, running into the Brigadier’s shoulder and clutching on for dear life.

“How do you do it? How do you choose to face hell itself like this?”

The veteran smiled, turning the smaller man around and pointing towards the smoking horizon. “See there and look alive. It’s easy to see the bad in this, I understand. The haze and muck often cloud our sights. But, if you peer through it all, don’t you see light?”

The smaller soldier’s eyes blinked, and his pupils dilated. “I think I do.”

“So I ask you now, will you die here? In the rot, the filth, the waste? Here, by the ashes, will you lay down and give in for good, agonising in fear and melancholy? That is Sin, my comrade. Don’t bask in pity. Bask in glory.”

The soldier buckled, looking up at the man.

“I don’t want to die.”

“We cannae avoid the inevitable. And if it must be done—if Victus finally relents your mortal soul to the bastard God—then will you not at least leave us with grin, pride and fulfilment? See there, the light that stands before us. See there and relish in the chance; and kiss victory, even if it claims you.”

The soldier’s breaths calmed but were still heavy.

“I can’t march alone. I can hardly move my legs. I’m stuck.”

“You won’t be going alone.”

“And if I lose you halfway? If you disappear in the shroud, and I turn back and you aren’t there to push me forward?”

“Then you won’t turn back. Just run, matey. Run for glory. Fight, by the Goddess, fight. And laugh as you do it all. Only then will you be at peace. Only then will you cross the great divide between soldier and soldier.”

This distant they stared at looked utterly vile. The sands were black enough, but experience could set apart the natural from the fallout. The stink of lead and the black powder used in such explosives lingered heavily in the air. It’s all one could breathe at this point. Bodies long-deceased too dotted the area, most covered in sand as they slowly sunk into the earth like all before them. One could hardly see a hundred meters ahead, as the clouds of smoke blinded the victims from the world of adversity ahead. Bullets crackled through this smoke, almost always missing their mark as visibility was dampened. Still, they did serve as psychological threats, worsening the morale of the troopers in the trenches. Every now and then, a shell would project forth, crashing into the ground around them. Men and women cried out for each explosive.

There was nothing to be happy about, but this man, amazingly, never lost his noble smile. It wasn’t one of a lunatic, that much was certain. It was honest. Looking at the man’s hopes and determination was so invigorating. Of course, he was an über, whilst the scrawny soldier was not. One held an obvious advantage over the other, but that didn’t seem to matter.

He could see it now. The cracks of light peering through the darkness, as if the Devil himself had given them some respite. Of course, on the other side, the Yanksies were present. But in light, one could to aim. One had a chance to strike. A chance at victory.

And blazes, if that didn’t send a rush down spines amid war, nothing else could.

“Are ye ready, then?” the man said, giving his back a light push.

“Yes. Yes, I think I am.”

“Jolly good! Then let us teach those degenerates just what we’re made of!”

The man raised himself properly, taking his rifle and sword from the mud. Before he could stand, a hand dropped on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Brigadier Barbatos,” the little soldier said, his breathing no less casual than that of a normal day’s work. What’s more, a smile of his own lined his face.

Barbatos nodded, uprighting himself. He was massive for a man.

“Hm, not an issue. A soldier is useless without the will to push forward.”

“I’ll try to be less useless then, Brigadier.”

“Please, call me by my name,” the man chuckled, loading his firearm.

“Of course, Barbatos.”

“And you, matey. What is yours?”

“Mine, sir? I am but a trooper. Expendable. Don’t trouble yourself keeping names,” the soldier insisted, only to be grasped by the iron grip of the man.

“Don’t be foolish, Private. Life is but one, and we only own it once and nevermore. Every name and every man — each have their value. Now, by Victus, tell me: what is your name?”

The Private couldn’t stop a laugh. Life was just so beautiful and dramatic at times. How could he deny it? In a trench, facing certain death, it was all meaningless. The happiness he felt now would suffice.

“My name is Kev, sir. Let us hope we serve many years together, as mutts to this empire.”

“Aye, and forevermore,” Barbatos laughed with him.

“And if we are to die, let it be in unison,” Kev said.

“With purpose?” Barbatos said.

“Always.”

“Then, let it be so.”

The Brigadier rose upon the walls of the trenches, and with a voice unrivalled by even his greatest superiors, he boomed, “ONWARDS, MEN! Let it bleed into your hearts! Let your souls brittle and crumple if it must be! If hell wishes us all on its doorstep, then let us trample, crush and batter until the Devil himself backsteps from our eternal light!”

And with this, facing destiny, the two charged into battle with dozens of others; their warcry unending, their individual lives equally significant, for just one less would make this battle impossibly won.

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

Every second, steel would clatter. More so than in the mass of conflict even, the strokes that the Wraithsman danced with seemed unparalleled. His three swords, which he rotated effortlessly for even the slightest shift in circumstances, each kept him with less than a scratch worse for wear. With little reach, he could just barely mark his two opponents, but stamina was starting to wear thin; amazingly, the swordsman looked tireless.

As Eclipse could swipe multiple times a second, and her blades far outnumbered his, she became the most engaged in the spar. Erica, exhausted yet unrelenting, would do her best to strike unseen. If that failed, she stepped back, firing magical spears and swords at the lad, who would destroy them with a hack.

To this end, the battle seemed indefinite. The lasses hadn’t been given enough time to see the outcome of the blast, as the Wraithsman leapt back into action with not a second for concern to brew. Erica grit her teeth, her hands resting on her knees. She couldn’t even bring herself to fly, she was so exhausted. But relenting would leave Eclipse hopeless to take his cuts. She was incredibly agile and did much more than claw at her opponent. The former Dweller was bold. She smirked whenever she could look down upon her opponent, never with disrespect. The sight was almost too distracting, as her voluminous hair, tied down into a long, braided ponytail whipped around as she dodged and spun.

Unlike before, there were no breaks. No opportunities to talk or prepare. Not even a second to take a lungful. If an ounce of fatigue slacked her movements, she would be slashed, and she had taken enough damage already.

“Eclipse, move!” Erica warned, giving her a split second to evade another barrage of translucent weaponry.

Even midair, the man manoeuvred himself sufficiently, and with two gorgeous swipes, he managed to destroy a blade as well as slice Eclipse’s cheek. It was deep enough for her to taste blood.

The women backed away enough for a leap to be insufficient. As Eclipse wheezed and Erica downright suffocated, the youngster barely needed a breath.

“If this carries on, you will die. Are you two aware of such?” the Wraithsman asked, his prowess aligning perfectly with his family’s name.

Erica waved a hand in disinterest, though incapable of getting off her knees.

“Yeah, yeah. You haven’t beaten even one of us yet.”

“You don’t scratch very deep, do you?” Eclipse pointed out, spitting out blood. While her cheek had been gashed, the blood that seeped in her mouth pooled from a tiny hole poked through. Most others would have mangled her mouth entirely.

“I don’t like unclean cuts,” he said.

“Sounds dishonest," Erica taunted.

“Feel free not to believe me. I haven’t much reason to lie.”

Taking the time to wipe his blades down, he slotted his Gladius and Estoc into his hip scabbards. Then, taking the sword from his back once again, he withdrew that Scimitar whose edge was so sharp it could be dropped on flesh and still chop straight through it.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

An exaggeration, perhaps, but not by much.

His most precious sword was swung back once again. Eclipse widened her eyes, forcing herself to stand once more as the man charged yet again. And yet, much as she had saved Avel’s life, salvation came so suddenly.

A blade of dazzling white and pale gold material flailed through the sky wildly, striking the Wraithsman’s scimitar with enough force to throw him off-balance. In an instant, Corvus was present, and without a second to lose, the two’s swords struck each other. With the weight of his presence and the force of his push, the Wraithsman had no choice but to back away quickly, as Corvus’ brutal yet tactile combination of slashes gave him no chance to counter him. In seconds, the youngster had been dropped.

He had expected a sword’s tip to be presented, or for his head to roll off his shoulders, but when the Wraithsman had time to open his eyes, he found his opponent running off to check on his previous opponents, more concerned for his team’s safety than winning a petty battle. That, or he had been spared so quickly. Of course, such arrogance wouldn’t work. Not for him. He was a legend by birth.

The swordsman stood up, but before he could part his lips, Corvus was already speaking.

“You’re him, aren’t you? The last male Wraithsman?” he asked, to the young man’s amazement. He could only blink as a response, but Corvus took that as his answer.

“Excellent. You have no incentive to fight, then," Corvus concluded.

“What makes you say that?”

“Leo Wraithsman, you are to protect your family’s name by all means, correct?”

The lad, astonished, only stared at the angel.

“Yes, of course. Our family's dignity is more important to us than anything else. Where are you going with——?”

“I have your sister. Relent now or her life is forfeit,” Corvus said, taking a step towards him. His bluntness and the clarity in his voice were jaw-dropping. The conviction. The sheer boldness of it all.

“You have my sister, you say? And does that mean I should believe you?” Leo challenged, his weapons primed.

Corvus chuckled, standing between the swordsman and his previous victims, who were laced with thin lacerations and gashes.

“Why, yes.”

“This arrogant ultimatum… Are you Pride?” the young man asked, lowering his blade. “You’re awfully cocky.”

“No, but I happen to know him. Listen, I want to give peace a try, but I made a promise to be less willing to forgive and let live when appropriate. So, with all sincerity, I bring you those two choices. Cease or she dies.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed. To believe his own sister of all people had been captured was hard to believe, and he knew the Syndicate not to be above lies and deceit. But the sheer magnitude of this angel’s confidence spoke larger than he found comfortable to admit.

With a sigh, Leo said, “If you kill my sister, I will give you no mercy. You and each person you deem important will have their blood spilt by these swords. My family is quite the vengeful spirit.”

“Wow, edgy!” Erica chanted, her exhaustion leading her to faceplant the sand.

“Oh, I’m well aware of the nature of your kin. I was always curious of the likes of you if I am to be honest,” Corvus smirked.

Raising a brow, Leo challenged him once more.

“And if you are lying to me, she will do so in turn. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” Corvus said with amusing simplicity, folding his arms.

The two stood before each other for seconds, minutes, hours… So it felt, at least. Finally, closing his eyes with a defeated sigh, the Scimitar was slotted into its scabbard. Leo sat on his legs, his hands on his knees.

“Go on, then.”

"That easy? Such a smart pup, but a bit anticlimactic after all that..." Eclipse teased, wincing from the wounds of her skin. She had endured much better than Erica, despite the closeness to her voracious rival.

Leo looked over his shoulder as Corvus applied the restraints.

“Only children would be so vain as to carry on a pointless assault at the risk of great loss. Defeating you three wouldn’t have done much to my cause.”

Courtesy of the Syndicate and by rule of war, if an enemy is to surrender, a Syndie or otherwise is to apply their given tools to restrain and imprison the target in question. In the absence of such tools or in the face of sudden retaliation, fire at will.

“Not that it seems my efforts will merit much,” Leo sighed, watching the decaying battlefield which only grew quieter as the Yanksies were steadily pushed back.

“Your troop did more than enough damage. I worry we won’t have enough forces to stand a chance against…”

“Not now, Corvee! I don’t need any more stress wrinkles than I already have, thank you very much!” Erica shouted from afar.

Leo looked down, strangely accepting of his capture. It almost felt routine. The Celestial looked off towards the annihilated tank, or what was left of it. His expression turned sour as he watched a bloodied Ignus protecting his fallen leader as Emris struggled to rid the groups of soldiers who approached them; taking dozens of bullets in the process.

Flying over to his old comrade’s side, he did his best to push back at the approaching swarm, giving Emris enough time to conjure another barricade to afford seconds for time. They were both exhausted, breathing heavily or, in the Guardian’s case, breathing through spits and gargles as blood clogged his throat.

“Victus, ye look battered. How’d the whole rear guardin’ go?” Emris managed, giving the angel a lookover.

“You look quite hole-y yourself. It didn’t go well,” Corvus said, counting six riflemen attacking them.

“Aye, I noticed that. Left wing’s gone. Alpha’s been shot. My platoon’s MIA or depleted. Worried Markus ain't shootin' at this point.”

Corvus’ eyes widened. “What about Alpha? Is he alive?”

“He's alive, but he's strugglin'. Damn it, this ain't the job I wanted to get stuck with. Not fuckin'now."

Emris grit his teeth, clipping a new magazine into his pistol.

"What about Ducasse? Did you find him?" Corvus asked.

"Pht. Got away."

“Goddess, we really are clutching at straws. Since when did these folks get so tough?”

“Since we underestimated ‘em,” the veteran grumbled, taking a quick swig from his depleting canteen. The shield soon fizzled, and so, the two were forced to move.

Kev was nowhere to be found when a second mortar barrage shot into the sky.

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

Delirious from the fight and the mind-numbing ringing in his ears, the General’s body ached all over, having taken a blast barely five feet away from him and sent to roll and tumble, protected by his armour though still agonising from his wounds. As he stumbled in the direction he thought he saw the blurry image of his leader and best friend, he instead walked deeper into the mass of soldiers, of which most weren’t his own.

Even in his dazed state, he managed to catch eye of his threats and gunned them down whenever possible. His aim was almost impeccable after so many years. His armour was tested, however, as he was shot several times. Some bullets inevitably snaked through the platings, but were slowed down enough not to cut deep into flesh. He was lucky the Syndies had pushed forward enough to already reach the rear lines, as he would've been cooked by bullets otherwise. All were riflemen in the rear, so swords wouldn't be an issue. There was another problem, however.

A massive bang smashed through the air as the mortar fired five times, much like before. The noise felt like it vibrated into his suit. Kev's ear drums felt so much pressure he was sure they would explode. The pain brought him on his knees, clutching his head uselessly as the helmet prevented his palms from reaching his ears.

Yanksee mortars varied wildly depending on their purpose. Usually, battles and skirmishes only required smaller emplacements which could be lifted and operated by individual soldiers. The problem with these, however, was their consistent flaw: the barrels would often fail, and roughly one in every hundred shells would cause the whole thing to explode in the user's face. This led to a surge of friendly casualties, which gave rise to a new, more sinister idea.

Instead of battering the enemy with tiny mortars, they would carriage in fewer, bigger and more effective artilleries. These examples could be as tall as a Mynotaur, and as wide as cars. Instead of firing once, they could fire several large shells at once, improving accuracy. Better still, their range was much superior, allowing for longer range destruction without risk of exposing the mortar itself to counter-fire.

This all came at the expense of convenience, mobility and the sheer volume the guns produced, which forced troops to leave large circles around the machine so as to not go deaf for each of its shots. To prevent risks, actual fire had to be infrequent. But when it finally did shoot into the sky, it always caught you by surprise.

Disoriented and dazed, Kev stumbled on his knees, falling on all fours first and then rolling on his back as the world spun in his eyes. He had lost enough blood to feel his focus slip away. The crowd around him became a blur. When he saw the smudge of a figure run up to him with a rifle, he almost kissed fate then and there, only to suddenly be moved and shuffled by a great force.

The General was plucked by an arm from a Mynotaur, who swatted the rifleman away before charging in a direction Kev couldn't discern. The whole world faded out slowly, and the last thing he felt was the thundering of bombs shattering upon the earth.

In the pitch black darkness, in the abyss of silence, the General swore he heard the echoing voices of a recent past.

"Mate, It's time again," the first voice said, noble yet concerned.

"Indeed. I am ready," he heard his voice say.

"Are you sure? You look worse for wear these years. You might want to retire soon."

"Not before you, sire. We said we'd live and die as one, correct?"

"Aye, Kev, we did say that. But those words were spoken many a year ago. You don't have to adhere to old promises; ye still have time to live a normal life."

The voice belonging to Kev laughed. In the abyss, even the real Kev chuckled.

"Sire, I'm a man of my word. We'll do this together. Our victory and our loss will be shared. Do you disagree?"

A blinding light slowly pried the darkness open, drowning out the voices.

"Nay, your life is your choice, just know that it doesn't have to be that way. Ye can still…"

"Sir? Get up, sir. General, get up!"

The soldier, guarded in armours similar to Kev's own, gave one last press against his chest, forcing him from his slumber.

The General coughed, wheezed and sputtered as he sat up, groaning at the pain. Even as his eyes adjusted, he could barely see more than sand.

"I'm spent, sir. I can't carry you. You have to move."

Kev recognised this soldier. A privileged one, who among a dozen others, acted as the King's personal guard.

"Where…" Kev tried to speak, only to cough more. His throat had sand clung to every surface. Speaking hurt.

"We're east of the battle. About half a mile from enemy fire. The mortar can still strike us here, we have to retreat."

The General blinked the dust out of his eyes, struggling to put his feet under him.

"You dragged us away from the conflict? And the mortar is still active…?" he wheezed, clutching the guard's shoulder. "The fight isn't over, where do you think we're…?"

"Sir, you've completely expended yourself. Come on, we have to go."

"The King is still in there somewhere!" Kev shouted.

The bodyguard snapped back with a yell.

"Sir, we have given it our all! If we keep going, we'll just be killed. You should be grateful you aren't already dead! Now come on, Victus damn it!"

"Take me back," Kev said.

"I'm not doing that sir."

"That's an ORDER, take me back!"

The guard, frustrated, grabbed the weakened General by the head.

"For the Goddess' sake, look!" he said, gesturing at their withered Nynx suits. "Our gear is torn. Our guns are worn. We're barely holding on here! You have to go home. Your soldiers need you."

Kev, ignoring his pains, boomed with a voice similar to Alpha's own.

"The KING needs us! He needs me! He'll be dead soon, but there's still a chance to save him. If I can push on, there's a chance in hell, but it's there and I'm taking it!"

Taking the guard's stunned state as an opening, he pushed himself off the man, falling against the ground to drag himself back on his feet.

"Sir——"

"I won't force you to obey my orders. Go to base if you cannot fight any further. This battle is…"

Kev groaned, grabbing his side.

"This battle is won, either way. If you refuse to save the Head of Men, then I will respect your decision. But…"

Looking back at the soldier, whose figure deflated at the spectacle, Kev said, "You must respect my decision too. As your superior at least. As your fellows' guide, to give up now and endanger the life of our leader is to cower when most needed. It doesn't suit me," the middle-aged veteran said, facing the turmoil ahead through the smoke and dust, seeing the sun's light peek through.

Facing the earth, the guard insisted one last time.

"Sir, let's go home. You must rest, lest you fall. Will you not heed my warning?"

"Nay, soldier. In death we find peace, but only for ourselves. In life we can make peace for all, correct our woes and seek solace in our deeds. But the world won't relent through inaction. Let it be so."

A silence settled between the two, and soon, the General advanced, his steps slow in the crunching sand.

"Let it be so…?" the guard asked, to no response. "Yes…"

Click

"Let it be so."

The General of the Syndicate's military, having served two tens of years in his career, heard a noise most familiar to him. He didn't have time to turn around before his head projected forth with a mighty and sudden bang, robbing away life in an instant and raining the blood of hope and one long respected upon the black sands of No Man's Land.

The guard breathed with panic, his take shaky as he took a step back. His voice strained as he scolded the fallen man.

"You've said 'aye' a million times in your life, Kev. You just had to say it once more." Slotting his pistol, he turned away, wandering off to allow time to cover up his actions.

Kev's body laid there, forever still, to be sunken and devoured by the dunes as all before him—all those he led to their deaths—had been.