Ichor: the fuel for the entire Noirite War effort.
Without it giving life and power to their weapons bodies and structures, they were nothing. The average Noirite could produce enough on their own to withstand a few leaks, but a missing limb was beyond what could be replaced.
With less and less Ichor flowing through his body, Cross' motor functions shut down first, his ability to see and even string words together followed soon after. Soon he was barely even able to think through the pulsating haze his Ichor-less mind had become.
But he wasn't dead yet, he could feel something pressing against his wounds. The Savior had taken forever getting him far enough from the battle to risk fixing him, Cross was honestly surprised he hadn't gone gray already. Eventually the blood loss slowed enough for his body to begin catching up As his faculties slowly returned, Cross could only weakly glance around the cater he'd been laid down in.
The Savior wasn’t using thought speak, thankfully, his mouth was moving but his words were a muddled mess to Cross. It was like he was submerged, hearing everything from inside a thick container.
But the Savior’s work was commendable given the scenario, Cross could feel his body rejuvenating as the leaks were finally patched and ichor was poured between his lips. His vision came first, allowing him to once again make out the wide grin his Savior wore as he set aside an empty tank of ichor barely bigger than his head. Occasionally he’d fix his pitch-black eyeball on Cross, his iris peering into him before turning down to his work again.
Beyond that, they weren’t alone. At the edge of the crater was another Noirite, peaking his head up to look around whilst holding a Caster tightly. He glanced down at them when Cross started moving, but the sounds of battle quickly drew his gaze again.
As his hearing cleared, Cross could better hear the Blasters and Casters firing in the distance. They were still close to the fighting, close to a real battle.
“Got me all jealous.” The Savior’s words cleared up as well “Shell patches better than most, friend.”
“Sir, uh…” the Newblood cleared his throat as an explosion erupted nearby “You almost finished? Our Comrades need to flee soon.”
“Let’s see.” The Savior’s eye locked onto Cross, and he leaned forward before reaching out and clapping a hand on his shoulder “You feelin’ better yet?”
Cross slowly nodded, only for his eye to lock onto the Savior’s arm. It was rough and jagged, unlike how a smooth shell was supposed to be. In fact, the Savior was only slightly more armored than Cross was. Both of his arms were bear, and he wore no helmet. His armor was more of a vest than anything Cross saw amongst his comrades.
“Your arms.” He couldn’t help but eye them “Should you be fixing me instead of yourself?”
“Nah, these fit best.” The Savior stood up before turning and stepping over to a chunk of Blackstone lying nearby “Lose ‘em every battle, figured gettin' used to wearin’ em rough would be better than pitchin’ a fit each time.”
“Sir?” the Newblood called out again “Those Brighthomes have entered formation, they’ll retaliate any second.”
He was actually wearing his helmet, unlike Cross and the Savior.
“We’ll clear out in a bit,” the Savior hefted up the chunk and dragged it back to Cross “Gotta fix our friend here with a new walker, no time for a proper fittin'.”
The Savior raised his jagged, rough fist and brought it down on the chunk of Blackstone. He pounded on it several times, allowing a moment for Cross to think.
Luckily, they were far enough from the battle for the thought speak of the combatants to be no more than a dull hum. Cross wasn’t sure about leaving guard duty to a Newblood, but he wasn’t in any position to argue. Despite his wounds and the name, he was no less of a Newblood than him.
Annoyance burned its way through the veins of his shell as he recalled just how horrid his first genuine mission had been. It was so simple, protect the cargo during the trip, that was the only thing his Knight needed him to do. But his distress turned to confusion as he realized that he hadn’t heard that particular voice during his comrades’ retaliation.
“Captain.” His gaze went back to the Savior, who was chipping at the blackstone with a finger “Where’s Captain Formal?”
“Wager he's with the rest o the Tower.” The Savior noted as he pressed the warped chunk of Blackstone to Cross’ stump “He was still workin' the helm when things went bad, I got seniority till we link back up.”
“You?” Cross winced as the dizziness returned, his ichor flowing into the new limb and locking it into place “You’re the oldest Pawn we have?”
“Yep, been with Formal's retinue since his Promotion! ” The Savior offered a hand "Was called Armless back then cuz' o the whole losin' limbs thing, but Armel just feels better on the tongue, eh?”
Cross reached out to take shake Armel’s hand, only to be yanked up off the ground instead. He struggled immediately, the warped shape of his new leg was unfamiliar and his footing felt more than awkward. But the moment he went still, Armel pulled back and looked him over.
“Go on, give a step or two.” He waved around the crater “Time's tickin' so gotta get it right quick.”
“Sir!” the Newblood called down again, but Armel just hushed him as Cross made an effort to walk around the crater.
“A clean knee shot, right at the joint!” Armel nodded despite the frown which briefly overtook his grin “Most newbloods don’t survive leaks that bad, gotta thank whichever Shapers made ya.”
Cross frowned as he came to a stop, his leg just didn’t feel right. It moved in a jerky manner, making his attempt at walking far more embarrassing than anything else.
Armel held out a hand towards Cross before kneeling next to him. Armel raised a finger to his mouth and bit off the tip of a finger. Once some ichor had spewed out, he pressed the bleeding knuckle to Cross’ new leg and spread it along where he’d connected it before smearing it across with his other hand.
Only when the ichor had sealed the seam completely did Armel shove the severed part of his finger back on and step back as he held it in place. He waited until he could flex it again before grinning and nodding to Cross.
Cross stared for a moment before he raised a leg and stomped it against the floor of the crater, locking up for a bit before standing straight and tilting his head towards Armel.
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“You have a plan, sir?” he asked, bending down to rub his hand along the new leg
“We'll review later,” Armel strode past him, patting him on the back as he passed “for now we gotta signal our comrades to get a move on. Them Blanken kiddies'll rip 'em apart once the shock wears off.”
“They’ve been like that for a while now!” the Newblood called down before sliding down into the crater “Those Brighthomes are just about ready to start blasting.”
“Then we hurry.” Armel turned to Cross “Used some Blacklight Casters to shut that annoyin' preacher up, got one nearby we can use to signal our comrades.”
Armel turned and began scaling up the side of the crater. The Newblood glanced to Cross briefly before hurrying forward. Cross took a moment to stomp his new foot down several times before rushing after them.
His climb out of the crater was difficult. Luckily, the Newblood reached back to help pull him up the rest of the way. He emerged back in the Blackstone ruins, glancing back to see the Brighthomes hovering in the sky. Below them were flashes of gold and purple amongst the debris. Occasionally a large arc of purple would race up, only to slam against walls of concentrated light that formed around the Brighthomes.
“Come on now!” Armel’s voice made Cross tear his gaze away and turn his attention ahead. Armel hopped over some debris before gesturing for them to follow.
But Cross hesitated.
“That voice…” he murmured under his breath, not prepared for the confused grunt from his side.
He glanced over to find the Newblood staring at him. He shook his head before stretching his leg, rolling his ankle a bit before following after Armel. He was leading them away from the battle, with the size of blackstone debris growing smaller as they went. Cross could only assume they were near the edge of the ruins. Beyond it he could just barely see mountains rising from the grasslands up into the sky, their peaks obscured by the storm.
“Here.”
Cross once more glanced back, finding the handle of a blackstone baton being held out to him.
Cross locked eyes with the Newblood, who nodded down to it. He took hold of the baton, admiring the smooth simplicity of it for a moment before shaking his head.
“I’m far better with a caster.” He turned his gaze ahead towards Armel “Do you have any weapons on you?”
“Just up ahead.” Armel snickered before pausing atop a new chunk of debris “Tower dropped plenty o' goodies before goin down.”
“I meant something more mobile.” Cross said “Those Blacklight Casters aren’t connected to a refinery, their charges are finite.”
“Just need one good cast.” Armel turned and hopped off the other side of the debris, greaves splashing into another pool of rainwater “Comrades get the signal, we all scatter and make the kiddies scramble to chase us all.”
He shoved a large piece of Blackstone out of the way, revealing another pool of water with a dull purple glow emanating from below.
“Most play decoy, we get to the tower.” Armel kneeled in the pool and grabbed hold of the source of the glow “Find Formal or the cargo before them Blanken do.”
“What about afterwards?” asked the Newblood, scanning the environment carefully “Without the tower, we’ve no way to complete the mission. We're grounded here!”
“One step at a time, comrade.” Armel crouched low into the pool “Cargo’s priority one, and it sounds like them kiddies ain't got a clue about it.”
“How do you know that?” Cross backed up as Armel began hauling the Blacklight caster out “Their knight was right there, she saw it.”
“With any luck she got lost up in heaven.” Armel looked up and grinned wider “Eyes on the now, Comrades, Fromal's crew ain't new to gettin' through the impossible.”
He squared his shoulders before lurching back and wrenching the dark frame of the Blacklight Caster out of the pool. It was a stark contrast to Armel’s rough, patchwork arms. A smooth assembly of finely shaped Blackstone panels built around a large purple Obscuris Crystal that served as its core. The core was massive compared to the one in the Newblood’s weapon, so large that its purplish glow radiated beyond the casing built around it. This glow illuminated the jagged, rough edges of the arms pulling on it.
Hooking one hand under the thick barrel, Armel finally dragged out the weapon before his gaze snapped up towards Cross. Without words, Cross hurried to his side and helped him drag it the rest of the way out of the pool.
“Just a beauty, eh?” Armel nodded towards a particularly tall chunk of blackstone rising above the rubble in the distance “Now come on, help me turn her that way.”
“That’s the signal?” Cross eyed Armel, who nodded “Are you sure it’ll be visible enough? The storm is harsh.”
“They’s lookin' for it, comrade.” Armel shrugged before pulling “Let’s not disappoint!”
Cross turned and pressed his back against the Blacklight Caster, helping shift it in the mud until Armel slapped the top of it. Cross pulled away, letting Armel make a few more adjustments before sliding his hand along the top of it.
Armel plunged that hand into the Caster, the panels splitting open to accept the limb before sealing around it. Using his other hand to steady it a bit more, Armel pulled his hand out just as the glow of the weapon began concentrating in its barrel. A surge of purple light formed markings along the caster’s barrel, wrapping around it before exploding from its tip. That purple energy arced through the air several times before smashing into the massive blackstone, but the chunk did not break.
Unlike the pearlglass structures of the Blanken, the blackstone welcomed the purple energy. Like Pearlglass weapons and structures acted as conduits for blessings, Blackstone was the perfect conduit for any form of Blacklight tech. It surged inside, lighting up the inner parts of the blackstone with a dull glow from within. That glow grew as the blackstone fed, grew until a sizeable circle of purplish light stood out upon its surface.
“That’s it!” Armel cheered before he looked back down to the caster, only for his grin to vanish briefly once again.
The rest of its energy had been spent in the last blast, the obscuris crystal slowly lost its luster and became nothing more than an oddly shaped chunk of Blackstone. Now the caster just resembled a large version of what the Newblood wielded. But without the glow of the crystal fueling it, it was utterly useless.
Armel must have known as well, as he gave a brief sigh before tearing several chunks of Blackstone from the spent crystal.
“Tower clipped one o' them mountains on its way down.” He nodded to the rising peaks in the distance “We track from there.”
“Hurry sir!” the Newblood urged him forward “Who knows how many Blanken spotted that? If not the children then one of the Brighthomes.”
“I know,” Armel continued forward, forcing pieces of Blackstone into his arms until they fused to his shell “just keepin Comrade Cross up to snuff.”
Once again, Cross went still, the way Armel said his name was familiar. Before he could focus too heavily on it, he realized the others had already continued forward.
He caught up just as they eventually emerged from the maze of ruins. Although there were still numerous chunks of debris, Cross could actually see the grasslands stretching around them. Glancing back, he saw that the tower had rained debris for miles. Hopefully that meant there were trails leading straight to the rest of the tower. There was no telling if the mountains they were heading towards would make their search easier or harder. The dark clouds and rain made it hard to gauge the their size and maneuverability.
It was during this scan of their surroundings that Cross came to a stop. They had just begun ascending the base of the nearest mountain when he’d glanced back towards the ruins.
“They’ve found it.” His words made both Armel and the Newblood stop and look back.
He pointed back towards where they’d left the Blacklight Caster, white figures stood out amongst the debris. The flashes of purple and gold had stopped erupting across the ruins, and two of the Brighthomes had resumed scanning the debris with beams of light. The last of which maintained its altitude, keeping pace with the others but not shining down upon the lands below.
He hadn’t been able to see it, but it seemed likely that Armel’s plan had worked so far.
“No tellin' whether they's trackin' us or not.” Armel mused before rubbing a piece of Blackstone against his arm “Ain't givin' 'em the chance. C'mon comrades, lets make trails.”