October 11, 4021 13:50 [Lahab Mutajamid Desert]

An arm fell to the earth. Unnoticed by most as chaos reached a fever pitch, it unsettled the sand unceremoniously as it landed.

Embedded deep within the soft granules, it lay crossed over the arm of another—one as pale as snow.

Steel, blood, and sand—the world as Akula knew it disappeared. It was all he could see—all he could sense…all he could feel. Especially the blood.

An ocean of it, buried just beneath the sand, called to him. He could see the trails of red, wispy tendrils snaking about the air. The sheer number of them assaulted his senses.

He ignored the screams of agony spilling from the mouth of Orpheus as the Herald clutched his bleeding stump of a shoulder.

“Oh, shut up. Now we're both missing an arm,” Akula mumbled, barely unintelligible as he tried to seal his wounds.

He had severed Orpheus’ arm in a state of partial delusion. How he had managed to do so eluded him. His mind was fragmented, struggling to discern reality from illusion. He had lost too much blood.

“You—what are you? A daemon?” Orpheus spoke with labored breath. He tore a piece of cloth from his person, fastening a makeshift tourniquet around his stump with his good arm and his teeth to stem the bleeding.

Akula stumbled to his feet, a wild look in his eyes. The pain was almost blinding. He could barely muster the strength to stand up, let alone concentrate on what was being said to him. And yet, he wore a devilish grin.

It called out to him even stronger now, the blood. Its allure was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Drowning his senses in a raging torrent, the voices of the damned rang in his ears. He could feel their presence, gnarled fingers clawing at his mind.

“Free us from this wretched plane! How many more must die to satiate your hunger, accursed one?!” The voices said.

“You've doomed us!” More chimed in.

Akula shook his head, unsure of whether the voices in his head were real or he was merely experiencing more delusions.

I should replenish my stores. He thought, starting to siphon blood from his surroundings and redirecting it into his body. He closed his eyes casting his Shakti like a net over the area.

Orpheus’ eyes widened; a shiver ran down his spine. Something was amiss with this Homunculus. The Homunculi as a collective were already unnatural enough—the result of Man's hubris; an attempt to play God—but Akula presented a different case altogether. Something had changed in the moments preceding his imminent death; his aura had warped and twisted, becoming frenzied and ferocious. His presence now was unnerving.

Sweat beaded along Orpheus’ brow. The hairs on his neck stood on end as he started to back away. The thing that stood before him was not the same as the person he had fought moments ago. He was lost to something more sinister; a slave to carnage.

Millions of blood strands rose from the ground. They left the corpses of the fallen, emerging from the depths of the desert.

Soldiers below paused momentarily to gawk as the strands converged above the Agrius. They coiled and banded together, hardening to form crystalline weapons of brilliant ruby. Akula opened his eyes, his irises a violent shade of scarlet.

Orpheus quickly rolled over the edge of the Agrius. Though he sensed a greater threat from Akula than before, caution as opposed to fear drove him to retreat momentarily. The skies were lost to the enemy.

Blades, arrows, and lances of red followed Akula as he leapt from ship to ship, annihilating the Triumvirate’s air fleet. Their Cataclysms lurched and heaved as they spiraled downward, raining large fragments of shrapnel and debris, upon the fighters below.

Emerging from the hull of a sinking ship, Akula searched for his target through blurry vision and ringing ears; he hadn’t much time. His eyes darted back and forth, scanning the horizon as he continued to add to his arsenal from an ever-increasing reservoir. The battlefield had become his weapon.

***

“You—fit me with an arm. I’m of no use to anyone as I am,” Orpheus ordered. His breath was ragged, the cloth around his stumped shoulder a shade darker than maroon and damp.

He had managed to drag himself to a nearby mobile fortress, collapsing on the machinist’s table. A gruff-looking man, weathered by the seasons and the labors of his occupation, scratched his long gray beard, seeming to ruminate over a particularly difficult decision.

“I told you not to play with your food,” the old man grumbled.

“He is not prey, nor my inferior—we’re equals. He is a worthy adversary, though his mind eludes him as of late,” Orpheus argued.

“He has lost himself, then, and so have you. I should take your head for speaking so highly of the enemy,” the old man spat.

“I’m not giving praise where it is undue. I am merely stating a fact. And don’t speak like my father, Gared. You’re merely a machinist.”

“Aye, but I was once a warrior, young king. You should heed my advice every now and again,” Gared replied

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Orpheus winced. “Now fetch me a prosthetic, quickly! My wound aches,” he groaned.

“I shall make haste,” Gared nodded, before turning away, sifting through a seemingly endless catalog of arms. He returned with a gel pad and an arm of gold, paneled with brilliant emerald. “Bite down on this,” Gared instructed, placing the gel pad in Orpheus’ mouth. “We’ve run out of anesthetic. You’ll have to bear with the connection process for now.”

Orpheus nodded, closing his eyes. He focused on his breathing, trying to keep it at a slow and steady pace. Gared unwrapped the cloth around Orpheus’ left shoulder, washing it with an antiseptic spray. He fastened the prosthetic around the stump, causing the valves to start pumping blood. Small pistons and gears whirred to life as protruding screws spun into place, locking the mechanisms tightly.

Orpheus let out a muffled scream as he bit down on the gel pad with all his might, each nerve connection more painful than the last. He fainted from the process, woken moments later by a swift slap from Gared.

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“This is no time to rest!” He exclaimed, raising his hand once more.

“Stay your hand, Gared. I am awake,” Orpheus groaned, rolling off of the machinist’s table. His hair was matted with sweat and he shivered despite the heat. His face was pale and gaunt, and his throat dry. “I must see to it that I finish him off quickly.”

Gared frowned, crossing his arms. “See that you do, but do not be naive. A man lost to his lust for death sees no one as his equal. He will regard you with ill grace. You must not falter and give him the benefit of the doubt. Put him down and then you can mourn him.”

Orpheus pulled himself to his feet slowly, clutching the table tightly with his good arm for support. “...He was on death's door, Gared. And yet, he came back with such a wild fury. What would drive a man to become so manic?”

“The advent of death instills fear like no other in some men,” Gared answered.

Orpheus shook his head. “He was not afraid of it, but he seemed fearful of what it entailed.”

“Perhaps he has something to lose?” Gared noted.

“He made mention of his friends—”

“Bah! Friends? Homunculi are not human, nor are they animals. I doubt they form such bonds. Do not let his words sway you; they are merely tricks to employ your sympathies, Orpheus,” Gared growled.

Orpheus’ expression did not betray him, though he remained unconvinced. “I will do as you advise. It can’t be helped.” Then, with a curt nod, he took off running, out of the mobile fortress and into the thick of battle to meet the Homunculus warrior for the last time. Whether by my death or his, it will end here. Orpheus mused as he stood atop the dunes.

He blinked suddenly as the clouds parted, leaping back before a flash of red decimated the area.

***

An aura like magma enveloped Akula as he emerged from the point of impact, his breath heavy and labored. His eyes were bloodshot, a singular entity in his vision. His only focus was Orpheus.

“That's new,” Akula stated pointedly.

“You like it?” Orpheus grinned, showing off his prosthetic.

His reply was met with a chuckle and a scoff. “That's fightin' dirty.”

“Sorry,” Orpheus shrugged.

Akula bounded forward, crossing the distance between them with vicious speed. He had forgotten why he was there. His mind was foggy, a cloud of confusion enveloping his thoughts. However, one thing was clear to him. He had to kill the Herald in front of him. To keep them safe. Akula winced, a sharp pain in his head throbbing incessantly. Protect who? His pupils constricted as he drew closer to his target. It doesn’t matter. If I kill him, they’ll be safe. That’s all that matters.

Orpheus planted himself firmly in Akula’s path, squaring his shoulders. The pistons and gears in his prosthetic whirred even louder as they worked furiously to accommodate the tension building in his muscles. The prosthetic's gold panels shifted in a state of unrest as power coursed through it and the emerald lining began to glow as the energy stored within reached a peak.

“It’s tragic, but you're nothing more than a monster now. You’ve lost your head,” Orpheus spoke calmly.

“Like you would’ve let me keep it,” Akula grinned. “Besides, if I'm a monster, then you're a cheat! I took your arm and you showed up with a new one!”

A cheat? Orpheus’ eyes flared, inflamed with fury. Who did this cretin think he was, to claim what was fair or honorable? “Was stealing our land fair?! Was killing our people and attacking us fair?! We were prepared for this outcome! We knew war was coming! We knew blood would be spilled! You thought we would roll over for you, but we won’t!”

“Like I give a shit. You're in my way. Their safety takes priority over everything else.”

Orpheus raised an eyebrow, forgetting his anger for a sliver of a second. “I've been meaning to ask; who is it that you're protecting that you'd go to such lengths to kill me?”

Pain shot through Akula’s head like a piercing dagger as he tried to remember, the mist over his memories thickening.

“I don’t—” he shook his head, clearing his mind of the memories—they would come back to him soon enough. In his rage, however, and perhaps compounded by his clouded judgment, Akula forgot that he had lost an important piece of himself. Aiming to strike Orpheus from the left, he attacked with an arm that existed no longer.

Orpheus released the tension in his shoulders in one fell swoop, driving his fist forward. The expulsion of energy was enough to blow away the entire armory of blood weapons Akula had amassed. Orpheus did not falter, however, staring into Akula’s widening eyes as he pivoted further forward into a sonic strike that would hollow its opponent with unwavering force.

The neurons in Akula’s brain fired on all cylinders, a surge of clarity clearing the fog in his mind as memories flooded in. Akula’s breath became shallow, a deathly chill running across his spine. Tears welled up in his eyes. No. Not like this. I can’t—their faces overwhelmed him. Aisha’s, Mirai’s, then Cecil’s, Vivian’s, Jìguāng’s, and finally—Indra. He could see them so clearly, yet they were not with him. I can’t save them, Indra. I’ll die. And then they’ll die. I’m—I’m so sorry.

The apparition of Indra stared at him blankly. “Are you dead?”

What? No, but—

“Then what are you crying for?” It asked. “FIGHT.”

The reverberation of his voice caught Akula by surprise.

“They can take your limbs, they can take your eyes, your ears, your tongue—they can take whatever they want until you’re reduced to nothing but dust…But until your last dying breath, you MUST FIGHT.”

Why? Akula asked the apparition. I don’t want to fight.

It smiled softly, a certain sorrow in its eyes. “In any other lifetime, perhaps…But you were borne with a kind heart into this wretched one. You must fight, if not to save yourself, then to save those you hold dear.”

Akula understood, but the voices—I can hear them. Everyone I killed. I can’t even hear myself think over their screams.

“Then silence them. It was not you who chose this life. You do what you must to survive. Close your heart to their plight. For now, you must focus in order to aid the living.”

Will they ever find peace, these lost souls?

The apparition did not answer, fading as quickly as it had appeared.

Akula’s mind snapped back to the present, his senses now razor-sharp. As a blur of emerald and gold approached him, Akula leaned further into his own attack, a mere stump of an arm in the way of such force.

He chuckled through labored breath, much to Orpheus’ surprise. “You speak and you fight with honor. You were right. This is the worst matchup…but not for me.” Orpheus' eyes narrowed as a wild scream escaped Akula’s lips. Blood erupted from the ground. Coiling and hardening around his shoulder, the strands extended forward into an arm ruby in color, yet diamond in strength.

“I don’t fight with honor! I’ll kick and scream, gnaw and crawl my way forward if I have to! I won’t accept death with dignity, I’ll receive it with broken bones and mutilated limbs! If you see me as sinful, it doesn’t matter to me. I’ll answer for my sins when I’m dead, not a moment before! And please, feel free to call me a monster or a daemon, I don’t really care. I know what I am. Homunculi were made to push past the limits of humanity! We were made to perform miracles! Perhaps we’re prophets of a new age?”

“Rahman would kill you for saying that!” Orpheus laughed.

“Well, he’s not around anymore, is he?” Akula grinned.

“No, I suppose not,” Orpheus mused.

Their attacks connected at the knuckles, the full might of both fighters behind each hand.

“Red Glaive!” Akula exclaimed.

“Auric Destrier!” Orpheus responded in turn.

The artificial arms of both warriors shattered, the impact dividing the desert. Orpheus’ eyes grew wide with disbelief, as did Akula’s. A torrent of sand blasted both sides of the dividing line. Akula shielded his eyes, surveying the landscape across the divide through slits between his fingers. He searched for any signs of Orpheus, but the storm they had created made that impossible.

The sand beneath his feet suddenly shifted, causing him to lose his footing. As he returned to his feet, a surge of silhouettes crossed over the divide, riding a wave of black that spanned the visible horizon. Triumvirate soldiers.

Akula stepped forward to give chase, before a hand grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. He swiveled around, ready to strike, but steadied his hand when met with Temujin’s scowl.

“They’ve retreated for now. No point in giving chase. They’ll be back soon enough. We should take this time to tend to the injured and recuperate. Come,” the Hyena stated.

Akula stared across the canyon, all signs of Orpheus dissipating with the wind.

“That’s an order,” Temujin said sternly.

Akula nodded, staring at the back of his head as they left the divide. The Hyena seemed more on edge than usual. Before Akula could utter another word, however, he collapsed into the soft sand, his eyelids growing heavy and his hearing fading out again. The sharp pain in his body became a dull throb. His breathing slowed and deepened. Somehow, it felt like a good place to finally drift off…