NAME: Landon Gilword
BIRTH: 3904
HOMEWORLD: Romul
SECTOR: Primarch
SPECIES: Tianshe
HEIGHT: 6’2"
WEIGHT: 225
STIGMATA: Self-healing
TIDE: Thermo
DESIGNATION: Tidewalker
MONIKER: Seething Wyrm
DANGER: Red-Black
COMMENTS: A master of Thermo, long studied and experienced. He has over fifty years of Praetorship and a wealth of power. Most notable feat: Fought the Drowned Dragon and survived, one of four living Praetors to do so.
* The official Designation of Landon Gilword, created by and delivered to the Congress Of Praetors.
The forty-two cycled woman heaved for air, the sudden weight across her body disconcerting. Joan’s eyes spun around the dark room she was in, coming to terms with the notion she was in a bed wrapped in blankets. Her arms thrashed against the cloth in a panic before she calmed herself, remembering where she was.
Who put me in bed? Not that damned Martian. Was it Sonna? Maybe. It could have even been Rejo. Whatever. I—I need to see what I got!
Exhilaration drove the Harenlar as she ignored her prior fainting and drove her thoughts past the worries present, standing in a quick motion that left her lightheaded. She stumbled, raising a hand to her head while another palm held her against a wall. Something prickled within her mind, a newfound connection of a dispersed consciousness, but it was beyond her grasp, still raw and painful.
What? Why am I... Sonna said those three felt fine when I asked her about it... Why am I different? Were their Qualae superior? Given Dante’s luck... probably.
The doctor groaned as her vision swam repeatedly, swinging locales and directions before her. She couldn’t walk. Even so, her sharp mind pierced through the haze.
Immediately, she stared at the hand against the wall, demanding the Lightsea to move. Joan could sense some, faint but persistent, and leveraged that sensation. Despite her willpower, the only thing that came as she focused was the black spots in her vision. The woman’s legs gave out, subjecting her to gravity as she collapsed forward, missing the bed.
Her head slammed into the steel floor, jarring and concussive, but with no permanent damage. Such was her estimation as she rolled onto her back, staring at the splotchy ceiling. There, she found out her own weakness, her own limits.
Joan Rafe was not talented in the methods the Lightsea proposed. It was a simple conclusion; after all, Dante had used his Stigma seconds after inheriting his Qualae. Joan?
By her estimations, it had been almost two days of unconsciousness for her based on the dehydration she felt. Someone took care of her, however, but not perfectly. Even so, she couldn’t move an ounce of the fickle being. Worse yet, the darkness spread outward more, gradually consuming her vision as rapid footsteps resounded in her ears.
Someone was coming. She smiled, a tingle in her unmoved heart. It had been many years since anyone cared for her. Joan’s mind moved to her past as the lights dimmed.
When... when was the last time someone ran for me like that? When... someone cared? Has anyone? Ever? I... don’t think so. I... don’t dislike this feeling. It’s... warm... cozy... like a gestation pod. Depths... If only I could afford another one. Such a shame I wasted the medical miracle on Theodore.
“Oh, my! Joan! Are you alright!?” A face came close to the fading woman’s; it seemed female in Joan’s eyes. She smiled at Sonna’s question, the minor movement causing more panic than it would on anyone else.
After all, everyone knew Joan didn’t smile. She only frowned. She was like Dante in that, but far worse. At least the human had emotions to show outwardly, though he suppressed many of them.
Light slaps hit Joan’s face to bring her back, but all it did was pull at the flesh of her grinning countenance, “Joan! Wake up! Oh no... you’re our doctor! Who... how...”
More footsteps arrived, following Sonna’s scream, and Rejo was the first on the scene. Though he said nothing, only twisting his head at the woman’s body. Archimedes and Lucius were next, with the former surprisingly speaking first.
“Claudius. He’d know. She—she—she took it, right? He’d—he’d know, right? Right?” The boy’s voice stuttered and wavered, but he got the words out, a pat on his back from Lucius congratulating the success.
Sonna’s eyes hardened while Lucius rubbed his chin with his other hand. Both considered the issue. No one foresaw such a problem, especially not the soldier, as he thought Joan could handle the Qualae. All of Dante’s other companions had them. No one else had such an incident.
But to them, it appeared as though Joan was dying. Something within her… rejected her. Her own body fought back against itself.
After a swift check of Joan’s pulse, Sonna glanced back up at the three behind her. The Harenlar’s heart pulsed with a rabbit’s swiftness, far too brisk to be sustained, “He won’t help us for free. And... do we really... want to?” The question in her voice hinted at something unspoken.
The boy in the room didn’t pick up on such things, but the Martian did, “Hmm... While I don’t like her, I feel some guilt,” Lucius knelt beside Joan with lackluster concern while Rejo seemed lost in thought, peering upward at the ceiling. “I’m surprised you say such a thing, however. I thought you liked the ‘good’ doctor.”
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Sonna shrugged, her shoulders sagging at such an exclamation, and she held a rebuttal, “I... do. She’s not that bad... sometimes even nice... But... is it worth it? The last and only time we spoke to him... we damn near died. And... Dante. Do we have time? Is this even something we need to bring to Claudius?”
Lucius returned her indeterminate thoughts with an identical motion. Still, he had something to say, “True. But we might as well call him. The worst that happens is he says fuck off.”
A nod came from across the unconscious woman. Archimedes’ stood beside the two of them, his gaze firmly locked upon Joan’s eyelids, as if he saw something warring within. Yet the moment the two fell into agreement, Rejo burst out of his stupor, “Yes! We will ‘ave her from her plight! Our ‘aptain will survive and ‘eet us when the time is right!”
Both Sonna and Lucius shared a glance with identical thoughts.
Idiot.
“Do you have brain damage or something? Is that why the translator won’t work?” Sonna retorted the manic ramblings swiftly, hitting the nail again on its head, “This is a serious decision. We can’t just pick randomly. And, plus, what happened to wanting to save Dante? You were the most fervent one?”
Rejo’s thumb pointed back at himself as he stood straight. The tendrils that hung around his mouth straightened outward like that of a star. The military-like stance bore the single most incomprehensible string of words Sonna, Lucius, or Archimedes had ever heard, “He ‘ont ‘ver die! My ‘ob is to ‘ather ‘is ‘en! To ‘nsure ‘eir ‘yalty! I’m vice-captain!”
A snort of laughter came from the child, his head flying back while the other two sane members of their crew groaned. They had never discussed who would be the captain of their ‘crew’, but it was clear Dante held that position. As for any other, no one really cared, but Sonna loathed to imagine Rejo representing them all.
Despite her feelings on the subject, now was not the time to argue. Instead, she retrieved the communicator that Claudius had given the five before leaving them behind on Splendrous.
After mashing a few buttons while Joan’s body spasmed, the tone dialed across the stars. The technology hidden within the communicator was beyond them all, though API’s mouth salivated at the thought of taking it apart. To the boy, it was more delectable than any meal he’d ever eaten.
Nonetheless, the noise continued for eight heart-pounding breaths. And then, a voice answered.
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Bullets tore into the cover. Claudius found himself behind, and he screamed at anyone who would listen, tearing out his vocal cords as he did so, “Who the fuck taught Dirge to use firearms! Fucking idiots!”
The battlefield the Judge found himself at was on an unnamed planet, though dubbed as Death’s Cradle for all those that perished on its massive continents. The Juncture placed here was of high quality, allowing countless Dirge to spill through, but nothing above Anathema.
Claudius was one of the few Judges present on the planet. Judges were too costly to create and toss into such warzones, but Claudius had requested it himself. Similarly, his Praetor approved it, citing in his file, ‘He is weak. Let him enter his river’.
He admitted his lack of strength despite not understanding the Tianshe’s point. Fighting Astraeus taught him that, not even noting the other monster that appeared.
Claudius couldn’t live with himself if he simply moved on with his life. Too many died. He might have never seen, talked to, or known of the vast majority of the dead, but that didn’t matter to him.
The weight of their souls fell upon him and him alone. And it was that terrible poundage that drove him forward.
A back crashed into the trench beside Claudius, icy breath leaving his throat while new blades formed in his hands. Out of space itself, Eight mocked Claudius, “What? You thought they wouldn’t? Stupid. Not all have such destructive abilities as Astraeus as an Anathema. But don’t worry. We have plenty of fodder to waste their ammo. After all, they can’t make more!”
The Judge seethed with frustration as he heard the cries of agony around him, the war tens of times worse than he could have imagined. Rosa, across from Claudius, nodded, offering only a strained smile, “He’s right. Let the little ones waste their supplies and energy. Only the Vector-2s and below fight like beasts. That Juncture up on Mount Spine spits out 3s all the time. I’m sure we’ve even got a few 4s out here somewhere.”
Claudius’ mind widened at the sheer scale of death and destruction. Mount Spine was four hundred miles away. Four hundred miles. The army he was within had only gained two miles a day since he arrived.
This means he had advanced two total miles.
At this rate... how many would die?
Again, the weight fell upon Claudius, and there were those who noticed such things. Yue exhaled steam, her body heating as she grew enraptured by the surrounding violence. Still, the Harenlar recognized Claudius’ pain, “Judge Vermillion. We can make a difference here. With Eight’s Stigma and your Tide, we could appear in the middle of them and explode with power before vanishing.”
“Too risky. What if we’re caught? Tossed into a Domain Collapse? It’s rare for Anathema, but not too uncommon. Not worth it, in my opinion, Judge Vermillion. We should attempt to scale the surrounding mountains. Pick them off from the sides,” Talander opposed Yue on their perspectives, a common occurrence before the battlefield.
Claudius brought a hand to his chin while three people anxiously stared at him. They were waiting, wanting to fight, desiring to grow stronger, needing to do something. All three wanted to help others, even if it may have been for their own personal gain.
One, however, by the name of Eight, was not the same, “No. We take things slow. Who cares if a million die before we reach that Juncture? What matters is that we are all safe. Okay? After all, this isn’t the primary goal. Remember what Sun asked? We all need to be conditioned in less than sixty days.”
The Judge heard all these words and concerns, but before he could respond to them, his communicator buzzed. Gunshots, mortars, and far worse, reminiscent of the old human wars before they claimed the stars, nearly beat out the noise. But the keen Tianshe still heard it.
After retrieving the device, concerned it might have been Praetor Sun, Claudius stood stunned by reading the name on the contact.
‘Sonna Hearal’
He gave the crew an extra communicator, for while they weren’t cheap, he wanted to keep in contact in case he required them. It had only been a few days, but they were in need of him?
That didn’t seem right to Claudius.
His thoughts let the dial ring for several seconds before he took it, much to the anticipation of his own group, “Hello? This is Claudius Vermillion. Why are you calling so soon, Sonna? Regret the decision?”
The voice that came back through was crackled from the distance and the dissonance around them, “Claudius? We need help.”
The Anathemas that were on this planet restricted most technology with their incomplete Domains, but communicators like this could get through with appropriate amplifiers nearby.
“Hmm? What’s the issue?” The Judge asked a simple question.
He received a not-so-simple reply.
“So... that Qualae you gave Lucius. Joan took it, and... she’s not doing so well. What can we do for her?” Sonna’s tone was panicked, wrought with worry and concern for the doctor. A doctor that the Judge knew was wanted for murder and kidnapping.
Still, he had no concrete proof. He could get it, with a simple touch, yes, but he was a man of his word. They had saved him and tried to save the planet. That earned them some leniency. Not infinite, though.
Furthermore, he was persuaded that his choice of not forcing them to work with him was the right one. They were a mess. He didn’t want to put them under his umbrella for risk of backlash. If they continued and strayed back into crime, he’d come for them, however. While rubbing his brows, he pondered the situation.
Fuck. They can’t do anything right without him. The Harenlar took it? What chaos. She must be going through Tide Deviation. Her body cannot handle the connection to the Lightsea and is rejecting it subconsciously. What awful talent. Or... she’s just unlucky. It can happen to anyone. What can we do here... no... what will they give in return for my help?
Claudius’ mind pivoted to benefits as he saw Eight rubbing his thumbs together with a grin. The teleporting Cryo then whispered low enough not to be picked up by the communicator, “See? Fodder. Fifty-eight days. They can help us after they find their precious captain.”
The Judge nodded as it made sense. These five were quite capable in a fight. Well, four, as Archimedes hadn’t yet shown any battle-strength. But, if they could indeed find their captain...
The chaotic lot could be wielded to tremendous might.
A nearby mortar shell shook the earth above, showering them all in the dirt, but Claudius spoke as if nothing had happened, “Come to Gladius C on November 1st. No questions asked, and I’ll send you something that will help now. She should survive until it gets to you.”
He was growing accustomed to this life with more haste than he imagined, though he wished he didn’t have to.
Silence held on the other side of the communicator. The five in the warzone knew their opposites were discussing the matter. Claudius knew they must have loathed the lack of agency. But he didn’t care all that much.
If he was going to spend his prized credits on a Soul Suppressor to heal Joan, then he needed to get something from it. After all, Claudius wasn’t sure what was going to go down that day or the following sunsets.
All he knew was that he wanted some allies.
After a minute of tense silence, Sonna’s voice spoke with a crackling Rejo in the background, “We can do that. Please send it quickly. ‘ey! Le—” The line muted itself as a button pressed inward on the side bearing the ill woman.
Claudius smiled, the grin on his lips spreading to both sides as he upped his chances of returning his family to their status. Now, they had better somehow get that human, or else Claudius would just have to set the five free onto their enemies and hope they were up to notch.
The Judge didn’t know how they would. Yet he needed them to, for he could only rely on the human to wrangle that group. Frankly, he was pretty sure Dante was already dead. But some part of him, the one that held his Stigma, spoke of another past, and he knew to trust it wholeheartedly.
There were some people too wily to kill.
Claudius wasn’t sure if he wished Dante Penance to be one of those few or not.