Next are the Psions.
Praetor Pathos helms the pinnacle of mental might, taking the reins after Legate Gusha’s passing. As the brightest mind of the Romans, Pathos leads innumerable divisions, but few recognize his strength, which nears the Shattered Peak.
Psions exist in a gray area because people often misattribute their abilities to raw intelligence, Stigmata, or luck, leaving many unnoticed or undiscovered. But let me make something clear. A person can only be so smart, so clever before their mind bleeds into reality.
Whether lifting a rock with their mind, diverting a bullet, or jumpstarting a starship, all may fall under the Psion’s claim. One does not need a Qualae to display their talents; they only magnify them. Keep a keen eye on those that manifest miracles.
Let us give praise to:
The unknown minds that Praetor Pathos awaits in his laboratory.
* Yarnen, Anomaly 0, Year 3986, in her Century Report.
Sonna staggered around a corner, a shadowy figure launching itself at her from the right. She ducked instinctively, and the creature flew straight over her head into the mob of monsters chasing behind her. While panting with ragged breath, Sonna fought to inhale enough air when a rush of energy suddenly surged through her veins.
Arido—the devouring mist, as some called it—fueled her body, strengthening her muscles and pushing her beyond her limits. While pumping her arms, Sonna ran with the fury of a woman possessed.
She rounded another corner and glimpsed the dim light of the outdoors, the hangar looming just within sight. Sonna’s mind flickered to Lucius, and she could only place her trust in the Martian. Her eyes twisted back as she ran, noticing the veritable horde chasing her.
Over fifty Dirge chased her—most of them Anaphages, the lowest and weakest form of the Dirge. Among them were some even more dangerous Anarchies, with the most threatening being the sleuthing figure of an Anachronism at the rear.
Sonna sprinted for the open doorway she had entered through, desperately searching for Lucius. Fortunately, she didn’t need to search long. The man’s shout echoed through the air before she could see him.
“Dive!”
Sonna didn’t waste a second asking or thinking. She just did.
The woman leaped forward across the doorway’s entrance, barely sliding over a thin steel cord attached to each side of the door. Her face slammed into the ground, her arms scraping painfully along the surface, but the agony dulled as gunfire roared above her.
She rolled, blinking through the pain, and turned to see nearly a dozen Dirge piled right at the cord, their legs taken out by the hard metal. Lucius was ahead of the chaos, systematically firing his bolt-action rifle, the snap of each shot like a clock’s steady tick. With one hand on the trigger and the other priming the bolt, Lucius fired with cold efficiency, dropping one Dirge after another with precision.
The time between shots was precise, like that of an oiled machine. In awe, Sonna watched Anaphage after Anaphage have their skulls detonated by a double tap.
Sonna had seen countless experts wield guns, both high-tech ones and those that were more antique. But nothing compared to Lucius’s brutal control of the battlefield. Even the way Lucius loaded rounds stored in his palm while he pulled the bolt showed a mastery that Sonna refused to believe she had in anything.
The Anachronism howled in rage from beyond the pileup of Dirge at the door, and Sonna felt her instincts snap to attention. Once more, she towed the Lightsea into her grasp. The haze clung to the creatures like a parasite, draining their vitality and slowing their movements. It gave Lucius just enough time to thin their numbers further.
The moment Lucius spotted the monsters’ reorganization, he called out to Sonna, “Retreat! And use your gun, for God’s sake!” all while the man retreated on his own, tossing aside the now-spent rifle to draw a revolver. He had run out of extra rounds nestled within his palms.
It was a blessing and a curse that Rejo had so many firearms stockpiled. A blessing, for it gave everyone a breadth of tools at their disposal, and a curse, for... It was Rejo with the weapons.
Yet, in this instant, Lucius could only thank Rejo for his gun obsession. Otherwise, they would only have his hatchet to work with.
Sonna fumbled with her own gun, managing to pick off one Dirge with a full chamber, but Lucius’s unerring aim kept them alive.
Together, they scrambled up the hangar stairs and ledges toward their ship. The sound of claws scraping metal and the guttural growls of the Anaphages below chased them with every step. Despite the chaos, Sonna’s mind stayed sharp. Her instincts locked in on the shifting life around her, sensing the retreat of the more powerful Dirge. Lucius’s brutal precision had thinned the weaker ones, relentless as they were.
Seconds later, the two reached the entrance to their ship, their backs against the hull, catching their breath for the briefest of moments before the next wave of Dirge followed. Lucius, ever the dutiful soldier, glanced within the ship and saw Archimedes’ eyes peeking around a corner.
He offered a simple smile, then turned and calmly sheathed his gun while drawing the hatchet from his belt. Lucius didn’t waste a second before launching himself at the nearest Anaphage, swinging the blade with a swift huff. The hatchet cleaved through the creature’s skull with an impossible strength, splattering the dark ichor across the ship’s ramp.
Sonna stayed close behind, her mists coiling around the edges of the hangar’s ramparts like serpents, draining the vitality from the horde with each passing second. She knew her power wasn’t direct or fast, but it was insidious, wearing down the Dirge. Lucius continued hacking apart the weaker enemies, his movements brisk and brutal, while Sonna’s Tide sapped their strength from the shadows.
But Sonna noticed something unsettling—the numbers were dwindling too quickly. Fewer enemies were charging at them now, too few for the size of the horde she had sensed earlier.
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Something was up.
As Lucius severed the last Anaphage’s head from its body with blood dripping down his fingertips, Sonna’s mist reached farther, stretching into the region beneath the ship’s elevated platform. That’s when she felt it—the distinct, pulsating presence of the Anachronism pulling back from the fight.
Her mind raced with thoughts, and she raced for a conclusion.
Why did it retreat? Why did it even chase me in the first place in the hallway?
Sonna’s gaze narrowed, her heart steadying as realization dawned. The Anachronism hadn’t been chasing her out of predation. It had responded when she hurt it as her mists sapped its vitality.
It was being defensive. And now that she had stopped siphoning its life, focusing on those in front of her, it fell back to safety. The creature displayed enough wisdom to step back when it seemed defeated but lacked the intellect to comprehend the complex workings of Tides.
The Weren stepped back, her fingers trembling slightly as she ventured deeper into her Tide. While she focused on the retreating presence of the Anachronism, she extended their grasp by stretching her mists outward.
Ghostly smoke billowed from her body, and Lucius gave way to its presence, cleaning his hatchet while reloading his weapons. He knew the battle was not yet over.
After a few moments, Sonna could feel the Dirge, discerning its wolf-like figure lumbering away. Her mind locked onto its essence, and with a sharp, violent tug, she pulled at its life force.
This time, however, was different. She wasn’t spreading out the haze. Instead, she consolidated it. She would forgo the versatility of its breadth and seek only the depth of pain it could invoke.
The creature’s roar echoed through the hangar.
“Lucius!” Sonna gasped, her voice strained as she turned to him. “It’s coming back!”
Lucius didn’t hesitate. He holstered his hatchet and quickly retrieved another firearm from his belt, the rifle this time. He nodded toward Sonna, understanding her plan without needing further explanation.
The Anachronism, along with its remaining Anarchies in front of it, rushed toward them, its many spider-like legs skittering across the metal floor with its grotesque body twisting with unnatural speed. Hints of water flowed from beneath its paws, increasing its speed further.
Sonna noted the creature as a Hydro, like Dante and Claudius. Though, it seemed weaker than both at the element, even the one who had such a Tide for a scarce day.
Still, it was an omen, and they moved the moment they heard the clangor heading their way. The two of them slammed the ship’s door shut just in time, the ramp groaning under the immense pressure of the Dirge pounding on the other side.
For a moment, there was silence inside the ship while claws, teeth, and water scraped against the steel. The only sound within the ship was the labored breathing of Sonna and Lucius. They looked at each other while indents appeared in the steel door. Dirge were vastly more physically powerful than those of the primary dimension, of the Fathoms. There were infrequent exceptions, even if one stood on the ship at that moment.
But Sonna still had more to do. She wouldn’t simply hide within the ship to die, for the Dirge would make it an inevitability.
She crouched down near the bottom of the door, finding the small gap she had deliberately left open. Her fingers brushed the cold steel as she whispered into the mist. Slowly, it seeped through the crack, a thin, nigh-invisible veil creeping out toward the Dirge.
On the other end, she sensed two dozen enemies. They had minutes at most before the Dirge were rushing in to kill them all. Minutes.
Sonna pushed her mind further than she ever had before while closing her eyes and biting her lip until crimson dribbled down both her chin and her nose. The haze thickened, as a result, nearly reaching the viscosity to obscure vision.
The effects were subtle, almost imperceptible, however, to so many creatures. Such damage was slow, but it added up. She could feel the Dirge weakening, their vitality being drained bit by bit.
At the same time, her lungs filled with energy, the lifeblood vitalizing her to the core. Sonna’s hands vibrated with energy as she held the revolver in her hands, preparing for its subsequent use. Arido stole much from the user’s will, but it gave equally in return to their flesh.
The pressure on the door intensified, claws scraping against metal with a screech. The creatures outside were determined to break through. But Sonna pressed harder, her mind straining to the utmost as the mist thickened.
“They will not get through before we finish them,” Lucius muttered, standing ready with his gun in hand. “And if they do... I can take them one at a time through the hole.”
Sonna nodded, though she could feel the strain on the door. It was only a matter of time before the relentless Dirge would weaken it. But they were running out of time, too.
Finally, the pounding stopped.
The creatures, realizing they couldn’t break through in time, began to retreat. The intelligence of an Anachronism wasn’t to be underestimated. It realized the plan here.
Lucius exhaled dryly, “They’re pulling back.”
Sonna narrowed her eyes, for she could not let the creatures run away. They had to die here so that the crew could salvage parts within the Starport.
“Not for long,” she said as she reached for the controls at the door. Howls filled the air as the Dirge stumbled under the onslaught unloaded into their backs, and once again, they turned to charge back toward the ship.
The two quickly slammed the door shut again, bracing for another round.
With the wall between them, the back-and-forth continued—Dirge charging, the two firing their weapons, then retreating. The Anachronism’s intelligence was noteworthy, but it wasn’t sentient yet. It couldn’t simply grasp that it was being worn down bit by bit. Its horde of Anarchies fell one by one, gunned down in the relentless exchange until only the monstrous Anachronism remained.
Almost a minute later, the final round of gunpowder left the battlefield quiet. Only the Anachronism remained, its many legs scrambling backward as it attempted to flee, its body riddled with bullet wounds. It screeched and howled, flinging its jaw toward Lucius, but the soldier raised an arm in defiance.
The teeth cut into his flesh but didn’t go past the already-regenerating bone. Sonna and Lucius exchanged a glance, silent agreement passing between them.
“Now,” the Weren whispered, primarily for herself.
Lucius raised his revolver, discharging shot after shot into the retreating Anachronism’s back before releasing one round from his rifle, too. Meanwhile, using the sole word as encouragement, Sonna’s mist surged forward, shrouding the beast and squeezing the last dregs of its vitality.
The creature stumbled, its legs buckling beneath its weight as it tried to crawl away. Low whines escaped its throat, seeking life in any which way.
But it was too late.
The Anachronism collapsed wholly, its hideous form sinking into the ground, its many legs twitching once before going still. Then it evaporated, returning to the Lightsea, but Lucius moved before it vanished altogether.
With blood dripping down his sleeves, he knelt by the body, opening the Immortal Corpse and taking the creature’s essence. All the while, he cursed his own actions, “This is vile. Spreading the curse further... Whatever. Isaac needs power.”
Sonna, huffing for dear life, stood above Lucius, both of them covered in the blood of their enemies and their own. Still, she heard the man’s words and asked curiously, “You won’t take it? An Anachronism isn’t too bad to start off with. Fantastic, actually. Judges begin with an Anarchy if they’re lucky.”
The soldier, to her words, could only sigh. He showcased to her the spherical device, now containing a sloshing vitality. Lucius was not a man who enjoyed these creatures’ power. All he wanted was for them to be gone, for if they were, none would suffer as his family had.
Straight to the Devil’s mouth, his family was sold out and delivered. The pious man spoke with honesty to the woman, finding her to be one of the few he had met in the past weeks that he had come to respect, “No. I hate the Lightsea. I won’t ever take their strength. Even if it means my death. However... Isaac wants it. And... I can’t take such things from him. Not like I did to my son.”
Sonna looked up at the towering man as he rose to his full height. She hadn’t ever heard about his family before. Before, she had thought he was solely a mercenary, like Dante and Rejo, who was locked up for his crimes.
The woman reached out, grabbing his arm gently, “Your son? Is he...?”
Lucius nodded before limping back toward the ship. With each step, rivulets of blood splattered down his body, revealing his genuine injuries. They were far worse than Sonna had thought, for she only had some cuts and scrapes.
The Weren rushed ahead while Lucius crumpled at the ship’s ramp, his head falling back to the doorway. Metal scrap and ruined steel surrounded his flowing blood, but he waved off the concerned woman before she could even get close.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll heal up just fine. The curse of the slow death affects humans and their creations. Just... let me rest a bit. Things should be clear for now. Keep an eye out and retrieve whatever Isaac needs. I need to sleep,” the soldier’s eyes grew lidded while he bobbed his head mere moments after a heart-pounding battle.
Sonna would have been worried had she not seen this man fall asleep within seconds during the brief respite before fighting Astraeus. Still, she knelt beside the man, gazing at his closed eyes.
She could see how quickly this man would fall behind. A Martian, yes, but biology could only carry one so far. An Anaphage shouldn’t be a problem for a well-trained soldier, while a group of them could take out Anarchies.
Lucius had killed a squad of Anarchies after splitting apart a horde of Anaphages. His physicality was monstrous to Sonna, something unbelievable, but it wouldn’t grow.
Her Arido, her Tide, it would. Limitlessly. Well, maybe not, but it had a way to go before she reached her pinnacle. As for the soldier...
This was his peak if he refused power.
Sonna’s eyes fell on the Immortal Corpse placed in his coat, visible by the damage to the fabric. Upon shaking her head, she stood and walked into the ship. They’d give it to Archimedes when it was safer. Sonna didn’t want to risk another situation like what befell Joan.
For now, she had some random bullshit to find. Though, to Archimedes, this place might as well have been a gold mine. Nevertheless, her mind drifted back to Lucius while she entered the skull, finding Archimedes at the console.
Before they finally put him down, how many could the soldier kill? Another Anachronism? Two? Three? Would he slay an Anathema?
She wasn’t sure. For now, she’d take care of the one person Lucius seemed to care about. She felt for the man and wished he would do what must be done. But she wouldn’t force him. She wouldn’t force anyone to do anything.
Just thinking about such a thing sent chills down her back. If someone wished to live and die by their will...
Sonna wouldn’t step in. Still, she could recognize one solemn truth.
Lucius was a man on borrowed time, refusing the very power that could save him.