“Open the gate!” Thorne shouted as he waited outside the sandstone walls. The wind wasn’t too bad today and only served as a minor annoyance. “I left the city to train.” Thorne yelled, a hint of frustration evident in his voice, “I am a teacher at the school!” he said, pulling down the headband he wore to reveal his dual spectrum crystal.
“Open it!” Thorne heard someone shout, and the gate finally rumbled open. “Finally,” Thorne muttered as he walked into the city. He hurriedly passed the row of soldiers, not even sparing them a glance as he stepped onto the sand-filled road. Pulling his headband back up, Thorne strolled through the city undisturbed with his spectrum crystal covered.
He had been out to train and had lost track of time for a bit. The desert, being so vast and empty, was the perfect place to train his techniques while remaining undisturbed and unwatched by the group of mysterious spies that had seemed to constantly observe Thorne and his peers.
It was a little past midday, and the sun was at its highest. Most people were away at work, but the streets were still dense with people. They bustled through the area with haste. Some carried sacks of food to deliver, while others rushed around to look for vendors. It was a chaotic midday scene, but Thorne was used to it after nearly three weeks.
“CLEAR THE WAY!” A booming shout sounded further down the road. Quickly, Thorne shimmied his way to the side of the road as he heard a loud rumbling. ‘What is that?’ Thorne questioned as he squinted through the bright sunlight. ‘Oh wow,’ Thorne whistled. I didn’t know they had vehicles.’
Down the street, driving at immense speeds, was a pack of four-wheelers. They were very similar to the adjacent vehicles from Earth, except these four-wheelers had a large clothed-in box to protect their inhabitants from the sun. The driver was left exposed to the unforgiving rays of light, much to their annoyance Thorne assumed.
There were dozens of them, and they weren’t slowing down one bit. “OUT OF THE WAY, YOU OUTSKIRTERS!” the man in the frontmost vehicle screamed. Unfortunately, the impromptu warning wasn’t enough.
The blistering desert sun beat down relentlessly, casting an unforgiving glow upon the scene that unfolded before Thorne’s eyes. The air itself seemed to shimmer with the scorching heat, distorting the view like a mirage on the horizon.
Amidst the chaos, the pungent scent of burning rubber and gasoline lingered, intermingling with the dusty Earth beneath his feet. Each passing car left an exhaust trail, filling the air with a thick, acrid aroma that clung to the back of his throat.
The sandstone roads, weathered and textured, crumbled under the weight of tragedy. With each vehicle's passage, a swirling cloud of fine sand danced in the air, creating a haze that obscured the surrounding landscape in a soft, golden veil.
The cacophony of sound assaulted his ears, an overwhelming symphony of screeching tires, engines revving, and the shattering of glass. The discordant cries of anguish and despair melded with the mechanical chaos, echoing through the desert air like mournful melodies.
His eyes bore witness to a surreal tableau of destruction. The city's vibrant colors seemed to pale against the somber backdrop of tragedy. Lifeless bodies scattered across the sandstone roads, their stillness contrasting sharply with the frantic movement of the vehicles that continued their relentless course.
As the sand exploded into the arid desert air, it mixed with the blood of the victims. Red and brown swirled around the scene; every spectator was painted with the red and brown brand—a testament to their witness.
Sweat trickled down Thorne’s brow, accentuating the physical discomfort that mirrored the emotional turmoil within. The dry, arid breeze carried with it a hint of metallic tang, a reminder of the fragility of life, while beads of perspiration glistened on his skin, evidence of the heat and tension that saturated the air.
In this surreal and devastating moment, Thorne fought to keep his focus amidst the overwhelming sensory assault. He strained to remain composed, his senses bombarded by the sights, sounds, smells, and tactile sensations that permeated the scene. A silent resolve etched upon his face as he willed himself to bear witness, determined to maintain his composure despite the profound tragedy unfolding in the desert city.
As the final car rushed by, Thorne looked back at them in a daze. “Cultivators,” he gasped, nearly choking on the word. The chaotic mangle of blood, flesh, and sand almost distracted him entirely, but luckily, Thorne fought through it. Thorne closed his eyes and breathed heavily, swallowing his emotions as he begged his brain to overpower them.
‘There were powerful cultivators in those vehicles, Thorne realized. He pushed out with his energy, trying to feel any aftereffect they had left behind. “What.!” Thorne shouted, his eyes widening, and even more sweat ran down his face. A surreal sense of helplessness floated over him. He had only felt it once before, back in the wilderness. “It’s a grade…two,” He murmured, looking down at the array of corpses. There were dozens of them. They had all once been embraced by life, embraced by family and friends, embraced by ideals and passion, but now….
Thorne gripped his head in horror. “How…how…grade two…. how? " he murmured over and over as he felt the residual energy lessen and lessen.
“It's all right, Thorne,” A voice whispered into his ears. With a start, Thorne swiveled around, only to break down further in panic, “Zal,” He muttered. The man, dressed in his white uniform, looked nearly broken. His amber eyes were dull and glazed over as he looked at Thorne, “Tomorrow,” Zal murmured, “Tomorrow, we end them.”
Thorne nodded, and gulped his saliva back, “Yes,” He said, wiping the misty blood and grime off his sweat-streaked face, “Tomorrow we act.” He proclaimed, his eyes hardening as he started at the assorted corpses of the outskirters. “Tomorrow.”
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Twelve hours earlier.
Moravian scaled the steel building with speed and grace. His thin claws hooked around the handholds with ease. As he climbed, Moravian cast a look down at the city below. He was hundreds of feet in the sky—the wind blew against his clothes, almost forcing his hood back down, but with a concerted effort, Moravian fought back. Under such a view, Moravian could finally see the city in its entirety, the ring of poorly constructed sandstone buildings on the outskirts of the city.
The closer to the center it got, the more advanced and rich the area seemed to get. All the way outside was the outskirts. Then, there were the factories and labor buildings for the poor to work in. This sector was thin but also had the most concentrated number of buildings. Smog rolled out from this area, self-contained by the mesh net and a separate wall. The two constructions worked in tandem to ensure the fog stayed inside the factory sector and not infect the other areas of the city. ‘I'm surprised they didn't push the smoke onto the outskirters' homes,’ Moravian thought with a snicker. The whole production sector was full of smoke, and Moravian didn’t even want to imagine how bad it was down there.
As he continued to scale the massive skyscraper, Moravian was treated with views of more and more of the city. Past the production sector was the unaptly named—industrial sector. It was the area in which most of the practitioners lived. It was chock-full of cramped apartments, overpriced restaurants, rowdy strip clubs, and more. The roads were well-preserved, and packs of laborers from the outskirters could be seen constantly patrolling and working on the sector's maintenance.
‘So, where is the farm?’ Moravia growled. With considerable effort, Moravian pushed all his effort into scaling the entire skyscraper. It was the tallest one he could find and was not simple to get atop of. Luckily, his minuscule frame and general fitness allowed him to climb it in no time. He sneaked past lit rooms and made sure that no one from the inside or the outside could spot him in the building.
Finally, he reached the top, and with a heavy lift, he heaved himself up to the flat rooftop. Squinting, Moravian scanned the city. It was nighttime, but through the moonlight of the many moons, as well as Moravian own eyes—which were incredibly nocturnal—he got a clear picture of the city's layout.
‘So, there it is.’ He grinned as he spotted the target. In the absolute center of the city, with a diameter of about a mile, stood the farm. It was protected by the highest walls the city had to offer. Every hundred feet along the barrier stood watchtowers with massively radiant spotlights. Even from here, Moravian could see hundreds of mundane soldiers and practitioners who were guarding the farm. Luckily, as this skyscraper was so towering height, Moravian could see past the walls and fortifications and peer into the ultimate prize, the farm.
It was quite small in reality, a piece of grassland stretching at most no further than a mile. There were rows of crops, herds of cattle, and even a tiny—seemingly man-made—lake.
‘So how do we get in though?’ Moravian thought, scratching his ridged forehead. He peered intently at all the walls, the guards, the ramparts, the spotlights—everything. Moravian sat there for an hour straight, just observing. He enjoyed it; however, ‘My first stealth mission is going pretty well. Father failed his.’ He smiled wide as he finally saw the opening. ‘Only me and Thorne will be able to go, however…’ Moravian frowned, ‘But I suppose that after we break in, we can open the gates and let everyone else in.’
Moravian looked at the area just outside the farm; ‘The reinforcements can stay right outside the farms in a hotel or apartment. Zal and Procka can wait with them, and we can have two signals to when the gate is opened… an explosion.’ Moravian thought with a smile as he planned out the capture of the farm, ‘and…oh, we can just use our technology from the universe.’ He thought with a smile; Procka and Zal both have communicators, after all, so this is good.’
With a wide grin and a happy soul, Moravian was about to begin his long trek down the building before he heard something—it was conversation—right below him. “The Eternal Spy.” He whispered as he activated one of his abilities. Instantly, all of Moravian's physical senses were boosted to an otherworldly extent. His sight expanded, and he could see further than an eagle. The most important aspect of the skill—and the reason he had activated it—were the ears. Unfortunately, as the skill was so valuable for boosting physical senses, it completely cut off energy senses for a period. This was bypassable of course, and with relative ease, but Moravian thought better of putting in so much effort for a reward which was likely to be small.
Bending down, Moravian pressed his ear against the burning concrete rooftop. He grimaced but endured the pain as he listened in on the dialogue below him.
"Do you have any suspicions as to why they're going off?" A deep voice questioned. 'He sounds like a boss.' Moravian thought as he listened closely.
"No lord," A woman said, her voice low and melodious, "The radio signals became jammed again, just like they were a couple weeks ago, except this time, they're staying jammed instead of fixing by themselves."
Moravian heard a chair screech as someone got up, "Do you believe the desert to be the location of the disturbance?" The same authoritative man asked.
"Yes, lord," The woman replied meekly.
"Thank you, Sara," The man said, "Ever since the nukes dropped the world has been so strange. But I suppose we can send an expedition. I'll lead it this time."
"YOU?" The woman exclaimed in a high-pitched tone, "I'm sorry for my outburst, lord." She followed up, returning to her previous unassuming and weak voice.
"We will leave at midday tomorrow. Inform half of the top practitioners that they are to come. Pick whoever you want; dismissed." The man commanded.
Satisfied with what he had heard, Moravian's unreal hearing vanished as he cut off the ability. As soon as he did, his energy senses returned, and he froze. Black beads of perspiration dotted his face as his eyes widened in unrestrained horror! In silence, Moravian threw himself off the roof—scurrying down the skyscraper as quick as he could manage; 'Gr-grade tw-two.' he panted, 'Their leader is grade two.'