Steven Thrace: Planet Corwala, third cycle, the planetary year 1422.
Steven was standing in front of the window with his eyes closed. The warm wind brushed over his sweaty face, it felt nice, but its scent was sinister. It was a complex mix of scorched ground, fresh and burnt blood, and smoke. The scent of war and the stench of death that followed it.
“What do we do now, commander? ” a female voice asked behind him. He opened his eyes. The broken city appeared before him. Thesnia, all its beauty, and vigor converted into torn-down buildings, destroyed vehicles, and groups of people trying to run or hide. It was the same every time, on every planet, with every race. There was a distinct pattern etched in the core of every war, and it all began with a madman coming to power. Madness on this planet manifested when the Emperor of Selara ordered an orbital antimatter missile strike on the opposing Republic of Thesnara. The worst way to settle a feud and the quickest path to extinction.
“I would like to know too, but the answer is escaping me. “ Steven Thrace, commander of the Thesnara third army said as he turned around to face his subordinate.
Airstriker pilot Marie Sanders was a young girl plunged into this senseless war directly from the civilian flight academy. She was wearing her dirty pilot suit, torn in places and stained with blood. She hurt her left arm and tried bandaging it, but blood was still seeping through the thick layers of bandages. It was a wound she couldn’t take care of on the field. Her blonde hair was messy, greasy, wet in places, and full of ash. Her eyes were green and bloodshot, caused maybe by the lack of sleep or the concussion.
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Her airstriker was shot down last night after the first antimatter bomb was detonated. She wanted answers and comfort, but she knew without a doubt. It was the end of the line for them both.
“I see…sir. The thing is, I don’t want to die because some mindless monarch got offended,” she said, trying to hold back tears.
“I don’t want to die… for nothing… to become just a number in the casualty report with me rotting in a nameless grave. But I guess Death God greedily wants my soul.”
Steven sat down on a piece of floor that was not covered with rubble, and his feet raised a small cloud of concrete dust. His sweaty uniform pressed at his back as he leaned on the wall, it was unpleasant, but he ignored it. He looked at the tiny girl hugging her knees with her head pressed into her thighs. He didn’t know how to console her, realizing the inevitability of death was something that shook humans down to their core. He could never forget the day he died, the fear and despair, and the ultimate tranquility. It was the same day he began serving his current masters. He was one of the Exonerated, immortal warriors entangled in the web of servitude woven by the ancient race of beings. He was bound by a soul-force contract to them, the type of contract that was unbreakable.
He was sent to this planet to monitor her people and steer them off the warpath, but he failed spectacularly. He wondered what would happen if he told Marie the truth. She was crying her eyes out now and kept apologizing for looking indecent in front of her commanding officer.
Air raid sirens started wailing, people were screaming on the streets, their voices all melded in one too-familiar cry of anguish, and the wind carried the same menacing scent. And when you think about it, why not? What could happen?
“ Miss Sanders, have you ever heard of Adjusters? “