“Wait, is it here already?” I hadn’t seen the battlefield since I was dragged away so I I had no idea what the state of the battle was. My Ursa timer said it's been about thirty minutes since I was dragged away. A lot can happen in thirty minutes. The Ursa timer was the sole popup in my HUD as well, so there were no other notifications; the WATCHER System hadn’t sent me anything else.
I lifted my head and looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of the battle as we walked. I should be close enough to see it. These tents were set up close to the frontline, so it shouldn't be hard to find.
But a hearty slap collided with my back while I searched, sending my still somewhat unstable body to the ground, falling on the left side of my body, the injured side. I caught myself with the cast and hopped back up before I hit the ground. I stood back up. Jaren and Len hadn’t even stopped walking. Jackass.
“Nah, not as of yet, but just about. Not much of a Second Wave. Only lasted about an hour and a half,” Jaren answered. “And a third of that time was spent getting troops out of them freakish holes.”
“How long do the waves usually last?”
Jaren brought his hand to his chin, pondering on the answer, but beat him to it.
“Changes sporadically, no two raids are ever the same. This time, in the last raid, the First wave had just started winding down. But that raid started earlier in the morning.“ Len looked up into the sky. The sun hung just above the treeline surrounding the raid field, bathing the world in light orange rays. Dusk was nearly upon us.
“This raid might be shorter and seem easier than the last, but it will have its fair share of difficulties. In this case, I pray the sunlight holds out just a while longer.”
“Aye.” Jaren agreed. “I rather shovel shit out of the Legion Barracks’ latrine than face another night raid.” Jaren shivered.
That thought had occurred to me earlier, maybe not the shoveling shit part but what happened in the raid when night fell. The heat of battle forced it out of my mind. The raid started around mid afternoon, and Spring had just sprung in Kniyas. So while the days were growing longer, they were still on the short side. According to Jaren, the total raid time has been a little over two and a half hours. Which meant the sun really only had maybe an hour's worth of light left. Probably less.
A slight feeling of dread crept up my back. As crude as Jaren was about it, I shared the sentiment, having fought in two raids I was certain: Fighting without daylight would be an absolute nightmare.
For as orderly as the Legions tried to be in both conduct and warfare, chaos still took center stage when it came down to actual battle. Plans and tactics could go awry at the drop of a hat, my injured arm being a prime example. Monsters had certain habits you could plan around, but at the end of the day, they were animals. And animals make irrational decisions you can’t account for.
And darkness would only triple the havoc, leading to more mistakes and possibly friendly fire.
Jaren and Len began to speak with each other, planning from the sounds of it; troop placements, a couple of guesses at what the boss would be, etcetera. I probably should have listened in and learned something useful about raid strategy and all that, but my mind wandered back to my arm. The pain had subsided almost completely now, even after that little stumble. The only pressure was that of the mucus cocoon itself.
How do I take it off? I wondered. I fumbled with it, scratching at the edges where my flesh met mucus. I stopped. I wasn’t even sure I should remove it. The pain might come back as soon as my arm was liberated. Or maybe the mucus had some sort of painkiller effect and that’s why it didn’t hurt. The description was sort of shoddy on how much it boosted my natural recovery.
I checked my status bars again. Health and MP full. Stamina, on the other hand, was acting funny. It stopped draining like it had at the tent, yet it wasn’t recovering either. It hung at 70%. Odd. I stared at it, waiting to see some change. When I wasn’t in a fight it always recovered. Now it just sat at seventy. I looked around at Len and Jaren’s bodies. The tent we headed for was still a few minutes away. Plenty of time to throw on the old thinking cap.
Okay, my stamina is no longer draining like it was when Doctor Dickbag was examining me. Which probably means the healing is finished. But then why is the mucus cast still here? And why has my stamina stopped recovering?
I pondered for a moment, moving the cast around and touching it. The ability was called Protective Mucus, not Recovering Mucus or something like that. Which meant it’s probably more along the lines of a natural shield or armor. The healing is just a by-product. A damn good one too. That guy said my arm was broken in like three different places but I don’t feel anything of the sort. According to the Ursa timer, it took thirty minutes. Beats the hell out of three months.
But that still left the issue of why it was still here. Maybe it's a different kind of cost, like an upkeep cost to keep active. Kind of nice actually, wish more of my abilities were like that. It’d be a huge help with stamina management. Like I could rely on Eternal Shade more if it only had the initial cost and not the draining effect as well. Man, Fight, and Flight would be so broken if it only had the upkeep cost.
I shook my head. I was getting off course. What ifs don’t matter. Now. Now matters. I found myself smiling. Thinking about the forms and their potential uses was a lot of fun. It’d been a while since I got to, especially with a brand new form. A visibly nasty and moist form, but hey, being able to heal internal injuries alone sent this form to the top of the charts in my opinion.
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The only problem I’m really having is that I can’t control it well. Neither the acid spit nor the mucus. Not exactly the first time, I couldn’t control Ursa-Rage at all for some time, and kept slipping into it on accident.
But this felt different. Ursa-Rage always felt close, like it was always ready to activate. This mucus ability was the exact opposite. It felt far away somehow. Maybe because it activated purely on its own, The medic said something about an automatic defense.
Or maybe it was from the fact that I mimicked the Salamander while I was teetering on the edge of consciousness. I can’t keep forms active while asleep, so that might explain the issues I’m having with this form. The mucus could also be some type of semipermanent shielding that has a damage threshold. It doesn’t go away until it takes enough damage. God, I wish I had time to do some testing. Maybe I could get Hait to hit it really hard, or maybe Tawny can shock it. That Salamander was pretty resistant to her attacks though. But before any more ideas could flow, I bumped into something. My face ran smack right into Jaren’s black metal armor. He didn’t budge an inch. He was speaking with somebody.
“...explain more when you get there.” I only managed to hear the last bits of the dialogue.
I was shocked once I took stock of my surroundings. We had made it to the Command tent already.
“Get me numbers on Squad E12!”
“Two down on A43. Sending a medical pickup team from Tent Bravo.”
“Send new orders to all the squads found in Sectors West Four and West Five. Shift focus to recovery.”
“Aye, sent out Ma’am!”
Orders flew through the air, each person yelling louder than the last, relaying as much crucial information to the officers as they could. The officers yelled out orders even louder than the scouts. The cacophony of the Command Tent astonished me. As an outsider, this layout looked to be nothing more than pure insanity. How could anybody actually get any work done in such an environment? I watched for only a few moments and felt the seeds of a migraine take root behind my eyes.
Soldiers ran to and fro throughout the tent, weaving between the maze of desks and tables that filled the command center. An officer sat at the desks awaiting information from the scouts. A line had formed near the front of the tent closest to the battle. Those at the front yelled up to someone. I walked around a bit and found that they were yelling up to a man who stood on a small wooden perch.
“E12 has lost three members, two Frontliners and a Support.” He said without taking his eyes off the battle.
“Aye!” The woman with white cat ears below nodded and ran back into the tent.
I watched her move, dodging others that got in her way, as she made her way to a desk in the back. Everyone in the tent moved in the same fashion. I took a step back and just watched, letting the sounds meld together. It was incredible. Not a single person bumped into each other, nobody fell to the ground. It was almost as if I was watching the most chaotic yet simultaneously harmonious ballroom. Each person moved with the grace of a professional dancer.
They may not have been clashing swords with claws, but there was no mistaking it. This was a battle in its own right. A battleground of logistics and information. One I could tell right away was not meant for me. And one I wouldn’t step foot in. I walked back around to where Len and Jaren were.
“Go meet with the rest of the squad, Jaren. Make sure they’re prepped, we are heading out the second the Third Wave starts.”
Jaren nodded at Len. He grinned. “Aye, they’ll be ready, though they won’t be thrilled about the babysitting gig,” he said with a shrug.
“Tell them to thank Lirae. She caused this mess.”
Jaren waved as he walked away. “You sure know how to pick’em.”
“That I do.”
Len turned his attention to me, gesturing me to follow him.
“Come, we are going to meet up with the twins, The Second Wave will finish any—”
Just as the words left his mouth, a notification appeared in my vision.
SECOND WAVE COMPLETE.
STANDBY FOR FURTHER ORDERS
FINAL WAVE APPROXIMATELY: 10 MINUTES
“Does it actually mean it this time or is it just going to start dropping like last time?”
Len shook his head. ”I surely hope not.”
We found Tawny and Hait sitting before a bonfire much like the one by the medical tent, though half the size probably. Not as much food around it either. Daila stood next to them, tinkering with some of the vials that lined her body.
As we got nearer, my stomach tightened, especially when I looked at Daila. I grabbed my belly. Why? I wondered. It wasn’t the pre-battle jitters, no it was more innocent. The feeling brought a wave of nostalgia along with it. A memory of my seventh grade dance flickered in my head. What was that? I shook my head, attempting to squash the untimely feeling. I was about to head into another battle.
Yet as we walked up to them and Daila looked at me, the butterflies in my gut found some cocaine and fluttered around even harder.
What the hell is happening?
“Hello, Squad Captain Foster. I am glad to see that you are unharmed from the battle.” Daila said with her usual polite but detached manner.
Sweat greased my palms as my mouth became drier than the Sahara. I opened my mouth. I huffed and puffed until I could finally speak.
“hey…”
A small, barely audible hey. That was all I could manage. Like a nerve wracked child. Wait. Oh god don’t tell me.
She nodded, her face unchanging, and turned to Len. They shared some words I couldn’t hear on account of the blood roaring in my ears.
I hadn’t thought about it until now, but please don’t tell me. That can’t be the personality trait.
Daila saluted and walked away; Tawny and Hait waved after her.
The nervousness dissipated as she walked away, all but confirming my thoughts. Most of my forms came with a personality tweak, one that was more noticeable depending on the form’s strength. From the ADHD of Apis to the unchecked hubris of Tigris. And I think I just found out Salamandras’.
Damnit. He’s scared of women. Salamandras…is a Soy Boy.