The tube lifted me up smoothly to the Arena floor. The roar of the crowd washed over me, enthusiastic and bloodthirsty, looking to see some machine-men blowing one another apart.

They kind of broke and faltered when I was revealed there. Mask covering half my face, golden skin and hair, the blue-black of my Brand on my face... it didn’t take them long to Boole me and find out who Buzzcutter’s mystery opponent was.

The Golden Hag! His datafeed naturally dumped the information to him, and his face was somewhat consternated. He was supposed to be fighting another cyborg, not a bladebelle!

Of course, he was reassured by the fact that I had never been seen to use any kind of psionics when I fought. I was fast, abominably tough, and I cut enemies down with a mindblade... albeit one that could cleave durasteel like cheese.

Chalice slid down into my hand, and my soulblade slid out.

One, two, three, four Stars lit up on the blade. Two Suns began to swirl up the length of it continuously. The solid line of light in the center of it meant a Star Core.

Hard golden light slid into place around it, then crackling solid electricity of reddish hue. This red lightning seemed to shimmer and seethe inside the length of the blade, and his augmented eyes flashed all kinds of dire warnings to him looking at it.

Yeah, a Bane/Constructs Sundering Breaking effect is really, really hostile to cyborgs. It’s why they were so afraid of Briggs’ Hammer Beat.

The timer seemed to pause, waiting for any quips to start the show.

“Why are you here?” he had to ask, as his stubbers came down and began to rotate.

“Because the Coronals wouldn’t ever bother to come, the bladeboys think you are an idiot, and someone asked it as a favor,” I replied smoothly. “Let’s see just how much better arena gladiators are than Warp-crazed Cyberheads, shall we?”

Beep, beep, beep!

His guns started, and the mist grenade under my foot hit the ground.

Psi-tech instantly transmuted hydrogen and oxygen in the air around to mist, charging it with reflective ambient energy. It wasn’t a wave; very abruptly, everything centered sixty feet in front of me was occluded by mist.

I heard his jetpack ignite as I put my foot down, and his anti-grav failed him, meaning he didn’t get off the ground with that mecha-harness he was driving, which kind of shocked him. I ghosted left and right as wild shots sprayed in all directions, sliding between the bullets which bent away as they approached me, and even as he retreated smoothly to gain more distance, another grenade poofed off, and another, chasing after him.

He had no idea where I was, his systems weren’t registering me, and he couldn’t see me, either. He didn’t know how quickly I was moving, only that I was driving him back across the arena as fast as he could scramble, shooting at nothing, and knowing he had to stay out of reach of my sword.

Alas, I moved forwards much faster than he could retreat.

I came out of the mist thirty yards from him as he was trying to lateral, and instead was moving right into me. His guns snapped around, trying to track me, unable to get a lock. He tried tangling wire, which I carved through as it slid off me, and gas grenades of his own, which I just ignored. Desperately, he tried an almost point-blank detonation of rockets, aiming for the shockwave to drive me back... and I cut apart three in the air, shredding them before they could explode, and was suddenly in his face, even as his whirling blade-arms tried to pincer me in.

Chalice Sang, the sharp notes of her edge accented by the sheering protests of severed steel. Arm One. Arm two. Leg one, leg two. Primary power core undefended as he falls.

Arcs of golden light flared and died, crisscrossing faster than the eye could see, looking like a golden flower frozen in a moment of death, crawling red lightning dancing around it and over the cyborg in front of me as he hit the ground and his weapon systems died.

Five Sun Strikes...

He quivered and jerked as the feedback from the effects danced through his systems. Circuits flared and died, insulation burned, delicate soldering and metals melted to slag.

He stared at me as I presented the tip of Chalice and her very ominous, rising and falling hum, to his nose. He didn’t have a lot of meat left, but it was enough to sweat.

“Fog and a sword beats an arena mech-handler. I admit to being very unimpressed, Master Buzzcutter.” His square-pupiled, mechanical eyes were fixed on the very, very, VERY dangerous point of my Sword. “Tell me, Master Buzzcutter, who are the Coronal Knights?”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“The Coronal Knights?” he repeated in surprise.

“I see you have heard of them. Who are they?” I asked condescendingly.

“They, they are the defenders of Humanity!” he managed to get out. Every child knew that, even if they became a cyborg.

“And where do they defend us, Master Buzzcutter?” I went on loftily.

“Where, wherever the enemies of Man can be found!” he blurted out, nicely indoctrinated as a child, even if he didn’t believe it.

“So, not in an arena?” I mused aloud, waving Chalice closer. It didn’t touch him, but the circuits on his face were already peeling back from the force.

“N-no...” he managed.

“Not on some makenews pretending to be an expert on military tactics and combats involving psi and mechs?” I went on primly.

“N-no...” he swallowed, finally realizing his big mouth had gotten him into a lot of trouble.

“Now, I had it in my head that the Coronal Duke would set aside his cape, put on a mask, pretend to be a bladeboy, walk out into this arena, clench his fist and kill you right there. Then he’d make some inane comment about how arena mech-users don’t know how to really fight.

“But he’s far, far too far above us to stoop to that level. So, a friend of a friend asked me to see if you knew what you were talking about with your recent comments, and I must say, you’ve really impressed him.”

His face fell, and he looked around at the silent crowd, who was watching and hanging on all of this. “What... what do you want? I can apologize! I, I didn’t mean to offend the Knights!”

“You disparaged who they fought, and why they fought, sitting up here in your million-credit mech harness, fighting for prize money in a place where death is only a happy accident. Tell me, Master Buzzcutter, do you know how many Coronal Knights have taken Oath from Janus? The whole planet, not just Prime.”

“Uhhhh...” he went fishing for the answer, and it didn’t come up readily. “A, a couple thousand?”

“In the three thousand years since this planet has been colonized, two thousand four hundred and sixty-eight Knights have taken the Oath upon this world. Some stayed, most were sent offworld,” I informed him kindly. “Tell me, do you know how many Coronal Knights from Janus Prime have died in their role of being defenders of humanity?”

He swallowed again, although he probably didn’t eat real food anymore. “No...”

“Two thousand four hundred and sixty-one,” I educated him. “Do you know how many Coronal Knights who took the Oath from Janus are still alive, perchance?”

He swallowed again, looking up the length of Chalice and all her Stars, Suns, and cyborg-ripping Core at me. “S-seven?” he guessed.

“Very good, Master Buzzcutter. You do know your trivia. So, do you know how many Coronal Knights from Janus retired after a long career of defending the likes of you and your fellow arena mech-users?”

“None of them...” he whispered, looking up at me. I could read his thoughts, and underneath his fear, he was thinking it was because they were fools...

“In recognition of your obvious expertise and superior ability over rote Warped Cyberheads, you have been drafted to join the conflict as a mech-driver on Khronus IV. You leave tomorrow. The Legio Mechanicus will provide you with a standard Chromo Walker. If you want something more customized, you may wish to bring it along instead.” I flicked the draft notice from my Band to his, and his circuits danced in agitation as his mechanical eyes protruded.

It had been signed off on by the Office of the Order of the Fallen Moon...

=============

Khronus IV, Six months from now...

“There’s one under here!”

Buzzcutter’s systems were powered down as far as they could go, both to save energy and to avoid the scavengers looking for scraps. He tensed up and prepared to juice his power when he heard the voices, and the crump of armored footsteps. There was a screech and scraping of tons of metal being shifted away, and the armored hulk atop him was slowly levered away by straining servos.

The point-blank lasers he’d been readying cooled down when he painted the blue and silver armor of those lifting the Khronian Heavy Walker away, and the figure in the golden cloak bent down at him with a tired face. “You okay down there, son?”

Buzzcutter felt a swirl of strange emotions rising inside his artificial gut as he looked up at the weathered Coronal Knight. “Yes, sir. Lost my lower half and I’m immobile, sir.” With a crash, the gutted Walker was tilted away, revealing the fact he’d had his legs blown off, and two of his weapon-limbs were mangled.

“Put him on the Disk. What’s your name, son?”

“They call me Buzzcutter, sir...” he trailed off.

The Coronal Knight snorted. “What is that? Give me a man’s name, son.”

The cyborg swallowed again, fighting that odd emotion. “Ghella Squellid, sir...”

The Coronal Knight didn’t laugh or mock him or anything. “Mr. Squellid, those weapon systems I see still working?” he asked forthrightly.

With a thought, lights began to rise on his torso and servos. “I’ve got point lasers, one plasma cannon, one heavy mini-laser, and six AP rockets left, sir,” he reported quickly.

The Coronal nodded, as his power-armored escorts lifted up the bulk of Ghella’s upper torso onto a floating Disk waiting there, strong enough to take all his weight. The stump of his torso was uneven, but residual anti-grav and gyros made up for it, and he was able to stay upright. He would have to swivel by hand, of course...

“You think you can cover us while we find any more survivors, Mr. Squellid?” the Coronal asked.

He hadn’t ever been called Mr. Squellid in his whole life.

“My shields are burned out, but I’ve a ton of durasteel left, sir!” he replied firmly.

“Good lad.” A callused hand tapped the metal of his carapace guard, and the Disk bearing him trailed after the Coronal Knight as they went to search for other abandoned souls.

-----------------

Mr. Squellid never went by another name for the rest of his life. He followed Senior Coronal Knight Mendel Worlin for thirty-four years, through the Khronus Campaign, to the Cassiopeia Crusade, the Gorfmar Incursion, the Scutus Insurrection, and beyond.

He died in the taking of the Warp-tainted Keep of the Polyarch Aumluviar on the former crown world of Regina III, taking down a Spiral Dancer with an overloaded volley of his Vakker-Tech Blessed Light Cannons as it tore him apart, while his Sanctified Fusion Core sealed the gate through which it had breached the mortal realm, and stopped an imminent demon invasion in its tracks.

Nineteen years later, when the ashes of Coronal Worlin finally came home to Tetravar III, Ghella Squellid’s name was placed on his tomb with his friend and mentor as the Companion to a Coronal.

----From the Past-Life Journal of Ghella Briggs

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