-Matthew P.O.V.-

Overlooking New Damond, a black and red Obelisk pulsed softly with light. It constantly fed the industries and machinations of the Legion-filled city, now nearly as large as Old Damond had been in the past. Constant construction and bustle filled the central city, buildings that stood in stout unity around the Obelisk marking several major sectors and operations that the Legion required.

Three such buildings stood in prominence, emulating the Obelisk with minor deviations between them. The first was the primary headquarters of the Legion, nicknamed “The Nail” by those commonly around it. The broadened top allowed for the constant air activity that came and went for important visitations and upper echelon movements to never cease. As most structures of an official nature in the city, the predominant colors were black and red, a slick shining black and a glowing, ruby blood red to be specific.

Second to that building was “Twin-Peak”, a building that split in half along two towering spirals a little more than one-third of the way up the building. One peak was dedicated in wholeness to the continued research of new technologies, while the second was renowned for expertise in development strategies. There were several bridges that spanned between them, both for the symbolic image and for simple utility. The gaps between the bridges were filled with holographic displays that lit up with intricate fractals, casting dazzling light shows upon the buildings and air above and below them. Innovation was king, and imagination was encouraged here.

Though it also saw the highest incidence of fire-fighting and emergency responses, luckily the building was perhaps the most robust construction to ever exist.

Finally there was the “Tombstone,” spoken of with equal parts fear and respect. It was a dedication to all the fallen, its walls rife with those that had given their lives for the cause. This was also the location where all new recruits who passed the most basic of tests in Gilramore - culling wolves - would be inducted as Legion Trainees.

It was here, in the weeks following the campaign of Argedwall, that new recruits were introduced to the Legion’s Knights and Reapers.

But, the name “Tombstone” was only one nickname. The recruits and those who trained here under the brutal and challenging regimen had another name for it.

“The Bloody Brick,” was its separate moniker, one that the teachers, both permanent and guest, were more than happy to bear. The squat structure was designed wide and went underground, employing impressive virtual reality augmentation technology to push candidates to the edge without true harm.

Cleverly designed suits would give the feel of combat, the rush of adrenaline, the acrid scent of burning biotic blood and smoldering landscape. Simulated too were the painful wounds, flowing blood, and fear of death accompaniments.

Twenty percent pain was the standard, but any recruit would tell you that twenty percent pain of losing an arm was still very, very painful. Of course, things were never permanent, and recruits could elect out of a session at any time.

The program was effective, and the first Phalanx - the term coined for an entire ‘Generation’ of new Legionaires - would graduate today. It had been modified to be more in line with recent encounters, making it far more challenging as a result. Though, it had been reduced in difficulty in some cases - the Wolven battle was viewed as an outlier these days - to make it more reasonable.

Today, however, the simulation would not be toned down. It, like reality, would not be “reasonable”.

Fully fledged Legion teams with their Veteran Knights and Reapers would run the gauntlet with the various students. My own would be excluded, Reaper Alpha had members taking either a much needed break, visiting family, or pursuing our ventures. I myself had few distractions beyond the Legion, so I often devoted my time to my organization.

Alice and Richard were doing a little bit of everything, speaking to Gerry in Sunvilla to ensure that things were going smoothly and to thank him for arranging a hefty portion of this batch of recruits. Nearly three-fourths of our Phalanx came from Sunvilla, and nearly all of them had stayed through the worst of the training.

I’d had far worse prospects for the end result, and was endlessly surprised when they’d shown the mettle to push past their limits.

Part of that, though, was that we had very good teachers on hand.

“Alright, Phalanx Gamma,” the grizzled man with a familiar face spoke, now donning his full battle armor to commemorate the classes willingness to attempt a Full-Gauntlet clear, “fall-in, we’ve got a special guest on the viewing platform that you’ll want to impress.”

Rick Borham (his name was Richard Borham, but I’d found he never liked being called by his actual first name) was a man who’d shed blood beside me in the mines. At the time, he used a half-cobbled together bolt-gun that fired dense metal slugs and did severe damage to the beetles. He’d always been a silent gruff leader type, not so dissimilar from Strauss, but with a special touch when it came to teaching. Even before I’d made the position official, Rick Borham had been taking it upon himself to watch over any new recruits. He’d even created several other teams out of said individuals when his own was too large, and had been long used to running them in attachment to his own.

This position was practically made for him.

“Who is it?” One of the younger men of Phalanx Gamma asked curiously, the others similar. They were an eight strong team, three men and five women, varying age groups. Half of them were lower twenties, but the other half were near cresting thirty.

Rick shook his head, “Remember, I said that the teachers wouldn’t tell who your secondary assessor would be until afterwards. Don’t play it up for them, just do what you normally do…” he paused when he looked at the man who had piped up, “...actually, don’t do what you normally do.”

The group laughed, save for the young man who was the butt of the joke. He took it well, just an awkward grin on his face, “I ran interference one time!”

“In front of a beetle swarm,” Rick stated blithely, “practically with no armor on.”

“It worked, though!” He countered, to which I had to give him credit, Rick was at a loss for anything to say.

He instead shook his head, some of the members in the back whispering, “Mr. Borham ten, Domino two.”

“What was Domino’s other not-an-idiot point?” An amused woman beside the pair whispered conspiratorially.

“When throwing all the grenades turned out to be a great idea, against what Mr. Borham said.” The younger lady chuckled, and then stood up very straight and attentive as Rick turned his gaze to the back of the class.

“This clear,” he began to speak formally, the group shedding the easy going atmosphere instantly, “will be your hardest test yet. I cannot stress to you enough that you are not expected to clear the whole thing. Most teams will be disqualified part way through, even with the help of your senior teams leading you. For this run, you all will have the pleasure of my own team supporting you.”

“That’s us supporting you,” he highlighted, “you, Domino, will ultimately be the deciding factor of what we do. Treat us as you would your own team. This will be as much a test for your flexibility in command with unfamiliar elements as it will be with challenging, even overwhelming odds.”

“Teacher,” one of the women from before spoke up, “can we ask a few questions about the Gauntlet, now?”

Rick looked up to my viewing platform, and I flickered a red light to him. He nodded, “It seems like it’s fine now. This is a mix of the Legions' hardest fights, our observer will be controlling certain elements that they themselves have beaten…” he paused, the first flicker of wariness entering his voice.

“That should be fine?” The young woman, Patricia, spoke with a glance to the others, “That means it's at least doable.”

Rick snorted, before trying to cover it up with a cough. I couldn’t help but grin helplessly at the lack of faith he had in my mercy skills.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Of course, he was probably right.

“The Legion’s Reapers,” he started slowly, “are the blood tested and proven elites. It goes without saying, but just because it’s been bested before, does not mean that we can. Every scenario, even with every element identical to one you’ve fought before, can play out differently. You all have experienced this time and again.” He nodded to the others as the doors against the far wall opened, admitting his team. With a quick glance and nod, they began their approach.

“How many floors will it be?” Domino’s brow was furrowed.

“Eight.” Rick said, watching the group before him sigh in relief.

“It’s half of the regular gauntlet,” Domino did not share in the lifting spirits, instead he seemed to dread the news, “Mr. Borham, has your team taken the Gauntlet as well?”

Rick nodded, “We have.”

“How far did you get?” Someone else spoke, swallowing hard as Rick’s eyes glassed over and an empty smile spread across his face.

“We cleared the fifth.” His team stood around him, equally somber as they studied the new team before them.

“Cleared it? But then, how did you lose?” Domino asked, braving the answer.

He considered his answer for a few moments before grimacing, “We lost too many civilians. But, I’m confident that our result will be different this time,” he shook off the dull mood that settled on him, “you will have our experiences and expertise to call upon, no leader worth their salt ignores good ol’ fashioned experience where they can find it.”

I watched them as they moved towards the center of the massive chamber, the holo-room a design that would subtly move and flex around them, one of fifty buried beneath the Tombstone. While I watched them, I kept tabs on other classes that interested me, other Phalanx’s that had done well, but not well enough to be given the opportunity of my direct attention.

They’d grinded points through the Gauntlet system, throwing themselves at it for the chance to get rated by Reaper and Knight observers that could place these teams within their own.

If they impressed the observer, said observer would then induct them as attachments to their own teams, giving them valuable experience and opportunities going forward until they were ready to make their own teams. It was also expressly stated that no observer was guaranteed to do so, but they would at least gain resources according to their performance, and moreover have an advisor that might be willing to give the team pointers beyond what the Teacher would.

In all, the process was experimental, but seemed to have yielded quite the positive result. Especially when the rumor circulated that members of Last Call, Iron Chariot, Knights of the Wolf, Reaper Alpha and more were going to oversee the final tests of the higher ranked teams.

They weren’t, however, told who would actually be there.

The reason for me was straightforward. There were too many people who looked up to me as some kind of mythical figure within the Legion. The stories told about my exploits were told with a reverence that seemed more appropriate to the religious.

Not much could be done about that, even appearances like this where I would let people know that I was just a person seemed to have mixed results. On the one hand, they got to see that I was more man than myth. On the other hand the fact that I involved myself with so many levels of the Legion seemed to ingratiate them even more to me.

In the end, I gave up trying to control how this played out. I wasn’t Doug, I couldn’t pull the political clout any which way I needed it to go. Doug was also excruciatingly busy with managing our budding nation.

And it was a nation, as much as I didn’t necessarily want to head such a thing. Bulwark had incorporated themselves with minimal elbow rubbing in Sunvilla and Argedwall.

We’d eventually allowed them a presence in New Damond, but made it clear that this city was our own. There was some contention on that, but eventually it was decided that the Legion presence here was such that there were few reasons that they would be needed.

The matter itself was complex, and I found myself dragging my attention to the call that streamed into my comms. I split my attention only to two matters at that, giving most of my promised attention to Domino and his team, watching them clear the easy first level. The background noise of the team slaughtering a massive army of wolves is somehow quite relaxing.

‘We’re mentally sound,’ I heard Wolvey snort in the back of my mind, ‘I could make this much more interesting.’

‘Don’t touch it,’ I rolled my eyes, ‘we both know that they’ll get to the nightmare fuel soon.’

‘Fiiiine,’ Wolvey whined petulantly, ‘but you’ll let me modify the fifth stage?’

I considered it for a second before I shook my head, ‘no, that’s the worst one.’

‘You’re no fun. What if I made it easier?’ Wolvey muttered.

‘Would you make it easier?’ I mentally hovered over answering the call.

Wolvey thought about it for a few seconds before utterly unapologetically saying ‘No, I suppose not. A writhing hellscape would be more proper.’

I ignored him then, leaving Wolvey snickering and watching their progress along with me. The caller was one I expected, though not for a few hours still. Hopefully they weren’t landing yet.

“Yamak,” I answered, “hello.”

The feed of the red-skinned man entered my mind, part of my awareness taking in the details of the Artorian Company President. Another presence lingered alongside his own, one that I performed the digital equivalent of a handshake with. His personal A.I., Sira, was a remarkably sane and well put together individual, no puns intended, especially considering who her companion was.

“Matthew, my friend!” The man spoke in high spirits, a complex interlocking metal suit for space-use currently adorning his form. “I wanted to check in and let you know we’re just entering your solar system and slowing down.”

I smiled, “Good, I’m glad you’re finally here. I take it your earlier hiccup is fixed?”

He nodded, “Yeah, we’ve made the necessary repairs. Luckily we had spare parts for the slip-space drive. Trust me, you do not want one of those going dead out in the middle of bumfucked nowh-”

“He is of course not implying that the planet of our boss is in the middle of nowhere.” I heard and saw his second-in-command as she rose from her seat, a strained look on her face as she moved to stand next to him fully in camera view. Maricene Rockman, the Borama with pale skin that was tattooed - or it was naturally intricately marked - that seemed to change color and intensity with her mood, was a tribute to all second-in-commands. Many times I’d spoken to her directly in the past weeks, coordinating the needs of the fleet and projected plans.

She smiled and nodded to me, an expression that still seemed to surprise Yamak. “Matthew,” she inclined her head slightly in greetings, “are you still going through the Rite with your young warriors?”

I returned the gesture, remembering that I’d told her what I would be doing at about this time off hand. Her memory was terrifyingly acute, and I was positive she had no kind of augmentation.

“Indeed. They’re going through some of our best worst battles to test themselves.” I nodded, knowing that the Rite’s she spoke of were in a way both less and more brutal in her culture. Having a man or woman coming of age ceremony where they were expected to hunt and murder something ritually with a weapon of their own design was surprisingly metal. While ours was different, she found the concept of putting our warriors to be against progressively more difficult, even hopeless encounters somehow endearing.

“I absolutely love how you’re able to say that without feeling sorry for them,” Yamak remarked sarcastically, “nothing quite like crushing the spirits of your soldiers.”

“It’s all voluntary,” I shrugged, “and they’re made well aware that the Gauntlet is far from easy. But, they’re willing to go through with it if it means they might survive on the battlefield where they’d normally die.”

Yamak shrugged, “Well, I’m hardly the type to be preaching about teaching methods. I still remember having a gun shoved in my hands and told to fight or die.”

Maricene gave him a sigh, “Regrettably common, thanks to biotics.”

There was a steady silence as we lingered on that all too familiar line of thought.

“In any case,” I moved on, “we still haven’t found the Unique responsible for the Centaur. When you’re in orbit, we’ll see if we can use the fleet to find it.”

Yamak nodded, “We can do that. You guys have tons of satellites, we’ll see if we can find out why they’re not working and get them up to date. We’re just passing your iceball, Neptune I think, so we should only be a few hours out.”

There was a brief moment when I had to realize that these were people from the galactic community, and the distance they casually crossed in the span of a few hours took us the better part of a decade previously.

“Sounds good.” I nodded, “are the Reaper’s going to make landfall with you?”

“It sounds like they are. Honestly I’m not sure what they’re really planning on doing overall. Ostensibly they’re coming to say hello and officially me-”

Suddenly the screen warped and blipped out of existence, leaving me frowning at the sudden and jarring disconnection. I reached out with my senses, tapping into my voice comms and calling them in.

When no answer came, I couldn’t help but shrug. That was unusual, but had happened once or twice. Long range communication wasn’t always perfect, and likely they’d call me as soon as they could.

In the meantime, I had an evaluation to watch...