Chapter Two Hundred Thirty-Seven: 'O, lost comrade...'

"Y'know, I've often heard that having an overly dark sense of humor can be a sign of dementia or brain damage, but personally, I think that's just a bunch of anti-psychopath propaganda, bought and paid for by Big Pharma and the normies who run it."

As he listened to the wild-haired man on stage from an empty table in the back row of the outdoor theater, he began to wonder--and not for the first time--what he was doing here.

The rest of the crowd seemed to be enjoying themselves, though they also seemed pretty thoroughly sauced by this point.

"They're always trying to scaremonger and devalue our contributions to society, trying to convince people in various ways that we're the ones who are abnormal, not them. As if there was anything strange about us in the face of this ridiculous world we live in!"

As far as he could tell, the only other ones not drunkenly laughing or cheering were all sharing a table together a few meters away. And a couple were looking right at him.

He knew who they were. Members of the Freeman Fellowship.

He found himself paying more and more attention to them, lately. Their numbers seemed to have been growing, and if the expressions on their faces right now were an indicator, they were hoping to keep that trend going.

But of course, that wasn't really up to him, was it? He was just a servant, after all.

His reaper was right there next to him, being a silent enigma as always. Rezolo never laughed or cracked wise like most other reapers. It was rare to see him react with anything other than calm observance.

He doubted they would be able to convince Rezolo to join their faction, but who knows? Even after nearly five years with the reaper, he still didn't feel like he knew him very well at all.

For his part, he wouldn't mind joining the Freeman Fellowship. They seemed a little crazy, sure, but this was Abolish. Everyone was crazy in one way or another. And they were at least not quite so violently crazy.

The Void knew that he'd seen more than enough violence in his life. Growing up in the middle of the Vaelish Civil War had granted him far too much experience with that.

It was a bit strange to think about now, frankly. How different his life would be now if he had been born in a different time or place.

He wouldn't have met those other children in the forest and banded together. He wouldn't have seen so much death and misery before achieving any kind of stability in his young life again, however fragile. He wouldn't have resorted to banditry.

And he probably wouldn't have met Dozer and the Monster of the East.

He wouldn't have joined Abolish on that same fateful day, either. He wouldn't have made a name for himself so quickly and become mildly infamous.

They wouldn't be calling him Loren Lighteyes.

On some days, he was able to take pride in that. On others, he wanted to rethink every decision he ever made.

It was a mixed bag. Most lives were probably like that, he figured. Maybe one day, if he continued to excel, he would be able to feel like more than just a disposable cog in the great machine that was Abolish.

The way that the Old Man had talked to them on that first day, he'd made it sound like they would be able to achieve greatness through following him. Like they all had conqueror's spirits within them, just waiting to burst out.

But it was five years later, and here he still was among the rabble, watching what passed for a "stage show" in Abolish encampments.

"I say, if anyone should be worrying about their state of mind, it's all the idiots who think they're somehow normal," said the stage performer. "Seriously, how deluded must you be if you don't feel at least a little bit cracked in the noggin by all the stuff goin' on these days?"

Loren currently had the displeasure of being in the same sect as that tempestuous gasbag up there on stage. Zahi Rambata had a certain way with words that involved never shutting up.

"Just last week, while doing reconnaissance, I met a guy with a wife and kids. But that wasn't the strange part. No, the strange part was that he didn't even realize anything was wrong with him!"

A low chorus of laughs ran through the crowd at that "joke." It was difficult for Loren to find it very amusing when he'd heard some variation of it a dozen times already.

"It was like seeing someone going through chemotherapy who didn't realize they had cancer!"

Loren still did not laugh, but the drunken crowd did. He had to wonder if it was because they actually found it funny or because they would laugh at just about anything, right now. Tough to say. Even some of the reapers were laughing, though, so maybe Zahi was onto something.

Loren decided to get up from his table and go for a walk. He'd already finished eating, and he didn't see much point in wasting the rest of his break on Zahi, of all people.

The encampment wasn't very large, and he soon reached the edge of it while Rezolo followed after him, silent as usual. The Gettira Plains stretched out before him, as green and vast as anything he'd ever seen.

The place didn't offer much in the way of natural cover, which was why there were constant patrols around the small encampment's perimeter.

They weren't expecting much in the way of resistance way out here, though. The war was on Eloa, right now, and this was Ardora, on the other side of the world.

The strangeness of the timing had not been lost on him. Anyone would've figured that the initiatives on Eloa should require all hands on deck, especially considering the Vanguard's supposed numerical advantage over Abolish, but apparently, the Old Man thought otherwise.

This had to be some kind of plan of his, Loren figured. While the Vanguard was distracted with the war, Dozer was sending out tendrils--like this sorry group--in order to... accomplish what, exactly?

Loren hadn't been able to piece that together yet. The encampment's leader--who also happened to be Zahi's much older brother, Kareem--had been keeping a tight lid on what their exact orders were.

They weren't conquering villages. They weren't fighting the Vanguard. They were just sending out scouting parties and marching--or driving, in the case of the lucky few sects who'd been able to requisition vehicles for themselves.

In any case, it was a shitty detail to be stuck on, Loren felt. Right now, all the glory and fame were back on Eloa. He hoped to get back there as soon as possible.

But at least the view was nice. With the sun reaching low for the horizon, the Plains came alive with more colors than he'd ever seen on Eloa.

And the clouds. They twirled like snakes. Bumpy, gargantuan snakes. All across the sky, wreathed in all types of reds and oranges, yellows and green, blues and purples--as well as a few that were perhaps impossible to describe as anything other than ultraviolet.

Maybe there really was something special about this place.

He sure bloody hoped so, at least.

Movement in the distance acquired his attention before any of the patrols around him. His eyes narrowed as his vision sharpened.

But it was more than just that. Loren's eyesight was his most prized possession--and not coincidentally. He had been working on it from the beginning, ever since he discovered he was a mutation user.

And ever since Gohvis had helped him get a handle on his power.

He hadn't known back then how fortunate he was to have found an instructor so soon after his ability manifested itself. Since that time, he had heard and read many tales of the sad fate that had befallen many mutants throughout history.

He might've been nicer to Gohvis, had he known what a privilege and an honor it truly was to be taught by such a master and pioneer.

It was still a work-in-progress, of course, as all mutations were, but Loren could see farther, clearer, and in lower light than anyone else in this encampment. Or in the majority of Abolish, for that matter.

Now if only he could do something about these seven stubby little horns that crowned his head. He would've liked to not have to wear such bulky hats all the time in order to conceal them. They made even other servants stare.

He'd heard from other mutants that it might simply be impossible to remove them, since it was supposedly impossible to "undo" any mutation, but Loren was highly skeptical of that claim. Gohvis didn't have horns on his head. Sure, he barely looked human anymore, but that was beside the point.

He wished he'd thought to ask Gohvis about it directly when he had the chance. Unfortunately, during his time under the Monster's tutelage, Loren had actually thought the horns were cool. It was only after returning to the world at large that his mind began to change on that matter.

In any event, Loren understood how lucky he was, as a mutant, to have as normal of an appearance as he did. Few others of their kind had been able to maintain such visually subtle mutations. Perhaps that would change for him in the future, but for now at least, he was more or less content.

These eyes of his were enough.

They saw, before anyone else, how the horizon was shifting. How those distant shapes were appearing. Seemingly from nothing, as mirages might.

But these were no mirages.

They were figures. On horseback. And they were not small in number, either.

Right away, he became both wary and confused.

That group was certainly large enough to be considered an army, but not one from this century. Or even the last one, perhaps. Horseback? If it was the Vanguard coming to attack, they would not be riding horses.

The patrols were beginning to take notice now, too. They could probably see the abnormal movement, at least.

Loren strained for more, trying to further sharpen his vision. He wanted to see these figures in greater detail. Who the hell were they? If it was just a bunch of local villagers, aiming to make a sort of show out of their collective strength, then they were going to be in for a rude awakening. The men in this encampment were already restless as is, and even on good days, they were not known for their mercy or restraint.

Whoever these poor bastards riding this way were, they were going to be massacred if they didn't turn around soon. Loren could already imagine--

What?

What the fuck?

The detail of the riders' faces came into focus, but Loren couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Those weren't normal people at all.

They were rotting corpses. He could see flesh peeling off their bones, dried blood all over their pale and torn skin, barely any hair on their bald heads. Some even looked like they were more skeleton than flesh.

And that armor. Not all of them were wearing it, but it didn't belong in this century, either.

An army of undead. But not like any Loren had ever seen.

Was it a mirage? As much he wanted to trust his eyes, they could still play tricks on him. Such a large force of decaying servants couldn't be real, could it? Clad like that? And on horseback, no less?

For a short time, Loren could only continue watching, blinking, and trying to process what he was seeing. But when the riders persisted, refusing to disappear as he hoped they might, he knew he had to speak up. He had to warn the rest of the camp.

"Unknown servants approaching!" he yelled in Valgan, drawing urgent looks from the patrols around him. "Inform Kareem! Send word! Unknown servants approaching from the west!"

More calls came out in response, echoing his warning, and without even moving, he could feel the camp coming to life with the sudden anticipation of battle. There was no telling if these ghoulish warriors in the distance actually intended to attack them, but they certainly didn't look friendly. Better to be prepared. Hopefully, none of the idiots around here would make him regret this decision.

'I cannot sense them yet,' said Rezolo privately. 'What do they look like?'

And Loren did his best to explain, expecting not to be believed.

Instead, however, the reaper was simply quiet for a time. Then he asked, 'What does their heraldry look like?'

'Their what?'

'Their war banners. Describe them to me.'

Still a bit confused, Loren looked toward the riders, searching for banners. It didn't take long to find them. There were plenty. 'They're just black.'

'Pure black? You're sure?'

'Yes. Is there supposed to be something on them?'

The reaper fell silent again, ignoring him.

'Rezolo, do you know who they are?'

'Those are not servants,' the reaper said. 'At least, not the kind you are familiar with. Those beings are not of this world. Not anymore.'

'What are you talking about?!'

'It would be too difficult to explain,' said Rezolo. 'Just prepare yourself. Either they will leave us alone, or this will be one of the worst fights you ever experience.'

Loren gave a wide-eyed frown as he kept scanning the horizon. The half-rotted soldiers were close enough now for the other servants on patrol to begin noticing the abnormalities about them. The confusion in the air spiked to an almost palpable degree, and then--

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The riders vanished.

Like smoke. They disappeared into swirling plumes of black.

Loren wanted to ask Rezolo for answers again, but he didn't get the chance before the riders reappeared.

Right next to him.

And in front of him. And already passing him by. They were mid-stride, running through the encampment--through tables and chairs and tents and walls. Even through people.

One passed right through Loren, too, and as it did, he felt a biting shiver across his entire body. And the smell. Rotten flesh mixed with ash. He might've vomited if he hadn't already smelled the like several times before in his life.

He didn't understand in the slightest. Were they incorporeal like reapers? They could phase through objects undeterred, but that feeling just now hadn't been the same as when a reaper passed through his body. Not at all.

Panicked shouts arose throughout the camp, and he could see his fellow servants lashing out at the riders, trying to attack them and failing. Nothing was landing. Like throwing rocks at smoke.

And there were so many of them. They just kept rushing past. Hundreds. Maybe thousands, even.

Until, just as quickly as they had arrived, they were gone.

Loren, along with everyone else, was left looking around, dumbstruck.

What the hell had just happened?

It was all the more confounding, because he couldn't see any obvious damage that had been done to the camp, either. The riders had surged through it like a crashing wave, the countless hooves creating almost that exact sound.

And yet, as Loren inspected his surroundings, nothing seemed disturbed. Everything was just the same as before the riders arrived.

Loren asked Rezolo the very same question that he could hear being uttered aimlessly by the other men around him. 'Where did they go?'

'No telling. Perhaps they achieved their objective.'

'Which was?'

'Let's search the camp.' And Rezolo didn't wait for him.

Loren followed. To his eyes, the reaper was an oversized gecko with glowing white eyes. The long toes and swollen tips of the reaper's large feet hung rigidly below him as he floated impossibly through the air. It almost looked like the reapers were all standing on some kind of invisible ball as they moved.

The rest of the camp was still intact, it seemed. The confusion among everyone was apparent, but he didn't see any injuries.

He spotted a commotion in the distance, however, and Rezolo was already heading toward it. As they got closer, the reaper wisely slowed in order to let Loren take point.

Loren pushed his way through a gathered crowd to see what they were all staring at.

The smell hit him first. Charred flesh. All too familiar. Not enough to make him recoil or retch, but it was still far from pleasant.

And when he saw the body, it took him a moment to even recognize it as such. Blackened ashes were all that remained. If not for the smell and the vaguely human shape left behind in the smote grass, Loren might not have been able to tell what he was looking at.

The low mutterings among the onlookers increased as someone else began to push through the opposite side of the circle.

It was Kareem, Loren realized. A tall man of dark complexion and chiseled features, Kareem was one of the few people in this camp who actually bothered to dress well for his job. His stiff black coat with its golden collar and buttons looked like it would have fit in at a much ritzier event than this.

"Who was it?" said Kareem, loud enough for all to hear. "Who was killed?"

'It was our aberration,' said Rezolo. 'It's impossible to identify the body from these remains, but I can sense that the aberration's abnormal soul is no longer among us.'

Disquieted murmurs passed through the crowd.

Loren had only met the aberration briefly and couldn't even recall the man's name, but he was aware of how highly sought after they were by many different sects. Their potential for growth was well-known, as was their insanity--which was saying a lot, if they were being judged by Abolish's standards.

Kareem scowled, and he looked around. "Clean this up. Don't dispose of the remains. Seal them in an airtight container and bring it to my quarters." His gaze settled on Loren. "Lighteyes. You and your reaper are with me. Come." He turned and started walking briskly away.

Loren had to hop over the ashen body and push through the reconvening crowd in order to catch up.

Kareem's reaper was attached to his shoulder, perhaps worried that the riders would show back up again. Morix was particularly strange in that way. Most reapers weren't known for their bravery, but Morix had a reputation for his cowardice. It caused no end of loose talk among the lower ranked Abolishers, theorizing how someone like that could have ascended to such a position of influence.

No one would dare say that while Kareem was within earshot, though. And it was typically Morix's fellow reapers who were talking like that, not their servants. The corporeals were generally more concerned with Kareem himself, and he was more than capable of commanding respect on his own.

"I want you to go around the camp and track the path that these apparitions took," said Kareem. His Valgan was strong and clear, much like his voice. "Find the person who saw them first and go from there."

"That person was actually me, sir," said Loren.

Kareem stopped and turned. "Ah. I might've guessed. Perfect, then. You already know where to start. Confirm their trajectory through the camp and talk to everyone who saw them, especially the last person before they disappeared."

"Do you know what those things were, sir?" said Loren.

"The Mendocava," said Kareem. "They aren't exactly the reason we're here, but they're close enough. Gather as much data as you can, Lighteyes. Take notes on everything. I don't care how irrelevant it seems. Put it in your report and bring it to me by morning."

"Will do, sir."

And they split up. Loren had to hunt down a notepad. A digital one would've been nice, but those things tended to break easily on long missions like this.

In the meantime, he tried consulting Rezolo again. 'So can you explain now? What the hell are these Mendocava?'

'That is just one of many names. Void Riders. The Undying Host. The Hunters of Ardora. They are ancient beings, often thought to have left this world for good or to have simply never existed to begin with. In some cultures, they are regarded as a force of nature.'

'But what are they? You said they weren't of this world "anymore," didn't you?'

'Yes. It's said that the Void claimed them from their reapers. And rather than turning to madness with broken psyches, they came under the Void's direct control. Which is, supposedly, why they have the appearance that they do. They no longer have reapers to regenerate their bodies, and the Void, perhaps, sees no reason to fill that role for them.'

'Why would they have killed our aberration but no one else?'

'I don't know,' said Rezolo.

Loren kept pushing, but the reaper kept claiming ignorance. He wasn't sure he was buying that, frankly. Rezolo had a tendency to keep things to himself.

He soon discovered that this new task that Kareem had given him would probably take all night. It seemed like almost everyone in the camp had seen these damned riders. Figuring out who had seen them last would not be easy. And worse, he wasn't sure it would be worth the trouble.

What did Kareem hope to learn by discerning the riders' "trajectory?" Did he think they were headed somewhere else and wanted to follow? As far as Loren or anyone else could tell, they'd simply vanished into thin air. How were you supposed to follow that?

Hmm. On second thought, maybe that was exactly what Kareem intended to do. If they weren't going to pack up camp and leave, then they were going to stay, which probably meant that they would continue to deploy scouting parties.

Well, in any event, he had his orders. It wasn't his place to question them.

And it wasn't Zahi's, either, but that didn't stop the big-haired man from waltzing up to him and doing so.

"Who expected that, huh?! Not me, that's for sure!" He had a habit of speaking Mohssian quite often, and he was one of the most fluent in their camp. Some found that obnoxious, but it wasn't a problem for Loren, since he was quite fluent himself. "Hey, do you think they'll come back?"

"I have no idea," said Loren absently. He was more focused on surveying the soldiers around him, looking for ones he hadn't yet talked to.

"But if you did, you'd tell me, right? You wouldn't leave a brother hanging, would you?"

Loren ignored that question and kept walking.

"You're pretty cold, Lighteyes. Anyone ever tell you that? Cold as an ice cube on a winter's evening."

"You're not exactly warm, either, Zahi."

"I know of plenty of people who would say otherwise, friend."

"Plenty of people who you've deceived, you mean."

"Hey, I'm just being true to myself. I can't help it if people get the wrong impression. I'm a friendly guy who likes to have friendly conversations with other friendly people. Where's the harm in that, I ask you?"

"I think the harm comes when you stab them in the back."

"Why would you say something so utterly untrue and hurtful?" said Zahi. "I know I put on a brave face, but I do have feelings, you know."

"Feelings like anger and jealousy, maybe."

"What, those don't count?"

Zahi kept pestering him, apparently having acquired enough of an interest in what he was doing for some reason. Loren mostly just tried to ignore him.

He consulted the other reapers around the camp, wanting to see if any of them could tell him anything more than what Rezolo had been able to, but he found no such luck. Despite there being more than fifty servants in this group, there were only about fifteen reapers.

No doubt, most of them were at some base somewhere, playing it extra safe and operating as communicators. Or simply doing something else. Loren was a little surprised to see how many reapers and servants rarely traveled together. While there were certainly benefits to splitting up--such as the servant being able to more easily go undercover as a normal human--Loren still felt that he would never be comfortable if he didn't stay with Rezolo all the time.

Their relationship was obviously a little odd, though. Especially in Abolish.

While Loren didn't feel like Rezolo was his "friend," exactly, it would be a lie to say that he only cared about the reaper in terms of preserving his own life. True, he would've preferred it if Rezolo wasn't so quiet and mysterious, but after all this time together, Loren was beginning to feel like maybe words were a little overrated.

They'd had numerous close calls in the past, times when either Rezolo or him would have died or been captured if the other hadn't done or said something. Shielding the reaper with his body. Killing an enemy just before they could strike. Or a simple warning at just the right moment.

These things added up.

They had their own kind of understanding.

At length, Loren began to have trouble finding witnesses whom he had not already talked to. He was nearing the end of his mission, it seemed. He could probably stop here, because he already had a pretty good sense of the trajectory that Kareem was looking for. Northeasterly was most likely the way to go.

Before he was fully satisfied with his results, however, the members of the Freeman Fellowship approached him. They looked like they had something they wanted to say to him, but he decided to ask them what they had seen first. Nothing new, as expected. He tried to turn and move on, but the shorter one called out to him.

"Lighteyes, sir, one minute, please." It was a young guy. Very young, in fact. Scarcely more than a boy, if his voice and physical appearance were to be trusted.

But of course, they weren't, really. For all Loren knew, the two older-looking ones were actually subordinate to the boy. Not likely, sure, but certainly still possible.

He waited.

The boy's gaze fell to Zahi, however, as if reluctant to say anything in his presence.

Not one to be deterred by things like awkward tension, Zahi just blurted out whatever he wanted, as usual. "Oh, are you hoping to poach him from our sect? Because I don't think we'd appreciate that very much. We're a tightly knit bunch, you see. Like brothers. We share everything with each other. Clothes. Secrets. Beds. Toothbrushes. Even women."

Loren couldn't let that go by. "He's joking. Badly."

"See that? We banter just like brothers, too. Everyone in our sect is the same. Loren is perfectly happy in the Rambata Rangers."

"That's not our name," Loren had to say. "We're the 331st Ranging Regiment." And while he spoke the truth, he also knew that their official name wasn't all that much better. There were most certainly not 331 ranging regiments in Abolish. It was just a stupid naming scheme to make their numbers seem larger than they actually were.

Honestly, it probably caused more confusion to Abolish's own members than to any enemy spies that might have infiltrated their ranks, but there was no use complaining about it at this point. Especially when so many of his bosses had reputations for their total madness.

The shorter Freeman seemed hesitant. "But is it true that you are happy with your current position?" Wow, maybe he really was the boss of their little trio.

"Ooh, so I was right, then?!" said Zahi. "You really are trying to poach him?!"

"Membership within our Fellowship is flexible," said the same one. "We would not necessarily be 'poaching' him, as you suggest."

"Hmm, that ain't how I've heard it," said Zahi. "I hear you guys're pretty fanatical about your rules 'n such."

"Well, we're all fanatical in one way or another, aren't we?"

"Hah! True! Hey, then maybe I could join, too, eh?!"

"If you pass the entrance test, then sure."

"Say what? Wait, does Lighteyes have to take a test, too?"

"No, he has received a formal invite from our leader."

"Tch. Now that is some unfair bullshit right there..."

The little Freeman tilted both his head and his brow at Zahi with seeming sympathy. "You are not genuinely disappointed, are you?"

"Hmph. That so hard to believe?"

"Well, yes. I'm sure the Fellowship's reputation precedes us. Do you truly think that you would be happy within it?"

"Maybe. I'm a complex guy. Full of nuance 'n stuff."

The little Freeman chortled. "Well, then take the test."

"Maybe I will!"

Loren had had just about enough of listening to this shit. "Our feelings don't matter. The real decision is up to our reapers, anyway."

The little Freeman nodded. "There is certainly truth in that, yes. But if you feel very strongly on the matter, I think you'll find that our group can be quite persuasive." His beady eyes went to Rezolo. "Though, of course, we would be interested in hearing your opinion as well."

Rezolo, however, merely remained quiet, which Loren did not find surprising.

The little Freeman seemed to take that as a bad sign. "A-ah, well, like I said, the matter is open to discussion if it interests you. Lighteyes has been invited by our leader, so we would be happy to work with you toward an acceptable compromise in becoming a member. You would not have to leave your current sect if you do not wish to."

"Who is this leader of yours, anyway?" said Zahi.

"That would be Germal, the Gentleman of Palei."

Loren blinked. That guy was the leader of the Freeman Fellowship? Loren had met him a few times while studying under Gohvis; and while he was aware that Germal was rather famous in his own right, it was still difficult to bridge the mental gap in his mind between that one-horned weirdo and the increasingly talked about Freeman Fellowship.

Really, it had only been a few months since he first started hearing about the Fellowship, whereas it had been years since he'd last seen Germal. And at the rate they were growing, Germal had probably just made a list of servants he barely even knew and gave it to subordinates for this apparent recruitment drive of theirs.

Yeah. He decided that he shouldn't read too much into this whole "invite" thing being a big deal.

Perhaps Rezolo was thinking something similarly, because he chose that moment to finally speak up and say, 'What has Loren done to earn the honor of an invitation from your leader?'

"Hey, before that, tell us your name already, short stuff," said Zahi.

"Oh, my apologies. My name is Wallace Chandler. And the two behind me--"

"Can I call you Wally?"

"I... I suppose."

"Cool. But yeah, anyway, Wally, how come Lighteyes here gets an invite, and I don't, hmm?"

"Well, to get the full picture of that, you would have to ask Germal," said Wally, "but my understanding is that Lighteyes has been invited because of his reputation as a principled warrior who does not use excessive force to complete his missions."

"You mean because he's not a bloodthirsty psycho," said Zahi. "But hey, I'm not bloodthirsty, either."

"Ah--y-yes, well, as I mentioned, the invitations are delivered at our leader's sole discretion..."

"Oh, but if it were up to you, then you'd give me an invite, right?"

"Er, well, I barely know you, so..."

He stuck his hand out. "Zahi Rambata. Great to meet you. They call me the Bard of the Modern Era."

"No, they don't," said Loren.

"Don't listen to him; he's just jealous. I'm a real man out of time, you see. Tell me, have you ever felt like you were born in the wrong period of history? Because that's me in a nutshell, my friend. Very relatable, right? Oh, and I can play twenty instruments, you know. And I'll talk your ear off if you'll let me, aha! And I'm also very much what you would call a joiner! It's why I'm with Abolish, in fact! Someone just offered me a membership, so I said okay! I didn't even have a reaper yet! Boy, was I in for a surprise later!"

"Th-that's all very nice, Mr. Rambata, but--"

"I'm all about maintaining morale, see. I think that's very important. You need cheering up, I'm your guy. You need a wingman when you go pick up chicks, I'm your guy. You need someone to carry something heavy up a hill for you, well, that's why I keep this killjoy around. But for anything else, I'm probably your guy. Just give me a chance, and you'll see how multi-talented I am."

Loren almost pitied the little Freeman. He'd seen Zahi get like this before. The man wouldn't stop talking until his listeners either ran away or caved to his implied demands.

In both cases, Loren's role in this conversation was pretty much over, so he decided to speak privately with Rezolo instead. 'What are you thinking?' he asked.

'Do you wish to join this Fellowship?' said the reaper, echoing.

'It has me curious, at least.'

'Fine. Then you have my permission, on the condition that you use it as leverage to get us transferred out of this sect.'

Loren had to stop himself from reacting visibly to that. 'You want out? You never mentioned that before.'

'I didn't have a problem with it until today.'

It took him a second to put those clues together. 'You're afraid of the Riders...'

'I am. And if you are not, then you are a fool. The Mendocava are far beyond our ability to deal with--beyond anyone in this camp.'

'They didn't attack us, though. Only the aberration.'

'Yes, and they rent him to dust. Even his bones cannot be harvested now.'

Loren threw another look around the encampment. Everyone else seemed to have already settled back down after the encounter with the Riders, but that wasn't terribly strange, he supposed. These were soldiers and madmen of Abolish. Flexibility under stress was arguably their greatest strength as a unit.

And yet here was Rezolo. The reaper might have sounded as calm as ever, but these weren't the words of someone confident or comfortable. In fact, this might've been the most scared that Loren had ever heard him.

'And as it will likely prove relevant to the mission,' the reaper went on, 'Kareem will keep prodding them. I would rather not be here the next time they appear.'

Well, Loren couldn't really complain. He'd been looking for a way back to Eloa, and here it was, staring him in the face.

And yet.

Now that there was this new wrinkle in this regiment's mission, he had to admit, a part of him would be disappointed to leave. He felt now more than ever that Dozer had sent their sect to these Gettira Plains for a good reason. Surely, it was no coincidence that these Mendocava just happened to be here. Were they protecting something, perhaps?

It seemed he would not be among those who found out.