Streaks of light race across the sky, illuminating the dark, quiet night. However, they are not the beautiful comets that appear every so often, so mesmerizing to the eye. As Tanalien looks up, she only sees the blasts from their artillery batteries, the energy inside eager to shoot out in a fiery explosion. As the blasts land on the bunkers, the ground beneath them trembles in shock, ripping apart the dirt, metal, and concrete like a predator tearing its prey.
“Disperse!” she shouts. Immediately, the hundred-troop strong company splits into small teams of five, dashing for their respective destinations, dotted across the landscape in a single line. Protected only by the unnaturally tall grass and new craters from the bombings, they charge straight for the smoldering ruins of the bunkers.
An enemy soldier, his body in flames, rushes out of a bunker, his arms flailing about, screaming for help. The blood from his wounds evaporates into the fire, his hoarse screams a croak escaping from his rapidly rotting mouth. Obviously rudely shocked from his sleep, the dying soldier is not dressed in armor, but rather just undergarments, the fabric whittled away by the fire. Even from a distance, Tanalien could see his burning face, the skin wrinkling up, the eyes sunken in. As expected, she does not recognize such a face.
“Put him out of his misery,” Tanalien commands her team. Although Nasition has stated that they should capture enemy troops, a soldier on the brink of death is the same as one already in the grave, useless to any cause. They hold out their palms, in each a ball of energy forming before their eyes. Unlike the other soldiers of the Confederation, their armor is coated with traces of nahera steel, focusing their energy onto a single focal point at their palms. Reaching its limit, the energy shoots out, pummeling the enemy soldier, his body vaporizing into dust. Their hands seem to burn from the searing heat, but a moment later, it is all but gone. As if they had never used their weapon.
“Are there any survivors?” Tanalien asks through her comms. Silence. As expected, the artillery support was too overpowering. She can imagine the expression of Nasition when they report of this brief massacre. They had hoped perhaps, somehow, the captured soldiers here would give at least some hint towards Avalel. Especially those two known as Kavlina and Tarak. According to the detailed intelligence given from Nasition, the two are the ones serving alongside Avalel, the ones most likely to know of his location. But what use are they if they are dead?
She sighs. “Our job is done today. Settle in, everyone. I’ll report the results to Nasition.” She enters the bunker before her, one that is surprisingly intact even after all the bombings from earlier.
Gradually, the corpses of the enemy are retrieved from the scorching battlefield. Tanalien recognizes a few intact faces from the intelligence files, but there are far too few of them, and even less with bodies largely in one piece. “Eighty one, eighty two…” she counts as her soldiers deliver the bodies before her. Disappointed, she sends every single one of the corpses to a newly dug pit, stacking them on top of each other before setting them all on fire, burning what is left of them into ashes.
It’s somewhat of a strange habit for her. Usually, her comrades would simply burn the bodies, maybe collect some of the enemy equipment as trophies. However, she would meticulously count the number of soldiers killed after every battle before marking it down on her personal notebook. It would always bring her a smile if the number of kills exceeded the number of faces she remembers from the intelligence files. Today is no different, yet there is no smile on her face. She had hoped to gain at least one captive she could use, but alas, there is none.
“Company Leader, there are a total of ninety two enemy casualties across the twenty bunkers, while our side suffered a total of zero casualties,” a soldier reports, “Only six of those bunkers, including this one, are still in good condition and have no danger of collapse.”
“I know,” Tanalien replies, “The death count far outnumbers the eighty faces I remember from the files.”
“Why aren’t you happy then, Company Leader?” the soldier asks.
“We were ordered to capture soldiers, but our artillery batteries seemed to be too trigger-happy.” Not only that. She had hoped to at least have a decent battle against the enemy, the first in months. Yet she is just like an undertaker, collecting corpses before burning them. The only soldier she killed with her team was one that was about to die regardless. It isn’t satisfying.
“None of us died, though. Isn’t that something to celebrate?”
“Perhaps.” For now, all they can do is recuperate and rest with the time they have, waiting for further reinforcements to arrive. The night may be near its end, but when the day arrives, they will have much to do. War is never stationary, after all.
“Company Leader!” a soldier shouts through the comms, “A small group of enemy soldiers has been sighted in the distance, coming from the northwest!”
“How many are there?” Tanalien asks in worry, with good reason to do so. In her immediate proximity, there are only fifteen soldiers or so, the others resting in the other bunkers. Even if the others were to reinforce her immediately, without ample preparations beforehand, they will only become cannon fodder.
“Around twenty!”
Tanalien sighs in relief. The bunkers can only offer so much protection, but it is enough for her and her soldiers to position and conceal themselves. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise, that she may finally encounter a difficult fight. And if circumstances allow… she may be able to capture a few of them.
“Teams one, four, and five, take cover in the rubble around my bunker!” she commands, “Teams twelve and twenty, take a slight detour and flank the enemy! The rest of you, advance steadily in the direction of my bunker and reinforce us as soon as possible! Do not aim to kill, but to disarm!”
She emerges from the bunker, looking at the dim silhouettes of the enemy approaching closer. Their pace is already picking up, running down the gentle slopes towards her direction. Even in the darkness, she can make out the outlines of their rifles, pointing in front, as if they will fire at a moment’s notice.
It will be fun indeed.
----------------------------------------
“So Avalel decided not to rejoin the army with us?” Tarak asks.
“Yes,” Kavlina answers.
“Well, it is his choice. If it were me, I would’ve done the same.”
“Why?”
“The war is pointless, isn’t it?” Tarak says, “The Empire is gone for sixteen, closing into seventeen years now. Theoretically speaking, shouldn’t we all just settle with our current borders as separate nations?”
“We would never understand what the leaders of this world are thinking,” Kavlina replies, “For now, all we can do is protect each other, fighting until some peace is reached.”
“I fear this will only end when there is just one faction left standing after all this death and destruction. And maybe, by then, we would’ve reverted back to some sort of absolute power.”
Tarak frantically shakes his head. He had never been this pessimistic before. He had never even questioned the reason for the war, the reason that he fights in this world. It just feels… instinctive, blindly carving out the lives of many for a cause that he doesn’t even know himself. But why? Why hasn’t he ever wondered about this in the one-and-a-half years of military service? The training certainly never wanted them to think so much, but not even the fundamental reason of why they fight?
Perhaps he is just a mindless idiot, spurred on by the primitive instincts to protect, take, consume, and kill. Perhaps the others are just the same as him.
“I envy Avalel,” he adds, “Not shackled by anything, just living simply in that village. Having no purpose but to live peacefully for the rest of his life. We’re the same, just that we are killing without any purpose.”
“Maybe I should pretend to kill myself to be freed from all this chaos,” he finishes, laughing bitterly at his new, twisted humor.
Kavlina scoffs.
“You actually found that funny?” Tarak asks, surprised.
“No,” Kavlina answers, “Both of you are just too similar now. All that talk about the lack of purpose.” She points at Tarak’s forehead. “Use your brain. Find something for you to fight for. Or is your head actually empty inside, and you are just a brainless drone for the New Rule?”
“And you? What are you fighting for?”
“Lel asked a similar question earlier. I fight to protect the people I know. I fight to protect Ms. Ipela. I fight to protect Hayeviel, Perivial, and Sureya. I fight to protect Rasu. Most importantly…” Her footsteps stop, forcing Tarak to pause with her. “I fight to protect you and Lel. It’s that simple.”
The fight to protect. It’s so simple. Tarak remembers his father’s grim face before they were to separate. The old miner, so tough all these years, had a tear trickling down his eye. The man had spent his entire life raising his only son without any support, protecting him from all kinds of harm, but alas, their last look at each other would only be through a thick glass window separating them, slowly drifting further apart until the Void itself separates the parent and child. He remembers his father’s last message before the transport departs: Stay strong. Protect yourself. I love you.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
To protect. If nothing else, that would be his purpose.
“You sound oddly wise this night,” Tarak comments, hiding his thoughts.
“The talk with Lel just made me slightly enlightened, that’s all.”
Tarak smiles. “Maybe we all just have this spark of genius every once in a while.”
“The bunkers!” a soldier cries, interrupting the steady march as he rushes forth. In the distance, they see a ragged line of craters, the bunkers destroyed beyond recognition. A large bonfire illuminates their former defenses, the flickering flames reflecting into their eyes.
“Those are…” Tarak realizes.
“Artillery craters,” Mir interrupts, “Surely you would’ve recognized them straight away, Tarak?”
Tarak grits his teeth. As much as he’d like to deliver some sort of punishment, it is not the time. “The enemy went all out in their bombardment,” he analyzes, “The craters look fresh, so I assume they are still recuperating. If we take them by surprise now, perhaps we can…”
“There’s only twenty of us,” Mir points out, “What can you expect us fresh recruits to do?”
“Just this once, listen to me,” Tarak says, “If we advance too slowly, they’ll soon gain reinforcements, and by then, there will be no chance of victory. If we attack now, we may be able to recapture the line and protect the other comrades behind the front.” Protect. That’s all they need.
“Tarak…” Kavlina tries to protest.
“I’ll take full responsibility,” Tarak declares, “If this attack is a failure, I will offer myself to Rasu and receive all punishment due.”
“You said so, Tarak,” Mir says.
They charge, their rifles prepared to fire. They do not know the number of enemy troops now occupying their ruined bunkers, but all they can do is charge. The dry grass crackles being trampled under their boots, the dust and soil flying up with every step.
“Follow me!” Tarak shouts, noticing a rather intact bunker not far away. In fact, it is their bunker, being left to Farus and Nasais just a day ago. He suspects there will be a significant number of enemy troops there, and hopefully, the enemy can be taken out before the element of surprise is taken out first.
They arrive, the smell of burnt bodies mixed with the air. Even with their helmets, the stench is clear, and some soldiers bend over in discomfort.
“The door to the bunker is closed,” Tarak notices, “Prepare your rifles. As soon as I open the door, everyone fires.”
He kicks open the door, and immediately, the soldiers fire their rifles, the beams almost blinding them in a bright contrast to the darkness of the night. Only Kavlina stands behind, her knife in hand.
They couldn’t even see what they’re firing at, the beams blindly shooting into the bunker. The soldiers are almost in a frenzy, their rifles overheating from the rapid fire. The hail of beams endlessly rains into the bunker like a shower of death. Somehow, it’s slightly satisfying.
“Stop,” Tarak orders, “Whoever is inside should be dead by now. We probably wasted a bit too many shots, too.”
The soldiers lower their rifles, but as the smoke clears, Tarak is greeted with the face of an enemy soldier, her helmet left to the side. Her arms are outstretched, holding up an energy barrier that blocks the entire entrance to the bunker. To his surprise, the enemy is unscathed and unfazed, only giving a warm smile, like someone welcoming her guests.
“Our turn,” she says.
Confederation soldiers appear from the rubble, surrounding Tarak and the others. Before Tarak could even turn and aim his rifle, the enemy fires energy blasts from their palms. All around him, the soldiers collapse, their arms and legs scorched with energy, their rifles knocked out of their hands. In the chaos, he couldn’t even gauge the numbers of the enemy, only being able to instinctively dodge as many blasts as possible. He feels his forearms screeching with pain as the blasts cross paths with his flesh, the armor offering no protection from the ruthless attacks.
He tries to leap out of the way, his hand reaching for his knife, but as he prepares to jump, his legs are caught by a fallen soldier, knocking him off balance. He trips, his helmet bashing onto a piece of rubble, his head vibrating from the impact. Before he could even regain his senses, his waist is grabbed by a pair of arms, pulling him away from his comrades.
“Help!” he shouts, his eyes catching a glimpse of Kavlina leaping above the enemy troops. Although blood is streaming from her legs, she moves as if unaffected, her knife slashing seamlessly past enemy soldiers, cutting through the gaps of the armor into their joints.
Hearing his call, Kavlina turns around, her feet dashing to the side just as a blast strikes the ground where she had stood. Even as the enemy tries to block her way, firing blasts at near point-blank range, she stuns their arms with her knife, the armor of the enemy shattering on impact. Her use of magic, channeled through her knife, has become something that Tarak himself cannot even comprehend, the strength and precision of her attacks far exceeding that of Taravi’s demonstration when they had first encountered the use of magic.
“Stay still!” she shouts. She is no more than a few steps away from Tarak, her knife poised to release Tarak with a single slash, possibly even severing the enemy’s arms in the process. An intense light envelops the blade of her knife, filled with the burning passion of Kavlina to protect her friend and comrade.
Crash! A strong burst of air knocks Tarak and his captor away from Kavlina, his ribs feeling a sudden, acute pressure. Before him is another enemy soldier, the same one who had shielded all of their rifle fire from earlier. Still without her helmet, her barrier barely separates Kavlina’s blade from her own hands, but it is clear the momentum of Kavlina’s attack has completely stopped. To Tarak’s horror, Kavlina’s knife begins to crack under the overwhelming pressure of energy, until finally, it shatters, the splinters flying in all directions. Taken aback, she still charges at the enemy, her fist aiming to strike the enemy’s chest.
Boom! Her left arm, a moment ago uninjured and strong, is completely blown off by a point-blank blast of energy, leaving only the shoulder and a part of the upper arm still attached to the rest of her body. The pieces of charred flesh splatter onto her armor, the fragments of bone lodge themselves into the metal. Too shocked to even scream, she falls to the ground, her vision blacking out. Seeing this, the enemy immediately surrounds her, before each of them a barrier, erected together almost like a ring of impenetrable shields.
“KAVLINA!” Tarak screams, almost tearing apart his vocal cords. As his eyes dart around, he only finds his fellow soldiers in a similar predicament, completely isolated by the enemy’s encirclements. There are now only eight of them still standing, every single one of them now unarmed and defenseless.
“The reinforcements sure came at a good time,” the helmetless soldier says, “Sadly, a few of us were taken down by this soldier here.” She eyes Kavlina, her mouth forming a malicious smile. “You’re not the only one who can wield magic here, Kavlina.”
“How did you know her name?” Tarak cries in shock.
“Ah, then you must be Tarak,” the soldier replies.
“How…”
“Out of respect, my name is Tanalien,” she continues, “As you can obviously see, my soldiers and I all know how to use magic to an extent.”
“Why…”
“Why did we capture you, you ask?” Tanalien says, confidence radiating from her expressions, “We only want to know one thing from you: the whereabouts of Avalel, wielder of the Anapadeia. We were quite lucky to find you and Kavlina here.”
“Nasition…”
“Nasition’s orders?” she interrupts, once again predicting Tarak’s question, “You could say so. However, I also have my personal reasons to find Avalel. Now, do tell me: where is Avalel?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“For your comrades’ sake, of course,” she replies. Materializing an apparition of a blade in her hand, she flings it at one of the soldiers. Immediately, the energy apparition pierces through the soldier’s chest, killing him in an instant. “It’s good that an apparition can do nearly the same as having the actual thing. Now, if you really don’t know, that is also fine. Everyone will just die here. After all, useless prisoners only slow us down.”
“You…” Tarak grits his teeth.
“Come on, tell us,” Tanalien coaxes, “There isn’t much time to decide. Look at your friend Kavlina, teetering on the brink of death. If you tell us, perhaps we’ll try to save her life.”
Kavlina lies unconscious on the ground, the blood steadily flowing out of the wound. Her blackened flesh seems to have blocked some of the blood vessels, but even still, the pool of crimson is only expanding further, seeping into the gaps of her armor.
“Hesitate any further and the blame of her death will be yours,” Tanalien says matter-of-factly.
“He’s to our northwest, currently residing in an unnamed village,” Mir says, to the horror of Tarak.
“How are you so sure?” Tanalien asks.
“We just returned from there, after all,” Mir answers.
“Mir, what are you doing?” Tarak cries in anger.
“Your decision earlier led to this catastrophe, Tarak,” Mir says, “Are you seriously going to sacrifice us all just to save the life of Avalel?”
“But the villagers!”
“Sure, they are good people and all, but are their carefree lives seriously worth more than ours, our lives which we risk protecting the New Rule?” Mir questions.
“You’re letting them kill the New Rule’s sole savior!”
“Who says he’s going to be killed?” Mir retorts, “Besides, if he really does die, it would all be your fault, wouldn’t it?”
“What…”
“You said you’ll take full responsibility, didn’t you? No one but you will be in danger if we reveal Avalel’s location. Is that why you’re taking so long to decide? Because you realize you’ll die either way?”
Tarak is silent, completely taken aback by Mir’s accusation.
“Apply a tourniquet on Kavlina,” Tanalien commands her soldiers, “I won’t go back on my word.”
Even as the Confederation soldiers treat Kavlina’s wound, Tarak can only wallow in despair, realizing his fatal mistake. He had been the one who pushed to advance onto the bunkers, the one who stubbornly believed their mere numbers could recapture the line from the enemy. But what is the result? Only seven left still standing, the rest either dead or seriously injured. Kavlina’s arm was blown off, perhaps forever crippling her. In some cruel twist of fate, he looks to be the least injured of them all, only having burns on his arms. Why must his comrades bear the consequences of his decision?
Nothing short of death can redeem himself now.
He reaches for his knife, but it is gone. Even when he wishes to die, he cannot. He laughs bitterly. What fate, what fate…
A Confederation aircraft flies overhead, its dark blue body barely visible in the sky. Unlike the bombers or fighters, the aircraft is bulky, its wings longer, wider, more armored. Instead of multiple armaments at the roof and bottom of the aircraft, it only has a single gun at the roof, designed only to chase off other aircraft.
“That’s strange,” Tanalien remarks, “Why is there a small transport in the air?”
The transport suddenly takes a dive towards their direction like a falcon chasing for its prey. Its heavy body is falling towards them, as if intending to collide, smashing into their faces. The engine sputters erratically, choking on its own fuel of energy.
“Move out!” Tanalien shouts. There may not be enough time until the transport crashes onto the ground, exploding and killing many of them. The soldiers drag their captives as they run, preventing them from any chance of escape. However, Kavlina remains limp, the medics already running away in all directions, leaving her behind.
“Kavlina!” Tarak shouts, struggling to break free, but he is only dragged away further from her, only able to watch as the transport approaches closer and closer to Kavlina’s unconscious body.
Suddenly, the transport’s descent grinds to a halt as its engines, thought to be broken, begin humming again. Just before it was supposed to make contact with the ground, the door opens, and two pairs of arms snatch Kavlina away, hoisting her up and placing her inside the transport. Before they can even react, the transport has already left, departing to the skies once more. What is left is only a puddle of drying blood, still warm as the Elyfesta appears on the horizon, marking the beginning of a new, painful day.