Chapter 1: Old World Old Problems
"Good morning, Guardian! It has been 326,675 days, 23 hours, and 15 minutes since planetfall!"
"Must you remind me of this every day?" He demanded of the hovering machine as it loomed pleasantly over his bed, the plated petals of its ever-shifting housing twirling with a lively energy he certainly did not feel like emulating. This morning, as mornings often tended to be, was not a time he enjoyed. The mimetic nature of his dreams was somewhat counterintuitive to their intended function. His memories were sour enough that he didn't need to re-live the irritating events of his morose life.
"Certainly not." The artificial intelligence clarified as it dipped its chassis low. "But you know what they say about habits." It added with an airy chuckle.
"Remind me to uninstall your humor subroutine." He muttered resignedly as he slung himself into a half decent, upright position on his bed. Unsurprisingly, the spherical shard of light paid no heed to his pedantically rehearsed threat. As he sat there, contemplating the most recent memory to assail his subconscious giving its dying breath in his head, the guardian ran a hand across the rough finish of the wooden frame with a distracted eye, the sensation of coarsely hewn and sanded ash tickling his callused palm, what was the leftover from the many trees he had cut down so many years ago.
Had it really been that long already?
He supposed time would lose its weight when one lived as long as he had. Nevertheless the concept of his own mortality, or rather his lacking of it, was something he would in all likelihood never fully cope with.
Mankind had not been meant to live so infinitely.
"So…. What's on the docket for today?" His ghost inquired merrily as it lingered at the periphery of his vision, a fairly comforting reminder, at least when the damned machine wasn't relentlessly irritating, that he was not entirely alone on this wretched planet.
The guardian sighed heavily, brushing a hand across the tired lines etched into the infuriatingly youthful countenance. For his considerably advanced age, he certainly did not look the part, and he could liken the blame upon The Traveler for his unusual condition. "I would assume it would be roughly the same as it has been for the last eighty-three years." He snapped, his voice cutting sharply into the air of projected positivity coming from the floating artificial intelligence.
He watched, with a pang of ethereal regret, as the fluctuating plates of his ghost's carapace drooped, the light of its eye dimming as it emitted a considerably less cheerful, "Right…"
"Let's…." He sighed once again, this time exorcising the note of exhaustion from his psyche.
"Let's just go out and check the traps... alright?"
"Sure thing, Guardian!" It chirped excitedly as it zoomed out of the bedroom's door, no doubt to run maintenance on his sparrow in the small shack outside his cabin.
And just like that it was back to the height of its annoying exuberance. Yet, rather than remarking upon this, the guardian merely shook his head and steeled himself for another repetitiously droll and entirely unremarkable day, the lingering echoes of a routine he had subjected himself to for little less than the last century.
It was in moments like this that he was obligated to act as his own reminder, recalling in similar moments of exasperation, that he had forced this voluntary isolation upon himself. There was nothing else, save the disappointing state of the world, to blame.
A shallow grunt of disapproval eking from his tightly pursed lips, the guardian trudged over to his wardrobe to throw on a set of hunting leathers. The uncomfortably tight fitting apparel sewed more for function than form, not all that surprising since he had lashed it together himself from the skins of the less fantastical wildlife around his wooded lodge.
As he slipped into the too-tight breeches, the man thought briefly of the wonders contained within his old guardian armor, tinged with the flicker of tantalizing interest. Heavy armor composed of reinforced, light forged plasteel plating designed to endure the wrath of mankind's enemies, merged with combat grade synthweave, more advanced than anything else produced on this miserable ball of dirt, and it was even internally regulated. Mythical weaponry forged by his own hands to fight eldritch abominations and the countless legions opposed to humanity's survival.
Then… of course… he remembered the promise he had made.
Donning his jacket, the man shrugged and moved to the door, slinging his yew longbow and quiver across his shoulder as he stepped out of his room. He looked, as he always did, to the granular craftsmanship of his home, a place he had built himself, for himself. It was small, no more than four rooms and a homely living area, but it was his. Not even his room in the Tower could quite overcome its rustic charm. There was just something about living in a place one built with their own hands, which made his situation a slight bit bearable.
As he suspected, his ghost was nowhere in sight, undoubtedly waiting for him outside. The creak of treated leather arose to his ears as he kneeled beside the plain fireplace built into the far wall of his home, the only decoration he had bothered to include during its construction. He hardly needed it for warmth, his body was nearly unaffected by the elements, but it had served its purpose admirably in the many nights he had sat by the fire and gazed into the flames.
Studying the dying embers of his previous night's musings, the guardian stoked the fading blaze and tossed in a handful of logs before turning to the outside door to depart. Just before stepping outside he pulled his cloak from the rack by the door, fastening the hemmed cloth of wolf fur around his neck. This particular piece of apparel was only donned for a percentage of its intended purpose, crafted less for staving off the cold and more for breaking up his outline in the foliage, it also kept the irksome patter of rain from his eyes whenever the weather soured.
Across the threshold he was immediately beset by the soothing white noise of the forest, the light and airy twitter of birdcalls, and the faint flutter of crimson leaves on the breeze, amidst the variety of other natural sounds.
He listened.
Noticing nothing out of the ordinary, he turned to the shed leaning precariously against his cabin, studying the faded luster of the wood and the way its foundation rested. The thing was starting to decay. Soon he would have to either tear it all down or replace the aging planks. Perhaps a few centuries ago he might have been less than enthused by the prospect, but nowadays he had come to enjoy the rural aspect of his daily affairs, if only to combat the wearisome nature of his existence.
Unlike the ancient Chinese proverb desired, he did not in fact live in interesting times, at least not anymore. And that was perfectly alright for him.
He'd had enough.
The guardian debated on what would be best as he met the hovering figure of his ghost just outside the door.
"Great news, Guardian! The Gjallarwing is ready and raring to go!"
He should probably rebuild the damned thing. He'd learned a lot about construction since he first tried his hand at it, and the sight of the shed was rather pitiful to look at. Free time and immortality were excellent motivational tools to hone even the strangest of skills or trades, and he was certain he could do a better job this time around.
Giving a nod to his ghost so it wouldn't waylay him with another endless bludgeoning tirade, the guardian hurriedly stepped inside the ramshackle hut to take out the unusual vehicle. As he readied to take it out he gave his shed a quick cleaning, moving around the scattered collection of tools and odd bits of paraphernalia, whatever had caught his eye during his more nomadic days.
He paused, his eyes remaining on the rust pitted blade he had retrieved from its ignoble place upon the sawdust strewn floor. Ancient runic writing could scarcely be seen upon its corroded length, and yet despite its incredible age and poor condition, he could still feel the slightest sliver of light trapped within it.
A bitter scowl tore across his face as he flung the weapon away from him, watching as it sailed across the shack and bounced heavily across the far wall, vanishing once again inside a pile of refuse.
To this day he still could not say why he had bothered to keep it.
His mood darkened, the guardian wasted little time in dragging out his hoverbike, uncaring of the mud he splattered upon its frame as he hauled it through the wet earth. A few moments spent at the controls and the machine burst into life, lifting away from the soil to hover three feet from the ground, its once lustrous finish and gold etched engravings dirtied and abused by neglect and time.
He mounted the sparrow with a swing of his leg, settling into the comfortable and familiar geometries of its padded seat. His nose tracked the familiar scent of fresh rainfall as he studied the hoverbike's tactical overlay. A storm system must have briefly made its rounds while he slept.
That was too bad, he did enjoy the rain.
"Shall I?" His ghost asked.
With a nod he watched as the spherical machine vanished in a flash of light, housed now within the light contained inside him. He frowned at the giddy rush of emotion leaking from their neural link, remembering why it was he didn't particularly enjoy this.
Shall we?
The guardian suppressed his instinctive revulsion at the foreign thought now accompanying his mind and throttled the sparrow's acceleration. The vehicle thundered underneath him as it rocketed away from his cabin down a path he had cleared in the vegetation when he first arrived at the site he would eventually call home.
Swerving down the man-made path, he readied himself for another uninteresting day.
Hours passed with accustomed rapidity as he underwent motions he had performed so many times as to make them nearly second nature. Visiting each of the sites he had set up, he checked the traps he had laid out to help cull the… unruly wildlife that plagued his land.
It was hardly much of a chore, as he let his ghost do most of the work. While he may not have approved of its frivolous personality matrix; he did at least trust it was competent enough to handle the assignments it received. And whereas the little machine went about its task, he allowed himself to hunt for small game to pass the drudgery of time, though he didn't necessarily need to eat to live. Like all guardians, he subsisted off the fragments of the Traveler's light inside him, needing neither food nor rest to survive. Such a boon guaranteed their utter dedication and tireless devotion to their vital occupation.
Nevertheless, like most guardians, he still occasionally catered to such needs, if only to return to him the comforting familiarity of the humanity he now lacked. Sometimes it was easy to forget, as the years heaved endlessly onwards, what he had been, what it was he had sacrificed so much to protect. He pitied the rabbits and deer he hunted. However the return to normalcy was more important to him then the wellbeing of a few prey species, not to mention that he still retained his sense of taste and remained a fan of a well-crafted meal.
With little else to occupy his time, he needed to do something to make up for all the empty air and directionless days. Besides, preparing meals and the occasional home improvement project was preferable to his ghost's inane chatter, and often times it gave him a useful distraction from the light shard's more energetic tangents.
Notching the broadhead for his bow, he aligned the shot.
Releasing a low breath, he loosed the arrow and watched with satisfaction as it sailed through open air with expert precision. The missile impacted the deer, high shoulder, punching through its ribs and snapping its spine, quick, clean, and relatively painless. That was not to say of course, that he did anything by half measures. Even at a quarter draw strength, the animal had still been tossed onto its side by the force and velocity of the impact. Light enhanced musculature had placed him leagues above a normal man, not including his already unusual height and bulk.
A human with a longbow could do respectable work, even punch through medieval plate if they were strong enough.
A guardian, a titan notwithstanding, equipped with a longbow, could potentially pierce a cabal phalanx's shield and the heavy armor of the warrior behind it, depending on the make of the arrow and the quality of the bow. He had seen it happen before.
In this situation a deer stood no chance.
Examining the corpse, he frowned at the warped shaft of the broadhead, noting that he would need to replace it when he was finished with his work. Until then, he returned the bent arrow to his quiver and unsheathed the small skinning knife attached to his belt with a knot of cord. In a few days he would be able to turn its hide into a replacement for his fraying cloak.
"Guardian…."
The man paused, the deer half skinned as he heard his ghost contact him, taking interest in the machine's slight hint of concern. It had been a long time since he heard that tone. His insides twisted with anticipation, and he felt his fingers tighten upon the buckskin handle of the blade in his hand.
"What is it?"
"We've got smoke, fifteen kilometers due southeast. It's in the direction of the local settlement in this region. And it's definitely not from a bonfire"
His anticipation dwindled, replaced instead by a potent sense of concern and misplaced guilt. He did not mind fighting, in fact after such monotony he would have welcomed the change of pace. It had been quite a long while since he had to do more than cull a particularly boisterous forest creature. But when there was more than his own life at risk, he found it difficult to maintain his enthusiasm. Predilection for responsibility was something he had not experienced since he had last involved himself in the global state of affairs.
It was with a bitter heart that he recalled how that had ended.
And while yet he might not be the guardian he once was, duty surmounted all.
Despite the events that transpired, the soul of a guardian lingered within him.
He sighed as he looked to the deer he had slaughtered that would now go unused, a frustrating waste. He doubted it would still be here once he returned. The denizens of this crimson forest worked fast in his absence.
"Ghost, forget the traps. We can take care of that later. Set a nav marker on that smoke and get ready for transmat." He sprinted for his sparrow and quickly jumped on the machine. Not a moment later he felt the sensation of his artificial companion connect with his nervous system.
"We've got work to do."
The ripple of gunfire echoed through the town's vacant streets, intermixed with the frenzied howls of the relentless creatures assaulting their meager wooden palisade walls. And in that moment the mayor knew, as he jogged towards the sounds of combat, ill-kept sword in hand, that he should have spent more of his annual budget on their defenses.
He watched as panicked families hurried away from the walls, hoping to take refuge in the underground shelter underneath the church, their fear and anxiety a near palpable presence in the air. In that moment he knew himself as a failure. It was his responsibility to protect these people, to ensure the prosperity of their community and make life possible way out here in the wilds of the frontier.
Yet his sedentism and the lack of incursions from the wilds had lulled him into a false sense of security.
And now his people were going to pay for his negligence.
Not without a fight. He assured himself as he reached the stairs leading up to the palisade, the ravenous howls of the beasts now deafening in such close proximity. He may not be a soldier, or even a competent warrior, but by the gods if he wouldn't try!
He arrived at the top of the steps, out of breath and red in the face. Not exactly in peak physical condition, just the effort of running here from the town hall had taken much of his stamina. Nevertheless he was adamant in his desire to protect his people. He may have failed them as their duly elected official, but he could at least try and atone for his mistakes.
A particularly loud burst of gunfire drew his gaze to the ramparts, reminding him that there was a reason he should be focusing on the battle rather than his state of health. Following the noise, he smiled weakly as he noticed the familiar figure of the guard captain as he bellowed out orders to the rest of the scattered and fearful militiamen, his rifle thundering as he unleashed salvo after salvo into the dark tide vying for purchase against the settlement's walls.
"Come on you bastards! I've got enough for all of ya!" The man snarled as his rifle split apart and transitioned smoothly into a sword that he used to swiftly disembowel a wolf-like monster attempting to surmount the staked divider.
"Captain Darius!"
The man turned and acknowledged his presence with an unsettlingly unconcerned grin.
"Salutations, Mr. Mayor. I'm glad you've decided to join us. Your presence is sure to inspire the lads!"
Ah… yes, he had almost forgot how… extravagant, the captain of the guard could be. However, currently the unusual force and unique manner of his personality was actually quite comforting to the Mayor given their immediate circumstances.
"How are we holding?" He asked, dreading the answer he would receive.
And judging from the resigned expression that briefly flashed upon the guard captain's weathered features, it was as he feared.
"The damned beasts are relentless. I've never seen them act like this before." A staccato of gunfire joined the cacophony as the man returned his weapon to its previous state and unloaded the last of his magazine into the dark tide below. "They'll be on the walls over long."
As if prophesied, the mayor's gut wrenched upon hearing wood splinter, daggered claws at last finding purchase enough to leap upwards. A massive beast soon swallowed his vision as it vaulted over the palisade, its furred form crashing aggressively into a handful of guards unfortunate enough to have been caught in its movement. The creature wasted nothing but its own impatience, its limbs swinging wildly as it savaged those unable to escape the reach of its enormous forelimbs. Fountains of blood splattered violently as it flayed the flesh from their bones, sending broken bodies sailing off the walls in either direction. They were but men, given little training and unprotected by the soul shields of true hunters. They had little chance against such a creature in close quarters.
He felt his stomach threaten to empty itself as he tried to ignore the inhuman screams of the monster's victims, whispering a prayer to the gods that their suffering would be swift.
It rose not long after, its height dwarfing even the statue of the last valian king in the town square. It was a sight ripped from humanity's collective nightmares, a beast that stood upon two legs like a man, its ebon fur drenched with the crimson lifeblood of those it had slain. Yet its bipedal stature was all it shared with the prey it hunted so relentlessly. It spared no thought, no remorse for its actions, built only to feed upon its intended targets, a biological machine born to serve only one function, one purpose.
Three distinct colors held dominance over its terrifying design, for nothing natural could possibly be so perfectly crafted for slaughter. Fur as dark as obsidian swathed its near bulletproof hide, sullied by congealed blood that matted its ferocious pelt, and what set it apart from any real animal, was the unsettlingly white plates of bone erupting from its flesh.
The Mayor could see its eyes, wild and yellow and bearing nothing but endless hate for all things mankind, sunken deep into the protruding skull plate that protected the feral brain inside its lupine pate.
The living weapon flung itself at him, its movements near impossible to discern amidst the unbelievable speed it possessed. Fear finally gave way to the desire for survival, the man throwing himself to the side to avoid the fatal claws of the abomination on its warpath. He remembered, even then, what little he had learned during his mandatory service in the militia, and swiped his sword upwards, catching the beast on its breastbone.
And he watched… in abject horror, as his rusted blade snapped uselessly upon its bone hardened partial carapace. Here he was to die for having neglected not only his duties as a mayor, but for ignoring the maintenance of his blade.
A slight sting of pain sliced across his side as the unbelievable length of its claws nicked him, a rather embarrassing groan of pain slipping past his lips as he dropped to the wooden gantry and cradled his torn flesh, attempting to keep the blood from spilling through his fingers.
A guttural growl tore into his thoughts, his brain experiencing the very primal fear reserved for when man encountered something so much higher up the food chain than himself. He was struck frozen, helpless to watch as the beast drew nearer, its jaws split apart in a feral rictus of pleasure, near enough to a smile if he had the presence of mind to dwell upon it. He could not decide what was worse, its existence, or that it was sentient enough to take satisfaction in its bloodshed.
Bloody drool leaked from its open maw, pearlescent canines as sharp as razor wire glistening with its ravenous appetite. The beast salivating as it contemplated its next meal with unnervingly attentive relish. At this distance he could smell death oozing from it, a nauseating array of odors, the coppery scent of blood and the foul stench of ruptured organs.
Yet in that moment, all the man could imagine were the children and families that would soon be gazing upon a similar sight, people he had known for years, people he was responsible for.
And for the briefest of instants, a death defying rage overcame him. He grabbed the handle of his broken blade and mustered his resolve through the pain of his injury, rising to meet this atrocity despite the fear that made his legs quiver. If this was to be his end, he would face it as a man, not a coward. He would fight, if only to buy those under his protection even a second more of life.
Sensing his defiance, the wolven beast roared, a sound incapable of reproduction from a true wolf, as it charged forwards, left paw reared back to deliver a thunderous and fatal left hook that would be sure to split his body in half.
He let loose with his own, relatively inferior snarl of defiance as he leaped to meet his intended murderer, feeling an odd sense of peace as it loomed above him.
A deafening barrage of gunfire shattered his calm and he watched in stupefaction as a fusillade of bullets holed the monstrous creature before him. Under such overwhelming firepower, even its reinforced protection stood little chance and he watched as the lupine abomination was perforated by close to a thousand rounds of ammunition.
The great beast released a gargled groan, its lungs pooling with blood as it sunk to its knees, unable to fight past the obscene damage it had incurred. It fell at last five seconds later, with finality that he had not thought he would ever live to witness.
The Mayor turned his head back to see who it was that had become his savior.
"Mighty brave of you, Sir." The Guard Captain smirked as he slipped a fresh magazine into his weapon. To either side of him were two dozen other men not from the militia, wielding a mix of weaponized farm tools and mismatched firearms. "I think I know who has my vote next election. Jorge Ramey can kiss my ass."
He chuckled, a peel of perhaps senseless laughter at his near death experience slipped out of him as he was helped to his feet, the sounds of battle growing louder as the defenses were bolstered by the new arrivals. Death had come closer than ever it had before, and yet, just how long was this to last? How soon before he gazed down another pair of maddened eyes?
"I have some men rigging the entrance to the underground shelter, a few charges ready to blow out the foundations of the church above it." The captain's smile was not as lively as it had been a moment ago. "Hopefully it won't come to that. But if it does, I'd like to hope the Grimm won't find them."
The mayor looked outwards, to the veritable sea of darkness lapping against their walls, hundreds could be seen, beowolves by the dozens, creeps without number, and a small pack of ursas scattered about the horde.
They couldn't hold, not against this.
"Your family will survive Darius." He looked to the other man, resting a hand upon his shoulder. "Now we just have to make sure we will too."
But that didn't mean they wouldn't try.
From what he found at the site of the smoke clouds, the guardian almost wished he hadn't decided to come here, fearing that he was far too late to be of any help to these people.
Leaving his sparrow to idle at the edge of the wooded fields a kilometer outside the town, he stepped off the machine, his boots crushing heated ash underfoot as he drew his longbow. He could feel the heat from the fires against the skin on his face, and the smell of conflagration was almost choking, even from this distance.
Walls made of wood burned well it would seem.
He knew not what desperation had possessed the defenders to put their own fortifications to the torch, but he could only imagine it had either occurred as an accident amidst the chaos of battle, or at the realization that they had little choice otherwise.
Yet it seemed the tactic was met with moderate success. There may have been a substantial horde laying siege, but for the moment there was a surreal peace haunting the field as the monsters patiently waited for their time to move.
All would end when the fires died.
Yet the flames still raged, keeping the beasts of darkness from climbing the burning battlements. That was, at least until it burned itself out. At which point the villagers would lose whatever protection they had surrendered. It must have been a hard decision to choose between a fight at the walls or a bid for time.
Fortunately, their efforts would not go unanswered.
The guardian took a knee at the edge of the clearing, gathering his preparedness while the beasts as of yet remained unaware his presence. But that was soon to change as he would see to. Unloading his quiver, he planted the thirty odd arrows he had carried, into the dirt beside him, heads down and fletching up, close enough to reach for and still maintain his aim.
This seems like a really bad idea.
"Duly noted." He grunted softly, notching his bow with the first shaft. Targets were plentiful, but his ammunition was not. He'd have to aim in accordance to priority, and hope he eliminated enough of the largest opposition before things got really… really ugly.
A calm exhale… and release.
The whistle of his arrow cutting through air was satisfying, watching it punch through an ursa's skull… even more so. The entire mentality of the horde shifted like a spinning dime on a countertop as the great bear collapsed with an inarticulate growl of confusion and pain.
There was a new threat, and he could almost see as their collective, remedial intellect attempted to recognize it.
He would not give them the chance.
His bow intoned its dirge of death as he yanked and fired his arrows in quick succession, each deadly missile finding purchase in the throats and skulls of the largest and most dangerous of the creatures before him.
Death was instantaneous.
Fifteen seconds passed before he expended the upturned contents of his quiver, fifteen seconds, and thirty-four very dead abominations. His efforts did little over all against the sheer plentitude of their numbers, but it was the quantity he sought to remove, but the quality.
Those that remained, in spite of their collective mass, were mostly inexperienced and newly formed, given the minimal armoring and smaller statures from those who had wandered the world long enough to assemble some form of sentience but little else. Of the creatures of Grimm, he perhaps knew more than most. This should be expected considering he had been combating their kind for centuries.
He knew intensely the futility upon waging war against an adversary literally without number; it was a war of the likes he had fought long before he came to be stranded upon this world. But it was not one he would ever give up fighting, not when there were those that had need of him.
His arrows expended, and his longbow functionally useless, he set the weapon aside as the tides of Grimm turned about communally to overcome this newest target. While the walls burned they had nothing but time, and something to utilize it upon, even their primitive cognition was aware enough to realize that.
As the fastest of their number approached in a swelling pack of bounding beasts, he unsheathed the small blade he kept at his side, palms to forearms lighting ablaze with golden energies that burned so brightly as to nearly outshine the sun itself, the conflagration rose steadily until it eclipsed his stature, encompassing the man within a shell of arcane fire. It was a sight of revealed power that slowed the advance of the rampaging Grimm, if but for a moment before their hardcoded desire to kill and rend overrode the portion of their rudimentary minds that controlled the fight or flight response.
As the handle of the small blade rested snug within his hand, his left curled closed around the spectral haft of a fiery hammer, and he shuddered upon the rush of vitality and power that now seethed through his veins. It had been so long since he need embrace The Traveler's gift, that for the swiftest of moments he was nearly overcome by the sensation, as if he had been born again unto the fires of battle, a reinvigorating sentiment that flickered briefly in the embered hollows of his soul. His very form was illuminant with celestial energies, and as the first Grimm charged to meet him it was beaten back by the harsh light that emanated from his physique.
The creep lurched away from him, its hide smoking simply from its close proximity as it stumbled to the dirt at his feet. It lived no longer than that, a small knife parsing its throat with practiced ease. The remainders of its pack leaped back from his glimmering aura that they could hardly bear to stand, circling around as they searched for a weakness to exploit, unwavering against the significant threat they now faced. Though they might feel fear, the creatures of Grimm did not retreat.
There were those, however, amongst the Grimm that did not mirror such abhorrence, a massive lupine monstrosity, its heavily plated form marking it as one of the few creatures present that had lived long enough to earn its right to alpha. The beowulf howled its dissent, more enraged than fearful of the aversion his mere presence enforced, as it swung a furred limb bulging with corded muscle and killing intent.
Where most might have balked at its incensed charge, the guardian rose to meet the challenge, a fearsome roar of rage rising from his lungs as he oscillated his celestial hammer, his voice amplified by his spirit and driven to near deafening volume by the make and manner of his resolve.
The two forces, hardened cranial bone plate and unyielding guardian power, met in a percussive thunderclap that sent a miniature shockwave roiling from the point of contact.
And one had been found wanting.
The mayor knew not what to believe when he heard the sounds of enraged Grimm snarl and bark outside the blazing walls of their small town. He would have liked to believed, to hope, it was because help had come. But logic dictated that hope as foolish. They had chosen to live out here to separate themselves from the crumbling and stiflingly oppressive nature of the kingdoms of man, content to live out the twilight of their species within their walls.
It could be said that the kingdoms and the settlements that existed without from their borders, did not often, if ever, see eye-to-eye. They had sent out their emergency beacon of course, the fear of death did still temper pride. Nevertheless no one expected an answer, other than a derisive communication about how they had been warned of the dangers.
And while their walls slowly burned to ash, granting the defenders even an hour more to breathe and live before they met their end at the clutches of the Grimm, the mayor wondered, however briefly, if the kingdoms had really been right.
Did they deserve this for trying to go against that which kept their species alive? Was this the brother gods showing them the folly of their ways?
He knew not, and he doubted he would live long enough to ever discover the truth.
Yet even as he contemplated his failings and mortality, he heard the cacophony of the Grimm grow only louder. For a moment he wished that he could have stood upon the walls to see what it was that caused them to stir so violently. But the flames were as an effective deterrent to them as the creatures that they had been meant to ward away.
"What in the bloody hells is going on out there?" Captain Darius demanded with a bewildered turn to his face, the man emulating a confusion found within the men and women of the militia readying their final stand at the village square. Carts and merchant stalls had been dragged and assembled to block street access, unused lumber and desperate craftsman had seen a smaller palisade born into creation to wall off their improvised fort.
The mayor moved to stand at the entrance to their makeshift gate, standing nervously as he tightened his grip around the blade he had taken from the corpse of a fallen farmhand. He strained his ears to hear beyond the muffling confines of the cluster of buildings around them and the crackling fire from the walls that burned.
It was then he heard a sound that filled him with unsure emotion, a deep boom that reverberated through the air and shook the ground at his feet, an explosion that could not have possibly been produced by Grimm. The noise was followed by everything he had learned recently to identify as battle, specifically combat between the Grimm and an outside force. Lights flashed from behind the walls, brief flares of golden imagery that always preceded a rise in the discordance of sound outside their town.
Valorous warcries followed the violent affair, issued not from a Grimm's throat, but that of a man, loud and defiant and inspiring. Hope, anticipation, belief, all of these things swelled inside him as he realized what he was hearing.
"Captain!"
"Already on it." The man declared as he shouldered his weapon, and with a curt gesture of his head, gathered a small squad of the more able militiamen to follow as he jogged down the street to the gates that still burned.
The mayor followed, perhaps out of the rush of elation he felt at their highly probably chance of survival. Though he convinced himself it was his duty to be present in any situation that would develop, no matter the outcome. Perhaps more he just wished to see who it was that come to their rescue.
A short jaunt through the streets set them at the gates to the village, burning as they were from the militia's attempt to keep the Grimm at bay. This close to the walls the sounds of battle were undeniable, a furious harmony of human spirit pitted against the soulless nature of their adversaries that could be heard despite the overwhelming crackle of the inferno.
Yet the sounds dwindled and anxiety rose. Unable to see past their walls, and wary of opening their gates to invite the Grimm inside, it was a choice to take the risk, or wait once more. The decision, was in actuality, simple to make. The walls would not stand forever, regardless of what they chose.
And from the newfound sense of bravery he seemed to have gained from this whole affair, he would rather go out fighting alongside those brave enough to risk their lives, than cower a minute more behind walls that were already burning around them.
"The gate…" He swallowed heavily, dragging his tongue across lips chaffed by the fire's omnipotent heat. "Open the gate."
Darius nodded firmly, appearing to perhaps imitate his resolve, and they watched and waited as a pair of men hurried through the flames and pulled the wooden gateway apart.
All those present tensed.
They waited, for the onrush of dark beasts to overwhelm them, they readied for battle, expecting the Grimm to seek out the opening they had made.
Yet in the apprehensive minutes that followed there was no action taken by the creatures of darkness. It was then that they realized the sounds outside had ceased completely, a dead silence but for the fires around them.
The mayor, readying his blade and resolve both, was the first to take the risk. The man stepped outside, eyes roving for any sign of the monstrous host that had waylaid their town, only to see the aftereffects of an enormous battle. Great swaths of upturned dirt had been torn from the ground, matched only by the massive strips of scorched earth that still seeped smoke from between the charred cracks. It was as if a god had lashed the outskirts of the village with a flaming whip. The devastation was unlike anything he had ever seen before in his life… apocalyptic.
No monsters in sight, he stepped out unto the broken fields and desolate farmland, trying to understand what he was witnessing before him. This kind of thing… that wasn't possible from mere men. There must have been a huntsman, though he did not see one. That was the only way he could see to rationalize… this.
There were no bodies. The grimm after all left no corpses to speak of once they were slain. No sign to speak of what happened here other than the proof written into the earth. He expected at least to find their savior, dead or alive they should be here. Yet there was no one. The Grimm had been slain, but their slayer had either been a ghost, or had departed for an unknown reason.
This confused him, as he could not understand why they would expend so much effort, but not bother to follow through, to even look for reward as huntsman often did. Nevertheless as he looked back to his town, one that despite all it had endured would get to survive that much longer. He felt gratitude for whoever it was that have them another chance.
If anything this was proof that perhaps they could not entirely make it on their own, at least not indefinitely. Maybe he should reconsider the offer he had been given, whether or not his community was interested.
It was time… he decided as he gazed upon the scattered flames and ravaged fields… to make a call.
You did good work today, Guardian.
"You can get out of my head now." He muttered in answer to the machine that soon appeared beside him, a tired sigh slipping past his lips as he returned his sparrow to its makeshift shed. Even in his bitterness he was glad of what he had done, he may not believe in the direction taken by this world's inhabitants, but that did not mean he would refrain from protecting them when they erred. It was his duty, more than that he had made a promise to someone, one where he would die before he broke it.
"The Vanguard would be proud, An-"
"DON'T…" He hissed, teeth barred and knuckles cracking from the tightness of his grip. Caught by the rage that had been inflamed by the ghost's intended words, he made an effort to calm himself before speaking again. "Don't say that name. It belongs to a dead man."
The little machine studied its guardian, the blue glow of its mono-eye flickering. "Of course, Guardian. My apologies."
"It is… it is alright." He sighed, calming the trembling of his hands and stepping out from the shed to enter his home. "That was a long time ago friend, I'd rather we not revisit that."
His companion did not respond, though it dutifully followed him into the cabin, floating across the living area and into the room it had taken for itself. He watched it go, a thin-lipped grimace upon his expression as he let another, longer winded sigh pass through his lungs.
He may have been a guardian, but he hardly ever seemed to act like one.
Approaching the fireplace, he moved his chair in front of the humble brickwork and sat down, his eyes lingering upon hands that had yet to stop shaking, what he knew was caused by something more than his anger.
Though he should not feel exhaustion, this was somewhat different, a soul aching deepness that seemed engraved within his bones, a lingering weakness that a titan should never feel, a pallor of coldness unsuited for one whose light once blazed like an untamed fire.
He was, in point of fact, tired.
He reached within his leather cuirass, pulling out the medallion underneath, the mere presence in his hands enough to calm their quavering. It was a simple thing, black steel plated with an engraving from his order. He gazed upon the pair of wolves, and their endless watch upon the world tree, a reminder of what he had lost, and what would never again come to be.
It has been… too many years.
He could see his reflection within the polished metal, silvered eyes that no longer shone with life and fervor, a face far too young for one so old. He wished, in that moment, for slumber, even if it meant the dreams would come back.
As long as it freed him from the agony of thought
Up high within an alabaster tower was a man who had a presence within the web of intrigue that spun across the surface of Remnant. His designs were ever shifting and his plans as immutable as the seasons.
It was then, as he sat preparing for the year ahead for the school upon which he based all of his influence and ability, that he received a call, or more rather a call from a call from a call, a trail of information that trickled to him from one of his many, many sources scattered about the kingdoms, both within and without.
A slight purse of his lips appeared as he ended the communication and waited for the package to upload. As his device pinged completion, that the requested material had been transferred, he opened the file and skimmed through, his slight turn of lips soon shifting into a very noticeable smile.
Moving a hand away from his scroll, he took a sip from the mug at his desk, the flavorful and oh so delicious taste of coco adding another layer sweetness to this unexpected present.
"How… interesting."
AN: So this crazy idea struck me while I was reading and listening to some fantastic music. I know its probably not my usual fair, but I am hoping that if I branch off a little, if I kind change the routine, that I might recover some inspiration for a lot of my other stuff. It might be working because I slammed this baby out in like two days. It may not be the next chapter for Legacy, or the other two stories I've been working on lately, but don't worry I am very much still working on them. I hope that you guys might like this, and if it takes off well enough I might upload another chapter pretty soon, because at the moment I've got a hankering for this particular tale.
Keep the faith!