(A/N: Sorry for the delay, life has been getting in the way. As always, major thanks to my ghost editor.)
10
"Silver Future"
EW 25+
Months passed with meticulous planning and constantly tweaking the chaos that ebbed and flowed through this place. Runes, both destructive and beneficial, were etched secretly all over the base. Friends were made within the right groups and patterns established; bribes and favors spread out, threats when the first two didn't work. Through it all, the repulsively twisted voice whispered, demanding to be fed the souls it was promised. The amulet itself had been stashed away right where it would be needed.
As part of the pattern he had created, Strife would walk through the nursery at least once a day. At first it had been discouraged, but once the humans had noticed the newborns and infants, especially the second phase Battleborn, settled down and were easier to handle, they started encouraging it. Truthfully though, he had been going through the reborn Nephilim, remembering the atrocities they perpetrated in addition to the general genocide and threat to the Balance. They seemed almost excited when he would pick one of them up and trace a naming rune on their bodies, acknowledging who and what they were. After he left the nursery, he would find an excuse to go beyond the walls and go hunting. Demons, angles, feral humans.. It didn't matter what he hunted as long as he was able to work out his issues.
Finally the day had arrived. He kept to his normal routine, including going out hurting after his nursery visit. It was past sunset when he returned, which would make what was about to happen more of a mess. Sitting in his assigned room Strife delved into the Chaos, tracking the currents till he found what it was he was looking for. Normally he would have Grief with him, but he didn't have that luxury and too many questions would be asked. Plus he needed to be somewhere he could be found easily, thus his room was the best choice. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the chaos energy and pulled with all his abilities, skill and energy then shoved. It was like pulling the support out from under an already unstable structure. Chaos surged and roiled like never before, creating deadly whirlpools of chaotic energy. He held on as long as he could, twisting and tangling the energies he had stirred up before he let go, feeling so drained that he slumped back and let himself pass out.
It could have been hours or just a few minutes, but the sudden ceaseless pounding on his door, a newborn's wailing and the fear lace voice screaming his name brought Strife to his feet in an instant. Stumbling, still exhausted to the point where all he wanted to do was lay down again, he reached the door and yanked it open. "What?!" he snarled, or so he thought anyways. It came out more of a slurred 'wha…'. Blinking to try and clear the fog from his sight, he almost fumbled when a tiny cloth wrapped bundle was shoved into his arms. The newborn's wail died off when he automatically brought it up to his chest, hands cradling its body protectively. He sucked in a breath, shocked to a full wakefulness and clarity when skin to skin contact was made. Sight whited out and sound fell into silence as he was drawn into the maelstrom of unfamiliar but not forgotten emotions and sensations.
The sound of the base klaxon was the first thing he heard as he slowly became aware again. It sounded dull and distant at first before gaining in volume and clarity. The second sense that returned was touch as he felt a steady heartbeat of an infant and tiny puffs of air as its breath ghosted across the crook of his shoulder and neck. Taste and smell returned simultaneously as he tasted ashes and copper while blood, fire and cordite stung his nostrils, under it was the smell of a newborn, horse and sweet hay. When his final sense of sight returned everything was deeply shadowed with the flickering of flames in the distance danced and wavered. Grief's form stood highlighted in the opening of her stall, turing her pure white coat to a dull gray.
"He's coming around finally," a female voice said from the other side of Grief.
The Horseman's steed turned and walked back to her rider. Lowering her head she scented the pair, her warm breath ghosting over bare skin before she nuzzled the side of his head then lipped at his hair. Satisfied she backed up and turned to stand guard once more at the opening of the stall.
Shadows shifted as Strife gathered his feet under him and used the wall to help stand. "Wha…." he coughed at the foul taste that made itself known and spit to clear it from his mouth. "What happened?" he asked looking down at the infant in his arm. It was a tiny thing, easily held in both hands, fragile yet far stronger than anyone could know.
"You happened, my friend," the shadows said. Movement of air and shadows as dark hued wings folded against the speaker's back. "Remind me to never, as the humans say, piss you off. You're damn scary enough with ranged weapons but your other form.. You don't even need a line of sight to take out your targets."
Names and faces finally matched up in Strife's still somewhat confused mind. His other form was supposed to be heavy artillery support, able to lay down long range bombardment of variable sizes, not a sniper. It was something he'd have to look into at a later time, for now though, he needed to find out what happened. "Denea? Mikeal? What happened?" The pair exchanged looks before parting to let the gunner see for himself.
Most of the base itself was untouched by the disaster. The rest were smoldering ruins around what appeared to be a pillar of flames. Organized chaos as personnel and soldiers battled the flames to keep it from spreading again. Tents were popping up as the overflow of injured came trickling in. The sound of weapon discharging as demons and feral humans attempted to take advantage of the situation echoed off of thick barriers and walls.
"How bad is it?" Strife asked as he leaned against his steed, mindful of the infant in his arms.
It was Denea who answered this time. "From the reports I've heard, the entire nursery was obliterated with the initial explosion and part of the breeder's quarters. All but one of the phase two infants were killed," she said as she looked pointedly at the child in the Horseman's arms.
"Oh… damn…" Strife uttered.
Mikeal edged a little closer to the Horseman, craning his neck as he tried to get a peek at the child. "So… boy, girl? What does it look like?" He asked. Before he received an answer they were rudely interrupted by shouts of 'Lay down your weapons' and 'hand it over' as weapons were readied.
"What in the nine hells are they thinking," Denea said before stepping between the trio in the stall and the soldiers. "I want the base commander or whoever's alive that's in charge down here ASAP! If you think you can just charge in there and take that infant away from him, then you're dead and too stupid to know it."
Both groups were at an impasse as they waited for the highest ranking officer that had survived, be it the base commander or someone else. As the minutes ticked by in tense silence, the source of the flames was located and shut down and the smaller fires brought under control and extinguished. It was almost dawn when the highest ranking officers were finally located and informed of the situation. The senior most ranking officer turned out to be from Logistics, a sidelined combat vet with too much experience to just retire completely. Nobody cared that a few body parts were missing if the job got done and supplies didn't go missing. The scared up officer, within minutes of arriving on scene, had everything sorted out and dealt with, with maximum efficiency. Strife and Company were sent to one of the infirmary tents along with one of the admin clerks to record the information while the soldiers were sent scurrying to secure the walls where a hoard of feral humans had gathered.
Reluctantly, Strife handed the infant over to a waiting nurse. He hovered like a looming storm as one of the program doctors examined the child and the admin clerk took down the dictation.
After the basics were recorded (sex, weight, time, etc), the doctor went into details. "The female has no additional limbs and doesn't show evidence of possible growth at a later stages. There are no horn nodules evident under the skin at this time either. Skin color is an ashe grey hue which could lighten or darken with age. The child does not have any hair so color is unknown. Eye color will be unknown until the child is older but shows signs that a pupil will be detectable." While the doctor made his examinations, he handled the now screaming child with a clinical detachment. "Now that physical descriptions are out of the way…" he stepped back, indicating for a nurse to take care of the infant when he was shouldered out of the way with the same attitude he'd given the infant.
Strife, who stood head and shoulders above the average local human, slid up to the examination table, unmindful of the doctor. He dropped and softened his voice as he spoke to the infant, "Hey hey.. You're ok. No need for that. There you go…" He took the proffered damp cloth and gently wiped the girl down before wrapping her up in a swaddling cloth. "What do you intend to name her?" he asked out loud.
"Oh… um… her mother was… ummhmm.. And the sire…" The doctor flipped through a sheaf of papers talking to himself before taking a pen and making a few more notes. "The infant is designated Battleborn Phase two Gen one Chi Alpha Chi Upsilon."
Strife blinked. "What?"
"The infant is a Battleborn Phase Two Gen one product. It was determined that a new designation be used. So Chi for the twenty second live birth of this group, alpha for female (good chance to be a breeder), mother was the twenty second child produced by the demon bloodline and the father was the twentieth produced by the angel. So Chi Alpha Chi Upsilon." The doctor explained as if it was a logical conclusion as to what the child would be designated. "Speaking of.. Did either parent survive? I want to get more breeding done between the pair… the product is quite exceptional….."
Mikeal, who'd been hovering close to the tent entrance, quickly stepped in before the Horseman had a chance to do the doctor any harm. "Thank you," he said as he plucked the bag containing some necessary supplies from one of the assistants. He made sure Strife had the child in hand before hustling him out of the tent. "Denea?" he called jerking his head in the direction of the open tent.
"Go, I'll take care of em. Just don't do anything too stupid."
"Your quarters are totaled for now so we'll head to mine," Mikeal muttered as he lead the gunner to another part of the base. Once they were in his quarters, he knew what needed to be done. "Name the child, Strife," he said as he pulled a small table into the middle of the room and started tracing runes and symbols into the air above it. "She needs to be Named if she's to be protected. She's not blood kin to either of us, but even I can tell she is gonna be something uniquely powerful when she gets older."
Strife looked down at the face of the now quiet girl in the crook of his arm and swallowed. He remembered seeing the Naming Ritual performed by his brother but was never asked to do it himself. "But I'm not…"
"I'm not a Firstborn either, so it doesn't matter. Now Name her before someone else has a chance." He started a soft sing-song chant in ancient Angelic, giving power to the runes and symbols he had crafted.
Nodding once, Strife lay the infant down on the table carefully then unwrapped her. He brought up a hand and started tracing a second set of runes and symbols in the air above the infant. "Vengeance. Your Name will be Vengeance." He paused for a moment then traced a third set of runes across her body. "Until times comes when Vengeance is called forth to Duty, I will call you Xaxu. As will your family, your friends and anyone you call ally." He uttered the final word/syllable/sound in ancient Nephilim, completing the Naming ritual.
Mikeal ended his own chant with a Word of Power, completing his part of the Naming.
All the runes and symbols glowed brightly for a heartbeat then vanished. Only evidence that they ever were, was the faintest glimmer like a dusting of fairy wings across the child's skin.
Deep within the Black Throne, Azreal the Angel of Death lifted his head a moment then returned to his contemplation of events leading up to the here and now. In the Kingdom of the Dead, the Lord of Bones stirred in his sleep, the corner of his mouth curled up in annoyance before all was still once more. And the Crow Father smiled secretly as he looked down into the Well of Souls, tracking one particular soul out of the millions that drifted within it, as he brushed solid seeming fingers across the breast feathers of a crow.