Kins sat in the mess hall, alone in the corner, and glared at Cav from beneath his cap and above a cup of hot water. There were so few 89th boys left, so few. They were mostly playing cards, Cav included, or chatting. Kins remembered when there were a hundred of them and there were not enough decks of cards to go around. Though he had no liking to these shotstoppers, it was still disheartening to see their numbers fall.
Cav had survived, thorugh a battle that was supposed to be impossible, for an entire afternoon and into the evening, he had fought on against the orks. His young comrades had massacred the enemy, despite Mhal's assurances that they were all to die. Now, Cav was still a disgsting strawhead Halivorian who stunk of treachery like an unwashed latrine stunk of excrement. But he was a very good soldier. Kins felt some respect for Cav, though still disliked him.
"Sir?" It was Husky. "I think we have it sir, I think we've got some noise." Kins was on his feet fast. Though Mhal had left early in the morning with his squad to go "scout," Kins was determined not to draw attention. He'd been doing this in secret since they got here. Now was the perfect time for the problems to be fixed, with nosy Mhal out of the way. Kins followed Husky to a storage closet on the other side of the Water Dog's underground village.
"Have you gotten command?" asked Kins as he pushed thorugh the maze of boxes to the back, where two other 112th troopers were tending to one of the vox sets that had been wrecked. It was hissing softly: a good sign that the machine spirit was pleased. Kins ducked down and patted the vox set, to calm the spirit in case he had startled it.
"Now, please do not be alarmed. We may not have done the rites perfectly, but we have eased your pain," Kins said to the spirit of the vox-caster. "Please, give my men and I a chance." They fiddled with the frequency.
"Urbanis 5? Urbanis 5? This is Commissar Kins, attached to the 112th Morchaghan in Urbanis 1," Kins said. "Is anybody there?" He looked at the settings. "Try the frequency for commissariate command…" wait, the guardsmen didn't know it. Kins rolled the knobs and patted the overworked vox-set. "Command? Come in command, this is Commissar Kins, attached to the 112th Morchaghan in Urbanis 1," the commissar asked.
"Commissariate office. Go ahead Kins," crackled the voice, produced by the sorcery of the machine's spirit. Kins laughed.
"Is that you Schennder?" Kins asked.
"Yes sir," coms-officer Schennder replied, "How can I help you? Not got stuck in a hole again, are you?"
"Actually…" Kins cleared his throat. "There's something I need done. I need you, or someone, to go over to the logic engine and access the records vault."
"One moment."
If Mhal burst in now, by the Emperor, Kins would shoot him.
"Okay?" Schennder asked, "the engine is ready."
"Record this access of the banks under my name," Kins said. There was a pause as Schennder did so. "Got it?"
"It says I have to enter a password," Schennder explained. Kins nodded, looking at the three troopers around him. When he chose his password, he didn't expect to ever tell it to someone else. Kins sent the guardsmen outside. "Kins? Are you there?"
"Yeah. Alright, a password?Type in…" Kins hoped he didn't sound too foolish. "Type in K-I-N-S-T-H-E-S-E-X-M-A-C-H-I-N-E." Pause.
"Okay?" Schennder sounded amused.
"Now pull up the service records for all stormtrooper units from the past 30 years."
"Alright."
"Do you see the 69th or 5178th Stormtrooper comapanies listed?" Kins asked. A pause.
"I see them, I see them both," replied Schennder. Kins looked at the list of names he'd gotten off the helmets of the stormtroopers in Mhal's unit.
"Access the service record of the troops from the 69th," Kins said.
"Got it. So what should I do?"
"What is the current status of…" he read the first name. "Trooper Cholav Sineski?"
"Killed in action."
"Trooper Antonial Trevvanay?"
"Killed in action."
Six more names were read out and he got the same three-word reply to each. When Kins was done, not one man in the 69th squad that Mhal commanded was alive. He grinned triumphantly to himself as he ordered Schennder to pull up the records for the 5178th company.
"What is the current status of Sergeant Mhal Dannit?" asked Kins. Pause.
"There seems to be no record of a sergeant Mhal Dannit," replied Schennder. Kins nodded.
"Got you, you bastard," he whispered.
Moments later, Kins burst into Osprey's room, hand on his chainsword, though not drawing it. His eyes were as sharp as the old commander's namesake. His eyes flashed like the sun and his coat spread out around the clean-shaven man in two leathery folds of black wings. Osprey shrunk beneath Kins, his hairy face showing surprise.
"I…what is wrong commissar?" Osprey asked. Most people, he'd ask to screw off and kick out the door. Osprey had been changing his shirt when Kins stormed in.
"Where is Mhal?" Kins demanded, his voice sharp enough to make Osprey's ears bleed.
"I swear, I really swear, I don't know where commissar," Osprey replied, "you have something you want to talk…" He raised his hands as two 112th troopers marched in, guns up. "Woah! Woah! This isn't really needed." Kins raised his pistol and pointed its barrel into Osprey's forehead. The big man quieted himself and remained calm.
"Now tell me some things I want to know, Osprey and this won't be too hard," Kins was as calm as a pond. "Who in hell is Mhal Dannit and why is he not listed in the roster or with the archives?"
"He's not?"
"No, and don't play stupid with me, I know when a man's making up what he's spitting out," Kins snapped back, "Mhal Dannit isn't anywhere on the records with the 5178th and all the men he's leading are listed as KIA. Don't expect me to believe that you didn't know that." Osprey said nothing. "What?" Kins gave his pistol a threatening shake. "You've seen how Dannit's men hide behind their ghostly suits and say nothing. What are they? They don't act human. You've noticed that, surely noticed that. And you've never found out? Who is Mhal Dannit?"
"Kins…"
"Who is Mhal Dannit!" Kins hissed.
"You really want to know all I know about him?" Osprey asked. "He's at war with one of the local resistance groups, one of the ones nearest to the bleeding mountain. The Temple Guards is what they go by. They're violent scavangers and Mhal wants them taken out to a man. Look, I know he might not be a real stormtrooper, but he's a good fighter and a good ork killer. He helps us and we accept it and you'd accept it too if you were stuck here surrounded by these greenskins." Kins didn't lower his gun.
"What do you know about them?"
"Only what Dannit tells me," Osprey shrugged. "He says they're fanatics…"
"Like Halivorians?"
"Never used that word, but guys devoted to a mountain sacred to the hill clans who have a violent tendency to Imperials, yeah, I think maybe." Kins narrowed his eyes. "The whole truth, every word. There's a lot of bandits in these ruins, but the Temple Guard are violent to everybody. They killed a pair of my guys a week before you arrived. But you came to kill orks." Kins nodded and lowered his pistol
"We're going to take care of you dogs until Mhal comes back, then we'll have a nice chat with him and his faceless boys," Kins nodded and Osprey was helped out the door by the two 112th. "Then we'll see what Mhal's hiding."
…
Under Lystartro's supervision, the Water Dogs were rounded up and confined to a number of the large caverns that carried pools of groundwater. The Water Dog fighters were pounced upon when unarmed or at rest. Many of them, reclining against a wall or in a bunk found lasguns to their chins and voices in their ears telling them to get up. The civilians were herded in big knots.
"You bastard men! You're all going to suffer at the Emperor's hands when he gets his hands on you!" Yueka cursed, kicking and biting as she was manhandled into a cavern. It took a few men and the stocks of their weapons to calm her down. The last Water Dog was herded into captivity and guards were posted. Lystartro and Arcantillius discussed their next move in the mess hall, now their headquarters. Mhal and a few 89th watched the entrance for Mhal.
"I still can't believe it," Tigerson mumbled for the eleventh time. "This guy…and two companies? How did he know the first of us were coming? How did he get those arrangements?"
"Whoever the real Agent 33 is must be pissed right off at us," Curth laughed, "wow, Lystartro prolly really really REALLY feels like an idiot right now." Curth found this oddly amusing. Cav was still apparently light with shock. He didn't show it on the outside, but the words he was writing in his diary said worlds to Lytartro. He stood behind the boys behind their sandbag wall and leaned on a nearby heavy bolter, resting securely on its tripod, with a brass chain of fat explosive shells trickling down its side and into an aquilla-stamped ammo crate at its feet. To be before the mouth of this monster of a weapon made one's life flash before one's eyes.
Cav knew Lystartro was there, as he was leaning with his back to the bags. Tigerson and Curth were facing him and looking at the door, tensely waiting for Mhal to come barging through, all lasers and power sword chops. They were so tense. Cav looked up at Lystartro, then at Curth.
"So, what do you think Lystartro will say to Mhal?" asked Cav, "and, please do it in your impression of the captain's voice." Cav and Lystartro shared a private smile.
"I'm as mad as a daemon!" Curth grumbled, "man, who do you think would win? The captain, or Mhal?"
"I don't sound like that, trooper," Lystartro said, afraid he might laugh and give himself away. Curth and Tigerson jumped, but Cav laughed like a clown. "And if you want to pull off my character, I've got to lop off your hand." Cav settled down and stood up. "If you're gonna tell me you haven't seen any sign of that fake glory-boy, don't waste your air. I can see." He patted the heavy bolter. "Don't be afraid to lie him down if he gives you any problems."
"No sir," Cav straightened his posture. "Now sir, Mhal said a few things to me about suspecting Halivorians. Does Kins know?"
"He knows what Mhal's afraid of out there," Lystartro spat. "Don't be too afraid though if there are bad men out there. A few hungry rebels aren't as bad as these damned orks."
"I don't know, fighting humans…people shoot straighter than orks," Tigerson remarked.
"But humans fall when you shoot them, but orks take a lot," Cav replied.
"You've killed, like, what, ten of them?" Tigerson scoffed. "You think you could kill ten guys with guns?"
"Boys, a shot to the gut or a stab to the neck will kill you, be it a human or an ork doing it," Lystartro replied. These boys had fought orks so often, he wondered if they would be any good against human gunmen. Lystartro had fought enough of both to know how different human enemies were from greenskinned ones. "If Mhal or these rebels he hates or any other scum with lasguns gives you trouble, keep your head down and get some help outflanking him and shoot straight." Lystartro walked over to Cav. "So, everything's all fine and nice down here?"
"Yes captain," Cav answered smartly. Lystartro was grateful to have a disciplined young fighter watching the remains of the 89th groups. Lystartro was proud of Cav. Assuming his luck held out, Cav's career might outdo his own. Now, what did Lystartro come here for?
"Cav," he said suddenly, "remember, you're still responsible for Mieel." How had that little squirt lived so long alone in Urbanis 1? The 89th shotsto…the 89th PDF Volunteers was full of surprises.
"What he say?" Curth asked softly, looking almost sad. Curth had been the one who took Mieel in. He had seen how broken the boy was.
"I talked to him all day…" Cav began his story of how Mieel did nothing but sit and stare.
"…asked the lady who gave him breakfast if he had moved and she said he hadn't even done that," Cav continued, "and then Kins had us take over the Water Dogs and the rest is history."
CLANG!
Lystartro's shotgun was out and he was on one knee, eyes trained on the door.
CLANG! It sounded like something was banging on the outside. Shouts echoed around the chamber and boys jumped into position. Cav sent Curth to summon 112th troops.
"What the hell?" Lystartro could swear it was metal on metal, making that noise. The door, metal and strong, was not bending beneath the loud, shrill strikes that broke against it, but the sound could come from nowhere else.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! Lystartro pushed aside a 89th boy and manned the heavy bolter. They might be good for conscripted schoolboys, but Lystartro knew how to use one of these monstrosities. He was busy shouting directions at the nearest 89th boy on how to feed him his ammo, when the noise stopped. 112th Guardsmen swept in, guns up, but the noise was gone.
In his head, Lystartro reviewed his personal gallery of orkish adversaries and tried to identify one that matched this behavior. It seemed to him that most orks would keep bashing the door, unless it thought it would try to be cunning and look for a way to lift itself in through some other way. The smaller gretchen were not generally capable of making such loud noises. An ork walker? No, it wasn't noisy enough. Lystartro concluded that it was not an ork.
Therefore, it was either Mhal or rebels.
"Captain?" whispered Cav.
"Head down, I don't think its orks," Lystartro whispered.
A series of hollow metal sounds thumped a path across the ceiling. Feet. There must be a shaft or a pipe above their heads, likely far too narrow for a human. Lystartro's mind settled on a gretchen. He loaded his shotgun and ordered Tigerson and trooper Liev to follow him. Liev had good reflexes, Lystartro could count on him to drop a gretchen fast and clean. The three hurried into the empty halls of the Water Dog's underground town. Lystartro knew the guards were with their captives.
If his instincts were correct, this lonely gretchen was a scout, looking for humans. He'd seen this before. There wasn't much to do except kill the alien fast. The big orks were inevitable.
Then, a loud crash in one of the bunkrooms, followed by wild lasfire from within. Lystartro's mind eliminated the thought of a lonely gretchen. A 112th trooper would kill a gretchen faster than that. So what was it? Just as Lystartro reached the door, he remembered this was where Mieel was being held with a few civilian Water Dogs. He opened the door.
There was a hole in the ceiling. Mieel was in the corner, covering his eyes. Two 112th guardsmen were firing at the opposite corner, which sat beneath the freshly torn hole. The five civilians, all old women, were either dead or torn open and bleeding, slashed by blades. In the corner, sheltered behind the twitching corpse of one of its victims, was the murderer. Lystartro caught a flashing glimpse of a black spider-like shape before...
"Sir!" Liev's reactions were fast enough to pull Lystartro to one side in time. The spider thing was out in the hall with them. Tigerson jumped back from it as it leapt into the air and latched onto the ceiling. It was exploding down the hall, jumping from wall to floor to ceiling, too fast to hit. It seemed to defy gravity. It was gone in a few seconds.
"What, by the Throne?" Liev asked, blinking his burnished amber eyes. The other two were in the hall with them, guns still up.
"Where did it go?" one of them asked. Lystartro was still speechless, unbelieving of what he'd seen.
"Not an ork," he said. "Come on! We have to kill it!" They pursued the great spider down its route.
"It looked metal, captain," Tigerson remarked.
"I think so too," replied Liev,"sir, what is it?"
"I don't care what it is, I want it dead," Lystartro ran faster when he heard gunshots ahead. Running as fast as they could, they burst into the entrance chamber. Immediately Liev and Lystartro ducked down. Tigerson looked at the two men and followed their example.
The main door was open and two figures were leaning inside, lasguns in their hands, shooting in at random targets. Even as he jumped down, Lystartro heard a shattering blast and the battle intensified. He heard plenty of lasguns, but no deep chugging shots from the heavy bolters. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the spider, standing innocently behind a sandbag wall manned by 89th boys, all shooting at the door. Yes, it was a machine, dark purple with small details done in brass. It had six legs on its round body and was a little bigger than a dog. Lystartro pointed at it and just said, "kill."
He did not stay to watch. Lystartro leapt up and ran the short space to the nearest heavy bolter. He shoved aside the 89th boy who was fumbling with its trigger and unjammed the ammo belt that had been shoddily stuffed into the holy weapon.
"Feed it from the box and make sure the big girl doesn't jam!" Lystartro shouted, half to the boy he'd pushed and half to anyone else who might help him. He swiveled the great gun around to the door. The cause of the earlier blast was now clear: a crumbled hole was torn in the side of the wall, beside the door. Now a wide corridor opened into the hall and allowed these bandits entrance. Lystartro aimed and fired as the enemy, crouched amongst the rubble of the fallen wall or splitting off shots from around the wall. Explosive bolts slammed out from the great gun in short, bone breaking bursts. Both men in the doorway were shredded into red chunks of destroyed meat by the captain's deadly accuracy. When another man came into the doorway, Lystartro steadied his breathing, took aim, and let out a short burst. A bolt sledgehammered into the invader's head, bursting it into an organic red nova and toppling his headless remains to the floor. Lystartro cursed when more men came to replace the fallen. Lasrounds glanced off the sandbags he was behind and he ducked down.
Where was the spider-thing? He saw no sign of the machine, but he could almost taste the cold metal tang of its iron in his mouth. Or was that blood? Human blood, blood wasted killing these misguided attackers. Every shot taken here was a humiliation to his senses and every life lost was an insult to the Imperial Guard. Here they were, shooting at these madmen while there were still millions of orks to fight. The blood shed today not only would mark the death of one man, but paint this sewer home in the colour of failure. How dare he make this proud weapon throw death at fellow humans and how dare they come here.
"Emperor forgive me," Lystartro hissed in fury as he returned to the heavy bolter, which waited patiently for him against the storm of the firefight. Head low, Lystartro swept its burning muzzle from side to side, throwing bolts of metal death into the invaders. He did not see who he killed, if any, but could feel the lasrounds around him. Nearby, another heavy bolter began to roar: this one crewed by experienced 112th guardsmen. The barrage of explosive rounds was too much punishment for these gunmen to bear. Some were gruesomely ripped apart, their bodies emptying blood from open woulds like a slit water pouch gushed fluid. Twitching corpses and wounded, who's lives were mercilessly clinging to their shattered bones, lay in heaps where the heavy bolters left them. The few survivors broke at last, scuttling like rats from the holes they had made and into the sewers. The last of them ran, holding a dribbling stump that had once been his right arm. The gunshots ended and a thick silence prevailed.
Lystartro sighed with relief and then noticed his right shoulder had been clipped by a lasround. His uniform burned away in a small patch to show blackened, burned skin: an eternal reminder of this stupid firefight.
"Emperor damn…" Lystartro bit his lip, only now feeling the pain. "Someone get my some detox pads or anti-sceptic." He noticed a few other casualties among the 89th. One of his 112th boys had lost a finger to a round that had gone right through it and killed the lasgun it held.
"Will do sir," Liev went to get the requested items.
"Tigerson!" Lystartro shouted to the grim boy, "get Cav to count up the casualties, I want a full list of injuries." Tigerson swallowed, a sad look on his face. "Tigerson? I…" Lystartro knew that look. Back on Rynn's World, it was that face Frens had given him whenever someone suggested that Petro Kantor would rally the defenders to defeat the Waaagh during those first few weeks of battle. News of the destruction of the Crimson Fist's fortress monastery had spread really slowly. News of the chapter master's survival spread even slower. Today, the same look it meant a far less significant loss for the Imperium, but in this hole, it was a major loss for the captain.
"No," Lystartro spat under his breath. "Damn. And to some half-starved renegades too."
…
The last thing he remembered was crouching against a sandbag wall and reloading his lasgun. Then, he remembered a big metal spider jumping down beside him and then…pain. Pain in his neck. An arm with a needle on its tip hhad whipped his jugular. His hands froze up and his skin went numb. Cav felt the pressure of a thick rope of metal wrap around him like a sea monster's tentacle and hoist him atop the spider's head. Then…he was moving so fast, bumping up and down, a frozen prisoner of the leaping monstrosity. Then, he felt fainter and fainter, his vision going dark as the scampering machine fled out the door, carrying him into the hands of his newfound enemies. To be their prisoner, to be their victim, to be their slave. His imagination fed him many awful fates.
He blacked out.
A short dreamless sleep. Darkness and cold, lots of cold. Air and freshness, or was that the feeling of the outside? Where was he? Was he dead…?
"Is he awake?" asked one voice.
"Move aside." It was a girl speaking. "Please don't hurt him. We need him alive."
"Is he supposed to be out this long?" was it the same voice as before?
"Move," hissed a third voice. This one was scratchy, sharp and very unpleasant to listen to. That accent it carried, Cav did not know it. Surely it was the tongue of a daemon, to speak with the voice of a snake.
Cav opened his eyes, jolted awake by the sound of that voice, that terrible voice. His skin was tingling and he was light. Above him, the night sky looked down at him, dizzyingly vast. The cold air of the night tingled his restored nerves. The hard, jagged rubble he lay on, cold even through his uniform, hurt his back. Cav sat up.
There were nine people around him, dressed in commoner clothes. Two carried dim lanterns and all carried lasguns or smaller, cheaper guns. One was a girl around his age, slim and pretty, even with her hair cut to her scalp. He did not need to guess who had woken him with that cold voice.
He was a young man, pale skinned, with a hard, ruthless stare through bloodshot eyes. He wore a long black coat, with tight-fitting metal boots and gauntlets, suggesting he wore a metal suit beneath his coat. When he spoke, his lips revealed fangs. He wore a hood that clung to his head like a shadow. Apart from his short black hair on his head and eyebrows, this stranger had no hair anywhere else. All the other men had messy beards, but this man was shaven perfectly.
"He is the one, I promise you Sectraa," said one of the men, with messy black hair. The rugged brute was leaning on a scoped rifle with a wooden stock. "Check his tattoo." Sectraa? Was that his name? It was like no name Cav had ever heard. Cav shrunk before the gaze of the hooded man who stalked up to him and stared down into his eyes. Cav saw no humanity in this man, this pale Sectraa. Cav knew at once this man was the man Mhal had feared above the orks. The orks? What orks? The only danger Cav saw were these raiders, who eclipsed his futre.
"You are who we are looking for," Sectraa snarled, his voice as cold and binding as a shackle. Like saying those words would make it so. He raised one gauntlet and cruel talons extended from its fingers. Cav tensed as Sectraa leaned down to his shoulder and used his talons to shear off Cav's sleeve. He pulled the loose uniform off and smiled triumphantly at his tattoo. "Angelspear? Right boy?" Cav didn't speak.
From the shadows came the spider-like machine, that tackled Cav's chest and pinned him to the ground. Sectraa stood over him and slit a small patch of Cav's cheek open.
It hurt! It hurt! It hurt so much! Those talons had to be coated with venom to bring so much pain with one little laceration. Cav screamed, wanting the pain to go away. He heard the girl plead with Sectraa.
"Stop, we need him. You don't have to do that," she said.
"Angelspear, correct?" hissed Sectraa's offworld accent. Cav nodded gasping back his last scream and choking for air as the pain began to dull. He was left gasping.
"I'm Cavenner…Angelspear hill clan. Yes, I am Angelspear," he choked. The pain finally left and the spider-machine retreated. Sectraa gave the machine an appreciative pat before nodding to the others and pointing.
"Alright, let's get back to the temple," one of the bandits said. Cav was hoisted to his feet by a pair of these thugs and hurried along through the night. The girl, a little younger than he was, followed with him.
"You shouldn't be in PDF if you're Angelspear," she whispered. "You should be fighting for the clans, not for the offworlders. Oh, you're so lost. You poor soul." Cav blinked.
"You're Halivorians," he whispered, afraid someone might not want him talking. The girl nodded timidly.
"I'm with the Riverglade hill clan. Mobian and Snowbrow are both Riverglade too. So is Cralan over there. Harlian is from the Autumn Wind Country clan and everyone else is from Shallow Brooks." Indeed, Cav could see the Riverglade insignia tattooed on the girl's shoulder, beneath her torn jacket. He'd once seen it on a banner, when he was marching past Riverglade territory with his brothers. It seemed so friendly back then.
And the Autumn Wind Country clan, Cav thought they had pretty accents. He liked all the people he'd met from that clan just because of the way they spoke. Their cooking also fascinated him. Three of his brother's friends were hearthguard from that clan. And the Shallow Brooks hill clan, the largest of them all, Cav had met, and made friends with, a few of them when he was out trading with other clans with his family. These were all names he'd known and trusted all his life. Now here they were, twisted and poisoned by the tenants of Halivor and pointed against the Imperium.
"Are you alright?" the girl asked, "we're not going to hurt you…well, maybe Sectraa might if you give him trouble, but we're not. We just want your help, alright? Come on. You must have been one of us during the uprising. You're Angelspear." Cav didn't say anything, and the girl didn't speak further.
Perhaps it was his imagination, spurred into action at the uncertainty of what lay ahead, by as Cav was led further, he was sure he could see shifting shadows around them, lurking just beyond the lanterns on the very edge of sight. He was sure he was imagining it first, but the more he saw shifts of motion amongst the night's blackness, the more sure he was they were being followed by a handful of half-seen ghosts.
The hours of marching dragged by. Cav wondered if they were just going to walk all night. He wondered why they hadn't run into orks yet, but it seemed not matter how many kilometers of ruin they strode through, not a single greenskin ever appeared. The only company they had was the night, the silent ruins and the shadows who followed them, if they really existed. When Sectraa held up his hand after a truly long hike, Cav's legs were begging him to sit down. The whole group stopped and Sectraa walked out of the circle of light the lantern made and disappeared.
They waited for a few death-quiet moments for his return.
Sectraa shifted back out of the shadows and beckoned to one of the Halivorians. The man stepped over to him and Sectraa whispered instructions to him, gesturing one way, then pointed to Cav and gestured another way. The man nodded and Sectraa was gone, retreating back into the night.
"Okay," the man said, "Snowbrow, Mobian and Issinel, take the prisoner back to the outpost. Everyone else, follow me," he instructed. The girl, who the man had named Issinel, took a lantern and beckoned to the men escorting Cav. The four of them broke off from the main group and went down a gloomy street, lighting up grey rockcrete walls and empty windows with their lantern, before leaving them behind in shadow. Cav saw the road they walked on in a circle of light around their feet. This was an unusually intact part of Urbanis 1.
"In here," whispered Issinel, pointing to a squat, well-built structure that looked unharmed by the war.
If there had ever been any living shadows, haunting them on the way here, Cav did not see them as he was taken inside.