Chapter 36: Attempt in Vain
In the dead of the night, shielded by the shadows produced by the land mass of Skull Island and by the absence of light itself, two deadly Armada frigates lurked.
Longboats, each full of ten clockworks, appeared to be pouring out from the two frigates, hundreds of them, all of them moving in a large, collective mass towards the island. The overwhelming numbers were not necessarily needed, but given the failure of the previous mission, which had ultimately led to the capture of the Commodore Prima Militus and Captain Servus Albus, it was certainly better to be safe than sorry.
Leading this search-and-rescue mission was the Armada Marine Captain Servus Carbo of the Black Cadre, the close-combat and much stronger counterpart of Servus Albus of the White Cadre. The two were brothers, of a sort, in the way that they were specifically built to be opposites, their strengths compensating for the weaknesses of the other. To this day, the marine Captain was still confused as to why they sent Albus alone.
Although he had been with the Commodore herself, her frame was also that of a musketeer, and had he been sent along with his counterpart, their capture might have been avoided, he figured.
He knew that the Supreme Commander had always done everything for a reason and with a reason. However, this time, Carbo had failed to see the cause.
In his right hand was an ornate, yet impossibly heavy halberd which, when yielded with enough force, could slice a living human clean in half. Force of this magnitude, of course, where what the clockwork marines were engineered, built, and programmed to yield.
Curled in his left hand was a scroll of paper, handed to him by Bishop, the clockwork mage of the Elite Court, and drawn – presumably unwillingly – by Presidos Decimus. It provided the location of suspect that was to be searched, as if Decimus' captors had followed their predicted plan of action, that was where the two officers would be found.
The marine Captain stepped onto the docks as the miniature fleet of longboats began to pull up, and hundreds of soft, yet audible clanking noises could be heard as the troops of the massive squadron followed his actions.
Of course, they had already been given their orders beforehand, as waiting until now to issue them would only be a waste of time.
"We shall advance."
As Captain Servus Carbo began to move forwards, the troops behind him – mostly marines, with a few musketeers equipped with the deadly fire charges that had been used on the mission Prima had lead – fell into a block, marching in perfect time with his steps.
By now, the sounds of their movements combined would loudly announce their presence, but it was of no matter.
Let them hear us.
Let them come.
They did not stand a chance, the weak-minded pirates of the resistance. It was so simple to catch them off-guard, unprepared. All it took was a small calculation, and a carefully-placed prod in their area of vulnerability.
The only challenge the Resistance posed was that of numbers, of the sheer size and amount of pirates that had joined forces against the embracing of perfection and the eradication of any and all flaws. They could swarm and crush, which did not necessarily take much brainpower or coordination efforts, and often proved to be successful in most situations.
However, the Armada had learned from their previous error, naturally, and this time, it would not occur.
The size of the mass that accompanied Carbo ensured that.
Already, they had been seen, and the few that had were now running towards the center of the island, pounding on the doors of residents and other Resistance members, screaming in warning, screaming in fear, and as the doors were flung open and the island was gradually roused, the streets of Skull Island became flooded with hundreds of mortal, weak, flawed bodies.
He could only assume that this was what happened last time.
"Eliminate them."
Without a second's worth of hesitation, multiple lines of marines marched forwards, some stopping to form a shield around the musketeers as they loaded the fire charges into their muskets, pulling the trigger and watching as the buildings that had been in the crosshairs of their periscopes erupted into flames, causing the mass of pirates gathered in the center of the street to go into a state of hysteria.
The advancing marines, unaffected, took this opportunity to hack down several of them, kicking the remains and fragments of the bloodstained bodies out of their paths as they plowed deeper through the fray, like a bladed steamroller.
The shields of the marines were positioned to form a sort of "turtle", a tactic that the Aquillian warriors were famous for, so that the blades and charges of the pirates were deflected, rendered almost completely harmless, as they were no match against the unyielding strength of the marine clockworks.
"IT'S THEM-"
"Clockwork FIENDS!"
The sound of a sword clanging uselessly against the barrier of shields.
It mattered not to them, for they had their objective – the house that was just now coming into view, on a high-raised hill near the cliffs of the island. It was large and had an air of gloom, which was only amplified by the numerous dead trees in the near surrounding area.
Yes, as confirmed by Captain Servus Carbo – it was the house of the captors of the two Armada officers, exactly as shown by the bleeding red circle on Decimus' map. It was the second time such a fleet had been sent to this house to retrieve a precious asset – and a second time was one time too many.
This time, the captors would suffer the consequences.
The interior of the Chamberlain manor had been much quieter over the last few days, it seemed.
However, it was not the peaceful, blissful silence that one often enjoyed daily when all was fair and well.
Dangler's voice had grown hoarse, and therefore she could only manage the occasional growl or abnormal sounding squawk, her vocal chords raw from the constant shrieking. In a way, this terrified Hunter.
He had not let himself, he had not dared to unlock the door and push it open, not even slightly, for fear of confirming his wildest nightmares, the nightmares of her, his weakened, tormented Dangler, silently reaching for the door, despite the fact that she had already strained the chains to its maximum. Her wrists raw, her wrists bleeding. Her mouth opening to scream, to call out for Hunter, for Decimus, her beloved marionette, only for nothing to come out but a small trickle of blood, her vocal chords having finally been pushed too far.
And the tears.
He knew those were there, he had heard her crying.
Hunter, for one, had never seen Dangler cry. It was impossible for him to know what she actually looked like while in such a state of despair, but he could only hope that reality did her a little more mercy than his mind and now hyperactive imagination.
It was at times like these when he doubted himself most.
He despised her obsession, the way it latched onto her and consumed her slowly, feeding off of her strength and sanity until there was absolutely nothing left.
Yet, there was nothing worse than seeing her desperate.
She was not the same person, she was not a person. She was a zombie, an undead creature of sorts with one do-or-die function programmed into its brain. Hunter knew as well as anyone else that wild animals, no matter how they may be caged, were still feral instinctively, and it made his heart shatter knowing that she had to be chained in such a similar manner.
Just then, a flash of brilliant orange caught the corner of the witchdoctor's eye and he rushed to the window, for it was the dead of night and such vibrant color should definitely have not be visible now, of all times.
Perhaps, he thought as he ran over, it was just a flicker from the candles, for they could be rather temperamental at times.
His heart all but stopped.
Much to his horror, it was nothing of the sort.
The lower region of Skull Island, the area closest to the docks, was completely engulfed in bright, rising flames. He was not absolutely certain, but near the docks, practically hugging the cliff sides of Skull Island, Hunter could have sworn that he could make out the outlines of the rotating sails of two massive Armada ships.
Panicking, he grabbed his staff from where it had been laying on the table and wrenched the door open, only to be scorched by a wave of heat as an entire square seemed to instantaneously erupt into flames.
It was complete chaos.
Even from his position, from the Chamberlain manor, which was extremely isolated compared to the great majority of buildings on the island, the shrieks of terror and desperation were clearly audible, although they were almost immediately drowned out by the sound of metallic, mechanical marching, leading Hunter to catch sight of the squadron of clockworks that had commenced the attack.
This, he then realized, makes the previous attack look like nothing.
The amount of clockworks marching through the streets of the island must have been at least twenty times larger than the squadron that the Commodore had led several months ago, and the sheer size of them caused him to erupt in a cold sweat.
However, when he looked closer, it was obvious that they had very different objectives this time around.
They marched in a sort of armored block, with a shell of the shields of the marines. In between the shields, Hunter could see the protruding ends of the guns of the musketeers, loaded with the deadly fire charges that caused uncontrollable destruction when launched. They were, he found, quite like a moving fortress.
Just then, the front of the massive shell opened, allowing a heavily brocaded Marine officer, dressed in a coal-black uniform, to step out. Upon exiting, he then proceeded to look down once on the unrolled scroll in his hand – before snapping his head up and pointing directly at the Chamberlain manor.
Hunter's eyes flew wide in shock, and he was unable to breathe.
Hundreds of Armada troops, all fine-tuned and driven to the highest degree – headed for him.
Slamming the door shut, Hunter brought his hands to his head, unable to process what was happening, unable to believe that there were currently countless clockworks, presumably with his head as target, heading towards him now and that he only had minutes left if he wanted to have any chance of survival, although his frantically rushing mind made that quite difficult.
Think. Stay calm, that is absolutely crucia-
You have to HURRY.
Do not panic.
You'll die, you know that.
Perhaps an enchantment on the doors, and the windows-
Dangler will die too. They'll find her, all chained up and helpless, and then she'll be done for.
And Hunter's decision was made.
He tore up the spiral staircase leading to the upper floors as fast as he possibly could, breaking away at the second floor and sprinting down the seemingly-endless hallway to the very last door on the right, pounding on it once before remembering, with dread, that he had locked and enchanted the door.
Dropping his staff to the floor, the brown-haired witchdoctor rapidly plunged his hands into his many coat pockets, fumbling and shaking in an attempt to find the key as soon as possible, all while the metallic clanking sounds of the marching of the massive Armada squadron drew closer and closer.
They're practically a minute away-
The key!
Without a second's hesitation, he snatched the key from his pocket – ripping the inside of his pocket in the process – and jammed it into the keyhole of the door, his sweating and shaking fingers making it slightly more difficult to turn it.
NOW.
A thud from down below – they had reached his front door only to discover that it was locked, and were now attempting to break it down. Hunter struggled to recite the counterenchantments to the spells that he had placed upon the lock, desperately trying to keep the panic out of his mind-
Hurry hurry there will be hundreds HUNDREDS of them-
And Dangler had obviously heard the loud pounding on their door, for the clanking of chains, as well as the soft (but steadily increasing in volume) sounds of alarm that were now clearly audible through the door, and Hunter could only hope that her rise to panic would be more delayed than his.
Finally having managed to fully unlock the door, Hunter kicked it open, revealing an extremely surprised Dangler, and dashed inside, closing the door before confronting her.
"Hunter…?" She whispered, her voice still dry and hoarse from several days worth of constant wailing. "There…was a loud noise…"
A crash as the door was blown to splinters, and the slightly-muffled-but-still-obvious voice of the Marine Captain as he dictated the next destructive actions that the squadron would take.
Not daring to try and reason with Dangler at the current moment, Hunter quickly yanked the tablecloth off of the nightstand and tore it into two, tying one half over her mouth before she had the chance to scream.
And she did scream, as expected, but not until after she had been muted.
Whispering strung-together apologies under his breath, Hunter then moved to her arms, refusing to leave any time for doubting his own actions in any way. Lifting his staff, he touched it lightly to the chains restraining Dangler, murmuring the counterspell that had been given to him by Vadima several years ago along with the manacles. He had dreaded the day that he would have to use them, he clearly remembered.
How strange it seemed, that the extreme had seemed so far off in the distance back then.
The sounds of the keys of the piano being pressed as the Armada clockworks swarmed the lower floor, searching every crevice, every corner, every square inch of the place, and he struggled to tune the noise out, for the task at hand was of the utmost importance.
You can't mess up. You can't fail her, not now, not like the last time.
She was squirming, twitching away from Hunter's grasp, and as much as he did not want to harm her, he eventually found that it was necessary to twist her arms behind her back to avoid receiving large gouges, courtesy of her jagged and broken nails, directly down the middle of his face.
I'm sorry, Dangler…
He unlocked the manacles and pulled them off of her wrists, at the same time tightening his hold on her in order to ensure that she would not move.
You must be terrified.
The other half of the fabric tablecloth was twisted into a cylinder and tied around her wrists, and Hunter internally winced as they were speckled with red, blood from the chafed-away skin. Dangler could not move her arms without pain, as she quickly found out.
Hearing the thudding of rapid footsteps ascending the staircase, Hunter turned and locked the door with the key, looking around frantically in an attempt to re-gather his thoughts – and his escape plan. Luckily, it did not take him more than a few seconds.
Sticking his hands through the red velvet curtains covering one of the many windows in Dangler's room, Hunter undid the latch and pushed so that the window swung open. Right outside of this particular window was the tallest, most sinister-looking of the half-nearly-dead trees that surrounded the manor.
Dangler then realized what Hunter was about to do and she dropped to her knees, uttering a muffled screech and scooting away from the window as much as she could before Hunter strode over to her and placed one arm under her back and the other under her knees, lifting her up.
I know you hate heights, I'm sorry, but this is the only way right now.
He walked over to the windowsill, stepping up onto it and taking a second to stabilize himself before leaping onto the nearest outstretched branch of the three, the curtains swinging shut behind them. Once on the tree, he whisper-hissed a simple locking spell and the window closed, the latch locking once again just as he heard the loud, abrupt noises of the Armada clockworks banging on the door to the room that they had been in just seconds ago.
Well, Hunter thought, they certainly won't be pleased.
And the action finally starts again!
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Until the next chapter,
- Severina