Chapter 10: Halcyon Daze Gone By

"They're moving again," Eskal noted as he tossed the report in his hands across the table.

Kamil lifted his hand sarcastically. "By show of hands, who's surprised? No? No one? Shocking."

"Doesn't matter. If the Fallen are making moves into Waterview we need to be ready to check 'em," came the surly voice of Rigel as he picked grime from the guts of his weapon.

I picked up datapad on the table and flipped through it. Even if I'd just heard it in full a moment before, it always helped me to digest the whole thing if I could see it with my own eyes. "We'll have to put together a repulsion team," I say dismally, though it was nothing anyone present didn't already know.

"We got a new shipment of guns last week from Burnsfield," Eskal said with a grin, holding out a hand and ribbing his fingers together. "If y'all're hurtin' for some merch, I'll sell 'em to ya, at a special discounted price of course."

Kamil raised an eyebrow incredulously at his companion. "How the hell'd you get a trader all the way from Burnsfield? The Fallen are all over those routes."

Eskal simply shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "I've got my ways. Fact is, y'all need guns, I got 'em, and I know y'all got the scratch to pay."

"What's your wares?" Rigel asked without so much as looking up from his work.

Eskal signaled his Ghost with a wave, and the little thing hovered over and displayed a holographic catalog of weapons and equipment Eskal was willing to sell.

I glanced up from the report to glance at the list, only a few items of interest catching my eye. Nothing I needed anyway.

"I'll take twenty rifles."

The clear and crisp tone of Lyra's voice drew all our eyes, the normally reticent woman pushing off the wall she was leaning against, her wide, swaying hips ornamented with an array of bullets and knives.

With a flick of her finger, she selected the weapons she wanted from the holographic display. "A dozen steers sound fair?"

Eskal inclined his head in the affirmative and the deal was struck. "I'll have the shipment at your place in a day 'r two."

An item drew my attention. "That one," I pointed. "I'll take that one."

Eskal raised an eyebrow and followed my finger. Instantly he frowned. "Kai, what the hell? I told you not to list that!"

His Ghost, Kai, shrugged as Ghosts do quite unapologetically. "It's broken and we don't have the parts to fix it," It offered. "It's literally been collecting dust for weeks. Might as well trade it for something worthwhile."

Eskal sighed and held his head in a hand. "Fine, whatever," he relented. "I'll trade it for some of that copper you mined last season."

I nodded my head. "How's 200 kilos sound?"

Again, he assented and the deal was struck. "Give it to 'im, Kai."

The menu flickers away and in its place a large weapon transmats to the table.

"Kolar Arms G21 'Perforator' LMG. You've got an eye for taste, but it's missing a few parts. Nabbed it off a Fallen raiding party in May. Bastards were packin' up after scavenging an old supply depot out past Emerald Cove. Didn't know what hit 'em."

I pulled the weapon closer and inspect it. Sure enough, it wasn't even close to combat readiness. But with a bit of tinkering, I could make it work. The firepower – and safety – that it would provide would be well worth its price.

I snapped my fingers and Gabriel takes it in. "Better in our hands than theirs," I said approvingly. A round of agreements echoes around the table.

"So, we forming a raiding party?" Kamil asks, twirling his revolver around his finger idly. "Hit the scavs at Waterview? Or do we leave 'em be? There ain't much left at Waterview to be honest. Not worth the blood."

"We're downstream of Waterview," I reminded the gunslinger. "If the Fallen know our territories, they could poison the water supply to weaken us as a prelude to an attack. Waterview does have a water filtration system set up, not that its worked for the better part of a century, but I'll bet the Fallen could find a way to use it against us. And we've got our townsfolk to worry about."

"I say we hit them first," Rigel proposes, reassembling his weapon with meticulous precision. "Broad daylight. They won't expect it."

I regard Rigel for a moment. "Those in favor?"

A moment of silence and consideration preceded a round of grunts and nods that decides the call.

"Alright, let's talk logistics then. Broad daylight's fine by me, but the Waterview approach doesn't offer much cover. Gabriel." My Ghost brought up a topographical map of the city-now-turned-ghost-town. "Even if we go in force, we're likely to get picked off on the way."

Eskel nodded. "It's the House of Claws, so they won't have much personnel left after that disaster they traipsed into in Senegal. Picked a fight with the wrong Warlords down there. Since then, they've been raiding their way north, killin' and getting killed along the way. Now they're on our doorstep. Whatever's left is going to be exhausted and wary of an attack."

I furrowed my brows. "House Claws… What's their disposition?"

"They're more mercantile than the other Houses. They're nasty, but they're willing to trade if you've both got something to gain from it. Otherwise, they'll shank you first. They also practice slave trading."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow. "Who buys slaves these days?"

"Other Fallen mostly," Kamil explained. "Heard Houses like Rain and Glade will trade for slaves as menial workers, and when they've outlived their usefulness, they eat 'em."

"Waste not, want not," Rigel recited callously.

"Don't they also enslave their own kind too? I've heard stories that they fill their ranks by takin' in undesirables from other Houses and use 'em to fill their ranks as less-than-Dregs. Laborers and cannon fodder, mostly." Lyra fingered a bullet between her fingers.

"So… What I'm hearing is that this isn't a preemptive attack, it's actually a rescue mission," Kamil said with a wink and a grin to no one and everyone.

"As if we need an excuse to attack the Fallen," I countered with a smile. "But it if motivates you more..."

"Then we'll need to be careful we don't shoot the one's we're tryin' to rescue." Rigel leaned forward, racking the slide of his pistol thrice to his own satisfaction, ejecting three rounds onto the table. He pointed to an area of the map and placed a bullet at the town entrance. "I see three primary routes. First, from the main road. We can storm the town on Sparrows and wreak havoc from within while our forces move in behind us."

He placed a second bullet in the river. "We can try to sneak in from the river in the night. We can rig up a submersible troop carrier and get as close as we can before attacking from the inside. Or we can siege them from all sides and starve them out… if we're not worried about a rescue." He placed a third bullet on the other side of the city. "These are options I see."

Eskel leaned forward as well to look over the map, pursing his lips in considering before pointing to the second bullet. "I like the submersible idea. As far as I've heard, the Fallen aren't the best swimmers." He spread his fingers out in demonstration. "No webbing."

I'm not so convinced. "Yeah, but they have four hands to make up for it. Anyway, do we know for sure they haven't mined the river? That's putting a little too much faith in our own assumption. Too dangerous." I point to the third bullet. "The siege is also a bad idea, if only because of the season. Harvest is coming up and we'll need every body we can get to bring it in. We can't diverge our manpower to a siege." I rolled the bullet back to Rigel.

"I think the only reasonable choice is shock and awe. If they're as undermanned as the rumors from Senegal say, then they'll be spread thin trying to hold the town. We'll head out first, draw all their attentions inward, and then our forces will follow up behind."

Kamil nods, sufficiently convinced. "Sounds good to me."

Eskel does likewise.

Rigel though, frowned. "I'm still concerned about the main road. A depreciated force would set up traps and sharpshooters along the primary routes to prevent an obvious approach. Even if we get through into the town, our supporting forces will be bogged down, maybe even halted. That too is risky."

"You came up with it," Eskel exclaimed with an ironic huff.

"Yeah, I did. Doesn't mean I like it."

"Then instead of shock and awe, how about sneak and awe?" Kamil suggests, pointing to the river. "If it's just the five of us, we could sneak in through the river."

Eskel laughed. "Swimming against the current? Good luck."

"I don't see you coming up with any bright ideas," Kamil growled, a hand over his piece in mock threat.

Eskel raised both hands wearily. "I just take credit for others' ideas. I don't come up with them myself."

"Not helping, Eskel," I mutter loud enough to be heard.

"You men are always so brazen; unsubtle. This is why you need a woman's touch," Lyra's voice cut through the discussion as she held a handout over the table. Her Ghost drifted into view and with a flash, dumped various equipment onto the table. Each one of us had seen their like many times before, but we also noticed the obvious modifications that didn't belong.

Rigel raised an eyebrow. "Fallen stealth tech?" His silence lasted for a long moment before a wry grin cracked his lips. "That'll work."

Lyra let out a satisfied breath as both Kamil and Eskel acquiesced to her plan. I did too, but…

"There's still one other unresolved problem," I said, plucking the larger rifle round from Lyra's fingers and placing it in the center of the town. "How do we deal with the Spider tank?"

Silence surrounded the table as our smiles dimmed in contemplation.

Finally, Kamil raised a finger.

"I think… I have a solution."

When we'd come up with the plan a week before, we went over every detail that might bring our plans to a grinding halt and made contingencies for them. What we hadn't planned on was the grey cloud-cover that kept the sun's golden rays from glinting on our gear, even as we moved under cover of stealth toward the town. How fortuitous.

With our superhuman endurance, we hoofed it to Waterview from twenty miles out with all speed. For our plan to work, we needed to coordinate our surprise with the arrival of our troops. Get in, raise enough Cain to compel them to withdraw their outlying scouts to support the defense, clearing the way for our reinforcements.

It was a simple plan, but we needed to be fast.

And fast we were.

Separated by a mile or more on the approach, the hope was that even if one of us was spotted, it wouldn't reveal the whole group. Alone, one Risen was an enormous danger, but beatable with a little effort and numbers. Five Risen at once was grounds for an immediate GTFO.

And we didn't want them leaving quite yet…

It also didn't help that Lyra's scavenged Fallen cloaking tech had a suboptimal battery life and wouldn't last us too much longer by the time we got to the city.

I managed to spot numerous Fallen scouts in quite advantageous positions on my way in, some cloaked, others hidden more conventionally. Our shared tacnet pinged these threats on an area map that was transmitted back to our lagging forces. At least they'd be prepared for ambushes, if the Fallen were stupid enough to remain in their positions after we started stirring up shit in the town.

After an hour, we managed to sneak our way into the city proper. As far as towns went, it wasn't excessively small, but it wasn't big either. It had a few large buildings several dozen stories tall, but most were only between two or five. It also had no walls surrounding it, which was to be expected and exceedingly fortunate, as we were able to creep in between the mostly dilapidated. Waterview was one of those out-of-the-way towns even during the Golden Age, and as such it hadn't benefited as much from the many technological advancements that came after. But the town was positioned in such a way that it was a popular layover between Kinkaid city and Atar. Which meant it had plenty of fuel stored underground from the olden days.

It was likely why the Fallen were stopping by, but we couldn't take the chance they might also take the opportunity to sabotage our water supply in preparation for an attack.

By the time we got into the central town area, I realized there were a lot more Fallen than I'd anticipated. Whatever rumors had come out of Senegal appeared to have been slightly exaggerated.

They were crawling all over the place barking and screeching at each other as they carried supplies to and fro.

Avoiding the main roads, I snuck into one of the larger buildings and ascended to the rooftop. The stairwells were empty, as were most of the floors. Those floors that were occupied had been turned into temporary sleeping quarters with the windows providing a decent view the work going on outside. I assumed those asleep were the night shift. I left them be.

On the roof, a duo of Dregs were leaning over the wall, staring at the hustle and bustle below. They had no idea I was here.

Carefully creeping up on them, I wreathed one hand in flame as I grabbed them both from behind over their mouths, my one hand searing over that which it held shut. The other, once it realized what was happening, decided to use my hand as a chew toy, biting deep into my flesh.

It hurt. A lot. But as long as it gnawed quietly, that was fine. I didn't let go.

I flung the first away, its hands going to its face in panic. I withdrew my pistol and sunk a silenced round right between its eyes.

Flipping the weapon around, I whipped the grip across the temple of the other, loosening its clench on my hand. The dark skinned Fallen stumbled back in a daze, and I drove home my advantage as I launched forward with an uppercut that caught it in both of its jaw. Its head hit the ground with a solid thud.

Keeping crouched, I examined the wounded Dreg. The cloths it wore bore a distinct pattern of purple-on-orange denoting the House of Claws. A single, short, shock-blade and pistol hung at its belt, or rather, did. Now they lay sprawled across the ground next to their owner. A pair of grenades were stuffed into a small satchel strung over its shoulder, which I was quick to relieve it of.

Properly disarmed, I grabbed the dazed Claw Dreg by its fragile neck and pressed the barrel of my gun into the soft flesh of its underjaw. Unlike a Vandal or a Captain, Dregs were generally malnourished, as befitting their station. And a Dreg from a house on the run after a failed operation was apparently even more so. As far as Fallen went, there was hardly any meat, or chitin for that matter, on it. Its claws were chipped with use, and its eyes weren't nearly as bright as those I'd seen from its fellows.

Gotta love trickle-down economics.

"Answer questions or die," I said in broken Fallen. Its four eyes widened simultaneously as it heard its own bastardized language coming from my mouth.

"You are… Light Thief!"

"Light Thief," I emphatically confirmed, "with gun. Now speak. Why are Claw-Fallen here?" I loosened my grip enough for it to utter whispered words, but never enough for it to scream in alarm. It hissed in opposition, but the iron barrel at its throat compelled a modicum of cooperation.

"I follow Baron Kilriks. He leads our party. I do not know his mind, and he does not share his thoughts."

I gave a quick *tsk* from my teeth disappointedly and pressed the barrel of my weapon deep into the creature's throat. "Then you are no useful me." A gurgle came from within and it held its two un-docked hands out pleadingly.

"Wait!" It begged. "Baron Kilriks shares no words or plans, but idle-speech spreads of human settlements to the south, rich with meat and plant-things. Many think we move against them soon, after gathering here!"

My eyes narrowed. "Gathered says you... How many?"

The Dreg shifted uncomfortably beneath me. "I do not know! But rumors say Baron Kilriks meets with fellow Baron Raylaks soon to speak of plans."

Raylaks and Kilriks… That wasn't good. A single Baron with its lone raiding group wouldn't be enough to successfully assault the Eye… They'd do some damage, sure, and lives would undoubtedly be lost, but they would be repelled without too much trouble overall. But two Barons and their entourages joining forces would make an assault on the Eye much more plausible... and devastating.

"When is meeting?" I asked, lacing my voice with feigned impatience.

"I do not know! Others might!" Its eyes light up and its struggling diminishes. "If… If the Light-Thief wishes, I can point it in the direction of those who do, yes? Let this one go in return. Spare Dreg-life?"

I raised an eyebrow beneath my helm. I wasn't exactly in the business of dealing with Fallen, duplicitous and unreliable as they commonly were; some could be traded with true, but few rarely ever kept things civil. It got to the point where "trade deals with the Fallen" became code for "hunting Fallen down like the animals they were."

This sniveling Dreg just wanted to save its own skin.

I narrowed my eyes at it warily and inclined my head. "Then lead ahead."

Carefully releasing the creature, it hesitated, as if wondering if I was actually letting it go. Presently, it stood up again and bowed its head, gesturing for me to follow it back inside the building. "This one thanks the Light-Thief, favored by the Great Machine," it said with a hunched bow, turning to lead the way. "Then please follow, and I will prove myself and show-"

A spray of purple gore splashed across the ground, followed closely by its limp, lifeless body. Airy ether drifted from the hole in its punctured cranium, and dark blood drained freely over the rooftop. The light in its eyes drained to dull nothingness.

Short wisps of gun-smoke trailed from the barrel of my weapon and vanished in the wind.

I lowered it, reloading the two bullets I spent, whose value was arguably greater than the lives which they were used to end; I didn't have patience for the antics of some uppity alien this or any other day.

I put a hand to my helm and spoke. "This is Lazarus. Be advised, the Fallen might be joining up with another raiding party soon."

"Confirmed," came the voice of Kamil. "Jack chewed into their systems and got a few interesting messages stuck in his teeth. Apparently they plan to hit the Eye from here once they've coalesced their forces."

"I've identified the Baron in a makeshift encampment at the corners of Akatar and Leman avenues," Lyra announced, her Ghost, Eve, sending the telemetry to my HUD, along with a highlight of the aforementioned intersection. "Looks like they've set their dropships around the spider tank for protection."

Rigel's deep timbre brakes through the line. "And where's the Baron in all that mess?"

There was a moment of silence before-

"…Inside the tank."

I frowned. That threw a wrench into things. The plan was to hit the Fallen hard and stir them up like a hornet's nest, and if possible get them to take to the air. If we could isolate the tank, without excessive ground forces, our work would be made easier. But if the Baron was in the tank, then there was no way he would order his forces to retreat without first securing his own safety.

I sighed. "Looks like we're going with plan B then…"

No sooner had I spoken then a familiar voice crackled over the comms... almost too eagerly...

"Did somebody say, 'plan B?'" Eskel's voice was nearly drowned out by the distant explosion that rocked the city before he'd even finished speaking. Then numerous, smaller explosions echoed after it. The fight was on.

Stuffing my pistol into its holster, I whipped out my rifle and set up on the roof, picking off the confused and scurrying Fallen on the street below. By the time they realized the danger of being out in the open, most of those wielding long-rifles were already dead. Those with shrapnel launchers begin spraying the nearby buildings with fire, unable to identify my position from the not-so-distant echoing rumbles and booms masking my shots.

"Ah, I'd advise we move to a new location."

I blink and turn to see Gabriel beside me, insistent and… suspiciously fidgety for a Ghost. I narrowed my eyes at him, which I know he can feel beneath my helm.

"What'd you do?" I ask warily.

His answer was drowned out by the howling of Fallen coming up the stairs behind us.

"Jump now and I'll explain in eight-point-two-six seconds!"

I growled and leapt from the roof as the first heads of Fallen begin to step onto the rooftop. I hang in the air on currents of Light as the near misses of arc rounds sing around me.

Then the building erupted. First from the bottom, then in sequence all the way to the top. The primary supports buckled and the whole thing collapsed under its own weight. The Fallen on the roof disappeared like stones in quicksand. A cloud of noxious fumes and debris also swallowed the Fallen on the streets, spreading out along the streets like channels of water in a loch.

Too bad for any Fallen who were unfortunate enough to be resting inside. They'd never wake up again.

I drifted through the air for many seconds, my eyes on Gabriel as he danced a little victorious jig beside me.

"C4 on the support columns? Clever little Ghost," I say with a smirk, giving him a playful flick that sent him cartwheeling away.

"Aren't I?" he asked with pride and rhetoric, reorienting himself and transmatting beneath my amor.

The thought of the chaos the Fallen forces must be in crossed my mind, and it brought a smile to my face. "Well then, let's get things started."

With a breath, I plummeted to the ground, landing on a cushion of Light while swapping to my handgun.

A wounded Fallen covered in dust and blood stumbled by me in a daze, half blind and hurt.

I put a round through its cranial ridge.

The Claws were in a panic, scrambling to and fro with barking orders flying in the air. I took advantage of the chaos to sneak deeper into the city, eliminating those insects what strayed too far from their little packs. The further I invaded, the more explosions I could hear in the distance, and I could hear the telltale cacophony of Light bursting and flailing, frying and eradicating, each one louder than the last.

It doesn't take me too long to enter the perimeter of what was likely the command center of their little operation.

The corner of Akatar and Leman avenues was actually only one intersection that sat adjacent to what was once the city hall. In front of the building was a large browning lawn that currently acted as a landing zone for several dropships.

Equipment was strewn everywhere and Fallen ran every which way on whatever limbs they had, carrying heavy ordinance and supplies to the panicked combat zones. In the middle of it all, a Spider tank idled with a rumble. Several tables and cots were arranged, though the cots were now empty, and the tables featured hologram readouts of the city and of the battle beyond. Around one such table stood an array of Fallen Captains, one of which was undeniably taller than the others, and wore a more vibrant cloak stained in Claws colors… and no small amount of what looked like dried blood.

Dried human blood. Though considering the way Fallen society tended to internally disintegrate during times of crisis, I wouldn't have been surprise if some of the gore was from would-be usurpers.

Kilriks, Baron of the House of Claws was loudest in his barking, and every Fallen around him were cowed by his tone, nodding their heads and bowing in submission to his orders.

"Looks like he popped out of his tank to direct them personally," Gabriel muttered in my ear.

A Servitor floated nearby with several Splicers tending to it and the walker. It warbled in a deep baritone that reverberated through my chest.

I scanned the scene, looking for an advantageous position and found it on the other side of the square Kilriks had claimed as his headquarters. The Fallen were on the lookout for humans, not Risen hiding with their own tech… For that matter, the thought that we might recalibrate their stealth mods to suit ourselves probably hadn't even entered their minds.

With deft movements, steps cushioned by practice and Light, I made my way to a low-rise building only two stories tall. Only one Fallen stood guard on top, and I carefully took him down, one Void-encompassed hand obliterating his throat as I kicked out his legs from beneath him and tossed his corpse to the ground.

I feel a pang of heat from my back where Lyra's stealth emitter was fixed. I hiss reflexively as I feel its heat and lower myself to the ground to avoid being seen as I turn the thing off. Even for Fallen, they weren't meant to be kept on forever, and frequently needed time to cool down. It also didn't help that the device had just tried to calculate the dimensions of the Void singularity in my hand. Not surprising it suddenly decided to overheat.

Fortunately, the building's roof wasn't without a short wall around its front edge, at least three feet tall. From behind it I was able to see pretty much the entire courtyard.

The sounds of the battle beyond were intensifying, and I could tell Kilriks, for all his Fallen savagery, was getting antsy.

As well he should.

He didn't know how near the danger actually was…

"That you over there, Laz?" I hear Lyra's voice over the coms.

"Probably," I whisper looking for where she might be posted on overwatch. "Where you at?"

"Two blocks down on the Burger King sign. I got a bead on you and Kilriks."

I peeked my head over the edge of the partition and spotted the very same sign in the distance. It was precariously positioned at an angle against an adjacent building and didn't look very stable. A portion of the sign was missing from the front.

Nevertheless, I saw the telltale shape of a rifle peeking out from the hollow insides. Lyra must have climbed inside the thing from behind.

"I see you."

"Good. Eve's marked the dropships. We're ready to go. How do you want to handle this?"

I purse my lips as I scan the scene below. To inflict maximum damage, both physical and psychological, it would require we time our attacks perfectly. To that end, I have a solution.

"Gimme a sec," I say, pulling away from the edge in a low crouch.

"Birds?" Gabriel asked with an excited trill his experience with me allowing an almost preternatural ability to read my mind.

I nodded in confirmation. "Birds."

He appeared in a flicker, low enough to the ground to scrape his shell as he transmatted several small tripods out of storage. Two legs were shorter than the third, and a short ramp was affixed on top. Onto these ramps Gabriel placed small, sleek, oblong shapes.

The shapes were Nordic Arms Peregrine AAD explosives. I had the good fortune of finding a small collection of them in a military base in Ouagadougou down in Burkina Faso.

They were clever little things. The North American Empire was one of the most powerful forces of the Golden Age, and the remnants of its military influence could be found everywhere across the globe. Cunningly, the little things were very simple to operate, lightweight, and could fulfil a number of functions. Depending on the type of payload, the catapults could launch small bird-drones for the purposes of surveillance or target elimination.

The Peregrine model was one of the latter bunch, but what set it apart from its brother and sister models was its flight path.

"Ready to launch, captain!" Gabriel announced. I'm certain that if he had the limbs to do so, he would have saluted.

"Lyra you good to go?"

"Set and settled. Just waiting on you," came her response.

"Copy, standby." I turn to Gabriel and give him a thumbs up.

"Let 'er rip."

A single tendril of light connected Gabriel to each of the catapults in sequence, the little birds launching into the air without so much as a whistle.

A keen-eyed observer might noticing something about them was different then normal birds, but with this particular model, it wouldn't matter even if you did.

You wouldn't have time to call it in.

The Peregrines climbed into the air, wings unfolding from their sides and guiding their path up, up, up.

The Peregrine falcon was renowned throughout the world as the fastest hunting bird in existence. During ordinary flight they could reach speeds up to eighty kilometers per hour. But that was only during normal flight.

When they dove, they could accelerate to speeds exceeding four-hundred kilometers per hour when diving.

And that was a living animal, with organic wings and only the power of evolved aerodynamics and wing power. Imagine if you strapped a rocket on it.

Seven birds plummeted from the sky like silent arrows, each one carrying four times the payload of a single 120mm mortar round.

The camp erupted into fire, light, sound, and death.

Returning the launch catapults to my inventory, I held out a hand to Gabriel who likewise vanished and braced my rifle over the edge of the barrier. Already gunshots rang across the courtyard from Lyra in the distance, her uncanny aim bursting Fallen skulls like party-poppers.

The Captains who had been gathered together were now strewn everywhere, most of them in pieces, though a few were whole enough to seek cover from their unseen assailant. But they were quickly caught in the crossfire; Lyra on one side, me on the other.

They fell like leaves before a storm.

A roar tore through the city. The hulking Kilriks stumbled out from the flames of his former war-table with a look of pure rage in all four eyes.

The sound of his voice sent the scrawnier Fallen reeling, but the braver insects stood their ground, heeding their Baron's authority.

"He's telling them to take off," Gabriel translated over the coms as Kilriks vanished back into the smoke of his ruined camp.

"Shit, I've lost him," Lyra swore, turning her aim to those targets could see. I followed suit, but my position was much less concealed than hers is, and it didn't take long for the panicking victims of our assault to find me.

I ducked out of the way as shrapnel launchers and shock rifle rounds peel my cover to bits. I grit my teeth, though really, I couldn't be happier. I wasn't one to complain about the occasional turkey-shoot, but I was someone who liked to get up-close and personal.

I put away my rifle and pull out my hand cannon, making sure it was loaded before I dove into the fray.

A sudden clanging drew my attention as I see the swirling black smoke give way to the burning crimson eyes of a spider tank. It groaned menacingly as its turret rotated towards Lyra's position.

I didn't have time to yell before a high-powered round punched through the building next to Lyra's nest.

I breathed a sigh of relief that the round hadn't hit true, but perhaps Kilriks had a better understanding of the structural integrity of the buildings in town than I did. The building the sign had been leaning against shuddered for moment, windows shattering en mass as its weight shifted.

I frowned, noticing all too late that the shot wasn't intended to hit Lyra's position at all, but rather to destroy a specific support column somewhere deep inside.

"Lyra, bail!" I called, unable to turn away as the whole building, which was nearly twenty stories tall, buckle under its own weight in just such a way as to crush the entire street.

I saw a flicker of motion from within the sign but for a moment before the building came down.

I knife called worry pierced my heart, but I didn't have time to tend to it as the Spider turned its Arc repeaters on my position, suppressing me beneath a hail of deadly fire.

I growled and steadied my mind. Lyra would be ok. She had to be; she was Risen. For the moment, I had to take care of myself first before I could worry about her.

The dropships whined as their engines roared to life, kicking up a dust storm of battlefield debris.

I trigger my radio. "Epsilon, this is Bravo, I've got dropship attempting to take off from the town center."

A burst of static assaulted my ears as a modulated voice drawled across the tac net, perforated by arc rounds that dug deep gouges into the ancient asphalt. "Confirmed Bravo, I'll have eyes on them in a moment."

Seconds ticked by as I dove for cover in the smoke and wreckage, turning my piece to blast any Fallen who stumbled through the thick black smoke.

Finally- "Bravo, Epsilon has eyes on the targets. Ready to engage."

"Do it!" I yelled, barely able to hear my own voice over the roar of engines and gunfire.

A different roar echoed across the city as white lances of light soared and spiraled into the ascending Fallen transports, the seeking missiles swatting them from the sky with aplomb.

I felt the pressure of bursts in my head and chest as the afflicted vessels turned over and twisted, hanging in the air for just a brief moment before gravity pulled harder than their failing engines, dragging them back down to earth. Buildings, streets, and intersections buckled and burned as they were subjected to the terminal velocity of the dropships' decent. More fire burned bright and blinding, and impossibly hot at fuel and ammunition burst into multicolored flames.

The panicked cries of aliens in pain and panic echo in the din, punctuated by the plodding steps of the spider tank. Kilriks' voice cried to his troops through a loudspeaker, but it seemed to do little to form order from the chaos. The image of the Baron's enraged face in my mind eye brought a particular smile to my face.

The black smoke was too thick to see hardly anything, and the gunfire seemed to lessen in volume as the Fallen, probably, elected to evacuate rather than stand and die to an enemy they couldn't even see and were entirely unprepared to fight.

A foreboding clanking drew my attention. Every fiber of my body screamed at me to move, compelling an instinctive Blink away, and not a moment too soon.

A cacophony of Arc mine bursts like firecrackers as they were ejected from the walker in every direction. And in the din the sound of the tank's main gun punching holes into the surrounding buildings, while secondaries weaved indiscriminate fire into the battle's melody.

And above all of that, Kilriks' voice shouted profanities even I could understand.

But for all his flailing, he was doing a remarkable job of keeping me at bay, especially since, either by chance or estimation, he was pouring all that firepower in my general direction, keeping me at bay and pounding my eardrums with the staccato impacts of Arc rounds on wreckage and booming thunder of the tank's cannon.

"We can't get close to him like this," Gabriel commentated in my ears.

The rumbling in my chest might have been a confirming growl, dared to peek around my cover and nearly got my head blown off in the process. I certainly didn't have any heavy weaponry to deal with the tank's armor…

A fiery snap pierced the din, along with the unmistakable blasts of concentrated Solar energy.

With a shockwave of a gun many times its caliber, piercing bolts of sunlight knocked away the smog and slammed into the armor of the walker's legs. While the forged space-age plating for the walker's armor might prove indomitable in the face of conventional weaponry, it afforded naught against the paracausal power of the Light.

I followed the streaks of light back to their source to see Lyra with Golden Gun in hand, putting shot after shot into the Spider's flank until at last the rapidly decreasing integrity of the armor gave way, and the plating just… burst from within, as critical systems were perforated completely.

The resulting chain of explosion sent the machine staggering away with limping legs. And above the noise, Lyra's hard voice echoed in my ears.

"Now Lazarus! While's he's wounded!"

I let out a breath and exit my cover, holstering my cannon as I channel my Light as well.

While Lyra, an excellent marksman, had a strong affinity for naught else but Solar Light and its resulting applications toward firearms, my talents were more well-rounded, though my preference lay in the particularly rawer aspects of the Traveler's energy.

As if drawn from the superheated sky, a bolt of white light strikes my outstretched hand and surges into my body like a lightning rod.

I sight the struggling war machine and cast out the Arc energy in snapping bolts of disintegrating death. I hold the steam of energy steady for many seconds, errant sparks of Light arcing off in into any suitably charged surroundings, and I can see the poignant silhouettes of unfortunate Fallen who become the receptacles for my power.

The now unprotected and compromised systems of the tank were unable to withstand the assault, allowing a chain reaction that kicked off inside, the whole thing collapsing in an spectacular heap of exploding shrapnel and molten steel.

It does not escape my attention when a hatch blows on top of the vehicle, and Kilriks clambers out as quick as his bulk can manage. He stumbled as he hit the ground, and his eyes met mine.

Our hatred for each other left no need for words. As quick as a flash, he drew a shock rifle and pulled the trigger.

Pity for him, Lyra was faster.

A single, perfect shot slammed into his weapon holding hand, melting it at the wrist and all the way up to his elbow.

Considering the speed and precision of the attack, as well as the searing heat of the attack that likely seared his nerves numb, he stood there frozen, like a statue, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

I didn't give him a chance to recover.

I hold out my hands, weaving minute tendrils of power, exciting multitudinous electrons well beyond the point of atomic containment, magnifying their energy by many magnitudes until my body is all but wreathed in unrestrained Arc Light. Then, with purpose and satisfaction, I turn that remorseless force upon the wretched Baron.

His cries echoed through the courtyard as his knees gave way, buckling beneath him. Every second he suffered, I took a methodical step toward him, the intensity of my Light intensifying with the narrowing distance.

I wanted to see it. The pain, the suffering, the hopelessness. I wanted this alien know its doom, not just in the moment of its death, but in all those before it; I wanted to dilute the instants of his agony into a tapestry of suffering until the moment his brain turned into charred mush.

I stood over him, his eyes alight with death and ether.

Then they too burst in a spray of gore, and a fresh wave of pain.

Only when his body was too broken to even twitch and all sounds from his throat ceased did I deign to end his suffering.

The absence of my Light left my eyes in darkness, as they adjusted to the gloom of the battlefield once again. In my momentary blindness, the first thing that hit me was the smell. Kilriks corpse was little more than overcooked meat, a mere sack of flesh that no longer possessed of the fluidity of molecular vibration; he was more akin to obsidian charcoal than anything else, his armor rapidly cooling after having been melted into his leathery skin and cloak bearing the colors of House Claws burning beneath him.

I appraised my handiwork with satisfaction.

"Mmm, nice work, Laz."

In the time it took to regain my senses, Lyra had joined me at my side, humming in satisfaction.

"Am I the only one who's suddenly in the mood for barbeque?" she quipped with that particular dry tone of hers that was meant to be both humorous and serious.

…A nice ribeye sounded pretty good, actually.

"Nice shot," I praised idly. It was a nice shot; that much was to be expected from the Lyra Brasskin. But considering the timing and the setting, it was a shot of particular significance what would doubtless be talked about through the territories as one of those many legends the normal folk use to fuel their imaginations and wonder.

But glories may be got in time. For now, they had a job to do.

I eye the wreckage of the makeshift camp that was Kilriks' command center point to a ruined communication module.

"With Kilriks dead, the Fallen will be operating on standing orders. Who knows how long it will take for them to realize the one who gave them those orders is pushing daisies. We need to demoralize them; spread word of Kilriks' death, then jam all communications in the network."

Lyra eyed the object of my indication and nodded, shouldering her rifle and summoning her Ghost. "Gotcha. But what about the other Fallen party? Won't they be tipped off that we're preoccupied and open us up to an advantageous strike?"

"I don't think so. Kilriks was inviting another Baron, Raylaks to join him here and bolster their forces. It's likely after their losses at Senegal and now here, they're too off balance to try any sort of sortie. If they have any sense, they'll let things cool a bit before acting out. Gather their forces, and maybe wits too if they're smart."

Lyra nodded along understandingly. "Makes sense. I like it."

The crackling roar of the many fires around us give way to the thrum of engines as half a dozen vehicles rolled up Leman Avenue and behand unloading their passengers.

"And there's the reinforcements."

Ours, this time. Armed with rifles and ballistic weave, orders rang out as they began taking up positions around the square, some ducking into buildings with quick care, moving to the roofs to provide overwatch and keep eyes out for arriving or departing Fallen vessels, if any are left.

Having lost their Ketch, we didn't need to fear losing air superiority, especially with Kamil's trio of jumpships that he'd scrimshawed ground-to-air missile launchers onto. Calling them combat ready was a far stretch from the truth by any old military standard, but it did us well enough tonight.

The roar of aircraft engines whined overhead as Epsilon, the jumpship designated to provide close air support for this strike soared over the square.

"Search for any stragglers," Lyra ordered with a sdhout. "No prisoners, gents! We ain't showing Claws no mercy tonight!"

I raise my hand to my helm and keyed the tacnet. "Kamil, Eskal, Rigel, status."

Several clicks of static overlapped as the three audio channels mixed into mono.

"Eskal: scavs are losing it. They can't decide whether to run or to stand and fight. The smart ones are running, but the stupid ones are putting up a decent fight."

"This is Rigel. Fallen are trickling out of the city. My outriders picking them off as they come."

"Sounds like we caught 'em with their pants down," crackled Kamil's voice. "They're getting a good reaming, that's for sure."

Which was to be expected; with five Risen, the amount of casualties from the normal folk would be minimal, while casualties on the Fallen side would be maximized. With Kilriks out of play and the city center under our control, and Eskal and Kamil disrupting Fallen movement throughout the city, Rigel killing any alien what had the bad fortune to jump out of the frying pan and into the fire, and now the deployment of our deputy rangers to secure key locations throughout the city, the operation was all but complete.

"Standby Eskal, just a second and we'll break their spirit. Wait for your moment and push 'em over the edge," Lyra advised as her Ghost fiddled with the barely recoverable machine, eventually managing to transmit the message of Human victory over all local channels.

That done, and the repercussions of their demoralization left to my compatriots elsewhere in the city, there was one last matter to manage.

"Where're you going?" Lyra asked as I walked past her.

"Square's secure," I say simply, nodding my head toward my target. "I want to see what they left in there."

The city hall building itself stood as a stoic backdrop the scorched scrap that was once a Fallen encampment.

A long banner of the Claws hung down over the building's front, currently burning from stray embers rising from the chaos beneath it.

With a signal to a team of rangers to follow, I ascended the many steps to the half-barricaded entrance and blew it open.

If any Fallen remained inside, they wouldn't be long for this world.

The exploration of the building took a lot longer than initially expected. As most city halls, it was built with very particular Hellenic inspiration, with vast pillars at its front and a great domed ceiling. Because of this, it lacked the space to add more than four floors above the ground. To compensate, the architects had decided to build down. With another five levels to explore, the few squads of rangers were insufficient to search every nook and cranny in a sensible timeframe.

Opting to split up and widen our net, I took the upper floors with one squad while two more went into the sublevels.

What few traps we ran into were hastily made and obvious to the attentive eye, and so we avoided any unfortunate accidents. That said, any Fallen we might have encountered had booked it out the windows and down the back side of the building as quick as they could, opting to take their chances in the streets rather than the close quarters of the building's many hallways and meeting rooms.

Discretion is the better part of valor, after all.

We found very little of interest beyond supply stores and technology, which in and of itself was quite the boon. Its obvious the Claws never expected to be attacked so quickly or ferociously, or else they would have never unpacked so much material, and certainly not without ensuring that it would be destroyed if we stumbled upon it unawares.

Fallen were spiteful like that. Not that I blamed them; we had that in common.

"Squads two and three are pinging us," came Gabriel's voice of a sudden in my ear.

"What do they have?" I ask, giving a signal to first squad to continue their work and to secure the remainder of the last of the final, fifth floor while I made my way to the nearest stairwell.

"They say they've found a locked door hidden behind a camouflage unit, and its sealed up tight."

A locked door? A hidden locked door? Color me interested.

I look over the edge of the winding stairway to the bottom of the chasm. I vault over the side. "Tell them I'm on my way."

The flights of stairs rushed past me with rhythmic whooshes of air until I nearly hit terminal velocity. But with cushions of Light, I halt my decent in a physics-defying display that left me only inches above the bottommost floor.

A single guard stood on duty there, and his eyes were wide with surprise at my entrance, though he quickly composed himself with a salute.

"Marshal Lazarus, sir."

The young man's face was familiar, but I couldn't put a name to it.

"Ranger," I nodded in greeting. "What's the situation?"

The man turned and rounded the corner with a jut of his head, bidding me to follow. "Team One found a hidden door locked down and impervious to our weapons. Literally bumped into it, sir."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Isn't that how the best secrets are found?"

"I suppose so, sir," he replied uncertainly. "I'm not much one for treasure hunting."

"Whose territory you with?"

"Marshal Rigel, sir. Name's Percival."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Percival," I greeted with a smile and an outstretched hand without slowing our pace. He accepted with an initial hesitance, shaking my hand in proper greeting.

I could tell he had a number of questions on his mind, as the young are wont to do, but he wisely bit them back, considering the nature of the situation. We passed several other Rangers along the way, some alone going through abandoned equipment, while others hauled booty together, presumably to a service elevator that could take it all up to the surface.

Eventually we arrived at a single door that looked… disappointingly unimpressive. It was a drab grey with no knob or handle to open it with. Additionally, it was flush with the wall itself, and the seal between it and the frame was so tight I could bare see the space between.

Beside the door was a single console at which a pair of rangers fiddled, their attempts at overriding it clearly unsuccessful.

Besides them, six other Rangers loitered about, their bodies stiffening as caught sight my approach.

"Marshal," they greeted with salutes. "We've checked every room on this floor, and this is the last one we've been unable to get through." The man who spoke was a grizzled old man with a scruffy brown beard and a single scar the ran over his cheek. He indicates with the tip of his rifle. "We were hoping we could take advantage of your… particular talents."

"Rangers. Baffled by a door." I eye him and his fellows with a wry smile. "Now I've seen everything. Should I roll up my sleeves?"

Confident in their inability to overcome the offending obstacle, they gesture me forth with smiles of their own, inviting me to try my hand.

"Alright, move, move," I say, shooing away the two at the door's console and gathering Light into my fingers.

Dual singularities of concentrated Solar energy pooled in my palms. I slap them at specific intervals up and down both sides of the door at points where I expect the hinges are hidden. The team of fusion grenades burned bright and hot in place, the air warming noticeably as they worked.

The door withstood the power of my Light for nearly a minute before the hinges melted to slag and came off with a kick. It fell backwards with a clang and a clatter.

Inside was almost total darkness, save for a single fluorescent white light that hung from the ceiling, now swinging gently from my entrance. I walked in, wary of an ambush, solar light clenched in my left hand, gun primed in my right.

The darkness retreated as quickly as I entered, and the meager light of the lamp is left eclipsed by myself; I raised my hand and let my power brighten, and the room lit up like the midday sun.

Many wretched little figures flinched and cowered from my presence. Humans of varying skin colors murmured in quiet whispers, shielding their eyes from my luminosity. They were huddled in small heaps, both of which were separated into two corners. The center of the open room was occupied by mats and makeshift beds of garbage and stripped clothing. Men, women, and children of varying ages, all half or completely naked, gaunt and starving dared to look at me form behind their raised arms, and they saw that I was their deliverance.

Though I'd braced for it, the smell of waste and sweat was still overpowering.

My eyes scanned the lightened room, eyes of many colors staring back at me with doubting hope. Brown, black, green, grey, hazel… Even luminous blue.

My eye narrowed as I noticed that huddled in among the humans on my left, a single Fallen knelt. I immediately aimed my cannon at it, and everyone scattered from my sightline.

As the people cleared away, I noticed this wasn't any sort of ambush. This Fallen wasn't armed, armored, or even clothed for that matter. Its eyes were dull in the light of my power, and its carapace was scratched with deep furrows, grime, and cracks. The plates that formed its tough exterior were not quite symmetrical, pressing against each other in an odd way that I supposed must either be a molt defect, or a severe level of emaciation.

Most of all though, I noticed that this Fallen was completely white.

Not white as in Caucasian-white, but snow-covered mountain peak white. White as limestone. White as salt. My gaze lingered for a moment longer than I expected it to; I'd never seen Fallen of this particular color before. Was bleaching one's carapace a fad amongst Fallen, like dying hair was for humans back in the day? Or maybe was it a result of natural causes, like albinism? Strictly speaking the word didn't exactly fit scientifically, but colloquially the attribution fit.

My mind caught up to my eyes when a naked child ran up to me and reached up to my gun arm to try and pull it away.

"Don't hurt her!" she cried, heedless of the danger of my body being wreathed in light. If anything, the warmth was probably a nice change of pace for being down in this dark, dank basement. I raise my eye at the girl (though she couldn't see it under my helm) then looked back to the Fallen.

'Her?'

As if snapped from their reverie, those around the Fallen likewise gathered back around the alien with their hands outstretched placatingly.

"Please, sir! This one is kind! She's shared food with us and given us help. She's as much a prisoner as we are. Please spare her, sir!"

Murmured pleas echoed in similar fashion from those around her, though the alien itself simply bowed its head and remained kneeled. It did not meet my gaze.

The children, emboldened by their friend, also ran up to me, tugging at my cloak, begging me not to hurt her and to take them out of here. Begging for food and clothes and water.

I didn't lower my gun. I couldn't be sure that this Fallen wasn't hiding a knife or a grenade; something to threaten the people here to beg me on its behalf. But I would find out.

"First thing's first," I said, and the children stilled at the sound of my voice. "Let's get you all out of here." I jerked my head toward the entrance behind me.

One group, not huddled around the Fallen, quickly gathered what clothes or makeshift blankets that were strewn about and practically fell over each other to leave the room. The Rangers outside would take care of them.

The group defending the Fallen made to follow likewise, though more hesitantly, as the fate of their "friend" was still undecided.

"What about her?" one man asked, looking between my gun and the kneeling Fallen. "Is she also free to go?"

I looked between him and the alien and shrugged my shoulders. "We'll see," I said, and left it at that. There was no room to argue or plead on her behalf. Her fate was in my hands now, and the man knew it.

He hesitated. With an uncertain jerky movement, he turned and walked over to the alien, took one of her claws in his hand, whispered a few words of something unheard, though likely heartfelt, got up, and left.

When the room was clear of every human except myself, I stepped closer to the Fallen and got a better look at it.

The general convention for punishment, what the Fallen called "docking," was to sever and/or rip off the smaller, secondary arms as a symbol of disgrace, leaving the more functional and capable primary arms intact. That way, the new Dreg would at least be able to hold a gun and fight as a soldier.

But this Dreg's primary arms were docked, leaving only her meager secondary arms. I wondered if this was the Fallen's way of denoting slavery amongst their own kind…

I took a particular look at the doorway, checking to see if any refugees were lingering to watch. There weren't.

Good. That would make this easier.

I holstered my cannon with one hand and withdrew my silenced sidearm with the other, the Light sliding across my chest to my other arm as I switched my stance.

At the very least, they didn't need to hear this Fallen's death knell.

I pitied the alien for whatever pains it may have suffered at the hands of its own kind and was thankful at least that it seemed to be sympathetic to the humans in its company.

But a Fallen was a Fallen was a Fallen… And the only good Fallen was a dead Fallen.

Whatever life it had lived, it would be good to know its meager acts of kindness would be appreciated after its death. As thanks, I would at least make her death painless. A courtesy not given to her kind lightly.

She stared at the dark barrel pointed at her.

She didn't move. Didn't even flinch.

There was no fight left in her.

Instead, her dim eyes closed, and she leaned forward prostrating herself before me on chitin knees.

She opened her mouth to speak, but only a dry, raspy voice came out, broken by starved, thirsty coughs. It was at that moment I realized; she wasn't talking. She was singing.

It was a strange little tune, but not unpleasant, I thought. The words were barely audible, but I could make out their meaning well enough.

'The Riis winds howl a somber tone
The night quiets all hatchlings' moans
Its time to sleep in the light of the moons
Machine-grace grant all little ones rest
Four eyes close, and four arms still
Until the morning comes
And we play again in the blessed sun.'

At some point during the tune, I realized it was some sort of Fallen song… a lullaby. If there were any other verses, I didn't know, and she couldn't continue as she descended into a dry coughing fit that settled into silence.

I was keenly aware that I still hadn't pulled the trigger.

What was I waiting for? Ceremony?

My brow furrowed. Maybe I was. "As thanks for your kindness, I'll hear your last words, if you have any."

Her eyes opened and she looked at me for a moment. Then looked down at her knees. She looked at her claws, chipped and cracked and broken. I wondered if perhaps she didn't understand English…

Then she looked up at me. "A kwessstonn, pleeese," she hissed, sounding words not made for her mouth.

I gave her a tentative nod.

"Waaat doooees theee…" She searched for a word. "Tuuraaavelloor looook liiike?"

I blinked in surprise. Did she not know? Wasn't the Traveler the whole reason the Fallen were on Earth to begin with? How could she not even know what the Traveler, their so-called Great Machine, looked like?

It dawned on me that this Fallen might have been born after coming to Earth, or at the very least, born during their great journey between wherever they came from and here. But surely they must have had pictures; holograms, or something.

"You don't know?" I asked. She remained silent.

The seconds ticked by, and I realized that she wasn't going to answer… or maybe she was searching for an answer that would satisfy me.

Letting out a breath, I hold out my hand, and my Ghost materializes.

She jerked back in shock at the sight of him. And she bowed her head suddenly. "Fragment of the Great Machine," she whispered in her own tongue reverently. Was this the first time she'd seen a Ghost?

"Raise you head," I told her in Fallen-speech, and she did so reluctantly. If she was surprised to hear me speak her language, she didn't show it. But once her eyes were lifted, she was graced with spanning holographic image of the Traveler, its vast, white shell glowing blue in the three-dimensional light Gabriel cast.

She stared at it for several seconds… many minutes, actually. She reached out as if to touch it, but her finger slipped through the projection. It seemed to shake her from her reverie. She looked at me with excitement in her voice. "What is it like?" she asked.

I had to shake my head at her. "I not seen self. I told city-big."

Her countenance dimmed and her hand returned to the grimy floor. The silence returned and I allowed it to linger.

As my patience began to run out, I prompted her one last time. "Satisfied?"

Breaking from her short trance, she looked down at herself, at her arms and body. "Yes… Thank you for answering my prayers to the Great Machine."

My barrel dipped slightly in surprise at her words. I hadn't expected her to say something like that. And though the cue was given, and it seemed fitting to shoot her then and there, I felt compelled to inquire further…

"Prayers?" I asked. "What prayers?"

She looked up at me and her eyes… For a moment I was lost in them. Even with a deadly weapon primed and pointed at her head, ready to end her miserable life in an instant of sound and savagery, she looked so incredibly content. Her expression was peaceful… if indeed such a face could express something like peace in the first place.

"Us, together," she began, gesturing to the now empty room. "We asked the Great Machine for rescue, and here you have given it."

I almost huff. Coincidence at best. But I restrain myself.

"We have been together for many weeks and months, and have shared food and pains together." She inclined her head gently, exposing the ridges of her cranium. "If I have been worthy, then I will live on in their memories. If not, then I will be forgotten. In that way, I am satisfied."

Her words were spoken with a soft conviction that told me she actually believed them. For a moment, I was tempted to just stay quiet; let her continue believing them as I buried a bullet in her brain… But I'm not someone who can stand idly by and let someone else be wrong.

I just couldn't help myself…

"You're wrong," say, quieter than I intended.

I want to launch into a diatribe about how death is just an inevitable end. You don't live on in anyone's memories. Life is living. Death is dying. It's the binary dynamism that drives the universe. What exists does so because it is alive, not because it's dead. If it were ever otherwise, there would be no need for the likes of Risen whose very existence defies death. I want to chastise this Fallen. I want to tell her that death should never be embraced, but rather fought with every tooth and nail one can bring to bear. With every weapon wielded, with every plot prepared, with every meal consumed… everything.

Rage. Rage, you fool! Rage against death! Rage against complacency. Rage against your morbid acceptance.

But I didn't possess the vocabulary to articulate it. I couldn't explain that it was wrong to simply be happy that only the memory of you will exist after you die. I couldn't explain why that memory would only be a monument to her own weakness.

But then again, she was a Fallen… Why should I do her the favor?

I ground down my frustration with willpower and grit my teeth. She wasn't worth the time. She wasn't worth the effort.

She wasn't human. She was Fallen. That was all the motivation I needed.

I thumbed the hammer.

I pulled the trigger.

"Come on, get those trucks moving! We need to hit Noral Valley by midnight!" Lyra's voice thundered over the din as she directed the undulating mass of fighters and refugees this way and that. "Don't worry about scrap-salvage. Kamil and Eskel's groups will take care of that. Safety first, you fools! Let's go!"

The battle was over and won. What few Fallen were left were high-tailing it out of Waterview. The second raiding party from the Claws hadn't shown up yet, and with the gouts of smoke and fire spewing into the ever-darkening sky, it was unlikely they'd be interested in diving headfirst into unfavorable terrain to rescue their kin. No, they would steer clear for the moment. But that didn't mean they wouldn't launch an attack from outside the city. That would take time, but the odds would favor them, especially if they had armor or air support.

Lyra's group was responsible for rounding up and ferrying all refugees out of the city and to safety.

That didn't mean she wasn't picking her kills clean, though.

She kicked a Vandal's corpse over and reached down to his belt where its cloaking device was latched.

Familiar, distinct steps pricked her eardrums as her hands worked with the device she had become increasingly familiar with. She looked up to see Lazarus walking towards her, his eyes on the chaos of mobilization around them.

"And what have you been up to?" she asked, wrenching the tech free from its former, now very dead owner.

"Busy," he answered without explanation. "How goes the evacuation?"

"Apace," she returned with a one-shouldered shrug. "One of the jumpships got hit by a scorch cannon and went down outside the city, but Rigel managed to secure the crew and the salvage. Kamil thinks he can fix it with the scrap left over from the spider tank."

"With enough spare parts to account for any additional maintenance," he speculated, nodding to himself. "Good. It'll be useful in the future."

"Speaking of useful, how'd my stealth tech perform? You got into the city alright, so I guess I'm asking an answered question."

"Yeah..." Lazarus looked down at himself and nodded distantly. "Lost mine in the commotion. Sorry."

Lyra fixed him with a glare and huffed. "Whatever. It served its purpose. And I'll have plenty of spares to make more after this. Don't worry about it." She looked him over and noticed it wasn't just the stealth tech that was missing from his ensemble. "You know, I think this is the first time I've seen you without that jacket of yours. What happened?"

His eyes never met hers as he spoke, his gaze fixed firmly, pointedly on anything else. "Oil-burn. Had to chuck it."

Lyra regarded him for several seconds before nodding. "Damn shame. It looked good on you."

He laughed. "I'll find another. Or I'll have one made for me. Mrs. Boone's needlework is slow, but the quality is superb."

"Oh, I know. I've got a few things on backorder from her."

Lazarus fixed her with a curious eye. "That so? First I've heard of it."

It was Lyra's turn to laugh. "I didn't realize I had come to you to conduct my business. It was a personal request. And I've already paid her in advance."

Lazarus huffed. "It's not so much that you did it, but that I didn't know about it." Even if it was something as simple as clothing order, it was being conducted in his territory.

She fixed him with a knowing gaze. "No one can know everything, Laz. Even if it's you. Even if it's your turf."

Lazarus frowned, but gave her the last word anyway. She was right, and he knew it. He didn't have to like it, but he did have to acknowledge it.

"Marshal Brasskin!" A call came from the throng, claiming their attention as a man strode forward, rifle in hand.

"Emmett," Lyra miraculously identified beneath the soot and filth on his cheeks and unkempt beard. "What do you got for me?"

The man gave a loose salute to the both of them, noting Lazarus' presence as well. "Ma'am. Marshal Lazarus. A Morse transmission just got relayed in from Marshal Rigel and his outriders. The second Fallen party has been spotted eighty miles north of our position, put down at Ugyr Mount."

Lyra frowned at that. It wasn't particularly bad news, or unsurprising for that matter. Ugyr Mount was a series of large rock formations that would be the perfect rendezvous location for any fleeing Fallen. Tall, flat on top for landers, and easily defensible. But it wasn't particularly hospitable, even to the dogged four-arms. They'd figure that out soon enough.

"Understood. Anything else?"

Emmett shook his head. "No, ma'am. Should I have a message sent back?"

Lyra turned toward her fellow Risen. "How much time d'you think we've got?"

Lazarus sniffed the air as he looked around at the wrought carnage. "More than I thought we might. With the scope of the damage, the casualties, the limited survivors… I'd say after getting reamed in Senegal by the Ende group, they were looking for a win at the Eye."

His mention of the Ende aller Anderen sparrow gangs that roamed the marshlands outside the sunken port ruins of old Dakar brought a twitching grin to her lips. Even if she wasn't particularly fond of their brand of living, knowing that they'd given the Fallen hell was enough for her to appreciate them... for the moment at least.

"Taking back-t'-back losses like this is beyond their ability to retaliate for now," Lazarus continued. "They'll soak up any survivors, regroup, recoup, and saddle up for greener pastures."

Lyra nodded along. It was sensible logic, and Lazarus had particularly keen insight into Fallen goings-on.

"You sure?" she asked, more to put her own mind at ease than questioning his judgement.

"No," the Risen replied flatly, meeting her eyes. "Which is why I don't recommend sticking around for much longer."

She spent a minute in consideration before giving an assenting nod.

Caution was the word of the day.

She turned back to Emmett with command in her voice. "Signal Rigel's group to assist in the cleanup. With their help, we'll scour all the useful bits 'n bobs and skedaddle in two hours."

The man saluted and jogged off to do her bidding.

"That reminds me," she started with a snap of her fingers. Into her hands dropped a familiar looking weapon; a Fallen shock rifle. It was slightly scuffed, with black scoring visible around the metal of the barrel. Around its brace was wrapped the scorched remains of the dead Baron's banner-cloak, the sigil of the House of Claws identifiable, though – in her opinion – appropriately blackened.

Suffice to say, it was in relatively good condition considering. Lazarus looked the weapon over with a raised brow.

"Kilriks'?" he asked, taking the weapon in his hands.

She nodded. "Mhm. Yours by rights, I reckon."

He took a moment looking over the weapon before nodding in approval. "I appreciate it." Of course, he'd need to keep a store of ammunition for the weapon handy, but there was plenty to be looted in this mess…

She watched him for a minute, examining his cadence. It didn't go unnoticed.

"What?"

She pursed her lips dismissively and shook her head. "Nothing."

He cocked his head at her, unconvinced. "Something," he countered.

She waved off his suspicion with a grin. "Just heard from some of the refugees we found that there's a Fallen they were fond of imprisoned with 'em. Said they were worried for it. Said it was you who let them go."

"Yeah. And?"

She shrugged. "What'd you do with it?"

He hesitated a moment before shaping his hand into a gun, thumb-hammer twitching forward as he gave a click-click between his teeth.

She nodded knowingly. "Cold. You ain't never been the kindest when it comes to Fallen, but I didn't want to assume."

"It's a useful reputation to have around these parts," he admitted with a grin. For some reason, to Lyra, it seemed a little forced…

She reached out and gave him a slap on the shoulder. "You look tired. Once we get all this hauled off, what say we share the night together, eh?"

Her offer tore a laugh from his throat, and the weight on his shoulders seemed to lighten just a bit. "Only you would feel frisky after all of this, Ly."

She felt a laugh escape her chest as well. "Nothing gets the blood pumping like a good gunfight, I say."

She didn't press him for an answer; the offer, half serious, was a joke between them. At one point or another, Eskel, Rigel, and Kamil had all propositioned her for a tumble or two, and she'd turned each of them down. She found an especially humorous irony in extending the much-sought-after offer to Lazarus, the only one of the four men who always declined.

It pissed Eskel off to no end.

"Maybe," he answered, startling her from her laugh. "A little company wouldn't be so bad tonight…" He looked at her askance, as if suspecting that for all the times they'd laughed at her offers, it was some unspoken agreement between them that he was never actually supposed to accept them.

But it was for that very reason that Lyra felt a sudden concern wash over her. "If that's all you want," she agreed in more stern a tone than she'd intended, her eyes roaming his form from top to bottom. "You sure you're okay, Laz?"

"Yeah… Yeah I'm fine." He let out a deep, breathy sigh and nodded. "Just been a long day. That's all."

She nodded, knowing what that really meant. "We'll talk tonight. All night if you want. Promise."

A comfortable silence settled between them, and the cacophonous riot of work around them was dim in their ears.

A/N: Supriiiiiise~! I already had this chapter done before I even finished chapter nine! A nice change of scenery from our increasingly familiar Middle Earth, I think. Sadly, chapter eleven is not already done so that one will take a bit to get out, but I look forward to finishing it all the same. From here on out, things get interesting!

Well, I hope they were already interesting...

Anywho!

Leave any questions down below! Until next time!