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10 years ago.
Courtyard training – Legram.
Victor stood with his arms folded back, intently watching his daughter balance from one vertically-set log, to another. Laura was clearly afraid, clinching the blindfold tight. The cross-section width of each log was only big enough for a seven-year-old's feet to find a footing. They were spaced out in a six-by-six formation, rising at two-and-a-half arges above the ground (embedded three arges underground). Laura stood in the centre of it.
She looked up, eyes widening at the dummy bags filled with flour, pinioned at the second-level balconies surrounding the courtyard. Other students of the Arseid school held onto three of these dummies, ready to pendulum swing them down at her in varying tempo. Laura swallowed, tying on the blindfold.
A dark muddy grey darkness settled in. Laura's breath became louder to her ears, with all her muscle memory and senses straining to contextualise her surroundings; an incoming wind, the position of each footing. She tilted her head sideways, hearing pebbles scraunching beneath a new pair of footsteps. Someone else had joined in at the courtyard to watch.
"What is this?" came her father's voice.
In the darkness, Laura recognised her sister's voice.
"Father, a messenger from the west thundered his stallion in town, bearing a letter from Count le Guinn. He's formally requesting you take his daughter, Aurelia under your mentorship. For next year. Apparently, she's nearing the maturation of her Vander training," said Elena.
"The girl pursues both styles? Interesting. I wonder if she's aware that it's better to be a master of one, rather than be mild at two."
"They are saying she's a prodigy. Perhaps this Aurelia believes to try mastering both," said Elena.
"An admirable pursuit but Matteus and I have seen dozens crushed by that ambition. Hmm. I shall ponder this later. For now. . .Laura! Are you ready?" asked Victor.
The little girl raised her chin.
"I'm scared, father. Those dummies are three times my size."
"Everyone gets scared. Even your big sister went through this."
"Elena is different, I'm not like her. Nothing ever ruffles her feathers; she never shows fear or a tantrum."
"Tantrums are pointless displays of arrogance," said Elena.
"Big sister. . ." said Laura.
"What does fear feel like to you, Laura?" asked Elena.
Laura gestured at her tummy.
"I feel it here. They're like angry butterflies."
"Mastering fear doesn't mean getting rid of the butterflies in your stomach. It means teaching them to fly in formation. I never tried to be perfect, like you believe me to be, Laura. I simply learned to live gracefully with my emotions. Try it. I know you'll learn to become a self-assured lady someday," said Elena.
"I will?"
"We believe in you," said Victor.
This trial of footwork training was going to be difficult but her family's supportive words gave Laura the ore to forge confidence within. Laura took a deep breath in.
". . .OK. I'm ready," said Laura.
The first dummy came swinging down. Laura managed to jump-step away from it in the last fraction of the second, her deer skinny ankles shaking. The second and third dummies were already incoming.
Present day.
The flat of the blue broadsword turned against the air strike arte from the 'grass drome' monster – large slug head creatures imbued in esmela's affinity. The wind arte exploded in a blast against the broad of the metal, reverberating a force of feedback at Laura's wrist.
Four of the spongy one-eyed molluscs bobbled at Laura and spat more wind artes. With casual ease, Laura sidestepped the concentrated vectors of compressed wind, her skilled footwork prancing like a tigress going for the pounce. The dungeon stone wall behind her cracked mini-craters under the abuse of the orbal energy air strikes – all missing their targets.
Keeping her centre of gravity low, Laura locked the momentum of her dash into one leg, turning her into a rotating power pivot with Brynhildr, to cleave a cross-section at the grass dromes. All four decapitated in a wet slick, spurting slops of green goo across the blue granite.
Without missing a beat, Laura strode forward across the catwalk bridge. The internal structure here mixed haphazardly between man-made masonry and natural formations of granite outcrops, as if the old schoolhouse was transitioning into incomplete construction. In the first half-hour of exploration, there had been a somewhat recognisable organisation of an old learning institution. They passed by a dusty library – heaped in hilly tomes of cobwebbed spines, there were empty rooms that had likely been classrooms once, shadow dormitories with rusted cots and even laboratories with some of the glassware left behind before they boarded everything up. But as the girls went deeper underground, the schoolhouse got stranger.
Strangeness first started when they found plants growing underground, full blooming vertical gardens that were unkempt in maintenance yet nevertheless were thriving in what had to be a good forty arges below ground, away from any source of light or minimal warmth.
Laura paused at a patch of flora at the end of the bridge, shining the glow of her ARCUS's screen onto the flower. The light kissed water droplets on the large black flower vortexed like a starry galaxy over the curlicue petals.
Even though it's pretty, it looks so. . .mutated, thought Laura, before continuing on. The voices of the other girls murmured in hearing range.
From plants that defied conventional rules, then came all sorts of oddities of noise. Hollow wet gurgles from beyond the walls, creaks ahead and behind even though the floor was stone and not wood, unseen bat-like shrieking that would start in intervals out of nowhere then cut off abruptly. Then the granite started to peek through the structure – most of it a stunning palette of venous lines bleeding and splotching in indigo, peacock blues and blacks.
Then finally came the monsters. Unnatural chimaeras of creations, like cross-breeds between feline and bats (Alisa called that one, 'flying feline'), mollusc creations intermixing with septium-based qualities or other materials of earth. Emma suggested that it may have not been nature that created them but man. Could it have been the alchemists of Thors's shadowy past? Laura wondered. They certainly had not boasted about this in the school pamphlets. Was that why they closed down this schoolhouse, to hide from the world their shameful grotesque creations?
Two hours into this expedition, Laura had a feeling it was still going to get worse in here.
"Laura?! That you?" called out Anne Drechsler, spotting a shadowy figure walking down the steps of this great underground cavern. Their voices echoed deep in these spaces.
"Yes, Anne. It's fine, it's just me."
"Was it another dead end?" asked Alisa.
The girls stood surrounding a campfire made from igniting abandoned furniture brought from the above level. Condensed breath exhaled out of mouths as hands were warming over the fire; its crackling flames leaping like trout and spitting spittle of ember. Laura joined in warming her fingertips.
"I'm afraid it was. Though a poet may pen it was a 'deader' end for the grass dromes I found."
Emma's forehead furrowed in concern.
"We ought to stop splitting up now. The monsters we've been fighting up until now aren't severely threatening, yet we may come across fiends more sinister," said Emma.
"I would prefer that," said Alisa.
Laura and Anne nodded at that.
Upon this agreement, Fie dropped in like a cat unannounced on a startled group of pigeons. Laura was the exception to the girls' collective gasping, only folding her arms with apprehension. This little one is capable, Laura observed. Made it this far all on her own and not a scratch on her.
"You scared me a little! A little warning next time, please?" said Emma.
"I passively made my presence known to her, on the walk back," said Fie, nodding to Laura as if this was elementary communication.
Laura was bemused.
"I'm afraid my hunter's sense isn't quite honed as. . ."
A jaeger, Laura was about to say. It was supposed to be a harmless comparison in conversation among comrades but now, Laura noticed the weapons the girl had.
Though Laura herself was more enthusiastic on the tools of melee combat, she made it her personalised responsibility to know orbal firearms well enough, for the emergency skirmishes which Arseid knights took to defending Legram from bandits or worse. Know thy enemy. A popular policy in matters of mortal combat for many people, really.
"Sorry, we never got your name," said Anne.
"Fie Claussell. Just call me, Fie."
"I like your gunblades, especially with what you've done to the catalyst chambers. Those are nohval pulsar injectors, right? Super expensive because it is tricky to get right. . .also super illegal," Alisa ended in a self-conscious afterthought then added hastily, "-not that I'm a snitch or anything!"
"Huh. How is someone like you able to tell technicalities on orbal weaponry engineering?" asked Anne.
"Oh! Umm. . .I guess I'm just. . .bit of an orbal nerd, y'know since I'm from Roer and all that!"
"Fair enough."
Fie looked at each one then nodded to herself as if confirming something.
"None of you have noticed this now but we're being followed. I'm counting at least two people," said Fie.
"That sounds ominous. I'm glad you chose to finally join us, Fie," said Emma.
Fie stiffly nodded. Laura took a different read on that insincerity. She looked past Fie's shoulder, alarmed; double-clicking her ARCUS to summon Brynhildr.
"They weren't following us at first, were they? It was you until you led them to us for a more strategic confrontation," said Laura.
Fie stared up at Laura a long while for that.
Maybe not everyone in this get-up is a naïve pampered child. Not completely anyway, thought Fie.
"Yes," said Fie, without an iota of apology's tone.
"You mean they're already here!" exclaimed Emma.
"They are," Fie confirmed.
The other girls summoned their weapons, emitting staccato bursts of light droplets.
Laura strode ahead and pointed her greatsword forward.
"Step out fiends. Cease this childish hide-n-seek in coercing fear! Face us, head on!"
Nothing stirred from the darkness of the great cavern. There was no answer save for the vague echo in Laura's call out. Fie half-lidded her eyes. People still spoke like that? In what Zemuria was that ever going to work?
"Guess they're not the cooperative sort," chimed Anne.
"What are you doing? We could be setting up an ambush instead for these pursuers," said Fie.
Laura kept Brynhildr high, stepping sideways to look at Fie. Laura's suspicions about her were quickly phasing from smoky uncertainties to wary questioning about Fie's background.
"I'm not partial to subterfuge. If what these strangers seek is a fight, we may afford them a fair duel."
Are you serious? Thought Fie.
"You're needlessly endangering your squad by keeping us out in the open first," Fie insisted, not backing down.
A pause pregnant with seeded tension followed. Emma cleared her throat, cautiously breaking the silence:
"Alisa, can your recurve shoot flares? Perhaps we can flush out whoever's hiding, out of the shadows."
"I can, unless – anyone here objects?" said Alisa, looking more at Laura and Fie.
Anne nervously kicked at the floor, making eye contact with Emma, who looked anxious. Laura lowered her weapon.
"No objections here," Laura said quietly.
"Fine by me," said Fie.
The end tip sizzled a luminosity fountain of green sparks when Alisa pointed it up to the high ceiling of the cavern. Breath in. On exhale she released it. The arrow's trajectory arced in a wide angle streak, slowing at the apex.
It reminds me of the Frozen Flame meteoroid, thought Laura.
At the apex, the arrowhead exploded into half-a-dozen flares, drizzling down like fall stars. Each pulse of green luminosity lit up most of the cavern. Forced out of hiding shadows, it was here when Neithardt and Angelica made their move. From a crevice corner, Neithardt exploded into an air dash, his cloak rippling in billows. All the girls saw was a gas-masked phantom but they all bolted into action.
Alisa reached for a second arrow to fire at Neithardt when someone grabbed her wrist from behind and twisted her hand beneath her butt.
"Someone's got the oomf! - in all the right places," whispered this assailant, a female voice that was strangely familiar to Alisa.
Alisa barely squeaked a 'What even-' before Angelica crossed her gauntlet nozzle in front of the blonde's face and detonated the first vial of Garuda's Shriek. A stardust burst of pink smoke and glitter-like dust engorged Alisa's breathing space. Angelica released her, feeling Alisa's weight give. The Reinford heiress fell to her knees as the psychotropic hallucinogen took its course in her bloodstream.
Angelica swerved beneath the naginata swing from Anne Drechsler. With one hand, Angelica took a swiping raise at her own solar plexus – pooling ki. Before Drechsler could get the second swing in, Angelica forward dashed past the naginata's weapon range and bullet exploded out the ki energy, turning up rips in Angelica's clothes. The energy blast wrenched the weapon out of Anne's hand, unbalancing the peach pastel-haired young lady. Anne fell back, flailing.
Angelica caught the girl in a ballroom tango swoop. Anne blinked confusedly at the gauntlet nozzle across her face.
"Sweet dreams, princess."
The second empty canister of the psychedelic dropped like a spent shotgun shell, followed by Anne who curled into herself. Spasms wracked her frame.
Angelica resisted the urge to take off her gas mask to wipe the already heavy droplets of perspiration that were rolling. Ki-derivative Taito techniques always made her sweat up a barrel within seconds (Kilika did caution her a fair bit about staying hydrated). Made her metabolic processes go funny too, which explained the hunger that followed afterwards.
Fie was given a little more time to prepare for Angelica, only pausing to inspect if Emma was still breathing from this unknown biological weapon. Behind the ex-jaeger, Neithardt and Laura were engaged in a flurry of blows, sabre against greatsword, Hundred-form Military Combat against Arseid style. It would have been an interesting match to see on an ordinary day but today the more experienced soldier was hellbent to neutralise the less experienced cadet. It was a matter of one minute before pink smoke would join the discs of sparks around Laura.
Angelica axe heel kicked Fie's tossed frag grenade in easy grace. The grenade bopped across the room and detonated against a wall, collapsing granite and mortar. With a sex predator's candour, Angelica approached Fie, her fingers flexing.
"Oooh such a pretty little thing. Wonder how she'd tremble with my hand inside," said Angelica. For someone like Angelica, it was partially intended psychological intimidation, partially the (unfortunate) truth.
Fie unholstered her 'fuck off' gunblades, pointing them at this dangerous pervert.
Ten minutes later.
Mirage waves danced blurry lines at the room's edges. Machias groaned, waking up. All around him, the edges of things expanded and contracted. Sometimes it brightened. Sometimes it darkled. He vaguely felt the sloshing of water gurgling around his ears.
Fuzzy grey shapes around, thought Machias, getting up.
Unnoticed by Machias, a used vial of Garuda's Shriek rolled in the water.
Machias clutched his head, eyes screwed. A totter to the left. Water splashed at his ankles. A totter to the right. His rationale of the seconds processed in irregular muddling layers. Machias slowly found an increasing definition to his surroundings. The ground beneath him took on a feeling of firmness.
The hazy lines were not completely gone. Machias staggered forward, making out the distinct shape of his Bear Stinger shotgun laying in abandon. How did it get there?
Just as his hand gripped the shotgun's stock handle, something dropped on his shoulder. Water droplets drizzled from his orbal shotgun as he straightened up, flicking off whatever was on him. It was sticky. He held out his hand in front of him, frowning at the web-like substance stretching out between his fingers. Web-like. . .
A cobweb? his toxin-clouded mind wondered.
From a top view, the greenhead of Regnitz turned drunkenly left-right. A shadow shape the size of a car bloomed around him. It was an arachnid shadow of eight jagged legs.
#
Crow whistled a merry tune, stretching back with his hands behind his head. In the background, Machias's screams and flopping on water drowned out Crow's musical merriment. His orbment rang.
"Hello?" Crow answered.
"Taken care of the loners?" asked Major Neithardt.
"Albarea and Regnitz – yeap. Was pretty easy since they were both on their own."
"Any demonstrable resistance to the nightmare status inflicted?"
"Nope. Both melted in their nightmares like butter in an oven. I mean hear this-" Crow held his orbment towards Machias. Screams, screams and more screaming, "-I'm almost worried he might bite his tongue."
"You didn't overdose them, did you? Higher concentrations would make it unfair and null the benchmark test we're running on Class VII."
"Oof – you're harsh, major. Have some faith, I used one canister per target, as per your directions. How did the girls fair? I'm assuming they've been intoxicated in the stuff if you're calling."
From the background, Crow vaguely heard Angelica piping something gleeful.
"We had some trouble bringing Cadet Arseid and Cadet Claussell to a safe proximation to deliver the psychedelic. It was almost as bad as the confrontation with the Remiferian in the boys' entourage, even though we had the element of a perfect ambush there. How he was able to stand straight after getting hit point blank with your electrocution arte, astounds me. Like Cadet Serpico, the viscount's daughter gave a hell of a fight. The jaeger girl proved slippery to catch herself. Miss Rogner is pleased on her wager because. . .one of them passed Valestein's nightmare test."
"Who?"
"Cadet Arseid. She got back up, barely lifting that huge weapon and unsteady on her feet – still trying to save her comrades from us. Seems like the girl can walk Victor's boast that she's his final prodigy."
"What about Rean Schwarzer? He was not with the boys group when we found them."
"Even you cannot find him? We've had no luck either. Just how could he have been separated from the group. We've checked all the routes in the old schoolhouse-" Angie interjected in the background, suggesting that Rean may have fallen off somewhere, breaking his neck, "-hmph. The young men in this team disappoint me. They've all succumbed to the Shriek and now Cadet Schwarzer is M.I.A on day one."
"I can try giving my route another pass. The old schoolhouse is a strange place. . .I'm sure the fella will turn up somewhere," said Crow.
"You do that. Report back as soon as you find him."
Clearly, nobody was allowed to be in dusty crypts that hoarded all manner of strange contraptions, secrets and oddities. Maybe it was the occasional skeletons strewn against door jambs, or the claw marks on the walls that seemed reminiscent of a science experiment gone awry (I think I got the message, Rean thought wryly). Or the fact that Rean's tracker sense was picking up a sinister thread of something that roamed these once-sealed chambers. That almost invisible 'background colour', a deep note that played beneath the spooky silence.
Though Rean was concerned at first for Elliot and the others when he got forcibly separated by the floor collapse; that concern quickly dissolved to inquisitiveness with the environment he was finding himself in.
"ARCUS activate," Rean muttered, switching on the utility torchlight. He shined the light on the wall.
Faded graffiti words. Garish slashed letterings that had a kind of madness to the way each stroke was applied, like someone in a possessed religious frenzy. It said:
History may not repeat itself but it can certainly rhyme
"Is that so," Rean murmured.
Rean tracked the torchlight to the bottom corner. More graffiti:
Aidios save my soul. For what we've done
Next to '. . .we've done' was a lever. It was probably a bad idea that could end in Rean's premature doom but he still gear-shifted the thing up. Stone dragged behind the walls and the curious sound of some kind of machinery hum (that was quite unlike orbal technology in its acoustics) started. Rean turned around. The large roundtable (which Rean initially mistook to be a humble table) was lighting up in circular glyphs. No – they weren't glyphs, Rean realised. Light shot up from the table, flickering in its pale beams. Emitting from the table was an epileptic three-dimensional image of a wizened-looking man. Those 'glyphs' were actually lenses. Projection lenses for some record keep. Shadows fractured in the room, dancing with the silvery phantoms of the past.
Rean raised his chin, walking a slow circle around the projection as it spoke:
"My name is Maximo Quintillion. Preceptor of Alchemy Studies at Thors Military Academy. To make it the point now, what will be taught here isn't science; a dilettantist's pursuit that shackles itself to materialism and the status quo. No, what I'm teaching is something pure. Alchemy is a discipline that's more ready-equipped to not only understand our world but even possess the potential to bend its rules. As some of you witnessed during the recently ended War of the Lions, golems were deployed against the juggernaut Di-" The projection wavered. Maximo's voice distorted into an incoherent jumble, "-it is here, we will conduct the greatest of experiments. With the war over, we shall transmute the spirit of the Erebonian iron soul, into gold. The verge of greatness."
The transmission died.
"Golems. . ." Rean muttered. It sounded like the stuff of a fanciful children's storybook. And what were these golems supposedly deployed against? Dragons? Demi-gods? Demons?
Even stranger, the projection phrased 'recently ended War of the Lions'. Was this place that old?
Author's Note: Had some trouble trying to nail Angelica's dialogue in this chapter since I've never raped or sexually harassed anyone in real life. Apologies for any dissimilarities to the real thing.
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