Desolate Gail: Redux

by Zeronova

The walls of Troy have been blasted open by Kiske, and Troy is as vulnerable as the Seikishidan, but personal conflicts still exist. End of Arc II. Updates periodically.

2. Arc 1: Testament on the battlefields

-X- Introduction –X-
- Desolate Gail Redux
- Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 5-24-2004 / Checked on: 3-7-2005
- By: Zeronova
- Chapter 2: Testament on the battlefields

- Text : Third person, Narration
- Text : First person, Thoughts
- Text : Interjection, the Narrator

-X- End Introduction –X-

Kiske, holding his sword toward the ground, sprinted forward, seeing the red eye of a Gear piercing the fog, running at him, the body only partially able to be seen, limping in the animalistic stagger forward. Screaming a feral cry, Ky brought his sword forward from the fog, small jolts of electricity jumping from the ground to the fog, illuminating it, and then piercing through the spongy skin of the unnatural enemy. A vertical upward slash ripped the Gear into two; both cleaved halves falling to the ground, the fog surging upward, then settling back around the body, as if to hide it from God's eye. Bringing the Fuuraiken above Ky's head, his right hand holding it firmly, his left reaching out in front of him to the shaded horizon, he heard the slow patter of the soldiers behind him, their war cries echoing around him like ghastly sonnets.

He heard a lot of noises, but could not pinpoint a single one. As he held his left hand out, waiting another enemy, his right hand holding the blade to smite the next one, he saw none. Only one Gear? Impossible. The rest of the Seikishidan came up behind him, settling on a line with him, spreading out on both sides of him as far as he could see, none of them stepping a foot beyond where he was. They all panted, weapons drawn, adrenaline rushing. Reduced from humanity to feral battles between man and animal over life, using simple blades and tools, it was ironic, looking back. Humanity fought against their biological enemy, the inhuman Gears, yet fought as animalistically and inhumanly as possible to retain that trait.

The breaths of the soldiers spread out in front of them in the cold afternoon, dispersing into the lowered atmosphere. A few murmurs spread about them, asking where the Gears were, what they were doing here, and so forth. Then, a similar grunt was heard across from them. Except, this time, it was animalistic, a grunt, a growl, a squish of a Gear stepping forward. Slowly, the army stepped forward out of the mask of fog, standing even on their own playing field, looking at Ky and his men. It might have looked like a game of chess from above, but it was anything but down on the ground. Both of the forces, lining up parallel to each other moved, just staring straight forward at the enemy at hand.

Ky's eyes shifted from the enemy lines, back to his own, scanning the horizon. The eyes of the Gears were lifeless, unmoving, dull, and glazed over. Alpha Gear Justice had control of the abstract creations, the genetic mutations being controlled by the puppeteer, whom which was regarded immortal, squaring off again against the young child of the Seikishidan, whom seemed all too mortal, fighting for the true immortal. The beasts breathed heavily, the husky bodies moving with each breath took in, and shifting greatly with each breath let out. They were beasts in nature, their own genetic code infused with the magical alterations from wolves, bears, humans, all sorts of animals, to become the lifeless soldiers.

Some retained the human qualities, such as hair and upright posture, wielding rusty weapons forged by unskilled hands, and others had elongated nails, sharpened to a razor, and teeth that were as effective in primal times as now. On the opposite line, all of the soldiers were equipped with their standard broad swords, except for Kiske, holding his holy sword, Fuuraiken. How unholy his weapon was in his crusade of holiness against the unholy. A distant thunder rumbled along the fog, each of the sides silent as death.

"Good to be alive" someone said. Ky stood up a little from his battle position at the voice. From the mobs of Gears, the endless numbers drifting off into nothingness in the gray vapor, came one figure that was different. He was human looking, and floated above the ground with a ghastly exuberance, a duality in his persona and voice assuring he was anything but human.

"Testament…" Ky whispered under his breath.

"How will you fare today, human? I guess we'll see within the next few moments, won't we? Don't die too quickly, boy, my master would like to toy with your carcass before throwing it into Hell!" the Gear Sergeant said, a dual voice of human, and then an unearthly wicked one, layered one on top of another. He wore a black leather top with brass clips on both sides. It cut off at the top of the abdomen to reveal his pale skin, and his right shoulder was barren, as opposed to his left, which had a large draping leather sash draping down over the arm down to the wrist. His long, equally black hair draped down to his waist, and over his eyes, but the red bloodiness of them pierced through the hair to be visible across the hundred yard plus expanse between Ky and Testament. Wearing a dress-like garment on his lower body, lined with brass buckles on the cut up the right side, his right leg was visible all the way up to his hip, pale as death, as his chest was. The garments were reflective to their surroundings, but cast an eerie nihilism onto them from the respective dentate charisma.

"I'll be sorry to disappoint Justice then, but he will die by my blade long before he will ever have my head as a prize!" Ky yelled in anger back.

"So be it, human." The Gear spoke lowly. Taking his left hand, he brought his index finger to his right palm, and dug into his skin, enough to produce a single drop of blood. He held his hand out, this drop of blood descending into the fog. Before it totally disappeared in the four-foot-fog, a scythe formed out of the crimson, and rose like being controlled by a lute into both of his hands. The scythe edge was near the ground, and he knelt forward, the black leather he wore swiftly jumping back off of his bones as he dashed forward. The fog parted for him as he floated above it, the unnatural mar like butter to the searing hot cleave Testament held. Bringing the scythe above his head, he poised for attack. At the same moment, Ky dashed forward, the Fuuraiken trailing in the fog, leaving a wake of flittering blue flashes jumping about the fog, keeping his chest low to the ground, to gain speed. As they did, both of their respective armies ran forward behind them, like in the wake of a wave from a boat. The space between both warriors slowly lessened as they both sped towards each other, one fighting for God, the other for Justice, and neither for themselves.

Their blades met with ferocity, the loud twang echoing throughout the battlefield, like a mold for the next wave of slashes, stabs, screams, grunts, and every other sound of death that accompanied the battle. Moving outward from the center feud between Ky and Testament, the line of conflict was drawn straight down, a Gear to every Seikishidan. In literature and entertainment, fighting is always perceived as an action to define a man, as Ernest Hemingway said, an author from three centuries past. The dramatic hero fighting the despicable evil bad men who have come to kill them, so they fight a glorious fight. Reality plays out much differently.

Though the day was early, the mist was cool and impervious to the shuffling feet and bodies being laid down into it. Every breath by every human came out in a puff of steam, enlarging with every inch rising, losing its denseness to become more vaporous for every hand length it rose above grasp, till it was only a ghost above their body, the steamy breath carrying with it their last thoughts, emotions, and drifting up beyond the battlefield. Slowly, their breaths increased, sweating and fatigue coming to those weak early, and then some of the breaths indeed carrying off a ghost from the last breath of the cold body, laid to a grave unseen by those who tread above it.

Ky's initial dash at Testament resulted in a tremendous bash of both of their weapons, Ky flying forward toward the Gears more, and Testament toward the surge of Seikishidan. Digging his heel into the soft ground, Ky turned about face to attack the Gear Commander again. The floating menace slid on top of the cover of fog, the clouds billowing to his feet, which grazed the top delicately, like a figure skater. Blowing the delicacy to bits, he dashed forward at the human, the fog displaced high into the air to only vaporize and leave a small crater in the cool mist, soon filled with the dripping brethren gray around it, like hot wax covering its wounds.

As Kiske came closer to the pale enemy, he brought his unholy blade above his head as he ran. When he was about five feet from him, he jumped into the air, both of his feet off the ground and both hands firmly on the Fuuraiken. A blue light, as pale and deathly as the fog, but of a different hue, emanated from the sword's blade, like a candle in cobwebbed hallway. Blue sparks jumped off of the blade, found their way to the ground and fog, running along the leather fingerless gloves Ky had on, and down the side of his arm, jumping like excited children, never satisfied. As he brought his blade down, a large surge of electricity followed, a blue crescent being left in the wake of the blade, like a lingering shadow of the slash he has just executed.

Testament dodged with the speed of an animal, a small jump to the left. His blood scythe came up from his ankle in a diagonal slash at the young Atlas. As soon as the Seikishidan leader landed from his jumping slash, he quickly rolled to his left, dodging the bloody slash of the scythe. Something caught in the side of his eye, but he didn't pay attention, since there were thousands of people out here. His left hand was in the dirt, his fingernails crushing deep into it, both of his knees in the soft clammy dirt, with his right hand holding the Fuuraiken defiantly at the sky, the electricity brimming off of it like it was a predestined edifice to God and the sky, as if Quetzalcoatl itself was embodied into the sword which freely emitted electricity in the hands of a user who could use it for what it was, also known as Ky Kiske.

Ky jumped up from his kneeling position, bringing his sword across from right backside across in a horizontal slash forward, his left hand snatching the hilt as he did, gaining more power in his arc. As he did one horizontal slash to his left, he quickly followed in succession to a right-swinging one, to another left one, the Gear dodging under, jumping over, fading backwards, floating like a butterfly around the sword. After the third failed attempt at making contact with the Gear, Ky stopped his barrage, regaining his defensive stance.

"You're quite skilled, Human. Kliff taught you well."

"Yes, only it's a shame that you are not in my position now, as you should be." Ky said malevolently, holding his sword above is head in his right hand, left held out to his enemy. His feet dug into the soft ground, hidden by the moist cloud on the ground, his left foot pivoting off of the toes constantly, waiting to jump, dash, dodge, or whatever he needed. His right foot was rooted to the ground as irremovable as the foundations of Ky's religious sentiments.

At the current advent of Ky's words, Testament's attitude changed. The mellow, decisive Gear Commander, slowly fell down to the Earth, relinquishing the floating prowess he exerted previously, his eyes closed, and deep breaths coming in and out of his nostrils. When he reopened his eyes, they were more lifeless than before, searing red, like a cauldron boiled behind his retinas, and the unblinking death stare, devoid of life or recognition returned. Justice just reassumed full command of his body.

"Too long have I waited for this, boy. Too long have I been controlling minions through battles to destroy your organization. Lyon was no match, and now I have you, and with your death, I will kill your entire filthy fucking race." Testament sneered, the duality of his voice still there, but the second voice being a female one, highly mechanized, and very imposing. So, the two pivotal characters of the battle fought on, both their attire and weapons singling them out.

Bodies piled around the circle which they constantly dueled, clashing weapons and dodging with poetic brilliance. The bodies of both of the forces found their ways under the mist, impaled by weapon, slashed by claw, blood splatters lining the unseen Earth, and pools staining the moist Mother crimson. No wind whistled through the dense packing of the bodies, no sun pervaded the shielding clouds, and no ground was to be seen. Like a clash of the titans, this battle had its own nature to it, and the direction of its inevitable outcome.

Ky jumped backward on his heels from an attack from Testament, the scythe leaving trails of blood dripping in mid air, that seemed to bleed straight from the pulsating blade, seeming nearly alive, in the morosely evil, Satanic fashion. Nothing purely made it evil, the crimson color to it, the living architecture of it, the blood it secreted, but what it was simply made it evil, undoubtedly, to Ky. As soon as his feet got hold in the flocculent ground, he jumped forward again, his left hand out first, as if to grab something, his right bent at the elbow, his blade nearly touching his face, getting ready to stab forward. His foot impacted the ground, a soft puddle splattering up onto his boots and trench coat, the red blood of his fallen comrades staining his own attire in red droplets.

The next step he took, he heard a massive kroop and was held firm in his place. A large, massive net of blood seemed to evaporate out of the air, snatching him to it. The blood from Testament's scythe had good use after all, a trick. Ky lunged his right hand out of the netting, and brought his sword down into it near his left, burning the tendons to a crisp of the net, and freeing his hand. As he did, the net seemed to disperse into the day, ashes falling to the ground, lined with the orange tint of the burning that covered and consumed them. The pieces of gooey bloody net left on Kiske's gauntlet also turned to ash and blew away in a solitary breeze, upward into the air, never to be seen again.

"What magic heathenry is this, Gear?" he shouted, looking around for his nemesis. He was nowhere to be found, but his dual voice could be heard through the clashing swords and scream of death on the battlefield.

"There is no need for this fight to continue, I'll see you in Hell, boy!" the voice lingered on, the dissipating scent of decay from Testament being quickly voided out by the repugnance of death. Ky had no time to waste, as a soldier Gear jumped at him from his side with a vertical slash. Quickly, Ky put his sword up to his face in a horizontal position, the blade clanging onto his, the orange sparks flying off into the air, sizzling into nothingness in the damp fog. The massive strength of the impact and the brute size of the Gear forced Ky down to his knees, holding his sword in both hands, trying to keep the massive enemy's blade on him.

The Gear's contorted face had only one eye, the rotting skin falling off of the bone, and the red eye looking about inadvertently. The genetically enhanced muscles bore down on Ky, the blade stifling into his own. He took his left hand off of the grip, and held it on the far edge of the blade, pushing on his enemies, which was interlocked with his. The Gear growled and jumped forward, pushing further onto Ky, a bit of slime dripping from his broken jaw that sat out of place, the teeth inside grotesquely overgrown and sharpened to a fine point. Rags of clothes and rotting skin hung on the Gear like a proud medal, every time he moved, they swung.

Ky's head was going under the fog, as the Gear pressed down harder on their interlocked swords, almost entirely on top of Ky. The Gear growled a feral hiss of enjoyment at the sport of the kill, and Ky was running out of time. His first idea was to overpower the Gear with the sword lock, but it seemed he underestimated the Gear, superbly. Think Ky, think! Got it! Ky quickly switched his left hand back to the grip of the sword, and the force from the Gear's pushing down was suddenly changed, and it slid right off the edge of the sword, stifling a little in its stance. As Ky did, he rolled to his right side, the Gear stumbling to the left, and in one long arc of a swing, Ky took off the Gear's ankles. A loud scream of agony, sounding like nails on a chalkboard, glass being cut into by a diamond saw, metal scraping against stone, all of those and none of those at the same time emitting the unholy mouth of man's creation. It fell to the ground, the rough rusted sword alleviated from its grasp by a firm kick from Ky as he stood.

Imperialistically brooding over the now useless Gear, Ky brought the Fuuraiken up, pointing the tip of the blade towards the ground, and above the Gear. In one swift motion, he stabbed downward, piercing the rib cage of his enemy, and his blade finding its way into the moist dirt. Clawing to the sky, the Gear died quickly thereafter, the red glimmer in its eyes losing the ferocity, and dying, like throwing dirt on a fire. Kiske removed the sword, and swung it in an arc around him, removing the globules of blood, and turned to face his next enemy and leaving a whisking electric current in his wake, to the hiss of the approaching enemies on his back. Above the heads of the Seikishidan soldiers were mingled the disgusting heads of the Gears, all shapes sizes and forms of then. As far as the eye could see he looked, fog hiding their numbers, but from what he could see, their outlines drawn out from their running stride out of the cloud, there were too many.

I'm getting ahead of the story. I think I may have confused you, good reader. Swords of lightning, scythes of blood? Testament and the Gear hordes? I'll give you a bit of back-story before I continue the story, to quench your query. Frederick, as I mentioned above, was the head developer in the Gear project in 2014. He disappeared after using his own body as a guinea pig to the project, as did most of the others in the crew. The lab was destroyed, and all of the people went missing. In the ruins of the lab were found designs left by Frederick for weapons, infusing the power of magic into the weapons, same with Gears. They were designed to be the perfect weapons to use against Gears. It's like he saw that he was going to screw up with the Gears, so made a fail safe.

Human warfare, brought down to the roots of human ancestry itself, dating back to animalistic punches, and using rocks, and other objects to gain the upper hand in battle. From using a rock, came a devised weapon, one with actual usefulness and craftiness. Then came better ones, from rock to club, and club to sword. And, from there, they learned to minimalize the battle aspect of warfare, and do it with as much ease as possible, furthering the advent of guns. From guns came bombs, which came even bigger ones, endangering the entire race as a whole by the single detonation of one. Continuing in the ease of combat, man created Gears to fight for them, and then the Gears turned and fought against them, returning back to the fundamentals of war itself. Using their bare hands and crude weaponry, the demonic race of assembled and mutated creatures were simplistic, and the warfare against them turned equally barbaric.

In the beginning of the Crusades, there were bombs, there were bullets, there were all the innovations of war that humans had grown accustomed to. But, for every Gear slain, what purpose was there? Resurrection under intense magic radiation, and then the continuation of the species by adding more carcasses to the brood, and making any creature a Gear through assimilation and alteration, the Gears were a force to be reckoned with. Though it did require the body to be brought back to a factory to have the medical process reworked for the resurrection, Gears were puppets in all senses of the word. After all the bullets were spent, after all the bombs dropped, after every new warfare technique was used, it came down to the humans fighting Gears as they were meant to, hand to hand. Bringing to life the old arts of combat and creating new ones, the weapons were forged, the skills relearned, and slowly man built itself back up again. In the early days of our species, we fought the elements and predators, now we fight our own predators and the elements are in our favor, as now we can wear clothes and think decisively, our predecessors had more animal in them than we do, giving them an edge against a similar enemy we know nothing of.

With one quick slash, Ky killed another Gear, cleaving it in half from its clavicle to its hip, the seared nerve endings and organs black and crumbling, turning to ash rising into the air as it fell to be swallowed by a low embracing fog, giving off a red distant glow from the underneath blood staining the dirt. Quickly averting another attack from behind, he dodged a horizontal blow by ducking, and brought his own sword up fiercely in an upward stab, his blade ripping the jaw of the Gear apart, and cutting halfway into its skull between the eyes, or what was left of them. It twitched, the blood slipping down the blade in globs, then falling backwards into the fog, being pounded upon by its own comrades as they advanced over the body like it were nothing more than a human.

Jeez, they aren't ending! Throwing a bolt from his sword off of the tip as he slashed into the air, his seemingly evaded attack was nothing of the sort, as the electricity leapt off of the blade, and found a host in the nearest Gear, hunched over like an ape, and then being shocked erect, the lightning jumping from piece of skin to the next, turning black with every contact of the sparking death. Falling to the ground with a wisp of smoke emitting the body, it was removed from the way of the next Gear jumping forward, vying to get its time with Kiske. Being stabbed through the lower abdomen by three large tendril claws, the Gear behind lifted the carcass from its kneeling fatal position, and tossed it behind it, onto the heads of the surging mass of Gears.

Dispersing on the front line to any close soldier, the Gears fought the battle they were commanded. Slowly being manipulated like chess to go space by space, surge here, defend there, the primary fighting actions, defenses, and movements were controlled by an auxiliary programming within Justice's chamber. More on that later, but we've got a battle at hand. A secondary wave surged in from behind the main forces of Gears, putting more pressure on the ones at the front line, as they all pressed forward, regardless of Gear or human killed in the way of the thousands plus mob.

In a 360-degree motion, Ky swung his sword, an arc starting high and eventually, the blade swinging around so far it ended up finding its way through the bones of ankles and tendons of calves. Gears screamed in pain by gashes on their chests, few fell over dead with decapitation, and others toppled under the loss of a limb. Ky's quick action left him momentarily open, despite the mob enclosing him, leaving him off from the dead Seikishidan soldiers on his right and left. He was enclosed in a circle by the enemy, the line of defense being broken and holed in many places. A rusted Gear sword came down fast and hard at Ky after he was recuperating from the spin, getting ready to jump back and sprint. Catching the side of his arm cloth, it ripped the white cloth to shreds, barely missing his arm, and finding a soft earth to hold the blade. In a quick succession, the Gear jumped forward with another slash, blocked by the Fuuraiken, and then a retort slash by Ky, ending the third successive slash midway by the Gear, who dropped the rough blade as its throat was pierced.

Removing the unholy blade, a spout of rotten blood spilled over the ground, the Gear being tossed to its side by one behind, grunting and hungry for the thrill of death, though artificial to what Justice said they needed and wanted. I'm trapped! God, gimme a way out! He fended off another Gear, removing it of its leg before it was removed from his sight, another Gear replacing it. A barrage of attacks from all directions came, his skillful dodging not wearing down on his stability, as sweat poured off of him like a water spout does when turned on, and Ky was definitely glued in the on position. After just acquainting himself not too long ago with the Fuuraiken, he himself was not a master of its ways, but he knew he was far better than anyone else, as he could control it, to an extent. I hope this works…

It was said that the user of the Jinki, the weapons created by Frederick, are a select few, who have that innate ability to control themselves so much, they can control the magic that binds them. In any other person's hands, the Fuuraiken was a long sword, in Ky's hands, it was a metal blade made of electricity. Of the eight known Jinki that Frederick made designs for, there were never any first hand creations of the weapons, except for what the U.N. made, which was directly made off of the diagrams anyway. Other than that, no others exist, besides Fuurenken, the Fireseal, but that's a different story that we'll cover later. Made in the same fashion as Gears, these select few weapons were made with the infusion of magic into the very atoms and molecules that made them. Harnessing magic's innate ability to create and disassemble things in the world, because it is the fiber that holds everything together, it also has the ability to create basic elements from it, such as lightning, fire, wind, ice, and a few other undisclosed elements and molecular combinations. Naturally, they were worked into the weapons, but as I stated, only available by the right users. Not to mention they don't all necessarily have to be weapons to harness this power, in the traditional sense.

They were made as a precaution, the best anti-Gear weapons. It seems as if Frederick somehow knew that his own deviations from the mortal coil would be inevitable, as were his creations wrecking havoc only preceded in magnitude by a complete and total destruction of the world, only seen in equal mass to that of the prehistoric sixty-five-million-year-old meteor, the ice age, the Bubonic plague, and a few others. Basically, the worst tragedies in the human history, but this one take the cake by far. After the advent of Gears, the world went through economic growth like crazy, sending even the peasant man who could afford one Gear to upping his productivity in whatever his job was up to five fold. Also, Gear production was in high demand. In the previous world disasters, man was aware and able to defend himself, but this one came as a complete shock out of the blue, like a kidney punch from behind, that left most of the lazy and pompous world unready for the exercise ahead.

Anyway, as I was saying, those who control the swords have to have a level of physical and mental stability to use their full ability. If one possesses that ability, but has yet to hone it, results could be disastrous. If one simply doesn't have it, the Jinki elicits no response. The weapons have been nicknamed seals, since they can create and seal the element of which each weapon is normally allocated. Thunderseal, Fireseal, and who knows what else, the U.N. won't tell. Thought itself doesn't truly unlock the power of the weapons, but rather feeling them. As humans come back to basic combat over and over through the centuries, there was always more art and more skill in the old combat than pulling a trigger or pressing a button, and it transfers over into using a Jinki. And when a Jinki gets a capable user, just by holding it, the Jinki gains more strength, and bends to the will of the user, even emotion and expression being translated to the weapon. Of course, this is all heresy, and it could just be in the user's imagination.

A soft blue light cascaded off of the edges of the Fuuraiken, and looking at the blade itself, one could never tell it had a change in color, but the electricity in it surged to life, gathering inside, bits and pieces of the light escaping on the edges, in the right shimmer, like it was hiding the inside of what was happening. Ky was working quick, because the Gears were all within two yards of him, and would be slashing his bones to pieces and having his blood splattered on their faces with glee within a few moments. So, he closed his eyes, deep in thought, becoming one with his Thunderseal. While he was never taught how to use it, or why, even when given it, he felt that attraction to it. He felt that bond between him and the blade, despite its obvious religious symbolism to completely defy Ky's nature.

The electricity started to leap off of the blade, lining the ground in sharp little zigzags, disappearing as soon as they came, striking everything they could, till each static bolt became bigger, and stronger, till the small jolts were strikes of lightning, and engulfed Ky. No static electric particle coming from the deluded blade touched him, and he didn't have any trouble feeling himself through the sword. Every Gear ran in at him in the circle, which he was the center of, being thrown back, charred and smoldering, and as they did, he slowly started jogging forward, eyes still closed, his direction being led by God, and his protection by that of God's ultimate hatred.

The electricity started to engulf Kiske like a ball, his running sphere of light like an epiphany of Christ, and death to the many Gears it touched, body parts being instantly incinerated and removed from the morbid life, if it could be called that, of being on a Gear. The closest analogy to what Kiske was doing was riding the lightning, if it could be so said. He pumped his legs as hard as he could, his brain focused solely on his sword, though it got harder and harder to keep that concentration, by every passing moment, every flinch of a muscle, took away from his concentration, much less running at a sprint through hordes of enemies.

The pulsating aura of electricity brimming off of the weapon seemed to thin, every bolt and jolt smaller, thinner. The glow started to fade from vibrant blue to the dull blue one would see from a cow grazing on a pasture and the sky reflecting in the lazy eye of the it. Finally, the lightning bursts ended, the blue fades stopped, Ky lost his concentration, and his breath came out in a giant gasp. He fell to his knees, unaware of his surroundings, gasping for breath, the tip of his sword implanted into the dirt, the light fog like a blanket hiding his kneeling position. Get up! Gears around! Up! Ky opened his eyes, his mouth gasping for air, the saliva in his mouth thick and instantiating to his parched throat, pushing on the grip of his sword to lift himself up to fight. To at least stand and face his death, where he knew he was not safe, not to kneel in tired fashion before it.

His glazed eyes, pumping with adrenaline, black ridges lining his view, he saw no Gears. Did I die? He turned behind him, and saw the blazed path of blackened Gears, rising smoke, and the putrid smell of raw flesh flamed off of the bone unnaturally. Not like a pyre, but that of an electrical burn, smelling like pouring sulfuric acid on copper. Through the small alleyway he blazed from his imprisoned circle, he saw the Gears were quick to react, jumping in the lost space, surging forward, but he had time. Lifting his head high, gasping in all his lungs, he shouted words he had never wanted to, even from childhood.

"Retreat!" The few Seikishidan men around him, in the multicolor-lined uniforms with the white of the normal parts, stained red with rotten blood, or the still vibrant crimson of their comrades. Few turned their heads to see Ky yell it, as they knew his voice, but they yelled it the same, to continue their voice down the line of soldiers. The initial line of battle had been crushed, big spots of weakness in it, and a few packs of soldiers banding together fighting off the Gear threat where it attacked them, but it was unrelenting, like ants trying to fight a washing tide into the anthill. They can stand their ground and push against the water, but it won't stay blocked forever, and it will break through. And like a flood, the Gears poured through every crack, every crevice of the defense, and now, there was no defense.

-X- Author's Notes –X-
- Zeronova's Notes:
- Well, you ain't dead Kaiser, good to see. But, you need a story to compete with DG again, but I am up for the challenge. Anyway, this is Monday's update, next Monday, we have the Seikishidan retreat.
-X- End Author's Notes –X-