They're all around…I feel them, I can sense them. I think I hear them, the monstrous growls and little squeals of delight, choked back in fear…but maybe I'm imagining it, no one else does…all that I've seen, maybe it's getting to me, always thinking and seeing Gears…but there are Gears here, it's known, it is fact…but where are they. Where are the Gears?

Ky Kiske walked along with one of the three sects of the split-up teams of soldiers, a sergeant holding all of the vital materials, hand twitching to grab and shoot the flare gun. These soldiers had never used or seen anything like it, and even though they shouldn't have used it at any time, some of them wished to have a reason to, because they were in Lyon anyway, and, why not see what a flare is before they die? The black sky seemed synonymous with the black sheets of armor the soldiers wore, the small curved pieces laced together in halves to form a sort of shell around their major extremities, the black, shiny plastic-like material having fore-arm, upper arm, chest, lower abdomen, femur, knee, and shin pieces, complete with a helmet as well, like black bubbles on their limbs. White pieces of cloth poked out in-between the holes, like weeds through cement, but was as black as the armor due to the night, which seemed to surround and engulf them, someone five feet in front of you could be gone in an instant if you took your gaze off of their relatively wraith-like outline.

Despite a covered moon, they had one small source of light, the Thunderseal. It glowed and shimmered with life, it too knowing the presence of Gears, amplifying the feelings and fear of its user…static jolts of electricity jumping off of the blade to pebbles below, running along like children to a tether before snatched back to the motherly blade. The dim blue light of the sword gave Kiske's blue-trimmed uniform, armor underneath of the cloth, as Kiske preferred, a more ghastly appearance, like some sort of undulated oceanic specter, complete with a faceless mask, a helmet that only rebounded and shot the hesitated and stifled breaths of soldiers circulating in their helmet back to their ears, increasing fear, decreasing morale, increasing claustrophobia, decreasing their already diminished bravery, that bravery gone by simply donning the armor.

Each step echoed slightly, the streets empty and vacant, bits of buildings lying in rubble, bodies strewn from and over the carnage, bits of blood and body parts, days and weeks old, stinking to the point of gag inducing, the stench making one know and believe why they were there, how that single lung was removed from a screaming human…but, put it out of mind, there's a mission at hand, don't slack off, keep focus, come on, Bob, you can do it, just don't lose your lung.

"Sir!" a stifled whisper shot out from behind Kiske. He instantly turned, nerves rattled and stretched tight so the nearest poke at them would snap them in half. Through the half-circle visor, he saw the soldier motioning with one hand, kneeling down on the ground, a small fire burning inside of a building a few yards away. The soldiers all stopped, then quickly filed out to form a perimeter, the sergeant giving strict and lethal commands in a whisper. Ky walked up, and knelt down next to him, waiting for an explanation from the private.

"Sir…I saw something." He said, frightening, his head zooming back to the darkness, then to Ky, whom he looked straight in the eyes, unsure of whether he should look slightly above, as per order, but he was scared, too scared.

"What?" Ky said sharply, more of a statement than a question.

"I saw a flicker, from the flame over there…it was up, a Gear, it was running by slowly, keeping up with us. But, as soon as I saw it, it was gone…"

"We all got Gears on the mind, maybe you're seeing things." Ky said, sanding and turning. He tried taking another step when a tugging from below shook him back to his knees. The soldier seemed more fervent than ever, pulling Ky down to him, whispering in an angered and urgent tone.

"I saw it, sir. If we keep going, they'll get us from behind. Listen to me…there!" he said, his finger pointing out in the darkness, a ruin of a building, a mere skeleton of cement and wires in a struggle with light and dark with the flickering cascading orange dueling the captivating darkness. Ky looked himself, trying to find something, but his eyes coming up on nothing.

"Soldier, you're losing it. I don't want any more subordination or acts of misconduct to a C.O."

"But, sir..." he said, urgently pleading in a whisper. Ky only gave him an icy stare that froze his lips shut to a slight mum and a nod. Ky turned, started to walk, took one step, and then he heard another peep of the soldier behind him. He was getting angry, waiting to turn, gathering himself, trying to keep himself from yelling at the private, while older than him, not old enough for battle. Though, he found something entirely different on his turn, no soldier veering for his attention or complaining, but a sharp, jagged piece of metal, protruding from the throat of the kneeling soldier. He gagged, blood streaming out of the blade still lodged in his neck, his hands reaching up at it, then falling limp as he toppled to his side, hitting a piece of cement on his fall, his last breath a gurgled liquidy squelch through his open throat. Ky stood unable to think for a second, blinking, then, something took over him, not rationality or commanding, but an animal instinct he couldn't control that surfaced in light of Gears, a violent, unhindered and uncivilized version of a self he didn't know he had…but it was there, sure as day, or night, given the situation.

"Flare!" he screamed, throwing his sword into an arc to where the soldier was pointing before, knowing a Gear to be there. Lightning jolted off the edge of the blade in the swing, small reaching hands of blue death circulating in the wake of the slash, and shooting forward, collecting itself tighter and tighter as it went forward, a circulating wedge of lightning that slammed into the carcass of a building, the electricity shooting life to the darkness, a dull blue shock of life, illuminating a charred Gear falling face first for only a moment, a whiny dual-voice of death before it died.

"Sir!" the sergeant said, fumbling with his own flare gun, the one flare he had been given seeming to jump around the edges of the hinged gun, not fitting into the slot from his sweaty and fearful hands. He dropped the flare gun, grabbing his sword, looking around. "We don't need the gun!" he yelled, head swiveling to find a Gear in the darkness, illuminated by the small fire in the cauldron of an old shop, probably burning for two weeks now off of whatever it could grab and turn to charred ashes.

"What? Do it soldier!" Ky said, running forward, Fuuraiken in his right hand, grabbing the cuff of the soldier's shirt, looking through his visor into the fearful, yet resolved face.

"Look" he said simply, nodding to the sky behind him, Ky letting go and turning. What he saw justified the soldier's actions, two red phosphorus glows of diminishing flares dying out of the sky, falling from their grace in the short-lived crimson ballet. "There's three groups…" the soldier said, trailing off in words. Kiske knew what he meant, that both of them shot theirs off, them shooting theirs doesn't matter, everyone is in the middle of a shitstorm. Ky took one deep breath in, nodded at the soldier, and then turned to run at the circle of soldiers around the sergeant. The perimeter was standing strong, the soldiers in a rather loose and large circle, looking out in every direction, hands holding swords that fumbled in their own jittery fingers. Ky wedged his way through a lower level sergeant and a private, both amazed Kiske came next to them, then turning back to the darkness, trying to find the elusive Gear who hid in its veil.

No life came, nothing moved…it was silent, the crackle of the flame behind and a low, heavy breathing of the soldiers, each holding their Seikishidan sword in the customary taught style, both hands on the grip, blade in center of the body, tipped towards the oncoming enemy, but a few used their own styles, whatever worked. I went over this before, how a lot of sword fighting etiquette was lost, and it diminished down to whatever really worked in killing a Gear, so let's not rehash on it.

"Come on!" a soldier somewhere shouted, his words echoing amongst the graveyards of previously inhabited buildings and homes. The echoes died off, nothing left by silence again, feet scuffing over the pavement, each soldier in their own medium of fear, some in fear of waiting, wanting the fight to start, be knee deep in blood and pain, others in fear at the first Gear they would see would be the last thing they saw. Kiske's fear was rather timid, a fear of silence…he wouldn't want to wait, a Gear to just appear, he wanted to see one, or none at all, not knowing that they are there in the darkness, hiding in its embrace, wrapped in its satanic cloth. Then, the darkness seemed to take shape, to bubble and boil.

Gears seemed to slowly seep out of the darkness, their hulking figures heaping in every step with the haggard dual heavy gasp, crooked teeth and rotting flesh hanging from equally rotten bones. Mutilated and manipulated, as well as mutated, they slowly started to walk. Appearing in front and behind on the street they were circled upon, as well as coming out of alley ways, over buildings, dropping down slowly, a thud of a slimy Gear, the globulous blood also seeping from the bones and joints, making a disgusting squelch sound. The Gears seemed to take their time, be smooth and slow about their methodical actions…trying to intimidate the humans.

They encircled the human circle, the sergeant in the middle dropping his priority mission objectives, the flare gun clanking on the street along with the small flashlight, compass, and map. The map was the only thing that would've been worth keeping, but he had already put it into his head the direction to go, and the mission was kill Gears…and they were about to. The circle tightened, the Gears coming into the light slightly, the orange glow giving them a demonic look, the slumped shoulders and hanging posture, the broken skin and bones, disfigured bodies and blood red eyes, turning in their heads, over and on top of themselves, looking at nothing, but turning, loading, receiving…

And, what they received was a command for a first attack.

One of the Gears from the slow, intimidating circle branched out, orders received. It leaped forward, one longer arm than the other whittled of flesh to a sharpened bone finger, two of them stabbing weapons, the other three broken off. The shorter arm held a rusted, yet slightly shiny piece of tin, sharp on one edge, trails of blood on the fingers that held the blade. A private tried deflecting the bony fingers, but only served to knock him on his back, where the Gear's momentum followed on top, impaling him with the sword. He choked out a blood curdled gasp before falling limp, the Gear falling dead next to him from two Seikishidan swords delved into it from soldiers near the fallen.

The rest of the Gears then ran in a full on surge, a wave encircling and crushing onto the soldiers, like water pooling around a bowl, lingering around the rim, then pouring and rushing in all at once. The dull crackle of the fire in the background set the pace of the battle, it's melancholy flame burning idly as the events unfolded, indifferent to silence as it had endured the past few deathly weeks of Lyon, or the loud, violent bash of the races in front of it.

Many soldiers fell in the first wave, the Gears about ten feet off in every direction, then surging in on a sprint simultaneously, soldiers scared and unprepared, not to mention a Gear was stronger, faster, a better killer, but it had not knowledge on its side. Blood met the night sky, thrown from the wounds of the dead and dying, splashing in a liquid along the ground from the men as it oozed out of the bodies of the Gears. Low clangs emitted from sword hit to sword hit, dry crunches of bone and globs of sinew, screams and grunts from both sides, fighting off each other, the dual, feral voices of Gears and the scared, yet resilient human voices.

Ky rivaled the orange glow with each slash of his own sword, putting out a blue flash at each, like every hit echoed another genesis in its marveling light, but graved with few moments than seven days. Three or four Gears came at him, the soldiers to his sides having no Gear to fight, and being bounced to the outside, helping another soldier, the Gears around making it a point to occupy them and swarm Kiske. Justice gave you all the order to kill me first, after I bested him in Paris…well, come on then, finish your objective, show me what you have, unholy creatures.

The first one up took a vertical leaping slash at Kiske, which he side stepped, his blade clanging off of the Gears, not to block, but to deflect it downward, instead of the force coming straight at him. The Thunderseal's tip smashed into the ground from the force, shaking in Kiske's hands and bits of lightning jumping off and bleeding from the sword, swarming the asphalt, melting the tar. He brought the sword up quickly though in a horizontal slash at a Gear running in from his right, the tip barely grazing its belly, but then the entire gut wrinkling into a black ash, fleeting away on a small wind whistling through the graves of buildings. The Gear seemed unfazed though, continuing its run after half of its stomach was missing, its sword clanging off of the Fuuraiken that was recoiled and held vertical for a horizontal slash that came at Ky as it trotted by, piercing down to Ky's inner-most fears as the wind pushed out of the way by the slicing of the sword, the light swish grazing across his face. The Gear turned back, facing him, the one from before next to it, now inside of the circle, Ky's back to the outside.

They approached him, both together, and he knew there was another, they were all coming for him. Four, five…just start swinging. Turning to his side, he swung a horizontal arc, stopping the momentum at his left side, his elbow digging into his own side, stopping the heavy sword from its arc, then bringing it in a vertical arc to another Gear, lit up by the blue flashes, darkness and the dull orange only giving way to their actual appearance, their voices like ghostly hymns on the dull wind. Ducking under a horizontal slash from one Gear, Ky attacked it after the blade passed over him, a low kick to one of the knees, the Gear falling forward into a rising vertical slash, the chin being split, blade going through its mouth and coming out next to its eye, falling flat forward, twitching slightly. The blade made its way upward, crackling and bits of blood flinging off of it, singing off from the current through it. It was slow, a heavy sword, so on the way down, Ky switched it to his left hand, jabbing with his right hand to his right, hitting a Gear, and swinging the long sword in a horizontal arc, meeting his right hand with the hilt again, through the hips of the Gear, both halves toppling next to each other. The top half groaned, trying to claw its way forward at Ky, mission still in its eyes, and fell limp from the biological inability to survive.

Before he had a chance to engage the next Gear, he was knocked off of his feet, falling forward, tripping over the lifeless carcass from a hit behind. He smashed into the asphalt street, skidding against the cement sidewalk, hearing snickers of Gears around him, feeling no blood or cuts on him. Quickly turning over to look at the faces above, he saw Gears looming overhead, weapons raised, ready to attack, to kill, on moments notice, five sets of blood red eyes looking down at Kiske. He tried rolling, moving, the steps and feet of Gears around him, cutting him off, encircling him. Looking down, he saw the reason he couldn't move, and the reason he fell. A lieutenant, second-class, had been killed, thrown over at him from a Gear who probably tossed the body out of the way trying to kill another. Move! A sword lunged at him from above, trying to impale Ky to the ground, Ky's upper body contorting out of the way as it cracked into the asphalt, a few sparks glinting off of the blade, dying out as they hit ground again. Then, another stab from another Gear, a slash from one, they were all trying to attack him, and all he could do was try and fend them off while lying on the ground.

And, one got lucky. Snapping off the hand of a Gear who stabbed and missed, Ky punched at the knee cap of another, his punch arching his body, his right arm punching to his left side, left hand holding the Fuuraiken. As he did, he was pinned back flat, a blade snatching him between the arm and shoulder, right in front of his arm pit.

"Gyah!" he screamed in pain, feeling the blood squirt from the wound, splattering on the few inches around the wound, staining the white red. His armor stopped there, an empty space where he was vulnerable, and a Gear knew it. Feeling no pain, only anger, Ky raised himself again, punching the knee cap of the Gear, the brittle bone splintering and it falling backwards, its sword lodged in Ky's shoulder as he managed to stand up, deflecting a few blows as best he could. He finally got to his feet, gasping for breath, the blood running down the side of his uniform. He was slightly hunching over himself, one hand holding the Fuuraiken, the other reaching to the blade being held up straight forward from his body, lodged between the socket and upper-arm bone. He reached along the blade, trying to pull it out, keeping a watchful eye on the few Gears enclosing on him, four of them. The blade's old nature and rather poor metal broke in his hands, bending and breaking from rust, the jagged edge now protruding and still stuck in his flesh. He tossed the blade to the ground, clanging in a different sound than the echoes of other soldiers swords banging with the Gears, but equally as distant and devoid of life.

"Four of you…bastards, let's see what you got…" Ky said, his unruly side taking over, to the extent that his own personal laws of cursing and being polite were shattered with his Id, Ego being forced into a prison, only unlockable by the last blood spilt of a Gear. The other soldiers were broken from their circle, fighting wherever they could, whatever Gear, the white shirts amidst the darkened and yellowed skin of the mutated Gears, the stench of death and decay heavy in the air. The Gear seemed to slowly capture him, strutting around him, keeping distance from the tip of his sword, the rest of the Gears swarming over the Seikishidan white suits lined with black pads of armor, Ky's underneath the surface of his uniform, a vile indiscretion and evil hidden under the holy white, protecting from death, but also something humans were not naturally gifted with.

They circled him, grunting and laughing in the demonic dual voices, orders received and transmitted, then they all seemed to stop their hanging positions, their upper bodies going erect from their crouches position, hands tightening on grips of metal, or bones tingling against each other, dull scrapes emitting. To Kiske, no sounds were heard but his erratic breath, his eyes slicing from Gear to Gear with enough ferocity to cut out of his own head, so even they could run and escape the duel. And then, they all attacked. The two behind him both rushed in, swinging in opposite chords of each other. Ky stepped to his right, ducking under a horizontal slash, blocking the vertical slash by the other Gear, the blade singing a current of electricity as it touched and bounced from the unholy blade of Kiske's.

Recoiling from its attack, the vertical-slashing Gear rushed again, trying to bowl Ky over. Another bit of acrobatics, and the Gear missed him, taking with it a Gear behind, no damage, except for time gained. The previous Gear, horizontal slashing one, took its elongated fingers, skin and muscle stripped dry to the mutated talon fingers, pulsating and rubbing against each other's needle fine point on the end, blood already spilled in the night by them, tinged with red and dripping a solitary poem. It lurched forward, trying to impale Ky, who jumped back, swinging his own sword in a circular motion in front of him, not a slash, but more like a disc, the blade ripping through the brittle bones of the Gear's hand. It jumped back, assessing the situation, bits of blood coming from the stubs of fingers, then attacked again, jumping forward to simply over power Ky and bash him with strength. But, it was in vain. The jump took it off of the ground by a few feet, it's massive power and momentum unstoppable, so Kiske didn't, only stabbed the oncoming Gear, ripping out his blade and rolling to the left in a moments notice, a quick jab-stab-roll. The body came crashing down, rolling along the pavement, tumbling and spilling blood, resting against another carcass as the dull red glow faded from its eyes.

Three…there was four. Suddenly, he felt a pressure on his back, near the cut from before, but a huge pressure. His kneeling position from the roll turned into a sprawl, his face slapping into the concrete, feeling a tooth jostled and a lip cut from his own teeth inside. A Gear from behind, the last of the cou-de-gras around him relied on no weapons except it massive stature, a hulking brute, a humanoid type. It raised its fist to punch again, to crush the commander's head to a bloody pulp among the cement and withering bodies of old in Lyon. But, it only left a blood stain of its own ripped flesh as it smashed into the concrete, ripping a vein of cracks around the crater, a few globs left in the imprint of a hand as Ky rolled to one side. A quick kick to one of the legs, and he took one knee, the Gear taking one also from the attack. Before Atlas could confirm his final killer blow to the Gear, he looked up, pacing his timing and attack as the monstrosity tumbled forward, nearly on top of him, from an ankle lost to a blow from his boot. As it fell forward, its hands caught it on the way down, a slight vibration as it did, the Gear not leaving its view on Kiske. For a brief second, there was a look, a deeper sensation in those red eyes…something Kiske saw, through the Gear, into Justice, both locking eyes before the red eyes turned to burnt out ashes. Swinging his sword in an upward arc, starting at its curled over torso and ripping through its neck and skull, Ky jumped up, a rainbow arc over his own head, a vertical leap and slash removing biological stability from the Gear. He landed nimbly, breathing hard in his helmet, the hot gasps fogging his visor slightly, blowing back in and around his face.

He ripped off the black helmet, unable to see or hear, only muffled cries and twangs of battle, the cool air rushing onto his burning hot face, a slight solace. He could now see the Gears, the Seikishidan in their equally black armor, fighting amongst each other. Taking two more gasps, and swallowing a dry throat, he hoarsed out few final words.

"Retreat to the center of the city!"

"Hey Goreman!" Sol yelled, the frightened private fumbling with his utensils in hands, unable to comply or move, his flair gun twitching out of his hands. "Shoot that fucking flair!" he yelled, his gruff low voice enough to open wounds and cauterize them too. Sol returned his gaze to the oncoming Gears, a wave of them oncoming like a tsunami of rotting flesh and magical-enhanced-DNA, all being controlled by the will of one Alpha Gear. Seems all those commands only fell underneath to just a simple kill fest…stealth and silence my ass, Justice. You're too jumpy, play your cards right, maybe you'll end up with shit, always looking to go all in on the bluff, well, I got your damn trump card right here…

The flair gun clanked on the ground, bouncing a bit, the metallic echoes reverberating in the empty streets. He reached down to pick it up, but was shoved aside, onto his back by Sol, who simply grabbed it off the ground, aimed it up, shot it, and dropped it. He looked down defiantly at the sergeant, who was crawling along the ground backwards in fear, eyes locked on Sol, who only stared back. The sergeant finally stood, running to the edge of the circle, the perimeter surrounding the sewage exit gate, Sol now standing alone in the middle, the flood of Gears coming from the left. The Gears seemed to synchronize their attack, after seeing and assessing the humans, making a decent strategy, and executing it, which was like most of Justice's strategies, strength in numbers and strength in superiority, Gears are killing machines, humans are not, simple conclusion answers, the only thing that Justice could really confirm or deny on the battlefield, despite from internal reflection. The Gears didn't try stealth, like they had on Kiske, but simply came out of the darkness, all from the left, the red eyes in the distance multiplying and the echoes and grunts of Gears forming out of their sleeping places and resting modes, becoming alive again by command to fight against the humans, like drops of mercury flowing back to the source and globbing together.

The soldiers broke their circle, lining up tentatively at the oncoming invasion of Gears, hearing the pounding foot steps, the running pace and two voices to each Gear as they breathed in heavily, hulking steps requiring hulking breaths, their bodies bobbing in their awkward jaunted steps, silhouetted against a darker tone of midnight than their murky darkness state, like levels of how far it was from the person increasing the amount of darkness, but it was for naught, since it was so dark anyway, the only illuminating came from small pyres like match heads burning around the tip of Sol's blade, which dragged on the ground behind him, the trail of flame short and small, but alive none the less, the red eyes in the distance not particularly bright or luminescent, but none the less, noticeable, especially in darkness.

He walked forward, pushing through soldiers, hearing the whimpers and cries of the soldier standing in line at the invasion flowing at them, Gears surging forward to be in the front with a stride, quickly thrown to the back by strides of others, then claiming lead with another new stride, like a gallop of horses and a wave combined. He stood about five feet in front of the line of soldiers, lined perfectly in three consecutive lines, from one edge of the street to the other, dim bits of burnt and destroyed buildings lit in the darkness by their mere presence, undeniable aura giving their structure enough of a presence to justify knowledge to the beasts of midnight. Sol looked behind him at the rest of the soldiers, a lot of them shaking, their weapons drawn and hesitant, scared, a few ready for action, a look of action in their eyes, others apathetic to a situation they had seen before. He looked over all of them, each looking back at him, seeing even Goreman, the unsure sergeant who found himself fighting in the midst of privates, a rank unworthy and incompetent of holding, especially under pressure, as just seen. Sol was apathetic to the oncoming Gears, the shift eyes of the soldiers behind scared to look at Sol for even a moment as that'd be a moment sacrificed to Gears.

Slowly, Sol turned to the mass, close…so close now. He knelt down, picking up a small object off of the dried-blood splot on the ground underneath him, a trail of blood where a body had been dragged out. He tipped one edge to the blade of his sword, a plume of flame emitting as it simply touched the metal, then he put it into his mouth. Sol took one deep drag off of the cigarette, the purple smoke rising from the end and billowing out of his nostrils like fluid secreted, except opposing the pull of gravity. He slipped the butt into the side of his cheek, end exposed, and leaned back a little, hand reaffirmed grip on his block-like FireSeal, then smirked at the oncoming Gears.

They surged on, taking over the rubble and buildings, smashing the intruding pieces of architecture in their way, Gears busting through it or smashed to a pulp by those behind it, pushing on forward, bits of rock thrown forward and strained out by the sprinting mass. And finally, the first Gear arrived, to meet Sol head on. From its sprint, it lifted its blade to strike vertically, hunched over its front legs so much so it stood only four and a half feet, but if it stood straight, it would have been over eight feet easily. Sol didn't flinch or move, just continued smoking his cigarette, his left hand reaching out to the Gear, grabbing its wrist as it swung, the blade stopped in mid air. The Gear had surged forward past the rest by a few seconds, due to its awkward agility, and was then sent sprawling back into the mass, a few Gears thrown down by it. Sol, while holding the Gear's attacking hand, the massive downward strength in the blow simply stopped without any sense of strength in it, then the blade in his right hand being slashed upward from its position on the ground, trails of flame dotting the asphalt, then a massive plume as the tip slashed through part of its ribcage, the fire filling and exploding into the hole, engulfing the Gear and sending it on a one-way trip, the flesh sizzling from bone and charring to a black, the scent of burnt fat lingering in the air. And, the rest of the Gears came, attacking.

Zeronova's Notes:
And now we have Lyon, finally. Starting out good, gotta lay the trappings. I know I had Justice lay out a different programming set for the Gears, but I kind of explained it with Sol's monologue, but I'll go into it again, don't worry, I didn't screw up myself with my own writing…but, next Monday, next update (and 150k, wow).