Author's note:
Hey everybody! My writing schedule will be very sporadic for quite a while due to complications in life. I plan to keep writing- if you are all still interested!
A throbbing pain burns in the sides of Lazarus's head. A searing, piercing into his skull. His eyes flash open, with his emerald eyes attempting to adjust to the light and squinting his eyes, trying to see where he even is. Trying to think, he cannot find the words. His mind feels empty. What once always filled with the Flow, is now but a vast void. His heart and soul burn. As though he's lost a part of himself. Gasping, feeling the pains within his chest. Breaths become a chore, drawing in each faulty pull of air. Moving his arms, he found them restrained, strapped to some form of a chair, at least from what he could tell. His coils are burning. Every single scale tingles and sizzles on his body. Misery is his only ally now.
Taking in a heavy breath, he lifts his head, trying to look around. Instantly feeling a shocking, twitchy pain in his chest, he falls backward, shouting in agony. Large robotic arms rest above his chest, wielding large, glowing spikes. The devices look like the tip of a Lancer's baton. Seeing the dance of the red energy between the teeth, he understood his circumstance, somewhat.
Keeping his head down, Lazarus tries to connect back to the Flow. His own body is so used to the energy that he is drained and weak. The tingle beneath his scales always came when he was weakly connected. This event will take some adjusting to. Reaching out with all that he has- Lazarus finds nothing. Not even a whisper of a connection. Gasping loudly, he finally found the words within his mind.
"They cut me out…"
Lazarus's connection is severely damaged, to where he cannot regain a link to the Flow without help. But who would help him, now that his masters have betrayed him? It felt like hours before he got the strength to lift his head once more. Making sure not to raise his chest, he looks downward. His prison appears to be a vast circular room with a large door. The hulk of an entry adorned with several massive locks and scanners. This place will be difficult to escape. Lazarus recognizes this cell, The Orb, they have called it. The chair he is strapped to is in the middle of the room, with a small path leading to the door, with the rest of the room still clear water. Thousands of markings line the walls, in a tongue that Lazarus faintly can even see.
Lazarus set his head back down with a groan, every muscle aches, and burns.
"What did they do to me…?"
Lazarus feels such betrayal and hurt. His only family, breaking him and torturing him. Breathing several times, evading the wrath of the arms, Lazarus rests. He'll need energy if he hopes to escape this hell.
Seconds fell into minutes, and minutes into hours. Time is an illusion down here. A day, a week, a year? All knowledge of how long has passed since the battle is unknown to him. His trance of time drowns out all senses of his body. Lazarus cannot reach out to the Flow, he can hardly see, and his body aches.
The trance that Lazarus is stuck within soon comes to a finale. Hearing clicks, sliding metal, and clang from the door, his eyes push open. It may have been hours since he last tried to lift his head. Raising his head, with his hood in tow, the pair of emerald eyes peer toward the door. His blurred vision only depicts three figures walking towards him. The one in front is shorter than the other's, but that never even enters his mind. His eyes came into focus, and his pupils shrunk—a human with two officers. The officers are adorned in black armor, with full capes and different helmets. Perhaps an Honor Guard of some kind?
A voice slices through the silence. Feminine and smooth, with a character of sinister intent underlying. "Hello, Lazarus. I am Mary Cunningham, and you have been sentenced to death. But the Elders will still have their will fulfilled. Your mind will serve us well." With a malice filled chuckle, she spun on her high-heel shoes and walked away. The vast arms descend upon his chest, with another pair coming towards his head. A robotic arm secures his head in place, as the storms of red lighting approach his body. The visor that was approaching his face chimes softly, ready to torture. Lazarus felt his world sizzle in agony as the tiny teeth dig into his scales, and his eyes veil behind the black visor, showing him all manner of suffering. His kin suffering and his defeat. Over and over again. Hours of pure insanity are pumped into his brain, while his body endures a similar punishment. The psionic chip within his neck helps the Elders break him, driving his very soul into the pits of madness.
With every single break in torture, that same woman returns to suffer his spirit. Questions plague his mind with thoughts, trying to find the root of his rebellion. Lazarus felt as though days would pass between each session. His scales on fire and his muscles aching. No relief at any moment, nor a peaceful thought to enter his mind. Rage and fury are his allies, as he suffers day and night. The voice of the woman has become nothing more than a scalpel. The Elders are tearing away at his spirit, replacing it with an unguided rage. With every single moment of suffering, Lazarus swears he feels other minds, suffering with him. As though he is not alone at this moment. He always felt the same when connected to the Flow, but this feels far more personal. Not impersonal and universal, as the Flow was, but likened unto a sibling or kin. Lazarus never got the moment to ponder on that, merely feeling even more miserable. Knowing that others are suffering because of him, is the worst of all his suffering. That woman made him believe that his kind would suffer along with him. What of the vipers and all serpentine races? Lazarus could hardly believe that he is the only subjugated to such treatment, but it sure feels that way.
Session after session. Question after question, Lazarus felt more anger boil within him. Every time that wretched tongue of hers moved, he wanted to end her life. Lazarus almost thought the end was near when he could distinguish some of her words. "Your kind has served their purpose, and now they will die."
"Must escape…"
Lazarus gritted his teeth, with his muscles on fire. With a raspy yell, "No!" Lazarus used all of his energy to try to escape. His biceps flexed and pulled with all that he has within him. The metal restraints shattered like glass, splintering the metallic floor with tiny shards. His massive set of coils soon followed, breaking the constraints. Lazarus moved his body like lightning. Lunging from his restraining chair Lazarus moved; the serpent wrapped his body around the officer on the right. The Hybrid had no chance to react before his body was enveloped in black and red scales. Lazarus dug his fangs into the neck of the soldier and stole the rifle from his hands. In a single fluid motion, he fired a long burst of magnetic rounds into the other officer, leaving a flurry of holes in his chest. Orange blood stains the ground, with blood joining the water as well. Dropping the officer, Lazarus wiped the blood from his face. The officer twitched on the ground for a few seconds, letting the venom set in his veins. Lazarus looked at the woman, with her cowering on the ground, trembling in her place. Using his long fingers, he lifted her head to look at him. Her brown eyes were meeting his emerald pair. She choked on her breath, finding only terror in her soul.
"If you wish to live, human, you will open the door," Lazarus said, looking down at her with rage. She's fortunate that he did not kill her first. His hand clenched and grabbed her jaw harshly, lifting her to her feet. Pushing her towards the giant bulkhead door, he followed behind her. The sizable holographic display on the front of the door showcases several codes to be fulfilled to open the door. Her shaky fingers clumsily put the numbers in, followed by placing her hand upon a scanner. With a massive 'clunk' behind the door, the giant locks began to slide, and the door started to move. Lazarus smiled softly, seeing how fear is a useful tool. The door moved away, revealing the hallway—illuminated with several orange lights that dot the ceiling, leading down to another bulkhead. The Elders surely do not want him to escape this place. As this woman said, sentenced to death. Lazarus shoved her again, forcing her down the hallway. She gasped, almost falling over from the harsh shove. She stammered to find the words to speak. "You-you cannot escape he-here." Lazarus kept slithering behind her, prodding her along, making sure that she stayed in line.
"Maybe, human, but I'd rather die free than a servant to false gods." Saying that left a pang within his heart. Having spent years devoting himself solely to the Elders, just to have them turn their backs on him. Lazarus almost feels like a hypocrite saying that. He was left with no time to ponder on that, as they soon arrived at the next door. The human promptly did the codes and scanner, much faster than before. With the final door sliding away, revealing the facility before him. The sets of hallways leading around the base. He turned to the human and spoke one last time to her.
"Well done. As promised, I will let you live, but consider your path, human." With a clenched fist, he knocked the human out, sending her to the ground. The miserable serpent sighed, slithering past the threshold of the door. The bulkhead closes behind him, shutting with a heavy clicking of the locks.
Slithering to a small table with a holo map on it, he observes the facility's layout. Lazarus discovers that the majority of the base is underground, with his cell being the lowest part. "Four levels, this won't be easy." The serpent groaned, feeling his muscles continue to ache and burn. No time to rest, so he presses on. Slithering down the right hallway, he sees several cameras on the walls. Lazarus could not think of any other way to continue past them without sneaking past or breaking them. Desiring to remain hidden, Lazarus removes the cover of a vent in the wall and starts to slither within it. The tight walls give him little space to move and maneuver. The small slits on the side of the vent give him a slight view of the hallway. Squeezing through all of the tiny crevices, Lazarus finally finds a maintenance shaft. Squeezing into the small hatch, he sighed as he made it through, with his coils following behind himself. The tunnel contains a ladder leading upward to the next level—only three more to go.
Moving up the ladder and reaching the hatch was easy. The lock quickly moved, and Lazarus pushed the manhole-like hatch open. The shaft leads to the middle of a hallway. Peering through the tiny gap that he has created, he sees several troopers patrolling the halls, with various aliens in tow. Cameras and sensors scattered about the hallway. Lazarus cannot blend in with anybody here, as they all know he is a rebel now. A tiny sense of hopelessness lurked over his shoulder and urged him to go back to his cell simply to await death. Lazarus only shook his head at that thought. As he said before, he'd rather die free. Taking another glance, he saw that there was a small room to his right. A single-camera was panning side to side, where he may be seen. Waiting for it to pass over, he soon moved from his hiding place. Placing his long fingers on the handle, he figured it would be unlocked. Meeting resistance, and a click therein, he sighed as the camera returned to him. The gaze of the camera locked onto him, and red lights soon filled the hallway.
The three squads of troopers all spun around and sprinted towards him. Lazarus groaned as he lifted his hands into the air and lowered his head. The hybrid soldiers soon approached him and shouted in their language. An officer approached him with cuffs in their hands. Lazarus lowered his hands for them to cuff him. The moment the officer reached out to handcuff him, Lazarus clenched his muscles and shattered the officer's helmet with his fist. The hybrid fell backward, lifeless. Lazarus moved like lightning towards the rest of the squad. Both soldiers fired at him, but their reflexes were far too slow to track his form accurately. The first soldier was met with a crushing blow of the coils' weight, crushing their rib cage and flying backward. The second aimed their rifle to fire, but Lazarus grabbed their wrist before pulling the trigger. The other squads from the opposite end of the hallway were closing fast and preparing to fire.
Lazarus spun around the soldier, using them as cover, and placing his finger on the trigger. Lazarus controls the arm of the trooper mercilessly. The joint of the trooper snapped in the process, prompting for a blood-chilling scream of pain. With the magnetic bullets approaching, Lazarus sends a volley of his own back. The flurry of orange rounds ceases their advance and forces them to take cover. The soldier, in his grasp, suffered dozens of bullets to their armor and flesh. Lazarus kept firing but stopped when he felt a stabbing pain in his stomach. The soldier had used their other hand to stab him in the stomach! Lazarus hissed before jerking their neck in an unnatural angle. Lazarus rips the pistol off of the trooper's waist and charges towards the other squad. They did not expect him to push so hard and so swiftly. Lazarus lifted his pistol, the first shot drills a hole in the head of the officer. At the same time, the second soldier received several shots to the chest. The last and final soldier broke from cover and fired at Lazarus. He masterfully dodged every round and pulled the blade from his stomach. Purple blood stains the edge, but that does not stop him. Holding the knife high and throwing it at the soldier, it soon finds a mark within the hybrid's eye-socket.
Lazarus groaned as he leaned against the wall, feeling the mark in his scales. That soldier left a sizable wound. His long fingers are stained with his blood while inspecting the wound. With another groan, Lazarus pushes himself up and slithers to the next door. A significant white medical symbol rests upon the door—the red cross surrounded by white, which is the universal sign for medical treatment. Lazarus opens the unlocked door and is met with only humans. Humans adorned in white coats and most wearing glasses. Several sets of gasps and pleads fill his ear-holes, and he groans again. Lifting the pistol at them, he bluntly says, "Just shut up, all of you." His raspy, masculine voice was putting an end to their pointless murmuring. Lazarus slithered in no small container on the side and ripped out a medkit.
Paying no mind to the weak humans, he applied a painkiller shot to his wound, and sprayed the tiny vial of nano-bots into the wound, increasing the healing rate. Finishing up, Lazarus wraps a white bandage around his stomach several times, with the purple blood seeping through the natural fabric. The humans in the room are in a blur, trying to figure out what is going on. Several things pass through the mind of the medical director there. One thought being how Lazarus escaped. Told that he would not be a hindrance to their progress, the Elders assured them. Secondly, why is Lazarus not attacking them? Convinced that Lazarus was dangerous and would kill them, do the Elders lie? Watching the serpent tend to his wound prompted some introspection among the humans, as he turned around to face them. Taking a deep breath, "Consider your paths, humans. Even the most devoted can fall." Lazarus spoke before he left the room.
The only remnant of his presence being the emptied medical kit and a small trace of blood. Lazarus slithered to the trooper in which the knife was embedded and retrieved it. The blade has a mix of colors upon it—a slurry of orange blood mixing with the purple oil-like blood. Taking the elevator is not a good idea. It would lead him straight to more foes. Lazarus returned to his ally, the vents, and he continued his upward journey. Bumping into the ladder or the constricting walls of the vent caused him to wince and groan in pain. That wound will be a thorn in his side for quite a while. Lazarus slithered upward, maneuvering the ladder and tight turns. As he goes, Lazarus feels his coordination returning to him now. Fighting was pure instinct, but climbing requires attention to do quickly. His four-digited hands expertly grasped every spot available and pulled him further along, with the aid of his durable coils.
The next floor was much easier to reach than the one before. Despite Lazarus's wound, he continued. Lazarus pushed the panel open gently, taking another glance into the room. This shaft led to a large storage room. With towering crates around him, and alloy piles as high as the ceiling, Lazarus sighed with relief as he pushed the panel aside. Moving his entire body inside had some difficulty, as the adrenaline wore off. The red alarms are still blaring in the halls, but this room has a sense of tranquility. Lazarus leaned against a crate, catching his breath. His emerald eyes danced about, looking at all the tiny details of the room. With the time he stayed there, he looked at the designations on some of the crates. Some are pointless to him, such as ammunition for railguns or sectoid wrist-weapons. One of the containers seems more alluring than all the others. Rations. Those letters stood boldly out to him, as his stomach groaned in both agony and hunger. The weary serpent arose from his resting place and slithered to the crate. Lazarus swiftly removed the locks on the front with great force. Lazarus threw the lid of the container to the side and just looked at the packages of food therein.
Hardly a variety in meals or flavors, simple size differences. The boxes for the mutons being denser than for troopers and so on. Lazarus grabbed the enormous bags and tore them open. Lazarus threw the bundle of Nutri-blocks into his maw, not chewing in the least. Tasteless and bland. Lazarus downed several large bags before turning to the small bottles of water. He was far more gentle with the lids on the plastic containers. The liquid was drunk as well, leaving his stomach with something to process. Better than nothing. Feeling somewhat satisfied, Lazarus looked around the room, no longer worried about starving to death. In this room of assorted crates, Lazarus found one that contained blank, purple shirts. Much like the ones he wore before his rebellion. They do not quite fit right, but his red underbelly shouldn't be showing as brightly as it does.
Lazarus feels odd without his necklace, but he can live without it. The Elders are nothing more than a painful burning in the back of his head- literally. Dizziness has been his companion ever since he woke up. Deciding he can continue, Lazarus moves to one of the side vents. Sliding into it, he closes the vent back with his tail. The destroyed crates and missing items will let them know that somebody was here, but not where they went. Slithering in the vents, he moved past several offices of doctors and officials, passing by one, Lazarus picked up the words spoken. Looking through the tiny slits into the room, he listens and observes.
"What do you mean 'he escaped'? Our one job was to keep him contained until the Elders wanted him dead! Now I am on the line!" A man protests within the office, with an ADVENT officer in front of him. The black uniform of the man, with the brightly showing Elder symbol on his back, is soaked in sweat. They run a lot or are drenched in a nervous sweat. The Officer did not say a word to him. The clouded visor of the officer staring at him. "Well, you are going to catch him, aren't you?" The officer nodded before grabbing the pistol on his hip. The magnetic gun met the forehead of the human. "Yes, but the Elders are weary of your mistakes, Doctor Cal. Your time is up." The human started to sweat bullets and stammer on his words.
"Just give me some time to capture him! The project will continue as planned!" The Officer was unfazed. "No. Glory to the Elders." With his finger pulling on the trigger, a flurry of blood and bone painted upon the pristine, white wall. The human fell over lifeless, truly showing how much the Elders care about their loyal subjects. Lazarus shook his head before he continued through the vent. All of his fears and worries were confirmed today. Everything he prayed was not genuine has been exposed. What will fill the void in his very being, now that the Elders no longer hold that place?
Lazarus felt terrible for humans. How can they not see past the lies of the Elders? Now that he is finally free, he now sees the apparent faults and deceit of the Elders. If Lazarus can see through it, any human can-- right? Moving through the vents was difficult and painful. His filled mind was making it difficult to focus sometimes. As he crawled along, sometimes his eyes would blur and make his stomach groan. An urge to vomit sometimes came to him as he moved further along. His body is not as ready to accept change as his mind is. The twisting of his body in the vents was not making it any better. At times, Lazarus had to stop entirely not to pass out or vomit. The intake of food, in that quantity, was not wise. Of course, starvation prevented his stomach aches. Hearing the shouting of soldiers and officers, Lazarus kept his guard up. Despite the weariness in his stomach, he continued to crawl. Pains returned to his weary biceps. Carrying his body along, despite the aid from his equally tired coils, Lazarus was getting exhausted. Lazarus knows that he must keep going not to be captured or perish.
Lazarus softly groaned as he set his body down. Huffing to himself, Lazarus folded his arms beneath his head. A desire to just sleep urged his eyes to shut. Lazarus could feel himself drifting to sleep. The ease and comfort of slumber, so close and near. Shooting his eyes back awake, he gasped. He knows that a nap would mean death. He whispered some curses as he started back on. The cool breeze in the vent was only adding to his tiredness. Lazarus lost count of what floor he is on. Were there two or three more to go? His mind swims as he crawls in the close vents. The serpent felt his biceps continue to ache and burn. The sizzling beneath his scales still vexes his soul. Constant, unbearable pain all over his skin. An urge to scratch all of his scales off just for a moment of relief. Lazarus still finds no moment to stop, fearing to fall asleep. The vents were a labyrinth—tight turns and joining paths. To remember where he has been, Lazarus makes scratches on the walls with his fingers. Lazarus spent an annoying amount of time within this floor's vents. Unsure if the cooling unit is on this floor or not was the primary thought of Lazarus. The frigid winds bristling against his scales are driving him mad. Instead of cooling the sizzling under his scales, it only makes his scales cold and uncomfortable. Lazarus, after nearly losing his mind, finally found an out-take vent. Groaning to himself, Lazarus pushes the cover off, exposing himself to be on the floor. At least he found the next story. Instead of the lower levels' aggressive design, this one is much more human-friendly—offices with names on the doors and desks within. The doors require a keycard to enter, but the small windows give him a view within. Expensive monitors and family pictures. Clean and organized. Lazarus sees a keycard on the desk in the room but has no quiet way to get inside. This floor seems dead. The office lights are out, and no life is to be found. Lazarus decides to test his luck and slithers to the door. Lazarus slid his fingers into the minuscule gap between the door and the frame. Groaning loudly, Lazarus began to pry the door open. When the door started to creak and groan, it began to slide. His muscles burn during this, prompting for louder groans. He managed to get his whole hand inside the more significant gap and was able to use his full body to open it. Propping himself against his coils, he was able to exert a massive amount of pressure. The door snapped loudly and crashed into the frame harshly. The serpent winced from the loud noise and sat still. Listening carefully, while also tasting the air, Lazarus makes sure nobody was around. He sat still for a minute before continuing into the room. Lazarus instantly grabbed the keycard and searched the rest of the room. Hanging on the back wall is a lab coat, with a radio attached to it. Lazarus ripped the radio from it and turned it on. The static caused him to wince for a moment before finding the correct frequency and hearing the chatter of soldiers and officers searching for him. Clipping the radio to his shirt, he continued back into the hallway.
The language of ADVENT is a very guttural, gritty speech. Every word coming through the radio was coarse and rough. Lazarus knows the tongue, but he still finds it to be odd. It possesses an unnatural flair to it. Slithering down the hallway, Lazarus found zero life. Not of ADVENT nor or humans. Lazarus pushed the door to the stairs open and continued his ascent that way. The vents have vexed his soul long enough.
Lazarus went to the next floor up. This is the last floor before he may see sunlight again if it is day outside. Lazarus reached the door and barely opened it. Peering through the tiny slit, he hoped to get a view of what he was facing. Before he could correctly see anything, the door was flung open! On the other end was another viper. She was much smaller than him, which is usual. Her scales are yellow and tan, with a pair of burning red eyes. Lazarus and her locked eyes and did not move. She was a leader of a viper squad, the same as Jensa. Her plasma rifle slung over her shoulder, and the Viper was just as shocked as he is. Lazarus had his fist clenched, only in case she turned on him. Speaking in a whisper, "Help me escape, and you'll be free from service to the Elders." Her eyes lit up like a flame. She nodded and said, "I'm Fal, Lord."
Hearing her speak was odd to Lazarus. Being respected, aside from being a soldier, feels strange to him. Lord was too much for that anyway. "Lazarus will suffice, Fal. Just stay calm and follow me." A small smile pokes through his lips, sending a shiver down her spine. The bio-chips within all ADVENT soldiers can be easily disabled if something more potent than the Elders influences them. In the vipers' case, loyalty to their kin comes above all else.
Fal slithers behind the massive, black serpent. His scales contrast the metallic floor, moving with such grace. Fal almost forgot what they were doing by just watching him. She felt a strange sensation beneath her scales. A warming feeling in her chest and a desire growing. Her instinct awakening for the first time since her birth, most likely. She was snapped from her trance when Lazarus ducked behind a large crate. Beyond the container is an officer with several troops near them. Lazarus whispered to Fal as she moved next to him.
"I want you to go up to them and distract them. I will go around and surprise them. Just make sure they don't look this way."
Fal felt a pang of a fear surge through her scales as mortality is setting in. Every single normal emotion and feeling is coming to her now. The powerless chip was doing nothing to her anymore. Nodding hesitantly, she crossed the crate. Fal slithered past the ground and faced them. She gulped and did as she was told to.
"I saw the escapee in the vent that way." She turned and pointed behind her, away from Lazarus. The squad all turned and looked that way, proceeding to question her further. Fal maintained her story as Lazarus sneaked up behind them. Wielding the knife, he came up behind the officer. Digging the knife into the exposed neck of the officer caused the squad to spin around. They were not expecting a betrayal from a viper officer! Lazarus moved and crushed the second one in a flash with the third one having raised their rifle, and readied to fire. Lazarus waited for the rounds to strike him as he rushed forward. Fal was closer and faster than the soldier. Her long, narrow fingers grasped his head and jolted it violently. A horrible crack resounded in his spine, with his body slumping on the ground. Lazarus nodded to Fal and said: "Thanks. I think you'll do fine." Smiling again, caused her to wiggle the tip of her tail nervously. Praise is rare if existent in ADVENT. Continuing, Lazarus wiped the blade on his shirt.
The orange blood left a hideous color in the purple fabric. On the other side of this floor is the exit-it will lead them to the outside. The viper duo slithered along. They tried to avoid any unnecessary conflict. Stray soldiers patrolling around or a sectoid randomly standing somewhere. The pair arrived in the hallway, which leads to the exit. A large squad of 5 troopers and a Mec guards the door. Lazarus looked at his companion and whispered: "I don't think it will work this time." Fal grabbed her plasma rifle and primed it. The glowing chamber of energy was capable of ending any life swiftly. Lazarus nodded and grabbed his pistol.
Lazarus counted down with his fingers. Starting at three, each one of his fingers fell.
3. His other hand met the trigger of his pistol, and Fal leaned against the wall.
2. Taking a deep breath and getting ready, both Vipers prepared.
1. Lazarus gathered all of his strength for this. This could be the ending of his story or the beginning of it. Fal only has forward. She cannot go back to that life beneath the Elders.
Reaching zero, both vipers sprung from their cover. Since the base is on alert, the squad was much more prepared to fire. Lazarus fired first, with the magnetic round shattering the visor of a trooper. Fal followed closely and fired at the Mec. The plasma round stripping its armor and exposing the weaker insides. Lazarus fired at the Mec twice, disabling it. The rest of the squad fired back and moved forward. Lazarus heard a groan behind him but thought little of it. His advance was swift and powerful. Meeting the team, he drove the knife into the throat of one soldier and punched the other. The mass of his coils was used as a weapon. Whipping the head of another soldier, Lazarus ended their resistance. Lazarus fought with such intensity and strength; the training of the troopers was worthless to him. His strikes were quick and calculated. Any attack thrown or shot fired was dodged masterfully, and he punished them sorely. The last soldier standing threw a punch to Lazarus, as he was busy with strangling another soldier. The punch landed true, but he was unfazed. Lazarus glared at him, before returning the gesture kindly. The shattering blow killed the soldier, with glass splintering his eyes and embedding into the scales of Lazarus's hand.
With no foes remaining, Lazarus looks down the hall and sees Fal laying there. He gasped and rushed to her. Her torso is ravaged by countless rounds, with almost no scales remaining. Her blood stains the ground and even his hands, as he tries to help her. She gurgled on her blood, with her left hand meeting his cheek. Lazarus did not know her, but he loves his kind. Realizing there is nothing to do for her, he did what he could. Softly placing her head into his lap, he softly rubs her hood. The mighty midnight black viper looked down at her and shushed her softly. Gently caressing the edge of her hood, he spoke: "It's alright, you did your best. No longer bound to the Elders. You are free, Fal." Trying to calm her down, to at least make her parting pleasant. "You won't be forgotten, sister. Your death will show your sisters the truth. And in time- they'll be free too." Lazarus took a deep breath as she groaned and closed her eyes. Grasping his hand, Fal smiled softly. A sigh escapes her lips as her hand goes still.
Lazarus looked at her and placed her hand back on her chest. Lazarus sighed as he grabbed her rifle and gently took the symbol off of her shoulder. The viper, with a crown atop her head, as a symbol of authority. It is how he knew that she was a squad leader of some sort. "A spark to light a fire. A martyr to start the revolution." Lazarus felt lost for a moment. Whenever his soldiers fell, he would pray for them. Now that Lazarus defies the Elders, the viper cannot do any more for Fal. Aside from hoping that her death will mean something, there is nothing else he can do. Carrying her will be difficult, given his wound and growing fatigue. Sorrowfully Lazarus slithered to the large gate-like door and slid the lever down. In a flurry of metallic thuds and clicks, the door slid open. Lazarus was greeted with a wide-open warehouse-like room. The ceiling towers above him, with towers of crates and weaponry, scattered about in the room. From a confiscated FireStorm from the first war to an ADVENT tank. The traditional tracks upon the sides of the mechanical beast. Lazarus has no desire to use any of those vehicles, as he prefers the personal touch of a soldier.
Slithering between countless towers of crates, he found another set of stairs. The catwalk leads to the ceiling, after passing another floor. Freedom is so close.
Lazarus opened the door, feeling zero resistance. The unlocked door revealed the outside to him. The blinding, orange light of the sun meeting his eyes. The pair of emerald eyes shrunk in the light, as he shielded his eyes with his hand. Aside from the bright light, Lazarus is met with nothing else save the shiny ground. The towering mountains in the distance will soon veil the blazing sun in a blanket of stone. Lazarus sighed as he remained there. The rifle on his shoulder and the sun vanishing. A set of three bright lights cross the horizon, and Lazarus is spurred from his spot. Surely the Elders will not just let him escape. On the large pad on the roof of the building next to him, is the Star! The vessel that he came to know very well. Scarcely touched or marred since he last saw it. With those lights approaching, Lazarus hustles to get to his home. Soldiers and squads are sprinting about in the yards beneath him. Dozens of troopers are rushing inside to kill him.
Reaching the edge of the building, Lazarus is met with a narrow beam that connects the two buildings. What is difficult for a human, is easy for him to do. Forcing his chest to match the roof nearly, Lazarus grabs the beam and proceeds to slither across it. His coils masterfully displace his weight, perfectly balancing him. The simple feat was completed in a moment, with Lazarus finally returning to his ship's base. The large landing gear of the vessel greets him firstly as he slithers up the pad to the door. Placing his palm on the pad, he discovers that they locked it down. Lazarus angrily groans, knowing there is work to do. Returning to the gear, he maneuvers his way into the tiny gap between the giant cogs. Vanishing behind the plates, he reveals a service hatch. The manual entrance was pried open using an emergency lever; Lazarus sighed as he slammed the hatch shut.
Returned to the sanctity of his home, Lazarus sighed deeply. Lazarus took a heavy breath and huffing. The serpent did not have time to relax. After his moment of recollection, Lazarus slithers into the control room again. Moving into the seat, which is made for him, he turned on the power. By touching the large orange button on the console, the ship revved to life. The engines were burning with life, and the rest of the vessel was illuminating.
Lazarus grasped the controlling stick and powered the thrusters. The ship blasted off of the pad, leaving a purple scorch mark on the landing-pad. The violent speeds of the craft are very familiar to Lazarus. The amount of time that he has flown the Star grows greater with every day. Practice does make perfect, they say. The craft roared in the sky, with the scattered troopers looking up at it. Defeat is never a good thing for ADVENT, especially the soldiers. Lazarus flew the ship faster than he usually would. He was simply trying to escape the crafts that were approaching. With the engines belching out a thousand-foot flame, Lazarus rode his vessel far away. The aircraft moved like lightning, crossing the land like a comet in the sky.
Lazarus zoned out. The fear of being captured again filled his mind as he flew. Everything he knew and trusted was violently stripped away from him. Lazarus snapped out of his trance and nearly shut the engines off. The thrusters groaned from fatigue, and the ship slowed. Instantly trying to stop the vessel, Lazarus was almost tossed from his seat. The Star violently landed, with the landing gear struggling not to uproot the entire forest. Veiled in a blanket of green, the Star rested in the woods. The engines whistled with intense heat, and the fuel still sizzles in the engines. Lazarus loudly groaned as he fell out of his seat, grasping his wound, being reminded of it. He winced for several moments, aching deeply.
Feeling more secure than before, Lazarus tests his freedom by arising from his position. The midnight black viper throws his items into the corner of the control room and ventures into his bathroom. Stripping his shirt and clothing, Lazarus starts his shower and climbs into the shower before the water is thoroughly warmed. Advances in technology reduced the wait to half a minute at most, but he was too impatient for even that. Closing his eyes, he proceeds to scrub every single scale on his form. Not even humming a song, the serpent simply tries something new: relaxing. With the water finding every scale, he soon was running out of places to scrub. Not hard enough to remove his scales inadvertently but still to remove all grime and dirt from them. His red underbelly was cleaned just as carefully as everywhere else. The serpent barely took the thought of it. For once, his mind is occupied. Instead of only the Elders taking his soul, Lazarus has the freedom to think freely. The serpent allowed the water to explore his scales when he faced the faucet. The crystal clear water ran down his face and body, making sure to find every gap and imperfection on his scales, though few they may be. No music, no humming. Only the rhythmic drizzling of the water upon his scales.
Lazarus thought about Fal and her death. The thought plagues his mind. He is hoping that he can save other vipers from such a fate. Even if they perish, at least they can die free, he hopes. Even that viper he was investigating, before this all happened. What will become of her and the other sister? With the Chosen now targeting him, his life is getting stranger. Once the child of the gods, now an escapee. With a death order upon his head, there is no chance of coming back to the fold. Lazarus sighed as the skin beneath his scales continued to ache. The burning sensation cooled somewhat from the shower, but agony will be his companion for days. Shutting the water off, Lazarus groaned. Being forced to leave his warm sanctuary, Lazarus slithers from the watery paradise. At least his body doesn't hurt as badly.
Drying himself off and returning to his room, Lazarus sits on his bed. Leaving his coils on the ground, he simply looks at his hands. Lazarus still thinks about Fal and that her death will mean something. He will avenge her, and all of his fallen kin. His greatest hope that those she led to battle will follow her now. To leave the Elders in the dust and rally to his name is his hope.