They passed through Refuge's gates at the break of dawn. A convoy of trucks packed full of Ophidians. Their arrival cut a path through the traffic of traders that flowed from the city at all times. Reaching the gates, a number of them filed out of their trucks. Oren jumped onto the hood of the lead truck to better observe his small army. A little more than a hundred men he'd guess. They were clad in City Guard armor. Past the disguise of the uniform one could glimpse their unsanctioned weapons and shark smiles. Some could even spot the serpent's fangs tattooed on their bodies.
No one could claim Ira to be wasteful. She made a place for all. Even these ruffians. Hard edged and cruel. Former enforcers of gangs that once ruled Refuge. Ira found a use for them all at the Quarry. But now they were back in the city and glad for it. Satisfied, Oren spun around and sat on the truck hood. With a simple point forward the small army resumed their march. Curious eyes tracked them as they went, none holding for very long. To the citizens of the Trade and Flower Districts they were simply an inconvenience. None halted their path or even spoke to them. Not until they reached the Craft District.
The workers came out of their workshops sweaty and confused. They saw through the flimsy disguise. Their eyes held. A large crowd gathered outside the main Vulcan Industries workshop. A debate of some kind was underway there and at its center, Marcus Vulcan himself. Upon spotting him, Oren kicked off the truck and headed over. Marcus met Oren halfway, a good chunk of the Craft District at his back.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked.
Oren regarded all the anxious faces in the crowd before responding. "It's none of your concern. If you must know, we're keeping the peace."
A twitch of an unamused smile tugged at Marcus' lips. "I wasn't told-"
"That's because you don't need to be told. As I said, this has nothing to do with you. I suggest you return to your stations. All of you. Don't worry, everything will be fine."
Against the threat of the growing crowd the Ophidians readied their weapons. In response, the workers hefted wrenches and other tools like clubs. Cute.
"How very similar you neighbors are." Smiled Oren, "Both stained in grime and resilient to common sense. The only real difference between you and the brown foots is that you are useful. You contribute. I appreciate that."
All eyes were on Marcus. How he responded would dictate the course of everyone's actions and the man knew it. The pressure was unwelcome judging by his face. Whatever the conflict inside Marcus' head it delayed his words. The silenced dragged on.
Oren cocked his head, "How's your daughter, Marcus? What was her name? Ah, yes, Raina. Lovely girl, I hear. Bit of a tomboy, but nothing wrong with that. Look, you're a big boy Marcus. You know the wicked ways of our world. Do I need to go on?"
Marcus grated his teeth, "No."
That one word was all it took. The crowd's building tension deflated like a popped tire. No one was happy about it either. Least of all Marcus. The man's fists were trembling. Oren patted him on the shoulder.
"Go back to work. Take your mind of things, eh?"
Oren left him there. Standing in the street, unable to look up. The trucks rumbled on towards the empty Buffer. He called for them to halt once they reached the border. Oren climbed to the truck roof and spoke loud enough even for the dispersing workers to here. He didn't care that they did.
"Listen up, I'll only say this once. You all know what we're here for. Consider yourselves free to do as you please. I don't care. Just make sure that it doesn't leave the Buffer." That won a few ghastly smiles from the surrounding Ophidians. "We have till sundown to clean this district up. So, let's get to it but remember…Try and have fun. Otherwise, what's the point?"
They were there. Runt knew it, though they remained hidden by the tall fortifications left by the City Guard. There were trucks for every lane. Runt regretted not retaking the Buffer sooner. He feared a trap from such an obvious lure and now it was too late. The sudden rumble of engines spurred him to action.
"Here they come!" he shouted loud enough for them to here streets over.
Whistles shrieked. Directly ahead a truck bulldozed its way through the Buffer fortifications. Debris flew into the air. The truck sped past, heading straight for them at ramming speed. Runt leaped over the Mud District's measly barrier and charged the oncoming truck. He clenched his right hand tight and concentrated. The deep brown of his aura radiated from his arm. When they were just a stone toss away from colliding Runt drove his fist into the ground. The cobbled street cracked. Pieces of paved stones blew apart like scrap. The power of Runt's punch broke off a chunk of the street, driving one end down and the other up like a seesaw. The oncoming truck swerved but it was too late. It impaled itself on the jagged end of the rising street. One unlucky passenger not wearing his seat belt was flung forward through the windshield and skidded across the ground.
The others still behind the fortifications opened fire on the Ophidians who came stumbling out of the smoking vehicle. That's who they were. Runt saw the serpent fangs tattooed on the neck of the man who slid to a stop at his feet. Rifle blasts and slingshot projectiles pinned the Ophidians down, but there was no time to celebrate. There were other trucks that by the sound of it already smashed through their defenses in other lanes.
Runt ran along the Buffer and Mud border to the next street. The truck had plunged deep past the main line of defenses. Ophidians spilled out. Without stopping, Runt snatched up a knocked over barrel and hurled it as hard as he could. The keg, stuffed dense with mud, smashed into the truck with enough force to knock it onto its side. He rushed the remaining Ophidians, grabbing the discarded town hall door from the wall and using the large chunk of wood as a shield. Runt slammed into their ranks. Every sweep of his arm sent men flying.
The Ophidians scattered, taking shelter in the nearby buildings. In the middle of reloading his assault rifle, Leff shouted down to Runt from his lane's crow's nest.
"Go! We'll take care of them here! They need you in the next street over!"
Nodding, Runt made his way to the next lane. He arrived in the middle of a pitched battle, both sides retreating to cover. The Ophidian truck had gotten snared in the wet mud. The open street became its own no man's land. Bullets flew back and forth. Amongst that storm was young Alfie dragging an injured Coll to safety. The innkeeper's leg had been shot by a red Dust bullet. Despite this, Coll's drunken battle frenzy raged on. Using his own fiery wound as a lighter he ignited a piece of cloth stuffed into one of his bottles and tossed it across the street. A stray shot shattered it in midair causing an eruption of liquid fire to rain down on the Ophidian ranks. Runt moved to cover their retreat with his door shield. The Ophidians battered the poor wooden thing, but it held. Of all their elemental bullets only the wind types were enough to pierce the door. Luckily none found their mark.
Upon safely reaching the buildings on the other side of the street Alfie screamed. "Look out!" he warned.
Runt was already moving. He swung the shield to his side just in time. The skinny point of the blade stabbed through the eight-inch-thick wooden door, stopping a finger's length from Runt's eye. Through the bullet holes Runt glimpsed the killer's browless expression. Round fevered eyes bulged and his lips parted in a callous greeting. Runt bashed with the shield, throwing Oren back down the lane. The sword remained stuck in the shield. However, Oren raised his hand and the blade dislodged itself. The red grip flew straight into his palm.
The Ophidians took advantage of the shifted shield position and opened fire. Runt spun out of the way. Using the momentum of the spin he flung the door at the Ophidians as if it were a discus. The impact caused an explosion of splinters. One of the buildings the Ophidians were using for cover collapsed on top of them. Runt pivoted just as Oren reached him. Two swords flashed out, their steel tongues scoring licks across Runt's heavily bandaged arms.
The two fought much like they did before. Animals caught in a tumble. Neither could let go. Only this time Oren wielded two blades. One in each hand. Steel extensions of his arms. Runt did his best to keep out of their reach. When last they fought he rushed into the jaws of Oren's defense only to be shredded. This time was different. Seeking a quick end to the fight would only bring about his own. Runt kept his arms tucked close, only attempting to snatch at the man if a good opportunity presented itself. Oren's eagerness for blood drove him into a frenzied assault.
A flash of steel came to claim Runt's eye but he blocked the swing with a raised arm. The thin sword screeched down Runt's forearm. Oren followed through with his other sword, stabbing at his belly. Runt narrowly evaded the blade's tip, causing Oren to slip past. Runt back peddled only to lose his footing in the mud. Oren sought to capitalize on this but a sudden cough brought him to a dead halt. Both men disengaged themselves from the other, which allowed Runt a chance to catch his breath and gauge his surroundings. Their fight had led them away from the main battle at the border. Runt was grateful for that. No one was around to get in their way.
Oren Glass recovered from his coughing fit with his lips stained red. So that's it. Runt had been wondering why. The deadliest part of Oren's fighting style was how it grew over the course of the battle with the addition of swords into the mix. A way of combat designed to surprise and overwhelm. Since Runt was aware of Oren's tactics perhaps he decided not to use them. Yet that still didn't make sense. Even without the surprise factor the sheer overwhelming power of Oren's six bladed fighting would be too much for Runt to defend against.
"You can't fight like you did before, can you?" said Runt through heavy breathing. "Whatever damage Buckets inflicted on you, it took its toll."
Oren wheezed, "True. The style of fighting you were witness to before is taxing on the body. A debt I cannot pay because of your Buckets. But you are not at one hundred percent either. Else you would've had me by now."
"Just wait." Blood soaked the white wraps around his arms crimson. They had been shredded to ribbons. Runt grabbed the tattered bandages and tore them away revealing rectangular strips of metal strapped around his forearms. The makeshift armor was imperfect to say the least, but it had done its job mitigating the damage.
Oren flashed a vicious smile, "Clever. Come on then. One of us will die today and I can't wait to find out which!"
Oren charged him, but Runt continued backwards to the other side of the street. There he grabbed a wooden beam holding up a sidewalk roof and tore it from the building. He swung the thing at a leaping Oren. The beam was five feet tall, doubling Runt's reach. It caught Oren in the side and batted him away back down towards the border where they came from. Runt chased after him. Oren crashed down in the mud where he slid, only coming to a stop when he hit the stone border of the Buffer.
His sudden appearance falling from the sky caught everyone off guard, Ophidians and Mud District both. They turned towards where he came from to see Runt on his way, towing the wooden beam behind him. After a barked order, the Ophidians turned their sights on him. Runt ducked low, trying his best to avoid and close the distance. He slipped a hand into one of the many pockets on his carpenter's belt and grasped hold of a jumble of nails. The spray of pointed metal tore through the Ophidian ranks. They punctured like darts through the gaps in their armor. Runt followed up his throw, swinging the beam with his other hand and decking a row of Ophidians.
At the border fifty feet away Oren was recovering. He staggered and stood with both hands outstretched. Runt ran towards him, but found himself slowed in the clinging mud. Forced healing had sapped his stamina. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was all that kept him going. There came an odd screeching from behind him. Runt looked over his shoulder to see the truck he passed whipping around to face him. No driver sat behind the wheel. It moved as if pulled by magical string attached to the truck's hood.
Runt collided with the bumper. The four-ton hunk of metal moved in a single direction unmindful of any opposing forces including the snare of the wet mud. Runt was simply in its way. An unnatural forced beckoned the truck forward and nothing would slow its advance. Runt slid down the street, feet digging into the ground. He hunkered low, knees bending. His grip on the truck was strong enough to dent the metal with his hand print. Letting loose a roar, Runt stood, flipping the truck up and over his head. The metal monstrosity spun through the air. It crashed down right where Oren stood moments ago. Except he had gone. Runt lost him in the confusion. He whirled around, looking for the wooden beam he was forced to drop.
And there he was. Oren slashed Runt's left thigh, forcing him onto one knee. He continued around, slicing his right calf as well. Runt swiped at him, but Oren slipped under and sprung up, kneeing Runt in the chin. Blood filled his mouth and he fell flat on his back. Oren followed him down, landing on the bigger man's chest. Sword tips stabbed through Runt's palms, pinning his hands to the ground. Oren twisted his blades into the mud like drills.
Runt tried to get up, but both legs were hamstrung and unresponsive. He was stuck. A turtle on its back. Oren leaned on his swords, driving them deeper. Pain shot through his body, its current causing him to writhe. Alfie, Coll, and the rest were pinned as well behind their measly cover. Their frightened screams rang over the roar of the gunfire. The Dust powered bullets used by both sides had set the buildings aflame. The Ophidians were moving in, slow but steady. An encroaching death squad. There was nothing Runt could do to help the others. He couldn't even help himself.
A sudden tremor vibrated through Runt's body. The shock wave rippled throughout the district, violently shaking the street.
Clementine waited, hunched over in a chair beside the entrance. A candle lamp in his hand lit the tunnel mouth. All had emerged but one. In the distance, the sound of battle raged on. His hands were shaking. People were dying on both sides. Some he's known his entire life. Falling one after another. And it was all his fault. He brought this upon the Mud District. The truth of that was keenly felt with every cry he heard. The pain in his leg was as nothing compared to the hole in his gut. That gaping black pit. Grown from a single seed. Even now it threatened to swallow up everything that was once Augustus Clementine.
Small hands clawed through the muddied dirt. The child scrambled up the tunnel exit smeared in grime.
"Is it ready?" asked Clementine, struggling to find an even tone.
The boy rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. He was ten years old with sandy hair and a round face. A child from Greenberg's school. They all were. In answer to his question the boy simply nodded and reached out for the lamp. Clementine pulled it back, shocked by the boy's nonchalant reach for it.
"No, I have to do this. Run to the rest over at Old Gran's. Go!"
Clementine waited until the boy was out of sight before he turned his attention back to the tunnel. He raised himself from the chair and limped forward so that he teetered on the maw's edge. He moved the candle lamp out over the entrance, holding it there for a hair's breadth before dropping it in. The glass shattered and the tiny flame inside escaped. A single spark that ignited the fuse leading down the tunnel. Clementine's hands were no longer shaking. It was done. He turned and limped from the alleyway. A slow going that took ten whole seconds. When he reached the alley exit he paused. Strange, he had no idea where to go from here.
In his moment of hesitation, the ground rumbled beneath his feet.
In his office at the top of the Citadel, Councilor Colten Moss flipped through the divorce papers. His wife had left them on the bed for him. She had gone on the first train ride out of Refuge early in the morning. Took the brat too. Moss knew he could've stopped her if he had been there. Alas, he wasn't…he supposed that was the root of the reason of why she left in the first place. He uncorked another bottle of wine and filled his glass. Before he could pick it up however, the liquid rippled.
A small tremor shivered up the Citadel to its very top. Moss clumsily got to his feet and made his way to the large office windows. What he saw down there he could not comprehend. A presence moved through the city from the smoking edges of the Buffer all the way to the Flower District. Wherever it went the ground heaved and folded inwards. Tendrils of chaos split apart from the main branch, spreading throughout Refuge. Warehouses were sundered. Workshops broken. The crowded venues of the trade Bazaar pitched. People slipped and fell down the caving streets.
Moss watched on in horror.
Runt writhed beneath him. The giant's hyper blue eyes were full of pain. Oren stood victorious only for a few seconds before the ground shook. The initial implosion caused those still standing to stumble. The stone floor of the Buffer cracked and tore apart like paper. The scar followed almost a straight path into the city. In its wake, the ground split and caved. Whole warehouses pitched to one side. Despite the chaos leading away the noise was building. Louder and louder. Booming.
As if riding that wave, Runt pushed upwards. His crucified hands slid up the length of steel, slicking the blade with blood. They didn't stop until they reached the sword grips. Runt's fingers seized Oren's own. The pain that followed was a mute thing for Runt carried with him a roar. A roar he brought straight to Oren's ears. It was all Oren could hear. All he could feel. The agony and rage impossibly loud. Oren couldn't fathom it all. The noise swelled until there came a rather small popping sound. Then, nothing.
Oren tottered backwards off Runt. Hot blood and other fluids leaked from his ears. Runt stood to his full height, towering above Oren. The giant's shadow devoured him. Oren tried to peel away but Runt tightened his bloodied grasp. Bones broke, tendons snapped, and Oren fell to his knees. Runt twisted inward, bending Oren's wrists further back until his knuckles touched his forearm. Oren couldn't even hear his own screams. Only silence.
Runt relinquished his hold and Oren's hands flopped uselessly on his lap. Fingers crooked and bent. Oren stared down at those twitching appendages unable to move an inch. Two blood soaked swords clattered to the ground before him. Oren looked up in time to see hands reaching for his head. The next second he was looking at the ground behind him. He watched that ground rise to meet him, then blackness. Fitting company to the mute silence.
Runt sank to his knees. Blood oozed from the stab wounds in his palms. From the silence of his dazed mind came the squishing sound of nearing footsteps. The hot barrel of a gun was pressed to the back of his head. Its touch served to draw Runt back to reality. Amidst that growing chaos came the trot of horse hooves rapidly approaching.
The gun was knocked to the side, firing a blast over Runt's shoulder. Two bodies crashed into the mud and a struggle ensued. Runt used what little strength he had to turn around. Kiera straddled the Ophidian, pummeling her fists repeatedly into the man's broken face. The Ophidian had stopped moving yet Kiera kept hitting him. She was looking straight ahead, but seeing nothing.
"Kiera," croaked Runt, "Kiera stop!"
Whatever state she was in ceased. Her fists trembled, dripping someone else's blood. She turned towards him, her face drained of expression. Her wild eyes fell to the pair of thin swords on the ground along with the body next to it. She held her gaze on that corpse.
"Is that…"
Runt careened and fell in the mud on his side. Kiera rushed to his aid. She lifted him and started removing the plates of metal strapped to his forearms as to better see his wounds.
"No," groaned Runt, "You got to help the others."
"The fighting is done with." She said, "Those bastards still standing have scattered…Runt, what's happening here? I saw-It's a sinkhole cutting across the whole city!"
The answer was clear to Runt, "Clementine."
"Clementine? What about him? Is he alright?"
"I…I didn't ask," stuttered Runt, "Didn't know."
"Alright, shhhh. Rest. Just rest." She laid him down in the mud. His eyes closed no matter how hard he tried to keep them open. The mud was warm and the tremors in the ground subsided. Though even when he slipped into unconsciousness he could still hear the roar of the city, crying out in pain as if it were one great wounded beast.
He was fast asleep. Kiera had no idea if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He lost a lot of blood. In truth, he lost more than that. They all have. She saw the bodies lying in the mud on her way here. They laid unmoving much like Runt did now. She began reapplying bandages to try and stop the bleeding. As she did so her gaze drifted to the corpse a few feet away. The man's head was twisted around a full hundred and eighty degrees so that despite lying crumpled on his back he was still face first in the mud. His ears were burst and his hands were gnarled broken things swollen purple. Without even having to see his face she recognized him.
Oren was dead. She'd been fantasizing about killing him ever since Buckets drew his last breath. Now he was dead. All the wrath, confusion, and hatred that's built up since then…She knew she should let it all go. She wanted to. But she couldn't. Kiera clung to her hate believing she wouldn't recognize herself without it.
Alfie hobbled towards her. He was covered in filth but otherwise looked unharmed. The same couldn't be said for the rest. He stopped and stared at the carnage, his eyes bugged out.
Kiera had to snap her fingers to tear his attention away. "How many did we lose here?"
"Five dead." He choked on that statistic, "Everyone else injured. Coll might lose the leg. I don't know how the other streets did…I haven't checked. My parents-"
"Go." She said, "I'll tend to those here."
Alife wandered off in a daze. Kiera refocused on stopping Runt's bleeding. All the while the city screamed its agony. The cry filled her head.
If only I had gotten here sooner…Buckets forgive me.