. . . Run . . . don't stop running, get away . . .

Rubedo half ran, half staggered up the broken street, an overpass looming ahead. He stumbled and crashed into a nanocrete support pillar, managing to push himself away and resume his flight.

Everything hurt. He kept inhaling the smoke from the buildings and vehicles that littered the battle-ravaged city, damaging the lungs he needed for running. His nose and eyes burned, his legs felt like jelly, and now the whole left side of his torso was on fire, further impeding breathing. The ground shook now and again as heavy artillery met their targets with a dreadful percussion. He took in what air he could in desperate gulps and kept moving. As he ran something hammered on his mind; he ignored it as he ignored everything that wasn't escape.

This was all wrong. It was the only coherent thought in Rubedo's aching brain. A jumble of still images from the last hour flashed across his memory, too quick and too painful to be clearly identified though he knew each one intimately. There'd been red light, and people—people who wore his face—trying to run, and there were screams—and there was laughter—

—there was laughter—and so Rubedo had started running.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

There was an explosion overhead as an RPG hit an attack drone. Rubedo dived to the right, trying to curl his body into a ball to protect himself from the falling debris. He fell as something hot singed the back of his uniform, sliding down his spine for two agonizing seconds before slipping off. He stared bleakly at the patch of blacktop within his immediate line of sight, his past catching up with him.

He'd been so proud when he'd been part of the landing operation that afternoon. Today had been the day he'd been born for, the day he spent all twelve years of his life preparing for. He and his multitude of genetically crafted siblings were the knife that would sever the U-TIC Organization's link to U-DO, depleting U-TIC's energy supply and rendering their equipment inoperative. They were supposed to win the war for the Galaxy Federation. More than that, they'd been made to destroy U-DO and the inimical energy that its presence brought to the universe. Rubedo had believed all of it, up until an hour ago.

The pictures in his head assembled themselves into some sort of order. There were the strongest of the standard units among his URTV force gathered above the abyss where U-DO's energy would emanate, the ring of their own cancelling power floating beyond their outstretched fingertips. There was himself, a variant, the leader and Linkmaster, making the final adjustments that would allow them to annihilate U-DO's waves. There were the two other variant units, the siblings closest to him: his youngest brother, Nigredo, and his twin, Albedo, who'd been much more sensibly terrified by their target than Rubedo had been.

And then his mind had been full of fire . . .

For one brief second he'd seen Miltia being torn apart, the planet's crust peeling away like an orange rind before the vision disappeared and he was left shaking at the chasm's edge. It was the future he'd glimpsed in that moment, the sudden understanding of what their actions would lead to. So he'd cut the link. The standard units would be helpless against the onslaught of U-DO's waves, but he, Albedo and Nigredo would be safe if they could keep their minds closed. He hadn't considered Albedo's fear.

His twin had stood there shivering as the manifestation of U-DO's energy loomed over him, too terrified even to consider defending himself. U-DO's waves touched Albedo and Albedo had fled to the only safe place he could think of: the inside of Rubedo's mind, using the spiritual link that joined them all together. But he'd brought the touch of U-DO with him, and the power that Rubedo held inside of himself, the true reason he was the leader, the power called the Red Dragon . . . exploded.

Rubedo remembered some of the standard units being flung away by a vortex of something like flames, remembered others of the standards, and Nigredo, trying to flee. He remembered Albedo caught partially in the blast, the whole right side of his body vaporized, the left dribbling blood and organs. He remembered his own shrieks and his desperate struggle, too late, to rein his power in. He'd gotten himself under control, somehow, and he'd been relieved at the sight of Albedo's limbs and torso growing back as Albedo's regenerative power came into play. His twin couldn't die, not by force alone.

His relief had been short-lived when Albedo began to laugh, and had things to say about mirrors and what could define him, in a voice that was only technically his own. Rubedo's mind shut down at that point, and he'd started running.

The URTV force. The group that held themselves as the retrovirus to U-DO's power. They'd had no power to counteract anything. They'd been fools to challenge something like U-DO.

He had to get up and run. He stumbled upright and began lurching forward a few steps before picking up speed again, the memories sinking back into a maelstrom of generalized terror. Get away. Get far away. It didn't matter where. Away from whatever Albedo had become. Away from the absolute helplessness and inescapable despair that'd triggered his use of the Red Dragon mode. He couldn't help whatever it was that still hammered on his thoughts and insisted he go back. His mind was too closed to understand what it needed.

As he ran the staccato pop of gunfire echoed off of the ruined buildings, and he thought he heard the sound of laughter at least once. There were other demons in this nightmare city; Albedo was simply the latest to join their ranks.

There was a wide gap that spanned the entire street up ahead; Rubedo veered right, aiming for an alleyway between two apartment buildings that looked clear. As he turned something new touched his mind.

It wasn't U-DO. It wasn't Albedo. But it was something familiar and powerful and very, very old. He stopped running and hung panting over a garbage can. The touch ebbed and flowed over him like water, pulling at him like a current.

There was purpose in the touch, something greater than the one he'd been told he'd been born for. Rubedo drew in a breath, ignoring the taint, and straightened up. The touch came from somewhere beyond the alley. He started forward again, this time slower. The touch would wait for him. It needed him. He could help make it whole.

A bright haze rose up in Rubedo's eyes, obscuring the world around him. Somewhere in that haze everything crumbled into sand but he had a say in whether or not that would happen. The light faded and he blinked disoriented at the sudden darkness. He leaned his back against one of the alley walls, and waited for shapes and shadows to resolve themselves.

He'd reached the other end of the alley. There was a creaking of metal joints and a look to his left revealed one of U-TIC's mobile weapon crafts. This was something new, much smaller and sleeker than the hulking AMWSs that made up most of the Federation's combat forces. But even with its smaller frame it would have easily trampled Rubedo if he'd left the alley; it was a lucky thing he'd decided to wait and let his vision clear.

He pushed himself back off of the wall, wincing as he did so; the fabric of his uniform peeled away from the burned skin on his back. Taking a careful breath, he looked at the street. It was a wide boulevard with a line of mercantile establishments along the opposite side, a few with lights flickering inside. The road itself was as scarred and pitted as the one he'd just left. Except for the downscaled weapon craft that'd just gone by it appeared to be deserted. Flashes from beyond the line of rooftops spoke of battles on the other side.

The touch had retreated, but Rubedo could sense that it'd come from somewhere beyond the line of shops. There was a growing urge to seek it out, one that dampened the need for escape. To had become more important than from.

He bolted across the street as quickly as his ribs and back would allow. The buildings on this side were flush with one another, but a faint slab of light a couple hundred meters to his right suggested a gap. Keeping close to the buildings and glancing up at the night sky periodically, he made his way to it.

It was indeed a gap between buildings, maybe thirty centimeters wide. Rubedo would have to inch sideways, but at least it looked like a clear path. He dragged his boots along the ground in an effort not to trip on anything. After a dozen steps the faint light from each end of the gap vanished except for a glow in his peripheral vision.

It was slow going in that cramped space, and sounds, too, were muffled, putting Rubedo in a sort of temporary limbo. The world consisted of little more than his aching body, the stink of old nanocrete, and his labored breathing. There was the sound of blood hammering in his ears. He stopped.

Hammering. There'd been something hammering on his mind until just recently. He'd kept his mind closed to the spiritual link, fearing any taint from U-DO that might come through it. Now he couldn't feel that thudding anymore. A fist closed around his heart as he finally identified the source of that desperate attempt to make contact: Nigredo. Rubedo had left his youngest sibling to face whatever had become of Albedo and the standard URTVs.

Terror and shame rose up and tried to strangle him. He fought them off. Nigredo wasn't dead. That wasn't the reason for the silence. Rubedo could sense him like a beacon. But he'd closed his mind like Rubedo had; nothing aside from his existence could be confirmed.

The touch still pulled at Rubedo, and it was difficult to ignore that compulsion. Time spooled out as he stood there, two separate impulses warring within him. He forced himself calm. The contest between his need to find the source of the touch and his need to find Nigredo didn't actually exist. The touch was something fixed and immutable. Nigredo was finite.

Rubedo closed his eyes and tried to call up an image of the city map he'd seen before the operation had started. He'd run straight from the Song of Nephilim System facility, turned right through the alleyway, made another right and then a left through this gap. Another right would take him back the way he came. He was reasonably certain the street he was headed for veered partway around a small park and continued in a new direction. But if Rubedo could cut through that park and make his way up the incline that connected the area with the pedestrian thoroughfare above it, it'd be a straight run to where he sensed Nigredo was.

He started moving again, still cautious, but faster. The sudden need for haste made the gap seem longer. It came to an end and as he turned onto the open street he almost crashed into an E2 Hauser field cannon that'd been installed just beyond the gap. The barrel was fortunately aimed away from him. He dived back into the cover of the gap; there were U-TIC soldiers patrolling this area.

Any thought of slipping past them vanished in the next second. There was a flash of light that expanded into a column of light, and an accompanying discordance that made his brain ache. It came from where all his troubles had started. It was the Song of Nephilim frequency itself, let loose to warp and twist any mind that could hear it.

The Song intersected with the touch and the two merged to become something violent and furious. The Red Dragon thrashed once again inside of Rubedo, and he couldn't find the will to keep it contained. The Hauser was reduced to slag and he heard brief screams close by. End end end, the words chanted in his mind, a desire for ultimate cessation. There was a need to unmake everything, and start over—

The horrible music of the Song ceased abruptly, and the light faded, plunging Rubedo into a scalding darkness that smelled of molten steel and charred bodies. The darkness became absolute for a moment and Rubedo collapsed to the ground; the impact jarred the world back into focus. He remained on his hands and knees, gasping both for air and self-control. He still needed to find Nigredo.

And the beacon that was Nigredo's existence had grown fainter.