"Deliver us from the gathering storm, Unworthy though we are. Leave us living safe and warm, And sheltered in your arms. Fallen out of grace are we? Sinless never more to be. Deliver us from the gathering storm, Unworthy though we are. Deliver us from the shadows and fear, And brighten us our night. O, lift us out of the valley of sin, And leave our path in light ...-"
"What is this sappy snot? Haven't you got anything better to play?"
The bard's tune immediately faltered and his pale cheeks went red.
"S-Sorry, Droz…"
The serene, peaceful atmosphere filling their empty barrack immediately dissolved, leaving the scrawny musician flustered and clutching onto his guitar. There goes Droz again, appearing out of nowhere and ruining their very limited leisure time. Andy clicked his tongue in annoyance and raised his winter cap off his drowsy face. He was enjoying this little concert, one of the finer things in life.
"Play whatever you want, Isaiah, don't listen to the fatass."
"Hey! This "fatass" 's gonna kick your mopey ass, you…"
"Guys… Guys, come on…"
Isaiah's nervous tone tried pleading with the two, as he's probably had it up to here with their bickering by now. Then again, it's not like he's the best person to play mediator.
"I'll just play something else, alright? Droz, you can, uh… Request something, hm?"
"Something?"
"Mhm, anything."
The giant took a seat on the floor and furrowed his brows, thinking.
"Can you play metal on that thing, fowlboy?"
"M-... Well, it's an acoustic, so I doubt that it'll sound good, but…"
"You know that song "Black End?"
"Uh…"
"The Thing That Should Not Exist?"
"Not really…"
"C'mon, "Puppeteer"?"
"Sorry…"
"You've gotta be… Then what do you know?"
"Well, I could… I could try playing something original?"
"Original?"
"Uh-huh! Something, like…"
His slender fingers slid across the rosewood fretboard, pressing down on the strings in complete synchronization with his picking hand. A pleasant, warm sound filled the room and an even warmer grin stretched out on Andy's sleepy face. Droz, however wasn't nearly as content with the performance.
"The hell is that supposed to be?"
"That's, uhm… That's just a lick in the, uh… The A minor p-pentatonic."
"The what?"
"A minor pent-... it's… Oh, my."
Isaiah brushed his messy, feathery hair aside and wiped a drop of sweat from his forehead, preparing himself to explain music theory to a barbarian. Before he could even begin, the hut's door swung wide open, bringing in a cool, chilly breeze. A tall figure in the doorway shook the snow off their shoes and stepped inside, unwrapping a bulky, woolen scarf from their face. Beneath the fabric was the face of a young man, yet considerably older than any of the three boys. Much different from anyone else they've ever met. Was it the charming smile? The stunning locks of silky white hair? Or maybe the spiky horns protruding from his temples? The slim, dark tail? The dim halo? Shattered wings?
Andy and Droz immediately stood up straight, saluting the fallen angel. Isaiah didn't bother, as he wasn't part of their squad. Or he was simply too flustered to do so.
"Sir, lieutenant, sir!"
"Oh, cut the "Lieutenant" crap, you charmers. How many times do I gotta tell you huh? It's just "Ricketts". Or Sarge if you're feeling fancy."
"Yes, sir Ricketts, sir!"
"..."
Their fallen sergeant let out a tired sigh.
"... Anyway, I've been looking all around for you, boys. We've shooting practice in five and I need you to show up on time or the actual Lieutenant's gonna have our heads, got it?"
"Yes, sir Ricketts, sir!"
They gave him another salute and started throwing on their outerwear, as Isaiah tried stealthily slithering out of the hut.
"Nuffer?"
He stopped dead in his tracks and turned red.
"Y-Yes, sir?"
"What're you doing here, anyway?"
"Oh, um... Just hanging out w-with friends?"
"Don't you have friends in your own squad?"
Despite the rather blunt wording, there was no intent of harm in Ricketts' voice. Just amused curiosity. The bard turned an even deeper shade of red.
"A-Ah, uh… You see, sir, they, uh… They don't really, uhm, take too kindly to me, sir."
"And why is that, private?"
"Uh… B-Because I'm a bit different?"
"Huh? Different?"
"Y-Yes, sir, a c-case of different worldviews-..."
"Racism, you say? I thought a bunch of grown men would be over that..."
Flustered, the bard tried cutting in to clarify his words.
"No, no, that's not what I meant…"
To no avail, as the sergeant kept babbling on.
"... and already mature enough not to judge their fellow mate based on the feathers on their head or the fact they don't have a halo above them! Tell you what, Nuffer, I'll have a talk with them "saints" and see what I can do."
A bright, white smile flashed on the "Lieutenant's" face.
"T-That won't be necess-..."
And again, the poor guy was cut off.
"Alright, march off!"
With a resigned nod, Isaiah saluted and let out one last quiet "Yes, sir." before leaving.
"... Alright, now it's just the three of us. I'll walk you boys through the snowstorm, c'mon."
Droz wrapped himself up neatly in a thick scarf and mumbled some curses before heading out into the hellish weather. Before Andy could follow him, though, a comforting hand graced his shoulder.
"Hey, bud, you alright?"
"H-Huh?"
"After our little talk tonight, I mean. Y'know, when I walked in on you bawling your eyes out."
Andy felt his face growing warmer.
"Oh, no, I wasn't! It was just, uh…"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it."
His hand moved to ruffle the boy's hair.
"I was like that, once, too. But it's better now, yeah?"
"Uh... Huh? Yeah, much b-better, thank you, sir."
It truly was. Any moment spent in the "Lieutenant's" presence was a moment Andy treasured deeply. Any warm gazes, any words of reassurance, praise or even playful scoldings... They were like a drug. A drug he just couldn't get enough of.
"Glad to hear that, bud."
And with that, he gave the boy one more reassuring smile and a pat on the back before rushing him outside.
The two, accompanied by their squad sergeant left the hut and made their way towards the outdoor range, clutching their hats in an attempt to battle the fierce wind.
"Whew, I'm telling you, haven't had snowstorms this bad in a while! I've been told by the, uh... Our actual lieutenant, that it's only gonna get worse! Uh-huh, apparently there's a whole shitstorm of catastrophes marching by the general area… Not severe or close enough to ditch the place, but you're gonna have to get used to this, boys!"
His voice was barely audible amidst the howling wind. Andy and Droz kept nodding and marching forward. Catastrophes? He's never seen one. Heard about them, sure, on the radio news and around school, but never actually witnessed it happening in real time. He could only imagine just how truly devastating those things really were. Sirens wailing, the sky tearing open, mountains of black, destructive mass pouring from above…
Click,
Clack,
Cl-Clack.
BANG!
A gunshot echoed throughout the range, immediately followed by many more, all around.
"Eight, a bit off, to the right."
Droz murmured, eyes glued to a pair of binoculars. Andy nodded in acknowledgement and racked his old, sturdy bolt action rifle, ejecting the spent shell. It flew from the chamber, clattering on the rocky ground with a few soft "clink!"'s He immediately pocketed the brass husk, knowing there's still traces of burnt originium dust inside. Breathe enough of that stuff, you're gonna grow crystals in your lungs...
"Two millimeters left?"
"Could be two, could be three, I dunno with this goddamn wind…"
The rifleman sighed in exasperation and corrected his aim, before focusing on the bullet that had just entered the chamber. Feeling the dust within the cartridge buzzing with a certain alluring warmth to it, as if calling out to him. Begging to be lit, to be shot at whatever's in front, to crash against the target, tear clean through, turn its insides to mush…
BANG!
The projectile sped down range, stirring up clouds of dust and snow behind the wooden target.
"Dead center, tenner."
Without turning from his binocs, Droz gave the shooter a pat on his back. Andy couldn't help but grin.
"Now do that, without pressing the trigger."
Andy's left brow shot upwards, smile disappearing almost instantly.
"Why? What's wrong with pressing the trigger? Don't tell me you're one of those…"
"You're a sankta, you don't have to press the dumbass trigger like some caveman."
"It's just a preference, moron."
"Then I prefer you don't squeeze that thing."
With a hint of annoyance, he racked the bolt back and forth, catching the husk mid air.
"You're impossible. Fine, here you go, no trigger pulls."
Shooting without pressing the trigger was an art usually mastered only and exclusively by the sankta. Being born with the innate ability of taming firearms and the arts required to use them more efficiently than anyone, it's only natural they'd have some flashy tricks up their sleeves. Despite the fact that there was no connection between pressing the trigger and the cartridge actually going off, many still opted to do so, just because it felt more natural that way. Other races, however, oftentimes found themselves unable to effectively set off the originium dust within a cartridge without having first pulled the trigger, leading to misfires, malfunctions and jams.
BANG!
And again, plumes of snow erupted from behind the wood. Droz narrowed his eyes and turned to his shooting buddy.
"Hands free?"
"Yes, hands free, moron."
"See? Hands free and you still got a tenner. That's how a sankta shoots, hehe…"
Andy shook his head in disbelief and let his eyes wander around the range. Finally, he could prop himself back into a sitting position, instead of laying on the cold, hard ground. His gaze swept around the place, focusing on the other boys, both squads A1 and A2, all lined up around them, firing off round after round into the targets. Some were hitting the general area, maybe the 3rd, 4th rings, some were missing completely. Andy had to admit, though, it was a bit difficult to score a bullseye at such a distance.
Watching over them all was their fallen guardian angel, "Lieutenant" sergeant Ricketts. The man behind most of their training and general activities around the outpost. Caring, assertive, always with a warm grin on his face and a cool attitude, completely different from the other people in charge. Even now, he was casually strolling by each shooting row, spinning his .44 'round his finger and whistling a little tune. He was exactly someone Andy's been looking for, for so long. A guide, the one constant who had it all figured out and was eager to lead others towards a brighter future. As bright as the winters of Kazdel can be, anyway.
Their first meeting was a bit rocky, though. He shuddered a bit as his wandering thought brought him back to that day, six months ago.
…
...
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
The fancy wall clock kept counting away seconds as both the sergeant and head lieutenant kept staring at the boy sitting in front of them. Ricketts kept nervously walking from one side of the room to the other, his footsteps synchronizing with each tick of the clock. The lieutenant, an old, well built veteran, lazily sprawled behind his desk didn't seem to take the matter nearly as seriously as the young man.
"You're how old, again? Thirteen?"
"And a half! Thirteen and a h-..."
He chuckled and turned to Ricketts, his loud voice booming through the small office.
"Hear that, Sarge? Thirteen and a half, yet so eager to fight for peace, are ya?"
"With all due respect, Lieutenant, sir, but I ask you to send this brat back home, it's an active war zone, not a playground…"
Great. He's just arrived and they're already trying to kick him out.
"No can do, Ricketts. First of all, we both know just how desperately we need all the manpower we can get. Second, there aren't any transports scheduled to come in 'till the end of the month. Brat stays and that's that…"
"But, Lieutenant, sir…"
"... So you better turn him to a real man, real quick. Though, it might be a bit difficult for someone of your caliber."
The sergeant's face turned a shade of red as the words seemed to cut deep, for a reason unknown to Andy. Ricketts went silent for a moment.
"..."
"... Yes, Lieutenant, sir."
"Great. Off you two go, then, outta my office."
The door closed behind them as the sharp, biting wind assaulted them relentlessly. Andy wasn't nearly as used to the weather back then as he was now.
"... So what should I even do with you, brat?"
"Me? I dunno, dude, j-..."
"That's "Sergeant Ricketts" for you, brat."
"... I dunno, "Sergeant Ricketts", just tell me what to do and I'll do it."
The fallen angel gave the boy a thorough look-over, resting his hands against his sides.
"You really have no idea what you got yourself into, do you?"
"Maybe. But I'm here now, so that's that."
The sergeant let out a small chuckle and started walking off. Andy could barely keep up.
"You any good with a gun?"
"Huff… Yeah, decent."
"Great. You hit a few tenners at the shooting range, that's a good enough reason for me to keep you here. Deal?"
"Puff… Deal."
And hit those tenners he did. Top sharpshooter of his squad, he was. Ah, what an amazing feeling, seeing that sparkle of pride in the "Lieutenant's" eyes every time Andy nailed a four hundred yard shot with just iron sights. Hearing those desired words of acknowledgement and praise, the words he never heard from his father. Those sweet, amazing words…
"Good shot, bud."
Andy's mind snapped back to reality in an instant. He smiled and nodded towards the passing sergeant before leaning his cheek against the rifle's stock. An empty shell flew out of the chamber.
"Yeah, good shot, Drewie. With a spotter like me you can hit anything, huh?"
Droz chuckled and leaned away from his binocs, stretching his massive neck. Just before he could add to his modesty, a loud yell pierced the howling wind.
"GREANDE!"
A muffled explosion followed, making the two boys flinch. Just a row away from them, Private Fessler and Private Eberly were practicing their grenade throws, launching projectile after projectile in the general direction of a few stuffed dummies. Tearing into the sacks, were little, dark pieces of originium fragments, piercing the fabric and making streams of sand fall from their linen carcasses.
"GRENADE!"
Yet another explosion. Andy flinched and turned to Droz in annoyance.
"Can't they do this some other time? Can't really focus on hitting anything with all this bombardment."
"Reeeelax, Drew. Out on the field you're gonna have arts flying all around, explosions going off, yelling… Get used to it, it's not that bad."
Yeah, "Not bad" my ass. It was bad. It was terrible. Explosion after explosion, the constant shouting…
"GRENAD-... Oh, shit!"
Fessler tripped over his untied laces, dropping the live explosive a mere meter or two away.
The little ball of destruction lazily rolled a few centimeters forward, before losing its safety lever.
Clink!
Everything went silent. Every single pair of eyes at the range turned towards the grenade.
Time seemed to slow down as an ominous clicking filled Andy's ears.
Tick,
Tock,
Tick…
Just a moment before the fuse goes off.
Moments before the dust within gets ignited.
Moments before the live originium fragments are released, let free to roam at the speed of sound, allowed to finally feast upon their flesh and turn their insides to mush. And if they survive? Well, oripathy, of course. The illness that needs no introduction. How quickly a friend turns to a foe in life? Half a second, that's all it took for Fessler to trip.
Tap, tap, tap.
Rapid footsteps rang out in the silence, followed by a loud thud. Eberly squeezed his eyes shut, as he threw himself right on top of the grenade, clutching it tightly to his chest. Hopefully that'd dampen the blast. Stop the fragments. Oh, how brave of you. But what now, Private? What should you do in your last moments? One last prayer? A quick favor from the Law? Maybe a painless death? Would that be satisfactory? That's the least you can get, before your explosive send-off.
Andy's eyes widened in pure, paralyzing fear.
…
…
…
But the explosion never came.
"Dud."
"Dud?"
"DUD!"
"DUD! IT'S A DUD!"
Ricketts' whistle pierced the air as he ran towards the scene. Screams and yells erupted all around the shooting range as Eberly gathered himself and threw the malfunctioning grenade away. It clattered on the cold ground and twirled at the feet of one of the target dummies, crudely mocking the soldiers' fear and horror from a moment ago. It was now nothing but a harmless piece of metal.
Andy came back to his senses, as the paralysis finally let go. He noticed his hands have gone a bit pale from clutching onto the rifle so tightly, his nails leaving little notches in the gun's wooden stock. Had it been loaded, he'd probably have accidentally set off the entire magazine at once.
It took him a good half an hour before his heartbeat had finally stabilized.
…
Later that day, a loud celebration was held in their little hut. Cheers, yells and loud music (courtesy of Isaiah's masterful playing) carried away into the night as the hero of the day, the usually sluggish and lazy Eberly had his five minutes in the limelight. Andy and Droz sat on the top bunk, watching their squad mates dance around, celebrating today's stroke or luck and the sloth's bravery.
He couldn't help but smile at their laughing faces and Isaiah, who finally seemed to be in his element, rocking away an upbeat tune. Droz wasn't having none of it, though.
"... Morons. Celebrating some bum's half assed suicide attempt, whoop-de-do."
"C'mon, just try to have some fun for once."
He tried nudging the gloomer with an elbow, to no avail.
"See, you don't get it yet. You think it was, what, brave of him to jump on that 'nade?"
"Well, yeah? What else?"
"It was stupid, Drewie. Stupid and pointless. He should've just ran."
Andy sighed in light exasperation.
"Don't be like that, come on."
"Like what? You think any of these idiots here would do the same thing for him? I know I wouldn't. I know you wouldn't, either, you were frozen in place."
"But…"
"But what? Did you see anyone else rushing for that thing? Not a damn soul. Not even your perfect and righteous "Mr" Ricketts. Shouldn't it have been him on top of that thing?"
Andy knew he was right. His fallen guardian angel was meant to protect them, after all, was he not? But there must've been a reason… He probably just couldn't react in time…
"... You're just a buzzkill."
"Yeah, sure. When you eventually grow up you'll see what I mean, Drew."
…
…
Better to believe a lie than to throw himself on another meaningless search.
His wandering thoughts were drowned out by the warm atmosphere, the string plucking soothing his nerves and the melodic voices calming the storm raging within his mind. A hot fireplace. Good company. Carefree fingers producing such angelic tones. It was almost divine. Truly, his very own place in the world. In this small hut in the middle of a frozen wasteland, constantly assaulted by raging snowstorms, towered over by mountains from the days of old, surrounded by endless birch woodlands. In this small hut, a bittersweet feeling enveloped a certain fallen angel, sitting in the corner. Away from his protégés, basking in the shadows. Pangs of guilt struck his insides, one by one, playing a symphony of guilt on his ribs, a cacophony of penitence climbing up his spine. Frailties of the mind, growing regret and culpability, gnawing at the coward's consciousness. An innocent soul could've been flicked off the face of Terra in a mere instant, and yet he stood and did nothing. An innocent soul under his command. Under his dim, torn and shattered wings.
And he chose to watch. To drop the burden and run. Run from responsibility.
Just like he always does.
After all, he wouldn't be here if he hadn't