Sorry for the late update, have a summer job now that takes a chunk out of my weekend and a good deal of my energy. Excuses out of the way, let's get down to the chapter.
Attacking a cook in his kitchen is an ill advised endeavor. Fighting in a space comprised of hard – and occasionally blazing hot – surfaces against an opponent with intimate knowledge of where all the heavy/sharp instruments are located is just bad optics. This is amplified ten-fold if dealing with a ship's cook, the life of a sailor lending greater physicality as well as a generally disgruntled disposition.
Rex's little band had unfortunately overlooked this universal truth. This was a particularly bad oversight for the salvager of the group, his seafaring profession lending him some inkling of this knowledge. He seemed to understand their error when one of the chefs not quite staring down the barrel of Amshel's gun immediately reached for a nearby tray.
The cheesy concoction held within was once destined for the oven. Now the cold, viscous dish was being catapulted across the counter. Amshel was completely blindsided – and then swiftly blinded – as the gooey dish smacked him full across the face. A panicked shot snapped free of the haggard man's pistol as it fell from his grasp, punching through a dangling skillet with a heated pang!
The tray launcher balked at the sudden gunshot. But he quickly turned that shock into a lunge for the very visible knife rack beside him.
This was about the point where Rex realized just how bad this was going to get. This was also when he recognized the blonde squad leader who'd fought against him in Argentum. He noted that she was no longer at gunpoint when Patricia herself took stock of this detail, leaping at him over the kitchen counter.
As Amshel spun into a wall with his view covered in cheesy obstruction, Azami's weapon snapped towards his assailant. The first bolt went wide, the lunging cook making it to the block of pointy things. As Azami lined up her next shot, a large skillet crashed down onto the Blade's weapon.
The pan wielder threw pepper in her face. As in the entire shaker, the wooden housing cracking on impact and spraying spices. Azami pitched back, stumbling away as she launched into a coughing fit.
Amshel had relieved himself of the meal tray, holding the broad tin in one hand as his other scooped the mess off of his face. About the second he sort of cleared his vision, the unkempt escapee was bowled over and tossed on his ass by a rolling travesty.
Rex and the blonde zealot had tumbled through the older man in a savage display, Patricia railing the boy with blows as she vied to get her fingers around his throat. The salvager got his feet under him and bodily flung the woman into an oak storage cabinet. His efforts won him a swift boot to the chest as she bounced back.
Amshel vaguely tracked the tumbling melee from his new spot on the floor, his vision still smudged. Motion and the sound of someone leaping onto the central counter caught his interest. The guy who'd gone for the knife rack had, indeed, reached the knife rack. He had the entire array tucked under one arm, his right hand already grasping a blade's handle.
With a startled yelp Amshel swung the cheesy tray into an incoming cutting implement, catching it before it could whirl into his chest. He instantly swung his impromptu shield back the other way, knocking aside a second knife with a resounding clang. Blade Dispenser instantly grew irate, flinging utensils with wild abandon. Amshel could only throw himself aside from his prone position, his attacker howling in fury all the while.
This was enough for Azami who, while hacking and unable to see, could hear her Driver's assailant quite clearly. One blast shattered the knife rack right out of Blade Dispenser's grasp, riddling his arm and side with bits of shrapnel. The second bolt punched a searing wound into his chest, perfectly center mass. The zealot chef toppled off the back of the counter, striking the hard floor with a dull plap.
Pan Man had swapped his tool of choice for a heavy pot he'd yanked off one of the burners. It wasn't quite boiling yet, but he imagined having it dumped over you wouldn't be a pleasant experience. Azami only caught him on her recovering periphery when the mad cook ran at her.
His blonde comrade was thrust into his side mid-step. The pot carrier flew hip first into the edge of the central counter, his body seizing in pain upon impact.
But that was nothing compared to when he lost his grip on the pot. The quite hot contents cascaded over his waist and leggings, flash boiling the front of his lower body. The shrieks he released in response were agonized beyond reason.
Lead Lady Patricia paid this no mind, blinded by rage as she threw herself back at the boy in blue. Rex swung in with a wide right, his foe ducking the blow and turning the boy aside. Her knuckles hammered his ribs twice as the pair staggered back into a heavy shelf.
Rex snatched up a large dish from the cabinet behind him, shattering it over the back of Patricia's head. Then he shoved her off, grabbed a second plate, and swung the thing into her face.
All the while the third cook was screaming in distress, curled up on the floor and rolling about madly. The offending pot had gotten itself stuck on the poor bastard's left foot. Azami, rather done with the display, tilted the entire plate shelf on top of the wailing man. He got quiet real quick after that.
Patricia tripped back into the center counter. As she caught herself on the hardtop, her right hand brushed against something sharp. She swiftly found the handle of the cleaver resting beside her. The blonde vaulted at Rex with a feral snarl, her weapon held high.
A palm snatched her raised wrist, halting her downward swing. The rest of Patricia was stopped by the gaping likeness of a miniature skull and the iron barrel jutting out of its maw. Amshel had found his gun.
His face was still greased in cheese, though his melty looking features may have added a flair of intimidation as the man decreed, "Drop the butcher knife."
Though still stern faced and clearly looking for a route of resistance, the blonde fanatic eventually complied. Her blade clattered to the ground, Amshel swiftly kicking it across the room.
"Rex," he addressed the boy who was clearly nursing his side, "grab a sac or something and start gathering food. Anything that'll last or that we don't have to cook, both if you can manage."
Giving one last glare at Patricia, who sent a smoldering stare in kind, the boy nodded as he procured an old crate off the top of a nearby stack.
With his gun still held to the captive, Amshel glanced off behind Patricia, "Azami, please dismiss these culinary artists. They look like they could use a break."
"Of course," was the reply that issued far too closely to Patricia for the zealot to feel comfortable. In the blink of an eye a brown sack that absolutely reeked of spuds was yanked over her head. Before she could let out more than a few muffles, something rock hard and angular was slammed overtop of her covered head.
As the world faded to silence and darkness, the last thing she heard from her attacker was a near euphoric, "Whatever my precious Driver desires.~"
Saturn had been in deteriorating spirits for a good while now. Honestly, how was he supposed to keep jovial when the screaming had stopped for almost an hour now? That dark haired Blade that had been accompanying the bastard and that abominable whore went quiet way too quickly. Utter buzzkill.
He could look forward to the fact that his next "customer" would be along shortly, just as soon as Research and Development were done with him. Still, his next appointment wasn't "here," in front of him, ready to be "worked on," and his mind was beginning to idle.
And idle thoughts had the nasty habit of becoming wandering ones. Those usually lead to… unpleasant places.
Saturn started drumming the artificial digits on his right hand atop the adjacent table. The clacking sound echoed through the cavernous space, piercing through the silence and gloom that dominated the room. A muted, emerald glow did its best to fight back the shadows, originating from the rows of towering, cylindrical capsules that ran up and down the center of the space.
Some of the glass vessels had… dubious silhouettes floating within.
The trench coated fanatic was far from alone in this room. The jade light permeating the area revealed several individuals flittering between work stations, inspecting readings on various instruments and large devices, intermittently jotting down notes. Most were dressed loosely professional with sleek slacks and button ups in numerous states of "improper adornment." And then there was the one straight up wearing a sheer white hazmat suit, face plate and all.
All of them gave Saturn a wide berth. They knew better than to interact with him.
So it came as a bit of a happy note when the pale armed man noticed a presence approaching him. And he really couldn't keep the smile off his face when he realized said approach was coming from above. Saturn played dumb for a while as the sound of moist padding slowly crept up on him.
He snapped his head upwards as the heavy scent of swamp scum swept over him. "Hey Op-er~ra! Who's my good girl?"
A massive tongue instantly began to drag itself across his features. The fact that the immense organ did not knock his hat off spoke to how well trained the creature attached was.
Adhered to the glass surface of an adjacent capsule was a bulky, forest green shape. The brog resting above Saturn was rather small for its species, only slightly bigger than a large dog. The moist, lime colored skin along its throat and belly began to bulge out as the over-sized amphibian bellowed out a singular croak.
Saturn whipped his prosthetic up to slap the bulbous swell of flesh. Opera vaulted off of the glass housing, flipping through the air before landing on open floorspace in a deep crouch. This was, coincidentally, right next to the researcher in the hazmat suit. They jankily fled the area.
Opera's powerful tongue shot out like a javelin. The wide-hatted Saturn leaned out of the way as the brog's sticky organ slapped into the side of the massive tube. Before the zealot commander could react, Opera hopped off the ground. With tremendous force, the amphibian's tongue retracted, pulling Opera rapidly towards its stuck tip.
This time Saturn had to lunge away, barely avoiding a passing swipe from one of the brog's webbed palms. The maniac's discerning eye picked up on the thick, copper band bound to the creature's wrist. Two softly glowing lines ran around the outside of the metal band, one atop the other, each connected to a pair of tiny jewels poised on opposite sides of the trinket. The trails and their gems glowed the same hues, one topaz and the other cerulean.
As Opera landed and dislodged her tongue from the tall tank, Saturn all but threw himself onto her. His arms encircled the brog's upper back, the fanatic smiling madly as he rubbed his cheek against the top of her skull.
"You're so awesome, Opera! Witters and Stints got you up to two gems! You'll be up there with Ingrid in no time!"
Again Opera's throat bulged out. But this time, a sequence of croaks and bellows sounded through the green lit room. Near the end of her vocalization, Saturn let loose a hoot of laughter.
"Of course you'll be better than her! You already have her beat in the looks department."
One of Opera's head flaps, natural growths not too dissimilar to the wings of a nopon, flapped up and struck the man on the face. Saturn laughed the whole thing off, sliding onto the floor beside the unimpressed brog. His hat remained on his head.
"Saturn," boomed a voice affecting – quite poorly – a sense of authority, "you're here! Expectedly and fortuitously!"
His smile a bit more fake, perhaps with an air of derision to it, the tall fanatic turned towards the speaker. Spiking the base of his hammer into the floor and leaning his arms across its head, Saturn chirped, "Witters! We were just discussing you."
The broad, somewhat overweight man puffed out his already rotund chest with a degree of pride. The man had always preened at any perceived "praise," it was a wonder that even that double breasted coat of his hadn't popped a button or two by now.
"Unsurprising! What else would there be to conversivy about?" Saturn swore some of the scarlet curls covering his scalp were beginning to sway, as though caught in a dramatic breeze that didn't suit his hairstyle.
Glancing past the blue coated – an excellent choice – Witters, Saturn's expression regained some genuine mirth at the sight approaching through the darkness.
Quite a few of the researchers had abandoned their stations, either to make way for or direct the progression advancing through the laboratories. Around twenty proper troopers were moving through the space, making their way towards a raised platform near the back of the room. The grey cloaks were arranged around a large cart, pushing along the back and sides as those in the front pulled the vehicle with broad ropes.
Saturn grinned as he recognized the stoic visage of Beast Handler – Brother Harrod – leading the progression, his radiant sword held up like a marching baton.
But the real prize here was what – or perhaps who – was lain out on top of the transport. A darker mood rose from Saturn, his grin utterly splitting his features as he beheld stony flesh and a single, gnarled horn.
Yeah, this was going to be cathartic.
Amshel poked his head around the corner. The hallway was clear and quiet in both directions. Made enough sense, the cooks were only prepping for a meal that was still a ways off. Glancing back into the kitchen, Amshel beckoned his comrades with a wave.
Rex was quick to comply, the overburdened sack of pilfered foodstuffs barely appearing to slow him down. The boy stood in the middle of the corridor, eyes closed in concentration.
The sound of a door slamming shut preluded the smooth click-clacks of Azami's approach. Amshel's new Blade stopped well within his personal space, looming over the man's shoulder as she quietly announced, "The scamps have been secured. Emptied out the pantry before I locked them in."
A glance would reveal that Azami had a cloth bundle packed with fruits, veggies, and cheese hoisted on her back. She seemed even less concerned with the weight than Rex was, even with her cargo being three times the size of the boy's. It wouldn't surprise Amshel if Azami felt she was competing with the kid… fucking loon.
Rex's eyes snapped open, his gaze going down the left end of the corridor. "Th-There… I think – no, Kassandra is that way."
Amshel observed in silence for a few seconds, then hummed and nodded the way he indicated. The bristly ex-prisoner reached down and lifted a wooden crate of goods onto his shoulder. He grimaced somewhat as the dusty box marred the pure fabric of the chef's coat he had procured.
Still a step up from the tattered jail top he had been wearing.
Rising to a stand, Amshel started down the passage, walking a little behind the boy in blue. He kept one of Azami's magnums held high and at the ready. The porcelain Blade herself mirrored his actions and stance, traversing the hall, surprisingly, on the far side of Rex instead of right next to her Driver. She was also carrying two crates on her shoulder in addition to her stuffed sack.
… Amshel really hoped she wasn't trying to compete with the kid. That would be frankly frightening.
The group stalked cautiously down the inner hall of the old ruin. Where tradition would demand flaming sconces, The Benevolence had strung up a sequence of lanterns on either wall, connected by the long threads of familiar cables. The light itself was still soft, truly no greater than one could expect from an actual torch.
With the spacing between lanterns, this meant there were a few blind spots in front of them. This gave the group quite a shock when they wandered into an intersection, the "appearance" of the connecting hallways giving the boys instant pause.
Azami looked startled not by the "sudden" passages but by how stunned Amshel and Rex were. Then she gave a mostly polite chuckle, dismissing her weapon so she could place a palm over her grinning lips.
"Oh sweeties! You should have said something sooner." Having said this, Azami raised her now freed hand, the fingers splayed and aimed forward. Almost instantly the artificial light of the corridor shuddered as threads of fine shadow began to form from her fingertips.
Immediately the strings started to lift, as though carried by a light breeze. The amethyst lines went taut as they attached themselves to the darkened sections of the passage.
"Stay close boys." With her raised palm leading, Azami started forward. Rex gave a confused glance at the pale Blade's back but felt himself stall when he turned his gaze to Amshel.
The older man was scanning the corridor, a touch of awe in his expression. He couldn't say the space had become "brighter," more that the shadows ahead simply ceased to be an obstacle. It wasn't that he could now see in the dark but more that he could… feel what was hidden in the black.
Amshel allowed a grin to split his features, "Your usefulness is starting to outweigh your psychosis."
The smile Azami sent over her shoulder was positively smoldering. Amshel pressed after her, Rex following in befuddlement as the man beckoned him onwards. As they advanced, Azami's shadowy strings periodically detached, dissipated, reformed, and then floated forward to new anchor points.
What followed was a good period of navigating intersections, traversing hallways, and dodging the occasional trooper. After ducking into an alcove to avoid a casual patrol, the party paused at a particularly open gap on the left side of the hall.
A wide staircase lead down a short distance to a lower level. The walls of the descent curved outward into an open space below, the wiring for the lights following these bends and then disappearing around the corners. Though they could not see the true expanse of the lower floor from this angle, they could see that it seemed well lit.
Azami's threads dissipated. Before anything could be said, Rex had planted his foot down on the first step. "She's this way," he stated, a certain detachment in his tone, "Kassandra's this way."
Neither Amshel or Azami offered comment or resistance as the young salvager continued his descent. They followed after a moment later, the dark haired Blade silently summoning her spare gun back into hand.
A much larger, ceiling mounted lantern hung over the center of the wide room. Several lines trailed out from it, leading to the cables lining the perimeter as well as towards the three halls that shot off from the chamber. Coupled with the numerous, smaller lights that lined the room's walls, the space was a good deal brighter than the corridors above had been.
In addition, the room itself was rather cluttered. While the floor in the middle of the space and, of course, the entrances to the adjacent halls were relatively clear, the walls and corners certainly weren't. Various odd devices littered the edges, some of considerable size and others in remarkable quantity. Some were quite recognizable, the makes of various rifles and melee weapons unique to Benevolence troopers filling racks that dominated an entire wall. One corner was stacked floor to ceiling with crates, an open box near the bottom revealing them to be full with their signature, padded underarmor.
Amshel took some interest in these, going over to inspect the strange vessels whilst gesturing Azami to watch Rex. He placed down his "procured" cargo amongst the clutter, figuring that they could come back for it later. The first thing he noted was that these crates were not made of wood or metal, but rather some sort of coarse, hardened polymer. They had a distinctly military feel but a cursory glance around their surfaces revealed no unique markings or insignias.
"No designations," Amshel spoke lowly, more thinking out loud than sharing anything, "Doesn't seem like they just stole this stuff but they don't give off the sense that they made this tech themselves."
"Hmm, a supplier then."
The now white garbed man shook at the sheer proximity of Azami's voice. A quick glance showed the brunette practically lain across his back, having hidden her own haul alongside Amshel's, her Driver's sudden jolt leaving her with light giggles. To make it weirder, she wasn't even facing him, the doll like Blade instead staring off towards the far side of the room.
She'd kept her eyes on Rex, just as asked. The boy was back across the room, near the stairs leading up. He was currently inspecting what looked like a pile of medical equipment, in particular a trio of bed sized stasis pods. Two were propped against the wall, standing up.
One was fallen on its side, the glass housing cracked and displaying what was inside. Rex just stared down, ignoring the approaching footsteps of his fellow escapees.
There were core crystals, from what Amshel observed. A human sized capsule filled a third of the way with dark, dusty core crystals. He heard Azami seize behind him, accentuated by a harsh inhalation. These didn't feel like "cooking" cores, like Blades recharging, gathering energy for rebirth. They seemed… hollow.
Dead.
Rex looked the most physically shaken, but Amshel could feel a dark mass forming in his throat. "Harvesting" was a term that echoed loudly in his thoughts.
It wasn't a scream that interrupted their thoughts. It lacked the energy and the urgency. It was an almost ghostly wail that seemed to rumble from the very stone of the structure surrounding them. The cry almost seemed… obligatory, dragged forth from an unwilling soul.
Rex went rigid, then immediately began to spin this way and that. Amshel had to hop back to avoid an elbow to the brow, Azami partially raising her pistol at the "threat" to her Driver.
"Kassandra," came as a rushed breath from the frantic boy's mouth.
Amshel raised a palm, "Easy Rex, just breathe."
"That was Kassandra!"
The utter frenzy on the young man's face coupled with the mad boom of his voice were jarring. But what really caught Amshel and Azami's attention was the violet, calamitous aura gathering within the salvager's right palm. Rex himself noticed a moment later, turning the affected limb over as he stared at it in muted surprise.
That first, unearthly wail ground out into silence. A second, less powerful one filled the air quickly in its wake. If anything, the waning strength only spurred Rex's next actions further. Snapping to the rightmost passage, Rex took off at a run.
Amshel barely managed a rasped, "Shit," before he was off in pursuit. Azami kept on his heels, an ever faithful shadow. The hallway was much wider than those above, lit by a single string of lanterns running the center of the ceiling. The lamps were more effectively placed here, providing greater light. The theme of housing equipment and machinery against the walls also persisted from the juncture room.
This area had an overall more "lived in" feel. This was made all the more apparent when they came to an intersection with a smaller passage. A person stepped into their path, someone dressed far more casually than the patrolling troopers they'd encountered until now. The figure in a mint green button up and dark slacks was pouring over stacks of documents in his grasp.
He never saw Rex coming. The boy in blue blitzed past the clueless man, scattering papers and knocking the poor bloke onto his ass. Rex kept running, utterly unconcerned with the mess behind him.
Amshel stepped past the threshold of the small hallway, raising his gun to sight it down on where the man fell. His first plan was to intimidate the guy, maybe fire off a round near his head to make sure he stayed quiet. That went out the window when he saw the Benevolence trooper kneeling over the man, their sights on the fleeing salvager. The armored zealot went for his sidearm.
He didn't even get his fingers around the grip before a bolt of violet plugged him in the back of the head. Amshel watched the soldier's re-breather pitch free of his mouth, the padded fanatic toppling to the floor in a limp heap. Then Amshel turned his vision to the smoking, skull-born muzzle resting next to his head.
Azami held the magnum in one, extended hand. Her left, black bordered eye was beginning to swirl with a pink/purple glow as she glanced over at her Driver. "We should really go now, Rex is getting ahead of us."
At this point the man in casual wear let loose a terrified scream, Amshel spinning rapidly to dash down the main corridor. Azami was, as always, right behind him. They didn't even bother to see if the shot trooper was alive or dead.
Several meters down they spotted Rex bounding up a short staircase. The pulsing glow in the boy's hand was releasing an audible drone.
Three figures hurriedly arrived at the top of the staircase. Two of them appeared to be rummaging for their weapons, one didn't even have their mouthpiece in place. The third had a saffron charged saber in hand and was glaring down at the approaching salvager.
Rex didn't falter in the slightest. He launched himself onto the upper level even as the armed grey cloak – he idly noted that none of them actually had their cloaks on – arced his blade into a downward swing. Rex caught the sword wielding hand at the wrist, barely managing to divert the blow somewhat, the trooper's system flaring with light.
The blue clad lad plowed his right fist into the swordsman's belly. Rex's plum enshrouded knuckles darkened to absolute black as they crashed into the zealot's frame, burrowing deep into his padded uniform. At once any trace of strength in the larger figure was expelled, his body crumpling around the gut-busting blow.
And then the dark aura pulsed out. The sudden, powerful burst flung the trooper back, sliding the man a few meters across the stone tiles. He ended by crashing head and shoulders into a torso wide column poised in the center of the hallway.
The soldier closest to Rex went to snatch up the boy's arm. Rex's shadowy fist whipped around like a flail, cracking into the invasive fanatic's wrist. The snap of bones was shortly followed by a sharp shriek as the holy warrior fell to the floor, gasping her broken joint as she rolled across the ground.
Rex didn't even spare her a glance, taking off down the oddly rounded structure of the hallway. The final trooper had collapsed onto their rear, rocked back by the boy's dark pulse, but they had managed to draw out their energy pistol.
Amshel shot the seated little bastard. His puffed armor absorbed a good deal of the impact. Amshel shot him three more times, the piercing agony of each bolt laying the zealot out swiftly. Their gun clattered to the floor as their body went limp.
Azami's severe heel slammed down on the snub nosed weapon, crushing it. Standing atop the brief steps, the silver skinned Blade gave a quick scan of the area.
It was a half moon style hallway, the walls and ceiling formed into a bulbous curve. The passage ran a good ways to the left and the right, Rex having taken an immediate turn to the right. The center of the corridor ran with a spaced sequence of cylindrical pillars.
Strangely enough, the stone beams appeared to be emitting their own light, amber glows doing their best to push back the artificial illumination of the lanterns lining the walls. This amounted to this one particular corridor being quite well lit.
So Blade and Driver had rather sharp reactions to the amount of fully/mostly kitted grey cloaks spilling into the hallway. Up ahead of the pair, Rex raced towards the forming enemy line with blind abandon.
Amshel's hand cannon was raised, its single bark harsh against the cacophony of footsteps filling the hall. A trooper crashed to the stone floor as their shoulder was wrenched back on impact. A nearby comrade hauled them into cover behind a pile of weapons crates on the right wall of the passage.
This tunnel might have been denser with containers than even the intersection from before. Coupled with the abundance of battle ready fanatics, they were probably in proximity to some sort of barracks or armory. Amshel almost wanted to cry…
Instead, he lunged behind a heavy storage locker as a pair of soldiers by a pillar sailed a few beams his way. About six grey cloaks, three crouched in front and three standing behind, opened fire on the charging Rex. The boy did not dodge, the boy did not buckle. Still running, Rex merely extended his hand. The glowing one.
Heat lances were promptly dispelled as a wide pane of shadow manifested in the salvager's grasp. Amshel blinked as through the violet aura he could make out the defensive form of a shield hammer. Still under fire, Rex pressed on.
"Sustained!"
That journey grounded to a halt as the six pulsing lances were then focused into dense, continuous rays. Rex dug in, both hands holding up his barrier as the young man struggled to step forward.
The mistake their enemy had made was in ignoring Azami. With Rex's shifting veil of darkness in play, the silver Blade's own elemental manipulation was almost subtle. Shadow coalesced from the air itself, drawing towards a single point: Azami's skull themed magnum. The gunmetal/bone white surface was shortly swallowed by a layer of jet black.
Then the shape of the weapon changed, shifting erratically as bits slid across and extended. The whole thing looked like it was getting bigger. The fanatics finally took notice of Azami when her gun's ebon cloak erupted into purple ether.
What Azami was holding now was more akin to a rifle, albeit a very compact one with a snub barrel and no stock. The thing looked even bulkier than her pistol, a fat magazine hanging just ahead of the wide trigger guard. It maintained the same coarse metal structure as its previous form, though some silver trim was present throughout.
And to bring it all together, poised overtop the receiver and the weapon's barrel, there was the skeletal form of a hand, boney digits clamping down upon the rifle's frame. Azami grinned as the now aware troopers went wide eyed upon spotting her.
Then the brunette opened fire.
Brakka! Brakka! Brakka!
One of the standing zealots shooting at Rex took all three shots. The first bolt crunched their rig with a shower of saffron. The next two shredded their left side, armor and meat splashing out in a burst of red. The grey cloak's formation broke apart and scattered instantly.
This was all that saved them as Azami merrily swept her line of fire across the enemy. One took a round to the shoulder as they fell over, their rig and cloak alight with warding runes. The resulting ricochet snapped through a light fixture, snuffing it out.
And then Azami was laughing. She also didn't let up on the trigger even slightly, blasting from the hip as her prospective targets rushed for cover. A flash of amethyst blinked in her left eye and Azami immediately turned her assault rifle on an opening further along the left wall.
An additional squad spilled out of this space, the first soldier stepping all the way into the larger hall and a second partway through the threshold. Azami hammered them with rapid bursts before they even knew what was happening, the first trooper bent at an extreme angle as a volley wrenched their top half sideways.
A blurred beam streaked past Azami's upturned cheeks. At least some of the scattered zealots had found positions to return fire, one standing behind a center column.
This particular soldier had sadly forgotten Rex's presence. As the group railing him with rays had been sent running, the young Driver had charged in with impunity. As the trooper took aim at the silver Blade, Rex spun around their cylindrical cover, a bandage bound bludgeon trailing behind.
The boy in blue wheeled Kassandra's hammer into the holy warrior's midsection, slamming them into the supporting pillar. A distinct crack sounded as the grey cloak went limp, their rifle clattering to the ground. Rex paid them zero mind beyond this, already moving on as his unfortunate victim collapsed into a heap.
A group of soldiers charged the salvager, rigs smoldering saffron as they broke cover. One was swiftly cut down by a hailstorm of Azami's rounds, barely able to draw a knife at their hip. Two more were assailed by a flurry of shots from Amshel, the white coated Driver advancing as he fired.
Of the pair that reached Rex, one jousted forward with the sparking tip of a shock spear. The boy bashed it aside with a wide sweep of his bludgeon. Then Rex reached in with his left hand, clutching the spear wielder's shoulder and dragging the fanatic to the floor. The second trooper surged in with a charged saber, readying a horizontal cleave.
Rex flung himself off the first soldier's frame, crashing shoulder first into the sword user's wrist before driving into their chest. At the same time, he drove the head of his shieldhammer into the holy warrior's stomach.
Poor fucker pretty much flew across the hallway, plowing into a stack of steel barrels. The hunkered trooper who'd been using the pile as cover cried out as the containers – and the bastard who'd been flung into them – collapsed on top of them.
Before Rex could take off on his single minded charge, the boy was forced to deploy his shield once more. A plethora of searing lances bombarded his position, a few fresh grey cloaks joining the battle.
Even as she took steadily more confident return fire from the entrenched troopers, Azami did her best to keep rounds down range. But then, as a shimmering beam scorched across the lustrous flesh of her right cheek, Azami was greeted by he worst possible sound. Her rifle clicked empty. The Blade pouted.
Then she was twirling back into the center of the corridor, spinning into place behind one of the yellow pillars. Her left eye blazed fuchsia as she whirled through heated rays. She avoided many shots… but not all of them.
Amshel plugged a bolt into a lantern perched beside a group oriented on his Blade. The burst of sparks startled the squad, the former prisoner swiftly railing one with a rapid barrage of blasts. But the roused group reoriented on him with speed, the ones he hadn't shot half a dozen times, pinning him with suppression fire. Amshel shot another grey cloak once in their re-breather before being forced to lunge back into cover.
And all the while the group hanging around the side passage, free of Azami's wild spray, held furious lasers on Rex. Others were making to advance on the salvager's flank.
Azami hissed from the numerous burns marring her metallic skin as she pressed her back against the dense column. Her gleaming eye blinked in and out once as she sunk her gaze downward, replenishing her breath with an even inhalation.
Then about a dozen slots along the length of her weapon's "magazine" slid open. The inner depths of the storage unit glowed a harsh violet, purple tainted steam rushing free of the ports in a piercing screech. After some scant seconds of this, the innards of the magazine darkened, an audible stream of air being hungrily drawn in.
Wisps of shadow were vacuumed up, ready to serve as fresh ammunition. As the rifle's slots clapped closed, a now notable shroud of shade dissipated around the Blade's weapon.
And then Azami, a savage sneer splitting her features, swung around the pillar with her gun hefted upward. She fired only one shot. A miniature comet erupted from the muzzle, arcing across the space at an almost casual speed. One of the grey cloaks emerging from the side passage tracked the path of the projectile.
And their eyes steadily widened as they realized it would hit the ceiling right over them. They had enough time to draw in a hasty breath before the plasma payload breached into the stone overhead.
The whole thing detonated, exploding into a shower of heat, force, and rock. Rex was pushed back by the blast, his shield keeping him mostly unharmed. Amshel fell to his knees as the entire hallway quaked, a wave of heat searing at his facial hair.
Azami hummed a happy little tune as she vented her rifle once more, marching through the ensuing tremors with remarkable poise. Appearing rather unconcerned, she stretched her bulky rifle away from her body, colored steam venting from its magazine ports.
Her lack of care was readily warranted. As those not so disoriented by the explosion began to pick themselves up, a thunderous cracking sound resonated through the hallway. Azami, left eye blazing, made a large curve in her trek, arcing towards the right wall of the passage, closer to Amshel. The dark Blade's Driver wasn't even looking at her.
He had eyes on the quickly crumbling ceiling. As soon as Azami arrived beside Amshel, the structure collapsed. A terrified yelp was swiftly smothered, along with the yelper, in an avalanche of stone and debris. The quaking from Azami's blast paled in comparison to the shakes rocking the space now. Half the lighting of the hallway was wiped out as the collapse carved through one of the lantern lines.
The troopers who weren't buried by the violent cave in made mad dashes away from the calamity. A few unfortunate souls further down the far end of the corridor managed to burst free of the obscuring dust cloud. The "unfortunate" part came from their sudden proximity to a certain salvager. As one panicky zealot toppled forward, the sound of their form smacking against the ground seemed to reset Rex.
Drawing his weapon back into hammer form, Rex simply bounded over the fallen soldier. A nearby, fleeing trooper barely had the time to widen their gaze before the bandaged bludgeon collided with the side of their skull. Like a felled tree the surprised grey cloak swung down into the floor.
Rex kept going, driving himself head first into the belly of another enemy. The fanatic was lifted by the blow, every ounce of air viciously forced from their lungs. But again, this didn't slow the boy down in the slightest. As he pushed past the tackled grey cloak, Rex whipped the head of his hammer into the prongs of a stun staff being jousted towards him.
The spear wielding soldier jumped back as Rex pressed in, using their weapon's superior reach to keep the salvager's advance at bay. A somewhat desperate glance over he young man's head was evidence of their true intentions, a detail Rex missed in his single minded pursuit. The proned soldier Rex had leapt over at the start had risen, a sparking mace raised over the young man's head.
Amshel plugged them twice in the back, Azami and himself having hobbled through the thinning fog of debris. Supporting her Driver with her left arm, the doll like Blade offered up a hail of hip fire towards the zealots nearest Rex. Imprecise aim saw only one opponent felled by a pair of powerful bolts. The remaining troopers went into full retreat, throwing themselves behind cover and into cubby holes as Azami sent frantic bursts across the darkened space.
Rex hardly even noticed the carnage at his back. He paid no attention to the soldier Amshel had put down just behind him, charging his way forward. As Azami rained purple hell on the disheveled fanatics, Rex rushed down the hallway with renewed fervor. A fleeing grey cloak dazedly stumbled into his path and was promptly barreled through, their rig-bound form blasting through one of the center pillars.
"Rex, wait!" Amshel's cry didn't register to the young man, his weapon's violet glow advancing speedily down the now shadowy length of the passage. The white clad Driver growled at the impending hassle, stomping in pursuit. Azami readily matched his pace, still squeezing off a few shots to keep heads down behind them.
But in short order Rex's violet bloom abruptly vanished into the floor. Amshel and Azami hustled a touch faster as the faulty lighting of the corridor flickered in and out. They quickly came up on an open span in the center of the hallway, a long break in the row of the central support beams. Instead, the pair found a gaping hole and a wide staircase descending a ways down. Honestly, Amshel was getting tired of navigating all these steps.
The lanterns here, while green and muted compared to those lining the previous tunnels, were in working order. Amshel noted the tossed form of an unconscious trooper slacked against the left wall of the staircase, laid face down atop the steps. More importantly though, he could make out a halted Rex at the base of the steps, facing away from them.
Amshel broke away from Azami, balancing one hand against the right wall as he bounded down the stairs three at a time. His devoted Blade continued to shadow him, a mounting concern leaking onto her features. Her left eye's glare was just beginning to fade.
"Rex," Amshel hollered as he leapt onto the lower floor proper, "fuck's sake, where did you… think…" The bristly older man's words trailed off as he gave a long scan of the immense space they had entered. His gun toting Blade arrived less than a second after him, her stubby rifle raised in a half ready position.
The group stood on a wide landing that appeared to span the width of the gargantuan room. The majority of the floor space before them was sunken down, the cavernous structure mostly cast in shadows and darkness. Mostly.
Arranged in neat rows were numerous, neon green cylinders. The glowing capsules stood vertically, each reaching a height of at least two stories. Many of these cylinders were empty, the luminous liquid within bubbling every now and then. But some held shapes, floating listlessly in the green solution. Arms and legs could be made out, but the silhouettes appeared to be a variety of creatures; some bestial… some humanoid. Amshel took particular notice of one pod that seemingly contained a dormant core crystal, memories of the hollowed pile from the intersection room flashing through his mind.
Each of the submerged specimens had numerous lines and cables running from various points across their forms down to the base of their glass housings. The floor was littered with many large devices, chief of which being the bulky machines resting beneath each towering capsule. The ones with figures floating above were alight and active, the relatively soft glow of keyboards and monitors evidence of their use.
Frozen before many of these screens and devices was a small, rather displaced crowd of individuals. Unlike the Benevolence troopers, these men and women were dressed fairly casual, smooth slacks and long sleeved tops – often with sleeves rolled up – being the norm. The one guy in the full hazmat suit was an outlier, but his general stillness denote a similar surprise to the others.
From what Amshel could make out… they seemed to be clearing the area. Every one of them was hefting a box of instruments or a bundle of documents, some carrying larger cargo in groups up to four people. He imagined the mess of wires covering some of the lanes between cylinders had greatly hindered their efforts.
Before Amshel could puzzle out the purpose of this place, a slow round of applause echoed throughout the stilled chamber. Eyes and pistol snapping towards the sound's source, an action repeated swiftly by Azami with her larger weapon. If the motion startled the clapping figure, he hid it well. The pace of his palms slapping together didn't falter in the slightest.
Amshel recognized the man immediately, seething through his teeth. That wide-hatted silhouette alone would have been enough, but the way his garb lit up with icy runes clinched his identity. In a zombie-esque fashion, Rex started forward.
But what had the young man's attention wasn't quite Saturn, the longcoat wearing maniac on a similarly raised area on the far side of the room, slouching over atop a short stool. No, Rex's gaze seemed torn between two major points of interest, one being right behind the madman.
A massive tank, looking large enough to submerge a small house, rested against the back of the room. Like the cylindrical pods before it, the structure was filled with a glowing green liquid. A visible current ran through this tank, though it strangely seemed to be flowing from the center of the pool out towards the bottom and rear of the housing. Streaks of purple were swept up by this stream, dragging a ways before dissipating into the solution.
Rex didn't need the extra hint to recognize the figure drifting front and center within the enormous tank. The pull of their bond was almost screaming at him now, the bound hammer in his hand practically thrumming with energy.
Kassandra's wine colored eyes sat wide open but unfocused, her long, dark hair floating wildly in the tugging current. The violet ether radiating from her body was endlessly pulled by the flow.
He couldn't help but feel something was… missing from his Blade. Something essential that should not be apart from her…
But a pained growl drew Rex's sights to the other point of interest. While nowhere near as vibrant as Kassandra's housing, the open area on the lower level between the trio and Saturn held a large, flat "stage" devoid of machinery, capsules, or wiring. Instead, it played host to a giant being with skin like stone.
Azurda lay on his side, his stomach angled towards Rex and company. The platform wasn't quite large enough for the titan's entire form, his long neck tapering off the edge and his horned head lain across a bundle of cables. His body was absolutely strewn with invasive ports breached deep into his rough tissue. Clear tubing of considerable size ran from these points, at first drawing vast quantities blood. But at a short ways into the piping, Gramps' scarlet essence was purged, the dull red transforming into a shining blue substance.
Ether… they were extracting the old drake's ether. And they weren't being humane about it in any way, shape, or form. Most of the harpoons that were used to initially restrain Azurda were still happily buried into his skin.
And all throughout, Saturn maintained his steady applause, an almost orgasmic expression overtaking his features.
Oh yeah, I think that chapter title is readily warranted…
Let's talk Azami since she is one of the highlights of this chapter. I dropped a lot of comparisons last time between her and the Sororitas… yeah, those comments weren't made on a whim. Azami's newest weapon is literally a bolt gun, a staple armament for a righteous Battle Sister! I plan on her having quite a little armory as we progress – she hasn't even pulled out the "Big Guns" yet.
I'm debating whether or not to give her a "Flamer" Form at some point. It just feels like Azami with a flamethrower would be… just a tad much.
I tend to assign Azami somewhat of a spider motif overall. She uses "strings" in one of her specials to tie into her puppet aesthetic: here I've likened them more to spider thread with it allowing her and her Driver to "feel" the environment, unhindered by visually obstruction. This harkens further to her clairvoyance which we see a bit of during the hallway battle, encapsulating her overall dynamic as a "sensor" type character. Also reminds me a lot of a certain hero's Spider Sense. And then there's her dress frame which looks suspiciously like a spider's web…
The "Food Fight" ended up going a lot more brutally than I'd first anticipated. I'd wanted things to play out more comically at first, but with the personalities involved it just didn't feel "accurate." Azami is just fucking brutal, Patricia has major beef with Rex and company, and Amshel just isn't going to be recaptured. This direction was how I came up with the chapter name.
Rex is surprisingly in tune with Kassandra, considering they've only been bonded for a little under half a month. His single minded focus on reaching her goes a touch beyond his usual worry as we see with his near automaton levels of determination. Getting to see Rex use a shieldhammer is fun though.
Take note of the fact that Rex mentions something about Kassandra… missing when he finally sees her. It'll play a big part next time.
To that end, how about that closing? Kassandra and Azurda, in various ways, being drained of their life essence. The Benevolence – more specifically, Saturn – are particularly cruel to Azurda. A large part of the overall "scheme" here is making sure that Rex and company are forced into the depths of despair, paying back the pain they inflicted upon the murder of Arthur's son. That Saturn is loving every second of this is just icing on the cake.
I'll wrap up briefly by talking on Opera, Witters, and Harod. I've kind of extended my naming theme of major Benevolence characters: now giving some of the "smaller" roles an inspired namesake. Like Saturn, Arthur, Ingrid, Stints, and even Patricia, all are based on characters from that same cartoon series that no one has managed to guess.
Opera is actually based on a regular frog from that cartoon, one that Saturn's inspiration actually keeps as a pet. This is only really shown in one episode as that series is fairly unconcerned with continuity, but the chance to have a "major" character be a brog was too much for me to pass up on. Her name is a bit of wordplay on my part, you'll see when I eventually reveal the details.
Beast Handler's name is revealed as Harod. This is very close to the name of the person he's based upon, only a single letter off. His namesake is also someone closely associated with Patricia's in their source material, something I'll probably carry over more obviously in the future.
Witters is just as much of a bodacious idiot in his home series as he comes across here. No one really has much respect for him in either setting, though on Alrest he at least seems somewhat accomplished as part of the R&D Division. How much of that is truly earned… we shall see.
Alright, that's all the hints you get for now. I know we stuck pretty exclusively with Rex's group and didn't touch on our other heroes but trust me, they're not out of the running yet.
Speaking of which…
In the next update: Nia/Pyra and company find themselves waylaid as they move to link up with the escapees, Benevolence forces begin to rouse, and Rex is feeling… Hollow.