Interlude: The Following
Yivriks always makes a note of counting his steps.
So far, around 500 steps and counting. More than 400 meters away from his brethren. Every time, he added a few more.
He expected to find nothing around anyway. Their Skiffs have made sure nothing will be close enough to interrupt their base.
He could keep walking. Abandon everything behind him. They wouldn't be bothered to spend resources tracking down one missing Vandal in the frozen wilds.
No, he couldn't. He simply won't survive without his required Ether. And where could he possibly go to anyway?
He never pretended to understand the politics of the Houses. Every Kell wants the same thing. They simply go by different names.
And it was a losing battle all along. The war against the City built under the Great Machine. All for what? To reclaim a glimpse of their lost glory?
It will not bring their homeworld back. He doesn't even remember how it looked, nor did he remember the Long Drift that followed, all in a futile struggle to chase the god that abandoned them.
Which was why this world was a blessing in disguise. An unforeseen discovery that they were brought to by an accidental course through an irregular glitch in space-time.
Here, there Is no Great Machine to hopelessly look onto, to mourn a past long gone. No Guardians that continue to haunt their kin. And no more senseless politics brought about by relics of checkered history.
The natives, human-looking yet not quite, do not have the technological edge to even oppose them in combat, despite their impressively massive scale of engineering, dwarfing even the largest of Eliksni ships he has seen.
And even though some of them do wield strange and powerful magic to rival the cursed Guardians, at the very least when they die, they stay dead. They were not granted the gift of immortality undeservingly from the Great Machine.
But these strange black minerals are an odd find. Nothing like it can be found back on Earth, or in any of the moons. So much power contained in every milligram, enough to replace, and maybe even surpass what they currently use.
And even stranger, these same minerals can be found on the natives they have captured, with black rocks growing out of their skin and bones. He never questioned why they were capturing these people. It wasn't his place.
A world ripe for their own making. With few that could contest them.
Of course, Yivriks doesn't personally see it that way.
This world seems to have its fair share of tragedy besetting its people. The unforgivingly brutal weather alone, far deadlier than any on Earth, is but one of perhaps many more that he hasn't even seen.
They are the first ones in Sol to have discovered this world, without their other enemies tracking them. Free to take advantage of its untapped resources, and its inhabitants. Their presence here has been nothing but another tragedy.
This is the same tired cycle he has seen too many times.
But the Vandal could not say anything to defy his Captains, much less fight them head-on. He is but one Eliksni, too dependent on the hierarchic machinations of his own kin.
He would've loved to set foot into this world in a better circumstance. To know of its people, learn of its culture, gaze upon its landscapes. Instead of doing the same things they have always done against the humans.
How he wished he could be in control of his fate.
Snap
Yivriks swept his visor to his side. There is something around.
A dark figure with what seemed to be a ridiculously large purple furred appendage on their back. They have not noticed his presence yet.
They seemed to be in a hurry, he wondered to where. Should he let them go? Should he alert his brethren?
In the midst of his warring thoughts, the figure seemed to have finally realized his presence.
Thunk
A metal bolt lodged itself right on the front of his helm, not enough to penetrate. He might've been dead immediately if it was a high-caliber bullet instead.
The Vandal recovered as quickly as he could, his Wire Rifle aimed towards the origin of the attack.
The figure is hiding behind the trees. He waited.
He spotted a purple blur behind one of them. They haven't noticed their cover was blown.
The figure took a split second to aim their weapon again. But he already fired his first.
Crack
A high-pitched yelp came out of the figure, their crossbow having been broken off completely into molten pieces.
The Vandal slowly walked forward with caution, his Rifle pointed at the figure. Getting a closer look, he saw the face of his enemy, desperately trying to crawl away from him, clutching one of her hands.
She seems to be one of the wolf-people they have come across before. It is strange how the natives here appear to have features reminiscent of Earth's wildlife, if only he ever had time for scholarly studies.
Her violet hair and ears was a standout detail. And he didn't ignore the fearful look on her face. Nor the wet eyes pleading for life.
For some reason he held deep within, he didn't pull the trigger.
Instead, he simply stared at her.
She isn't a target. She didn't seem like one of the infected they were trying to gather. And she's certainly harmless now.
And even if she was an infected… his brethren doesn't know of his usual escapades. He could just leave her alone and say nothing.
The Vandal lowered his barrel slowly, though it did little to alleviate the fear on the wolf woman's face. Maybe there is a chance, he thought.
But he never got the chance to say a word to her.
Bang
A single clean hole carved through his chest, piercing all of his armor. He dropped his Rifle from his shaky grip.
As he turned, feeling his body slowly embrace the snow, he caught a glimpse of his killer.
A tall figure with dark vestments, in his hands a sniper rifle, and concealing his face, a black helmet with striking visors.
He could recognize such attires anywhere. Even in this world? They are here?
There was no escape from the Great Machine's shadow after all. Nowhere to hide from its immortal servants.
Perhaps he should've expected this.
After all he and his brethren have done, did they truly deserve even a hint of redemption?
As the Guardian approached what will become his corpse, Yivriks breathed his last.
He was never in control of his own fate.
Provence watched as the Fallen Vandal breathed its last, its body becoming still.
"Are you alright?"
Her focus was shattered by the Stoic, his shadow looming over her.
"Huh? … Sort of."
"Where are you hurt?"
She blinked a few times, before shakily holding up her left hand, the back of her palm partially burned.
Kneeling down, Faris held out his palm under her own.
A faint wave of purple Void Light coalescing into an orb over her outstretched hand, emitting a cold, yet soothing shine of violet particles over her skin.
Within seconds, her burns were no longer visible. As if there was never an injury in the first place.
"Are you alright now, Ms. Provence?" He asked again.
She checked her hand over and over, almost in complete disbelief of the miraculous power displayed before her.
Healing Arts aren't that rare, and she has seen them in action before, but it always amazed her regardless. Especially in this particular context, knowing this was not just another caster before her, but someone wielding a "paracausal" power from a world beyond.
"Yeah… I am. Thanks."
He swept across their surroundings, making sure not another living thing or machine could be around. "Very well… let's get back. Your teammates are gravely concerned."
Provence rubbed her forehead. "I know. And I think… I've got enough intel for us."
It was an extremely risky mission to begin with, more than she was used to. And being a Catastrophe messenger, that was saying something.
The three of them, the Drifter and the Stoic alongside Provence herself, having the most experience with reconnaissance, were meant to scout the Fallen headquarters ahead, whereas the rest of their convoy stayed half a mile away.
With the Drifter's valuable intel, they've pinpointed the Fallen's headquarters on the map, but scouting on foot was a necessity, as the Lightbearer remarked. "Too many eyes in the sky," he said, or at least that was the extent of what she understood.
"We will talk about our findings later." The doctor looked down to see pieces of molten scrap, littered on the snow beside her.
"Did you lose your weapon?"
She looked down, giving off a guilt-ridden look. "Yeah… I got sloppy, I guess. Vulcan's probably gonna yell at me…"
He doubted that. Surely her teammate would be happy to simply see her return unscathed after such a close call.
"Do you not have any spares?"
"We do, but…" She seemed almost embarrassed to finish her sentence. "It's all the way back in the landship."
The doctor turned his attention away with his mind distracted. "I suppose I have a few spare weapons that you could use, and the Drifter would undoubtedly have some as well, but I don't put my faith in that man having such generosity. With that said, do you have any experience using firearms?"
Turning around to face the operator, he realized that she hasn't been paying attention to his words, her eyes rather drifted back towards the Vandal's corpse, whom only minutes earlier she nearly thought would've been her end.
And yet, here she was standing.
The doctor might not have reached her in time. It had every right to end her life immediately. So why did it hesitate?
"Are you listening?"
She finally noticed him once again. "Huh? Oh, sorry."
"Are you thinking about, learning how to use a scavenged Wire Rifle?" He assumed, looking down on the aforementioned weapon half-buried in the snow.
She gave the doctor a hesitant look, before kneeling down, towards the Fallen rifle.
"It's a weird feeling, I know, but…"
Slowly and carefully, her fingertips wandered across the foreign metal of the Wire Rifle. Despite its extraterrestrial origin, the weapon's design is strangely familiar. She could tell at a glance where the barrel, the grip and the trigger is meant to be.
She lifted it off the snow, feeling its surprising weight between her hands.
"Vulcan said that, a weapon like this doesn't require any degree of Arts. Of course it got me a little curious. Knowing your enemy, and all that. Maybe… it's worth getting used to."
She had no qualms about using crossbows as she had deft experience in their usage, but they have their own issues despite much easier accessibility compared to Laterano-based forearms.
And if Fallen firearms do not require anything other than a simple understanding of basic mechanics to use, then there's nothing wrong with adapting, is there?
"Fighting fire with fire." The Stoic surmised. Not a bad idea.
Though, his unspoken thoughts carry a certain hint of concern about where this new development would eventually lead to. He'd made sure that none of the Terrans he met before were aware of his origins, nor the inexplicable technology he possesses in some of his equipment, which would've undoubtedly put him on the watch list of certain nations.
It seemed all that effort may be for naught in the days to come.
His contemplation was broken by the Lupo's flustered look, followed by her mistaken assumption.
"Oh, I-I won't break this one, I promise." She stammered out.
He might've acted too stoic for a moment there, enough to make her nervous.
"No, it's… never mind."
Ambriel dusted off the cumulating dust off of her scope, after checking her remaining number of bullets.
She wasn't hoping to have to use her rifle so soon again. But they were all here now, on their own volition.
As soon as their scouting party returns, it would be time for action. No turning back. They chose to stay, after all.
Taking a moment to zero in, she was surprised to find a vision of pure white, instead of a visage of trees. Only to realize someone was standing in front of her rifle.
"Oh, it's you."
"How are you holding up?" Asked Vulcan.
She reached for a half-full can of soda right beside her, giving it a small shake.
"Got my fourth can right here, so I'm fine."
The Forte was about to comment on the potential health detriments of drinking so much sugar, but decided not to say anything about it.
"If you, uhm… need to talk, let me know." She muttered, rubbing her neck.
The Sankta had to do a double take towards her teammate's strange new behaviour. She never thought of the Forte as one to initiate small talk.
"Since when did you start caring about things other than our weapons, Vulcan?"
Vulcan blinked, her next sentence taking a little longer to arrive at her tongue.
"I just thought we could… have a conversation."
"About what?"
The Forte's words were stuck in her throat again. "…I don't even know where to start."
It took Ambriel all of a few seconds to deduce why the blacksmith who's often uninterested in any manner of conversation not revolving around their equipment, would suddenly approach her for one.
"Is this about those alien guns we checked out earlier?" She queried.
Vulcan nodded. "Yeah. We were all shocked to find out, weren't we?"
The Sankta shrugged. "Eh, I was kinda suspecting it since the doc told me about his gun."
Vulcan's eyes widened from the sudden revelation.
"What? You mean to tell me that Mr. Faris' rifle, does not require Arts as well?"
The Sankta shrugged again, her tone unchanging.
"To be honest, I called it a load of crap the first time, but now… I don't think the doc's lying. After everything he's shown us? I'm not even that surprised."
The Forte suddenly felt the need to grip her forehead, taking a seat on the broken tree trunk next to her teammate.
She absolutely needs to ask the Stoic about his weapon. And maybe with the other two Lightbearers as well. Her sense of curiosity has simply been nagging at her without end.
Do they utilize the same technology as the Fallen? Possibly not, as she could actually recognize their designs, and they obviously required magazines and physical bullets.
Glancing to her side, she became confounded by her Sankta teammate's apparent lack of interest in the manner.
"Are you… not concerned about the implications of this discovery? You're a Sankta, after all."
Ambriel returned her glance for a second, as she released a long breath, resting her head on the stock of her rifle.
"I'm honestly too lazy to think too deeply about all that stuff. I mean, we got more pressing things to worry about right now, don't we?"
Vulcan's mouth opened, but no words came out. Was it her place to judge? And of course, her teammate raised a good point.
There is no time to worry about the uncertain future, when the present itself is already uncertain as it is.
Less than an hour from now, they will walk into what might just be the most difficult battle of their entire lives. They might not have the chance to live long enough to see that future.
Her train of thought stopped in its tracks as she noticed the Sankta staring at her.
"But it is cute that you're kinda worried about my self-esteem or whatever, so… thanks." She muttered.
Vulcan gave her a look of silence. But she could see a faint smile on the Forte's face.
She looked ahead, staring off into the forest. Mulling over all that she could with the information she currently has.
"I suppose… in a logistical sense, even if those Guardians and Fallen have firearms without the need of Arts… it's uncertain to me if their technology could be replicated here. Maybe the change we're all worried about won't be quite as big."
Ambriel blew off some hot air. "Well, we're already fighting aliens, alongside other aliens. I think it's too late to worry about big changes now."
Vulcan returned her gaze towards the Sankta. Not that she actually wanted to prove her wrong, but such a nonchalant way of thinking is often much easier said than done.
"Not everyone can just be laid back and 'go with the flow', as you might say." She explained.
Ambriel shrugged again. "Well, everyone would have a lot less headaches if they could, wouldn't you say?"
Vulcan said nothing more, her eyes darting back towards nothing.
And for a long while, nothing else was exchanged between them.
Ambriel turned to face the Forte, a question gnawing at her mind. "So when we get back, should we…you know?"
"It might be best for us to not disclose this to any of our other Sankta personnel, when we get back to the landship. At least for the foreseeable future." Vulcan concluded.
The Sankta raised her eyes, another sigh escaping her lips. "I guess that would be a headache."
And that wasn't the mere extent of their worries. Neither of them could ever fully grasp the scale of possible change that would encapsulate the world they live in.
Though, one thing was for certain. The paperwork that would come from this would be nothing but a week of hell. Unless, Dr. Kal'tsit decided otherwise.
It wasn't her role to question it, but Vulcan was sure that Rhodes Island would have almost mountains of classified files hidden behind sealed doors. Would this mission of theirs end up as just another report full of redacted lines?
The Forte decided to listen to the Sankta's advice for once, and simply let future problems be saved for the future. More important things are currently at stake. Like whether or not they'd all come back from this journey alive.
After another long quiet, she stood up, leaving Ambriel to her own devices.
"Provence should be back by now with the others. I'll be around if you need me."
And hopefully, nothing bad has happened to her. She was worried about the Stoic and his other ally as well, but the Lightbearers didn't seem like they would need any prayers of good luck.
"Hey, Vulcan…"
Ambriel's voice stopped her after a dozen feet.
"You think this old thing would look good with like, a bayonet on it?" She mused, holding up her old-fashioned sniper rifle.
Vulcan paused, a hint of a smile forming on her lips.
"I'll take a look."
Ambriel stood up, after taking one last sip from her drink.
"Cool. Also, I wanna use one of those alien knives we found."
Quartz leaned against the cold metal of the truck.
It wasn't one of Rhodes Island's own, rather a product of the Ursus military. She ignored the glances from the patrols, her own eye digging deep into the figure not too far beside her.
The patrol captain, was aware of the presence of the Lupo. It was enough of a distraction to put him off of his routine vehicle inspections.
Ignatenko stood up and sighed. "I've seen those looks many times before. Out with it. What do you want?"
"Nothing."
It was a lie. Both of them knew it. Before the captain could speak up, she continued.
"I just never thought an officer of the Infected Patrol Unit would actually care about civilian lives."
The captain did not return her glare. His tone remained the same.
"Is that all you're here for? Insults?"
"Wasn't an insult. And we're both above that."
He huffed. "Then if there's nothing important to discuss, you should return to your group."
As expected, she remained in her place.
"What made you go down this path?" She queried.
"I'm not interested in being lectured."
The poignant look on her face hasn't faded. She usually wasn't one to question others on how they make a living, but there are still lines she had sworn not to cross.
"Maybe I just don't get it, but plenty of people get by without targeting the lives of those who are already ruined by Oripathy."
He didn't return her glare, but he still disputed her with a sharper tone.
"Plenty of lives have been ruined all around before. Including those without Oripathy, by those who do."
Quartz turned her face fully towards the captain. She was well aware of the implications behind his words. Slowly, she was beginning to see his true thoughts behind that mask.
"Not every Infected is a part of Reunion." She asserted.
The captain still hasn't returned her glare. "Maybe. But did they mourn the villages burned by the very movement they supported? Hypocritical, isn't it?"
Her glare became sharper by the second. Circumstances shouldn't be excluded. "Violence breeds violence. I've seen what your government has done, and what they claim they were actually doing. They're only making the problem worse."
He didn't try to correct her. There was nothing to correct. He secretly shared the same thought for a long time, but no official would dare speak of something that would go against their country's established narrative.
"So, you think that Rhodes Island has all of the solutions?" He questioned.
"At least we're trying to make things better."
He exhaled. "I believe that. You're trying to cure the disease, is what I've heard."
She added. "And make the world better for everyone, but especially Infected."
Even if she's not directly contributing to such a noble cause, as long as she could lend her sword for something other than blood money, then it's enough.
The captain seemingly nodded in acknowledgement. "It's an admirable dream."
He turned away to leave. "An impossible dream."
There was nothing she could say in return. Because as much as she'd want to deny it, he might just be right.
But that was before everything that's happened in the last 24 hours.
Before the scope of the world as she once knew was promptly shattered, revealing the once unseen vastness behind the glass.
"Well, maybe not so much anymore."
Ignatenko stopped. "Huh?"
"The Guardians… maybe they're a sign. That things are about to change in Terra. And that's something even you can't deny." She affirmed.
"Change, huh?"
The captain looked down at his clutched hand. Mere hours before, he would've been looking at his own drying blood.
"That doctor… I owed him my life. He never told me why he did it."
She simply reaffirmed his maelstrom of doubts. "Mr. Faris… he knew what you are. And yet he still saved you. Why do you think that is?"
After a period of silence, he finally turned around, his eyes meeting her own.
"You believe the Guardians are good, and… perhaps you're right. But it is not so simple. Look at the big picture, and perhaps you'll realize that they might just be an omen."
Her eyebrows furrowed. "What the hell do you mean?"
The captain took a deep breath before releasing it. He couldn't be the only one suspecting the signs, he thought.
"Do you believe it is a coincidence that they are here now, along with the Fallen?"
She simply stared, a hundred words of justifications rushing through her head, but none escaped her tongue.
He argued further. "And if it's true, that they all truly originated from another world that we know next to nothing about… what else do you think might come here after them? Things that your Guardian allies might be intentionally keeping hidden?"
She pushed herself off the surface of the truck. "Why do you think they would?"
"Everyone with power does."
She said nothing in return. It wasn't a lie.
"I don't believe that your dream is possible, Rhodes Island. Because I don't think… this world will end up better for anyone in the future."
The captain gave her one last look, before turning away for good, leaving the Lupo to her own thoughts.
But not before one last declaration.
"Those Fallen… they're just the beginning."
Lost Light
0 – IN
Author's Note
Yeah, this is a shorter chapter. Just a small little tidbit to better connect the previous chapter with the next one, which I'm planning to be longer.
Nothing really special going on here, except for a montage of scenes giving some more focus towards the RI characters. Next chapter is gonna be pretty intense, so this is just the last moment of peace before the next storm hits.
As always, until next time.