Chapter - 10 - Shadows Beneath the Cathedral
Melromarc, Castletown,
Strike Force
[Redacted] "Ice" [Redacted]
"Take off your masks, eyewear, and helmets. We're wearing robes from now on, just like her," Ice explained, jabbing a finger in Lira's direction. "We blend in with the locals, head to that Dragons' Hourglass thingy, and do what needs to be done. Once we've got what we came for, we bail. Fast in, fast out. Easy, right?"
"Just another Tuesday at the office," Whiskey muttered, his voice laced with dry humor, earning a few light scoffs from his comrades.
Lira watched them with a mixture of astonishment and disbelief. Despite the danger they were walking into, the MTF operatives were completely at ease, their banter casual and unshaken. No one was on edge, no one seemed rattled by the sheer insanity of what they were about to do.
To them, this wasn't a risky operation—it was routine.
"How can you be so calm?" Lira finally asked, her voice tinged with genuine curiosity. "You're about to walk into one of the most dangerous places in the kingdom, and you're… joking about it?"
Ares grinned as he pulled off his helmet, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "Trust me, kid, you don't wanna know what our usual 'dangerous' looks like. This is a cakewalk."
"Yeah," Polak added, yanking off his goggles. "If you saw some of the places we've had to go, you'd laugh at this mission too."
Lira frowned but said nothing more, still trying to grasp how they could be so unaffected by the looming threat. They were either fearless or completely insane—maybe both.
Ice adjusted the robe Lira had handed him earlier, pulling it over his gear to blend in. "Stay close and keep your head down," he instructed. "The last thing we need is someone recognizing us before we get inside."
Lira was taken aback by the lightheartedness these men had shown. Despite the gravity of their mission, they casually exposed their faces to her, a complete stranger, and didn't seem phased by the dangers ahead. Their fearlessness was unsettling. How could they be so calm in a world they barely knew?
Lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed when Ice spoke again, his voice cutting through her confusion.
"Oh yeah, and Lira, take off your mask too."
Lira blinked, surprised by the request. Her mask was part of her identity, a tool she used to blend into the shadows, to hide her intentions. Removing it would leave her vulnerable. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers brushing against the cool fabric that covered her face.
Seeing her pause, Ice raised an eyebrow. "If we're all going incognito, that includes you," he said, his tone a mix of firmness and mild amusement. "We don't need anyone thinking you're some kind of assassin skulking around."
Lira sighed, finally undoing the ties of her mask. She slipped it off, revealing her face for the first time. She felt strangely exposed, and the sudden breeze against her skin only heightened her awareness of it. Ice gave a brief nod, satisfied.
"There. Now we all look like a regular group of travelers."
"Alright. And what we gonna tell that bloody priest and his followers? Just saying we're travelers ain't gonna cut it, mate," Whiskey addressed his concerns, adjusting his own robe to hide his gear better. His usual humor was gone now, replaced by the sharp tactical awareness that had kept him alive in so many missions before.
Ice paused for a moment, considering the question. He knew Whiskey had a point—they needed a story that could hold up under scrutiny, something believable enough to slip past the guards and the priests without raising too many questions.
"We'll say we're from a distant village seeking a blessing from the Hourglass," Ice finally said. "Simple, believable, and not something they'll want to dig too deep into. Just act like you're devoted pilgrims, and let me do the talking."
Whiskey still looked skeptical but nodded. "Fair enough. Just hope we don't have to improvise too much. These religious types can smell bullshit from a mile away."
Lira, now maskless, frowned. "The Cathedral is heavily guarded. They'll likely question anyone who doesn't belong. Especially now, with the growing tension in the kingdom. If they suspect even for a second you're not who you say you are…"
"We'll burn that bridge when we get there," Ice said, cutting her off. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—like he had already considered the worst-case scenarios.
"Isn't the saying, 'we'll cross that bridge'?" Lira asked, a sly smile creeping across her face as she glanced at Ice.
Ice, unfazed, shrugged casually. "Burn, cross, all the same," he replied nonchalantly, his tone dry but with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The rest of the squad chuckled under their breath. Whiskey leaned in slightly toward Lira, adding, "You'll get used to him. Dark humor helps with the job."
Lira rolled her eyes, though she couldn't help but feel some of the tension lift. Despite the situation, these men had a way of making the impossible feel manageable—even if their methods were unconventional.
"Come on," Ice said, refocusing the group. "Less talk, more walking. We've got a Cathedral to visit, and I'd rather not be late to the party."
The group moved through the streets with purpose, their robes fluttering in the breeze, and soon enough, the towering spires of the Cathedral came into view.
As they moved through the quiet, winding streets toward the cathedral, the MTF operatives walked with ease, their robes hiding their gear, blending them with the locals. Lira kept close, still trying to make sense of their lightheartedness, even with the looming danger ahead.
"So, Lira," Whiskey began casually, breaking the silence, "ever led someone like us through one of your fancy magical places before?"
Lira glanced over, uncertain whether Whiskey was joking or serious. "I've worked with many skilled people in covert operations," she replied cautiously. "But not like this. Not with… your kind of weapons or your methods."
Whiskey gave a slight chuckle. "Methods, eh? We're just a bunch of ordinary lads. Except, of course, when we're not."
Lira raised an eyebrow, confused by their apparent indifference to the danger they were walking into. "You talk like none of this fazes you. How can you be so… calm? Aren't you worried about the priests or the magic users?"
Pops glanced over his shoulder. "It's not about being calm, it's about being prepared. Besides, we've faced worse than priests with a few tricks up their sleeves."
Lira still wasn't satisfied. "And what exactly are you here for? I mean, what's your real mission?"
Ice, walking ahead of them, turned his head slightly, his voice calm and low. "We handle situations people don't know about. Things that shouldn't exist but do. Our job is to deal with it before it becomes a problem."
Lira frowned, trying to piece it all together. "But what makes you different from the soldiers or mercenaries I've seen?"
Whiskey smirked, shooting her a glance from beneath his hood. "We don't fight for a paycheck or a throne. Ever heard of the saying, 'We die in the dark so you can live in the light'?"
Lira tilted her head, not sure how to respond. "I've never heard that before. What does it mean?"
Ares, walking silently beside her, finally spoke. "It means we fight the battles that you don't know exist. We take on the threats that would rip your world apart, so the rest of you can go about your lives like nothing's happening."
There was a gravity in his words that made Lira pause. "And no one knows what you do?"
Pops chuckled softly. "Nope. That's the point. We don't do this for glory or recognition. We do it because it needs to be done. The world keeps turning because of the things we stop in the shadows."
Lira stared at them, her mind racing. She had encountered many warriors who fought for their kingdoms, their homes, their power. But these men—they weren't like anyone she had ever met. "And you're okay with that? Doing all this and never being known for it?"
Whiskey shrugged. "Like we said, we signed up for this. We die in the dark so people like you can live in the light."
Lira fell silent, her mind grappling with the idea that these operatives were willing to face such darkness, not for themselves, but for people who would never know. She couldn't help but feel a newfound respect for them, even though their methods still made her uneasy.
As they approached the looming cathedral, its towering spires casting long shadows across the street, Ice glanced back at the group. "Alright, we're here. Everyone stays sharp. We get in, do what we need to do, and get out before anyone knows what happened."
Pops, always the steady voice of reason, added, "Fast in, fast out. We get the intel and figure out our next move."
Whiskey chuckled quietly. "Just another Tuesday for us."
Lira, despite the tension of the moment, found herself smirking slightly. "You sure seem confident. What if this doesn't go as planned?"
Ice turned back to face her, his voice calm but firm. "Then we burn that bridge with thermite," he replied, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. His comrades immediately burst into quiet laughter, the tension between them easing just a little.
Even Lira, though clearly confused by the reference, let out a small scoff, shaking her head. "Thermite?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I don't even know what that is, but I'm guessing it's something destructive."
Whiskey, still chuckling, leaned in. "Oh, you could say that. Think of it as fire, but… much, much angrier."
Lira's expression faltered for a moment, but she smiled despite herself. These men, for all their strangeness and unpredictability, had a way of keeping things light—even when they were heading into danger. Though she couldn't fully understand their world, she found herself feeling slightly more at ease with them.
"Just stay close and you'll be fine," Ice reassured, turning his focus back to the task at hand. "Let's get moving."
With that, the group pressed forward, the looming cathedral growing ever closer.
The talking stopped, and just like that, their joking nature disappeared as if a switch had been flicked. The sudden shift took Lira off guard, the laughter and casual banter replaced by steely focus. But as unsettling as the transition was, it also reassured her in a strange way. These men could go from light-hearted to lethal in an instant—they knew when it was time to be serious.
Ice motioned for the group to move, his eyes scanning the area ahead. The towering cathedral loomed closer, its shadow stretching over them as they approached. The streets had grown quieter, the hustle of the city fading away as they neared their destination.
Lira, walking between the MTFs, stole glances at them. Their easy switch from light conversation to grim determination unnerved her. But it also made her realize just how dangerous they were. They could joke around, but when it mattered, they were all business.
"Alright," Ice whispered, breaking the silence. "We're going in quiet. Blend in, follow the plan. Lira, you're our lead on this. Just get us to the Hourglass without drawing too much attention."
Lira nodded, her expression serious now. "The mages here don't take kindly to strangers poking around. Just let me do the talking."
Ice gave a nod, adjusting his robe and gear underneath. "Good. Let's keep it tight. Stay close and stay sharp."
They moved as one, keeping a steady pace as they crossed the last stretch toward the cathedral. The large stone structure seemed even more imposing up close, its high arches and towering spires casting long shadows over the entrance. The large wooden doors stood half-open, allowing the group to slip inside unnoticed.
As Ice and the rest of Strike Force moved deeper into the cathedral, the atmosphere shifted from the bustling streets outside to an oppressive, almost reverent silence. The massive stone structure swallowed them whole, the air inside thick with the scent of incense. Dim sunlight filtered through towering stained glass windows, casting colorful but muted hues across the floor.
The sound of their boots echoing softly against the stone floor seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet. Above them, high vaulted ceilings stretched up into the gloom, and the walls were lined with statues of ancient heroes, warriors locked in eternal battle, their expressions fierce and unyielding.
Priests, monks, and mages—clad in long, flowing robes of deep purple and gold—moved silently through the hallways. Their faces were obscured by the hoods of their cloaks, but Ice could feel their eyes on him, watching from the shadows, assessing, judging. His instincts screamed at him to be on alert, but he forced himself to remain calm, pulling his own hood lower over his face and keeping his movements steady.
Lira led the way, her steps confident, but Ice noticed the occasional glance she threw back at them, making sure they were following closely. As they walked, the whispers started—low murmurs from the mages and priests, their conversations barely audible but clearly focused on the newcomers. The weight of their scrutiny bore down on the MTF team, but none of them wavered.
Ice kept his shield hidden beneath the folds of his robe, doing his best to appear inconspicuous. But it wasn't easy—he could feel the unnatural pull of the legendary weapon, like it wanted to be seen, to make itself known. The Shield Hero's presence was a disruption here, and the longer they stayed, the more attention they would attract.
Whiskey, walking just behind Ice, muttered under his breath, "They're watching us, mate. Feels like a bloody trap."
"I know," Ice replied quietly. "Just keep your head down."
Polak and Ares moved with the same precision they'd been trained for, their eyes sweeping the grand hall, taking note of every exit, every guard, every person who might be a threat. Despite the sacred air of the cathedral, there was an undercurrent of danger lurking just beneath the surface.
As they passed a group of acolytes, one of them—an older man with sharp, dark eyes—paused in his duties to watch them closely. His gaze lingered on Ice for a moment, as if sensing something out of place, but he didn't approach. Instead, he whispered something to the priest beside him, and the two of them exchanged a glance before moving on.
Ice's grip on his robe tightened. He was used to being watched, to the feeling of being an outsider, but this was different. It was as if the very walls of the cathedral were judging him.
Up ahead, Lira stopped at the base of a wide staircase that led to a pair of ornate doors. The Hourglass chamber was beyond those doors—their destination. But as they approached, two heavily armed temple guards stepped forward, barring the way.
The guards were unlike the city knights. They wore silver-plated armor engraved with runes, their faces hidden behind visors, and each carried a long halberd. Their presence was a reminder of the power held within the cathedral—this was no ordinary place, and the people here weren't to be trifled with.
"We can't just waltz in," Whiskey muttered, glancing at the guards. "Any plan for that?"
"Let Lira do her thing," Ice said, his voice low. "We don't want to make a scene."
Lira stepped forward, her expression calm, though Ice could sense the tension in her shoulders. She approached the guards, speaking softly to them, her tone respectful but firm. They listened in silence, their helmets giving no indication of their thoughts, but after a tense moment, they nodded and stepped aside, allowing the group to pass.
The massive doors creaked open, revealing the Hourglass chamber beyond. As they stepped through, the oppressive atmosphere only deepened.
The sudden booming voice startled even Ice, who quickly retracted his hand, his instincts kicking in. His heart raced for a moment, but he kept his expression neutral, quickly regaining his composure. Lira, standing next to him, seemed just as startled, her eyes wide with surprise as she glanced around the chamber, searching for the source of the voice.
"Greetings, Shield Hero!" the voice repeated, resonating through the vast chamber, echoing off the high stone walls.
Ice exchanged a glance with Lira before turning his attention back to the Hourglass, which now glowed with an almost ethereal light. The glowing sand within it began to swirl, faster and faster, as if reacting to Ice's presence.
Lira's whisper broke the tense silence. "I've never seen it do this before. The Hourglass usually just… shows the time. It doesn't talk."
The soft glow from the Hourglass seemed to pulse with an eerie energy, filling the room with a strange tension. As the seconds ticked by, mages began to materialize from the shadows, their presence heavy and unsettling. They moved quietly, with purpose, their expressions blank but their eyes sharp as they focused on Ice and his team.
Polak scanned the room, the weight of the mages' stares making his skin crawl. His hand instinctively tightened on the grip of his rifle, still hidden beneath the robe. His eyes flicked toward Ice, concern etched into his features.
"Ice…" Polak muttered, his voice low, tension seeping into every word.
"I know, keep tight," Ice replied, his voice calm but focused. He didn't look back, his eyes remaining fixed on the Hourglass. He could feel the growing unease of his team behind him, but he knew any sudden movement would draw the wrong kind of attention. This situation was already volatile, and it wouldn't take much to tip the balance.
The mages, their robes fluttering lightly as they moved, began to form a loose circle around the group, their expressions unreadable. Their hands hovered close to the pouches on their belts—likely filled with magical runes or artifacts—but for now, they seemed to be holding back, waiting for something.
The glowing Hourglass, still pulsing with that strange energy, cast long shadows across the room, its soft hum filling the silence. The tension between the MTFs and the mages grew with every passing second, the air thick with the threat of violence.
Lira glanced around, her unease clear. "This isn't normal," she whispered. "They're not usually this… on edge."
"Neither are we," Whiskey muttered under his breath, keeping his eyes on the nearest mage.
Pops shifted slightly, his stance ready for action but steady. "Just keep cool. We don't need to start something here unless they give us no choice."
The quiet murmur of the mages grew as they observed Ice, their curiosity piqued by the Shield Hero's presence. It was clear they were unsure of what to make of him—and his companions. The unusual weapons hidden beneath their robes, the air of authority they carried—it all marked them as different. And that difference made them dangerous in the eyes of the mages.
Suddenly, Ice's Heads-Up Display flickered to life, displaying a ticking clock with golden letters. '7 days, 15 hours, 12 seconds,' it read, the countdown eerily marking the time until the next Wave of Calamity.
"I think I'm done," Ice said, nodding with a sense of urgency. He grabbed Lira's arm, pulling her to move as he turned. The unexpected touch made her blush slightly, but she didn't resist, her unease growing with the situation.
Pops, ever the strategist, gave a quick glance around the room, taking in the mages who were still watching them closely, their hands twitching as if ready to spring into action. "Let's get out of this place. Double time," he muttered, his voice low and firm. He gestured for Ice to lead the way, falling into formation with trained efficiency as the team began their exit.
Ice moved quickly, keeping Lira close as they made their way back through the Cathedral. The sound of their footsteps echoed off the stone walls, a constant reminder of how precarious their situation was. Behind them, the MTFs moved in perfect synchronization, their eyes scanning the room for any sudden threats.
Whiskey brought up the rear, keeping a sharp eye on the mages. "Don't like the way they're staring at us," he muttered.
"They won't try anything here. Not yet," Ice replied, though his grip on Lira's arm tightened ever so slightly, just in case.
The mages remained still, their eyes following the group as they walked briskly toward the exit. The tension in the air felt like it could snap at any moment, but the MTFs moved with the confidence of seasoned operatives who had faced worse odds before.
"If shit hits the fan, we're throwing frags," Ares warned, his tone low and measured as he scanned their surroundings.
Ice, still gripping Lira's arm, shot a look over his shoulder. "If you throw a death potato at these pricks, the whole kingdom's gonna be on our ass in seconds. This is their holy place."
Ares didn't miss a beat. "And I'm going to make them even holier," he shot back, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. The dry comment earned quiet chuckles from the rest of the MTFs.
Lira, on the other hand, was once again caught off guard by their humor. These men treated every tense situation as if it were just another walk in the park. There was no sense of panic or fear, just sharp wit and cool confidence. She couldn't help but wonder how they could be so calm, so nonchalant about the danger that constantly surrounded them. Making a mental note, she decided she'd have to call them out for it later—but now wasn't the time.
For the moment, she let them have their jokes. After all, they were the only reason she was still alive.
"You guys are unbelievable!" Lira suddenly yelled, her voice cutting through the crackling of the campfire. She pointed an accusatory finger directly at Ice, her eyes blazing with frustration.
Whiskey, sitting with his sniper rifle resting across his lap, smirked as he exchanged a glance with Ares. Ares nodded knowingly, a grin spreading across his face.
"Yes… yes we are," Ares said, and the two of them broke into laughter, their chuckles quickly spreading to Pops and Polak, who couldn't help but join in.
Lira stood there, her arms crossed, blue eyes boring into the group as they laughed like children who had just gotten away with some prank. She wasn't amused, though. She deadpanned at them, completely unfazed by their attempt at lightening the mood.
"You think this is funny?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. "We just walked into the most dangerous place in the kingdom, and you're acting like this is all some game!"
Whiskey leaned back, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "Relax, Lira. It's just how we deal with things. You can't be all doom and gloom when you're running on borrowed time."
"Yeah," Ares chimed in, tossing another twig into the fire. "Unless you want to end up like Nomad. Trust me, you don't want to be like Nomad." The mention of the name sent a visible shudder through the MTFs, their lighthearted mood darkening almost instantly.
Lira shook her head, still not understanding how they could be so lighthearted after everything that had happened. "I don't get it," she muttered. "I really don't."
Ice, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke up, his voice steady. "You will eventually. You survive long enough in our line of work, and you'll get it."
His words were calm but carried the weight of experience, cutting through the remaining laughter. The campfire crackled quietly as Lira took in what he said, the moment settling in. Even if she didn't fully understand it yet, one thing was clear—these men had been through more than she could imagine.
"By the way..." Lira began again, cutting through the quiet tension that had settled over the group. "While we're talking about that, what was your most dangerous mission?" Her eyes gleamed with curiosity, not even trying to mask her interest this time.
The MTFs exchanged glances, each silently debating how much to reveal. Ares leaned back, letting out a low chuckle. "Dangerous, huh? That's a tough one. Every mission we get dropped into feels like a roll of the dice."
"Yeah," Whiskey added, throwing another twig into the fire. "But if we're talking real danger, there's one that sticks out."
Ice, who had been silently poking at the fire and watching as the seconds ticked by, glanced up but didn't say anything, waiting to see where Whiskey was going with it.
"The Breach at Site-[Redacted," Whiskey said with a grim smile. "That was something else. We were dealing with—"
Pops cut him off sharply, his voice flat. "Enough. We don't talk about that."
The shift in Pops' tone was immediate, killing the light atmosphere around the campfire. Even Whiskey, who usually pushed the boundaries, shut his mouth.
Lira's eyes darted between them, sensing that whatever had happened on that mission was something they didn't joke about. "Classified?" she asked quietly.
Pops nodded firmly. "Classified. Some things you're better off not knowing."
Lira frowned but let it drop, though her curiosity was clearly burning brighter than ever.
Authors Note:
Wellp. Ended this chapter with a little darkness eh! But don't worry, things will get darker from here hehe. Nothing much to say here really. Thanks for all the people reading, liking, following and reviewing this little project of mine. This is Chapter 10 already and I'm really happy with what this has turned out to be. I hope I can count on you guys to stay till the end.
Reviews:
triscythe59- I'm maybe working on a chapter with a torture session, maybe I'm not. WHO KNOWS?!
blueassassin996- Foundation to the Win!!
Perseus12- Alliances? Nah bro I'm planing on overthrowing the whole of Melromarc lol. Or maybe I'm not. I have to keep my mouth shut or the Foundation degrades me to a D-Class.