Second Disclaimer: This post contains very graphic scenes of the hells of war. Viewer discretion is advised.
Recover quickly, and remember your drills. Such were the words that P’welro said to the group of Sharlayan warriors that now fell behind the Captain’s fighting force adjacent from the Garlean menace. They knew they didn’t have much time. It would not be long before the true action would begin, and the two opposing sides would meet in open conflict upon both of their sailing vessels.
This was not an ideal scenario for the Sharlayans. Their primary methods of engagement involved smaller skirmishes and quieter confrontations that were either off the record or too insignificant to matter. Yet here they were, facing close to an additional one hundred men in total. Two out of the four members of the team had never been in open war combat before, and one of those people included the Keeper of the Artifact. He glanced over at the other member of the team that hadn’t before – Eighty-five – before their gaze followed upon the leader of the group.
Jonathan had kept his gaze fixed on the towering, imposing man that appeared to be the head of this Garlean division. A distant place within his gut told him that his presence here was… unnatural. There was something heavy about him – something horrific and artificial – and the expression that was on his face was of great concern despite his complete calm and lack of uncertainly in both his posture, and his gestures. “We cannot spare any more ammunition for our rifles besides what we have just utilized.†Jonathan told P’welro. “The rest of these men must be disposed of by other means. Just concentrate on what your units do best – we will do our own thing and make sure to thin out the men you will eventually encounter – Seventy-seven, Eighty-five, dispose of your rifles and retrieve your grenadic armaments. Forty-three on me, keep those gunblades from doing too much damage.â€
While the Captain was commencing her return speech, Ryanti and Eighty-five were very rapidly disposing of their rifles by ejecting the magazines from the weapons and slinging the guns upon their backs. They moved at a heightened pace, sprinting with a calm collecting precision that barely made any noise upon the ship. For the first time on this trip, they had fully abandoned their disguise as sailors. It was already useless to do so after they had to break their cover to eliminate half of that army.
They sprinted down into the place where they equipment laid, and swiftly placed the rifles back into their special crate. Their movements were smooth and calculated, but in reality their hearts were beating fast and hard. The tips of Ryanti’s fingers and toes were tingling in adrenaline, and Eighty-five felt tight and hot in her all-encompassing suit. They eyed each other for a brief moment and for that moment they believed they could have just a little bit of relief by relying on one another’s presence before having to step out onto the battlefield. That moment never came, for it was the cannons of the Roehmerl that ignited the beginning of the battle.
Eighty-five grabbed two smaller versions of the Sharlayan longsword Ryanti had on his belt. Unlike Ryanti’s three fulm blade, these shorter weapons made excellent daggers in the hands of a mischief maker’s daughter. She managed to get a hold of them just in time to juggle the objects Ryanti was tossing at her. They were dark cylinder shaped objects that were about the size of her hand. There was what looked like a circular pulling pin resting on the top. Another secret weapon of theirs. “Let’s leave our souls here. Then go back for them when this is over.†Eighty-five mentioned to Ryanti as the young man was furiously equipping himself.
“Yeah.†Was all that Ryanti could mention. He didn’t know what else to say. The sound of the Garlean charge came right after, and both of them knew that it was time to go. “Let’s.â€
Meanwhile, Forty-three stood completely still in the center of the deck of the Roehmerl, blocking out the immediate sounds of war to prefer chanting within his own small world. The aura within his staff was a shining beacon, having spread a powerful white light where all eyes could see and fester on. However, it was a pitiful hope to try to take him out. When the gun blades started firing, and bullets whizzed past the squad aboard the Roehmerl, Forty-three was responsible for blocking a fair amount of them hitting their intended targets. His over-arching shell spell prevented the Garleans from preferring a long range assault, forcing them to get close to engage their targets with anything less than a high powered rifle. It was near impossible for them to try to get to the mage to deal such a killing blow as to render the spell null and void, for the Lalafell had boxed himself in with layer upon layer of defensive spells. One Garlean found this out the hard way by combusting into flames due to a fire trap.
Jonathan preferred to join the Marauders as they cleaved their way into the Garlean’s line. The man was a natural at fighting to the point of it being scary even to his allies. The emotions on his face were shut off, and he was an absolute killing machine. The difference between him and the others, though, was that Jonathan was fighting rather cleanly. His kills were very precise. A stab into the aorta, a slash of the throat, and a slashing of the calf arteries were his main methods of killing Garleans. His ability to counter outweighed even his offensive onslaught. Any Garlean that found themselves attacking him were choking for air that would not come through broken throats or bleeding out helplessly on the ground within moments of confronting him.
He was very specific in his directional movements. He was trying to get closer. The imposing man that he witnessed earlier had not yet joined the battle, and he had to be the one to eliminate him. There was something about him that told Jonathan that if he were to reach the ship, it would be an absolute maddening bloodbath. He didn’t know why, but his occupation had taught him not to question his instincts.
“I can’t hold this shield!†Forty-three exclaimed out loud. His voice was heard by both the Roehmerl’s squad on the ship, as well as the linkpearl stuffed in the ears of the Sharlayans. “Too much aether!†He growled again, his voice rather low and primal for such a sophisticated man as he. But there were many secrets about the older Lalafell and unfortunately some of the darker ones would probably have to surface today. The ungraduated mage did not allow the shield to disperse, however. When it was wearing thin, he decided instead to suck the shield further inward, absorbing the power that he had casted out back into his staff as the Garlean charge came. It would become ironic that perhaps the one mage on the battlefield would cause the most gore. For the moment all of that power focused on the tip of his staff, the mage slammed it down in front of a group of Garleans that had focused on taking him out by charging with their swords and swears. The power coned out in an arc of flashing light. The concentrated light was so powerful that a spurting red mist sprayed from the Garlean men, melted muscle and exposed skeletal bone all that remained of their faces as they collapsed, dead long before they hit the ground. The mage had a still, dark look as the boat shifted its weight and he stayed right where he was because he did indeed remember his drills, watching the dead mutilated bodies slide away from him.
The mage looked to his right, observing the two young soldiers sprinting back onto the deck with their weapons ready. “Forty-three!†Eighty-five called out from the mist of the chaos. “Join our charge!â€
Forty-three eyed Jonathan and they both nodded. Within moments, the Sharlayans made themselves known with a dramatic shift of tactics and plans that would have them create their own mini-front aside from the main front that the Roehmerl’s crew was head deep in. “FOR THE FREE WORLD!†Was the statement that Ryanti, Eighty-five, and Forty-three heard in their linkpearls as Jonathan led this charge. Within moments, the four members of the team screamed out a war cry as they seemingly ran straight for the Garlean line. But upon the side of the Roehmerl the three non-magic users raised their right arms and a booming sound was heard as grappling hooks were launched out of those wrists from their Sharlayan suits.
These hooks penetrated various Garlean structures upon their own vessel, and once they did the wire immediately lifted the three Sharlayans into the air, their forms blotted out by the sun as they covered immense distance in the air in little time. Forty-three did not grapple, but instead chose to smack the ground behind him with a wind spell, launching him to immense heights to match the pace of the other three.
Of the two grenades latched onto Eighty-five’s belt, she clicked the safety off of one of them, and the blue idle light on the device shifted to red. During this majestic flight, she ripped it off of her belt and pulled the pin off with her teeth, letting it fall from her. Several Garleans in the rear lines glanced up in moderate confusion, and this caused a lack of pacing in the back of the line when it came to the charge. They were already sabotaging their efforts before they even touched the ground.
While the Roehmerl’s crew were dealing with the Ala Mhigan soldiers, the Sharlayans landed in between the other Garlean men about halfway through the line. As soon as they touched the ground, the grenade exploded. A ravaging bang was heard as the consuming fire of the explosion blew limbs off and severed heads from their bodies. Severed ears, eyes and intestines littered the spot in which before was healthy men. A brief rain of blood littered the ground zero of the explosion, and gave the Sharlayans enough space in which to create their own defensive perimeter in which their backs all faced one another.
Half of the rows that were charging against the row of lancers along with Jada and P’welro paused in their assaulting advance to look back at the carnage that had invaded their ranks. Startled at the sudden presence of the Sharlayans, these rows turned around to face them. A silent form of understanding between those Garlean rows and the Garlean rows that stood in front of the Sharlayans occurred and both lines rushed them at the same time, pointing their spears and raising their swords in their rapid advance.
“Men.†Jonathan addressed as he flanked his back to both Ryanti and Eighty-five, facing in the opposite direction of the Roehmerl. “I would like you guys to cut your way back to the crew. When that happens, then all of you must charge the rest.â€
“What are you going to be doing?†Eighty-five mentioned, looking over her shoulder as the Garlean line ran ever closer.
“I must face him. Alone.†Jonathan muttered, half to himself and half to Eighty-five. There was something about Jonathan that he knew and understood – only he had a chance to take him. “Forty-three?†He addressed. “Yes sir?†The proper Lalafell responded, the only one besides Jonathan to possess a calm demeanor. “Use it.â€
“John.†Ryanti murmured with an emotion tone, sighing vividly as he turned his head halfway in a half-glance towards his commanding officer in an emotional appeal. “Don’t worry about me. Go! And do not look back at me.†Ryanti heard Jonathan say, followed by a little wisp of wind – the effect of the older man rushing ahead to charge the second Garlean line all by himself. The younger man felt a cold chill creep up to his spine.
“Ah.. o-oh dear.†The lalafell mentioned to himself in a rather somber tone, pointing the tip of his staff towards the ground where the corpses from the grenade laid. “Oh deary dear..â€
“What’s the matter, Forty-three?†Eighty-five said hushly.
“This is what kept me from graduating…†The lalafell murmured, closing his eyes and quietly whispering to himself. Curiously, the blood from the fallen soldiers began to reverse in their drying process and quietly creeped back into a liquefied form, and slithering into the pure crystal that the lalafell had embellished in his staff, tainting it and turning it into a deep red color. Eighty-five glanced away rather sickly, and stood shoulder to shoulder with Ryanti as the mob grew ever closer.
This was a hell of a scene in Ryanti’s eyes as time seemed to slow down for a moment or two. It was his first time out in open war like this. He had never seen so many men rushing him with the intent to kill him. Is this what his father felt through all of the battles he raged through… especially Cartenaeu. Was this what his great grandfather felt on the eve of the Autumn War? When Ala Mhigo itself charged the lines in the Black Shroud? Was this what every soldier felt as they confronted the aspect of death itself?
He unsheathed his standard issue sword, a sword made out of many layers of forged mithral steel. A sword that he was familiar with nowadays. A sword carved out to be the same length as the family sword Ryanti carried with him outside of this occupation. He could see the men and women fighting on the Roehmerl. Fighting on the other side of the line. He could hear the screams and shouts of soldiers falling by the truckload behind him. He could feel the nervousness get to him; an insane urge to suddenly curl up and rock back and forth as the sight of blood and the smell of death.
“Ready?†Eighty-five could hear him say, as he brought his sword up next to him with two hands. She cleverly spun her daggers forward, and waited for the Garleans to reach them. “Yeah.†Was all she could mention. She didn’t know what else to say.
Eighty-five made the first move as the lines met. She immediately strafed, and turned her shoulder to the side to dodge a thrusting spear. She was a screamer when she fought. Her shout penetrated the air as her dagger penetrated the throat of the soldier that had attacked her. The blade popped out of the back of the now dead Garlean’s throat as she pivoted her foot and shoved her blade into another spearman’s throat. The two corpses stood tall because of Eighty-five’s blades for a moment before she swiped the blades out of their necks. It was the first two corpses of her killing spree. She ducked a horizontal overhand swing and stabbed one of her blades so hard into a Garlean’s knee that the bone popped out of his leg, and silenced him with a beheading, creating a giant X wound in another soldier’s neck right after. A quick spin gutted two more soldiers of their intestines, and she left them to die slowly as her short blades parried two shoulder strikes, countering with two strikes of her own: one cutting off the man’s hands, the other piercing right through his temple, brain matter leaking out of the other side of his head by the time she pulled her blades out. She kicked another man in the groin that had come behind her, whom dropped his axe and gripped his sensitive spot once he got on his knees, his face frozen in his scream when a blade pierced his skull from straight above and finding a temporary new home in his brain, after slicing it in half of course. The blood decorated her features as she pulled it out. She immediately pivoted again and swiped blindly at another man’s face, and it paid off by slicing his eyes and making him blind, when then was an easy kill by sliding the blade right through his mouth and pushing the tip of the blade right between another man’s eyes – two heads in one stone if you will.
Ryanti’s style was slightly less speedy than Eighty-five’s, but a much more vicious and aggressive style that he had demonstrated with Sounsyy, though relying on the same principles. When the line reached him, he ducked low, and swiped out two different legs from two different men at once, causing them to keel over and grab at their legs as they slowly died by blood loss. He glanced straight, the crew far, far away from him. But he would do what he would have to and call upon his noble blood to protect him. He would carve through all of these men to reach them again. To see them alive and safe. P’welro. Fruhsuun. Marj. Susu.
Sounsyy.
He called upon his father’s blood and leapt up into the air, thrusting his sword into the skull of a charging Garlean. Using his chest as a springboard, he kept off of him and swung his longsword diagonally, carving a deep red line into the chest of another that had maneuvered behind him, crushing his diaphragm. He immediately swung in a wide horizontal arc back at the frontline, beheading two Garleans at the same time, their limb bodies tumbling over in fountains of blood as he bent his knees in a defensive stance, his sword pointed outstretch where the tip of the blade faced the throat of his enemies. His halfblooded ears sensed a strike incoming from his rear left, and he shifted his blade behind him as the blades locked. Ryanti shifted his eyes at the soldier and held the block, shifting his stance to stone him to the ground and keep him from moving. He blinked and looked in front of him, eyeing another blade coming straight for him with the intention of beheading. The young man bent his head backwards to dodge it, briefly seeing the reflection of himself in the glistening steel that could have been the reflection of his father.
He saw the blade pass him and smash into the Garlean soldier that he had parried. He brought his sword back up front with a horizontal swing, slicing the belly of the other man and dropping him in an instant. He spun to his side just as a Garlean with a shield tried to use a technique Sounsyy might have used on Ryanti in the past. But during that fight, Ryanti had not desired to go lethal. This time he did. Ryanti gripped the blade end of his sword with his other hand and crashed it against the shield hard. His two handed shunt had superior strength to the Garlean’s one handed shunt, which caused the shield to bend back. Immediately after, Ryanti stabbed the tip of his sword straight down the Garlean’s leg, severing arteries and shattering bone before piercing the deck of the ship itself. It was enough to kill him right there. He used it at a balancing pole, the Garlean screaming in agony as he fought off another one briefly with a jump kick to his face while using his sword and the Garlean’s leg as leverage.
He ripped the sword out of the Garlean’s leg, and the screams of death followed him with another huge swing, cutting down three men that had surrounded him. His style was focusing on giving himself space with his long blade, and anyone that violated that space would be cut down. He looked up as a Garlean spearman made a wild decision to try to leap over this line of space and cut him down with his superior reach. But Ryanti moved himself forward, and before the Garlean had a chance to adjust, he was cut down in mid-air, a slice of blood spurting from his massive chest wound. A move like that would have done wonders to cut morale, and Ryanti figured so as he utilized his current adrenaline rush to immediately charge after the men. But these men were hardened Garleans, loyal to their cause. So immediately after charging, Ryanti was on the defense, holding his long sword in a reverse grip and sifting it from side to side as he parried each blade and spearpoint that came close to him. He gritted his teeth and cried out as a Garlean in front tried to break his defense with a massive overhead strike, but the blade of his chipped from the defense of Ryanti’s sword, which had superior steel. Fueled by adrenaline, Ryanti cried out in an almost feral roar as he lifted his sword from a defensive stance into an offensive one, the notched Garlean blade stuck on Ryanti’s sword as he lifted it up and cut into the Garlean’s neck, shattering the sword completely and severing the Garlean’s spinal cord, his head fruitfully falling off balance of his shoulders as he crumpled down to his knees, dying with the blade notched into his flesh. Ryanti kicked him and ripped the blade out of him, holding it back in front with dark, embedding eyes of a long lost innocence that betrayed the polar-layer of ice that rested on top of his warm, mountainous heart.
But perhaps the one that truly betrayed what his image to others were was Forty-three. Indeed, he had to reveal the secret of why he did not exactly graduate from his magical studies at the first offensive maneuver he pulled. As Eighty-five and Seventy-seven took out the enemies that stood before them in the row that they were in, it was no question that they would be immediately overwhelmed if not for Forty-three. Out of all of the Sharlayan’s group, he would end up being the one that caused the most bloodshed.
And the reason was because of his blood magic.
“Twelve forgive me.†He muttered in a moment of weakness. That was before his pupils glowed a dim, dark red. “For unleashing the sins of Amdapor.â€
Immediately when the line was upon him, the Lalafell beat the crystal upon the floor in a forward concussive blast that turned the brains of the Garleans charging him into complete mush, blood spilling out of every orifice as their bodies fell in heaps. The immense blood from the shocking sight flew into his staff’s crystal, for every death made it more powerful. He swung his staff to flank his right side with an unnaturally powerful gust of wind so harsh that it ripped the limbs off of the bodies as they flung helplessly into the air and far out to sea. He spun his staff around his body to gather momentum, shoving the tip of his staff into the skull of another, gusting wind into his head until his head exploded. The Lalafell exhaled harshly, staying in control of his senses somehow as his bloodlust increased. He extended a hand to a few men that had charged him and forced them to the floor, extending another hand with his staff in his grip to a few others who had retreated at the abomination sight of his magic, also being pulled down to the ground. The lalafell lifted both arms up into the air and slammed them down over and over again, the bodies helplessly crushing themselves against the floor until nothing was left but mangled, broken, dead bodies that he then propelled telepathically towards other troops.
He reached out his staff and yanked it back, pulling another group of soldiers towards him belly-first and kept them telepathically bound to the floor. He held up his staff as individual blood-red beams from the crystal struck the bodies of the Garleans. Nothing could match the horror and pain in the screams of the young men as the beams began to leech from their life force, further empowering his staff. The unnatural and downright evil spell mangled their cries of pain and terror as they began to age rapidly, their bones, muscles, minds and souls being absorbed into pure, raw, unadulterated power. He continued to walk towards the line of men, and the line retreated out of pure fear, deciding their best course of action was to charge Jada and P’welro’s side of the battle. But then again, perhaps it was the Lalafell’s goal all along to feed the Roehmerl’s crew soldiers. Scared, demoralized, and shaking soldiers.
When he was done with those Garleans his staff had absorbed… there was nothing left but their clothing.
Eighty-five and Ryanti touched shoulders after their initial sprees, watching as the men began to retreat from their lines. He heard Eighty-five sighed in almost euphoric manner, sliding her bloody daggers horizontally across the cheeks of her rear, decorating the shape of them with the blood of her enemies. Her success on the battlefield made her feel a little sexy, and upon witnessing this Ryanti raised his eyebrows, not really knowing how to respond to that.
Perhaps the look of a greatly pained Forty-three was enough to distract him from strange thoughts. But his actions were ever strange as well. His face appeared to be in great pain and remorse, and as he walked up to the group, he held his staff out. Blood was leaking from it in droves as the deeply red crystal began to shed its tainted color and the power of his aura grew weaker and weaker, gradually returning to its normal state, which was powerful in its own right. “My… tainted curiosity led to the demise of my academic career, as well as my dreams.†He said, though it seemed like he had a very hard time breathing, like it took a lot out of him just to stay sane, and purge himself. To let go of that power that dared to corrupt him. “And of course, the demise of Amdapor herself.â€
Ryanti felt that it was kind of strange that nobody was coming from the rear anymore. Upon finally glancing back, he noticed that the last division of the Garlean force was stationed around the main door that led to the inside of the ship. “I did not expect the two fronts to become one – why are they not attacking us?â€
Eighty-five momentarily turned to look at what Ryanti was looking at, uncertainly showing on her expression. “I don’t see the big guy either. Is that bad?â€
The lalafell grimly lifted his staff back upright. The crystal had been removed of the taint, and the glowing red irises of his had faded as he spoke for the first time in his normal voice since his sinister trance took hold. “They are dueling in private.â€
-----
There he stood.
A man of imposing height. Of unnatural means of staying alive. The sound of his rebreather penetrated the still air in front of him in the dimly lit, quiet hallway. He was eerily still, and his magnificent gunblade rested in the palm of his hand, the blade pointed down. His half-cape rested and cloaked half of his figure, disguising him as a shadow, a half ghost of a man already half dead.
There he walked. A man with a dead expression on his face, but a spark of determination and grit in his eyes. A man that had grown a beard since beginning his mission. A man with messy medium hair and a swimmer’s body, but with literally thousands of tiny scars decorating his body. Scars that held deeply imbedded secrets. A man that held his own blade to the side and brought it up slowly in front of him once the man had confronted the other.
“I know who you are.†Terminus boomed in a dark, quiet voice. Neither man moved. Jonathan’s eyes only squinted but a little, but he kept quiet, not spilling a single word to the imposing man before him. “Your petty little Sharlayan games will not last forever in the ears of learned men.â€
Jonathan lowered his sword but a moment after he said that. “Neither will your efforts to stay alive. With what state your body is in now. With what abuse you have sacrificed to it in your childish pursuit of knowledge you are not worthy of.â€
The tall man began walking. His footsteps were solid and his atmosphere was heavy. Jonathan, for all of his talk, could not deny that this man reeked of power. He found himself back up half a step every time Terminus took a full one. The dim light passed him over, shading all of his face but his lips and his beard.
“You are unwise to insult me.†Terminus responded, his eyes growing serious as he raised his sword up into the air, his half-cape whirling in the wind as he went to strike Jonathan’s shoulder. It was a basic hit, a basic strike. But Terminus’s augmented body made it extremely powerful, and half the time it was all Terminus needed to defeat someone. But not Jonathan. Jonathan swiped at the strike with his own swing, parrying it in a very loud clang, and taking two steps back. Terminus’s cheek bent a little, simulating a calculating smile and following him.
Jonathan parried another swing to his legs. A loud clang. He went to block overhead, and dodged to the side a little to shrug the enormous blow off. His strength was incredible, as was his precision. He knew he couldn’t back up forever. “Enough playing.†He heard the imposing man say.
So when Terminus lined him up for another basic overhead strike, Jonathan yelled out and swung with his own blow that rammed horizontally into the armor of the man. Which did nothing but back him up a little. Terminus let out a little grunt of annoyance as Jonathan attempted to quicken the pace, and quicken the pace he did.
Left shoulder, left leg, overhand to the right shoulder, chest, left leg, chest. In that instant, Jonathan was all over him. This was the same strategy that he had used against Sounsyy: Complete mastery of the basics of swordplay. Striking at all locations with breakneck speed and precision. Not allowing them a chance to attack, forcing them to defend until they eventually made a mistake and got ran over by the onslaught. The majestic Captain of the Roehmerl was one of many that fell victim to this technique, but Terminus was a whole different kind of ball game. He was a man augmented. He had no problem matching the speed and precision in his defense. He had no issue doing it over and over again. But Jonathan just kept going.
The Garlean doors opened side by side as they broke through the hallway and into a boiler room. Terminus’s sword waved back and forth as he matched the offense with defense, though his heavy feet had to keep backing up. A moment was interrupted when Terminus kicked out one of Jonathan’s legs, causing him to trip and stumble his back against the guardrail of the catwalk, moving his head just in time before Terminus’s blade damn well cleaved the guardrail completely in half.
Jonathan immediately got up to his feet and dodged a thrust by the Garlean lord, jamming the back of his hilt into the side of his face, breaking one of the tiny liquefied painkiller capsules on his face, the liquid splashing out as his face twitched back before he retaliated with a haymaker that knocked Jonathan off the catwalk and onto the stairs below, causing him to drop his sword.
He managed to pick it up and get back on his feet as the powerful legs of Terminus clanged onto the stairwell. Jonathan managed to block his blow, but it was powerful enough to send him tumbling down the stairs.
He winced in pain and glanced up at the man approaching him, calmly and collectively down the stairs. He reached his hand up and tugged on a steam wheel, causing the steam pouring out of a canister to erupt in front of Terminus. “Gah!†The man gasped as he raised his hands up and reacted to the sudden burst of boiling hot steam. It was enough for Jonathan to regain his composure as he witnessed the man leap over the steam in an effort to cut in Jonathan in half, which he dodged and tried to parry with a swipe of the legs, but was forced into a blade lock by Terminus, who then maneuvered the blade upwards into an X lock. “I told you to stop playing games.†Terminus mentioned to Jonathan, who responded by spitting blood into the man’s face and reacting with yet another swing…
-----
“Come on, let’s go let’s go!†Ryanti shouted as the three Sharlayans charged the retreating Garlean line. They were becoming easier to cut down, disorganized and confused since their leader on the battlefield, Cynthia, had entuffled herself in a cat fight with the Captain. Ryanti could see that from where he was. He whispered a silent prayer for Nyemia, and the Allagans even, to watch over her. Until… just until he could get there.
Ryanti swung his sword up and down, side to side like a madman, but it was an organized madness. He was swiping at every direction of space, cutting down immediately those who had their backs turned to him and swiftly knocking the ones threatening him off their feet and finishing them off. Eighty-five took care of the leftovers while Forty-three made sure they weren’t flanked. With a slash to the left, right and front, Ryanti continued. When he reached a frontal wall of opposition, Ryanti’s advanced was so determined that he placed a brilliant kick to the vertical line, putting all of his weight on it, which caused all of the soldiers behind him to fall on their backs. Ryanti had took form, and there was no denying that anyone that was watching could make the claim that after year upon year of growing into the man he was now, Ryanti was finally beginning to live up to his name and his father. One could mistake him for his father as he carved his own line in the opposing force, and fear seemed to leave him as his confidence grew and his immersion intensified. It seemed that he would find his way after all.
Until one enemy that he leapt at was carrying something that he was not expecting – a gun.
A shot rang out that knocked the bird out of the sky, connecting right with his stomach and knocking him flat on his back. He screamed in pain – the bullet had smashed against his abdomen but not penetrated because of his armor. But it had knocked the wind out of him entirely and robbed him of his weapon. He could hear the faint cries of his name being called out from a woman’s voice far behind him, but it went in through on ear and out the other. His dim, watery eyes beheld the shadow of the Garlean gunman shove the rifle he was carrying horizontally across his neck with such veracity that he could not breathe. He felt his body squirm and suffocate, and a great pain in his stomach and heart. He was dying.
His fists struggled wildly to move. To swing at anything. He hit his ribcage rather softly, just to see if he could hit something. He felt his larynx tighten, and his eyes began to black out, his hands wildly still reaching for something. He was growing desperate; he had extended himself ahead of the group, and it might have been the mistake to lead to his death.
He tried in vain to take a breath, his hands finally gripping something soft... a part of the body he was familiar with as a man. War was not a time for shame. With all of his remaining might, Ryanti gripped the man’s groin, putting all of the strength on his nails. The Garlean above him screamed in unimaginable pain as Ryanti’s nails pierced blood vessels and crushed his testes, soaking his trousers in the blood among other fluids of his own de-genderizing at the hands of a desperate, dying man. That pain caused him to ease up just a little bit, enough for Ryanti to move his head enough to bite the man’s hand. In that moment, he was thankful for his mother’s blood. His slightly sharpened canines dug into the man’s veins, filling Ryanti’s senses with the taste of mangled dead skin and blood. He pressed further. He felt bones crack. Now was not the time to show mercy. It was either him or Ryanti. Further. He had to get to them. Further.
He felt the bone separate, and ripped his teeth away, coughing up the enemy’s blood, along with a finger. The agonizing Garlean grabbed the rifle with his other hand, trying to smash Ryanti’s face with the butt stock while crying relentlessly in pain. He managed one direct hit, knocking Ryanti for a loop and busting his nose, but the half Hyur, half Miqo’te leapt upon him like an animal, knocking him onto his back and swinging at him through a blood-fury rage. The normally civilized and rationalized young man who took pride in a Hyur heritage was now viciously clawing at the man, slashing his cheeks and forehead up before grabbing his neck and slamming his head against the back of the deck until blood had pooled in the wood behind him. But he was still not dead.
The crazed young man slid out the loader from the Garlean’s gun and aimed straight for the neck, but was stopped by the Garlean’s good hand, pinned in-between the rifle and the skin of his neck. Ryanti dropped the loader for a moment and ripped the rifle away from the man’s hands, swinging the top-heavy object upon his face with no technique or rhythm whatsoever, screaming out with every blow until the rifle broke into pieces and Ryanti was holding nothing but a stick; a part of the gun itself. He tossed the stick aside and picked up the loader again, the tears of his eyes mixing with the blood of his nose as he edged the tip of the loader towards the neck of the dying man. He was whispering something, something Ryanti could not understand at the moment. Perhaps it was a message of forgiveness, or a begging to Ryanti’s ears that he didn’t truly want to die. Maybe they had many things in common. Maybe outside of this war, outside of these governments and outside of points of view, they could have been great friends.
But Ryanti kept pushing, his teeth shivering and chattering against each other as the loader pierced the man’s skin, and lodged into his throat, finally ending his life.
Ryanti collapsed alongside the man, taking a few breaths as he felt a cold, numbing feeling in his chest. He wiped the blood and the tears off of his face with a few wipes. He couldn’t think about it. He had to get… there.
He saw a few more heading towards him, distracting by him laying down. With shaky hands, he slowly removed his Sharlayan pistol from his holster. He fired twice at the two approaching him, two spurts of blood from each as they fell. With blurry eyes, he looked back and forth, and saw a Garlean struggling to pick his target. He shot him and watched his head cave in. His eyes saw another – a Garlean trying to carry another injured man that he seemed to care about deeply. He took aim… and shot the well one dead, leaving the injured man to die as he… could not waste a round on that. How many… rounds was that now?
He found another target… and aimed straight down the barrel, and pulled down the trigger. But no bullet came. He still heard a shot though. He looked at his gun, and no smoke was emitting from the barrel. It wasn’t him who shot this time. He squeezed the trigger again. Again. Click. Click. Click. In anxiety and panic, the young man stumbled up, looking frantically for the source of that shot…
But he had to turn the pistol around for a pistol whip to another Garlean that had approached him, clocking him in the face and dislocating his jaw as he fell to the ground, Ryanti following him and beating the life out of him with his gun until there was nothing left of his face. “P’welro!†He cried out with a powerful voice. Wanting to know if she was near. Wanting her to … help him. To hug him right now… he felt so cold right now… His adrenaline was wearing off, and he was so exhausted… “P’WELRO!â€
He solemnly grabbed his sword after gaining his senses, glancing over at Eighty-five, who was still making her way to the crew. Ryanti frantically tried to reload his pistol, but got the gun knocked out of his hands by a Garlean spearman who thrusted downward. Ryanti quickly rolled out of the way, grabbing his sword and swinging for a leg, connecting and bringing the man down, swinging vertically upon his torso.
“Jada! JADA!†Eighty-five screamed for her, unlike Ryanti who was floored she was able to make them out from where she was. This was bad. The third wave had not even joined the fight yet. “WHERE IS SHE!†Ryanti called out, and Eighty-five pointed a finger and murmured about her being over there or wherever her hand was. He swallowed his dry mouth as Forty-three utilized a water spell, causing a mini-rogue wave to wash and drown the remaining Garleans that stood in-between them.
It was a moment of elation for them. Eighty-five and Ryanti practically shouted in glee as Eighty-five embraced Jada and Ryanti did the same to P’welro as the remaining lancers ran to form a line of their own behind them. They smelt of corpses, gunpowder and blood but they didn’t care right now. “YAHOO!†Eighty-five yelled out, giving Jada a surprise kiss on the cheek. Ryanti was inspired by that, and did the same to the first mate of the Roehmerl. But the battle was not done, and the three immediately focused their attention on the remaining Garlean line during this tiny lull in the battle, though the Roehmerl itself was still very much alive…
-----
There he stood. Silent against the storm, hiding in the shadows of the captain’s quarters in which they have dueled their way into and where Jonathan ran to hide. There he stood, the fresh smell of blood in his nose, his eyebrows weeping from cuts and slashes, his body covered in bruises. There he stood, trying to slow his heart down, his hair drenched in sweat. There he was, debating whether or not to engage with all of his potential. With his hidden power.
There the other man was. Walking with his signature heavy steps amongst his dark personal room. The massive windows with a full view of the battle provided the only natural light in the room, but his opponent had learned the methods of blending in with the shadow that contrasted the line. The shiny steel from his blade glinted in the sunlight as he proceeded to patrol and look for his prey. “You cannot hide forever.†He murmured, his voice echoing the room and reaching Jonathan’s ears. After a momentary pause, he spoke again. “The Allagans understood that only the strongest survive. Only the strongest live to inherit their gifts. That does include you. Neither does it include your friends.â€
The man continue to pace, slowly glancing around for him. “You believe the Empire does not know of men like you that seek to undermine our eternal quest for knowledge lost to the ages? We are not so different after all... we strive for the same end goal. To produce the same results. As different as you believe your cause is, you are the same as us.â€
Jonathan kept a quiet breath as Terminus continued. “I know about your scars…†When he said that, Jonathan’s eyes widened in the darkness. “I know they were not inflicted because of torturous mutilation. You cannot deceive me by losing on purpose so easily. Not when you have that power. Yes…. That power. The power the Allagans gave you indirectly through the hands of our Empire... those scars were a small price to pay for being one of the survivors… wasn’t it? Yes… you will use those powers to try to defeat me now. It is the only reason why you cannot afford me to join this pointless fray on the deck of my ship…â€
“Enough talk.†Jonathan’s voice was heard from a certain corner of the room. Terminus glanced over there with his dead eyes but saw nothing in the shadows. He curiously aimed himself and his blade towards that corner of the room. “You cannot deny what you are. Just like I cannot deny who I am. So show me. Show me the only ace in your hole that you believe will defeat me… show me your little secret, Jonathan Briggims.â€
A gasp was heard… and then the space of darkness in which Jonathan receded in suddenly lit up! Every single one of the man’s scars shined with blue aether through his suit and through the features of his face, causing his eyes to turn blue as well. He let out an eternal cry and rushed Terminus. However, this time his speed and power were much, much more powerful and quick than any natural man of his stature could afford to throw. Terminus’s eyes widened with the ability of this man under his ‘full potential’, and the swords began deflecting each other in a fray so fast that the blade turned slightly red from the heat of the friction. “Such power! Unbelievable!†Terminus shouted, the whining noises of his augmentations squeaking to keep up with him.
But in his defense, Terminus realized that Jonathan’s form was not as refined in this enhanced state. So he was able to find an opening. He punched the man’s sword out of his hand and grabbed him by the collar of his Sharlayan suit. “But not enough, prototype!†He exclaimed, and threw him with amazing force out of the window.
“Jonathan!†Eighty-five exclaimed as she saw the body of her squad leader crack through the glass of the upper deck with an insane amount of velocity, his body crumpling and tumbling onto the deck’s surface with a full force that would kill a normal person, but not him. Though it made him worse for wear, and the man was moaning in pain on the ground, trying to get himself up. Right behind him was the Garlean Tribunal, and he seemingly flew for a brief moment out of the window but in reality it was just his insane augmented leg strength that provided him a fantastic jump.
His feet clanged onto the surface of the deck, denting the wood in with the soles of his feet. He calmly lifted up his gunblade and changed the mode on the device to activate the gun attachment. Musketeers fired a few rounds at him, but they did absolutely nothing to his armor. It even caused his cheeks to tighten up again – the hint of a smile.
With one swift motion, he maneuvered the gun blade to Jonathan’s left thigh. “I need you alive.†He said, and then fired. The round went into his leg, through his bone, out of the other side and into the deck. Jonathan screamed out in pain as a hot mix of blood and lead crept up into both sides of his wound, and he squirmed around on the floor like an injured animal. “JONATHAN!†Forty-three shouted out. Only to get the attention of Terminus.
With another swift motion, he pointed the barrel at the Lalafell’s chest, and ruthlessly fired. He only had a brief moment to defend himself. The fraction of the shield he had put up shattered with the power of this armor-piercing tank of a bullet, and took him off of his feet, knocking him off of the ship’s deck and into the water.
“YOU PIECE OF SHITE!†Eighty-five cried out, now at this point consumed by anger and grief at what she was seeing. He… how could have won the duel?!? How was their moment of happiness suddenly just interrupted by the sudden … the… just that quickly... in a moment of rage, she ripped the pin off of one of her grenades and threw the device at the Garlean Tribunal, which tapped its way towards him and exploded with concussion and hellfire consuming his position. Sharlayan technology at work. Eighty-five’s face was firmly stuck in a signature smirk. That oughta show the idiot.
But her smirk slowly turned into absolute child-like horror as the man walked through the ghostly flames, his half-cape burned off and the paint on his armor melted and greyed out by the blast. But the one thing that got her was those eyes. Those deadly-focused, horrible, horrible eyes. The eyes that she had dreamed of… while everyone else dreamed of ships that sailed the sky.
With one swift motion, the Garlean commander lifted his gun blade right at her face, and fired.
The round fired. The sound of it hitting flesh rang through. It had penetrated the side of her neck, an open spot where her armor could not protect her. Her entire body twitched in reaction as blood spurted from the side of her neck. The round that hit her had missed Jada by an ilm, and lodged itself into one of the spires on the Garlean vessel.
Her pupils narrowed. Her feet grew weak. She dropped her daggers, and stumbled into the quartermaster behind her causing them both to fall against the spire, beginning to seize from the initial shock of the trauma, her breath growing erratic and her body twitching uncontrollably. “K’LEURA!†Ryanti shouted, immediately dropping his weapon and running over to her, glancing back at the Garlean Commander with fear and anger.
Terminus’s gut began to reveal in a hungry perpetuating laugher that rang through the Garlean vessel. “I apologize for joining the party late. But I made sure to make a good impression! Revel in the deaths of your men, for this pointless incursion is about to come to an end!†He waved the tip of the gun around to the landers, and the crew. “You’re making quite a mess on your own ship there, but while your only backup is playing around on that wooden bath toy, why don’t we play a game of ‘Who is going to die next?’ BAHAHAHA!â€
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