“Getting tired?” Bart mocked. He had pinned him to the ground, forearm pressed on his throat.
“Nah,” Lionel replied, “Just waiting for you to slip up.”
His skin turned blue for a second, Bart was shocked just enough to release him. In an instant, their positions were flipped.
Lionel pressed up against him, a cocky smirk adorning his face, “Guess I found that moment.”
“I’ll accept that,” Bart conceded, “You win this round, even though you cheated.”
As per their sparring rules, if one of them got into a position where they could land a killing blow, and the latter could not escape, the match was terminated.
Lionel stood up, offering his friend a hand, Bart took it.
“That was a good match, guys,” Aiden said as the two walked out of the sparring box. He had been working out in the training centre which housed the sparring room as well as other amenities. Both units were fixed in the 40s range of floors, assigned for the Sabres and Centurions.
He was Bart’s teammate and often acted as the de facto leader when they were on missions. Unlike Bart, he preferred thinking creatively to applying brute force. He replaced the weights as he began winding down his routine. It had been an hour since they had started sparring, Aiden had used that time to put some work into his fitness as well.
Lionel used that moment to take a glance at the other two. Primarily, he was comparing his physique to theirs. Aiden was a little shorter than him, and while he was muscled, he was also lean. It would have suited him and his shaved head to be burlier. Bart was different, his brown hair almost reached his shoulders. Normally, he spiked it, but sweat and exercise had ruined his efforts. Lionel, on the other hand, had jet black hair, almond shaped brown eyes, and a beard that fluctuated between stubble and full depending on how lazy he felt. He had to admit, he often felt lazy. Both he and Bart were taller than Aiden at 6 foot 1 inch. They were broader than him too due to their extra training.
“Why don’t you take a picture?” Bart glared. “It’ll last longer.”
“Longer than you in a sparring match, that’s for sure,” Lionel countered, “I was just comparing how superior I was to you. So, when we three go out later tonight, you’ll know why the ladies flock to me and avoid you.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s the reason why,” Bart replied. “Quite optimistic counting Aiden among us, despite his obsession with obscure spirits, he still avoids places where they flow freely.”
“I would love to spend my evening between two permanently bickering man-children, but my sister Delia’s in town tonight with her boyfriend, and I promised her I’d take her to the poetry night. You can continue getting beat up by Lionel and let me know when next you plan an outing.” Aiden’s eyes twinkled as he stretched, “I’ll make sure to be busy.”
“That’s unfair. And just in case you missed it — I had him on the ropes,” Bart said as they waited for Aiden to finish his exercise, “Until he cheated and used his esoterica.”
“I never agreed to any such restrictions,” Lionel said. “It’s a natural part of my fighting style, of course, I would fall back into it once or twice.”
“It’s a natural part of your cowardice, of course, you would use it if you were losing Sparky,” Bart mocked.
The exchange continued until Aiden finished his cool down, motioning to them, they followed him as they headed for the showers together.
“Why didn’t you go on the mission with your team?” he asked, “Deidre went along in your place.”
“She wanted to go.” Lionel shrugged, “Plus you know this sort of busywork ain’t my thing. I’m built for action, Avery knows that too.”
Aiden couldn’t disagree, Avery was one of the most renowned Centurions, having served for over 15 years. The details of most of his missions were classified, but he had impressed the Centurions of his day enough to become a Sentinel — a rank with all the authority of a Centurion with fewer responsibilities — before becoming a Centurion. Over time, those had been beaten into him too, and he had excelled there as well, helping lead team after team into successful missions. Now, he had been promoted to Centurion where he would have to command a small team of three. He had delayed their first mission long enough to give them some more training, but the trio had been deemed more than competent enough already.
The men showered and prepared to leave.
As they stepped out of the showers, it was Aiden who noticed it first. It was not something that anyone would have noticed normally. He wasn’t sure if it was a slight shift in the air. A breeze where there shouldn’t have been any, or a ruffle of clothing. Or a thud in the background.
Something was wrong.
* * *
The Four Cities.
Kwere.
The Four Cities was a tongue in cheek name given to the four towns which were located near Draekeor. They were small sized towns that could very well have been part of the larger city should they have been allowed to expand and merge. In recent years, a push for that had been made, but the city’s Mayor Avel had refused persistently. He had ideas about symmetry and thought the towns formed a nice contrast between Draekeor and Aslog. They were mostly semi-rural towns, two farming towns, one logging, one industrial town separated by miles of road, and beautiful forest. Reading about it, Tyrone personally had thought it was fair to keep them the way they were, isolated, idyllic, and safe. Or so he had thought.
Along with Eva, he had gone into the town to determine if it was empty, and not simply just full of people immune to Eva’s sensory abilities. They didn’t want any more surprises.
Deidre stood guard over the Shunt Port, should anyone else attempt to come in.
Eva and Tyrone had split up, the latter letting himself get absorbed by the gruesome sight of the town.
As Kwere had been a farming town, many of the houses had extensions for livestock and grain. Every animal had been slaughtered as well; some still had their owners collapsed around them like some macabre ritual.
There was a shattered plate outside a house, tables and chairs had been knocked over. He picked it up. A small hand lay just in view. He didn’t move towards it as the rage built up in him. It was a familiar scene to him. Though his rendition was more tinged with fire and ash than anything here.
This had been a family, one who was eating what they thought would be one meal of very many more. The remnants of the plate shattered in his hand. He had gripped it too tightly; he looked at the blood that pooled in his hand and wiped it on his pants. It was time to check the next block.
An hour later, the duo converged on Deidre’s position. It was time to decide what to do next.
“It’s clear by now that our mission has exceeded the parameters, Eva,” Tyrone said as they sat in one of the offices in the now-defunct base. “What do we do next?”
Eva pulled out a stack of papers and a map, laying them out all over the table.
“We got several distress calls from the Four Cities about wild beasts causing the locals trouble,” Eva related to the others as they stood around. “Kwere is the first town, and we’ve seen what happened here. I think we should check out the others, at a minimum.”
“You don’t think there could be other places like this,” Deidre asked, “This is a little more than we signed up for.”
“Agreed.” Eva said,” However, I tried to call for backup earlier via our radios, but there was no connection here, we can’t reach the Tower.”
“Why doesn’t one of us simply shunt back to Aslog and return with backup?” Tyrone suggested, “It makes more sense than tackling this on our own.”
“That won’t work,” Eva said, “The Shunt Port transmitter is damaged from this side. It’ll accept incoming transmissions, but we can’t send people away.”
Thinking of the Legion members who had lain dead outside the port, she continued, “It was probably the first thing to go, they wouldn’t want people telling tales. That’s why the comms are also down.”
“Yeah,” Deidre said, “This is a well-planned attack.”
“There are still three more locations left, if we split up, we might be more likely to cover more ground that way,” Eva suggested.
“That’s not entirely a bad idea,” Tyrone noted, “We have radios so we can reach it other out. We’re probably going to have to clean up stragglers like this one.
Deidre held up a hand, “This mission accounts for us to be together, my radios are still not keyed to your team’s frequency, so I’ll have to come with one of you.”
“Good idea,” Eva said, “You can come with me.” She smiled, the two had been friends for a while, and this was Eva’s idea of bonding, after a fashion.
“So, you’re just leaving me to be killed?” Tyrone complained.
“You can radio us if you’re in trouble and we’ll head right to you,” Deidre said. “Besides, it’s easier for you to sneak around solo.”
It was decided, the group would split into two. Tyrone would go to Rulo, Eva and Deidre would move on to Brabba. The trio would regroup in Gunne, after which they would send their reports and make their way back to Aslog, somehow.
They didn’t anticipate it would pose any more difficulty than their initial mission, but still, they were cautious. Their regen pills were packed.
As they split, Tyrone took a long look at the town, drinking it all in. It had once been somewhere lively, where people had lived, eaten, played, prayed, made love. Yet, a discarded weapon had been able to turn people against each other, killing them one after the other. It was horrible, but he needed that rage to fuel him so that he could save lives.
Chapter 3 - Discovery in Rulo
The Four Cities.
Rulo.
Tyrone had been travelling for just under half an hour before he finally reached the town of Rulo. Despite the availability of discarded motorbikes, he had chosen to sprint the 10-mile distance, cutting a path through the forest. Stealth was important. If there were still enemies around, he would rather surprise them than alert them to his presence via a noisy vehicle.
He enjoyed the feel of industria as it filled his leg muscles, propelling him faster than any vehicle would have.
Despite himself, a small smile broke out on his face when he considered his pace. He was careful to make sure he didn’t trigger any traps. After all, if there was an enemy attack, he could easily be ambushed. He checked his radios. He was still on his own. He wondered if Eva and Deidre had arrived safely at their destination, but this was no time to think about it. As agreed, they would spend an hour or two in their respective target, and then head to the last town of Gunne to reunite. Should one group or the other not arrive, they would walk straight back to Aslog and report everything that had happened, for now, it was best to collect information.
He had hoped that Rulo would be in better condition, but as his eyes landed on the local Legion outpost, his heart sank.
Rulo had its outpost located at the gate, and it had been destroyed. A grey building of glass and concrete which contrasted with the brownness of the surrounding buildings, it looked like someone had driven a truck through it.
He stepped into it, wincing at the Legionnaires and other staff that lay dead inside. They had been killed violently. He couldn’t tell if they were able to defend themselves. Clearly, they hadn’t been able to reach out for help before dying. He spotted the base captain propped up against the wall.
“Captain Ryan Icho.” Tyrone read his name tag out loud as he assessed his wounds.
The poor man’s neck had been snapped, and every one of his bones had been broken, some poking out of his skin at unnatural angles.
What kind of beast could — would— do this?
Something still didn’t add up. There was no way they wouldn’t expect the Legion’s Sabres to show up eventually, especially after reports had been filed. Avery had sent the announcement that they would be dispatching a team the previous day, like the last attack, this one had been done today. It would have been wiser to let them come and go without issue, and then carry out their attack.
How brazen.
He closed Ryan’s eyes and moved on. The man would get a proper burial later. He did the same for the others who lay dead in the building. They didn’t deserve this, nobody did. People who were deployed to towns like this rarely had the same skills as those who were stationed in Aslog. Due to an international peace treaty, the Sabres and Centurions had been treated as weapons, and training more than a set number of them was a violation. The other Legionnaire’s had magnitudes lower level of industria and were prohibited from cultivating or using esoterica, just like the general public. Essentially, they had been sitting ducks once set upon.
Past the gates, he still hoped he would find a view more forgiving than he had in Kwere. On the one hand, he did. There were no corpses, nor were there any masks, but the town had still been torn apart. Like the previous one, it was also a farming town — albeit more modernised. The two shared a common harvest festival, it would have been in two weeks. He could tell it wasn’t happening. There was blood everywhere, splattered on the crudely built walls, on the streets and in the barns that adorned every few properties. A — a macabre mural of death marked by what was missing more than what was there.
It was clear something had happened here, but there was no sign of anyone actually being here now. It had been cleaned up. Whether that was recent or something that had happened much earlier, he couldn’t tell.
“Stay calm, Tyrone. This is why you joined. To deal with things like this,” He said out loud. The silence had been getting to him.
He began a cursory sweep of the streets. He would spend an hour and then leave. That had been the plan until he sensed movement. A shadow in an alleyway near the town centre where the buildings were closer together and the barns had been replaced with apartment buildings and the local grocer. In a second, he sprinted towards it. If there was even the slightest chance…
“Stop! Stay away!” A man covered in an alleyway, his face pressed to the wall like he wanted it to swallow him up. He was at least in his early 30’s, covered in blood and trembling. He was the first survivor Tyrone had seen so far.
“Hey,” He put his hands up as he walked slowly towards the injured man, “I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Stay away,” the man trembled, clutching a satchel to his chest. “How do I know you’re not one of them?”
“I’m a Sabre, I’m one of the good guys,” Tyrone explained, “We got a distress signal earlier and came to investigate. I’m sorry we came so late.”
The man seemed satisfied with the answer, Tyrone moved closer, but he stuck his arm up again.
“It was like hell. People turned against each other…” He clutched the satchel closer to his chest, “I had to hide….there was nothing I could do. You should have come earlier.”
“I’m sorry,” Tyrone knelt to reach into his equipment bag, “Look, you’re hurt right now. I’ve got some regen pills can treat your injuries and then we can…”
Where was he injured?
The alarm bells that had been ringing at the back of his skull upgraded themselves into a full-blown klaxon, the world appeared to go into slow motion.
He’s covered in blood, but I can’t see any wounds on him. It could be on his chest, but the blood splatter doesn’t match. Something is unsettling about him…
Then he noticed it, a slight movement on the man’s face, the obscured part he hadn’t been able to see. There was a mask there, it had been angled so that he wouldn’t see it, and as he had buried his face partially in his arms, Tyrone hadn’t noticed it.
“Sir?” He asked cautiously, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach. “You’ve been infected by one of the masks. If you just stay still, I’ll try to get it off you.”
“Infected?” The man snickered. His tone had changed “What makes you think I’m infected?”
Everything that had seemed out of place clicked now. Tyrone leapt backwa
rds out of the alleyway, putting space between him and the other man.
The blood on him wasn’t his. He had seemed frightened and had been panting and trembling, but not anymore. The signs of exhaustion were gone. He had been so attuned to looking for someone to help, that he had almost missed the signs that now stuck out to his face.
The man stood up now, an intimidating figure covered in blood and chock full of muscle. A cruel gaze bore a hole through Tyrone.
“What do you think of my acting?” He asked. “Pretty good right?”
Breathing in the scent of death around him, it was then he knew, that he absolutely could not let this man get away.
Chapter 4 - The Real Monster
Weeks ago.
Aslog
WestScarlet.
“All right, Tyrone.” Avery had begun. Tyrone looked up at him. He had no choice. The Centurion had looked down on him, his eyes glowing in the darkness. His bulk and build were only accentuated by the limited light in the room. It resembled an interrogation room. Tyrone had wondered why Avery had chosen this room as the room for their post-sparring match debrief.
The room was dark, darkened by the sunlight from outside. There was no one else there, just the two of them.
“Sup, Avery.” Tyrone had said. A cocky smirk had adorned his face. He was proud of the cut he had inflicted on the latter’s chest in their battle. Avery noticed his expression and matched it.
“Why do you think you’re here?”
“A debrief?”
“Not necessarily,” Avery said. “I’m here to ask you a question you should have asked yourself ages ago. We’re not at war, we’re in relative peace. The Sabres are more or less in reserve. With all of that in mind, why do you want to be a Sabre?”
“You already know.” Tyrone’s smirk was gone now, he was drumming his fingers on the table.
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