by Marc Mulero
"Excuse me,” Alek spewed quickly, with no attempt to mask his motives, “but we should focus all resources to reducing the threats before planning a rescue mission."
Veer grumbled. ”Hmm, I'm afraid I have to agree with Alek. We have forthcoming, wide-spread threats that require our full attention."
Eldra got up from her seat again, channeling her fury to Alek. "You all sit comfortably in Nepsys, cowering in fear of the quake to come. If not for Mulderan, you wouldn't have a city full of nature-impervious buildings to hide in, nor would you have the intelligence that there is an impending disaster. I suggest you all reevaluate your loyalty."
The Ice Queen punched a digital button at the corner of her desk, disabling her conference link instantly. There she lingered, head dipped, hair pooling over like a thin blanket to hide her face from her surroundings. To think. So much unrest to consider, so many actions to be taken. She hit the desk once with her fist before finally whirling toward the exit with haste. Her sword hilt swung at her hip as two Hiezer guards fell in line behind her. It was good that she’d attended enough meetings to know her lords. It was also good that she had the foresight to know how things would turn, and the gall to act on it.
She stomped through the halls with purpose, passing endless rows of prison cells filled with a unique mix of inmates – an Otrellex prison – the worst of the worst. Serial murderers, rapists, torturers, you name it, they were held there, under one roof. And as she strutted past faces pressed against their bars, and eyes gawking at their captor, she just dove inward to think, justifying her actions in the same fashion Alek had justified his.
I had a feeling it would end this way. Time to take matters into my own hands.
An explosion sent tongues of fire clawing around Uldan’s vast metallic shield, making every huddled Sin feel like they just dove into a burning building. Fighters closest to the edges flailed back immediately, instinctively – some rolling to shake free of the inferno, one even tumbled too far outside of protection where he was then pumped with bullets, his body jumping like a live jackhammer.
Medics dispersed, scrambling to tend to the burns, to keep everyone up and moving.
Lito’s thoughts kept reverting back: This is a mess. Nothing like the takeover in Senation. Nothing. Mierda!
But there was a truth that Lito represented, one that he would have to hold high like a flag in war. It would show that he had already lived this struggle… and he had won. What other inspiration was there among fire and blood? He was a symbol, a statement, that if they could just survive this day, life would be different. And so the hot-blooded Sins kept energy soaring. Seared hands and legs burned so much that they felt cool. Yet pain was ignored and adrenaline tripled, as they pressed against the shield to push it forward. There was something that the Bulchevin Sins here had that the Senation ones didn’t - however lacking they were in some areas, there was endless drive, endless strength.
The tank pulsed as it fired a round at another one of Lito’s chains of dynamite. The blast wave that followed blew all matter outward from the point of impact like a popped water balloon. Stone pieces panged against the shield, trailed by a surge of heat flying past the Sins. Once the smoke cleared, a freshly formed crater revealed itself within the defensive wall, beckoning them onward.
"Move!" Lito dug in his heels and pressed all of his weight against their steel lifeline to help wheel it forward. He shouted again, this time into his radio, "Uldan, fire!"
With almost no lag, a dazzling show of fire and sparks lit an already bright sky. Loud blasts resonated to claim all attention. In another world, another time, the spectacle would have been magnificent… a celebration perhaps. People would’ve cheered for their independence. But that was all myth now. Most pictures had been burned or altered. History rewritten. It was hard to even fathom such a luxury. Now thunder only meant death.
Soldiers atop Uldan’s tower added a ballista to it, reeling back its oversized spear laced with explosives. The grand finale of artillery soared through the bastion’s third floor window, blowing bodies into a fiery plummet.
The Sins manning the shield cheered on the blazing assault, and then fell back when flashes of gunfire lit from the fortress.
Bullets clinked against the eighty-foot-wide protector with every grudging step taken by the Sins. “One… two! One… two!” Brower shouted after every heave, strain and ferocity intermingled within his voice like two warring demons. “One… two!” they shouted along with him, flexing harder to lift the rolling shield over remnants of brick that speckled their path. They howled when the tank crashed into brick to effortlessly enlarge the crater. For the first time ever, the Hiezer divider in Bulchevin had been broken, and exiled boots dirtied fortress grounds. Onward to Hiezer territory. They were in.
A collective exhale sounded when they let the massive shield settle back onto flat ground. Veins jutted through the skin of every able contributor, both from heat and exertion. The frontrunners slapped one another in the chest, hard – a gesture of acknowledgement. They needed the hype, after all, because they were far from being done. This was something Brower reminded himself of when he dipped his head in alignment with a peephole to catch a glimpse of the now entirely visible stronghold set to be ravaged.
Lito shared the view. The structure was looming – its cascading curved spikes resembling a thousand Grim Reaper sickles, its overlapping matte black shell appearing as an old brow with too much skin. It was a demon’s face straight out of hell, and Uldan’s barrage made sure of it. Windows set aflame cracked open foreboding eyes to scare them back, but the Sins’ divine silver shield pressed them ahead.
Now it was time for them to make their mark. Brower raised two fingers for attention, walking triumphantly through the crowd, and once he was sure the tank operator understood, he dropped his hand to aim at the reinforced front doors sealing the building ahead.
This mansion couldn’t have been used for research. It’s nothing like our home in Senation. It reeks of war and muerte.
If we make it inside, they’ll be ready with a warm welcome of black and gold. We have to lure them out. It’s the only way.
"Give it everything you got, Uldan!" Lito yelled into his radio.
Hunched, Oscin trotted behind Lito in an attempt to dodge the incoming fire. He held his head and squinted each time the slab of metal shook. "We're out-gunned. This isn't going to work!"
"Shut up, puta, and help us push!"
Lito and Brower dug their heels further into the dirt and rubble, inching the group headfirst once more.
Opposite Lito’s location, Sins swarmed to crowd the tower’s bunkered peak, unleashing grenades and rifle fire through its slits to provide support while the ballista was reloaded.
Hiezer militants assembled on the fortress’ roof to retaliate against the rolling “sword,” but were immediately forced into a scramble to find cover.
Uldan’s core of survivors held their ground and the upper hand, at least long enough for their counterparts to make an advance. Brower’s voice boomed on with new life somewhere down below, with the resonance of tank fire to bolster his fury. “One… two!” he roared like the beat of a war drum, to combat against the heaviness of the blackened doors ahead.
Oscin didn’t participate but for his selfish scampering to keep behind the steel wall. He sniffed in the stench - endless unshowered bodies, charred hair, burnt skin - and wanted no part of it. Periodically lifting the collar of his shirt over his face showed where his priorities lay, and that he was probably better off in the back. He watched sweat dribble off of trembling bodies, listened, even felt the shouts and breaths in unison to synchronize each heave. Strength was waning… he could feel it, as if the fortress itself was sucking away their energy the closer they got.
Then, about fifty feet away, when the huge front doors swung open like the mouth of some nightmarish creature, all bets were off. Its hiss spewed in the form of a grand Hiezer company. Like armored gnats, they swarmed, fanning to e
ither direction, trying to get clear shots of the horde hiding behind their shield.
"Prepare to fire. We got incoming!" Lito shouted amongst the anxious crowd.
A pack of Sins broke off from the advancing group, backpedaling and crouching at either side behind the defense. They flung their rifles into firing position and waited like a phalanx of spearmen for the first Hiezer guard to cross into sight. Oscin couldn’t believe his eyes – a working machine appeared suddenly oiled in the face of danger, operating in mayhem, thriving in chaos. It made him cower in drunken fear, knowing that he possessed no such instincts. Clamorous footsteps thumped closer and closer. It became the only sound, like all else faded into the vacuum of war except for their executioners. It haunted him. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. What to do but find a body to hide behind, to hope they would be meaty enough to shield him from the bullets. Thoughts of cowardice partnered with pathetic actions.
Lito, however, was on the other side of the spectrum. He jumped heroically onto the tank, knowing he was in harm’s way, knowing there was but a mere instant before close range gunfire would break out. He looked to the exposed front doors and then slammed on the tank’s mount to get the operator’s attention.
"Focus 'jur fire over there,” Lito called out to the driver. “Forget the soldiers on foot."
The driver nodded and slammed the top shut at the last second, just as bullets ricocheted off the steel lid – one of which grazed Lito's finger, causing him to roll off the machine’s side.
"Hot, hot, hot!" he hissed, shaking his hand.
Oscin latched onto his commander like a scared child would grab onto his father’s pants. "We're going to die here, boss. Can't you feel the hopelessness in this charge? We should back out now, while we still can-"
"This thing is bigger than us, mijo. Now stop complaining and help me give these pendejos hell, eh?" Lito pushed Oscin and reached for explosives in his backpack.
I have to unload this bag now. If a bullet hits me, I'm a firecracker waiting to blow.
The Sins began to feel the weight of an army pushing the shield back. “No!” a few shouted, breaking from ranks to shoulder against the barrier, to dispel momentum. Grunts and heaves spoke to the strength of their enemies – fresh, well-fed, well-rested strength. It felt like a herd of bulls thudding the steel plate head on. Over and over again.
Lito cursed to himself once more, looking wildly around to see his fighters failing. Then, in a spurt of desperation, he popped the pin on a grenade and lobbed it over in an attempt to diffuse this added weight. For the briefest of seconds, the pressure dropped and the Hiezers that were lucid enough to react in time scuffled to the sides of the shield, but were made quick work of by the Sins awaiting their exposure.
That’s when the grenade’s eruption shook the slab of metal like a struck gong, rattling a few nearby heads on one side and sending echoes of hysterical screams on the other. The shield crew’s first real taste of blood - it riled them. Vengeance for being banished to underground caves with no water, minimal food… it was exhilarating. Cheers. Stomps. Syphoning strength from the dead like some ungodly wraiths, the Sins barreled on.
The tank’s steel cylinder swung around, and stopped its black abyss of an eye on the fortress’ open door, abiding by Lito’s order like a mechanical hellhound. A round of ammo boomed as it flew through the chute – eleven-hundred feet per second, creating a visible pulse, one that bounced the tank in place. Everyone ducked, then peeked, then cheered once more.
Lingering guards catapulted into the air from the explosion, leaving nothing but a mess of limbs and blood. The Izodite mineral floors inside the stronghold eerily clawed back together like it hadn’t been touched, but the Hiezer guards weren’t so lucky.
A battle-crazed Sin woman reached into a potato sack and began passing out assault rifles to the crowd. Brower leaned over eagerly and followed suit, knowing full well that Hiezers were converging around the shield. He tossed guns to both Lito and Oscin.
"Forget this shit, man!" Oscin inspected the gun. "I'm a pilot, not a war hero."
"You turn back now and 'jur a dead man, hermano," Lito snapped, while madly throwing explosives toward the incoming guards.
Brower watched as Hiezers prepared to launch grenades in their direction. "Tilt up!" he shouted, hand cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice.
Grunting Sins ceased their shove, leveled, bent, and with shoulders nearly bulging out of their sockets, used the strength of their arching backs to push the metal up on its prescribed track. The slab lifted overhead just in time to bounce an inbound explosive back into the air, causing only wind from the blast to hit the Sins and shrapnel to rain down on their giant umbrella. Though one win meant another loss. The split-second order worked, but it also presented an opening to the enemy, which the Hiezers quickly seized. Bullets came zipping in through the gap, where legs were exposed under the massive tilted shield. The strongest men and women writhed in pain, bullets shattering their shins and slashing open the flesh on their legs.
Damn it! We're dropping like flies.
Lito cycled through emotions – horror, despair, futility… then hope. An idea. A desperate one, but it would have to do. He grasped the explosive-filled bag in his hand, looked at it, and then raised his eyes up to Oscin, praying that he would understand his split-second plan. There was no time to explain his intent – for the drunkard to aim at the bag and shoot it like a clay pigeon in skeet - so he chucked it ahead of the advancing stampede of Hiezers rushing in to their left.
Oscin, terrified and disoriented, nodded in acknowledgement, understanding the urgency, knowing that he could not miss. His vision told him otherwise, though, as his barrage of bullets danced around it, missing the mark entirely.
"Come on, Oscin!" Lito yelled, reaching for his rifle on the floor, knowing that it was now or never.
The pilot held his breath. His dizzy head made it almost impossible for him to steadily hold his weapon. All of this lag ruined everything, for a Hiezer guard had caught up, the first in a line of many. He reached for the sack to quickly discard it. After all of this work, pushing this far, Lito’s legacy, Oscin’s redemption, all of it was about to be swallowed by the Hiezers overarching shadow.
This disdain sparked something deep within. Sobering almost.
The enemy looked up with the payload in hand, one instinctive toss from being out of harm’s way, to see Oscin separated from the crowd, back straightened, aim aligned. Snap. A single bullet changed everything, freezing time, showing a tight black mask with a raw horrified expression beneath it when the incoming bullet connected. The detonation tore the Hiezer's body to shreds and the blast of fire seared in all directions, crippling the group of advancing guards. Oscin exhaled a long breath, relieved that his desperate shot cleared the left side of hostiles.
There it was again… a brief sense of relief to keep Lito’s world from crumbling.
"Focus all fire to the right!" Lito yelled, compelling the armed Sins to shift direction. "Fire!" He jammed down his trigger.
A lead storm followed, tearing through the flesh of the progressing armored guards, and making them fall backward like dominos. Reality eventually caught up to the Hiezers though, after enough of the line fell. Then came the counterattack - the crossfire. Blood sprayed everywhere like spilled paint, and gunky drops fell from punctured skulls - it all worked to overload Oscin’s already jumbled circuitry, leaving him to curl to the floor and yack.
Lito registered chaos a bit differently - the smell of burnt flesh was an acquainted stench, screams were like an old friend that always knocked on his door hand-in-hand with adrenaline, the sight of fallen bodies and the clawing of scrambling fighters crammed against him. Angst. But this part was new…
Being at the helm - I don’t think this is something I can get used to. All of these deaths are on me.
He noticed Brower on one knee using a wounded hand to hold himself up. Blood spewed from his leg while struggling to keep his stance. L
ito’s attention was then taken to the sky, where the faint sound of jets loomed in the distance.
"Blague, is that you flying in?" he asked via radio, his voice barely discernible amongst the shouting and jets.
"What? No, Lito, find cover!" Blague beseeched.
Sabin casually leaned against the doorway to a prison block, snapping his tongue like a grandmother would to a muddied kid. “Ooooh, you don’t look so good… hot towel to ease the pain?”
Wes groaned at the familiar voice, clambering out of his half-sleep daze like some tranquilized beast. He rustled this way and that before finally sitting forward, hunched in his seat, before looking up to match the voice to the face. It was him. The jesting, bearded, trash bag of a man whose throat was in the giant’s grip not so long ago. Teeth automatically became bared, crinkling the scar around his eye.
This just made the hunter’s smirk grow into a smile, his unhurried footsteps echoing within the two-cell lot specially built to contain enemies of the worst degree. “Don’t look so excited to see me, buddy. And you!” He pointed to Mulderan, pretending to just now see the Highest Lord of the Hiezers. “What’s up, King of the Divas?”
Mulderan stood rigidly in his torn cloak, glaring at him, unamused.
Sabin rolled his eyes. "No fun, no fun at all, you two," he scoffed on his stroll closer to Wes' cell.
“What do you want, defiler? Haven’t you done enough?” The spite clawed through Wes’ voice like bile.
“No small talk, huh?”
Wes flexed his bear-claw shaped hands in an attempt to make a fist, seemingly healing quicker now that he was here.
“Damn,” Sabin backed up in mock fear, antagonizing every chance he could. “Want to punch me that bad, I see.”
“Spit it out already!” A palm clashing against a bar exclaimed his impatience. “You didn’t come just to gloat, just to poke your prisoners. Out with it.”
“Fine,” Sabin sniffed, inching closer casually, arms folded, eyes to the floor in thought. “When the life was ever so gently being crushed out of me, when these tables were turned, you said something that I can’t seem to get out of my head…”
