by Marc Mulero
He could see specks far off in the sky, silently coming closer and closer into sight. War birds locked on a straight path, perfectly aligned with the trail of scrambling Sins. Here it came, that crackling roar of thunder from far away, from accelerating thrusters ordered to stop them by fire.
“It’s happening too fast,” he mumbled under his breath.
A flood of people was bottlenecking to get in. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up when seeing faces plastered with horror as they crossed the threshold. Not for themselves, of course, but for the little hands they were holding, the little bodies they were protecting. It made Lito draw in his breath and abandon the door to help shove more through.
“Not like this. No…”
Uldan and Oscin looked back from within the protective walls at the looming sound drowning out all screams, their expressions braced for the worst.
Lito glanced again to the sky to see a fully formed fleet closing in. "Now! Hurry!"
He clambered toward the open door and grabbed the three-foot rounded handle affixed to it. Leaning back with all of his might, every sinewy muscle on his arms made it look as though his shoulders were about to snap from their sockets. He pulled with the strength of a hundred. Another hefty Sin caught on and took the opposite handle, heaving to shut them in.
The bombs were loosed.
Civilians flailed to pile into the interior. The smack of bodies colliding, screams turning into grunts from heads banging against one another. One woman collapsed immediately, leaving a hole in the middle of the crowd. One man, two, bent to help her, and all three were trampled.
Lito had never seen anything like it. A thousand faces with every millimeter of white showing in their eyes, every tooth, back molars and all, everything was exposed. And what’s worse… as the nightmarish faces moved past, the older they were becoming…
Yelling grew louder and louder, until the whistle of shells falling through the air drowned them all out. It was the last thing they heard before the doors finally slammed shut just as the blast hit.
Lito exhaled in dread. So many natives still trapped on the wrong side. Too many. Two hundred elderly and adolescent, at least. The explosions mixed with blood-curdling cries, destroying their spirit. All became still on the inside. Horror bred silence. Only the sound of Lito came after death.
"Mierda!" Lito’s voice screeched, pained and broken. He slammed his head and his fist repeatedly on the door, falling to his knees in shock of what he’d just done.
Chapter 4
Back in the realm of safety, the Senation fortress buzzed with activity. Friendships between the Aura and Sins were blooming, however strange it may have been, forging somehow through common goals. Work, it seemed, was that glue. Putting the finishing touches on what was to be the Aura’s residence was something everyone wanted.
Productivity flourished in a time without distress, without bomb or mortar.
Trade with the inner cities aided to restock supplies, the completion of two more strongholds was underway, and medical facilities had undergone their most notable upgrades since inception. The community was finally getting a taste of the life Blague had promised.
Sabin and Lesh decided to take a break from civilian oversight and seated themselves in the main hall beside Cherris’ wagon. Dealing with the monotony of routine left them more exhausted than the dirtiest of battles ever could.
“The Aura gives me the creeps,” Sabin said in a low tone. “I mean, some of them are helpful, and maybe could be mistaken for normal, but something just seems… off.” He pointed to a woman chanting on her own.
Cherris tilted her head and nodded in agreement. “You’re right. Our newfound allies have some strange tendencies.”
“They’re fanatics, so of course they appear odd to us,” Lesh countered, “but I shouldn’t have to remind you that we wouldn’t be sitting here if not for them.”
Sabin leaned back in his chair while stroking Mars’ thick black and white coat. “Uh oh,” he feigned shock, “Lesh, is red smoke going to start rising from your head? Not you, too!”
Cherris slapped Sabin’s arm as he laughed, both looking for a reaction from Lesh, who huffed in defeat.
“Okay, okay! But seriously, who watches their leader get murdered in cold blood and then blindly follows the killer as if nothing happened? Eugene’s story is a bit concerning, is it not? I don’t know who’s worse: them or the crazy bastards that welcomed them into their home.”
“Will you shut the hell up?” Lesh motioned to a nearby member of the Aura who was helping Sins transport building materials.
“Hah! Didn’t these guys have you in chains? I think you’ve earned the right to talk a little shit if you feel like it.”
“I hold that on Nemura and he’s rotting, as he should be,” the assassin replied. “Stop acting like a child. You have gray hair, for fuck’s sake.”
“These are white streaks…. I’m not old!”
Cherris watched the exchange with amusement. “I must say, you two are very entertaining.”
Sabin cleared his throat and folded his arms in protest.
“How did the first trip go, Lesh?” Cherris asked.
“I hate being confined, but I suppose it was a success.”
“What was traded?” Sabin jumped in.
“The basics really - grapes, olives, and water in exchange for potatoes, corn, and chicken. Morn also traded some precious metals.”
Sabin flashed a sly grin. “It’s funny to hear you talk of such things.”
Annoyed with the brazen hunter, Lesh flared her nostrils in frustration.
“Milos has been begging me to let him go with you,” Cherris mentioned. “Do you think the route is safe? I feel bad denying him… he doesn’t seem to take an interest in much else.”
“Safe enough, but everything we do is tied to risk. If we walk the streets, we’re trespassing, if we spark trade, we’re smuggling. Even sitting here, now, we’re invaders. If the Hiezers have the means, or catch wind, we’re dead in the water, like always.”
Cherris tilted her head and tightened her lips. “Well when you put it that way, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Here is the closest thing we have to safety.”
“It’s your call. I’m no mother,” Lesh affirmed the obvious.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Sabin butted in, eyes narrowed. “Didn’t that kid kill a guy?”
Cherris dipped her head at the grave reminder.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Let the damn kid do what he damn well pleases. Don’t give me that ‘old enough to kill but not old enough to drink’ bullshit.” Sabin shrugged his shoulders. “That’s my two cents.”
Mars let out a friendly bark of excitement in agreement.
“Well, it was lovely chatting with you two, but it’s time we go off on our hunt. It’s not every day that the Hiezers back off from surveilling our home. I guess we have our Mohawked friend and that pretty boy rotting in his cell to thank for that.”
Blague sunk his head into his hands, spellbound by the obstacles that lie ahead. He failed to find the peace needed to lead this rebellion, and it was beginning to take its toll. What was a leader to do? He resided at the helm of this ship, and someone had to steer it.
He rested his elbows on the table in front of him, staring at a map of the New World decorated with various coins marking off key locations. His eyes fell on the Bulchevin piece.
The fortress is ours now, Uldan confirmed it. But Lito, why hasn’t he called in?
He then looked to the Grand City of Nepsys. His finger pushed a red coin off of it to reveal the Hiezer symbol.
This used to terrify the Sins. Now, less so. Their image is cracking under the weight of failure. We hold their Highest Lord, and two of their fortresses. Thanks to winning gambles, the rebellion can see that the tyrants at the top are no longer invincible.
The perpetual and erratic hum of his radio eventually seized his attention.
“Is someone there?” he asked
, gripping the responder.
A minute of windy static passed with no response, and then a deep voice sounded.
“Meet me at the peak of the western mountain, behind the building that you call home.”
Orin. My father. He remains shrouded in mystery even after all that we’ve been through. I have so many questions, but I feel his presence is always limited. I suppose there’s little choice but to take advantage of what I’m given.
“I’ll be there shortly,” he responded.
Blague sheathed his carbon steel blade and holstered his Desert Eagle, looking down at his weapons, wondering what he’d become, thinking of all the lives taken with each. He walked slowly from his room, in some type of mental fog, a blanket weaved from so many unanswered questions.
The closest marble staircase railing was cool to the touch, the booming community four floors below was noisy, happy even, but just like the lack of feeling that comes with scar tissue, the same went for his mind. Emptiness where assuredness should be. This had gone on for some time now. He had been but a phantom to all except those few closest to him. Between his absence and the new, eccentric Aura members that had joined their home, it was no wonder why many of the Sins began to grow skeptical of their future in Senation.
This community must know that I will not make the same mistakes the Hiezers have. I’m not a man to be feared, nor am I a man that will assume too much power. Perhaps it’s my fault these perceptions are developing. To be so consumed with the future can give off that impression.
Blague rotated his arm in a circular motion while holding his shoulder. His injury, inflicted by the spear-wielding elite guard, was almost fully healed. He slowly made his way past the luxurious black columns encrusted in gold to see busy Sins working tirelessly. Some bowed and others patted the glowing Sin mark on his way through the crowds, giving him the chance to respond gracefully in kind. He smiled gently to the children who played, and saluted their watchful parents.
The world doesn’t have to be so cold. Herein lies the proof.
Fighters guarding the back entrance pounded their chests and unlatched the gated doors for their leader. Sunlight poured into the foyer like a resplendent treasure chest being opened. He thanked the men and women who spent their time protecting the population and continued on, making a conscious effort to be as gracious and cognizant of his people as possible. He picked up the pace, heading for the first bed of rocks near the ocean, which lead toward the mountains in the distance. His radio went off again.
“Jefe,” a Latino accent sounded.
Blague picked up his responder with a joyful smile. “Lito, finally! Uldan told me you were alright, but I was surprised not to hear from you. Excellent job. I had my worries, but never any doubts.”
“Thank you, amigo, and I… apologize for the delay. This leading people, it takes a lot out of you. I never thought I’d be confronted with such horrible decisions. I had to do things,” the radio cut out, “I had to do things that I’m not proud of.”
Blague put his radio back into his pocket and listened as he began to scale the rocks.
“Hah, look at me, explaining to you of all people, the hardships of leading. I apologize, mijo. I just have to let what happened sink in.”
Once Blague had climbed atop a sturdy boulder, he wiped sweat from his forehead and picked up the device. “Don’t apologize. The burden of leadership is heavy, and it’s as real as any physical part of this world. You will be your old self again soon, my friend. I promise. And once the storm passes, you’ll arise with a new appreciation for all that you’ve been through. Don’t stay locked up for too long. The Bulchevin Sins need to be inspired, and you’re the man for the job.”
“Yes, I’ll be facing my demons soon, jefe. I have to. Hey, listen, they cut the power as expected. We can hold for now. The heat is just uncomfortable. It’s the agua that we will need assistance with.”
“We have plenty of water. I will dispatch a jet as soon as we have confirmation of a safe flight path. I’m working on a solution for the electricity. That may be a while, though.”
“No problem. We will endure. We have enough firepower to hold. And this fortress is completely blast proof. We should work on reinforcing the Senation mansions the same way,” Lito suggested.
“Make sure Uldan takes notes.”
“Will do. Anyway, I’ll take your advice and push forward. Thank you.”
“Stay well, Lito.” Blague stuffed the device away.
His fingers tucked into the next crevice. For what felt like hours, he reclaimed his grip and pulled, scaling upward until the ground slowly disappeared beneath him. He breathed in the brisk air that rewarded his progress, and remembered what it was to live in the moment, liberated, reminded of similar journeys taken in his youth. The danger of no harness invigorated him and the intuitive nature of rock climbing returned, just like riding a bike. Then his mind was free to wander: to remember his brother beside him, cursing at the pointlessness of the task, finding nothing positive in anything but his quest for his own idea of progress.
He dangled before reaching for the next rock, running his free hand across his scarred chest.
Mulderan has been speaking in riddles since he got here. Is this his way of being bitter since he was bested? No, that’s not right. What is he trying to tell me? Why are these memories so important to him, when nostalgia never was?
In time, he finally reached a plateau where he could break. Twisting himself into a rugged seat, there it was: an aerial view that evoked some small sense of accomplishment. Ocean waves broke into white foaming blankets that tucked in the beach. Hawks and gulls circled at his height, squawking offendedly that a wingless traveler found his way up. And most rewardingly, finally, Elaina’s screams disappeared, Mulderan’s voice was silenced, and the gears of deliberate thought locked in place. It was a moment’s peace.
He swept his gaze to the completed strongholds standing on either side of the massive mansion, taking pride in the chess pieces that he’d helped to capture and create. Three towering rooks to stand against the world. He looked on, further to his right, past the wreckage and breach point that blocked them in, to the once densely populated city of Clestice that was now desolate. Their shambled huts were less than pawns, leaving the citizens with sound mind to find refuge with the rebellion, for something more. So quickly, one look at the impressive structures unlocked the gears of strategy once more.
Securing the Ayelan and seizing control of Hiezer territories has allowed us to prosper thus far, but the rebellion is at a juncture. Holding the chemical will no longer be enough to protect us from their wrath. We're going to have to adjust our plan if we’re to survive. We need allies…
Just as Blague finished his thought, he turned to find his father, cloths whipping in the wind, stains of Cryos flowing around interlocked arms as he stood in a faraway trance. His disguise had been lifted – no more voice changer or oversized covering, only a smooth face but for the crow’s feet that crinkled the skin around his smoky, pupilless eyes. His features shaped a ghost of the Old World, one who hadn’t aged a day.
With both hands, Blague hoisted himself all the way up to his feet, creating a vast disturbance in an otherwise serene environment - boots scrunching against the natural stone walkway, birds hurriedly flapping away, pebbles tumbling, all of which tugged to win Orin’s attention. It worked. Swift eye movement slowed to a stop like two grandfather clocks running out of batteries at once, and after a long blink, he eventually turned to face his son.
A knowing smile flashed to ignite recollections from a lifetime ago, recent too, like an accordion of images compressing into one. Blague’s head jerked down instantly, an earsplitting sound shooting through his skull.
A memory of Auront flooded Blague’s mind. He recalled having utmost confidence in running straight through a seemingly impenetrable brick wall to escape the smoke’s madness. Waiting for him at the edge of the conjured barrier was his mother and father, standing there, watchi
ng him rush head on. His father flashed the same smile then as he did now.
Blague raised his aching head to find his Cryos mark glowing brightly to match his father's own shine, showing some sort of reaction to their connection.
"Blague, we have much to discuss," Orin's odd, deep voice resonated.
"Why here?"
"I need your mind free from distraction. You are a busy man, as I once was. I know how hard it is to keep focus. But I assure you, if you need to clear your mind, this is the way," Orin counseled while looking off into the distance.
Blague silently accepted the advice.
"We are both old men by definition. We have lived through experiences that others could only dream of. This world grows stranger the longer you withstand its madness… which brings me to my point."
Blague took a second to notice Orin’s ancient sword hanging from its sheath and his constricted shield off to the side.
"I understand that your brother used Elaina's DNA to extend your life."
Blague nodded with noticeable anguish shrouding his face.
"Although it was before her time, he unknowingly gave you a unique gift in his crazed experiment. Have you experienced her thoughts or memories yet?"
Blague grew less anxious, but more muddled. "I've experienced memories that aren't my own. I'm working with one of my scientists to try and understand it.”
Orin shook his head. "Unless he is a Neraphis, you are searching for answers in the wrong place."
Society N… I can hardly believe it. All of those years endlessly chasing a group of phantoms with Aldarian, to now hear my father speak of them like they exist.
"Then guide me, please. I feel like I'm going mad at times." His eyes widened when a realization came to light. “It was you who planted the Society’s marked Obsidian stone in my quarters. You’re the one who wanted me to resume my search.”
Orin’s silence confirmed Blague’s assumption. "When I encountered Mulderan in Old New York, my intent was to end him. It was not when he sentenced me to death all of those years ago that I gave up on my first born. It was when he murdered Elaina and condemned the rest of the world to his distorted will. When I held my blade to his throat, it was not me who stopped from finishing him." Orin’s eyes locked with his son’s.
