My eyes trace along the man's face. Shoulder-length slightly messy blonde hair, complemented by… are those red eyes? Outfitted onto him is a crisp suit and tie one would expect from a 'distinguished' criminal.
His facial expressions suggest someone constantly on alert. Or I'd say a stern facial expression. But I don't think the expression is a result of any external factors, and is just his default face. I'd also be lying if I were to say his face wasn't model material. He looks to be around my age as well.
Seriously, it's honestly concerning. Everyone around me feels like a bunch of teen actors playing in some play. When I think of medieval-era people, I'm thinking of dirty-looking, older, roughed-up men. Men with large beards and missing teeth that look like they could bite your hand off. For women, I'd picture an image of someone with their foreheads exposed by little headbands. The ones that look like little horns.
What I'm not expecting is a bunch of people who look like they belong in an idol or modeling group. Well, I guess that second example isn't always the case, as people in Varos are wearing what I expect from a typical middle-aged, for lack of better terms, peasant.
I'm also wearing said rags.
My attention finally centers back on the boy. He just stated he wanted to join Sable Veil. Of course, I have no say in the discussion, as I'm just a lowly slave. What I'm a bit stumped at is how exactly he figured out who we are so easily.
Does he recognize Arivia's face or something? Did he know her previously in the past? I'm a bit taken aback.
Also, I'm not sure whether knowing our identities was a serious danger, or a serious help.
"You want to join?" Arivia hums quietly.
The boy nods, his face illuminated by a stray streetlight. It's night now, and there doesn't seem to be many people in the street. This does seem like an ideal situation to attempt to confuse your enemy.
"Okay, you're in. Let's go."
The girl is suddenly at the end of the alleyway, waving the boy over like some kind of espionage agent.
"This isn't cops vs robbers in a playground!!"
I turn to the boy, scratching my head. It looks like I need to be the mediator between these two. The person who's supposed to be the one to sign him up is a total idiot, so the only logical solution here is for me to do the talking.
"This is out of nowhere, haha. I'd be the one to introduce you, but uhh…"
The boy's eyes travel to the collar on my neck. His facial expression communicates to me that he understood what I was trying to indicate. I like this guy.
"Well, even if he wants to join, I'm not authorized to let him in. If he knows who we are, then he should know that being so straightforward isn't going to work." Arivia chimes.
"Speaking of…"
The sound of metal slicing through the air suddenly follows. Wind blows against my face, telling me all that I need to know. I finally register what has happened.
Arivia's knife is against the boy's neck.
To my surprise, he doesn't seem, well, surprised. He's still got that 'I don't really care' face on, an indifferent look. This guy must be a nightmare to go against in card games.
"Who are you, who do you work for, and how did you know who we are?"
Arivia's tone of voice is still cheerful somehow, and she's smiling. It's honestly kind of terrifying. That cheerful demeanor—in situations that demanded seriousness. I'd be lying if I said it didn't remind me of my initial meeting with this girl.
The knife glints in the light, further emphasizing its edge. There's nobody around, but if there were to be someone, I don't think they'd be able to tell what was going on. The pose Arivia had assumed was one that would block the visual of the knife at the boy's neck. Her back was facing the rest of the street, so any attempt to see what was going on would be proven futile.
Then, without even the slightest tinge in his voice, the boy replies, "My name is Samuel Volara. I work for Gorthro. As to how I knew who you were…"
Arivia and I lean in.
"An unarmed slave assaulting someone armed is simply too suspicious to ignore. However, that was not the main reason I had come to this conclusion."
I sigh as Arivia leans in further.
His hand raises as his index finger unfurls, pointing at the…
"That insignia. You are quite literally flaunting the fact that you belong to an enemy organization."
"..."
Arivia knocks herself in the head, sticking her tongue out.
"Silly me!"
"—I think I'm about to knock you silly."
I suddenly turn around, a confused look on my face.
"Wait! If the insignia was so obvious, how did we get so far in, then!?"
"That is one of the reasons I would like to leave." Samuel flatly states.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Darkness. There is only darkness surrounding the town of Varos. Two lone street lights illuminate the positions of two guards. The same guards who had allowed two strange individuals to enter the city previously.
"Bro, I think there was something up with that red-haired girl." The masked guard turns to his contemporary.
"Huh? What makes ya say that?" He scratches his rear end.
"That sign on her poncho, it looked like it belonged to that one group the boss told us to worry about. Hm… what was it called?"
"I think it was called Veiled Able."
"Nah, it was probably Fabled Ale."
"Yeah, that's right, Fabled Ale."
The two resumed their usual positions before realizing what both of them had just done. The thought of their incoming punishment had suddenly surged to the forefront of their minds.
"No! It was–"
"Sable Veil."
"!?"
The voice had erupted from behind the masked grunt.
Before the thought of turning around even registered in the man's head, a pair of arms quickly wrapped themselves around his carotid arteries. It was clear the individual was versed in such activities, as they were careful not to apply any pressure on the trachea, which was responsible for airflow and would result in asphyxiation if tampered with.
Feeling his consciousness fade, the grunt's eyes shifted to check on his companion, who was also being strangled. However, he seemed to have already passed out. Behind his companion was an individual with shining long black hair, a strange mask adorned on their facial features.
Then, consciousness completely left the man's body, communicated by the sudden drop in resistance. His body was swiftly let go of, tumbling onto the floor like a rag doll.
The ones responsible for this attack stepped out into the limelight.
Two masked figures.
Kors glances at Asakawa before gesturing for her to go deeper into the town. This was to ensure that the large group of people outside the town's walls, the captives, would not be noticed.
This was phase three of the plan. After Arivia and Kaito were to disable the ZVPs, Kors and Asakawa would move in and secure the entrance. Shortly after, Asakawa was to go further in, eliminating any other potential enemies. Then, the refugee group would enter the city, swiftly scattering and blending in with the population of the city.
A nod from Asakawa shortly follows, as she hurriedly escalates over the large metal fence, hopping onto the other side with a frighteningly quiet thud. A short excursion of yells that were swiftly ended followed.
The Wight's gaze turns to the waterscape in the distance. An enormous boat lingers in the backwaters, seemingly gazing back at Kors. Its entire form is not fully visible, but the sheer outline of its size sends a sense of urgency into Kors.
Other organizations/Governments were aware of what had occurred here in Norovia, and were all desperately attempting to capitalize on it. This was a dire situation, one that demanded the capture of Gorthro by Sable Veil as soon as possible, or face potential immoral 'legal' judgments.
While many Kingdoms demanded the capture of Gorthro, many also wanted to purchase his services for themselves. He was, after all, a financial genius. However, Sable Veil's main customer was the people of Varos, and there was a strict rule of customer priority.
Finding out what to do with Gorthro was honestly a problem in and of itself. Perhaps turning him into Vultia was a solution. Kors had recalled the various posters that Heavenrend had put up. Twice the funds could also be attained; there was payment from the Varos townsfolk, as well as the bounty payment from Vultia.
The Wight clenched his fists.
"Hurry, Kaito, Arivia."
____________________________________________________________________________
"Huh? So you're telling me your dad's been receiving mail from neighboring governments that want to invade?"
I ask.
The three of us are now in front of the town hall, just a few inches away from the glass doors. Samuel's got his hand on my back, while Arivia's grabbed his arm. We've concocted a plan, one that'll hopefully work this time.
Oh yeah, and Arivia isn't wearing her poncho this time. Instead, it's around me. It's quite tight, honestly.
"Yes, which is why we must hurry if I'm to help you," Samuel whispers. "Let me do the talking; you'll understand from context clues."
The two of us nod as we walk forward. With a slight push from Samuel, the glass door glides open with no sound. I nearly gasp as I gaze upon the interior.
White and gold adorn the flooring, as well as various pillars holding the structure up. It's strangely got a very minimalist feel, contrasting heavily with the vibe going on in the rest of the town. I'd honestly expect nothing less from a kingpin, though.
Our footsteps ring across the mostly empty entrance hall, reverberating along the walls. In front of us lies what seems like a receptionist's desk. It's made of glass, with various utensils scattered across the top. The only thing I'd say is missing is a nice desktop computer.
A woman outfitted with a crisp suit sits at the desk, a stern expression on her face as she writes in a large book. Her brown hair is tied in a neat bun, emphasizing some kind of professionalism. She's also wearing glasses that seem to be of the expensive sort.
Momentarily halting her writing, she drops her pen and gazes up at Samuel.
"Hello, Laura. I've found a lone flower that wants to be watered."
It's probably code for something I'd rather not understand.
The woman looks up from her glasses at Arivia, who's honestly doing a really great job at seeming nervous. Or is she actually nervous? I can't tell.
She then gazes at me.
"And who is this?"
"A rogue slave who had been wandering around. I was thinking of hiring him as a disposer. He seems to have a good amount of muscle on him." Samuel smiles.
Look, I understand that he doesn't actually mean it, but the way I'm being described is honestly really demeaning. I hate being referred to as something beneath human. Though, I guess this is the only option available.
"You are aware he won't be paid, correct?" Laura interjects.
The hell is this bitch's problem? Again, I know I won't actually be working here, but at least let him know when I'm not around!
"Yes, I'm aware."
Laura turns to Arivia.
"Name?"
"Ari–"
"Ariel."
"Full name?"
The girl glances at me, a desperate look on her face. She looks like she's going to cry, evident by her eyes morphing into what seemed like cracked egg yolks. This damned Scarlet Macaw!
"Ariel Laosia." Samuel interjects.
The woman nods as she pulls out a sheet of paper. A faint crinkle rings out, giving the impression that this 'Laura' is feeling stressed. She places the sheet on the desk, pushing it towards Arivia.
"Please sign your name here."
I glance at the sheet, and honestly can't read anything.
Arivia nods, her ponytail bobbing as she places the pen on the sheet. With a surprising precision and accuracy, Arivia signs her name. She then pushes the paper back.
Laura collects the sheet, then reaches down for another. The new paper is swiftly handed to me, along with a neat black pen. I glance down at the contents.
Is this some kind of NDA form? Also, I can't read this either. As much as I try to squint, none of these words is comprehensible to me whatsoever. They look like a child who tried mixing Latin and katakana.
Sighing, I sign my name in Japanese katakana.
The woman takes the sheet and glances at it, a confused look crossing her expression. Look, lady, I have no way of understanding what the hell you guys speak. I literally got isekai'd to this world a month ago.
"He is not from around here. I forgot to mention." Samuel smiles.
"Yeah, you bitch." I taunt in Japanese, careful not to make an unpleasant facial expression.
Completely oblivious of what I just called her, Laura sighs before recalling the sheet into her desk. "You can head in now. You already know where to drop off the worker, Mr. Volara." She muses before returning to work.
His hand on my back, Samuel pushes me towards the left of the desk, into a large hall. Lights adorn the walls, giving a nice sense of entropy. The walls are a bright yellow, while the ground and roof are a nice white. There are also various patterns embellished along the ground.
It really is a nice place, closer to a palace than any other government building. Still, it's disgusting once you realize what had built these walls. The blood, sweat, and tears of the townsfolk went into this building. The fruits of hard labor and endless hours of sweat, all hopelessly poached for the culmination of this building. It's just a layer of beauty covering a disgusting amalgamation of greed, hedonism, and philistinism.
We walk past about three doors or so before we catch a glimpse of two strange figures. I can't really make out the details, as the lights that illuminate the hallways aren't shining on them. One is sitting on a windowsill, his leg dangling like a corpse's. The light finally shines on one of the figures, the one that's standing—
THIS FEELING.
THIS FEELING.
MY STOMACH FEELING AS FALLING OFF A MOUNTAIN. SWEAT TRAILING DOWN MY FACE LIKE BLOOD. MY HANDS TWITCHING AS IF ALIVE. MY EYES, DESPERATE TO LOOK AWAY, CANNOT HELP BUT DRILL DEEPER INTO THOSE TWO.
The sounds of bones cracking ring in my brain, reverberating along the walls of my cranium. DD activated. I set a checkpoint. Am I going to die? Are those two going to kill me?
I can't breathe. Every time I inhale, it just falls back into my throat, leaving me stumbling for my next breath. Yet despite all this… Yes, despite all this…
Why can't I look away from these two?!
Ah, that's right. My habit of staring at things that make me nervous.
The one standing has a mask on his face, obscuring his facial features. All I can tell from the small opening on his neck is that he's got dark skin. His hair, which is a culmination of dreadlocks, is tied in a large braid. He's outfitted with a black Haori-looking outfit. In the areas where the chest would usually be showing, there are armor pieces tightly fitted on. His arms are sunk deep into metal gauntlets with a strange insignia carved on both of them.
And finally, the sword hanging on his waist. It seems to be sheathing a large black odachi of sorts. It's so long, it nearly stretches eleven feet in length.
The one sitting on the windowsill's got long purple hair with strangely fitting yellow eyes. The tips of his hair are colored a vibrant gold. As for his attire. He's wearing an outfit more like the other denizens of this world. There's a short black cape around his shoulders, as well as a large brown duster draped over the rest of his body. He lacks a mask like his contemporary, but wears a large black gorget over his neck. His face seems to be stuck in a perpetual smile.
Right now, we're right next to them, trying to walk along like nothing's wrong. Samuel and Arivia seem to be unaffected. It's just me. It's just me looking crazy. No, no, I can't let people see me like this. I don't want them to see the expression on my face. I look like a filthy mutt.
Just a few more steps. Just a few more steps and we'll be past these two monsters. Once that passes, I can go back to being 'Kaito.'
"Hey, Biri, that guy's really looking us up, eh?" The purple-haired man muses as he drops from the windowsill, a smile on his face.
"Sam, bring those guys here."
"Sorry, but I can't. This is a future worker and—"
"Bring those guys here."
Damn it, shit! Shit! I'm going to die! I'm really going to die!
Samuel—momentarily halting—but ultimately complying with the man's request, turns around. I can feel his hand shaking ever so slightly, probably worried.
Arivia seems totally unaffected, actually seeming irritated at this sudden turn of events. I guess it's because she herself is 'strong', so seeing people like this is quite normal. Are these two guys Gazers?
The footsteps we take towards the two feel like an eternity. Each sound rings in my brain. I'm doing everything in my power not to let the fear boil over, but each passing second makes it harder than the last.
The purple-haired man trudges over to Arivia, his head shifting from side to side, seemingly examining the girl. The curves of his mouth's top part curve backwards into a seemingly curious smile. His yellow eyes squint, studying the girl's face. He looks like a wolf examining its prey, its weaknesses, potential strengths, and fears.
"Whoa, this girl's a real looker!" He goads. I can tell what kind of person this guy is. A womanizer. In every sense of the word. A man who looks at women as mere objects, attractions to his eyes. Roller coasters that are only meant to be ridden one time, and never again.
No, I'm reading too much into him.
This fear is making me overanalyze things.
His hand wraps around Arivia's chin, lifting it towards him. The girl, not expecting this, is almost quick to retaliate. However, it seems that she understands quickly that she is not in a position to fight, and lets go of any tension in her body.
However, she protests in a different way.
Her sapphire eyes lose any spark of life in them. There is a death sentence within that gaze, even with the lack of any facial expressions. To those that have seen her before this state, they would have been able to understand her current emotion.
"Sure 'sa shame, huh? Pretty girl like you, being shipped off to an ugly fatass. I'd be able to take much better care of you, I'd reckon."
"Seon-woo. That boy..." Biri suddenly says. His voice is deep, menacing.
"Hm? Distracted, sorry. Oh, that's right–"
Seon-woo's eyes widen when they make contact with mine.
"Whoa, that's quite the face ya got there, buddy!"
The moment he finishes that sentence, I feel the fatigue in my eye muscles. The constant staring has finally been felt as I realize how these two could interpret such a look.
Yet I can't stop.
Seon-woo shakes his head, clicking his tongue. He then returns his gaze towards me. "I'm sorry, is she your girl?"
I stay silent.
I'm fearful. Furthermore, I'm terrified. Moreover, I'm horrified. Finally, I'll die. Is he going to take my ocular assault as just that, an assault? Is he going to kill me for it?
His gold eyes slowly travel towards the collar on my neck. "Normally, I'd kill a slave for looking at me like that, but there's something off about you."
A tiny whimper leaves my throat.
He stares at me, his eyes examining every crevice on my body. It feels like a beam of heat, slowly dragging its rays across my skin, burning marks into it. I couldn't react, even if I wanted to.
Why am I so terrified of this man?
"Yes.. there's something…"
"Seon-woo, he lacks… any hollow points…"
"Oh. I see that."
"..."
My eyes do not leave their center of attention.
"Say, Biri, I think this guy wants a staring contest."
He smiles.
"I'll take you up on that offer, buddy." He raises a finger and wags it. "But if you blink…"
His hand swiftly seizes me by the mouth, his fingers curling around my face with incredible strength.
"?!"
I think if I were to move even slightly, my lips would be torn off with ease. I can't breathe, damn it. A sudden shot of adrenaline shoots into my body, adding to the puddle already forming in my brain.
"I L L G U T Y O U "
What?
What?
No, no, I can't worry about what he just said! Just don't blink!
The room goes silent after Seon-woo makes his declaration. The wind, terrified of his threat, slows down. The rays of light cast by the lanterns attempt to run away, stretching along the ground endlessly.
Seon-woo's yellow eyes morph and cascade. An ouroboros eating itself, endlessly struggling against itself till the end of time. His eyes tell a story, a story of evil corrupting good. Purity is being morphed into an inky black, despite its radiance. Corruption, jealous of purity, resolves to corrupt it rather than destroy it. His pupils twist and turn, attempting to force me into blinking.
I'm but a mouse, caught in the frigid gaze of a serpent. I'm vehemently aware of my encroaching death, yet I choose to return its gaze back at it as if my remaining time will somehow slow down. My stare is the result of my ego and fear simultaneously, merging into a gross amalgamation of self-deception and deception to others.
If any single one of us makes a move, it's over. No, for him, he'll get to walk away and call it day. For me, however, my life is on the line. If I do such a trivial thing, I'm dead.
I don't want to die.
Another minute passes.
Then.
"Seon-woo, stop!" Samuel nearly yels.
He lets go of my face and chuckles lightly.
"I'm joking! Joking!"
He claps his hands, a show of twisted sportsmanship. "I ain't gonna kill someone for such a small reason!" His smile stretches farther and farther, seemingly mocking me.
I rub my mouth with the back of my hand, attempting to minimize the pain. His joking demeanor now betrays the marks on my mouth. It doesn't matter how jovial he may seem, everyone here knows his true nature, his true feelings, yet there is nothing they can do.
It's disturbing. Him attempting to portray himself as calm despite seizing someone by the mouth. He is an egoist, a narcissistic demon who cannot handle any adversity. Yet, he is a powerful narcissist, able to back up his word. I'm grateful he didn't strike me down immediately.
"Alright Biri, let's get going." He slides his hands into his pockets. "Heard a new bar opened around here, and they've got this one drink I've been dying to try." His tone dies to a neutral one as he turns around, heading away.
He walks away as if he hadn't just threatened my life.
Biri remains in the same position, glaring at me, before capsizing to the pressure of his friend walking away. He turns, hand on his sheath, as if communicating his combat ability to me, before following after his friend.
The world holds its breath for a couple of moments following.
"Kaito, are you alright?" Samuel asks, turning to me. A sense of urgency and slight worry is present on his face. My issue is, where was all that earlier? He just let me get seized by the mouth, and didn't say a word about it.
As if pushing the words I was going to say back in my mouth, I wipe my lips. "Yeah, I'm good."
"I apologize, I had initially thought they would back off if I was to give them your 'designations', but it seems that they did not care."
"...Who the hell were those guys?"
"Gazers." Arivia suddenly interjects, her fists clenched. "More importantly, members of SE//VER."
"SEVER?"
Samuel turns around towards the direction we were previously heading.
"They're a mercenary—no, it would be more appropriate to classify them as a private military of sorts. When my father was hiring more guards out of desperation, despite the intense amount, he was able to secure the services of two members."
"Jang Seon-woo and Biri Ogunleye." Arivia finishes.
"Hm? You know their full names?" Samuel questions, turning back to the girl, who was staring back into the hallway. Shadows obscure half of her face, bolstering her already terrifying expression.
"I used to know them. But not anymore."
"..."
She then spins on her heels towards Samuel.
"All right, let's go!"
"Excuse me! I'm waiting on the backstory!!"
____________________________________________________________________________
"Contact with landmass estimated to be in one minute! All stations, assume combat positions!"
The shouts echoed within the metal confines of the SSS. Wahsinn, just one of the thousands of ships manufactured by the Volarian Empire for the Blitz Corps. The sounds of creaking metal accompany the chaos, creating a total cacophony of noise.
Steam flowed, obscuring vision to a fault. But ultimately, it did not pose that much of a threat compared to the figures within the steam.
The Blitz Corps.
Who were the Blitz Corps? Rather, what was the Blitz Corps?
An elite fighting force consisting of about 3,000 soldiers from the Volarian Empire, responsible for expansion and war efforts. 3,000 men, nearly a quarter capable of annihilating ordinary soldiers with ease. Predators that, when deployed, would expertly dispose of their prey with utmost efficiency.
Their strength arose from the sheer amount of patriotism for their land, bordering on absolute delusion. Perhaps this stemmed from massive amounts of propaganda that were constantly propelled towards citizens, but one thing was for sure:
The Volarian Empire's Blitz Corps had earned the name Death Pathogens for a reason.
Footsteps rhythmically rang out across the metal floor within the confines of the ship, yelling and commands flowing from one corner to another. An alarm blared within the already tight space, a psychological tactic used to communicate urgency to soldiers.
"Jäger, Forward screen! Thaumites—Mid support! Scherer, Rear security! Grafts, with me!"
The loudest of these commands—an order to assume positions- erupted from a single woman. Her footsteps seemed to be the loudest despite the multiple soldiers running past her. They were all heading towards the brunt of the ship, the 'Deployment Bay' as they called it. This combat tactic was known as 'Voller Angriff', the act of a full-frontal assault on their enemies. Usually, such a tactic was frowned upon; if enacted, the enemy had a wide open contingency to eradicate as many opponents as possible. However, the absolute devotion to the country by the Blitz Corps played a key role in this tactic.
"Contact in fifteen seconds!"
The woman, outfitted in a large black duster decorated with various medals, adjusted a deep gray cap on her head. Such an accessory obscured her eyes, which seemed to be a deep orange accentuated by the strange spiral look to them. Her silver, nearly blue hair was mostly untied, yet towards the bottom, it ended in a neat braid.
Her figure drifted past the various Soldats waiting in formation, their visors reflecting the rays of the black moon that spilled through a small opening in the front of the ship. As she had commanded, the Severant Gazers, also known as Scherer, were in the rear. All were equipped with various armaments ranging from simple swords to insane contraptions that could be vaguely called 'weapons'.
Their 'armor' mostly consisted of a similar duster to their commander; however, all their heads were obscured by a helmet boasting two red glowing 'eyes'. On the bottom of the helmet, around the neck area, was a strange accessory that could be interpreted as a deformed mandible. This was an indicator to others of the wearer's rank.
Such a menacing look was consciously used as both a scare tactic for enemies and a morale booster for allies.
The commander, continuing her stride to the front of the ship, passed by the Thaumite Gazers Soldats, who comprised most of the middle section. They bore a similar helmet to the Scherer, except with the skull design omitted. In place of the face was a simple faceplate. There was a total lapse in armor altogether, resulting in mostly cloth comprising the unit. Due to them being Thamuites and lacking Severants, all of them were equipped with the Z40-Schockgewehr. An automatic rifle that utilized Arcana, which was due to the weapon being directly linked to the Thaumite organ. The law of equivalence manifested itself in the weapon's ammo. For every bullet fired, one hundred fifty million blood cells would be used.
The body constantly produces red blood cells, approximately two hundred million every second, which would, at initial glance, seem advantageous. However, this was not the case. 'Barrel time', which was the name of the duration in which a projectile remained inside the barrel of a gun after ignition, only lasted about 1-2 milliseconds. One second consisted of about one thousand milliseconds. This meant that if fired continuously, hypoxia would settle in due to the lack of blood cells.
Even Thaumites, with their Arcana-boosted blood circulation, would succumb to the overuse. This was the law of the world, one that would never be overridden.
One must give to gain.
Regardless, victory was ensured.
The commander finally passed by the standard Soldats, the Jäger. These were mostly ordinary men, equipped with the predecessor to the Z40-Schockgewehr, also known as the Z20-Shhockgewehr. It functioned similarly to any other firearm, but lacked the fully automatic capabilities of its offspring. However, a bayonet along with a small shield along the bottom of the barrel of the weapon was installed. Some Soldats were capable of utilizing basic Koho, but only as utility. Soldats completely lacked the flowing garments of their superiors, and instead wore standard-issue dark green military tunics outfitted with various bits of equipment. On the head, they lacked full plated armor, instead wearing a simple helmet for protection of the cranium, while the face was wrapped in a baklava of sorts with bright yellow goggles obscuring the eyes.
Now at her destination, at the front of the loading bay, the commander stood firm in front of her underlings. However, the introductions of the various forces were not over. Two hulking figures moved over to her sides, their boots ringing across the metal ground. At the mere sight of them, many Soldats found themselves shivering.
These were known as Grafts. Abominations of mankind that only existed due to goblin crossbreeding with Sapients. When the hybrid is born, they are quickly outfitted with a device on the cranium, which overrides the typical electrical signals that the brain utilizes during infantilization. The device is to constantly loop the words, "VOLARIA IS ORDER, AND ORDER IS VOLARIA."
For years, the mantra has been repeated, again and again. The process continues until the child, now an adult, fully succumbs their will over to the iron grasp of the empire. Perhaps such a practice would be seen as inhumane by others, but many mouths of the empire repeat the same words, that if left unchecked, the hybrid would evolve to a mindless Aberration.
These two particular Grafts were both siblings, born from a goblin mother and a Daemon mother, resulting in their skin being a sickly blue. However, what remained of their organic body was monstrous, nearly skeletal in nature despite the rows of muscle tainting their bodies. Their eyes were nowhere to be seen, only covered by a metal faceplate with a bright red dot in the middle. Only their surprisingly white bottom row of teeth remained, striking a similar resemblance to that of a skull. The upper portions of the two were humongous in comparison to their lower halves. Metal armor was installed in various potential weak points within the two, further emphasizing their strength. The two wielded no weapons, as their enormous fists would do enough damage alone.
These two were affectionately named Humpty and Dumpty. Humpty's row of teeth was slightly inward, while Dumpty's were outward.
What kind of monster would name these two abominations with such affectionate names? Why, it had been none other than the woman with the bloodcurdling grin on her face. Commander Frau Schnitter, a Siren. A woman, no, demon, with the aptitude to overthrow a small country if left alone.
Her military genius manifested in her camaraderie with her Soldats, all of whom respected her to the highest degree. This was the culmination of small compliments, promotions, and extended time off with families. Each and every single person here was fully prepared to lay their lives down for a 'greater cause.'
To her enemies, Schnitter seemed like a demon, yet to her companion,s she morphed into an angel of war.
"Men! We will be laying a full-blown Voller Angriff! Most here are combatants; however,r there are some civilians among the undesirable rats! If you feel threatened, do not hesitate to attack! Once the doors open, we will initiate Anti-Severant positions!"
The woman took a breath.
"We will annihilate these mercenary Varmints! Those who attach their ideologies to monetary gain have no semblance of order in their lives!"
The commander swiftly planted her left hand on her thigh, followed by lifting her right arm, with her palm open, as if chopping something vertically. "VOLARIA IS ORDER. ORDER IS HUMANITY!"
The Soldats all repeated the gesture, their cries ringing across the walls.
"VOLARIA IS ORDER. ORDER IS HUMANITY!!"
With a loud final creak, the gate gave way, revealing a crudely built pier. The town of Varos lay there, open for its invaders. The said invaders had initially presumed the town was already occupied by the Sorayans. After a single spy boat was sent, the true nature of the town was exposed. A rotting carcass filled with pests.
The Black Sea glinted various shards of moonlight along its surface, cascading gently along, unaware of the impending hell. Most of the townsfolk were asleep at such a late hour, so one would assume the pier was empty.
However, that was not the case, which became more evident as the bay revealed more and more of the outside world. Just what lay there? None other than the small army of mercenaries, which far outnumbered the Blitz Corps.
Despite this, however, the loud footsteps from the soldiers rang across the pier, wood creaking under the weight. The quickly assumed positions, all aiming at the smug grunts. The reason why they were confident was quite simple. They outnumbered their opponents.
For every Soldat was four mercenaries.
Various chuckles and laughter rang out from amongst the enemy crowd, all confident in their ability to dispatch what was, in their eyes, a ragtag group of glorified masked cops.
Commander Schnitter strode across the wooden planks to the forefront of the brewing conflict, her hands behind her back. Each footstep resulted in a creak, which served as an auditory reminder to her opponents.
"Oi!" A voice called from opposite her, from the side of the mercenaries.
"Humpty, secure the outer perimeter. Dumpty, secure the town hall."
The two Grafts nodded before leaping into the darkness. Despite their immense size, such a maneuver was within the capability of the two.
From the crowd, out walked a shady-looking man, seeming to be in his early thirties or so. His eyes held a lazy feel, along with the rest of his face, which had been covered in small prickles of hair. The man's walk exuded confidence, as if he were secretly powerful and merely held it in to avoid strain. His blonde hair had been tied in a braid, trailing to his shoulders. The man's outfit was nothing unique, standard for those of his caliber.
In one hand resided a rapier of sorts, yet its handle was nearly longer than the actual blade itself. It was clear that this man was a Gazer, a Severant Wielder.
As he walked, he twirled the rapier with his wrist, incredibly casual.
He finally stopped in front of Schnitter, his eyes peering down at her. To her utter disgust, he seemed to be gazing at her body rather than her face. However, the smile on her face persisted.
"Greetings. We are here on the warrant of arrest for Gorthro Volara, a wanted criminal." Schnitter revealed a large poster, which had been stored in her pocket. Within the paper was the face of Gorthro, his smile as smug as ever.
The man chuckled as he gently pushed the paper away, resulting in Schintter's hand being pushed away as well. A surprised look found itself on the woman's face, yet deep down, she had expected such a thing.
"Looky here, lady. There's a whole ton of us compared to your lot, see?" The man places his hand on the woman's shoulder, pulling her closer to point out the vast sea of mercenaries. His right hand glides along the horizon of grunts, highlighting their sheer numbers.
"We don't wanna have any trouble, right? After all, the difference is so high, we'd take you guys out in a second." He laughs as he raises a hand, pointing at a masked mercenary.
"Hans! I see you smiling! We might be stronger, but that doesn't mean we make fun of them!"
Once again, the man turns to Schnitter, his face closer this time as he seemingly reclines on her.
"All of us? We're just humble folk trying to make an honest living, you know." He twirls the rapier. "How about you just get back in that ship of yours, and head back to wherever you came from, huh? It'll be the best outcome for both of us."
He raises his eyebrows, as if to further persuade the woman. "Cmon."
He turns once again to the crowd.
"Connor, you slyoghhh."
"???"
Shock.
"Hnghh?"
Confusion.
"—Ey outh!!"
Pain.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The sound of water colliding against the wood, slowly forming into a puddle. The crowd held its breath, still unable to process what had just happened. After all, this individual who had just been affected was one of their strongest.
This man was none other than 'Shadow Hunter Joseph'. A man whose hollow points were said to shine brighter than any light, his strength surpassing most police forces. His Severant Function formed in his rapier, known as 'Shaderend'. It was a weapon that would double its speed when under the dark, as well as its penetration.
This had also been one of the key reasons he was the first to be sent out.
But this reasoning had also led to him being the first to suffer.
Yes, Joseph's jaw, along with a slight portion of his neck, had been ripped off. Despite the darkness, dark red blood flowed down his neck to his feet. Its placement was evident from the various reflections of light amongst the viscous liquid. The most evident thing, however, was the bright red 'strings' running along where his muscle would usually be. The phranyx was fully exposed, as well as the strange tube item with yellow striations running along its surface, or the trachea.
Left gasping for air and choking, the man stumbled towards Schnitter, his body mostly in shock from the sudden assault. Blood continued streaming down, seemingly ignoring his brain's desperate pleas to cease functioning. Surprisingly enough, Joseph's body had refrained from shutting down, perhaps due to his history of fighting.
"Ghkj! Gragh!!"
Yet despite that history, right now, he was no more than a withering corpse stumbling around.
All eyes on the hand of Schnitter.
And in the hand of Frau Schnitter, dangling around, was the lower half of his mouth.
The woman's face was too terrifying to describe, despite the cloak of darkness. The sight of the glowing red 'eyes' behind her furthered the instilling of pure fear into the witnesses. Her hand continued dangling the mandible, taunting its previous owner.
The man continued stumbling towards Schintter, his limbs desperately reaching for the expunged part of his body. The same body part that had led to hundreds of warriors falling for his words was now in the hands of this demon.
His feet began slowing, the grasp of unconsciousness latching onto his brain. The force known as death was encroaching towards him to the knowledge of all present. Yet, the primal module of his existence, his brain, urged him to shuffle towards what he thought his salvation.
Yes, a walking corpse. This was the fate of Joseph Fredrics.
'Mommy… Mommy… I don't wanna die… I don't wanna die… I'm sorry, I'm sorry, 'I'm sorry…'
These were the pathetic pleas of life that the man repeated in his mind. None would ever hear such words, yet he continued chanting them, as if someone was to save him in a moment of clarity. Only his body would reciprocate the feelings, but never respond in turn.
"—-Ohhy… Ohhyy… Iong wangga iiee…"
"—-Iong sor—"
Before he could even reach Schnitter, his outstretched hand was swiftly slapped away, resulting in him stumbling to the left. On the left was nothing but sea. The pier lacked any kind of fence or anything of the sort, resulting in Joseph plummeting to the deep, dark ocean.
Splashes quickly ensued, frenzied and crazed. None could view the man, but his screams were evidence of his existence. The man was sure to die, as water was to enter his exposed windpipe. After a few moments, the noise subsided.
Schnitter shook her head, sighing as she tossed away the bloody jaw. Then, as if cleaning up a mere spill, she revealed a small handkerchief and cleaned away the spilled blood on her shoulder.
Throughout this entire ordeal, all were silent.
Wrapping up her cleaning, the woman removed her glove and replaced it with another, the sound of rubber slapping against skin ringing across the area.
"What a pathetic man. I could just see it in the way he spoke. That mouth has led him to pursue other facets of life other than order. He was no different from any other varmint, relentlessly pursuing its desires. But as a purifier, I had abstained him of his mouth, and granted him death."
"Truly, you are an ideal, Commander Schnitter!" A Scherer Soldat exclaimed.
"That I am, lieutenant."
Closing her tangent, the woman gently raised a finger towards the rest of the mercenaries, all of whom were still in utter shock. "Men, abstain these animals of their lives, so true order with themselves can be achieved."
And with that command, hell itself exploded into action.
The previously dark pier was instantly lit up with orange light, all of which zoomed from side to side. The ignition of gunpowder littered the air, assaulting both the eyes and ears. The cast bullets lit up certain areas for a split moment before disappearing, resulting in the area being shrouded in darkness once again.
Shouts emerged from all sides, both a result of being fired at and firing.
From the perspective of the mercenaries, most of the final views in their lives were simply a multitude of bright red eyes, belonging to the Pathogens of Death herself. Along with the flash of orange light.
As the assault continued, many ran behind cover, which ranged from loosely placed crates, to mere poles. Only a few returned the fire, with crude firearms of their own. Most were equipped with melee weapons, which previously functioned just fine. Now was a different case, however.
One thing, however, was shared amongst the men.
The collective regret of their life choices until now.
Some dreaded the thought of police discovering their corpses. Some merely wanted to remain on the planet for the purpose of more monetary gain. Some feared never returning to their families.
Regret functioned as a secondary attacker for the men. It leaped from one to another, instilling the emotions within them. Regret, regret, regret.
Blood began seeping into the floorboards of the pier, dripping onto the water below. A few months later, Varos's bay would be known as the Sanguine Bay. Corpses, devoid of life, plopped into the water as well.
Despite the hellish environment, Schnitter jaunted along, seemingly ignoring the carnage. For some odd reason, not a single projectile made contact with her body. Or perhaps they did.
Perhaps Schnitter was a Thaumite and possessed a function within the confines of her body. A strange defensive ability of sorts. Perhaps such an ability allowed her to walk amongst the deadzone untouched.
In spite of the enemy's commander walking towards them, the mercenaries were preoccupied with the Soldats, instead opting to either return fire or charge at them. The woman's presence took no place within their minds as they seemingly dismissed her as a mere blob caused by hallucination.
With her hands behind her back, Schnitter's boots pushed up against the stone steps that led into the town. She was now behind enemy lines, free to explore as much as she wanted. The woman strode along the empty city streets, occasionally glancing at the lit-up windows of citizens observing the carnage below.
What poor people, she thought. Forced to do the bidding of mere animals. These men and women had incentives in their lives and contributed to their society. However, these beasts invaded and forced the hardworking citizens to satiate their own desires.
One must fight for a larger purpose; if there is no larger incentive, then one's life is ultimately meaningless. If one's life is meaningless, then they are simply branded as a varmint. An animal seeks its desires above all else, and ultimately possesses no larger meaning. So, in order for one to pursue ORDER, or reason, one must abstain from whatever holds them back, and cleanse themselves.
This was the mindset of Frau Schnitter.
Turning into an alleyway, a strange sight took a hold of the woman's ocular nerves. A strange sight indeed.
A masked woman, standing atop a pile of corpses, framed by the black moon. In one hand, a large blade of seemingly Amatsuran origin. In the other, a nearly invisible blade that seemed to be constructed of glass. The woman herself wore a long duster, with various accents of purple. Her flowing black hair solidified itself behind her, with various accents of purple in its underside as well.
"I take it you are Frau Schnitter, 23rd commander of the Volarian Blitz Corps?"
The woman, rather, girl's voice was calm and smooth. It gave the impression of an emotionless, seasoned killer that prided itself on efficacy rather than style. What stood in front of the commander was another one of her kind.
A killer.
"You seem different from the rest of the other varmints. More organized."
Her eyes shifted to the insignia on the girl's mask.
"Ah, you're a member of Sable Veil. I've run into those like you throughout my career."
A smile presented itself on the woman's face as she quickly dispatched a basic revolver from her side pocket. The weapon glided through the air, pointing at the woman, Asakawa Meiko. The wind blew at that exact moment, causing both figures' garments to flow to the left.
"Well, no matter your aptitude as a warrior. You are no different from a varmint that latches its order to payment. I will abstain—"
A sudden slash rang through the air as Schnitter sidestepped, the resulting wind that lingered blowing against the woman's bangs. It was a horizontal attack, and originated from Schnitter's left, aimed at her shoulder. The slash was intended for her hollow point, which was the location she knew of. It was not particularly her shoulder, but around that area.
This opponent could Gaze fairly well.
"Please cease your blabbering. I am not here to fight you for an extended period of—"
"Bang!"
The sound of a firearm cracking against the air. The attack, however, was rendered useless, as the victim had dodged the incoming bullet. However, that did not sway the resolve of Schnitter. To abstain from this varmint of her leisure.
"Times running out, Varmint!!!"