Hello to Your Comrades

With her arm held high, Hana made a vague measuring gesture. “We’re seeking a man who is roughly… this tall.” She glanced toward Perla, seeking confirmation. “The legendary assassin, Shen Tai?”

The woman on the other side of the threshold, an infant balanced deftly on her hip, offered no reply. Instead, the heavy wooden door slammed shut in their faces. From within, the definitive rattle of a bolt sliding into place echoed their dismissal.

Perla heaved a sigh, the sound forming a small, white cloud in the cool air. “They are merely civilians, Hana. It’s unreasonable to expect their assistance.”

Hana shrugged, utterly unperturbed. “They are all interchangeable to me. You can choose the next house.”

Perla’s gaze drifted across the village, scanning past the modest cottages and bustling market stalls before coming to rest on a structure in the distance. “What about that one?” She pointed toward a magnificent mansion perched precariously atop the highest cliff, a stark silhouette against the descending afternoon sun.

“That’s a considerable distance,” Hana observed. “If it’s a dead end, we’ll be out of daylight to try anywhere else.” She shot a concerned look at Perla, who was still subtly favoring the leg where she had torn a muscle.

Perla dismissed her friend’s worry with a wave of her hand. “I’m fine,” she insisted. “And I have a strong feeling that is Shen Tai’s residence. It’s isolated, remote. Did he not always possess an affinity for nature? The view of the sea from that vantage must be breathtaking.”

“You make a valid point,” Hana conceded.

They set their course, their path cutting through the village’s heart. Men steering carts piled high with produce paused their work, their stares curious and prolonged. They had not gone far before two warriors, encased in the distinctive black armor of Krysta’s army, stepped forward to obstruct their path.

A sneer curled Perla’s lips. “Have you come back for another helping?”

One of the men, upon recognizing her, let out a strangled cry.

“You treacherous bitch!” the other snarled, but his lunge was not directed at Perla, but at Hana.

Perla made a soft tsking sound, a predatory smile touching her lips as she reveled in the liberty to finally unleash her power. Flames began to waltz around her hands. “Mind your tongue, old man,” she chided. “It would require ten of you to equal the worth of one of us.”

With a casual flick of her wrist, Perla sent a fireball screaming through the air. The villagers shrieked in terror. The soldier scrambled out of the way just as the projectile impacted a nearby stack of kindling, which erupted with a great whoosh of flame. Impatiently, Perla made another gesture, instantly quenching the blaze before refocusing on the soldier. She aimed and fired again. This time, he dove behind a wooden house for protection.

“Such a cowardly tactic!” Perla called out as she smothered the new flames that were beginning to lick at the building’s wall. A glimmer of satisfaction passed over her face. Perhaps her long confinement had served to sharpen her control.

Meanwhile, Hana met her own assailant’s charge head-on. She threw a punch, but the man dodged with unexpected agility, gasping as her fist whistled past his ear. As he bounded backward to create more space, Hana slammed her fist into the ground. A fissure ripped through the packed earth, halting just inches from his feet.

“Be careful!” Perla reprimanded, her own temper igniting as the intensity of her flames swelled. “Civilians use this road every day!”

Her opponent retaliated by snatching a terrified elderly man from the crowd and pressing a knife to his throat. “Heh, you should be more concerned for yourself, brat,” he sneered. “Surrender now, or the old man dies.”

Perla’s eyes narrowed. This confrontation needed to conclude, immediately. “You cannot kill him if you are already dead.”

Behind the soldier, unseen by him, a massive, hovering fireball had coalesced. It descended, engulfing him in a silent, instantaneous inferno. He screamed once, the knife clattering to the road. As the man burned, Perla wove a shimmering shield of energy just long enough for the old man to scramble to safety, completely unscathed. She strode toward the flaming soldier and extinguished the fire as swiftly as she had summoned it. Then, she retrieved his knife and pressed its cold steel against his charred throat.

“Give my regards to your comrades,” she whispered. “I am certain you are all eager to haunt me in unison.” She ended his suffering with a quick, merciless cut and turned to find Hana, who had just shattered her own opponent’s skull with a final, brutal punch.

“Truly, only two of them?” Perla asked, astounded. “It seems Krysta’s intent was to discipline us, not to eliminate us.”

“She believes you are dead,” Hana stated plainly.

Perla laughed, a harsh and grating sound. “She misjudges us. You alone could handle five of her men.”

“I must confess, she exuded some intensely sexist energy when she interviewed me for the position. All she did was drone on and on about men.”

Putting weight on her injured leg, Perla resumed her walk toward the cliff. “Well, we have certainly shown her.”

“Yes, we did!” Hana beamed, and Perla found, to her surprise, that she enjoyed the sight of the other woman’s genuine smile.

“Saku was right about you,” Perla ventured.

Hana stiffened at the mention of her brother. “What?”

“He said if you can win him over, you are the most entertaining person in the entire village.”

A slow smile unfurled across Hana’s face. “He said that? Perhaps my brother is not a complete lost cause after all.”

Perla chuckled, a touch nervously. “He’s not.”

“Oh, I suppose I shouldn’t say such things. I take it you have feelings for him?” Hana looked at her, her gaze direct and thoughtful.

A flush of heat rose in Perla’s cheeks. “Yes,” she admitted. “But nothing can happen until this war is over.”

“Hmm,” Hana mused, surprised by the other girl’s ready confession. “But isn’t a romance in wartime precisely what makes it more thrilling?”

Perla blinked, once again reminded of the peculiar way Hana’s mind operated. She gave a noncommittal grunt and concentrated on the steady ascent toward the cliff. The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in vibrant shades of orange and purple by the time they finally crested the summit where the house stood.

“Shen Tai, are you in there?” Hana yelled.

A thunderous, echoing report of flatulence was the only response.

Instinctively, Perla pinched her nose, motioning for Hana to do the same. After the foul odor had cleared, Perla cautiously pushed the door ajar. “Master Cheng?”

A man built like a mountain of muscle looked up from the small book he was reading. He was shirtless, his physique a clear testament to a lifetime of rigorous training. “What?” he grunted, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Perla averted her gaze from his impressive build. “We require your assistance.”

“Gods, it feels good to be free!” Grimshaw exclaimed, stretching his sore joints with a series of loud, cracking pops. “To be perfectly honest, I was convinced I would rot in that cell until the end of my days.”

“Are you not immortal?” Cera asked warily.

Grimshaw merely scratched his neck, muttering, “Tch.” Despite their collective exhaustion, the small company was now closing the final kilometers to Krysta’s fortress.

“In any case, why did she have you chained in such a manner?” Cera pressed.

“She is insane,” Grimshaw stated, his eyes turning to chips of ice. “Utterly, stark-raving mad.”

“When we find her, before we end her life, that is what I want to ask. Why? Why do any of this?”

“I regret to inform you, little girl,” Grimshaw said grimly, “but she will have no answers for you.”

Just as Cera was about to inquire what he meant, Cy ran up from the rear of the group, his face a mask of profound dread.

“Cera!” he panted. “It’s… gone.”

“What is?” Her eyes widened in alarm. Grimshaw observed the exchange with sharp interest.

“Carmine’s set of four bombs,” Cy said, his voice taut with strain. “The entire case. I went to check on it, since we are nearly there. It has vanished. None of us can locate it.”

“You do not think… they have it?” Cera’s voice climbed an octave. “That night…”

“Astra was the only one who saw them escape. And now she is dead.”

Cera chewed on her lower lip. “This is not good.”

“No, it is not.”

Grimshaw let out a short, harsh laugh. “So, Krysta’s army managed to pilfer a set of bombs from directly under your noses?”

“That is how it appears,” Cy admitted.

“Tch,” Grimshaw grunted. “This only means things are becoming more interesting.”

“You do not understand,” Cera said, her voice trembling slightly. “Those were not ordinary explosives. They are the next generation, an improvement on the original design. They are programmable. You can designate targets, and the blast will only affect those specific individuals.”

The color drained from Grimshaw’s face. “Then we are all doomed.”

“Perhaps not,” Cy said, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Ventus! Ignis! Get over here!”

The twins approached, Ventus stifling a yawn while Ignis looked incensed at being summoned.

“Do either of you know the whereabouts of your father, Shen Tai?” Cy demanded.

“How dare you even mention him?” Ignis’s eyes flashed with fury. “That is none of your concern.”

“We are making it your concern,” Cera cut in, her tone sharp. “Find him. Find him and drag his apologetic self here. Carmine created a counter-measure for the bombs.”

Ventus swallowed hard. “This is serious.”

“Go. Now.”

They bowed their heads and began to run eastward.

“Wait,” Grimshaw said, raising a hand. “If you wish to find Shen Tai, I can assist. The spirits of my friends knew him, years ago. They should possess enough of a connection to manifest before him.”

Ignis turned back to the famous warrior. “That sounds plausible in theory, but ghosts will have little influence over our old man.”

“Even for us,” Ventus added quietly, “there is a significant chance he would turn us away.”

“He detests you that much, does he?”

“No,” Ignis snapped. “It is not that. He lost his sanity a long time ago. These days, every person he encounters is an enemy.”

“Well, ghosts can travel faster than you two can run, at any rate,” Cera decided. “Grimshaw, we will attempt your method first. How long will it take?”

“Within the day,” Grimshaw growled. “They have already heard me. But they cannot manifest in direct sunlight, so you will not see them yet.”

With that matter partially resolved, the group soon marched into the clearing where the supply warehouse had once stood.

Cera stopped abruptly, staring at the charred ruins. “No,” she whispered. “This was the place. I am certain of it.”

Grimshaw spat on the ground and swore under his breath. Argent and Cy knelt, running their fingers over the blackened timber.

Red leaned in close. “What is it? Did you find something?”

“Yes,” Cy said grimly. “Argent, you see it as well?”

Argent nodded, his expression somber. “This was magical fire.”

“Perla…?” Cera breathed.

“Yes,” Cy confirmed, his face hardening into a mask of grim resolve. “She did this.”

“But—what does that mean for us?” Cera wondered aloud.

A woman’s cruel cackle echoed through the desolate clearing.

“What does it mean, indeed?” Krysta emerged from the deep shadows of the trees, a wicked scythe held loosely in her hand. Her face contorted into a mask of pure hatred as she swung it in a gleaming, deadly arc. “Why, it is simple! It means this is an ambush. And for that, Cy, you have your beloved, deceased sister to thank.”

The purple-haired boy collapsed to his knees, a raw, agonized scream tearing from his throat.

“That is not true!” Cera yelled, scrambling out of the way. “You are lying! Perla is alive, she has to be!”

“No way…” Cy murmured, his eyes fixed on his empty hands as if he could still feel his sister’s presence there.

“Cy, get up!” Cera shrieked in terror as Krysta swung the scythe again, its blade whistling perilously close to him.

Grimshaw snarled, his body tensing. In a blur of motion, he was in front of Cy, his own rusty sword blocking the attack with a loud shriek of protesting metal. The ancient blade cracked and groaned under the immense strain.

Krysta curled her lip in contempt. “My, my. I see they exhumed you from your grave,” she hissed. “Well, I will not complain. It simply means I finally have the opportunity to sever your head myself.”

Grimshaw laughed, a wild and desperate sound. “This is for my wife, you bitch!” he roared, and with a powerful shove, he thrust the splintered hilt of his broken sword deep into her stomach.

Krysta’s eyes widened in shock. She staggered backward, pulling the broken blade from her abdomen. “You will pay for that, scumbag. Men!”

From the surrounding trees, Jiro and thirty other soldiers rushed toward the small group, their weapons drawn and their faces set for a bloody confrontation.