Chapter 9:
The First Echo of Tempered Steel
Setting Sun Story: Beta
The Deacons’ High Tower - The Liberators - 10:30 AM
The interior of the Deacons’ High Tower resembles a courtroom. The front half of the room leading in from the door, is a large flat surface, with a circular etching at its center; upon which is in white, the wide armed man, the symbol of the Savior. Behind this symbol, the rest of the room raises up into platforms and rows of wooden desks.The walls, denying the round shape of the exterior, create an octagon, and fitted on each is a metal torch; always burning. Embedded in the ceiling, opening the room up to feel much larger than it is, is a giant skylight, drawing in the image of the sky’s orb, the red moon.
Kneeling before the pews, all in attendance but one, are the Liberators: Taron, Zalach, Erin, and Jun. No longer are the two New Bloods in uniform, but now are dressed for combat.
Along his legs are flat protective pads, integrated at the knees and on long elements of his pants. He wears heavy combat boots, great for face stomping.
On his back is a long-sword, loosely strapped by belt to be easily manipulated and drawn from any necessary position.
She walks in small, ankle high dancer’s shoes, and wears black fingerless gloves, with a reflective silver-like metal protruding around the wrists.
Tied at her hips are four chakram, bladed rings that after being twirled around an arm or finger, can be thrown to easily cut through bone. Grabbing them tightly won't allow the blade to slip against the palm, allowing her to wield them as close range weapons as well.
A spare is attached on each side. They clack and clank whenever she runs, as if eagerly waiting to be thrown.
Having spoken to Arrabelle, Zalach has retrieved his precious great-sword, which rests hilt up at his side.
On his waist is a satchel, inside, the wrapped object presented to him the night before.
Watching over them are the Deacons. In their eyes burn a ferocity, a deep gaze brighter than all else. As is tradition, the red of their vision seems to bleed into their red robes with gold hemming laced upon the sleeves and down their sides. Such a sinister presence drowns out any other features.
“Chosen few, a perilous circumstance has fallen upon Baustas,” opens the Head Deacon in a low, rumbling tone.
The Head Deacon wears with pride a bald head, small nose and boundless ear-to-ear smile that remains tucked just beneath the surface on this day.
Taron looks up from his position, as the pupils of every face turn to him.
The Head Deacon squints down at him. These two have been in coordination for thirty years.
The Head Deacon does little more than shake his head.
While Taron struggles to continue arguing, Jun looks over to Erin.
She shakes her head, but peers past him, to the empty space where Rain should be.
“You think Rain’s okay?” She whispers back.
“Erin!” She says a little too loud.
As she regains her balance, Erin leans back over, watching the Deacons carefully to see that they’re still in conversation with Taron.
“He could’ve died, I thought you were better than that...”
“To think I let you come over today,” Jun utters. Erin raises an eyebrow.
“And why won’t you tell me what those lights coming from your wind-” He’s cut off before he can finish. Jun blushes.
“If we could have your most valuable attention?” the Head Deacon asks, looking over to the New Bloods.
“The truth of the matter is such: we couldn’t, and still yet cannot stop an assault on the walls of Baustas, and most certainly not the local perimeters,” the Head Deacon announces.
“War will break out in this sacred realm. Nobody can halt this but you six, chosen by the Savior.”
Jun balls her fist in an attempt to stop her arm from shaking. A city such as this, one that had done so well to protect her, to grant her new life. Even in the wake of this sudden news, she’ll never let it die.
Erin looks over to her, hoping to sap just an ounce of her courage. He sucks in air through gritted teeth and open lips.
“Troublemakers indeed. But I can tell… the Savior has smiled upon these children, Chosen One.”
Southern Main Road - Taron - 11:05 AM
“I can only hope that’s enough for them,” Taron says to himself, standing in the center of the cobbled street, removing the spear from his back and readying it.As civilians are ordered by allied soldiers to flee past them toward the most protected zone of the city: the North, Zalach walks around Taron’s back, and throws his great-sword over his shoulder, planting himself on Taron’s right.
“Talkin’ to yourself, old man?” He says jokingly.
Zalach extends a hand onto Taron’s shoulder.
“Hey! I trained one of ‘em!” Zalach says, pulling his thumb to himself and puffing out his chest at Taron.
“Your daughter’s too,” Zalach finishes with a more serious tone, side-eying Taron as he readies himself as well. “Speaking of her, you think she’s gonna be okay?”
Giant patches of blue light descend as the artillery attacks begin above, painting the rows of houses along the South End in strange grays and purples as it slaps at the red of the sky.
The seasoned warriors watch it continue in silence, unable to act against it.
As a sound like a giant hollow tube being rushed with air explodes overhead, the strikes begin to fall inward on the fortress.
“Oooh man. Years of work, down the drain,” Zalach says, looking up.
Around them, though not stirring their instincts, the balls of blue that pelted what seemed to be a barrier in the sky, now drop to the streets, exploding on contact with the ground.
As Taron brings his helmet down over his head, his eyes locking in place with the hollow shell of the wolf, Zalach decides that it is time to cut the jokes.
“It’s a pleasure to be the front line with ya, boss.”
“Are you ready for your going away party?”
A smile growing on his face, he hunkers down.
“I’m right beside you.”
“And I, you.”
The Southern gate, once thought unmovable, a relic of a world long past, suddenly shakes.
Afterward, in a split second, the world outside pours in. Smoke sucks into the city as the door is blown wide open, leaving Taron and Zalach blind.
For a few moments there is nothing more, only a similar sound booming elsewhere to the East, echoing across the metropolis.
“Brace yourself!” He yells.
Zalach tightens his grip. Emerging beside the sole light, two more spawn and press through, as breaking the smoke behind them, flying machines hovering a few feet from the ground speed down the road.
In no time, the speeders are only feet away. Standing on them like jet skis, are riders, dressed in large white trench coats strapped with blades to act as small lances; an outfit completed with round goggles.
They crank the throttles, turning up the potency on blue lines that pulse and carve through the shape of the machine, causing the light to move down from the handles to the emitters at the bottom.
The one heading for Taron takes the lead, an aura of blueish mirage expelling from it.
The first rider reveals his short blade from behind his back. It too is white, with a glowing blue gem encrusted in the center of the hilt.
“Isn’t that…?” Zalach starts before Taron takes off.
If not for his immense strength, such down-force would’ve left Taron’s head in the ground.
He runs onward, leaving the two riders to face Zalach.
“You are something else, boss,” Zalach admits.
He kicks his foot into the ground, blasting off a burst of Wind that carries him toward the rider.
Without time to react, the rider faces the oncoming blow of Zalach’s blade. In a last ditch effort, he white-knuckles the controls and pushes down, trying to force the speeder below Zalach’s range of attack.
He fails.
Zalach looks back, hoping to finish off the other soldier, but finds the rider surrounded by an army of allies behind him, cheering on the chosen ones, ready to help.
With excess garnish, their armor flows beautifully out into white coats, covering whitened steel chest plates with large neck-guards, every one of them engraved with immaculate spiraling designs.
They march in unison, holding their blades to their faces, working together to expand the glow of the blinding gems. The leader of this charge is far bigger than any mere man.
The hefty mass is veiled over in a thick white sheet; bulging out at his heavy armor’s edges. He and his like brandish large axes, the source of the spotlight in the smoke.
Behind him are two followers, and behind them, an army of immeasurable size.
The leader remains silent, his sluggish movements reminiscent of some earthen golem or automaton.
“I’m sure it’s already in effect,” the second follower says, leaning over.
The follower is defended by the ax carrying leader, but the effect has already begun. As he aims to bring his weapon in front of him, his adrenaline spikes and his vision tunnels. He drops his blade to the ground, clutching his right wrist.
Before Taron’s eyes, unable to look away from the metamorphosis despite the heaving brute of a warrior in front of him, this grunt, so cruelly placed at the front line, has his body worked through; everything beneath the surface seeming to melt and reform uncontrollably. In a heartbeat, the soldier becomes something else.
Author's Note-
It's time for those ugly scene headers to finally be useful! Everything from here on out takes place overlapping one another, so watch out for those to keep track of the timeline!
You can resume reading from this paragraph.
Please log in to leave a comment.