Chapter 22:
Fleeing Seeds, and the Forsaken Blade
Setting Sun Story: Beta
East End Rubble - Adam - Evening
Adam wakes up to the sight of the ground bobbing up and down beneath him, and the feeling of a rod slapping against his face.
As his interpretation expands, he realizes that he’s being draped over the back of the white coated man, his contained spear continually bouncing as they run.
It nails Adam a few more times.
The carrier stops, and Adam looks up behind his ride to find Arrabelle, wide-eyed and white as a ghost.
He slithers out from his saddle, crawling onto the stone of the alleyway pavement.
She looks down at him, a finger to her lips, pleading with him to keep quiet.
The hand on his chest flattens and pushes harder, practically ripping the air from his lungs.
It stops, and points to something just beyond his view.
The slow march is followed by a low reverberating growl.
And a few moments later, it does.
Arrabelle takes a heavy breath, lifting herself from the floor, and clambering over the rubble.
A white glove is handed down in Adam’s direction.
“What’s going on?” Adam asks him at full volume.
“For starters,” he says in a calm, yet urgent demeanor, “keep your voice down, Doofus.”
“Where are we going then?” He calls over them.
“The Luminian forces are moving in toward the City Center. We were told to reach the tower at all costs. Only second priority was to slaughter everything we see,” the foreigner informs him with self-disgusted steel blue eyes.
“The Deacons’ High Tower?” Adam asks her.
“Gives one opportunity to live... Aside from that, thing. So we’re taking it,” Arrabelle admits.
“But… all these people…” Adam questions with somber eyes.
“Well if you have some kind of lingering latent power, speak up now. But as far as I know, the three of us can’t take on an army,” Arrabelle lectures.
After a few steps:
Both of the older escapees freeze. Arrabelle throws her hands to her head.
Adam purses his lips, remembering his order. Arrabelle leans in closer.
“G-got it,” he returns hastily.
“I think we’re clear for now. C’mon,” he beckons.
Central Square - Taron - Night
“Captain! We got a problem!”
The white-clad forces have slipped into the square, leaving the last of the Baustians to crowd around the steps to the High Tower.
The central square is absolutely destroyed. The café looks as though the a train was driven straight through one end to the other, the marble fountain is now a flat surface, and two halves of a dragon’s corpse hit so hard they seem to be embedded in the side of a building on the Northwestern side of the square.
With the West End sealed off by the crumbled tower, only two approach from that direction: Erin and Jun.
He drives forward, blowing back every guard, ripping to the side, killing all three. Grabbing a shield-bearing ally to defend the position, Taron falls back to receive his unit.
“Get a grip on yourself,” Taron barks, shaking the redheaded New Blood.
“There it is,” she says, spotting the rim of a white light folding over the fallen tower.
The spinning rings of metal are the next to come, circling fast as the source of the light begins to appear.
“The Deacon’s orders must be superseded to claim victory. Does that make me more or less of a true patriot?” Taron asks the coming light.
The object in white cloth falls from its package.
The guard itself defends not the hand, but the second-most peculiar thing on its design, apart from the baton-like attacking end. A large crystal of translucent sanguine coating the long hilt spins freely as Taron brushes it with his off-hand fingers, like an engine powering the weapon.
The Saturation caused by the crystal continues to grow, glowing so furiously around the sword that it changes shape, a dark red ooze, liquidated Aether, slowly bubbling and washing down the blade.
This is the gift of the Chosen One, a tempered fire surging through every limb in his body. A warm blessing that calms the mind so softly that war feels like ecstasy.
The Deacons’ High Tower - The Liberators - The Night Before the Fall
“Taron, Zalach… We thank you for joining us,” the Head Deacon announces, officially beginning this proper initiation.
“Likewise,” Zalach drops, retaining just a sliver seriousness uncommon of him.
Zalach smiles back.
“As is known now, the New Blood has been selected for the first time in twenty years, and of course, it is our plan to continue improving and adding upon the Special Tasks unit as time permits,” the Head Deacon states.
“Of course,” Taron confirms.
“This will lead to new and expansive missions, operations, and a reinforced guard of the city. This new Special Tasks will be a reformed era for the Savior’s guardians. As such… the Chosen One must outfitted accordingly.”
“Chosen One? Upon whom-?” Taron begins to ask.
“Taron Tallsoul! How many years have you served the Savior?” The Head Deacon asks.
“To the day,” the Head Deacon smiles.
In his hands, the rapier of white metal.
“What is this?” He inquires of the Deacon.
Zalach turns his head away entirely.
Taron hesitates for a moment.
He reaches his hand out, grabbing the base.
“You feel it?” The Deacon questions.
“The Savior has accepted you.”
Taron holds the blade to the air, standing before the smiling Deacon as he shakes his bald head.
Central Square - Taron - Night
“With me, Jun!” Erin yells as the Old Angel Monstrosity blinks one of its animated stone eyes.
A blast of its ray blows the collapsed tower open, and begins to carve up the square toward Taron and team.
The two nod, signing Chaos in front of them.
It’s useless, carving right back through their assault.
The beam curves upward at the wolf-faced warrior, who, jamming the rapier into the path of the beam, slashes against it, a line of Chaos firing out from the weapon, straight into the charged eye.
There is a surge at Taron’s legs.
Seeing him in its many eyes, the stone rings begin to act as a defensive shield, swinging around and around, blocking a straight shot at the being of light in the middle.
With a supernova of intense light, he disappears into the Old Angel, masking the entire square in a moment of uncertainty…
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