Valiant

[Valiant #47: Alliances of Necessity]

Log Date: 3/14/12765

Data Sources: Feroce Acceso, Kiwi

Journal Of An Unknown Maskling

2/15/10732

It was an unsettling experience, and one that has left me with a number of concerns.

As the Council had requested, my battalion and I tracked the missing vessel to a world on the fringe of Collective space. We discovered evidence of a Collective outpost there, freshly abandoned, though the biomass still tainted the land. My soldiers wanted to torch it on the spot; even when there are no Symbiotes present, a Collective structure will slowly expand and try to assimilate its surroundings, producing spores all the while. It is why it is so hard to reclaim positions held by the Collective; each one effectively becomes a biohazard site.

I had my soldiers hold off on purging the outpost so we could do a proper walkthrough and check for potential leads on whether the crew of the missing vessel had been held there. We did find some personal effects that may’ve come from the crew; the outpost’s interior appears to have been structured in the interest of research, rather than as a military position. They left almost no devices behind — were it not for the fact that I have a few Gazers in my battalion, then we would not have known what they were studying at this outpost. And there are some in my battalion who wish that we had not found out.

Because it turns out they were studying us — Masklings.

With their ability to gaze into the past to varying degrees, the Gazers at my disposal were able to relay that the crew of the missing vessel had been brought to the outpost, and put through a series of experiments, seemingly with the purpose of trying to induce assimilation or otherwise examine the particular mechanisms of our species’ hybridism. I had heard whispers of this in the past — that the Collective had an interest in our species, because of our ability to resist assimilation through controlling what biological characteristics we express in our physical form — but I had never given it much credence, because it had only ever been a whispered rumor. Our people number less than fifteen billion across all our combined worlds and colonies; even though the Collective cannot assimilate us, we are not a large species, and we do not number nearly enough to pose a threat to them. I had not thought our people would warrant that kind of attention from the Collective.

Yet here I am, penning these words, because I cannot deny the consensus that my Gazers reached after they studied the outpost’s past.

After we had gleaned all the information from the outpost that we could, I gave my soldiers permission to scorch the site. The Collective must’ve had advance knowledge of our pursuit, which would explain why they abandoned the site just prior to our arrival; they have fled with the captured Masklings, deeper into Collective territory. My heart yearns towards those that were taken; I cannot imagine their suffering as labrats for the Collective to experiment upon. Were it feasible to pursue and rescue them, I would take my battalion and do so, but the Collective group that took them is headed in the direction of a Collective world, and my vessel and its battalion lack the speed and stealth capability that would allow for an extraction from heavily populated enemy territory. I cannot put my soldiers at risk for a mission whose chance of success is so low.

I will report back to the Council, explain what we found, lay my concerns before them, and give them my recommendations. Perhaps this will be the impetus they need to shift their opinion on the development of a superweapon for the Cradle, and for our nation at large. If this does prove the tipping point, I only regret that that it will be the loss of some of our people that has helped them come to their senses. To often is this case with politicians — that nothing is done, and nothing is changed, until blood is spilled and lives are lost.

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Losinadae Ring: Sector 19

6:01pm SGT

“You sure you’ll be able to do this?”

Kiwi’s voice pulls me out of my ruminations. I look to the side, expecting to see her vaguely annoyed; but she looks concerned instead. Worried about whether I could handle this mission, of course, but maybe not for the reasons I assumed she’d be worried.

“I’ll be able to do it. I’ve fought him before; I’ll fight him again.” I say, tracing the outline of one of the hilts hooked on my belt. “He needs to answer for what he’s done. Even though I’m pretty sure I already know what his answer’s going to be, but it still needs to be said.”

“What will his answer be?” she asks, tucking her hands in her jacket pockets.

“That this… atrocity, that this massacre, was ordained by Anaya.” I say, staring across the open space between our current position and the control complex where Prophet and his soldiers are entrenched. The control complex itself is built into the side of a massive launcher tube, three miles wide and twenty miles long, that runs from the inner side of the ring all the way to the outer side of the ring. “That it was necessary, that it will help push back the Collective and eradicate their stain from the galaxy, so on and so forth. And then he’ll go on to say that’s why the weapon needs to be fired again, as many times as possible, while he still has the chance to do so. There’ll be no remorse, no recognition of the pain and loss that it’s caused.”

“I mean, I’m not exactly shedding any tears over one less Collective world.” she says, glancing towards the control complex. “I get where he’s coming from, at least on this issue. Everybody’s scared of the Collective; nobody likes what they do. I wouldn’t go as far as scorching a whole planet, but something should be done about them.”

“Something. Not this, though.” I say, trailing off when I hear the lumbering thunder of a mech walker behind us. Turning about, I see the Shrike in its bipedal configuration clomping in our direction, the rotary cannon arms on either side primed and connected to the belt feeders. Renchiko’s in the cockpit, kitted out in her armored plugsuit, with her visored helm on; this’ll be the first time she’s piloting the Shrike into an actual combat engagement.

“There’s our fire support.” Kiwi says, turning and walking in that direction as Renchiko brings the Shrike to a standing stop near the armored ATVs that CURSE will be deploying for this operation. “I’m gonna go start slapping runes on that thing. Forecast said he could help me get a strong shield enchantment put together for it, one that could weather at least a few direct hits from Prophet’s big boomstick.”

“Tell him not to skimp on it. There’ll be precious cargo behind that shield.” I call as she heads off, passing Ridge as she goes. I wait til he reaches me before speaking again. “You ready for this?”

“Can’t believe you’ve got us working with CURSE.” he mutters, tugging at the sleeve of the Agent jacket he’s been given. Technically he’s not an Agent yet, since he’s still a few months shy of eighteen, but for a mission like this, we need every edge we can get — and he’s been picking up some neat tricks as he starts to delve deeper into his Crystallizer abilities. “Even after everything they’ve done to us… everything they’ve done to you, everything Nova did to you… and you’ll still work with them?”

“I’m not going to let my rivalry with Nova stand in the way of the greater good.” I say, looking back to the control complex. “The galaxy doesn’t revolve around me. Sometimes we have to put aside our personal issues to work towards something bigger than ourselves, to make a difference we can only make as part of a larger group. I want you to learn that, to see that you’re part of something bigger than yourself. It’s part of the reason why we do what we do.”

“If that’s the case, are you sure you can handle that crackhead pastor? Since he used to be your friend and everything.” Ridge claps back. “If you’d killed him all the times Kiwi told you to, he never would’ve had the chance to fire this death ray he’s put together.”

“Perhaps not. But if it wasn’t him, then it would’ve been someone else.” I say, taking in the terrain between us and the control complex. With much of the ring still under construction, certain portions of the floor are missing, not having been laid down yet. The ring’s exposed machinery is visible through those empty portions, some of it also still needing installation, and some of it damaged by stray blasts from Prophet’s staff. “Things like this aren’t built in a week. This weapon is something they’ve probably been working on for months, if not years. If Prophet hadn’t fired it, then someone else would’ve. There’s plenty more people like him; probably not as charismatic, but having the same set of beliefs and holding them just as firmly. Things like this aren’t carried on the shoulders of one person; there’s always a machine behind it, an organization of like-minded individuals that do most of the work to make it a reality.”

“Yeah. But the people in charge matter.” Ridge pushes back. “Someone’s gotta lead the machine. Someone’s gotta sell the mission to the muscle. That’s why people like you and Nova and Prophet are in charge, calling the shots. You guys know how to get people to believe in stuff, to push and fight for it. Get rid of the guy in charge, and it gets a lot harder to finish the mission.”

The astuteness of his observation catches me off guard, to the point that I don’t have a ready response for it. “I wouldn’t say I’m in charge of the Valiant. I’m present on most of the major missions, but that’s it.”

“You’re in charge, Songbird. You’re the one that had the final word in both of the negotiations with CURSE.” Ridge points out. “Nobody argued with you. Nobody wants to argue with you after what happened on Kasvei. Other people in Command make decisions, but everyone knows where the real power power behind the Valiant is. That’s why they listen when you speak up.”

My impulse it to immediately deny it, say that it’s not true, but I don’t. Even if I don’t want to accept it, I know there’s some level of truth to it, and I’m not entirely comfortable with that. Nor do I have the bandwidth to reckon with it right now; I can’t afford distractions with this assault we’re about to launch, so I change the subject. “This is going to be your first major operation. You remember your training?”

“Yeah. I know what to do. No stupid shit.” he says, pulling open his jacket to reveal that he’s got his stunner holstered at his side, along with the Challenger knife that he got from Sierra. Lined up along with it are a series of blue crystal shards, crudely shaped in the semblance of small knives; he’s been working on creating his own weapons out of the crystal he can extrude, though it takes time and a fair amount of calories, from what I’ve gathered. Pulling one of the knife shards from the inside of his jacket, he flips it in the air while holding out his other hand. The air around the shard bends and ripples as it disappears at the top of its arc, warping into the air above his other hand. “Got a few new tricks up my sle— ow! Shit.” He grimaces and fumbles with the knife, which came out of the air with the pointy end towards his hand.

I can’t help but smile a little at that, reaching over and ruffling his hair. “You’re halfway there. Keep working on it. Don’t worry about getting fancy until you’ve got the basics down.”

“The balance was off.” he grumbles, pressing his nicked hand against his shirt while he uses the other one to tuck the shard back in his jacket. “I’m gonna go see if the triage tent can spare some liquid bandage.”

“Make it quick. It won’t be long before the operation begins.” I say as he starts heading back to the medical tent that’s been set up in the back. Returning my attention to the control complex, I take a deep breath and tuck my hands in my jacket pockets.

I might have backup this time, but I’m not looking forward to a rematch with Prophet.

Event Log: Kiwi

Losinadae Ring: Sector 19

6:51pm SGT

“You sure this is going to work?” Renchiko’s voice comes through the earbud that I’ve got in. I’m currently hanging on the shoulder of her big old jet mech as it lumbers across the space between the staging area and the control complex. We’re starting to come up on the zone where a few burnt-out husks of military vehicles can be seen scattered around, and it’s a pretty clear indicator of the effective range of Prophet’s staff.

“Relax, kid. Just because you can’t see the shield doesn't mean it isn’t there.” I say, speaking over the regular thumping of the mech’s metal feet. “It’s a spot shield enchantment. It activates when it senses a projectile inbound, that way it only kicks on when you need it, and isn’t draining your power by maintaining a continuous shield. Masklings use it all the time during combat deployments.”

“I’ve never heard of something like that before.” she mutters through the comms.

“Yeah, well, I’ve never heard of a jet that transforms into a walking weapons platform, but here I am hanging off the side of one.” I retort. “All you need to know is that it works and you’ll be safe. I wouldn’t be out here hanging off the side of your mech if it wasn’t.”

“I suppose that’s some kind of endorsement.” she says as we pass a burned-out tank. “And you’re here to bolster it in case it can’t handle whatever Prophet’s throwing at us?”

“Spot on. If it struggles to handle what Prophet sends our way, I’ll pump a little juice into it to cover the gap.” I say, checking one of the temporary runes imprinted into the metal of the mech’s shoulder flap. “Besides, I don’t think we’ll have to weather more than a few hits. The moment he takes a shot at us, we lock onto the spot he fired from, you spin up those big ol’ cannons, and shred that part of the complex with thirty rounds per second. He might have a suit of heavy power armor, but it won’t mean much if he’s getting pummeled with dozens of six-inch coilgun spikes in the space of a few seconds.”

“Don’t we want him alive, though?” Renchiko points out.

“I don’t want him alive. Songbird or CURSE might.” I say quickly. “Do you want him alive?”

“Not really, the dude’s kinda crazy and he killed an entire planet full of people…”

“Then don’t worry about whether or not he’ll survive it. Pull the trigger when he gives away his position, and if he dies in a hail of spikes, great; if not, then Songbird will deal with whatever’s left over. All that matters is that we stop this dude before he gets to press the genocide button again.”

“You sure have a way with words.” Renchiko mutters before the our conversation is broken up.

“Movement on the fourth floor, prepare for contact.” The words come from one of the spotter teams that’s monitoring the control complex from outside of engagement range. “Vehicle teams, prepare to advance.”

“Here we go.” I say, leaning forward a little to place my hand on the monitor rune that’ll allow me to get a sense of how the enchantment’s holding up. “You’ll probably be looking for a bright yellow light—”

“Like that one?” she says, the golden gleam at one of the fourth-floor windows clearly catching her attention as well as mine.

“That’s it! Quick, lock onto it—” I hiss as the gleam quickly ramps up to a blaze of yellow light hurtling in our direction. A red film flares to life around the mech, barely half a second before the pulse reaches us; it hits the shield and detonates, arcs of yellow energy whiplashing away from the smoke and fire. The impact sounds like someone slamming on drum, a single bass tone as the blast force is distributed across the surface of the shield.

“Survived the first hit, keep your fingers on the triggers and wait for the smoke to clear, kid.” I grunt as the red film in front of us starts to fade away. “Soon as we’ve got line of sight to the spot where he fired from, you let rip.”

“Can’t wait that long.” she grunts back. “Gonna blind-fire. He won’t see it coming while we’re covered by the smoke cloud. Cover your ears.”

I barely manage to get my hood over my head and pulled tight before the rotary cannons start spinning, letting out the deafening bzzzzzrrrpppp of dozens of high-caliber coilgun spikes being unleashed at supersonic speed. I can feel the vibrations through the mech’s hull, along with the chatter of spikes clicking through the belt feeders at high speed, and barely audible through all of it, Sierra giving the order to engage. “Boomstick is suppressed! Vehicle teams, go, go, go!”

In front of us, the smoke cloud is starting to clear as Renchiko eases up on the cannons; they remain spinning, but stop spitting out coilgun spikes. It’s still a little hazy, but we I can see that the part of the fourth floor where attack came from is now completely shredded, portions of the exterior wall completely missing, other parts hanging tattered, and the rest of that area riddled with holes. “Spotter, can you confirm target elimination?” Renchiko demands.

“Negative. Interior movement, towards the left along the same floor, originating from the point of attack, target possibly alive—”

“Not on my watch.” Renchiko growls, the bzzzzzzrrrrp starting up again without warning as she starts strafing the entire fourth floor, from the destroyed region leftwards. Windows shatter, panels denting and warping as coilgun spikes punch through them, leaving an erratic trail of destruction across the side of the complex.

“Whoa girl, ease up! It’s just one guy, save some spikes for his soldiers!” I say, rapping the canopy.

“We can’t let him get off another shot like that, especially if he’s aiming at the vehicle teams, not us.” Renchiko replies, though she does ease off the cannons at my request. “They don’t have a shield like we do.”

“Spotter, can you keep an eye on the fourth floor and let us know if you see any sign of Prophet again?” I ask as the rumbling of the ATVs gets closer.

Something that sounds like a crack of thunder drowns out the reply, and to the left, a heated line snaps into existence, lancing somewhere into the decimated fourth floor, and quickly fades away. “Gossamer here. I will keep an eye on the fourth floor and make sure Prophet keeps his head down unless he wants his brains decorating the back wall. Mech pilot, focus your fire support on the barricades that the zealots have set up across the first floor.”

The way Renchiko turns her helm, I can tell she’s looking back at me as if for confirmation. “I don’t like it either, kid, but do what she tells you. We’re here to get the job done, not fight over how we do it.” I say, starting to slide down the side of the mech, landing on one of the leg assemblies, and dropping to the ground from there. “Vehicle teams are almost here, I gotta catch a ride with Songbird now. Play it smart and remember to communicate. I’ll see you on the other side.”

With that, I walk away from the mech by about fifteen feet, turning to look behind us. A mix of CURSE and Valiant vehicles are headed this way, crossing the expanse while Renchiko occasionally strafes the first floor the complex whenever she spots movement behind the fortifications. The vehicles are spread out, some further forward, some further behind, and for good reason — explosive munitions do more damage to clumped-up groups of vehicles.

“Hey there, darling.” Songbird’s voice comes through my earbud. “Mind stepping away from the mech so we’ve got a bit more clearance to pick you up?”

“Really?” I reply, walking away from the mech another ten feet or so as some of the troop vehicles go rushing past, some with CURSE operatives clinging to their sides, others with Valiant Agents hanging on the backs and roofs. “The driver isn’t that bad, is he?”

“Oi! I resent that!” Sierra’s voice comes through the comms as one of the Valiant ARTVs starts to slow down as it nears me. Songbird’s hanging out the side of it, and I turn and start running, so that I’m at moving speed when they reach me. Songbird holds an arm out for me as they pass by, and I grab it and jump onto the ARTV with him as he pulls me into the backseat.

“Unbelievable. Raggin’ on my driving skills.” Sierra says from the driver’s seat. “Can’t get no respect from the youth nowadays.”

“You are the youth, Sierra.” Valkyrie drily remarks from the shotgun seat.

“I’m thirteen thousand years old!” Sierra declares defiantly.

“Then perhaps try acting like it every now and then?” Songbird suggests, pulling the door shut as we get settled into our seats.

“Hush! I don’t need sass from a baby vampire that’s less than half a century old.” Sierra says, sticking her tongue out. “Let’s focus on the mission. Who’s ready to kick some prophetic ass?!”

“Assuming he survived the initial volley that Renchiko sent at him.” Valkyrie says as more coilgun spikes go hissing by overhead. “She was very liberal with her suppression fire…”

“Hey, it’s the kid’s first time taking the big guns into battle.” I say, shaking my wristmarks to life. “Cut her some slack, she’s prolly a little nervous. And it’s a joint operation, on top of that, with people we’d normally consider our enemies. Lot of pressure on her shoulders right now.”

“Eyes up, they’re tryin’ to mount a defense.” Sierra says as intermittent plasma bolts start to streak towards our vehicles from the windows on the first floor of the control complex. I soon realize that coilgun spikes are being fired at us as well, but they’re simply less visible as compared to the plasma bolts. The suppression fire from Renchiko’s mech picks up as well, strafing portions of the building where it seems like the plasma bolts are coming from. “CURSE’s shock squad is gonna get there first and clear the way for us. Songbird, Kiwi, you think you can skip the first floor and go straight to the second?”

“Honestly, I’d prefer it. Too many cooks in the kitchen and all that.” Songbird says, pulling out his stunner and powering it on. “CURSE can clean out the first floor. Kiwi and I will go straight for the second and make our way to the master control room in the complex. If we haven’t come across Prophet by the time we’ve shut it down, we’ll start to search the complex for him after that.”

“Jackrabbit, Jetfire, and the others can clear the second floor if you two want to go straight to the third.” Valkyrie offers. “An attack on multiple fronts may push Prophet’s forces to the breaking point. We’ll have fewer bodies to clean up if we can get some of them to surrender.”

Sierra snorts. “Good luck with that. Prophet’s people are probably just as crazy as he is. They’re fanatic enough to desert the COS military and follow his orders instead, so I doubt you’ll catch them trying to surrender.”

“If they don’t want to surrender, I don’t have a problem with stackin' bodies.” I say, rolling my shoulders as my pauldron runes comes to life. “Songbird and I can take the third floor. I can bust out my wings and get us up there, and it’ll get us to the master control room up on the fourth floor faster.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. We’ll join you two up two once we clear the other floors.” Sierra says, starting to slow the ARTV down as we near the control complex. “Alright kiddos, let’s get in there and jack ‘em up. Can’t have CURSE making us look bad by letting them actually pull their weight.”

She throws the brakes and spins the wheel so the ARTV comes to a screeching, sliding halt just short of the barricades that have been set up, and we spill out of the vehicle. Most of the other vehicles have already arrived, with operatives and Agents already breaching the building at multiple points, and others providing cover fire from behind the armored vehicles. The air is thick with the crackle of coilgun rifles and the fizzing of plasma bolts; inside the first floor, there are countless muzzle flashes from ongoing firefights, and the occasional burst of light from a grenade. At a distance, I can see the armored outline of Axiom as he charges in at the front of his squad, tanking the gunfire so his operatives can advance.

“Been a while since I’ve done a castle storming.” I grunt as I climb up on the roof of the ARTV, with Songbird following me. “Always a messy affair, but that’s kinda what I like about it.”

“You enjoy the weirdest things.” he says, clambering up behind me as my pauldron runes lift off my shoulders and start to flatten together, spreading out and taking the shape of layered wings. “Bit of a jump to get up to the third floor. You gonna need any juice?”

“I should be able to make it, though if you want to donate a little bit, I won’t say no.” I say as I walk around behind him, getting my arms around him as I flare my wings. “You gonna be ready to kick ass and take names once we’re up there?”

“I got my ass-kickin’ boots on and a few decent songs lined up, so let’s roll.” he says, hooking one of his hilts off his belt and igniting the starglass blade.

“Aighty. Hang on tight.” I say as I bend my knees, rune circles printing themselves on the ground around my boots. When I shunt my wings down at the same time I jump upwards, the ARTV rocks slightly as we go hurtling into the air. Songbird lets out a grunt as he’s yanked along with me, bringing his legs up as we rush past the second floor, and as soon as we reach the third-floor window, he kicks them out, the glass shattering under his heels. The hole isn’t really big enough for us, but our momentum carries us through anyway, punching an even wider hole in the window as we stagger into the hall within.

Letting go of Songbird, the first thing I do is twist around and take stock of our surroundings, wings curling around myself to block any incoming gunfire — only to find that the hall we’re in is empty. It doesn’t look like there’s anyone up here, though the crunching of glass has me turning around to see Songbird walking down the other side of the hall, a hand up as a wall of blue force precedes him. A single Confederacy soldier down that side of the hall is firing plasma bolts at him, all of which disperse on contact with the blue wall; once he gets close enough, Songbird lunges forward, using his blade to bat aside the rifle so he can shove his stunner against the man’s neck and fire a pulse into him. Even with body armor, it can’t completely block a point-blank stun pulse, and the man convulses and drops.

“Anyone down that way?” he asks, turning back in my direction.

“Not that I can tell.” I say, walking a few steps and looking around. “I can hear them shouting at a distance. Maybe they’re directing everyone down to the lower floors to try and slow down the assault.”

“I won’t complain if they are.” he says, making his way back towards me, then changing direction to a set of elevators near to us. “It’ll make it easier for us to get to the master control room.”

“Prophet must not have a lot of guys at his disposal.” I say, moving to join Songbird as he hits the button for the elevator. “I’m surprised Bronston and his men weren’t able to smoke him out before now.”

“They may’ve been holding the complex on just the strength of Prophet’s staff.” Songbird says as the doors open, both of us stepping in. I fold my wings in tight so that it’s easier for us to fit in there. “He’s never hesitated to use and abuse that thing. I think the only limitation on how often he can use it is how long it takes to build a charge.”

“Where does it even get all that power from?” I ask as the doors close and the elevator starts up to the next door. “Is it pulling from his power armor?”

“Not sure. I think the power source is in the staff itself.” he replies as the elevator slows down and the doors open… only to reveal a group of Confederacy soldiers standing outside in partial power armor, waiting to step in.

There’s a second of shock, then I grab Songbird and wrap my wings around us as the soldiers start to lift their rifles. Songbird drops his blade and brings his hands together, a ball of blue light growing between his fingers as coilgun spikes and plasma bolts start to hammer my glass wings, and ricochet around in the elevator. “Tell me when you’re ready.” I grunt as cracks spread across the green feathers.

“Ready.” he breathes.

I part my wings enough for him to shove his hands through, releasing the blast of raw force that was building between his hands. It rips through the doorway, denting the frame of the elevator outwards and slamming into the soldiers hard enough to throw three of them clear across the hall and through the window on the other side. The other two are sent sprawling while the first three go tumbling out of the building from three stories up; their partial power armor will probably save them from the worst of the fall, but it’s still gonna hurt.

Letting go of Songbird, I lunge out of the elevator with my runes forming into a hardlight hammer, and I go for the nearest soldier that’s been thrown to the ground. I bring the hammer down on his rifle as he’s try to bring it up; the impact mangles it as it’s slammed against the floor, and I don’t waste any time in bringing is down for another swing at his helm. He throws his arms up to block the blow, the exposed plating on his arms denting as the hammer head slams into it. Rather than be deterred, I pull my hammer back, surrounding the head with momentum and impact runes as I aim a little lower this time. He doesn’t realize I’ve shifted my target, and the floor beneath him cracks as his chestplate is stoved in underneath a flattening wave of impact. It leaves him gasping and completely prone on the floor, and if I had to guess, it’s shattered every rib in his ribcage. He won’t be getting up anytime soon.

With him taken care of, I twist around to the other soldier, only to find Songbird’s already standing up off his unconscious body. Probably another point-blank stun pulse. “Their power armor seems pretty cheap. Folded like a soup can when I hammered this guy.” I remark.

“Probably is. The COS has to equip millions of soldiers, after all. Can’t afford to get the good stuff for everyone.” he agrees, moving over to the gasping soldier and knocking him out with a point-blank stun pulse. Turning from there, he gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Or maybe you’re just that strong.”

I can’t fight the warm smile that rises to my face. “You’re learning how to do battlefield flirting! Look at you, you clever boy. You’ve come a long way since our first dates.”

He snorts at that. “And it seems like they haven’t gotten any less violent since then…”

“High-adrenaline activities are good for bonding.” I say, walking past him and crouching down next to the guy he knocked out, turning his head a little. “Have you noticed this? All the of the soldiers we’ve fought have this yellow ring marking on their forehead. Looks and feels magical.”

“It’s the Mark of Anaya. Prophet has the same symbol as the faceplate of his helm.” Songbird says, kneeling next to the guy I hammered. “It’s used for some of the ordinances in the faith — baptism is the big one, but it’s also used for temple marriages and the bestowal of priesthood when you’re given a position of authority in the church. They usually put it on with paint or marker, nothing special — just a symbol you rub off once the ordinance is done and you take a shower. But this one is different; it’s not rubbing off, and it looks like it’s made of light or something. I’ve never seen the Mark behave like this, even in the temple.”

“And you were born into the religion, right?” I say, looking at him. “Went through all the rituals and rites of passage growing up?”

“I was, and I did, yeah. Son of the bishop, so I was deep into it.” he says, pressing his lips together as he sizes up the soldier. “Some of the ordinances I didn’t experience because they were tied to certain milestones. Getting married, having children… but most of the other stuff — baptism, bestowal of the priesthood — I went through. And I never saw anything like this.”

“Does it mean that all these soldiers that have defected to Prophet’s command — they’re Anayan?” I ask, starting to stand back up.

“I think so. It’s a lot of Anayans, but maybe he made connections in the COS military while he was helping them recruit over the past year. It would’ve made sense for him to be the COS military’s liason with the Anayan community — a bridge that helped funnel patriotic young Anayans into military service.” Songbird says, standing as well. “With what he’s done for the Confederacy, and his long history with the church, I think he’s got a lot of pull with both communities.”

“Well, I’m glad you aren’t part of it anymore—” I begin, before the sound of voices and metal boots grabs our attention. Both of us turn to see more COS soldiers coming out of an adjoining corridor further down the hallway — and behind them, loudly limping along, is Prophet, in his hulking suit of heavy power armor.

“—cannot allow them to prevent the firing of the weapon. We must secure the best advantage we can for our brothers and sisters in the war to come—” Prophet’s digitized voice echoes in the hall, though he comes up short when he and his soldiers see us. The soldiers hastily raise their rifles, while I step in front of Songbird, bringing my glass wings around in a shielding position. “The heretics are here already. Hold them back! We must carry out the will of Anaya!”

“Gods, who talks like that?” I grumble as gunfire starts pounding my wings again. I didn’t take the time to repair the cracks that the earlier fight produced, so I’m not sure how long I have before they shatter. “He sounds like an Inquisitor from medieval Begnion! He can’t honestly believe the shit coming out of his own mouth, can he?”

“Faith is a hell of a drug. There’s a reason it goes hand in hand with conspiracy theories.” Songbird says behind me, pulling out his phone. “Once someone’s down the rabbit hole, it’s almost impossible to pull them out against their will. Take it from someone that was stuck in the rabbit hole for twenty years… also, I’m ramping the music right now. Feel free to siphon, if you need.”

“Think I will. Wings won’t last long without it.” I say, shaking awake the wristmark runes that keep us tangled together. Less than a second later, I feel his energy start to seep across our link, and I start feeding it into the cracks in my wings, sealing up the fissures with blue light. 

“Keep them pinned down.” Prophet orders to his soldiers. “Destroy them if you can, but if you cannot, do not let them advance. The weapon must fire — each of you have homes, children, families that must be protected from the Collective’s corruption. Do not let them down.”

With that he turns, the directional thrusters on his suit flaring as he boosts down the hall in the other direction. “Songbird! He’s bookin’ it!” I call over my shoulder.

“I know! Grenade!” he replies, pointing me forward again. I look around to see one of the soldiers at the back pulling the pin on a plasma grenade and chucking it over the heads of the other soldiers; I act on reflex, charging my wrist runes and parting my wings enough to punch a displacement ripple down the hall. The grenade gets caught in it, being flung back to its point of origin even as a couple of plasma bolts slip through the gap in my wings, slamming into my jacket and sizzling against the exterior as I stagger back. Songbird catches me, the soldiers trying the scramble to get away from the grenade — but’s there’s not enough time and it detonates, blasting all of them flat as a burst of superheated plasma fills the hall and shatters the adjacent windows.

“You good?” he asks as he turns me to face him, checking the scorched portions of my jacket.

“I’m fine. You gotta stop him, he’s getting away.” I pant, pulling the folds of my jacket away from my body a little to help disperse the heat from the hits I’d taken. “I can handle the mooks. You go stop him.”

He glances down the hall, where the cloud of plasma is already starting to cool. Some of the soldiers that were blasted flat are scrambling to get out of the cloud; based on the pained noises, their partial power armor only affords so much protection. “Are you sure? There’s like seven of them, and you just took a couple hits—”

I swat the top of his head. “I’m a Mask Knight, not a princess! I can take a couple hits. Get after him! I’ll clean up his people.”

“Alright. Keep yourself intact. I don’t like it when my girlfriend gets roughed up.” Turning, he pelts off down the hall, charging through the plasma cloud and vaulting over some of the soldiers that are still on the ground. Only one of them tries to stop him, grabbing weakly at his jacket and easily swatted away.

As for myself, I take my longhandled hammer in both hands, putting another orbit of runes around the neck of it, and start towards the soldiers starting to pick themselves up off the floor. Without Songbird here, I can cut loose and go hard — no pulled punches, no need to show mercy.

“Whoa, whoa, wait—!” the first soldier stammers, pushing himself backwards across the floor as I approach the cooling cloud of plasma. Underneath the scorched, halfway-melted armor, he looks young, fresh. “I don’t have any weapons! You can’t attack me!”

“You just tried to gun down me and my boyfriend.” I growl as I march towards him.

“Y-yeah, but you’re, like, you’re the Valiant, you’re like the Challengers, right?” he says rapidly, his eyes flicking back to his fellow soldiers — I can tell he’s trying to buy time, hoping one of them will be able to grab a rifle and start shooting. “You all don’t kill people, right? Like, not defenseless ones!”

“Heroes take prisoners. Warriors take lives.” I rumble, bringing my hammer up. “And I just sent the hero to go handle your boss.”

Excerpt from the Book of Anaya

The Axioms of Anaya

Never fear to tell them these truths. Treasure these things above all else; when all else has rusted and rotted, these things will remain, bright like the sun, and you will know the joy of Anaya.

First, that exaltation is in the family; for family is forever.

It is the foundational unit of a society. It is a link in the chain of generations, each link binding one generation to the next. It is where morals and integrity are learned, and passed down from parent to child. It is how we learn what it means to be part of something bigger than ourselves.

Second, that we are born as we are for a reason.

The mortal vessels we are given are not mistakes; they are gifts for us to experience and to treasure. To change what we were given is misguided; to vandalize or deface it is ingratitude. Treasure the vessel of your mortal tenure; revere it for the miracle it is; and in so doing, you pay your respect for the gift given by the goddess.

And finally, that death is a natural part of life; but it is not the end.

For we are born; we live; we age; we die. This is the natural cycle that we must all experience; it is how we grow, mature, and become fully realized individuals. Death is how we make room for others, so that they may also experience the cycle in full. To reject death is to profane the cycle, and to occupy space that rightfully belongs to the next generation.

And when they ask, why are these things important?

This we answer:

When all else has rusted and rotted, these things will remain, bright like the sun, and you will know the joy of Anaya.

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Losinadae Ring: Control Complex

7:02pm SGT

I holster my stunner as I pelt down the hall, knowing that it’s basically useless against Prophet’s power armor. Behind me, I can hear clanging and crunching as Kiwi goes to work on the soldiers that Prophet left behind; doubt flickers through me as I hear a scream of pain, but I don’t have the luxury of entertaining it right now. There’s too much at stake to take the time to police other people’s combat decisions, so I focus on the retreating flare of Prophet’s movement-assist jets.

I can’t keep up with the speed that he’s moving at; even if his suit weighs half a ton, those booster jets are moving him faster than I’ll ever be able to run. He does lose some speed when he tries to turn a corner, and doesn’t quite make it; but as large as his suit is, it doesn’t really matter all that much. He blows right through the corner like a jet-powered wrecking ball, drywall and all, and just picks up speed again on the other side, leaving me to hold my breath as I sprint through the cloud of debris behind him.

In the floors below, I can hear the crackle of gunfire and the occasional explosion of a grenade; shouts that are almost too faint to hear all the way up here. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a battlefield this large, with this many combatants; I’d forgotten the level of chaos that comes with it. It wasn’t something I enjoyed; there was a level of uncertainty to it, no matter how thoroughly you’d laid out your plan of attack beforehand. There was some part of me hoping that if I could catch up to Prophet and defeat him, the rest of his followers would stand down, and this would all end peacefully. But I know too much about the mindset that they have, because I was raised in it; I know, all too well, that defeating a religious leader doesn’t demoralize their followers.

It just makes them a martyr.

“Prophet!” I shout, hoping I can slow him down with a verbal engagement. It doesn’t work; he just keeps barreling along the length of the hall, heading for the master control room on the far end of the complex. I still don’t know much about this superweapon he’s built and how complicated the firing sequence is, but if it’s as simple as flipping a switch or giving an authorization code, this is going to be problematic. Reaching up, I tap my earbud, pausing my music so I can access the operations comms. “This is Songbird, I’ve got eyes on Prophet but he’s making a beeline to the control room faster than I can catch up with him. Can anyone assist?”

“Gossamer here. He pulled back and left line of sight earlier. Is he back on the fourth floor again?” comes a reply over the comms.

“Fourth floor, should be on the facing side with the windows, you should have a clear shot. If you could kill his jet boosters, that’d be great.” I reply, putting on a burst of speed.

“I could just kill him, period.” It’s accompanied by the clacking of Gossamer slotting a spike into the chamber of her railgun.

“Don’t kill him! Need him alive in case we need to squeeze information about the superweapon out of him!”

“Shame. If you change your mind, let me know.” Gossamer replies. “Hang back a little. This is gonna hit hard enough to produce some shrapnel.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a problem with how far ahead he is.” I mutter.

A line appears across my field of vision, so straight it could be drawn with a ruler; followed by a loud, thunderous crack that echoes across the expanse outside. It lances straight through the back of Prophet’s power armor, savaging one of the booster units that’s been powering him forward. The impact’s strong enough to cause him to slew to one side, with the uneven propulsion from his other booster unit making it hard for him to balance. He goes staggering for a few steps before he turns off his other booster unit, and resumes limping towards the end of the hall as rapidly as he can — apparently Renchiko’s hail of high-caliber coilgun spikes gave his suit a beating earlier, enough to impact its regular function.

“If you want me to take off any limbs, just say the word. I think he could do without a leg or two.” Gossamer offers over comms.

“I’m starting to see why Nova turned out the way she did after you got done training her.” I mutter reflexively. I know it’s uncalled for in the current situation, but knowing what I do now, I don’t feel like it’s undeserved. “Trim his staff, or some of the exterior plates of his suit if you can, but don’t maim him. CURSE may not have morals, but I do.”

“Playing a dangerous game, 5377.” Gossamer mutters back. “For the record, I wouldn’t mind if he fired that weapon one more time. But I could end this right now if you’d let me. Nova would’ve already given the order if she was here.”

“That’s why I’m glad she’s not.” I counter as the distance between me and Prophet starts to shrink. “I’ll do this the right way. My way.”

Gossamer manages to score another hit on Prophet, leaving one of the legs of his suit sparking and whining, but he still manages to reach the end of the hall, bulldozing through the door into the control room. I find myself glad that I don’t technically need to breathe, otherwise I’d be gasping for breath after maintaining dead run for this long; keeping up the momentum, I go skidding into the control room once I reach the end of the hall. It’s a long room with screens,  several consoles, and a wide, reinforced window that looks out into the massive interior of the launcher tube that cuts through the ring. Prophet is over at a console by the window, his power armor half opened to allow one arm out so he can flick switches, tapping his way through the screens with the urgency of a man that knows he’s on a timer.

“Thomas!” I shout at him, leveling my ninjato at him as I hook the other hilt off my belt. “You stop right the hell now!”

Prophet turns to look at me, and lifts the arm that’s still encased in power armor. A plate on the forearm retracts, and I flash back to the fight we had on Valcorria; this time I manage to twist out of the way as the cabled harpoon goes hissing past me, lodging itself in the wall. The cable starts to draw tight, and I dive out of the way at he yanks that arm, ripping out a chunk of the wall behind me and through the space where I was just standing. As it flies back towards him, he punches that fist into it, shattering it into dust and chunks of reinforced concrete.

“What use are words at this stage, Feroce?” he says, picking up his staff as I roll behind one of the freestanding consoles. “I lecture you, you lecture me, nothing changes. You must know by now that I will not accept who you have become.”

“I’d be a fool to still be looking for your acceptance at this point.” I grunt, pushing my back up against the console I’m behind. “You fired the weapon. You destroyed Juncosa. I’m not going to let you do it again.”

“You don’t have a choice. I’m doing it whether you like it or not, because it has to be done.” I can hear his unarmored fingers tapping against the screens again. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You don’t have a family, children of your own, and you never will, with the forbidden fruit you’ve partaken of. I do what I must for a better galaxy. For my children, for the children of my brothers and my sisters — for all of us.”

I grit my teeth, ramping a surge of energy down my starglass blades. “I miss the days when I was the altar boy and you were the bad influence.” I grumble, twisting around the console and slashing one of my blades in his direction. An arc of sleek blue energy cuts across the room, catching his unprotected arm; it’s not enough to sever it, but it leaves a deep slash that immediately begins spurting blood as his arm is knocked away from the screens. A hiss of pain crackles through his speakers, the segments of his power armor immediately closing up around his arm. The suit is likely deploying triage measures once the interlocks have clicked into place; but I don’t wait for any of that. I’m up and charging across the room as his armor closes back up, casting my discharged blade aside so I can grip the charged one with both hands; by the time he starts to turn to face me, I’ve shunted it forward to a dented, damaged plate in his torso midsection. It shears through with a bit of resistance, blazing through the layers of metal all the way up to the hilt.

That does put me in backhand range, and I do indeed get a power-armored backhand to the face. Delivered properly, it probably would’ve snapped my neck; but it was a sloppy blow, something done more on reflex than intention, and aimed to swat me away as quickly as possible. I go flying across the room, hitting a console, flipping over it, and sliding across the floor, while Prophet staggers a few steps, looking down at the blade that’s been driven through his side. For a moment, both of us just reel from our respective injuries, getting our breath back and taking stock of our positions.

“I don’t understand how you can stand in defense of them.” he grunts, the thick fingers of his armored hand trying to grip the hilt buried in his side. “Can you not see what they are, after what they did to Mokasha?”

“I’m not defending what they’ve done. I’m defending an idea of basic decency.” I rasp, getting to my hands and knees and wiping my bloodied nose and mouth. “There’s a right way to fight back against the Collective. Scorching an entire planet and committing genocide isn’t it.”

“Trite words. You know how many times I’ve heard that bandied about in the halls of the Colloquium? That we can’t resort to drastic measures, that there’s a right way to resist the Collective, that common decency demands that we stick to conventional measures.” he says, finally getting a grip on the hilt and pulling it out, throwing it towards me. Blood is dripping down its length; the colors refracted with the prismatic blade are crimson and bruised, with hints of violet swirling on the edges. “Stances taken to maintain the moral high ground, as if that means anything to the Collective, which views everything as justified in their pursuit of complete assimilation. Who is it for, Feroce? The moral high ground doesn’t win wars; it doesn’t shield planets. How many people are you willing to sacrifice to say you did the right thing?”

I grit my teeth, grabbing my first ninjato as I push to my feet. “I’m not sacrificing anyone—”

“Then lead! Prove that your way will save our people from assimilation!” he bellows, hammering the butt of his staff against the floor as the yellow light in the top flares. “If you have a way, then show it to us! I only see a man that says what we cannot do, but is not willing to step into my shoes and prove me wrong! If you have a way, then show it — or step aside, and be silent!”

“How we do things matters!” I snap back at him. “Who we choose to be, the actions we take, matters! There’s no point in winning at all costs if you can’t live with yourself afterwards!”

“And what’s the point in honor is you aren’t alive to uphold it, or you’ve become the very enemy you were trying to defeat?!” he shouts back. “Answer me that, Feroce! What does honor matter when you are dead, or surrounded by the bodies of those you were supposed to protect? Will you be able to live with yourself if our homeworld was assimilated? What will honor matter if the Valiant are laid to waste all around you? What is the cost of your stubborn idealism? If the price is the lives of those you love, will you still be willing to pay it? Because I have a family, and I’m not willing to pay that price!”

I bare my fangs, but I cannot answer him. His words sting; they burn, because even if he thinks that I don’t understand him, I know the weight he speaks of. Renchiko and Ridge might not be my children or siblings, but I still have to protect and look over them. Kiwi might not be my wife, but I still couldn’t stand to lose her. And if I was forced into a situation where I had to choose between my ideals or protecting them, I’m not sure what I would choose.

“I don’t know.” I rasp, gripping my blade. “I don’t know what I would choose. I hope I’m never forced to choose. But one thing I do know is that if I am forced to choose one day, it will be a decision made on defense. This choice you are making is made on offense. You are taking the initiative here to commit an atrocity in the hopes that it will avert another atrocity that has not yet occurred, and may’ve never happened at all. That is what makes it wrong.” I hold out a hand, my other ninjato sliding across the floor and zipping up to where I can catch it. “And I’m not going to stand by and let it happen.”

Prophet’s armored fingers curl around the haft of his staff. “Then it is pointless after all, trying to reason with you. As I knew it would be.”

“Why’d you do it, then?” I ask, raising my prismatic blades as I start to tense up again.

“Who knows. Perhaps, against all my desires to the contrary, a little bit of your misguided idealism has worn off on me. Perhaps I wanted to give you a chance, after all the chances you had given me.” he says, taking his hand away from the puncture in his armor where I had buried my blade. It looks like it’s clotted now with some sort of emergency sealant; maybe he was buying time for his suit to triage his wound. “But in the end, it seems like this is going to go the same way we both knew it would go.”

With that he charges me, his surviving jet booster kicking on as he hurtles across the room. I sprint out of the way, only to find my path cut off by a cabled harpoon slicing past me; I duck under the cable and roll out of the way as Prophet jerks another chunk of concrete wall towards himself. As he smashes it with his fist, I take the brief respite to charge my starglass blades with energy again, sliding out from behind a freestanding console and bolting towards him. His hulking suit is to his detriment in that there’s a lag on how quickly he can react towards things; I’ve raced past him in a second, leaving a glowing gash on one of his legs plates, and pivot once I’m behind him, lashing at the spine of his suit with a short, heavy swing. My blade cuts deep, but with multiple layers of armor, it’s done limited damage to the suit’s internal servos. Prophet twists around and catches me with the glowing end of his staff, which detonates on impact, throwing me across the room and against the reinforced glass hard enough to crack it.

“I must admit — after what happened on Kasvei, I was not confident I could defeat you if we encountered each other again.” Prophet remarks as I fall onto the consoles beneath the window, rolling down their slanted surfaces to land hard on the floor. “That one was a fight for the books. There is something about Nova that brings out a strength in you that you never show anywhere else, even in your fights with me.”

“I scale to the situation.” I cough, struggling back to my hands and knees even though my body is shouting in pain. Prophet’s slow, and it’s easy to outmaneuver him, but on the rare occasion that he lands a hit, it hits like a truck. “No offense, but she’s the bigger threat. At least where it comes to solo combat.”

“Indeed. I could hardly claim the level of natural power that she has, and that you have, for that matter.” he says, starting to lumber across the room towards me. “But individual power is not everything. You and her might be able to move mountains and throw them at each other, but influence and conviction can move masses and bend nations to your will. Which I have done, time and again, in the service of Anaya.”

He reaches me just as I’ve gotten my hands back on my ninjato, and flips his staff around in a single movement to drive the glowing head down at me before I can get back up. Seeing it coming, I cross my blades, use them to catch the staff, pivoting it off to the side to drive into the floor just over my shoulder. Then, taking advantage of how close Prophet’s arm is, I drop one blade and flip the other one over, charging it with energy as I grab the hilt with both hands and drive it down into the forearm of his suit, blazing a glowing hole in the thick plating.

That gets a grunt of pain out of him, but rather than jerking away like I expected, he lifts that arm, bringing me up in the process. I cling to the hilt on reflex, planning to swing my boots up on his arm to get enough leverage to yank the blade out of his arm, and quickly realize that’s a mistake when his other fist slams into my torso, sending me clear across the room. I hit the ground hard, again, and curl up on reflex, one arm pressing to my midsection while the other braces against the ground. I think that punch might’ve cracked some ribs, and all I want to do right now is stay down — but the hellish training that Kaiser put me through in Accounting keeps reminding me that pain is immaterial to vampires. I need to get back up, and keep fighting.

“You have my sympathy for what Nova did to you. It was cowardice, to let you bear the blame for her death for sixteen years, while she got a fresh start under a false name, living a life of power and prestige as the CURSE Administrator.” Prophet says, pulling the starglass blade out of his arm and throwing it aside. “It made me reconsider my judgement of you, after Kasvei. Wondering if I had been too hasty in my condemnation. Wondering if you had been a victim of forces too powerful, and circumstances too heavy, for any reasonable person to have remained untwisted by such misfortune.” With that, he starts lumbering across the room towards me. “And I came to the conclusion that though life is cruel, it does not absolve you of the sins you have committed against Anaya and the natural order. But it does help me understand why you turned out the way you did; and for that, you have my pity.”

“But not your mercy.” I gasp as push myself back up, trying to get my knees beneath me.

“You remember the teachings of Anaya, I see. That pity and mercy are related but not synonymous.” he says as he towers over me. “I would spare you if I could, Feroce. But each of us must answer to Anaya at the gates of judgement, and I cannot risk the salvation of my soul for your sake.”

“You won’t have to, because I won’t be there.” I say, gritting my teeth as I manage to get to one knee. “I’m on Valcalia’s roster now. I don’t answer to Anaya anymore.”

“Then I am absolved of my guilt, since you have openly admitted your apostasy.” he says, gripping his staff with both hands as the light within the mace end begins to peak once more. “And this time, your pagan goddess will not be here to save you.”

I ready myself to lunge out of the way, despite how battered my body is, but right as Prophet is starting to swing his staff towards me, a ring of orange light appears around the shaft, seeming to lock it in place. Prophet’s suit whines, the servos clicking and grinding as he suddenly finds himself unable to dislodge his staff from the glowing ring around it. “Are you kidding me? What heresy is this? How many times must judgement be frustrated?”

“Your right to render judgement upon this man is dubious at best, Ecclesiarch.” It’s a deep voice that draws our attention to the doorway, where a hulking shadow, standing at eight or nine feet, is closing in on the control room. In the darkness, the shadow’s eyes glow like roiling pools of magma — and then come into full view as the towering beast of a man ducks under the doorframe and into the room, revealing it to be Makalu, with one hand raised and his runemarks orbiting around his wrist. “He will be judged one day, I’m sure. But not by the likes of you.”

“You!” Prophet hisses, still trying to yank his staff out of the orange ring that holds it in place in the air. “You have the gall to interfere at a time like this?”

“Not only the gall, but the right, I would imagine. Considering my contributions to helping this dream of yours come to pass.” Makalu replies, flicking the fingers of his raised hand. Prophet’s staff is yanked from his grip and sent clattering across the room as Makalu advances towards us, his other arm folded behind his back with a disciplinarian’s posture and neatness. “I invited Songbird here; he is my guest. He was supposed to witness the first firing of this device that you and I built together.”

I scramble backwards, wincingly. “Wait, you… you built this?”

“The weapon itself? No, you can thank your old frenemy for that.” Makalu says, turning his gaze on Prophet. “He brought the manpower and pulled the strings needed for the construction of the weapon. I provided the knowledge and the artifacts.”

“You worked with him?” I hiss at Prophet. “He’s a Maskling! Why you gettin’ up my ass for dating a Maskling when you’re building a giant genocide button for a Maskling fundamentalist?”

Even though Prophet’s face is hidden behind his helm, I can still hear the disdain dripping through his suit’s speakers. “Do not assume that this creates a moral equivalency between us, Feroce. Your alliance is decidedly carnal, whereas mine a practical matter.”

Makalu raises an eyebrow. “Rather audacious of you, to be policing other people’s bedroom decisions. I hadn’t realized that the right to privacy was of so little consequence to the Anayan doctrine.”

“Do not patronize me, Maskling.” Prophet snaps at Makalu. “You and I both know that this alliance was a matter of necessity, not preference.”

“Yes. In much the same way that CURSE and the Valiant now find themselves rallied together to oppose this little project of ours.” Makalu agrees. “Ironic, how grand matters like these can make allies out of enemies. It is evidence that we often hold things in common with the very people we despise.”

“I would’ve killed you before now, had you not been so useful.” Prophet growls, holding a hand out to his staff. A resonant thrum fills the room as it starts to rattle along the floor, eventually skittering back into his grip. “And now that the weapon has been completed and has proved its functionality, I see no reason not to.”

“Is that so?” Makalu remarks offhandedly. “Great minds think alike, I suppose.”

With that, he rushes forward, sudden and with alarming speed for someone of his size. Prophet tries to get his staff up into a blocking position, but Makalu is already on top of him, runes lifting away from the ring that orbits around his wrist. He throws a single, open-handed palm strike into the chest of Prophet’s suit, but it doesn’t actually hit the suit — it passes right through the chestplate like he’s a ghost, slams hard into something, and Prophet comes flying through the back of his power armor like a spirit being ejected from a body. He rematerializes before he hits the floor, grunting as he goes sliding back across the slick surface in nothing but his plugsuit, and gasping for breath as he looks around wildly.

“What— how did you—?” he pants, looking at his hands, then scrambling further back as his hulking suit of power armor tumbles over backwards.

“I am old, boy. You are not the first person to assume that a suit of power armor will give you an edge over me, and you will likely not be the last.” Makalu says, his hand still outstretched. A ring of molten runes prints itself on the floor beneath Prophet, tangerine chains slithering out of the symbols and wrapping around his limbs to bind him to the floor. “I likewise expected your treachery. There is a certain level of predictability to those that despise Masklings.”

“Typical of a Maskling.” Prophet spits at him. “Guiding with one hand while hiding a dagger behind your back with the other. Your people will never change; this is all they are, and all they ever will be. Parasites and manipulators.”

“Perhaps.” Makalu says, bending down to pick up one of my starglass blades, and look it over. “But Masklings are not made in a void. We are amalgamated products, a synthesis of multifarious elements, many of which are derived from the people that we Mask. If, on the whole, our species is deceitful and manipulative, it is a reflection of the population from which we draw our Maskbearers. It is an indictment not just of Masklings, but of the rest of the galaxy in which we live.”

Prophet bares his teeth. “You think you’re clever, trying to flip the blame back on us? The only reason you try to drag the rest of the galaxy down to your level is because you know every other species is better than yours, and has more right to life than parasites like you do. All you do is leech off those those that are already alive. Take and live lives that never belonged to you in the first place.”

“Perhaps.” Makalu concedes again. “But when the quality of those lives is measurably degraded by men like you — men who are so very sure of their righteousness that they never even stop to question whether they might be wrong — by comparison, what my people do may be considered a mercy. A second chance, an escape from the oppression that you have leveraged upon so many. To the point, apparently, that you feel the need to dictate to your old friend what he can do in his own bedroom, and with whom. Speaking of which.” Makalu turns to me, holding my ninjato out to me hilt-first. “I told you that if you came, I would let you stand in judgement over the one that has so often judged you. So turns the wheel, that every man may reap what he has sown.”

I stare at the prismatic blade, then back up at Makalu’s bearded, craggy face; I can’t quite believe that he’s standing there, willingly handing my weapon back to me, knowing that I might immediately turn around and try to use it on him. But maybe that says all that needs to be said — he doesn’t care. He doesn’t feel threatened by me, and he clearly didn’t feel threatened by Prophet. Getting to my feet with a little difficulty, I grab the hilt, taking the blade from him. “You really think I’m going to walk over there and kill him?” I say, with my tone making it clear that the question is rhetorical.

“I had hoped that you would.” he says, folding his thick, musclebound arms behind his back. “You would be ridding me of a thorn, and I have the feeling that it would be amply justified on your side. Is this not the man that wiped out an entire planet?”

“You helped him do it.” I snap, my lip twitching like it’s ready to peel back and bare my fangs.

“Indeed. I enabled him, because I wish to see the Collective staggered just as much as he does.” Makalu agrees. “But we both know that you cannot defeat me, much less kill me, and it would not be for a lack of trying. Him, though… that is within your capability.”

“One of these days, you’re going to run into me in a place and a situation where I don’t have to hold back, and you’re going to eat those words.” I say, my fingers tightening around the hilt of my sword.

“And I will relish that day. You showed your hand on Kasvei. I would be honored to test myself against it if the opportunity ever presents itself.” He motions to Prophet. “But today is not that day. Today is a day of judgement. So render your judgement, Songbird.”

I look to Prophet, then walk in that direction until I’m standing over him. The seal binding him to the floor isn’t a neat one, with straight lines and clean edges; the runes printed on the ground are rough and jagged, have a certain wildness, with no lines to organize them. Prophet himself is glaring up at me; I can see the spots on his plugsuit that are stained with blood. Even with his suit’s triage measures, wounds are wounds, and he’s only human. Where my injuries are already starting to heal, burning blood as they do so, it will be weeks before he is fully recovered.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve been told I should kill you.” I say, letting the ninjato hang by my side. “How many people have been angry at me every time I’ve let you walk. How many times I’ve had to explain to my girlfriend why I would let you live, when you would kill her without a second thought.”

“I never asked for your mercy.” he growls up at me.

“I almost wish you had. It would’ve made it easier for me to explain why I keep letting you live.” I say, twitching the prismatic blade. “Before, I could always write it off. But now, after what you’ve done… all the people you’ve killed…”

“They were Symbiotes. Members of the Collective.” he spits. “You won’t kill me for trying to kill you or your loved ones, but you’ll execute me for parasites that you don’t even know? That would assimilate you if given half a chance? If it was Masklings you were defending, I’d at least understand that. You fell in love with one and it looks like several of them are your coworkers. But killing me for what I did to the Collective? We both know there’s no sense in it. It won’t earn you any credit with them, and it won’t change the fact that they’ll still try to assimilate worlds.”

I can’t find it in myself to argue with him, because I know he’s not wrong. At best, we might get some trite words of thanks from the Collective if we killed Prophet, but it wouldn’t keep them from going after a world if they thought they could assimilate it. Killing Prophet wouldn’t achieve anything, other than uphold an idea of justice that the Collective probably didn’t even care about.

But it would keep Prophet from committing genocide again. Because he had already shown a willingness to do it once, and if he ever came by the opportunity to do it again, I had no doubt that he would take it again without hesitation.

Charging the blade in my hand, the kaleidoscopic colors swirling and becoming sharper and brighter within the starglass, I touch the tip of the sword to his neck. “I have shown you mercy more times than you deserve. You do deserve death for everything you’ve done. All the people you’ve killed, all the times you’ve tried to kill me, all the times you’ve hurt the people I care for.”

Whipping the blade up, I bring it back down in a swift strike — one that lands on the chain binding his arm, shattering it into a burst of orange sparks. I do the same with each of the chains that binds his limbs down, freeing him from Makalu’s restraints, and once that’s done, I point my blade towards the door.

“Leave.” I order. “If we ever meet again after this, and you are still the same person that you are today, I will kill you. Not because I enjoy it; not because you deserve it; but because I will not tolerate you being a threat to me or the people I love anymore.”

I can see his eyes start to stray to the console he’d been working on when I came into the room, and I whip my blade down, leaving a half-inch notch in his ear. He lets out a gasp of pain, jerking a hand up to the side of his head as he stares at me in disbelief.

“Don’t test me, Thomas.” I warn him. “Try it and I will make your wife a widow.”

It’s only at that point that it seems to sink in, and he realizes the gloves are off. Carefully getting up, he backs away from me, towards his collapsed suit, grabbing his staff from its limp hands as he goes. Makalu does not move to block him, and Prophet glares at him on his way past. “You will answer for what you’ve done here today, Makalu.” he growls.

“I probably will. But I doubt I’ll be answering to you.” Makalu says, making a shooing motion. “Go on, get out of here. I doubt Songbird’s comrades will be as merciful if they catch you.”

The condescending dismissal clearly rankles Prophet something fierce, but he can’t argue with it because Makalu’s right. He hurries to the door, soon disappearing from view, leaving me alone with hulking Maskling. “You. Tell me what this weapon is, and how to disable it.” I say, pointing my sword at Makalu next.

I’m half expecting to get whacked for my audacity, but Makalu takes the ring of runes floating around his wrist and casts it out before him, the orange symbols drifting into a wider circle as they go. “The concept is simple. It’s been used for billions of years — slings and stones, bows and arrows, muskets, rifles, railguns, particle accelerators… take an object. Point it at something. Accelerate it as fast as you can.” Within the ring of runes, the air bends and flexes, blurring as if it was being scrubbed away to reveal something else behind it. A mechanical assembly comes into view, with stairs leading up to a central scaffolding that has a white ring with a black sphere hovering in the center. Visible through the gaps in the assembly itself is a massive tube running for miles behind it — this looks like a portal into launcher that the control room borders. “The math and the mechanism become more complicated as the scale increases, but the underlying principle remains the same. Hit something hard with another object.”

I lower my blade, taking a few steps towards the portal. “Is that…”

“That is the Dragine artifact that I took from Svyash, yes.” he confirms. “The white ring around it is a Shyl-tari relic, of the same persuasion as the one that Prophet has in his staff, and which has been warping his mind for however many years he’s been hauling it around. Together, they help focus and accelerate the payload to relativistic speeds.”

“And you helped him build this?” I demand, turning on him. “Why would you create something like this? Do you realize—” I catch myself and shake my head. “Don’t answer that. It’s a useless question; I don’t even know why I ask you psychopaths why you do this shit. You always have your reasons, and they’re never good ones. Just tell me how to disable it.”

“You seem to me to be a good man, Songbird. That is why I pity you.” Makalu says as he lumbers towards me. “You are a lonesome light drowning in a darkened galaxy. A beacon of better ideas than most of us are willing to believe in at this stage of our lives; one of the last dying sparks of the Challenger fire.” My raised sword doesn’t deter him, but his movement doesn’t come across as aggressive as he places one of his massive hands on my back, and gives me a gentle push through the portal. “Go on and chase the dream. Be the hero; save the day. Let the last spark try to reignite the fire.”

I’m hesitant about letting Makalu push me anywhere, but the man is a giant, and built like a tank; it’d be like a domestic housecat trying to overpower a tiger. I’m corralled through the portal and onto the access walkway that leads up to the weapon’s focal point, still confused at the direction Makalu has taken this in. “Wait, you’re— you’re going to let me dismantle the weapon?”

“We are both men of principle, Songbird. We each do what we must in pursuit of a better galaxy. For you, that is upholding a certain moral idealism, regardless of the circumstance.” he says as the portal starts to close. “But as for myself — I will do what I must to lay the foundations of a safer future for my people.”

I suddenly realize what he’s doing, and lunge towards the closing portal, but it collapses in a spray of sparks before I can get to it. I’m left stranded here within the massive tube; I whip around, looking for a quick way out, but there simply isn’t one. The launcher is three miles wide and I’m in the dead center of it, meaning that just reaching the sides of the tube would require running a mile and a half in either direction. Behind me is the colossal aperture through which the weapon fires; in front of me is the incredibly complex focalizer; and behind it is twenty miles of tube that the projectile is accelerated along before reaching the focusing point. I can see distant access hatches and ramps along the sides of the tube, but again, they’re a mile and a half away — even at a dead run, it’d take me five minutes to get over there.

And it becomes very clear, at the sound of machinery coming to life, that I do not have five minutes. Makalu’s already activated the weapon’s firing sequence; rings further back in the tube’s structure are lurching into motion, starting to spin in countervailing directions, while behind me, clamps unlatch and release another ring from the tube’s aperture, letting it drift into the space outside the tube. As the space in the center of that ring starts to warp and distort, I realize that it’s a part of a mass beacon, and a tunnelspace breach is starting to unfold in the center of it.

They’ve been firing this weapon through tunnelspace, meaning that there’s no way to intercept the projectile on the majority of its journey to its target.

“Somewhere out there, there’s a version of me that has things a lot easier because he just kills everyone that’s a problem…” I mutter, turning and starting to run up the access stairs leading to the focalizer assembly. The quickest way to put an end to this will be to remove the artifacts that make this weapon possible — it probably won’t stop the weapon itself from firing, but it’ll probably drastically reduce its destructive power by removing the focusing element. Cresting the final set of the stairs to the platform that holds the artifacts, I sprint towards the center of the assembly—

Only to be stopped dead by a wave of force so strong it blurs everything around me, filling my head with whispers. But they’re not just any whispers; they have a certain physicality to them, as if I could feel them over my skin — and they feel sleek and golden, almost shimmering. I hunch down and put my hands up, trying to lean forwards towards the assembly, and I can feel those whispers sliding between my fingers and gliding along my skin. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I don’t need to — I can sense them stimulating certain parts of my mind: faith, certainty, conviction, belief, purpose, all being kicked into overdrive and starting to drown my other thoughts.

Taking me back to the days when I was an observant Anayan, trusting the doctrine implicitly, seeing the world in only absolute shades of good and evil.

I stop trying to push forward, letting the force from the assembly shove me back, the whispers growing quieter with distance. Bracing my free hand on my knee, I glare at the artifacts at the center of the assembly, trying to clear my head of the rigid structure that was being reimposed on it just seconds before. I’ve come up against a lot of obstacles during my time, but I’ve never encountered something like this before.

“Much like the Dragine artifacts, Shyl-tari relics are considered living and intelligent.” Makalu’s voice echoes through the tube. I look around and spot the window where the control room is; it seems like he’s enabled the intercom speakers and is currently watching me from that window. “And where the artifacts emit Dragine radiation, the relics give off another type of radiation that the Shyl-tari refer to as Conviction. Its effects, and purpose, are likely abundantly clear to you at this point.”

I grit my teeth. So he knew this would happen — that’s why he pushed me in here, encouraged me to try and disable the weapon. He knew I’d come up against this obstacle.

Turning off my starglass blade, I hook the hilt back on my belt. Behind the focalizer assembly, regular pulses of light are starting to run down the length of the tube, with the rate slowly increasing as the rings further back start to ramp up their speed. If I don’t manage to disable the weapon, I’m probably going to get obliterated beyond all hope of recovery. Any weapon that can burn an entire planet will delete a vampire with ease, and won’t leave anything behind that I can regenerate from.

Yet I also have no doubt that Makalu and Prophet have already run the calculations and gotten another target queued up, and that target is more than likely another Collective world with billions of people. If I turn and leave now, I might save myself, but leave billions others to die. And even if they would be members of the Collective, most of them would just be regular people living their lives, people that have never directly supported or been involved in the assimilation of other worlds.

And I refuse to have that on my shoulders.

“Kiwi’s gonna hate this.” I mutter, pressing my hands together and pulling them apart, a blue bubble forming between them. I continue to let it expand until it encompasses me; and once it does, I fill with the song that’s been on my mind ever since my second run in the Phobos chamber. Shaping it into a barrier of force and will, a conviction of my own that can push back against the oppressive whispers spilling from the relic at the center of the focalizer.

And with that as my shield, I press forward against the relentless force trying to keep me back, driven by the knowledge that others gave their lives for me to be here today, and that I might have to do the same so others could see tomorrow.

All these souls that we did take —

Know that they died for your sake.

All their dreams that could not be —

Their lost futures live in thee…

Event Log: Kiwi

Losinadae Ring: Control Complex

7:22pm SGT

“Kill me if you want, but my soul goes in glory to Anaya. I will be… exalted for my dedication—”

“Great. Say hi to your friends for me when you get there.” I say as I swing my hammer down, crushing the zealot’s helm and skull beneath it. He’s just the latest in a string of Confederacy soldiers that have tried and failed to stop my advance down the hall, though recently it seems like a lot of them have been retreating from the lower floors just to run into me on the upper floor. As a matter of fact, I hear boots in the nearby stairwell, and assume it’s another one coming up as my hammer comes down — but it’s just Ridge, who skids into the hall and immediately flinches upon seeing a man’s head getting smashed like an egg.

“Oh. Looks like you got him.” he says, sounding none too enthusiastic about that.

“Sorry, kiddo. Usually I don’t steal other people’s kills, but we can’t afford to let any of these creeps slither away.” I say, pulling my hammer away and stepping over the twitching body. “How are things going downstairs? I assume if you’ve made it up here, we’ve managed to rout all of Prophet’s people from the lower floors.”

He lifts his hand, showing what looks like a decidedly lethal pistol. “Sierra gave me a coilgun. Not gonna lie, I like this a lot better than the stunners.”

I smirk at that. “Don’t tell Songbird you got a real gun from the naughty auntie.”

“Kid shows promise.” Sierra says, coming out of the stairwell that Ridge just came out of. “He’s good at gettin’ behind lines with that crystal warp trick he’s got. Might be even more useful if we can build him some custom gadgets around it.”

“Nice.” I say, giving him a nudge with the head of my hardlight hammer. “Look at you, actually starting to pull your own weight. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I haven’t been that useless.” he mutters, pushing my hammer away. “Besides, you all have been doing this shit for decades. I’m still learning.”

“Oi chickadees, no time to stand around gabbin’!” Jackrabbit calls as she bounds up the stairwell. “We’re gettin’ reports from Bronston’s people that the weapon has initiated another firing sequence! Does anyone have eyes or ears on Songbird?”

A jolt of unease races through me at that; I tap on my earbud without waiting for the others to answer. “Songbird? Can you hear me?”

There’s nothing but silence on the channel, and I don’t wait to act on it, turning and rushing down the hall with renewed purpose. “Swear to Ink, if he took it easy on Prophet again…” I growl.

“Control room might be shielded, it may be why we’re not getting any audio from him.” Jackrabbit says, keeping pace with me as Ridge and Sierra turn to follow us. “Best not to jump to conclusions.”

“Hard to do that when the genocide gun is about to fire again.” I counter, fixing my attention on the battered doorframe at the end of the hall. Flaring my wings and flapping them to pick up some extra speed, I go careening into the control room, hammer up and ready to swing. “Alright Prophet, you better turn this…!”

My threat peters out as I realize that Prophet’s heavy power armor is collapsed on the ground. The interior of the room is scuffed and dented, with bloodstains dripped here and there; clearly a fight took place, but it’s over now. Across the room, in front of the long window that looks into the weapon itself, is a hulking mountain of an old man, with a mane of grey hair and a bushy beard.

Makalu.

“You.” I breathe, drawing up short, and looking around the room again, trying to make sense of things. “But I thought…”

“That this was Prophet’s doing alone, I know.” Makalu says, turning from the window as the others arrive. “And I was hoping he would claim all the credit for it; after all, he is the one that wanted this so badly. But Songbird kept him from activating the firing sequence, so I took it upon myself to finish the job for him.”

I look at the collapsed suit of armor, then back to Makalu. “Wait, are you saying… you were working with Prophet? But he hates Masklings!”

“Even a man like that can put aside his prejudice in the service of a greater goal.” Makalu says as Sierra and Jackrabbit start to fan out on either side of me. “I can see you and your friends intend to fight me. I would encourage you to save yourselves the humiliation.”

“Lotta confidence from someone that’s outnumbered, big guy.” Jackrabbit says, flipping her buzz batons over in her hands.

“And you show an abundance of confidence for someone that’s outmatched.” Makalu replies evenly. “Besides, you’re not here for me, are you? No use in picking a fight you’ll lose when you have a weapon to disable.”

“If you’re the one that turned it on, then turn it off. Or tell us how to turn it off.” Ridge says, kiting out from behind me with his coilgun raised towards Makalu. “Or we will have to beat it out of you.”

“Devices like this aren’t designed with an off button.” Makalu says, starting to pace along the length of the window. “Any weapon of mass destruction is designed with a series of off-ramps leading up to the point of committal. Once you have passed the point of committal, there are no more off-ramps. The firing sequence is already locked in; it will continue, even if you destroy every console in this room. Though that that has not stopped your hero from attempting an aggressive disarming of the device.”

He lifts a hand to the side, as if inviting us to come to the cracked window and look through it; even though the others hesitate, I move forward, because I have a creeping suspicion that I know what he’s referring to. Lowering my hammer, I approach the window, looking through it and seeing the massive tube that makes up the superweapon — and in the center of it, there’s some sort of mechanical assembly, with maintenance walkways leading up to it. And on the platform right in front of it, there’s a blue ball of light, struggling to reach the center of the assembly while pulses of force run down the interior of the tube, each one carrying a massive rush of wind and glowing particles with it.

“Songbird.” I breathe, letting my hammer dissolve and planting my hands against the glass. “Guys, he’s down there, he’s in the firing tube, trying to get to the core of the weapon or something!”

It’s at that point that the hesitation of the others dissolves, and they rush to the glass as well, staring through. “Is he insane? He’s good, but even he’s not powerful enough to keep an entire sun gun from firing!” Sierra says incredulously.

“I threw him in there, and then initiated the firing sequence.” Makalu explains blithely. “It’s a process, you see; a weapon like this needs time to warm up before it fires. He would’ve had time to make his way back to safety via the maintenance walkways; it might’ve been cutting it close, but he would’ve been able to get out of there before the device fired. That’s what I expected he would do; and it is what most people would’ve done if placed in a similar situation.”

“But he stayed.” Jackrabbit says in disbelief, her eyes flitting around the interior of the tube. “He knows you have this thing pointed at a world full of innocent people. He wouldn’t let it fire if there’s a chance he could stop it.”

“I wouldn’t make any assumptions about their innocence.” Makalu says. “But yes, he made a choice not many would’ve made, and it has earned him a small portion of my respect.”

“You threw him in there, and then you were just going to stand up here and watch him die!” I snap at him, pushing away from the window and balling my hands into fists. “Tell us how to stop it! Tell us how to turn it off!”

He gives me a patient look. “You have listened to nothing I have told you so far.”

“It’s past the point of committal. The system can’t stop it.” Jackrabbit says, latching her batons to the backplate of her harness. “The only way to stop it is to get down there and help him.”

“Yeah, that’s a nice sentiment, but that’s a five-minute mile, if I ever saw one.” Sierra says, pointing out the obvious distance issue. “We’d be lucky to get there before it fires, and we’d have to be bookin’ it the whole time.”

“Maybe I can warp down to him?” Ridge says, setting his pistol on the console as he starts digging around in his jacket. “I slipped a shard of crystal into his jacket to use as a beacon in case I got in a tight spot and needed to warp back to a safe spot. I mean… I’m not sure I could do it this far away, I haven’t warped more than thirty feet at a time, but maybe…”

“He’s over a mile away; are you sure, Ridge?” Jackrabbit asks. “Cheers if you can, but that’s a major step up! You could hurt yourself, trying to push that far outside of your range…”

I grab his shoulder, turning him to me. “Can you do it?”

It’s obvious from the fear in his eyes that he’s unsure. “I… I don’t know. I can try…”

“Then try. I’ll give you all the energy I have at my disposal if you can get us down there.” I say, removing the orbits of runes around my wrists, and floating them around his arms. I don’t hesitate to fire up my rings of pauldron runes as well, guiding them around to hover over his shoulders instead.

“Oi! If we’re doing this, lemme get in on it.” Jackrabbit says, clapping a hand on the back of Ridge’s neck while holding her hand out to me. Her pupils, once black, flare to life in a brilliant, lightning-yellow hue as her Spark goes active; I reach over and take her hand, clenching my teeth as I feel an electric surge of energy race through me.

“And you’re just going to stand there and watch?” Sierra calls to Makalu, her eyes narrowed and her finger still resting on the trigger of her coilgun rifle.

“I see no reason not to. Why should I fight you when you’re likely to go down there and get yourselves killed trying to stop something far larger than you?” Makalu reasons calmly. “Go on, do what you feel you must. I trust in the adage that you should never stop your enemy from making a mistake.”

A whooshing rush of fire pulls our attention, and we turn to see Jetfire Justice skidding into the room and striking a pose. “I have arrived! What must we do to belay the firing of this fell device?!”

“Get over here, you idiot! Songbird needs our help!” Sierra orders to him as Renchiko, Tarocco, and Cahriu arrive after him, looking out of breath. Makalu’s presence immediately puts them on edge, but doesn’t stop them from moving towards us, weapons angled towards the massive Maskling as they go.

“Hey Kiwi, what’s going on?” Cahriu says as he reaches us. “We heard the weapon started a firing sequence, and we came up here when you guys fell off comms—”

“Get in here, we’re gonna need all the power we can get.” I say grabbing him and pulling him into our huddle around Ridge. “Link up. We need to warp over a mile into the weapon so we can reach Songbird and help him disable it before it fires. Ridge is gonna get us there but he needs all the energy we can get him.”

“I’m coming with.” Renchiko says, wriggling into our group — as small as she is, and kitted out in just her armored plugsuit, it’s easy for her to squeeze her way in and get an arm around Ridge’s shoulders. “We’re here with you, Ridge. You can do this.”

“Kiwi, are you serious?” Tarocco demands through gritted teeth. “Warping us right into the dead center of the line of fire for a planet-destroying weapon? What if this doesn’t work? It’s gonna wipe out half the Valiant roster! Not to mention we’re all gonna die!”

“You don’t have to come.” I reply immediately. “But I’m not gonna stand by and watch my boyfriend die.”

“Uuuugggghh! Forecast is going to be so pissed if this gets us killed.” Tarocco says, getting her arms around Jackrabbit and Cahriu. “At least we won’t have to worry about the Council getting on our asses if we get dusted.”

“Group hug!” Jetfire declares, catching Sierra with one arm and clomping her into the huddle with the rest of us. “Let’s do it! I don’t know what we’re doing, but let’s do it!”

“I think I’ve got everyone linked together through physical contact.” Jackrabbit says, and the fact that the yellow lines along her skin seem to have spread to everyone else seems to confirm it. “Everyone, keep your focus on Ridge. Ridge, put your focus on Songbird, and the shard of crystal you left with him.”

“I know. I know. I’m doing that.” he says, gripping one of the blue crystal knives he’d pulled out of his jacket. He’s got his eyes screwed shut, and the air around the blade is starting to flex and distort, though it doesn’t look stable or consistent. “I can sense it, but it’s hard, there’s a lot of… noise, interference near Songbird. I need everyone to be quiet. It’s hard to focus.”

“Oh! You hear that, everyone? We need to be quiet.” Jetfire says in hushed tones. “Operation: Silent Strength begins now! Ssshhhhh.”

Some flat looks are cast Jetfire’s way, which he seems to be entirely unaware of. Nevertheless, we get the silence that Ridge was asking for, or as close as we can get to it with the constant humming of the weapon ramping up outside the control room. The distortion around Ridge’s knife starts to spike, growing larger and larger until it’s encompassed all of us. At that point, I can feel a sensation, like a tug in my chest as energy’s being drained out of me, and I realize that this is what Songbird must feel like every time I draw on him. I feel it spike suddenly, along with the sound similar to something being sucked underwater, and the control room ripples around us. Without warning, we find ourselves dumped on the platform behind Songbird; slightly off-center, but we’re here, just fifteen feet shy of him and the elongated bubble surrounding him.

“Feroce!” I shout, immediately bolting towards him. As I get closer, I can feel an oppressive force pressing back against me, although it’s less intense when I’m directly behind him. In front of him, there’s a mechanical scaffolding with a white-and-gold ring mounted in it, and a Dragine artifact hanging in the center of it. That’s where the force feels like its flowing from, and Songbird’s got his arms up in front of himself, straining against it as he tries to reach the assembly. The bubble of blue light around looks like it’s being deformed by the pressure coming off the artifacts, squashed out into an ovoid behind him, almost like a comet.

“Alright girly, get on up there!” I can feel Jackrabbit pushing me from behind, helping propel me forward against the force coming from the assembly. “There’s almost ten of us here, we can fight the current!”

I can feel the pressure behind me rising, and I realize the others must be piling on, pushing me forwards; it isn’t long before I’ve slipped into the tail end of Songbird’s comet and get my arms around him. There’s a familiar song in here, one I can’t quite place but that I know I’ve heard before, somewhere in the past. It must be what he’s using to shield himself against the oppressive force coming off the assembly. “Feroce! We’re here; the weapon’s about to fire. How do we shut it down?”

He looks over his shoulder, looking shocked. “Kiwi? How’d you get down here?”

“No time for surprise, bluebird, I’d rather not get dusted in the barrel of a giant sun gun!” Sierra shouts from the back, as the others work their way up to where we are, step by step. “The weapon! How do we stop it?”

“We need to get to the artifact. Can’t stop the weapon from firing, need to keep the artifacts from focusing the projectile.” he says, turning forward again and bringing his arms up to brace against the outflowing pressure.

“You heard the man, let’s get up there!” Cahriu shouts, his arms around Sierra and Ridge as he leans into pushing them forward. 

“On three, then!” Jetfire declares from the back as he spreads his arms wide, gets them around everyone at the back, and tilts forward. “One… two… three… HEAVE!”

The jet thrusters on his suit kick on with that, eliciting yelps of surprise as we’re all suddenly pushed forward. We’re quick to adjust, leaning into the momentum while we have it and pushing forward through the outflowing force until Songbird’s able to get his hands around the black sphere at the center of the white ring. The moment he does so, blue-green lines race over its surface and up over his skin, leaving behind circuit patterns, and I can hear him draw a sharp breath.

“Feroce! Are you okay?” I demand, my arms tightening around him.

“I know what to do.” he breathes, the blue bubble around us start to twist and morph into a different shape. “We have to stay here. Split the shot.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing, do it quick!” Tarocco shouts from the back. “The weapon’s finished cycling up; it’s about to fire!”

There’s no need for her to explain what she means by that, because we can all see it through the gaps in the assembly in front of us. Way back in the tube, a brilliant light is building, while the spinning rings along its length have started to glow. And since this thing is a relativistic weapon, we won’t have time to react once it fires, because it’s going to be moving at a good portion of the speed of light. “Feroce…” I murmur, even though I’m sure he’s perfectly aware of the danger here.

“Enough people have died.” he says, as the bubble around us finishes torquing into the shape of a ridged cone, pointing down into the depths of the weapon. “No more. Not on my watch. Hang on to me, everyone, and don’t let go.”

Hang on to me, and don’t let go. I never considered myself religious, but those words make me feel something that might be devotion. A dedication, a fierce loyalty, a desire to do exactly that — to hold on, no matter where this takes us, no matter what happens after this moment. And the others must feel it too, because I can feel them pressing in behind us, arms wrapped around each other and reaching forward to take hold of Songbird and myself.

When the weapon fires, we don’t even see it fire. That projectile, whatever it is, moves faster than the eye can track. All I know is that in an instant, there’s a searing blaze of light in front of us, dead center of the firing tube, matter accelerated so fast and heated so bright that it appears to be a stream of golden light. The cone around us doesn’t shatter, instead splitting the beam of light and funneling it through the grooves in its surface so that a dozen rays are sent blazing off in a widening circle. Those lances of light carve through the mass beacon behind us, some of them punching holes clear through the Losinadae Ring on their way out into the depths of space. In front of me, I can hear Songbird grunt as his boots squeak against the platform, sliding back a couple inches under the strain of keeping the cone pointed directly into the center of the beam. Digging my boots in, I lean my weight in against Songbird’s back, and everyone else behind me does the same, pushing back against the incomprehensible force of this planet-scorching blaze.

And then as suddenly as it began, it’s over.

The golden river of light suddenly peters out; the rays spilling off the edges of the cone disappear, the tail ends hurtling out into the starry abyss. I hadn’t realized how bright those beams were until they’re gone, and my eyes struggle to adjust to their sudden absence in front of us and around us. The cone around us collapses as Songbird lets go of the artifact and crumples to the platform, gasping a sharp breath; I can hear sizzling even from here, and as my vision adjusts, I can see his hands are scorched, the circuit patterns from the Dragine artifact branded into his skin.

“Shit, you didn’t tell me it was burning you!” I say, letting go of him so I can kneel to the platform and grab his hands.

“Small price to pay… for saving that many people.” he pants, sounding ragged and breathless.

“Is that it? Is it over?” Cahriu says, looking around. Further down the tube, the spinning rings are starting to coast to a halt; behind us, emergency shielding is flickering over the holes that the deflected beam punched in the ring. The metal around the edges of those holes its still glowing, and the broken fragments of the mass beacon are drifting through space outside the ring.

“Those beams had to go somewhere.” Tarocco says, turning and studying the holes in the ring. “It may not have made it into the mass beacon, but now they’re just hurtling off into space, god knows where. They may not be as dangerous as they were when they were a single hyperaccelerated projectile, but they can still do some serious damage if they hit anything.”

“They won’t. And if they do, it’s extremely unlikely that whatever they hit is inhabited.” Renchiko says, staggering away a few steps and sitting heavily on the platform. “Space is big. Most planets aren’t even habitable. The chance that any of those beams will hit something is less than a thousandth of a single percent. If it does hit something, there’s a further thousandth of a percent that there’s anything living on it. That’s why calculations for weapons like these are so complicated and time-consuming. They have to be extremely precise, because if you’re off by even a thousandth of a thousandth of a percent, you’re going to miss your target. And we split that beam and knocked it off course by a lot more than that.”

“Indeed. It took us a full two weeks of running the ring’s supercomputing array to lock in the calibrations needed for our next target.” says a deeper voice. I turn from Songbird to see Makalu stepping through a rune portal not far from the artifacts installed in the assembly, and the gap in the air quickly closes behind him.

“Villain! You were the one that concocted this diabolical scheme to kill an entire world?” Jetfire says, scrambling back to his feet and getting his armored fists up.

“Villain. Yes, I suppose some would consider me that. There are some who will think the same about you all, having thwarted the firing of this device.” Makalu says, using his runemarks to form an orange gauntlet around his hand before he grabs the Dragine artifact, wrenching it out. “Perspective is a tricky thing. Also, young man, those burns are likely not due to heat, but an overabundance of Dragine radiation. You may want to have your medic take a look at that — vampire regeneration may not be able to heal that kind of damage.”

“Hey! Drop the artifact!” Sierra shouts, snatching her rifle up at and immediately firing it at Makalu. It’s clear that he expected more warning, and not an immediate assault, because the first few spikes manage to hit him before he can raise a hasty wall of orange light to block the rest.

“Ach… the point of a warning is to give time to comply before proceeding with the promised violence.” he grimaces, touching his free hand to the bloody spots where coilgun spikes are sticking out of him.

“What, and let you monologue your way out of this mess? I don’t think so.” Sierra says, firing another few spikes at the wall he’s put up, testing its strength. “The tricks ain’t new to me; I work for the guy that your entire race is based on. I know a jibber-jabber distracter when I see one.” Moving forward, she keeps firing as she goes, spikes pinging off Makalu’s wall as the others duck and scramble away to avoid the ricochets. But her persistence is yielding results, because cracks are spreading across that transparent wall with every shot. “Drop the artifact and leave while you can. Hold onto it if you want to get turned into a pincushion in the next ten seconds!”

“I admire your moxie, but—” Makalu begins.

“Moxie this, bitch!” Sierra interrupts, dropping her rifle to unpin a frag grenade and lob it over the top of the wall he’s set up.

Makalu is quick to react, turning on the spot and flicking a rune up from his wristmarks, enclosing the grenade in a sphere of orange light just before it detonates. The sphere cracks, then shatters, but with much less force. “You are quite—”

“Have another!” she shouts, jumping up and lobbing another grenade over the top of the wall.

For a moment I see Makalu’s composure crack, his eyes widening in alarm as yet another grenade drops towards him. He manages to contain this one within another orange sphere just before it detonates, though it shatters a bit more explosively this time. Sierra is in the middle of pulling the pin out of another grenade when one of his burly arms shoots through his own wall, shattering it as he grabs Sierra by the throat and lifts her up. “Cease!” he shouts. “Let me finish spea—”

“Don’t care, didn’t ask, you have no bitches, and also, grenade.” Sierra gurgles, pulling the pin on her third grenade and dropping it at his feet.

Makalu has to drop Sierra to throw another rune down on the most recent grenade, covering it with a dome of orange light. It blows a hole in the platform when it explodes, shattering the dome as well, and rather than attempting to monologue again, Makalu simply takes one of his massive boots to Sierra, kicking her across the platform hard enough to slam into Tarocco and knock her down. “Enough! This is childish and impetuous. I do not have the time to indulge this behavior when there is work to be done.”

With that, he raises the gauntleted hand holding the Dragine artifact, and the air before him fractures and caves in itself, forming another portal — but this one is much different than the one he made with his own runes. It looks like it leads through into an open cave with sunlight and greenery spilling into it, with tables and lab equipment on the far sides; wherever it is, it clearly isn’t on the Losinadae Ring, and it’s probably on another planet, lightyears from here. It should be impossible to create a portal bridging a distance that far — the fact that he was able to create a portal between here and the control room, over a mile away, was already astounding. The portal he just created should be downright impossible — and if I had to guess, it probably wasn’t Maskling magic; it’s that artifact he’s holding.

He’s quick to step through that portal, leaving us no opportunity to stop him, and the fracture in the air soon folds shut behind him; but I feel movement beneath me, and I realize too late that Songbird is bolting forward, teeth bared in a snarl and eyes glowing with the incandescent blue fury of his Spark. Just before the fracture closes up, he gets his burned hands in the seam, keeping it from sealing shut, and a watery, turquoise aura starts to form around his arms as he starts to pry open that crack in reality. “You are not… going to walk away… with that artifact… after WHAT YOU JUST DID!”

The air pings and cracks as fissures start to run through it it again, Songbird ripping open that hole in space and time seemingly on the sheer force of aggravation alone. I scramble to my feet, rushing towards him as Sierra does the same; Makalu had only made it a few strides through the portal before turning around to see a feral Songbird tearing open the fabric of reality behind him. “What in the name of the Nine Masks—”

“Kiwi, stop! You don’t know what’s on the other side of that portal!” I can hear Tarocco shout behind me.

“We can’t just let him walk after what he’s done!” I shout back at her as Songbird starts to climb through the fracture in the air. The moment he’s through it and lets go of the edges, it starts to close up, and I dive through it while I still have the chance. Sierra manages to squeeze through just before it closes, and there’s a fwoop as the air beside Songbird ripples, Ridge warping into the spot just behind him.

“You are fools, each one of you. Brave fools, but fools nonetheless.” Makalu says as the rune circles across his body glow and lift off his shoulders, chest, back, and legs. “I was willing to leave and let you all live, out of a respect for your exceptional achievement in foiling the firing of the weapon. But it seems you do not know when to take your victories and be content with them.”

“If you think we were just going to let you walk off with that artifact after what you used it for, you should adjust your expectations.” I say, forming another hammer out of my rune circles. Even as I do so, Makalu’s own runes finish flattening into a transparent imitation of a suit of power armor, in the style of the gauntlet he formed earlier. “Hand it over.”

“I think not. My patience is at an end, and you stand on my ground now.” he says, tucking the artifact away. “I am no longer interested in testing your strength; I know what I need to know, and I know what you and your compatriots are capable of now. I have work to do; you will receive no lenience from me if you stand in the way of it.”

“Less talk, more action!” Sierra says, jerking her rifle up and squeezing off a burst of spikes. Makalu yanks an arm up as they slam into his armor, and a powerful displacement ripple quickly sends her flying back against the cave wall. Songbird bolts right for Makalu, and I sprint to the side on an arc that will take me around to flank him, while Ridge does the same on the other side.

“You have elicited the way of pain, then.” he says, throwing displacement ripples out to either side to catch Ridge and I, throwing us back across the sandy floor of the open cave. He brings his fists up and slams them down, Songbird dodging out of the way — but the impact’s powerful enough to cause the sand on the ground to jump a foot into the air, Songbird getting tossed along with it. Makalu swings one arm up in an instant, backhanding Songbird while he’s still in the air and sending him flying across the cave to slam into the wall.

Rolling back to my feet, I pump my wings, rushing across the cave to Songbird while Sierra keeps Makalu busy with firing short bursts of spikes at him. Despite hitting the wall of the cave pretty hard, he’s already getting back to his feet, and I’m pretty sure he’s pushing his limits, even if the damage isn’t showing on the outside. I grab him before he can throw himself back into the fray, cupping my glass wings around him. “Feroce! Hang on just a moment. Lemme set something up.”

I can tell he’s biting back a protest as I plant a hand to his chest, printing some runes there; his blood is up and he wants to fight. “Kiwi. This is where he took the Fountain. From Xayrak.” he rasps, looking to the side. I follow his gaze to see that he’s right — out in another area of the cave is the wide stone pool, with a column of ethereal light rising from it into the sky above. A new foundation has been carved for it, and there are stone benches and an operating bed of some sort in that area as well.

“We’ll need to find out what he’s doing with it after we’re done with this fight.” I say, taking my hand away from his chest. I don’t want to let him leave the safety of my wings, but there’s a fwoop beside us, Ridge staggering out of the air and dropping to one knee as he holds the back of his head. Blood’s running down the back of his neck; glancing back towards Makalu, I can see the gleam of a blue crystal knife sticking out from between the plates in his armor. Ridge probably got in close, and got blasted back against the cave wall after getting a hit in.

So I fold my wings behind my back, nodding to Songbird. “Go get ‘em.” As he sprints back towards Makalu, I plant the head of my hammer on the ground and kneel down next to Ridge, resting my free hand on his shoulder as he looks up at me. “Ridge, listen to me. I need you to find us away out of here. There has to be a way in and out of this cave system. If we lose, we’ll need a retreat path; if we win, we’ll still need to find our way out of here.”

And instead of protesting, he just nods. No puerile complaints, no wounded ego — he just nods and starts getting back to his feet. I don’t know what’s changed — maybe it was the Agent training he’s been through, or because of Quincy’s betrayal — but he’s not the same kid we picked up at the museum on Valcorria over a year ago.

Rising to my feet as well, I turn about and throw myself back towards the fight while Ridge starts to slink off around the edges of the cave. Sierra’s coilgun has run out of spikes at this point, and she’s now using the rifle as a bludgeon, whacking Makalu’s helm with it as he slams Songbird into the ground again beneath one of his massive gauntlets. Reaching up, he grabs the rifle with his free hand, crumpling it like an empty can of fizzwater, then hitting Sierra with a ripple-boosted punch that sends her flying back against another cave wall.

But with his focus on the two them, it’s allowed me charge up my hammer as I come up behind him, and whip a haymaker swing into his leg. The force charged up in the head of my hammer detonates on impact, sending chips of orange light flying across the cave as portions of his magical armor buckle and fracture, and almost throws him flat on the ground. Songbird takes that moment of faltering to grab the gauntlet that’s holding him down, flooding it with a surge of energy from whatever song he’s listening to at the moment. As the gauntlet starts to glow, blue cracks running through it under the strain of Songbird’s output, Makalu shoves back to his feet, twisting around and bodily hurling him across the cave. He goes hurtling towards the portion that has the Fountain of Souls in it, while I wing another swing at Makalu, who blocks the hammerstrike with a forearm.

I can see a flash of runes as it hits, and realize he cast a spell in the second before it landed. The type of spell quickly becomes clear as the kinetic force from the blow is channeled along his armor and into the gauntlet of his other hand, which comes at me like a wrecking ball. I don’t have time to dodge; I can only fold my wings around myself before it slams into me, shattering my wings and sending me flying back in the same area of the cave as Songbird. I land hard, kicking up sand as I go rolling across the ground, barely able to keep a hold on my hammer.

“You still have the option to get up and walk away.” Makalu rumbles as he strides across the cave towards us. “I am not doing this because I want to. Turn away and leave this place, and you may live.”

“Artifact first.” Songbird growls, rushing past me while I’m still getting up. I use the time he’s buying to print a set of runes onto the head of my hammer, looking around and seeing that Ridge is still scouting the cave’s smooth, water-carved walls for a way out, and Sierra is getting back up, unsheathing a combat knife. A thud and grunt draws my attention back to Songbird to see that he’s trading punches with Makalu, his fists engulfed in a watery blue blaze. Despite how much larger Makalu is, Songbird isn’t backing off; even when he gets nailed with a punch that slams him into the ground and then gets lifted into the air by the throat, he grabs the neck of Makalu’s armor, pulling himself closer so he can slam his blazing fist into Makalu’s helm. A portion of it shatters before Makalu holds him at arm’s length, a single magma-orange eye glaring at Songbird.

“You should pick your fights more carefully, boy. You have chosen one you cannot win.” Makalu says, swinging his free arm around to hit Sierra with a displacement ripple, all without looking. “The galaxy needs men of your integrity and tenacity. You should not deprive it of your presence by picking a fight with me.”

“My tenacity and integrity is exactly the reason why I’m picking this fight.” Songbird snarls, hands coming up to clamp on the gauntlet around his neck, starting to flood it with energy again. “I cannot turn away from what you’ve done. And I can’t let you go on to do it again.”

“Then you’re about to learn a very unpleasant lesson.” Makalu says, his free hand curling into a fist — and that’s the moment when I trigger the runes I printed on Songbird’s chest earlier. In an instant, I take Songbird’s place, and he takes mine.

“Surprise.” I grunt as I swing my rune-charged hammer right into Makalu’s chest.

The impact goes off like a bomb as it hits him, an explosion of green fire blasting us apart. Makalu’s armor shatters as he’s thrown back against one of the cave’s protruding walls, while I hit the ground and roll, scrambling back to my feet as fast as I can. Getting my hammer in hand, I charge right back at him, bringing my hammer around to sledge him in the head as he’s reeling. It draws blood and sets him staggering, so I wind up for another swing, but he catches the head of my hammer before it can land. He yanks it towards himself, dragging me with it before I think to let go, then grabs the handle, slamming it down on his knee and shattering it in half with a spray of viridian shards and sparks. The head dissolves, but other half of the handle remains intact as he reinforces it with tangerine light, twisting and shunting the jagged end into my ribs before I can react. Pain lances through me, sharp, sudden, incomprehensible, instinctive, as I feel my entire body seize up.

It’s gone through my heart.

I can’t breathe. I want to, but it’s like my body’s forgotten how to; like nothing else matters but the broken, jagged handle rammed though my torso. Makalu pushes off the wall, walking me backwards as he moves forward, and all I can do is wrap my hands around the handle in my chest, trying to keep it from moving too much as even the slightest movement sends electric pain racing all through my nerves. I can hear Songbird shouting; I’m vaguely aware of Makalu lifting a hand and making a sweeping motion, and out of the corner of my eye, seeing someone get thrown against Sierra like a ragdoll. But I have no ability to focus on that; all I know is the sharp pain lancing clean through me, the blood spilling over my hands as my chest convulses like my heart’s trying to beat but can’t properly contract and expand with something stabbed through it.

And still Makalu keeps moving, walking me backwards towards the Fountain. Somewhere, somehow, I find it in me to dig in my heels, to push back, even through it’s killing me and I cough up blood for it. At that point he stops, but I notice a glow building within my hands, and look down to see the broken, glassy handle is starting to brim with light. Energy is being channeled into it, and a crack makes its way along the handle as it starts to reach the limit of the energy it can contain.

I look up to see Makalu’s magma eyes burning into me. “Surprise.” he says softly.

Then the handle explodes, shredding my heart from the inside out, and everything disappears.

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Unnamed Planet: Cave System

7:37pm SGT

I don’t realize we’re still linked until the broken handle explodes, and there’s a starburst of pain deep in my torso that drops me to my knees, gripping my chest with a hand.

There’s no damage, and the pain fades quickly, a mere echo of what Kiwi probably felt. But it still staggered me, ripped my breath away, all the noises around me muted as the emerald shards finish bouncing around cave and she slumps onto Makalu’s fist. The sand around them is clotted with flecks of blood, splattered all over his front and up across his cold, impassive face. Her body shifts every so slightly as it reverts back to that of her Maskbearer, and her Mask starts to sublimate out of the Maskbearer’s face; reaching up, Makalu catches it as it falls off the corpse’s face.

Then he looks at me, closing his massive hand around Kiwi’s Mask, constricting tighter and tighter until it shatters in his fist.

I’d started to get up, to struggle to my feet, to do something, but I feel something snap in me when Kiwi’s Mask shatters, and it drops me back to one knee again, gasping a breath. As the shards settle into his hand, he turns and casts them into the swirling light of the Fountain, where they quickly disappear into the unseen currents among dust and other Mask fragments. I’m left clutching my chest, staring emptily into the silent maelstrom of the Fountain, my mind empty.

“I warned you, time and again, that you were choosing a fight you would regret.” Makalu says as he starts to shake blood off his hand. “I did not want to do this, but I trust you now understand the consequences of your actions. You should leave, before you incur an even heavier price.”

I feel a hand gripping the back of my jacket, trying to tug me up. “Ridge found a way out, Songbird — c’mon.” Sierra urges. “We need to get out of here.”

I don’t move. I can’t take my eyes off the Fountain; I cannot accept what I’ve just seen. If I accept it, I lose everything, and there will be nothing left for me. Nothing to go back to. The last year and a half flows back through my empty mind, all the moments Kiwi and I had, everything that we’d built together. Back, and further back, until that moment in the museum on Valcorria, trapped in the collapsed pit together, where she’d asked me the question that had convinced her to tangle with me.

So. Are you scared of dying, Songbird?

I reach up, taking Sierra’s hand and moving it off my jacket. “Take Ridge and get out of here.” I say softly, getting my foot under me and start to stand.

“You know I can’t do that!” Sierra hisses. “You know the kid’s going to be fighting me the whole way if we leave you behind—”

“Sierra.” I say, a blue haze starting to tinge the edges of my vision as I look at her. “Take Ridge and get out of here.”

I can tell that she knows there’s no point in arguing with me, so she lets go and starts to back away. If there’s one thing that I appreciate about Sierra, it’s that she doesn’t mince words, and she doesn’t try to fight pointless battles. Turning back to the Fountain, I find Makalu producing a fresh set of runes, the glowing circles lifting off his shoulders, arms, torso. “So you have learned nothing.” he rumbles.

I feel anger when I look at him, but it’s distant, as if separated from me by a veil, by the aquamarine fog on my peripherals. He doesn’t matter any more. Lifting a hand, I sweep it in a circle, a smooth, pale blue curtain of light sealing off this portion of the cave system so he can’t pursue Sierra and Ridge if he changes his mind. Once that’s been done, I return my attention to the Fountain, and start towards it.

“You cannot go there and return. The Fountain of Souls is for the dead.” Makalu admonishes me. “There is no saving your lover. In time, she will be eroded into the same dust that creates all newborn Masks — even faster in her case, since her Mask went in there in pieces, rather than whole. And the same will happen to you if you step into the Fountain.”

I don’t acknowledge him, stepping over the body of Kiwi’s Maskbearer. I’m aware of the dangers of stepping into the Fountain; I remember we were warned about them back on Xayrak. To me, those dangers are currently immaterial; I have to go in there. I have to try, and if I die trying, then so be it.

“I suppose I am then the fool, for thinking death would deter you.” Makalu says, shifting into motion when he sees I am not stopping. “And I suppose I will have to provide that deterrence, since you will not see reason. I cannot allow you to contaminate this Fountain.” He articulates his point by using his runes to cast a wall of light around the Fountain, quickly moving clamp one of his hands around my head and shoulders.

It arrests me only for a moment; with a single thought, a single felt need, I become incorporeal, ghosting through his hand and leaving him holding empty air. He tries again, this time with a hand reinforced with magic, and it again stops me for a moment; but I reach up and touch the orange gauntlet clamped around my head. The hardlight starts to decay and burn away like paper ablaze, and I walk free once more, crossing the distance to the swirling grave of Masks.

Upon reaching the Fountain, I touch the wall encircling it; cerulean fire ripples away from that point of gentle contact, eating through the magic as it spreads outwards and consumes the barrier. Stepping up onto the Fountain’s rim, I pause at the edge of the column of light, staring into the ethereal depths. It’s hard to tell what’s in there; the twisting, undulating folds introduce layer upon layer, a translucency that slowly stacks into opacity. Fragments of Masks spin in and around those folds of light, into view and out of view again; and the shards of Kiwi’s Mask must be somewhere among them.

“All this power, and you would not use it to fight?” Makalu says from behind me. “ You are far gone, little vampire. This level of devotion is dangerous, but even so — it will not protect you from the Fountain.”

I look back to see him standing behind me, though even when standing on the rim of the Fountain, I’m at eye level with him due to his height. His runes are fizzling out, as if he’s accepted that he can’t stop me; his eyes are narrowed, giving away his perplexion. There are the lingering traces of a scowl on his face, as if he found my disengagement vexing, but was too polite to excoriate it.

“You will answer for what you have done, Makalu.” I finally speak, though my fury remains distanced by my Spark, and my voice is calm. “Do not think that you are absolved just because I have gone to a place that others have never come back from. I will return.”

And with that, I turn and step into the swirling column of light.