Destrillians: Appendicies

[Rumpelstiltskin]

Castiel + Tao

Spoiler: Beauty and the Beast

Viola, Facility 2:

Brennan Armada had been a guard at Viola since the facility first opened, he had watched as bit by bit the facility grew in size to house the experiments that Jason Spencer had sought after. Brennan knew every square inch of the facility and was often asked upon by his superiors to give his insight on security protocols regarding each individual experiment and their "unique" gifts.




At first Brennan had been shocked at finding out the experiments were to be conducted on children, divorced and fatherless himself Brennan always had a soft spot for children. However after watching the experiments battle each other his outlook had quickly changed. The children were no more human than a loaded gun, however they were exponentially more dangerous.




At thirty-six, Brennan stood tall at just under seven foot, he kept himself in shape by exercising every morning before starting his shifts as well as regularly attending combat training whenever possible. His hair was short with specs of grey running through it which his comrades called his "calling card to retirement." Brennan had no intention of retiring however, the money he was paid was more than enough to live a comfortable life but he had his eyes set on larger targets, the facility scientists had all taken note of his skills and with an occasional comment here and there Brennan was sure he could get a recommendation for facility security chief. A fact Brennan was more than open about.




The current security chief had heard wind of Brennan's boasting and had decided to make an example of him to the other guards. Placing him on pick-up duty with the rookie he was to instruct and advise the new guard in how to properly process a new experiment into the facility and to ensure that all security protocols were adequately adhered to.




Brennan looked down to the recruit standing next to him; his name was Tom, or Tim or maybe Brian. He didn't pay that much attention, as the commander chewed him out at the start of his shift all he had seen was red.




"So um, Brennan wasn't it? You been here long" The new recruit asked, breaking the silence between them as the elevator descended through the facility floors.




"Yes" Brennan replied sharply.




"Ummm yeah, so uhhh what exactly did the commander mean by escorting a dangerous experiment? I heard a few of the guys talk earlier and I think they were joking me around by telling me that this place was built just to house kids."




Brennan looked up and down at the new cadet, he already disliked him. Any idiot worth their pay would have known that working within a top secret facility meant that things inside were top secret.




"If you haven't been briefed on the full extent on what is done here at this facility it obviously means your security level isn't high enough. Just shut up keep your mind focused and do EVRYTHING I tell you." Brennan let his voice carry the anger he was currently feeling and the new recruit quickly snapped his mouth shut and stared at the doors to the elevator.




A few minutes passed and Brennan heard the door make it's audible click at securing the locks that meant they had arrived at the proper floor.
Pushing his right foot forward he waited for the door to open before stepping through before the new recruit.




"Hey hey hey if it aint Mr I’m going to be running this place within a year! What brings you down to Frankenstein’s lair?" Brennan heard before he had even exited the lift fully.




Smiling he stared up to the security station that was before him.




"Screw you Emille, you’re just sour because you got caught screwing Michael’s sister and your ass aint ever leaving this station.” Brennan replied before walking to the security station and shaking his colleagues hand.

Emille Sanchez had been at the facility nearly as long as Brennan himself and was one of the few guards to hold a special position. Emille’s job was to assess and record all information on new experiments to ensure that security was tailored to each experiments “unique” ability.

“Heh yeah well it was worth it, that girl had moves that could make a grown man cry.” Emille smiled back at Brennan before turning around and grabbing his clipboard.

Brennan took the seat next to Emille and barely even registered the new recruit entering the security station.

“He-Hey, I’m Kaiden. I just started, it’s nice to meet you!” The new recruit stumbled forward arm outstretched towards Emille.

Brennan caught his arm in mid air and held it there to let the cadet feel his grip. “What did I tell you in the elevator? Sit down and shut the fuck up. Were here to do a job not to piss about.”

Kaiden dropped his arm, rubbing the flesh that was now red from Brennan’s grip. Nodding to Emille he took a seat on the other side from Brennan and remained quiet.
Emille rolled his eyes at Brennan before clearing his throat.

“Today’s experiment is number twenty-nine, it is assumed that his abilities include the manipulation and projection of sound waves. Meaning that the guys on the other side of the door have secured his mouth with a device to stop him from being able to open it let alone use his abilities. Like all experiments were to blahdy blahdy blah, observe the security protocol and blahdy blahdy blah…. Brennan you know the drill. Kid comes through, you secure him from the guards on the other side, they lock the vault you march the kid up to his lab…Think this one is going to………Oh shit. He’s going to Garcia!” Emille’s jaw fell open as he viewed the clipboard, Brennan also stiffened at the name of Penelope Garcia.

“Garcia! They are honestly giving an experiment to her!” Brennan stammered.

Penelope Garcia had been with the facility since day one, she had quickly made a name for herself as being cutthroat and ruthless in her ambitions. Rising from assistant advisor to a fully-fledged facility scientist in under a year.
It was rumoured that she had sucked, fucked and even poisoned her way into her current position and even the guards who provided her support were on edge at the way she viewed human life.

“Shit, kid doesn’t stand a chance. I give him a month tops before she has his brain on a tray ready for dissection” Emille stated coldly.

“Whatever Emille, it’s our job to process the experiment. What Garcia does with it after we drop it off is none of our business.” Brennan said uncomfortably, the images of a child being dissected flew through his mind.

As if sensing their apprehension, the console in front of Emille began to buzz signalling the arrival of the other guard team.

“Well no time to think about it now, ready yourselves boys and remember to keep your side arms ready just in case.” Emille spoke before beginning the procedure to unlock the vault door.

Brennan nodded to Kaiden to move it before standing in front of where the main vault door would open. Brennan's right hand instinctively reached for his sidearm on his right side. It was a higher calibre than the standard issue guns but it would put an experiment down easily enough if needed. Looking towards Kaiden, Brennan noted that the new kid was literally shaking, it seemed as if nerves was getting to him.

“Just stay calm and follow me, keep your eyes on the kid once the guards pass him over then stay behind him all the way to the elevator.”

Kaiden looked to Brennan and nodded to show his understanding.
A few seconds passed and the vault door was finally open, the guards on the other side pushed experiment number twenty nine through the door before nodding to Kaiden and Brennan in succession before turning around and retreating back through the vault door.
Brennan looked down at the child; his skin was deathly pale giving the illusion that the guards had just delivered a ghost let alone a child. The child wore a simple white gown that covered his body down to his knees; his hair was medium length and came down to just above his eyes. Brennan couldn’t help but notice the colour of the child’s eyes, looking in to them Brennan could only compare them to blood and even his hair had the same dark crimson feel to it.
The boys lower jaw was covered in what looked like a human muzzle, Emille had said something about the boys powers coming from his mouth but this seemed a tad extreme.
Other than this though the boy looked “hollow” his eyes showed no emotion and he made no intention of moving other than that when the guards had ushered him through. “What the hell do they do to these kids.”? Brennan wondered.

Clearing his throat Brennan nodded to Kaiden to get behind the child before turning himself around and heading to the elevator. Brennan nodded to Emille as they passed the security station, Emille merely nodded in return before locking the doors behind them with an audible thump.

Brennan could hear the footsteps of the child’s bare feet on the floor as well as that of Kaiden’s. As he neared the elevator he reached up to swipe his access card just before another sound hit him.

“Oh-shi!” Brennan heard before turning around quickly.

The child had tripped seemingly over his own feet and had hit the ground behind him.

“You fucking moron! Why didn’t you catch him! He’s just a kid, he could have hurt himself for fuck sake.” Brennan barked towards Kaiden as he quickly rushed to the child’s side.

Bending down he hooked his hands under the child’s armpits before lifting him to his feet, by the time the child was standing fully Brennan was face to face with him literally inches apart. Brennan cracked a smile at the child before letting go.

“You're ok now, kid. Nothing broken.” Brennan said jokingly.

The child seemed to blink out of a dream and it was then that Brennan noticed the grin on the child’s face. He heard the shot before he even registered the pain, the boy was holding his own gun in his right hand and had it placed against Brennan’s stomach. The once white gown was now splattered with crimson blotches and as Brennan slumped forward the child turned quickly and fired once more, this time hitting his target in the throat.
Brennan was still conscious as he hit the floor, the pain seemed dull though. He watched as Kaiden grasped at his own throat, blood seeping between his fingers as he too fell towards the floor.

Brennan had never felt pain like this before, it seemed as if his stomach were on fire and as he tried to cover the wound with his hands Brennan could feel the wound was much larger than he had expected. “Shot…. with my own gun. What a way to go.” He thought to himself as he struggled to keep himself conscious.
The boy continued firing the gun into Kaiden’s body, he almost seemed to be enjoying the sight of blood pouring out of the poor sap.
Brennan tried to say something but he couldn’t muster the strength, already black spots were appearing in his vision. He could see the puddle beneath his own body begin to leech outward, he was loosing too much blood and he knew it.

As he tried to cling on to the last seconds of his life Brennan watched as the child dropped the gun and walked towards him. “He must have fired all the bullets,” Brennan thought. The child bent down and took Brennan’s chin in both his tiny hands before snapping his neck like a twig.

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Penelope Garcia watched gleefully as her experiment killed both his guards, she had hoped that her ticket to greatness would not be as boring as others in the facility were. It seemed like this one had a flair for killing in fact, something that would come in very handy as she plotted her advancement.

“Hmm I will make Jason very happy with this one” She spoke out loud, her voice sensual and seductive.

Turning off her monitor she walked towards the mirror that was mounted next to her desk, unlike most of the prudes who she worked around; Penelope Garcia liked to use the gifts she had been born with. Dressed in a short mini skirt that by all accounts showed more of her body off than it did cover it and a low cut top that showed off her perky breasts to anyone willing to look, Penelope felt invincible. Reaching into her lab coat that lay across the back of her chair she began touching up her make-up before reaching down under the dress to grab her six inch heels.
The heels made her tower above almost everyone and made her feel superior but on top of that it made most men unable to think as they came eye to eye with her breasts.
“Stupid moronic ingrates” she often thought as men tried to incoherently talk to her.
“None of them are good enough, none of them are powerful enough…. None of them are Jason.” She often thought this to herself, her obsession with power had caused her to idolise her employer and with this new little toy she was certain he would take notice of her more and more in days to come.

“Miss Garcia, the guards have sedated number twenty nine and they are waiting for you in your lab” A voice spoke through her office intercom.

Walking to her desk Penelope reached down and hit a button before replying “Very well, make sure they do not leave even a bruise on his beautiful skin or else I will personally cut the manhood from them. Do I make myself clear?”

“U-understood ma’am” the intercom replied.

“Haha, my dear little Castiel. It’s time I seen just what you can do.”



Viola, Facility 2 – Several Months Later

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Dr. Bradley strode to the site where she was invited to bring her first successful prototype to evaluate with. She was glad that her little one had mingled successfully with one of the Destrillians, namely Hannah Fey. It will no doubt boost morale with her Destrillian as she would rise through the ranks and make an efficient supersoldier for the company. To her right, was a single guard and a meek looking small figure wearing a helmet, it had trouble finding its way by the good doctor's side but with a little hand extended, they both made their way carefully towards the small training room. The dome which was supposed to housed team based training, was not yet prepared at hand so they had to make do with these smaller but efficiently useful large scale rooms, akin to the size of a squash court.


The little figure tugged the doctor as it pointed to its helmet in a discomforting manner, as if begging to have it removed. The doctor simply shook one finger in kindness.


"Not now child, keep in mind you still have to maintain your form while outside your usual pod. It's only been a couple of days since we've allowed you to roam the facility without activating your powers," she said. True, the young subject had only remained within her pod, still having her powers adjusted. Right now she was wearing the helmet with visors in order stabilize her eyesight and prevent unecessary shaking, as ejection from the pod provocked the activation of a small fraction of her speed powers.


"Please? It...It hurts. I just want to get this off," the meek voice of the helmet wearer said in a pained voice. One could tell that it was a young child, a little girl, traces of silver hair can be seen flowing out of the back portion of the helmet.


"In due time, we're to conduct one final test before we meet with Dr. Garcia. I believe we're to be introduced to one of your fellow Destrillians," she said.


"Is it Kram? or Salem? I-I-I don't want to meet them j-j-just yet," the little girl stuttered.


"Heavens no! Not until you've honed yourself well enough to face either! Bear in mind that you've still got ample time, so rest easy okay? This is more or less like an orientation with how you meld well with the others compared to just Ms. Fey," she explained. The helmeted young girl nodded as she idly grabbed her helmet and walked alongside her, with the guard watching them closely from the back. It won't be long before she and her Destrillian were to meet one of the few rarely mentioned outside the well notable young Destrillians, this meeting was a rare occurence.




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Castiel awoke much like he did every day, strapped to a table with bright spotlights above him. Each morning Miss Garcia would enter the lab and wake him by powering up the spotlights. She often told him it was to make his senses keener as temporary blindness honed his other senses.

What he didn’t tell her was the fact he was awake often seconds beforehand as his hearing could tell when her ridiculous heels were nearing his chamber.

“Wake up Castiel, it’s time to work.” Miss Garcia spoke.

Castiel could feel his bindings around his hands and feet loosen and as he shrugged each limb out one by one he did his usual mental routine of flexing each finger and toe to ensure his muscles hadn’t gone numb.
Bending his body upwards, Castiel swung his legs over the side before throwing his body off the cold table.

Miss Garcia was there, holding her cup of coffee in one hand and her clipboard in the other. Like every day, she looked like a whore but Castiel never commented. The first time he had awoken he had called her that and it had resulted in high voltage electricity being passed through his body, so now he remained quiet.

“It seems as if today your going to be visited by another one of the experiments. Fear not she holds no real power and you could easily kill her given the right circumstances.” Miss Garcia grinned widely as she talked.

Castiel merely looked at her with his usual dead eyed stare, regardless what this woman said he knew at some point she would force him into fighting this other experiment. Since his awakening she had told him he was a tool for killing and for her own personal gain he was to kill everyone she deemed as a target. Little did she know that to Castiel she was target number one.
After his initial attempt at escaping had failed, Castiel had been more cautious. Biding his time and memorising each segment of the facility he was allowed to travel, in his mind he already had sixty percent of the current floor mapped in his mind and several thoughts on how to gain access to the main exits.

“Snap out of it, child!” Miss Garcia barked before slapping Castiel hard across the face.

The blow did little to cause any pain to Castiel but the same couldn’t be said for Miss Garcia’s hand. Castiel grinned ever so slightly as he watched his captor rub her palm with her other hand, the skin on her palm notably red from her attack.

“Anyway, as I was saying. You are to be introduced to another experiment to see if her powers may be beneficial to your progression. The sooner you develop your beautiful powers the better, remember my child we do this all for Mr Spencer.” Castiel watched as Garcia slipped into one of her usual day dreams the moment she spoke of this “Jason Spencer.” In the whole time Castiel had been in this lab he had never seen any real evidence that this Jason Spencer even existed let alone held any interest in him or Miss Garcia.

“Now lets make you presentable shall we, go behind the curtain and change into the clothing I have left for you. There shall be no training today of your powers, especially since I already have several reports to fill out in relation to your repeated killing of test subjects. Not that I care about their lives, no no no. I just hate the paperwork that comes attached. Now be a good little boy and hurry along, our guests will be here soon.”

Castiel merely turned away and walked to the curtain that acted as his screen for changing, behind it lay a long white t-shirt that covered both his arms and a pair of blue jeans. As per usual Miss Garcia neglected to give him any footwear “Children don’t need shoes.” Rang through his head, repeating the voice of Miss Garcia time and time again. Castiel used to think she was merely afraid he tried to kill her by strangling her with the shoe laces, but maybe it was something closer to vanity that stopped her from allowing him shoes.




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The young girl underneath the helmet fidgeted, confused and worrying about what she would do in the sudden exposure to another Destrillian besides the usual company she was accustomed to. Dr. Bradley herself had her doubts as to meeting with Dr. Garcia, rarely did she ever find the company of the seemingly deranged doctor to be a pleasant one. The others were a pack of arguing fools led by the real man behind the entire operation: Malcolm Abaddon. She had already grown accustomed to Kramskov Niet and Salem Locke by their doctors, but felt that meeting them with her own subject's current lack of skill and state would merely bring stress and further inability to cope with her new existence. Out of all the doctors, Bradley realized that only she was empathic towards her subject and caring. No one would wait for the other subject and their doctors like she would, just as she was staying in the large room with her right now.


As her thoughts came to a close, the helmet worn by the little girl flashed green. It appeared that the adjustments and modifications towards her subject's powers had finally set in, indictated by the helmet slowly unsealing itself. Dr. Bradley took the helmet off as shoulder length silver hair rolled down, revealing a pale, young Xi Qinese girl with a notable pink blush underneath her cheeks. One would never realized that she was to be one of the company's leading prototypes, well at least to Dr. Bradley's eyes, she would be.


"He will be joining us soon. Are you ready to meet this young man, Tao?" she asked her subject. She never addressed her by her number, only by her name.


Tao rubbed her eyes as flashes of magenta glowed against their irises, this was the first time since confinement to her pod that she had been exposed outside.


"Y-yes," she said. Dr. Bradley knew that the young Destrillian was lying. She was trembling with cold fear. The good doctor patted her head gently.


"No need to be frightened, he could be just like Hannah right?"


"But what if he - he's like Kram? or or Salem?? I...I -" she said weakly.


"There's nothing to be afraid of, we're not training with him until you get used to his presence," she said firmly. Tao nodded nervously.




Castiel followed Miss garcia as she marched down the corridor. The guard on todays trip was triple of that of yesterday, Castiel noted. In his mind he was counting the steps taken to reach each corner and adding the route to his mind map. The area in which they were heading was one of the few areas to which he hadn't been given access beforehand.


Castiel watched as Miss Garcia pushed researchers and guards alike out of her way, her annoying high heels making their usual click as she took each new step.
"God I want to stab her with those things" he thought to himself, the mental image flashing in his mind making him grin slightly.
The guards on either side of him took noticed and were quick to grip the muzzles of their firearms. "Hmm guess they do learn from their mistakes afterall."


"Ok Castiel, it's time to meet the "other" experiment. Do me proud wont you?" Miss Garcia cooed softly before swiping her access card on the door.


The guard behind Castiel nudged him forward with the butt of his rifle and quickly closed and locked the lab behind them.


Castiel quickly took in his surroundings, the lab was larger than he had expected. There were four people in it in total, two obviously human scientists and another.....thing. As if sensing his curiosity his head began to ache slightly. His right eye twitched in annoyance but other than that Castiel betrayed no other emotion as he walked towards the two strangers who appeared to be waiting for him.


Tao walked forward carefully, taking the initiative and clutching herself, her own form of security back in the day. Dr. Bradley nodded as she turned her back from the little girl, Tao could only glance back with pleading eyes to make her stay to no avail. The doors behind her shut off completely, leaving her alone with the other Destrillian on the opposite side.


She struggled to find the words needed to convey her introduction, his presence and calm, creepy state made her uneasy. All Destrillians besides Hannah were prone to irrational responses that made her cry with fear, a liability she was finding hard to overcome. But now this was a chance to prove that she was worth something stronger than just a meek experiment clinging to her overseer.


"Hello..." she quietly called out.


Castiel cocked his head to the side as he stared at the girl before him, she seemed "different" than most of the others, she even smelled different to them. As he took a step forward the pain behind his eyes grew, wincing slightly he held his right hand against his skull before finally looking at the girl again.


He continued to study her from afar, she didn't seem to be of any danger to him and in a fight he could easily kill her before the guards were able to come through the door. She looked scared though, "I wonder if they told her what I did to those guards." he pondered to himself.


Castiel continued to walk, keeping a distance between him and the girl he walked full circle to get a better look of her. She seemed ordinary going by her appearance but there was something about the pain in his head as he neared her that caused him to be wary. "Maybe she is just like me. I wonder........"


"I th-think we are," she responded back in telepathy while trying to keep the distance away from him. Why did Dr. Bradley subject her to this seemingly risky venture was beyond her understanding as she felt that she wasn't ready for combat challenges.


"What did you do to the guards?" she pressed on carefully.


Castiel grabbed his head immediately, the pain he felt was unnatural. He had been watching the girl the entire time and she had never opened her mouth. "What the hell did you just do?"


She simply backed away from him, nervous and teary eyed. "I thought you were u-used to speaking with your mind! I'm sorry!" she said.


Castiel rushed forward and grabbed the girl by the throat, he had't planned to attack her until he knew exactly what he was dealing with but this pain was becoming annoying.
"WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO ME!!!" his hand tightening around the girl's throat.


Tao's eyes became extremely teary that they begun streaming down her cheeks, her face became red from the strain that Castiel was putting unto her throat. With all her might, she began letting out a loud scream.


"DR. BRADLEY! HANNAH! A-ANYBODY!! HELP!!" she choked helplessly. The strain was becoming too painful for her to bare, beyond that she could only scream as loud as she could before Castiel would inevitably strangle her to death.


Castiel stared into the eyes of the girl, they were filled with tears. All the anger he had felt seemed to dissapear right then, slowly he loosened his grip before taking a few steps back.


"Im....Im sorry." he stammered.


"St-stay away!!" she yelled as she held her throat. "Dr. Bradley! Help me, please!" she called out to the room. She had to find a method of communication while trying hopelessly to defend herself as she continued crying. Fighting was not her forte, she was never armed with anything, it made her wonder why she was even here to begin with.


"Dr. Braldey!! Help!!" she called out tearfully.


Castiel stared at the entrance to the room, he couldn't afford to be locked up again. Turning his full body towards the door he positioned himself in front of the girl. He took several breaths in before opening his mouth and releasing a shockwave outward.
The soundwave propelled forward with horrific force, the door crumpled into a deformed shape of metal as the circuitry on either side blewup in a shower of sparks.


Turning his attention to the girl Castiel walked several steps forward again stopping just before the girl before sitting down on the ground.


"It's going to take them a long time to get through that door, please just sit. I need to know what...no who you are!" Castiel pleaded.


She backed away to the wall, her heart was pounding with fear. All she wanted to do right now was get as far away from him as possible, tears continued to stream down her face as she tried to repel him.


"just leave me alone..." she whimpered.


Castiel sat and stared at the girl, he knew that the guards would be en-route already. He guessed he had half an hour before they managed to rip apart the door that he had buckled.


"In case you didn't notice, no-one is coming to your rescue. I promise I wont hurt you again if you just answer some questions." Castiel spoke.


"I don't want to die...just let me go...This-this was a mistake, I'm sorry..." she cried.


"Sit down. No-one is going to die......well.......you're not going to anyway."


Castiel stood and closed the distance between him and the girl. Raising his right hand he softly patted the girl on the head and cocked his head with a smile.


"It's ok, I promise. Im sorry about earlier ok? Please just sit with me." Castiel spoke softly.


Tao's eyes stopped tearing up, although she remained nervous to Castiel's approach, she accepted the gesture that he won't be treating her as a hostile individual. Her breathing tensed as she tried to calm herself down and sat down, still glued to the wall.


"Wh-what do you want?"


"Answers......just answers. Firstly, what's your name?"


"Tao...That's what Dr. Bradley addresses me," she said.


"Nice to meet you Tao, my name is Castiel." flashing a grin at her as he spoke.

 

[Alex]

Spoiler: Jason Spencer Origins, part IV

31 YEARS AGO

It hadn’t gone anything like he had planned.
It was all Oberon could think about as he flexed his wrists against the taut ropes that had bound them behind his back. For the hundredth time they failed to give even an inch. He was trapped, and for the first time that he could remember, the gnawing feelings of despair and helplessness were beginning to coil around the rational half of his mind, choking out the constructive thoughts of escape and leaving nothing but a bleak bottomless pit of panic and fear.

He forced himself to remain alert and wary, staving off maddening sense of dread and focusing on analysing the environment. He took in every visible detail, crowding his mind with both the relevant and the irrelevant. Taking stock of the situation was all he could think to do, to overload his senses with information to try and understand the full scope of his surroundings.

Wherever he was being held in was very dark. Whoever had been in charge of boarding up the windows here had done a very thorough job indeed. Only a few errant streams of sickly yellow sunlight had burst through to feebly light the dusty interior of the room, just enough to give Oberon a decent enough impression of his makeshift cell. The walls had been painted a light, pastel colour that was impossible to determine in the gloom (at a guess, Oberon would have said they were beige) though whatever vibrancy they had had long since faded and peeled away in parts, revealing the naked grey brick that lay beneath.

The room was narrow and sparsely furnished, he noted. Save for a few barren looking bookcases and a large, dark desk at the far end of the room that had presumably been too big or heavy to lift out through the door, everything else in the room had long since been looted. The chair he had been tied to was brought in from another part of the building. He knew because one of his captors had disappeared to go bring him one whilst a pair of the others tried to soften him up. It had been frustrating, humiliating, he thought as he instinctively tongued the open cut on his lip. He could have taken either of them in a fair fight. Probably both. Instead he had had to do with head-butting the tall one right in the mouth. The reminder made him smirk in the darkness, in spite of the gash on his head from where the bandit’s front tooth had dislodged itself on contact. The feeling had been savage, raw and painful, but the memory of it was soothing. He took solace in the momentary surge of anger and adrenalin. It kept the fear at bay.

The room smelt of must and decay, Oberon noted as he continued his sensory spot-check, trying to put all thoughts of revenge out of mind, just for the moment. There was something else though, hiding deep amongst the stale aroma of his jail. Despite being unconscious when they had brought him here, he could remember the smell. Blood and ghosts. It had been his first thought upon regaining consciousness. Wherever he was and whatever this place had once been, something truly horrific had happened here. Yeah, he thought, that was significant.

There was very little to hear. No raised voices coming through the boarded up windows and no distant footsteps heading towards the door. They clearly hadn’t decided what to do with him yet. Which was weird. In his experience those gangs of bandits and outlaws who chose to live on the dead, radiation drenched surface of Vaul usually killed their captives outright. Keeping them alive was a waste of resources. So his continued survival was yet another oddity at the tail-end of what had been a fairly odd week, objectively speaking.

A brief gasp of wind rattled the boarded up windows and Oberon bowed his head, allowing a shock of his unruly dark hair to fall forwards over his face. He would be lying if he told himself that it had all gone wrong so quickly. Truthfully, his life had lurched from tragedy to disaster and back again for as long as he could remember. Life had not been a thing to be lived. It had been a thing to survive. And things had only gotten worse since Jason Spencer had absconded into the obscurity of the wastelands two years previously. His only companion and his closest friend had long since gone and torn a great deal of meaning from the life Oberon had known in the process.

He tried not to think about it. But the absence was noticeable all the same - a ragged hole that had been ripped into every aspect of his life that no amount of commitment to work could fill. It had been like mourning the loss of all the children and caretakers at the orphanage that he had lost during the horror of the war and the subsequent nuclear hellfire that had ignited the country. His only family. Gone. Now, his new family was gone too.

Come to think of it, he might have broken a rib during the earlier brawl too. Oberon grunted as he leant forward and felt the stab of pain on his flank. He felt relief, as the sharp pang shattered the introspective sentiment. Now was not the time to be dwelling on Jason Spencer.

SIX DAYS AGO
Undercity-01
Vaul

“The efficiency of the oxygen filtration systems in G-District has dropped again to 35%. If we don’t get the necessary supplies to stop the degradation then that whole district could become uninhabitable by the end of the month,”

Rossiter grunted, not looking up from half a dozen other, more pressing, reports that had been pushed onto his cluttered desk this morning.

“Also, Fuller’s team encountered a substantial iron deposit in the path of their drill site. It’s set back construction of the new pipeline by at least a week,”

Sometimes it was like talking to a wall, Oberon thought to himself. Not that Rossiter wasn’t listening, because he most certainly was. Something that he had picked up from his three month spell as Foreman Rossiter’s deputy was that the man in charge was always listening, always paying attention to every detail, no matter how minute.

“Is there anything else?” Rossiter responded, not looking up from the report on the water recycling system he was currently reading.

Barely a week into his new job as the deputy to the Foreman of the entire Undercity, Oberon had replied to the same question with ‘nothing important’. The scars of the scathing lecture he had received as punishment still had not yet fully healed. Everything was important to Rossiter. When you were responsible for so many, he had said, there was a responsibility to knowing as much as possible about everything. That way you would take nothing for granted, and nothing would ever surprise you.

The words had stuck with the tall, brawny nineteen year-old and he had endeavoured to never put a foot wrong again in the eyes of his superior.

“No, sir, there’s nothing else to report.” Oberon replied with a tone of finality that made the taciturn foreman nod his head in approval.

“Good,” Rossiter confirmed, looking up from the report for the first time, “Looks like it’s going to be a quiet day then,”

“Relatively speaking,” the teenager prompted, staring pointedly at the pile of untidy paperwork that had made its home on the desk. Rossiter gave a snort of laughter that sounded more like a car backfiring.

“True enough,” the foreman’s small, dark eyes lingered on Oberon, as if weighing up some question he had been meaning to ask. “Mind if I ask you something, boy?”

It was always boy. Rossiter rarely called him Oberon and he had to work out whether it was a compliment or because the man was always so busy that he had genuine trouble with names.

“No, sir,” Oberon replied, acutely aware of his shaggy thatch of black hair as it drooped down over his vision, obscuring his eye contact with the foreman. This conversation was going to be awkward, he could already tell, without Rossiter even needing to carry on.

“How have you been holding up?”

The question needed no qualifying, Oberon knew exactly what he was referring to. Jason Spencer had been gone for over two years. A constant companion, a brother in all but bloodline. The void was a constant gaping wound torn into his life, still fresh and unhealed. The demise of their relationship was yet another casualty of the war with Artolia, which despite of being long since over, was still finding new ways to tear apart the lives and livelihoods of those that still lived in Vaul.

“I’m fine,” the lie was told too quickly for Rossiter’s discerning ears, and Oberon knew it.

The foreman shrugged, turning his attention back to his paperwork as Oberon stood awkwardly against the back wall. Torn between wanting desperately to escape the thick, uncomfortable atmosphere of the room, and wondering if Rossiter had given him silent permission to do so.

“Just take care of yourself, okay?” the foreman asked him, his voice cold and stern, “I know the past two years haven’t been easy for you,”

With any luck this conversation would be as awkward for him as it would be for me, Oberon thought spitefully as he resolutely stared at the floor, seemingly transfixed by the patchwork of metal plates that covered the floor.

“I’ve gotten by,” Oberon said stubbornly, only for Rossiter to scoff at the weak answer.

“Anyone can get by, son,--“

“I’m doing fine,” Oberon snarled back at him, a biting edge of anger cutting up through his voice. Rossiter levelled a long, hard look at him before shrugging his shoulders and conceding to the young man’s stubbornness.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,”

Oberon couldn’t have been happier with the dismissal.

.oOo.

Oberon hadn’t been sure when the decision had to come to him, though if he was forced to hazard a guess he would have put the decision at around about the time he had made the decision to switch his nightly barrage of vodka shots to ones of a particularly fearsome whiskey. He had to concede was still relatively drunk and leaning on the railing of the vast elevator platform that ascended the wide, diagonal mineshaft towards the enormous steel doors to the Undercity. However, if one had decided to ask him this question in a few days time, the reluctant admission would have been that he had decided to do this months ago. Maybe years.

“You’re sure then?” Coffin asked for what had to have been the hundredth time, his raspy voice sounding much louder than normal in the cavernous expanse of the spacious mineshaft.

“Yes. I am damn sure,” Oberon replied, only semi-aware of his companion. His mind was more focusing on the sleepless, nauseous transition from being drunk to being thoroughly hungover. “I should have gone out to find that little bastard as soon as he left,”

Coffin agreed, though he stopped himself from saying anything. He was both genuinely surprised and thoroughly unsurprised that his friend had waited this long before heading out into the wasteland to go and search for Jason Spencer. It seemed like the kind of thing that he should have done as soon as he had run away two years back. But then again, Oberon was as angry, stubborn and bitter about the way their friendship had fallen apart as Coffin had ever seen a man before. It was plain to see that those wounds still had not healed.

“What if you can’t bring him back?” he asked quietly, casting his eyes up to look at the high vaulted roughly-hewn ceiling of cave they were ascending through. He didn’t want to ignite his notoriously tempestuously tempered friend’s anger over the subject.

“Then I’ll knock him out and drag him back,” Oberon replied gravely. He was leaning against the railing of the slow contraption, nursing his forehead with a dirty gloved hand and keeping his eyes tightly closed against the harsh, halogen strip lighting that hung on the ceiling of the elevator trolley.

“What if he’s dead?” Coffin’s voice was scarcely above a whisper and difficult to hear against the whine of machinery. At first, it seemed to the scarred young man that his friend has not heard him. But the subtle whitening of the knuckles on the one hand that gripped the tattered, worn rucksack and the almost imperceptible tensing of the muscles beneath his grimy black jumpsuit suggested that he had indeed heard the question.

Oberon didn’t respond. Truthfully, he had already considered it. Hell, it was probably the most likely outcome. All but the most resourceful people could survive out in the untamed wasteland and in their youth it had always been Oberon that had ensured the survival of the two. Not Jason Spencer.

To think that he had survived all these years without his help was almost absurd to think about. The savage remnants of humanity that scoured the dead surface of Vaul would have found and made short work of the angry, intelligent young man who had forsaken the relative comfort and luxury of the Undercity.

“He’s alive,” Oberon grumbled, more out of defiant optimism than any kind of genuine conviction. Coffin seemed to pick up on this and didn’t follow up with any more questions, leaning casually against the elevator’s railing and looking sympathetically at his weary friend. He had not been the same since Jason Spencer’s dramatic departure years prior, yet it was only now that Coffin could see the physical toll it had taken on his dark-haired friend. The surly exterior and the gaunt, sunken features of his grim face were a reflection of the way his life had changed so dramatically since the last embers of anything he could call a family had been snuffed out.

First the other children and staff at his orphanage, some of which he had had to bury himself. At least that’s what the scarred man had remembered Jason Spencer saying; then this, his closest friend, practically his brother, snatched away by his own heady idealism. Oberon felt a pang of sorrow for his friend, always left abandoned on the shores of solitude.

“Stop yer staring, damn it. You’re giving me the creeps.”

The elevator grated to a halt facing the two enormous, grimy metallic doors that served as the Undercity’s gateway to Vaul’s ravaged landscape. At least twice the height of a man and wide enough to fit in three large diggers or large vehicles side by side for use in the mines that served as the bedrock for the growing metropolis far beneath them.

Wordlessly, Oberon moved to the control panel on the door frame. Devoid of any hi-tech buttons or contraptions, the control panel merely consisted of a large dirty button several times the size of a man's fist. Punching the button hard, he was rewarded with the groaning creak of the poorly maintained machinery as the enormous doors began to open.

"I guess this is it then?" Coffin asked bleakly, scratching the rough skin on the back of his head.

"I'll be coming back." Oberon replied, not turning to look at his friend. His green eyes were entranced by the cloudless dark of the early morning sky. The tone of his voice was thoroughly unreadable and it made Coffin nervous.

"You don't sound very convinced." He replied skeptically. Oberon snorted.

"Jason once said that actions speak louder than words."

As the doors finally opened fully to the indigo sands of the warm, quiet emptiness of the landscape, the pair of young men were momentarily lost for words as they breathed in the scope of the horizon that stretched out before them. Spending most of their time in the tight, cramped labyrinthine system of crisscrossing vaults, shafts and corridors it was easy to lose perspective of just what the outside world looked like.

"Just make sure you get yourself back here alright, with or without Jason. He's made his choices, there's nothing you can do about that now." His raspy voice sounded so much more quiet in the face of Vaul's rocky, unforgiving wasteland. "You can't control everything, Oberon."

"Take care of yourself, Andrew." Oberon called back, snatching up the tattered rucksack from the platform's railing and taking good care to avoid the concerned gaze of his friend as he did so.

"I'll see you when I see you." Without turning back, he crossed the threshold away from the safety and security of his home and onto the soft, loose sand of the desert. He heard the grinding whir of the doors as they began to close to the outside world, but again he did not turn to look back.

Oberon was once again alone.

.oOo.​

It was more than a day's worth of angry, petulant storming across the rocky wastes before Oberon was forced to admit that he had simply no idea where to start looking for his friend. Jason Spencer had vanished from the face of the earth just over two years ago, he might not even be in Vaul anymore. He might not even be on the continent of Alvyssia anymore. That first night, Oberon sat himself down amongst the shattered ruins of what had once been a church that had long since blown itself into rubble to consider the possible locations of his old friend.

Under the twin light of the planet's two moons he had spread out the map he had taken from the resource administrator's office in the Undercity and spread it out over a blackened slab of discoloured stone. His initial thought had been that Jason would have headed to familiar territory, his eyes quickly finding the location of Vaul's former capital city, Araketh. Their home for so much of their adolescent life. But he had quickly discounted the idea that Jason would have ever returned there. His friend had never had any real attachment to that place. He was born and raised in Artolia, Vaul was a foreign land to him and Araketh had never been more than a temporary home. It had was his companionship with Oberon that had kept him bound to the remnants of that city, not the city itself.

Artolia had been his second thought, as he examined the distance from the Undercity's location to the Artolian border. Oberon was aware that Jason's family exerted quite a significant influence in the Artolian foreign office and that his parents had both been ambassadors assigned to the Vaul after its complete annihilation in the war and that they had both been killed in an uprising at a POW camp. But it would not have been unreasonable to suspect that he could have made his way back to his homeland through the newly constructed demilitarised zone. He did still have family there. Not that he had ever heard him speak much of them. If his search would take him to Artolia then he would be well and truly stumped.

Oberon turned his attention back to Vaul. It was here, he had decided with a newfound confidence whose source he found it impossible to determine, that he would find his friend. Though it was not his natural home, Vaul had been what had shaped his friend. Carving him into the hard, jagged figure that he had come to know.

Then where was he? Oberon thought, racking his brain for every ounce of information that he had ever known about his old friend. Jason had not been much of a survivalist at first. But he was intelligent and a quick learner, it would not be impossible to suggest that he had survived out in the wilderness for so long. However, Oberon could not come to think of his friend living on his own out away from all forms of civilization. Jason needed civilization, he needed the comforts of his walls and books. He had always been the same.

His parents. The thought came back to him like lightening out of turbulent, overcast sky just as he had begun to feel his tired eyelids getting heavy.

Barring the obvious exception of himself, they were the only people whom Jason had ever felt genuinely attached to.They were his family and the lingering fury over their deaths had given him the impetus to strike out against the haphazardly constructed life that he had come to know in Vaul. The idea crystallised in his mind with an undisputable certainty. Jason had gone to visit the prison camp where his parents were killed.

It was doubtful he would still be there, of course, Oberon reminded himself. working hard to reel in his racing imagination. There was no way that after two years apart he would be able to just waltz into the desolate, haunting remains of an Artolian work camp to find his longtime friend grieving in solitude. The world did not work like that.

But still, it was a start. At the very least he would be able to possibly pick up some clues as to Jason Spencer's next destination and then work out what to do from there.

The plan was not, however, free from all complications. The first and most pressing being that Oberon had never once inquired about the precise location of where this camp had been positioned. It had never seemed like a wise idea to press Jason on the subject.

What he did know was that just about ten years ago he had encountered Jason dragging his own half-dead carcass into Araketh's northern suburbs. He had to have been heading pretty much due south away from the facility he had escaped from. So retracing those steps would be what needed to be done.

The second most pressing concern was that traversing the treacherous, unforgiving landscape of Vaul was hard-going. Even for a young man in prime physical condition, armed with enough clean drinking water and fresh food to last for a whole fortnight, making the overland journey to Araketh was a demanding ordeal.

Vaul had never been picturesque, even before it had been bombed back to prehistory by Artolia's nuclear arsenal. Once a mere unpleasant streak of jagged rock canyons and yellow dusty fields that stretched across the spine of the Alvyssian continent, now Vaul gave off the distinct impression of a dead, alien world. Towering spikes of formiddable stone routinely punctured the fields of short sickly yellow grass and shallow gullies of acrid, polluted water. All of which was set against the backdrop of dark, distant mountain ranges, beyond which a baleful, overcast orange sky sat in impassive judgement.

It took several more days of arduous travelling before Oberon rounded the high crest of a particularly impressive edifice of dark rock to see what remained of the capital city, Araketh. From a distance, it looked almost unchanged from when the two boys had made their own departure from the city. A grey and ivory coloured skeleton, populated by the gutted and threadbare remains of the few remaining skyscrapers, set amongst vast swaths of rubble and destruction.

Probably best to bypass the city entirely, Oberon reasoned to himself. It was likely home to at least a hundred murderous bandits by now. A picture of society at its most primal and barbaric, without the law and order of the Undercity to keep a firm hand on its tiller. There was no risk in provoking an unecessary provokation.

To that end, Oberon waited patiently in the shadow of the rocky cliff face until nightfall before he made his move north. Following the directions of the old and cracked compass that had been a present given to him by Rossiter, he stayed well clear of the city's periphery. laying low and traversing the flat, long-dead farmland until he was heading due north, with the city of Araketh and its nighttime soundtrack of sporadic gunfire to his back.

So it was that Oberon began to travel north, retracing the steps that had led Jason Spencer to him ten years prior. The going began to get easier, he noted. Whether it was the renewed sense of optimism that came with the proximity to his intended destination or the fact that up until the mountains at Vaul's northern extreme, the terrain began to flatten out into rolling expanses of easily crossed dirt plains, he wasn't able to tell. He decided not to linger on the matter, either choice expedited his progress north. Though he was well aware that this was the part of his plan where the pretense of any foundation for his decisions fell away. He was wondering into totally unexplored territory in full knowledge that Jason might not have travelled due south from the camp. It was absolutely possible that he might have led a twisting, meandering journey through Vaul towards his meeting with Oberon. There was simply no way to know for sure.

As Oberon lay down for his fifth night's sleep he tried to displace those thoughts from his mind and dispel any sense of tiredness from his aching limbs. If he allowed himself to surrender to this level of doubt and uncertainty then there was no way any progress would be made. Belief that Jason, even all those years ago, would have been stupid enough to swan across country in search of help. He would have headed in a straight line, the guaranteed shortest path to any destination.

It just felt right. Oberon thought as he jammed his eyes shut against the overcast night sky. That would have been the decision that Jason would have made. He had to keep heading straight.

On day six, Oberon awoke to a shock. The pressure of a heavy, leather work boot pressing down on his throat.

"What should we do with him?" the voice above him sneered. Clearly the owner of the boot. Oberon said nothing. The weight of the man on top of him was preventing him from moving his head at all, he had no idea how many bandits had found him. Listening to them would be the only way to determine their number and threat level.

"Gut him. Looks like he could have some useful gear." The booming, heavily Southlander accented voice of a second gang member commanded. He spoke with authority that made Oberon feel uneasy as his hands scrabbled in the dirt, pretending to be looking for a weapon. A plan formulating in his mind.

"Hold still, shitstain!" a third voice called, lashing out with a kick to his side. Oberon gave a feigned grunt on pain, much to the harsh laughter of his captors. The kick had some weight behind it, but not nearly enough to injure a young man of Oberon's size and physique.

"Nothing but a fuckin' pup, ain't ya?" The first voice barked again, "Someone hand me my knife."

Three men. That's all. He heard the slippery scrape of metal being drawn across old leather and knew that he was out of time.

"Now hold still, boy,"

Hold still, he did not. With astonishing speed, Oberon's clenched fist snapped up across his body to painfully impact the knee of his aggressor just below the kneecap so that it snapped upwards with a hideous crack. The pressure was off his throat almost instantaneously and Oberon wasted no time in standing up to his full and considerable height, forcing the limp, wimpering bandit off him and rolling to the floor.

It was all instinct from here. Instinct born out of dozens of fights against bandits and vagabonds in Araketh, prize fights in the grimy pits of the Undercity illuminated by filthy halogen lamps. Oberon had been a fighter his entire life. The first day he had met Jason he had killed a man without thinking twice.

The big southlander threw a tremendous overhand right that he rolled under with ease, sliding inside the southern giant's reach and delivering a pair of short powerful punches into his taut mid-section. It was said by the Undercity's veterans from the war against Artolia that fighting in a war changes you forever, completely removing your moral centre. They might have been right, but that statement was too limited. It in no way accounted for the bleak, clinical apathy that came with seeing so many friends and guardians from the orphanage die. Incinerated by shell blasts, gunned down by Artolian stormtroopers, dying in wretching bloody spasms as their ravaged bodies succumbed to radiation poisoning.

Oberon caught the glint of another knife to his left as the third man tried to take him in the flank. Grabbing hold of the Southlander by his wrist and swinging a right hand hard up into his temple, the dazed bandit fell to the side, dragged by Oberon's firm grip on his wrist straight into the path of his companion's knife.

"Shit!" The final one called in alarm, instantly releasing his grip on the blade embedded in his companion.

With a colossal effort, Oberon kicked the burly Southlander hard in the gut and right onto his back, leaving a clear, unobstructed path inbetween him and the final bandit.

"Look man, I didn't want any trouble!" Oberon glared at the bandit. He was much scrawnier than the first two, dressed in lumpy oversized clothes that made his gaunt, pale face appear comically undersized.

Oberon's glare made him wince. The frustration and the rage of the past few days fruitless searching had all but been extinguished in the quick, punishingly brutal beating he had delivered to this wayward gang. There was no need to finish this. These guys were already finished.

He caught a movement in the large, watery blue eyes of his opponent and watched as they kept nervously flickering off to the side.

"The hell to you think you're looking at?" Oberon asked, his voice still hoarse and raspy from the attempt to crush his windpipe.

"Nothing!" Yelped the bandit unconvincingly.

Oberon never got the chance to turn to find out for himself. The force of the blow to the back of his head was so much that he had blacked out before his mind had a chance to even register the pain.

By the time his body hit the floor, it registered nothing at all.

.oOo.​

"Looks like you fell asleep again."

The words seemed to snapped Oberon's head up. At first he thought that the lingering headache was starting to give him brain damage, for the room he was in was definitely darker and murkier than it had been before. It took a few moments for him to realise that his senses were all working fine, but that it was probably just night time outside the heavily boarded up windows though.

Something else was different though. His eyes strained against the darkness and sure enough, a figure seemed present. Sitting behind the desk, arms folded against the darkness and face hidden by a shaggy wreath of dark hair.

"Yeah, that can happen when you club someone over the back of the head." Oberon responded with a weary growl. If anything the headache had only increased in intensity since his small nap. Though it had helped clarify a few things. Knocking a few errant pieces of the puzzle into place.

"This is the Artolian prison camp, right?"

"Right." The stranger responded. His features almost completely hidden in the inpenetrable darkness.

"Why did you bring me here?"

Oberon could just make out the image of a pair of broad shoulders shrugging. "It's the only cover around these parts for miles around."

"Thats not what I meant."

"I know."

This was infuriating. Whoever his captor was was being infuriatingly evasive.

"So why have you kept me alive," Oberon growled, rephrasing his question in a way that allowed whoever it was a lot less room to dodge the question.

"Because," the voice of the bandit leader, or whoever, began to grow in intensity in a way that made the hairs on the back of Oberon's neck stand up.

"I want to know why you've come here, Oberon."

In the silence that followed there was an almost audible click as the last pieces of the puzzle rattled into place in Oberon's mind. His eyes grew accustom to the gloom enough to make out the familiar sharp features of his old friend, now grown hollow and hostile in their years apart, but still utterly unmistakeable.

"Jason?" Oberon asked, fully aware that he was sounding like an imbecile as a flood of relief and confusion began to pour into his senses.

"Answer the damn question." Jason Spencer's command rang loud in the confines of the dusty room. It was harsh and authoritiative. The kind of voice that had become accustomed to giving orders.

"What are you doing here? What the fuck are you doing?" Oberon's own voice, still sore and raspy, rose to the challenge as the initial relief gave way to anger. Though he could not tell for certain, he was sure that the sudden bark of disobedience had checked Jason. He wasn't used to his authority being directly challenged. The bandits out in these parts were soft, pliable and easily swayed by a dominant will. Oberon counted himself as none of these things. Much less so as a serrated edge of anger tore through him.

Had the bandits who had attacked him the previous day been working for Jason Spencer?

The silence seemed to go on for a long time and Oberon could tell that Jason was pondering whether or not to raise the challenge further.

"You want to know what I've been doing whilst you were hiding in your damn cave?" the voice was so cold and angry that it unnerved Oberon, as his eyes became so used to the darkness that he was able to pick out the vivid green orbs of the man he had once called his closest friend.

"Fine. I'll tell you,"

 

[Joker]

Spoiler: Niresti

It was night in the village. Most had retired to the the comfort of their homes, warm and safe. Only a handful still walked the streets, unconcernedly making their way toward their destination, which, for most, was home. But not for one man; he made his way to the village kreshna - the household of the village headman - and, while it certainly was where he had grown up, it was not, in any way, a place he considered home. Indeed, it was far more significant in that it meant he was headed into battle. He stopped for but a brief moment at the threshhold, taking it all in - the smell of dinner cooking, which radiated from the dwelling, sending his stomach a grim reminder of when he last ate; the velvet luster of the night sky, shimmering with its myriad stars like tiny gems; the gentle sigh of the wind.

So came Radnar Miara to the abode of his ancestors.

"Avash natel, brother," he said quietly as gently closed the door, turning to hang his cloak on one of the pegs nearby.

"Kalari na," came the familiar reply, spoken from the depths of one of the chairs in the darkened room.

"Shall we get into it now, then?"

"Drawing it out further will do none of us any good, Radnar." Thila Miara, chief of Entua, last bastion of the Niresti of all Damascus, rose from his seat, drawing himself to his rather impressive full height, towering over his brother as he did with all others in the village - and with good reason, being nearly seven feet in height, wide and muscular. His skin, like rich cinnamon, had begun to show the signs of a life filled with worry, and his hair had long since begun losing its fight with the greying of age. Careworn as he was, his eyes, a curious steely grey, were still filled with great warmth and caring. Now, though, those eyes eyes, as well as his voice, were markedly more stern than usual. He resembled, in many ways, an old bear that had woken from winter hibernation, huge and alert and somewhat grouchy.

Radnar paid no mind to this, being used to his brother's attempts to display his dominance. "It's what they would have wanted. We pray to them to help us find peace, to guide us through our lives - to ease our sufferings, and to share in our joy. I only seek to honor their wishes." He spread his hands, shrugging slightly, his longer hair, flecked with spots of grey, cascading down his back. He was smaller and leaner than Thila, his countenance decidedly more than a little leonine.

"So you would have us abandon them, then - their teachings? Our way of life?" Thila snorted. "Your intentions are good, brother, but your means are suspect."

Radnar arched an eyebrow. "Suspect? How can my devotion to the Old Ones be called into question?"

Thila studied his face as he answered. "They are very clear; man would do best not to try to raise themselves to the level of gods. Do you remember this teaching, brother?"

"Yes."

"And do you not agree that such is precisely their aim?"

"I do."

"Then why?"

Here, Radnar couldn't help but smile. "They also teach us to gently guide others to the truth, do they not? 'Guidance lies not in force, but in freedom.' I think we both know that what happened at that place was...uncalled for."

Thila frowned. "Yes, this is true. But how is it that you feel the appropriate response is to go to them and aid them in their work?" He shook his head. "Does that not make you accomplice to their plotting?"

Radnar raised his eyebrows. "Not at all. The idea is that we can share information about our cultures only by working with them, for then they will be dissuaded from their present course. The river's path does not bend without a push first," he said.

"I fail to see how it makes you any different from they."

Radnar's eyes narrowed. "The difference is clear. I do not wish to reach beyond the realm of man, but rather to uplift our culture, our people, our livelihoods! Think of the benefit that this will have to us all!" He gestured fervently toward the window overlooking the village square. "These people want for nothing only because this is all that they know! Is it so wrong to want to integrate them with the outside world in such a way that allows them to carry their heads high, knowing that they have begun to help the world with realizing the true nature of mankind itself?!"

"Integrate them into the outside world," Thila repeated, levelling his eyes at his younger brother and folding his massive arms across his chest. "The outside world is nothing but the crucible of man's sin. No Radnar, I would not subject my people to that," his voice heavy with disapproval.

"Our people have learnt to be proud of themselves, their heritage, without any influence from outsiders. I see no reason to change that now."

"It has nothing to do with pride, brother. It's about doing what's best for our people!"

"Diluting our way of life, the ways of our ancestors, ways that have served our kind well for thousands upon thousands of years. Ways that have never led us astray. Ways that keep our people strong. You would risk the foundations of our way of life by sharing them with the world beyond our walls. A world that indulges weakness and encourages hubris." Thila spoke gravely and steadily. He had had the time to pick and choose his words carefully.

"Our people have endured for so long by keeping their feet on the ground, Radnar. You would do well to remember that."

"And perhaps if we were more flexible, things would be different and we would not be boxed into this tiny corner of Damascus," Radnar replied, a slight bite entering his tone.

"Like those before me, I have had to make sacrifices to ensure the survival of our way of life." Thila's reply was quiet and defensive, clearly acknowledging his dissatisfaction with the current status of the Niresti people but refusing to concede even an inch of this argument to his brother.

"Then what is the problem with doing something that doesn't involve sacrifice but still benefits us?"

"It is not the material sacrifice that worries me. Our people could lose much more than just our land, brother." The response was weary, spoken in the voice of a man who had given the argument much thought himself. Too much thought.

"There's nothing for us left to lose, Thila," Radnar said softly, a certain sadness coming to his eyes. "And after all that I've given up, you think that I don't know what the risks are?"

"I do not doubt your dedication, or your loyalties, my brother," Thila replied earnestly, a dark look crossing over his craggy features. "I only question your judgement."

Radnar's eyes narrowed to slits, his voice like ice. "Meaning?"

"After what happened to Telran, I...I get concerned that you're beginning to lose perspective..." he let his voice trail off, his concerns hanging in the air like a thick fog.

"My perspective is the one that gave the Eldest his great prodigy!" Radnar growled in reply. "I know what I'm doing, Thila. And how dare you," he roared, "how DARE you bring up my son like that?! Now you've gone too far, brother! You question my judgment, yet I'm the one arguing that we proceed with something that poses no risk and gives us everything to gain! If anything, I'm cursed with the ability to do the math!"

"You are blind to the risk, Radnar. You see only what you wish to see." Thila replied, solemnly. "How can you expect me to consider a future for our people through such limited vision?"

"Exactly! Your vision is too limited - you sit blind to the possibilities while opportunity knocks." Radnar, still furious, shrugged as he turned to leave. "Do as you wish; it's clear no words of mine will change the path you've chosen to walk," he said, stalking toward the door.

"Radnar!" Thila barked, raising his voice for the first time throughout their encounter and causing his brother to halt in his tracks.

"Our people must walk the same path, it is what gives us our strength, it is what keeps us together. It is at the heart of what it means to be Niresti." He paused, his voice had become much more quiet as he cast his weary eyes out of the window and gave a long sigh.

"I do not wish for you to stray from our path. What would you have me do, my brother?"

There was a brief pause before Radnar replied. "Just trust me," he said, without turning around.

"There is no man amongst our tribe whom I trust more."

"Thank you, brother," replied Radnar, as he returned himself to the chilly night air.



=====



The fire crackled as the Eldest gazed into the flames leaping inside the krasth. The ancient tool of divination was once more being put through its paces, as it had done so many times before for each of the Eldest past. The soft snaps and pops of the flickering fire were lost on him, his eyes gazing into nothingness as he attended to his silent vigil. The dancing tongues burned lower and lower, and then, as swiftly as they had begun, went out. It was then that the old man moved, reaching for the stone basin that was as old as the hills themselves, placing it now on the table with sat otherwise empty amongst the other implements of augury.

Settling into his seat, the Eldest leaned forward to peruse and the contemplate the wisdom that the Ancestors had seen fit to give him. His leg shifted restlessly, betraying, though he was ashamed to admit it - for, as Eldest, was it not his role to be calm and imperturbable as Kali'na? - his anxiety and, frankly, nervousness. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes in thought. The omens he had glimpsed of late in the krasth, and the other mystic artifacts, left him with a deep sense of foreboding, for, subtle and fleeting as the signs might be, they hinted at...something. Something which loomed on the horizon, awaiting the coming dawn in the wings of shadow. It started simply at first, as all things did: hints about events which might affect the tribe indirectly; but slowly, almost imperceptibly, these signs began to herald a steadily approaching change. And now, the flames had begun to point to something more, something...uncertain.

Something darker.

A soft knock upon the wooden door broke into his reverie. "Come in, child," he said, opening his eyes and returning their gaze to the krasth. A young woman entered, removing the hood of the cloak she wore, which marked her as Second of Entua. She tucked a lock of her glossy black hair behind her ear, where it fell in soft curls around a fringe that somehow managed to be at once wild yet carefully maintained. Her eyes were locked upon her mentor, chocolate brown orbs absorbing the sight of the old man at work. He gestured for her to take a seat.

"Something the matter, Bonrican?" she asked, worry clear upon her face. Somehow, the tattoo that snaked its way up her neck and along the left side of her face like an angry burn made her look even more concerned. The old man chuckled softly.

"You know, you're the only one that even knows that to be my name, child. It's almost like you're trying to make up for the years of it not being said." She smiled at his attempt at redirection, but they both knew she hadn't forgotten her question. He sighed deeply, leaning back in his seat.

"Something is coming. They have not seen fit to show me what yet, but there is definitely some...event...that looms just over the horizon. I can't even say what its nature is, other than that it does not bode well for our people. Its approach is very slow, but it is clear that it will come here, casting a shadow over all we know, like a great and terrilbe stormcloud as it unleashes its wrath." He paused for a moment before glancing over at his young charge. "If something were to happen to me..."

"No!" she cried, horrified, on her feet in an instant. "No! Nothing's going to happen to you, Bon! I won't let it!" Her eyes hardened with resolve, blazing with a fierce determination. "I won't."

Bonrican smiled wryly, gazing at his protege affectionately. "My dear, if that's what the Ancestors wish, then that is what will be; you know that." She deflated visibly, sagging under the knowledge she so greatly wished to ignore, sinking back down into the seat next to him. "It's all right; I've led a good, long life, and I am proud to have you as my Second," he said, gently lifting her chin with his hand to look in her eyes. She could see in his that he meant every word. And that's when the tears gently began to flow.

"B-but I'm not ready," she said shakily, her voice of the verge of breaking.

His answering smile was loving, that of a proud father for his daughter. "None of us are ever ready for the final test, Ne'Kiran," he said softly, "but it has always been this way. You may not see it, but you have the makings of a good and wise Eldest, child."

"Not as good as you," she mumbled, staring at the floor lest the tears burst forth in strength. Bonrican chuckled.

"No, you're right," he replied. "Better." She looked up at him quizzically. "You will be the shepherd of our people, as I have, though you will guide them, their hearts and souls, better than ever I could," he said seriously. "I have seen it."

"I...Ihavetogo," she said in a rush, leaping to her feet and rushing out of the room before her mentor could reply. A few seconds later, he heard the sound of the front door slamming, and he sighed. She needed time to herself; he had taken the news in much the same way when his own master had the same talk with him. He frowned, wishing he hadn't upset her, but knew that there was no way that it wouldn't have. We're more alike than she thinks. He felt guilty, all the same, that he hadn't told her that this great, ominous event would be the end of his life, but couldn't bear the thought of breaking that news. Not now.

He returned his gaze to the krasth. Hopefully, he could at least find a way for his death to have purpose.



=====



Radnar fumed. How dare he bring up Telran like that!

After the argument with his brother, he had returned home to find everything quiet. No one stirred, as his aide had clearly decided that waiting up was not in his best interests. Radnar couldn't blame him - the odds that his temper would be flaring were certainly high (and exactly what had happened) - but he was still, somehow, rather irritated by it, as he now had no one to vent his spleen upon.

It wasn't as though Radnar hadn't seen it coming. He'd endured such statements on occasion for years after what he'd done, but even so, he'd yet to regret that choice. His son Telran would have been a disgrace to the name Miara, and the Ancestors, and Radnar simply would not have that. Better that he be made useful somewhere else and Radnar profit from it.

Radnar was a man for whom the word sacrifice held no fear. He was dedicated to furthering the best interests of the Niresti, and felt that sometimes, the cost of making things better had to be high, because nothing came free in life, especially not advancements and prosperity. There was no one that was not expendable for the cause. And he wished that Thila would see that, because while he loved his brother, he hated that his vision was so narrow, so shortsighted.

A soft knock rapped at the door.

He rose to his feet, making his way from the sitting room to the front door, which he answered without hesitation. He knew that knock.

Perhaps not everyone was expendable...

"Ah, it's you, Ne'Kiran. What brings you here this late?" he asked as he ushered her in, closing the door behind her.

"I've just had a talk with my the Eldest," she sniffed, wiping the still-falling tears from her eyes. She looked up at Radnar meaningfully, and he nodded.

"Ah." He knew what that meant. He gestured toward the sitting room. "Would you care for some tea?" She nodded, eyes cast down at the floor, moving slowly, as if in a trance. She sank into her usual seat, still staring downward.

"So what happened?" he asked as he poured them both tea at the tiny drink cart sitting just outside the kitchen. She sniffed once, hard.

"H-he told me that s-something bad is going to happen," she sobbed. "And that he m-might..."

"I see," said Radnar with a frown. Had the time already come? And so soon? "I can see why you'd be upset," he nodded. "How much time?"

She'd managed to regain control of herself now, answering with, "He doesn't know." She wiped the tearstains from a cheek. "He said that there's something coming - something big. But he doesn't know when. He says it's coming very slowly." She stared into Radnar's eyes. "I don't want him to die."

Radnar's eyes filled with compassion. "I know, Ne'Kiran. Neither do I. But when the Ancestors call us home, it's just...our time to go. You know that." He chuckled. "Better than I do, even." She laughed weakly in reply, a choking sound that was entirely undercut by how upset she was.

"But...I'm not ready yet," she said seriously. "I'm not." Her eyes were alight with that same determination again. "I would do anything to keep him from dying," she said, very seriously, as she burned Radnar with the fierceness of her resolve.

This gave Radnar pause. A pause which grew into a very large, very loud silence between the two as he turned a thought over in his mind that he had had many times before. Now, there was only justification. But could he really suggest it? What was the right thing to do? The Eldest had clearly accepted his death, but his pupil had not, would not take the death of her beloved mentor without trying to save him.

Hmmm...

"You know, Ne'Kiran...I went to see Thila earlier." She stared at him quizzically, uncertain as to how that had anything to do with the subject. "We had a bit of an argument," he continued, "about an issue with Volsung. He's decided to leave it in my care, and so I think we will continue on.

"We have come to terms," he explained. "What we've done is had a talk with them, and they're willing to work with us. They're studying the human body...trying to make it better, but without resorting to the kinds of things that the other branches elsewhere have been getting up to. You know what I'm referring to, yes?" he asked; she nodded in reply. "Good." He leaned forward. "They're trying to help mankind reach their full potential, and we have a duty to see that they do not try to overstep their goals and reach into the realm of the gods. And all that we have to do is work with them, and watch them." He gazed at her appraisingly. "I don't know what will happen...what kind of results they will have...but do you think that, maybe, it might allow you to prevent the Eldest's death?"

Ne'Kiran froze. "Are...are you serious?!" she shouted, now on the edge of her seat. There was no question in her mind as to her response. "If it has even the tiniest chance of helping me save him, I'll do it!" Radnar nodded.

"All right, settle down," he said, settling back into his chair. He knew it was right, but still had a sickening feeling in his stomach that this was utterly wrong. Perhaps this is what it meant to make impossible decisions. When he thought of what Thila would say, he pushed it away. This was what was right for their people. "I'll set it up with them and let you know when everything is ready. All you have to do is stay true to your resolve." His fingertips grazed her chin, fixing her eyes with his own. "You can do that, can't you?"

Her eyes shone with emotion.

"Yes, Father."