The Last Saiyan

One hundred fifty years after the end of Dragon Ball Z, the world has been cast into turmoil. There are no more Z fighters - all of their bloodlines have long died out. There is evil permeating through every inch of society, and under martial law, the Earth is enslaved. Its king, Jibal, has the seven Dragon Balls. He has the entire population as his slaves. He has fleets of millions of soldiers at his fingertips. But not all heed his leadership as indomitable.

There is a boy, a lesser-blood boy, named Nir. And though he is not fully human, and he has a small furry tail, his outcast lifestyle is brought to an abrupt end when his life, and the lives of so many like him are put in peril over the madness consuming the planet. He alone holds the power to stand up against it.

Though he knows it not, Nir is the last Saiyan in existance.

The theme song is Goodbye Friend.

Author's Note
For those who will read this story, and have read this story, I would like to make it clear that The Last Saiyan is, by no means, a sequel to my other story, The Forgotten. However, I would also like to make it clear that if you have not read The Forgotten, and/or are not familiar with its main character, Ledas, then several portions of this story will not make sense. Mainly, the prologue and epilogue. It'll kind of suck for you when you get to the end and you have no idea who this Ledas person they keep talking about is. But hey, that's how it's going to be.

I also need to quickly say that The Last Saiyan is a normal story - except for the prologue. The prologue's format is unique, so do not expect the rest of the story be like that.

The main source of inspiration for this story comes from the novel Oliver Twist.

Major Characters

 * Nir
 * Jibal
 * Sciaon Malbarion
 * Tyren
 * Farayel Aros
 * Wepeel
 * The Criers
 * The Collective
 * William

Prologue
{{subst:*Muto (moo-toh) noun, plural mutos. 1. A derogatory term for hybrids, who are half human, half animal. Because of his Saiyan tail, Nir is considered a Muto.}}

''The following is a brief transcript found in the Royal database. Like many other rebellion conspiracies, this one remained unsolved up to its finding:''



///Point-array Carrier Wave (Royal Channel)///Authorized by Commander Zirion///Marked Tier Two Urgency///Origin: Central City (Section 1), Capitol Building///1530 hours///931 Age///

///Encryptor verified///Beginning reroute process///Firewall lowered///Ghost-logger activated///Initiating keyboard response///

OMW Renquis: Commander Zirion, please validate the legitimacy of a resistance incident that occurred at approximately 1505 hours. The higher-ups will be requesting a full inquiry, and as such, we need verification now.

CMDR Zirion: I am not aware of any such incident, watcher.

OMW Renquis: System memory shows a clear breach at 1505 hours, Commander. Do you want to see the footage?

///Stabilize keyboard response///

CMDR Zirion: Visual or audio?

OMW Renquis: We have both, sir.

CMDR Zirion: Send them.

///Audio sync off by 2.6793301%///Press enter to allow///

///Process allowed///Scans re-prioritized///(appended string function canceled, ACL7 error)///

///Figure one unseen: Guttural tone, non-human voice; Gray static on position///Figure two seen: When with figure one, partially obscured by static; when alone, fully visible; High voice, child, male; 10-12 years old, malnourished///

CMDR Zirion: What do you mean, non-human. Is the first one a muto?

OMW Renquis: We cannot tell, sir. The second, however, is indeed a muto, as you will see.

///Playback started///Run time 3 minutes forty-four seconds///Transmission uninterrupted; ends on its own accord///

Figure One: You will be bled. This  is necessary for our survival.

///Speakers adjusted 12%///

Figure Two: Why? Aren’t I enough for you?

///Unidentifiable sound – “crash”?: No known recognized sound correlates///

Figure Two: She won’t agree to it, anyway. I’ve been to her house, and her father nearly killed me. You won’t even let me power up to-

Figure One: Force her. If you must, use your energy. But only if you must. There isn’t time to mess around.

Figure Two: I know.

Figure One: Then you will get going. The guards will attempt to kill you both if they find her. Do not let them.

Figure Two: I’ll keep her safe… but I don’t understand why you want me to-

Figure One: Do not speak of it. The world will fall when it is time, and all these humans will be dead. That much I promise. You will do this one thing I ask, and then all of it will be set in motion. And when he is born, you will not take him.

///12 second pause///Audible shuffling///

Figure Two: I just want to name him, at least. Please.

Figure One: What name?

Figure Two: Nir. He should… he should be called Nir.

///Figure Two is pushed forward out of static; Location: Fourth Street, Section 1///

Figure One: Tell your chosen mate, not me.

///Figure Two walks off alone///Muto detected – see tail///Verified male child, 10-12 years of age///Figure Two walks to the end of the block///Feed ends///

///Replay? y/n///

///n///

CMDR Zirion: Watcher, have you found this muto boy?

OMW Renquis: He has not been found, sir. We have not seen any reports come forth on alleged rebellion plots. But clearly, they are thinking up something to destabilize the empire.

CMDR Zirion: Clearly. Whoever these two are, I want them found. No treachery against the Crown will we let live. Copy the second figure’s face, and plaster it around the city. Offer zeni for information regarding his name or place of living. That is an order, watcher.

OMW Renquis: As you wish, Commander Zirion.

CMDR Zirion: And, watcher, it’s just a boy. We should not trouble our superiors with it. Classify this conspiracy as low priority, and move on with the others.

OMW Renquis: Will do, sir.

///Transmission end///Memory erased: Audio and Visuals erased///System remember keyword “Nir”///Terminate program///

Chapter I: The Outlook
{{subst:*October 12th 888 Age: A new totalitarian regime emerges, crushing Earth's Defense Forces. Its soldiers possess cybernetic suits which easily crush their opposition. Their leader takes possession over all known areas of the world.
 * October 16th 888 Age: The Ordained, the Royal military unit of the king is formed. Earth’s Defense Forces are disbanded and their leaders executed.
 * June 16th 891 Age: All people are fully regulated into fixed lives. Jobs are assigned, not sought after, much like in a slave labor camp.}}

You are not a person.

You are not equal.

You will not speak.

You will not rebel.

You have no purpose but to serve.

You will be grateful.

You will be loyal.

You will be happy.

You will not rebel.

Nir had known those words all his life. He had never grasped their meaning, their purpose, but such moral philosophy was not for a young boy’s mind. He was lesser-blood. And as it was in the world, those who were not favored were downtrodden. Needless to say, those words frightened him, and in his realm they stood over every door to remind him of his worthlessness.

The old orphanage was a pale yellow color, sickly instilled upon the earth to serve as monument to human vanity and failure. Nir had reckoned that this was a sort of prison. Outside of school, this place was where Nir was kept at all times. The old caretaker and the occasional soldier were all Nir knew of the outside world. Few came by for any business – for what little business the men had, they kept to themselves. Nir would never ask what that was.

“You can’t come in,” said a boy with a ruddy face and a striped shirt, “No Mutos.”

He slammed the door to the makeshift fort shut, locking Nir off from the rest. Sometimes they were like this. Heck, most of them were always like this. But who could blame them? Nir was low even by lesser-blood standards. Supposedly, he was part animal. Humans breeding with any animal were rightly hated upon. He did not have much to show for his Muto-ness. A small, furry tail he did have, but otherwise he was a human. He was like them. He wanted to be like them.

Nir did not cry any more. It used to bother him, much like it used to bother him when he went hungry night after night. But school was coming soon; he had that to look forward to. He went into one of the rickety old bathrooms to prepare himself. Quietly, Nir washed the dirt off of his face, picked the grass out of his hair, and scraped his teeth clean. And there he waited, by the dripping sink (collecting what water he could to slake his thirst) until the caretaker called them to go to school.

The caretaker was a man who was not too old but thought he was. He had patches of brown hair atop his head, combed this way and that to hide his baldness. Always was he in a pinstripe suit, as if it was some noble venture to be here taking care of these children. As if he needed to distinguish himself from them, while at the same time showing his unending sympathy. He was not subtle about his impatient distaste with children. He usually held a heavy thick-rimmed book in his hands which would find its place on the back of any head it desired. Usually Nir took the back of the line, as by the time he would march past the caretaker, the man’s hand would have grown tired.

They walked in total silence to the school. They went by foot through the Eighth District (the ghetto), which was a dreadfully dreary place. It was filled with smoke and rubble and barbed wire. And there were wooden towers on the edge of sight filled with heinous men with rifles. They would shoot anyone out of order. No sympathy, no regret. Nir kept his head forward as he walked. He had never seen anyone try to escape. The barrenness out here would be hard to live on even if one did get past the snipers. Even in the orphanage, food was provided, however rancid it might be. Out here, the destitution was in totality, and the red glare of the rising sun was not all too kind on the features.

The city they were going to was once known as West City. It was no longer called that. Instead, it had been renamed “Providence of Diruhl”, which was evidently named after the Prince of this region. The city itself was huge, with skyscrapers too high to see the top of, and area wider than the horizon. As far as Nir knew, Providence of Diruhl was the only place on earth, its innumerable rank of towers crowning every inch of the world.

In the city, the soldiers – which were called The Ordained – routinely patrolled and searched anyone they wanted. That was pretty much all Nir knew about the empire. There were political and economic ramifications which he had no knowledge of. It was too complex and too ordered for him to care or pursue. The world was ruled by one man, somewhere, and nearly everyone was treated like a dog because of him.

They arrived at school and were seated. The lessons began, and Nir learned. These brief moments of learning about the world, about how great the empire was stayed the monotony and the wretchedness for some time. Nir applied himself the best he could in these instances, but there was a nagging suspicion in his mind that his group were being taught less rigidly and less truthfully than his peers of the same age, but of higher class. Still, he was grateful. The maxim was to be followed.

One area Nir particularly liked was that of math. Unlike the other subjects where Nir suspected folly in the teachings, this subject had very little it could hide behind. He liked the truthfulness of numbers. It almost made him feel hopeful in a weird, hollow way. If people could just be like numbers, if history was so plain-sighted…

Recess was an odd feature of school. Nir did not much see the point of it. While not at school, he sat around waiting for school. So to have a time, at school, that was simply wasted was not altogether heartening. However, one important aspect of recess was that it was the only time Nir was able to associate with people better than him.

He walked down the hall by himself. He spent this time trying to rub food stains off of his clothes. The crafters of recess never took into account the Muto factor; as Nir was, as far as he knew, the only Muto in the school, he had no one he could go with or talk to. Recess for him was wholly unproductive. He wandered out of the hall, into the enclosure they were allowed out in. The ground was too dusty to really play in, so he abandoned that pursuit in an instant. Instead, Nir wandered over to a chain link fence and looked out.

Everything in the city was so clean and shiny, opposed to here, where everything was opposite; was dark; was muddy; was in ruin. He didn’t get how people could look at the skyscrapers with the horrible reflections they gave off. It hurt Nir’s eyes to look at them for even a moment. He squinted as they watered, turning away. Just as he did, three children walked up to him. These were clearly nobles; they wore the deep blue uniforms of their prestige. They didn’t even go to this school, but as Nir knew too well, they would usually take their breaks to cut across the block and see what the lesser-blood were up to. Usually, that devolved into several boys getting hurt.

Nir’s only friend in the world was one of these. They had been acquainted in choir, when the nobles and lessers had put on a performance for the regional commander. A glimmer of hope came to Nir when he saw that among these boys was his friend.

“What is this, can’t even clean yourself up for school?” one of them said.

Nir bowed his head in respectful submission.

“Aw look! He’s crying. What, are you sad about being a freak?”

Nir said nothing. There was no point to bring up that he was in fact not crying. They would beat him if he said he had gotten watery eyes from staring at skyscrapers. “Come on Ralgo, it’s not worth it,” said a voice, the one Nir knew to be his friend. Nir remained still.

The two snorted at that and dispersed. Nir looked up to see his friend still there, though. He was smiling, half-heartedly with his hands in his pockets.

“Hi, Sky,” said Nir as best he could.

“Hi,” was the enthusiastic reply, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, really. We were being taught fractions today.”

“Hey, how about ditching class with us today. Ralgo’s dad has this hovercar that we’re going to take out.”

“Your friends don’t think much of me.”

“Eh, they’ll warm up to you. They have to. They don’t have many friends a-side from me. Isn’t that right, guys?” asked Sky, cocking his head to look over at his friends.

“No, because they’re spoiled brats,” Nir whispered, mostly to himself.

“We’re… what?!” came a voice from behind Nir.

He spun around on the cement ground and saw the two other noble boys. The fatter one, splittingly plump, was detested by his treasonous words.

“What did you call me, Muto?!” Ralgo breathed, “Tell me it wasn’t what I thought!”

He pushed into Nir, causing the smaller boy to stumble back.

“I… I… well… I-It’s true!” replied Nir, the grime on his face masking his panic.

“Nobody disrespects me!” said Ralgo. He took something out of his pocket, flipped it open, and showed it to Nir. It was a small pocket knife. He sneered, “I know how to use this.”

“Whoa, Ralgo!” said Sky, rushing forward, “What the heck?! You can’t kill him.”

“Why not? He’s Muto. It’s allowed.”

“No, seriously. Don’t. We can use him.”

“What’s with you, Sky? It’s just a Muto. They aren’t people, you know. Besides, if we wanna get into the Ordained, we have to be able to do these things.”

Ralgo did not back down. Instead, swiping Sky aside, he walked toward Nir. The small boy’s heart was pounding so loudly in his ears, he couldn’t hear his own breathing. Ralgo kicked him in the shins, causing Nir to fall to his knees. He winced heavily in pain as the taller, stouter boy grabbed him by the hair.

“Your kind should be on your hands and knees beggin’ for me to give you a good look,” he spat in Nir’s face, “Calling me a brat is just pathetic. You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know anything about us! You little bastard-”

Ralgo’s face was all screwed up in a wrinkled mess of hate and rottenness. He took the small blade, which could not have been more than a finger wide and thrust it into Nir’s face. Nir didn’t even see the blade. He didn’t even think about it. The adrenaline in his body had taken over, and even as he watched, he felt alien in his own body. It reacted on its own, self-preservation far too important to let him be in control. Nir knocked his elbows upward, causing the knife to go flying up in the air and landing with a dull thud a foot away. Ralgo was crying something terrible, when Nir stood up, rushed the knife, and picked it up. He rolled it around in his hand. It was all slow motion. It was all beyond his control. Nir’s body moved itself as it turned to him, ran at him and thrust the knife into his neck. Ralgo was so taken aback that he hadn’t even tried to defend himself. He simply grabbed his neck, with the knife in it, and coughed. Ripping it out of him, a stream of crimson following, he fell to the ground and screamed in agony.

Sky stood there dumbfounded, along with his peer. Nir, his mouth agape, his hands trembling uncontrollably glanced once at Sky before turning and bolting. He’d just hurt a nobleman. Sky or his friend would say he did it. They were obligated. Nir would be killed.

This time, he didn’t bother holding back the tears.

Chapter II: Lightfoot
{{subst:*March 1st 931 Age: The events of the prologue take place.
 * February 29th 932 Age: Nir is born.
 * November 12th 936 Age: Commander Zirion is promoted to General.
 * September 8th 942 Age: Nir begins his current year of classes.}}

The slick of water, overflown from a myriad of barely functioning toilets, was not something unexpected. Schools in lower West City were all fallen into disrepair. But Nir was not thinking about this – how could he, after what he had just done? Still, when he came flying into his school’s bathroom, he slipped on the water and split his lip. He was too frightened to get angry. They were going to kill him. They were going to, without question, end his life. His short life would be over. The words sunk into him like a dull, hollow hunger pain. There were going to kill him. Spitting the blood which had flowed into his mouth out, Nir stood up and stepped into a stall.

His body was completely numb. It was not only in his shaking legs, but in his fingers too. He tried hard to clench down his fingers, but they barely moved. He gripped the small pocket knife in his jacket pocket and brought it out as best he could. The little blade still had Ralgo’s blood on it. Nir winced as he saw it. They were going to kill him for it.

He wiped the blood off before proceeding. Being a muto, he knew, meant no mercy was necessary. Any crime sults in execution. He had but one choice, then. Nir stared down at the knife. It was so blunt. But it was his only tool to cut off his tail. He positioned himself down on his knees, then pulled his pants down.

With his left hand holding the blade and his right guiding it, Nir made the first cut. It hit him immediately, but he kept going. It felt like being stuck with a thorn, if that thorn was the size of a coconut and was being jammed into his eye. His tail was by far the most sensitive part on his body. Even sitting on it awkwardly, or sleeping on his back would send waves of pain up his body. Here, cutting with an unsharpened blade was about the worst thing he could do. It took all he could to not scream his lungs out.

Nir bit his tongue to keep from whimpering out. The knife had made a small incision, pouring out blood all over his hands. It was too dull to make a clean cut, so Nir had to saw back and forth, through muscle and nerve endings and bones. His breath erratic, his eyes filled with dark spots, he did not notice as someone entered the bathroom.

“Nir?” it said in a worried whisper. It was his friend, Sky. No, he couldn’t do this now! No!

“Y-y-yea-ah?” Nir replied.

“Are you, are you okay?”

“No.”

“There are soldiers here. They want to see everybody in the courtyard. They’re pretty serious.”

“I’ll be o-out in a second.”

“Nir, they’ll kill you if you hide in here.”

“I know.”

Nir heard Sky turn to leave.

“Wait, Sky,” he began, “Do you have your second pair of clothes in your backpack?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Can you leave them for me?”

Nir couldn’t see it, but he knew realization was dawning on his friend’s eyes, “But, that’ll make me guilty too!”

“I’ll say I’m your brother, or something! They are going to kill me if you don’t! Please!”

“I… Nir… O-okay.”

Sky opened the stall, not realizing Nir wanted privacy. Nir screamed as his friend appeared before him and kicked the door shut. Sitting on the toilet, his bloody back was concealed. Sky had seen his naked front side, however. Any other day, Nir would have felt embarrassed enough to die. It struck him, sadly, that he had bigger worries to make that not matter.

“Ah jeez… Sorry. I’ll wait outside,” Sky said quickly before exiting.

All this time, Nir had slowly been cutting and scraping away at his tail. With Sky around, he had handled the pain better. He had not let himself cry out or show weakness in front of Sky. He felt his fingers through the bloody fur, and felt that only a small piece was still attached. He could no longer feel his tail, but the pain on the cut point was freshly hurting. He bit down in his tongue again.

Letting the tail cut loose, he stood up. It fell with a large splash into the watered basin. He looked down after it and tears welled in his eyes, beyond his control. Not from pain, but because of the loss. His tail was part of him. He loved having it. Despite what he had always been told about being a filthy muto, Nir had felt a secret pride over it. He had been special because of it. And now it was gone. He coughed then flushed. It was gone.

Nir quickly grabbed some paper and pressed it over the wound. That did very little. The blood sprung through, spurting out alarmingly fast now. He jumped forward but fell immediately. Without his tail, Nir could not even balance. Panicking now, as the blood pooled around him and he grew delirious, Nir ripped the clothes down from the stall wall and threw them over him, not minding about the blood staining them. Without any sort of plan, he stumbled up and ran out, tripping over himself all the way.

Nir awoke in a mountain of blankets. He was lying in a brilliantly white bed, alone, in a room. Its walls were light lavender, with shelves of books and dressers lined with lamps. It was not an altogether dark room: indeed, a lazy sparkle of light came through the window to Nir’s left, which sufficiently lit the room. He did not move at first, because he was unsure of exactly where he was.

Suddenly did he become aware that he was on his back. This was not how he slept, of course. He had a tail – a sensitive tail. Sleeping on his stomach was necessary, was routine. In fact, Nir could not scarcely remember of a time when he had ever woken like this. Of course, he remembered of what had happened. The cutting, the loss. The blood. It had been everywhere. Nir looked down at his hands. But they were clean. He simply had no clue how long ago that ordeal in the stall had occurred.

The door knob turned loudly before opening. In strode a small, proud figure. It was fully clothed in dark, full-bodied armor with a maroon helmet. The figure walked right up to Nir’s bed and stopped. It stood there for a moment, looking at him. Beams of light escaping through the shades glinted off his visor. Nir squinted up at him.

“Who’re you?”

“I should be asking you that,” was the reply in a filtered, male voice, “Start with your name.”

“Nir,” he replied cautiously.

“Right. What day is it?”

Nir yawned, “I don’t know…? Tuesday? Seems like a Tuesday to me.”

“Yeah, why is that?”

“I don’t know… just feels like it.”

The armored boy did not respond. Instead, he walked around the bed, moved to the shades, and pulled them back. The light became ever so brighter and revealed unto Nir exactly where he was. He was staring out of a sixty story building in central West City. He saw that across from the window was a curious structure of pointed silver onyx and gold tapering. It stood as wide as the block and as tall, if not taller than his room.

“Um, what’s that place right there?” Nir asked, pointing to the monolithic building.

“That,” the boy replied, “is the Capitol. We don’t go there, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You really don’t know any of it, do you?” he replied, shaking his head, “If you are going to be my brother, I’m going to have to teach you all of our rules. Teach you the way things work in here. That way you won’t end up dead.”

“Wha-… Sky?!” Nir began, guessing at this armored being’s name.

The boy turned and faced Nir. Nir got the impression he was slack jawed and glaring at him, but under the helmet, nothing was certain. The boy shook his head and sighed. He pulled a strap under his chin, and with an oxygenated pop, his helmet undid itself and lifted off. He placed it gently down on Nir’s bedside before looking up again. Nay, this boy was not Sky, but he looked a great deal like him. The two had the same color of hair, but this one had a longer, more refined face. His eyes were sharp as his teeth were pulled back. And on his chin was an almost circular horizontally positioned scar.

“Sky’s my little brother,” he said in an airless tone, “I guess you are too. Now. He brought you to me. And I shouldn’t have to remind you what you two looked like when he did. This is pretty serious.”

“Did he tell you all of it?”

“He told me you were muto. But I don’t see it. Maybe you just don’t look like one. Or maybe you got rid of all the evidence. Is that why you had a gash in your back?”

“I don’t know.”

“Right. I’m sure you don’t. I don’t care either way. Sky brought you back here unconscious a few days back. You were both covered in blood. And we fixed you up and we kept you here. So whatever it is you are, forget it. We put our lives on the line for you. You better make it stick. Leave all that muto crap behind. You’re going to be a junior noble now. Or at least, we’ll try to pretend you are.”

“And what exactly is that?” Nir asked, curiously. He shifted his body to roll over and face Sky’s brother.

“For one, it starts by keeping yourself clean. You have no how hard it was bathing an unconscious body.”

“You bathed me!?” Nir hissed, incredulous at this, “Y-you were… y-you…” He couldn’t quite say it how he meant. But Nir’s face flushed, and the older boy understood.

“So what?”

Nir wrapped his shoulders together in a very thin cross under the blankets, “That’s not right.”

“Yeah, well, you’re welcome for saving your life. Anyway, you should be well enough now to walk. I’ve enrolled you into the school. We have to get down there.”

“But don’t I need clothes like yours?”

“These?” The boy said, chuckling slightly, “These are standard issue. You get them when you register. So let’s go register.”

Nir nodded and sat up. Sliding off the bed, he came to stand on his feet for the first time in half a week. It came as a remembered shock that he had not adjusted to the balance of no tail yet. Promptly, he fell on the carpet. The boy sneered at him before walking forward and placing his helmet back on. Nir wobbled himself upward and stood, feeling for proper posture. It was like the moments after a good twirling and your eyes go spiraling and your ears go buzzing and the ground moves about on its own accord. But after a few moments, it all returns to normal. Nir stood for a few moments; he did, and came to feel the ground stop moving beneath his feet. He smirked with pride at this accomplishment. Yeah, he could stay balanced. Booyah. He followed the boy out, and they began down the halls, which were quiet and empty.

“Can’t you tell me your name?” Nir asked the boy.

“Jakemo,” he replied in deadpan, “Most just call me Jake. Same deal with Sky.”

“What? He has a different name too?”

“Skirio is his proper name. Don’t call him that.”

“If you say so.”

The two walked in silence for the rest of their journey. They met a few people, and all were in their age range, and all in the same armor as Jakemo. Some were helmeted, some were not. Nobody stopped to question Nir.

On the ground floor, Jakemo hailed a small hovercar with a button on his arm. Nir kept quiet and followed him onto it. The driver was given directions, and then sped off with great speed – faster than Nir had ever gone before – out of the building. They rode past the Capitol, and Nir saw it up close. It was even grander and more menacing than it had been through the window. Pikes and steel points adorned the outer walls. Looking in, Nir saw hosts of soldiers, Ordained Elite, patrolling. Nir knew them from his days at the orphanage when they would come to collect census. They were generally rotten and foul and had on their belts many devices with which to poke at or snip at you with. Remembering them, Nir looked over at Jakemo and saw this boy to be wearing armor not unlike the Elites’.

Nir sat back in the seat of the hovercar. Rarely had he had this luxury of safe travel, but he could not properly enjoy it. His wound was enflamed and dully beating with soreness on every turbulent moment the car went through.

Nir did not know how much Sky, or his brother Jake had gone through to smuggle him into their lives, nor how it was possible that he had been so seamlessly integrated into their class, but he knew one thing: He was alive. He was breathing. Sore or otherwise, they had come through for him and saved his life. He wouldn’t bellyache for their sakes.

Pressing his chin back against the glass pane, Nir wondered what it would be like becoming a soldier.

Chapter III: Triadic Disinfectant
{{subst:*July 26th 926 Age: Jibal is born.
 * January 2nd 929 Age: The Criers first appear. They murder much of the existing parliamentary without being detected. The old king’s son, Jibal, sees them for the first time.
 * September 12 929 Age: Jibal's father dies. Jibal becomes king.}}

Bang.

Bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang.

Bang bang bang bang.

Bang.

Jibal emptied his clip. He laid the pistol down on the wood table before turning around. Behind him were his men, his guards. They were watching, waiting for some small thing they could help him with; one little act that could win over his favor. Dogs, they were. And if one scratches the ear of a dog too often, the dog comes to expect it.

They rushed him, fawning over him. They held his shoulders, bits of his clothes, and even his cloak, which they kept masterfully in their arms, never allowing it to touch and ruin itself upon the dusty ground. Jibal left the pistol where it was. If it had been to his liking, he would have pocketed and walked off with a new toy. But this one had snagged its shots to the left, and had a stiff trigger. A piece of un-calibrated trash was not worth his embrace.

Handguns were extremely rare, exotic (if obsolete) commodities. Truly, they were nothing more than trophies of wealth, in the same manner that one may collect paintings or expensive hovercars. Nowadays, all weapons were integrated into soldiers’ Dex suits. There was no need to carry extra bulk, in hand-held weaponry. But Jibal’s fascination with these archaic machines was not in their practicality, nor even in their lethality, but more so in its personality. Skill was required, in the utmost, when using one of these. There were no auto-sights or homing features on them. You had to, as long as the weapon was properly built, aim with your own skill, and shoot with your own power, and kill the target with your own might. The guards, and the aristocracy… they simply watched him because of obligation. Their appeal to his tastes were feigned at best, sickly pathetic at worst.

Jibal paused, clicking his boots into the hard earth at his feet. The arid air offered little in terms of wind or solace, so that his crew and he were positioned under a vast array of wall-less tents. It was no less than 40 degrees out (Celsius, as will always be assumed from here on out), but Jibal kept himself calm. The release of shooting was the most soothing, cooling therapy he had ever known.

“Where now is Zirion? I did not see him today,” asked Jibal, to his many followers.

“On leave, sire. He had personal matters come up last night,” a squat, bald-headed man, draped in emerald garments replied, “Although, he should have informed you himself.”

“And what were those matters?” Jibal asked again, his voice rising to a high, lazy droll.

Eager to get a word in, a second man, this one clothed in pointy crimson grunted, “His son was injured at school. Down in sector 14, sire.”

Jibal started walking again, “Was it very serious? Have they found the perpetrator? Tell me it wasn’t a muto.”

A third man spoke this time. He was less whimsically dressed; indeed, he wore the same clothing as the men Nir had seen guarding the Capitol. As he spoke, the others all looked to him, “It was a muto, as far as the reports indicated. But they didn’t find it yet. Zirion was partly going down there to execute the soldiers responsible for letting it get away.”

“As he should,” was Jibal’s only reply.

“Sire, this kind of reckless endangerment of our bloodlines must stop. We should exterminate all the mutos and get it over with. They add nothing to our society, but they do everything that they can to destroy it.”

Jibal paid him no heed. This man, Tirib, was the honor guard commander of Jibal’s entire empire. He was a raving anti-muto, and radical even to Jibal’s opinion. Tirib had not the authority or spine to create genocide anyway, but he was privy to talk. They all were. And they made Jibal do this and that, and that and this, while they sat and ate the spoils of his house. Useless nobility wasting away their lives in his presence, on his paycheck they were. Speaking this, manipulating him with that, it was as predictable as the days of the week. Jibal’s father had instilled this pretentious entitlement mentality amongst them. But Jibal’s father was dead. Jibal was the king now. He ruled the Earth. His kingdom was his own, and if he were to allow himself to be a slave to a dead man, he would be a fool.

“Sire, you have to go now,” a new man in purple feathers said breathlessly, “The court is waiting for your opinion!”

“I do not care about them,” Jibal said, “so I will not go.”

“You must go, sire! It’s required! It’s obligation!” the man squeaked.

This man more than annoyed Jibal. He had forced the king to do so much that he hadn’t wanted. In fact, this very same man held onto the last birthday present Jibal’s father had given him. No, Jibal couldn’t have it. No, Jibal couldn’t know what it was. But they ruled him, in his father’s name, and he could not help but wonder what was the purpose of his title. He was no longer a child, but he knew these creatures held on to some technicality buried in his father’s will. Yes, he knew that he was not to rule until he was 18. That was two years away. Until then, he’d have to smile and pretend he served these people. He just couldn’t take being a slave to people he looked down upon. It was not, nor could it be, fair.

“I am the king. I do what I please.”

The man in crimson shook his head, “I’m sorry, sire, but your father did gave us strict orders before he died that you were to follow his plans.” Jibal felt two hands land on his shoulders. His guards, his own guards, were behind him, ready to carry him away if need be. Some guards they were, “My father is dead.”

“And one day you will be too, milord, though I hope it’s not too soon,” the man smiled largely, “But we have our orders. I’m sure you understand.”

Jibal waved away his soldiers with a gloved hand, “I understand. I understand exactly what you mean.”

Jibal’s face was cloaked with a hood and helmet, and he was more than grateful the men could not see his face.

It had been a remarkably fluid day. Processing took only fifteen minutes, and by the time Nir had signed his name – just remembering at the last second to leave off his obligatory ムトsuffix – and been imprinted by the retina scanner, Jakemo had returned with his set of armor. It wasn’t nearly as good looking as Jakemo’s. In fact, the rust and dust made it seem like this blue suit had been last worn before Nir was born. But then, as Nir eased into the rigid armor, he was happily surprised by how functional it was. In fact, it had a helmet-based computer and everything. He looked down to his arms, and noticed the weapons bulge, which he saw on both Jakemo’s and the guards’ armor, was missing.

Nir looked up to the other armored boy, “So where do we go now?”

“It fits, right? Everything works?” the crisp voice interrupted.

“Uh, yeah, I think so…” Nir responded, fiddling with helmet, “What exactly it supposed to do?”

“Can you see the neural display?” Nir nodded. “All right, how about the navigator?”

“Oh, that’s the little pointy thing…”

“Yeah,” Jakemo said, “You’ll never get lost with that. And do you see the weapon’s gauge?”

Nir paused, squinting around in the confined helmet. Of all the little blue dots – and there were so many of them – telling him the weather, the direction, the angle of his position, even his heartbeat and brain signals, he saw nothing related to weapons. He shook his head.

“Good.”

“Good?” Nir asked, puzzled, “Why is that good? I thought we all get guns. I want to fire something!”

“None of you have weaponry because then you’d all kill each other. But, just for the sake of making sure your armor is intact, let’s test out the weapons configuration.”

Nir grinned. Jakemo unhooked a tube from his arm with a loud splunk and, grabbing Nir’s right arm, opened a hatch to put it in. Instantly, another set of blue text popped up on Nir’s helmet, informing him that he now possessed a “lethality-class explosive”, and also that he should remove it immediately. Well, he would ignore that last part.

Jakemo stepped back, motioning to the recruiter who had scanned Nir in to also step back. Then he pointed to a far wall, and spoke, “Aim for that. Just think when you want to shoot, and it will shoot for you.”

Nir nodded and stood up. He aimed his arm out and blinked. All he had to do was think about shoot-

And then the whole goddamn wall blew up. Nir was thrown back, shards of glass and brick bouncing off his armor. Even being thrown on the ground, he felt almost nothing. He didn’t feel the impact of hitting the pavement, nor even the shrapnel being hurled at him. It was wonderful. He was invincible.

“I… I think it worked…” Nir said, breathing heavily.

But before Jakemo could respond, they heard something big closing in on their location. In the distance, an arrow-shaped plane darted into view, bringing with it a din of extremely loud sounds. It landed, furiously, only five meters away. The doors opened at once, impatiently telling their cargo to get out.

The two boys stared at this completely in awe, as several dignitaries filed out, followed by a row of honor guards. And then, at the last moment, another stepped out from the open door. He was a tall man, with black hair and a grizzly face. He stood at least two feet over everyone else, and his armor was black to his soldiers’ white. He gathered his men with a single bark and marched them directly toward Nir.

“You!” he said, his mouth awry, “Soldier!”

Nir stumbled back. No, it couldn’t be. They’d found him. He knew it. He knew it! Someone had seen him, someone had ratted him out… who was it? Sky? Jake? What could he do? Nir looked down, his fluttering eyes spying his arm smoking slightly. A weapon, he had a weapon. He looked back up. He would fight them back. He would kill them. He could! All it would take is a single thought. Nir blinked.

“General, what do you need?” Jakemo spoke, breaking Nir’s train of thought.

The older boy had rushed up to the man, kneeling before him. Nir's heart almost exploded. They weren't coming for him. He shook the sweat out of his eyes.

The General coughed, “I need you to get out of my way, soldier, before I ship you off to Maer’s Island. That’s what I need!”

Jakemo remained with his head down, “Yes sir. Sorry sir.”

The man grunted, walking past him, “And keep your little kids away from the poorman’s school. My business is there, and it does not concern you. You understand? But come peakin’, and I’ll make sure it does.”

“Of course, sir! I will put everyone into lockdown until you are finished.”

Jakemo was nodding relentlessly, and bowing just as much. However, the man was already moving, the last few soldiers in his troupe marching past. In an instant, they all turned a corner and were gone.

“Let’s go,” Jakemo said, clearly ignoring what had just happened. He reached a hand down to Nir, helping the boy up, and simultaneously unhooking the weapon tube with his other hand. He clicked it firmly back onto his wrist.

“Who was that guy, Jake?” Nir asked in a whisper.

They walked in silence, all the way to a large building, with an even larger door, before Jakemo responded.

Pressing a keypad that opened a small section of the huge monolith, Jakemo said, “He’s General Zirion. He’s the highest ranking military official I’ve ever seen. I was notified he was coming. Supposedly, he’s looking for a muto boy who stabbed his son in the neck.”

Now it was Nir’s turn to revel in the silence, and enjoy its company in place of dark thoughts. Jakemo escorted him up to choir practice, and after Nir changed, and spied Jakemo’s younger brother Sky, he made his way to him. Nir tried his best to grin and be happy to see Sky, but the thoughts lingering in his brain were too overwhelming. That and his tail scar was still throbbing.

It did not help, then, when he sat down, that the boy with Sky, who Sky introduced to him as Cocen, was that other boy who had witnessed his stabbing of Ralgo. As he and Cocen looked into each other’s eyes, they both went pale. Zirion was in town. This boy had seen Nir stab his son. There was no friendship between them. He had nothing he could do to stop this kid, if Cocen decided to tell. Nir was completely helpless.

Nir rubbed his forearm, thinking of how much he longed to have Jakemo’s weapon tube back.

“What did he look like?!” Zirion asked, stamping his foot down in frustration.

“Your son’s the only one who saw him, and he’s not talking, sir. The muto obviously ran away after knifing him,” a frightened, helmetless soldier responded.

“Yeah, I bet. What about the bathroom. I have reports from there, as well.”

“Our scans indicate that blood was not your son’s. Your son’s blood is not anywhere in there. It must have been the muto’s blood, sir. Surely, Ralgo put up a fight and wounded the animal badly.”

“Oh, I know that! My son has the fighting spirit in him. You don’t need to tell me that!” spat Zirion.

“My apologies, General.”

Zirion was at a school in the lower sector 14. This place was a dump even by backwards standards. He would not normally be here, but his son had just been found, not a night earlier, with a knife-wound to his neck in this very courtyard. The soldiers, the teachers, the students had seen nothing. Like hell they had. Zirion had seen his son an hour ago, but he was not fit to talk. The painkillers kept Ralgo asleep, and hid any possible identity of this muto criminal.

“There is nothing else?” asked Zirion, coldly.

“That is all we know, sir,” replied the soldier.

“Line your men up.”

“Bu-but… no… sir please… we did all we could! There was nothing here!” the soldier pleaded, becoming irate. The others around him did likewise.

Groveling had no effect on Zirion. A man doesn’t grovel. And only men are allowed in his army.

“Line up.”

This time, they went quietly, hanging their heads, knowing what was about to occur. Zirion stood at the very left of the soldiers before initiating. He used his neural implant to communicate his wishes to his suit. A simple thought of ‘energy incinerator’ granted his Dex suit the weapon in his right hand. He looked down, and saw the suit reconfiguring itself into a wide circle at the base of his hand. It was already glowing white hot. This was his favorite weapon.

Some pled for their lives, others tried to be brave in front of him, but Zirion didn’t care either way. He walked down their obedient line, one by one, and as he reached each soldier, he fired into their chests burning energy. Their bodies were thrown back, dissolved and forgotten.

It took only two minutes to kill thirty-one men.

Chapter IV: Allocation Protocol
{{subst:*Royal Proclamation I The King rules over all the Earth. He alone holds the right to kill or annihilate any person, organization, or city which he deems offensive. The world’s fourteen sectors and their princes are sovereign territories of the King. They will respect his laws and obey no one else. Those who have sufficient worth, status, or commodities are deemed Nobility, and may reside in each sector’s city.}}
 * Royal Proclamation III

Miss Swizubane (a good, sharp woman), the Voice of the King, had ushered the cloaked and beleaguered Jibal thence from the great hall, leaving a bristling mass of dignitaries to squander behind. Escorted by the elite Ordained - their honor guards, the two made way out of the palace. By helicopter did they take away to a smaller, round building three miles south, and landed softly between patches of fog. The place was like a grey tortoise’s shell, and it slanted walls dug deep into the pavement around, as if it was not wholly accustomed to the manner in which buildings are laid on the ground; as if it was not wholly wishing to be there at all.

Jibal’s blood turned cold upon stepping from the helicopter, out onto the designated pad. He had never fancied visiting the judges. Four times a year he was forced to come here, and four times a year he was in hell. The judges had their own security, and the young king met them at once. They wore high-screamer helmets with three pointed spikes displayed upward from the back of their skulls. Their heads were fully enclosed except for their mouths, which, aside from being protected by golden beaks, were bare. These were the Praetorian guards; the elite of the elite. Only Jibal’s personal soldiers, the ones he had with him now, were more skilled. He was ever wary of the Praetorians, for they acted barely respectful, and much arrogance flowed from them. They knew their fame and power, and knew not how to keep it to themselves. With their entire host being two hundred eighty-eight members – and more than half of them crammed on the small landing pad to greet him, Jibal felt more a prisoner being exchanged between two countries than a king ruling over all.

As was protocol, Jibal left his men at the door to guard the helicopter, and ventured inside. Swizubane was allowed to accompany him; he was glad of that. But they could not talk, for the halls were too narrow, leaving only room for two to walk shoulder-to-shoulder. The judges’ chambers were cold, damp, stony things. Few ever ventured inside, save for those on trial, and those who guarded every block of blue stone. For that’s what this place was: stone, and nothing but stone. Sitting down on stone, standing on stone, leaning up against stone. It was all cold, too cold for Jibal’s taste. They walked without word (it would be low for the king to have to engage mere soldiers) until coming to a massive door. As they had come to it, the narrow hall had widened out to fit ten men abreast. The great door was a hardy oak, and was the only thing which had once lived in these accursed chambers. Several guards moved forward, and opened the door for Jibal, who did not wait to be escorted in. No, he would go at his own choosing. He was the king. They would see him as king.

He strained his eyes to see his judges as he entered, for Jibal was not accustomed to such darkness. Apart from the lingering light brought in from opening the door, which shone very little on the room inside, the only light was of each of the thirteen judges’ glasses – and each was a different color. And they were utterly silent. They were seated in three ascending rows of four with a single elevated chair in the centerfold of the room. This was for the reigning Praetor Speaker, the judge whose turn it was to lead. Such things changed every week, and Jibal had seen each judge hold the Speaker position at least once while coming here. He strode up to his chair, which had been prepared, and sat, facing the judges. Behind them, the doors closed again, and they were bathed in darkness. Jibal saw the Speaker Praetor – who had white eyes – begin to speak.

"All hail the king," the Praetor spoke in a sharp, hollow tone. It rang in fervent murmurs from the other twelve. They bowed their heads and stared at Jibal once again. And all he saw was their collective, their ravenous, rebellious eyes, their conceit at wielding his power. They owned him. He was king, and they owned him. Oh, how he dreamed of their inevitable deaths. How he dreamed of raising their heads on pikes.

“I should like this to go quickly,” Jibal replied. He felt Swizubane’s arm on his shoulder. Good.

“As you command it, sire,” the white-eyed Praetor spoke. “We have just a few matters to discuss.”

“Well, on with it then.” Jibal didn’t try to hide his impatience. Maybe five years ago he would have. But he was almost grown. He was almost rid of these vultures.

“Milord, there is a growing terrorist sect which has executed sophisticated attacks on the outlying cities. Sector Six is particularly under stress,” a blue-eyed judge quipped. “No doubt, this is the work of Sciaon Malbarion.”

The name hung heavy in the air. There were sighs of agreement all around.

“And so what? They’re just rebels. I’ll allocate more men to fight them,” Jibal countered.

The Speaker took over. “Sire, we are stretched thin. The Ordained’s numbers are depleted, and those who remain are busy maintaining your empire. Shall we not leave them to keep the order in each sector? Or shall we bring them to fight against a terrorist organization and let our cities fall into chaos? It is, most assuredly, a difficult decision. And ultimately up to you, my king. Of course.”

“You have plenty of men here whom may serve me.” Jibal nodded.

“Ah, my king, by your own father’s laws, we are entitled to adequate protection. Surely you won’t take that from us, your most loyal servants?” a judge with green eyes said. “We live only to serve the king.”

Jibal groaned. He hated how they always answered his rhetorical thoughts like that. “Enlist more troops. I’ll finance it myself.”

“Very good, sire. How young do you want us to draft?”

Jibal blinked, thinking hard before speaking. “As young as I provide armor for. If they have armor, they can fight. Why else do we arm them?”

The yellow-eyed judge spoke up, “But sire, that is so young! Do you really want children fighting your wars? We could have a civil war in that case!”

Others cried out in like protest.

Jibal stood up, his arms outstretched. “These are my people. They will do anything for me.”

A red-eyed judge nodded. “The king is wise and learned. He has always been.”

Jibal ignored the passive-aggressiveness already saturating the room. “I want to test this Sciaon Malbarion. He dares defy me? Well, let’s see how heartless he is. Let’s see if he’ll fight children. The people will hate him. They will return to me. Those who support him will abandon him. That is my plan. Enact it!”

“Your word is law, sire.”

“I want all resources from the patrols and guards to be redistributed toward my new army. Allocate anything and everything; I don’t care what it costs!” Jibal said, his eyes lighting up in anticipation. “They’ll be real soldiers, they will.”

Jibal turned away, striding out with his cape billowing behind. He was almost to the door when the Speaker interjected, “My king, we are not done yet… We still have more. Would you like to sit down and work through the tiresome economics of your vast kingdom? It has been a long, long ride I am sure. Maybe you would leave that up to us?”

“I…”

“Sire! Shall we not handle the economic matters like last quarter? Our previous plan gained a surplus of over 100,000,000 zeni!”

Jibal faltered. Economics was not his strong suit. As more voices rose up, singing the same tune of the Praetor’s brilliant (undeniably brilliant) plan. And this was why he hated them. How they twisted and begged him to let them manage the empire. Still, he was no fool. Hate these men as he did, Jibal was in no mood to send his empire into the ground.

Jibal shook his head. “Handle all the economic measures as they were last quarter. That worked well enough.”

“Whatever you want, our king.”

Jibal paused at the door, pulling something out of his waist pocket. He clicked it on, and soon the judges saw he held a flashlight. They hissed and cursed at the light, burning their pale, sickly, bald skin. Jibal savored the moment before pointing the light toward an otherwise invisible table next to the Speaker’s elevated podium. On it were seven bright orange balls. Each had a star, and they ascended with each number. He stared at them, losing himself to thought.

“Your father’s dragon balls. Just where he left them, milord. In the company of those who may watch over them objectively and truly. Their protection is amongst our greatest duty,” the Praetor responded.

“My dragon balls. Those are mine. My father left them for me, and I’ll be coming to get them soon,” Jibal sneered.

He saw the Praetors recoil slightly at this blasphemy of taking their most prized possession, but nonetheless, they nodded to him. It would still be a few years away. They could live the good life for a while. But he wouldn’t wait that long. Jibal clicked his flashlight off and strode out. No, those balls were his. They were to grant him any wish in the world. Or so he had been told.

He wanted to be king. That would be his wish. It was a strange feeling wishing for what any other man in his kingdom would swear Jibal already had.

“He’s not gonna talk, I swear.”

Sky, Nir’s only friend, had thus assured him safety and protection. The matter could be no direr, for Nir had stabbed an upperclassman merely a week ago; and here now was the only boy who had witnessed the event. They had been acquainted meekly, and along with Sky, the three boys had quietly gone through the rest of the day, the rest of the week with little incident. Nir rarely spoke, or used his voice at all outside of choir practice. And when he did, his words were reserved solely for his friend. He didn’t know this other boy, this ‘Cocen’. He didn’t so much as trust him.

Nir had been deceived, coming into this place. There was a steady, but small hunger deep in his gut; one that was driving him for more action, more fighting. As much as Nir had been hurled to hell by stabbing Ralgo, he couldn’t help but cling to how right using that knife had made him feel. He had thought they would become soldiers and grand men. Surely, as he even had a set of armor, this was logical, right to assume. But apart from testing it out one time, Nir had never worn his armor. Skirio’s older brother, Jakemo would often wear his. Then again, Sky wasn’t wearing his armor either. He did not rightly understand these people.

Yet as the hours wore on, Cocen made little effort to reveal himself in treachery. And the former muto protested it, but time wore on. The day ended, and Nir returned to his dormitory (the very same he had awoken in earlier). He slept comfortably, safely, in the next room over from Sky. While he was with his friend, Nir was slightly happier, but not too much more. That could make you throw up.

The remainder of the week, Nir and Sky treaded carefully through school, attracting no attention. They retired early to their dorms to work on homework – in reality playing games or watching their televisions. But even that was little solace. The newscasters showed the grim reality of their situation, as Ralgo’s attack was still at the forefront of all Imperial news. There was no escaping it, even here. It was as if they were two children in their parents’ home trying to sneak out during the night. Only this wasn’t a game, with the consequence of being caught being merely a slap on the wrist. If Nir was found, he would be executed. He was eternally grateful for Sky and Sky’s brother for taking him in like this. He couldn’t imagine what they were going through. Like him, they would be killed if he was found out.

And there came a day later when school was in session, when there was no danger, and the gravity of Imperial politics held no power that it all fell apart. The impetus for the coming events was little more than a game of kickball. Looking back, it was such a small thing that would ultimately set everything in motion.

It was a Thursday, and the fifth grade was on recess. Unlike at Nir’s old school, where recess was merely a period of agonizing waiting, this school had money. They could afford balls. Nir wasn’t exactly familiar with how to play kickball, but after a hasty explanation from his friend (just kick it), he joined in. And the game progressed naturally, with Nir’s team trading the lead with their opponents in what seemed like every turn. Nir himself was sluggish for his tail still wore with a dull, burning, constant pain at the base of his spine. It made running difficult. But he didn’t complain.

In the seventh inning, with Nir’s team trailing by one point, something happened. Sky was pitching, and the dreaded Cocen was up to bat. Nir, who was playing shortstop, watched him carefully. Sky rolled the rubber ball slowly down the path toward Cocen’s feet, before the taller boy kicked it with all his power.

The ball flew right into Sky’s face, breaking his nose.

Everyone took a collective gasp as Sky fell back. Yet, he jumped up almost at once, and rushed Cocen, screaming. The resulting furor was contagious, and as Sky rushed Cocen, his fists swinging, each team did likewise. Before Nir could blink, a dusty brouhaha had broken out in front of him. Coughing, he vaguely saw a shape come lunging toward him. As the fist hit his chest, Nir saw it was a boy on the opposing team. He took the punch like a slug to the chest, falling to his knees, but not backing down. He grabbed onto the boy’s arm and thrust it up, then dove forward, knocking him over. Nir stood up, and ran forward, instantly jumping onto the kid’s chest with both feet. He sank his shoes into the soft flesh, grinning to himself. He then jumped off, and proceeded to find a new opponent, but not before kicking the old one in the head one last time. Once again, he was not controlling his actions. It was instinct driving him.

He punched and kicked and head-butted his way through the masses, until finding Sky and Cocen. Sky had pinned Cocen to the turf, and was steadily beating him, even as blood flowed from his crooked nose. To Nir, who had lived in fear and hate of this boy for the previous days, seeing Cocen being pummeled was the most amazing thing. He dropped to his knees and assisted Sky in punching Cocen’s face into a bloody pulp.

Just like with stabbing Ralgo, Nir felt like he was in a perpetual state of slow motion. Every punch, every action, every breath, every drop of blood took much longer to happen. But all good things must come to an end: as Nir and Sky berated Cocen with weary and bloody knuckles, they felt the tugs and grips of adults, their teachers suddenly flying in to stop the scuffle. Sky was plucked off of Cocen, and thrown into the field behind a guard of teachers, with Nir being shoved into the dirt by a different teacher. They broke up the fight, and held the boys from one another until their muscles had given up in exhaustion, and the fight was over.

Nir’s teacher, an old hag of a woman, was screeching shrilly, lecturing the students on the folly of fighting. Surely, they all were listening. No, in reality, those with strength left were too emotionally charged with trying to kill each other to hear; and the rest were too tired, mentally and physically, to listen to or care about any useless aphorism.

Then, a man appeared on the edge of the field, and made speed toward the rabble of students and teachers. As he approached, they noticed him. Seeing he was of the Ordained, they lost their voices of protest. He wore full, dark black and blue armor, with a helmet adorned with many quills. Upon seeing him, even Nir’s teacher stopped her tirade. Nir was reminded of the first time he had met Jakemo – in that this man was completely unseen, and thus the purpose of his appearance could not be gauged. He calmly walked forward, through the blood and sand and broken bodies to home plate (where Cocen had never quite gotten to), and stood rigid. Removing his helmet, the man nodded toward the crowd. His sharp, dark eyes scanned them until he was sure he had their attention. Then, he cleared his throat and raised a datapad, which was blanketed in rolling text.

“By Royal Proclamation XVII, King Jibal with counsel of his high court has decreed a new company of soldiers be formed. All students fifth grade and up are to be drafted into the Ordained. You will report to the Capitol of this city tomorrow at 8 am sharp. Those who do not, are deemed deserters, and will be executed. Good day.”

The man bowed, nodding his head again, and returned his helmet to his head. As quickly as he had come, he turned and went away.

Chapter V: The Lying Judge
{{subst:*Royal Proclamation IV There may be no uprisings against the King. Any person found in connection with a terrorist sect will be executed. Any noble aiding a terrorist or being a terrorist themselves will be stripped of their nobility and imprisoned in Sector V. Half-breeds, also known as Mutos, are lesser-blood. No Muto may be allowed into the nobility or the Ordained. Any found hiding in the upper class will be executed. Mutos are only allowed to live outside of the cities.}}
 * Royal Proclamation V

Nir’s last night in the city was fraught with delirium. As much as he had tried to fall asleep, he could not. His mind raced, and his heart did likewise, as if the two were racing. Barely had he been saved from the hellhole that was the lower-class, and now he was being rewarded by being drafted. He was scared for his life. There was no telling what fighting was actually like. He only knew he’d be no good at it. He hadn’t been trained. Nir just didn’t know what to do. He considered running away again, only to realize with painful trepidation that he had nowhere to run to this time.

He had flipped his pillow countless times, trying to keep cool side against his hot cheek. He threw around the blankets, and kicked up his sheets, rolling this way and that in an effort to find some magical, sure way to fall asleep. Needless to say, this only agitated him more, and before long, Nir found himself covered in sweat.

Moaning from the weary headache he had given himself, Nir sat up. He sat there for a few moments, breathing quickly, but quietly before deciding on getting a glass of milk. Maybe that would calm him. He tiptoed out silently in his socks before heading toward the kitchen. It was a rare treat, this place, and Nir had been very unaccustomed to the fact that his living quarters had proper food. Heck, he hadn’t even known what a refrigerator was until Sky had shown him. He still didn’t understand how they worked.

Nir found his way toward the lightless kitchen, and paused. For there in front of him was something wrong; someone was there; a slinking figure, already at the open fridge, with one long, boney arm wrapped around the door. At first, Nir was merely curious. He assumed it was just Sky or Cocen or one of the others getting a late snack. Maybe they were up late like him. Maybe he wasn’t so different…

Then it straightened its back and raised its head. Slowly, fluidly, it turned itself to face the boy. And Nir beheld its face, and wished to cry out in horror, but could not. Its sullen, lidless eyes shined silver, its black mouth frothed in darkness, its anorexic body contorting and ticking ever so slightly, the creature lowered its long fingers to the tiled floor and crawled forward. And Nir could hear nothing; not his mind’s voice, not the creature’s movement, not even his own heartbeat. He felt his face grow hot with sheer terror as the thing came closer. He saw its fingers were not fingers at all, but long, sharp knives extending out over a foot from where the fingers should have gone. The thing – what was it?! – crawled ever so slowly, like a spider, until reaching Nir’s feet. Then it stood erect, and flexed its spine unnaturally until it was bent backward. Now so close, Nir could see it, could smell it. And once again, his skull rang internally with unending screams. For the creature was covered in blood.

Every second felt like an eternity.

The creature cocked its head, while staring down Nir, much like a dog would at hearing an odd sound. And its eyes widened, and its mouth was still. It raised a sharp finger to Nir’s chin, almost touching it. And it convulsed, as if the thing was so playfully delighted, it couldn’t contain itself.

Then the creature itself became devious to the point of horror, and the innocence gave way to madness. It flung itself backward, awkwardly, throwing its hands and legs up, rolling around, shooting blood everywhere. It was far, far too flexible to be human. As the creature tore a swath through the room, knocking over chairs and tables and shredding carpet, Nir still heard none of it. He watched without blinking until the creature had become part of the shadows again. At that moment, he regained feeling throughout his body, and like an electrical jolt, he sent himself screaming back to his bed.

He didn’t know what that was. Nir had never seen anything like it. He threw the blankets over him and covered his head in pillows, crying into them. He couldn’t go to Sky. He couldn’t wake him up. As scared as Nir was, he couldn’t bring himself to wake anyone else up. He just couldn’t; as much as it contradicted his inner logic, he couldn’t bear to involve his friend. Because if Sky slept, he would remain uninvolved; he would remain safe from that thing. Even as Nir lay there in his bed, curled up in a fetal position, he tried to bite his tongue. If only he were quiet, the creature would never come back. He convinced himself. It was just a shadow. His mind was playing tricks on him. He was tired – no, he was sleeping! This wasn’t real! After the twenty-fourth time, it sounded rational.

Nir was sweating again, and hiding under the blankets was making him increasingly tortured. He threw the pillow off of his head, and rolled onto his back before pulling the covers down below his chin. There, on the edge of his bed, facing away from him, was the skeletal creature. Its arms were raised, while it sharpened the knives on each hand on one another. Nir let in a sharp gasp; it was all he could do. The creature picked up on it, and turned around so fast, Nir didn’t even see it occur. Then, it slowly walked up to Nir, stopping to crouch on his chest. The boy couldn’t breathe. It scared him so, and he couldn’t make it go away. No matter how much he squinted his face or blinked, he couldn’t wake up. Maybe he wasn’t dreaming.

The creature stopped one last time, bringing its face down to within an inch of Nir’s. It cocked its head again, and this time, Nir swore he could tell its black, undefined mouth was smiling. A drop of blood then fell from its chin to Nir’s nose. He shuddered. And this motion startled the creature. It once again began convulsing like a dying spider on top of Nir, and he felt its pressure jumping up and down. He couldn’t breathe. The creature looked toward Nir once again, and this time Nir knew it was not smiling. It raised its left arm, its polished metal blades glinting off of the moon outside Nir’s window before bringing them down, and swiping them across the boy’s chest.

Nir yawned. He hated mornings. Their droll, suffocating monotony made him want to rip his hair out. He always felt tired, cold, dirty, and miserable. He was dreading this day more than any other, because he was to become a soldier for the empire. He was going to join the noble Ordained today. Sky seemed more enthused, perhaps because he was a valued member of society. But for all his naivety, Nir knew better than to respect the soldiers.

He got undressed and changed into his armor Jakemo had given him while Sky told heroic stories of the Ordained’s storied history. Nir found it hard to even talk in the morning, so he merely listened with the others. Removing his shirt, Nir noticed several dark scratches across his chest. Running his finger over them, he found them to be quite painful, and wincing to himself, he wondered where they had come from. He could not remember. He shrugged it off. It was probably nothing more than unconscious scratching.

Once Sky and he were suited up, they slogged out into the cold, bitter winds that were so common in the early fall. Luckily, they wore their helmets. As they got to first street corner, they saw the taller, prouder, older brother of Sky. He motioned for the younger kids to come closer, and they did. Without speech, he then led them solemnly down the sidewalk. And not to school, on the familiar path did they go, but instead toward that large, imposing building opposite their dorm. It was the great building Nir had seen the first time he had woken up a noble, the building Jakemo had said they were not to go to. The place looked to Nir like a bouquet of scissors and knives; some sick idea from a disturbed architect. Here they were going toward it. Now so close, he couldn’t even see the top, craning his neck though he did. He noticed other groups of students and teachers converging with their small pack. Everyone was headed for the same goal.

Once inside, Jakemo sent Nir and the others to the far side, and lined them up. Soon hundreds, if not thousands of bodies surrounded them in likewise lines. As they waited for everyone else to get put into place, the students were instructed to remove their helmets for their Princess. Now, Nir had never heard of a Princess, let alone ‘his’ princess. Perplexed, he craned his neck to find a princess, but saw no one of great importance. Sure, there were guards lined around, and way ahead, there was a high empty platform in front of the monolith. But no one worthy of Nir removing his helmet to be attacked by the cold air did he see.

As they waited, a message droned out over speakers. It was the same one that soldier had parlayed yesterday on the field. “By Royal Proclamation XVII, King Jibal with counsel of his high court has decreed a new company of soldiers be formed. All students fifth grade and up are to be drafted into the Ordained.”

Beyond the gasps stagnant stares, Nir’s eyes shifted toward Cocen, and saw the pale boy’s eyes darting like a mad animal. His face was bandaged up, and he looked as livid as he did deathly. Nir watched as Cocen’s eyes fell on Sky, the boy who had, without precedent, broken his nose. And Cocen’s eyes went dark with malice. Nir felt something was different now. Something was wrong with Cocen. He felt as if Cocen was just waiting to rat him out. Nir looked over to Sky, who winked at Nir, and seemed rather nonchalant. It was too early, and Nir was too tired to continue worrying about Cocen at that moment. Far grander things were about to happen.

Then, the mechanical speakers’ message stopped all at once. Then came from in front, behind a set of steel gates, two people of great stature. Around them were many honor guards and cameras. The first was a wealthy-looking, dark-haired woman. She had a long nose and a scar down the left side of her face which went through her hair to the point where it followed her scalp line. She wore an elaborate robe. Next to her was a tall man, hugely tall, and he was ever familiar. For Nir had seen him on the very day he’d tested out his DEX suit. This was the general, Zirion. And next to him, Nir’s fearless leader; his prince (or princess, as she should rightly be), Diruhl. Their words, imperative and commanding though they were, fell tritely on the children’s ears. No boy nor girl could know how to fight, and a simple speech commanding them to do so meant little in solving that.

Diruhl spoke shortly on what they were to do. It was simple, really, as she said. The children of sector 14 were going to be heroes to the crown. They were, invariably, going to wage war against a terrorist sect headed by a traitorous bastard, Sciaon Malbarion. And once he was dead, they would return home to their books and studies. There would be a monument placed in their honor. It was as if flowers shot out of Diruhl’s mouth as she spoke… at least in her view. The children would kill terrorists. They would end the war. The clouds would part, and angels would descend playing trumpets of yore. That’s how it would go.

Zirion was more direct, more realistic, and he spread each of the classes into various platoons. Nir was lucky being paired with Sky. They were placed in the vanguard battalion, and were instructed to leave immediately. Once again, Nir looked for Cocen, but couldn’t find him. Perhaps that untrustworthy boy had been put in a different legion? But it was too late to ask.

It happened so quickly that Nir didn’t quite understand it. He knew his king (kami save the king) ruled absolutely and anything he wanted, Nir would have to do. He just didn’t understand why it had to be a war. Shouldn’t they have men for that, he thought? What about all those guarding the Princess and General? Would they not be better suited on the battlefield than he or Sky?

Shortly afterward, they were put into a small makeshift barracks outside the Capitol, and changed into their armor. Nir groaned when he noticed how much more rusted his was than Sky’s.

“Sky, what are we doing? What was that General talking about?”

Sky was busy pulling on his helmet, which was blue like Nir’s. “He’s made us all soldiers. We don’t have a choice, Nir. We’ll be like Jake. Y’know, a few weeks out in the wild and then we get to come back.”

“Oh. But won’t it be dangerous? We could die, right?”

“I don’t think so. They wouldn’t send us out into the battle…” Sky said, trailing off.

“If they do let us out in the battle, I bet we’ll get pretty good weapons.”

“Yeah, that’ll be worth it, huh?”

“I bet we would even get to keep them!”

“Yeah, I’ll finally be able to stand up to Jake,” Sky laughed.

Nir finished putting on his armor. Along with Cocen, Sky, and the rest of his small platoon, Nir ventured outside. He opened a channel on his helmet’s frequency, and sync’d up with Sky to continue talking. They walked up into a troop carrier ship while talking.

“Hey Sky, do they have any good food in the other sectors?”

Sky shook his head, “I don’t know, bro.”

“They have to. I mean, pretty much anything is better than slop and water soup…”

“Haha, yeah.”

The boys took their seats, as instructed inside the ship. The giant plane began rumbling as its five-paned jet system sputtered on. Their bodies rattled involuntarily with the engines, and Nir got horrible whiplash. Beyond that, the sound was tremendous. Were they not wearing fully protective headgear, Nir was sure he would have lost his hearing. They saw their instructor, the same man who had met them in the school, motion to them to relax and sit back. He paced down the main bay between the seats, and checked each child, almost as if this was a rollercoaster ride. That is, if it was a life-or-death scenario and nobody was having fun. Nir and Sky had one good glimpse out the back of the ship before the doors closed, and they both thought they saw a familiar red-helmeted teenager giving them a thumbs up.

They traveled long and hard for many hours before their instructor screamed at them that the plane was landing. If the lurching forward was not signal enough, Nir saw out the small round windows coating the sides, the clouds give way to the earth again, and a city appear. It was a ghastly, ashen place filled with smoke and fire and twisted metal. As the plane got closer to the ground, he saw explosions going off and people fighting below. His innards rose to his throat, and he almost threw up. No! They were going to fight, actually fight! He hadn’t been trained! He hadn’t had any practice!

“Sky, they’re people fighting below…” Nir gulped.

“Yeah, I know. I-I… guess we’re joinin’ them.”

He had never heard Sky so fearful.

“It’s a mistake! We aren’t supposed to be fighting!” Nir screamed out, not only to Sky, but to all of them.

The others were silent, mostly. He thought he heard some crying, some pleading softly, but the noise was too loud. Their instructor had caught Nir’s crying, and raced over. He punched Nir in the chest.

“Hey, soldier! You have a weapon, don’t you?” he screamed, grabbing onto Nir’s right forearm. “Point and shoot! These rebels have inferior technology! They won’t kill you!” Nir regained his voice. “Then why do you need reinforcements?”

The man retreated, dodging that question.

And then, at once, the ship touched the ground. A siren went off, their instructor screaming and screaming, and their seatbelts let loose. Nir and Sky rushed out together, not bothering to stay with the rest of their company. As soon as they exited the back ramp, an explosion went off; this one much louder and closer than the rest. Their transport was hit, and erupted into fiery cacophony. Nir saw his instructor burning, in flames. The man was screaming again, but this time it was in pain. He ran forward, past Nir, and out into the open where he was immediately shot and killed. Even more students were dead, or blown to pieces.

Nir and Sky moved forward, with Sky motioning Nir to follow him. He led, promising to keep them alive. He, after all, had been trained by his brother (who was a proper soldier). They moved forward, past the wreckage, and crawled low beneath the rubble. Above them, armed men ran, and they were surely rebels. This was nothing more than a suicide mission. Live ammunition erupted in droves ahead of them, and Sky stopped. He gasped, turning around to face Nir. His chest was bloodied and open, where he had been hit. He fell over. Nir just sat there, unable to move. His best friend was hurt, and he could do nothing. He could do nothing.

Another explosion went off above Nir, and the building they were huddling under cracked and fell forward. And a slab of concrete slid directly down onto Nir. He couldn’t get away in time. The sheet of black enveloped him, gliding from his periphery, and his vision and mind went blank.

That night, under the burning lights of Zirion’s tent came an extraordinary thing. A guard had brought to the great General news of his son. In actuality, the guard had brought a boy to testify. It was Cocen, and he was as pale as ever. And with the anger toward Sky for breaking his nose, this boy had lost any semblance of loyalty he once possessed. He was here for vengeance and death, and not exactly in that order.

“I know who stabbed Ralgo, sir.”

It was remarkable, really. At that moment, Zirion stopped everything. His tactical planning, his strategy for wiping out the terrorists was erased from his mind. He became like a dog in that his mind was singularly focused. He crooked an eye. It was rare to see the man so slaved to something. “Guard, leave us.” And the guard bowed before exiting. “Well, out with it, kid! Don’t keep it from me!”

“Uh, yes sir. I mean, I-I was there. It was a muto, sir. A muto, I’m sure of it.”

Zirion slammed his cup of wine into the table, sending glass flying. His yellow teeth shone with ferocity when he spoke again, “I know that already! You would waste my time telling me useless information?! I’ll kill you! Do you know who I am?!”

“S-sir, that’s not all!” Cocen pleaded. “I know his name.”

“Well?” Zirion screamed, his face getting redder by the second. “What is it?!”

“His name is Nir, general. And he’s in the same grade as me. He’s one of the new soldiers, you know, the ones that just got sent out to fight,” Cocen said meekly, bowing.

Zirion didn’t reply. He stood there, his face screwed up in a stupid gaze, his eyes fluttering, and his lips moving ever so slightly, as if he was talking to himself.

“Sir? Are you all right?” Cocen asked, stepping forward with a finger outstretched.

Zirion snapped back into reality. He smiled, broadly, grabbing Cocen by the arm, and pulling him close. “You’ve done good, boy. Too good for your own good.” Zirion brought out a knife from his back pocket, and with the hand opposite the one holding Cocen, shot it up just below the boy’s Adam’s apple. Cocen gurgled, attempting to scream, but Zirion covered his mouth with a huge, gloved hand. “Shh, shh. Quiet, boy. You have served the empire well. Doesn’t that make you happy? Now sleep! Ha ha ha!”

Zirion continued laughing until the life in Cocen’s eyes went dark. Then, he let the boy fall onto the ground, and rang one of his guards in. The guard jumped at seeing a bloody, dead ten year-old at his feet, but Zirion waved him off with a simple ‘He had an accident; clean it up’. As the guard began rubbing blood out of shag carpet (a monumentally difficult task, in reality), Zirion instead fumbled with his helmet-based computer, until he found the correct set of numbers he was looking for. He dialed a call, and it was swiftly picked up.

“General Zirion?”

Zirion responded with great impatience, not even bothering for pleasantries, “I’ve got a new mission for you, Lieutenant Colonel. A terrorist has infiltrated the Ordained, and you must kill him.”

“I understand, sir, I will eliminate him immediately. What is the name?”

“Nir. You’ll find where he is stationed by looking in the databases. I want his head brought back to me, no exceptions. You got that? He is to be killed no matter what. I don’t care if he’s got a whole goddamn rebel army guarding him.”

“I understand, General. Is there anything else?”

“There’s a reason I asked you to do this for me. You’re the best damn soldier I’ve got, Farayel Aros. I don’t want you to get yourself killed. Do this for me, and you will be greatly rewarded. I’m talking about a significant promotion.”

“Understood, sir. This terrorist Nir will be dead by tomorrow. Aros out.”

Chapter VI: Deep as Bone
{{subst:*Royal Proclamation VI Any Muto may be executed or gutted as punishment for a crime, no matter its severity. Any soldier who does not execute a Muto for a serious offense will be executed instead. Only soldiers and trained students are allowed to carry energy or ballistic-based weaponry. Regular citizens found with any such weaponry will be stripped of their possessions and imprisoned in Sector V.}}
 * Royal Proclamation VII

Nir awoke in silence. He was free, sitting back on a rickety chair in an otherwise plain, if half-ruined room. Much of the wood coating the walls and floor was decayed, and the roof was partially caved-in. And he didn’t know how he had gotten here. His shoulders ached in pain, and he felt cold. Looking down, he saw much of his skin bare, with only his underclothes on. Where his suit had gone, he did not know.

Looking up, he saw a window directly in front of him. Outside it, the sky shined bright blue, almost white, and it hurt him to look out it too long. But he recognized the ruins. The explosions were still going out there. Nir could see fire in the distance puncturing the air. The place looked the same as where Sky and he had been attacked. A sudden rush to his chest suffocated him, exacerbated twice over when he looked around; for he realized Sky wasn’t here with him. He stood up, anxiety driving him, and ran toward the far door. Trying to pull it open, he was stopped at once. The door was locked.

Banging on the cracked wood, Nir screamed, “Let me go! Let me go! Hey, somebody get me outta here! Help!”

And then from the shadows, a figure slinked out, low to the ground. He held in his hands a knife, and drew it to his mouth as he spoke, “Shh. Shh. No need to yell, little drone.”

“What…? Who are you?! Don’t kill me! Please!” Nir shuddered, falling to his knees against the door. The man appearing in the room he thought he had to himself had spooked him; but the knife held him in place.

“How quick we are to plead for mercy. How quick we are to plead for our lives! Tell me, little imperial drone, why even fight? Why risk your life for a cause you cannot care about, that you cannot understand? Ah, that is one advantage I have over you, no?”

“Look, I don’t want to fight. Th-they forced me! I don’t want to be here, I… I.. I… just want to find my friend and go home.”

“I have a little friend for you… down here!” he hissed, grabbing his pants, “Get it?! Scum!”

“Yeah.”

“You rats are all the same with your sweet Imperial poison,” the man continued, as if not hearing Nir. He walked the length of the room, stopping at the window. He savored the moment and picked up a small glass on the windowsill and drank from it. He dug the heel of his foot into the rotting wood below, breaking off several fragments, and sending up a cloud of dust around him. He noticed this, and baring his teeth, he twisted himself around to look at the boy. He coughed twice, and then spoke, “What would you have me do with you, drone?”

“Let me go.”

“Nya… aha hah ha hah ha. Let you go. Aye, I can let you go – in a sack down the river!” His voice rose to hysteria as the man threw his shot glass of vodka at the boy. It hit Nir above the left eyebrow, throwing him back, and bleeding him. A deep cut formed on his forehead, for when he stood back up, it had let loose the gate streams of his blood all over his face. Nir wiped it away furiously, but helplessly. This man could kill him, he could, and Nir could do little to stop it. That simple reality made him numb to the pain. He stood still, breathing as little as possible to preserve what possibility of life he could yet muster.

The man would breathe heavily through his teeth, slitting air back and forth through his gums, like it was a substance of liquor. It made Nir shiver. Moreover, this man could not let himself stay in one place for more than a second. He would stop, pause, then move about again never standing still, but never repeating himself. At once, however, he walked over the door, and brought it open with a vigorous tug. It creaked with a painful moan, as if it had been so callously awoken by its depraved master; and if Nir had to guess, he would think this place close to coming down – at least, with such violent maneuvers as that.

“You do not move, imperial” the man said to Nir. Nir nodded in obedience, and the door was slammed in his face. He would not move.

It was three hours before the man returned to Nir. In this time, the muto had not dared move his legs. The splintered chairs and table had both looked comforting, but he had no idea when the man would come back, and thus fear drove him to retain his place, and not be tempted any more. Whether the man could have remembered Nir’s original point of standing was questionable; he seemed delusional and drunken. But judging by how the man spoke, he was one of the rebels Nir was supposed to be fighting. That made Nir a prisoner of war. He wondered where Sky was – if he was even alive, and if there was anyone out looking for him.

Yet, the man returned, and so too returned the feeling of heavy hopelessness. The man barely noticed Nir at first. Barely was he able to open the door on his own, and at first Nir assumed him to be wounded – shot, actually. But it was not so. The man had another with him – a cadet, Nir could see. That boy was unconscious, as his head drooped and his arms lay lazily. He wore the same armor Nir had been wearing when this rebel adducted him. The man held the boy by the neck, and threw him onto the moldy, damp floor in front of Nir.

“They sent one looking for you, did you know? You’re a special little one, aren’t you?” Nir did not respond. The man nodded his head at no one, the stubble of his beard catching dust and spraying it around like some uncouth tamed whale ruining a trick. He took a small device out of the back of his pants and, with an extended arm, pointed its metal appendage at the unconscious boy. It was a black, metallic type of thing, with a long point shooting out from where the man’s boney hands gripped it. He took it and poked it against the boy’s body. Looking up at Nir, who stared back with large, gray eyes, the man pulled the trigger. The bullet was loud and it made Nir jump. He looked down, and saw the boy on the ground, not breathing, not moving, with half a pint of blood already soaking the ground. More was coming fast. Nir looked back up at the man, who was now advancing to him. The metallic weapon pointed at Nir’s nose.

Nir hardly had time to react to the death he just witnessed. Survival instincts kicked in as he spoke in a hollow whisper, “I’m not with them.”

“Oh, no. No no no no no. You can’t be with them, no. Not when I’ve got you here with your life in my hand. Now you’re sympathetic. A resister, even! How easily the minds of children are changed by their position in reality!” he spat through his slit teeth at Nir, “You are a noble ordained,” he continued with sarcasm, “You have nothing to prove to me otherwise.”

“I do. Look…”

Nir lifted up his shirt, from the back. The man cautioned himself and still pointed the weapon at Nir. The boy looked away so he could not have the knowledge to be frightened. He lifted his shirt over him, and pulled his pants down, partway, then turned around. The man took a chair and sat down on it, facing backward, continuing to point his weapon at Nir. Yawning, he crossed his arms and leaned forward on the backrest.

“Look, see?”

There was a deep, long scar that was positioned just above Nir’s tailbone.

“So what?” replied the man in heavy brogue.

Nir turned his head, explaining his predicament in the most straightforward way, “I used to have a tail there. But they were going to kill me so I had to cut it off.”

“So… you were a muto,” the man breathed.

“I didn’t want to be put wi-with them, but I had no choice. They enrolled me on their own. If I told them what I was, they would kill me!”

The man stood up. He did not speak to Nir, instead deciding to pace around the room several more times. Each step his heavy boots took caused the pooling blood to ripple and splash. Nir moved back to get out of the path of it. The man stopped, facing the window again. He sighed long, then pocketed his metal weapon. Still shaking his head, he spoke:

“Aren’t many mutos left after-”

And then Nir threw the chair at him. The wood broke in long shards all over the man’s back. It did little to damage him – the momentum of slamming his face into the wall did more. The house creaked and shook along with him, and by the time he was turned around, Nir was out the door. He growled to himself, and pursued.

Nir hadn’t gone out the front door, but instead, upon breaking free from that hideous blood-stained observatory, he had snagged a quick left to the stairs and climbed them in frantic fashion. Going out to the streets would be uselessly useless. This was resistance territory. Any one of them would kill him given the proper chance. That is why Nir came to the singular conclusion that, if he were to get out of this alive, he needed his suit.

He reached the top of the stairs before instinctively bolting across the hall to a door, which was slightly ajar. He ran inside, quickly scouring the room for any sign of his belongings. There was a bed which was matted with gray sheets and looked as if it had never been used. There were three shelves on the far wall, all of which held a plethora of rusting tools and ammunition. He looked, and he looked, but there was not a trace of what he was looking for. Panic set in like a cold press on his throat, for Nir heard the heavy, deliberate footsteps of the rebel walking up the stairs.

"We're not done dancing yet, little soldier,” he sneered.

The man held his knife at his chest, and proceeded forward in that careful, calculated way that a hunter would to a wounded animal. It was no use to resist; Nir lacked any weaponry, and he was quite a bit smaller. Nir realized that this small room – which lacked any other doors or windows – was going to be his grave. Then, the tall man lunged forward, and struck out at his foe.

And inside Nir’s head, it was as if a capsule of adrenaline had burst, and filled his veins. Instantly, at the certainty of death, his body had unwilled it. He jumped back, dodging the knife, and to his surprise (more than that of the man’s), it worked. Not so much was it that time around him had slowed, instead, he felt as if he had sped up. He watched the rebel swipe again with his knife, and Nir dodged it easily, again. He could see every move coming seconds before they could touch him.

Nir screamed, losing control. His mind went numb, and he felt hopelessly catatonic inside it. He was a simple spectator to the actions happening around him. Yet, he was not afraid, as before. It was like with Ralgo. It was primal, instinctual. The boy charged forward, and slammed into the rebel’s knees. The man shuddered, and fell backward. Thusly following with him was the remainder of the room, as the rotted wood cracked and splintered under the unnatural pressure. The two fell through the floor, and were swiftly covered in debris. And the house was quiet once again.

Outside the house, down the ruined city, the explosions continued.

Nir awoke in mostly darkness. Only a faint ray of the dying sun shone through the far window, and it did little to help him see. Sitting up, he found himself to be alone amongst a pile of refuse. He did not feel badly hurt, and testing his legs, found they still worked properly. He stood up, and slid off the pile. Firstly, he needed to get his suit; then, he could find wherever Sky ended up.

On his way out, he noticed something shiny poking out of the rubble, and was immediately drawn to it. Upon wrenching it out, he found it to be his captor’s knife. He brought it into his chest, sighing in relief. Nir had just remembered that the man was safely, and assuredly dead, underneath all that mess in front of him. It would give him some time, he thought. Moving away from the pile, he started to guess where his suit could be hiding when a hand burst out behind him. The man emerged from the pile, screaming curses and death. He took Nir by the ankle, and pulled the muto toward him. His bloody fist awaited Nir’s face.

The boy was thrown back, and rendered delirious by the blow. He fell as the man let go of him, and struggled up. But the man put his boot to Nir’s chest, holding him in place. He lowered his gaunt snout to within an inch of Nir as he began his speech:

“You thought I died? Stupid boy! I am Mikhail Maklakov, son of Nikolai Maklakov! The Great Resister, my father was called, and I follow his path!” Before Nir could ask who that was, supposing he was obligated to know, Mikhail punched him in the face again. “Your little king might think sending children to fight will break our resolve. You drones don’t get it! Filthy animals! Killing you means nothing to me! Nothing to me! We fight for our people and our lives, and you will not get in our way. So what if you are children? It’s good for the world for the little imperial to die young. Better than let him grow and spread his destruction. And I should have killed you! Taking you as a prisoner… no, no, no. Malbarion wanted it, but now… I’ll just say I didn’t find any. We don’t need prisoners! We need corpses. Littering the street! Too many to count! And you, little drone, it’s time for you to join your comrade there in the other room!”

Maklakov raised his fist again, only this time Nir reacted. He still had the knife in his hands, and plunged it upward, puncturing and then spearing through the man’s chest. Nir felt a gust of hot breath hit his face as Maklakov gasped in shock. He fell backward, thrashing and hacking up blood. Nir’s entire body went stiff. What had he done?!

“No! I didn’t… I… no!” Nir was lost for words. He felt equally hit by the blade, as pure terror overwhelmed him at what he had just done. “I didn’t do anything… I didn’t do it, I didn’t do it!”

All the while, Maklakov stared at the boy. Nir couldn’t tell what the man was feeling (aside from pain). He ran over to try and help, but the man was hitting everything near him. There was no getting close. Then, it all stopped. It was over faster than Nir could catch his breath. The man lay dead, and Nir was alone again.

“No! I didn’t mean it… Wake up… Wake up!” Nir positively shouted the words.

He had rushed over to the limp body, but knew not what to do. Nobody had taught him how to save a dying person, how to check if they were alive. The only thing he was doing was getting himself covered in a man’s blood.

He lowered his head to the man’s chest, and began crying. He felt sick, horrible. He was a monster. He felt like taking that knife and stabbing it into his own chest. But he didn’t have the strength to pull it out. Sky, his only friend, would abandon him. Nir couldn’t blame him. He was a killer - no, a murderer. A savage, really. The warm-hearted boy he used to be was now gone.

He sat there for a good deal of time in the wood, and the blood, and the tears, before getting up to leave. He didn’t even care about finding his suit anymore. Nir had resolved that he would desert. The price of it no longer mattered. Let them kill him. Let all of them kill him. He deserved it. He wouldn’t go back.

It was dark when he left the house, which made it easier to go unnoticed. Nir made his way through the half-destroyed houses and streets quickly and quietly. He passed by several scores of what looked like rebels (for they dressed as Maklakov did) huddled around barrels of fire. He did not understand the politick of war; the reasons his king fought, and the reason these men fought back meant little to Nir. Of what little he could comprehend on the matter, Nir found it horrifying that so many of these men, on both sides, could kill so easily.

Perhaps it was predisposition toward feeling cold, or merely the lack of clothes he was wearing, but Nir succumbed to shivering almost immediately. The city was surprisingly windy at night, making Nir second-guess his desertion. Being with how many barrels of fire there were around, how many huddled rebels were grouped in scattered pockets about the crumbling streets, he reckoned he could join them. Surely none would know that he was formerly an Imperial prisoner. He just worried they would spot the spots of blood on his shirt. Maybe not if he kept low.

The winds had pushed a trail of smoke toward the boy, and he began following it in hopes of finding an un-crowded, warm fire to relieve him of the freezing cold. As he ran toward it, eagerly and desperately, he noticed that the streets started to change, getting significantly more destroyed, and there were fewer buildings standing. Running farther, he no longer saw pockets of rebels huddling around on either side, making him wonder where the fire was.

(Cue All These Things That I’ve Done)

And then he rounded one last corner, and before him was a figure. It was fully armored in a standard issue Dex suit, and was walking slowly away from the smoke. Upon seeing the muto, the figure stopped, and raised its head. It removed its helmet, revealing a cut up, battle-scorched face; the face of Sky. He couldn’t believe it. His only friend had found him, Nir thought.

Nir’s face fell into relief, almost bringing him to tears, and he ran ahead, but Sky stopped him. He raised his gloved hand and stuck it firmly into Nir’s chest. His face was as cold as the winds blowing about when he spoke:

“Don’t go back there.”

“W-why?” asked Nir, who was still shivering.

“We’re all that’s left.” Sky put his helmet back on, and calmly walked by Nir. “Follow me; it’s not safe anymore.”

(All These Things That I’ve Done reaches 0:45)

Back in the Imperial camp, where a small collection of fat, aging commanders had been toying with the lives of children on the battlefield, an ambush had clearly occurred – because the entire place was destroyed. The Imperial transport vessels were twisted and burning, with some even crashed in vain efforts to escape. The tents were disintegrated, the command post reduced to ashes. For the dead, children had been given no special treatment, and lay dead next to their commanders.

A dozen rebels remained on watch around the encampment, but for little reason. No Imperial had escaped; not a one. The rebellion had reigned victorious. Patrolling a dead zone such as this was such a boring thing, that many of the men had fallen asleep. Two or three were still awake in a rare standing house that did not have a roof. On the top floor, they played cards by candlelight with a single wall protecting them from the winds.

So ferocious were the winds that the sleeping rebels did not hear their buddies get shot.

Then came a dark figure whirling through the night, who slit the throats of the remaining rebels save one. That man, instead, was awoken with a rough kick to the chest. After a shout and a failed reach for his suddenly missing weapon, the man was picked up by the neck. He came to see his attacker was in full body armor, similar to that of the Imperials he had recently slaughtered. He tried speaking (pleading, really), but the grasp on his throat prevented any speech. Instead, his attacker spoke first.

“I am searching for a soldier. Name’s Nir. You haven’t happened to see him, have you?” The armored attacker asked, loosening the grip on the man’s neck.

“No… no… please, I… it wasn’t me that killed him, I tell ya…”

“No, you just killed the other kids,” the attacker responded. This time, with the winds dying down a bit, the man could detect the sarcasm. More importantly, he could tell the voice was female. He clung to that fact.

“Listen, Miss… I can help you find him, if you want… you know… ” he nodded and chuckled to himself, nervously.

“Who ordered this attack?”

The man’s face lit up and he showed off his yellow teeth. “Ah! Mr. Sciaon Malbarion! He was here, himself, miss. Led the attack and everything! You shoulda seen it. We didn’t lose no one, no we didn’t!”

The woman slapped the man across the face before dropping him to the ground. Then, she moved forward, against his pleas and struggling, placing her boot to his chest, and pressing downward. For a while, the man resisted. And then, his ribs broke, and his chest cavity collapsed.

The woman, undeterred, returned to the camp. She looked over a few bodies, and finding nothing, pulled something out of her belt. It was a small, blue device, which looked like a cell phone. She turned it on, and placed it over the head of a dead soldier below her feet. When she did, a message popped up:

“Name: Siriko, Rae L: Service Number: JA23 6706-9008-0012” 

She nodded to herself, satisfied with the competency of the machine. Then, removing a gauntlet, the woman used her long, slender fingers to pluck at the keyboard and enter a new search query:

“Name: Nir: Service Number: JA23 6706-5433-0997” 

Instantaneously, a dot appeared on the screen, overlaid on a map of the city. Then Farayel Aros, lieutenant of Zirion, knew where Nir’s armor was; where she presumed the possessor of that armor would reside also. Wasting no time, she jumped away, found her hoverbike, and raced off into the city. And she feared not how many rebels awaited her.

Chapter VII: Diruhl
Using a rugged line of shadows, cast by noon’s sun, Sky made a careful path through the obliterated buildings. Though he had seen only a few rebels milling around, he didn’t want to take his chances. They were probably grouped up around the ambush site – where, last night, all of the Imperial children and soldiers had been slaughtered. Still, he wouldn’t take any chances being seen. He didn’t want them to know he was still alive.

After they had taken him and Nir hostage, Sky had been given treatment for the wound on his chest. Because of how serious it had been, and of how young he was, they hadn’t bothered to put a guard on him. After half a day, he had gathered enough strength back (when souped on morphine) to sneak out. Luckily, they hadn’t bothered confiscating his suit.

Sky had tried to find Nir, but unable to locate him, instead set his suit to navigate him back toward camp. But none of his commanders cared about where he had been. Asking, pleading, for some reinforcements to help him get Nir back, did Sky no good, and he was thoroughly rejected. So, he set back out on his own. And it was just about that time the Morphine wore out, and he became aware of the excruciating pain in his chest. He had collapsed, then, only a quarter mile from camp, and fell unconscious. Probably thinking he was dead, no rebel touched him. He had awoken by nightfall to find a massive fire behind him, and every fellow Imperial dead. And then he had noticed the place crawling with rebels, and swiftly retreated via crawling over the bodies. Had it not been for the darkness, surely he would have been seen, and killed. It hadn’t been more than a few minutes later, that he had walked out of that place and found Nir.

So here he was, a day later. The two of them had made a small refuge deeper in the city, in an old blown out house. They had found a little food, and blankets, and braced against the wind. Nir was still there, for without his suit, it was too cold and too dangerous to venture outside. Sky, on the other hand, was perfectly suited for the mission at hand; and he was going back to retrieve Nir’s. Since they were in the same fire team, Sky only needed to press a button, and a homing beacon would light on Nir’s suit. He did so, and found the house where it was to be no more than a few blocks north. Sneaking toward it, Sky took a right into a large, abandoned street. And while he didn’t see any rebels down it, as he quietly ran, he noticed something following him. Sky stopped, and looked up. This particular street had rather high buildings imposing on either side. The war had, however, ripped many of them to shreds. Only on the right side were there a few buildings with roofs still. Sky didn’t know if what he had seen following him was a bird, for what he had seen had been moving up on those roofs. And it had been moving as fast as him, as if it was following him.

His brother, Jake, had taught him how to use infrared mode on his helmet, and he quickly switched to that, and scanned the buildings. After a few seconds, he picked up a few flashes of orange and yellow, the clear signs of something organic. He couldn’t tell if it was human or not, the bugger, because it was moving too fast. In fact, he wasn’t sure it could be human, since it was running around in circles up there. Sky shook his head, and got back to the task at hand. The rest of the way was quiet, and he didn’t spot another living thing.

Inside the house, where the beacon was coming from, Sky found Nir’s suit. It was in a closet, in the basement, along with half a dozen others. Glancing over to the corner of the room, Sky saw several charred bodies – which looked like children, but were too burnt to properly examine. Evidently Sky and Nir were not the first prisoners taken here. Nevertheless, Sky left the room with little other thought. Nir’s armor over his shoulder, he climbed back up the stairs to the ground level.

In front of him was something he hadn’t noticed before. There lay a corpse, a man, stark white, with a knife in his heart. Sky stopped moving. This man was the one who had given him morphine. He was a rebel. He shouldn’t be dead, unless…

Sky’s eyes widened beneath his helmet. Nir. Well, that explained why his friend had been such a sad, sappy sucker since last night.

Then, Sky heard noise, and fell to the ground, rolling out of sight. He slid over behind a rotted table, and stayed perfectly still. In came three men, wearing fur and carrying salvaged Imperial weaponry. They spotted the dead man, and rushed over to him, speaking furiously to one another in a language Sky did not understand. One yelled before kicking the wall. From that, Sky gathered they weren’t very happy about finding the guy dead. The others quickly looked in a big open room just ahead. Finding it empty, they likewise kicked the wall. One of them pulled a radio out of his pocket, and spoke into it. Sky shifted his weight to his shoulders, preparing to spring up. If that man was calling reinforcements, he had to get out at once. Using his neural uplink, Sky willed his arm cannon to warm on, and begin charging a blast. He had never actually shot anyone before, but how hard could it be? His brother had told him once, rather bluntly, that killing a man wasn’t all that difficult. Just point and shoot.

And he did.

The room was bathed in white light, too bright to see through, until the three men were no more. And then, with all the speed he had in him, Sky took back to the street. Fearing rebels hot on his heels, he didn’t stop until he got all the way back to the place he had left Nir. And as he ran, he once again felt like he was being watched; like someone was following him on the rooftops above.

Nir had slept late, but still woke tired when Sky returned. He beamed at his friend, seeing his suit safely back in his possession. Impatiently, he threw it back on, and turned on the internal heating regulator. He left his helmet on the ground, for it was easier to talk without it on.

“Ah, that’s better. Thanks, Sky,” Nir said. “Was it very hard to find?”

Sky sat down next to Nir, and took off his own helmet. “Just a few bad guys. Not too many.”

“Did they see you?”

“Well, yeah. But they’re dead, so it doesn’t matter,” Sky laughed.

Nir’s eyes became like two balloons being filled with air. “Y-you… you mean, you killed them?!”

“I had to, or they would have killed me, I guess. I mean, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? To kill them.”

“I know… but…” Nir bowed his head.

“Look, Nir. We’re probably going to have to kill some more of them if we want to get out of here. I know I wanna get out of here.”

Looking back up to Sky, Nir spoke quietly, “I do too…”

“I saw the dead guy. The one with the knife and everything. You did that, right? Nir?” But Nir couldn’t respond. As he had raised his eyes to look back to Sky’s a moment before, he had spied something behind. And now, with horror was it that he saw that it was many figures coming sharply into view. The rebels had found them.

“Sky, behind you!” Nir screamed shrilly.

Sky jumped up, and looked. Seeing the same thing Nir did, he grabbed a helmet, and jumped over the small bit of stone they had been sitting on to get to cover. Nir did likewise. Yet, as he put on his helmet, he distinctly felt it wasn’t right; it didn’t fit quite right.

There were more important things at hand. At least seven rebels were lined up in a semicircle in front of the boys with weapons drawn.

“Looks like a few got through the net. Better tell Malbarion,” the man in the center said, nodding to himself, and raising a radio to his ear.”

“No!!” Sky shouted, popping up and shooting a blast at the man. It grazed his face, blasting away the radio, and burning his cheek.

The man growled in pain. “All right, boys. Scratch that! Let’s mop ‘em up. Malbarion doesn’t need to know what we’re goin’ to do to these rats.”

They drew their weapons and fired. Some were more random and poorly aimed than others, but no shots could piece through the thick of stone rubble the boys were behind. The men’s bloodlust grew, and they started creeping forward. Nir and Sky shot blindly over the rubble, trying to keep them back, but it was no use. The men expertly dodged the feeble defense, and ran closer. Nir closed his eyes tight while shooting. He wasn’t ready to kill again. Maklakov had been an accident he deeply regretted. He had, at the moment after killing the man, sworn to himself to never kill again. And here he was mere hours later, likely to break that promise.

Sky popped up again, and aimed a shot at the nearest rebel, hitting him squarely in the belly. The man howled, and fell back. The others focused their shots toward Sky. But the boy had already dove back into cover. Yet, the men were almost to them.

“Nir, let’s fire a bunch of shots off together and then run to the back of the house, okay?” Sky shouted.

Nir nodded. Sky silently counted down with his fingers, and then at zero, the two of them jumped up, and shot wildly, blindly, hopefully. They shot repeatedly, hoping they would hit something, but also buy a few seconds as they retreated. A loud motor then roared, and not only did it make Nir and Sky stop their tirade, but the men as well. And as the increasingly riotous sound grew louder and closer to them all, Nir spotted a hoverbike come into view. On it rode an armored being, who, without mercy or second thought rode to the men and systematically decapitated every one of them. They tried attacking back, but their shots merely bounced off the armored vehicle. The being was ruthlessly efficient, and had soon taken out all six of the remaining rebels. Then, it rode up to Nir and Sky, and stopped before them. Removing its helmet, revealed the sharp, thin, hawk-like face of a woman.

She looked down upon the children, and spoke, “Now, care to tell me which one of you is Nir?”

Nir, who was on the left, raised his hand.

“Very good,” she said. She stared toward Nir with her one green eye, and one brown eye – a breathtaking little detail that had both of the boys in utter awe – before putting her helmet back on.

Then, she raised her left arm, and pointed it at Nir. On her wrist, a small, mounted rocket hummed and glowed as it prepared to disengage. Nir, still transfixed, remained completely still, and did not notice it. He was too focused on what the woman had looked like, and tried visualizing her face again beneath her visor.

It was only, at the fifth to last second, that Sky had come to his senses, and screaming, dove at Nir. The two of them fell to the ground, just as the rocket fired. Melting away almost all of the debris, the explosion left the two boys in a smooth crater. They staggered up, just in time to see woman come roaring once again toward their weary bodies. Now, the sun reigned above, and they could see her properly. Equally, then, were they taken aback, as the boys saw their pursuer was an Imperial too.

She wore a crimson cape and a high-crest helmet, marking her as field officer. Nir could not outrun her; not now; not here. He was spent. With her armor glistening silver, an energy-pike in either hand, riding a blazing hoverbike, the woman ran him down with the greatest speed. Nir could barely bound out of the way before she had reached him, her weapon just grazing his hair. And though he had dodged her, no respite could he have yet, for she had already doubled back and was bearing down on the boy again.

Sky threw himself the opposite way, and charged his wrist-cannon. Angling it toward her bike, he let out several pulse blasts. Yet they reflected from the steel-plated armor, and smote in the ground. Briefly, the assassin stopped her hunt, and looked back to Sky. Before he could blink, she had thrown one of her pikes at him. Sky screamed.

He looked down to see his thigh punctured, the pike shot cleanly through it. Blood spurted about, covering his armor until Sky’s face went numb, and he fell over, unconscious. As he did so, his suit locked down, and initiated critical healing, injecting biofoam and closing the wound, stopping the blood. Yet, he was still incapacitated.

The woman turned her attention back to Nir, who had fallen over in his attempt to backpedal away from her. The assassin took her final pike, and shoved it downward. But, Nir slipped and stumbled out of the way, scrambling over a bit of rubble, and out of sight. The woman peered after him, trying to see where he had gone. She hissed in impatience as she dropped to a knee, un-shouldered a massive attachment for her wrist-cannon, and smacked it on. She aimed at the cracked rocks and bricks ahead and unleashed a hail of energy bolts. The refuse melded together, smoking and burning away as she swept back and forth.

Nir retreated further into the wreckage of a destroyed hovercar. Even as he ran, the woman tracked him, and brought up her wrist-mounted cannon. A long, slender barrel formed from it, and a red sight popped up. Coupled with her neural interface, Farayel used this to tastily line up her target and prepare the sniper. Her first shot blew the hovercar to pieces, and thrust the muto boy back out to the open. Nir had nowhere to run now.

Activating the thrusters on her boots, Farayel was to Nir in a moment, and with a swoop, grabbed him by the neck. As she lifted him up, aiming her weapon at his throat, even against his steady protest, a sudden voice yelled from the buildings above. “And look a’is, men! We gots a couple o’ rats fightin’ wit each other!” Instantaneously, a wave of laughter enveloped the place.

The sheer volume was enough to make Ms. Aros look up. Around her now, like hungry wolves, were hundreds of rebels. Their dirty, round faces peering out from every window, alley, and little crevice imaginable led the Lieutenant Colonel to realize she was now in danger; and quite serious danger at that.

With Nir in one hand, Farayel Aros deactivated the weapon in her other. She turned to face the masses. “Citizens, please step back. This is official Ordained business sanctioned by King Jibal himself-”

An uproar of jeers followed. The same man who had shouted before spoke again, “Ain’t no king we serve, bitch.”

The woman beneath her helmet fought to keep her cool. “Sirs, I have no business with you. Once again, I ask you to all step back. I will not report you if you comply.” Despite her arm being outstretched in a moment of faux sympathy, her onlookers were unimpressed. Their jeers grew cruder, and profanity intermixed with every word so much that Farayel could make out them alone.

“Quiet! I will not have this disrespect in my presence!” Farayel screamed, her emotions now well played. “I am an officer of the royal military-”

And with that, a loud explosion went off. Nir felt a sharp pain in his ears, then felt himself falling. Losing all senses other than sight, he watched as Farayel fell to her knees. Half her helmet was torn away, showing her pale, beautiful face drenched in blood. A look of shock and abhorrence flickered across her mouth and eyes until a second shot hit her, this time in the collar-bone. The force sent her flying back.

Nir crawled as quickly as he could back to Sky, hoping no one would notice him. Luckily, the woman was of more importance, and no one saw him go by. By this time, Sky’s suit had begun the standard healing process of any critical injury, and the bleeding had fully stopped. Still, he couldn’t much run, so Nir helped his friend as the two tried to get as far away from the action as they could.

They, however, had lost their luck. Wearing the same type of armor as a recently attacked officer proved no safety, as several rowdy and quick-triggered rebels had moved on from the Lieutenant Colonel. Seeing now two helpless boys limping away, there was little else to expect. But as they shot countless rounds at the scared, fleeing boys, the folly that was hand-held weaponry (guns, in this case) became most apparent - that they were a good deal more inaccurate than the weapons of a standard dex suit. As such, Nir and Sky hobbled between ruins and buildings, ever scared but ever safe, and with grim efficiency until they could no longer see nor hear anyone trying to kill them.

In another city, far above the streets, higher than the tallest skyscrapers, in the greatest tower of the Capitol building there was a veranda, mixed of refined, polished stone, and more modern, angular walls. Between pillars, small open windows hung with various flowers and plants looked out over the former West City. As it lay now, the conglomerate of buildings were designated as, colloquially, “Providence of Diruhl”, but, officially, the city was designated solely as Sector XIV.

Diruhl, a high-boned, cold woman was its keeper, its prince –which was here a title more akin to governance than to royalty. She sat in a chair, arms together, and leaned forward onto a table. Across from her was the man who commanded all of the Empire’s forces, General Zirion. And despite his likewise manner of impatience, this meeting was supposed to be nothing more than a friendly luncheon.

The two did eat lunch for some time, exchanging forced pleasantries and listening to the winds which roared so fiercely at such a height. At time, a guard approached Zirion, and whispered in his ear. The officer then, as if hearing some ill news, pushed his guard back, and ordered him and the rest to clear the room. Yet once they were gone, he turned back to the Prince, and smiled.

“What drives your request, General?” Diruhl asked, sipping her wine.

“Privacy, as can be warranted.”

“You have something so important to say?” she asked again.

Zirion leaned forward, and poured himself more drink. “Do you know how the war goes?”

“I wasn’t aware we were in one, General.”

“We may as well be, given the defeats these rebels have made us suffer. Or wouldn’t you know when your own people are slaughtered?”

“They are?”

“The children’s brigade from this city, yes. Decimated; every one of them killed in battle.”

“How long have you kept this?” she questioned, her eyes widening.

“And still more are going to be sent!” Zirion continued, ignoring her and raising his voice. “More, more of our soldiers green or veteran are being wasted on these fruitless missions. We are stretched so thin… and were anyone to attack us here, little could stop them.”

“Is it fruitless to protect our great empire, our people, our ideals, our livelihood?! We must crush this resistance, this unlawful rebellion before it grows further. It is your duty, Zirion, to make us look strong.”

“And how, good lady, with but children and tired old men?”

“I know not,” she shrugged, after some time.

“You remember the old king, Jibal’s father. He had measures set in place, ideas for which we all seem to forget. He had created ways for us to combat without the need for lives to be lost. Do you remember his second decree?”

The Prince shook her head. “I don’t know of any who do. It is not displayed with the rest.”

“Have you wondered why? What power the king held he didn’t want his son to know about? I know what it is; where it is. And I can take you there.

“What is it?” Diruhl said, with suspicious eyes. “How do you suddenly know these things?”

“I recently found the old King’s writings, buried away in the castle. He talked of a secret lab in sector IV. The place experimented on old tech by a man named Gero. Of what was successful, the king wrote mostly of some things called ‘Criers’.”

Diruhl rose to her feet. “Criers?” that name is less than what you have built it to be. What exactly are they, General?”

Zirion smiled, and stood too. “Let’s find out,” he beckoned her.

He ushered the Prince out the door, and, escorted by guards made way to a helicopter pad out back. As the machine warmed up, Zirion found the guard who had whispered in his ear. Taking the man aside, he spoke:

“Soldier,” he began, “you will tell no one what you told me. Aros’ death will not be leaked. Do you understand me?”

The soldier nodded violently. “Sir, yes sir.”

“Good,” Zirion spoke, then turned toward the helicopter. “I have found something which will prove more useful than her, anyway,” he breathed to himself. But, under the roar of the propeller spinning madly, no one had any inkling of the good General’s plan.