??; Deadliest Catch
(9224)
(9224)
It was darkness that first greeted Micali.
She was floating, drifting, sinking within it.
It was a calm place, peaceful, free from the burdens of existence. No quests for vengeance vowed, no faded memories of a shamefully acknowledged begotten burden. No pain, no hurt. No hurt.
In this dimension between living and not, Micali found harmony in the deafening silence, the blinding nothing. But as all peace was birthed, so too was it abruptly ended.
The darkness dropped beneath her, and she felt herself being hauled up, up, and out of the tranquil void.
Micali had always been analytical; it came as a facet of being a trained sniper. She recalled her earlier training missions, the way she had been taught to take every piece of information readily available and use it. By the time her eyes could shoot open, the seawater that had occupied her airway had already vacated onto the deck of the boat. She rasped, gasped, gulped for air; as much as her body could physically allow, and then some more. She fought herself, throat convulsing around the lingering saline, eyes burning with the sting of salt and piercing light of Caesar.
It could have been thirty seconds heaving for air, or it could have been thirty minutes. A part of Micali clawed its way from the murky depths she’d arisen from, a wounded animal fighting for survival. Another part of her, a part she often chose not to acknowledge, sought the departed quiet calm of that abyss. Sought to sate the homesickness for an unending, unerring sense of empty.
Micali turned to look around, and her eyes immediately found a set of three velen, all middle aged, their faces an unreadable blend of worry and apprehension. They crowded in on her, one’s hand firmly on her back, likely to blame for the sharp ache that accompanied her ability to draw breath - which was shakier than ever, but still present.
The smell was enough to tell her she was on a fishing boat, and the glance downward to the thick hempen ropes that made up the net she was entangled in confirmed her hypothesis. This far into the copiae? The laicar was doubtful. She quickly shook off the hand that held firm upon her thoroughly soaked form, and further entangled herself as she turned to face them, only now aware of the death grip she held around her rifle. Her free hand sought the holster for her knife - empty.
“Easy lass, ye’re back in the land o’ the livin’.”
The Arsenic. Garus, Diamantus, Libra. The shimmering allusion of a hulking, twisted serpentine figure. Lightning cracking and snarling as it shredded the hull of the ship, then spreading from Libra’s freshly fallen corpse to all nearby.
She began to untangle the net from her body, and reasoned that if she could still breathe, she could chance her ability to speak. “Where’s the ship - the Arsenic? Where am I?”
“No ship lass, just you ‘n the water.” The three velen - saviors or captors, damnation or providence - exchanged a look. “Ye’re on the Basal Lake.”
Micali let out a deep breath she didn’t even realize she was holding in. The Basal Lake? Wasn’t that their destination? How did she end up here, so far… “What day is it?”
“‘S the fourth of Sol, lass.” They kept their distance as she finally freed herself from the net.
She attempted to rise, now free, her legs weak but able to stand firmly. The fishermen before her moved to steady her weak form, but a glare from her had them stopped. She hobbled to the side of the ship as the three men began to speak amongst themselves. A survey of the surroundings assured her they hadn’t lied. The shoreline was distant, but visible, and the overwhelming heat that sunk over her soaked body was assurance enough that she was in Aridus. It was just as hot as everyone had always said; as though the air itself was trying to burrow into her skin, peel away layers of tissue and overtake her very core. She peeled her thoroughly soaked tunic off, her scarred arms exposed along with a black tank top. Micali paused a moment to trace the scars with her eyes. She had many, though the majority were from the night of the betrayal. From Foss’s knife cutting deep into her, carving up whatever piece of her he so saw fit to take. There was a reason she covered up.
Her shaky legs threatened to wobble out from underneath her then, and she leaned on the sturdy wooden rail that ran along the side of the vessel. Just off the shore was some manner of town, presumably where the fishermen were from. She needed off the fucking ocean.
Xx-----
A half-emptied pouch of exa and some exchanged information later, and Micali was stood on the small docks of Lacus Lectulo, a smaller fishing town existing in a safer zone of the lake, as the military had set up an operation nearby. They had pointed in the general direction of a bar with curious tones and curiouser eyes. She didn’t have time, now, to consider paranoia.
Lacus Lectulo was a quiet town, yet entirely unlike Amanta. Not only in environments, as the sun already threatened to burn Micali’s tan skin. Amanta had been a tiny frosty village that acted more as a checkpoint to the cathedral for most, but the differences went further, were less tangible than that.
There was a silent buzz of tension throughout the settlement. The way people moved with faster paces than what could often be considered normal, the tired faces that gazed in caution to the laicar that washed up next to their town.
She pulled her rapidly drying hair up from her neck, tied it up into a high ponytail, and proceeded through the town. She already missed home. The sniper concluded she’d simply need to proceed with her mission. Armac Elantur was supposed to be close to the eastern coast, due north of some town named ‘Flumen Petram.’ She would probably need a change of clothes, a new knife, a shower, and a good meal, not necessarily in that order. She thanked the technological advancements made in recent history for not having to dry out her rifle - a combination of clever enchantments and subtle ventilation insured her rifle would not be waterlogged. At the realization she’d left her bow and arrows on the ship, she heaved a heavy sigh.
After a bit of wandering, she came across the bar they’d described. Its structure was much like most of the town’s buildings, comprised of some kind of combination of stone and hardened sand; most roofs and walls held a burnt-tan hue, with splotches of grey and red apparent when stone or mineral compounds were used. The sign above the entrance to the bar read ‘The Lakebed.’
The inside of the bar was musty and musky, smelling of drink, saltwater, and heat. While some turned to stare at the foreign laicar who materialized out of thin air not even twenty minutes prior, the bartender, a scraggly velen man, waved a hand. In a small town like this, it made sense that there would only be a couple staff - Dom’s had a different feel altogether, closer to a business while the Lakebed almost seemed like a second home to its patrons as they all lounged and laughed alongside the bartender and single waiter.
Micali sidled up to the bar, suddenly aware that it was very possible that the citizens of the town weren’t staring at her, but the rifle that hung across her midsection, the barrel pointed to the roof, or perhaps the legion of scars that laid across her body, disorganized and calculated. She sat on a wooden stool, and the bartender moved down to meet her.
“Greetin’s. What'll it be?” An accent, one she supposed was Aridusian, though she had never met someone from the continent before. She vaguely realized that the fishermen had held it too, but she was too disoriented to pick up on it.
“Water first, beer after.” Her throat hurt even as she said it, and the man gave a short nod before pulling a wooden mug and a cask of iced water from behind the counter.
“Know most of the laicar that pass ‘round these parts. Where’d you come from, soaked as that?” His scales glistened in the low light, hues like a swamp and proportioned like a tree.
“Just passing through.”
A stool somewhere behind her made some kind of tired squeak, and Micali turned to see every patron’s eyes locked on her. She met each of their eyes until they all stopped staring. A sudden pang of self-consciousness struck at the realization that she was the only laicar in the room - hell, the only laicar in the town, as far as she had observed thus far.
Surely enough, most of the people went back to their conversations, though one female velen did leave, almost in a hurry.
The bartender pushed the water forward before clearing his throat slightly. “People ‘round these parts are a tad antsy at the moment. Military’s set up an encampment just a ways to the east, y’see, trying to manage two sides of the Anguis Trigon with only the one camp.”
“The Anguis Trigon?” A phrase she vaguely remembered hearing aboard the Arsenic, but not one she ever paid much mind to. Micali kicked herself for being so inattentive, so distracted. This was a mission, and she knew better. She should’ve realized sooner that Libra was the culprit, too. If she’d paid closer attention, spoken up to the captain sooner, the ship probably would’ve made it. How many people died because of her listlessness?
The bartender’s head cocked to the side slightly. “You really are just travelling through, huh? The Anguis Trigon - the Dragon’s Triangle. The three routes the naga take to attack Pelagia - the Copiae, the Tenebrae, and the Basal Lake. Pardon the intrusion, but how’d you get here without even knowing that? The oceans aren’t exactly safe right now.”
Right. She should probably tell someone that the Arsenic was destroyed and there are likely (hopefully) survivors stranded somewhere in the Copiae Ocean. They’d probably want to question her, though, and that’d just delay her getting home. If she waited too long she’d be caught up in the damned war, too.
Presented with a crossroads of doing what’s right and what’s best for her self-interests, Micali ordered her beer.
She was only halfway through, making mental notes of what order of operations would best serve her - oh Vis, did her vox survive the ship sinking? - when the velen woman that had run out before reappeared, a smaller velen male in tow, adorned in an awfully...shiny uniform not entirely unlike the crew had worn on the Arsenic. “There she is,” stated the woman who had gone to fetch him.
The velen man approached her, all in a huff, and before he could even begin to get close to her, she instinctively began to reach for her knife...which she didn’t have.
He stopped, however, just short of her. “Who are you, and what business do you have in Lacus Lectulo?”
Micali read his eyes - they conveyed his accusations, but something of the man seemed...timid. Scared. She remained as neutral as possible as she turned to look straight ahead and took another swig of her beer. “Passing through.”
He tensed at that. “You’re...a Hiemite?”
“That’s a problem?” She supposed she may have some form of accent that gave her away as from Hiemis, but seriously didn’t understand what it had to do with anything.
“You’re not all as smart as you think you are - and you have some nerve coming into the town like this. Hiemites don’t just...pass through Lacus Lectulo. So you can either tell me where your camp is, or you can come with me.” The velen man folded his hands, clearly trying to intimidate Micali.
So she held one finger out, tipped her beer back and after a few seconds, swigged the entirety of what remained. Her finger went down as her hand came to wipe her lips of the alcohol, and she stood. “Okay,” she said, glad that the decision of what to do next had been made for her, “lead the way.”
Xx-----
Northeast of town was a long, steep, incredibly arduous hike. The ground had faint hints of grass that popped up, but as she surveyed the landscapes while they ascended, she saw that the hill resembled much of the surrounding areas; brownish red, a silent, dehydrated salute of solidarity.
“Look...I’m sorry if this has given you the wrong idea of the area. The people of Lacus Lectulo are kind. We - the town and the military - have had to deal with raiders in the area, and they’ve been emboldened by the military presence, almost becoming...more active. We don’t understand it, and it’s nothing personal, but a Hiemite stranger with a weapon in the middle of town, it raises some alarms.” The velen had scales of royal blue, was below average height and had a small scar that ran jagged along his jawline. His youthful appearance spoke of innocence but his attitude, the setting they were in...this man had seen more than his fair share of hell.
“I get it. You’re trying to protect people. I needed to speak with the leaders at the military outpost anyway. I’m not a threat- you can take my gun, Vis, pat me down for all I care, just give my rifle back when we part ways and I’m fine,” Micali explained to the man. “Wait, so are all the raiders Hiemites? Isn’t that...strange?”
The man nodded. “Most, as of late. A lot about the situation is...unprecedented. There had been reports of raiders for as long as anyone can remember, especially since Flumen Petram’s so closeby,” stated the velen, which required Micali not to burst out asking more about the town. “But ever since the war started, they’ve acted...out of turn. Instead of jumping out to rob caravans moving along the trade routes, they’ve patrolled select areas, attacking anyone who comes close. It’s almost like they’re acting defensively, like they’re protecting something.”
Micali thought for a second as the two trudged uphill, a distant set of large tents and jagged, mountainous desert rocks their vista. “You’re really discussing strategy with someone who could be your enemy?”
“If you’re my enemy then you’re already aware of your own strategy. If not...well, I assume that rifle isn’t just for show.” The soldier nodded to her as he spoke, and Micali thought for a second.
“Only when it’s waterlogged.” The man seemed trustworthy enough, but a harmless white lie could ensure she seemed like less of a threat. The sniper stopped suddenly, and offered a hand. “Micali Cessabit.” A half-truth never hurt anybody, either. She’d have to ask Dom’s forgiveness for using his surname, though the two were practically family.
The soldier extended his own hand out, shaking hers. “Foli Fluctus. What brings a foreigner to Aridus, then, in a time of war?” He chuckled as he spoke his next words, “I thought the mercenaries on the Arsenic weren’t supposed to be here for another half-week.”
Micali went quiet at that, which he seemed to note. As they approached the camp, she contemplated the best course of action. “I need to speak to whoever’s in charge.”
He hesitated for an instant, then nodded.
He took her rifle, as was to be expected, though he gave her some water as the heat had truly permeated the uphill hike, leaving her tired by the time she actually managed to sit down. She waited for a spell within a smaller tent, then an officer walked in. A woman, decently built and stifled as her gait was calculated, each step placed in the exact right place as she entered the tent. Her uniform was without a stain, a wrinkle, without so much as a thread out of place. It was as though she’d walked out of an advertisement for the Pelagian military. Except, as Micali observed her revealed flesh, it was not a perfect layout of scales she witnessed, but a mishmash of scale and feather. The woman took her seat opposite the table from Micali - though the table was in reality made up of four empty barrels and a single wooden board nailed down.
“You’re the mercenary that Optio Centuriae Fluctus escorted?”
“Yes.”
“...Well? I assume you didn’t ask to speak with me in order to waste my time.” A single eyebrow on the woman’s face lifted a mere inch, and it was enough to get Micali to speak up.
“There’s no point in drawing it out, so I’ll get to the point - I was a mercenary aboard the Arsenic. It was damaged by a naga conduit and is likely in pieces beneath the Copiae. I’m not sure how I ended up here, but after the conduit was killed I woke up in the Basal Lake, where some fishermen saved me.”
The woman went silent. The tent was shrouded in silence, apart from a weak breeze that flapped the free strings of the structure. Eventually, the other woman spoke again. “I see.”
Micali sputtered for a half-second. “W-what, you’re just going to trust me?”
The officer’s eyes cut holes through the laicar’s skin. “Are you lying to me?”
The brunette was quiet now. Her eyes followed the spurii woman’s rise toward her, and she had little time to react before she was swiftly jabbed with a baton, and an electric current coursed through her, causing her to leap away, falling from her chair. The commanding officer stowed her weapon and offered a hand up.
“I didn’t think so,” she said, as she helped Micali onto her feet. “I’m a trierarch. A captain. The only of my kind. I didn’t make it this far by doubting my instincts. That being said, you could still be lying for reasons unbeknownst to me. We have a scryer on hand, and he’ll be able to confirm your claims come nightfall.”
Micali was caught between cursing the woman out for the shock and complimenting her ingenuity. Waiting for nightfall wasn’t exactly something she wanted to do, but she was willing. If not for the sake of the captain and all those survivors, for her own conscience. The trierarch allowed her to leave at that, though she was awaited by Foli outside the tent. The trierarch exchanged a few words with him while Micali took a few strides to admire the scenic view out from the hill that the camp crested.
The areas immediately surrounding the Basal Lake had a decent amount of greenery - nothing close to the fields and forests that surrounded Lucrus, but it was a calming colour amidst the outwash of bone-colored sands and dust that seemed to encompass the far distance of every direction other than southwest, where the lake lay.
A harsher breeze blew through, and Micali had to hold back a groan of relief from the heat. She wasn’t made for this climate, and she wondered just how many ages it had been since this area saw rain. Just in that moment, she allowed herself to think of Rosa. Of her smile, her laugh, her touch. The way she had cried when Micali left. As soon as she’d allowed the thoughts to slip past her guard, they were forced away by the sound of a throat clearing behind her.
“Trierarch Lidus filled me in. Until tonight, I’m to escort you.” Foli turned to check that his superior officer had retreated from the area. She had, and so he continued, wry smile apparent. “So basically I’m making sure you don’t run away before we make sure you aren’t lying.”
She nodded at that, and noted that her rifle wasn’t anywhere in sight. Great, she really couldn’t leave. She turned to the view one last time before moving toward Foli. “If I’m stuck here for the better half of a day, I could go for a good meal.”
He thought on this, then nodded. “Then let me treat you to the canteen. It’s not much, but it’s not all fish, so it has that over the local cuisine. In exchange, explain to me exactly how you ended up in Aridus in the middle of a war with no real knowledge of the area.” His tone was jovial, pitchy and friendly.
Micali nodded, glad to have at least one ally on this continent thus far, his optimism seemingly sincere. “Deal.”
xx-----
He went silent as she finished the story, his eyes downcast at the lukewarm meal he had in front of him - some assortment of meats and greens in a soup. The rations weren’t too bad, though Micali suspected it had something to do with Pelagia being well acquainted with the area.
“What, did I say something?”
“No, no, it’s just...the big one you saw right as the lightning struck, that was a shaman. There’s no confirmation, but my home town was destroyed in one of the first attacks, overrun. There were sightings of a shaman, but none substantiated.”
“...I’m sorry to hear that.” Micali kicked herself for that one. She told the story as though it was some mystery, something outlandish. To the people here, it was just another story of their people hurt. She should’ve known that entering a warzone would come with some heartache. As if she hadn’t left enough of it at home, as if she didn’t have enough of her own. She needed to get out of here. To get back on track so she could get back home. She just needed to learn more about-
“Flumen Petram, though I doubt you’ve heard the name, what with the whole ‘I’m a mercenary who was transported halfway across the sea ahead of a shipwreck.’ But yeah, it was a quiet fishing village, but it’s, uh, it’s gone now.”
Micali swallowed thickly, the news some of the worst yet. If she was supposed to use this town as some sort of reference for when she was close to this secret laboratory, she’d need to avoid it and simply try to guess. Which meant she’d probably encounter those raiders.
Foli continued as she thought, “my squadron was stationed there, actually. They fought off the naga while me and a couple other members evacuated the town. I uh, I rose in the ranks for my local knowledge and my ‘acts of heroism’, but really, I just helped people get out, y’know? Aranov, the rest of my squad, they were the heroes.” He looked up to Micali, his vision previously downcast. “Ah, but I’m rambling to a stranger now about random emotional trauma. Cool.” He stood from his barely-touched meal, and the smile that came to his face was much more clearly forced now.
The laicar stood as well, her meal finished. If she really had to enter raider-patrolled areas, she’d need her rifle, and hopefully more information. She moved to the end of the tent, and the sun still shining betrayed how late it had become in the day. “Do you know how far out this ‘scryer’ is supposed to be?”
Foli shifted behind her. “Well, he’s out on day patrol for now. He should be back in...about a half hour, at this point.”
Micali nodded in return. “Okay.”
Xx-----
The scryer did come, eventually, and Micali found herself in the first big tent along with him, the trierarch, and Foli. The whole thing seemed a bit beyond her grasp, as the man’s eyes clouded over with some sort of magic, and he whispered back and forth with Lidus. As soon as it had begun, it was over, a dark expression upon the scryer’s face.
Foli turned to her, face unreadable, tone professional in the presence of the trierarch. “Thank you for your time. Feel free to stay here for as long as you need - if you were hoping to help, as one would presume from your attendance aboard the Arsenic, there’s always room for more people on patrols. Hopefully the evacuation of the survivors will take place soon, in which case you’ll be needed for the main force staving off the lake.”
Just like that, Micali was stuck deeper in this war. She needed to get out of here.
xx-----
The morning came, Micali awakening in the same tent she’d slept in, and with the dawn came the light needed to see that he rifle laid next to her.
She rose, and saw a body outside her tent, facing out. Her stirring must have alerted the person, as they turned in.
It was trierarch Lidus, who took two paces into the burlap enclosure. “I’m not fool enough to be blind to a woman of opportunity. You hold no stake in this war, and one cannot blame you - this is Pelagia’s battle. The fire in your eyes tells me you’re here for a reason, and whether this war was a convenient cover or your course has simply changed, I will not stop you. You’ve done us a service.” The trierarch stood still at the entrance to the tent as she spoke. “While I hope the rifle on your back is for hunting, the wildlife in Aridus is much different than that of Hiemis. The pack in the corner’s yours, there’s a map inside, along with a change of clothes better suited for travel, and some rations to last a week.” She nodded to the side lightly, an obvious gesture to the bag. “On behalf of the Pelagian military, I thank you.”
Micali was a bit overwhelmed by such a rousing recounting of her supposedly virtuous deeds alongside such a blatant recognition of her facade. Oh well, though, as some rations and a pack were welcome in a foreign land, along with a map that should prove vital. She could only hope the rescue missions go well, that Gwendolyn, the velen and the demvir, the volunteer lady, and even that damned captain made it out. The trierarch moved to exit the tent, and gave a sharp salute to the sniper before disappearing into the early day. She assumed she was meant to feel honored by it, but really she just wanted to get on with this mission. She changed into the new clothes - in exchange for her unideal apparel, she now looked to a tan cloak, an off-white light coat, and some matching off-white military pants. Clearly intended for non-military use, or perhaps left over from some collaborative work with laicar. Regardless, she switched into them, and was pleased to find them both lightweight and breathable, along with a lack of rigidity often found in military clothing, but also with a rough fabric to them, not going to rip or fall apart anytime soon.
She exited the tent, rifle slung behind her back alongside her new pack, and was greeted by Foli.
The two nodded to each other, and he smiled, as he so often had in her day of knowing him. It was a tad exhausting, honestly. She decided to speak up first. “I’m not sure we’ll see each other again. Thanks for your hospitality, I gotta head off.” A clean break to what was already too much attachment to a stranger.
He quirked both eyebrows up, but then nodded with a smile and extended his hand, a mirror to their first conversation. She reciprocated the shake before heading off and down the hill on the opposite side.
Xx-----
She missed Rosa, mostly. That was how she spent the next days of travel. Walking, eating rations, ignoring the aches in her body, trying to ignore the nagging question as to how the rescue mission for the Arsenic had gone, and missing Rosa. Regretting how things left off. Once she got home, she would apologize, and everything would go back to normal - Rosa just didn’t understand, and how could she? It wasn’t a situation that the twenty-one year old mind could properly comprehend. But no, Rosa had shown time and time again that she could handle Micali’s baggage, could be there when she needed it most.
But the sniper couldn’t shake the feeling that the younger woman didn’t get it. She expected Micali to just...give up. Forget about retribution, about justice. About doing what’s right. She expected Micali to just leave the Seven Devils alone, to not seek closure. The ultimatum was an easy decision because it showed the true colors of their relationship - they did care for one another, but it seemed that caring only went so far as what didn’t require compromise or a deeper understanding of their exclusive traumas. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.
But then, Rosa just made everything...click. Something about her, about their relationship, it was what held Sol aloft, what clutched gently upon those little shreds of humanity still lingering about in Micali’s being. Because even though it took her an instant to make her choice, Micali regretted it. She wanted to go home. To run to the arms of her...now ex-girlfriend, she supposed. Because with Rosa, she felt that she was more herself than ever before.
But still, she was here. Halfway across the world on a revenge mission, ‘bitter and sad and pathetic’ as she may be. She wished she didn’t feel this way. No mission had ever been affected this way; she could usually push the personal thoughts from her mind and assume absolute focus, could ignore any problems around her - a burning building, a half-dozen voices telling her she was wrong, a knife in her gut. She could forego all of it to complete a mission, to prove to herself and all those around her that she had control, to try and crawl her way towards her dead child.
The thought of Cora only sent her back to the beginning of the cycle.
Rosa made everything better, but her expectations of Micali felt one-sided and selfish, felt as though the velen didn’t care about her, about the horrible things that had been done to her, felt like she valued their relationship status over Micali’s happiness. To think she thought she’d gotten through to her about her scars.
Perhaps she was wrong.
But she did care. She kissed every one of those scars, just as she promised she would. She held Micali, was a physical, mental, emotional presence of support that was always there. The girl couldn’t comprehend the torture Micali endured because her own torture was of a different kind.
But killing the Seven Devils went past petty revenge. It was about survival. Pallorus may not have been involved, but Olivor sent an assassin after her. That meant Cidisti was probably involved, maybe Foss too. Corruma...Micali wanted to believe her old friend wouldn’t be involved, but after everything...she couldn’t be sure. If the events aboard the Arsenic taught her anything, it was that those closest to you could be your downfall. Which...probably included Rosa.
The lingering paranoia only sent her back to the beginning of the cycle.
Which was probably why she wasn’t paying enough attention, why the sudden rumbling she felt beneath her boots and the close-by hum of what seemed to sound like a raedas caught her off-guard.
And so, as she turned back to the dusty path she'd walked, the tiny hill she’d crested only sixty feet back, she was honestly shocked to see what was indeed a raedas, roof torn off and mounted by four scantily clad bodies, clearly dressed for the heat. Spikes jutted out from their crude leather scraps of clothing, and the masks they wore hid their appearances. Oh, right. Raiders.
She reached for her rifle, but as the raiders’ raedas approached she knew her options weren’t quite so expansive. She moved to her left slightly, hoping to fake out, then leapt to her right. Her gambit seemed to pay off, as there was no body-breaking impact. She swung her rifle around from her back, firmly holding it in her shaky, unready palms, and looked as the dust settled behind her and two bodies emerged. One’s club swung forward as they dashed to her and the other approached from the other side with a knife. Two laicar, as best as she could tell through the masks and kicked up dust dune. She blocked the club with the butt of her rifle, the barrel pointed toward the second raider. Micali pulled the trigger, and the knife’s wielding laicar collapsed, a wound having glanced his thigh just enough to disorient him. The force of the recoil also riposted the club, giving her a moment to react. She ran a short distance as the two regrouped. The raedas appeared then, and was seeking to hit her. A pistol sounded out, then, and Micali silently thanked the wielder’s poor aim. The raedas slowed somewhat as the sand and dust kicked up, the chase leading off the barely-beaten path. The two other raiders were unaccounted for, but presumably trailed behind. Micali heard a second shot, now much closer, and felt the heat on her arm as it passed, perhaps the nearest miss she’d ever experienced.
Confident they’d need an instant to aim again, she twisted on her heel, rifle raised, and shot at one of the tires, glad to finally have this damned thing out of the equation.
However, as the bullet collided, a harsh ting was heard. That was not the noise that was typical for this scenario, and as the raedas continued to barrel down on the assassin, she cursed aloud, instead sweeping her aim up to the gunner’s head, causing her to duck down to the floor of the raedas. When her aim drifted to the driver instead, that raider too ducked out of sight, giving her an easy window.
With a kick deep through the ground, a large cloud of dust kicked up, and she bolted the direction she’d come from. Sure enough, the raedas passed behind, only a couple of seconds from hitting her. As she ran, she dragged the bottom of her rifle upon the sand, kicking up more clouds in the direction of where the raedas now sought to turn around, a screen of dust that would hopefully muddle any vision the driving raider had of her.
Then the two on-foot raiders were upon her.
With three bodies on a collision course, two-on-one, Micali knew she would have to resort to dirty tactics. ‘There is no consolation prize in a fight,’ as she had been told. So, as they all approached, she instead brought her rifle to her front, shoving the stock up, and observed as the dust shot upward into the eyes of the knife wielding raider, rendering him blind to her dodge out of the way of his lunge. She wouldn’t waste the momentum, so on the upswing, she brought the stock up into the chin of the club-wielding raider, his arms overhead as he charged for a downswing. He failed to compensate for her underhandedness, she supposed, as most of their victims were probably hapless traders and unlucky travellers. Blood gushed from his mouth as he presumably bit through his tongue when his jaw was forced up, and the club fell to the ground as he held both hands to his lips, a futile attempt to staunch his wound.
Then, as a shout erupted from behind her, Micali turned to see the now-blinded laicar raider making another pass, his dagger raised high above his head, Sol’s glare shining off its blade. She moved back a half-foot, and as he passed, his arm raised, she grabbed his wrist, bringing it down into the back of his hunched over ally, firmly embedding the knife deep between the ribs.
The dying raider’s hands struggled to choose between the knife in his back and the profuse bleeding from his mouth, but as the revving of an engine came close, Micali decided to put him out of his misery, and hopefully get that damned machine out of the question. So, with a kick to the chest as he writhed, standing into a rightened position, she knocked him back a few feet, just in time for the raedas to pass through the cloud of dust and smash through his body with the sound of deathly impact.
She turned to the no-longer-knife-wielding raider, and decided she needed more cover if she was to take out the remaining two. A club to his head and a barrel to the back of his head had him more-or-less subdued.
As the dust settled, the raedas was left facing down a woman holding a blinded raider hostage.
Her rifle was a clumsy weapon for this purpose, but as the raedas had stopped and turned a good distance out, she was sure the gunner’s hands wouldn’t be able to make a shot. A game of silent chicken, she tried to think for the few seconds of silence as the raider in front of her clawed the grains from his eyes. Any route she could take led to Rosa. She didn’t have long. So, as he turned, eyes suddenly aware, she knew that any chance of planning was gone, that she’d need to operate on instinct and skill alone.
The raedas spun its tires in the sand for a moment until it took off toward them, the gunner’s hands steadying their aim.
Micali kicked the man down onto his back, the heel of her boot kicked down into his ribcage, and raised her rifle. She was an open target now, and the closer the raedas got, the better the chance she would die, there in the sand, without ever speaking to Rosa again.
She wouldn’t let that happen.
Her rifle recoiled in her hands, her aim true. The gunner’s head opened outwards behind them, the pistol now sailing off into the sand. Micali watched the raedas charge ahead, the driver’s head lowered but eyes still locked forward. She didn’t have time to make the shot and dodge the vehicle that would still careen into her. She needed to improvise.
Micali waited, then, in a handful of milliseconds, until the raedas was close enough. Then she jumped with her left foot from the raider’s chest - more solid than the sand and dust would have allowed - and had her right foot then propel from the hood of the raedas just before it would collide with her, sending her soaring over the vehicle as the driving raider could only just turn to look before Micali’s rifle was righted in her hands. With a steady grip, she pulled the trigger as the hot air moved around her airborne body, and painted the inside of the windshield crimson with the raider’s blood, sending the body limp to the side, careening the vehicle sideways into a series of violent flips that wrecked whatever may have been left of it.
Micali landed with minor pain, her feet slipping on the dust dunes somewhat, but she knew she wasn’t in the clear just yet. Three raider corpses littered the arid setting, but the one she’d leapt from still drew breath, though the tires that’d crushed his arms left him knocking on death’s door.
She approached him, was well prepared to put a bullet in his head and be done with him, but stopped as she noticed his face more clearly. A scar bisected his forehead, gashing along like a sullen horizon. His face...she knew his face. But...from where?
He seemed to recognize her likewise, as he spoke through groans of pain. “Y-you…!”
She waited a half-second to see if he had much else to offer. As his body responded with only a twitch of pain, she pulled the trigger.
Micali fell back on her ass, breath huffing as she considered what she’d just encountered. She’d known there were raiders, but to have a raedas? With bulletproof tires? Here? She tried to picture what Anima would say of her stunt, jumping over the moving vehicle. Something along the lines of ‘I trained you better, Alsara.’ or something like that.
Her breath caught, she decided to stand and survey the area. The gunner’s body was her first stop, along with the pistol a short distance away from it. It had five bullets still, and she couldn’t find any on the raider, so they were likely in the overturned, destroyed raedas. Five would have to do. The pistol found its way tucked into the small of her back, safety triple-checked to be on.
Next, the one who’d wielded the club. She still needed a knife - but as she approached his mangled form, it became clear from the missing handle that the blade was destroyed by the impact of the raedas. Damn. The club was a bad fit for her, too.
She couldn’t even find the driver, figured his corpse was pinned beneath the vehicle, if there was much left of it.
So she landed back on the final raider, the one that held some degree of familiarity. She felt over his pockets, and paused at the thin rectangular form within one of them. She pulled it out, and her eyebrows furrowed, beads of sweat shifting beneath the sweltering heat of an Aridus summer.
Terra Flux, Security, Pluralis Medical.
She stood, realizing she needed to move from the open area before more raiders showed up. Pluralis Medical wasn’t a familiar name. The ID...his face, the familiarity.
The cathedral. He was one of the travellers.
Just when things were beginning to add up, something popped up, a new thread to untangle from an ever growing ball of twine.
Was Talrigori setting her up for something?
Knowing she would need to play dumb if it was so, she resisted the urge to test the vox in her bag’s pocket.
xx——-
That same day, she arrived at a crossroads, north of Flumen Petram. There were no signs, but if the map was accurate to where she believed she was, she was certainly in the right area. She’d been told the lab was ‘north of the town, but not so close that it risked naga interference.’
Several days of wandering the general area later, she finally got to a distant bush forest that she’d foregone initially, sure it would be dangerous. She’d dealt with most wildlife by avoiding it up until this point, but there was no telling what manner of beast would reside there. Then again, with the raiders circulating the area, it’s possible their lair was there, where nobody would dare enter.
Once inside, it was much as she expected. Just as dry, hot, and exhausting as the rest of the damned continent. But then, after a few minutes of slowly crouched exploration, she saw a small pole sticking out of the dust in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by a patch of dry grass.
She moved to approach the clearing when a reverberating kathunk sounded out, thick and heavy in the otherwise quiet environment.
Micali ducked down behind a nearby withered tree, and watched patiently as a patch of the long grass by the pole shifted and moved up, an unnatural motion that had her questioning for an instant if the ground itself was rising to face her. But no, as a head popped out and she saw a handle underneath the flipped up trap door, she realized then. The lab was underground.
One body emerged, but looked back down into the lab as a conversation was seemingly taking place. The words were unclear for most of the talking she could make out, though she did manage to discern snippets.
“...old fuck’s not gonna be dropping dead any time soon as far as we know. We got posted here for a reason - with the other lab gone, this is it. She needs us here.”
“...spose, but the wife’s not gonna be pleased. ‘Specially since the military’s rearing up for the naga getting more aggressive. Fuck, if this job didn’t pay so well and my family would be safe, I’d probably quit.”
“...ful. You can tell me this kind of stuff but if the wrong person hears, you’re screwed.”
As footsteps neared, Micali held her breath for what felt like an era. The sniper tried to piece the puzzle together - who was she? Talrigori? The footsteps departed some, and she allowed her breathing to return, quiet but shallow. Talrigori had told her to wait for Elantur here.
Waiting was basically her specialty, so she spotted a nearby thicket next to a low, dead tree. This far into the brush, she doubted they’d patrol and look for anyone. The raiders she’d killed would be noted as missing soon, though, which meant her window of time wasn’t ideal. As much as it might go against the plan, she might need to go into the lab itself. She cautiously stuck her head out, and saw nobody in sight, no distant footsteps or ambient noise of occupation. She would need to wait for the right opportunity.
xx——
kathunk
A body rose from the grass, from the door that opened up and out. Micali seized the moment, rushing up before he had time to close it, his back turned. She threw her rifle’s strap around his throat, twisted her rifle around once, twice, and pulled tight, restricting his airway.
She thought for an instant, the other raider mentioned a family. Maybe it was Rosa’s influence, or maybe it was some lost shred of mercy that Micali had long forgotten, but she stopped short of strangling the life from the body, instead feeling for a shaky pulse.
Micali laid the unconscious raider to the side as the door remained open. She’d need to be quick. She slung her rifle back over her shoulder, and descended into the underground lab.
At the bottom of the metal ladder she descended was a silent room. She pulled the pistol from her back pocket, knowing full well that it was preferable in this setting. The room she was in had little decoration, merely metal walls with overhead lighting and an open doorway that led out to a hall that bent to the left.
Footsteps approached, loud against the metal. Micali cursed her own boots for their sound as she rushed forward to stand to the side of the doorway.
“Hey, who left the-“ A body rounded the corner, and before it could finish its sentence, Micali took the butt of her pistol to the back of the would-be speaker’s head.
She’d need to be prepared for more bodies. They would hopefully all remain unconscious long enough for her to conclude her business here, but there were no guarantees.
The laicar stalked forward after a few moments of silence. The hallway snaked around a few times, but eventually opened out into a large room. Two bodies were present, one she presumed was a raider, and the familiar sight of Armac Elantur, the scientist whose existence was the sole reason behind Micali’s journey here in the first place. She stopped for a moment and observed. Several tables and counters scattered throughout the room would make for good cover, but she’d need to find a way to take them both out in quick succession - it seemed that the place didn’t go much further in, so this may be it. She could open fire...No. She wanted to prove to Rosa - to herself - that she didn’t need to kill anyone other than those involved in the grand scheme that had ruined her life.
The floor in the lab wasn’t made with the same metal grating that had been the foundation of the hallway that led to this room, meaning she would be able to sneak quite easily.
So she did. Rounding the last corner necessary, she brought her pistol up, just as the eyes of the final raider widened, she brought the gun down across their forehead, drawing a cut of blood and knocking them unconscious. As the raider fell, Elantur turned to face her, expression sullen as his body seemed to resign itself immediately, not daring to make a break for it. The elderly velen simply sighed, brought a finger and thumb up to pinch the bridge of his nose, shuffling his glasses up slightly, and then readjusted his spectacles as he spoke.
“Colomba sent you, I presume.”
Micali kept silent, the name distantly familiar, though not one she recalled hearing anytime recently. “...Talrigori sent me.”
Elantur’s eyes widened, and his mouth defied expectations, curling up into a toothy grin that led into sharp cackling that reminded her of Valgora. “Oh, oh, you don’t even realize...wait,” he stopped laughing, his eyes narrowing. “You’re the one. The reason we made that backup, the original one that started Malum’s team in Lucrus. She really outplayed all of us, that little bitch. You don’t- you don’t have a clue, do you?” He paid no mind to the gun in her hands, and the way he laughed at her, pointing out her own worried fear that she was left out of some sort of crucial information...she pulled the trigger.
The bullet hit his chest, and the man collapsed in his laughter, chuckles still emanating low from his gullet. “W-well...well played, g-girl...well…well…” The soft chuckles shortened to gurgles as blood exited his mouth, a darker red than any Micali had seen someone bleed before. Almost like the body from the forest before Amanta.
She took a breath only after he finished drawing his last. Editus was involved in this, somehow. Talrigori was keeping much from her. Too much. This was...all too much. This mission, leaving home, coming to Aridus, the conduit, this secret lab...Micali paused, then, and surveyed her surroundings. With no immediate threat to draw her attention, she took in her sights.
Two pairs of empty pods reflected the pitch black darkness of the lab’s farthest corners, the place more a bunker than a building. She hesitated on whether to run or stay, but found that her curiosity got the best of her in every way. The laicar’s boots took hesitant strides to Elantur’s still-warm corpse, and looked to loot his pocket - find any clues, and evidence to the true reason she was here. Talrigori apparently played this guy, but she was playing Micali too. Besides, if any of the raiders awoke, she still had her bullets in case she needed them.
She found nothing, so she took haste in turning her attention to the desk he had previously hunched over.
A lone folder sat atop it, angles perfectly aligned with the table, and Micali nearly hesitated to open it, to disturb the pristine appearance. Nearly.
It seemed to be a compilation of notes, cut neatly from some other notebook or something of the like. Only a dozen or so pages. Micali was entirely ready to grab it and run, but found her body locked in place as her eyes traced an all-too-familiar name.
Somnus 15th, 393 PT
Malum introduced me to Colomba Fallitur today. She’s an intelligent woman, if emotional. Her daughter was injured in that attack that Malum orchestrated. He has a knack for destruction, but it pays in spades. We’ve been in need of a new mind, new ideas to branch out with the tenebritium. We think Fallitur may be the one. I’ve supplied her with a steady supply of tenebritium, enough for herself and her daughter both - their longevity is paramount if we’re to drive the naga back permanently.
This confirmed that he was involved, but 393 PT? Were these notes passed down? The name Colomba Fallitur echoed even clearer in Micali’s mind - where did she know that name from? Exactly how old was Editus Malum? What was tenebritium? Why was she sent here? Why was Elantur’s death so important?
Just as she was ready to dive back into the reading, she remembered herself. She was in a warzone, behind enemy lines having just killed her target. It could all wait.
Or so she thought, until a bit of movement caught the corner of her eye. She turned to one of the empty, large pods that sat in the corner of the room. No, she realized, it wasn’t empty. The darkness was not a clear-through view of an empty wall, it was filled to the brim with some black fluid.
She found her feet moved of their own accord, approaching the source of the movement she’d barely seen - if it had even truly been there.
When she got close enough, she had her answer. It was hard to make out in contrast with the black, but there seemed to be something floating in the fluid. Something light in colour, brushing up against the glass aimlessly. Once it came back around, Micali could only attempt to discern what it was until the long appendage floated the closest it had yet, and Micali saw it; an arm. She turned on her heel, grabbed the folder, and ran from the room, her welcome long overstayed, the mission in jeopardy, and her mind racing with a tincture of long-lost emotion and confusion.
Confusion on why she came here. On why she left home, left Rosa, for this. On everything she saw in that lab. On how she was meant to get back home, now. On where to go next. Confusion on so, so many things.
Said long-lost emotion manifested somewhere between climbing the ladder and fleeing out of the bush forest and back into the desert; Micali was afraid.
Only after her legs threatened to give out from running did she stop and pull the vox from her bag. It was now or never to test if it had survived her dunk in the Basal Lake. With how high-tech it was, she had hope.
A finger to her ear to activate it after it was in place, she spoke.
“Talrigori?”
“...Micali. I was worried you had died.”
A sigh of relief, that whatever source Talrigori had for her enchanted items was surely worth their cost. Though apparently Talrigori had quite a few more connections than Micali could even understand.
Before she could even think about what she wanted to ask, she felt her mouth speak for her. “Who’s Colomba Fallitur?”
“...You were instructed to kill Elantur and leave. The instructions were simple, Micali. You have gone outside the parameters of what I asked of you, and you know what the consequences of that were.”
Micali, for the first time ever, sensed ire in Talrigori’s tone, not just the empty evenness that had almost always accompanied her old teammate. “...I’m done, anyway. This is all too much. You’re keeping secrets from me, and it’s going to get me killed. I’ll take this name and location from you, but after this, I’m done.”
“...Very well. You shall receive the name once you return to Dom’s. Tell me when you are close to the city.”
So she was really stopping, giving up. Ending her quest for vengeance. Rosa would be thankful, as would Dom and the twins.
Somewhere in her, Micali felt a weight lift from her heart.
Now she simply needed to find a way home before this war dragged her back in.
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