zi-tales

[zi-tales]

Successor

I walk a path of blood I do not want you to follow.

I tread, each step sinking into the ground further as I drench it with the enemy. There is always deeper to go, an ocean to fill, a mountain of bodies to leave in my wake.

I am a weapon, an annihilator, a harbinger. This is my destiny. The fate I have taken to follow into the grave.

You are my child. My legacy. The heart that stands outside my chest, as I cannot afford to bleed. Your kindness and warmth is a luxury impossible to hold close.

I cannot fathom our distance, and yet you still wish for this. You fret over my well-being, if I am to return for you. But there is no one here. There is no parent, no idol. Only a bloodsoaked shell.

When you take up your blade, as I know you inevitably will, please. I beg you.

Do not follow me into this endless abyss.

Do not let go of your heart.

[zi-tales]

Forever

Glass.

Shattering.

Time fractures, folding in upon itself, becoming whole once more.

It breaks, again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again

Zero.

The moment.

I see, forever, the microcosm of reality being sundered. I walk to the vessel and wrest the temporal shard from its grasp.

Only a moment passes, and it happens once more. I think, I loop. Again.

Again.

It is time, frozen, made physical. Of course it is volatile. There must be something I can do to fix this. But has that moment passed? Is the solution after the loop? How long has it been?

Again, I reset.

Is this the end? Are there other realities that go on? Or is this all there is now?

Loop. Again. Look closer.

You already have. I already have. I have seen myself, looking at you, me. I look at me. You look at yourself. You look at I. I am I. You are me.

I loop and I recall a memory that isn’t mine. I remember something, something from before, but a thought of a loop from ago.

Which me entered this loop and who am I now?

Is this death? Am I alive? Insane? Have I exited the loop, but it’s been so long, I can’t possibly comprehend anything that isn’t this cycle?

I want to wake up. I am always awake. Is there rest? Do I rest?

Again.

I break. I shatter.

Again.

Return to zero.

Again.

Return to zero.

Again.

Fracture. Observe it. Something changes. Every time. There is a change. Time folds and makes a mistake.

Again.

Watch, damn it.

Again.

Loop.

Again.

Loop.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Faster.

That’s it.

Acceleration.

I get faster.

Every break, the force compounds. Like a chamber of waves, crashing into itself again and again and again.

All of it becomes a moment. Seamless, unbroken.

An instant, a sliver of existence compressed into an infinity, shot back out like a needle that pierces the temporal rupture.

The loop ends.

I have time in my grasp.

#sf

[zi-tales]

Sundown

“Do you love me, Sol?” Caeli asked offhandedly.

“Of course, Caeli. What kind of question is that? Aha…” Sol’s gentle tone and warm smile with her response prompted even the normally stoic Caeli to smile a tad. “We all love you. Why wouldn’t we?”

Caeli’s smile faded quickly as he looked into the distance. The sun was setting, the comforting amber curtain that set the stage for nightfall. Their culture was one that put incredible importance on the sky, and the sunset was a time many revered. “Because… This accursed scar. You feel it, don’t you? The corruption? Why I would be loved with this upon my soul…”

Both harpies sat quietly, admiring the hazy horizon ahead of them until the sun sank below the treeline. “Perhaps I should finally tell you more.” Sol leaned over to pull the standoffish child closer to her. “We have known each other for only a short time. You may wonder why my sisters and I treat you so, risking our lives for yours. We… We are particular sorts.” Sol sighed, appearing to hesitate before she continued. “A child is something precious. Something that a mother seeks to protect, to guide to a beautiful future. But, you’re aware of our kind. Our necessities for reproduction, the rarity of the males among us. Always, the Church seeks them for the good of our kind, sheltering them from harm. In other words, justified kidnapping.”

Caeli turned away from the horizon and looked at Sol, whose face looked as though she’d been overcome with a terrible anger. “This is the result,” Sol continued, “when they take too many.” “All of you?” Caeli asked in surprise. “You had sons?” “And every one was taken from us, into the echelons of royalty where we would never see them again. For their safety, they said. For them to be raised as paragons of our race, with the honor of being esteemed princes to marry into the extant bloodlines of perhaps even the Firebrands themselves.” Sol closed her eyes, struggling to maintain composure. “Not because they earned any such right, but because the Ecclesiarchy merely takes what it needs.” Sol took a deep breath, continuing to hold Caeli ever tighter as though she would lose him if she let go. “I have seen it myself. The aftermath of forceful change into a life unwanted. The boys they try to mold into royalty do not always bend so easily. They beg for a release, they crack, and some… Shatter. “Your case worries me even more. They are hunting you relentlessly. They see your power, what secrets you hold, and they would wring them out of you until you are drained of your soul itself. What potential you show in your magical capability is a sign of favor from the Mother herself, something even the Firebrands don’t have. I’ve no doubt they’d turn you into a conduit to speak to the Mother, where your life would be little else than that… “Our dwindling coven of acolytes stand no chance against what will inevitably come. But this matters not. We promised, if not to redeem ourselves, at least we would defend you to ensure you live the life you wish. You are the child we can protect.”

Caeli looked down, saddened. “So, you know death awaits…? Is there no way for us to leave? All of us, together?”

“Unfortunately, what modest resources we had were already spent on the vessel you will be using to depart here. It is only suitable for you alone on your journey.”

“So, I will be… Leaving you to die.” Caeli’s frown deepened.

“Such is how it is. We have long accepted this fate for ourselves.” Sol took Caeli’s hand and held it warmly. “We will fall gracefully in the face of corruption.”

“Not really that comforting, if I’m honest…”

“It will be okay, Caeli. We’ll be with you in the future, watching over you. I promise.” Sol hugged the despondent boy. “This way, at least you will have known love in your homeland before you leave it. Never forget that I love you.”

The sun soon sank below the horizon.

Caeli woke up, tears in his eyes, the scar on his hand searing with heat. The dream was so vivid this time.

#d&d

[zi-tales]

KTL-03 Cast

#sf

[zi-tales]

KTL-03: The Corp

#sf

[zi-tales]

KTL-03: Competition

#sf

[zi-tales]

Corp: I

Corp: I

KTL-03, District A-5, Corp Monolith 31 Solar Minutes after Event

Members of the Corp sat around a large table in a meeting room. Some appeared pensive, others amused. On all their minds was the event, the theft of one of the most dangerous living weapons to grace the surface of any planet alongside an ancient data archive that held information that could change the course of history. “Well, associates. I’m sure you’ve had the time to worry about this by now.” One spoke up. “I’d like to hear your thoughts.” “Why aren’t they dead already, Apex?” Apex laughed, waving his hand in dismissal. “Because! It’s more interesting this way. We have an opportunity.” “So do they. You can’t seriously expect that we can stop their escape guaranteed, do you? They have Seraphim, and they gave us a taste of what she can do to circumvent our security.” One named Night claimed. “Well, our security staff was a bit short-handed.” Rvin replied haughtily. “We paid for our own arrogance. Just because nothing that severe happens off-season doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take security any less seriously.” “Noted, Rvin. What’s your thoughts on going forward?” “I’d prefer to keep it brief, but I have a feeling that’s off the table considering how much intrigue this has generated. At least we shut out off-world communications already.” Apex nodded. “They’ll have to get out of orbit to transmit anything. And a quick solution isn’t out of the question, but the Terzes demand more than just a bounty. They can’t track Direwolf and his companions on their own, they can’t hope to think they stand a chance if the Corp plans to get involved and claim the kill themselves. 10 million!” Apex threw his hands up in a grandiose fashion. “That would keep anyone’s food on the table awhile, right? Who would we be to offer it and then snatch it away so readily?” “So you’re saying we hire the population of KTL-03 to do our job.” Another board member said, a skeptical tone in their voice. “Precisely. We interfere when necessary. Set things up, prime our lower-ranked associates for success. And if it all backfires, well… Won’t it be a grand adventure? The present Corp members grumbled in dissent. “I don’t like this. What if they start to all kill each other to prevent someone else from collecting? Or worse, what if some of them assist the escape?” Apex laughed. “Isn’t that part of the fun? Watching them all go about this in their own unique way, all for the prospects of fame and fortune?” “This is not about fun, you child. This is about containing Seraphim.” Ciel beat her fist against the table before shouting. “To hell with Seraphim, it’s the Library we should be concerned about. If that gets out somehow, everything changes, and we’ll be the ones to pay for it. Most of the Terzes will run off looking for the damn thing, I guarantee it.” “Please, you’re overreacting. The knowledge of that relic floating around isn’t going to be so dangerous. The Library contains no means to locate it.” Apex shook his head, laughing. “So, what then? We just let them go?” “This is more than just having fun, it’s letting the populace have a hand in history.” Apex clarified. “We cannot assert ourselves as a controlling force, because we never were. We keep order, but this? This should be an opportunity for them. A reminder what our culture, what our planet, and what our history is about. Exciting opportunism.” Murmurs of skepticism were present before there was some agreement. Ciel spoke up to begin finalizing the meeting. “Fine. We can always step in if necessary anyway. Give them some time. I’ll reclaim our Angel in a while, and then leave the rest to our compatriots below. What do you think?” “Sounds great. What if Seraphim doesn’t want to come home?” A brief silence from the board members instantly filled the room with pressure. “Unlikely, but… I have contingencies set up for such an occasion. Nothing too severe to worry about.” Ciel assured her allies, but if Adrasteans were capable of sweating, she might have broken a drop or two. “Wonderful! Let’s keep watching, then. See what they do, give them a breather, figure out what we want to announce and all. Good meeting. And, thank you for re-joining us despite your busy schedule, Ciel. I’m sure your unique set of skills should make this even more wonderful.” Apex clapped his hands excitedly, eager to see how everything would unfold.

#sf

[zi-tales]

hiori have ask

#d&d

[zi-tales]

Eight: I

#sf

[zi-tales]

Interview: Tomas

#d&d

[zi-tales]

Harpy Lore (mostly from 2014 but some of it is from more recent edits idk)

THE HARPY CONTINENT, TERÆOS:

The Northern Territories (Teræ Sol) are inhabited by the Phoenix Ecclesiarchy and other nobles, including the High Court and other judicial systems to handle legal disputes. It is a very frigid, mountainous area which contains the massive Harpy Citadel, Anatolia. Sinistral Tower - Harpy Citadel The grand tower complex that the Ecclesiarchy resides within, clearly visible from even far in the South. Hopeful acolytes who seek to perpetuate the worship of the Phoenix dream to see the interior of the massive ivory and gold spire.

The Midland Territories (Teræ Lux) are occupied by merchants and farmers who export goods to every region from the Mercantile Heart, a self-sustaining community of both export and bartering services. The relatively warm climate lends well to the vast fields and sparse forests.

The Eastern Territories (Teræ Ignis) consist of an expansive desert with several oases distributed within it, and is almost exclusively populated by the wide variety of dangerously territorial nomadic tribes. These tribes are normally secluded, and are among few groups of harpies that refuse to acknowledge the Ecclesiarchy.

The Western Territories (Teræ Umbra) are infamous for being an area of concentrated hostility. Within the towering Paladria Mountains and humid swamps are groups of human bandits, wandering mercenaries, aspiring adventurers, and vile witch-harpies. Most of those who choose to explore these peaks are primarily attracted to the ancient demon ruins, many of which hold terrible powers.

The Southern Territories (Teræ Luna) are a simple land, hardly populated and heavily forested. Outcasts, travelers, mercenaries, and small communities of all sorts reside scattered within this quiet section of the continent due to its ease of settlement.

PAST EVENTS:

The Reclamation: This war was held to reclaim the Southern Territories of Teræos that over time, was occupied by towering Giants. These Giants, having settled in during an era of reconstruction, were driven out after a drawn out, bloody war which heavily reduced the already lowered Harpy population and nearly wiped the occupying Giants. The Western Conflicts: Harpy communities in the Western Territories quickly grew irate as human interference increased, as adventurers and other relatively hostile human groups continued to enter and occupy their land. An execution policy of all humans was agreed upon throughout the area, eventually resulting in several armed skirmishes between humans and harpies. Due to a disproportionate casualty rate in advantage of the harpies, negotiations to cease the hostile actions were heavily urged. Three years of military intervention and debate of the issues eventually lowered the amount of human danger. Humans continue to attempt taking advantage of the situation, but disappearances within the area remain frequent.

BIOLOGY:

Very long life span (~180 years average, max around 220)

Peak physical condition lasts 18-100 years; slow degradation until 140.

Rapid end-aging, typically starting at ~140 years. Difficult to maintain strenuous physical activity following this point.

Hollow bones; poor at taking high impact. Can heal quickly, however.

Particularly powerful and lean muscles with high versatility.

Flight capability dependent on species and weight, activated through magical support.

Varied species, magical capability dependent on lineage, but all possess at least rudimentary magical ability.

Phoenixes are reborn in the capital upon “death”, but restart age and lose much of their memories.

Males exist in a 5:95 ratio; such extreme rarity often makes them highly protected or worshipped.

ARCANE SUBJECTS:

Glass: The primary substance of the Harpy land, Glass is an incredibly dense, perpetually-sharp material created by transmuting normal metals or minerals. It is manipulated exclusively by those born with the ability to do so. Glass is prone to damage exclusively through shattering or cracking, but is still incredibly durable. All traditional Harpy military gear consists of Glass, as it is substantially lightweight and compacts through arcane means.

Magic: All Harpies are born with innate magical ability. Ability is typically restricted to a single arcane nature. Magical abilities are executed through sigils based on the language the Ancients once wrote in. Unholy sigils are more plentiful, as the Demon race is powerful enough to create such symbols on a whim. Demonic sigils are banned from use, as most are blasphemous corruptions of Ancient text. A sigil example would be the "Form" symbol, used to manipulate Glass. Larger sigils are able to do more, as well as sigils adorned with the "Perfection" symbol.

Spell execution is done either using an engraving activated by tapping into the user's innate magic and empowering the sigil, or by visually drawing the sigil. Advantages and disadvantages lie within both forms of casting. Engraved casting can be instant, and typically provides serviceable results. However, engraving effectiveness is affected by how accurate the sigil is, as well as whatever emotion the sigil was made under. The harpy race is expressive, and has the capability to affect spellcasting through emotion. If a sigil is carved under stress, it can act erratically. Similarly, in a state of elation, a combat sigil might have reduced effectiveness while a healing sigil can act with better effectiveness.

Active casting typically has a wider margin for error to get acceptable results, but perfect results are achieved less easily. However, perfect active casts are typically much more powerful than their Engraved counterparts. Active casting is also fluidly affected by emotion, and with proper training, can almost match the speed of Engraved casting. Furthermore, while considered a practice reserved for experienced mages exclusively, catalysts with certain sigils ("Divine", "Perfect", etc.) can enhance casting.

Scholars constantly try to decipher each symbol left behind by Phoenix archives, typically derived either through similarities with existing sigils or through prayer and answer. These scholars and librarians are certain a sigil exists meaning "Phoenix" in its truest form, something that will likely have significant power behind it.

[Personal note: Didn’t really bother to go through these and edit them, probably could stand to have better descriptions or effects, etc.]

Demonic Schools: Due to Harpy lineage being based in demonic origin, abilities passed down from Demons have shown up in decent frequency within various species of Harpy. Save for research purpose and occasionally combat approval, sigils originating from Demon influence are typically outlawed from use and are scanned for their presence. IGNEUS:

Firespit: Breathe fire, range dependent on skill

Fireball: Rapidly generate fire in a controlled sphere to throw

Hellfang: Imbue wielded weapons with fire; usually applied to blades but can work on anything that constitutes as a weapon

Infernal Body: Coat body in fire and have slight repulsion to attacks

Scorched Earth: Generates a huge amount of flame that incinerates the surrounding area

FACIE DUORUM:

Silver Tongue: More persuasive to others

Velocity: Increases general mobility along with attention, but can quickly drain caster physically

Shroud: Renders invisible in nighttime only

Afterimage: Generates decoy afterimage(s) of oneself; images capable of acting independently with experience

Fog Body: Able to phase through objects or especially weapons in an ghostly manner

MANLIUS NECATI:

Thrall Guard: Summons any dead beings in the nearby vicinity to fight for the caster

Demonhide: Kills existing flesh and hardens it to be extremely damage resistant; process is incredibly painful and cannot be reverted

Fetid Body: Allows body to perpetually regenerate and feel no pain at the cost of making the caster’s appearance necrotic or otherwise sickly if no damage is taken

Resurrect: Resurrects target with necrotic features, but state of intelligence is restored

Ascension: Resurrects target without necrotic features, and also allows full control of the target by the caster should the caster demand so

FACIE MALEDICTIONIS:

Omen: Gives the impression that something benign, dependent on the afflicted individual, is somehow something significant to fear

Pox: Inflicts a random disease that lasts for a generally short period of time

Misfortune: Affects the target’s luck, causing a certain degree of vulnerability dependent on their location

Aversion: Target will cause others around them to shun them, be mortified, or be actively hostile

Tragedy: If properly casted, it will lead to the death of someone the target finds significant to them

Doom: Leads to the death of the target and everyone intended to perish that is correlated with them

TENEBRIS:

Rend: Uses pure dark energy to mangle flesh

Razordown: Hardens feathers and skin with a layer of dark energy, making both caustic to touch and incredibly sharp

Demon Channel: Allows for the caster’s abilities to be further increased by merging with a demon’s soul temporarily, or permanently if the caster is too weak

Vorpal Blade: After casting over the given weapon over enough time, grants the weapon a perpetual sigil that lets it house a demon soul, increasing the weapon’s parameters substantially at the risk of possession after overuse

Demon Summon: Allows for a demon to re-enter the material plane for as long as the summoner can maintain their tether

Divine Schools: Primarily practiced and used by those devout to the worship of the Mothers. Arcane prowess in these schools requires a pure heart, a stalwart mind, or blind faith to use effectively. SANITATEM:

Vigor: Grants an immunity to extreme fatigue

Panacea: Removes general ailments

Recover: Heals internal or external wounds

Vitality Sigil: Can imbue an object with either healing or stamina-based properties

Mending Ground: Creates a aura to heal several individuals at once

QUOS MUNDAT:

Detection: Generates an aura that only performs a scan for demonic sigils or presence

Minor Purge: Purges an object, place, or individual of a minor demonic presence or curse, and can be used to attack demonic beings with slight effectiveness

Great Cleanse: Purges an object, place, or individual of a major demonic presence or curse, and can be used to attack demonic beings with high effectiveness

Demonbane: Purges an object, place, or individual of a truly vile demonic presence or curse, and can be used to attack demonic beings with lethal effectiveness

PROTEGENS:

Prismatic Gauntlet: Generates a holy shield around one arm that protects against darkness and physical damage

Bastion: Creates a small dome that blocks physical attacks and darkness

Blessing: Imbues an object with holy warding properties, repelling curses and demonic beings

Haven: Creates a holy ground that remains as long as the caster maintains it, capable of staving off all forms of darkness

Eternal Veil: Creates a permanent barrier on someone, something, or an area that blocks any and all demonic presence, but requires the life of the caster to remain

DIVINA:

Radiance: Provides an aura of light and repulsion of darkness

Celestial Body: Increases general physical parameters and negates damage from darkness

Holy Sigil: Imbues the given weapon with divine strength for a temporary period of time, or permanently with enough skill and times casted

Divine Lance: Hurls a spear of divine light at the target

Rapture: Binds targets and pierces with multiple heavenly spears

Elemental Schools: Schools of magic with roots shared by other hybrid races, often sharing visual appearance with other languages. Command of the elements is the most common and simple, but more powerful spells require greater control to prevent catastrophic use. GLACIEI:

Frozen Gust: Attacks with a plume of frigid air.

Blizzard Cover: Generates a swirling cover of snow and coats the body in a thin layer of ice, reducing physical, ice, and fire damage.

Frost Sigil: Imbues the given weapon with the ability to freeze on contact for a period of time, or permanently if imbued.

Icicle Torrent: Generates icicles in the air to strike opponents from below

Glacier: Impales or strikes opponent with a massive spike or wall of pure ice

LACUS:

Douse: Generates a thin field of water around the caster and soaks the body to reduce or negate fire damage

Mist Veil: Creates a thick fog

Downpour: Causes rainfall

Hydrojet: Launches a pressurized water jet at the target (Requires suitable water source)

Aqua Cutter: Sends pressurized waves of water at the target (Requires suitable water source)

FULMINIS:

Electric Field: Opponents in proximity of the caster are shocked to stun

Static Down: Creates electricity  across the caster’s body, making them highly conductive and able to repel metal weapons

Storm Sigil: Imbues the given weapon with strong electric properties for a period of time, or permanently if imbued.

Punishing Bolt: Fires a heavy bolt from the palm to near-instantly strike the target

Judgment: Brings down multiple high-power bolts from the sky onto the target

ANIMA:

Strike Current: Pushes the target back with heavy force

Windwalker: Allows for a lighter body and increased mobility and flight ability

Gale Sigil: Imbues the given weapon with wind striking properties for a period of time, or permanently if imbued.

Zephyr Blade: Sends a highly compressed wave of air to slice the target

Tempest: Generates a field of cutting wind to quickly dispose of a target

TELLURE:

Stalagmite: Brings a spike of earth up from the ground toward the target or intended direction

Earthbind: Toughens body with an external coat of stone plating at the cost of mobility

Stratum Sigil: Imbues the given weapon with additional durability, hardness, and weight for a period of time, or permanently if imbued.

Monolith Field: Brings up several pillars of earth from the ground in a certain area to strike the target

Megalith: Launches target with a massive pillar of earth from the ground

[zi-tales]

Umbra: 0

#sf

[zi-tales]

Brigador Short

Private Edgar Morrison was certainly unfit for duty, but his XO could care less about the recruit’s actual combat readiness when it came to filling the shoes of a Mog patrolman. Borderline incompatible with a cranial jack and almost solely familiar with surveillance duty in a Canary, the soldier was now piloting an old yet reliable Mongoose powersuit with clumsy, jilted movements. Having taken a few more casualties than anticipated, reconnaissance jockeys like him were pulled up to the front line to have at least another body to throw at the enemy. The remainder of the patrol wasn’t that much better off in terms of imprompu training, but at least they could make their suit look like it wasn’t about to shit itself in more ways than one. 

The patrol squad was in charge of a relatively rowdy district that only recently came under the quote-unquote control of the Novo Exercito de Povo at the cost of more than a few more competent soldiers. What young blood the Corvids had to spare in its defense had yet to be washed off the streets, a tangible reminder that the battle was not truly over. The Mog patrol was armed with the usual, a Bonesaw machine gun and a recoilless rifle known as the Carlos. Ample munitions to perforate or otherwise destroy the paper-thin machines that the resourceful junkers of Solo Nobre cobbled together with old scrap and various fumes running through their brains. 

Morrison was accompanied by four others who plodded along the empty streets, the district long evacuated due to the racket of gunfire and slightly moreso, collateral damage. The desperate and the opportunistic remained, the former clinging to what they could in their ruined homes and the latter acting like vultures amidst the warzone. As for which kind of civilian was beneath the roaming yellow raincoats, no one with a gun could care enough to ask before shooting in sheer paranoia. Corvid suicide bombers were too frequent to take that chance, and as sturdy as a Mog was, Morrison saw what even one of those homemade explosives did to an unaware pilot. He was not trained to be a hero. Hell, he was hardly trained at all. Yet, here he was, in a hot zone of Corvid unrest, ready to die at a moment’s notice. 

All the worse, the day had been quiet. Night fell on the city, now illuminated by the remaining dim streetlights and whatever neon lights businesses once owned. There was something wrong about the lack of even the occasional angry rebel looking to tell off the group of pilots about how they’d get theirs. 

“Morrison, keep up, for fuck’s sake. Want to get picked off by some shithead on a Skate?” Detweiler scolded from ahead. 

In the short time that he’d known the sergeant, Morrison held little but contempt for the man, although he couldn’t blame him. He was, after all, waddling along rather than really marching. 

The squad approached the corner of the district, being the only patrol assigned at the time. Reinforcements were spread thin, and heavy Touro support was unavailable due to the previous skirmishes, leaving the policing to the powersuit teams, the occasional Fork light mech, and the scarce BT tank. The flavor of the day was to be five Mogs while the others got a day at the spa to massage out the bullet holes. Reinforcements from other districts would be a shot in the dark if it came down to it. 

While any Loyalist equipment often found itself obliterated by the excessive firepower that the Corvids fielded on their main vehicles, the bright blue carcasses of their moving scrap heaps often allowed for easy re-purposing, after the occasional spray down with a hose and a brief rock anthem as a funeral dirge. The disappearances of said wreckage unnerved all who skulked around, all too aware that it would readily come back to haunt them. 

This worry was on Team Four’s heads as they passed by the communal scrap heap, colorfully littered with mechanical husks dressed in blue and olive alike. There hadn’t been any activity from the scrapyard for a time, but the team paused on Detweiler’s command.

“Hold up. Could’ve sworn I saw something move in there.”

“No way, sarge. Shit like that happens all the time,” Private Sillman protested. “Sensors aren’t picking any movement up in there other than the usual poor bastards making their beds comfy.” 

“Wouldn’t hurt to make sure.” The sergeant grunted as he let loose a volley of Bonesaw fire into the scrap heap. The bullets perforated the thin metal that the cars among the pile had, and otherwise ricocheted off the denser material within. A clamor was heard within the junk, people yelling and scattering like rats. 

“Yeah, run, you fuckin’ animals.“ 

Detweiler’s fire continued until the barrel of his Bonesaw was beginning to overheat, at which point he finally let go of the trigger. He was only momentarily satisfied. 

“Wait. How many people are in this fucking heap?”

The scrapyard fell silent for a beat before bright lights came on from the peak of a pile of old cars. A Corvid jockey stood atop the car whose lights shone down upon Team Four. 

“Curiosity kills, you NEP motherfuckers!“

This taunt was followed by the distinct silhouette of a crotch chop, the unmistakable sign at least something was going to blow up within the next minute. Appropriately so, more lights lit up within the bullet-ridden scrap pile, as did the familiar blue tint of a generator’s hardshield. The smell of ozone filled the air, and subsequently filled Team Four with terror. Before them was one of the Corvids’ prides and joys, known colloquially as a Treehouse. Car upon car stitched together to a set of treads and brought to life by what was likely even more engines bolted together into a miraculously functioning beast of a machine. 

Atop the Treehouse were its (stolen) party starters, two of the ubiquitous and appropriately named Königs. The immense gatling guns turned down slowly to target the frozen Team Four, the rumbling tower of cars it was mounted on creaking amidst the hollering and car horns. 

“Run, you fuckin’ animals!” 

The Corvid atop the Treehouse shouted as he threw his helmet down at the Loyalists who only then turned and began to move. On cue, the deafening rapport of the Königs let loose cascades of bullets that tore into the concrete and at least one unfortunate member of the squad. Four-Three, once known as Private Liam Hoifer, was officially a statistic. 

Bursts of bullets continued to erupt from the rotary cannons, ripping into the apartment block that Team Four desperately hoped to run between as cover. Cement and rebar gave way to the colossal projectiles sent their way. 

Morrison wasn’t ready for such an event. Rowdy shitheads on Skates, a couple of belligerents throwing rocks on the sidewalks. The occasional Chook with a machinegun or two, maybe. Maybe those situations. He was never prepared for whatever abomination of devilish engineering that was trained on turning him and anyone like him into red paste with accents of metal. His hands shivered, rattling the old powersuit’s bones. He wasn’t helpless, at least. A Bonesaw and a Carlos was something. If he fired a shot, he could go to hell with a sticker that said he tried. 

Coming down some notches from his panic, he finally heard Detweiler shouting in his ringing ears, as well as the telltale siren of a raised district alarm.

“You dumb bastards, keep moving! This is Four Actual, does anyone read me? Corvids hostile northwest, I repeat, we have hostiles northwest!” The sergeant’s spit was palpable over the radio amidst his blustering. 

Team Four continued to weasel between buildings southbound, hoping to not catch an unlucky burst of König fire. Despite their hoping, Four-Five was long gone, the casualty of stopping and waiting for Detweiler to kick the team’s instinct back into working order. 

Three Mogs against a Treehouse and who knows what support. Morrison could hear others skittering around, the familiar hum of agravs and the distinct footsteps of a pair of old Fork legs straining to keep up with the speed its Corvid pilot demanded of it. The tired men and women of the NEP forgot Corvids were hardly as human as they, capable of living on ideals and gasoline wherever they pleased, whether it was in a cozy home of someone else or a trashyard. In their victory, they were lax in checking what truly remained of the Corvid presence, and this was their punishment. 

“Hey, Detweiler. What’s your situation?” A female voice rung out over comms, cool with a tinge of bloodlust. “This is Lieutenant Inzaghi, coming in hot with some of my friends from another district. Be there in five. You’re lucky we were on vacation.”

“Oh, hell, thank God. Lost two, down to three. There’s at least a Treehouse with twin Königs and fuck knows how many of the other punks that have decided to make a last effort.”

“Shit, well. Hang tight, do what you can. Arriving northbound. Hopefully you’ll live to see tomorrow, boys.”

Detweiler took a moment to wipe sweat from his brow, despite the building behind him quickly being shot to dust. 

“Alright, you two gutless worms. We gotta do what we can. You might think we ain’t much, but we got guns, so use ‘em. Go wide, bastard thing’s turning is dogshit. We gotta back up to drag them away from the north. Sillman, go with Morrison so you get a couple extra seconds from him as a meat shield.” 

With that, Detweiler jogged off in his Mog, guns at the ready and shouting bloody murder at the group of Coffins that had rounded the corner, all crackling with their Snakebite zappers. The Corvid hopefuls within were quickly shot to mush by the sergeant’s Bonesaw as he rounded the corner of a building, out of sight of Morrison and Sillman. 

“Okay, you heard the man. Let’s at least give these gasoline-huffers something to chew on.” Sillman began to take point, moving in the other direction of Detweiler. “Get my back, I’ll get yours, alright Morrison? Morrison?”

The private shook off the sergeant’s scathing remark before grunting in compliance, doing his best to remember his training like any good rookie as he followed Sillman. His fellow recruit needed him, after all. At least his Mog didn’t look like a man kicked in the crotch as it moved this time. 

Corvid agravs from both sides strafed into view, letting loose gunfire. The two Mog pilots replied with their own, although their recoilless rifles blowing the blue vehicles to hell punctuated their intent much better than the inaccurate efforts of their opponent. Any shots bounced off their hardshields, something that most of the Corvid craft the pair faced lacked the luxury of owning. 

Sillman and Morrison ran forward and away from the Treehouse that was menacingly making its way to get a line of fire on them. In a straight, another fusillade was certain death, so they were determined to run behind the cover of the panic walls that had activated. Some hundred yards away, the Treehouse began to fire its twin gatling guns, less focused on aiming and more on making a statement. Bullets flew overhead and smashed into the blast walls of the district and buildings alike, even leaving some sizeable craters in the panic walls ahead. Rather than a cacophony of honking jalopy horns, the Treehouse was now blaring rock out of every barely-functioning car stereo that was strapped to the colossal bastard of a tank, making the atmosphere that much more intimidating. 

The Mog pilots passed through the panic walls which began to recieve pummeling from the Corvid forces outside of them. There were at least twenty separate guns all letting loose at the metal barriers, and even more voices shouting expletives and jeers at the admittedly cowardly NEP soldiers. 

“Fuck, man. That’s a lot of angry birds.” Sillman exhaled. “Think we should just wait for that lieutenant lady and her boys?”

“Absolutely.” Morrison was already backing up further, worried about the collapse of the walls from all the gunfire. “H-hey, Detweiler? You still there?”

The sergeant grunted in reply, breathing heavily. “Shit. Four minutes for Inzaghi’s team. Longest fucking time of my life. Keep backing up, we’ll try and get them in a crossfire with the reinforcements. Make it to the substation next to the ammo depot, we can try to hold behind the barriers and panic walls there if they bust through these.”

The remaining members of Team Four complied, retreating as their first line of defense crumbled against the Corvid assault. One panic wall finally gave way to the Treehouse’s guns. They let loose one more volley before they fell suspiciously silent, and prompted the hulk of machinery to fall back momentarily. 

“Stupid sons-of-bitches must have forgot ammo existed. Gives us a breather, god damn.” Detweiler popped the canopy of his powersuit and audibly lit a cigarette as he relaxed a moment within the safety of the substation defense position. The squad’s allies arrived in due time, giving them some company as hell settled down for a spell. 

“This is Four-Two, Private Sillman, hailing Lieutenant Inzaghi. How copy?” 

“Inzaghi, just arrived. Don’t worry, princesses.”

“What kind of support are we looking at? They’re taking the time to reload, the Königs are out after they got too trigger-happy. We’re camping out at the substation in the center ourselves. Think we can do a joint assault if we kill the substation and drop the walls when they don’t expect it?”

“Cute tactic, Sillman. I like that. We’ve got two Sparrows and a Betka, I pilot a Buck. Should be ample firepower to rain on their parade.”

The Sparrows were the nimble sort, legged artillery platforms with an open canopy design that was both dangerous and refreshing. Morrison would always envied them from afar on recon duty as he watched from a cramped agrav cockpit. The Betka was something he wondered about, with the light tank’s capabilities often played up by the crewmen that adored their personalized machines. It puzzled the private as to why anyone would prefer the small BT tank over something like the Tinker, but perhaps it was a cranial jack thing that he’d never be able to understand properly.

However, a Buckmaster? They’d lucked out to have that kind of support. Morrison had hardly seen one, having mostly only heard of its reputation. Temperamental to maintain, small in stature compared to the venerable Touro, but almost as well-armed and much faster. Essentially a wolf on the battlefield, and more often than not appropriately alone. The few pilots he’d met were the cutthroat sort, often amiable but violent on the inside, thirsty for volumes of blood unattainable in a single lifespan. Maybe there was a chance they’d survive if that sort was heading their way. 

Detweiler finished his cigarette and tossed it out of his powersuit. “Sounds solid. Those Sparrows better be crack shots, though. Even though they couldn’t field any heavies other than their big dumb car tower, there’s a lot of Skates out there who’re more than eager to shoot their asses up if they don’t get them first.”

“Psh, the Betka’s got them covered. Also, ever used a Scimitar? We’re using those to start this party. Once you hear the first explosions, kill the substation and make your move. Focus on the smaller goons, I’ll handle the big one.”

Time passed slowly, being a terribly long two minutes of pressure. On the side of the Corvids, only one König had received a half-barrel of ammunition dragged up the tall Treehouse by a few panicked rebels. Its other drum was being dug up from the scrapyard some distance behind them, and the setup to load the tower of cars kept its only option for firing as facing forward. The rest of them were stuck with what they had, with some of the Skates even out of ammunition for getting too eager. Their confidence was soaring, though. Just three Mog pilots and there’d be shit-all they could do about the district for a while. Keeping the Treehouse loaded meant being able to keep the area under relative lockdown from the center. Not much could possibly survive a hailfire of vulcan rounds down a straight, no matter what bullshit the NEP sent.

But, to do so, they needed to drop the Mog squad and take control. The jarhead motherfucker who decided to get too close made for a more rushed plan, but they easily held the advantage. As the second drum of König ammo rose to the appropriate gun, a line of explosions suddenly tore a line through their support vehicles, with the unshielded light craft and mechs being blown apart by lines of fire. The rapport was unheard behind the clamor of rock music and drunk shouting. Inzaghi’s team had arrived. 

The panic walls quickly dropped after a coordinated sabotage from the team of Mogs, killing the lights as well. The dance was now in the dark, illuminated only by muzzle flash and the floodlights of vehicles. Team Four began to split into a trident formation, laying down machine gun fire behind cover and picking targets off with their Carlos rounds. The Corvid formation was in complete disarray as the BT tank began to fire its own cannon at the hapless blue bastards. The more experienced remained calm and moved to cover their trump card, the half-loaded Treehouse. 

The Sparrows and their Scimitars continued to rain hell on the scattered freedom fighters, their special burst volleys of artillery giving Inzaghi ample cover to make her move on the Treehouse, whose fragile backside was readily available for a pummeling. Her Buckmaster’s weapon systems touted a Pinch rocket and a Duchess autocannon, an unorthodox but effective loadout that the lieutenant found to be particularly satisfying to turn her enemies into bloody smears. Inzaghi set her stage with a line of smoke that the Corvids began to fire through with reckless abandon. She could hardly care about any other haphazard bullet that made it her way, knowing the only real threat was encumbered by its reloading setup.

She let loose one of the chaff rockets to kill whatever shields the Treehouse possessed and temporarily disable its retinue of defenders, its success signaled by the ever-familiar crack of a killed shield. Already with an idea of her target’s location, she eagerly fired her Duchess. Its bullets shore through the Treehouse, turning the hard work of the Corvids and their plan back into scrap metal and fire. Moving forward and clearing smoke as she fired more, Inzaghi could see every one of the metalhead bastards she shot exploding into unrecognizable gore, each a panicked balloon of red joy that fueled her sadistic grin. She loved her job, even if she cared little for the politics of it all. 

The remaining Corvids desperately moved to kill whoever they could, but without sufficient firepower and the element of surprise, breaking through the NEP’s tough backup was essentially impossible. Regardless of the hopeless situation, each fought to their last, screaming and letting as many bullets fly to emphasize their determination and belief in their cause. All this belief was soon scattered across the streets like their brothers and sisters before them, scorched and lifeless. Morrison could hardly believe he was still breathing once he realized they’d won. The explosion of the Treehouse should have already signaled that, but he couldn’t be sure. This Inzaghi and her team were remarkable if they could turn the tide so quickly. 

“All targets cleared.” Inzaghi’s satisfaction was apparent with the slight snarl behind her voice. “You ladies ok?”

“Good shit. You and your team, Lieutenant, damn.” Detweiler replied as he stepped out of his Mongoose for some air. 

“Give us a challenge next time, Sergeant. Let’s go, boys.”

Radio contact soon fell silent, the lieutenant and her team departing as quickly as they’d arrived. However, Morrison realized this, too, was not the end. 

#brigador

[zi-tales]

Umbra: III

KTL-03, District E-17, Eternity Fall Lounge 1 Minute After Event

Umbra found herself startled by the sudden rumbling of the ground. “The Angel has been stolen.” An announcement stated as it began to show information on three mercenaries. Before she could try to interpret the alert, an urgent call from Vespa arrived that she answered on impulse.

“It’s here, it’s here!” Vespa chattered with excitement from Heaven’s Overlook. “What did I tell you?” “Shut up. Did you do this?” Umbra replied with frustration. “What’s happening outside? I can’t see past all these buildings, I’m in Seventeen.” “Orbital guns! And Direwolf, him and his crew! They stole Seraphim!” Umbra continued to run outside, searching for a vantage point to get a better idea of the situation. “Stole? Seraphim? You can do that?” “Apparently! 30 million on all three of them, and probably more if you bring the Angel home.” Vespa was staring at a vidscreen with news footage on her end, eagerly observing the exciting chase of the thieves. “They’re riding in blitzracing craft and they’re totally getting away right now, this is nuts!” “You are a child, Vespa. What do you intend to do? Collect?” Vespa shrugged, despite the call having no visual. “I dunno, I kinda want to see where this goes first! Do you think they’ll do some more insane shit or will they be history by tomorrow?” Umbra paused a moment, staring at the array of massive cannons that now coated the surface of KTL-03. “I… The Corp should handle this easily, right?” “They sure aren’t right now! They’re shooting at all the blitzracing craft but they’re evading the shots. Whew.” Vespa cheered amidst the other spectators in her area. “Then… I suppose I’ll wait too.” Umbra sighed. “Those targets aren’t going to be easy to kill, as tempting as 30 million is.” “Looking for a better reason to run into the deathtrap?” “Something like that. The vidstar cowboy in me wants me to do something stupid.” Vespa laughed over the line. “You, acting stupid? Goodness. Your head get shaken up too much?” “You know how it is. Too much TV rots your brain.” The two were staring at the same news feed across the planet from each other, watching the daring escape until they shook the hailstorm of skyborne bullets and flew into the horizon.

“Whew. Wonder what the Corp’s gonna do?” Vespa thought aloud. “Hopefully make some sport out of it if they put a bounty out. Probably expected Seraphim to give them trouble.” Umbra walked toward her hoverbike parked outside Eternity Fall. “Hopefully I’ll be there before the mess is over. Where do you want to meet, Vespa?” “Oh shit, we’re doing this together? I mean, you want to?” Vespa could hardly mask her excitement. “Funny, the B-class asking me!” “Right. I don’t mean to imply we’re… Equals. I’m aware of the skill gap.” Umbra clarified as her bike hummed to life before roaring down the street out of the district. “You’d be surprised how close skill gaps can be! I think you’re a solid candidate to climb the ladder into the S ranks if you don’t overwork yourself to death. Seriously, you need to work on relaxing every now and again.” “I’m flattered, and maybe later. Anyway. Meeting point?” “Head to S-1, I’ll be here at Heaven’s Overlook until there’s more to act on. Keep you posted! Drive safely!” Umbra ended the call as she accelerated even further, taking an empty stretch of road to herself, wearing a rare smirk as the inner child of hers that dreamt of chasing legendary bandits twirled her pistol.

——- KTL-03, District 0-10, Blind Eye Valley 1 Minute After Event

The area rumbled as the ground of the valley split open, with large hangar doors making way for gargantuan cannons that filled the canyon floor. “Wh- What the hell is that!?” Derrick shouted, backing up from one of the orbital batteries that emerged near their position. “Gates of Heaven. Means planetary quarantine.” Strix replied calmly, familiar with the event. “Don’t lose focus.” Their opponents still prepared themselves to continue their assault, ready to take advantage of the chaos amidst them. As they began to advance once again, a bolt of lightning struck nearby, leaving a Toroid in its place. Its appearance was unique in its own right, having a binary orbit of energy surrounding the main form and two strange emitters that floated on its sides. The Toroid species never failed to baffle.

“Strix.” The light energy being spoke in an artificial voice. “Tempo.” Strix replied with a small bow. “Seems things have gone slightly awry.” “Rank 98 showed up. Technically, I’m not K anymore.” The sniper tilted her head in the direction of her opponent Tetrahead’s shattered body. “I see. Congratulations on your promotion. Gather your team and head to Z-10. Be there in two hours. See if there’s anyone you can recruit, as well. You may need more hands.” “Phase 1, then.” Tempo’s emitters turned toward Strix’s opponents, generating a distortion field around them. “Who asked you to intercept this group?” No reply. “Acknowledged. You have two hours, Strix.” Tempo fired both emitters at the opponent, who attempted to move before the emitters’ projectiles went into effect. A bubble of tinted space filled the area between the two points of impact, appearing almost ethereal. The targets inside were slowed, the time around them distorted to prevent proper movement. “Good hunting.” With that, Tempo vanished in another bolt of lightning.

“What the hell…” Beranz recoiled in slight fear. “Never seen that. Strix, what is going on? You know that Toroid?” Strix motioned with her head to get moving as she walked forward, unconcerned with their hobbled opponents. “Derrick, your case, if you would.” Derrick approached, looking at Beranz as he passed by. Both shared a look of confusion. “Yeah, Strix, I’m with Beranz on this one. What is actually happening? Is this because of the Angel thing?” “Can you open the case?” Derrick frowned, but complied. Inside was another one of Strix’s arms, apparently a spare. “Wh- You anticipated losing an arm?” “Please just attach it.” Strix continued to move forward, focused on her objective. “Can you explain what’s happening first? Who was that?” Strix remained silent on the subject. “The arm, Derrick.” “What are you gonna do, make me? Not like you can.” The sniper paused, turning to face Derrick. “I am. Attach the arm, Derrick, or you’re off the contract and no longer necessary not just to me, but to anyone.” Her tone was particularly intense as she stared directly at Derrick’s visor, able to see his facial expression change from upset to scared. Derrick promptly attached Strix’s arm, and travel continued as she took her energy bow and shaved off layers of the Silicine formation that immobilized her other arm. The crystalline structure converted to hardlight energy on contact, shimmering with every pass. “Why is everything so hush-hush about this?” Beranz spoke up once more. “I don’t like it, even if the pay’s good.” “If it will remove the subject from discussion, an actual briefing will happen once we reach Z-10. So, please.” Strix clarified somewhat tiredly. Derrick grunted in frustration. “Honestly, this whole thing has been suspicious. Who hires a team to lug something across KTL-03 to someone else here? Why us? What the fuck is in the actual case that they sent that caliber of a team?” “Because like most clients, there is an opposing party.” “Why here? I don’t get it.” “Let it alone and keep moving. Our pilot is waiting. If you’ll pardon me a moment, I have calls to make.” Strix put their secure line on hold as she sifted through contacts, calling one to start. Her associate responded almost instantly.

------- District S-1, Heaven’s Overlook 2 Solar Minutes after event

Vespa, too, smiled, eager to see the legendary theft of the Angel from her home play out and potentially involve herself. What would the Corp do? Would it become a competition? A civil war of sorts? The possibilities were unpredictable, and therefore exciting. Around her, similarly energized plans between mercenaries of how to kill the group and cash in on the bounty were the subject of heated discussion. There was a slight minority, however, who wondered more what was in the Library, and what the group intended to do. Vespa realized that perhaps they were in it for the information, rather than keeping Seraphim and using her as a weapon. Perhaps they would make a statement clarifying their intent. As Vespa considered the situation, another call arrived that she answered absentmindedly.

“Hey, Umbra. Miss me already?” “Vespa.” A familiar voice spoke. Older, with a sense of wisdom behind her. “I require assistance.” “Wh- Whoa. Strix?” Vespa frowned, surprised. “You’re still around? Thought you were doing your weird black-ops stuff for the Corp.” “I am. I need more hands for this.” “Uh, I got a friend I could probably rope into it. She’s Class-B, is that alright? I can vouch for her.” A pause in the communication worried Vespa a moment. “Strix?” “I suppose. You have an eye for talent.” “Aw, you’re too kind. I’m in though, what’s the deal?” “Will explain later. Rendezvous at Z-10 in 2 hours.” The call ended abruptly, as the venerable Strix often acted. Always business with her, Vespa thought. She called Umbra immediately afterward, curious and enticed. “Hey, change of plans. Go to Z-10, got two hours.” “Z-10? Why?” “Even I don’t know, but it’ll be exciting!” “If you say so. See you there.” The second call ended, where Vespa jogged off to find her own form of transportation.

#sf

[zi-tales]

Direwolf: III

#sf

[zi-tales]

Interview: Igrene Gedrith

#dnd

[zi-tales]

Interview: Aum Yzyrlid

#dnd