The bumpy road shifts my weight constantly, disallowing me to get comfortable. I would like to complain, but at least we are leaving the frontier and heading deeper into human territory. Though, our destination is still not clear. However, Johnny is keen to fix that, the gunslinger in the wagon with me, Abraham, and Virgil. He makes sure to use Abraham's skill to forward the thoughts instead of making noise.
"I trust you three the most of those we have here, so I will be blunt. We are going to Bent Fortress. I hope to try and strike either a deal or a treaty with Marshall in some way to garner peace now that I stand on a similar floor as him."
Abraham's eyes twitch, the question leaving his mind into ours before his mouth even moves. Virgil and I wait until he's done to butt in.
"What about Bonfire? I think he deserves trust as well. And why must this be kept secret?"
Johnny scratches his eyebrow above his still-blind eye. Only a few more hours have passed since we left the Vault and Edmund's cabin behind, so his vision is not yet up. Though, as time is ticking, it should be back soon. The period of blindness is much shorter than it once was.
"I trust the man in a fight, but he's too loose-lipped. But the reason I'm being secretive is because of Darkstep. I've felt like I'm being watched constantly, eyes never leaving me. Even while I sleep. Should the woman know our destination, I worry she will somehow affect our plans. The bitch is good. Way too good. If she knows where we are going, she might lay a trap or, Devil forbid, join the siege on Bent. Even, then, there is a chance she follows nonetheless, and we need to keep her out of the loop for as long as possible."
This time, Virgil pipes up, his mind joining Johnny's.
"You think she can sway the siege? The fort has been under attack for decades."
Johnny nods with his eyes, attempting to not relay any information to any that may be observing us.
"Not personally, but she seems to have some contact with the Viceroy, and she's the daughter of the Viceray. If she can get the Nahullo to join the siege, Bent might truly fall. The only place that has ever held against all three races is Gravecross. Marshall can hardly resist the Pygmies and demons. You add the High Table..."
Virgil agrees with a mental touch, removing himself from any other questions. Johnny then turns his attention back to Abraham as the man shrinks a bit from Johnny's mention of the High Table. Meanwhile, I ponder this course of action. Going to Bent... I can't wait! This is going to be awesome! Will I meet Marshall?
"Regardless of how others might treat you, Abraham, know that you are nothing less than a trusted friend. Nahullo, you may be, but you have proven to me time and time again your allegiance."
Abraham shifts his head away in to look at the canvas of the wagon, a mental nod arriving from him. And after his nod, I ask Johnny a question of my own, tugging on that thread within my thoughts to speak.
"How will you make a deal with Marshall? Isn't he forced to hunt you down? The bounty and all?"
Johnny's lips twist as I get a feeling of hesitation from the mental connection.
"That is true, but I feel he might make an exception with the current situation. I mainly want him to train us while granting safe harbor for a time, and in exchange, we can offer invaluable help for the siege. I've been studying the book from Isaac, but I've reached an obstacle in my Ether. I have no clue how to continue, and only he would be willing to help. We need time to grow, and we are fast running out. To waste more fighting in the forests as the big dogs invade would be foolish."
As he speaks, I imagine gaining the guidance of such a legendary man in the art of Ether and immediately grow excited. But as my motivation grows, Virgil pitches in a thought that dims it.
"Don't get too ahead, Johnny. We don't even know if the fort still stands, let alone if Marshall can teach us anything."
Johnny nods as he finally sits up from his chair, pivoting toward the canvas to look out.
"True. But we can hope. That is all we have, no? And to make sure we arrive in Vallens to be there before the fort falls, we must hurry. So, while we could venture around the fallen Territories and go back through Bonedunes, Timberlands, and finally Vallens in a roundabout method that will take at least two months, we could take the straight path."
Already having an idea of what he means, I still ask.
"And what would that be?"
Johnny turns to us and chuckles, a dangerous thought born.
"We can rush straight through Sinscreak, breaching past any roving demons, Pymgies, or whatever else to reach Bent Fortress within a few weeks."
A silence hangs, and not just the physical one that has been present the whole conversation, as the words have only been mental. Each of us glances at each other as we weigh the decision.
Going through Sinscreak... after it has fallen will be supremely perilous. At least Tornridge had Ray to keep peace near the border where we are, but I'm sure deep into the Territory is total chaos. Sinscreak is likely similar, and we'd have to go through the depths of it to reach Vallens in time, shunning the protection of being near a border.
But if we don't do that, reaching the fortress will take over twice as long. And by that time, who knows what might happen. In the past month, one Pillar has fallen. In the past three, three have, a fourth of all the men and women who hold up our world. The information from Autumn about Eden Brown dying is unconfirmed, but she has no reason to lie, making it a third of them all. And adding the ominous trends from the Warmaster of the Nahullo, it is plain to see the turmoil coming.
The Unyielding Wall may be mighty. Hell, he may even be invincible. But... he's not immortal. Age rears its ugly head over time, rusting even the mightiest blade, and from what I've heard, it's been eating at Marshall for years. And those years were primarily peaceful. I'd bet he's fought more times in the past six months than in the past six years.
I want to believe he's that same man who inspired endless young men and women to reach for power. But deep down, I know that's impossible. I've seen Angels fall and demons rise. One man won't make much difference.
And so, I make my choice, the opposite of Virgil, as the man votes for the safer way.
"I say we go the immediate path."
Johnny then glances at Abraham, the look in his eye evident that the decision is left to him and him only. The gunslinger doesn't want to choose; perhaps the decision feels wrong, no matter which one.
Abraham ponders for a few minutes, hanging us in this grim silence. The tension is palpable as the half-Nahullo thinks deeply, his hand on his chin. Then, after almost ten whole minutes, he finally replies through his Allude.
"I vote the direct path. Cowardice will only get us killed in such times."
Johnny beams as he finally speaks aloud, placing a hand on Abraham's shoulder.
"Then it shall be so. Proud of you, Abraham. Don't ever let the fear consume you."
The gunslinger climbs out of the moving wagon, heading to another vehicle for another reason, leaving the three of us and the sleeping Dakota on the floor.
As we sit in silence, only the sound of the roving wagon to entertain us, a thought comes to my mind. I speak it aloud, seeing no reason to hide it.
"What about Primrose, Earl, and Elizabeth? How will they ever find us if we keep moving like this?"
Abraham shrugs as he gives a depressing answer.
"It's been months, Wyatt. They're probably dead. They knew the risk setting out for the Coltsmith. Had they succeeded, it would have been a major boon, but they probably failed. Sucks, but that's life. I think Johnny knows that, too, but didn't want to say anything to you."
I look to Virgil for help, but the man only nods, affirming Abrahams's answer.
"They are, more likely than not, dead. We've heard no news about them from Autumn, nor have they shown up, so they are probably dead."
The air sinks even deeper into stillness as I slide back into my chair, my heart sinking with the realization that my first friends are likely all dead by now.
And as the wagon turns, assumably dodging a tree or obstacle in the poorly made road, I just sit motionless, grieving my friends.
****************
Tomas The Wolf
Panting, I force myself up and over the rubble, clambering to reach Marshall. The man is torn from hip to shoulder, and that's the only wound I can see from here. But at least the demons retreated for tonight, Inyan the Fanged Horror giving up on killing Marshall for today. Yet, in the morn, the Pgymies will strike, with the Colossal Steam at the helm.
The never-ending cycle that started when Sinscreak fell. The Pgymies strike at day, and the demons at night. We have all been fighting to our limits, but none more so than Marshall.
Reaching him, I drag the man close to me. Then, taking my fingers and projecting Ether into my hands for Claw, I clamp his wounds shut like sutures. Carefully, I leave behind Ether to keep the flesh how it should be as Marshall uses his own Ether to accelerate his healing.
Despite how it might look, the unmoving man is not unconscious. He's in Stasis. The skill that his 6th Sigil granted him, and one that we've been trying to find a way to replicate for others. It stops wounds from worsening as the user recovers, effectively making one unable to bleed out as long as they have Ether. Sadly, little progress has grown in it, for using the skill relegates him to a kind of coma.
A minute passes before I seal all his wounds with Claw, and then he pulls himself from the Stasis, a meaty hand elevating himself to his feet. I can see the tiredness in his eyes, the exhaustion, but he disallows it from fading. Instead, he barks out an order to me.
"Thank you, Tomas. Go rest."
Despite how I want to accept, to lie down, and to finally sleep, I cannot. He needs me. The fort needs me. And so, I refuse.
"No. As long as you're out here, so am I."
The most valiant man alive chuckles deeply before the laugh deteriorates to a bloody cough. The sight makes my heart contort in agony. If only I could do more.
"Very well. About time you graduate from a cub to a wolf, lad. Tell the boys and girls to sleep. The morns on us."
I can't help but smile as he finally accepts my aid. Usually, he shunts us all out for him to face one tide alone every few days, allowing the soldiers to rest. But not today. Today, I get to help him.
Finally.
Giving him a nod, I quickly leave to inform the standing Colonel. Trailblaze fills my legs with strength as I hound over rumble with extreme speed, the Quilt of half a dozen skills approaching the might of a Dzil. Just one of the many Marshall has helped me develop, either through inspiration or straight-up guidance.
Within a minute, I traverse the quarter-mile of ruined terrain from war, climb up the high but damaged walls of Bent, and find one of the few remaining Colonels. The man is seated on a box of cannonballs and holds a spyglass toward the distance. He's looking southwest, where the Pygmies come from in the Flats. The recent attack came from the northwest, where the demons now lie in Sinscreak.
"Colonel Rufus!"
The man twists so quickly that I could swear he's having a heart attack.
"Sir, yes, sir, Colonel Tomas!"
I take out my Colt from my holster, a lever action that's been sawed off and removed from its stock to fit my hip like a pistol. It's got the power of a cannon, the speed of me, and the weight of a rabbit's leg.
"Take Mare' and get her fixed up. A demon did some good damage to her the past few days, and I don't want her to break. Ol' Nile should be able to do it."
He nods humbly but hesitantly speaks up in retort.
"Yes, sir! But what about the Pygmies? They should be coming soon, right?"
I shake my head as he takes Mare's Leg, the Colt desperately needing repairs despite being a 6th Mark. At least I still have the Twinned Teeth, my Claymores resting on my back. Those two can handle at least one more night, and I can't risk a siege without an acquainted weapon, even with my Claws.
"You're all off for the morning. Get some rest. Leave only a skeleton crew for the lights and the med tents at full staff. Gotta feel bad for the docs', but if Marshall can't take a day off, neither can they."
Colonel Rufus salutes me as he stands and hurries past me, leaving with our standard departure for war.
"Into the long night, sir."
"Aye. May I see morn."
Regardless if it's day, night, or something in between, the goodbye stays constant, for we rarely fight a single day. Most battles last until daybreak.
But now that he's off to inform the other two Colonels, and them, the Majors, and so on, I return to Marshall just as quickly as I left. As I traverse through the desolate of long broken forward bases and ruined siege machines, my eyes catch a glimpse of a figure seated amidst the wreckage. Drawn to the sight, I know who sits lonesomely, my heart heavy with a mixture of empathy and intrigue.
The man does not yet notice me; my feet are light and imperceptible, just as he taught me.
Before me sits an old general, weathered by countless battles and the unrelenting weight of time. His once proud stature is now hunched, burdened by the wounds of war. I remember how tall he once was when I was but a child, the height of his shoulder an insurmountable wall. But now, I stand over him at his tallest.
The flickering rays of the setting sun paint a bittersweet canvas upon his worn face as if nature itself mourns the twilight of his existence. I stand in respectful silence, allowing the moment's gravity to settle upon my weary shoulders. The general's eyes, clouded with a mix of weariness and resolve, lock with mine. His gaze, a reflection of the countless battles fought, and lives lost, speaks volumes without uttering a single word. His back immediately straightens, for the Unyeilding Wall can never reveal weakness, not even to me, the young cub he raised into a man.
In the distance, a familiar army approaches, their banners unfurled like a storm on the horizon. The general's weathered hands grip the stone underneath him, the rock cracking from his pressure. Marshall has fought countless battles, witnessed the ebb and flow of conflicts, and now finds himself at the precipice of what may be his final stand. Even I can feel it. Soon. Soon he will die. But... not if I can stop it.
Marshall offers a weary smile, a flicker of pride gleaming within his eyes. But as quickly as it appears, the emotions are swept away, his gaze concentrating on the imminent Pygmies. There are only minutes until their catapults and cannons get within range. Yet, despite the death looming, Marshall remains calm, his eyes moving from point to point in the distance.
I sit beside the old general, our gazes fixed upon the ascending sun, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson. In the face of imminent battle, almost in spite of his physical weakness, his presence exudes a tranquil strength, a testament to the kind of man he is.
We share a solemn silence, watching as the army draws nearer, their approach marked by the distant rumble of the Pygmies' Armaments. In this fleeting moment, I find solace in the camaraderie of a soldier, an unspoken bond forged amidst the chaos and destruction. Right now, we are nothing more than soldiers. He may have raised me, but right now, at this very moment, we hold a bond far more profound than father and son, even if he refuses to acknowledge that bond.
He struggles to stand, his legs shaky, so I help him up. But like standard, he pushes aside my aid and stands alone. Still, the man is defiant and calm, unwilling to take any more assistance than necessary.
Marshall has always been a quiet man, with the only words spoken those that needed to be said. And that continues even now. Unbroken silence reigns as Ether begins to roar beside me, the engine of plasmic Ether inside him boiling to a tipping point. And finally, the beat of Painsforge emerges, the heart the core of the skill. First, a low, pounding that rapidly develops to a resounding beat that echoes for dozens of feet.
Again, his back straightens. His muscles bulge. His wounds fade. His gait becomes indomitable. His mind turns unyielding. His face shifts into the famous grin he holds during war.
He may be an old man with a frail body, but with Ether, he becomes what we all see him as.
The Unyielding Wall.
I've seen him do incredible, unthinkable things. From fighting six Angels at once to defeating a Virtue, he has never stopped impressing me. But I know the secret of Painsforge, for I, too, recently learned the skill. He can only accomplish these things for a heartbreaking reason. Painsforge emboldens one using their pain and injuries, the sensation during which will aid literal strength via Ether condensing the pain, turmoil, and struggle all within the heart, letting it detonate out with resolve. And while Painsforge is not his only skill, it is his most important, for even his Power pales in comparison.
When Marshall is taken by the Pale Lady, that is when he will shine the brightest. Every wound, every trauma, every death, and every sorrow he has ever had will come out at once, performing something beyond imagination.
I only hope that when it does, I'll have made him proud enough to think the same of me as I do of him.
And so, I step forward with Marshall to meet the coming army, unsheathing both of the Twinned Teeth. The horizon's light glimmers off my blade as the Pygmies come into sight. Another day, another night.
The bumpy road shifts my weight constantly, disallowing me to get comfortable. I would like to complain, but at least we are leaving the frontier and heading deeper into human territory. Though, our destination is still not clear. However, Johnny is keen to fix that, the gunslinger in the wagon with me, Abraham, and Virgil. He makes sure to use Abraham's skill to forward the thoughts instead of making noise.
"I trust you three the most of those we have here, so I will be blunt. We are going to Bent Fortress. I hope to try and strike either a deal or a treaty with Marshall in some way to garner peace now that I stand on a similar floor as him."
Abraham's eyes twitch, the question leaving his mind into ours before his mouth even moves. Virgil and I wait until he's done to butt in.
"What about Bonfire? I think he deserves trust as well. And why must this be kept secret?"
Johnny scratches his eyebrow above his still-blind eye. Only a few more hours have passed since we left the Vault and Edmund's cabin behind, so his vision is not yet up. Though, as time is ticking, it should be back soon. The period of blindness is much shorter than it once was.
"I trust the man in a fight, but he's too loose-lipped. But the reason I'm being secretive is because of Darkstep. I've felt like I'm being watched constantly, eyes never leaving me. Even while I sleep. Should the woman know our destination, I worry she will somehow affect our plans. The bitch is good. Way too good. If she knows where we are going, she might lay a trap or, Devil forbid, join the siege on Bent. Even, then, there is a chance she follows nonetheless, and we need to keep her out of the loop for as long as possible."
This time, Virgil pipes up, his mind joining Johnny's.
"You think she can sway the siege? The fort has been under attack for decades."
Johnny nods with his eyes, attempting to not relay any information to any that may be observing us.
"Not personally, but she seems to have some contact with the Viceroy, and she's the daughter of the Viceray. If she can get the Nahullo to join the siege, Bent might truly fall. The only place that has ever held against all three races is Gravecross. Marshall can hardly resist the Pygmies and demons. You add the High Table..."
Virgil agrees with a mental touch, removing himself from any other questions. Johnny then turns his attention back to Abraham as the man shrinks a bit from Johnny's mention of the High Table. Meanwhile, I ponder this course of action. Going to Bent... I can't wait! This is going to be awesome! Will I meet Marshall?
"Regardless of how others might treat you, Abraham, know that you are nothing less than a trusted friend. Nahullo, you may be, but you have proven to me time and time again your allegiance."
Abraham shifts his head away in to look at the canvas of the wagon, a mental nod arriving from him. And after his nod, I ask Johnny a question of my own, tugging on that thread within my thoughts to speak.
"How will you make a deal with Marshall? Isn't he forced to hunt you down? The bounty and all?"
Johnny's lips twist as I get a feeling of hesitation from the mental connection.
"That is true, but I feel he might make an exception with the current situation. I mainly want him to train us while granting safe harbor for a time, and in exchange, we can offer invaluable help for the siege. I've been studying the book from Isaac, but I've reached an obstacle in my Ether. I have no clue how to continue, and only he would be willing to help. We need time to grow, and we are fast running out. To waste more fighting in the forests as the big dogs invade would be foolish."
As he speaks, I imagine gaining the guidance of such a legendary man in the art of Ether and immediately grow excited. But as my motivation grows, Virgil pitches in a thought that dims it.
"Don't get too ahead, Johnny. We don't even know if the fort still stands, let alone if Marshall can teach us anything."
Johnny nods as he finally sits up from his chair, pivoting toward the canvas to look out.
"True. But we can hope. That is all we have, no? And to make sure we arrive in Vallens to be there before the fort falls, we must hurry. So, while we could venture around the fallen Territories and go back through Bonedunes, Timberlands, and finally Vallens in a roundabout method that will take at least two months, we could take the straight path."
Already having an idea of what he means, I still ask.
"And what would that be?"
Johnny turns to us and chuckles, a dangerous thought born.
"We can rush straight through Sinscreak, breaching past any roving demons, Pymgies, or whatever else to reach Bent Fortress within a few weeks."
A silence hangs, and not just the physical one that has been present the whole conversation, as the words have only been mental. Each of us glances at each other as we weigh the decision.
Going through Sinscreak... after it has fallen will be supremely perilous. At least Tornridge had Ray to keep peace near the border where we are, but I'm sure deep into the Territory is total chaos. Sinscreak is likely similar, and we'd have to go through the depths of it to reach Vallens in time, shunning the protection of being near a border.
But if we don't do that, reaching the fortress will take over twice as long. And by that time, who knows what might happen. In the past month, one Pillar has fallen. In the past three, three have, a fourth of all the men and women who hold up our world. The information from Autumn about Eden Brown dying is unconfirmed, but she has no reason to lie, making it a third of them all. And adding the ominous trends from the Warmaster of the Nahullo, it is plain to see the turmoil coming.
The Unyielding Wall may be mighty. Hell, he may even be invincible. But... he's not immortal. Age rears its ugly head over time, rusting even the mightiest blade, and from what I've heard, it's been eating at Marshall for years. And those years were primarily peaceful. I'd bet he's fought more times in the past six months than in the past six years.
I want to believe he's that same man who inspired endless young men and women to reach for power. But deep down, I know that's impossible. I've seen Angels fall and demons rise. One man won't make much difference.
And so, I make my choice, the opposite of Virgil, as the man votes for the safer way.
"I say we go the immediate path."
Johnny then glances at Abraham, the look in his eye evident that the decision is left to him and him only. The gunslinger doesn't want to choose; perhaps the decision feels wrong, no matter which one.
Abraham ponders for a few minutes, hanging us in this grim silence. The tension is palpable as the half-Nahullo thinks deeply, his hand on his chin. Then, after almost ten whole minutes, he finally replies through his Allude.
"I vote the direct path. Cowardice will only get us killed in such times."
Johnny beams as he finally speaks aloud, placing a hand on Abraham's shoulder.
"Then it shall be so. Proud of you, Abraham. Don't ever let the fear consume you."
The gunslinger climbs out of the moving wagon, heading to another vehicle for another reason, leaving the three of us and the sleeping Dakota on the floor.
As we sit in silence, only the sound of the roving wagon to entertain us, a thought comes to my mind. I speak it aloud, seeing no reason to hide it.
"What about Primrose, Earl, and Elizabeth? How will they ever find us if we keep moving like this?"
Abraham shrugs as he gives a depressing answer.
"It's been months, Wyatt. They're probably dead. They knew the risk setting out for the Coltsmith. Had they succeeded, it would have been a major boon, but they probably failed. Sucks, but that's life. I think Johnny knows that, too, but didn't want to say anything to you."
I look to Virgil for help, but the man only nods, affirming Abrahams's answer.
"They are, more likely than not, dead. We've heard no news about them from Autumn, nor have they shown up, so they are probably dead."
The air sinks even deeper into stillness as I slide back into my chair, my heart sinking with the realization that my first friends are likely all dead by now.
And as the wagon turns, assumably dodging a tree or obstacle in the poorly made road, I just sit motionless, grieving my friends.
****************
Tomas The Wolf
Panting, I force myself up and over the rubble, clambering to reach Marshall. The man is torn from hip to shoulder, and that's the only wound I can see from here. But at least the demons retreated for tonight, Inyan the Fanged Horror giving up on killing Marshall for today. Yet, in the morn, the Pgymies will strike, with the Colossal Steam at the helm.
The never-ending cycle that started when Sinscreak fell. The Pgymies strike at day, and the demons at night. We have all been fighting to our limits, but none more so than Marshall.
Reaching him, I drag the man close to me. Then, taking my fingers and projecting Ether into my hands for Claw, I clamp his wounds shut like sutures. Carefully, I leave behind Ether to keep the flesh how it should be as Marshall uses his own Ether to accelerate his healing.
Despite how it might look, the unmoving man is not unconscious. He's in Stasis. The skill that his 6th Sigil granted him, and one that we've been trying to find a way to replicate for others. It stops wounds from worsening as the user recovers, effectively making one unable to bleed out as long as they have Ether. Sadly, little progress has grown in it, for using the skill relegates him to a kind of coma.
A minute passes before I seal all his wounds with Claw, and then he pulls himself from the Stasis, a meaty hand elevating himself to his feet. I can see the tiredness in his eyes, the exhaustion, but he disallows it from fading. Instead, he barks out an order to me.
"Thank you, Tomas. Go rest."
Despite how I want to accept, to lie down, and to finally sleep, I cannot. He needs me. The fort needs me. And so, I refuse.
"No. As long as you're out here, so am I."
The most valiant man alive chuckles deeply before the laugh deteriorates to a bloody cough. The sight makes my heart contort in agony. If only I could do more.
"Very well. About time you graduate from a cub to a wolf, lad. Tell the boys and girls to sleep. The morns on us."
I can't help but smile as he finally accepts my aid. Usually, he shunts us all out for him to face one tide alone every few days, allowing the soldiers to rest. But not today. Today, I get to help him.
Finally.
Giving him a nod, I quickly leave to inform the standing Colonel. Trailblaze fills my legs with strength as I hound over rumble with extreme speed, the Quilt of half a dozen skills approaching the might of a Dzil. Just one of the many Marshall has helped me develop, either through inspiration or straight-up guidance.
Within a minute, I traverse the quarter-mile of ruined terrain from war, climb up the high but damaged walls of Bent, and find one of the few remaining Colonels. The man is seated on a box of cannonballs and holds a spyglass toward the distance. He's looking southwest, where the Pygmies come from in the Flats. The recent attack came from the northwest, where the demons now lie in Sinscreak.
"Colonel Rufus!"
The man twists so quickly that I could swear he's having a heart attack.
"Sir, yes, sir, Colonel Tomas!"
I take out my Colt from my holster, a lever action that's been sawed off and removed from its stock to fit my hip like a pistol. It's got the power of a cannon, the speed of me, and the weight of a rabbit's leg.
"Take Mare' and get her fixed up. A demon did some good damage to her the past few days, and I don't want her to break. Ol' Nile should be able to do it."
He nods humbly but hesitantly speaks up in retort.
"Yes, sir! But what about the Pygmies? They should be coming soon, right?"
I shake my head as he takes Mare's Leg, the Colt desperately needing repairs despite being a 6th Mark. At least I still have the Twinned Teeth, my Claymores resting on my back. Those two can handle at least one more night, and I can't risk a siege without an acquainted weapon, even with my Claws.
"You're all off for the morning. Get some rest. Leave only a skeleton crew for the lights and the med tents at full staff. Gotta feel bad for the docs', but if Marshall can't take a day off, neither can they."
Colonel Rufus salutes me as he stands and hurries past me, leaving with our standard departure for war.
"Into the long night, sir."
"Aye. May I see morn."
Regardless if it's day, night, or something in between, the goodbye stays constant, for we rarely fight a single day. Most battles last until daybreak.
But now that he's off to inform the other two Colonels, and them, the Majors, and so on, I return to Marshall just as quickly as I left. As I traverse through the desolate of long broken forward bases and ruined siege machines, my eyes catch a glimpse of a figure seated amidst the wreckage. Drawn to the sight, I know who sits lonesomely, my heart heavy with a mixture of empathy and intrigue.
The man does not yet notice me; my feet are light and imperceptible, just as he taught me.
Before me sits an old general, weathered by countless battles and the unrelenting weight of time. His once proud stature is now hunched, burdened by the wounds of war. I remember how tall he once was when I was but a child, the height of his shoulder an insurmountable wall. But now, I stand over him at his tallest.
The flickering rays of the setting sun paint a bittersweet canvas upon his worn face as if nature itself mourns the twilight of his existence. I stand in respectful silence, allowing the moment's gravity to settle upon my weary shoulders. The general's eyes, clouded with a mix of weariness and resolve, lock with mine. His gaze, a reflection of the countless battles fought, and lives lost, speaks volumes without uttering a single word. His back immediately straightens, for the Unyeilding Wall can never reveal weakness, not even to me, the young cub he raised into a man.
In the distance, a familiar army approaches, their banners unfurled like a storm on the horizon. The general's weathered hands grip the stone underneath him, the rock cracking from his pressure. Marshall has fought countless battles, witnessed the ebb and flow of conflicts, and now finds himself at the precipice of what may be his final stand. Even I can feel it. Soon. Soon he will die. But... not if I can stop it.
Marshall offers a weary smile, a flicker of pride gleaming within his eyes. But as quickly as it appears, the emotions are swept away, his gaze concentrating on the imminent Pygmies. There are only minutes until their catapults and cannons get within range. Yet, despite the death looming, Marshall remains calm, his eyes moving from point to point in the distance.
I sit beside the old general, our gazes fixed upon the ascending sun, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson. In the face of imminent battle, almost in spite of his physical weakness, his presence exudes a tranquil strength, a testament to the kind of man he is.
We share a solemn silence, watching as the army draws nearer, their approach marked by the distant rumble of the Pygmies' Armaments. In this fleeting moment, I find solace in the camaraderie of a soldier, an unspoken bond forged amidst the chaos and destruction. Right now, we are nothing more than soldiers. He may have raised me, but right now, at this very moment, we hold a bond far more profound than father and son, even if he refuses to acknowledge that bond.
He struggles to stand, his legs shaky, so I help him up. But like standard, he pushes aside my aid and stands alone. Still, the man is defiant and calm, unwilling to take any more assistance than necessary.
Marshall has always been a quiet man, with the only words spoken those that needed to be said. And that continues even now. Unbroken silence reigns as Ether begins to roar beside me, the engine of plasmic Ether inside him boiling to a tipping point. And finally, the beat of Painsforge emerges, the heart the core of the skill. First, a low, pounding that rapidly develops to a resounding beat that echoes for dozens of feet.
Again, his back straightens. His muscles bulge. His wounds fade. His gait becomes indomitable. His mind turns unyielding. His face shifts into the famous grin he holds during war.
He may be an old man with a frail body, but with Ether, he becomes what we all see him as.
The Unyielding Wall.
I've seen him do incredible, unthinkable things. From fighting six Angels at once to defeating a Virtue, he has never stopped impressing me. But I know the secret of Painsforge, for I, too, recently learned the skill. He can only accomplish these things for a heartbreaking reason. Painsforge emboldens one using their pain and injuries, the sensation during which will aid literal strength via Ether condensing the pain, turmoil, and struggle all within the heart, letting it detonate out with resolve. And while Painsforge is not his only skill, it is his most important, for even his Power pales in comparison.
When Marshall is taken by the Pale Lady, that is when he will shine the brightest. Every wound, every trauma, every death, and every sorrow he has ever had will come out at once, performing something beyond imagination.
I only hope that when it does, I'll have made him proud enough to think the same of me as I do of him.
And so, I step forward with Marshall to meet the coming army, unsheathing both of the Twinned Teeth. The horizon's light glimmers off my blade as the Pygmies come into sight. Another day, another night.
