A Light In The Darkness - Christa

[Gildarts]

Cold blue eyes sliced through the night air of the Pale Moors. After her wandering around in the Nexus for over a couple of hours, she had finally found her way to the murky gate of the Moors, and dared to step inside. Icy wind whipped at her skin. She grimaced against it, as she exhaled a breath of steam.

Her mind flickered back to the blank canvas of the Nexus. Mornel, Ginas-or Marko rather... They had delivered a half-heard message to the freshly instated Prime, Christa was now following up on that. Her white teeth sparkled in the pale moonlight, while she thought bitterly back to the parting of her sister, she ruefully wished she could be with her now, but old debts had to be paid, and as promised, Christa was here.

Ever since Christa had been reunited with her sister, the doubts, fears, and pain that had veiled her personality had been abolished... For the most part. If ever in dire straights, Christa herself knew she could ‘channel’ them once more, a survivor only learns to be one once, after all. And of course, ironically enough now that she was a Prime, old habits, die hard. Plenty had happened in the Vasty Deep, but mainly, Christa had left feeling positive. That feeling, had turned to butter in her stomach, and oozed with worry once more. But Katia was no warrior, and Christa certainly couldn’t bring her kid sister on missions that could cost people their lives. No, Christa wanted Katia safe, and there she would remain.

Still, branches of doubt found themselves nagging in the woman’s mind as she worked on summoning some gear to battle the cold; a sniper’s fingers were no good cold. The woman had great aim, and an even better set of eyes, which swept the darkness now. She never had needed night-vision goggles, and instead, relied on a sense she got in her gut. Since she had become a prime, however, parts of that feeling had dissipated, I guess I’ll just have to earn it back. She told herself and moved on, her pistol comfortably hugged the side of her hip and Christa had a few knives up her sleeve, literally.

Large, heavy boots descended on the crisp, frost-covered ground and made crackling noises, similar to that of a fire. She blinked away the cold some more, and her long legs propelled her forward. She didn’t much like missions like this, going out into the blue, not knowing what to expect, she liked to be briefed with intel, so she could arm herself with the right kinds of tools. Though, Christa guessed as a Prime, one could always summon them, but in the heat of the moment, you were lucky to have three safe seconds not to mention minutes. The sniper planned to go to Darkshire, to see an old friend, and to speak to someone, hopefully, about what Marko had told her before he died in her arms at the Nexus.

As Christa had seen, or rather perhaps, learned, not everyone could be saved. Nor were they meant to be. Martha re-married and had children of her own with her new husband, immortality was a blessing and a curse, but Omni’s version of it was just plain hell. How was she supposed to know how to help these people? She couldn’t very well bring everyone who had ever died back to life, and then, even if she could, what would the meaning be? No, instead, she would prevent as many bastards from dying as she could, and hopefully, just hopefully, her sacrifice would mean something when she would have to die for the final time.

...

The air bit at her nose, and caused a continuous squint to dwell on her face. It was a truly frigid night, she had bundled in a had, gloves, and scarf, all piled atop her usual garb, which was composed of the kind of things she used to wear, combat pants, a tank, and a her boots. Now, she had added the accessories, as well as a nice-looking black leather jacket. It didn’t suit the person she wanted to be around her sister, not in the slightest, however, Christa had a good sense of who she had been trained to be since she had gotten involved in military affairs. Since before she could remember, she could never tame the fire of combat that raged on within her, but she could mask that part of her when her sister was around.... Maybe that was the true reason Christa had left, so she could be herself again.

A sigh escaped her parted lips. Life was too complex. All she really wanted was family, good sex, and someone to shoot at. The rest of the details could go bite itself. Heavy eyes remained in their sockets while Christa crawled through the forest with a sniper over her shoulder. Its familiar strap and accurate weight made her tense shoulders rest a little easier as she stalked in the night, for she knew just what monsters that this darkness held.

After what seemed like an eternity of watching her back, turning her chin over her shoulder, and drawing her pistol a few times, Christa finally approached the small dirty pathway that lead to Darkshire’s gate. A feeling in her stomach fluttered as she rejoiced, after a creeping night, full of hollow but still real fear, there was nothing better than a familiar place. Christa had no home but she was thankful to be back here, thankful to see the familiar faces she had once left behind.

The rogue padded up the pathway, with simple ease laden in her movements. Immediately at the gate, she was hailed to, “STOP!”

Christa looked up at the drawbridge, and to the tired man who held a ranged weapon aimed in her direction, meanwhile, a rusty sword hung off his hip. Christa sighed, “I’m here to see Mornel. Open the gate, I’m not a friggin’ zombie.”

The young man appeared taken aback, “Wha’s yer name?”

At least he hadn’t called her ‘miss’ she thought disdainfully as she grunted in a lower voice now, “Adams. Christa Adams.”

A glance was exchanged with another guard who muttered out of her earshot, “You better let her in son.”

The drawbridge creaked open, she could hear the mechanisms stirring from within the lever of the door, and Christa checked her back to make sure there was no one behind her, she’d hate to have her admittance cause some sort of raid on the deteriorating city. Content with the information that her eyes brought her, she spun around, and rolled right into the town, until she was stopped by an older gentleman thumping his way down a set of very withered wooden stairs.

Christa wouldn’t have been distracted by such a minor movement, but since it was toward her, her senses stayed on edge, while her ear stayed on the old man, who now followed her, and beckoned for her to wait.

“What business do you have with me?” Christa blinked and looked at the man, dismissively.

“Don’t you recognize an old friend when you see one?” the old man coughed after speaking in such a hoarse voice. The night’s chill had not been good for the old man’s bones.

“Shouldn’t someone who claims to be my friend, know I don’t have any?” She offered him a gracious smirk, which he exchanged, heartily, “So what the hell happened to you?”

Christa’s comment probed the cause of his age, which had perpetuated by a rate of ten, her young friend of twenty eight when she had last seen him, now looked ninety-two. He had been forced into a diminishing state of health, just as Marko had been, before his death. The man coughed some more, “I could ask you the same thing,” he grinned and referred to her primehood, which somehow, was written all over her face.

It was kind of sad. No, very sad. Christa gazed at an old friend, who’s life had come and gone, one she had missed when she had been merely blinking. Now she was still young as ever, destined never to die, while her friend here, had remained loyal to Darkshire, fought the noble fight, and it appeared he had paid the price. Her thoughts went to what kind of illness, potion, or curse that could have caused this, but there just wasn’t enough information for it to be conclusive.

“Here, why don’t we get inside,” Christa guided him, after noticing just how badly his hands were shaking. She lead the way to where she had remembered the last bar being located, and as she strolled through the desolate streets, finally she delivered him to the room full of warmth.

After they had sat down, and ordered two cold ones, he looked more refreshed, “I see you came with the frost.” his eyes held on hers, while his words sounded as though they carried an omen.

“Oh, uh... Yeah, it was pretty cold out there, also, I didn’t think men your age could down ‘em like you used to,” she looked at his beer, which had been chugged faster than her own.

“Old habits, die hard.” he confirmed with another heaping slurp, he set down his glass now, and a stoic expression weighed on his face, “Listen, friend, there is something you must know,” his voice fell into a whisper, despite the emptiness of the bar, “A grave danger is soon to come to us, not just the Pale Moors, but all of the Omniverse...”

The warning rang in her ears while his voice fell away, he heaved up a bit of phlegm and kept his bright golden eyes glued to her, as if every moment were his last. She felt the sorrow for him in her bones, she really did, it cut especially deep to know she could do nothing to stop his rapid aging. “Damn it Mornel, cut it out, you know I like things straight and to the point, what the hell is wrong with you? And why won’t you outright say it?”

The sexy bartender did not appear stirred by her words, and Christa’s relentless questioning carried on in her fierce gaze, finally, her companion spoke again, “You haven’t changed a bit,” he concluded smugly, “It is because there is no hope for me to be saved, however, there is hope for the rest, those who see my face and think that this age has come naturally, or perhaps out of malnutrition. Those young and unknowing, those are who you are now fighting for.”

The truth burned within Christa, who shook her head stubbornly, “Not clear enough, Mornel, I need more information if I’m to-”

“Ah, youth, everything is so simple. Find out who the bad guy is, ready your blade, and find the best way to strike. It’s impressive to us older folk, who have very little energy to be so hard hitting.” Christa felt her eyes sag with guilt just looking at him. She could’ve sworn her old friend had sprouted more white hairs on the top of his liver-speckled head since they had been talking. 

“Christ, Mornel, why don’t you just brief me?” she gave up, her patience ran too thin, these days.

“Because, Christa, I want you to know what serving has meant to me. And I want you to consider it, before I give you a lead on the solution to our problem.” Christa gulped as her eyes fell upon the parting in his collared shirt, where she could see his dog-tags hung. He would die in them. Even if not in combat, than in the war against age. The rogue had never disliked the man, and always found he was a good drinker, but now, she found a bit of malice attached to him, for holding those shackles he called ‘loyalty’ higher than his own life.

He saw the look on her face, and his gaze shifted, she had quite a nice figure, and was even more beautiful than he remembered, the color of her eyes, clear blue, but what was most resounding, was the eternal fire that burned in them. His golden eyes fell on her skin, of what he knew could have been, it spoke agony for the both of them, “I died for my cause, what I believed in. Adams, I want you to know I considered you a good friend-”

“You’re talking as though you’re already dead, goddamnit!” her fist slammed down on the table, only to break it, and spill their beers everywhere. She looked at the aftermath of her anger, and then caught the glimpse of the bartender, who’s expression said ‘you’ll be paying for that.’ Mornel shifted the dentures in his mouth, and felt the bristling pale hairs that were growing out of his chin. His gaze stayed on hers, as though asking her what was the cause of her savage outrage. She decided time was of the essence, and would waste no more of it, “Marko died in my fucking arms, Jesse.”

Nodding, Mornel understood her rage a little better, and paused thoughtfully before speaking, “So you see my inevitable fate, then. So you see, what it is most important that I should want to pass the torch on to someone -the only person- I know who can live up to what expectations I have.”

Distractedly, Christa’s eyes fell on the freshly-halved table, “I got my sister back, Jesse. She’s waiting for me, she’s starting school again...”

“So that’s it then?” Mornel took a breath, and felt the hefty burden of a single man, who was fighting a war with an army he didn’t have. The enemy was out there, and enjoyed lurking in the shade of night. The enemy which Christa knew was both monster and man, “You’re giving up, despite the fact that you’ve been given a gift some of us secondaries couldn’t even have dreamed of!”

“Hey, I was one of you too y’know!” Christa protested, and waved the bartender down with the wag of her hand, “Don’t treat me like this is some kind of... of... Race, because it sure as hell isn’t. Mornel, I became a Prime to save my fucking sister, not to deal out a can of whoop ass on anyone who has ever caused me an issue. I left that behind, it’s why I’m not in Coruscant right now, hunting down anyone who had something to do with Katia’s kidnapping and murder.”

“Christa, if you look at the larger picture of this, I think you’ll see things the way I do.” He spoke curtly and wisely, while Christa began downing her fresh glass of ale.

She swallowed hard, “You’re being ridiculous Mornel, better Primes have tried and failed, I know you’d like me to use my new ‘influence’ for good, but I didn’t gain much from Omni other than this, and I don’t see what I’m supposed to do about the tragedies that come my way. People die, and I have to watch. Not a damn thing has changed.”

“Everything has changed.” he spoke with conviction, “Christa, you’re talking about real people, real lives out there that need someone to lead them, to guide them, someone to help them dig themselves out of a world that has buried them alive. Are you telling me, you’re going to turn your back on those people, especially when you were one of them?”

She could’ve slapped him. But he was an old man. She stared at the lined skin of his face and blinked away the obstacle that now faced her, hoping, in the back of her mind, that this reality wasn’t the truth.“I still am one of them, Mornel, you’re not one to treat me any different had I lost a goddamn leg out there, so why do you expect me to fight for them? They never accepted me, I was shunned like the freak I am, why do you think I bore the name ‘rogue’ and deserted? I’m probably not even welcome in Darkshire, considering the circumstances.”

“Barney knew you’d never stay, he gave you a sword because I told him you would fight during the crusade.... He was proud of you. Especially since we won. If only you knew how proud I am, you’ve come a long way, Chris.” His hand shook and clasped one another, it seemed he had lost his taste for ale, and they steadied on the remains of the broken wooden table. “If you’d have died out there, tell me, what would it have meant to you? You would not be where you’re sitting now, nor would you have a sister to remember.”

“I was a fool then, to throw away my life for a battle I didn’t want to fight. Don’t you see Jesse? I didn’t make a difference then, and I don’t now! Fuck it, I’m better off rotting in the Underverse than staying here, trying to battle my way out of this conversation with you! Why don’t you see Jesse? I’m not just misunderstood, I’m a mistake, I’ve killed good people and bad, their names and faces mix together like passing street names. I’m a murderer. And I don’t deserve the luxury of having a family, a community, I can only hold onto the idea of my sister, apparently, because I’m not even there for her now! She’s got no mother, and she hasn’t even got me!” Christa hadn’t realized that her voice had raised until the last words, which had flowed out of her faster than a river. A shockwave of pink flushed on the pale skin of her face and Mornel seemed content. It hadn’t taken much, for her to reveal her weaknesses to the old man. Perhaps it was out of pity, perhaps fear, or perhaps, she just wanted it off of her chest.

The bartender was working hard not to look as though she was eavesdropping, and would’ve left the room to use the ‘bathroom’ had it been regular townsfolk, but she wouldn’t simply leave a Prime unattended in her bar. She had invested too much time in it.

“Christa, maybe, d’you think, that if Omni made you a Prime, you might feel a little more worthy?” Her gaze shifted away, with ample reluctance. There was fire in her fists and it showed on the pale patches of her crunched knuckles. The woman didn’t like feeling wrong, and this time she felt pretty terrible too. She was silent, for once in her life, and couldn’t even force herself to meet the man’s eyes.

He had been young, not long ago, now he had lost his life. Many more would lose their lives. She knew he was right, even if he went about it in a way she disagreed with. “Mornel, I don’t have to choose your lifestyle,” she clasped her glass in her hand as condensation formed, “In order to fight for mine.”

Mornel looked deep into her eyes, and found she was speaking a truth she knew well enough. A rogue like her couldn’t be convinced to join the infantry levels of his army by a few motivational quotes, chosen and spoken at the right time. He smirked, he saw her way a little easier now, and her familiar stubbornness was refreshing. Even if it defeated part of his spirit, “You’re such an asshole, you know that?”

“Yeah yeah, add it to the list,” she responded, “And while you do that you can buy me another beer. You know, I once had a fella compete shots with me, joke was on him though, right? He was buying.” she scoffed, but the joke seemed distant on her friend’s old ears. “You know, Jesse, had you just wanted me to investigate, that would’ve been one thing, but I can’t just fill your shoes for you here, I’m closer to a mercenary than a soldier. You of all people should know that.”

“You have the determination of both.”

“Yeah, maybe, but that doesn’t mean I’ve the heart to wake up every morning and fight a losing war.” her words caused him to wince, she sympathized, “Jesse, you can’t tell me that you thought we were winning this thing?”

“Perhaps my hope has gotten the best of me, after all, I am an old man yet, whose days are numbered.” Mornel admitted, “You know Chris, I always thought I’d die out there, on the battlefield. Now... Now every day I wake up and am forced to think ‘am I dead yet?’ as though this thing has a mind enough to take mercy on me.”

“You’re talking about life, not war, Mornel.” Christa surmised.

“There’s not much of a difference,” he scoffed. “Alas, I had hoped you’d see it my way and perhaps take care of the town when I died, but honestly, I suppose Darkshire’s future is looking pretty bleak, and not just because of the monsters.” A course cough followed as he lifted his chin and took off his dogtags.

“I don’t know how long I have, Adams, but I died in battle the moment it put its clutches on me. It’s got eggs, and now, surely there are more of them. Take my tags, when I close my eyes for the last time, and they finally find me, they’ll know who I am by the number on my house, not the name I once used during the time I served.” he took a breath, “Just tell me one thing, did ya meet Omni?”

Christa blinked as the tags were forced into her hands, she couldn’t very well pull her hands away, for his were shaking with arthritic spurts of age, and Chris couldn’t bare to prove her newly found strength to the man. A long, exasperated sigh left her lips, “Yes, I met him.”

“And was he... Real?” Mornel’s golden eyes glistened.

Christa blinked. What a question. Though it shouldn’t have surprised her, doesn’t everyone want to know if God is Real? She wanted to say ‘more or less’ but couldn’t quite find it in herself to shatter Mornel’s heart a second time. “Yeah, he’s real.”

“What was he... Like?” Mornel asked her in a hushed tone, as though it was a secret, meant for only his ears.

Pain flickered only for a second in Christa’s eyes, “He was uh...” Undefinable was the best word for the deity, but that would be a let down, given the hope in Mornel’s eyes, “He was worth it.”

It wasn’t directly a lie, but it was a strange way to it. Worth every ounce of effort because he had indirectly given her back her sister, but the ‘god’ as Mornel seemed to view him, was oddly human for Christa’s liking, however, the girl had respected Omni’s decision to remain more or less a third party in their encounter.

With her delivery, a look of relief unraveled across Mornel’s face. Christa scoffed, “You don’t honestly think you’re going to meet him when you die, do you?”

Mornel remained silent. Christa had no time to feel sorry for him. “Tell me, tell me of the creature that did this to you, and just how many more of them you think there are.”

A deep, resounding sigh filled the bar, Christa realized just how much old people had to breathe, and the distinctive manner, which resembled that of soft waves, slow and long. “I am not sure what they call it outside of Darkshire, but I have named it the Life-sucker. Since it seems to feed on any creature’s age that it can get its hands on. I have a roughly drawn sketch of it, that I obviously drew when I was younger, when I could grasp a pencil in my hands.”

He pulled out the folded piece of paper from his coat jacket, and placed it on the table before sliding it over to Christa, who, as soon as it was within reach, let her hand shoot out quickly to grasp the paper, and open up the folded picture.

[Gildarts]

The crisp corners had curled in some, as the female Prime gingerly took the time to part the thin pieces together. There stood the paper, flat, and the lines bold against the yellow-stained white backround. Was what she was seeing even real? Sure this had to be some kind of mistake, for something like this... It couldn’t exist.

Apparently reading the skepticism off of her face, the old man smiled, “Age-stealer’s got a nice ring to it, don’t it? Though one o’ my friends likes to call it a reaper.”

“What in God’s name... Is it?” Christa felt her jaw hanging open off a loosened hinge and abruptly sealed her lips. Her eyes narrowed, her jawline became more defined as her expression set on one of fury. “Is it one of Diablo’s?”

The elder shook his head and weakly shrugged his shoulders, “Who even knows anymore?” shade covered the man’s pale eyes, while pain shimmered in their distant light, “All I know is, this town can’t handle much more, you saw the soldiers out front, we aren’t even using the livin’ anymore. Can you imagine? I wonder what kind of black magic spells they had to cast on the armor in order for it to have a life of its own. If we don’t even have men to fight for us anymore, we may as well have lost this war. Look at me, Christa, I’ll be in one of those suits next!”

“Don’t say that! There has to be a way Jesse,” Christa said passionately, with determination overriding the twinges of fear in her eyes.

“I just know.. That you’ll have a better chance at fighting against them, since you’ve always been good at stealth, and I think this is the kind of mission where a single scout goes in, plants some C-4 and hopes for the damn best. Any more than one person and they’ll sense and ambush ya. Tch. Damn shame. If even one gets in here, comes to the town and gets past our measly barrier, there will be nothing and no one left to protect, since we’ll all be...” the old man struggled, water formed in his eyes, and then rolled down his cheeks. Christa took it all in with wide eyes, just how helpless and agonizing his condition was.

“What do you think.... Will happen to a Prime when it touches th- er, me?” Christa asked, hoping to distract him kindly.

“You’ve got a better chance than the lot of us did, and you’ll have more than one chance if we’re lucky. I guess I was, because now you’ve come here and you’re a prime. You’ll be able to carry on our legacy, eh?” Mornel spoke to the rogue, with ample hope in his eyes.

Christa could not meet them.

Instead, her eyes fell back on the paper, and wondered just how a terrible monster like this could even exist in their world. It wasn’t all bright lights, angels, and smiling Omnis as it had been in the Oververse, or even in the Vasty Deeps.
No. This creature was real, and it apparently could steal a man’s youth with a single touch. Without realizing it, her fists had turned white, the paper crunched in her hands and was nearly ripped in half. “I’m so sick of this! It’s always murderers, monsters, or the fucking government! Everything and everyone wants to rule, cause chaos or destruction, or all three!” she burst with an exclamation, which suddenly grew dark, “And just look what they’ve made me become!”

Christa was standing now, her breath was violently heaving from her lungs, and her eyes widened after she heard the words pour from her lips. She never had had much of a filter, but now she felt the flames of shame on her face, and an instant regret fill the pit of her stomach. Her eyes slowly wandered down to see how Mornel had taken this, she expected to see the scorching look of his scorn, but instead, she too saw him nod and speak, “They’ve turned me into something I’m not. I’m not an old man, and they can’t stop me from fighting to my last breath! Right Christa?”

She felt her eyelids quiver and she felt her shoulders melt downward after the fire had left her, her words became coldly sympathetic now, “That’s just it, Mornel, I am a murderer now. But it is because of them that I am this strong.”

[Gildarts]

“Come off it Christa, you’ve only ever killed because you’ve had to, right?” his gaze met hers expectantly.

Christa shook him off, growling at first, and then her tone fell into a neutral calm, “When those bastards killed my sister, there was nothing I wouldn’t do to get her back. I’d like to amend the fallen, those who fell between my cross-fire. I think by fighting evil out here and coming when you needed me, I can help quell the guilt that I feel for going missing for an entire year.” her eyes fell on him, and she forced herself to look at the withering form, “For what you’ve had to become in my absence.”

“You never signed up for the guard, you didn’t have a duty to Darkshire. You can’t blame yourself, they would’ve gotten you too. Then I wouldn’t have been able to bare it.” He shook his head.

“Listen Mornel, I don’t like to leave other shoulders behind. Even if we haven’t accepted the same creed, I think like minds outta stick together and help eachother out if they need a hand up.” she spoke firmly, as though she truly believed it.

Mornel sighed, “So then you’re back here to help?”

She scoffed now, and then held up his crinkled piece of paper at him, pointing to the image on the page, “I’m here to kill these sons of bitches. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Christa tossed the piece of paper onto the table, and the image of a stone angel flickered back at her in the dim light of the room.

“So, tell me everything you can about these things, and more specifically, what are their weaknesses?”

...

“Good-bye, Old friend.” they both smirked at the irony, as Christa took one long and lasting look at Jesse Mornel, her comrade in times of war.

As she started along the path, she noted the sun’s position in the sky, it was just about high-noon, and Mornel had given her a map of where she’d find where they last had seen the ‘nest’ of them. It was nicely detailed, only the best for an old comrade who you’d called in for an extra favor, and only hoped the very same favor didn’t cost them her life.

Crunch. Crunch. Went the leaves under her boot. But nothing was stirring in the forest around her, not even the wind in the air. What a strange, eerie place that this world was. It was dismally silent, and Christa could hear the pounding of her heart, and the echo of the air releasing from her lungs louder than she could hear any animal or beast hunting her.

She stalked as silently as any native inhabitant of the woods, every hour she would pause to look at her map, and guzzle some water. It had been three stops now, and already she was getting antsy about her situation. Her eyes sleeked along the shadowlines and tore at the creeping parts of the night. The trees were angular and gnarling, and the sky cloaked in a single layer of silver cloud. The rogue was not far from her destination, but what spooked the prime the most was that she kept getting the creeping sensation that she was being watched.

Prickles stung at her neck and the chilled hairs bolted upright. A keen set of eyes swept her surroundings, while her ears tuned in on the finest frequencies of silence. Something was prowling in the bushes. Something was out there.

She bared her teeth.

The gentle click of her pistol being cocked was not enough to scare whatever lay in the foggy swampland, and yet there were enough shadows for any predator to hide in, conveniently enough.

With her pistol held straight outward, her hips held vertical by her fighter’s stance, Christa slowly towed the gun in her hands all the way around her body. Three hundred and sixty degrees. Finally, her eyes caught a swarm of color, and Christa’s finger instantly touched the trigger.

[Gildarts]

Pow. Pow. Pow!

Blasts echo and ricochet off of the nearby brambles and bark of the low to the ground trees. Shards of bark fly, and the beast suddenly whimpers as a stray bullet skims its flesh. Christa quickly swapped out the empty clip and clicked in a fresh one. The speed of the encounter had slowed down, her heartbeat was moving faster than her breath, and her eyes stayed near the spot she had heard her bullet draw blood.

The tricky part of the Pale Moors, was that not every beast was harmed instantly by regular bullets, that’s why, Mornel had given Christa a set of silver, for use on the supernatural beings that dwelled here more often than human. Use them sparingly. He’d said, since they were probably low in the armory at Darkshire. Damn it. She could have just summoned some, why’d he have to be such a fool! She readied the next clip in her hands -the silver one- and waited to swap it out with the last remaining bullets in her clip.

A heartfelt whimper could be heard from the shade of the bushes now, she’d hit a dog-like creature, maybe a wolf, or maybe a werewolf. Wolves were especially dangerous in the moors, since they hunted in packs, but you’d be more likely to see them in the Frozen Fields. Christa neared it, and decided to switch out clips, exchanging her regular bullets for silver, if it was a werewolf, she wouldn’t want to be caught off guard and compromise her own mission. Her next actions made the bushes rustle around her as she went in, her pistol pointed, and was immersed by the scratchy brambles.

The thorns of the undergrowth coiled around her flesh, and Christa saw a smaller wolf cub entangled in it, vines of the very much alive shrub were coiling around its neck. Thorns crawled into her flesh after pinpricking the fabric. Christa’s cold eyes fell on the wolf-cub. Its mother was nowhere in sight, the puppy was wandering or lost. Still, it would be a slow death for the pup, the Prime felt the weight of her gun in her hand. She could make it easy. She wouldn’t have to hear its yelps of pain. Christa gulped, suddenly the wolf-cub looked at her, it resembled a husky, white undercoat, simple gray pattern, but the eyes, they were ice-blue just like hers. They also contained more than pain, more than a rampant beast, and more than anything she had seen before in a wild animal’s eyes.

The wolf-cub conveyed awareness. It knew of its suffering, it knew of Christa’s ability to save it, she could’ve even sworn she saw the canine’s eyes flicker to her gun. Christa growled as the little blades cut deeper into her flesh, as though just a taste of her blood wouldn’t be enough. The rogue made up her choice, and replaced her pistol in its holster as she pulled out a smoke-grenade from her belt. The pin was pulled with a light ‘ding’ and she rolled it over to the heart of the shrub.

When the smoke began to billow out, the thorns began to hiss and pull away from her, without the oxygen and moisture in the air, those branches that could not move fast enough began to shrivel up and melt in decay, luckily for the husky-like wolf, the sharp twine finally stopped curling inward and the Prime hustled over.

She knelt down immediately, and beheld its crimson-lined flesh. Some wounds were deep, others, very light. There were two large gashes, one around the beast’s shoulder, the other, skimming its leg. Christa realized she was sitting in a warm pool of its blood, “Sheesh, it’s a wonder you’re still alive, you’re a trooper, aren’t you?”

The wolf did not move, it only wailed its pain to her, it seemed there was a bone in its neck either sprained or badly broken, “Well don’t you worry, little guy, I’m gonna carry you outta here. And this pain, it’ll be nothing to you in a few days.”

Christa’s burning, smoke-filled eyes swept the brambles, her grenade wouldn’t last for longer than ten minutes, and she had already used three. Her hands went over to the wolf, and immediately a shimmering light grew over the wolf’s neck. The least she could do was mend the swollen bone before she had to transport the kit, Christa’s focus would not leave the baby pup, and she watched as the swirling, shimmering white, began to heal the neck of the beast. The pup’s eyes remained on her as she did it. Her eyes had fixed on her hands, meanwhile her expression had folded into one of firm worry.

The Omnillium was still difficult to hold, and though it was malleable in construct, in form, during this process which Christa hadn’t attempted before, it seemed more difficult than anything she’d ever attempted before. Worse than shooting at an enemy two-hundred yards away, no scope? You bet. Worse than losing her sister’s life to a gunshot she missed? Damn straight. Worse than leading a group of good men to their deaths, and then you’re the only survivor? Oh, yes, even harder to swallow than that.

Finally, the neck was mended, and Christa picked up the puppy, which was only really over two months old, and weighed around thirty pounds in total. Her legs carried her far away from the twine, further than she had been standing previously, since the second that smoke cleared, the weeds expanded. Her lungs felt as though they were bleeding from the effort, as she drank in only smoke. A few whips of the vines followed her position, having regained their strength and sensed that the smoke was dissipating.

With a force stronger than that of ten men, Christa found herself falling forward. The vine was grappling with her ankle, and would not heel. She extended out her elbows, so that her weight would not crush the dog that was in her arms, and hoped to cushion its fall over her own. Chris’s chin chafed against the ground, while her mouth ate dirt. Still, the pup had not winced once, she gently slid her arms out from underneath him, and just in time, for the twine had now dug its teeth in, and was pulling her back to its heart.

All around her, the brambles became more dense, Christa cursed, but when she happened to look up, the dog was just fine, apparently God, Omni, or otherwise, this fucking twine, had accepted her sacrifice. Her arms flailed and combatted the dense tangle around her, blood was drawn as lines like razors cut open her skin. Christa’s arms couldn’t get enough strength to manage to reach to her belt, and instead, the woman started chomping with her teeth, hoping to bite a few branches on her way out of this lifetime. There must’ve been some kind of numbing poison in the thorns, because now her arms had stopped moving entirely, and her kicking feet were more closely lifting a few inches off the ground.

This was just another example about how things can go bad in the Moors, she reminded herself and her eyes fell on a dagger close by to her, left by the last person who had fought the swarm of clawing vegetation. It was not her own, but Christa willed her arms, now completely tangled in the vines, to go after it. But to no avail. Her feet had stopped kicking and all they could manage to do was dig in at the heels and slow the drag of her body into the rest of the thicket. I’m not going to die here, you stupid freaking plant.

And with that, Christa moved her hips to the knife, with force enough to cause the blade to slice through her skin. She felt the sharp burn of its metal as her flesh smoldered painfully. But she had succeeded in her plan. The belt she had been wearing was sliced in half, freed from her hips. With the gentle lift of her heels, Christa slid forward, and felt the thrill of death in her entire body. If it took her too swiftly, she’d have moved beyond the range of the belt.

Her heels stomped down heavily into the ground, stopping her face a few inches from her belt, and another added inch away from the object of her desire. The last smoke grenade, contained in a silver canister.

[Gildarts]

It was but mere inches from her lips. Christa’s eyes fixed on it with an eager yearning. Life or death to her, had always been a matter of inches, whether it was a bullet on the battle field skimming her shoulder, or when she aimed at an enemy, and hit them straight through the heart. This was the same. Except this time, she was aiming with her teeth.

The white ivory pearls bared against the entangled copse, but there was a thinning, since the brambles became more aware of her legs, and how they meant everything to this operation. They began to numb, heavier and heavier into the ground, but Christa used them as an anchor and stowed her body’s weight all the same. She could feel the muscles of her neck and shoulders tense and wreathe with effort. The ripple of effort tore through her body, which was becoming more numb in parts. Soon the feeling would take over, and the death would be for nothing, since the vermin weeds could sense blood, and the wolf cub she had saved would be right in the thick of the turmoil again. Worse yet, Christa would be delayed days from her mission, all because the dog had hit a soft spot. Damn mongrel.

Teeth. Jaws. Neck. Reach. Christa did the best she could to extend her body, but it was hard since he plant’s arms had a good grip on her. She wouldn’t waste her breath attempting to shout help, this wasn’t the time. The time for that would be when she was dead. Her eyes brought her closer, yet her body was still pinned by the thorns. “DAAAMMMNNN!” she howled a war-cry, and immediately gained the force from her muscles, while she felt an extra burst of energy from the chorus she had sung. “I. WILL. MAKE IT.”

The woman’s declaration echoed in the empty air. Then, she found the last ounce of her energy she had spared fighting against the hell-borne brambles, and lunged forward. Her teeth snagged the silver pin easily, and with a grin, Christa yanked it, and freed the smoke from its containment, and with the act, freed herself.

The brambles bayed at once, recoiling from her flesh. Christa was too numb to feel the aftermath of pain they had left in her body, but instead, her eyes saw the pricks of blood, and the large gash in her side and scowled at the thought of what that would feel like in the morning. But the thorns didn’t win this round. Well, it was too soon to say that, since, well, she still had to make some distance between them, and if she couldn’t do it walking, she’d have an even harder time crawling with her body numb.

Quickly and carefully, Christa tested all her appendages. Her left leg worked normally, meanwhile the right was deadweight. She couldn’t stand upright, but while her arms dangled around her torso, they could at least be maneuvered to help her as her foot kicked against the ground with all the force she had. The Prime began to make her way from no-man’s land, and into the safety of some unnamed ditch. In her teeth, she dragged along the belt which carried her pistol, since she couldn’t simply hold the strap in her hands.

The toe of her combat boot dug into the ground and left a trail of blood and entrenched dirt behind her, as she quickly made her way to the wolf’s position. Christa had counted in her head, it had taken her five minutes just to get this far. No way in hell, would she escape in another five. So instead, she decided to summon a mount that would take them both away from here. And slowly, time rolled down once more.

Second ticked by, and finally the mount had taken shape. It was all Christa could think of, in such a short time, and since she couldn’t exactly move to drive a car, she figured a low to the ground carriage, with horses pulling it on her command, would be the best she could summon in this verse. It almost resembled a wheelbarrow. Time ticked by, and she could see the twine crawling once more, this time, with a vengeance, and trailing over the traces of her sweet, familiar blood. With a heave, and the twist of her ankle, Christa winced as she lifted (and partly kicked) the kit into the wheelbarrow, and then let herself fall inside.

The twine tangled around the wheels now, and followed her position, Christa could barely say, “HYAH!” in time, before they found her body again. The branch that had managed to grab her dead ankle was suddenly broken off at the tremendous speed that horses had created. Thorns still dug into her flesh, but now that the “hand” no longer was attached to the brain, it had fallen to the ground and blurred out of sight.

Christa breathed a sigh of relief and began to heal the dog’s bloody, bloody wounds, which were starting to look pretty bad, and had gotten worse over the last duration she had kept the pup waiting. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna heal you up, I’m a prime, see? It’ll be just like magic,” she assured the pup, and herself at the same time, but oddly enough in the same way that she would have spoken to her sister... With the same kind of kindness that showed even Christa had a soft-spot.

[Gildarts]

Their chariot stole them away, but now, it was beginning to look like Christa wouldn’t make it to the nest until nightfall. She had called the horses to a halt, and sat waiting for a while in the silence of the twilight. It was no good to keep going with the horses, since they drew a lot of attention and noise, plus, if Christa could smell them, you could bet your last round that the werewolves and vamps could. Still, they were good protection while she healed, and the girl allowed her thoughts to spin, while her little wolf-cub took a nap on the floor, below her shoes.

Her gaze softened as she looked at him, he had survived, this gave her hope that so would she, even if she was up against the impossible.

Feeling was coming back into her left leg’s toes, and she had attempted to heal the cut on her side with stitches she’d summoned with Omnillium. Meanwhile her arms had syphoned out the poison, and were working again. Being a Prime was darn good, and while the pain of the shards that had been embedded was still there, she had managed to pick out the majority, while her skin healed. Ah immortality. Not worrying about infection was bliss.

By the position of the freshly risen moon, Christa could see she’d been there for a couple of hours while her strength was restored. She wasn’t mentally tired, but felt fatigued and drained from the poison, but this was no place to catch some shut-eye. And she’d gone days without sleep before, like when she lead those secondaries to primehood, so why couldn’t she do it again as a Prime? The second she felt entirely shipshape, she’d set out. Her eyes fell on the puppy once more. Was it really okay to bring the dog? Maybe she’d summon a backpack and put him inside, since she doubted he’d be able to keep her pace up while she walked.

And so it was, she summoned a pack large enough for the cub to comfortably fit in, and set him inside, he did not stir in his sleep, Christa suspected it was because he was young and certainly not a prime, so more susceptible to the poison. He’d probably be out the remainder of her mission, which was good, because that meant he wouldn’t get in her way.

Christa found herself asking why she had even saved the animal, she wasn’t just going to let it free after, she couldn’t, since it could come back to literally bite her in the ass if she ever returned to this verse, or it could attack the village, or someone on the way to the village, and innocent blood on her hands, spilt by a decision she had made, was not something she was willing to jeopardize. What was probably the worst of the predicament, was that Christa was going to storm in there, later than she had anticipated. This could be detrimental to the plan, but she had no choice now, except to wait until morning, and their siege upon the village could be any time now. It was impossible to know their numbers, Christa only knew her plan, and what she’d have to do to stop them.

It was tricky as it is, but maybe, just maybe, the night would help her after all..

[Gildarts]

With her path lit by the sliver of moon in the sky, Christa stepped out of the carriage and returned it to Omnillium as her eyes swept the darkness once more. Her senses were on alert, and she felt the heft of thirty extra pounds on her shoulder and could hear it with the heavy fall with her now less-stealthy feet. Her pistol had been drawn from her holster, and it was this time, loaded with silver bullets, since she was not far from the age-stealing creatures’ nest. Would mere silver work on beasts made out of stone? Odds pointed to no, but it would take a good chunk out of ‘em.

The Prime also carried the “gold” of the mission and its detonator in the pack with the wolf, and she hoped it was something that would guarantee her success against these creatures. They had, apparently, showed vulnerability to bombs and heat. She grimaced, it was a big if and Christa didn’t like to leave anything to chance. She’d been trained for war, and how to complete a mission due to tactical advantages that her side had gained, this time, she was running on some pretty iffy intel.

Then again, even some beasts could adapt and change, she shouldn’t underestimate them. The rogue looked down at her hands, which held the Beretta nine-mil, past her torso and around her hips slung her terribly mended belt, which now held a few flash bangs, her nifty knife, and some rope. Over her shoulder, next to the pack with the wolf inside, was her sniper and she thought fondly of it when her hands grasped the strap in front of her torso. When she had used it in the past, she’d look down the scope and her eye would narrow similar to a cat’s, hashed only by the crosshair’s which halved and quartered her eyes. She blinked through the darkness, and grumbled to herself as she took a few breaths and readied herself to enter the area where she knew that they were.

There was a sign, along the road, as she stalked closer to their lair. Apparently someone had been here, there was a sign that said “DON’T BLINK! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE, OR VANISH IN TIME OR WITH AGE - WEEPING ANGELS INSIDE!” posted with a single nail against the bark of a tree, next to a cave, where there was an eerie branch hanging as though it were a drawbridge over the door. Christa’s gut told her that there was something within the cave that she should fear, but wondered, exactly who, would confine the “weeping angels” there, and just leave them for someone to stumble upon, or for them to escape. And what of “don’t blink?” were they crazy? Whoever it was, may have had some inside knowledge about them, and that’s why they were able to corral them all up, or maybe, they learned through experience, and being a powerful prime, they were able to at least bring the angels this far. The last part stuck with her though, “with age” told her she was right where she needed to be.

Christa saw this and attempted to peer inside the cave, with the way she was before, she’d be able to see or sense something, but ever since primehood, her powers were limited. She blinked, Did she really have it in her to leave the creatures here, just so they could escape and get loose once again? Christa’s shoulders tensed as her hand reached for the branch, she planned to lift it, or at least dip below it and have a look inside. Suspense filled the air though, as though the movement was in slow motion. She took another breath as she crouched down below the log and then straightened up her posture on the other side.

It only took her a few strides bathed in complete darkness for Christa to jump at the excruciatingly loud sound of her phone going off. It vibrated in her pocket, and chimed an annoying ringtone. She cursed and immediately felt fear swirling inside of her like a storming wind she could not stop. Christa burst with speed as she dove underneath the branch and dirt engrained into the fine weave of fibers in her clothes. Her eyes remained glued to the post, and the dark cave inside, after a moment, nothing happened, and the woman realized her annoying ringtone was still going off.

Easily, her fingers flipped the phone open and pressed it to her ear, “Hello?” she spoke, but her voice was a little shaky.

“Chris? Is that you?” Katia’s voice spoke over the phone. Christa’s sense of fear mellowed to relief as her eyes remained fixed on the unmoving mouth of the cave. So much for an ambush.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me, what’s up?” Christa had trouble adjusting to what day it was supposed to be in the Vasty Deeps, “Hey what happened to calling me after school last night?”

“Oh I uh..” Katia hesitated, that wasn’t like her, Christa would’ve pounced on it, interrogated her sister to make sure everything was okay, but Katia continued, “I rode the bus home and then had dinner with Martha and her family, not much happened so I figured I’d call you after that.”

Christa felt a tinge of guilt, she hadn’t been there to pick her sister up from school, or see her as she got off the bus and came home. Nor had she been to dinner, still, the guilt didn’t make up for this uneasy feeling she got in the pit of her stomach. Suspicion enclosed on her mind, but it was divided, at the obstacle and danger currently dangling in front of her eyes.

“Oh, okay, well did you have a nice time?” Christa sighed and slowly stood up, and backed away from the cave, without taking her eyes off of it, “How was school? Did you make any friends?”

“A few...” Katia’s voice said almost too quickly, and then she began to bubble on about having such nice teachers, and a great curriculum. Christa was happy for her, she really was, even if her sister was living on without her, but the Prime couldn’t shake the feeling, the dreadful, terrible feeling that something was wrong.

“Hey, you sure you’re alright?” Chris probed.

“Of course, though I could ask you the same thing, your voice was a little shaky there, what’s up in the moors? Did you slay the monster yet? There’s nothing you can’t beat, know that I have complete faith in you.” That was her sister, optimistic as ever, Christa even imagined the smile she wore as she

Christa blinked. There were worse things than losing her life, but what if she was trapped forever, or cursed on this mission? Katia would never know what happened, or worse, come looking. She hoped, if Mornel could still remember his own name, that he’d have the wit enough to realize to send a message back to Katia, if the sniper didn’t make it. “Thanks Katia, I think you’ll do a great job at school, and make a bunch of new friends there. I believe in you too.”

It was sincere, but then Katia -she thought she heard a sniffle, but it was a sentimental moment, after all- interrupted and said, “I have to go, Martha’s telling me it’s bedtime. Nice talking to you sis, I’ll keep in touch, okay?”

“Alright Kat, Goodnight, and just know, I love you.” Christa heard the warmth of her tone melt over the little holes of the phone’s microphone, and carry throughout the verses.

“Love you too, sis.”

The phone cut out. Christa snapped it shut, and looked up at the cave. Not much had changed, and she’d been inconveniently called by her sister, which could’ve alerted the weeping angels of her presence, but at least Katia was alive now, so she couldn’t complain. Christa would find a way to take the weeping angels out, but for now, she chose to wait just a little longer. She’d been influenced by the powerful fear she’d felt and had spooked herself out of the den, now she sat with her eyes on the cave, and she tried her best, not to let her eyes blink.

[Gildarts]

As satisfying as staring at the abyss was, she had begun to feel like it was staring back at her, when her eyes wondered upon the corner of the cave’s opening, over to a few flashlights that had been set recently there. They each had shiny silver handles and looked a bit old, but still functional, she assumed; she rose and flexed her stiff joints in the air and felt the wolf in her back stir just slightly, “Oh yeah,” she seemed reminded of the dog’s presence and dropped her bag, “I’ll leave you out here, where it’s safer.”

The prime’s hand fished around for the detonator and its linked other device. She eyed the resting kit, as it was nestled snugly in the bag as though it were still wrapped around its mother’s pelt. Christa looked up at the cave, lifting all of the flashlights, turning one on at the mouth of the cave, and as she dipped below the branch and then set one of them on the ground. After she kept walking in a straight line, lit by the path of the flashlight until it finally faded, she set down another, and continued to create a trail until the fourth was set on the ground. Christa looked up and around the cave, it was pretty well-in, and horribly cold. She could see the misty fog of her breath as it exhaled in stiff pants, and the walls held a dry shine, as the last bit of sleek light shimmered with the movement of the torch she held in hand.

Despite the woman’s fearless backround, her hands were shaking. And with them, the stream of light from the torch, and the shimmering of the pale reflection on the stony walls. There was something so very unnatural about this entire thing, but more so, in the uneasy feeling that stirred the swaying motion of her nauseous stomach. Don’t blink. Christa held her Beretta up with her other hand and continued on the gradual declivity of earth, as she was lead deeper and deeper into the abyss. No matter what was in here, she would fight it, and win. Mornel’s hopes depended on it, and frankly, Christa wanted any monster that scared her this much out of existence.

In the dark, her fears crept up on her, distracting her, gnawing at the bane of her thoughts. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw her hands withered and old, as Mornel’s had been, she shrieked out of shock, and her flashlight clattered to the ground, its steady beam of light, going out at the impact of metal falling upon stone. Christa wished she could see in the dark, instead, she was met with the harsh reality of a blanket of blackness, clouding every inch of her vision. Her other senses, on full alert, filled the gaps of what her sight was missing.

Heavy breaths, the blood flowing quickly in her ears, the crunch of dirt and rock below the toe of her foot. Her head moved as though she were looking over her shoulder, as though forgetting she could not see, and instead angled an ear around the walls that were echoing. She thought she heard something, the soft, soft sound of laughter. It was almost animalistic, sounding like a mouse or a cat, high pitched, as though chirping. Christa fumbled for the flashlight as she bent down, her fingers found it almost instantly, and she played with the on-off switch. It was unresponsive, so she hit the back of the light with her palm, and sparked a fleeting light.

Around her, soundlessly, a swarm of stone statues had gathered. Christa noted their angles, they were aware of her presence, there were three of them in her immediate vicinity, and two more at the deeper dwelling of the cave. She hadn’t even seen them move up on her, nor their figures in the dark distance of the cave. This meant, when they had noticed her, they had flown toward her with immense speed. But statues couldn’t move.

The rogue eyed the hands around the angels’ eyes, which were clasping their cheeks. Christa thought this was a sad scene, but that was until she looked at the last face of the angel closest to her, it was a few feet away from her, and the thing’s expression was no longer mournful, instead... It was the most horrific face on any monster in all the moors. Savage, and even more shocking still, that it donned the form of an angel. Christa pulled out the sheet of paper, careful, like the sign had said, not to blink, and compared the beast on the page with the one standing in front of her. She gulped as she confirmed, undoubtedly, that this is what Mornel had called a reaper.

The light of her flashlight was fluctuating weakly, Christa gasped, what happened when it went out completely? Would the weeping angels manage to haunt ever closer still? It seemed they moved in the dark. Christa blinked, unconsciously, and felt the sharp grip of a stone closing in on her neck. “Shit!” she complained and wriggled herself free, backing away a few inches while the torch flickered in the light. Christa did her best to keep her eyes on them, while she prepared the wires of her bomb. These creatures wouldn’t like it very much, but could she really kill a rock? If the form was all but stone - as the chilled hand around her neck had proven, and she wasn’t eager to go up and touch the one that had a beastly expression, and sharpened teeth, with jaws fixed for her- the thought did ponder, could she even kill it?

Her eyes fell behind the legion that approached her, they were protecting their nest, a bunch of  neon-glowing eggs that had been. There was no confirmation that they were the angels’ eggs, but even if they weren’t whatever was in them didn’t look good, and perfectly fit the neck-hair spiking horrors that embodied the Pale Moors. Christa’s light flicked out, as her hands were fondling the last bit of wires, and the timer’s red light illuminated the scene now, casting a daunting shadow along the silvery wall, of the weeping angel’s form. Its grasp, just inches from Christa’s neck again.

Her eyes bulged, nearly out of their sockets, and Christa burst into the air, “You.. You stay away from me you sick creatures!” she said helplessly and began backing away, her feet shuffling into the ground while her eyes fixed on the red-tinged stone statues. The creature’s eyes were wide, and fixed blankly upon her. Christa dwelled too much on them, and tripped over her heel, this time, with the broken eye contact, the angel made a sweeping movement, invisible to Christa’s eyes, until it was trapped in the beam of her sight, and was frozen into stone once more.

“Shit...” Christa wondered how she would manage her way back out of the cave, and had little time to forge a new torch, not to mention, trap the angels inside. Mornel said their weakness was what I’m doing now, looking at them... Maybe if I summon something useful... The Prime wondered how long she could manage to not-blink, while summoning something with Omnillium. It was worth a shot, though, since her other option was blowing the whole cave up, with her inside.

The girl gulped and attempted to summon a very very large mirror (one with enough size to take up a sizable part of the tunnel’s diameter), whilst not looking at the shining, gleaming orb in her palm. She thought not blinking would be easier if fueled by fear, so she took the time to remember every single etching of the angel’s well-chiseled face. Her eyelids wavered, she scowled at the dry air, and would not accept the burning weakness of her tears as they blurred her eyes and with it, the angel’s face. Still, she would not let them close, the warm streams ran down her cheeks while the summoning light filled the room, it was brightest now, and her eyes adjusted only painfully, adding to the burn of her retinas.

It wore sheep’s clothing, while it was really a monster. The crevices that she stared at were tinted with crimson light from her bomb, and the pale light glowed with more strength as it took the form of a large mirror. From behind her shield, the Prime blinked in relief. Maybe that would trap them there, since the front angel’s eyes were open, and the bomb’s light is on, and the back ones should be frozen too, since the front one is looking at them through the reflection of the mirror... It was a quick and desperate deduction, but Christa wanted out of the cave, now, more than ever.

[Gildarts]

Hot steam blew from her nose as her legs carried her to the next patch of light, lead by the trail of flashlights she had let down. She was counting her blessings that the angels hadn’t chased her, when she heard the smash of the mirror. How in the world?! Christa exclaimed, and her pace quickened still. She nearly ran into the bar that fell across the cave’s opening horizontally, and Christa dove down into the ground, sure she could hear the angel’s snickering, as it echoed through the cave behind her. She cast a glance back, and swiftly gathered the pup in her backpack in her arms before crawling behind a rather large tree, as her fumbling, shaking fingers made contact with the singular button of her detonator, and an explosion ricocheted across the walls, and pulsed through the Pale Moors for a good mile.

Christa’s arms had wrapped around the dog in the backpack, her eyes had closed, so as to escape the burning of the heat as it roared past her with a rush of butter-melting wind. Her eyes opened when she was sure it was safe to, and the tree, remarkably enough, had shielded her from ninety percent of the blast. The heat had scorched her skin, and the edges of her face were glowing bright red and blistering. The jacket she had worn was crispy, now resembled mostly coal.

At the stirring of her movement, the ash fell apart and broke into little crisps before falling into the ground. The rogue sighed a breath of relief and her eyes opened, half-expecting to see an angel’s face plastered inches from her nose, with teeth as sharp as daggers. Instead, she saw the aftermath of the fire wave’s destruction. Cinders filled her sight as they fell from the smoggy black sky, and scorched trees lay all around her, including the large oak she had chosen to hide behind. Its branches and leaves were reduced to near nothing, but the stalky stump remained, and the mark where her shoulders had been remained lighter, and a part where the bark still appeared alive.

Her eyes then fell upon the cave, which was now no longer what it once had been. It resembled a rock pile, and the medium-sized boulders had been strewn across the air and misplaced about the destroyed parts of the forest. The air tasted of smoke and scorched earth, and Christa could not pull her gaze from the remnants of the cave, her fear, fueling her fixation on the angels’ tomb.

Even after she had set back out for Darkshire, Christa found herself, hesitant to blink.

...

Upon her arrival to the town, Christa had followed the routine. She knocked, eyeing the skeletal soldiers donning warrior’s armor and waited for the guard to approach.

“Who goes there?” his voice called down, it was the young fella again, this time however, it was daytime, and she could see him in the light. He had dark hair and eyes, and immediately Christa was reminded of Abner, but the clothes and height were all wrong. The man in front of her wore but scraps, and was much shorter than the spear that angled next to him.

Though, the rogue could only imagine what she looked like, her face and hair had been singed by the fire, and though her wounds had mostly healed on her way back Christa’s skin was coated in a black film that wouldn’t come off. Christa shouted back as she was hailed, “Christa, here to see Mornel.”

His expression changed, as though he had been forced something very bitter inside his mouth. Then he screwed up his best false expression and told the girl, “You mean you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?” Christa echoed and she heard the gate enter. There was a thudding descending the creaky wooden stairs behind the rising gate.

Christa now looked at the guard completely, he held his spear in hand, and the top of his head fell just below her shoulders. She blinked at him, worried, expectant, and eager to hear what the guard had to say. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to break this to you, but Jesse’s dead.”

Hollow shock rang out through her crispy skin. Christa stared at the empty air, and then rubbed her ears in disbelief. Surely, she had heard him wrong. Surely, her act of valor, the destruction of the enemy that had caused his aged decline, would have saved him. “What?”

“Yeah, it happened late last night, all the old timers suddenly just... Yeah.” the guard finished, reading the Prime’s expression as it rippled from anger to sorrow. He did not want to hang around to see which one would stick. Instead, however, his eyes caught on the wolf’s nose, poking out of the back over her shoulders, it was rubbing against the cold iron snout of her sniper. He gasped and nearly shouted as his spear readied in his hands, “Gah- GET THAT THING OUT OF HERE!”

Christa looked at him blankly, and walked right by him.

“Do you know how many of our people have been killed by mere wolves, just like that? Some grow to be the size of monsters, giant, some people actually ride the creatures, thirsty for human blood alone! Worst monsters of the Moors, if you ask me, and, and-HEY! Where do you think you’re going?!”

Christa had made her way to the bar, and asked her for a drink, her ears had numbed the helpless howls of the guard's voice, complaining behind her.

[Gildarts]

“Damnit Mornel, you weren’t supposed to die.” She cursed his name and pounded another shot glass into the wood of the bar. Of course, no matter how many shots she took, she really had never had the ability to get stupid-drunk, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t try, in mourning honor of her lost friend. He’d have suffered, missing his golden years and all those devoid memories would’ve been a terrible way to live the last ten... five years of his aged life. Instead, whatever she had done to the angels, it almost confirmed to her that they were dead. But Jesse dying wasn’t part of the plan. The bastard. Can’t count on you now, CAN I?! she thought, her mind enraged as she looked at her next shot, disgusted. “You know,” Christa muttered out loud, though only the bartender was within earshot, “I can’t even get drunk.”

The bartender was there, she didn’t talk much to Christa, though perhaps it was because she knew what had caused it. “He was a fine man, you know. And even though you’re a Prime, I know based on your reaction that you view death very seriously. We secondaries appreciate that.”

“Not even a few weeks ago, I was secondary.” Christa’s body started to move before her mind, and her barstool screeched across the wood of the floorboards as she angrily left the bar. Nothing could quench the feelings inside, they were a swarm of indecipherable tsunamis, and her mind would not just let them go.

Christa had settled off to the side, in a small corner of the town, alone, save the wolf-pup which still slept next to her. Poor thing. But Christa’s thoughts had little space to dwell on the dog’s idle condition, it made sense it might be out for a few days, given all the poison and its fatigue. The palm of her pale hand held open, flat, while a shimmering orb of Omnillium remained suspended there for some time. The question always came back to her now that she was a prime, who to safe, and who to let die?

Should she summon her old friend again, just because she knew him? Fucking bastard. She couldn’t even count on him to live. Christa squished the malleable orb in her hand and released it once more, as it returned to its natural an spherical shape. The woman thought of what the man had died for, which was mainly a big fat nothing and then resorted, hopefully to cheer her up, what he had at least lived for. He and his cause represented honor, courage, and pure compassion. And he had used his life to fight for all of these things. With a sigh, her head hung lower than ever. Finally, she muttered, making up her mind, “Alright, but only because I want to see your stupid grin again, Jesse. And I think you’d do the same for me.”

...

It was stupid. People just died again, so then why did Christa do it? She didn’t have an answer herself, but she summoned him anyway. She had conjured the secondary upon the way she remembered him, and she knew a lot about her old war comrades. Though this time, she shoved him through the portal of the Nexus, and had made it so the entirety of his memories would not return at once, since she deemed Mornel was a little worth of some “R & R,” plus, she didn’t want to see the look on his face when she went up to the gate of Darkshire for the last time as a traveller.

“Who goes there?” the short guard called down.

Christa felt a small smile grow on her face with the memory of her friend, because this time, she was fighting for him, and perhaps, what he had lost, and what she had never found. Devotion. “Christa Adams, damn good sniper, better tactician, and even better recruit, if Darkshire will have me.”

[Gildarts]

“Uhhhhhh...” the man pondered aloud, while his dark eyes crept to one side, “Sure thing. Pleasure to have you, Miss Adams.” His eyes again remained on the wolf, while the drawbridge-like gate rose again. “You’ll have to see Mr. Skender, he oversees this sort of thing. It’s the end of my shift anyway, I’ll take you to him.”

Silently, wordlessly, Christa was lead along the roads of the small township. The guard had passed off his duties to another, who slowly climbed the stairs, and wore a glum expression on his face, as though he had seen all that there was, and there was no life left within him. Fighting monsters day after day would probably do that to you, she supposed and let her feet carry on.

After a while, they were delivered right to his doorstep. The shorter guard knocked on the door, at first quietly, then more adequately when there was no answer.

There was quite a long delay, and Christa looked at the guard with an expression of ‘I assume he’s out?’ but he was not swayed, and remained standing right where he had been, staring at the door, and not dissuaded by the woman’s doubt.

A few softly trodden footsteps could be heard just on the other side of the door, and sure enough, it was cracked open and a single eye peered out to greet them. His dark eye crept from the guard to the girl from its narrow slit of opened door. Christa blinked, all the more curious about this ‘Skender’ as though enflamed by his queer behavior. He noted the weapons on her person, and then opened up the door to a reasonable dimension. “What is it, private?” Dobson asked to the guard, his tone weary, meanwhile, Christa got a better look at the man.

The hair on his face was slightly disheveled, the stubble was darker than the blond highlights atop his head, while his face looked slightly hollowed in, whether from malnutrition, or simply his bone structure, was nearly indecipherable. Clearly, the commander was off-duty, for he wore civilian clothes, and even appeared, by the sprawled bedsheets behind him, that he had just been resting his eyes. He’d probably had the night shift last night, and that’s how she had missed him.

“This is Christa Adams, she wants to enlist.” the short guard stated plainly, drawing the attention of the commander upon her. His gray eyes inspected her person, from toe to chin. She didn’t look like much, but had a tall, healthy stature that told of combat, a proud expression always hung on her face, whether she was in combat, or with comrades. On her hips she wore a war belt, and some form-fitting cargo pants, and since she’d lost (completely obliterated) her jacket, she only had a black tank top on, which mainly hid the smears of blood that she’d accumulated, but did not hide the puncture holes accentuated by her porcelain flesh. He eyed the fresh mud on her shoes, and the pack and sniper on her back.

“I’ve sent too many men to their deaths, who claim to be ready, worthy, and willing to die for the cause. What makes you think you can handle it?” Her eyes narrowed as he asked it, it wasn’t meant to be hostile, but she was sure, it was directed at her gender. She’d been used to this, having mainly served among platoons of men for years.
“I thought you might ask me that,” Christa said plainly, and hid a smirk on her lips as she dug out her prize from her pocket. To the commander, it appeared that she was pulling out a crumbled piece of paper, but it looked like, within it, she’d stowed something. It was set in his hand, heavy, and he was hesitant to unravel it.

As the edges and folds of the paper came from around it, the dim lighting would barely suffice for him to see just what he was holding. His eyes drew closer to the paper, which had a sketch on it of a stone figure, its eyes were covered by hands, and it appeared to be an angel, weeping. The dense object inside the paper, the guard and the commander realized at the same time, was a broken piece of its stone hand.

Dobsen remained calm, as he realized what this meant wordlessly, he took the threats to the town very seriously, and lifted the stone fingers into the air to inspect them further. Now, the short guard had a better view as to what was on the paper, and gasped.

“No doubt Mornel and the others told you about the infestation. That’s all that’s left now.” Christa stated clearly, her eyes remained on the commander, for some time, “I’m not going to let myself die over some ugly looking monsters, I’ll protect this town, and its way of life, one mission at a time. I’ll even do guard duty, as I’m sure you could use an extra set of hands.”

“Hm.” Skender paused, melodramatically, and then attempted a scare tactic, maybe hoping to appeal to her more sensitive side, “A couple of fingers from a stone monster mean nothing if you can’t handle watching your comrades die beside you, and you, Prime, are forced to live.”

“Survivors guilt is meant for the time when the war is over. As long as I’m fighting, and the Moors have more creatures to slay, and enemies to face, I doubt I’ll be sitting idle long enough to dwell on my allotted fortunes.” Their conversation was brief as ever, Commander Skender held her gaze for a while, as though staring into her soul, and probing out all the weaknesses the girl had.

Christa suddenly felt the squirm in her backpack, and hoped that the wolf’s nose wouldn’t come out at this time, that would be inconvenient, since she was pretty sure she’d impressed her leader.

“Alright, Adams, once you get your gear, you’ll take the pledge and then be sent to training. But don’t go running off when we need you most, as most primes don’t have the stomach to stay here too long, we allow breaks, for even I understand the call to adventure, but when you enlist, you’re here for good.” If that was meant to scare Christa, it didn’t do the trick. Instead, the girl’s mind went on her sister, how was she doing? She hadn’t called, maybe she was asleep, or maybe... Her suspicions were correct. The prime sighed, and looked up at Skender, who was waiting on her confirmation. Oh, the army days.

“Yes, sir. Commander.”

[Gildarts]

The short guard grinned and their departure from the commander was signaled with a less-than-formal salute. “Well, you’re in recruit Adams, but don’t think we’ll go easy on ya. My name’s Den, I haven’t been here long, but when I stumbled along to Darkshire, it was during an attack, the Commander saw my skill and invited me to stay. I get three square meals a day, and have relatively safe and clean quarters.”

“Nice to meet you, Private Den. Do you usually guard the gate?” Christa asked, she’d seen him on duty every time she’d come back to Darkshire, at least, since she had become a Prime.

“Yeah, I guard the south side, another guards the north, we don’t have many men to spare.” Den was eyeing her backpack, “Say, is your... Wolf, still in there?”

Christa nodded, and noted his hesitation, but took no sympathy, “Yep, and he’s gonna train with me. See, two eyes are better than one, and he’ll be handy in battle, or tracking down prey. He’s native to this land and...” the woman wasn’t one to trail off, but now Den wasn’t even listening to her, he’d gone to some far off place, leaving Christa to ramble to herself. She sighed. This might be a long day, she could only imagine what would happen when her pup finally woke up and was able to stand beside her.

“He’ll be an asset, or I’ll put him down myself. Never underestimate how useful something can be.” with that, however, they’d arrived at the armory, and it seemed that the only think they had of plentiful stock, were indeed, garments of the uniform. They were piled high on one corner of the room, and hastily folded. “Huh. Black? Don’t really think that’s my color,” she smirked and Den cracked a small smile himself as she welcomed the new coat in place of the old one. Bit of symbolism there, and Christa stood a little taller with the added protection of simple fabric over her skin.

She fished around the remnants of armor, they’d used a good portion of their supplies on the skeletons outside for defense, “I’m not really into wearing armor, hinders my speed, see.”

“Well, we want you to have a feasible defense, since one bite could change your physiology for the worse. Why don’t you just take the lightest stuff?” his suggestion was accepted, and she couldn’t very well just show up to the training squad below standards. She even grabbed a shield, rather favoring it, and stowed a katana-shaped sword on her belt.

It covered up the holes in her undershirt for the most part, and being a prime was great, because whatever damage she had accumulated on her trip across the Pale Moors was entirely gone -no scars. “I won’t like, this verse always creeped me out, I never spent much time here, ‘cept with Barney and Mornel..” Christa attempted to build a slight bond with Den, since they’d assumably be working alongside one another.

“Shame what happened to him, he was a good man.” Christa blinked, should she tell him? Nah, once Mornel remembered his duties, he’d be back in no time, people would be shocked though, to see him in better health than before. “I killed him by going after the monsters, but he told me to avenge him, so I did. I think we saw the connection happening more slowly, like with his age, which was changing rapidly. When I blew them up-”

“You... What?” Their stride continued, but now Den was looking at the cursed wolf-whisperer in a new light.

“Well, yeah, how’d you think I got the stone angel’s finger? It was all very strange though, someone had corralled them into the cave but didn’t finish the job, and they were protecting... Or harvesting something. A little C-4 and the creatures were dead though, makes me worried though, if there were ever more of them... One almost got me a few times, I opened my eyes just in time to freeze her.” Her explanation left Den in the dark, so he asked.

“Freeze her?”

“Yeah, so they have some weird physics, or maybe it’s a curse but you have to keep your eyes open, or else they’ll do the same thing that they did to Mornel, to you. If your eyes are open, they stay stone, but that’s not the only thing, they can move freely in the dark, if one cannot see them.” she warned Den, who seemed a bit scared.

“Well it’s a good thing you took care of them, then, sounds like bad news for Darkshire without you.” this show of appreciation was the last she’d ever see from Den, for the city bell was ringing, and that could mean only one thing, attack. “Looks like today isn’t your lucky day, recruit. All hands on deck is the saying, this’ll be good practice for you.”

Darkshire’s most formidable ally was the one that rose in the darkness, and proudly seized the night. Dracula had legions on connections spread all throughout the Moors, and each and every one were as dangerous as the last.

The duo strolled up to the gate, then Den introduced Christa to her superior, who let her join with the other training recruits, “Adams? You, over there, now,” he offered a familiar grin to her, since after all, this was Barney, a man she had known for many years. Unlike Mornel, he was about fifty, and his age was completely earned. The wrinkles around his eyes showed with the buoyant residue of a well-worn smile, “Good to see ya, kid, plus, you look much happier. Strange though, to see you wearing my colors, happy to have ya though.” He assured and the men who had already gained guard status took the front lines, while the trainees took a back seat, and waited to be told what to do when the call of battle arose.

[Gildarts]

“How many of you are ranged weapons users?”

Christa and a bowmen were the only two to raise their hands. Though these were good numbers, considering there were seven of them in total.

“Alright, you go over there, up on the guard tower, and offer the front-lines the best support you got. We’re up against, what I’m told, the undead, so aim for the head, if you see a stray werewolf, use a silver bullet, or arrowhead, and whatever you do, make your shots count.” The two split off from the other five, and Christa followed the bowman up the stairs.

His bows were made of sturdy ashwood, she noted, that meant he had at least some experience, and the points were faced down in the quiver slung over his back, but Christa had a feeling that the man had the wisdom to make them from silver, considering their current whereabouts.

“So, zombies, huh?” he turned back to her, and revealed his striking blue eyes, they looked like hers, except, of course, he had a long pair of pointed ears next to his head. He was an elf. Her eyes hung on him for a moment, he’d been raised by humans, since his demeanor and what he had just said was so casual, yet, an elf always held himself high, this one did the same, which showed off the tall lengthiness of his body. He must’ve been banished from his village, or why else would he sign up here?

As though reading her mind his eyes looked down with a sigh, “I thought they could use the help, and when they found me in the woods I was badly injured. I owed them a debt, and I’ll pay with my life.”

Was this guy psychic?

But she had no more time to ponder this, for the undead started to come out of the woods, one by one, their hoard assembled. Spears were flown across the long distance of the patch, between the trees and their clearing, Christa readied her sniper, barely looked at her scope, and fired a few blasts straight through their faces. The skeletons that guarded the town now unsheathed their swords, as though bewitched by magic, they moved as though they were very much alive, and took the hoard head-on.

It was almost impressive, though the Prime had little time to watch the clashing of swords, metal, against the decrepit flesh of the undead. She’d aimed several shots and taken out at least ten, missing a few only due to a sudden lurch of their staggering movements, which she quickly got accustomed to, and used their shuffling motions to predict their next move.

Armor and shields from Darkshire’s bewitched army began to scrawl out across the clearing. It was apparent that the bewitchment, perhaps, didn’t last for very long, or perhaps the spell was running out of juice, needless to say, the first line of infantry streamed out there, among them, Den himself.

Swords tore into the undead’s greasy flesh, teeth and frothing zombie mouths lunged outward, while their claws and arms extended out, hoping to grab on, and get a bite. The Darkshire guards were no fools though, and easily weaved through the zombies, using the skeleton army as their first and easiest defense. Their training had shown, but the dead kept trickling in from the forest, it was impossible to know how many more they would be up against, and their ground defenses were running low. Based on the flimsy walls, Christa guessed that the first orders were to protect them, make sure the zombies didn’t get clumped up on one side, and accumulate enough strength to push them down. Though they were made of brick, mortar, and wood, a couple zombies could certainly produce a force enough to destroy their wall. Mendings would take time, so it was best if they’d avoid the matter all together.

Chirsta’s sights lined up on another, close to the edge of the forest, so that there would be no friendly fire on their mission. Bang! Her sniper thundered across the land loudly, but the undead were coming anyway, and pullets did the trick as good as arrows. Her fingers fumbled the reload, and beside her, the elvish man who was cloaked in green and black (the black was an add on, since he had arrived here too) and his arms moved in a fluent motion. Wave after wave, with ease, his hand reached for the next arrow, while his other arm held the bow, as he aimed at the enemy, he released the string, a loud but stealthy thwum! could be heard with the snap of the bow. Then the next arrow was quickly placed into the empty spot, and so it continued.

His pace was faster than her own, and very rarely did each of them miss. The other long-ranged users threw spears at the undead, though, the edge of the forest was a bit out of their range, since it was a good twenty yards away. Slowly, the battle slowed, no doubt, due to her nameless elf friend, who had accumulated more kills than she had, with ease. Her eyes fell on his quiver while she reloaded, it seemed it had been charmed, though, and it never ran dry. Lucky to have in this place, especially useful during battle. This guy was good at what he did, and his elvish demeanor left even Christa feeling serene as she waded in the pace of battle.

The armored skeletons that defended Darkshire had all fallen, but their men were still out there. They were facing about twenty undead, and there were ten of them, though none had fallen. Their swords and armor was used in a very basic, but proficient strategy, they’d let the zombies chomp onto their armor, while another, or their own blade, bashed their head in. Mobility was tricky though, since she could tell Den was having a tough time, since he wore armor that was too large for him, even the helmet rattled around on his head. That couldn’t have been safe to fight in, yet he was doing it, making due with what he had...

Christa had ceased fire, there were too many chances to hit the foes, but the elf next to her seemed confident enough, and continued his aim on the outlying zombies across the board. He managed a few too, but that didn’t help the front lines with their immediate issue. They were being overwhelmed, and it seemed the zombies that remained were particularly menacing.

Something happened. Someone’s knight-like helmet had clattered to the ground. Fresh flesh. A blur of movement. Den held his sword up, high, and shoved the helmet-less comrade out of the way, only to be shoved to the ground himself, in which his loose armor stood no match, for the force of the zombie, who’s greedy mouth knew just where to take a bite.

The silver helmet rolled to the ground, while hot human blood splattered the greenish grass below them. Christa had kept her sniper ready, but now, since she had a clear shot of the beast, and the closest comrade was the one that Den had shoved out of the way, was still recovering, she didn’t hesitate to take the shot, and the carcass of the undead fell upon their comrade’s corpse.

[Gildarts]

When the field had been cleared, and not a single monster standing, the squadron were all told that clean up would happen in the morning, meanwhile, a crowd had surrounded Den’s dead body, and people had lowered their gaze from the still-helmetless person that had caused it. Sure, a zombie had took a bite out of him right in the jugular, but most had seen or knew it was because Den had been valiant enough to jump in front of it, though he had already just speared one, and had been wriggling his sword out of the zombie seconds prior. It was a horrible ordeal already, so why did they have to blame the girl?

The elf cast a look over to Christa as she thought that, and Christa turned her chin, perturbed that her innermost thoughts were being read like an open book. The Prime overheard the whispers of the surrounding people, who were explaining to the new arrivals what had happened, “Den jumped in front of one to save his sister,” Christa didn’t seem so surprised, and instead looked at the sister (it wasn’t hard to find out which one she was, since no one had been looking at her, but more people had taken off their helmets out of respect for the fallen guard.

Sister? Wait a moment! Christa felt the outrage bubble up inside her, She just watched her brother die before her eyes, and not a single person has gone over to console her. Christa snarled as she strode by the clump of gossip-spreading clowns, and placed a gentle hand on the brunette’s shoulder. “He was a good man.” Christa said confidently.

The group of guards were taken-aback by the Prime’s non-conformist behavior, but the teary look in her fellow sister’s expression was enough for Christa to know that following her heart was always the best way to go. Den’s sister must have been viewed as slightly incompetent though, for there was only one other willing to console the girl, and you guessed it, it was the elf.

“My name is Glindor, Glin for short, I’m very much sorry for your loss.” his tone was very sincere, and his eyes were like an arrow, straight into Den’s sister, until she dipped her head into her hands, weeping, and then Glin’s eyes met Christa’s again, as though reading her, probing the Prime’s thoughts.

Christa was aware of this now, and found her eyes narrowing with a wordless threat of, “stay out.” It was not as though she felt the elf was threatening her, however, there were underlying secrets in the Prime’s mind, that she did not want anyone seeing, not to mention, a comrade who was supposed to have her back, or it could cost Christa her life. What kind of secrets might have that kind of drastic and terrible consequence? Even Christa didn’t know, but perhaps she feared that if the elf saw even an ounce of the shame she kept trapped in a box and hidden in a shadowed corner of her heart, the elf would lose any respect that he had for her.

Skender came out now, approaching the dead body, as Barney briefed, “One deceased, sir.”

Skender said nothing, and cast a hand over the skeletons that had fallen during the battle, immediately they took shape, the armor collected over their bodies as though the Commander had reset their curse or magic, and then Skender was to do the same for the fallen. No burial. Live and die for the guard, and after death, you can serve too.

It was kind of terrible. Christa couldn’t help pondering if the elf would stay here forever, but didn’t bother to ask, for she was sure he was still picking up on her thoughts, this time, Christa wondered though, if he even had the ability to shut them out. She suddenly pitied him.

-

They filed into an empty room, set aside by Darkshire for their militia. “Immediate injuries should be seen off by Medical Expert Jones and Nurse Evans. All others, you may take off your armor and go to the chow-hall or should you choose to hit the hay, have a good night. We wake bright an’ early in the morning, especially you trainees,” Barney winked at Christa, to show her that he hadn’t forgotten about her from all that time ago, and then concluded, “Dismissed!”

Glin hadn’t been wearing armor, so he had nothing to take off, he appeared to be striding straight over to Christa from across the room. She panicked slightly, since she didn’t want to attempt to ask her inner-self what she was feeling tonight, and while she struggled to take off some of the more trickier pieces of armor, Glin had almost made it to her, when Barney stepped in with a friendly, jubilant smile, “Well if it isn’t Cadet Adams.”

Barney’s chest was puffed up high, while Christa was struggling with the joint-piece that attached to her knee, “Sir.” she said as she read his rank, “Ah, Captain now, good to see you too, Barney.”

Each offered a friendly grin, while Barney gave her some advice to get shed this terrible, heavy extra skin she was wearing, “Press that there, while you pinch the right side and it should be off in a jiffy.”

It was a synch, with his extra help, “Thanks,” since they had been dismissed, she really didn’t have to be formal as she was expected to be during training hours, “I would’ve been here for days trying to figure it out.” And that was not a hyperbole, people.

“I don’t doubt it any, snipers aren’t meant to wear armor, now are they? So, what the hell are you doing here? Last time I saw you, it was what, a few years ago? Don’t you look bright and shiny now.” The way that secondaries could tell Primes apart, was generally in a very hard to detect aura or glowing sheen of their skin. Sometimes it was easier, if the person looked out of place, or if the Prime stood very tall and confident around a room of secondaries, immortality had that eternal effect on people.

Christa cracked a smile, and Glin took a step forward, intruding on their conversation, but Christa found in her heart that she was able to welcome the mind reader, he probably got enough shit as it was from the other guards anyway. Glin was very cordial and polite, as Christa might expect from the stigma of nobility from their race, “You shoot very well,” he did not use her name even, since they hadn’t been formally introduced.

“Ah Christa, you’ve met Glin,” Barney filled in the gaps, “He don’t got a last name, so we call him that during training too. So how about a beer, on me, tomorrow you might just be in for it, trainees.” Barney’s tease was polite, but really, Christa didn’t expect the captain had it in him to make his recruits do anything more than ten push-ups and a single mile run. He was extremely lenient and as long as you were there on time, you could just about skate by with doing minimal effort, which was probably how Den’s sister had passed the guardship. But make no mistake, people would still drop out and desert Darkshire, for the simple fact that the Pale Moors was a place that resembled a never ending nightmare.

“Well as much as I’d like to Barney, I got myself a.. Dog,” that word seemed more acceptable, to her, “And I want to feed and train him. I’ve picked out a name too, but as my superior officer, would you mind showing me to the dorms? Though I don’t expect that you’ve separate rooms for gals and guys.”

“Wait, Christa, you’re actually staying? I never saw you as much of a loyalist... In fact, ever since the Empire, I never thought you’d commit to any single cause again,” his tongue held though, behind his eyes, held the words unspoken, except that of your sister.

“Yeah well, I guess I’m full of surprises then, though I can’t imagine I’ll ever get used to the monotonous life of the military, I think there are some things worth fighting for, and others, sacrificing for. Also, in case you were curious, Katia’s alive again, since I’m a Prime.” The woman’s eyes swept the room, hoping that Den’s sister hadn’t heard. That would be of poor morale, and a disgrace to the meaning of the fallen guard’s death.

“Dog?” Glin questioned aloud, which immediately caught Barney’s attention. The captain was sharp, however laid-back he presumed to be.

“My boy Glin, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you ask a question, nor even hint at inquiring one,” Barney smirked, “I thought you could read Primes thoughts too?”

Barney’s assumption confirmed Christa’s suspicions. Glin admitted, “Well... I can. But anyway, Christa, if you’d like, I can show you the dorms, if Barney is off to he bar.”

“That’s a good lad. See you later.” Barney waved them off, seeing how Christa was conveniently now free of her armor, Glin had timed his offer almost perfectly.

“So you’re telepathic.” Lame comment. The Prime tried to keep her curiosity in her thoughts at bay as she inspected his face, and noted the blonde color of his hair was brighter than her own.

“And you’re a Prime, with a pet wolf, not a dog.” he called her, so easily, on her small fib.

“Well, wolves are more useful anyway,” she justified out loud, though he’d surely heard it in her head. With that, though, each was satisfied enough that Glin lead her to the dorms, and along the way, Christa picked up where she had stashed her sleeping puppy on the way to the walls when the bell was ringing. She retrieved him from the back of the bartender’s storeroom.

[Gildarts]

The elf seemed to like the dog, for it came from the forest, where perhaps, Glin belonged. The temperament of the wolf-cub wasn’t bad, but immediately it respected Christa as its master, for it seemed to have a wonderful memory. “I don’t think they’ll mind if I keep it, do you?” Christa joked to Glin.

“He likes you, I can see animal’s memories, and it seems he has a very strong attachment to you, he watched as the shadow weed nearly got you.” the elf spoke in a little of what the young folks called “too much information” but Christa was, as usual, hard as a rock, and didn’t seem to mind, so long as it wasn’t about her personally.

“The others don’t like you, do they?” Christa stated plainly, as she inspected her wolf’s fur.

“And you think that I am sharing too much information,” the elf smirked, “And well, you don’t seem to hate me, but liking me, someone who has the ability to know all your secrets and weaknesses without even barely looking, I don’t even have to ask, and no, it isn’t something I can turn off. I’m not that fortunate,” his smile looked pained for a moment, “But usually, when people don’t know, it isn’t as hard to fit in.”

“You’d think people in a military setting would see your ability as a positive thing, it’d be great from a strategic standpoint.” Christa spoke helpfully.

“There aren’t much thoughts that go on in an undead man’s mind, unfortunately, and in fact, it can be quite distracting as I’m trying to aim at them, for that only intensifies my ability’s focus.” Christa wondered why he would share that with her, but didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell. “Like you, I’m more of an outsider, but like I said, I owe a debt... So what are you naming him? That’s generally what people do when they domesticate their animals,” he offered politely.

“I’m thinking ‘Trooper’ because he sure is one. Plus, I’m not sure anything else would fit him.” Christa explained.

“He’ll learn quickly, already, he can nearly speak your tongue, though his wolf heritage tells him that humans are vile creatures, he will not grow fondly to many others, but he owes his life to you, and will remain loyal to his last breath to your commands, even if it costs him his life.” That took a dark turn, still, Glin pet Trooper’s head, “Sorry about your friend Mornel, though I see, it is not the end of his tale.” Christa looked at the elf knowingly, but offered no words. Glin continued, “Den, the guard that died today, the reason he was hesitant about your wolf, if you’re curious, was because both his parents were ripped to shreds by a pack of them. His sister will probably respond the same if she sees the creature by your side, and more likely, have a fit.”

“Noted.” The elf was a good informant. She nearly recruited him on the spot, “So, you offer information on your mind to people you meet so that they’ll trust you, and believe that you aren’t keeping your secrets from them.”

“Not so much the ulterior motive of being liked, but I have found that when trying to make a friend, it is best to have an open communication that goes both ways.” Glin said out of the wisdom of experience.

“So what else am I in for, for the rest of my stay in Darkshire, and Barney’s training?” Christa asked, though her mind was more interested on seeing if her wolf was doing better in health, and she summoned him some adequate food, which she hoped would not be as messy if the raw steak was half frozen.

“I think you’ll find out for yourself, tomorrow.” Glin offered a kind smile, and Christa’s ears were filled with the crickets of the night.

...

Drills started at the crack of dawn, since it was a little dangerous to go about at night, even for armed guards in training. There was a whole lot of running, despite what Christa had assumed Barney’s procedure, but he said that: “Running is crucial if you want to survive, cause if your feet move slower than you’re head, and you’re outta shape, you’re gonna lose your head to a wolf. Jaws of death, they got.”

He wasn’t wrong, and Christa panted and heaved breath like all the rest of them.

After, their drills, they were slotted for basic monster knowledge, and then posted to a station that was fit for their weapons style. Christa wasn’t a fan of swords, and was surprised that they didn’t use a bayonet or something, but Barney knew what Christa’s strengths were, and stationed her to a guard tower on the south side. More or less, she was a lookout, rather than a sniper, but it was relatively similar, plus, on the other side of the town, she knew Glin had been given the same job. Other recruits were sent off in other directions, Barney hadn’t given much guidance, and instead instated the whole ‘apprenticeship’ style of teaching. “On your way now, recruits! Don’t forget, tomorrow morning I want you up bright an early, so we can go over a few things about how to fight close range with the monsters. Can never get enough training, and I make even the fully instated guards do this with us once a month.”

Christa found herself paired up with Den’s sister, and found her name was Cora. She realized now, that when siblings were serving, sometimes they’d use their first name instead of their last (especially given that this was such a small legion, or they must have had ridiculously long last names to pronounce) but Christa had just assumed that Den was the last name of the man from the start.

It was a long night, the girl was more or less recovered from her brother being nearly eaten alive in front of her, but she had that distant, hollow look in her eyes that Christa had once related to, so well.

The night was very quiet after the attack, and their shifts on guard duty lasted until three am. Since there wasn’t much to do, and Cora had poorly explained the basics of what they were supposed to do, which was, basically, just patrol, Cora had begun to talk about her feelings. Oh how Christa had wished Glin was here to perhaps say something more wise or nurturing to the girl, despite how Christa had a similar bond with what had happened to the girl, since the Prime had been, once, responsible for her own sister’s death.

But the girl kept rambling on about guilt and blabbering helplessly away, and Christa could only relate to, really, blood-thirsty vengeance.

“I need to... I need to get stronger, in honor of Den, since he isn’t here now, to-to-to” sniffles and bawling erupted from the girl, enough to sound the alarm for what was supposed to be a calm and quiet night. As far as Christa knew, Darkshire had a bit of a curfew, though it was difficult to enforce, there was a mutual agreement between the citizens and Commander Skender and the Mayor that not many people make much noise after dark fell, for most creatures would hear the cry and come to the town. Christa panicked and feared this outcome, for what if she’d need to call for help her first night? And then the ringing of the bell to alert the town and other guards might just call more.

Cora’s crying was something Christa needed to put a stop to, now.

“Cora, Cora,” Christa said compassionately, though with some disgust, for the Prime wasn’t going to pretend that the guard was any kind of replacement for the sister she already had, “I know it’s tough now, but you have to be strong. For him, and his memory. Even tonight, the tears shouldn’t be falling, would Den want you to cry?”

“N-No...” she snuffled through a gooey breath and her eyes looked weakly up to Christa’s, “Will you teach me? You’re so strong, and I see how everyone looks at you, and it’s not just the people that you served with-yes, I heard the rumors- word gets around fast when you’re a prime, after all. But they see you as such a... Role model. They respect you. Me... Me? I’m just a... Dunce!” she looked as though she were about to cry again, and Christa feared the loudness of her wails.

“No! No you’re not!” Christa couldn’t tell if her own desperation for silence so that their guard station looking over the ‘Moors forest was blurring the truth at this point, but she didn’t care, “Listen, you’ve got potential, kid. I think, if you really wanted to, you can be exactly what you want to be. But listen here, I didn’t used to be the way that I am. When I was younger-” Christa paused, remembering how she was orphaned, and realized that Cora too, had had the same fate, “My parents were killed, I had to raise my sister all by myself, so you know what? I did. We both turned out fine, though, we’ve had our struggles. But I want you to know, that death is never easy, but it’s your choice who you become after it threatens to take a piece of your own soul with it.”

Cora blinked. “I can... See why they think you’re so strong. And I don’t think it’s just because you’re a prime. You’re... Fearless.”

[Gildarts]

Christa gulped down the tangy taste of guilt, this wasn’t exactly the time to confess that she’d become a blood thirsty, insensitive, asshole after her sister had died. But deep down, Christa knew that on the most fundamental level, her words had been true.

After the shift had settled down, Cora and Christa went over some things that the secondary could do in order to build on the skills she already had, “Well, I’m good at cooking, but I always burn steak, so the guys never let me in the kitchen...”

“Well, what about doing laundry?” Christa thought it was a more mundane task, but she had to start somewhere.

“Oh, uh, last time, I did laundry, the clothes burst into flames... And we don’t even have an electric washer yet.” Ouch. Christa winced and scrambled her thoughts -her more ‘family oriented’ thoughts- in search of a suggestion for the woman who had no idea what she was good at.

“How about uh....” Christa was at a loss, their brainstorming results were mainly inconclusive, and before the Prime knew it, their shift was over. They set plans to try again tomorrow after combat practice, and Cora left, with a hopeful smile on her face, which was much changed due to Christa’s slightly exuded empathy for the girl.

Next was the basic combat. This was where it got interesting.

Barney was grinning mischievously at her, which meant he was up to something. The majority of Darkshire’s local squadron had been called in, even Dobson, though he was merely watching the beginning of the affair. They assembled in a large clearing and Barney began his speech about getting one over on the enemy, “Attention! This exercise isn’t to see who the best in town is, but it is to keep your minds keen, focused, and your bodies prepared and nimble for when you have to use hand to hand against your enemies. Your weapon has been lost, but so has theirs, oh, also, it is easy to fight with someone to focus on a single move, but this is free for all for a reason, you have to adapt to the change that your opponent brings. Now, I understand that some of you aren’t that skilled in hand to hand, but might be good with, say, a bow and arrow, but worry not, there is no real consequence for losing against your partner, however the winner gets a special prize, and the trainee winners who have showed improvement will get a good reputation as well. Since I raised most of you guys from the pits of recruithood myself, I’m the one who partnered you all to my liking. Now then, here comes the list. Be ready to hear your name and start sparing.”

“Uh, sir? How do we know when we win?” Cora asked out of term.

Barney’s cheek squished together into a bright smile, “I’ll be the judge of that, but I suppose usual rules apply, after five seconds, if they can’t get up, you’re the victor.”

Christa fretted, this didn’t sound good. What if there was another siege on the town? As though Barney had read her mind, he continued, “Don’t worry about recovering, we’ve got a few health potions to spare, as well as a few special visitors that will help us man the fort for the next couple o’ days, that way you guys can rest easy.”

Everyone stirred uneasily and nodded, and then, Barney began to read the list. Cora inched closer to Christa through the dispersed crowd, hoping that if she got partnered with her, Christa would go easy on her, “Cora, you’re with Dublin,” her sigh lasted a little while, and Cora waved a friendly goodbye to Christa, who stood there, wondering why Cora had showed attachment to her.

It was no surprise, next, when Christa heard her name called with the only formidable person she had met so far, (though she hadn’t met many people so far) “Adams, Glin.”

Glin had expected this too, though for different reasons. His eyes had fixed on her for over half of the meeting, over the heads of the others, since he was so tall, and she was rather tall for a woman. It was kind of a tell in itself, though, he had focused on her probably to see if she had been disappointed. Sure, it would’ve been easy to say, “Well, this one’s a sure loss, how am I supposed to win against someone who knows all my weaknesses?” but Christa wasn’t sure how she was feeling, and blinked out the last bit of sleep in the corners of her eyes from the night before. Quite truly, she thought she liked the challenge.

Glin approached hesitantly and then offered a friendly, well-meant smile, “Sorry they placed you with me,” his tone was regrettable.

Her eyebrow raised, “Well, I’m the prime here, don’t get too cocky,” she smirked, Glin did too. It was a peaceful moment before the storm. They were the only ones not fighting.

“Still, I want you to know, it’s no hard feelings.” Glin offered.

Christa frowned. She didn’t much like his tone, and it was making it sound like her fight was over before it had started, “Well, I mean, you’ve got a gift, so you’re going to use it, I don’t blame you for that.” Christa had ripped off the torso part of her armor, and was sliding off the parts that covered her thighs and shins. “I won’t go easy on you, just cause you’re an elf, you know. In fact, I might just kick your ass.”

Her little digs made it a bit easier on the elf, since both of them knew that the next battle would try the newly tied knot of their friendship. It was mutually unsaid that each wouldn’t pull a single one of their punches, and that they’d use everything in their power to win. How else was a warrior to grow? “You can try.” Glin spoke, and they both moved into a ready position.

-

The five feet of space between their eyes filled with impenetrable static. Christa tried to clear her mind, but it was so damn difficult, since it was usually chock-full of shit anyway. He’d see every move she had coming, and be able to brace, block, or dodge. No, this wouldn’t be an easy goddamn fight.

He struck first, landing a well-forced kick into the side of her knee, he impaired her ability to stand, and then swooped in, using the accentuated length of his legs, to roundhouse kick her in the side of her back. The Prime’s body was sent into the dirt by the force, and Christa could already feel the bruise forming. She saw what the elf was doing though. Making it quick and painless for her. Lovely. Tch. What an asshole.

Eyes slid from the other matches to watch theirs, and Barney saw this, but didn’t interrupt, Christa rose again from the dirty soil and tested the ache in her knee. She could still walk, but she’d never had to strategize in the last hundred ‘hand to hand’ battles she’d been in, what she’d have to do if one of them read her mind. A horrible idea occurred to her. His eyes widened as he read it, then he paused, to give her time to decide. And she needed it, because it was a weapon, but also, a burden on the way Christa fought, also, it was relatively painful, then again, Glin would know all her weaknesses as they came about, this way, she at least had a fighting chance.

Before she could choose to apply this tactic, WHAM! Glin landed a punch square on her cheek, Christa had seen it coming, but only had the time to brace herself and move with its momentum. There was a follow-up, which Christa predicted and moved in a movement to block it, which Glin saw coming, evaded, and went for a maneuver that twisted her arm in, and forced her to the ground. The pain was substantial, but in a way, he had warned her to stay down, kind of like in boxing. After another well placed blow on the corner of her neck, he released his grip and rose again to give her space.

Christa chose to stand again, though this time, it became harder on her joints and purpling muscles. There was a great difference in choosing to rise, and not being able to. Christa, apparently, wanted to get the sense beat out of her. By now, the entire platoon was watching, which put a little extra pressure on Christa. She wiped the smear of blood coming down from her lips and stood tall once more, though it hurt to, and spoke loudly, so that the whole place could hear her tell him quite directly, “You’re pulling your punches.”

[Gildarts]

Some people actually gasped dramatically, which made Christa want to chuckle, though she didn’t show it. The elf stood a little taller -if that was even possible- and smiled, “So you noticed.”

Christa would’ve liked to say, something like ‘fight me like a man,’ or ‘give me your best shot,’ but even when he was pulling punches, he was royally whooping her ass. Barney and Skender’s eyes had turned to the Prime fighting the secondary, no one was prompted to continue their fight, since maybe the secondary guard platoon could learn something from the fight. Everyone, after all, knew about the elf’s special ability.

“You’re not going to like it, but I’m going to win. See, I’ve got a lot riding on this, ever since Mornel,” Christa said finally, though she didn’t necessarily have to, since he was inside her mind anyway.

“I’ve never lost.” He spoke slowly, though he could not clearly see her strategy, he knew, by the tone and the darkness in her thoughts, that the next part would not be pleasant for him.

“That makes two of us. See, I don’t much like losing, and I don’t much like holding back, even if you’re my ally and everything, I like everything to be fair and square. You can read my moves before I do them, giving you ample time to dodge. You also can know what I’ve remembered from past fights, sand I’ve thrown in my opponents’ eyes at the last second, rocks I’ve gouged their eyes out with. Oh yes, quite pleasant for them too, you can imagine, but such ruthlessness can be avoided, if I play my cards right. See, you told me, that you couldn’t turn it off, revealing your own weakness, though it is now at my discretion to use this knowledge. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to turn this ability around on you quite quickly...” Christa paused, painfully reluctant to have to do this, but, as she said before, winning meant a lot to her, and if she felt pride, just maybe it meant she could go home again, to the way things used to be.

Not all my life, has been rainbows, as you can imagine. The prime’s thoughts directed to him clearly. Though his expression grew a little worried, he wanted to silence her, and spoke, “Enough talk.”

“Fine then, action.” She proclaimed, and they both launched themselves at one another.

Fists collided with flesh, but this time, Christa landed one into him, I see you have more than one vantage point of my moves, no hiding anything up my sleeves, I suppose it was not a sneer, but a true statement. The telepathic didn’t deny this asset, and with his upcoming punch, Christa unleashed her painful memories, to the best of her ability, with a surge of emotion, as though she were reliving them.

And not just any memories of sorrow or regret, but those days that the Empire had tortured her, ripped the skin off of her flesh, starved her for days, and zapped her veins with electricity that caused her blood to literally boil and burn her arteries. She’d been to hell and back again, and since the elf could not turn off his telepathic ability, which was also linked to empathy -she’d derived that little morsel from her experience with him and her dog- he was reliving her memories, perhaps a little less thoroughly than she had the first time, but while her mind and his were distracted (his, moreso, since he could not shake it out of his mind, and Christa had learned the art of distraction, and also knew that there was hopeful light at the end of the tunnel).

In a way, she was torturing him. A swift movement of her hand into his abdomen was well-delivered, the elf stumbled, though it was as though his mind could not escape the memories she had trapped him in. I spent at least a hundred days in that cell underneath the Empire. I won’t run out of material any time soon. Christa warned as she knocked the elf down. His face was contorted with pain, though it was not the kind that was felt physically. One who was overwhelmed with emotions such as pain or sorrow, may feel stress and cry to get it out, the elf, however, choked on the air in his lungs, and his face was red, while some veins bulged in his head. Christa grew worried and quickly thought of sunny days.

The elf was on the ground for far longer than five seconds, and Christa sat right their next to him, Barney didn’t have to announce to the others who the winner was, and a medic was called. Christa felt terrible guilt as she looked at his condition and tried to soothe him with a hand on his shoulder. She had caused his pain. Just as she had once caused many people’s death. Christa doubted she’d change, but asked the nurse who had come over, “Are you going to put him to sleep?”

“Yes.” She stated plainly, snubbed the girl who had caused more work for the medical staff with the turn of her chin. “What did you do to my patient anyway?”

Christa was sure that was the question that was on everyone’s mind. The nurse wasn’t afraid of Christa because she was a prime, because secondaries like Glin even had spacial powers that couldn’t be helped, “That way, I might cure him faster?” the nurse prompted again while she shot a needle in the elf.

“I used his power against him, and showed him a part of my past. It was very painful for him, I imagine, in fact, that he might have felt it physically after all. Imagine something like... Childbirth, nurse, but his body was taking no damage. Then I hit him a few times and he fell down.”

It was as simple as that. And now, Christa was the outsider once more, for people seemed either impressed or concerned by her ability to take people down with just her mind.

...

Glin was in the medical wing for a few days while Christ continued on the night watch with Cora. They were making good progress together, and Cora wouldn’t stop asking the Prime about the fight, even though it had happened over seventy two hours ago.

“But seriously, how DID you do that?” Cora was the only one who had really cared to talk to her after witnessing it, other than Barney, that hinted that her ‘prize’ would be early admittance into the guard, by a few days.

Christa felt her shoulders droop, in her free time, she had brought the elf flowers and visited him until she and Trooper fell asleep in the chair next to him. She was responsible for the telepath’s pain. ‘How did she do that?’ It had been so easy. She could turn it on AND off, and it was a choice. She hoped Glin would wake up soon, feeling better, since she didn’t have a cure for mentally scarring someone for life. Still, had the elf encountered something similar, it could have cost him his life, at least now, he knew his own weakness. That was, if he ever woke up again.

...

Long story short, the elf that made her look bad did in fact wake up after another week of rest and relaxa- Well, you get the point. Christa had been beside him when Glin’s eyes first opened, not that she had expected them to, but when she’d seen him stir, his hands went to his stomach. He was hungry. And well, thirsty too. There was water next to his bed which she helped him reach. Then, she asked him if he liked toast with honey on top, and he shrugged his shoulders, saying he’d try it.

It would be easy on his stomach, and no offense to the elf, but she doubted he ate meat anyway. After his sweet meal. Christa and Glin’s eyes met for a long time. The silence of the room was as eerie as the outside of the Moors, until finally he spoke, “How’s being a guard been?”

Did that mean he had lost his ability? After all, Barney had said-

“No, I haven’t I just thought if I tried to read your mind again, you’d use your freaky mind-powers and paralyze me for days.” It was rather dark humor, but it broke the ice.

“So, you’re feeling better then?” she concluded and watched the elf’s hand stroke over her wolf-cub’s head.

“I am.” the elf paused, wondering how to put to words his next sentence, “So you... And then I blanked out.” 

“That’s when the nurse sedated you.” Christa filled in the blanks, in case he couldn’t read the minute details from her mind.

“Ah, that makes sense. Well, you warned me, and you won fair and square.” Glin surmised.

“After I saw the pain it caused you, it didn’t feel fair,” she admitted, not just to the truth, but having an actual heart.
“Well, you turned my strength into a weakness, that’s what combat is supposed to be about. You’ve got a talent for it, that’s for sure. Darkshire could use someone like you.” The elf’s face was finally developing some color back, but the shadows underneath his eyes were still prevalent.

“And you,” she stated, perplexed more than anything else. Over the last couple of days, she’d been thinking of Abner quite a lot. What was he doing? How was he doing? Then there was that parting gift, which had actually made Christa feel like she had a heart again. Katia (her sister), it seemed, Christa’s mind never got off of, she hadn’t heard from her in three days, and while the little girl had mentioned a field trip, it was most unlike her to not even send her a text message. Christa was getting scared. Scared of rejection. Scared of losing everyone she thought she had a bond with. Scared of becoming that monster of revenge she had once been.

“You’re a badass.” Glin blurted out. He was met with the Prime’s quizzical expression, “You used your mind and the entirety of your memories just to sucker-punch my mind. And you won. And you endured everything you felt from your life, again. I saw it all, you know. I know you now.”

“That doesn’t sit well with me. Though you know that, since you’re reading my mind as we speak.” Christa scowled, though tried not to direct it at Glin, since it was still her fault he’d landed in the hospital.

“I couldn’t handle it, I was down for a while. The only thing in my life I can compare my experiences to, was the time I nearly died here in this verse. Like I mentioned to you earlier, the people of Darkshire saved my life. So I serve them.” The nobility and sense of loyalty was not unnatural for an elf, but to think, the young-looking elf would spend his entire (presumably 700 year lifespan) in Darkshire made Christa skeptical. “I don’t know if I’ll stay here that long, hopefully, over time, the town will get better and I’ll be able to leave. You never know what could happen.”

Ding. Ding. Ding. Something had been spotted again along the edge of the forest, or maybe it was a raid of zombies, or maybe, Dracula’s army. Still, she’d have to go check it out. Today was her last day of training, though part of Christa knew that in this business, with new monsters popping up everywhere, left and right, the training would never be truly over.

[Gildarts]

Time, fresh on her mind, as she lived moment to moment, came and passed like an old memory. Still, some dark future was dwelling on the edges of the forest that she could not clearly see.

It was early morning, her shift was nearly over, and she was, this time, watching the dawn crest the murky, silver sky. Christa’s wolf had doubled in size, though, that wasn’t saying much, since her little Trooper had been but a few weeks old when she had found him. On the other side of the tower, she knew her telepathic friend awaited her. They had plans to go on a morning hunt, as was the elf’s custom for his coming-of-age ceremony.

The guard had let her bring her well trained “dog” on duty, but only the more knowledgable of the squadron suspected that Christa’s companion was in actuality, a wolf, since it was so well trained, and had husky-like patterns. One could tell, however, if they looked into the wolf’s icy eyes -much like Christa’s for that matter- for they were wild, and untamed, but loyal to its alpha. That was Christa Adams, official member of the garrison now, and she even had gotten the emblem sewn into her jacket. The Prime’s eye was squinting over the scope now as she looked at the entwining trees, in the single, level blanket they resembled before their black ensnaring reaches were interrupted by the ever-ending sky.

It was a nice day, a bit overcast, but that was most days. Christa’s shift was up, and Trooper lead the way down the stairs. The Prime passed on her station to Cora, who was doing quite well for herself, since she had finally found her calling. She wasn’t good at using spears or shields, nor even low-impact (kicking) guns, but put a crossbow in her hands and you were as good as dead. It swung over her shoulder now, and they high-fived as they passed each other on the stairs. Christa’s wolf remained silent, as he eyed the woman with the distinguished weapon, sure, they had the same scent, and as warriors, had pledged their allegiance to the same cause, in human custom, wolves did not die if they betrayed the alpha, and Trooper saw anyone that got too chummy with his master as a threat... Save the elf, who were a more noble race.

Christa didn’t have to wave to Glin from across the way, so she didn’t, too much effort, and besides, it wasn’t like he couldn’t read her mind that she’d seen him. Instead, she noted his smile and strolled closer, while she tossed her devoured apple pit away, and quenched the hunger in her stomach for at least a little while. (Though, let it be noted, Christa, as well as many other hunters had better luck succeeding a kill on a more or less empty stomach.)

“How do you do,” Glin said to both of them, and greeted the wolf’s eyes, only for a flickering, knowing second (so as to not challenge the beast).

The young wolf wagged his tail momentarily, and then turned his chin to the side, raising his snout in the air as though he had caught scent of something more important. Christa thought her answer, which was more or less ‘fine’ but Glin responded now, to the darker tides of her mind.

“You sense it too, don’t you?” Glin spoke worriedly.

With her fears confirmed, Christa thought it reasonable to ask, “What is it?”

“I hear tell of a danger coming to the entire Omniverse, and many people are much abuzz about a coming event, I’m not sure what or why though, yet...” Sometimes Glin’s power was a little tricky, like if information was on the edge of one’s mind, rather than actively being thought about it, it was harder for Glin to get a read on it. “I fear for you though Christa, for I believe it involves many Primes, and there are plans to involve many more.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

But she got no answer, for she quickly remembered, “Oh! Happy birthday!”

Glin smiled slowly, it wasn’t called a ‘birthday’ in his culture, but he also knew Christa’s last celebrated birthday was painful, so he tried to take her mind from it, until he was shown a present. His eyes held on her mind, searching for the answer of what was in the box, but try as he could, it was not in Christa’s mind.

“Worked hard so you wouldn’t know what it is, but anyway, I think everyone deserves a gift on their birthday, and I don’t think in elvish custom, you’ve ever been given one.” Her assumption was correct, and the tall being looked down at the brown cardboard box, suited with a nice bow-tie shaped ribbon. “Also, I don’t think I could’ve not thought about it on the hunt, so go ahead then.”

With her permission the elf carefully pulled the string, and released the ties around the box. What had the Prime, who could summon anything, gotten him?

To his disappointment, he opened the box, only to find what appeared to be an ordinary stick. He looked up to her eyes, in order to read her mind, expectantly, but Christa challenged her mind delightfully elsewhere. “Okay, you got me, what is it?”

It really did look like just a stick.

“Well obviously, it’s a stick.” Christa said, smirking and quite amused that he hadn’t figured it out yet.

“Is... The gift supposed to be that it was a surprise... Stick?” the elf guessed, since human customs were weird.

“Well,” Christa started, “That would’ve been a lot less work, but if you look closely, it’s actually a whistle, or a flute, I guess you might say, anyway, it plays music. I’ve never been particularly skilled myself, and it isn’t because of your elvish heritage that I thought you might like it, but rather, what the whistle does if you play a certain tune. It can be used for evil, so if it ever gets in the wrong hands, you’ll have to destroy it, but I have the sheet music, more or less, for an easier nights sleep for you.”

“Does that mean its magic has the ability to turn off telepathic reads?”

Yes and it can be used against you, if you aren’t careful, Christa warned, “But I had actually tracked it down for my sister, since she’s got a sensitive mind too. It has been disguised as a stick, and was stashed hidden in the forest, one had to know just who its original owner was, in order to be able to find it when he perished. And so it was. Now it’s in your hands. Use it wisely.” then she sniggered, “It might just help you with your aim.”

-

Barney had sighted her and interrupted their conversation, “ADAMS! I had you on for your guard station on the south wall an hour ago, where’ve you been?” Barney called, though he was still in charge of training, he was also in charge of the schedule. He’d tracked her down in the town, which was impressive as it was.

“Cora said she’d take my shift, I’m going out for a bit,” Christa informed.

Barney looked suspiciously at her, as though not satisfied, “Listen, I know you’re not really the type to stay, but we do ask Primes to come back for duty every once and a while, we need you here.”

“And my sister will need me too, I can’t let strangers raise her, no matter how much I trust them.” Captain Barney, now knowing her ulterior motive, permitted it.

“Next time put in for some leave and give us the heads up at the station, you got it?” Barney’s words were firm but friendly, it was an order. “Ah, howdy there Glin,” he said finally and looked at the stick in his hands, as well as the unraveled box.

“It’s his birthday today,” Christa informed, because she knew Glin wouldn’t be so proud as to say it.

“That so! Happy birthday laddie, come to the bar later and we’ll have some drinks, and get very merry.” Barney’s invitation was genuine, and he trudged off, not asking about the queerness of the stick that Christa had evidently gotten the elf for his birthday. Primes, even the ones that he once knew, were starting to get stranger and stranger these days.

“So we going, or what?” Christa asked he elf, and the three of them set off. The elf, the prime, and the wolf, hunting for whatever would come across their path.