Eodem: a Rifle and Sword Adventure - Chapter 62

Rainfall drenched the soil of Kalmte today as the start of the Autumn weather phenomena known as the Drwg Mynd. Translated to ‘bad going’ from Vaikuri to English, this even of time between median period of the Gliesian harvest season is when rainfall begins to fall down upon the northern territories of the Slaegian Empire. The rainwater wets the ground into a mushy paste causing any form of traffic, wheeled or footed to be severely hampered. Conditions of the ground aside, the sky is no better as the once shining Lehsol was blanketed in robes of gray clothes heavy with precipitation, covering the land in a soft shroud of mist. Most UFEAF’s activities in Kalmte have been kneecapped with Drones and Supply Chains operating in sub-optimal capacities, but it was a temporary setback. Once they retrofitted themselves for the coming change of seasons ahead, the Northern Sweep will continue onwards as schedule.

Already he has ordered the Engineering Companies in charge of the Gold Arrow Express supply line to start paving the earthen-clay roads with asphalt as his soldiers tighten the noose on the last Slaegian Holdouts on their way to Ghana’s Wall. Although expected to finish before the Gliesian Winter’s arrival, it is a fatal mistake to not come prepared in case the adversary decides to enlist the help of General Winter to their advantage. Major Holyfield took precautions to prepare to be behind schedule for the operation in case the insurgent Slaegians decides to draw out this war longer than expected. The Wigs back home on earth can tolerate a hill-hiding Insurgency since the political objectives achieved during the previous Operation Haymaker has satisfied the Party’s Ends for the time being, but ultimately, he and Colonel Polonsky must decisively cut the head off of the resistance at the soonest in order for the Gliesian Pacification Campaign is to be seen to fruition. For now, all of the participating UFEAF Troops across the Front must make do with temporarily frustrated supplies and support. Light to Medium weight vehicles will have to pick up the pace in their heavier variants absence which means no Ullrs and Cataphract Tanks doing the heavy fire fighting for the advancing infantry.

It wasn’t the first time that General Mud proverbially disrupted the Armed Forces of the Federation but even in spite of their advancements, there were places Mother Nature still held mastery over those who attempt to tame her. Even more so when it comes in regards to the strange plague that began to slowly enrapture the former Imperial Region as reports of hostile ‘walkers’ began to roam around the region assaulting refugees, soldiers, or even themselves alike in a blind haze of rabid cannibalism.

Stryder Group hunkered down for the past two days at the ruined Parish Temple that centralized within the village of Egni much to her chagrin. The plague had forced her team under quarantine as official bureaucratic work was being made to accommodate Samantha and her squad’s exemption from the Egni Containment Zone hosted by the 12th Infantry’s Captain Fred Feldchrist. The CRBN Company overseeing this measure wasted no time in studying their invisible enemy much to the unnerving chagrin of their Native Charges. Many of them were probed, f.o.r.c.i.b.l.y separated from their loved ones, and yelled into slum-like conditions as the Hazmat-Suited soldiers separated the infected from the non-infected.

“Looks like you are in the clear Captain. Doctor Lee Haneul just came in now with all the papers you need for me to legally let you out of the Containment Zone.” Captain Feldchrist removed his Gas Mask as he put on his reading glasses. He looked over a Smartpad over written Data as Samantha stood up from her cot.

“So, what exactly these poor folks are suffering from?” Samantha asked.

“I’ll skip to the straight stuff here so here goes.” Feldchrist swallowed his breath. “This ‘Primal Boil’ as the locals call it, is actually some kind of the functional hybrid between Rabies and the Roto viruses, Genome mapping, Reproduction and all. This new virus is making them act all zombie-like without actually getting shot of those Necromancy Magic that exists here in this reason, scary enough that I just said all of that.” Captain Feldchrist explained darting his eyes towards Iris with his stiff prejudiced gaze. “Doctor Lee got this very ancient detes dating back before the Federation’s founding. For formalities sake, the Docs are treating this as a wholly new Virus… with similar characteristics to Roto and Rabies.”

“Roto? Rabies? What are those?” Obediah asked.

“Colonial.” Samantha informed Feldchrist. “Just keep it simple.”

“My team has been getting samples and sending all the data back to the Doctors back in New Albany from the local infectees we are getting. It is getting easy to single each of the infected out as time passes. But the number of cases only seems to keep piling up.” Captain Feldchrist turned his Smart Pad towards Stryder. “Symptoms Rabies and Roto, two diseases that used to be prevalent before the Federation but now extinct included, to cut it down for you, Zombie-like demeanor and your body becoming malnourished due to your digestive systems not working properly to absorb all the nutrients, respectively speaking.”

Education differs greatly as humanity spread out from Earth, some of the old Historics being often neglected for industrial-based skill generation the farther one leaves the Core Territories of the Federation. The legends of old malaises that had once plagued humanity being distant memories easily buried in niche subject textbooks. Still, galleries of their roguish terror and how they were beaten were archived thrice over by the Federation so that future generations could remember their predecessor’s experience in case one encounters a similar adversary one day along the line.

“What does this Ray-Bee’s and Row-Toe have to do with my brother?” Liliyan questioned.

“From his notebook right, he mentioned of some kind of ‘Something Truly Evil Essence’ he found on the Habafants, right? ‘Small in size’ and ‘invisible to the un-aided eye’ that’s what is happening to them and the folks in the village. An invisible killer, like Poison but it jumps between people to people.” Samantha explained to Liliyan.

“Waterborne Virus to be exact.” Feldchrist interjected. “Throw in crappy sanitation that would give the Health Minister a heart attack and boom. An easily-preventable plague… becoming a monster today.”

“What the Meds figured outfitted perfectly with Ratimir’s Notebook we found Captain.” Kayin grasped his head with a strong grip, epiphanizing what the puzzle pieces now fully speaking together to him. “F.u.c.k.i.n.g damn…”

Putting together Ratimir’s previous attempt to create an archaic vaccine foiled by the Chosen One Faithleann’s prejudice against Vampire had painted a vivid yet grim picture of one man’s archaic idea of romanticized chivalric ‘heroism’ has spiraled into untold amounts of the suffering of the very people he was sworn to protect.

“And those virus traces we found on the creek that goes down to the village.” The Engineer turned to Samantha.

And now the Amelioration, Stryder especially are forced to patch up the breaking pieces.

“A thousand Curses more upon you Faithleann again.” Iris bared her fangs. “That… that…Ax…uh… Jumping Brat!” the Vampire Witch’s animosity pushing her to acts of sordid jargon.

“Who would dare poison Habafants? Ratimir would have torn the rogue into shreds if he knew.” Liliyan curled her fingers as her nails lengthened into razors.

“Actually no one poisoned the Habafats. The ‘Evil Essence’ or what we call it a ‘Virus’ is a creation of nature itself.” Rose answered. “Have you ever wondered why we sometimes get sickness?” she turned to Liliyan with her question.

“The Sages say that sickness comes from the imbalance of life force, Positive and Negative within the living body. Magic and herbal remedies and alchemical elixirs are meant to restore that imbalance” Liliyan stated.

“You are wrong actually. Sickness is caused by three types of tiny creatures that cannot be seen by the n.a.k.e.d eye. They are called bacteria, virus, and parasites. You can say they are monsters in a sense Liliyan, created in nature much like all the monsters Dragons, Bulletes and Trolls who in the order of all things have to harm other living beings like Humans, Elves, Dwarves and other races as well as animals like the Habafat by invading their bodies and cause it’s to deteriorate even if it means killing them. You saw the picture Captain Feldchrist showed you about the round spiked beings? That’s what a Virus looks like when you look inside them with some special… uh… eyes….”, Sam explained as simplified as she could to Liliyan.

“Are you also a Doctor Samantha? How do you know all of this? Did your Elf companion taught you more everything about Elven Curatives?” Liliyan pointed to Aliathra.

“I dare say, that you are wrong again.” Aliathra humbly bowed. “The Otherworlder, again I dare say but for all of my people’s proficiencies in Curatives, Samantha and her people have proven themselves to be more knowledgeable of Neneth’s Mysteries than I myself as a Cleric of her.” The elf answered.

“Still, your brother and Aliathra here, it is foolish to not regard their achievements about their individual study and practice the about the body and disease.” Samantha acknowledged both points.

Liliyan nodded approvingly as she turned over to the vacuum-sealed bag containing her brother’s body. Sad, but attaining a newfound tenet of esteem to his otherwise aloof kinsman.

“The good news is that now we know how exactly we need to do beat it. Unfortunately, the bad news the best we can do within the foreseeable future is just simple damage control. The infected water is connected to the Empire’s River systems means that it could spread out amongst the people of the Empire by now. Some of my men are already dropping chlorine onto the rivers and filtering out safe drinking water to the refugees but it seems like we are encountering the same problems on ‘Demon Food’ like our Laniyean counterparts back south.”

“Damn it all!” Kayin yelled. “These were like the stories my grandfather used to tell. Travel miles to get water that won’t kill him or his sister.” He kicked the loose rubble of the temple.

“There’s not much that we can do here now other than letting Captain Feldchrist and his men handle the Plague while we continue on without mission. We… have to salvage what we can still save right now.” Samantha reminded her squad. “We need to get back to the Tyhela and try to work what we can with the Vamps.”

“Pack it up lads, we moving out within the hour.” Crocker grabbed his rucksack.

[-]

“Tad, I am scared.” Mewled a small boy as he hid behind the skirts of his parents.

Strange people who walk upright with dead blank eyes had cornered his family as they attempted to flee the Imperial Province as by the decree of the Duke.

“Stay close to me…” his father comforted him.

He knew that these were the doomsaying heralds spoke about, the Otherworlders. He tried to have his family leap away with their relatives and friends at the soonest but alas, he was too slow to catch up with the many northward caravans that left leaving towards the Northern Frontiers. Instead, he and his wife and son were thrown out of their homes as men in blank-eyed helmets with beak-like mouths began to pillage his home, throwing away all of his yields and tainting them with their vile secretions. To their sorrow, they were taken, along with their neighbors en masse to a newly emergent settlement that broke off from their main horde. A great corral of tents, as if like a Tent City was the destination for this hapless faithful of the Empire, like a herd of Habfants they were forcefully flocked. Fear gripped the family; they stood no chance fighting these Otherworlders and also the thought of losing even one of each other is too much blow to their sanctimonious sanity for them to even bear. All the Father could do now for his son aged five summers and his wife is to stay together and pray for salvation. They must not lose hope for it’s what they only have left.

Upon arrival to the Tent City, the Slaegian Family was herded to a large orange yurt, a kind of tent he had heard was often used by savage tribes who roam the eastern deserts. There, five shapes in great gleaming suits stood before them. Behind the Otherworlders were two doors, one to the left and one to the opposing right. The left door is where the ‘Bad Ones’ go to, whilst the right-sided one was where ‘Good Ones’ are destined to. He saw several people be sorted swiftly amongst their judging gazes between these two openings. He couldn’t tell what they mean by ‘Good’ and ‘Bad’ as these Otherworlders describe, as if by some unknown character, invisible from himself, but of perfect clarity to them was present upon each Soul subjected to their judgments.

Like Cattle being appraised they were all sorted one by one.

“You! Come over to me and show me your mouth!” one of the Otherworlders ordered.

The father grasped his son as he moved together towards the Demon.

“Together?” the Demon paused. “Fine, but the child goes first.” The man leaned over to the father. His coal-colored insectoid-like eyes piercing down upon him.

“No!” the boy cried, as he bawled before the Otherworlder.

“Do what I say and you will be back with your father soon.”

“Bachgen, make it quick. We need to get away from here…” the Mother urged her child to obey. Her disheveled hair contrasting her kind yet weary eyes as the boy quietly obeyed and bared his mouth.

The insectoid-eyed Otherworlder grabbed a probe from his hand, knelt down, and placed it upon the child’s open mouth. A loud click noise came out ominously as the Alien stood back up quietly as he turned to the father. Another loud cl.i.c.k.i.n.g noise from his probing device was emitted. The moment was tenuous as the boy held onto his father’s protection of his lumbar legs.

“Go on ahead.” The Otherworlder nodded, stepping away and allowing the boy and his father to move forward.

“Let us wait for mama.” The father whispered to his boy.

They moved forward, slowing their pace a few steps in as the father turned his head towards his beloved wife as it became her turn to be graded by the cattle-herding Otherworlders.

Her mouth was probed, but instead of the loud cl.i.c.k.i.n.g noise that likely must indicate that they are of no exceptional quality to the Invaders, her probing triggered a continuous clanging alarm. The noise, roused the other Demons around the tent of their feet as they swiftly, like predators cornering their prey, descended upon the mother.

“Got one!” the Otherworlder yelled. The Mother jolted and screamed as the Otherworlder’s Demonic Knights seized her by the arms.

“Let her go!” The Father thrust himself to reach his beloved. But the blanked-eyed foreigners thwarted him mere inches away from each other’s grasps.

“Take those two away to the ‘Good Ones’.” An Otherworlder, one who seemed to stand himself in high distinction barked. Father’s eyes seethed through his blanked ones, recognizing him as this Demonic Warband’s venerable leader.

“That is my wife! I will not let you!” The Father growled.

“Hurry up! We still have dozens more to sort through!” The Warband Leader continued to exact his will.

The Father and the Boy were dragged off f.o.r.c.i.b.l.y, their faces struck by the butts of their crossbows as they were taken away from the Yurt. Into a metal fenced area, designed like a common livestock’s pen, or more accurately a prison for cattle they found themselves inside of along with dozens of men and women. A chorus of prayers, lamentations, and fear ampliated the despondent gathering as the Drwg Mynd rainfall began to pour onto them. There, the fractured family watched to their dismay as the Wife disappeared amidst into another side of where they came from.

“What is happening to mama?” the Boy whimpered to his father.

“I…I… she will be fine…” the Father instilled a soft, if not half-hoped reassurance to his

“Brother… Ghana give you strength.” A hand appeared behind his shoulder. His voice was silken, a tone that awes respect of religious lore. “And may Yher shield your child. Please listen to me… but leave the boy out. He may not wish to hear it.” the Father turned around to a hooded pilgrim, of weakened posture and frail of the face.

“Son, just see if… maybe you can find any of our friends or neighbors here right now. Tad needs to handle an affair.” He dismissed his child.

The boy nodded and dashed away leaving the Father and the old pilgrim to each other’s whispered company.

“What drivel you speak of traveler?” the Father turned to the frail-faced man.

“Shush… listen…” the pilgrim told the Father.

Into the distance, amidst all of their holding pen’s depressing gallery the Father’s ears attuned themselves.

A loud thunder, an ominous crack of an unnatural roar blared across the Demon Camp. Unlike the Autumn Rain’s that brought some light, yet ultimately harmless quivers among the fainted of heart every Autumn and Spring. However, this thunder crack caused the souls of some of the imprisoned Duchal and Legionnaire Soldiers to loosen their bowels. The Father heard of the doom-saying heralds of the Otherworlder’s Crossbows having the power of thunder and lightning that can whatever prey they aim true upon. One crack can equal the end of one life as those men who survived an encounter with their invading adversaries.

“That sound, so what they spoke is true.” The Father’s eyes shuddered, fearing the worst for his wife. “One crack equals One soul. How many have you heard when you were here?” he asked the pilgrim.

“I counted… twenty-eight or so… then that one.” He answered. “Have you heard what those Demons spoke of us? That we are the ‘Good Ones’?” the pilgrim discoursed.

The Father nodded. His quavers seeking an answer of any sort of what is happening right now. He and his family were confused.

“We are just cattle to them all. To be rounded, sorted, and butchered. “Good Ones’ will be saved for their feasts while the ‘Bad Ones’… they… they are lucky they just end you out of your life as soon as they do.” The pilgrim spat.

“But what can we do?” the Father asked of him.

“Hold on… look over there.” The pilgrim pointed behind him.

The Father saw two of the beaked-mouth Otherworlders carry off a linen cloth bag towards a cleared hollow onto the ground where many more similarly wrapped clothed bags were being thrown unto. Then one of the Otherworlders stumbled down, his grip letting goes of the bag. The cloth became slightly unfurled for a brief moment, but the Father recognized the contents, or more exactly, recognized the person. One of the people ahead of him from the line on their way being appraised by the Demonic Cattle-Herders back at the Orange Yurt earlier. He was one of the ‘bad ones’, as their leader spoke off.

He realized… They were burning the bodies of the unsuitable ‘cattle’. To ashes, scattered to the winds as their bodies were piled upon piles of dozens if not hundreds of brothers, sisters, friends, and neighbors.

“Damn you!” the Father dashed towards the fence’s barrier, his hands curled around its metallic net. His eyes blood red in anger. His wife and many more of his people could end up just like him. “Damn you all! Let me out! Let me out!”

Another loud and unnatural crack echoed into the camp, alas no lightning bolt struck or flash seen. Another soul, snuffed out, discarded for the glutinous machinations of the Otherworlder’s Soul Harvests. Panic, Anger, and Fear gripped him, and then soon another bystander joined his impassioned song.

“We have to get out of here now!” the pilgrim roused the other imprisoned Slaegians.

A spark of defiant hope flickered amongst the hearts of each of them, emerging from the now slowly forming quagmire of their animalistic prison. Men, Women, Children, Commoners, Soldiers, and Noble rose from the mud and began to yell their voices towards the rainy sky.

“Remain calm!” one of the Demonic Cattle-Herders yelled at them.

“Let us out! Let us out! Let us out!” the emerging mob raised their fists. Hands slinging mud and loose stones towards their captors. Some pushing their weight on the fence realizing that it can bend down low enough to allow escape. Other braves charged towards their captors as to overpower them.

It was either liberty, death, or damnation now.

[-]

Mita the Crow Master’s hands clawed through the tree branch she hung herself on, threatening to snap the wood like a twig. Even as the day passes, her witnessing of the cruelty of these Otherworlders continues to exceed her and her Crows horrors further and further. But she must not allow emotion to befuddle her judgment, she has devised a plan and anger will only blind her. The Crow Master’s contract still stands: To aid the Empire’s war. Such objectives now came upon the altruistic action of rescuing captured commoners from the clutches of the ever-hungering Demonic Hordes. People are people, even if she is a shadowy rogue with questionable principles and devious deeds. But even then the commoners were simply a professional courtesy and a means to an end for a much larger prize.

Speaking of devious deeds, this could be her most duplicitous caper yet.

Mita reviewed her equipment, mostly scrounged together improvised items due to the severity of finding any finer supplies for her missions but she had succeeded with far more unusual sets of preparatory materials before.

A bushel of wild nuts and local funghi, common ingredients if not the whole meal for various livestock that ranges freely around the Duchy of Kalmte. Good to be eaten by both men and beasts. The mere scent of them aroused excitement among carefully ‘prepared’ animals hung around with a few pounds primed pouches of Uzeagon necklaced around their necks to wreak some havoc around the Otherworlders.

Even with an ebullient stampede of farm critters running amok around their defenses, Mita would not be the Crow Master if she doesn’t add a few more tricks up her sleeves. Half-a-dozen of Whipping Mist, an alchemical bomb made from the pollen of a particularly eye-tearing flower native to around this region of the Empire. Used by the crows on many occasions for concealment and modic.u.ms of escape from the five senses of their pursuers. Just enough for her to be able to get in and out with her quarry. Plus, a special gum that she must embed in her mouth and chew upon usage since she rather keeps to her own set of the five senses rather than wear a protective mask. She is more of a purist after all.

Speaking about plants, she also remembered to douse a piece of cloth with special herbal oil from Saihan. An item she had to expend the last of her pre-war black-market connections to secure before being cut off from the Kobold Hollow’s Underground. The dissolved-in-oil essence of the sedative Yaohu, or Lung Slumber Plant. Used in small quantities as a cure for sleeplessness and as a potent pain killer if one goes beyond the typical pharmaceutical prescriptions.

Then, of course, there were her prime essentials. The tools of the trade of any rogue: Twin short-blades curved slightly for maximum slashing, a set of throwing knives, her lucky lockpick, and finally her custom Dwarfen Mechanical Hand-Bolt Thrower.

All of these tools, to the less cunning of minds, would have been overlooked as local knick-knacks and mercantile curiosities. But to the Crow, it was all that was needed.

All needed to do accomplish one task:

The Capture of the Share-Holder.

The playful whistle of a Nut-Jacker bird, four w.h.i.n.es of the pipe to be exact in slow beats was then heard from Mita’s vantage. It was from one of her mellow-beaked Crows. It was the signal that they are all in position around the village of Egni. Some hidden amongst the houses and fields surrounding the settlement, others deep within the proverbial heart of darkness… All of her crows, about fifteen of her including herself, were in all likelihood the last of their order of which they know of each other’s survival. They all had a part in play for the Crow’s Plan to spirit away the Share-Holder.

Mita coordinated her remaining Crows of their goals, only using a mere few hours of scouting the Egni Village atop of her treetop vantage. They did not have much time before this golden opportunity of potentially turning the tide of the war around before it eludes them, if not forever. The Share Holder had spent the past day within the now derelict Temple at the center of the village. Such a position was quite overtly extensive across the main force of the Demonic Armies pushing in from the north. At first, the other Crows she rallied couldn’t believe that the Share-Holder is in Kalmte so soon, thinking she would have bathed in the despoiled lights of the Imperial Capital miles south but it has seemed the Demons have intended to use her as a vanguard against what remains of the Empire. Her touring presence across Kalmte had been according to the Inquisitorial Agents having a demoralizing effect on the soldiers as any battles that involved her personal attendance had always resulted in an utter rout of the Duchal-Imperial Forces. Any sort of relief could mean the difference for the survival of the Empire if they could either stop any of the Demon’s Elites or allow more people to escape their voracious path.

An orange glow followed by the gales of the autumn winds swept past the Crow Master, spurring her ears and nose. She could hear her tingling ears the crackle of fire and anger from her disguised Crows who infiltrated the Demonic Herding camps.

Her nose titillated on the perfumed scents of blood and anarchy that followed suit.

“The die has been cast.” Mita shrouded her hood atop her ebony short hair.

She leaped down from her tree and landed gracefully onto the ground, hardly making a sound even if there were no Demonic Sentries nearby to affix their gaze upon the southwestern approach to Egni now that their attention has been diverted to the rioting commoners at their Herding Camps. Her nimble feet skimmed through the bemired dirt roads of Egni, the Harvest Season’s Drwg Mynd being the perfect veil to mask her silken glissade. Typically, she would often avoid large groups of five or more Otherworlders whenever possible. She was not up to prolonged combat, using her Whipping Mist Bomb’s to evade the clutches of any soldiers she comes across. Occasionally she would encounter an isolated or two Otherworlders that she was forced to tangle with her hands reddened with their blood. Aiming for their heads and necks, the most efficient means of eliminating any potential betrayers, especially of armored dress, to her presence with her blades and Hand-Bolt Thrower. Despite their fearsomely distinguished semblances, they bleed just the same from the dripping thirst of her twin blades.

As she journeyed closer to the Village Center, she could already see the pandemonium quicken across the village’s narrow pathways of frenzied refugees pommeling their Demonic Captors for their arrogance alongside her Crow-Initiates who stoked them. Such fighting had become so great that the Herders were now resorting to lethal force in a bid to cow their cattle and re-assert their domination, firing their Black Staves towards them. The Crow Master churned if not for a mere flash when she saw a couple of her Initiates become martyred by the Demon’s weapons. Yet, she knew that their mission was just. Though they could all potentially die in such an attempt; all that matters is the contract be honored between them and Emperor Uldin. As so it has always been for the Crows. Their tradition of Honoring those who down the right price for their services. Themselves only a secondary consideration.

Still, even in the midst of overwhelming force, there were some Crows who didn’t confront the Demons, instead of leading away as many of the refugees as they could from the fighting northwards away from Egni. Mita had mapped out several escape routes they could use and arranged a means of departure for them and the refugees should they make it away from Egni. She had to save them not just because it was the just action to do, but she needed them to spread what horrors the Otherworlders are now inflicting upon those unfortunate enough to not escape their grasp. Yesterday was Haringpoint, today Kalmte, tomorrow could be all of the Empire.

“Captain! We got orders from the Major. Deadly Force is not allowed! Use Non-lethals! We can’t let them pass us any further or they’ll all escape!” a dirt-kicked Demonic Otherworlder yelled.

Mita slowed herself, knelt down, and stalked forward, she could hear the fighting becoming more discordant. Her observing the Otherworlders beginning to start digging their heels deeper down to the muddied floor.

“Where are the Non-Lethals? At this rate my gun is going to break!” another Demonic Otherworlders, rather atypically protested in a rare display of hesitation as he clubbed one rioter with his stave.

“We got some by our Motor Pool near the Temple! Samantha and her team are close by! We need her help!” the previous Demon ordered.

Samantha.

That was the name of the Share-Holder. She is indeed still here and just as she had scouted, still inside the Temple.

Flanking her way around the beleaguered defenders, Mita infiltrates the deep heart of the Otherworlder’s Camp, behind their backs. The front door is way too obvious for an entrance for her to march in, alongside the large hole the Temple had suffered during the doomed Legionary-led counter atta. In her own honesty, could have actually succeeded in overrunning the Otherworlders on their lonesome. There was, however, one more entrance she could enter from, the Bell Tower. The stone construction of the Temple wasn’t of smooth-surfaced quarry stone but rather glued together patches of stackable rock. Mita was confident that she could, with some moderate effort, quickly able to climb up the tower and enter through the tower without the inhabitants knowing she was coming from above… but how would she get out of the Temple, however? Would she have to whisk away the Share-Holder with the Otherworlders in Hot Pursuit as she feared?

“Alright! Alright! I am getting them.” A familiar lithe voice burst out of the front door mid-thought as Mita’s eyes caught red. Red Hair.

“I got our screen covered. Hurry now Samantha!” an Otherworlder declared.

“Got it! Cover me!” Samantha slung her demonic stave and rushed forth.

It was the Share-Holder herself, Mita recognized her distinctive armor and red hair hung around in a playful ponytail in all of her unmistakable visage. Her face was flushed with sweat as she ran forth around the corner of the Temple. Mita hid behind a pile of haystacks as she observed her target returning to her comrades with several heavy boxes back and forth. Blinding magical light from the Demonic’s own arms ensorcelled all eyes in its dazzling flashes as their staves ripped through the Riot with wild abandon, knocking down each person who charged forth with wounds suddenly being bolted upon their bodies.

It was now or never for the Crow Master. This could be her only chance to capture an invaluable prize for her contract. And she would be damned if she let this slip away from her fingers.

Samantha was a dangerous adversary, her magical prowess decimating those who dare confront her head-on. A single rogue, even as skillful as Mita herself would not stand a chance if she manages to get her spells off her hands. Undermining her ability to fight back of any means would be key. The Crow Master opened her pouch and where the Yaohu Oil she kept tucked comfortably in. Unfurling its protective cloth, she took hold of the coal-colored glass bottle and poured its intoxicating contents across the cloth. The sedative fumes were tempting for her eyes to fall but Mita bit her lip hard to stay awake. The potion may be potent, but it diffuses quickly when exposed to air for too long.

Once the cloth has been fully doused in Yaohu Oil, Mita leaped away from the hay with her head lowered as she made her way around the Temple. Like a wolf finding its prey, Mita saw Samantha carrying over boxes of the Demons supplies all on her lonesome. Sweat poured and her muscles bearing signs of laborious diligence. Alongside the fighting only mere inches away from her, she was completely unaware of the Crow Master’s presence.

“My baby in the cradle, ready for bed.~” Mita pounced on Samantha. It was an old folk lullaby, its length tailor-made for the most efficient usage to drowse one victim to sleep, whether its through a choking garrote or the forced inhalation of hypnotic fumes. “Done for the day with sweet dreams in your head.~”

“Mmmph!” Captain Rose struggled, her body shifting to break free, but the Yaohu Oil held true to its name. The more the Share-Holder fought, the heavier her body weighed her down. The sedative effects of the Saihanese herb liquefying her resolve as it was f.o.r.c.i.b.l.y taken to sleep.

“Mother will help you fear no dread.~” Mita pulled up the now unconscious Samantha over her shoulder. “Mayari’s smiles over your little head.~”

With her target in tow and her companions none the wiser of what had just happened, Mita spirited the Chosen One away from the battle right beneath their noses.

The Predator has become the Prey! The Crow Master’s plan had succeeded.

[-]

“That’s odd…” one of Project Hecate’s Specialists looked on Samantha’s biometrics.

“What is it?” Dr. Mahelona, coffee cup in hand walked towards him.

“Asset: Le Fay’s heartbeat monitor just suddenly fell down.” The Specialist reported.

“What do you mean… ‘went down’?” Mahelona’s peered down on the Specialist. Concern beginning to pour out unto his pudgy face.

“I am sorry, but I meant…” apologized the Specialist. “It’s just her heart rate… and brain waves just went down to… uh Sleep Levels? Isn’t it… just Four P.M. right now? Protocols say she must take her rest cycles at arou–” the Specialist questioned.

“Sam probably had a rough day today Specialist.” Mahelona dismissed his concerns. “The Captain is a smart girl. She knows when she should get away with a few minutes of shut-eye or two. Let’s just cut her a bit of slack just this once.” Mahelona smiled as he finished the last cup of his coffee. “You should get back to work with digitizing those Spell Books from the College now at the meantime. Sam is gonna love what Agent De Sardet fished up.” He spoke.

The Specialist shrugged, minimized the live monitoring of Samantha’s on-suit Biometrics, and followed the Doctor’s orders. Still, the mention of the Bureau Agent’s name still sent many cold shivers down many of the common pencil pushers and even a few of the grunts around New Albany. Outside of video calls to his husband and his blatant addiction to Banana Pistachio Muffins, he was one of the bleakest men to ever dare walk the green earth. His actions with the Adventurer’s Guild and several Mages… or at least what was left of them anyways speaks louder than whatever posh français rolled off his tongue.

At least there’s Inspector Reid to keep him somewhat in check.