Chapter 3: The Chaos before the Storm

‘Chaos flows with natural, ordered intent. It is alive and possessed of its inclinations. To reach out to anything is to make oneself a part of it, and so the witches must live within chaos, embodying the inclination they wish it to be possessed of. In this way chaos too, reflects the witch. Attempting to control only brings resistance to this union of intent. Resistance, begets a tension which will undo the witch, undo the union, and rend both by the storm and by its quiet.’

 

Lohren sat cross legged in the soft shadow of a Terran artillery piece. Unsheathed, her blade balanced in the crook of her lap as she contemplated Ohrdin’s words. It wasn’t long after her employment that his attempts to describe a witches practice had graced her feline ears. Yet still, she was no closer to deciphering how she might adapt the wisdom of the arcane into her rituals. 

 

The ferrous scent of incense raked through her nose, billowing from the golden pendant she burned it in. In undulating patterns the smoke draped itself over her weapon. A new cloak of drifting ash distorted even the polished gleam of its edge. This light taunted her. 

 

A wicked edge, kept illusory beneath the haze of smoke, seemed to her an apt metaphor for the equally keen focus she could not grasp. The only focus she could draw amidst the thunderous cacophony of the perimeter teams, was the similarity between her old masters lessons and Ohrdin’s impromptu lecture. 

 

They spoke of largely similar concepts, chaos and order, flow and intent. The mind of a warrior and that of a witch, were almost identical as far as she was concerned. Both sought an understanding of their focus, did they not? A witch their spell, and a warrior their foe.

 

The point of a warrior's weapon and their boots were the only solid parts they were composed of. Everything else flowed like water, flowing with grace and directing these points with power. Water did not move on its own. It was directed by outside forces. Any strike would push the water around it to flow along its entire chain, eliciting dodges, parrys and return strikes. In turn these movements would cause their assailant, a body of water, to flow in its own unique way. 

 

She knew from extensive practice that this flow was oft a dance between partners, guiding each other's movements. In the end the better dancer was the one who knew best how water flowed, how they flowed, how their opponent flowed. Predictability was the death of a swordsman and yet what she was taught only told her that unpredictability was impossible without committing to an incorrect choice, an even more certain death. 

 

It seemed then, that to be water, to embody it more purely than your foe was to choose life. Anything else became simply not an option. A stillness of mind, a peerless focus. Boot, body, blade and blood. The chain that granted life, the chain she could not perfect, a focus she could not grasp. 

 

In the chaos of a fight there was too much to consider. Too many outside factors trampled through her thoughts, made a mockery of her focus, made a mockery of her, relegating her to gate duty for so many years. Yet those thoughts had saved her life! Surely there was merit to a chaotic mind. Witches embodied this chaos unfettered by caution and somehow directed a magic as controlled and calculated as a machine. 

 

It was all science, the witches would assure you, but to give yourself so completely to abandoning control only to produce a pre-decided effect? It fell beyond her understanding. So different it was in theory to what she was taught, that only a splitting migraine greeted her as she attempted to synthesise their obvious connection. 

 

Somewhere between magic and might, lay the answer. She had been taught by Ohrdin that minor differences implied great distinctions if one stopped to consider the new perspective. While he had intended that towards the diplomats and flirts they had met on Terra, she saw no reason why it would not apply elsewhere. 

 

The difference which captivated her mind was that while water was always water, reflecting only upon an identical yet separate copy, witches believed the differences of their medium to be integral to their success. If internal factors could disturb the flow as much as external ones, then it would stand to reason that she contained the source of her dismay. 

 

Hours of meditation and repeated attempts to bless her weapons had yielded no insight as to the nature of this source. She knew someday that to disturb the flow of water would be her undoing. Still, unfortunately, the harbinger of her failures was a part of her. A part she was fervoured to expunge. 

 

“If you light any more of that stuff you’re gonna set off the smoke detectors.” Merce grunted, weighty steps punctuated as he dropped the end of a heavy, cloth-wrapped object onto the floor, lowering the other end gently down. 

 

A sharp, upwards nod from him prompted Lohren to examine the ceiling. A scattering of miniature yellow turrets scanned the room, tubes of some liquid connecting their barrel to the ceiling. The closest of which had trained their beady, red-eyed camera onto her. With a short laugh she sarcastically gestured to her smoking pendant. “A little over sensitive if they don’t like this little thing, don’t you think?” 

 

“With the amount of live ammunition in here I think you’ll be glad they are.” Merce chuckled, unsheathing the straight, medium length blade on his thigh as he began to kneel. With a short flip he turned its edge upright and began slicing through the rope tying the cloth down. 

 

Lohren’s brow furrowed. “I don’t recall melee weaponry in your equipment listings?” 

 

“Standard issue where the Drenhari are concerned.” Merce replied, finishing his cuts and sheathing the blade. 

 

Lohren took a moment to examine hers as Merce unravelled the cloth. Travelling the length of her forearm, its thick spine curved down towards the front supporting a deep body. The well kept edge swept back from the blade's sturdy point, flowing through a deep belly into a pronounced S-curve which wrapped around the handle to almost cover the absent pommel. In its place the handle could, if she so wished, extend into a polearm only a foot shorter than she was. 

 

Thumbing the mosaic Damascus pattern she had hammered into it when it was still a billet, she glanced towards the comparatively tiny Terran weapon and huffed. “Your ahh… blade is a little on the small side.” 

 

Merce looked at the smirking woman, shaking his head slightly. “It’s perfectly suitable for someone of my stature. We aren’t all gifted with your obscene strength so we have to make use of a few well placed thrusts to bring an opponent to their knees.” 

 

Her smirk grew into an uncontrolled smile as she replied. “There’s a place for power when you have enough of it to dominate. I… thought you might remember that… if I didn’t knock it out of your head.” 

 

“Oh here we go!” Merce exclaimed. “If I had known I’d had to listen to your ego for the next few weeks I wouldn’t have taken that dive.” 

 

“Woah hang on what do you mean you took a dive?” 

 

Merce cocked his head, helm no doubt hiding his shit eating grin. “A shame, to have all that power and no eye for what it’s doing to someone.” 

 

“Oh trust me…” she drawled, eyeing him up and down, “… I know what I can do to people.” 

 

“You can save the demonstration, I cracked enough bones the last time you got your hands on me.” He paused, regarding her smug expression. “You’re not my type anyways, and besides, I didn’t come over here for chit chat.” 

 

A broad stroke of his arm threw open the cloth covering, unveiling a blocky, twin barrelled heavy machine gun. Mag-rail barrels, twin drum magazines, variable thermal sights and a stock built like it was trying to stop an earthquake. 

 

Lohren whistled, grabbing an upper handle and hefting the firearm into her arms. “It’s a bit big for your kind, but distinctly Terran make…” she paused, curiosity creeping slowly into her voice, “… since when did you have fabricators this advanced?” 

 

“We don’t.” Merce said with a shrug, only continuing when feeling the pressure of an insistent, curious gaze. “Ripped it off of one of the new APC’s. Too heavy for most but I knew you’d do just fine.” 

 

Huffing in amusement as she watched him rub his ribs, her attention was slowly drawn to crudely carved Iverian symbols running the length of the weapon. “And these?”

 

“Had a new recruit research you lot. Said you liked to bless your weapons. Ohrdin was keeping you busy so I just had her take care of it. It probably isn’t done right but I’m sure it’s close enough, the kid’s got steady hands.” 

 

Lohren was taken aback for a moment. There was certainly a few symbols missing but the positioning was immaculate. A charred scent graced her nose as she clawed away clumps of ash. “The blessing is extensive. How did she not set off fire alarms?” 

 

“There’s a smoking area.” His tone was only half as sarcastic as he intended, distracted as he noted her sudden shift from casual to formal. He was beginning to think that her usual terrifying expression was not borne of intimidation, but focus, be it curious or professional. 

 

“There’s a… oh.” Her embarrassment slipped beneath her tones of astonishment. “I’d like to meet her if you can arrange that.” 

 

“I can, but it’s a terrible idea.” Merce watched her hitch her shoulders almost defensively, a tell he noticed back in the bar. Raising his hand he paused her before she could argue and gestured towards the landing bay doors. “You have one responsibility, being prepared for the worst over there. We’re headed into hell and I don’t want you distracted… for his sake.” 

 

Slowly closing her mouth, she gave a curt nod. “I understand, but I can keep work and play separate.” 

 

“Name’s Julie I think, works the mechs.” He stood, stretching his arm across his chest. “You can flirt later, Ohrdin wants to be upfront so you’re with the perimeter team as soon as we land.” Laughing suddenly he shook his head and looked down at her. “I just remembered, you’re with Romeo squad!” 

 

Lohren slowly gathered her weapons and rose to her feet. Taking a moment, she scanned across the near hundred and fifty soldiers preparing in front of the landing bay doors. Ohrdin’s crown of horns stood a lighthouse amongst the black and white rocks of the Terran veterans, their white panels, garnet-like glass insignia, and litany of medals distinguishing them from the new recruits.  Without looking, one of his hands raised behind his back, curling into the claw shape her people used to indicate a yes. “Fucking smartass!” She growled at the increasingly smug officer beside her. 

 

His laughter uncontained, Merce continued to taunt her all the way to the doors. “Glad you remember those words.” 

 

———————————————————

The lurching thud of the landing bay ramp spurred forth a deluge of thundering boots. Thunder turned to splashing as the perimeter team fanned out across the landing zone, drudging through melted snow mixing with coarse sand. The frigid environment had already draped winter over the scorched ship, raining droplets of water off the side as it steamed and cooled. 

 

Nestled in the tip of the valley, the dominating shadow of the Morningstar loomed over the landing site. Titanic blast doors marked the entrance to the compound, revealed by the recent melt. Quickly secured by three of the eighteen squads, the site was left to their hands while the rest of the perimeter team began filing into and over the trench network. A sprawling web of paths, tunnels, bunkers and large excavated areas such as the landing zone. 

 

It was as Lohren disembarked alongside Merce that she recoiled in disbelief as to the intricacy of the network. She found it hard to imagine, even in lieu of Kreischer’s report, what circumstances could have prompted the Terrans to gain such experience. 

 

The pair hastily jogged towards their respective commanders who, despite their proximity, were oddly silent. The silence followed a distance in Ohrdin’s eyes, their solemn hue traipsing across the soon to be battlefield before them. With a flighty shudder they turned unto the sky, affixed there as he broke the silence. 

 

“We need to get the cannon operational soon, they’re close.” A single lithe hand planted itself across his heart. “I can feel them… or rather I cannot. So many living creatures and so little chaos, so little emotion. A grand shadow of vicious intent approaches us from beyond the Black Mirror, a fear unlike any I’ve ever felt. Though I cannot say from whom that fear festers…” 

 

His words carried on the bracing wind to little effect. His companion stood a statue, unflinching except for the gentle folding of a fur lined trench coat. 

 

“Kreischer I do hope you’re listening, we are in a bit of a hurry.” Ohrdin rested a hand upon Kreischer’s shoulder, floating forward just enough to see focused eyes peering out from between layers of cloth, wrapped around his head in an impromptu shemagh. Ohrdin looked behind himself, extending a brief wave to Lohren before hailing Merce. “Lieutenant! Your commander’s lips appear to be frozen together, you wouldn’t happen to have a hot drink to bring some life back into him would you?” 

 

Merce slowed his pace, maneuvering aside to get a better view. He too, froze, for but a moment as he noticed Kreischer’s hand rigidly gripping his sidearm. “Juliet! Testudo!” He barked, igniting the cautious pace of the nearest squad, who wheeled around and ran to their positions. In moments they had surrounded the officers, plasma rifles charged and shouldered in all directions, hoping to catch an offending glare. 

 

“Service tunnel two.” Kreischer whispered just above the wind, gesturing underneath a thruster towards a blast door, curtained by the waterfall of melting snow. Gently drifting open, the door enforced a silence of its own. Littered with large scratches the hints of their origin spread Kreischer’s captivation through the group. 

 

“Correct me if I’m wrong Lieutenant, aren’t all large creatures here aquatic?” Kreischer looked up towards the cannon itself, noting a broken window in the observation room. “Aside from the bird’s, I'm not too concerned about them.”

 

Flipping open the data pad on his arm, merce feverishly flitted through files. “One of them is amphibious, the Rosseira. It’s an ambush predator that shouldn’t be this far inland, nothing to hunt.”

 

“They can feed on heat too!” Lohren interjected, powering on her new gun. 

 

Kreischer finally averted his gaze, regarding Lohren with a raised eyebrow. “Lieutenant, take Romeo and clear from the ground to the lower thermal core. I don’t have time to wait, I’m taking Juliet through to the observation room.” He nodded briefly at Ohrdin. “We need the Morningstar online within the hour.”

 

“Juliet! Escort the Admiral!” Merce shouted, flagging down the second veteran squad. “Sir as your head of security I have to advise against this. The Rosseira are only supposed to be engaged by heavy mechs.” 

 

“Then it’s a good thing you have our Iveri friend.” Kreischer said dismissively, turning to face Lohren. “No offense meant by it, you’re essentially a mech that can think, so make sure you take the front when you find it. The rest of them won’t survive being a chew toy.” Stepping out from between his guard, he gave a sharp whistle followed by the hand signal to group up, moving off before there was any chance for discussion. 

 

Ohrdin, meanwhile, had been observing Merce. Watching the nervous shift of his feet, the staring helmet that tracked Kreishcer, the strain of his gloves tightening around his rifle's grip. He could not quite place the nature of their connection, but the tightly wound aura of anxiety radiating off of the Lieutenant convinced him that preserving it would be vital to ensure the mental stability of this defense’s commander. Drifting leisurely over to Lohren he leaned in to whisper to her. 

 

“Lohren, please treat that order as if it came from me. Their relationship seems a touch more than professional.” Leaning back slightly he looked at the curious cock of her head. Annoyingly the aura of that mask she had brought with her had shrouded her own. He considered himself lucky that the most dangerous person to deceive him didn’t yet have the subtlety to do so. “You’ve become comfortable with him have you not?”

 

“I have sir” she responded cautiously. 

 

“Good. The Lieutenant knows that Kreischer is well protected and exposed to little danger. See if you can figure out why he’s so concerned.” 

 

“Yes, Sir.” Lohren’s tense frame accented her reply, delayed and uncertain. “Where will you be?” 

 

“Kreischer is rushing. Calm as he may seem, his aura is erratic, lacking coherency. I imagine his mind reflects that internal chaos. Without focus I can’t attest to any direction other than the lack of it, he’s thinking too much and is almost certain to be caught off guard if not looked after.” He chuckled as he saw the plasma pistol Lohren was offering him, dismissing the offer with a wave of his hand. “There’s only small auras where I’m going, I’d prefer not to carry such a thing.”

 

“What about the Rosseira?”

 

Silence unnerved her following the question as Ohrdin turned his gaze to the floor, staring at some faraway place beneath the mountain. “Gone. I sense nothing outside of the dormant geothermals. Powering the weapon with the planet’s core was a clever way to go beyond their technological limitations, I must say. At any rate I would not expect a fight, which gives you, an opportunity to get to know the Lieutenant. Do stay safe of course.”

 

Lohren caught her reply as soon as she had started it, attempting to hide it with a cough. Despite how comfortable she had become with Ohrdin in recent weeks, she knew Thentian patience had its limits. Challenging many a practiced millenia in one’s craft was an insult she was not keen to give. 

 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

 

Choking draughts of warm, sulfurous air intermittently blasted through the reinforced halls. The decrepit structure strained softly under the great weight of the mountain as it breathed again, sending a soft wheeze through the respirators caught in its exhalation. Seven pairs of boots patrolled the corridors, leapfrogging beyond eachother room by room, staircase by staircase, every corner scanned by thermal scopes. One level, two levels, three levels down before they reached the core.

 

The wear of the antique facility was clear in every rusted bolt, every barely functional panel and every door that Lohren forced open. The blast door before them defied its age, however. The sheer mass of doors, bolts and locks compensated for a lack of maintenance. The security of the door would have been a certainty if not for the trail of giant paw prints disappearing beneath it. 

 

“How did it get in there? None of the doors so far have power.” Lohren whispered, looking to Merce for some explanation. 

 

“This one shouldn’t either but it doesn’t look like it came back out this way.” A quick slap of the access panel yielded to a soft flurry of swears. “Alright everyone back up there’s no way we’re getting in quietly. Lohren, you have the only weapon big enough to cut through this, mag-dump the bolts on the right side.” 

 

“Won’t the melted casings hit whatever’s behind it?” 

 

“Fuck, are they up to date, ahhh….” Merce muttered as he sorted through files on his wrist pad. “… they are! There’s an anti shrapnel box behind the door in case anyone managed to blast it open.” 

 

Lohren shouldered her weapon. “Let’s hope we won’t need it again.” 

 

“If the Nids make it this far we’re already fucked. Everyone! Deafen!” Six hands immediately touched the mute button on their helmets, blocking most of the noise they were bracing for. 

 

A muffled whine lept from the charging rails, hoping to escape the deluge of canisters that followed. Shuddering in their discharge, the twin barrels alternated their shots, compressing backwards to lessen the already minimal recoil. The various metals of the silvery canisters accelerated at slightly different speeds, pulling on a primer within each to ignite. That spark erupted into a searing ball of helium induced, violet red plasma, melting its casing into superheated rivulets. 

 

The sound of lightning cracked as plasma scorched the atmosphere in its path, slams of thunder careening through the echoing tunnels. 

Blinding rosy light lit the small hall like a solar flare, dimmed by their visors to a mostly tolerable level. The raging river of full auto plasma fire was carving its way through the blast doors fittings, sending bubbling lava flows of molten metal cascading down and across the floor. Thirty seconds of teeth chattering shockwaves later the clicking of an empty magazine replaced the prior cacophony. 

 

Lohren felt the brush of half a dozen soldiers rush past her, aligning their rifles with the barely standing blast door as they knelt in staggered rows. She also felt a hand clasp her shoulder, another pulling the gun from her hands. Looking across she saw Merce begin to reload it, motioning near his ears for her to undeafen. 

 

“Alright I’ll get this beast of a thing reloaded while you knock that thing out of the wall, the main supports were those right hand bolts so it should come down easy. Make some room for her lads!” 

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“Are you serious?” She groaned. “I’ve already pulled open a dozen other doors. I don't have the energy to keep doing this!” 

 

“Ha! If I’d known it was that easy to tire you out I wouldn’t have dived so soon!” Merce cackled back to her, clicking two new magazines into place. 

 

Rolling her eyes, Lohren sauntered backwards with a determination to remind him precisely why he had. Lowering to a sprinter's crouch, she prepared to cross the flowing sea of glowing metal still illuminating the door. She braced, flexed and… stalled. She froze as soon as she realised her distraction, avoiding what she considered a potentially lethal mistake. 

 

It was an ambush predator. 

 

The words rang a sickening note through her head. She had almost charged headlong into the lair of the beast without so much as a thought towards that fact. So she paused and took a moment to steady herself, focusing her far keener senses onto every detail of perception she could grab hold of. If she were to kick a Rosseira’s door in, she would not be caught off guard doing so. It had certainly heard the noise. It would certainly be preparing. She would certainly be prepared for it. 

 

Her clawed boots scraped against the now warm stone floor as she launched forwards. An intense drum beat of charging footfall sent crashing echoes to rival their predecessors into the tunnels. Within moments these echoes were effectively silenced as several tonnes of metal and flesh speared into the cooling door, the ear splitting shriek of shearing steel lancing through the air. 

 

Half wrapped in the now deformed door, Lohren had launched herself a few feet into the room, thunderously clattering to the floor. Instantly, despite her body’s protest, she wrenched herself free from the unrecognisable slab of metal, drawing her pistol and blade.

 

The echo of her collapse faded as she scanned her surroundings. Sight? A faint glow lit the box she was in, three foot thick steel walls, a doorframe to either side and a line of embedded nearly cooled casings which had pierced the door, sinking into the wall behind her. Smell? What little scents made their way through her respirator conveyed oil, copper and… incense? 

 

Sound? No scratching, no footsteps, no sign of any movement at all. Only the gentle rush of hot air breathing out from the core, disturbing the heat waves rising from the scorched doorway in front of her. Except, she heard the flicker of a light. Nothing in here should be powered on, she thought. That familiar feeling that she was missing something burrowed once more into her skull. 

 

No sooner had she gotten her bearings, than a perimeter of allies had surrounded her. Holstering her pistol, she stood and reached to catch the heavy machine gun being laboriously hefted in her direction, doing so with one hand to the tune of Merce’s deflating ego. 

 

A large walkway wrapped around the circular,  cavernous room, beginning at the blast door, passing an assortment of control stations and doors, ending in a heavily reinforced control room. Directly beside both the main door and the control room were opposing pairs of elevators connecting the walkway to the lower floor. Lohren took a quick look over the railing to see a giant pillar of heat rising from a forty foot, slowly spinning sphere in the centre of the room. Snug it sat within the confines of its cradle, masses of thick cables spilling out across the floor creating the silhouette of a thousand armed octopus. 

 

“I can’t see anything.” One of the soldiers said, matched by five more sounding off the same reply. 

 

Merce briefly scanned the room with his thermal scope. A pair of hand signals motioned for Lohren and one of the soldiers to follow him, hand returning to the trigger as he spoke. “The rest of you take elevators down, stick in pairs and remember your data pads can’t signal me here. Sound off to each other every thirty seconds.” 

 

Elevators now descending, Merce led his two companions in a sweep of the walkway. Each door was checked, none had power. “The consoles are all dead too, we’ll need to get to the control room.” Merce said as Lohren tightened her grip. 

 

There was something eating away at her focus, distracting her from trying to locate the creature. She tried to bury it, intent on making true of her promise to expunge her distractions. 

 

She kept looking as they approached the control room. She kept looking as they opened the door. She kept looking as she noticed the flicker of a lamp in the corner of the room. She kept looking as once again smelled incense. She kept looking, looking, looking for any sign of the danger she was sure was here, a tingle tap dancing up her spine. 

 

Merce spun his sights around the room one final time, seeing as much as she did in her thermals, nothing. “I’m gonna get the lights on so keep an eye out, it might still be around.” He slung his rifle behind him, resting strapped across his back as he began flicking switches. 

 

The other soldier relaxed, looking over to Lohren who remained stiff as a board. He tilted his head in concern as the mountainous woman looked fit to have a panic attack. Internally her mind was raging, fighting against her instinct in a futile attempt to quiet the itch caressing her spine. There was no other exit, yet it had definitely entered. There was no sign of its presence either, which did little to quell the question in her mind that there were too many details unaccounted for. How had it gotten in? Why were the lights flickering? 

 

Yet she fought, desperate to prevent another catastrophe. She had to find it lest the massacre begin. She could not allow it to happen again, and so, she fought. Check the corners again, check the doors, the windows, then do it again! This fight twisted her mind until her emotions broke against her lacking capacity, dread settling into her veins. She knew she was missing something. She knew the moment she stopped paying attention is when all hell would break loose and yet she had to think, lest the itch drive her insane. 

 

In those moments her mind wandered for guidance, her own teachings failing her she thought there must have been another perspective. Ohrdin’s words that had plagued her back on the ship rose to the surface once more. ‘Resistance… rend both by the storm and its quiet.’ 

 

The danger of the storm was obvious to her now as she clouded her mind in a flurry of anxiety. However, the danger of the quiet escaped her. Was that not the goal? To quiet one’s mind so they cannot be deceived? A deathly shiver ran through her spine, striking the base of her skull. That strike rang a bell through her mind as an answer formed. She was so focused on the storm that the quiet had infected her, making her miss the forest for the trees. 

 

She had trusted Ohrdin’s judgment that it wasn’t here and that, had proven wrong. Perhaps her idea should have been spoken. It only made sense to her that a world full of creatures that feed on heat would evolve to sense it. What good was an ambush predator that could be seen by everything it hunted? However it managed it, she was sure that her thermals would be useless. Not because it wasn’t here but because it wasn’t hot. Again, she smelled incense. 

 

Slowly raising her gun she scanned the room with her scope, looking now not for heat, not for her target or where it may be. Instead she looked for where it wasn’t, the coldest spot in the room. There, by the lamp, the darkest spot she had seen all day. Pure void in the corner of the ceiling, striking another shivering cord in her back. Desperate to defeat her worry, her finger twitched against the trigger, freezing in hesitation. 

 

What if she was wrong? What if the rest of the team was being torn to shreds near the core? What if it was as simple as being sat near its food source? What if she was overthinking again? What if-

 

She smelled incense, the light flickered. 

 

So distracted she was that she missed the tiniest hint of heat escaping the shadow, eliciting the scent of something familiar in its discharge to entice her. Light from the lamp barely silhouetted the camouflaged Rosseira as she turned to the windows. A final screeching shiver of her intuition wheeled her around in time to let off a single shot. Red light filled the beast's three eyes, glinting off rows of sawtooth tusks. The shot flew wide as one of the six vicious paws went over her head.

 

Dropping her weapon, Lohren reached out and entangled her arms with its tail, planting her feet as the massive weight dragged her forward, denting the floor beneath her. The intervention pulled the creature short of its intended target, claws raking across the soldier's chest instead of his head. Still, great was its strength as said claws hooked him through the air, cartwheeling into the consoles beside Merce with a sickening crack. Electricity coursed through the body folded backwards over the crushed console. 

 

“Shit! Fuck! Lohre, keep it busy!” Merce bellowed as he attempted to cut power to the console. Within seconds he abandoned delicacy and drew his rifle, unloading plasma into the power lines, several of them arcing electricity as they fell from the ceiling. 

 

Meanwhile the beast had turned its attention on its captor, undulating screeches ripping into her ears as it caught sight of her mask. A mighty sweep of its rear legs impacted the back of her knee, twisting her off balance. Reading up until its back flattened a smooth oily hide against the ceiling, it planted a paw onto her chest, slamming her into the floor. 

 

The air now forced from her lungs she barely had time to react, Instinctively covering her head as a flurry of foot-long claws came thrashing down upon her. Seeing an opportunity amidst the onslaught she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around the first limb she could grasp, twisting her dense core and wrenching the beast's shoulder to the ground with her. Unable to reach her, the beast responded in kind by engulfing her head in its jaws and charging forward, powerful forelegs scraping Lohren along the ground before lifting and driving her into the wall. Lohren’s grip barely relaxed as her senses numbed, dizzying repetitions of the creature's thrashing straining through her concussed mind. 

 

That moment of weakness was enough for the creature to pull loose, stretching back on its hind legs to bring four separate claws down on her. Just then the creature roared as streams of plasma washed over its hide, white hot metal piercing deep into the layers beneath. 

 

Merce’s bravery turned quickly to confusion as the plasma, which would normally vaporise the living, barely burned into its flesh. Quicker still was his fervent dash to cover, as the smell of burning flesh chased him across the room. Ducking behind pipes larger than himself, Merce pulled his pistol and aimed for the Rosseira’s eyes as it crashed with a thunderous boom into the quickly deforming pipes. 

 

Lohren looked up, dazed and blurry. A glancing blow of plasma arced through the air, taking a dinner-plate eye with it. Having it’s back, she stumbled towards the rearing monster, grabbing a stray cable and hurling it over its head, looping it around its neck as she wrenched back. It took a single step backwards for it to catch its balance, straining against the impromptu noose. 

 

Lohren sank her entire weight against the taught line, searching desperately for signs of a living Lieutenant. She decided to trust his survivability and shouted out, “It cools internally! Cook his fucking stomach!”

 

Merce emerged moments later, rolling beneath the Rosseira’s hind legs. Grabbing hold of Lohren’s blade, greatly oversized in his hands, he pivoted and lunged, driving his full weight into the tip. A low chittering screech erupted as it sank only inches between ribs. Grabbing his rifle from the floor he leapt up the creature's back, using the blade's handle as a step. 

 

Lohren released her grip for brief enough a moment that she could grab hold of its terrifying jaws. She heaved, barely overpowering its bite as Merce took aim and unloaded the pistol down its throat. The resulting roar was suddenly silenced in a bath of plasma and gore. Falling back, the pair let the limp gurgling body crumple. A torrent of boiling blue blood came gushing out of its mouth in its collapse. 

 

Panting desperately in their exertion, Merce and Lohren stumbled backwards. Merce reached up and covered the intakes of his respirator. “Oh thank fuck for filters!” He cried to no one in particular. Lohren did not find herself so lucky, an oversensitive nose picking up the vile scent of cremated fish organs so keenly that she had no choice but to rip her helmet off and vomit. 

 

Merce chuckled at first, looking for a clever quip before the faint wheeze of a dying man dragged his attention away. Merce raced to kneel beside the upturned victim, legs dangling limply in the air. “Lohren! I need you over here, now!” 

 

Lohren clattered in beside him, barely keeping herself upright as Merce continued speaking in a controlled panic. “His spine snapped clean in half. Ribs are shattered and his left lung collapsed. We have minutes! Maybe…”

 

She watched him fumble open a panel on the wounded man’s leg armour, exposing three blue syringes labelled ‘AD-4M’. “I have something that can stabilize him long enough to get healers down here! What unit are they in?” She said, standing to retrieve the Thentian medicine she carried. 

 

“We don’t have any witches, Lohren! They’re all in the fucking Cradle with the Thentians for fucking training.” Merce shouted back, an emotional shudder creeping into his tone. “Listen very carefully. I need you to realign it while I get the adam into his system, as soon as he comes to you need to knock him the fuck out because I won’t be able to!” 

 

In a blistering state of confusion Lohren dragged the body from the console, gently laying him on the floor. “Sorry, hang on, it? What’s it?!” 

 

“His spine! Slice him open and don’t worry about the damage.” 

 

“Fine ahh…” she stuttered as she brought a gauntlet’s claw down to the twisted spine, “… wait…what in the mother is adam?” 

 

Her claw ripped through armour and flesh, exposing the shattered vertebrae for her to haphazardly pull back into position. Merce, simultaneous to this, was busy jamming a syringe into the man’s heart. Pressing the entirety of the liquid in, he yanked the needle out and started harsh chest compressions to the tune of mulching ribs. 

 

“Listen, I don’t have time for the story but the veterans are older than you think. I know that bar was too dark to see me properly, but for a human I only look thirty. I'm nearly three times that age! This stuff is gonna send his system into overdrive. Bone production, blood, muscle tissue, everything. He’ll survive this if we’re fast enough but it’s also gonna send his senses and emotions through the roof. We normally only take a few mls a day so this is going to shock his system. Last thing he knew was combat and the adrenaline will make it impossible to think! He’ll come back a fucking revenant and rip us apart with his fucking teeth if he has to!” 

 

Merce paused his resuscitations as he felt the chest become more solid. They both watched as minor wounds began to close and his spine slowly began to reform, the spinal cord neatly reattaching itself as if nothing had ever happened. Merce still looked worried, shaking his head and muttering, “no… no no it’s not enough he’s still bleeding out!” 

 

Lohren jumped to exonerate her hesitation, grabbing the other two needles and jamming them into the soldier. 

 

“Lohren! What the fuck are you…. Fuck it!” Merce sighed, slamming his weight into another round of compressions. The body rapidly stiffening beneath him until he could no longer press down. “Fuck, fuck, Jonathan wake the fuck up buddy!” 

 

Lohren reached out and pushed Merce away, bringing her elbow back and driving her fist into Jonathan’s chest. The resounding thump drove a wave of dark blue veins into his now exposed neck. A sickening domino of wrenching sounds ran through the contorting body as if possessed by a demon, culminating in a sudden grinding wheeze as reinflated lungs drew desperate breaths. 

 

“Lohren, hit him n-“ Merce’s plea was interrupted as Jonathan kicked off of the console, slamming his fist into Lohrens snout and diving Merce. A feverish assault began as blow after blow rained down on Merce’s helm, shattering the visor and steadily denting the helm inwards, tearing open Jonathan’s gloves in the process. Merce fought hard against the empowered man for all of five seconds before slipping towards unconsciousness. A single spurt of blood flew into the air as the helmet caved in far enough to cause damage, the finishing blow interrupted by an exceptionally angry tiger wrapping Jonathan in a headlock. 

 

Lohren casually stood up bringing the writhing mass of limbs and anger with her. She flexed, hard. Trapping a windpipe between her muscles she constricted him just shy of snapping his neck. Lohren snorted hard, blowing a splatter of blood across the helmet beneath her, her own maw drenched in a predator's snarl. It was remarkable to her how much pressure a human could take if you shoved enough drugs into their system. Not nearly impressive enough however, to grant her patience for her failing muscles. Maintaining her death grip for a few more seconds she trudged over to a mass of minced cables and threw him into it. 

 

Sparks flew as he roared and twitched unconscious, struck by a lightning bolt sized taser. Lohren pulled him free a moment later, checking briefly for a pulse before moving over to Merce.

 

“I ahh…. Fuck let me catch my breath…. I knocked him out… like you asked, phew!” 

 

Merce spluttered, fighting to stay awake as he fixed a single exposed blue eye in her direction. 

 

Lohren panted and winced at the extent of the damage to his helm. “How’s your nose?” 

 

“Fuck you Lohren!” 

 

“Ah you’re fine, thank the mother! I thought I was a dead woman!” 

 

“You might still be.” he wheezed, rolling into the fetal position. 

 

Lohren chuckled towards him, regarding the carnage around her. “If that stuff can fix a spine I’m sure it can fix a nose, quit complaining.” 

 

Merce remained silent for a moment, groaning back to his senses. Eventually he sat up and stared at the corpse of the Rosseira. “How did you know?” 

 

“Excuse me?” 

 

“How did you know how to kill it?” 

 

“The reports…” she sheepishly replied. 

 

Merce turned to her, confused. “I didn’t see anything like that.” 

 

Lohren rubbed the back of her head, slapping her hand down on a ruined console for support as she answered. “It was ahh… in the dietary section.” 

 

“…” 

 

“I thought there might be something poisonous to it…” 

 

“… when would we have the chance to play fucking hunter gatherer?!”

 

Silence answered for a time. Lohren gathered her breath and began gathering her weapons. “Don’t bitch just because you didn’t think of it!” 

 

“Oh go fuck yourself!” Merce sighed out in pain. A beeping on his wrist caught his attention as he lazily answered the call, visibly relaxing as Kreischer’s voice came through. 

 

“Merce, I need that power core online immediately, is it safe to send the engineers?” 

 

Merce wheezed for a moment as he cleared his bloody nose. “Yeah.. yeah it’s clear send them down.” 

 

“You sound… hurt.” 

 

“No no Sir, I’m fine, give me an hour and I’ll be ready for battle.” 

 

Whatever relief they may have found in lieu of their fight was short-lived in the face of Kreischer’s reply. 

 

“I’m afraid that’s all you’ll have, the Drenhari have arrived.” 

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