Breaking through the wilderness, Becker, Sor-Harach, and Magic-Man at st came over a half-buried cobblestone road tightly hugging the sharp cliff crags on the right, and on the left the rocks and the sand gently slid underneath the choppy waters.

  Over the radio, Magic-Man announced their presence to any outposts left, in turn being informed that all the others have already or were just returning to Landeska.

  Now the pace of advance went faster, though they drove cautiously lest they roll over into the water below. One turn, then another, the waves spshing high before folding back into the ocean. Passing over the cliffs, the road widened out onto a wet moor extending to the mountains of the north, and further ahead, a walled stretch of mortar more fitting as a dam. A couple of towers sectioned it off with a thick bunker style roof.

  Reaching the first outpost along the road, a reinforced dirt mound with temporary shelter, the trio encountered a fireteam with L1A1 SLRs and operating a L7A2 GPMG with a rge scope attached to it. Their uniforms were more appropriate for a scene right out of the Troubles, albeit with modern webbing, Kevr armor, and joint guards, with eyes only ski masks rolled up save for two. On their left they all wore an armband - the "Rx" prescription symbol, bone-cream white British Army font over a lust red background.

  Lead mercenary: We've been expecting your lot. You are all being expected by the Colonel.

  Magic-Man: What's the situation?

  Lead mercenary: As soon as the others in the observation posts fall back in, we're out.

  Once their pass was cleared, they continued on, passing by a few squads mercenaries making their way back into the city. All of their garb were in varying states of wear-and-tear, barely held together as if glorified mummy wraps, but it did not tarnished their enthusiasm or pace. The other outposts quickly processed those passing by, each anxiously waiting for the orders to leave.

  Despite being awake for a few hours, Sor-Harach seemed to wish to fall asleep, yawning greatly as they continued to travel.

  The closer the trio approached the city walls, they encountered a sparse forest of nude men skewered over the moor. Some of the tips already slid out of their mouths, while others continued to groan and twitch in pain. Their flesh, slowly turning dusky blue, endured several pecks and tears, with the flying culprits proudly sitting on their shoulders or on top of the heads.

  Far out into the sea, they saw an enormous fleet anchored over the horizon. Despite the harbor blocked off by the city wall, they observed a few ships exit and another one move in to take its pce. Whatever their sophistication in engineering or maintenance, even the most polished and sturdy looking of these ships were an obscenity towards shipbuilding.

  The most advance ships were retrofitted Great War-era chassis welded with whatever the architects felt like welding together, creating the illusion of rusted luxury cruise liners of death. The majority were bashed kits of shipping containers, assorted wood, and salvaged mechanical pieces barely held together by raft ptforms or ship frames not yet wasted away by the elements.

  Even the freshly crafted ships seemed to ck quality control. Xebecs, galleys, brigantine - their builders had a vision, to be sure, but combining them with smokestacks or motors might not be wise on the long run if their construction had no consideration behind it.

  By now, most of Landeska fitted well in a film of ambient noise and picturesque scenery. Shoddy shanty constructions and zombified, repurposed old constructions. Main streets twisted and turned in an illogical grid, thinning into backstreets and crisscrossed by alleyways wide enough to be streets in their own right. The solitary wind whistled through the opened doors and exposed windows.

  Only a few signs of chaos were observed, with broken wares dragged out of buildings and charred ruins dampened by the rain marking where the worst events took pce.

  Reaching a vertical main street, the trio came upon a procession of the some of the st citizens heading off to board the ships at the harbor. What few possessions they had were tightly bound in sheets, and even the children were packed like animals. Whatever their past, whatever their social status, whatever the quality of the clothes over their skin, none of it mattered here.

  Fnking them and keeping the procession moving were the warriors of the host. Their uniforms were like Sor-Harach's, red long shirt with bck pants and boots. Over their clothing was a melr suit that reached just above the knees and their elbows. Some of them had vambraces and leg guards. For head protection they wore gear akin to an archer's sallet with the forehead and top slightly peaking forward.

  Those with simple round shields with spiked umbos sported short spears with the thick heads just reaching over their heads. Those taller or much stronger had two-handed mace poles with cylindrical heads and jutted with spikes in shaped like shark teeth. As armed as they were, the warriors only seemed to keep the civilians corralled and moving forward, even if their orders sounded terse.

  While the scene appeared miserable, this was nothing compared towards the nearby halted procession in one of the nearby alleyways.

  Here the warriors were uneasy and tense with their party of chained, nude men and women forced to squat or be on their knees. Single hand maces and oval shaped clubs at the ready under clenched hands. Arms shackled behind their backs, heavy colrs on their necks chained together one after another, a coat of grime and mud over their multi-textured skins - the special markings below the shoulder are the only testament of how this lot became selected, all old enough to understand what is being done to them.

  They had no choice but to wait for the civilians to pass by first.

  One particurly unruly individual had the temerity to stand up, a lean muscur individual with slick long hair and a hardened face. He never made it all the way up before he was crushed between the wall behind him and a warrior's shield, whacked under the thighs by a short headed mace. Two others came to assist their companion, while the other nearby captives did their best to not get hit. Men or women, young or old, those chained nearby could not prevent from coming uninjured from this as the warriors made sure the hard faced captive did not get back up without permission.

  While the beating pyed out, the civilians at st passed by with another procession about to move forward.

  The trio rode on towards the central pza, the impromptu headquarters of the mercenary group. Creates, barbed wire, and chevaux de frise with bdes on the log closed off any street or alleyway leading into it except for the one entry point in the east manned by a fireteam sporting Uzi SMGs, a Benelli M4 with a solid butt stock, and at the center a L4A3 Bren Gun.

  There was not much left of the encampment. Whatever was important was already hauled off. A few continued to guard some rge tents, presumably waiting for the stragglers to report back in. The remaining chaos was of those hauling off whatever sacks and kits they could take off towards the western exit.

  Reaching the main tent they were greeted by a frail slim figure of a roughly 1.8 meter man with white skin roughened by premature aging and coarse treatment, looking on with a pained, bitter face enhanced by the bck pits where his eyes should be. His salt-and-pepper hair was medium-to-long and messy with a natural fold to the left. With his long bck windbreaker, blue work shirt, khaki cargo pants, and long outdoor bck boots, one would expect to find him taking long walks by the river rather than in this pce.

  He went to greet them without waiting for them to stop with a slight limp on his right knee.

  Magic-Man saluted him. Becker remained silent.

  Becker: Wilrd! How are your devilish ways holding up?

  Wilrd: The pleasantries will have to wait. We have little time. Now, is your buddy dead or what?

  Turning around, the two noticed Sor-Harach arched downward like a corpse.

  Becker: I slipped a sedative in his tea. He needs treatment but has refused so for one particur area.

  Magic-Man got off his floater and shut it off. Wilrd beckoned one of the other mercenaries standing on guard to come over with a slouch hat and a Daewoo Telecom K7.

  Wilrd: Take him to Captain Clegg.

  Becker: Good to know he's still around.

  Ripping out the page he was writing on the night before, he folded it and gave it to the mercenary now mounted on the floater.

  Becker: Hand this over to him, Linby. Good to see you again as well.

  He nodded in acknowledgement, saluting as he took off.

  Wilrd: *Sergeant-Major, we're off to see Sarjenko. The base is yours. Over.*

  The response was somewhat garbled by the crackling of the radio, but it was reciprocated.

  Walking west at a pace to accommodate Colonel Wilrd, the trio went through the solitary streets due southwest while Magic-Man expined what had transpired in the Wailing Husks, passing over cobblestone streets where the low points and downhill streets were drowned in water.

  When they reached a confused three street intersection with a four story building made with a psychotic mindset with a metallic sheet cover, Becker expined what transpired since he arrived on the isnd and how Sor-Harach had mentioned Colonel Wilrd being on the same isnd as Sarjenko's host.

  Approaching a trapezoid pyramid with only one visible set of stairs, Becker quickly summed up what happened in Kasba and at the Wailing Husks.

  Wilrd: Brother, I have as much reservation as you with regards to our charge...

  Becker: There has to be a DAMNED good incentive to take this job.

  Wilrd: More so than we can bear, I'm afraid.

  Magic-Man: *Hmph* A far stable position than our st job. You would not BELIEVE what all that insanity was about...

  Wilrd looked at him with a stare that said "Not that again!"

  Magic-Man: ...anyway, I'm sure you've seen better plots elsewhere.

  Wilrd: So will you join us?

  Becker: Of course. I just don't want us to be in a job most unbecoming for our caliber, let alone most mental.

  Wilrd: Has time in this pne softened your temperament?

  Becker: Perhaps not, but there is no reason to make it more degrading than it needs to be.

  Wilrd: Now, about the boss - he may see...deeper...into you. He may ask for something in return. Don't let his eccentricities dower you.

  Becker: Coffee-house fops with crowns doing witchcraft sing-alongs are ten-a-penny around 'ere, brother.

  Magic-Man: He's not a price no more than he is a wizard.

  Becker: I'll see for myself what it is you have all got yourselves into.

  The climb up the pyramid grew more vertiginous the higher they went. The only point of comparison the two brothers had was that of the highest peaks of a cathedral if one only counted the space where one could walk. Reaching the summit, the trio encountered a three peaked temple structure with only one entrance, segmented into different bulbous sections. Such were the ravages of entropy that not even the carved designs across the form were spared, much less the paint.

  Guarding the perimeter were four warriors decked in different gear than the ones encountered in the streets. Their clothes appeared to be of a silk-like material, red-upon-blue or green-upon-white, divided in one overall and one surcoat. Red metal and teal colored leather made up the boots and vambraces with a facial design on the golden colored knee guards. On top of a light blue chainmail suit was a golden disc chest guard, each warrior with a separate design. Their helmets, shaped as a simple cup, bared eborate designs carved into them, and on the top center a long blue feather stuck out of the peck.

  Their rge circur metallic shields featured fantastic patterns all over with a sharp umbo at the center, and at the ready the warriors had either metal spears with narrow heads and thick pummels or gves with serrated hooks on the opposite side of the bde.

  Wilrd: We have come to see the "Wilo Jawi."

  Summoning a meek acolyte in simple robes, the warrior leading the guards informed him to let those inside know that they have visitors. After a while, the acolyte returned and whispered into the ear of the leader.

  Guard leader: You may enter.

  The trio made a slight bow of respect, then proceeded indoors.

  The circur room was almost pitch bck with burning sticks aligned ahead as the only source of light. Becker sensed that there was more than one person inside the room. Sure enough, another armored individual stepped in from the right. Compared to the ones outside, this one wore a simpler kit. His leather chest armor was segmented diagonally with chrome colored metal studs in each square, with the same leather woven into short pauldrons outlined with the same chrome-like metal. Cream orange colored sleeves stuck out with long bck gauntlets at the ends.

  On his right arm he held onto a spear with the head reaching into the darkness. Around the warrior's neck was a red cape extending down to just below his back and buckled with the same bck metal as the gauntlets or his peaked sallet with a short metallic crest. The man himself was a honey colored, clean shaven, grim face specimen in his early middle-age with eyes that stared back like daggers, and not a wrinkle or blemish on his face.

  From the darkness ahead, a hoarse voice spoke, with a hint of being tired, almost as if barely waking up. This was the one the trio had come to see.

  Sarjenko: Kaehe'wa, let them get closer.

  Giving the guests a slight bow, he motioned them to approach before taking a few steps back into the bck. The trio walked a few steps ahead until they reached about halfway towards the burning sticks, and the closer they reached, they got a scent of sweet bitterness. The three gave more formal bows towards the hidden man ahead.

  Wilrd: May it please you - we have denied the enemy the opportunity to loot what you dreamt, and thus, brought it to you at great risk.

  Snapping his finger, Wilrd directed Magic-Man to bring forth the duffel bag and reveal the blue crystal out, shining dimly with a sharp glit on the edge for a few seconds before vanishing.

  Kaehe'wa had another acolyte take the ball and with much reverence, presenting it to the man in the shadows. A long and strong left hand emerged from the bckness and motioning his fingers one by one he hovered them above the ball. Four digits had sharpened fingernails extending close to one centimeter above the fingers, but peculiarly the pinky appeared to be flesh turned to metal extended about one and a half extra in length and peaked as if it were a bde.

  Sarjenko: Yes...yes...I feared that it was lost forever, but as, it is now our!

  The hand retreated back. Wilrd twitched a short smile at the news.

  Sarjenko: Secure it for transport. The Choir and I will commune with it at another time.

  Kaehe'wa and the acolyte retreated away.

  Sarjenko: Your kind have serve our cause well again.

  Wilrd gave a short bow and closed his eyes, standing erect with a subtle pride brimming on his face.

  Sarjenko: I assume he is the other reason you are here before me.

  Wilrd: Indeed, yes. This is my brother I have mentioned before. By causality, he happened to be in Kasba, and now he wishes to lend his arms in your name and fight with his firm...were you to allow him.

  Sarjenko: Come forward, Outsider.

  Becker approached up to just about he reached the burning sticks, and as he got closer, his nose got a wiff of a mixture of sulfur and vender emanating from the embers far more pronounced than from a few steps back.

  The same hand reached for Becker's face and stopped just before touching it. Almost immediately Becker felt his very being pulling away and his heard and brain grinding against his bones. He did his best to maintain composure, but even his vision swirled with images long not seen being ripped into the present, all fading in and crashing into a confused sequence of bck dust blowing away, reshaping, twisting.

  Voices whistled and hissed in a cacophonous track of numbed noise and raspy accents elongating into silence. He grind his teeth with a hard intention to shatter them in his mouth - the only sensation that kept a portion of his mind in reality.

  The fatigue faded away. A slight numbing in his head an muscles was left, and the first thing Becker noticed was that the hand was gone.

  Slowly turning his head around, he closed his eyes for a moment before gaining back some of his focus. Feeling his feet in his boots he realized he had not moved from where he was standing.

  Ahead of him a figure slowly inclined forward from a sitting position. His bck robed appeared to be distinctly darker than the room itself, like a bck hole sucking the light into itself. Becker noticed that on his colr he had blue and red fabric underneath the robe. His headware resembled a Qing emperor's nuanmao, scarlet red and outlined in a pear white stripe on the upper rim with a gleaming blue-jade hat pin on top with a small ball at the tip. The pin shifted shades as if it had fire underneath its surface.

  From where Sarjenko's heart would be Becker took notice of translucent threads coming from the robe. The seemed sturdy like tree roots, colored in light ptinum. Every few seconds they pulsated, always pumping outward.

  The man's long boney face, a dichotomous texture of leathery and smooth skin with a low red flush and sickly hue about, resembled that of a malicious locust with the stare of a cat's self importance. A vilinous mustache split in the middle ran across the length of his mouth and ended just below the chin. His eyes nded into intense bck pits where the eyes, lit by the burning sticks, flickered with intense devilry around where the pupils would be, shaped in an upside down crescent.

  Twitching his head very slightly, he brought up his left hand and ran the long sharp pinky from his temple down with such pressure it was liable to break the skin.

  Sarjenko: ...Your brother did not exaggerate... It is mentable we had not been acquainted before.

  Compared to a while ago, his voice was now pumped up with a stern weight to his words.

  Sarjenko: You wish to lend your arms, but you ck commitment to the charge I have. It is to be expected, but yours is just...rejection.

  Becker rexed himself slightly, for what his potential employer said was a release valve to what he himself was holding in.

  Becker: I have worked in this pne of yours long enough to be an "old resident." It would seem my brother and my friend are just as aware of what YOUR mandate implies. As do I. If they have not disclosed it to you, then I will - whomever put you up to it DOES NOT have your best intentions. At best, they are having a good ugh at your enterprise.

  There was no rebuke from Sarjenko. He maintained his composure at the words coming out.

  Becker: Not once have I seen this specific job end well, and I do not expect it to so now...

  He took a moment to breath out with resignation.

  Becker: However, a job is a job. I've worked with enough loathsome creatures over the course of my life. So long as the enterprise is feasible...my arms are at your disposal.

  Slowly, a smile grew on Sarjenko's mouth.

  Sarjenko: A shame we cannot will away great impositions.

  When his sharpened finger reached his the bottom of his cheek, Sarjenko retracted the scratch again.

  Sarjenko: As you are of the same constitution as your cn, I need not ponder about your capabilities, so they will not be brought into question. I have an accordance with your cn on the matter of payment, but for the moment, you may only share the privileges of camping and supplies.

  Becker: What is the price you impose?

  Sarjenko: All those who take up arms under my banner have a blood debt - the physical destruction of our enemies. No one can remain exempted. Your cn has paid in full more than once. No you must taint your hands again, on my behalf.

  Becker: Whom or what do you want dead?

  Sarjenko ceased his scratching and lightly rubbed his chin, contempting what to say next.

  Sarjenko: I will not waste your time, so I will only require one dispy of proof from you. Take the soul of someone with a commanding status, a leadership rank, a master and commander. Bring me his or her hands, and you may share in the accordance over loot I have with your cn.

  As the st words left his mouth, Sarjenko retreated back into the shadows.

  Becker: Not it's all a small matter of finding one of such caliber.

  Sarjenko: Your opportunity MAY soon arrive.

  His left hand slowly waved over the burning embers before disappearing.

  Sarjenko: Draw your blood, and join our cause.

  Calmly taking out his Fairbairn-Sykes knife, he presented his right hand over the sticks. A blue fme engulfed the bde for a few seconds before dissipating away. The translucent fibers tightened as the bde approached.

  *Poof* *Poof* *Poof*

  As the blood drops hit the burning sticks they fshed into white thick trail of smoke.

  This pleased Sarjenko.

  Sarjenko: Now, you will board along with your brother and his contingent on the fgship awaiting on the western harbor. How you arrange with your cn is your affair. We shall speak soon.

  The three Outsiders gave a respectful bow as they walked backwards and outside into the darkening city.