Eight Years Later

The Silverblood convoy drove swiftly through the cover of rain and darkness for there were all manner of demons lurking in the night. They travelled north into the outer city, four trucks in all, leaving the safety of the Wall's silver light behind them.

Nora was assigned to rearguard where she manned an armored box turret, her grip locked firmly around the two heavy machine guns mounted atop the armored crusader transport. It was probably the safest place she could be out here, yet she couldn't seem to break the spell of unease that had befallen her ever since they left the inner city. 

While this wasn't her first time outside the Wall, she'd never gone out at night before—that was typically a job for the Templar, which only made their mission even stranger. 

Under most circumstances, Silverblood decree dictated they were only supposed to hunt during the day—from dawn till dusk—returning to the inner city once the security of daylight had passed. Her mother, however, had died fighting out here at night, her body lost somewhere out there in the darkness beyond the Wall; and yet, Nora found herself defying the very same of her people's ancient laws. 

But tonight was different for they hunted one demon in particular. 

Her family—or, well, her father—looked to kill an Arachne. Rumors said the arachnid demons came out only at night, preferring to ambush their prey from the darkness rather than face them in the light.  

Nora peered anxiously through the thick, foggy windows of the box turret, looking out at the sea of darkness they willingly submerged themselves further in. It could be anywhere, waiting for us to walk into its web, she thought, beginning to feel the sweat pool in her palms. Though, she dared not voice such fears aloud, lest they be misconstrued as a lack of faith in God. That would do nobody any good. Instead, she simply focused on her job, watching for any sign of danger from the safety of her little metal box, her only company the faint pitter-patter of rain on the steel hatch overhead.

It was difficult to find anything through the cloudy midnight haze. The floodlights positioned all around the truck were turned off as to avoid any unwanted attention, and the moonlight barely managed to pierce the edge of the all-encompassing darkness around them. 

What she did find out there in that feeble little light did not in any way soothe her growing unease—in fact, she would have much preferred total darkness over the glimpse of the past she was given. 

Outside, the rusted husks of dead machines lined the ruins of the outer city. Remnants of the first incursion. The red sagums and plumes that adorned the three eyed automatons were weathered by eight years of neglect and the red glow of their gazes had long since faded, though, eight years later and the machines still held their close-knit formation—a phalanx they called it—as though still marching towards the inner city. 

As they pressed onward into the night, the rows of machines continued to stretch on beside them. The longer Nora watched them the faster her heart seemed to beat against her chest, yet she could not bring herself to look away from their inhuman, three eyed gazes. We don't belong out here, she begun to panic, clutching the turret so tight she nearly pulled the triggers. She looked all around—on every side there were more machines, stretching endlessly until they faded into the darkness. Oh God, what's dad thinking taking us out in the dark?  First it was the bloody automatons and now demons; hell, clearly God doesn't want us to have this place, so why are we back! 

Just then, she heard someone banging on the steel panel beneath her feet; she took a deep breath, easing up her grip on the turret.

"Sister Nora, are you alright?" A young man asked in a tone approaching a whisper, as though fearing he may blow their cover should he speak too loudly.

Nora clutched the small silver badge by her chest as she took a few more breaths, trying to calm herself down. Silver lord, please forgive me for my lapse of faith; I swear on my family name it shall not happen again. A silent prayer to atone for her cowardly thoughts. She would need to have courage this night—if not for herself, then for her family.

Once her breathing had steadied, she looked down and found one of her Silverblood brothers, Ashur, looking up at her. He was dressed in the same uniform that all Silverblood crusaders wore: a white surcoat emblazoned with a red cross, a silver great helm over his head, and the family's silver badge engraved with a rising sun which hung by a chain over his heart. Though, Nora often neglected to wear her own helm as she found the archaically designed pieces of tech to be quite constricting of her vision.

"Nora?" Ashur repeated, sounding just as worried as she was inside. He was only a year younger than her nineteen, but she couldn't help thinking of him as the young boy she used to play with in the outer city . . . before the war.

"I'm fine brother Ashur," she lied—another sin for which she would need to atone. "What can I do for you?"

"Saint David wants a word with you," he replied, his voice muffled by the full faced helm covering his mouth. 

What did I do this time, she thought as she quickly jumped down from the turret, passing Asher who climbed up to replace her.

The inside of the truck didn't offer much more comfort than the box turret. Each crusader transport could carry about eight men at max load, depending on their gear, plus the turret gunner and two operators. For this mission, each truck was packed full for numbers were the only advantage man had against an Arachne.

Her Silverblood brethren filled the seats along the walls. Some whispered prayers, clutching their silver badges in hand. The rest were silent, likely praying to themselves as she did. 

Nora made her way to the front, passing through a heavy steel door which opened into a cab separate from the rest of the vehicle. Inside, she saw her father, Saint David, crouched between the truck's two operators. His uniform was the same as hers, but with the addition of a red mantle which hung over his shoulders, the color of a saint. She longed for the day she'd have a mantle of her own. Saint Nora, she would be named. That'll surely make mother proud.

As she made her way inside, she could begin to hear the conversation her father was having with the man in the passenger side seat.

". . . any word back yet from Marshal Amos?" David asked. 

"Still nothing," the man beside him replied. His face was covered by his helm, but she recognized the rigid mannerisms of their comms officer, brother Joseph. "We haven't heard from anyone in his patrol for the past half hour; not since we left the Wall."

Nora crept further inside, trying not to disturb the conversation. Her father glanced back at her, nodding his head in acknowledgement. She could only see his light green eyes through his helm's visor, but she could tell he was tired from the way they sagged. He's been restless ever since mom died. She hoped that would change tonight.

"Hmm, they must be maintaining radio silence," David pondered aloud. "Do we still have a read on their convoy's location?"

"No, tracker went silent about 15 minutes ago; last ping was in the northern sector suburbs," Joseph replied, speaking quickly but clearly as his profession demanded. "Most recent report says the marshal was pursuing a potential demonic incursion. Local pilgrims reported a demon with a human torso protruding from a, uh, 'giant mechanical spider'."

Nora froze up at the words, feeling her muscles tense as her anxiety took over once again. Most men prayed they never encounter an Arachne. Her father, however, was hellbent on seeking one out himself. Though, right now he seemed to hang in a similar pause as her. 

"Sir?" Joseph asked, seeming similarly perplexed.

David looked back at Nora for a brief moment. She wasn't sure what he was thinking; was this not exactly what he wanted? "Take us there," David finally spoke up, his voice hardened. 

"Understood, sir."

Nora watched as her father turned and made his way over to her, staying hunched so as not to hit his head. It was difficult to see in the cabin's dim light, but she felt herself relax a little as she was reminded why they were out here. 

On the right half of her father's silver helm was a red stripe; it was the mark of one who had taken the oath of vengeance. It was the very oath that pushed her father to sleepless nights. The very oath that brought them to the ruined battlegrounds of the outer city. The very oath that compelled them further into darkness. An oath her father sought to fulfill on this very night. 

It was Silverblood tradition, after all, for the sole surviving witness of a death to take an oath of vengeance. Justice cannot be pursued if there is no one to seek retribution. A single line of the oath; it was all Nora needed to understand her father's pain. 

"How are you feeling my little angel," her father asked in a strangely gentle tone, placing a cold hand on her cheek. She had expected a lecture from her father. He was a man hardened by a lifetime of service to the Church and she had grown accustomed to his callous undertones. But right now, he did not seem that man. He moved his hand to her head and ruffled her shaggy red hair, like the father she remembered used to do. He seemed more like the father she had before the war.

Nora leaned in close to him, bringing her father in for a hug that was long overdue. "I'm scared," she admitted, making amends for her prior sin. She fought back the tears in her eyes, trying to be brave for her father.

"Five minutes out!" Joseph shouted, waving five fingers at them as if they wouldn't hear him. He then hit a button overhead that filled the cabin with a soft red light. 

David ignored it as he pulled her in tight for a brief moment. She felt like a child again in her father's arms. "We're going to get through this together, alright?" He said strongly, strong enough for the both of them. "For your mother."

Nora shook her head, unable to hold back the tears as her father let her go. She watched him reach into a compartment overhead, pulling out a spare great helm. 

"Here, put this on and go get ready," he said, reaching the helm out to her. "I'll meet you in the back once I finish up here."

Nora obeyed, taking the helmet and exiting back through the door she came in. She placed a hand over her eyes, trying to hide her tears from her brothers. None of them seemed to notice as they had become fixated on the red light overhead. All the crusaders acted in sync, sitting upright as they begun final equipment checks. She moved quickly to the back of the truck to begin preparations of her own, taking one of the two empty seats.

"Listen up everyone," Saint David's voice rang out over the intercom, silencing the clamor of all four trucks. Nora and all her brethren sat in silent apprehension, awaiting some much-needed words of encouragement. "Tonight, God walks with us, the Silverblood family, as we carry his holy light unto the land submerged in darkness; tonight, we shall hunt a wretched demon in his name who has claimed far too many of his children." The crusaders nodded in agreement. "And tonight, I fulfill my oath as we avenge sister Abigail . . . so gird on your swords my Silverblooded brothers and sisters for the Silver Dawn always rises!" 

"The Silver Dawn always rises!" Nora echoed his words as all her brethren did, joining together in a choir of unrestrained fervor.

As the intercom cut out, Nora turned to her side. There was a sheathed great sword and a rifle waiting next to her; the rifle was a standard issue Templar carbine, shortened for use in close quarters. Nora picked it up, filled with a sudden determination. We'll avenge my mother's death this night . . . or die trying.

---------

Nora followed her father out of the crusader transport and into the suburb of the outer city's northern sector. It was pitch black outside aside from the stray beams of her squads' flashlights, which struggled to break through the fog. And the only sounds that accompanied them were the continuous fat drops of rain hitting against their helms. Like pebbles against a pot.

The northern sector of Saint Sandersburg was a suburban nightmare, known colloquially as "the land submerged in darkness." It was a labyrinth of cluttered roads surrounded by tightly packed, war-torn homes of monotonous design. The name, however, came from the fact the entire area had suffered a permanent blackout ever since the clergy elected to drop an EMP on the district over eight years ago. It had been a desperate plan to halt the march of the steel legion—the Collective's army of automatons which still stood in the ruins of the outer city. A pyrrhic victory at best.

Now, all that remained were the pilgrims and refugees who lived in the dark amongst the dead machines . . . and the demons which came out at night. 

The lack of power and heavy rains created conditions that were deathly cold, yet it did not surprise Nora that she could not find any signs of a fire. The survivors were simply too afraid to light one, not knowing what kind of monsters they would attract.

"Nora, you're with me," David said, his voice tinged with a hint of static as he spoke through the shared comms of the great helms. "Stay behind me, just like we trained."

"Understood," Nora replied, lining up behind her father and directing her rifle to his left side.

"Joseph, send me Marshall Amos' last known position and then move the armor up," David ordered.

"Copy that, we'll meet you over there once we find a way around all the debris," Joseph replied coolly from his position inside the truck.

Half the convoy's crusader detachment formed up on the road, gathering into two single file lines of eight men each. Nora's father led the first line, and she stood close behind him. She watched him bring his left arm close to his face as he checked the data-tablet around his forearm; it displayed a localized map of the area with two red dots close to their location, each apparently less than a mile away according to the tablet. 

David waved his arm right, directing silent orders to the other line's squad leader, brother Jonathon, who had a data-tablet of his own.

Nora followed her father as the two lines split up. Her squad cut straight between the homes along the road while Jonathon's seemed to take another path to their right, further down the road.  

"Keep an eye on the rooftops, Arachne like to strike from overhead," David warned. The rooftops immediately became illuminated as the crusaders behind heeded his words, shining their rifle's flashlights onto the nearby rooftops, checking corners and blind spots all around. The fog took away any hope of using night vision—but that also meant their enemies were similarly restricted.

Nora could feel her fear mounting again as they delved deeper into the neighborhood that was beginning to feel more and more like a trap the further they pressed in. Aside from the occasional refugee hiding in the debris, all she found around them were ruins and dead machines—not a trace of any demons in sight. Maybe we should head back, regroup, Nora wanted to say. 

"Halt," David whispered, falling to one knee. The rest of the line followed suit, waiting for his command. They hugged the half-destroyed wall of another flattened house, looking out into the dark road ahead. Nora could barely see the silhouette of several trucks stopped on the road, their lights flickering in the fog. "Joseph, can you bring the armor around to my location? I think I've found the marshal's convoy," David continued. 

"We're still clearing debris from the road—should only be another few minutes," Jospeh replied, his voice fuzzy over the comms.

"Understood." David turned back to the line. "Listen up, we're going in to check for survivors—don't wander off and stick together."

Nora shook her head in agreement. She felt a light tap on her back from the crusader behind her, a gentle gesture of encouragement. Turning back, she noticed Ashur was the one behind her. What's he doing out here? Did he get someone to take his place in the turret? Not many men liked being trapped in that little box, but right now it was likely coveted over the rain.

"I got your back sister," he said, encouraging her forward. Nora chose to set her questions aside and turned her focus back ahead.

As they hustled single file into the road, the state of the convoy became apparent as flashlights shone on the trucks. The vehicles were a similar model to their own—both designed by the Templar—but these ones were barded in Templar black rather than the Silverblood family's white. 

Nora shone her flashlight on the lead truck and stood aghast at what she saw. "What the hell," she muttered. The line stopped behind her, kneeling down as they followed her gaze to the truck. The entire midsection of the armored transport's black steel bumper was caved in at a thin, perfectly linear line at its center. As Nora stepped closer, she noticed beads of water suspended along that invisible line, not falling with the rest of the rain. She reached out and grabbed at the water and felt something malleable, almost sharp to the touch; looking closer, she found that it was a thin, translucent thread which ran between two large trees on either side of the road. What in God's name is this?

"Is that what I think it is?" Ashur asked sheepishly. No one seemed to want to answer him, though they all had similar ideas of what it likely was. 

"Check for survivors!" David yelled, snapping everyone out of their fear induced stupors. Men moved past Nora, ducking under the line she still held onto. "Come on," David insisted, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We can't idle for too long."

Nora ducked under the string, Ashur following close behind her. "Watch my back," Nora said to him. He nodded in acknowledgement. With her rear secure, she opened the driver side door of the lead truck. The man inside was slumped against the wheel. He was dressed in a black surcoat with a red cross and a black steel great helm—the colors of the Templar Order. Nora climbed up and checked the man's body for any sign of a pulse; her father was already on the other side, checking the passenger.

"Looks like they were dead on impact," David said solemnly as he set the man back against the dash.

Nora set the driver's body down carefully before jumping down to the ground, landing with a splash. She looked down and noticed the rain at her feet had turned a murky red. Using her flashlight, she followed the stream of water to a body leaned up against the side of the truck; it was another Templar surrounded by expended shell casings, his rifle still firm in hand. What happened to you? She picked up one of the rifle casings—it was the same caliber as her own. She shot a glance to the Templar and noticed his surcoat was punctured straight through the center with a large cylindrical hole oozing with fresh blood. This one wasn't killed in the crash. . .

She staggered away from the body and bumped into something behind her. She spun around, frightened, gun raised, finger on the trigger.

"Nora, it's just me!" Ashur yelled, throwing his hands up.

Nora fell over into the murky water, panting on the ground. "Don't wander behind me like that," she said between breaths, not really realizing how unreasonable her statement was. She looked up at him, but his eyes had become fixated on the Templar leaned against the truck. 

"Come on," he said curtly, reaching his hand out to pull her up. "We should regroup with the others—quickly."

She took his hand and pulled herself up. Her winter fatigues were soggy and cold now, but she tried her best to ignore it as she regrouped with her father. They passed by several more trucks . . . and several more Templar bodies sprawled out along the roadside until they reached the rest of their squad; they were gathered a little further down the road outside a large two-story home that was largely intact compared to the rest of the neighborhood. 

Nora joined a huddle around her father who was checking the tracker on his data-tablet. one of the red dots seemed to be right on top of them now. Right inside the house. 

"Joseph, we found the convoy, what's your status?" David asked. He waited a moment and got no response. "Brother Joseph, do you read me?" Still nothing. "Brother Jonathon, what's your squad's status?" He asked again, sounding uncharacteristically concerned. Only radio silence answered him. "Jonathon—" 

A loud series of cracks suddenly broke through the ambiance of the rain.

"Get to cover!" David shouted. Everyone listened, running for cover behind the trucks and trees, anything else they could find really.  

The spurts of thunder in the air picked up briefly, sounding scarily close. Suppressive fire, Nora recognized the sound of the box turret's heavy machine guns. She looked all around, trying to determine what direction it came from. But as quickly as it started, it stopped.

"We're sitting ducks out here," Nora accidentally said aloud, her fears finally escaping, yet no one seemed to disagree.

"Everyone back in formation—prepare to clear the room," David said. He jumped up and ran towards the house, stopping just before the front door. Nora followed quickly behind him and Ashur behind her, the squad following until all eight men stood in line. 

Without hesitation, her father kicked open the door and rushed inside. He swept his rifle right then left, sweeping the entire room before moving to the right most corner. Nora was right behind him, checking to his left and sweeping right—just as she was trained—then moving to the corner opposite to him. It was a matter of seconds before the whole squad pushed their way inside, repeating the movement as they secured the room.

Nora bent over from a mix of fear and exhaustion, literally able to feel her heart hitting her chest. Clearing rooms in training was one thing, but actually doing so in the field was as nerve-wracking as ever. As she faced the ground, she noticed something odd that almost blended into the darkness. She reached down and picked up a long sword crafted from black steel; its pommel marked with a Templar cross.

"Oh, dear God . . ." Nora heard someone mutter beside her. She looked over and saw a crusader shining his rifle's light up at the ceiling. Instinctively, she looked up with him, immediately regretting it. 

Overhead, a man dangled by a thin translucent thread, encased head to toe in a silky white cocoon; there were patches of dark red mixed into the white, creating a grim work of art from the intricately woven threads.

Nora's grip grew weak, causing her to drop the blade. 

The room fell silent—even her father speechless—as everyone stared up above. More bodies, no, countless bodies hung from the ceiling, limbs broken free from some, revealing black garments underneath, while others were still dripping blood. Some of the cocoons even seemed loose, like whoever wove them wanted those trapped inside to struggle. What sort of monster would do something so depraved? 

Nora's hand trembled slightly—finger hard pressed against the trigger—as she raised her rifle's flashlight, shining it across the web. She walked further into the room, searching for the perpetrator of this awful display. But all she found was a clue. At the webs center, she saw a message.

Hypocrites. That was the only word woven into the demon's web.

"My, my, more company; what a pleasant surprise," Nora heard a woman muse from right behind her, the voice low and smooth with a disposition unnervingly close to sheer apathy.

Nora turned around and found nothing until she heard a clang at her feet. She shone her flashlight down to find a bloody silver great helm, its visor punctured and cracked. Oh God . . . Immediately, Nora shot her gaze up and froze in terror at what she saw.

A monster with a grotesque inhuman frame hung upside down on the ceiling; it had eight sprawling appendages covered in thick layers of steel and black chitin; the arachnid limbs protruded from a spider's prosoma spliced onto a woman's torso. The woman was human in shape alone: its arms coated in a black carapace that sharpened to a blades edge at its fingertips and its tall slender body encased in a disorganized mess of steel blackened by ash and painted in blood. 

"You know what I hate more than anything?" The creature asked. It seemed to look at everyone in the room at once with its eight mechanical eyes; they were like eight spherical cameras that fluttered in the sockets of a sleek black helmet, autonomously capturing every feature of their environment.

"Nora, come here," her father beckoned. She was too afraid to move, her body shaking as she stood face to face with a demon.

"Hypocrites," the Arachne answered its own question. Nora saw it held a black book, a Templar copy of the Black Scripture bound in a cover of black steel. Marshal Amos' book. "So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them," it recited a single line of the scripture, then simply dropped the book, letting it clatter against the ground. "So, if god created man and men created me, and you call me demon, killer, monster, well then, what does that make all of you?" The beast posited an unholy quandary upon them.

No one answered, they all simply watched. 

"Nora, please," her father pleaded.

"Anyone care to entertain me with a debate?" the Arachne asked, ignoring him. 

Nora felt herself gain some control again. She looked around and saw nobody else had moved. I need to act now before it does, she thought, glancing up at the Arachne still on the roof above her. She gripped her rifle firm in hand and tried to subtly bring it up.

She had barely moved when the red glare of all eight of the demons' eyes fixated onto her. God, please save me. It was another silent prayer to a God who seemed to have forsaken the ground on which she stood.

"So, it's like that then." The Arachne let out a sigh, sounding almost disappointed. "Why do I even bother."

Nora didn't have time to process everything that happened next. The Arachne dropped down from the ceiling and lunged toward her. She didn't have time to fight back. She simply glanced back at her father one last time. She saw him with his silver blade drawn as he charged towards her, everyone else still frozen around him. That was the father she remembered. Caring. Brave. Strong. Strong enough for the both of them.