“The stench isn’t particularly attractive either,” Zefaris added wryly, popping the cork of one bottle and taking a swig. “Oofh, that’s strong.”

Strolvath also took a long swig of the liquid, letting out a satisfied sigh as he corked the bottle back up, “It’s their version of Liquid Vigor, I think they call it Vitamax or somethin’. The Greks know how to keep their soldiers going, I’ll give ‘em that.”

For a few minutes they rested in the clearing, sitting across from the shelter to avoid the stench of locust-man hemolymph. Zelsys spent the bulk of this short while picking pieces of chitin out of her gun, working the mechanism, removing and replacing the shell a few times to make sure nothing that would jam it was present. When it finally grew annoying, Zelsys rose to her feet, rolled her shoulders, and stretched a few times in preparation to continue walking.

Zef and Strol both seemed to agree, going by the fact they each stood up in turn. It took the singer a little longer, and he audibly grunted a refusal of help when Zefaris offered a hand. Soon enough, they were back on the path, once more treading a narrow footpath through the forest, though now Zelsys felt no need to keep quiet.

In part it was because of what Strolvath had said, but in part also because she didn’t feel the same tension as before - her instincts didn’t lie, and this part of the forest felt about as deserted as the border forest just outside the E.Z.

However, she did feel something nagging at the back of her mind, about all of this. As far as she could tell this was a completely normal forest, so then why was it not only avoided by the locusts, but even by other animals, just like the decimated wasteland past the border?

“You mind a question about the assignment?” she asked, looking to Strolvath. He gave an affirmative grunt and a nod, and so she took the shot.

“Why do the locust-men avoid this part of the forest?”

Strolvath took a swig, exhaled a small puff of green Fog, and simply said, “You’ll see why, soon.”

She looked to Zef with a furrowed brow, but the markswoman didn’t answer either - not for lack of knowledge. Even without a word spoken, Zelsys could tell that both of her companions knew the reason, but weren’t willing to say right now. So… She just accepted it, trusting that Strolvath wasn’t lying.

Whilst they walked, she did take out her map and tried to deliberate where they were going by the location of the first stopping point. Almost right away, she noticed a point of interest that they hadn’t come upon yet, one that wasn’t mentioned in the briefing, one that was printed onto the base map itself rather than drawn-on after the fact - an oval shape marked by criss-crossing red lines that their journey was plotted through the middle of.

It stood out because the small portion of the Exclusion Zone that the map included was marked in the same way.

Zelsys folded up her map, slipping it into her pack rather than into her cleaver’s holster where she had kept it. While she was at it, she also took the shells that the holster was holding onto for dear life, stowing them in the pack as well. They hadn’t moved a single millimeter from where she stuck them into the holster, but she still didn’t like how precarious their position looked. After that, she simply took Zef’s hand and allowed herself to mentally check out for the rest of the trek until something remarkable came into view.

The sight of a human skeleton grown into a tree yanked her into awareness soon after. It was crucified on the branches, with huge railway nails still visible between the bones of its forearms and through its feet. The great oak’s bark had swallowed up a good portion of the dead soldier’s body, but his blown-open Pateirian-style helmet still crowned his head, its jagged metal like the spikes of a pariah king’s crown.

Both of the soldiers uttered an inaudible prayer at the strange effigy’s feet, then without so much of a word stood and continued walking. Zelsys had no choice but to follow, her instincts telling her that her answer was imminent.

The first signs suggesting what she would see next were yet more small shrines to the dead with rifles and war-knives as their centerpieces, some barely recognizable and others in good condition considering the onslaught of the elements. The treeline thinned out, eventually turning to saplings and small bushes moving in to reclaim land that had been stripped of vegetation.

It was a great field of dead, ripped-open earth, craters and trenches stretching to the horizon. Within immediate line of sight, Zelsys could see at least two dozen dead bodies and who knew how many rusted artillery pieces, piles and piles of fired shells sunken in the mud. 

What drew her gaze most, however, were all the shrines. Shrines of dead soldiers from both sides, identical in how they honored the dead, but most importantly derogatory shrines of defaced, heraldic armor and weaponry. None of the extravagant, knightly equipment looked like anything the Ikesians would use - they were the arms of Pateirian heroes, annihilated by the unbound violence of an industrialized army. Riddled with holes from bullets and bayonets in some cases, entirely ripped open by cannon or artillery shells in others.

“The locust-men are creatures of scent and instinct,” Strolvath began with a grim sort of pride, taking a stand by Zel’s side as he gazed out across the battlefield. “The stink of their recently-dead attracts them, but large concentrations of corpses deter them, whether those dead are mutants or just soldiers who partook of those elixirs.” 

He paused, uncorked his half-finished bottle of Vitamax, poured some of the green liquid onto the muddy ground, then took a swig.

“This place - this desolate, polluted swathe of dead land - was the first time Ikesia spat in the face of the old world. This place is why the Pateirians despise us so.”