Chapter 24: A Morning for Shaping
“They got it from Mortals, ya know?” Cross extended a leg, raising it until his own armor got in the way.
It wasn’t anywhere close to as high as Brother Holst had gotten.
“The whole dancing thing.” He glanced over to Misser, sitting on a toppled chunk of Blackstone partially wedged into a patch of thick roots “It was how some of the First Mortals celebrated, see. And the Queen loved it so much, she wanted all her Pawns to do it too!”
“Mhm.” Misser nodded, but he never took his eye off of his Scattershot Caster.
“Armel says that some Bishops tried powering their entire Paradise Realms with just Shard Dancers working the glass.” Cross swung his leg around, failing to get even close to Holst’s fluid movements “Didn’t go so well, but just imagine what that’d look like!”
“Tch.” Misser laid his weapon across his knees before glancing Cross’s way “Instead of recounting a pointless chat, maybe you should work on your weapon before we have to move on.”
Misser gestured around them towards the numerous pieces of Blackstone debris lying amongst ruined trees. Pieces wedged through pulverized wood or at the bottom of craters that dotted the swamp.
The sun had gone up before they’d reached the ‘Dark Rocks’ that Moto had led them to, but enough of the surrounding trees survived to obscure them from above. Not that that stopped Wristy from checking. She alternated between staring up with Caster in hand to checking on the sleeping Mortal, whom Armel had left lying atop the largest toppled tree in the sunlight while the rest of them made use of the Blackstone.
Armel himself had done the sensible thing of getting to work on another arm. From what Cross could see, he was thankfully opting for a sturdier version than the ragged excuses for limbs he’d been rocking since Towerfall.
Not that Cross was paying much attention to him, he’d been far too busy regaling Misser with numerous stories the old Stationwatch member had told him overnight. About the realm of quadrupeds that he’d originally been tasked with observing and even history on the Sovereigns’ relations with the First ones ever discovered.
Not that Misser showed even the slightest bit of interest. He’d immediately set to work on his Caster, setting aside Fetcher’s so he could examine the frame with both hands.
Still, Cross couldn’t really blame him for focusing on weaponry. As much as Cross had been enthralled by Armel’s stories, not many of them would help if Khullic decided to drop in.
“I’m already finished, comrade.” Cross lowered his leg and held out his own Caster.
Misser took one look at it before narrowing his eye.
Cross hadn’t actually rebuilt the barrel, at least not in full. After remolding the case for the core he’d fashioned a short barrel that extended from the handle with three prongs fashioned around its tip.
“Like Formal’s Shaper.” Cross declared before jerking a thumb back the way they came “Remember those energy balls he threw with it? They were much bigger than the Shaper’s palm.”
“Slower than any Caster, too.” Misser pointed out “Why mess with a good design? Single Caster arc to a Blanken head and they’re done. Really think you’re gonna be able to get even close to hitting Lady Khullic with a projectile that slow?”
“We weren’t getting anywhere close to her with regular Casters, Comrade.” Cross patted the side of his Pronged Caster “But if I move quick and get in close, there’ll be too much of it for her to dodge.”
“Sure.” Misser shook his head and looked back at his weapon “Armel tell you that?”
“No, actually got the idea from Brother Holst.” Cross aimed his Caster at several trees “If I could get in close to enemies as fast as he could, this little piece would outclass any standard-issue Caster.”
“Not mine.” Misser snickered whilst popping open a panel of his weapon and exposing the core “It just needs a little tweak.”
Cross lowered his weapon and watched as Misser popped out the core and began chipping at the Caster’s chamber.
“I thought Cole said a Caster Core wasn’t enough for Scatter modding?” Cross asked, only for Misser to bring Fetcher’s Caster over and pry it open in the same manner.
“It isn’t,” Misser smirked before prying out the core “but Fetcher managed to do some good for us, eh?”
Cross frowned at that, but said nothing as Misser widened his Caster enough for him to plug both cores into it. Glancing over, he found that Armel had been watching them from beside another piece Blackstone.
Armel gave him a single nod before looking back down at the Blackstone Pad and giving it a few shakes.
“I don’t think you’re giving them enough credit.” Cross’s words made Misser pause “Formal’s crew, I mean. They might have been mocking you for your weapon’s weaknesses, but the last thing Fetcher did was give you his.”
Misser laid his hands down on his Caster with a grunt, slowly turning his narrowed eye towards Cross.
“Armel tell you to say that?” he asked, prompting Cross to nod.
“Yes, but I agree with him on this.” Cross waved his hand around them “No matter how all over the place they seem at times, they’re still Comrades. And when comrades say that aiming a Caster at a Mortal is bad news, I’m inclined to not write them off.”
Misser didn’t respond, just kept glaring at Cross before turning to silently continue working on his weapon. Cross let his hand fall to his side, nodding in silence for a moment before looking to the swamp around them.
“Y’know, during one of Armel’s stories, he mentioned something about Pawns who go Red.” He waited until Misser’s hands stopped before continuing “Said there were actually two sicknesses that can afflict us.”
“What?” Misser looked up at that, prompting Cross to kneel beside him and lean close.
“Stationwatch members call it the Red Rage, some kind of rare anomaly that randomly pops up in Pawns who even come close to a realm with Mortals on it.” Cross leaned closer “They say its way more dangerous than the Gray Haze, because the Pawns don’t get weak when it takes them over, it just drives every drop of blood in their veins towards one thing.”
He nodded towards the fallen tree, where Moto was only just then beginning to rise with a wide yawn.
“The total destruction of Mortals, the happy accident that our Sovereigns have us fighting over.” Cross tapped a finger against the chunk of blackstone Misser was sitting on “Bishops don’t treat Red Rage the same way as the Haze, the only solution is to lock those afflicted in research stations in the emptiest parts of heaven, or toss them into the nearest star.”
“Why are you telling me this, Cross?” Misser bit as his glare returned, only to flinch back when Cross leaned closer.
“Because I’m your Comrade, okay?” Cross tilted his head “So don’t write me off as just dancing to Armel’s tune. I want you in this war with me, killing Blanken and rising in status like any good soldier. Not getting demoted or tossed aside because some petty mocking set you off. You know who the real enemy is, right?”
“Pfft,” Misser looked back to his weapon “you don’t even-”
Cross clapped a hand onto his shoulder.
“Right?!?” he repeated, prompting Misser to sigh as he closed his eye.
They sat there for a moment, with Misser’s expression tightening for a moment before he simply nodded.
“Right, no… you’re right.” Misser held up a hand “I’ll… I’ll play along. They have seniority, so… I’m good.”
“You’re good?” Cross asked
“I’m good.” He repeated before shrugging “Certainly not thinking about just wildly slaughtering Mortals, so that’s a plus, right?”
Cross grinned before standing up and looking to Moto.
“Sleep well?” he asked as Moto stretched her mouth wide and exposed her sharp teeth to the morning sun “You were limp like a corpse for most of the trip.”
“Baljeet… cold.” Moto’s eyes were still squeezed shut as she grabbed the hem of her garb and pulled it down, baring her own purple scales to the sun. As she disrobed, Cross went quiet at the sight of thin, bone-like protrusions which ran along the back of her arms.
“Not hot enough for ya?” Wristy asked, only for those protrusions to start unfolding.
A thin, dark pink layer of skin stretched from Moto’s sides to her wrists. She flapped them several times, the sound of which made Armel look up.
“You n’ yours got wings?” he asked, “How’d that Niljat thing get ya worn out if you can fly?”
“Wings… for falling… not soaring.” Moto sighed as she practically drank in the sun’s heat “Dark ones… move Moto?”
“Wasn’t safe to stay in one spot with only two of us armed proper, ya know?” Wristy leaned against the tree and waved a finger towards the canopy “Got us a flying menace up there we gotta look out for.”
“Bright flyer… hunter…” Moto lowered her arms, her wings folding back up as she rubbed at her eyelids “False god… bring?”
“Well, technically the other way around.” Cross admitted before pointing up “She’s the reason he ended up here.”
Seeing the Mortal’s eyes widen in surprise, Cross found himself compelled to continue.
“We wage war against them, eternally.” He lowered his hand whilst eyeing the canopy “Her kind plot to rob mortals like yourself of their passion, to lure them into stagnation through promises of Peace until they’re too weak to do anything for themselves.”
His words were definitely having effect, as Moto brought her arms close to her chest, unconsciously curling up to make herself look smaller.
“Weak tribe?” she repeated his words with a pout “Weak tribes eaten… raided. Bright scary.”
“But don’t worry!” Wristy quickly scrambled up the side of the tree until she could reach up to clasp both of Moto’s hands in one of her’s “We’ll clear ‘em outta here and make sure they never get their filthy mitts on any o’ ya!”
She gave a brief shake before letting go of Moto, only for the mortal to look down at her hands for a moment. Wristy tilted her head, glancing back at the others, but Cross could only shrug.
Moto suddenly lunged forward, wrapping her hands around Wristy’s torso. Her small form was nowhere close to getting her arms around her entirely, but Wristy still froze as Moto rested her head against her armor.
“Dark Father… want strong tribe!” Moto looked up at her “We fight! Fight… with dark ones!”
“Nope.” Armel’s voice cut in immediately
The enthusiasm in Moto’s face drained away as she looked back down to the side of the tree, where Armel was giving his new bulky arm a few experimental flexes. He had done nothing to the other arm, leaving him distractingly lop-sided to Cross. But Armel smiled at the limb before looking back to Moto.
“Our war ain’t no place for mortals.” He declared before looking back down at the Blackstone Pad “Let us worry ‘bout them bright ones, you ‘n yours got enough trouble down here.”
Yet again Moto pouted, only for Wristy’s armored hand to gently rest upon her head and tilt it back towards her.
“Sorry…” was all she said, prompting Moto to give a small grumble, but pressed herself against her anyway as Wristy carefully returned the hug.
Between the hug and the way she handled the Swallower yesterday, Cross found himself more and more impressed with just how careful Wristy could be. When the first of the swarm had landed on Cross back in the hive, he’d splattered it almost by accident, and Misser had crushed numerous with ease.
His eye shifted to Armel as he approached, wondering if he’d told her stories about his prior experiences with mortal life as well.
Those thoughts shriveled as Cross recognized the sad expression Armel bore as he stared down at the pad again. More and more, Cross had been catching Armel with empty looks. As if that cocky joviality from before had been dried up under the pressures of their impossible mission.
“Did it clear up?” Cross asked, prompting Armel to look up from the pad as Cross gestured to him.
“Oh, nah.” He smirked before raising his other hand to show off Cole’s Ichor tank “was wonderin’ if you two were done fixin up ya gear or needed some more o’ this?”
They hadn’t made use of the tank since Cole had tossed it to them, as there had barely been half of it left over when they’d fled into the swamp. Cross shook his head before raising his weapon, immediately wiping Armel’s smirk away as he tilted his head in confusion at the small caster.
“Actually,” Misser raised a hand before Armel could speak “could use a bit more here, but should be able to finish it on the way.”
“Thought you two was makin’ regular ole casters.” Armel shook his head as he passed the tank to Misser “I’m all for tryin’ out new ways to slaughter n’ all, but this ain’t the best place for testin’ stuff out.”
“Hmph,” Misser grumbled at that, only to go quiet for a moment upon noting Cross staring at him “I mean, its not like we’ll be relying on them for long. How far are we from the... uh, the False Father?”
“Oh!” Moto suddenly spoke up, pulling away from Wristy’s grasp and standing up “False father… yes! Moto see… tribe see when find dark rocks. Run by, ruin woods, scare tribe!”
She quickly pulled her garb back onto her shoulders with one hand as the other pointed into a direction that diverged from the trail of destruction.
“Calm tribe… dark ones!” she looked to them whilst pointing “Show Dark Father protects!”
“You want us to visit your tribe?” Cross tilted his head as Misser sighed.
“Would probably be better for us to find the Rook first.” He glanced to Armel “Right, comrade?”
“On way! Please!” Moto clasped her hands together “Tribe hide... not leave Dark Father’s tree!”
“Tree?” Wristy questioned, prompting Moto to nod wildly before leaping off the fallen tree and dropping to her knees on the ground.
Cross and Armel drew closer as Moto dug at the dirt, clawing away grass and leaves until she pulled back and gestured before her.
A root, dark and purple, lay just below the top layer of mud and dirt.
Immediately, Cross whipped his head his head towards the craters left by the fallen Blackstone. After three he spotted the edge of anther dark root poking through the dirt, though it had been mostly destroyed by the fallen Blackstone.
“These roots,” Cross looked to Moto “Came from your father’s tree?”
“Protect tribe,” she grinned before an intense frown overtook her expression “Other tribes… jealous.”
Cross shared his look of confusion with Wristy, who only shrugged before Armel stood and began walking away.
“Comrade?” Cross called to him, prompting Armel to stop and look back to them.
“You all heard her,” he gestured towards the trees “its on the way, so why don’t we say hi to this tribe o’ hers?”
