Chapter 26: First Wars Problems
Rooks weren’t like anyone else in the Sovereign’s War. They weren’t mass-produced like Pawns, or act as leaders like Knights or Bishops. Whether serving the Queen or King, Rooks were one thing and one thing only.
Living weapon platforms.
Not just soldiers, but heavily armed war machines that could punch through even the strongest bulwarks through sheer size and sundering fire power. Getting even one into Paradise would’ve led to unthinkable damage with how front-loaded Perignassi’s defenses were.
But that wasn’t what they found stuck in the dark tree. The bite-sized, broken form wasn’t anything like the Rook they were transporting. Even Chance in her tanker suit would’ve outclassed the Dark Father in terms of size.
But the bulky armor, the flat design of the helmet. None of it was the exact same, but it was still a Rook.
And Cross couldn’t even begin to fathom how he’d wound up stuck in a tree being worshipped by mortals.
Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one struck silent by the truth behind the ‘Dark Father’.
Wristy and Misser had been spared the adoration of the crowd, as the Draknich tribe quickly surrounded the trapped Rook and began joining their voices together and praising him for bringing them reprieve from the accursed False Father.
A sight which Cross viewed from afar with a growing sense of disgust coursing throughout his form.
“Assist… Ally…” Rook’s barely perceptible thoughtspeak only made him turn away. Looking to his comrades instead for some kind of support to lean on.
Wristy’s frantic pacing did nothing to inspire hope.
“How?” she asked whilst rubbing at her head repeatedly “How?!?”
A deep grumble emanated from Misser, who sat nearby with his back to the rest of them. He was trying to focus on his weapon, but he wasn’t working on it, examining parts, or inspecting its newest additions. He just stared at it without moving, eye wide as he drummed his fingers along its shape.
“You going to answer her, Armel?” he asked without turning around, with both Wristy and Cross looking to the only Pawn who could possibly alleviate their confusion.
Said Pawn was busy lying on his back, staring up at the Ichor tank with a slow hum rising from his throat.
He didn’t answer, leading Cross to narrow his eye in agitation. He looked to the side, where Armel had left the Blackstone Pad lying amongst the Dark tree’s numerous roots. He quickly walked over and scooped it up off the ground before waving it at Armel.
“It’s because of this, right?” he asked whilst trying to gleam something from the dots on it “You learned something, right?!?”
Neither Armel or the pad gave Cross anything to work with. Cross snarled, but Wristy walked past him first, dropping to her knees beside Armel and grabbing his shoulders before hauling him up off the ground
“Give us somethin’, Comrade!” She begged before swinging an arm around towards the Rook and his circle of worshippers “He ain’t s’posed to be here! They’s prayin’ to the big bastard! Ya can’t just-!”
“The First Wars was all kinds o messy, y’know?” Armel suddenly said, closing his eye with a sigh “Just the Sovereigns pickin’ a random rock to be a battlefield, then fightin’ ‘till one came out on top.”
Wristy let go as Armel sat up. He shook his head before raising a hand and listing off things.
“No Quadrants, no vessels, no Knights.” Armel opened his eye before looking to the tree “Perignassi changed that, y’know? The first one, I mean.”
“What?” Misser looked back to him “What does that have to do with-?”
“He was one o them thinker-types, but not like the Perries that came after.” Armel leaned towards Cross with a frown “He was all for doin’ wild stuff, crazy stuff that gave other bishops ideas, gave the Sovereigns Ideas, gave everyone ideas.”
Cross held back his words, just shifted back as Armel leaned forward and pushed himself up to his feet. He walked past him, dropping the ichor tank before folding his arms. He watched for a moment as the Draknich finished their prayers, raising their arms to the Rook with joy.
The Rook spoke throughout using thoughtspeak, but his voice was so low Cross could barely make out any words despite staring right at him. Had growing up affected by his presence made the Draknich better suited to hearing him? Or had they managed to pick up the entire language of the Sovereign’s War solely through those barely audible whispers?
Armel shook his head before closing his eye.
“Knights nowadays joke ‘bout how messy he was, in spite o’ bein’ a source of all kinds of things the Sovereigns use nowadays.” Armel chuckled before looking back to his comrades “They’s right, though. When the first bit it, he left a whole mess a stuff behind for his replacement.”
“Wait…” Cross glanced towards the trapped Rook “How big of a mess are we talking here?”
Armel tilted his head before shrugging. He raised a finger and pointed to the Blackstone Pad.
Cross stared down at the numerous lights it showed dotting the area around them.
Lights that were supposed to represent energy readings from Noirite equipment.
“You’re joking!” Cross’s eye shot up to Armel.
“What? What?!?” Wristy hurried to Cross’s side, only for him to gesture towards the trapped Rook.
“He’s not alone, there’s First Wars tech littered all over this place!” Cross groaned as he pressed his forehead to the pad “Did Formal know? There’s no way this pad would’ve found our Rook with all this old junk here.”
“That’s what those lights were?!?” Misser stood up “Isn’t destroying enemy equipment standard procedure after battles? You know, minimize risk of the Haze?”
“Forget all that!” Wristy turned to Cross “How’s a bunch o’ mortals end up here!?! Any realm that’s on record has to get checked for mortals, and they take ages to grow! Even the stupidest Blanken woulda caught wind o’ this!”
“Yet they’re here.” Cross murmured, drawing a scowl from Wristy and a nod from Armel “They’re here, meaning…”
He trailed off, eye going from the crowd of Draknich to the covered corpses. Moto had joined the warriors of her tribe in moving bodies, though she kept pausing in her duties to whisper to the wrapped-up corpse she was hauling and weep.
“What you smilin’ for?” Wristy’s voice made him realize just how stretched his mouth had become, but he looked gown.
“Its… its so stupid.” He finally managed to get out between pained snickers “This realm isn’t on record, is it?”
“What?!?” both Wristy and Misser turned to Armel, only for their eyes to go wide when he nodded.
But Cross couldn’t do anything other than laugh at how unimaginably ridiculous the scene before him was. An ancient realm covered in the remains of the First Wars, simply forgotten about and lost to time.
All because Perignassi the First decided to keep it off record.
How?
Cross couldn’t help but try and think through the gross display of incompetence. Was it incompetence, even? Armel said everyone knew the First was a wild one, but did that go so far as to just ignore standard procedure? Or was it laziness? Some messy experiment?
That Bishop had been dead for hundreds of turns yet Cross was dying for some kind of explanation for whatever they’d landed in. The results of his actions were so overwhelming that Cross had to drop to one knee and steady himself as he was forced to take in the sights around him under the light of this revelation.
The Draknich and the rest of the mortals on this Realm had been forced to evolve around First Wars leftovers. While he couldn’t guess how much this had affected them all, the Draknich were the clearest example of it.
That Rook looked broken enough for some of the tree roots to be growing through his innards, contaminating the entire area around it to the point where Lesser Mortals steered clear instinctively. And the Draknich themselves had changed physically in response to living around it.
It was the kind of stuff that Stationwatch worked to keep from happening. The Sovereigns’ expressly denounced interaction with Mortals in such a manner, yet a simple clerical order had left the entire realm compromised.
How could Cross not laugh? He wanted to cry, wanted to mirror the misery Moto-Nilli showed at having members of her tribe slaughtered, but the sheer nonsense of it all kept getting in the way.
So he laughed, squeezed his eye shut and tried to get it all out of his system at once. Thankfully, his comrades seemed more than willing to let him vent. While Misser had gone silent at the revelation, Wristy had gone back to trying to coerce any form of guidance out of Armel.
“What about the plan, Comrade!?!” she begged, shaking him furiously with one arm “We ain’t got no trainin’ for this!”
“Cuz it ain’t our department,” Armel finally responded before slowly rising back to his feet “it’s a Bishop problem for Bishops to fix.”
“So… original plan?” Misser asked, never shifting his gaze from the ground “Not doing anything about all that?”
He casually gestured to the Draknich finishing up their ceremony, with many moving back to help with corpses or climb the tree to reach the dangling sacks they called homes. Cross saw one pause beside the imprisoned Rook and place their forehead against the ruins of his leg.
Cross had to grind his teeth together to hold back his own incredulous laughter.
“Oh we gotta do somethin’.” Armel responded, stepping over to place a hand on Cross’ shoulder “Ain’t gonna mess with the plan much, but our Mortal pals here prolly’ ain’t gonna like it.”
“How ya figure?” Wristy asked, prompting Armel too point towards the Rook.
“We’re gonna have to rip out his core.” Armel said it as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
And despite her prior words, Cross could see Wristy’s face fall at the suggestion.
“Why us?” she asked “You said it’s Bishop’s work.”
“Might be old n all,” Armel examined the Rook before nodding “but all Rook Cores are designed to detonate once a Rook ceases function. Dunno ‘bout you, but I ain’t keen on leavin’ an explosive like that with Mortals. We ain’t messy like ole Perry the First, right?”
Cross could only throw his hands up and submit himself to the situation.
Of course they would have to effectively kill the Draknich tribe’s god the moment they got there. Why wouldn’t they? Compared to stumbling upon an unlogged realm covered in First Wars tech during an impossible mission, it was par for the course.
Cross scolded himself for expecting some form of relief.
He rose, getting back to his feet as he looked to the most recent addition to their list of things to deal with. The ‘Dark Father’ that Moto had been building up for some time. The Draknich looked to him with blatant reverence, with even those hauling bodies smiling whenever it entered their vision.
But Armel was right. Thinking purely objectively, deactivating the Rook by removing its core would at least slow down the taint of the mortal life around it. They couldn’t completely undo the damage left by Perignassi’s actions, but Cross’s blood boiled at the idea of doing nothing to counter it.
“I say we do it and get it over with.” Cross gestured towards Misser “Who knows? Maybe we can throw it at Lady Khullic and bumble our way into glory that way, hm?”
Misser narrowed his eye at him, but nodded as Armel clapped.
“That’s the spirit,” he said before looking to a dejected-looking Wristy “already figured a way to do it smooth-like too. Should get the locals on track.”
Wristy tilted her head at that, but couldn’t speak before taking note of the sound of footsteps drawing near.
Moto approached slowly, pausing when the Noirities looked her way. She fidgeted in place for a moment before looking back at Keta, who was making his way towards the dark father with one of the other Draknich warriors. He noticed Moto staring, giving her a nod before turning to speak to the warrior.
Moto looked back to the Noirites, tapping her claws together as she resumed approaching.
“Tribe scared…Warriors… track False Father…” she paused to steel her voice “But gone… into deep pit… none return, ever! Too close… Tribe argue… some… want leave… others not but… No worries! Dark ones strong! Slay False Father… yes?”
“A pit big enough for our Rook?” Misser asked quietly, only for Armel to hold a finger to his lips before putting on a smile and approaching Moto.
Dropping to one knee so they could be eye level, Armel reached out and gave her shoulder a light pat.
“We’s strong, yeah.” He nodded before his smile began to fade “But this Dark Father’s gonna take more than we can dish out to bring down.”
“Oh no! Then…” Moto went still for a moment before her face tightened up “We help!”
“Nope” Armel nodded past her “we’ll need his help if we’re doin’ this.”
Moto turned around, gaze falling upon her Dark Father just as Keta pressed his forehead against him.
“For good fight… father likes!” Moto turned back to Armel, smiling once more “We ask… beg… help! He’ll-!”
“Oh I know, but…” Armel stood up and gave her a nudge “It ain’t so simple.”
Once more, confusion flitted about Moto’s features as she let Armel walk her over to the Dark Father.
Wristy went still for a moment, only to sigh upon seeing Cross and Misser moving to follow Armel. Cross glanced back to see her trailing behind them, but his gaze was quickly lured up into the twisted branches of the Dark Father’s tree.
Specifically, his eye turned to the numerous dangling sack homes that the Draknich moved between. Their nimble frames climbed along branches, with some even stretching their wings out to glide to distant ones.
But it was more than just homes to sleep in, hanging from the branches beside one sack were numerous skins drying out. Another had a Draknich sharpening sticks with jagged rocks.
Their entire village was quite literally being held up by that tree. All those crafts and peculiar family units, and Cross couldn’t enjoy the sight of any of it with the knowledge of Rook’s involvement getting in the way.
Luckily, Armel had already gotten their story straight.
They needed a lot of the Dark Father’s power to slay the False Father, so much that he won’t be able to speak to the Draknich anymore. Moto’s face fell the more that Armel explained, with her responses drying up as she squeezed her eyes tight with tears forming in the corners.
While the revelation had robbed Moto of her words, it did the exact opposite for Keta.
“Silence… Father?” He hissed when Armel was finished speaking “This trick? Not Trick? Tribe… wounded… father needed.”
“Ya makin’ a good point, pal!” Armel pointed him before shrugging “But we can’t let False Father stay long. We gotta beat him!”
Keta hissed at that, a sound which drew the attention of several nearby warriors. Even those working with the bodies immediately dropped what they doing as their hands traveled to sheathed blades.
Cross wondered how difficulty popping open the Rook would be with over a dozen mad mortals stabbing at them. While the odds were still in their favor, he couldn’t help but flinch at how annoying such a process would be.
Luckily, the Dark Father spoke up.
“Enemy?” the silent rumbles of the Rook were enough to give the Draknich warriors pause “Assist… I… Assist…. Enemy Destruction…”
“But Father… tribe hurting...” Keta trailed off, prompting Cross to shake his head
“Come on, now.” He looked to Moto “You said your father wanted a strong tribe, yet all I’m seeing is mortals cowering behind his protection. That is not the sign of a strong tribe, it reeks of weakness!”
“Comrade?” Cross looked back to see Wristy nodding up “You’s a bit loud, see?”
He looked back to see several Draknich had paused to look their way, but the sight only emboldened him.
“So?” he shook his head at Wristy before looking Armel’s direction “Isn’t that what the Ki- I mean, the Dark Father wants mortals like these growing, right? Evolving through conflict and taking control of their world with grit and determination!”
He wheeled on Keta before pointing to the tree itself.
“This! This protection has weakened all of you!” he declared “You’ve become dependent on it, if anything, I’m more impressed the Sharplokhs have managed to pressure you so hard without a giant tree to hide behind!”
“Not hide!” Keta spat before reaching back to pat the tree “Tree gift! For strong ones! Draknich Strong ones! Earned! Old Draknich fight for home! Travel far for home! Find tree, Find Father! He Reward Draknich!”
Other voices joined Keta’s his fervor spreading to the other Draknich, who either repeated his words or chanted in their own language with growing agitation.
Their denial of the blatant coddling their tree provided only inflamed Cross’s annoyance, but a lanky arm raised in front of him before he could open his mouth again. He glanced to Armel, who held a finger to his mouth before stepping forward.
“Well if you lot are just as worthy as these old Draknich was,” he waved a finger around “then ya got no reason to argue, yeah? Ya’ll be just as hardy without him, eh?”
To his credit, Armel’s words did manage to quiet down the crowd, as their anger was quickly replaced with confusion and doubt as the true weight of the discussion began to sink in. But Keta wasn’t giving an inch.
“Tribe needs… eggs need!” he declared before pointing them “Dark ones… not take Father-!”
“Father… wants…” the quiet rumbling of the Rook quickly led Keta to quiet down again “Dead enemies… Destroy enemy… Aid needed… Aid offered… Take… Take… Take…”
Yet again the ancient war machine had spoken up on their behalf, his words immediately sending ripples of concern through the crowd. Cross had to fight not to feel vindicated, as the Rook was undoubtedly just doing whatever it could to get to the nearest enemy.
“But…” Keta was at a loss for words, grabbing at his Dark Father with a grunt “Father… danger for… for all…”
He flinched, looking back to see Moto tugging at his shoulder.
“Keta…” she swallowed dryly before leaning up to him “Tribe strong…yes?”
For the first time since meeting him, Cross saw Keta’s expression bloom with fear. He locked up for a moment after meeting Moto’s gaze, before looking back to his Dark Father and groaning.
But his hands loosened, falling away from the Dark Father as he turned back to Moto with a wide sharp-toothed grin.
“Strongest!” he declared “Always!”
