October 11, 4021 11:08 [Lahab Mutajamid Desert]

Silent and motionless, Akula peered through a sliver in the pile of corpses he lay beneath to keep warm. The sands had frozen over, the machinations of Levante turning the arid landscape into an unforgiving tundra. Winds blew curtains of snow over the land, further terraforming the desert into a pristine hellscape. The bodies of its victims lay blanketed just beneath the surface.

The conflict had progressed over the course of the week, with hardly a moment’s respite for soldiers on both sides, and the casualties continuing to mount without an end in sight. Hart had alluded to a quick conclusion to the war, but the longer they struggled, the more futile it seemed. Taking into consideration that the forces of Yuèliàng did eventually overwhelm Levante, their victory would be pyrrhic, the losses too great to warrant the operation’s designation a success.

Akula grimaced, gnashing his teeth. He knew neither army would surrender; their plight wouldn’t end until one side had been completely eradicated. The hubris of their leaders was too great for them to consider the lives of their men as anything more than trivialities and necessary sacrifices.

Mobile fortresses released hordes of Machina onto the battlefield, continually replenishing their ranks as they were felled by Homunculi. The Lancers tore paths through the sea of enemies Levante loosed on them, pulling apart the fortresses and taking aim at the fleet of airships carrying Levante’s premier division of soldiers.

These ships had been given the moniker of Cataclysms by their enemies, for they marked the end of those who bore witness to their arrival. They carried Stormcloaks, soldiers that harnessed the element of ice, bending nature to their will in the same vein as the Hyenas did with Shakti. However, they did so through the technological ingenuity of their engineers, donning suits of bionic white armor that could supercool the very air around them.

The Stormcloaks descended upon the battlefield from the Cataclysms, their ivory capes fluttering in the gale brought on by the sudden shift in weather. They slayed Homunculi and Yuèliàngian soldiers in droves, releasing frozen beams from their palms or simply cutting them down to size with blades of ice.

The bloodshed that ensued seeped deep into the snow until the patches of red dotting the battlefield became a blanket of crimson across the tundra.

Akula dug out of the side of the corpse pile he had continued to lay beneath as a Stormcloak took aim at it in a morbid fit of boredom.

He bolted towards the Stormcloak, driving a pike of frozen blood through the bottom of his chin before the Levantan had a chance to react. The Stormcloak’s tongue burst as blood flowed out of his mouth and trickled from his nostrils. His eyes rolled back as the pike pierced his brain, breaking through the skull cap and jutting out of the top of his head like a small antenna.

Akula flexed his fingers, surprised. There was no need to crystallize the blood he used; the sheer cold did half the work for him. All he needed to do was mold any weapon to his liking and let the temperature take care of the rest. He was not worried about running out of material to shape either; there was an endless supply of it lying in wait for him to use.

He stared at the three monolithic airships lingering in the air. They had yet to make a move outside of dropping explosives on unsuspecting Homunculi below.

“What are they planning?” he muttered to himself.

He searched for cover again, hiding behind an overturned Crawler. It twitched slightly; the mechanisms had been destroyed and the systems completely fried.

Akula was on his own; his communications had ceased to function upon the advent of the winter storm. The communication devices had been designed to withstand severe weather conditions, including freezing temperatures, however, they had underestimated the measures Levante and its allies were willing to take in order to protect their countries. At the expense of their ground troops, they had bombarded the land with projectiles well below sustainable temperatures, essentially glaciating the area.

Still, glimpses of a green suit streaking through the skies, and the silhouettes of Lancers in the distance, reassured Akula. His only focus now was to survive.

The abrasive sounds of turning gears echoed through the air. Causing him to clasp his ears shut, grimacing. His attention was redirected back to the sky, the bottom platforms of the three oversized Cataclysms, starting to lower.

A tap on the shoulder caused Akula to jump, reflexively swiping behind him with a blade of blood. His would-be assailant stepped out of range, easily avoiding the attack.

“Whoa, easy there, hotshot. It’s just us.”

Akula blinked, relieved to see Hart and Temujin standing before him.

“Oh, it’s you guys, I thought—”

“We don’t have time to catch up,” Hart interrupted. “The Heralds of Judgment are approaching.”

“The what?” Akula raised an eyebrow, confused.

“You kids should really pay more attention to the mission briefs,” Hart scoffed. “The alliance between the leaders of the Middle East—the Triumvirate: Baldwin of the Ashen Throne, Orpheus the Wanderer, and King Rahman of Levante. They each commandeer one of those three gigantic vessels up there,” he explained, pointing to the sky.

“Lazarus, Agrius, and Dabbah—the respective names of their ships,” Temujin added. “We are the only ones left to face them. The others are engaged in combat, fighting tooth and nail to hold back the enemy forces. If we defeat the Heralds, the war will conclude shortly thereafter.”

Akula was perplexed. “You’re asking me to—”

“Yes, what we are asking of you is an undertaking far greater than the scope of your training, but it is unavoidable. I do not foresee a scenario that ends in their surrender. Their men are fighting to the death, and so are they. Your task will be to kill one of the Heralds of Judgment. The final assault is upon us,” Temujin spoke gravely.

Akula gulped. Fear gripped his throat as a cold sweat started to form. His body experienced a range of temperatures as heat traveled from his chest to his temple and his breathing became rapid and shallow.

“Hey!” Hart exclaimed, clasping Akula’s shoulders firmly. “Get a grip! If we don’t take these pricks out, the bloodshed will continue until there’s nothing left of either side. It’s a mercy on our part. The soldiers that are left on their side will be relieved of their duty, no longer forced to fight a losing battle. And our people—they’ll be safe. Think of the lives we could save!”

Akula slowed his breathing, loosening his shoulders. He closed his eyes, imagining a life in the city after all was said and done. Indra’s suggestion did not seem so far-fetched now given current circumstances. He sighed; the prospect seemed like such a distant memory.

He balled his fists tightly, exhaling slowly, his eyes focused. Akula steeled himself for the impending fight, turning to face the Cataclysms of the Heralds. If there was a chance to end the war early, he would take it—even at the expense of his own life. Mirai and Aisha would no longer remain in harm’s way.

“Okay, I’m good now. Don’t worry about me,” he said.

“About time,” Hart replied, letting go of him. “Here’s the drill: I’ll be taking on the king, Temujin will intercept Baldwin before he can reach the others, and you will deal with Orpheus, understand?”

“Is that it? What other intel do we have on these guys? What are their powers? How about weaknesses?” Akula inquired, apprehensively.

Hart shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? You had information on their names and statuses, but not their abilities? What were our scouts doing?” Akula scoffed, incredulously.

“They’re dead,” Hart answered bluntly. “We sent multiple teams to collect information. They only managed to transmit this much before our enemies caught wind of them. Make your peace, Krov. This is it. Adapt, overcome, and survive at all costs. You made it this far. Now, finish the fight.”

Without a second glance, Hart and Temujin bolted towards their targets, leaving Akula in the dust.

He shook his head, grimacing as he eyed the Agrius; it was the largest of the Cataclysms, the scale of its architecture incomparable to anything he had witnessed before. Thousands of cannons and ballistae lined the sides of the ship, raining blue fire—almost liquid in property upon the Homunculi below. It cast an ominous shadow, its hull spanning half the length of the battlefield.

On the lowest platform of the Agrius stood a lone figure, wearing a simple chiton and a red chlamys in honor of a god long dead; the short cloak fluttered behind him. Orpheus wore a solemn expression on his face as he crossed his arms, surveying the carnage.

Akula could not help but share his sentiment. Neither of them wanted to contribute to further suffering, but it was their duty to see the battle to the end, or at least their end.

He gritted his teeth, rushing forward and clearing his mind of all doubt, all worry, and all inhibition. He had one goal—one truth—and that was to kill the man standing in his way.

He looked up once more as he raced towards the Agrius. Orpheus stared down at him, following his movements with a watchful gaze. They locked eyes, and for a brief moment, there was a simple understanding between them.

Sorry, but I’ve got a job to do.