Just wow. Als je de tijd hebt, zeker de moeite waard dit! Fanmade, maar fucking vet verhaal over Helm of Saint-14.
"We plead for membership into the Consensus, Speaker," said Father Ulrich.
Saint-14 stood behind the small man, silent and cautious, examining the other factions in attendance. This freshly birthed unity was fragile at best. It hadn’t even been a year since the Faction Wars ended, so the exo would watch those who would do harm to his master—intimidate even, if it was so necessary. Saint-13, his second in command, stood on his other side, and directly behind them was the rest of the exo special force, garbed in white and gold.
However, they were outnumbered.
A scarlet-robed group known as New Monarchy, one of the first factions that emerged in the dawn of the City, were scattered among them, packing the atrial chambers full to bursting. Dead Orbit faced left, grim-faced and cold, while an even smaller band who called themselves Concordant, faced right. Their guardians eyed him. Oh, how he wished to hold his rifle, but this space would not sanction such a thing. Truly a pity, it was. He would have shattered the beast'’s claws that caged him and ripped out the pads from its paws.
“Membership, Father?” asked the Speaker, stock-still behind his pedestal.
Ulrich bowed his head. “Yes.”
“You do realize there is a minimum amount of two-hundred Guardians needed to qualify for a seat on this forum?” The Speaker cocked his head. “You have barely a hundred.”
“I realize this,” said Ulrich, “but Great Absolution deserves a place here.”
“And why is that?!” cried a voice.
Nam Ra, leader of New Monarchy, rose from her seat. She jut out her bronze chin and laughed. “You sully the good name of Guardians by wandering out of our walls to conspire with the wilderness tribes, the ones who attack our patrols and rob us of our goods. You threaten this city, Ulrich.”
A grumble of agreement filled the forum.
“I do no such thing, Nam,” he replied. “I confer with the outer settlements to bring them into the light of the Traveler. More so, to bring them into the light of the Father above. We mustn’t keep out fellow mankind. The more citizens in faith we have, God will further protect us from the Darkness. Which is why I have named my faction Great Absolution—to absolve the tribes of their lawlessness, and forgive them their sins. Your sins.”
Murdock, leader of Dead Orbit rose next. “I will hear no more of your god,” he said, eyes cool. “There is a reason religion has all but died out, for where were your gods when humanity was crushed and wiped out by the Darkness?”
“He’s right!” screamed another man with a crazed face, who Fourteen identified as Lysander, leader of Concordant. “What we don’t need is more mouths to feed and more lives to protect!”
Fourteen suppressed a bristling rage. The other Saints shuffled, uncomfortable.
“Now, there is no reason to insult the man,” said the Speaker, lifting a hand. Murdock sat without another word and looked away from the priest like he had just scolded a small, unimportant child. “Now, Father, I do suspect that you are a force to be reckoned with. You hold in the palm of your hands the so-called Machine Saints, who are without a doubt, one of the strongest exo guardians the Traveler has to offer.” Even with the mask placed upon the man’s face, Fourteen felt his glance. “You have power, but your goals are quite too…radical for this Consensus to agree upon. I’m afraid I must decline your entreatment into this council.”
Father Ulrich bowed. “Very well,” he said. “I thank you for your time.”
The priest turned around and made his retreat out of the forum, with sneers and slurs at his back. Fourteen couldn’t believe his master would leave with nothing as so little as a fight. He frowned and followed.
“Return with enough members,” said the Speaker. “Then we’ll talk.”
***
Thirteen kicked a pebble down the empty road. “You didn’t even argue, Father.”
The short priest kept walking down the Inner City streets, a place of abject poverty, as well as a place ignored by the Tower. He rubbed his bald scalp and fingered his crucifix, a symbolic thing no one knew all that much about, for the origins of Father Ulrich’s religion were lost to time.
“I did not see the point in arguing,” he replied. “We will come back, do not fret.”
Fourteen’s ghost chirped. Behind you!
Bullets whizzed past his head. The exo spun around and seized an invisible wrist that had been aimed for Ulrich’s neck, crushing bones like dry twigs. A hand cannon dropped into the dirt. Fourteen ran his boot into the assassin’s thigh and snapped more bones, but with a snarl, the cloudy form twisted and brought its knife around to hit Fourteen’s amorphous-metallic skull. It broke in half. The exo struck him back in the same place and he felt something cave in. The form dropped to the ground and flickered, gradually revealing a Hunter. A ghost rose out of the lifeless body. Fourteen snatched the little machine, ready to mold the damn thing into a marble the size of a pea.
Father Ulrich put a hand on his wrist. He was bleeding from a grazed shoulder.
Saint-14, with rage-trembling hands, relented. “Which faction do you belong to?”
“I cannot say,” it replied, voice even and quiet. “You can do nothing to me to make me betray my guardian, Saint. I was prepared to perish the moment he let his bullets fl.y.”
Fourteen knew what it said was true, then shrugged. “Listen here, my friend,” he said bringing the ghost to his face. “You revive your guardian, but let him know that he’s a suckling babe no more worthy to face my little finger than he is to face me.” The exo flicked the ghost away. “And tell him to bring more next time if he’s to win.”
Sunlight radiated against the preserved slabs of stained glass set inside the chapel, casting projections of the images therein onto the white marbled floor. They were beautiful. Father Ulrich had found these windows in the heart of the wilderness many years ago, left behind in an ancient church. He brought them back to this city and built, with his own two hands, a small chapel in the most poverty-stricken area he could find. Fourteen had to admire the man.
But he did not believe in his religion.
He used to believe it was because he was a mere exo—a war machine with little processing power left to have faith in something bigger than himself. Then, he realized, that there just wasn’t a god in this forsaken world. No true god would have left them when the Darkness came to claim their souls. If anything, Fourteen believed, with his whole being, in the man standing outside of the chapel feeding the poor and telling them that one day, everything would be better. Many stories and tenets had been lost from what the father called Christianity. There wasn’t even a book. Yet, he had gleaned enough to know that helping the poor and doing good was all that was required to be an adherent. He developed a following, but needed more help.
The priest had found the exos even deeper into the Wilds, deactivated and broken, most likely from a failed mission. Father Ulrich had never said anything about it, but Fourteen suspected it took days upon days for the tiny man to bring them all back into the city. An exo weighed hundreds of pounds. Fourteen wondered at the feat. And if that wasn’t wonder enough, he had repaired them somehow---repaired their ghosts, and energized their sealed cores made from a powerful super alloy, bringing them back to life. So with that new life, came new names.
Saint-14 was the original Saint. The exos had given the father permission to rename them, as most were so badly damaged, they couldn't even remember their names, much less how many times they had been system wiped. The priest took inspiration from Fourteen's name, calling them guardians named after those who had deserved higher honor in days of yore.
Indebted to him, Fourteen and the others served him. They served by helping the poor and crushing the Fallen that pounded at the walls. Their deeds spread and they came to be known as the Machine Saints of the Last City. Not soon after, the Vanguard stepped in. They claimed the exos were their lost special force. Father Ulrich had opposed them, saying that Fourteen and the exos had the choice in whatever they wanted to do. Of course, they chose the father, denying the Vanguard of one of the most powerful guardians left in the world. This would, in turn, make everything harder for his new faction: Great Absolution.
Screams and the blaring of guns drew Fourteen out of his reverie.
The exo rushed out of the chapel and found the crowd of hungry citizens dispersing in the wake of violence. Concordant guardians appeared over the rooftops and down the streets. Thirteen and Twelve, their battle robes billowing in the wind, aimed their assault rifles at the Hunters on the buildings, while Two and Four stood blocking any of those who came too close to the chapel. The rest guarded Ulrich.
Lysander approached.
“What is your business here, Lysander?” growled Fourteen, gripping his twin hand cannons, triggers pressed. “If you wish bloodshed, I’ll happily give it to you and your own.”
The man smiled. “I’ve just come to talk.”
“The bullets smashed in the ground say otherwise.”
“The peasants were in my way” said Lysander with a twisted face. “And they smelled ghastly.” He gestured to his guardians and they lowered their weapons. “Let me talk to the priest.”
Fourteen’s eyes blazed white. “So talk.”
“Well if you insist,” he said, running his hands through his greasy, black hair and turning his eyes to Ulrich. “I want you to stop trying to bring in the wilderness tribes. I want you to stop feeding the poor and leave this area. You’re a nuisance, old man.”
Fourteen raised his hand cannons and so did everyone else.
A hand rested on his arm, lowering it.
Father Ulrich stood beside him and bowed. “It is nice to meet you, Lysander,” he said. “I do not doubt your loyalty to the Traveler and to the Speaker, but you’ve no authority to come here and spout orders at me. Leave.”
Lysander spit on the ground at his feet. “My faction wants to rid this city of the poor and of the wilderness tribes. It is the only way we can really flourish and prepare for the Darkness that will soon return. I will burn these raggedy shacks to the ground, myself, in due time. If you’re still here—If you still try and bring back savages, then you’ll burn too.”
“The nerve!” yelled Saint-2. Receptors barnacling her head quivered from anger.
Lysander ignored the female exo, turning away back down the street. It was laughable how the man thought the exos would let him hang a threat over their heads and walk away unscathed. Fourteen holstered his hand cannons.
He launched into the air, robe and spun gold swirling against the wind.
He landed in the midst of the guardians, knocking two humans out with well-placed clips to their temples. An exo charged him. Fourteen deflected his bone-shattering fists with a gentle palm and grabbed his arm, flipping him into the ground. He crushed his metallic leg with his foot. Next, a Warlock sent out a missile of fire, but with a tip of his head, Fourteen dodged the attack and shoved the fool head-first into a wall. He spun and seized Lysander’s neck, giving a threat of his own.
Sweat ran down Fourteen’s hands.
“Please, don’t kill me,” begged Lysander, eyes wild with fright. His pants turned dark, and seconds later, the dirt ran warm with his piss. The man’s trembling hands grabbed Fourteen’s wrists and struggled for air.
The exo scoffed at his weakness.
Fourteen dropped the sniveling fiend and watched him scramble away with his horde of soldiers he pathetically called “guardians.” He would not come back. He knew if he did, he’d receive a snapped neck in return.
“Let us pass!” roared Fourteen, standing at the forefront of his pack of charges.
Titans stood atop the massive walls of the City, acting as bulwarks against the alien infestation. How dare they refuse him entrance? He, who helped them drive back the darkness from pulling them all into the fold of its shadows. They would block him? They would block him and innocent people who wish to be protected by the Traveler? This wall was built, if not by his own hands, but by his brothers.
“Please, Saint,” said one Titan. “We respect you greatly. Do not push us to violence.” He shuffled, awkwardly. “You have brought a wilderness tribe to our very gates that have not been screened for hostile history, or even weapons for that matter.”
Two stepped forward. “If you do not open these gates, so help me—”
“Hush, Two,” said Thirteen, voice gentle, much like Ulrich’s. “Do not anger them.”
The massive gates of the wall, built for giant gods, opened before the Saints.
The Titans started to shout in their confusion, yelling orders at the battle frames and running around like beheaded chickens. It seemed the gate hadn’t been meant to be opened. Fourteen shrugged and raised a hand for his party to resume its march. He would take any opportunity that presented itself.
They barely made it into the City before gunfire erupted from the rooftops around them. However, these bullets were not from the guards atop the wall. They wore not the colors of New Monarchy, but of black. These were assassins.
Can you tell who these Hunters belong to? asked Fourteen, directed to the ghost within him.
No, it replied. There's no way for me to tell.
An innocent fell from a bullet between her eyes.
Fourteen cursed and activated the helm Father Ulrich had provided for him many years ago. It was a shell of silver titanium, with bolts of steel, a strike of violet light adorning its facial plate, and speckled plumes raised across its skull. Ulrich told him it was inspired by warriors of some ancient people. However, it was not just for looks.
The exo lifted his arms to both sides and unleashed his Light that raged within his body, forming a dome that stretched so far it covered homes and buildings. He watched the assassins fall to the ground disoriented. They moved aimlessly, blinded by his power. They would not stand against him, for this was his Ward of Dawn.
“Saints!” he prompted.
The exos took their chance unblinded, for the helmet seemed to distinguish intent, and Thirteen took the lead, throwing solar grenades into the air. Bolts of fire lashed into the assassins and turned them into piles of ash. Eight teleported through space and reality to cut the throats of the sightless. Six's sniper never missed a head, while Two pounded bones into dust.
Soon every assassin fell and their ghosts dug out of their bodies like parasites.
“Should we destroy the ghosts, Fourteen?” asked Ten.
Fourteen shook his head. “No,” he replied, lifting his Ward of Dawn, allowing defenders of the wall access. “Father would not want us to kill them. Besides, it will take a while for the ghosts to fully revive their guardians. Instead…capture a ghost and its dead custodian.”
“Who was responsible?” asked Thirteen.
Fourteen didn’t have to think. “Concordant.”
***
“You never fail to surprise me, Father Ulrich,” said the Speaker, voice more agitated than usual. “Your Saints entered the City without express permission from our guards and, according to witnesses, attacked them. Your exos physically assaulted our defender titans. Not only that, but buildings and businesses were set afire and civilians were killed in the crossfire.”
Nam Ra glared daggers. “Some of my guardians are still recovering,” she hissed.
Fourteen wished to shut her rambling trap, but he felt it wouldn’t help their case much. They did not attack New Monarchy. Did she hate them enough to condemn them on lies? Probably. He watched Lysander, smug and satisfied, though when the man caught Fourteen’s eye, he deflated. Damn him. He should have broken a bone or two. If he was anything, Lysander was brave for challenging him.
“Again, that isn’t true,” said Father Ulrich. “My guardians wouldn’t do such a thing. They were the ones attacked, by assassins no less.” His gaze drifted over to Lysander. “And we know who’s responsible.”
“Who, then?” asked the Speaker.
“Concordant.”
Mumbling and whispering upset the forum. Lysander rose, his own guardians yelling vicious threats. The Speaker waved his hand, eventually beating his gavel into the pedestal stand. They quieted.
“Where is your proof, Father?” he asked.
Ulrich made a gesture and the doors to the chamber opened, revealing Saint-10 carrying in a heavy sack over his shoulder, and another, smaller sack in his hand that wiggled violently, as if it contained a giant hornet. Ten moved to the center of the forum and shook out a headless corpse onto the pristine floor.
Shouts and gasps rose from the assembled factions.
“What is the meaning of this?!” shouted the Speaker.
Father Ulrich frowned. “This body belonged to one of the assassins.”
Ten then let a ghost out of its bag, and immediately, it began restoring its dead guardian. The chambers soon quieted again into alarmed whispers, watching the head slowly regenerate bone and tissue. It took longer than usual because the guardian had been dead for so long. Minutes passed, then there was a face. A tattoo of Concordant’s blue emblem formed on his neck.
The forum didn’t say a word. Concordant stood and glared at Great Absolution.
The Speaker turned to Lysander. “You and your faction...are banished from the Consensus.”
Fourteen stood on a hillside overlooking a forest of towers.
It took him and his team on Sparrows half a bloody day to reach this settlement deep in the wilderness, mostly because their faction didn’t have enough glimmer to purchase a jumpship. They had traveled here once before and it took the same amount of time. After failing to annex the tribe in this location, they had at least managed to convince them to accept an archaic radio device meant to send out distress signals if they had required any sort of assistance.
A high frequency alert was picked up last night.
Fourteen and the Saints continued on down the hill towards the vine-infested buildings from a city long lost. Automobiles rested on the streets, abandoned. Doors open, keys rusted into ignitions. Most had been swallowed up by hungry foliage or had sunk into the very earth itself.
“I forget,” said Two. “Where is the tribe’s building again again?”
Fourteen pointed. Four corpses rested on the broken concrete across the street.
They were too late. Firelight didn’t twinkle in the windows of the prehistoric apartment building. Curious children weren’t sneaking peeks at the strangers. There weren’t even the barks of dogs. Instead, it was replaced by a sinister silence. Fourteen released his ghost.
“Send out your ghosts,” he ordered. “They will examine the building for life.”
Ten ghosts took off like a flock of birds and entered the building through a broken window. Minutes passed. They returned and tapped Fourteen’s ghost in turn to transfer the data they had collected.
“There are no signs of life, Guardian,” said the ghost. “Preliminary scans suggest no one in the building made it out alive, but there is one odd inconsistency. The humans didn’t die from the Arc energy of the Fallen like we had previously suspected. They fell from assault rifles and hand cannons.”
Fourteen frowned. “Another tribe probably killed them.”
“No,” it countered. “We discovered a warlock bond belonging to Concordant.”
Fourteen roared and smashed his heel into the ground. The faction had lured them here, killing innocents in the process. But for what reason? Father Ulrich and two Saints had stayed behind in the city…
“We must leave,” said Fourteen, his Sparrow materializing. “Ulrich is in danger.”
Skiff, incoming, said his ghost.
The Fallen dropship slipped out of stealth as its booming engines filled the air, launching flaming missiles at them. They missed and turned the rusted cars into fine powder. Vandals and Dregs leapt from the ship, with a rumbling Servitor lowering itself to the ground.
Fourteen shook his head. He didn’t have time for this rabble.
He released his Light in increments, creating a variation of the Ward of Dawn. Ten circular forcefields bobbed in the air before him and moved at the command of his fingers, back and forth, deflecting the bolts of Arc energy back at the aliens that continued to attack him. They disintegrated themselves. Not many titans had this ability, though this was why he was a Saint.
“Finish them, Nine!”
A burning hand cannon of crackling flame formed in the Gunslinger’s outstretched hand. Blazing rounds finished off the last of the Fallen as they dissolved into cinders, despite the defensive systems the remaining Servitor supplied. Fourteen charged the machine. Spheres of Void energy shot from its center glanced past his violet shields. The exo sprinted and ran his arm into the Servitor, ripping complex circuitry and ether pockets in the process. The large automaton crashed to the ground.
Fourteen looked back at the Saints and gestured for immediate departure.
***
The stained glass panes of the chapel had run together like honey over the eons, but the scenes depicted were still recognizable after a fashion—most had showed a hand guiding the universe towards creation and life. Now they were shattered. The fragile wafers of antiquity had been dashed across the ash-soiled floor.
And only half of the chapel had remained after the fire.
Most of it had crumbled away like a house made out of paper soaked in oil, along with most of the Inner City district. Guardians had rushed in to keep the fires from spreading, but it had been too late to save the impoverished area. It had been too late to save Father Ulrich.
His corpse had rested on a makeshift altar, burned beyond recognition. Fourteen had averted his eyes from the small, charred body. Saint-6, not far from the priest, had his limbs torn away from his body, his ghost crushed like a bug beside him. Then, finally, Saint-7’s split torso had been leaned against the wall.
Fourteen kicked open the doors to the Tower. Guardians stood to block his path.
“We are truly sorry, Saint,” said one. “But the Consensus meeting convened an hour ago. No one is allowed inside until it is over. Security protocols, I’m afraid.”
“So be it.”
The exo lunged forward, taking the collar of the warlock guard and hurling him against a wall. Guards began to draw their weapons, but the Saints moved faster. Within seconds all were unconscious. Fourteen moved towards the forum and shoved the set of doors open to reveal the shocked faces of the faction body.
“Do you speak about what happened in the Inner City?” asked Fourteen. “The fires and innocent deaths? Or did the petty news not reach your collective ears yet?” His eyes searched the room and ended at the podium. “Speaker?”
The Speaker raised his hands to stop the guards. “I have heard about the tragedy, yes.”
“Then I call for the immediate imprisonment of Concordant.”
“Even if they were responsible, it is too late, Saint,” he replied. “They left.”
Fourteen’s eyes flashed white. “What do you mean, they left?”
“They left the City and will not be returning, I suspect, anytime soon.”
Fourteen cast his eyes down in his shame and failure. Concordant was probably light years away now, off to some forbidden haven. If he could not avenge Ulrich, he would see his duty to the end—in a crusade that will be told generations from now. In war.
Steaming ether escaped as Fourteen’s heel crunched into the Vandal’s neck.
“You’re a force to be reckoned with, Saint,” said Lakshmi-2.
The pale-faced exo walked past him and gestured for her battle frames to continue forward. She belonged to some small, secretive faction called Future War Cult, a group believing that war with the Darkness was inevitable, whether they stayed on Earth or fled, so being battle-toughened was not only necessary, but crucial for survival. It was an interesting philosophy Fourteen could get behind, he decided.
Which was why Lakshmi pledged one-hundred guardians of her own for his cause.
Fourteen grunted. “I know.”
“The Inner Circle is highly intrigued by you,” she said. “You share their love of war.”
“Who are they?”
Lakshmi laughed. “Secrets.”
The Hunter rushed forward as three Vandals advanced on their position, shock blades in hand. An energy sword went for her head. Lakshmi caught the energy sword and ignored the ripples of electricity that would have paralyzed a lesser being, breaking the glowing tip off. She shoved the shard into his eye. The exo bent backwards to dodge another swing, then launched her heavy foot into the air to pop the head off a Vandal who came too close. Lakshmi finished off the last one by running a hand through his organic chest.
“If you weren’t already taken, you would make an excellent Saint,” said Fourteen, nodding in an appreciative gesture. “You fight like a true warrior of heart and steel.”
Lakshmi wiped the blood from her arm. “You’re too kind, but it’s time for my role to begin in this battle,” she said. “We can communicate through our ghosts, I trust?”
Fourteen tipped his head.
“Very well, then.”
The female exo took off, her guardians at her back, towards the massive Ketch starship, located in a ravine one-hundred miles out from the City. Melichsis, the Devil Lord and Kell of the House of Devils, was stationed there. He was responsible for the repeated attacks against the last civilization and Fourteen would be the one to end him, for his duty demanded it. Lakshmi and her troops would flank the Fallen, but it was up to the Saints to take the lead. It was their crusade, after all.
Interestingly enough, New Monarchy had given their own guardians.
Although the Vanguard condemned Fourteen’s crusade and refused to lend him any aid for his mission, the factions pledged their assistance, bar Dead Orbit. It seemed Nam Ra realized that as protectors of the City, she must rid the Fallen threat. However, the guardians given to Fourteen would not partake in the real battle. They have already manned the hillside around the ravine to draw off the Ketch attention, making sure that its missiles didn’t find the Saints as they charged the center. It was a relatively safe task, but helpful, nonetheless.
“My, would you look at that?” said Two, voice in awe.
New Monarchy had defender Titans lining the hillside, Ward of Dawns acting as barricades. Guardians inside kept slipping in and out of the bubbles, cutting down the Fallen as they made their way out of the ravine or launching missiles from their rocket launchers at the Ketch. Lakshmi’s forces took the rear. It was impressive efficiency, Fourteen admitted. Though, their puny shields could use some work.
“Well, if it isn’t Saint-14,” said Sim Pantu, New Monarchy representative.
Fourteen bowed. “I apologize for the delay, but the Fallen held us back for a while.”
“Never mind that,” he replied. “Just go before we leave.”
The exo took one last look at his team and grinned—well as much as a machine could grin. The Saints were resplendent in their light battles robes of gold and white, with newly forged pins adorning their shoulders. Crosses. It was fitting for a faction of their distinguished caliber. Father Ulrich would be proud. Fourteen bowed his head and closed his glowing eyes.
He didn’t know if anyone was out there, but he prayed for a successful mission. He prayed that if he died, his friends would make it out. He prayed to Six, Seven, and to Father Ulrich. Fourteen opened his eyes and found the Saints with their own heads bowed, eyes closed. In turn, each one finished their prayers and turned towards the ravine and the imposing Ketch.
Did I just hear you praying? said Fourteen’s ghost.
No.
Fourteen took the lead and began running down the hillside, unholstering his twin hand cannons. Countless Dregs standing in his path fell from his bullets, not realizing how small and insignificant they were to face him. It went on like this for some time. One and Two split the earth with their Fists of Havoc, while Three and Four cut the Fallen down in a dance of blades. A maelstrom of crackling Arc energy filled the air.
When they advanced under the shade of trees, squeezed by the trench and heavy vegetation, Five and Eight released the powers of the Void unto the world. The dark energy ripped apart physical matter—swirling pools that filtered life and death into the edges of space. Even the Servitors were no match.
Nine and Ten then lit up the ravine with firelight, their guns glazed gold from unimaginable heat, and bullets that turned the enemy into blazing piles of dust. Ash filled the mouths of the Fallen as they were brought to their knees. Eleven, Twelve, and Thirteen, graced by wings of Light, finished the Shanks off with a hail of grenades as they floated through the trees, burning the leaves on their backs.
Minutes later, they made it to the entrance of the Ketch
Near-invisible forms burst from the thickets and holes in the ground around them. Now, it was Fourteen’s turn. He activated his helm and raised his arms, forming a Ward of Dawn so large it consumed the entire battlefield. The figures staggered from disorientation and de-cloaked, revealing themselves as Reaver Vandals. Blinded by his awesome power, helpless like newborn babes, they were then devoured by the Saints’ Light. In seconds they perished. It was sheer massacre.
Then, the tide of battle changed.
Saint! yelled a voice in his head. It was Lakshmi, communicating her voice through his ghost. New Monarchy has fled! I tried to stop them, but they didn’t listen...It was all a trap! You have to get out of there. I cannot help, for when the defenders lowered their shields, my host of guardians took damage. I must leave, my friend.
So be it, replied Fourteen. But we must stay.
Good luck, then.
Before Fourteen knew it, explosions shook his Ward of Dawn, one after the other. His body felt like he was pushing against gravity as the Ketch’s railguns continued their assault. He fell to his knees and the Saints looked around in confusion.
“What’s going on?!” yelled Thirteen.
The Ward of Dawn shattered. The ground broke beneath them. Fourteen lay on his side and watched the Saints rush the Ketch. A blast from a single railgun took them and their ghosts all out. Thirteen attempted to drag him away, but dropped to the ground. Fourteen, electricity rippling across his vision, realized that a bullet took his second-in-command in the forehead.
Melichsis, the Devil Lord, lumbered towards him, twirling shock blades.
It would not end like this.
Fourteen stood, shook off his daze, and charged the ten-foot tall Kell. The exo parried a sword with an expert palm as the Kell roared defiance. Fourteen deflected another blade, and this time, wrenched the weapon away to seize the alien’s forearm, pulling the muscled limb out of its shoulder in a surge of blood and sinew.
The other shock blade slipped into Fourteen’s chest like butter.
The exo staggered, but would not see defeat just yet. He landed his arm into the wrist that held the blade, shattering bones. Fourteen grabbed the Kell’s shoulders and lunged forward with every ounce of strength he had left, caving in the Fallen’s skull like soft clay. Both of them lurched to the ground as more enemies skittered out of the starship, casting demon light onto his body.
But in the end he was brighter.
End
