Songs of the Chained Ones’ Fury: Chapter 3 Final Part

Mackelson fought alongside his men, piloting his mech during a fierce battle. Soon, the victory would be theirs. Mackelson dodged a blow from an enemy Sons of Morning mech as he hopped over chunks of fallen building concrete and aimed his mech-cannon at the overreaching enemy. Pressing the button, a missile flew towards a charging enemy imperial mech. Before Mackelson’s missile reach its target, the target’s head erupted like a balloon and out of the head came a person flying out of the mech cockpit. A large parachute opened from the flying seat. His missile finally struck the now pilot-less target.
                You got lucky you bastard.
                As Mackelson faced towards the northwest, he noticed another squad of enemy mechs heading his way. He checked his mech’s radar, noticing his team eradicating the threats around him and prepared for their assault. He rushed towards the new wave of threats. Reaching the enemy squads, he halted. Soon, Sons of Morning rocket launcher wielding foot soldiers appeared in jeeps while imperial tanks were turning into their avenue. Further northwest, a platoon of enemy mechs were charging into the battlefield. “Lord Jesus. No…” Screams erupted from all around him, and suddenly, his mech violently quaked, making him nearly fall out of his seatbelts, and he saw his world go upside down. Landing, face up, onto the ground, he realized an enemy had knocked him over. The enemy mech swung a hammering fist at Mackelson who was already firing his blaster at the enemy, and laser pierced through the head of the enemy, the pilot’s blood bursting through the mech’s pierced hole before it exploded, and Mackelson piloted his mech to regain its stance. Slowly crouching up, he saw torrents of missiles and bullets raining down onto his fellow men and women in arms—bodies bursting as mechs were torn to shreds. “No. No. No! Izri, what’s happening?”
                “Captain! Captain, we gotta retreat! Retreat!” said one of Mackelson’s men.
                His mind reeled. He slowly watched Montebay National Guard soldiers being obliterated by the rain of war-fire, one by one.
                More voices appeared on the comm-channels. “He damned us. The son of a whore-hog damned us. I knew I smelled Sons of Morning all over him. Knew we couldn’t trust that damn sergeant.”
                Mackelson trembled. Fear sunk its claws into him. Was this Izri’s true face? Was this how it all ended? None of it made sense. They ensnared a raving horde of imperial soldiers and eradicated them with a well-placed bomb only to attract a host to bring them to their deaths?  Mackelson entered combat position. Everything now seemed hopeless. Rage and fury hounded his being. Was this who Izri really was?


                Izri examined the lines being eviscerated. It was happening. The big fish were lured in, but most of his men didn’t know about it. He didn’t tell them because if he did, he doubted anyone would volunteer. He trembled in guilt and terror. The manipulation of his fellow National Guard was too much. He thought of that one kid back in school who went around the class and randomly used his phase-laser cutter to stab and kill anyone in his path before he slit his own throat. And then something hit him: Was Izri no different from that suicide-murderer? Afterall, monsters came in many forms. Then he looked at a swarm of imperial soldiers who rushed into the vicinity to put an end to the rest of his men. Yes, the monsters did come in many forms, but he realized that in order to take down a beast, he had to become a monster himself. He didn’t want to, but, what could he do? Looking at his dying men, he knew he brought this pain onto himself. But the self-affliction was necessary because, with the pain, came a greater reward when one followed through.
                He got up. He couldn’t bear it any longer. He had to get his hands dirty to win—and he would do so at all costs. He pressed a button, and a noise chirped onto his ears. Seconds later, an invisible object hovered over him. Pressing another input, the hovering object shimmered and swirled. Dusky clouds of the sky undulated through the hovering object’s transparent body like creatures roving beneath murky waters. The invisibility deactivated and a hoverboard appeared. He pressed a series of buttons and a DTR mask encased his head while boots from nano bodies formed onto his legs. He commanded the board towards him, and he hopped onto it and charged into the city, leaving his sentinel jets on standby. He placed his DTR gloves in combat mode and his heart thumped. Here we go…

                Mackelson slowly moved towards the death zone while swarms of imperial soldiers stormed towards them. This was it. They were all dead. But then, a strange noise chimed in his ears. He examined his radar to pinpoint the source, but nothing appeared on screen. Soon, an unknown figure appeared in the air. Staring harder, Mackelson saw a cyborg-like person riding a hoverboard. He clenched his fist in confusion and wondered who the hell that was. The figure flew towards the oncoming wave of enemies. Enemy mechs noticed the figure and aimed towards the approaching cyborg-man. They fired missiles towards him, but he twirled around, daftly avoiding the projectiles and raised his right hand. The soldiers fired machine gun blasts towards the hoverboarding pilot, but it seemed the unknown Hover-Rider knew what they would do as his hand had generated a great shield which expanded in front of him, absorbing enemy fire.
                Mackelson’s comm-channel chirped, and a soldier said, “Captain Mackelson, what the hell is that?”
                But Mackelson said nothing. The Hover-Rider moved his shield as whimsically as a sorcerer of death, and his shield morphed. Gusts of wind exploded from its transformation and slammed against buildings which cracked inward, and a wide-circular disk appeared into the cyborg-man’s hand as if the great Angel of the Lord had came from the heavens and sent the cyborg warrior some technological weaponry formed by the hand of God Himself. Mackelson gasped, and the Hover-Rider launched the disk towards the enemy soldiers. The hoverboard pilot span around from the throw, a spin that had been the result of great momentum from throwing the disk, and the disk violently darted towards the defenseless swarms of mech, jeeps, and tanks, and tore through them as fierce as a giant sword descending from the sky and slicing through herds of helpless sheep like butter. As the disk passed through the enemy, it created a chain reaction of one-by-one explosions like falling dominoes. And, in the disk’s wake, hundreds of enemy soldiers had fallen.
                Who the hell is that?
                Mackelson patched into a channel and said, “Sergeant Izri, are you seeing this? Who the hell is that? What’s going on?” There was no response. He raised his eyebrows. What the hell? “Sergeant Izri, do you read me? Where are you?” Again—no response. He scratched his head, attempting to comprehend the situation. But as he did, he watched this strange warrior deliver judgement and execution like The Angel of The Lord.

                Kundai’s heart dropped as scores of reinforcements died on screen. He saw it coming. It was obvious that something was wrong with it all. Why would a few, surviving soldiers draw thousands towards them? Could Lucia not have noticed? It was only a matter of time before those blue dots disappeared and the red dots swarmed the entire screen. Only a matter of time before the error of Lucia’s way was made known to witness for all those in the room—to soon learn from this woman’s folly. But, despite this great defeat, Kundai knew that Lucia wouldn’t learn, too stiff-necked to be broken from the folly of her ways and rebuild herself anew. And, knowing just how hard-headed and stubborn poor Lucia was, the only way for her to learn was when she was crushed—when it was all over for her.
                He grinded his teeth and looked away from the screen in disgust. If only Lucia would’ve listened to him. Suddenly, his mind went to Gabriel and Kundai nodded his head as he thought of how Gabriel listened to Kundai and learned immediately. For Gabriel was a fast learner. A humble one—albeit in his own twisted way. Still, if only Lucia was like Gabriel. Then again, the majority of the world was a Lucia while few of humanity were Gabriels. But then the world always had few who were truly unique and one of a kind—like the Milos or his Chosen Ones and the Hurricane Beasts.
                And, after realizing this fact, he was simply disgusted. What a goddamn shame. How terrible to see so many faithful warriors and warrioresses fall from the stupidity and folly of one goddamn person.
                This was sick.
                And so, Lucia shall be crushed now since she would never learn.
                “Colonel Lucia, you are now demoted to private and stripped of all veneration.”
                “Excuse me? On whose authority?”
                Commander Kundai pulled out his insignia and brought it to her face.
                Lucia trembled in terror. “Oh. Milord! I’m sorry!” she bowed to Kundai’s feet and started crying. “I’m sorry milord. I’m so sorry.”
                Kundai shook his head. He slowly put his insignia back into his coat.
                “Its too late for you. Its over.”
                “NOOOOOHOHOHO!”
                “Take her away.”
                On Kundai’s command, soldiers grabbed her and escorted her out of the room.
                She cried in despair.
                All over for you. Most of us will never learn until its too late. What a tragedy.

                Izri focused intensely as he steered the massive disk of atomic energy that sped through the battlefield like some virulent, twisted frisbee of destruction thrown by the hand of a demon. While he passed through sprays of conflagrated blood, air-dancing fires and blinding, cloud-wide blankets of voluminous smoke, maintaining precision over his remote controlled atomic disk of energy whilst ensuring his gauntleted gloves were trailing the flying disk to keep its remote censors from breaking alignment with the spinning energy, he clenched his teeth, hating an aspect of himself because, despite creating this terrible carnage of breaking men and women and watching them fall by his weaponry and experiencing a tingling in his stomach as if he was slowly breaking connection from humanity because he was forcefully removing souls from existence—yea—despite all of this which caused a growing sorrow in his heart—despite it, deep down, he was enjoying every single moment of it like a demon.
                Not that he believed in demons, but if there was any being of wickedness to compare himself in this circumstance, it had to be those beings.
                Clearing the street, finishing his slaughter, the disk hissed from blood and metal that burned in the disk’s heat of over thirty thousand degrees Celsius, a hiss that seemed as if the disk was disappointed and desired more people to murder. Izri flicked his wrist, deactivated control of the energy disk, and it expanded and imploded before it instantly dissipated in midair. He pushed his heel backward, slamming the breaks on the hoverboard, and turned around. Examining the battlefield of Sons of Morning corpses, he felt a piece of himself leave his spirit. What was this? The feeling was nonsensical, almost as if Izri was slowly building some list of crimes that he committed in front of the eyes of some Great Being who was patiently waiting to unleash His wrath onto him to fulfill some oncoming, due judgement for Izri’s transgressions. The thought forced Izri to grind his teeth. He believed in no such Being. For him, God was never real, and even if He was, why didn’t this God strike Izri down now and have him lay in the field of those whose lives he’d taken from the Earth? Why did this God let him live? Was He that merciful? That patient? If so, then such a God didn’t deserve to rule because this supposedly all-powerful God allowed this to war happen—allowed the Sons of Morning to invade his country. As such, this God was evil and deserved not to rule over anything. If He was truly benevolent, He wouldn’t have let it come to this. If Izri was himself God, Izri would’ve meaded out the first seeds of wickedness immediately without letting them so much as have a choice to act on their will to do evil. He would’ve killed off the bad seed at once—even before that bad seed did anything if Izri knew what they were already going to do even when they hadn’t done anything yet. Such was the way of true rule—giving no one freewill to have it come to this—to what lay before him in this moment: a city in ashes, suffering, and death. Izri would be no foolish, stupid God who was so patient as to let any evil man exert his free will…especially men like these Sons of Morning. 
                So, there was no God.
                His eyes went wide as he examined the bodies and the guilt became stronger.
                Even if God wasn’t real, why the hell was he feeling this way?
                He violently shook his head and he raised his fist in the air with triumph, ignoring this terrible feeling of guilt. Using his built in DTR Vortex Goggles, he zoomed further down the war-raped avenue and saw his soldiers still standing. To numb himself even more from the soul-breaking guilt, he deepened his voice, turned on speakers in his helmet, and shouted, “Soldiers of Montebay, though you fight for your province and for your country, you actually fight for the good of humanity! At ease!”
                The soldiers stared in awe and shock. In the distance, Izri saw Captain Mackelson, looking at Izri with a baffled stare.
                Even though Izri disguised his voice, something about that stare made Izri cautious.

                Dalton peaked around the corner, ensuring that the glider figure hadn’t noticed him. He activated his comm-channels.

                Kundai received a patch as he and the rest of the staff and battle overseers were looking at a deranged, broken Lucia, and he linked in.
                “Dalton, come in.”
                “Commander, we’ve lost.”
                “I know, sir.”
                “But heed this, I have spotted the catalyst—a man on a glider.”
                “A what?” Kundai barked. He patched Fiona and the Torugian into the channel. They were now listening. But, before the conversation went further, he said, “Dalton, continue on concerning the source of our defeat.”
                “A hoverboard warrior of some kind. I examined the hoverboard device and tried to identify its flag of allegiance, but it appears to be autonomous. Therefore, possibly a mercenary.”
                “Autonomous? Mercenary?” Kundai said briskly.
                Fiona cursed under breath.
                “Yes. And judging from the technology, it’s quite advanced. I have never seen anything so…articulate in design.”
                Kundai closed his eyes and attempted to draw the pieces of this confusing puzzle together. “So,” he said, still thinking, “the soldier uses advanced technology, and he appears to have no allegiance to an organization whatsoever.”
                “A shadow organization? Supporting the National Guard?” Dalton said.
                “It may appear that way, but that’s not the case.”
                “Why rule that out Commander?” said Fiona.
                Kundai continued, “Because if the Montebay Province’s soldiers received new tech from some unknown organization, why does only one soldier have it? Why haven’t we seen legions of them when we invaded this city?”
                “Maybe they’re field testing one suit and have the rest of the advanced tech wielding soldiers on standby, hidden somewhere before their best moment to strike?”
                “That could be a possibility Dalton.” Said Fiona. “Commander, if one soldier did that and there are legions of them…”
                Kundai entered deep thought. Then he had a hunch. “No…if there were many of them, they wouldn’t have let us get this far. They would’ve stopped our invasion on the beaches. They would’ve launched a surprise attack on Sons of Morning soil. I have a feeling, that it’s only a few or even a single person.”
                Lionel folded his arms. “I believe I know who it is.”
                “Oh?” said Fiona.
                Lionel chuckled with annoyance in his voice and said, “It can’t be.” Kundai was silent, completely perplexed as Lionel continued, “The goddamn Black Dawn.”
                “No way! Those mercenaries? All of a sudden?” Fiona blurted.
                “But why try to scrap now?” said Tonbe. “This makes no sense.”
                “Marla herself makes no sense.” Said Lionel.
                “What?” Tonbe said.
                “Understand something, I love to psyche out my prey. I love to remain on top of all those who seek to try me, but if there is anyone that can send shivers down a person’s spine—anyone with mind games—it’s the commander of The Black Dawn.” Said Lionel.
                “They say she’s a beast, a—”
                “It isn’t The Black Dawn.” Said Kundai.
                The others stared with shock almost simultaneously.
                “Marla takes so much pride in her faction, that her men would adorn her colors during battle.” Kundai looked at the screen. “The reality is that this man is completely operating by himself.”
                “Then who the hell is it?”
                Kundai narrowed his eyes. “The revelation will reveal itself to us soon enough. What else have you discovered Dalton? said Kundai.
                “Strangely, none of our drones are in the area, so it’s safe to assume the enemy has knocked out our aerial support.”
                “Go on.” Kundai said.
                “And after witnessing the soldier fight, he used a disc of great power, but it seemed to come from his gloves.”
                “Fascinating. A disk controlled by gloves. Ok…” Kundai said, wrapping everything up, “The soldier has no allegiance, uses tech not possessed by the Providential Guard, and seemed to be a part of this enemy commander’s plan of destroying corps units near the vicinity of our main HQ. This figure is surely working alone.”
                “What is his agenda?” said Lionel.
                “Good question. This wraps up the discussion. I’ll appeal to the High Lord Commander and the General leading this particular theatre and take control of conquering this city from now on. I have a plan to handle this anomaly. You gentlemen will play a role in shaping out the victory of this campaign while Fiona and her platoon will be leading her squad into the defensive.”
                “Of course.” Said Lionel.
                Fiona grunted as if completely confused. “Why defense? Wait, what is it you see Kundai.”
                “You will know soon enough Fiona. Dalton—”
                “Wait, commander I suggest you put private Regai in this operation.” Said Lionel.
                Kundai raised an eyebrow. “Who?”
                “Regai Mendozwena? My private? In my squad of my platoon?” Hissed Fiona.
                “She has…tremendous talents. She is hunting as we speak.”
                “Now that explains her disappearing the other day.” Said Fiona.
                “Kundai, Regai must be a part of the plan to increase chances of victory.”
                “I’ll consider her once I know of her strengths. Until then,” Kundai directed to Dalton, “Pull out at once. You’ve done a fine job sir.”
                “No.”
                Kundai’s eyes went wide.
                “I’ll kill this enemy. He’s a threat that needs dealing with.”
                “Soldier, don’t be foolish.”
                “I’m not.” Said Dalton.
                “You think you know more than you do. But you don’t. That can be our way of thinking sometimes, but trust me, you are ignorant as well as me. Do not do this.”
                “I’m not ignorant and you shall see.”
                “Disobey command and that is death soldier.”
                There was silence in the comm channels. Moments later, Dalton sighed in defeat and said, “Commander.”
                “Yes soldier?”
                “You are right…”
                Kundai nodded his head. “I’m glad you understand the truth regarding that we know nothin—"
                “You are right, in that you’ll have to execute me when I take this scum’s head and place it on the platter of Lord Milo! For the empire!”
                “Dalton!”
                The channels were cut.
                Kundai grabbed his earpiece and hurled it into the screen. What the hell was happening in this operation? What the hell was humanity coming too?
                Tonbe chuckled out loud in anger as the Torugian shook their heads with disappointment. Then Tonbe said, “Dalton…that big headed, prune-balloon, pork-on-a-crap-stake buster wants the glory for himself.”
                Lionel walked up to Kundai and said, “Have faith Kundai. Have faith.” He said, with an evil smile on his face.
                Suddenly, Tonbe’s helmet beamed alive, and he lifted it up. “Dalton placed the feed on recording mode. He’s streaming it in real time.” He looked at Kundai. “Maybe this is what you need sir? Analysis.” Tonbe said.
                Kundai shook his head. Breathing deep, he mentally prepared to see what would transpire.

                As Izri began to hover towards his surviving fellow soldiers, a voice boomed from a loudspeaker and said, “Good sir. If you would be so kind as to give your life over to Emperor Milo.”
                Izri slowly turned his glider around. “Emperor who—” Izri ceased his speech and widened his eyes. A strange mech stood before him. That design, what is that? He noticed a stream of energy flowing through the crevices of the mech’s outline, ebbing and flowing like something magical. He squinted his eyes, wondering what technology he was using.
                The horse-minotaur mech that seemed like something out of an army of some Sea God had entered fighting stance. “Who the hell are you?” said Izri.
                “I asked if you will give your life over to Emperor Milo.” Said the pilot of the creature-like mech.
                Choosing to ignore whatever the hell the pilot was referring to when he said, ‘life over to Emporer Milo,’ Izri shook his head, placed his gloves in battle mode, and said, “You think I’d be so stupid and weak as to turn myself into some lowly slave of a tyrannical scumbag? I’d rather get my balls chopped off and fed in my own mouth before I do something so heinous.”
                The mech-pilot laughed, slowly raised his arms, aimed a cannon at him and said, “That’s not what I wanted to hear you stupid fool. I’ll have your head now.”
                Izri looked at the mobile armored warrior in shock. “Oh crap, that’s funny because my idea is almost the same as yours—except that I’ll be taking your sweet mech for myself now! Can’t wait to dissect the tech of that thing and see what’s inside, after your insides are burst open of course.”
                The pilot chuckled and was about to say something until Izri activated his shield, transformed it into the Annihilator Halo, and hurled the destructive disk at the enemy while gusts of wind had burst from the disk’s momentum and knocked away burning cars and buses. The mech pilot fired at the Annihilator Halo, noticing his bullets were of no effect against Izri’s disk, and the enemy activated a shield with a design that Izri was enamored by, and as the disk of atomic energy landed onto the pilot’s shield, the mech-shield deflected it, and Izri found his gloved hands flying backwards from the force of the deflection, which caused the sensors in his gloves to go haywire from the instant magnetic and wireless signal disruption. Izri found himself bracing for his very own weapon flying towards him. He was shocked. How the hell was the pilot’s defense systems capable of that? He flipped his glider through the disk, dodging it, moved his arms over his head, causing the disk to fly skywards, and aimed his hand at the mech which strafed towards a building and ran across it while Izri strafed in the opposite direction of the pilot.
                The battle had begun. Fear struck Izri as he realized that this enemy soldier had the ability and capabilities to alter his entire plan…
                and the power to take his very life….
                No…it can’t come to this. C’mon Izri! Focus!
                The disk came sliding onto the buildings, cutting through each of them quickly as, one-by-one, the buildings collapsed with plumes of great smoke billowing into the air, creating a destruction that began to obscure Izri’s vision—a battle obstacle quickly thwarted after activating his DTR Exam mode to see through the smokey wraith of clutter, chasing the enemy mech which darted off a building and rolled onto the floor, entering a sprint position. Corpses splattered beneath the mech’s metallic stomps, and when the mech hopped over jeep-mech wreckage and fallen buildings, upside down cars and large slabs of rock jolted from gusts of wind produced by the mech’s hops. Soon, Izri realized, that the enemy was running towards the National Guard soldiers.
                The imperial pilot laughed out loud.
                “No!” Izri shouted, potentially endangering his very own men with his weapon. He closed his hands, changing the disk to burst form, and it erupted into a gigantic spear-ray that blasted towards the mech who, shockingly, flipped past it, as the spear flew over the heads of Izri’s fellow comrades. Izri aimed the burst of energy in the air, causing it to reach sky, and closed it, which erupted, creating a large explosion with a one mile blast radius.
                “Good heavens,” said the mech, sprinting towards Izri who flew towards the sky, “Trying to blow up the world yes? Oh what’s this, running away?” Izri began to turn around and recover, only to realize it was too late, as, suddenly, a great blue flash appeared from the hand of the enemy, and Izri activated his shield.
                Izri screamed. The pain was too much. He tried his hardest to keep it in but the blast ray was too hot—too unbearable. He was losing control of his breathing as his glider left his feet. Suddenly, the enemy’s blast wave died out, and he was suddenly falling, hundreds of feet from the air.
                He heard an explosion as a booming voice from below said, “Trash!” And the enemy pilot laughed, “A shame that sweet hoverboard had to…blow away! And now look at you fall towards your demise! Should I catch you?” The laughing continued.
                It was all over. It was too hot. Too much. His vision started to blur. How did it come to this? How? Exhaustion assaulted his being, and it summoned regret and remorse that stripped away every feeling of triumph he may have experienced from before. Now, he was subjected him to doom. Closing his eyes, his suit entered recovery mode, instantly healing his wounds.
                But it was all for naught. Even if the blast or the heat wouldn’t kill him—even if the suit was going to help him survive—he felt his will to fight slowly fading away. He wanted to fall asleep. And if he did, if the fall didn’t kill him, then the enemy would stomp him to death. He was giving up. But then he thought of his men and the entire city. He thought of his country. But those meant nothing.
                So what the hell was Izri fighting for?
                As he closed his eyes, a vision of a sweet smile from an exotic, whimsical black woman flowed through his mind. He gasped.
                Dhibha!
                And he remembered practicing backflips with a handsome white kid. His little brother
                Jake!
                Nearing the city, his landing imminent, he activated his shield and pressed a button, using one of his trump cards that he’d hoped to save for later in the final battle. A humming sound came to his ears, and he activated the shield which caused a passing object to smack against his defense barrier, causing him to tumble around while he went upwards.
                The passing object broke his fall. And the second was already flying towards him as he landed belly flat onto it. Thankfully, the plan worked. If he used the first pass to catch him, he would’ve committed suicide. He smiled in pain, grateful that he still retained his intelligence despite that mech-soldier temporarily humiliating him.
                Izri was being carried towards the ground as the pilot shouted, “What the hell?”
                The object flew low towards the ground, and Izri lazily rolled off it, falling onto his back. Too weak to get up, he turned, downwards, belly facing the ground, and he slowly looked towards the mech.
                “I don’t know what sorcery you pulled! But it won’t save you.”
                Izri rolled forward, laying on the ground, and he pressed a button his wrist. An invisible object took off its cloaking device. He was staring underneath the belly of one of his Series X jets. He rose, coughing blood, and turned around.
                Izri pressed a button. “Die!”
                He unleashed Sear onto the enemy.

                Dalton grunted. “Like that little thing is going to stop—” a light beamed through his mech’s shoulder. A jet passed over his head. He aimed his cannon at it but it was too fast, flipping and darting left and right like a humming bird. For it was no mere jet, but something out of a nightmare—or some military fiction. Its maneuverability was perfection. He didn’t believe that anyone would perfect such a technology so soon. Maybe Zivai—but who else? This was impossible. The jet pulled around as two others trailed behind it. They began to slow. Dalton lifted his right arm and the mech’s right arm spasmed and dropped. Disabled. It was the light beam that passed through his mech’s shoulder earlier. That much damage? How? What yield of a laser could damage the mech’s flesh of celestial metal which was formed from the combined densities of some of the hardest metals on New Earth—some mined from planet Nexia? What were those lasers made of? They were that hot? Soon, he looked at the jet that hovered before the injured man, and it slowly opened its metal snout as its wings expanded.
                Turrets and cannons of unknown shapes and designs had slowly rolled out of the jet’s wings and snout, and, suddenly, a strange weapon appeared from the belly of the jet, arching like the tail of a giant scorpion, except that this tail had a wide barrel—and it was aiming at him. Dalton gasped, and he was gripped with fear.
                What mad engineer created these?
                He cursed under his breath, aimed his cannon at the jet, and fired. He had unleashed the beam-bomb blaster, strong enough to level one hundred city blocks. It flew towards that damned man and those monstrous jets, but the transformed jet’s scorpion-like tail, which protruded from its belly, unleashed a laser ray that deflected his weapon’s projectile back towards him. He activated his shield, but, as it landed, the shield exploded. He flew backward and landed on pavement of twisted metal and small fires. He got up, wondering how a laser was able to do something such as that. Such effectiveness. Such capability. His heart thumped. He realized his mech was becoming battle inoperable. If only he anticipated the sneak attack in time. But, regardless, should he have fought these, jets, something told him it would have been an incredibly difficult battle. Getting up, looking towards the jets, the claws of terror gripped his spine. Illuminating beams of colorful energy charged from the three jets’ noses.
                He cursed under his breath and roared in fury. He never fully tested the deeper capabilities of his mech. He shouldn’t have held back, taking this man lightly. And now he’d pay for it. He was so stupid for that—underestimating his enemy. “The Sons of Morning shall—”
                He saw a great flash.

                Kundai clenched his fists.
                Fiona looked away from the screen.
                And Tonbe said “Oh crap…”
                Lionel growled in annoyance. The rest of the Torugian Elite force gasped in shock and anger. The recording feed cut off.

                Mackelson stared in awe and trepidation at those strange looking jets that showered the mech warrior with lasers, missiles, and bullet projectiles that were extraordinarily deadly, peppering the target as the three jets twirled circled around the target like monster children holding hands, dancing in a circle, burning a helpless baby to death. Soon, the jets went backwards and unleashed missiles which caused a great explosion. Large pillars of fire blossomed into the skies.
                It was complete annihilation.
                The destruction was so fierce he found himself running away from it while surviving soldiers fled with him.
                Once the firing ceased. He looked back. The mech was in tatters. He turned away. Kept running. He couldn’t help but to reflect on the nature of that battle between man and machine—the intensity of it…the surrealness…
                Thinking of the Hover Rider, Mackelson was chilled by the unknown soldier’s power. Whoever it was, they were a force that knew no indecisiveness—but knowing only action to achieve what they wanted. The soldier inspired him.
                The soldier scared him.
                And the soldier was someone that may be difficult to trust.

                Izri’s heart thumped as if he stepped into another world. Though he wanted to celebrate and give praise to his jets Pain, Sear and Torch, he noticed the destroyed mech lightly glowing. Drawing closer towards the mech’s body, he realized that its spine emanated power. He gasped. As much as he appreciated his weaponry, there was something about the soldier’s tech that seemed special. Magical.
                And now he’d get to study it.
                He brought his jets towards him, and commanded his jets to pick up the mech. They proceeded to unleash a blanket of energy that lifted the mech up. Suddenly, the enemy’s body fell out of the busted cockpit, plopping to the ground. Once the jets procured the mech, Izri hopped onto Sear and retreated from the field. Despite having his prize, the only thing on his mind was the body of that dead pilot, thumping with a meaty thud onto the ground.

    “What the hell were those things?” said Tonbe.
    “Dalton! You fool! How could he fail us? He should’ve just killed the damned man!” Lionel hissed.
    “Who is that guy?” said Fiona with frustration.
    Kundai was leaning on top of the surface of the monitor-tables, and he considered his thoughts after Fiona spoke, focusing on his next major plan. “Our enemy” Kundai rose and removed his hands from the table. “…and now we know what he’s capable of.”
    He left the room, pondering how the fate of the siege would unfold.

                Decapitated arms and bloodied, headless torsos smoldered in faint, cavorting flames laying strewn atop smokey, charred metal and blood-caked ground. Tall, dilapidated apartment buildings and high-rise business centers stood like ghastly citizens frozen in a hunched-back state of horror while winds carried burnt debris across battle-ravaged streets. Clinging against a skyscraper were twelve mysterious soldiers decked in state-of-the-art, exoskeleton combat armor that no other private military outfit or nation possessed, and the twelve mysterious warriors stared into the desolate, empty streets below like Christ-Phoenixes of death. Hanging off the building among his eleven other comrades, Cunningham Kobie wondered at the hover-rider vs mech battle that he had watched unfold within his high-tech noc-zoomers. It was intense. And that man’s tech was extraordinary. Even the defeated pilot’s mech was no slouch in design and ability either, but, after seeing that man take the fallen mech with him, Cunningham believe that he and his men had won the weapons’ program lottery. No wonder the boss placed the one named Izri on her priority list and it was no goddamn surprise as to why The Tracker himself kept tabs on that man. Indeed, Izri Eisenhower made the cut, and Cunningham was pleased. The first half of their mission was about to complete soon. Now, what about the second half?
                “Kobie, we go in now?” asked Tommy.
                “Nah. Not yet. We’ll get to that little ol’ piggy come the time the sun’s eye casts a shine of happy hunt’n glory on behalf of our good ol’ desire to bring our little smart baby in a sweet, cozy pin that fulfills all its and our precious needs. Until then, let’s appreciate the boss’s eye for extreme talent.”
                “Swell.”
                “You betcha Tommy. Now, let’s bury this big burly bull’s head in a deeper ditch without him know’n it.”
                “Yes Commander Kobie.” Said Tommy darkly.
                Cunningham Kobie and his twelve wolves of war went headed deeper into the city, heading west into the origin of the invasion, closer towards the heart of the Sons of Morning’s base.

                Izri steadily observed the mech’s insides and the long, battery-like spine that glowed like a dying ember. Despite the destruction of the mech, it remained fully intact. Izri touched the core. The power that seeped from it was something special. But he couldn’t determine the energy that shrouded it. Thermal? Chemical? Nuclear? A combination of numerous ones? It didn’t make any sense. But, once the invasion was over, he would see just what was powering the mech. And soon, who knows, as effective as Pain, Searing, and Torch’s designs were, he’d imagine what’d they be capable of with this new technology. He’d be able to do more than turn this war around and win it. The coming fall of the empire that he would bring against Milo was a given. But with this greater power, with something extraordinary, Izri could actually do something special for all of New Earth and the rest of the Galaxy. Especially New Earth.
                 The battle was hard, but he won. And now, he was rewarded with the unthinkable. Even he didn’t think he’d be in possession of these at all.
                Suddenly, he thought of Dhibha. He clenched his fists, feeling almost selfish that he was absorbed with these objects than his personal life. A new thought came to him. My damn other half better be alive. Dhibha, where are you?
                He gathered himself and began limping towards a room in an evacuated apartment to get himself cleaned up. He wondered about those building-hoppers he noticed earlier. Why hadn’t they interfered in the battle? Were they just observing? If so, why? Reality became confusing for him once more.
                Mackelson came to mind.
                I guess it’s time. Right? Should get I open? Yea. I think so.

                An hour later, Captain Mackelson was resting with his forces on Tuman Avenue. Overtime, Lieutenant Bugatti, Sergeant Izri, and a few other captains, along with the rest of the other lieutenants and their small, surviving platoons, loomed into view. When they arrived, the avenue seemed to morph into an impromptu military base from the chatter and planning of the forces. Mackelson approached Izri who was speaking with other lieutenants.
                Removing Izri from the conversation, Mackelson said, “I don’t understand…this is unreal.”
                The young man smiled and scratched his head. “Everything is unreal.”
                Captain Mackelson smirked. “Damn. Well, the pincer plan worked. But…” his words trailed away.
                “But what?”
                Captain Mackelson thought for a moment. He continued, “That pincer movement and positioning was too good. And that power that we experienced just now. That battle between the mech and that soldier. Surreal. The tech that the man had. Having that much power, he seemed to have been given all that weaponry just to fulfill—“ He closed his eyes, stopping himself. Izri tilted his head. “Where the hell were you sergeant? Did you even witness what had transpired? None of this is making any sense.”
                Izri nodded his head as if he’d been caught. “Captain, concerning the plan, I only told a few. Thomilson mainly. But I take full responsibility.”
                “Where were you?”
                “It was me! I did it. But it wouldn’t have been possible without you all. However, I’m so sorry. I had to do it.”
                “Tell me now boy.”
                “I was the one with the jets. I was the soldier on the hoverboard.”
                Captain Mackelson closed his eyes, feeling betrayed. “I don’t get it.”
                “It was me sergeant. I’m the one who lured much of the imperial forces to our destination. I was able to formulate everything because of aerial superiority and marking all the targets on a personal radar.”
                Mackelson grabbed Izri by the collar. “How could you? How could you do this to us?” The massive group of soldiers went quiet, and many soldiers stared as if they were witnessing the fate of two individuals finally coming full circle, a fate that would impact their lives forever. “You took so many of us away. So much! You deserve to die!”
                “I don’t know about dying but—”
                Mackelson punched Izri in the face as Bugatti, Spitter, Mack, and Bugtoss rushed towards them. Hands grappled Mackelson arms. “You betrayed us! You bastard scum! You betrayed us!”
                They young man fumbled. His eyes watered. Despite the pain Mackelson saw in Izri’s eyes—the guilt—he wanted to put him out of his misery. The speculating soldiers soon went silent. Mackelson grunted. General Thomilson of the Montebay Providential Guard had stepped in and silenced everybody by his presence. He was flanked by other high-ranking generals and colonels who stood next to him. They examined Mackelson and then turned to look at a pained Izri. Izri was shedding tears. Thomilson titled his head with shame and said, “I already know what this is about. I ain’t got to question it. But if there’s anyone to blame, it’s me captain. I allowed all of this to fly.”
                “Why?” Mackelson said.
                “It could’ve been anyone else’s company captain,” explained Thomilson, “But it was yours. Not Bugtoss, not Bugatti. Not Nick’s. And surely wasn’t Captain Spitter’s, but yours. Because the boy was a part of your company Cap.”
                “You didn’t tell us that we were bait…”
                “No we didn’t tell anyone till after because, well, look around us cap. We’re soldiers. Have you forgotten that our job is to listen and simply obey and do what we’re told? And, to tell you the sad truth, soldiers die for an unknown cause all the time. Some stupid. Others petty. But it happens. But let me tell you something, you see this man right here? He’s a goddamn cause worth fighting for and you know it. Because Izri’s the key. His plan succeeded, just as all his other plans during this invasion, and look where it got us now.”
                Mackelson relaxed. The captains let go of him. The General was sort of right. True, many men died for no reason; and true, Izri gave them something meaningful to fight for, however, for Mackelson, just because someone’s plans were succeeding, did that mean that the person was in the right place? Sometimes, plans that went well could lead to devastation. Or even far worse. How did Thomilson really know that they were in the right place by fully committing themselves to Izri?
                Mackelson gathered himself and said, “So what now?”
                General Thomilson stared at Izri, then back to Mackelson. “Izri, take the floor.”
                Izri cleared his throat. “We’re going to kill the leaders of this operation and destroy their HQ. We are now at the heart of enemy territory. We’re going to strike tonight.”
                Mackelson’s eyes went wide. “No…”
                “I’m sorry Mackelson. But there is no other way.”
                “We’ll go this hard?” asked Mackelson.
                They said nothing.
                Mackelson he took off his beret and cradled it through his fingers, looking like he had no other hope in life except for what they were planning.
                “This is our last chance. Our last shot.” Said Izri.
                “And who leads this operation?”
                “Mackelson, I do.” Said Thomilson.
                “But not without Izri’s input huh General?”
                “Hey, Mackelson relax. We won today. What other chance we got? This kid’s a goddamn beast and he’s gonna show these scums what’s what!” said Captain Nick.
                “Listen to what the General says Mack. We got no other choice.” Said Captain Bugatti.
                “Either that, or we retreat.” Said Bugtoss. “And I’m for sure as hell ain’t running.”
                “This guy, Mackelson,” Thomilson pointed at Izri. “Look at him. There’s hatred in him. You saw his power. You know what he’s capable of. And Lord knows what the hell is going to happen when we strike the heart of their base.”
                Mackelson went closer to Thomilson. “Izri’s technology. How do you suppose we fully trust it? It’s too damn powerful.”
                Mackelson whispered back at him. “Don’t worry. There are talks going on concerning that. Even Izri is aware of this. Who knows what the future holds. Just relax.”
                Mackelson stepped back for everyone else to hear him again. “So, since we’re striking their main command center, who or what is the target?”
                “I’ve been doing recon by myself lately. The main HQ of the Sons of Morning are at Newington Train Station in Cribbleton beach, off the coast of the Haqodesh—near the very area of which they killed the coastal patrol.” Said Izri
                 Mackelson lowered his head, not knowing what to think. “And how do you know this?”
                “Mackelson, I use my tech and my board.” Izri said in a manner as if it should’ve been obvious. But it wasn’t so apparent because Izri’s presence was an anomaly.
                Mackelson squinted his eyes at the young man who continued, “Mackelson, you don’t have to trust me. But you must believe in me! We need you. Look around. We’re a bunch of survivors at this point. The damn empire took too much away from us and I won’t let them take this city. Hell, they won’t take this country! I stake my life on it!”
                “You sure about that boy?”
                “With my life, Captain.”
                Mackelson slowly nodded his head and said, “You better keep succeeded like you did before.”
                “I will. I know it.”
                You know it huh? Lord Jesus is this what this youngster is all about? Lord I hope not. Tell me his pride won’t get to him God? That it won’t break him? But then does Izri need to be broken? Will being broken teach him something? Alright, let’s find out if this youngster is real then.