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Stryke is on Intel
Coordinate Rolled: Construction Pit [4,6]
SkinkDad HP: 23-2= 21
Master Intelligence: X X X
Master Recruiting: X X X

His luck streak with fighting, and keeping up with information had run out. His little hiding spot had been found, accidentally looking up the wrong position on the map costing even more time, and delaying anything that might have been helpful on his end.

In the confusion and attempts to protect his ward SkinkDad had gotten hurt, at least it was only a glancing blow. Both were exhausted..the scent of blood, and clash of conflict were heating up. Lifting his hand up he noticed not his lusus blood, but his own. Too close..he was too close to the fray and liable to get himself killed.

This war threatened to take everything he knew...and it only made him fight harder, anger boiling inside him. Who was he kidding? It already had as far as he knew. What else was there to do but fight to his last breath?

Skaeys is on ASSAULT
Taldad HP: 27
Master Construction: X X X
Master Demolition: X X X

Skae watched as Taldad banked sharply to the right and descended in a flurry of feathers onto an unsuspecting loyalist. He politely looked elsewhere as the blood started to splatter against those white feathers.

STOP

A sharp whistle sheared through the crowd. Bleeding royal blue down the front of her uniform, Captain Puchen smiled. The whistle grew into an alarm. It bleated frantically, creating echoes in the cavernous arena. And a heli-lift, above all of it, came into view. Fighting slowed. Reinforcements had arrived.

The Coastal Base had been lost – the royalists had lost the fight – but had they won the war? Captain Puchen flipped her radio from her belt to her chin and spoke into it. It was connected to the PA system of the Coastal Base. The sound blared above the deafening alarm and the whirling of the Heli-lift.

“This truly is a win for Alternia. Imagine – the rebels going down in a blaze of glory.” Captain Puchen looked all around her, and was dealt a final nasty blow by an impudent redblood. Her exhaustion was evident, but her pride was indomitable.

0/0

The redblooded girl skirted around with maps in the back of the fighting – a powered girl, it seemed. Before she left this stuffy Coastal Base, she had to exact one last blow. It was… Self-defense, really.

Mapuye reloaded her weapon and unloaded all of its charges at the airy little redblood. Goodbye. Blood trickled from her forehead into one of her eyes. She discarded the weapon, tossing it with great strength behind her, and immediately procured another one.

It’s time: the Goddess of Death should bring life to her cherished one.



She turned to the rest of the group. The corners of her mouth were drawn down. She roared.

“This is what you send me?” She could have laughed. Children. The rebels must have had the same idea that she did. This could be spun, easily. “You rebel scum really have no sense of decency. There was never any intention to cause a conflict with you. Do you understand that? None of this had to have happened. You’ve murdered innocents. Your recruiting is so low that you have to involve trolls barely out of the caverns. Did you tell them they would be your war pawns? Did you tell them they would be martyrs for a better Alternia? You make me sick.”

She held her gun aloft, threatening each and every rebel troll with its deadly poison. “Don’t be fooled. The Phoenix Initiative’s lofty ideals come with the price of life. The lives of many will be sacrificed for the needs of the few, and apparently, based upon their thoughtless attacks on young and old by the youngest and most naïve of them all, they don’t seem to mind tossing a few of you mindless, boneless grubs out and crunching you under foot like the worms you are. Why do you think they prey on the young? They’re corrupting the youth. Using them as fodder for their war machines. And the Phoenix Initiative will pay a heavy price.”

The Captain's gun laid nearby. A single needle remained in its chamber. As the heli-lift descended, a transport for the Captain to escape appeared. She stepped back towards it, with her gun trained upon the rebels. The royalist forces began to retreat, suddenly. The alarm sounding in the Coastal Base drowned out their escape.

The sting of the needle is painful, but requires precision aiming to be deadly. No troll, except for one with resolution of vengeance and the eyes of a hawk, could use it as well.

As the battle wore on, Kursha found himself growing sick and dizzy. It was from that damn needle. He was sure of it. Needles by themselves were ineffective but when coated with a layer of venom they could be deadly. Or at the very least, debilitating.

Kursha stumbled away as another combatant charged at him. He needed to find some place where he could be sick. Privately. It was a little crazy to be vain at a time like this, but perhaps that was the poison pumping through his veins talking. As he pushed his way through the battle, he heard the Captain roar out. He could care less what she had to say; he only wanted to rid himself of the throbbing pain in his thinkpan, the waves of nausea that accompanied it. He could not tune her voice out completely though, and as he processed her words, he paused. Corrupting the youth. Did she think he was another naive fool, wrangled by fantasies of high ideals just to be someone else's pawn?

Was she... mocking him?

He was not so far gone that he did not understand when he was being looked down on. Kursha's blood practically boiled. He had not come this far, he had not endured pain, fear, and humiliation, just so that he could be mocked. Maybe she had a point about the rebels. Maybe they were weak. However he was different. He had made his choice. He was not to be mistaken for just another soft-hearted rebel. And he was certainly not weak.

The sudden surge of anger cleared his head. He remembered the pain in his arm. And he remembered who he was. No one crossed him and got away with it. No one.

Kursha's eyes flashed to the gun the Captain had tossed aside. Slipping between a pair of trolls, Kursha sprinted towards it. His feet seemed to drag. Time crawled. The blueblood was getting away and he was still running. He dove for it. His fingers hooked around the cool cylinder frame. A second later he found the trigger.

Hefting the large firearm up by his shoulder, Kursha stood and took aim. There was no scope but he had no trouble finding his target. Despite the vast distance between them, he could see her as though she stood no more than five feet away. The individual hairs that lay flat across her forehead, the tiny cuts across her cheeks, the sweat that dripped down her chin; he could see every detail on her stupid, smug face. He lowered the muzzle of the weapon a fraction to fixate on her arm. The same arm that he had been shot in. That was no accident.

"You underestimated the wrong troll, you hag. Let me help you to see the error of that..."

His voice closed off in a murmur. He held his breath. Sweat beaded feverishly on the back of his neck. Then, he squeezed the trigger.

Ganyma stared dumbly at Captain Puchen – just a few feet in front of him. Everything she said was true. He felt his body aching. Everything in the universe was too much to bear. He was so beaten down that at the end of his journey he wasn’t even in full uniform. His mask was on, but his uniform was not. The simplistic hemoanonymous trick of turning his tank out had to do the trick. It was shredded and dirty – he could have been a brownblood for all the filth he was coated in. But he still fought. He fought for the rebellion, because he was a believer of what they stood for. Or… That’s what he thought he was. He’d been hiding and pushing away the cruelties of this battle for so long that he’d forgotten.

Captain Puchen was bringing it to light. Behind his mask, he felt his vision fogging with his heavy breaths. How could he have been so thick? The construction project was never anything other than that. Who started the war, anyway?

The rebels. He had been a part of it. Luxara and – who knows who else – were just caught in the crossfire, that he helped start. This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. But he was entranced by her words. They validated so many of his feelings. Ganyma had a need to protect, and a need to lead. He was in charge and he shattered his team. He didn’t do either of those things. He was on the wrong side of the war to do that.

Salvation. Ganyma took a step forward and caught a speck of green out of the corner of his eye. Kursha. Destruction.

A vision of the theatre took over Ganyma’s consciousness. He was back in the fire – sprinting towards the young greenblood as he readied a deadly stick of dynamite. He was ready to throw it at the children. All of them, the purpleblood, the other greenblood… Sinter. Oh, gog. He couldn’t deny it any more. It was Sinter. It felt like weeks ago the three were building snowtrolls together. There was nothing wrong with the world then, it seemed. Sinter could be gone. No matter how many times Ganyma played the vision over in his head, the dynamite always struck. Kursha always pulled the trigger. And no matter how many times he screamed for him to stop, he wouldn’t listen. He had to protect them. He had to protect her. She was his way out of this hellfire.

“KURSHA! NO!”

Ganyma moved fast enough this time. Making a jolting beeline, he passed in front of Mapuye and took the direct hit – exactly where Kursha had planned.

THWING.

Kursha’s marksmanship was perfect. A thick spray of teal blood tarnished Mapuye’s uniform. She removed the needle, buried in her arm where the greenblood, and flung it aside. Its aim was perfect. Its power had been ruined. Ruined by the troll shielding her. Ganyma stood in front of her as teal rivulets ran down his forearm. The needle went straight through.

He was in shock. There was a tensing in his chest. Was he dying? Time slowed to sweeps again for Ganyma. This could be his end. He’d done so little. Accomplished so little. His height was leading the desert expedition – it was tainted now, by lies. He started as nothing and ended as nothing – there were no expectations of a tealblood than to survive. The feeling in his chest swelled to a heat, and Ganyma doubled over in pain. The thin needle didn’t kill him. What was going …

“Aaa-AAHHHHH!!” The tealblood hissed and clutched at his arm. It felt as dense and thick as rock – his fingers, clutched in a fist, could hardly move. Tears beaded up in his eyes before the muscles in his arm started to ripple, then harden. And close up the hole. He gasped a breath. “…What….?”

Mapuye looked amused. “That was interesting.” She held up the needle gun to Ganyma’s head. “Shall we see if you can regenerate your entire head? Or was there something behind that sudden motion of betrayal?”

Ganyma sputtered. “N-no.” he moved slowly to take off his mask. Ganyma Callow surrendered. “I’m coming with you.”

She smiled. She felt the tinge of her own poison dissipate – it was no surprise that she’d built an immunity after all, so while the tip would have done some damage, the big brute had soaked up most of it for her. She gruffly grabbed the tealblood by the arm and stepped into the heli-lift elevator, still pointing the gun to his head. The tealblood was quiet as he became her permanent shield for the duration of the travel. They ascended. The heli-lift transporter flew out of sight, leaving the only sounds to be those of the wounded, and the blaring alarm bell still ringing in the Coastal Base.

The alarm sounded. “EVACUATE ALL TROOPS IMMEDIATELY. EVACUATE ALL TROOPS IMMEDIATELY. INCOMING EXPLOSIVE. INCOMING EXPLOSIVE. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”

Mapuye Puchen threatened one last coordinate.

A voice shouted out in protest. Too late. Kursha released the trigger. His vengeance could not be stopped. That voice though... there was something familiar about it.

But that was impossible, right? There was no way...

Just before the crosshairs faded from his eyes, Kursha saw him. Even with the mask concealing his face there was no mistaking that bulky silhouette. Ganyma. He had taken the shot. A flurry of emotions passed through Kursha: disbelief, horror, dread, betrayal, and finally rage.

How dare he... How dare he. This was not how things were supposed to happen. Puchen was supposed to be the one he shot, not Ganyma. Ganyma had to live. Otherwise Kursha would never be able to obtain vengeance for that night at the theatre. Ganyma dying was not vengeance. It was it was just... just an escape. A cowardly escape! And in the meantime, Captain Puchen was getting away unscathed.

Kursha watched with bated breath. His pump biscuit beat fast, hammering in his throat. He waited for the tealblood to topple or for the captain to finish him off. She certainly moved as though to do so. However then Ganyma did something strange. He removed his mask... and trotted obediently into the heli-lift with the captain. Somehow he was fine.

It took a moment for Kursha to process what had happened. When he did, his face flushed green with fury. His blood was so hot it felt as though his skin were crawling. If he had been angry before, it was nothing compared to how he was now. Dropping the gun, Kursha moved to rip off his mask. He tossed it beside the gun. He did not care if anyone saw his face or recognised him. Let them. He would mow down any who came after him. There was someone who needed to to know who he was, all risks be damned.

"I'll kill you!" Kursha screamed above the noise. "Just you wait, you coward! I'll ******** kill you!!"

The warmth flowed through Odette's body, making her feel like she was floating in a void of black nothingness. She felt at peace, as comfortable as a grub in its egg. Then her world began to shake. Not violently, but lightly, as if someone was enveloping themselves around her. She began to hear noises, the loudest being a raspy breathing and the other being a loud crying. The void of black opened up to the light and she looked out with excitement.

Through blurry eyes she was met with a familiar scene of death. She laid motionless, but her eyes darted around to observe around. She saw Mili, covered in blood like herself, standing back quietly. Some shouting caught her attention, and she turned to the noise. Her vision was cloudy but she knew the figure of the captain. She was covered in... teal blood? And escaping with a hulking teal troll? She knew it all along. He was a ******** traitor. She gritted her teeth in fury.

Something glowing caught her eye, and she turned her attention to the culprit. It was Vremea. Was she using her artifact? No... that wasn't what was glowing. It was something else. It was her fingertips. Was that? Had she? She didn't know how, but Vremea had brought her back from death.

And she was furious. How dare she! Everything was perfect, she was going to die as someone important! People would care about her and remember her name. She was going to be remembered as a martyr and Vremea had gone and ruined it! Her face was still furled with anger and her pump biscuit was beating fast.

She didn't want Vremea. She wanted her real mother. Her body shook with anger. She let out a high pitched screech and assaulted Vremea with her tiny fists. It was desperate attempt. She was barely conscious and her arms were weak. "Let me go!" Odette screamed. "I don't want you!" Angry tears started to flow from her cheeks. She didn't know she still had tears left in her.