Welcome to Gaia! ::

Takes place a few days after: Ad Astra

It hadn’t snowed in Destiny City in several days, and yet the temperatures had not risen enough for everything to melt. Soft snow had reformed into stiff ice, which was both good and bad for anyone planning to be out.

On one hand, the snow was no longer soft enough to leave tracks.

On the other hand, the ice was slippery, and it was too dark to make out where the greater obstacles lay. The moon was half full in the sky, but dark clouds rolled by in regular intervals.

They didn’t need to be out for long. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen, max.

They just needed to tag a few youma.

There was no doubt that they’d come. They had been for weeks.

Why should tonight be any different?

Everything had been planned, planned again, rehearsed, replanned.

There was no room for error.

Groups were decided early, and split into three teams. From there, they each chose a location.

It had to be somewhere safe, away from the general civilian population, so no one got hurt. It needed to be somewhere they wouldn’t be blindsided, no possibility of sneak attacks. They didn’t need an escape route–they had items to help them make a quick getaway. It needed to be somewhere where they had enough space to fight, if needed, and not hurt each other.

It needed to be somewhere they could set up surveillance, because if Cahir was going to study his enemy, so could they.

To prepare, they agreed to scope out the area in their own time.

Everyone had been equipped with a wireless earpiece, synced to a secure network so they could communicate regardless of the distance. If they needed to mute themselves, they could push a button to do so. There weren’t many features beyond that, though they had been designed to automatically adjust volume levels.

Nothing flashy, just practical.

Yvoire, Amarynthos, Stirling, and Halle should have been dead, so they had to take extra precautions to conceal their identities. The easiest thing was a few costume swaps, trading pieces with other members of the team. Magic could only do so much, and they couldn’t guarantee that the youma–or Cahir–wouldn’t come with something to cancel it out, either. They were safe. They tried to plan for everything.

The plan was, on the surface, simple: power up, keep to the group, wait for the youma to show up. Attack, enough to be realistic, and tag as many of them as possible.

The Mauvians had constructed tiny trackers, concealed as hitchhiking spurs, dark enough to blend into youma fur. The goal was to tag as many youma as possible, as much as possible, to make sure they could get any accurate read on where they went after this.

To Cahir’s lair, they hoped.

And if not, there was one last chance to find him–the USB, and the keys. Packaged together. Ready to be left behind. Ready to be found.

The box they were in was brightly colored, and wrapped in scraps of fabric from their uniforms while they waited for the youma to show up. There was a single note tucked inside. They didn’t know Cahir’s real name or they would have found some better way to deliver it.

They were doing the best they could.

The Vanguardians had helped. Their technology was strange, different even from the Mauvian’s.

Cahir was clever. Or, maybe he was working with a Mauvian. There was no telling, so they had to go with the most unusual option. It helped that the Vanguard seemed to want to remove this threat as much as they did. Cahir had no reason to assume that they’d have installed a tracker in the USB as well.

Hopefully.

The Vanguardian trio was monitoring the USB. Soleiyu and Lucien were monitoring the hitchhikers. The transponder activity was being logged.

Backup was nearby, powered down and waiting for a distress signal if needed.

But, hopefully not. This plan was–they hoped–foolproof.

Surveillance had been preemptively installed by the Mauvians, who were closely monitoring the situation. Cameras were hidden, just about everywhere, both at their chosen locations, and around them.

Reims, Yvoire, Dering, and Lyon convened at the Adderford Textile Mill–built in the 1930s and retired only two decades later. Brick walls were darkened by age and weather. Once, rows of windows flooded the work floors with light. Now, iron bars, warped boards, and sloppy cement sealed up the lower floor, and the second-story windows were either clouded with grime or blown out entirely. Jagged glass clung to rusted frames like broken teeth.

Inside, the ground floor opened into a vast, empty space where looms and spinning frames had once stood shoulder to shoulder. Many of them had been removed, but what was broken, or not worth stealing, remained. Heavy concrete slabs, and useless metal scraps littered the floor. The concrete floor cracked and buckled with age, and weeds had forced their way in through broken walls, spreading across the floor in stubborn green patches. Old support pillars, thick and solid, stood unbroken from floor to ceiling. There were no lights inside, but the streetlights outside cast a distant, but warm orange glow into the building.

A metal staircase climbed to the upper level, where a narrow walkway ringed the room and overlooked the floor below. From there, the entire factory lay exposed. Every entrance, every stretch of open ground, was visible. Nature had crept even this high: ivy curled around the railing, and clung to the walls so tightly that paint peeled and chipped under it.

There were many places to fortify themselves here, and nooks and crannies to hide if needed.

Rose, Stirling, and Cynthus were stationed on the second floor of the Silver Star Mini Mall, which was reasonably popular half a decade ago, before a fire broke out on the lower floor, and the smoke damage alone was too costly to clean. The insurance payout wasn’t worth the effort to patch it up, and strip-malls were a dime a dozen in Destiny City.

Defaced and picked clean, Silver-Star’s concrete carcass had been left to rot. Debris and broken glass, and dead leaves carpeted the tiled floor. Most of the skylights had been shattered, by way of weather or vandalism. No matter how much rain, the black stain of smoke never faded. Moonlight filtered through the open holes, casting an unsettling, but effective, glow.

From the second‑floor, the entire atrium lay open and exposed. Nothing could cross the ground floor without being seen. Every sound echoed, every movement announced itself. The building was empty, isolated, and forgotten–too unpleasant to take shelter in. Even plants didn’t want to grow here. When the youma came, they’d have an advantage; on the second floor, the only way up was by way of the frozen escalators, and many stores still housed rows of gondolas and other obstructions to hide behind.

Amarynthos, Ephesus, Halle, and Lisse settled for the decommissioned underground traffic tunnel. It had only been in use for a few months but had shut down several years ago. One end of the tunnel had been dragged down by a sinkhole. The other end had been blocked by barricades and concrete bollards, which were easy enough for the group to climb over.

The electricity had been shut off shortly after the road closed, but the chain of solar-powered emergency lights cast an eerie, soft-yellow glow. The road twisted; only a few hundred feet were visible when standing by the barricades, and there were very few stretches that allowed more sight than that. Above them, an abandoned construction site. With unstable ground, there was no point in further development. If they were lucky–if Cahir came–he’d think to check the construction site first. Maybe they could buy themselves a little extra time before he thought to check below. Cameras had been set up there and in the tunnel, just in case.

With the way sound carried, they’d have heard the youma as they approached even if they couldn’t feel their energy signatures. The group traveled as far as they could down the road, in what little time they had. There was only one entrance, so they didn’t have to worry about a surprise attack from behind. There might not have been many places to hide, but they didn’t need much cover. They needed to tag the youma, and leave.

Once they powered up, the countdown began.

One minute. Three. Five.

No more.

Distantly on their radars–close enough in timing, but not perfectly in sync–the youma began to register.

They were moving, fast. One group of seven to the factory, one of six to the tunnel, one of four to the mall.

No General with them, but he rarely came so soon.

They had to hope tonight was the same.

The tunnel felt wrong.

Ephesus stood a few steps in from the barricades, shoulders curled slightly beneath the dark winter coat he’d pulled on over his uniform. It was heavier than what he usually wore. Unfamiliar and stiff, but the weight helped keep him there. He flexed his fingers inside the leather gloves.

His cape was gone, folded and placed in his subspace. It was too light. Too obvious. It wouldn’t have helped here anyway.

The emergency lights cast long, sickly shadows across the cracked asphalt. Sound carried too easily, with every footstep amplified, every breath too loud, his heart drumming in his ears.

Ephesus glanced up at Amarynthos, lingering on him a moment too long, before he forced himself to look away. Focus. Worrying wouldn’t help. He could heal. He could still fight if he had to. And if things went really wrong…

Well. The Code had seen to it that he had some extra help on his side.

In the earpiece, Reims’s voice filtered through. He glanced at the others, ready to be told how he could be useful, or if he just needed to stay out of the way. He knew he could trust Halle with shielding, and Lisse and Amarynthos to fight. He just needed to stay focused and help tag the youma once they were close.

Halle’s own cape was quickly repurposed, along with the waist pieces, until there was an approximation of a sarong sort of dress that went decently well with the frankly magnificent wig of dark honey curls he pulled out of his subspace. It was followed by an intricately carved wooden wand, which he waved awkwardly at his brother. Their mom would be so, so incredibly…annoying if she found out that he’d taken either out of her closet. But he figured the wand could easily pass as one of the more questionable “weapons” the code thought perfectly suitable for knights. And to be fair, the ones like wands and banners and the like did have a certain air of uncertainty to them, where you couldn’t really tell what you were going to be facing.

The waiting, at least, didn’t take too long, but also wasn’t so immediate as to put them at any kind of disadvantage this time. Good. Though the sounds they made now, racing though the abandoned tunnel, under the sickly lighting…well, it’d make for a pretty good zone in a horror game, now wouldn’t it?

Standing up on the middle bar of the barrier railing, Halle tried to keep a full vantage point of the area, all three of the others in clear sight.

In the scant minutes between powering up and the first blip of a youma on his internal radar, Yvoire changed what he could of his attire. He banished his hat and cape into subspace, then sent the striped bow from his hair after them. He twisted his hair into a hasty braid and summoned a winter hat instead, tucking what he could of his hair beneath it. He wrapped a scarf around his neck, pulling it up over the lower half of his face. He had to wear his boots, so he hopped from foot to foot as he pulled leg warmers on, letting them slouch low to cover as much as they could.

He accepted Reims’ jacket without a word, too anxious to blush as the dark fabric settled over his shoulders. The jacket was large on him and reached to mid-calf, but it covered what it needed to. Yvoire added one of his own brooches to the front, pinning the two halves together in an attempt to keep it closed.

His last order of business was his parasol. He couldn’t do without it if he wanted to use his magic, so he closed it and fastened it shut, then wrapped it in a towel he kept in place with a safety pin.

None of it was perfect, but it would have to do.

Yvoire’s gaze jumped around the interior of the old mill. The sense that he was seconds away from being cornered hadn’t eased. Every shadow seemed as if it might hold untold dangers. Every blip on his radar sent sparks of anxiety crawling up his spine. His shoulders tensed beneath Reims’ jacket. He shuffled closer to Dering, seeking safety, and wondered how much of it was practicality and how much of it was cowardice.

The youma came close, closer—nothing but foul spots of energy at first, then the padding of paws over the ground, and low growls which had come to haunt his dreams.

Dering offered no protest when Reims fastened the cape around his shoulders. He stood still and accepted it, but not without an inquisitive expression. He was cold, but the kind that came from inside. Winter had nothing to do with it.

The walk over, and now, he’d been quiet. Rigid, but he hadn’t shivered. The biting chill hardly even registered on his skin, anyway.

Dering had been here three times since they selected this location. He wasn’t unfamiliar with it; he’d seen it before while wandering, though he usually wound up at the old train station instead. He’d spent a few hours just walking around, familiarizing himself with the layout. He’d tested the boards on the window, the bricks on the wall. He’d moved heavy metal drums in front of areas he guessed look weak. He’d tested the stairs–stomped on them, even, to make sure the metal wouldn’t break if they were running. It rattled, it creaked.

It withstood.

Only one entrance was usable; the back had been sealed up, first with metal, then concrete. They only had the front door to worry about.

And, Dering worried.

He’d settled into a resigned acceptance–on edge for a thousand different reasons. His hand hovered over the strings of his lute. He stayed close to Yvoire but his eyes tracked every shadow.

The cameras were well hidden, fixed inside the mill so discretely that he had only been able to spot two. There were more outside.

The Mauvians were tracking everything.

Dering wouldn’t say they were safe but they weren’t without backup.

It didn’t really make him feel much better.

Lyon was still stretching. He’d been rolling his shoulders since he got here, though he assured he’d done his warmups well before. Though he hadn’t arrived with the others, he was perfectly on time, powering up only when the mill was in sight, but still while he was protected in shadows.

He seemed unperturbed–bored, almost, but he’d been chewing the same piece of gum aggressively. He’d done less than Dering to prepare. The mill wasn’t anywhere close, so getting out here was difficult, and if he were being honest, he wasn't even sure if they could stick to a plan.

Not because his team wouldn’t try–because Cahir made everything unpredictable.

Though all of them had been given trackers, Lyon had a handful of them. His spade was fastened to his side; if he’d wanted a weapon, he’d have picked up some scrap metal. Could youma get tetanus? Not fast enough.

Lyon waited by the door, which wasn’t the safest place to be, but he’d have a split second to strike first while the youma were distracted by the three Knights. There was no reason to expect a page by the door. He’d move away as soon as he got the first one; he didn’t have a death wish.

There were seven youma. He was going to get a tracker on all of them, if he could. Safely.

This wasn’t going to take long. In, out. Done–fast.

Before Cahir could show up.

Lyon didn’t have to say anything; he cast one look at Reims and nodded.

And then the first youma shoved through the entrance.

Lyon acted fast, slamming a tracker into its side. He shoved the youma with as much force as he could muster–enough that it slammed into the youma that charged in next to it. They both went sprawling, and the youma that tried to run in after them stumbled on its way in.

Lyon had already moved away from the door and backed up; he got his sneak attack in. He was going to play to his strengths–and his team’s.

One down, six to go. Less, if they wound up dusted.

The youma didn’t stay down for long. The first two were scrambling back to their feet, snarling and snapping at each other. Three more had already run into the room.

Wet growls and low barks echoed from the lower floor of the mall. Four youma ran in–three might have passed for dogs in a dark alleyway, but here they were grotesque parodies. One with legs too long, one with a body too stout, one with a tail with spikes that dragged on the ground.

All ugly. All terrifying.

All out for blood.

The fourth was the worst of them all. Twice their size, its muscles rippled as it charged into the mall. Its paws were enormous, but still seemed too small for its long talons. Its teeth were so long that it couldn’t close its mouth, and black drool dribbled from between rows of serrated teeth.

The pack sniffed at the air, but it was the largest youma that spotted them.

It took one great whiff and then its head jerked towards them–towards the escalator.

It charged first.

The others followed.

Ephesus stayed close, just behind the line Halle and Amarynthos were holding, heart pounding loud enough that he was half certain it could be heard over the echoes in the tunnel.

The youma came fast… too fast. Ephesus swallowed and forced himself to breathe, fingers tightening as he drew the familiar honeyed magic through his scepter.

Now.

He lobbed the spell forward in a smooth arc. The golden mass burst on impact, splattering across the ground and the legs of two youma. They skidded, snarling, limbs sticky and difficult to move, slowing them just enough to give his friends an opening.

Even with Amarynthos blocking the direct path of most of the youma, one of them lunged wider than the others, too close. Ephesus startled, boots slipping slightly as he scrambled back, barely avoiding snapping jaws. His shoulder clipped the tunnel wall, the impact rattling him, but he stayed upright. Just barely.

“Sorry—!” he blurted instinctively, ducking lower to stay out of the others’ way. He forced himself to straighten and prepared to lob another orb of honey, but first glanced over to Halle and his shield, and Lisse with his lasso. Amarynthos was already taking a youma down with his new sword.

Ephesus wasn’t there to be brave. He was there to help. And as long as he stayed on his feet, he could.

Six versus four weren’t the most advantageous numbers, but that four was made up wholly of Knights. This should not be a problem unless something like that mutant big guy from the lab showed up. In fact, the Mall team sounded like they might be in for some trouble. Still, it wasn’t like they could take it easy in the tunnels either, they weren’t really here for the fight. And that made it so much easier to stay calm and watch as the small pack raced toward Amarynthos, toward Ephesus and Lisse. Splitting up the youma, thinning them out, it all was necessary for them to maintain control of the situation. Then they could get the real job done.

One was already being taken out quite neatly. Enough so that Halle wondered if Amarynthos had been longing to hit something with a sword for awhile now.

It all helped him hold his own magic back, long enough to wait, watch as Ephesus messed up their grace and speed and then time the huge shield appearing suddenly to the side of two youma, neatly blocking them in at the outer curve of the tunnel. Unlike his usual manner of fighting, with rapid summoning and dismissing, eeking out every possible second of his magic, Halle kept the shield in place, leaving the two youma stuck for the moment and blind to what was happening to their brethren.

All things considered, the tunnel was a pretty great space for a stupid huge shield.

“Penned,” Halle called out.