Humanity Endures

Part 13 - Epilogue | Chapter 2

Korthekar, bare-chested, his carapace-laden body covered in a thick mass of perspiration, near-wheezed; his four titanic fists, not shielded by his discarded suit of armor, and despite their being protected by a layer of biological carapace, now bled. Around him lay a disused, room-sized storage locker, whose contents had been pulverized, and whose reinforced walls were each marked with hundreds of vicious craters — all of these craters perfectly matched Korthekar's weary, anguish-fuelled fists, and this was no coincidence.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Korthekar uttered a guttural, primal roar to the uncaring heavens, striking his chest with anguish in an show of grief that was utterly unprecedented for him; this was grief for those such as Jilszen or Rislavahn, whom he had known, respected, led, and then, finally, failed; those such as Jilszen or Rislavahn, who were now dead, and whose tragic footsteps would be followed by so many more noble soldiers before the war against the aliens drew to a close. Korthekar glanced at his bloodied hands, and was forced to look away in disgust; those hands had massacred Dentor, and a multitude of others whom he had known well. Korthekar could tell himself that they were corrupted by aliens, that they ceased to be his friends the moment that they had lost their humanity, but the fact remained that even after they had turned alien, Korthekar had chatted with and growled at them as he always had — and they had returned the favor, exactly as they would have, had they been human. The helpless enforcer was unable to reconcile these two realities, and that relentless dichotomy had reduced him to the near-hopeless state he now wallowed in. The same would have happened to any who felt as if they had just murdered their friends and fellow soldiers, and who had lost so many in the process.

Korthekar, his chest aching after his own withering assault on it, turned his bruised fists from himself to the nearest wall, almost wishing that he had been killed by the aliens as well — almost, for his repressed rational side recognized that through living, he had a chance at eventual vengeance. It was this thought, this hope for revenge, which kept him from truly disintegrating. Still, as Korthekar languished within the confines of Velan's lethargic, Remnant-confined vessel, it had become clear that even hope for revenge was insufficient to stem the tide of emotions that flowed freely, thanks to the lack of tasks for the unfortunate man; no one on the Placeholder was busy, and this was much to their detriment, for the greatest counter to grief is action. Korthekar's lament had persisted for the greater part of the day; his wails had driven all away from the entire lower decks, though they were still audible for many above. The few surviving marines, though they shared his pain, were afraid to come to the aid of their commanding officer, lest they end up like the walls of his self-imposed cell. The very floor on which Korthekar stood was damp with blood and tears; never before had the proud enforcer sunk to such a low, and this made him all the more eager to avenge, not just the loss of his beloved soldiers, but the loss of his own self-respect.

It was then, finally, after hours of sorrowful, damaging purgatory, that Korthekar realized beating both himself and his ship to a pulp would not help the war, nor would it help himself, nor would it help his soldiers; doubtless their spirits were as down as his were, and it was in situations such as that where he was most needed. Over his career, Korthekar had been a soldier and a tactician — now, in times of desperate war, he was required to be a leader.

Though every step he took sent bursts of pain shooting up his damaged, trunk-like legs, Korthekar advanced on his armored suit, which lay but a few meters away, facing away from him, on the floor. Grunting, the titan lifted the weighty armor while his implants interfaced with the suit's systems; another moment, and the suit, more familiar to Korthekar than anything else, snapped open like a predator's jaw and assumed an "X" position with its arms, merely awaiting the thew-ridden body of its owner. Sighing, and cracking his bruised fists, Korthekar walked into the suit — enforcer suits were entered and exited through the less-armored, more flexible back — and thrust his battered feet into their blood-stained metal receptacles, stretching his wounded arms out and allowing his suit to deploy over them. Korthekar's helmet automatically adjusted itself, and a few instants later the room around him filled his vision once more, though this time his full circle of vision was technologically enhanced to the point where, if he wanted to, he could track an individual mote of dust gliding through the air — and he could shoot it into two pieces with ease. A battery of fans located near his helmet whirred to life; his PFS sputtered and flamed lightly as they tested their functionality the easiest way possible; Korthekar could feel the intense reaction of his suit's fusion reactor vibrating against his chest, and as he stretched his arms, now encased within their secondary metal skin, he felt stronger. Taking a step forwards within his suit, the clanking of metal and shifting of machinery within comfortingly echoing throughout the deserted deck, Korthekar even managed a grin — glancing at the tattered, utterly obliterated room around him, he resolved to see any aliens he met reduced to a similar state as the chamber, for the sake of all the fallen, and all of the living. Korthekar was more motivated than he had ever been since when he had started to board his first alien ship over the cursed skies of Light's End. He had lost, he had suffered, and he had bled at the hands of the aliens; his soldiers had as well, and Korthekar, already yearning for a fight before Light's End, was now possessed of wrathful eagerness so great that his armor could barely contain him. No longer would the human fallen be alone in oblivion; no matter where he went or what he did, Korthekar swore that aliens would fall dead at his feet.