Upon their exit from Stanislaw's office, the duo marched through the labyrinth of hallways and rooms, the flood of their peers encompassing cardinal points for their inevitable journey. With news of change revolving in their minds, the ways of their society were highlighted for the two now that the pivotal point in their lives was soon to come.
All around them was the same facility they grew accustomed to, an inconspicuous housing for those in power, exempt from the realm of rot and ruin. A life transcending the ramifications of war, an expanse masked under the excuse of "government necessities", when all that lay beyond it was callousness; discarding what little hope their people had to rely on, what little flickers of substance they had to live off of.
Meydem saw into the true intentions of their governments, the reality behind both their motives and executions. She was a catalyst to an inextricable iniquity, one that she did her best to mitigate through her benevolence. Yet, she was afraid fate would only allow for the flame to burn for so long. But the hope that she inspired could only burn so bright, the warmth of the flame could only cut so deep into the cold callousness of their world.
Yet, with one small yet revolutionizing meeting, everything changed. A jolting blend of hope and tension fueled those around, the possibility of bringing the world to what they all dreamed of resonated. A once burning desire reformed into an ethereal reality, so close, so inevitable that its balmy warmth pressed up against their skin.
Vorion was the more pragmatic of the two, Meydem was nothing beyond ambitious. She always saw the potential in things, that even the grimmest circumstances could burn as bright as the sun if faced correctly. A prosperous future was at their fingertips...
Yet Vorion couldn't shake the undying premonition whirring within his chest.
"You used to never miss the opportunity to check up on others," Vorion called out to his wife. "Huh?" Meydem swiftly pivoted, having unknowingly skipped past her husband. "Oh..." The woman mused, "I suppose you're right. I'm just really excited, y'know?" She exclaimed, her smile widening toward her husband. "...yeah, I get that. You just seem rather tunnel-visioned," Vorion exclaimed, weary. "You need to recognize that this isn't going to be some easy, run-of-the-day mission. We've already lived our lives with targets on our backs, and there's no doubt other factions are seeking to stop us. This is real, Meydem."
Meydem's smile faltered for a moment, her eyes reflectively twitching at his words. "Y-yeah... I get that. But Vorion, you gotta account for what will happen if we succeed!" Meydem refuted, her voice rising with passion. "And have you accounted for what would happen if we fail? Our children are left without parents, and we–the strongest defense for our faction– likely are killed off, which leaves everything we built up vulnerable." Meydem's expression fell, a soft sigh escaping her mouth. "Baby, I understand there's a lot on the table. If we win, that'll change everything. Without a doubt. But, if we lose, do you want to imagine what'll happen to our kids? To poor Frederick and his grandkids?" "Alright-" Meydem interrupted, unease swelling in her voice. "I get it. I get it." Vorion exasperated, his hands cuffing his significant other's. "You know I love you more than anything, I just desire your safety. That's my job after all, right? To protect you?" Meydem nodded understandingly. Vorion cared deeply for his wife, and he wanted nothing beyond her happiness; but her safety– his family's safety– came beyond all else. Hope still glistened in her eyes, yet Vorion could only trust that she understood.
"This could be the very last battle that we'll ever need to do, so... I'm asking you to be extra careful." A soft smile reformed on Meydem's face, gently nodding at her husband. "I promise. I got your back just as you got mine. We got this, okay?" Ultimately, she was his wife. And in the end, their trust is what held their marriage together. Smiling, Vorion nodded. "Okay. Let's go, Mey."
Returning the gesture to her husband, Meydem scurried down the hall, greeting her surrounding compatriots with every turn. The main hall wasn't too far from their current location, and Stanislaw told them to 'get situated' before coming to the main meeting. He assumed that meant going to their armory or getting their hands on whatever they needed to do.
Vorion guessed that the reason they got an earlier preface was simply so they could prepare. Stanislaw knew that if it had been any other mission, the two would've been more imprudent toward the situation, as they usually were. It was good they warned them beforehand, had they embarked on something so essential without the proper equipment, he had no doubt in his mind that their failure became all that more probable.
Tension beat within his chest, the louder-than-ever chatter drowning underneath the engulfing silence ringing within his ears.
...There it was.
There was the revolting feeling in his gut, the strenuous burden of the world's indifference that empowered his very being. The circumstance of toil paved the way for his ascension once again, but like before, the source was indiscernible. Perhaps the trepidation palpable within the government body, pervaded amongst their stifled words and actions?
No, that wasn't all...
Vorion felt the hairs on his skin bristle, shuttering between his labored breaths. He felt his body burn with unprecedented might, the wicked grace of the world reflecting through his blazing soul and into his body. His shining eyes burned brighter, a deep crimson color coursing through his irises.
The roots of iniquity dug deeper than that. Vorion's senses daunted him in the back of his mind, a tingling sensation of dread ensnaring his temperament. This was different from before. Vorion's immediate conjecture was that it stemmed from the quarrel revolving The Havoc Force, yet it still felt different.
Slowly exhaling, Vorion trudged toward the armory, his silent grumbles and groans rumbling within his core.
The tumultuous voices all around spiraled into a cacophony of fear, hope, excitement, and worry. It churned his mind, the surge of emotion and foreboding thoughts smashing together into an abhorrent conglomeration. The nagging sensation gnawing on the edges of his consciousness was familiar to the man, yet the enigma of uncertainty weighed on the back of his mind.
Soon, the sounds of trepidation were drowned out by the sound of metal and steel clattering together coupled with muffled chatter. Entering the armory, the room was clad with his men scavenging through the scrupulous assortment of equipment scattered across the walls, a plethora of firearms, blades, and diverse gear that glistened under the ocean blue hue of the room's luminous lights, each weapon was meticulously crafted for conflict, each crevice and intricacy honed to dominate within the art of war. It was the one thing those of higher power decided to care about when it came to their quality, considering the scant few of those able to do their dirty work. They were pawns, yes, however, pawns aren't always expendable.
His surrounding allies seemed enthralled within their world, disassociated as their aptitude for battle fueled their prudent decision to gather the proper equipment. However, as the beating crimson of Vorion's eyes entered their periphery, those surrounding them immediately snapped back to reality, their poise stiffening, shifting themselves to face their leader.
The man trod further into the room, giving occasional nods toward his surrounding allies, with the gesture being quickly reciprocated. All around were the mixed expressions of his men; a coalescence of confusion, quandary, confidence, and anxiety. A conglomeration of differentiating feelings on the upcoming mission, yet Vorion could tell from the look in their eyes that they hadn't informed them of the endeavor they were soon to embark on.
'What an asshole...' The thought crossed his mind for only a moment, but it couldn't be further from the truth. Knowing Stanislaw, he probably masked the expedition as yet another 'cardinal task', keeping them in the dark until the most advantageous moment. It was in character for the man. Being the head of their government, he was conniving, and judging from the glances he received from his allies, it was the only logical conclusion.
Naturally, those around held Vorion in the highest light, they looked at him with a glimmer of hope in their eyes, his presence exuding the idea that everything will be okay. Whilst his wife, Meydem, graced them with a comforting solace, Vorion was different. They followed his every word and marched in his shadow; he was their leader, the one who abolished adversity at their doorstep. If it wasn't for him, their region would've been in peril long, long ago.
"About damn time!" A familiar laugh barked through the chamber, Vorion's crimson gaze shifting toward the source. Amongst the silent muses and gazes of his men, a face, even more familiar than those around, stepped out, a wide smile plastered across his face.
"Been a minute man! For a sec, we thought your ass wasn't gonna show!" Standing before him was a man he had known since childhood, somebody the amount of respect he had for him was only rivaled by his wife. His right hand, one flourishing in leadership nearly as much as he did; cardinal asset that fueled the flame of battle within the group. He was a helping hand in their imperium, a warrior that even surpassed Vorion in some facets of leadership. Horikudo Isami.
Vorion was already enough, yet the two coupled together toppled adversity with an iron fist. In places Vorion faltered, Horikudo compensated. In places Horikudo couldn't keep up, Vorion cleared the way. Word of their prowess permeated the world, forebodings of the indelible marks they left in their missions spreading like wildfire.
They may not be equals, but in the realm of war, it's who Vorion can trust the most.
"Dumbass, you think I could miss something like this?" Vorion scoffed, the sight of his friend's lackadaisical expression resonating an infrequent smile from the man. Quickly approaching one another, their hands clapped together, quickly pulling each other into a short embrace. "I assume Meydem's out chatting with the scientists. How is she?" The man, now joined with Vorion asked, the two slowly approaching the corner of the room. "You know it. Half the time she ends up late to the meeting because of it, but hey, as long as she's happy." Horikudo laughed, nodding. "Plus, it lifts everyone's spirits." He added, "Imagine how mopey and depressing this place would get without her? Oh, God, don't get me started on how it would be back in the village."
Within his tone was a hint of exaggeration, but his statement wasn't any further from the truth. Vorion couldn't imagine what the world would look like without her, even beyond his intrinsic love for her as her husband. Countless social events and gatherings happened solely because of her. The poverty of their people would've been significantly worse, there would be little to no solace or trust in their government, and he couldn't begin to fathom what their living conditions would be like without her assistance. If Vorion didn't know her all that well, he would've said she was chasing the praise and attention. Yet, being the one who knew her more than anybody else, he knew better than to say something so foolish.
"Been mostly spendin' time with Mey and the kids, so apologies for not keeping as in touch as of recent." Horikudo snickered, the clattering of his gear detaching from the metallic surface reverberating throughout the secluded room. "Nah, don't sweat it, man. Just glad you still got that fire within you, cus' I sure as hell wouldn't be confident leading our squadron." Vorion rolled his eyes, "You say that like you aren't practically a better leader than me. If I had to appoint anybody to be the next leader, it'd definitely be you." Isami pivoted toward Vorion, raising an eyebrow. "You really think I could live up to your glory, dude? I may have the wits, but I could never have what you have. I don't just mean that unparalleled power of yours, I mean that outlook you have on everything. You perceive the world far more clearly than any of us could–let alone me. I may be smarter than you, but that mindset is what makes you so efficient. I could never emulate that." Vorion, with his gaze still trained on their personalized armory, let out a small sigh, pondering his words for a moment.
"...yeah. That's fair enough, I suppose. Still," Vorion glanced over his shoulder, his hands balling into fists. Trepidation still danced in the back of his mind, daunting him with the constant forebodings of misfortune; the idea that, with just one slip up... a life that he holds close could be lost. "I trust you to make the smarter choices, regardless of what happens, regardless of what we face." His voice was forcefully composed; as if he was suppressing whatever guttural expression of despair that laid beneath.
Horikudo's eyes widened. Whilst Vorion's usual stoic and stern attitude was nothing new, the guttural sense of caution behind his voice... it almost seemed like an ultimatum. Sure, the co-leader was, and always has been the strategist, but that look in his eyes... it was a look of pure peril, as if he was staring adversity in its eyes.
Horikudo knew what his PRISM trait was, ever since they were kids. He watched it develop, he watched it grow, he watched it bloom as it reached its fullest potential, reflecting the indifference of the world that he had remained hell-bent on facing.
That... look of menace, of venom, of peril...
"...how you phrased that was a bit concerning. Do you know something I–we don't?"
The man blinked a few times, the gleam in his eyes waning as he snapped his attention back to his choice of arsenal. "...tch," Vorion forced a chuckle, "It was my eyes, wasn't it?"
"Mhm."
"Damn it..." Vorion murmured.
Horikudo tittered, "It makes you pretty easy to read, though I suppose not for our allies; they could never see past that stone-cold mirage of yours. Can't tell if that's a good or bad thing.
To me, nothing seemed out of the ordinary with Stanislaw's disclosure that we were going on an important mission. It was no different compared to how we were in the past, so what has you so worried this time, bud?"
...It was true that the trust he had in his best friend was grand, no doubt, but that was coupled with the certainty that Stanislaw had eyes and ears everywhere. Their leader was the one man who managed to shake Vorion, even if in the slightest. It was remarkable. How he stared at them with his prying eyes, wide and blue as the ocean itself, glistening with a depth deeper than the endless sea. The embers of his might exuded from his decorum, his smile that danced on the whitest of pearls; it was like the man always was one step ahead, no matter the adversity, no matter the situation.
Stanislaw knew how his words would affect Vorion–rippling and reverberating through his consciousness, drumming on the edges of his fortitude as the dastardly threat daunted him on the horizon. An idea of peril that innately reflected his state of being through his PRISM ability, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was intentional. So, what difference would informing Horikudo have? Would Stanislaw even care? He went out of his way to inform the two, yet not the others. He never mentioned keeping it a secret, to keep it hidden from his men–but why would he keep them in the dark?
The dilemma of premeditation weighed heavy within his labored gaze, the indecision of his seeming ultimatum dancing before his eyes.
"...Horikudo," Vorion gazed across the array of weaponry set upon display, his crimson glare meticulously musing over which choice would spell the best results for the upcoming conflict. The man's sinewy, coarse hand slowly moved toward the spear embedded within the wall, his hand adorned with veins and strength, dislodged the weapon from the partition, coursing his palms and fingers across its metallic build; his eyes shimmering with a burning resolve.
"Stanislaw wasn't particularly honest with you. Yes, this is an important mission, undoubtedly the most important mission." Horikudo raised a brow, perplexed. "...the most important? What the hell are you on about? It can't possibly be more important than that huge battle we had with the North and East. We've been on thin ice with each other ever since, and the battle significantly impacted all three of our regions. That has to be the most turmoil we've ever been through."
Vorion sighed, the rear of his spear clanking against the ground as he held it upright. He shifted to face his best friend, his expression weary and perturbed; an uncanny sight that was unfamiliar to the man.
"Well, it sure as hell won't last that long; it isn't some war that'll last for years, but... Horikudo, we are being assigned to retrieve The Havoc Force."
Isami's blood ran cold.
His stomach churned, his breaths faltering in fits of exasperation and shock. His previous thoughts and speculations crumbled from the mere articulation of words he thought he'd never hear, his mind twisted and sundered in disarray. Beads of sweat trickled down his face in harmonization with his drumming heart, and the man was hardly able to swallow the lump within his throat.
"...Uh, huh." The man blinked a few times, attempting to wane the dread present within his hazel irises; yet he couldn't. He shook his head, "Uhm, I'd... usually try and convince myself you were joking or something but... no, that look in your eyes..." Horikudo sheepishly stared into Vorion's brooding, lava gaze, each moment their eyes interlocked further drilling the callous truth into his mind.
"...fuck, man. B-but, I mean, like-" Horikudo stumbled back, his fingers running through his hair. The stress was palpable, each stammering word was laced with terror. "Like- there's... a chance the other factions haven't realized, right? I mean- no- fuck, that's stupid!" Horikudo stomped, darting across the room in a hurried, panicked fit. "No shit the other factions have realized, two out of the three have better research and technology than us! Damn it!" Horikudo abruptly halted, his gaze snapping back toward the armory. "The fuck was Stanislaw thinking not telling us about this? What if I didn't pick the right gear? This is probably the most impossibly dangerous task, and he wouldn't fucking tell us beforehand?!" Vorion's disconcerted gaze trailed the perturbed man, bearing witness to the flickering nuance of fear within his eyes. Yet, he dared not to interrupt; it was best he let him get it out of his system. "Dude... fuck, how would we even do that? Is that why every higher-ranking scientist has been so erratic lately? How the hell are we even gonna retrieve it? Do you understand that this will practically be a race against literally every other region? This will be a bloodbath, Vorion!"
Vorion frowned, lowering his head. "You think I don't know that, man?" He sighed, "I wish I knew the answers to your questions, I really do. He didn't give us all the details, not as many as we would've preferred. He just told us to 'get situated' before coming to the meeting. I could only assume he told Mey and I that way we'd know the right stuff to pack, but I'm not sure why he didn't tell you, or any of the other men for that matter."
"I..." Horikudo's breath escaped him, stumbling around their private armory. "Man... could this really be the end of things? Of this perpetual..." His voice softened as he continued, slowly dissipating into a silent whisper. "... never mind. But seriously, you do know what this means if we succeed?" Vorion nodded, "I think I would probably know better than anybody. But I'm sure you can already see my qualms with this." Horikudo grumbled, forcing a subtle grin as he nodded. "...yeah. 'What if we fail?', right?" Vorion chortled, a genuine smile plastering his expression for nothing beyond a swift second. "You know me all too well. We could just ask Stanislaw during the briefing, alright man? I'm sure everything will be okay, I mean, just look at our past record! We're practically an insurmountable du-"
In an abrupt cacophony of trepidation, the same vexing alarm that seared its grating tune into their minds blared throughout the building, utilized to demand their presence at the briefing room. After the tenth or so repeat of the same sound coupled with similar timing, it was something they became relatively accustomed to; however, the uncanny memories tied to its call churned a sense of discomfort within the back of their minds, weary of the unwelcome intrusion of its inevitable horrors.
Yet, in the end, they'd have to suck it up.
The duo deadpanned toward the piercing screech, unfazed by the foreboding call to action.
Seemed it was about time they got their answers.
Horikudo and Vorion made their final preparations, gathering an assortment of gear and spare weaponry from their personal arsenal, desiring not to keep too much on them as to not hinder their mobility.
With one glance toward each other, the two paced out of the armory, heading toward the briefing room.