Wixin removed himself from the manifested lake. Saltwater dripped from his skull cap and dark skin as his head swivelled to find Cascachu.
He wasn't around.
An alert popped up from the lightweight mesh below his right sleeve that was standard issue.
'QUARANTINE!' was the word of crimson that revved his emotional and physical state. With every step, he gathered speed to reach Mago.
"Stop."
He looked left to see Deeli—drenched clothing and all.
"Girl, who you be? I not wasting time with you. You only he lackey."
"Advisor." She corrected him.
Wixin didn't care. He understood her strength from previous encounters.
Deeli prepped to engage him. Her mind relived the past as she did.
The early days of the War Troupe were not the best. Cascachu despised the weak, so he got them to train in the mangroves where creatures sought to snap them up if they weren't careful. The exercises were horrific. Many couldn't keep up.
She couldn't take it anymore. It was 'wickedness'—one of their favourite adjectives to describe their brutal regimen.
A certain day changed that. Delin's squadron was ambushed by three thousand Defence Force soldiers. Being outnumbered ten to one, they defeated them. Were they poorly trained? Exhausted? Inferior weaponry?
Of course not. The harsh training made the difference.
Her past stopped. She was defeated in one hit. Wixin could now resume his meetup with Cascachu.
* * *
There was a recall of kinetic rounds to attack the Commander of the War Troupe. A distinctive clank corked the innards of the Rebounders with rapid frequency.
The soldiers, prepped with flare rifles, pointed them without confidence. More met the Commander, who gushed fluid at the edge.
Durin and the rest of Veil felt thankful they avoided that commotion.
While still in the air, Durin reengaged the hook and placed it on the roof of a clothing store that was a part of the business district. They landed parallel to a starcraft with a singular white stripe over soft blue.
There is one main mode of transport on Leaflet: the hovercar. Yoskoe was tired but he had to continue imparting this information to them. Starcraft are generally too valuable to be used militarily or for regular transport.
That's peculiar they use hovercar there. I never thought it would be practical from the way you described it to us. said Durin.
It's already quite late. We have to move on to the next part. Teinova's hand mushed her left cheek as she supported her face.
* * *
Cascachu's hands rested on his cylindrical legs. Then suddenly, at great speed, it touched the petal. A shot blew off part of his forearm but he remained unfazed. Chaos flooded the streets to escape absolute confusion and insanity.
One.
Two.
Three.
NOTHING.
The soldiers were confused, not understanding the more Cascachu used randomness, the more unreliable it became.
His contact was broken by the many holes sprinkled throughout his red form. Each round reduced their unease. His already tattered clothes were now next to nudity because of them. They ensured he had no breathing room to do anything else. The third of their Rebounder rounds struck him and it was enough to knock him over.
The impressive structural integrity of the Preed faltered due to severe internal haemorrhaging from a point-blank Rebounder strike. The soldiers lined the edge like witnesses to a crime scene to see his fall.
Part of a building blew up with ease a few blocks from them. They feared his randomness had begun late.
Everyone was still. They read the atmosphere and noticed the usual time for Cascachu's abilities to activate was long gone. The soldiers could now loosen up and celebrate.
"I'm going to get a promotion dawg. You worthless plebs are beneath me now." The soldier who fired the Rebounder failed to entrap his inner voice; their many stares had put him under ice.
"I mean... We all getting promoted!"
Another soldier suggested that he could have survived.
"Who cares? We alive!!!"
A wave of cheers rose as Cascachu's eyelids went shut to obscure his worldview.
Where half the base gone?
Sssssir... sssssir. A recruit called out with weakness. His painful expression peered deep into the mangroves where creatures dwelled.
Damn it youths, where is the rest of your body? He held what was left of his diagonal stabilizers in solace. The scorched stilts of the base were unimportant; the fallen being mattered more.
An injury-free underling scrambled to inform him about the cause of this suffering: an explosive implant embedded within a recruit. Casual conversation preceded the deaths of dozens. Her re-assurances did little to smother his outburst of sadness.
When the being was done, Cascachu made her promise to assist those affected as much as she could. With a "yes sir", she ran off.
Moments later, he caught a medic in his periphery and called him to come provide medical aid.
The organism required some time to get ready, but Cascachu could tell the being didn't have much time left. This infuriated him. Hurry up and help the youth, damn it!
Hooooonk! Hoooooooooooooooooonk!
A characteristic noise reverberated into his auditory holes. Coming towards Leaflet and Cascachu was Zartzs, the Top Commander of the Balmi War Troupe, in her train form.
Her horn signalled her presence. She was a true vehicular construct from the first cabin car in an orange of true radiance to the fourth and fifth that wore coatings of the most marvellous shades of pink, and the last in an untamed green.
"I can see Cascachu." Nem was perched on top of the train whistle watchtower on the front right side of Zartz.
She and Cassadon, the second and third commanders of the Balmi War Troupe, shared traits of the same species as Ippe, the Cardigaul.
Nem had four dots for sight and soft skin even though it looked quite rough.
"It looks like we have to save his dumbass again." Cassadon stood at the train's platform laden with gorgeous engravings on sheets of gold.
She had six dots broken up into two rows of three and had a large surface area for her to create as much of her ability as possible.
For both, they had eight fingers and toes, and on their foreheads were black blotches.
The aerial tracks of Zartzs felt much contact with iron wheels, generating groans and sparks.
Battle stations were settled. Soldiers mounted their weaponry on tripods facing the open windows. Those taller hovered over the smaller ones in formation as Cassadon climbed to the top of Zartzs to save Cascachu.
Ippe's voice dropped into the building tension. Does anyone know where is Mezamica Um? I tried contacting him but he hasn't responded.
Most had no idea where he was.
Don't worry. I'll get to him.
Zartzs's counterattack put little pressure on the pilot's detour. Evading was quick and easy.
She redirected her mounted rail guns towards Leaflet. Those at Mago became shredded from individual shots. As Zartzs pulled from Leaflet while parallel to it, Cassadon caught Cascachu.
"Cascachu, what did you do now?" She gripped his arms to ask him about his stupidity.
Whether the time a horde of creatures broke through the force field fencing along his base of operations, killing several of his soldiers, or the time top secret plans were leaked during the Battle of the Polar Territories, it was his inability to properly root out troublemakers, have an efficient base, being observant at all times, and many other things a commander should do.
Failure and loss were mutually intelligible to him. Maybe his randomness was the cause. And probably because of this, someone like him often needed saving.
He was fortunate Zartzs admired his power.
As he went into what happened that led up to this, he realised he had to be better.
To be like this was fundamentally wrong. Cascachu had to be a more competent commander. He couldn't remain the same when tomorrow came. If not, when would this civil war end?
* * *
A flash of energy broke through the green roots and concrete walls of Mezamica Um's rooftop apartment for natural light to pierce through. Two small speakers appeared at the sides of the blaster underneath the ship to radiate Ippe's words.
"Mezamica Um, come out you wuss!" His amplified voice rattled the furniture.
He slid out from some huge orange orbs hanging from the wall. He was a flat square of deep blue with fat, twig-like things at his perimeter.
Ral turned the volume to a more personal level for Ippe as he spoke from the cockpit. "Mezamica Um, why you're not with your group?"
"Nah, sir. That Nem too dread for me. I barely managed she last time. How I can manage she now?"
Zartzs's horn put dread into him. Mezamica Um remembered being beaten into a mat of sores after that same sound. It really got to him.
A pause got to Ippe's lips. "Fine. I'll give you nothing more than a warning. You're lucky that Cascachu didn't take out the whole petal."
"I know."
"Now go out there and take charge. I want you to capture a few soldiers for me."
"Who that, sir?"
Mezamica Um got a good briefing from his Supreme General. It didn't take much to become up to speed before flying off with his bossman.
* * *
"Durin, you awa—Achhhooo!"
Zazavin did not have the best day. The scene of Durin unconscious under the exploded ship carcass was a product of using his tall frame as a shield to protect them from further harm.
Dirtied clothing, broken glass, and mangled racks made for a visceral snapshot of disaster. The building couldn't hold on much longer with its current damage.
"It's all up to me now." He said to himself as Mezamica Um touched down from the sky.
Zazavin got himself ready as Defence Force soldiers and Mezamica Um faced the wrecked entrance on the ground floor. His uniform irritated his skin to nearly unbearable levels as well, but he had more important things to fight.
If I fail, I'll at least go out like a boss. Zazavin grinned at his bravery and his will to protect his crewmates. This was only a hurdle to their grand goal—to carve a stake in Bosfos that no one could ignore.
"Give me the uniform you wearing, nah." Mezamica Um said this with the anticipation he would give up.
"Sorry. I can't."
"Why you making it difficult so, youth?"
"Enemies don't make it easy."
"Well, you outnumbered and thing. What you going to do?" He didn't want to beat him up, preferring a surrender, but he forced him down this path.
Zazavin readied his primary weapon, his tongue, for battle.
Ippe's talk rekindled Mezamica Um's bravery and desire to fight. From this, he prepared to rain absolute defeat upon his enemy.
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