Chapter Fifty-Three – Factions – Part One

The WHA is committed to ensuring the future of Earth, through any means necessary.

- WHA Chairman of Public Relations Jacobson -

I feel a hand on my chest and see a dull light from behind my eyelids. It's Verantha, healing and blessing me again. She's very diligent. Or maybe her Goddess is enjoying tormenting Ulana. Either way, it beats not being able to move.

My eyes open to the light that crests the horizon. It's already morning, I hear Tran and Barlow shifting next to me. Both of them groaning as well at the impending doom of another hard day of labor. Thankfully we should be finished with the raft soon, only a few more days according to Fisban.

"Thank you," I say to Verantha, she nods, giving me a fake smile.

"Of course, I enjoy being woken up every few hours to…" she winces, "Sorry, Goddess."

As soon as she departs, I let out a sigh, I actually feel bad for her. Moving past a tree, I start to take my morning piss when I feel it.

[ 1 x Wither Charge Gained ]

Memories flood into my mind as I dribble on my shoes. There's no terror in the memories, but I can tell it's one of Smith's men, the last thing he saw was the stars in the sky… then nothing at all. How did he die? It's the least dementing memory I've ever had. There wasn't even time for lingering regrets. Just nothingness.

I look around after pulling myself together, I don't see anything that… my eyes blink and my stomach turns at the sight. Entrails pulled from the body like a beast tore it, slash marks across the chest, eyes gouged out, tongue pulled from the throat. The intestines are tied to a low branch as a noose… this was no beast, this was a person's doing. Everything they did to the body would have been after death, otherwise I would have seen it… especially something so horrendous. Why go to such lengths to mutilate the body?

"Goddess…" I hear Verantha say, clutching her stomach, unable to stop looking at the horror of gore before us.

"Damn," Tran says tilting his head at it, "Closed casket for sure."

His comment brings back memories from before I Respec'd. He said the same thing about Sergeant First Class Romero after he was impaled by a hundred swords from the undead horde. Some words are bound to be repeated. I don't know if it's seeing dead suits, but my own mortality even with a token is starting to feel fragile.

It's one thing when a creature, or even a goblin does atrocious things like this, but when a person does it… damn. Maybe it's feeling the regrets of people dying, or having died myself, but I wonder… can't we be more than this? Is this all that we are? Why can't we just work together? All of our futures, and the futures of those who will come are on the line.

"Fuck," I seethe, the anger spilling past the nausea. Who did this? I look around at the slowly gathering crowd of people.

Fisban stands with a bag in her hand, her face placid. I look past her, and Smith's face is pale as he looks at his dead compatriot. He turns and leans against a tree, hurling over and over again, until finally, he turns toward Fisban.

"This is too far…" Smith says, fumbling for his weapon in his holster.

Fisban doesn't react, her face is still bare of any semblance of emotion.

"What? Nothing to say, bitch?" Smith asks, pointing his shaking weapon toward Fisban.

"Looks like he tripped," Fisban says, letting out a sigh, "Just like Thomas did, right?"

Silence for a moment, then the sound of Smith's goons pulling out their guns and switching the safety off. Fisban's crew takes up a position as well… some of them are pointing their weapons at her though. Maybe that's why they killed Thomas, because he wouldn't turn.

"We can settle this with our words…" Verantha says, holding her hands forward.

One of Smith's goons points a gun at her.

Her eyes widen, her speech becoming pressured, "I… I never liked her…" she winces, "I don't care if you kill her…" she winces again, almost like she's convulsing, "Sorry, Goddess, fuck Fisban!" she convulses again, "Goddess… please…"

Runes begin to burn upon Verantha's exposed skin, she wails in anguish as they smolder, until she kneels.

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"Sorry… Goddess… Sorry…"

Fisban raises an eyebrow at the exchange, the first movement on her face, she turns and looks at Smith, even with both of his hands, the gun still shakes. I guess seeing her handiwork has messed with his nerves.

"Well, this looks fucked," Gilroy says nervously, eyes darting back and forth between Fisban and the opposition.

My hand is shaking, not from fear… I'm fucking pissed.

"Enough!" I growl, my own steps forward almost surprising me, "I don't give a fuck what your beef is, we need to work together. You killed one of hers, she killed one of yours. It shouldn't have happened in the first place, but that's a balanced scale."

"Balanced?" Smith yells with spit flying from his chapped and sunburned lips, "She fucking gutted him!"

"And you fucking strangled Thomas when he turned his back on you," I seethe, Thomas's memories pulling to the surface and resonating with me, "Right after he said he wouldn't join your team."

Smith shifts uncomfortably.

They outnumber us, they're all armed. If Verantha gets shot in the crossfire, we're all fucked. If this fight breaks out… I don't think I could keep the cork on the bottle… if someone I care about became a Wither Charge… it would break me. I'm barely fucking keeping it together as it is.

"Even still, what she did was stepping over the line. She dies, I'm in charge, and everything is fine."

"There is no fucking line," I growl, "Our survival depends on each other."

"You're wasting your breath," Fisban sighs, shifting her weight.

"Smoke her, boss," one of Smith's group says.

"Any last words, bitch?" Smith asks.

Fisban scoffs at the remark.

Click… Smith looks at his weapon, blinking fast. More clicks, and people slapping the side of their weapons, pulling back the slides. There's confusion until Fisban reaches into her pocket and drops a handful of jingling metal onto the sand.

It's… firing pins… she removed all of their weapons firing pins… holy shit. When did she do it? How did she manage to do it?

Fisban breathes deep, letting it out slowly before she whispers, "Shadow step…"

Light bends around her as shadows defy the daylight and erupt where she was before disappearing… she's gone. A yell from my side whirls me around. A man's throat ripped out, and he gurgles for air, clutching desperately. She's already stepping from another person's shadow, stabbing them in the kidneys, then stepping into the shadow again.

[ 1 x Wither Charge Gained ]

Then another and another. Blood soaks the now crimson sands. Her blades are obsidian-colored, and her body is cloaked in darkness as she twirls through the air. Like an acrobat she moves, dodging blows like they're child's play. Cutting along arteries as though she wrote the book on anatomy.

Verantha screams and flees into the distance, stumbling three times as she goes.

Sage breathes heavily when he speaks.

What a rare treat to see a Shadow Dancer perform. Beautiful… just beautiful.

My skin crawls at the heavy breathing, and my nerves fray at the spraying blood all around us.

Pay close attention to her movements, the more you synergize with a class, the higher the chance you will roll it over others. It would be so much less boring if you were a combat class like her.

The breathing somehow becomes even heavier.

Yes… what a specimen… no hesitation… just blood offered in cold resolve.

My eyes follow, not because Sage demanded it, but because the tapestry of death which she paints in blood is what demands my attention. Her movements become a blur, each successive move more fluid than the last. It's horrifying and entrancing in the same breath, I've never seen anyone this skilled before. She's a fucking prodigy of death.

Sage sighs before speaking.

Over so soon… what a drag.

All those who betrayed her lie dead or dying. Smith is the only one of the mutineers that still draws breath. Her blade is at his throat, his eyes are bulging as he falls to his knees.

"Please… please don't kill me…"

"Who were you working for?" she asks, pressing the blade closer, a single drop of his blood rolling down his neck.

"Chair… Chairman Olivers… he… he… paid us," Smith stutters, urine running down his legs as he looks around at the carnage her blades have wrought.

"What were your orders?"

"To… to find his nephew's killer and… and…"

"And?"

"Kill them…"

So, Smith was pretending not to know back when they captured us. Sneaky bastard. I hear Barlow throwing up behind me, it splashes my shoes.

"Sorry," he breathes.

"She's such a badass…" Tran says, breathing heavily like Sage, "She's like an anime character… but better… and hotter."

Gilroy and I give him a look before turning our gaze back to the interrogation.

"What did you find out?" Fisban asks Smith.

"That… that Specialist Novak admitted to killing Trent, and… and we didn't take it seriously, until we found out he had rebound sickness," he pauses, looking down at the blade.

Fisban pulls the knife from his throat, "Continue."

"We," he gulps, "We found a detailed recounting from Lieutenant Tenny's report regarding the incident."

Well, shit, that makes more sense. She was taking notes when I confessed to it.

"Who else knows?" she asks.

"Just…" he pauses, "Us… and the Chairman."

"Anything else you want to share?"

"I have kids…" Smith pleads.

"No, you don't," Fisban says, then leaning closer, "Even if you did, it wouldn't stop me."

Her hand moves in a flash, blood spurting from Smith's throat. He grasps at it in vain, trying to stop the flow. Fisban stands over him until…

[ 1 x Wither Charge Gained ]

Fear dipped in agony and despair coat the memories from Smith, leaving me clutching my pounding chest. Fisban moves towards one of the trees, dipping her hands in the basin, the blood doesn't come off so easily though. She turns to the rest of us. There's only three of her group left, plus mine, and Verantha, wherever she ran off to.

"Anyone else have complaints about my leadership?"

"No, ma'am," Gilroy blurts out, swallowing hard, "Hooah."

She nods, looking at the rest, they all give her a wary nod.

"Good, bury the bodies and get back to work."

Everyone moves, except for me, the horrors of her shadow dancing are etched into my skull. There was so much fear, so much regret… my face grimaces as I see some of the children of the fallen. Not all, but some had families that depend... depended on them.

"Novak," Fisban says, calling me over.

My feet trudge through the sand slowly. I'm in a daze as I try to push away and bottle the overwhelming feeling of carrying so much death.

"It had to be done," she says, scrubbing her hands in the shallow pool, her eyes blinking faster the more she scrubs.

Did it though…

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