Judgement Blood: A Celestial's Vendetta

Ilyas took a deep breath, removed his mask, and dipped his head underwater, quickly scrubbing his hair in the clear turquoise river. Dried blood dissolved from his hair and drifted along with the stream. 

His whole body begged him to stop his hastened movements by dousing him in a tremendous amount of pain, but Ilyas was determined not to walk around smelling like a rotten skunk.

Thankfully, the GentlePug carried bars of soap with him for his extended scouting mission, as well as some toothpaste. That and the efficient, quick cleaning process he was accustomed to in the Vault's baths meant that he didn't have to halt their progress for long.

After feeling the cooling, peaceful embrace of the water on his face for a few seconds, he forced himself to rise and finish scrubbing the rest of his body. 

Two minutes later, Ilyas trudged out of the stream with nothing but his mask on.

He had also cleaned his jumpsuit and underwear with soap and water, but there wasn't enough time for them to dry. 

'Eh, I have to wear them soaking wet then. Gosh, what horror!'

He uncomfortably slipped into his clean underwear and jumpsuit and zipped himself up. GentlePug was away, giving him his privacy and scouting ahead.

But when Ilyas finished, he reappeared from behind one of the trees as if on cue, hefting the bag of tomatoes over his shoulder. 

Before Ilyas's suspicions took root, GentlePug asserted, "No, good sir, I wasn't watching you, I merely heard your zipper. If my ears cannot do that at least, I doubt my position as a scout would be warranted."

Ilyas chuckled nervously, "So you have exceptional senses? Good, good."

***

They continued through the forest's underbrush, following the river downstream north for several hours. The tribe was directly north of the Vault and directly west of the Processio's route. Ilyas didn't talk much, preferring to ruminate, for the first time in a while, over all the incidents that had transpired.

The truth of his exile, his father, his traiterous friends, his fight with Ben, the fact that he now had blood on his hands, the Salivites, Hadrian, and the peril of his immediate future. 

It was all too much for his overthinking mind, so he used this hike to process them all one by one. 

But he hadn't yet let his mind near the topic of what the hell happened on the surface. It had been thousands and thousands of years since the Nuclear War that devastated Earth, so it made sense that everything changed. Even so, Ilyas was never too knowledgeable about civilisation before the war, so his surface information was never adequate. 

But one thing he was sure of was that even living things seemed to have evolved. 'Mutations' or whatever Cenric called them were probably the cause. 

The trees around him were far too large for what the Vault perceived. The mosquitoes he caught glimpses of here and there were the size of rodents, and the rodents were the size of bulldogs. Insects he'd never heard of before created colonies for themselves in the barks of trees, and mammals only stalked them from afar with predatory eyes that seemed much larger than they should. He could only assume their sizes to be monstrous and domineering. 

Earlier, when Cenric sensed his panic, he assured him that he had fed him a serum that repels predators. It made their bodies poisonous when devoured. Sadly, Cenric told him that to the Salivites, it only made them akin to spicy food. Some even preferred to feed the Serum to their meals for a kick.

That thought was so disturbing, Ilyas couldn't help but shiver. 

Eventually, they passed through the thicket and emerged onto a narrow trail lined with trees and flanked by rosy flowers. It continued perpendicular to their path and led to an open plain where the hint of a grand stone building could be seen. 

Ilyas would have been enchanted by the beautiful sight of it all, how the sun shone and made the surface of colourful petals glimmer, accentuating their beauty. Or how the trees made the trail seem like an entry to a mystical, stately manor.

But instead, his eyes were caught by a hazy silhouette far, far away. His face froze and paled at the sight of it.

'What the hell?'

The silhouette was that of a knight, standing with slumped shoulders and a resigned head that looked defeatedly at its toes. The statue looked... sad and lost. He couldn't see its face, nor could he make out any detail whatsoever, but he still felt its sorrow. Only his defeated posture, obfuscated by the haze of the atmosphere, was clear. 

'Is that real?!'

Noticing his shock, Cenric turned to him and said, "What is it, good sir? Don't tell me that you Southerners don't have Seers as well?"

Ilyas forced himself to temporarily detach his eyes from the titanic figure, to look at his companion. Awe persisted on his face nonetheless as he asked, "Seer? What?"

Cenric frowned, then sighed and said, "Yes! Seers, you silly man! They are ubiquitous, mighty things, I must say. They stand here and there still and quiet. It's like they're frozen in time. Now, I'll be honest with you, good sir. Although we are all accustomed to their existence, we don't know much about them, so I suggest you just accept them as they are and move on. All we know is that they are remnants of the Fissure War."

'Fissure War? What?'

It was another clue. But a clue that left him desperate for more!

Ilyas suppressed his burning curiosity and nodded. 

It sounded like one of those things that everyone, child or adult, knew about, so asking would, again, raise suspicions. 

'I'll have to get a look at that map Cenric has, at least.'

"Do you even know how they died?" Ilyas asked impassively.

"Died?" Cenric exclaimed, "Who said they're dead? No, no, good sir, they are alive and breathing. Just frozen, that's all."

Ilyas blanched behind the mask, took a few deep breaths, then nodded.

'Yes, yes, that's fine. Just a few titans, 'alive and breathing', frozen here and there, and we move on. Good to know.'

Finally, after shutting his eyes tightly to let that piece of blood-chilling information sink in, Ilyas acknowledged the pretty trail with some delight. "So, where are we now? Where does this trail lead to?"

"It leads to the Salivitian Tribe's chief's manor. We're close."

"Huh?!" Ilyas panicked, looked around frantically, then said, "Why the hell are we here in the open then?" 

Cenric laughed, then waved dismissively, "Don't worry, silly man, there is no one around in a two-kilometre radius. We're alone... Well.

"Well? Well what? Well what?!" 

"Well, except for our query. He's somewhere here, scouting the tribe. The manor looms over the horrid place. Now that's a vantage point, I'll tell you that."

"He's... in the manor?" Ilyas asked incredulously.

Cenric laughed again, then said, "Oh, Celste, no! You'll see." 

They walked down the path toward the manor for a few minutes before Cenric stopped, listened, then led them back into the humid, irritating undergrowth.

"Let's make sure to be silent from now on, alright, good sir?" Cenric whispered. His friendly demeanour took on a sterner, more focused tone, and his movements became more calculated. And when he did move, not a single sound came out of him despite the thicket.

It was impressive.

'Hm... He is a scout.'

But Ilyas knew the real reason. It was because of his exceptional senses. 

They padded north, with only Ilyas letting out soft crunching noises from his steps. They were nearing the outskirts of the Salivitian Tribe.

For a few moments, the trees and undergrowth became so intense that the few sun rays that managed to sneak past were like stark blades of light with dust particles frantically dancing within them. 

The silence amplified the wheezing sounds of alien insects, allowing Ilyas to feel as if he were a spectator in nature rather than a presence. 

He felt invisible. 

He felt peace.

Fffwit!

An arrow whistled through the air, skimmed Ilyas's mask, and splintered one of the trees.

'Huh?'

In that moment of distraction, before Ilyas and Cenric could register the occurrence, a precise kick struck the back of Ilyas's knee without sound or warning, causing him to buckle and fall to one knee. But before his knee could even touch the floor, an arm grabbed him in a chokehold and a dagger pressed against his head.

Cenric stared at him and his assailant in shock, and froze. 

A dignified voice sounded from behind Ilyas, intimately close to his ear. 

"Answer my question or your friend dies," he said calmly. There was no malice in his voice, only cold deliberateness. 

The GentlePug swallowed, stepped back, then stuttered, "We-we mean no harm, good sir. Please don't harm him." His voice was as drenched in fear as his face. 

Ilyas, meanwhile, was too startled to feel anything except shock. His mind blanked as he felt the cold tip of the dagger pressing precisely at a point where the mask failed to reach.

The assailant didn't soften at Cenric's words, he just went silent for a few seconds before asking, "What are your names? What's your purpose? And don't you dare lie."

Cenric nodded firmly then said, "Of course. Of course. Lying is an abhorrent thing, good sir, I wouldn't dare. My name is Cenric Kerkley, and my companion's name is Ilyas. We are, in fact, here looking for you. I am a scout of the Nineteenth Procession to Marianne, but I have been derailed by a moral obligation, which is that gentleman you have in your grasp. I've been absent for quite some time, so I am most likely presumed Missing in Action by Retreat Command. We want to rejoin the Retreat through the Twentieth Procession. That is all."

The assailant remained silent for a little more, probably staring at Cenric suspiciously, but eventually he withdrew his dagger and let Ilyas go. 

Ilyas immediately fell on all fours, coughing and rubbing his neck with a quivering hand. His injuries weren't even close to being mended, so every minor assault felt much more painful than it should be.

The voice continued from behind, "This here is your 'moral obligation'?"

Cenric nodded. 

The voice then asserted, "His mask doesn't seem the sort." 

Cenric seemed to have calmed down a little because he didn't stutter when he said, "Well, I'm sure a young lord like you knows that looks can be deceiving."

'Say what now?'

Ilyas's eyebrow shot up. Did the GentlePug say 'Young Lord'? 

Cenric added, "In fact, my companion here is as much disturbed by that thing as we are. Beneath it, however, his face... It is quite pleasing to the eye, I must say... If not for his starved complexion, this good man here could become quite a presence back in the empire's embrace."

'Aw, how nice... No! Not yet, Ilyas! Pretty words are never good!'

The Young Lord remained silent for a few more seconds, giving Ilyas enough time to roll over and lie on his back.

His body yearned for this.

Why not spare it a few minutes of rest?

He finally saw his assailant. And... he was not a dog-man or something.

'Oh, thank god. Wait, no!. Not that I have any problem with that. Yes, I do not discriminate. We are all intelligent.'

Even if he already expected the Young lord to be human, Ilyas at least expected him to look a little different from the humans of the Vault, but surprisingly, the man looked ordinary, if not quite dashing. 

He had short blond hair, blue eyes, and a clean-shaven face. His face was what Ilyas assumed a noble to look like, if not quite young. Not much older than Ilyas, it seemed. The man wore a black, buttoned shirt with silver cufflinks, which Ilyas assumed to be the signet of his family; a black waistcoat, tailored to his lean, healthy figure; and black trousers with a utility belt that carried several accessories similar to Cenric's. Slung on his shoulder was a leather black quiver, and next to his feet was the bow he used to shoot that arrow. 

It was strange to see such dark formal wear on a scout, but hey, thousands of years is a long time. 

The darkness of it all did make some sense at least.

The Young Lord took a deep breath, then offered Ilyas a hand. 

Ilyas stared at it, surprised, then took it. 

The man picked up his bow and said, "I apologise for my rash aggressiveness, but having my station encroached upon by allies without notice from Command near a Salivitian Tribe... well, you can imagine."

The man considered them for a moment, then offered a handshake to Cenric. "My name is Alexander Rosendale, second son of Lord William Rosendale. It is your honour to be in my presence."

Both Ilyas and Cenric raised an eyebrow, looked at each other, baffled, then looked back at this Alexander fella. 

'I got excited when I heard his name was Alexander, but did this guy really just say that?'

The GentlePug must've thought the same because when he reached out to accept the handshake, he did it tentatively. 

Cenric narrowed his eyes at him and said with a hint of exasperation in his voice, "Young Lord Alexander, sir, it is... I must say, you may have the voice of a noble, but you certainly lack the mind of one."

Ilyas' eyes widened.

'Oh dear! No way! He said that to a noble?!'

Alexander frowned at the GentlePug, then cleared his throat, puffed his chest, and said with utmost haughtiness. "Due to the current circumstances that require our joint cooperation, I will allow your affront... to slide."

Cenric nodded, then said under his breath, "Well, whatever you say, good sir."

Ilyas tilted his head at the two of them. 

'Oh dear, they're definitely going to be like me and Antonio. No, what am I saying, that's impossible... And since when did everyone start speaking so regally?! Or is it just these two? Will I have to start speaking like that, too?'

Alexander moved to shake Ilyas's hand while still leering pompously at Cenric.

After getting the 'pleasantries' out of the way, Alexander sighed, then said, "Well then, before I get to the bad news, are any of you Potent?"

Cenric nodded, while Ilyas stared at him blankly, granted his mask never displayed any reaction, but it was still quite telling. 

Cenric cleared his throat and said proudly, "Well, I am an Imitator prone to heightened senses."

Alexander chuckled, "An Imitator? You? How did someone like you manage that? Someone lacking so many manners. I must say, my good man, I am quite surprised. Are you sure your heightened senses are not because of your... nature?" He said the last word smugly.

'Oh shit! He really said it!' Ilyas pursed his lips as he watched them intently.

Cenric gritted his teeth, then said with fragile composure, "Oh? What is it, Young Lord? Are you about to tell me that you're a Congruent? You? I doubt so very much, since you wouldn't be stationed here otherwise."

Alexander was making an effort not to raise his voice and maintain his noble demeanour. "I am, in fact, also an Imitator, but unlike you, I am gifted with something much more useful. As you may have experienced, my presence can be altered at will. Something that makes me a much more exceptional scout than you."

Cenric chuckled derisively, then sneered, "Oh? Then please tell me, why aren't you fighting with Silversun's gang if you are so exceptional?"

Just when Alexander was about to puff his chest even more and retort, Ilyas cleared his throat to remind them of his presence, then said impassively, "I'm sure you two fine gentlemen would get along quite well if our time were less scarce, but shouldn't we... Uhm depart?"

'Was that good? Did I sound regal, too?'

They both turned to him simultaneously, their expressions filled with confusion. Then, Cenric said awkwardly, "Ilyas, good sir, why are you speaking so... strangely?"

Ilyas felt heat rush to his face, and his heart pounded aggressively in his chest, probably reprimanding him. 

Before Ilyas could make a poor excuse, Alexander asserted, "What about you, my good man, are you an Imitator too? You seem to be in quite a poor condition. Have you been in many altercations?"

'What the hell are you talking about, man? Who are we all imitating here? Argh! I can't ask anything, Goddamit!'

"Oh, right!" Cenric said, "I never asked."

They were both staring at him expectantly, waiting.

This was a nightmare. 

A Goddamn nightmare

Ilyas faked a cough then mumbled with no confidence, "No."

Cenric seemed more bewildered by that answer than Alexander. 

The GentlePug tilted his head, then asked, "Really?"

Ilyas nodded. "Yeah. I'm perfectly normal here. Nothing I'm imitating, heh heh." He swallowed and gauged their expressions.

It seemed that he had messed up, because they both frowned at his answer. 

Alexander pursed his lips then asked hesitantly, "Are you from the southern continents, perhaps?"

Ilyas nodded firmly, seeking that question as a safe rope.

Alexander then added, "Do they not have Potency down there?"

Ilyas had to be careful with his answer here. No matter what he said, he was betting against meeting an actual southerner one day. So what he said next was:

"I'm not sure, I grew up somewhat isolated from others."

That answer seemed to satisfy both of them. They both nodded in a way to say, 'Well, that makes sense.'

Ilyas felt kinda offended by that, but he didn't know why.

Cenric was still baffled by something else, though. "I really thought you were Potent after that fight of yours. The way you dealt with that man was one of the goriest things I've ever seen."

Alexander looked between them with sudden, intense curiosity and asked, "What? What do you mean? What did this gentleman do? I know his mask is quite unsettling, but he really doesn't seem the aggressive sort."

Cenric nodded. "You are right. He doesn't. And I'm not sure he is. But that was why he was a moral obligation. I will tell you later, for now, tell us, what is the bad news?"

Alexander seemed unsatisfied with his curiosity remaining unquenched, but he decided to be patient. He then looked beyond them, frowned, and said with all seriousness, "Well, a Salivitian platoon is preparing to attack the Twentieth Procession in the Argian Plain... And unfortunately, they are aware of my presence, so I believe a squad has been dispatched for me. That's why we should really leave as soon as possible."

Cenric and Ilyas stared at him incredulously for a few seconds in silence. 

Then, Cenric finally let his composure slip a little. His eyes shut tightly as if to suppress his anger, and he said in a barely suppressed tone, "Oh, you foolish thing. You're telling us this now?"