“We are fickle, fragile, delicate, like a pane of glass. And once the glass shatters, there is no healing, only shoddy repairwork done out of desperation. Strength is not only preventing the glass from breaking, but to mend it once it has.”
-Ax̼x̼u Hiy, Gesala of the 5th Vodranti Legion
//VENUS
//THE LYCURGE
//13.30.5048 AV
//KRITHA’S CELL
The cell was quiet, again.
Initially, Kritha was relieved, but such feelings faded when she considered that such quiet simply meant that the unruly prisoners of the Lycurge were executed once they had served their purpose. The previous roars of a Mercurian before a load bang and a thud informed Kritha that the Cythereans surely must be cleaning house. A brief prayer before a shot rang out- a Junian Mystic. Silence before the sound of a bolt being racked must be a traitorous Cytherean being executed. The screams of Cytherean soldiers before several shots being fired surely must be the result of an Amphatrian.
Kritha wondered why the horologists were so incessant in their search for alien life not sourced from Earth. There was certainly variety enough in the human genome already. Place a Vodrant and a Venerian Warlock in the same room and you would see how strange it was to place them both under the same designation of Homo sapiens.
Once the remaining soldiers passed by the small porthole of her cell, dragging with them the Amphatrian’s pale corpse, she was certain these shield-guard have been well trained in dealing with the creatures of Neptune. The upper half of the head being shot off by a well-aimed shotgun blast and the bullet holes in the arms and legs to slow them down meant that these Cythereans had, at the very least, decent experience with them, also gauged by the fact that at least 3 made it out alive of the estimated 5 that entered the cell. Although, Kritha was unsure of whether it was 5 or 6 that had entered the Amphatrian’s cell- their walking patterns were synchronized- it still was quite impressive for 3 to survive regardless of the initial number.
But what truly confused Kritha was the later sound of fire and the scent of burnt flesh. Normally the Cytherean Confederation would utilize a crematorium. Simply burning a body out in the open implied they were in a rush or unable to access one.
Then gunshots rang out. Not just one, or several in tandem, but continuous gunfire coming from far down the hall. Many, many footsteps. The boots of several shieldguard hammered on the stonework floor, rushing past the small view allotted to Kritha’s cell. That would be concerning. But more worrying was that the Cythereans had been burning bodies. They did not want whatever this enemy was to use the bodies of the prisoners. That did not bode well in Kritha’s mind.
Strangely, one set of footsteps was strangely out of sync, and getting louder. One was heading to her. The steps were heavy, and rushed, not following form. She knew they would not try to dispose her, with their strict orders to keep her alive, so this soldier likely had a different task.
The boots stopped outside her cell. The heavy clack-clack of bolts moving and the churning of an engine meant that the door was being unlocked. If they wanted her dead, they would simply toss a grenade through the porthole. Likely an escort. Mammon must really want her alive. The door lifted upward slightly, and a black-gloved hand went through the space allotted to lift up the door.
A large figure, covered head-to-toe in armor, looked down at her from the platform above her pitlike cell. “Are you Kritha Jaynn Hassar?”
She nodded. The figure extended a hand.
“The undead are swarming the Lycurge. It is time to leave.”
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