"I hope that when you wake, you don't forget who we are, who you were, and everyone that ever loved you, my son. You will do great things, no matter when, or where you are. I love you, Ly..."
Marked Soldiers from The Order of Garuda advance inside Wellspring Forest, their marks glowing bright in the shade of the forest's gigantic trees. These marks on the arms, face, chests, and backs represent a hunger that these men have. A hunger for power, for glory, for Garuda. They cast spells of flame, earth, ice, and thunder, pressing forward against Sol Lucen forces at an exhausting pace.
Leading them is a lady in a brown cloak, covering her entire body except the combat boots that peek below. She floats, overseeing her men as they fall, press forward, and give their lives to their righteous cause. An almost melodic harmony is created, with the stomping of combat boots, the whirring of spells, the frantic swinging of blades, and the screams of those dying and charging into battle. Brutal, deathly music to the ears of those who crave the battlefield, the violence, and the carnage that comes with sieges like this.
"Sir! Sergeant Greywolf! Sir!" A private ran towards the private barracks of the moving military base Sylverstein. He passed through the main halls, fireballs, thunder, and other Marked spells raining down on the poor vessel. He almost trips over himself as he stumbles across a barracks room unlike any in the giant base. Everyone else had pale, plush blue doors marked with the Sol Lucen symbol of the sun and a sword under it. This door was red, hot-rod red, in shiny, metallic paint, with a silver, protruding wolf head carved to perfection. Its mouth was open, as if swallowing the private that stood in front of it.
The private gulped, scrambling for his special access key card, and scanned it against the silver doorknob. He steps inside, smelling a mix of musk, expensive imported men's perfume, and... strawberry shampoo? In front of him, in all his sweaty, steamy glory, was Sergeant Weaver "Wolf" Greywolf the Third, his chin up, a cigar in his mouth, as he's being fed sour grapes by two young female privates. The private straightens, flushed by the vulgar sight in front of him, but clicks his heels, straightens his back, and puts his right hand to his right temple in salute.
"Sir! The Order of Garuda guerrilla forces have flanked us, sir! They've invaded the rear side of the Sylverstein, sir! A good chunk of our Marked casters have been captured, sir! We need help, si—"
He gets cut off with a low, almost growl-sounding groan from Greywolf. He sits up, his bare chest and midsection toned like that of a porcelain sculpture, if it was as hairy as a bear. His chest and stomach bear scars from the countless battles he has participated in and led. He looks at the sweaty, nervous private as he snaps. The women who were feeding him grapes stop, and opt to sit up straight beside him instead, stroking his long, white, spiky-textured hair with an air of obedience.
He lets out a deep puff in the young lad's face, blowing a cloud of smoke that carries multicolored sparks, his teal, feline-like eyes staring daggers into the young man. The smell of mana-infused cannacite leaves and tobacco linger in the air.
"The rear? As in where our cargo, beer, medical, and food stocks are?" He looked very displeased, his large gray brow raising in annoyance.
"Y-yes, sir. It seems like they predicted that the brunt of our assault would be towards their base in Wellspring Forest, leaving our rear open and—"
The private gets cut off.
"So they're hitting us from the back, huh?" Greywolf lets out a mischievous grin, not one to be expected from someone with a position as high as his. Cigar in his mouth, and the girls from each side giggling to each other.
"S-sir, it's not the language I would use, but... in a sense, yes, they're... hitting... us... from the back..." The private looked like a tomato straight from the stem, red, flustered, sweaty.
Greywolf stood, with the girls putting his coat and pants on for him, as if worshipping him. He pats the private's shoulder with enough force to sit him down, if the private didn't force himself to remain standing.
"That's the spirit, boy. We can't all be gloomy just because our rations are gonna be cut, or we won't have beer, or medical supplies for the sick, wounded, and dying. We gotta stay optimistic somehow, right, lad?" Greywolf pats his shoulder, then puffs another cloud of smoke into the air.
"S-sir, we don't have time... we need you out there. Our first and second infantry are in trouble! A-and at this rate... they'll get swallowed up by enemy forces..." The private shows him his data screen on his wristband. It extends into a holographic screen, showing their soldiers getting hit with spells and blades. Greywolf watches... until he spots something that makes him sit up more. "Rewind that, five seconds... there!" He points, his large, rugged fingers pointing at a figure in a brown cloak. "Floating isn't something Marked users can do..."
Greywolf contemplates, then looks at his private. "...Private, what's your name?"
The look of worry on the Sergeant's face grows, his long, white, spiky hair slightly puffing up like that of a worried cat. "J-John Neheim, sir... from Saltbreen City" the private says quietly, almost innocently despite his military frame. "Well, John, you better strap in the moment I get out of here." He taps at the screen, at the woman floating, zooming it in.
"You're looking at a Sigil."
He snaps as his closet opens, revealing his long-sleeved, compressed, all-black impact shirt, with a small Sol Lucen logo in white adorning the bottom of where the center of his collarbone would be. Greywolf slips it on, as the impact hexcombs woven all around the top glow a light green before letting out steam, fitting and compressing around his body, his muscles. The girls on his bed go, "Ooh~" as he looks back at them, blowing kisses at them.
"Well, ladies, looks like I'll have to save the day again. Let's continue this later once I come back, yeah?" He stands over them, as he caresses both their heads. "Be good little girls and watch me at the comms room. I'll need special attention later."
His wink is answered by gasps of adoration. He gives them a sultry salute as they do it back to him, as if saying goodbye.
In the hallway—John feels it instantly. The flirtatious humor? Gone. The smiles? Gone. The playfulness? Nowhere to be seen. John Neheim, a private of two months, suddenly feels so weak that his knees buckle. How could anyone not, when walking behind a behemoth of a man?
Greywolf ties his hair into a tight bun as he looks back at John. "Tell the engineer that I want to be launched at the center of action at the rear. Tell them to figure out the coordinates. I just wanna be out there as soon as I can."
He slams open the launcher bay door. He nods at one of the engineers as a large pod is dropped in front of him. It opens on its own, its racks inside holding two iron gauntlets, with two sharp claws on each index and ring finger knuckle. He puts on his custom combat boots, adorned with a silver wolf head on the heels, as he slides in the gauntlets, using in-glove controls to adjust the length of the blades.
John looks from the safety of the control panel, a room away from the launch pad. "First time seeing a Sigil fight?" the cheeky engineer next to him asks. John notices that it's one of the girls from Greywolf's bedroom.
"Y-yes, actually. The academy always talks about them like they're taboo... geniuses beyond regular people's comprehension..." the young private looks on in awe.
John was looking at a living legend, twenty-five years in his illustrious military career. They an entire street, shops, and laundry detergent named after this man and his lineage, and he's smiling at John like he would at a friend. The young private's heart leaps out of his chest. He can still remember eating Greywolf-themed ice cream cakes during his days off at the military academy. To stand and fight beside him now is an experience the young man will never forget.
He gets snappy, clicking his heels and saluting the Sergeant, as Greywolf, out of respect, does the same.
"Sarge, we have the co-ords. Are you clear?" the engineer asks through the launch pad mic.
"Yeah, just about, they have a Sigil, I gotta get there as soon as I can...it's too dangerous for even three platoons to face a monster like that alone" Greywolf stretches his arms.
The other private from the Sergeant's room from earlier places a limiter on the top of his back, just below the back of his neck. The device buzzes, as its three small lights turn green, signaling that they've bonded to his spinal column.
"I didn't know the Sergeant used limiters..." John whispers to himself, or so he thought.
"Sarge uses limiters because Sigil users put a lot of strain not only on their mana supply, but their brain too, mental strain from using their abilities" she points at her forehead, "Overuse can lead to mental degradation and internal bleeding, and that's a light case! We actually don't know much since the side effects vary from Sigil to Sigil..." she types in more commands on her keypad.
The engineer is knocked out of her focus when she sees Greywolf NOT putting on the designated launch pad protection gear.
"Sarge, going gearless is dangerous! Please put on the collapsible helmet, I—"
"Can it, private!" Greywolf howls at the woman who was just feeding him grapes minutes ago.
"I am a Greywolf. My family has been fighting for a century under Sol Lucen. Whether I need or don't need protective gear is not under your discretion!" he yells, but after a moment, he holds his head, looking down.
He grits his teeth. "Sorry... just... please launch me."
He sighs before walking to a corner and pressing buttons on a data screen. Slow jazz begins to play in the launch pad, calming the giant man down. The jazz was smooth and calming, a symphony of trumpets, bass, and drums fill the chaotic launch pad, serving as a contrast to the hell that waits for him outside.
"Private, I shouldn't have yelled, you were only worried, I'm sorry" Greywolf admits, with a hint of shame.
The engineer's hands tremble slightly. "I... I'm sorry for overstepping, Sarge..." She flips the switches above her. "Sergeant Weaver Greywolf, you're ready to fire in five..."
Greywolf closes his eyes, humming to the jazz.
"Four..."
He tightens his grip on his gauntlets, looking up at the ash-burdened sky.
"Three..."
The hatch fully opens, catching the attention of a number of soldiers. The Sol Lucen soldiers looking at the Sylverstein with tiny shreds of hope.
"Two!"
The launch pad's gigantic circular outlines light up in dark blue, the mana locking around Greywolf's combat boots.
Strong winds come from the launch pad, both from Greywolf's mana pouring out of him and the mana the pad is emitting to match his. Through the back of his impact shirt, his Sigil finally appears faintly. The head of a gray wolf, with its mouth opening in a howling motion.
"One...!"
Strong winds come from the launch pad, both from Greywolf's mana pouring out of him and the mana the pad is emitting to match his. Through the back of his impact shirt, his Sigil finally appears faintly. The head of a gray wolf, with its mouth opening in a howling motion.
"Viva Sol Lucen, viva Libertas..." Greywolf whispers into the wind, like a silent prayer before a storm.
"Launching!"
The engineer hits the massive red launch button, sending signals to the pad as Greywolf gets hurled into the air. The jazz dies out of his ears as he clings up into the sky, but it keeps playing in his head. The trumpets and bass continuing to thump and play as he climbs higher and higher.
His eyes are shut. He keeps feeling upward momentum pushing him, as his arms are spread out like that of a child. When his ascent slows, a devilish grin envelops his face as his form is consumed by a dark teal cloud of materialized mana.
The Sol Lucen troops below begin to bellow, and laugh, and howl, even the ones wounded and on the verge of death. An Order of Garuda soldier has someone under his spear howling in joy despite his predicament
"W-what are you howling on about?! Your troops are screwed! We're pushing towards your base!" He fidgets and drives the spear deeper.
The Sol Lucen soldier grunts in pain as blood gushes out of his midsection. "Doesn't matter if I'm dead or not by the end of this! He's in the sky! He's here!" He forces out a laugh as he gargles blood.
Another soldier joins him, sitting down by one of the tall trees, peppered with wounds from blades and spells. Heavy, laboring breaths come out of him as smoke comes out of his chest plate.
"Hey, remember the chant our vets said during basic? Oh, when the battle is bleak, don't fret or cry" he sings to the speared soldier beside him on the ground.
"For you know you're saved..." a weak finger points up at a mass of teal colored mana, up above like a second sun. "When the big...bad wolf...takes to...the skies..." he clenched his raised hand into a fist as he be slams it into his blood soaked chestplate loudly, repeatedly, creating a beat
The wounded soldier by the tree follows his beat, as do the soldiers fighting—the shieldmen, the bowmen, the riflemen, the casters, the swordsmen. Every single soldier beats their chest like a loud, resonating drum.
In the sky, Greywolf opens his eyes, the green materialized aura engulfing him.
"Always such a warm welcome..." he smiles from ear to ear with the adoration and honor that he's being showered with.
He faces downwards as his upward momentum dies and he begins to fall. The momentum that threw him up was strong, but the momentum that pulls the commander back to earth gives him the velocity of a shooting star.
The beating of chests gets louder as the men begin to howl in reverence.
"BIG BAD WOLF! BIG BAD WOLF!" the ground soldiers chant in the middle of fighting. The battlefield rumbles witn the best, and the chant, as the ground literally shakes beneath their feet.
The materialized mana engulfing him forms a giant wolf head that contains his body as he falls. Its mouth opens wide as he lets out a guttural howl that spreads throughout the entire rear of the battlefield.
A shockwave runs through the battlefield, reaching the entire southeastern portion of the baffle with a single, powerful howl.
All of those who are reached that go against him and his men suddenly feel the power. The glow on their marks fading.
Panic.
Fear.
"What happened?!" a casting soldier can only yell, the thunder he's casting turning into nothing, as he gets ravaged by a platoon holding swords and maces, leaving only a trail of blood before they lock on someone else.
"That can't be! No!" a flying marked caster bellows as the mana wings that kept him in the air fade away into nothing, as he falls in front of Sol Lucen soldiers who take their time in putting him away.
Morale shoots up for Sol Lucen, the troops reinvigorated by the disarming of their foes. They push forward, hacking, slashing, and casting forward as Greywolf lands in front of an Order of Garuda troop.
"Make it easy for me" he was standing stop a giant Garuda soldier's fallen body.
"Don't resist"
He instantly cuts down three soldiers with his gauntlet in a swift motion, the dark teal mana be emits trailing behind him. Those in front of him shudder in fear...the last thing they will ever fear as he finished them off as well. He was clean, precise, and absolutely terrifying.
Greywolf uses his momentum to carry himself forward at a blinding speed, dispatching soldier after soldier, unit after unit at a speed that no regular human should move. But he does. A Sigil , does. From afar, he looks like a giant, dark teal wolf mauling units left right and center. He was beyond anything the enemy can comprehend or imagine, for to them—he's an absolute nightmare.
When he landed, there were 3,456 soldiers in his chunk of land, as per the Sylverstein scanners. Five minutes later, there are only 2,000 left.
"Sarge! Their Sigil is here! She's up—" the soldier rushing to Greywolf suddenly gets cut open with purple tendrils, exploding him from the inside.
"No!" Greywolf reaches, but is too late, his soldier is reduced to nothing. He clenched his fist and looks forward.
"You " he points at the floating cloaked figure. The long tendrils go back inside her cloak, like a snake slithering back into its hiding spot.
"Clear a path!" he yells as the soldiers push, shoving enemies with them as a path is cleared for him. He takes off, sprinting at full speed, avoiding tendrils, projectiles, and spells as he jumps up and SLAMS the gauntlets against the cloaked figure....but it doesn't penetrate, black and purple tendrils are bunched up, absorbing the impact of the blow. Greywolf jumps back, raising an eyebrow.
"What...are you?" he asked, raising his hands in a boxing style high guard.
The cloaked figure reveals herself, taking off her cloak to reveal a horrific sight. An upper body of a young woman...and a lower body of black and purple tendril-like tentacles. She wears a skin tight bodysuit, with the same hexcomb layered material Greywolf has in his impact shirt, except instead of teal or green—hers was a sinister red.
"Do you think I'm pretty, Sergeant?" she asks him, her face contorting sidewards abnormally, revealing a horrific, blood stained set of shark-like teeth.
"I'll pass, too much teeth, harsh on the skin" he winks at the girl, trying to be humorous, but gets four sets of tendrils sent at him as a response.
"Shit—" he flips backward, before darting forward and attempting to slash her diagonally with his right gauntlet. She catches it with a tentacle, while another tries to drive itself through his exposed set of ribs. Greywolf spins and kicks it away, breaking free from her hold.
"Tsk" he hears a beep on his limiter, two more beeps and it turns off the mana flow from his spine, leaving him vulnerable.
"I'm sorry little lady, I'd love to dance, but I got a ship to save"he quickens his pace, attacking her not in strong singular strikes, but in sets of five, and then darting back to avoid her tendrils. His foe defends well, studying his timing while bunching up her tendrils to defend blows. He swings left and right, combining one-twos and looping hooks.
The limiter on his back begins to let out slow paced beeps, as the lights go from green to a slow blinking red, signaling that he's nearing overuse. He keeps the five punch pattern but mixes it up, feinting high and jabbing low, weaving and countering like a prime heavyweight boxer.
Greywolf catches her with a stiff jab, the blades on the knuckles grazing her cheeks, as it's mostly the broad frontal part of the gauntlet that hits her. "Aww, I missed" he grins.
Greywolf keeps the pattern until on the fifth strike, he lifts his foot like he's about to step back. A tendril shoots out, ripping at the air, perfectly timed for when Greywolf steps back...but he doesn't. He NEEDS to end this here. He suddenly disappears from her sight, the toxic tendril hitting nothing but air.
The enemy Sigil is confused, where did he go? How did he disappear? Until she realizes, he wasn't to her left, or his right....he ducked. She looks down at him, already, swinging, she tries to bunch up her tendrils again and move away but it's no use. Six of her eight tendrils, an arm, and the entire right side of her face are slashed into oblivion with a brutal uppercut. The slash's impact blowing the soldiers behind her back, as they're knocked onto the floor, or into the trees. She tried to strike back at Greywolf, launching her remaining two tendrils in a chaotic frenzy.
The beeps on his limiter grow quicker, the red blinking light goes faster.
"I have to kill you! I have to kill you! For Garuda! FOR GARUDA!" she yells as she does well in pushing him back with her attacks...for a total of seven seconds.
Greywolf looks at her like she was a poor little thing, before slipping his head away from a tendril, slicing it off, grabbing the other and ripping it off with his teeth. He spits out the remains as he throws the girl to the war ridden ground. The girl groans in pain and desparstion, holding the bleeding stumps where her tendrils were, tears going down her cheeks as she looks up at Greywolf pleadingly.
"P-please....the Garuda are making me fight... I didn't want any part in this war! I wanted to be a musician in Vulcan...you have to believe me Sergeant....please save me...you save people, right?"she crawls on her elbows, clutching at his boots, even kissing them reverently.
Greywolf tells the men who were about to advance towards the girl to halt. "What's your name?" he kneels to her, meeting her jagged, purple eyes.
"C-Christina! From Vulcan!" she looks up at him hopefully.
"Christina, you'll be okay, I got you, okay?" the Sergeant caresses her head gently.
"T-thank you Sergeant..." she hid her tongue, secretly a smaller, ninth tendrill. She looks up at him and opens her mouth, attempting to shoot it out of her throat. "For being stupi—"
The claw on the gauntlet on her head activates, driving itself into her head. Her tongue loses its purple, poisonous hue as she falls to the ground.
Death, just like that.
With her death, the Order of Garuda troops lose all morale, sloppily retreating into the forest. Greywolf's soldiers begin chanting and howling in victory, some breathe a sigh of relief, the others slump to the muddy, bloody forest floor. But among all of them, one thing was certain, that they won.
At the Sylverstein, John and the engineer look on in awe. "Woah..." his eyes are like that of a child seeing a superhero. The engineer looks smugly at John. "Do you get it now? Sigils are monsters, private, better let them do their thing and stand back, us regular old folk will only be getting in the way" she smiles, ruffling the young man's hair.
"She's right, you know? Sigils are like rare gems, very precious, very expensive" the ship's main captain, Alvey Arandroso salutes the young private and the engineer. They both stand up and salute back, in an almost panicked speed.
"C-Captain Alvey!" John keeps himself snappy as he offers the captain a peek at the data screen showing the fight.
"My oh my, Weaver's just excellent, isn't he?" the old man in a white and red military uniform dawning multiple medals and stars on his chest chuckles.
John and the engineer look in awe. "Well young man, young lady, set a course for Sol Lucen, we should be heading home soon...?" he turns back to see... A medieval helmet, black, jagged, and with a pointed horn, looking at the screen with them.
"My, oh my, he's good" the man in the helmet said, his voice is muffled, distorted, it doesn't even sound human...he's crouched down in between John and the engineer...when did he...without them noticing...
On the battlefield sighs as he stands up. "I was actually starting to believe you" he looks back at his men. "Tell the troops to regroup, we're gonna land the Sylverstein and get out of here, their forces are retreating" he commands.
The troops nod, as they all begin to regroup as the enemies begin to flee. Greywolf walks towards the Sylverstein was suddenly...
An explosion consumes the main hangar, it was purple and blue, flames enveloping the main bridge.
Panic shoots up Greywolf's spine. "SHIT" was all he could mutter before manifesting his sigil again.
He taps the communication earbud in his ear. "Launch bridge, can you copy?! Engineers! John! JOHN!" he gets no response. He sprints even faster.
John, along with the engineer were on the floor, crawling under a table with the engineer who's broken a leg from the explosion. Red warning lights and a warning siren envelops the room. Broken air pipes letting out mist, as distant footsteps can be heard in the main bridge not too far from them.
"You know I actually wouldn't have made your base blow up if you just told me the location of the stupid goddamn rock" the tall, black figure was holding one of their captains by the collar. The old veteran trembles as he's lifted off his feet. The figure was tall, black, jagged armor that looks medieval covering him. A crackling black and purple sword rests on his side holster. He lifts the captain by the neck.
"I'll ask one more time captain, before I dismember the rest of your crew, and everyone else outside" his voice was muffled, distorted, otherworldly. "Give me the coordinates of the rock" he tightens his hold.