Waterstrider

Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fifthmonth, 1634 PTS

While Triezal and Mung made their way through the Redwater Sect, Triezal checked up on his equipment, keeping track of what was functional and what was not. The concussive blast pad in his chest had been shattered in the battle of the forward base. By some miracle, it seemed to remain functional, but he did not dare to activate it. In all likelihood it would explode again, sending enough shock and fragments into his body to maim or kill him. He decided to wear the armor piece despite this. It would likely take a blow for him, and that was enough for his purposes.

His guns had also survived, and seemed to be in good enough condition to use. The remaining ammunition was limited in quantity, but Triezal was good at managing his resources. Of his two boot attachments, only one had survived in working condition. He felt he could probably make it work, but his agility would certainly be hindered until it was repaired.

All in all, Triezal felt that he was at about a quarter of his normal fighting power at the moment.

They continued to make their way through the sect, steadily progressing further from the sect’s interior. In the distance, Triezal could hear screams and shouting, but was unable to tell whether it was from the attackers or the defenders.

“I recommend we leave, Magister,” said Mung, clearly still wary of reprisal for his betrayal of the sect.

Triezal gave the other man an annoyed look. For someone who had an alien body with far greater physical capabilities than Triezal’s own, Mung Seo was too easily frightened, in his estimation. If all the sect’s Elders were out of the district at the moment, he did not see who could be a threat to the two of them outside of perhaps Juen Hadal himself.

“Not yet,” Triezal insisted. He refused to leave without what had been entrusted to him.

Mung sighed, but made no further comments. If he was not deeply loyal, he would never have been chosen for soul replacement experimentation. So long as he did not realize that Triezal could be considered a traitor to the Epon by this point, he would be as trustworthy and reliable a subordinate as he could hope for.

Personally, though, Triezal would have preferred to be dealing with Lao Feng instead.

They continued creeping through the halls of the sect, but Triezal paused as he heard the sounds of battle somewhere ahead of them. Quietly, he shambled closer, wishing to grow his understanding of the situation.

Triezal turned the corner to see a dark smoke filling the hall, and he was somewhat taken aback by it. He frowned, squinting as he tried to peer through the dense mist. Within, he could hear sounds of grunting and heavy impacts, implying that a fight was going on inside. But there was no sound of clashing steel, no impacts of metal on metal. Whoever was fighting here, they were not using blades.

He turned his head to see Mung’s reaction, but the martial artist seemed to share Triezal’s own confusion.

“Are there any manifest practitioners in the sect who make this sort of smoke?” he asked.

Mung shook his head.

“Not that I know of. Though I haven’t been here for all too long.”

Triezal pursed his lips as he vaguely saw shadows moving within the mist. He stepped a bit closer, his eyes straining as he was finally able to discern the details of the battle.

If he was being honest, Triezal would have to say that the battle almost looked silly. All of the combatants were emitting thick auras of miasma, and the black smoke which surrounded all of them did little but suppress the miasma to remain right beside the combatant’s bodies. It appeared that two sanguine practitioners wielding what appeared to be their own fingernails as weapons were fighting with a staff-wielding practitioner of the genesis path. Juen Hadal, Triezal vaguely remembered, was a staff-wielder.

There was much that was odd with the current situation, Triezal thought, but the matters did not fully clarify themselves to him until the man who was possibly the target pressured one of his opponents, forcing them to step back near the edge of the smog. That was when he realized that it was not a practitioner after all.

Triezal breathed out slowly. He had never seen one of the rare members of this race before, but it was still easy for him to recognize them. These were Reth.

It seemed, he thought, that his captivity was not the only secret that the Redwater Sect had been hiding in its interior. This was huge news, and something that might be able to drive the wedge between the Redwater Sect and the Hadal Clan, to create an insurmountable gap.

Unless the clan left Sunlit Hall, it was their obligation to eradicate any Reth they encountered.

The corner of Triezal’s mouth upturned slightly as a wave of ideas flowed through his mind.

“How interesting,” he muttered. Beside him, Mung Seo had a surprised expression on his face.

Knowing that he was not in a condition to interfere, while Mung Seo’s abilities were simply too lacking to participate, the two of them simply watched as the Reth duo’s advantage slowly accumulated. Despite being weaker individually, the two cooperated well to continually pressure Juen, and reduce the opportunities available to him.

In fact, Triezal realized, Juen was not moving all that much. Instead, he was standing in one position, guarding himself from the relentless assault of the two aliens. For him, at least, this posed quite the excellent opportunity.

Triezal stretched his arm out, carefully setting his aim. His arm was oriented perfectly, directed right at the head of Juen Hadal.

“Don’t you think you want to speak again, Rachel?” he asked, his attention unwavering. “I feel we might be able to come to an agreement, now.”

“Do you really wish to break the goodwill between us?” she asked, her tone clearly curt..

Triezal snorted crudely, unable to suppress a chuckle.

“What goodwill? You were the ones who imprisoned me for days. Return my knife to me, and then you’ll have a foundation to speak of goodwill and cooperation.”

Rachel paused for a moment, as if needing to consider the matter.

“What if I told you that it isn’t here?” she asked, her voice softer. “Cyrus took it with him.”

Hearing this, Triezal’s eyes narrowed. If her words were legitimate, he might as well give up now. However, he was not so easily convinced.

“A man like the Riverfiend wouldn’t have taken it with him,” he said. “He would have been more confident having it kept somewhere he felt was safe.”

In reality, Triezal did not know this. He did not know the man very well, after all. They had only met twice. It was sufficient to leave an impression, but not enough to learn such miniscule details of his psyche.

Rachel sighed, and Triezal got the sense that she was feeling the pressure. He smiled, himself feeling like his bluff had paid off. The gun was still carefully aimed at Juen, and Triezal was ready at any moment to fire if need be.

It was something that Triezal had learned when he was younger. No matter the consequences, never make a threat you were not willing to complete. Your enemy would always call your bluff if you were the type to make promises you could not or would not fulfill. For this reason, Triezal was ready and waiting to take Juen’s life. It would not, after all, be difficult to explain to the others upon his return that he had taken the life of a Hadal clan spirit refiner. In the current war situation, that was the goal of his faction, after all.

After a short pause, Rachel sighed again.

“Fine. It’s stored under Cyrus’ desk. One of the drawers has a false backing,” she said.

Triezal smiled, but did not let down his guard. It was possible that she was lying, and intended to waste his time on a wild goose chase.

“Send one of the disciples to bring it to us,” he said. “I’m not feeling the most trust, at the moment.”

The sound of a laugh echoed from the walls in response, making Triezal feel slightly unnerved despite himself. He was not fully confident that he could maintain his grasp upon the situation, but he felt that it was vital that he try and take as much advantage of this opportunity as possible. He paid close attention to every shift of the battle, but did not close off his senses, careful to listen for signs of another party approaching, and perhaps throwing the situation into further chaos.

“Keep an eye out,” he told Mung.

He would be surprised if Rachel did not try anything.

Black Bullet PMC: [A Staiven-owned company, this mercenary force largely accepts corporate hires, though they are not unwilling to dabble in extrajudicial work on occasion. Black Bullet is one of the most diverse forces on the station, as its leader is a firm believer that each species has its own specialty in warfare, and that by combining them, they would acquire a competitive advantage in the mercenary industry of Tseludia. As the company has become the third strongest mercenary group on the station, some have claimed its founder’s idea had merit. Forty percent ownership of this PMC belongs to the Church of Verain.]