Waterstrider

Little Celah, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fifthmonth, 1634 PTS

It was interesting, I found, to face off against both martial artists and aliens at the same time. To a certain extent, the combination of fighting against both ranged and close-combat attacks by the mercenaries actually reminded me of my fights with Celan enforcers, to a certain extent. Or it would, if the mercenary practitioners had been at the spirit refiner level. In practice, only the aliens were any threat to me, in particular the Telaretian and her advanced weapon.

Wide bolts of light emanated from an aperture at the front end of the boxy structure of the device Rachel had referred to as a ‘plasma catapult.’ Personally, I did not see any relation between the device and my understanding of a catapult. Rather than the question about the weapon’s name, however, I was more worried about handling its output. Judging from how easily it tore a several inch wide hole through one of my subordinates, it was certainly powerful enough to threaten me if it were to impact me. While it did not fire as rapidly as a machine gun, it was still quite fast. But I was someone who could dodge my way through the interlocking fields of fire of an enforcer. Despite her best efforts, Jhrask had little odds of successfully hitting me with the weapon.

I had been facing the other way when I first heard the sounds of weapons fire, but I had not been unprepared for a surprise attack. I was not such a fool that I would trust a mercenary who had been hired by somebody else. Particularly given the present situation. I dove to the ground, quickly rolling back to my feet as my body morphed and rebounded, speeding up the rate of my movements. As time passed, I was becoming more and more proficient in how I used my new physique, learning tricks that greatly assisted in boosting my overall combat power. In time, I felt it might become one of my greatest assets.

One of the bolts passed mere centimeters away from my flesh, and I intensely felt the power of the superheated plasma projectile as it went by. This was the interesting part about advanced warfare, I thought. It was far easier to destroy than to defend, and so all combatants were ultimately glass cannons, firing at one another. The ability to dodge truly was the most important tool of a warrior.

I ducked beneath another plasma round, steadily progressing closer and closer to the wildly firing Telaretian mercenary. She took a step backwards, intimidated by my charge, but my eyes were firmly kept on the direction her weapon was pointed, keeping close track of where the bolts would go. If I knew that, the chances of me being hit were minimal.

From the corner of my eyes, I could see Orion and the others doing their part. I saw a few of the weaker martial artists take bullets, but Orion took advantage of his manifested stone to partially deflect the enemy’s bullets. Most of the firearms were of Staiven make, however, and there was only so much he could do to handle the superheated slugs of metal coming directly towards him. What he could do, however, was fully restrain the martial artists among them, whose primary role simply seemed to be protecting the firing line.

Orion’s whips, however, were too much for them to handle. As one of the searing-hot strands impacted her arm with a hissing noise, Eitian cursed, clearly threatened and angered by the fact that we were not dead yet.

The river rushed in and through me, and in moments, I had reached Jhrask’s side despite the considerable amount of focused fire that the mercenaries had poured towards me. I merely ducked, dodged, and leapt my way through the gunfire, only taking the lightest of surface wounds as I reached them. With a final dash, I reached the Telaretian woman, and I raised my sword up, preparing myself to deliver a powerful flurry of blows.

Jhrask tried desperately to dodge, to point her weapon towards me, but there was nothing she could do to restrain the force of the overpowering slashes which collided into her, tearing through the armor and slicing past her mortal body. The first took the hand holding her firearm, while the second tore through her chest. There was no need for a third. She fell to the ground, trying desperately to breathe with her ruined lungs. Even for a person such as myself this might have been a fatal blow, much less a mortal like her.

“Jhrask!” shouted Eitian, her brow furrowed with rage. A flake of yellowed skin fell from her forehead, loosened by the motion.

It seemed, I thought, that she had been very close with her Telaretian lieutenant. That might make matters more difficult.

With the only real threat down, I moved towards Eitian, who had been rescued from Orion by her martial artist subordinates. But while they could restrain my Iron Palace Leader by working together, I could handle them no matter how many stood before me. I reached Eitian even more rapidly than I had arrived before her lieutenant. This time, I dealt with the issue without even having to deliver a blow. My pommel cracked into her shoulder, causing her to drop her gun, and with my left hand, I released the hilt of my sword to grip the neck plate of her armor, pulling her towards me, and lifted her off of the ground. Her feet dangled aimlessly as she gripped at her throat, trying to kick me or pull my hands off. I ignored her, as she had no hope of success.

The fighting spirit of the remaining mercenaries seemed to have died with their leader’s capture, and they quickly turned to flee. I allowed them to leave, not caring to clear them out. My true enemy was not them, but their employer.

Eitian cursed as she watched her subordinates abandon her, shouting several words in Staiven that were not part of the vocabulary I had learned. It was all in vain, as not a single one turned to assist. They were not so foolish, it seemed.

“Did they really believe they had a chance?” asked Orion, breathing heavily as he watched their escape. “One weapon wielded by a mortal is certainly not enough to handle a spirit refiner.”

Scrapes and grazes covered his body, and a large chunk of his leg appeared to be missing, clearly having been impacted by a bolt of plasma, judging by the size and cauterized nature of the wound. His face was slightly pale, but he was holding together admirably, barely even expressing the impact of such devastating wounds. I was impressed that he still had the energy to insult them, given his condition.

“Speak for yourself,” said Rachel, her projection appearing beside Jhrask’s corpse, seeming to be inspecting it. “You look like shit.”

Orion let out a forced, ragged laugh.

“I’m not yet a spirit refiner.”

“And how good do you think your chances of becoming one are?” she replied, sneering at him. “By the way, pick up this weapon, one of you. It would fetch quite a hefty price on the black market.”

I glanced over, following her gaze, and realized that despite her death, the Telaretian mercenary’s firearm remained largely undamaged. I picked it up, giving the device a quick inspection, but found it largely uninteresting. I passed it off to a nearby surviving member of our force. Carrying the thing would reduce his combat value, but I did not place much value into the capabilities of meridian refiners anyway. They were mostly present to fill the numbers and make convenient meat shields if necessary.

In terms of combat utility, such slow, plodding individuals might as well be mortals, from my current perspective.

I turned back to Eitian, who was thoroughly restrained by the force of my grip. Even though I had no particular abilities enhancing my strength, the physical might of a spirit refiner was simply on another level compared to a mortal Staiven.

“I’ll ask you again,” I said. “Who hired you to kill me?”

“I won’t tell you anything,” she sneered, her words spoken even more violently than I had predicted. She was clearly shaken up, but not in any way which might be beneficial to me. “I hope you fall to their next attempt.”

“So she expects there to be another,” Rachel noted. “I would be surprised if it wasn’t the Ceirrans again.”

I nodded in agreement. At the moment, the Celans and the other Hadal factions were too busy to antagonize me too much, and I couldn’t think of any other rich figures who might want me aside aside from perhaps Sioan, who had attempted to get me arrested. But I doubted she had the ability to know I would be present today.

Eitian attempted to spit some foul Staiven liquid at me, so I dropped her, sending her sprawling to the ground beneath me, as I pondered what to do with her. She made the decision easily, as she scrambled for a discarded firearm just a few steps away. She didn’t seem willing to comply, I thought. Torture was probably a waste of time as well, given the current circumstances. Moreover, she seemed to hate me. I felt it was better to tie off the loose ends.

With a single swipe of my blade, Eitian’s head fell from her body, and toppled to the ground with a muffled thump, falling upon the weapon she had been attempting to claim. I lifted the edge of my robe, and carefully wiped my sword clean of blood before returning it to its sheath. While it was incapable of rust or dulling, I had always felt it would be disrespectful to leave it in poor condition.

Now that the matter was over, I turned to Rachel. There was something which had annoyed me.

“I’m curious why you didn’t warn me of their plans to attack us,” I said, glaring at her. “They must have said something about it,between all that whispering they were doing.”

She merely laughed in response.

“Isn’t it fine?” she asked. “You weren’t even injured.”

I glanced over to the wounded Orion, and the eight dead Redwater practitioners on the ground, and hesitated, before deciding to let the matter go. Orion would survive, and I had wished for the gangsters originally co-opted into the sect to either die or prove themselves, anyway. This was no serious loss for us.

Wasting no additional time, I stepped over the bodies as I made my way towards the exit. As I did so, I glanced back towards Orion. He was being assisted by one of his subordinates. Li Qing, I thought his name was.

“We’re going to meet up with Jihan and then get out of here. There’s no point in bothering to continue if this keeps up.”

He nodded with a grimace.

“We’re taking heavy losses, anyway.”

I turned back, leading the way for the survivors as we began to make our way outside. Though there were likely more enemies out there, I felt it was more beneficial if we knew what we were dealing with. Comparatively, inside the building I could not help but be concerned about just what the Leader of the Heirs had been hinting at.

“Rachel, tell Jihan to turn back and head for the nearest exit,” I commanded, turning to look at her.

“I already did,” she replied. “They’re currently attempting to disengage from battle.”

I frowned. Just how many Celans were still hiding inside the building?

“Again?” I asked.

She smirked, her vibrant eyes seeming to twinkle.

“They encountered something that I find quite interesting.”

Circumstances of the Telaretian Race: [Though occasionally, Telaretian planets are slated for harvest, the species is mostly allowed to freely spread throughout Osine territory due to their historical importance, provided they do not interfere with cultivated worlds. They are also considered to make suitable mortal forces for the ongoing war with the Khalak-Ora, and remain one of the most populous races in the galaxy despite their decline. Despite their vast population, relatively few Telaretians choose to reside within the Pantheonic Territory, not wishing to live the life of a second class citizen.]