Valiant: Tales From The Archive

[CURSEd #19: Conscript of Fate]

Log Date: 9/27/12764

Data Sources: Darrow Bennion

Event Log: Darrow Bennion

Keinoct: Krensiberri Jungle

5:59pm SGT

“I don’t understand.” I say, watching out the window at the mountainous jungle our troop transport is cruising over. “This world could easily support life. Already does support life, actually. Why is it uninhabited?”

“On paper, Keinoct is designated as an ecological preserve by the Conservium of Shifter States.” SCION states from the holoarray in the center of the troop cabin. It’s mostly empty, though; Ironfist and I are the only ones on the transport, aside from the pilot and copilot up in the cockpit. “Intelligence, however, indicates that there are likely ulterior motives for this designation, in the same manner that the Viralix Empire was using the preserve status to keep unwanted visitors off Chibundi.”

“Seems to be a common tactic.” I remark.

“It is.” Ironfist confirms. “It allows national governments to keep people off certain worlds, or out of certain systems, without having to designate them as military resources, which would then make them valid targets in an armed conflict. They can then use those worlds or systems for secret projects or initiatives kept away from the public eye.”

“As with the Chibundi mission, we are here without the permission of the government that owns this system.” SCION continues. “We are working off intelligence acquired from a resource within the CSS government stating that there are ruins on this planet dating back to the years of the War. Our source states that excavation and salvage teams from the Conservium dig through these ruins, aiming to recover any residual technology left over from the War, either to be studied, or to be sold at premium rates to interested parties who would like to study or utilize the recovered relics.”

“Wasn’t the War like. Ten thousand years ago?” I point out. “Don’t get me wrong, but the life cycle on a standard data slate is like… ten years. I’m pretty sure any tech from a hundred centuries ago is way past its expiration date.”

“A valid observation; however, according to our source, the technology in question is thought to be Shyl-tari in nature, and thus highly durable and long-lived.” SCION explains patiently. “Research from CURSE’s archaeology department confirms that Keinoct is strongly believed to be one of the many worlds conquered by the Shyl-tari during the War. In the years after the War, as various factions undertook the work of clearing out pockets of Shyl-tari resistance that remained after their defeat, it is thought that the entirety of Keinoct’s population was wiped out by the Dark Dragine, who were known to have a zero-tolerance approach to surviving Shyl-tari conclaves. This is the prevailing hypothesis for why Keinoct has ruins, but no native population, and for why the Conservium is trying to mine any intact, leftover relics from the ruins.”

“Ah. So we may be tromping around genocide grounds.” I surmise. “Good to know.”

SCION doesn’t acknowledge the remark. “Both of you have already been briefed on the purpose and objective of this mission, which is to obtain one such relic. The additional context for this mission is that the location and discovery of the relic was disclosed to us by our source within the CSS, who states that multiple teams have been incapacitated or gone rogue while trying to secure the relic. It is believed to be giving off something akin to psi radiation, and the CSS was working on assembling a specialized team to retrieve the relic. Until then, the relic site has been cordoned off, and automated defenses have been deployed to guard it.”

“And so this is our window to smash the defenses and snag the relic while the CSS is busy getting together their specialist team in some other part of the galaxy.” Ironfist surmises.

“Correct. You will get deploy, disable the defenses, find any surveillance equipment, and destroy its memory units while the transport loiters at the site and jams communications to prevent the automated defenses from sending back any data that would identify our involvement here.” SCION says. “After that, you will secure the relic, return to the Equalizer, and return the relic to the HQ.”

“Pretty standard smash-and-grab, then.” I say, glancing out the window again. We’re now crossing over a valley, and I can see the overgrown remnants of what used to be a city. The partially-collapsed skyscrapers are what gives it away; over the last ten thousand years, nearly everything else has been worn down by time or consumed into the jungle.

“Is there a reason we couldn’t ask the Conservium to give us the relic? Or buy it?” Ironfist says. “Seems a little underhanded to be stealing it while their backs are turned.”

“Shyl-tari relics are prohibitively expensive. While we do not lack for financial solvency, buying one would be unhealthy for CURSE’s ledger.” SCION explains. “Functional Shyl-tari relics often sell at or above the price point of Dragine artifacts, since they are comparable in terms of utility and research value. The reason the relics sometimes sell at a higher price point is because the Dragine have made a habit of destroying any traces of Shyl-tari influence whenever they find it, making Shyl-tari relics rarer even than Dragine artifacts.”

“What does the Conservium do with all that money, if they’re not keeping the relics for themselves?” I ask. “Dragine artifacts go for hundreds of billions of credits; they’re more valuable than the entire GDP of most populated moonworlds. If Shyl-tari relics sell for more than that…”

“We do not have comprehensive insight into the financial affairs of the CSS.” SCION states. “However, if I were to hazard a guess, the revenue is likely put to multiple uses. The most obvious one that springs to mind is funding research for solving Shifter cell degradation.”

“Well, if you’re gonna throw money down a hole, that’s not a bad hole to throw it down, I suppose.” I say. Any further conversation is interrupted as the intercom clicks on, and the pilot’s voice comes through.

“Peacekeepers, it looks like there’s a complication. We’re going to take an arc around the target site so you can see what it is.” With that, I feel the transport start to turn, and I look back out the window as Ironfist lumbers over to glance out the window as well.

We appear to be circling the remains of what looks like a toppled skyscraper. At this point, it looks like only the first six or seven floors are standing; the jungle around it appears to have been cleared out, revealing the remains of old roads and other buildings on the block. But what really gets our attention are a couple of plumes of smoke rising from the automated turrets that were set up to guard the base of the skyscraper. Scattered across the cleared area are six-legged security drones that have been smashed, broken, or cut apart.

“Someone else got here before us.” Ironfist mutters. “Those turrets are still bleeding smoke, so it was recent. They may still be here.”

“I don’t see any vessels parked down there.” I say, studying the cleared area around the skyscraper. “Pilot, do we have anything on the scanners?”

“Nothing that we can see from this altitude. Our scan range will decrease even further when we set down to drop you two off.” the pilot replies over the intercom.

“I don’t like this.” I murmur, sizing up the site as the transport continues in a wide circle around it. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with, whether it’s an individual or a group. If we go down there we might easily end up outnumbered. And we don’t have reinforcements that can quickly be deployed with us; this was supposed to be a quick mission, in and out. It’ll take the Equalizer at least a couple of hours to get a transport with an equipped operative team down here.”

“We don’t have that long.” Ironfist says. “Whoever smashed the perimeter defenses might already be grabbing the relic. We need to get down there and at least try to contest it, or this trip will have been a waste of time and resources.”

“I hate to agree, but you’re right.” I concede. “Pilot, take us down. We’re going to go in hot. Try to find somewhere to park the transport where it won’t be easily noticeable from above, in case other parties return to pick up whoever’s here. And keep the engines running; we might end up having to book it out of here if things go south.”

“Copy that. We’ll come in for landing when we circle back around.”

I bring up my suit’s menu on my forearm plate, sorting through the functionalities I’ve got disabled right now. “SCION, you said the relic was giving off something akin to psi radiation?”

SCION’s hologram folds its arms behind its back. “As far as was reported by our source. Based on what was disclosed to us, I am to understand that continuous exposure was the issue; recovery teams only started breaking down or going rogue after a twenty-four hours. So long as your exposure is limited to less than half of that, I believe that any effects on you should be minimal, and we have a special containment chamber prepared aboard the Equalizer to prevent the rest of the crew from being exposed.”

“Still not gonna risk it. I’m going in with my suit’s psi shielding active.” I say, toggling the option on the menu before looking up to Ironfist. “I don’t know if you’ve got anything equivalent, Ironfist. The Axiom suit is a unique design, so…”

“Phoenix will protect me. Trust me when I tell you that I am uniquely equipped for handling Shyl-tari heresy.” Ironfist says, picking up his helm and checking it over before he looks towards SCION. “Atmosphere here is breathable, yes?”

“The standard nitro-oxy mix, yes. Courtesy of terraforming that was undertaken several thousand years prior to the War. Gravity is slightly above standard and may require acclimation for a longer stay, but your suits will compensate and this mission is not expected to last more than a few hours.” SCION answers. “Should you encounter stronger resistance than expected, I will remind you that retreat is an option. The Equalizer is in orbit and will be able to track any vessels trying to extract competing forces from the site. Even if we cannot contend with them on the ground, we will likely be able to contend with them as they try to exit into low orbit.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that point.” Ironfist says, pulling his helm on and locking it into place as the transport starts to descend for a landing. “On your feet, Axiom. We’re about to go ruin some raider’s day.”

By the time the transport sets down, I’m standing at the side door along with Ironfist. As it slides open, we step out onto leaf-strewn dirt next to a building collapsing under the weight of the trees growing on its roof. I have a feeling that there may have once been asphalt roads and concrete sidewalks here, but time has buried them beneath an accumulated layer of dirt and leaf litter.

“I will remain in contact with you for as long as the signal from the transport’s comms array holds; however, the remains of the buildings here may be shielded, or the thickness of the collapsed rubble may inhibit transmission.” SCION says within our helms as we start through the cleared area, heading to the collapsed skyscraper. “I will continue to provide analytical support for you as long as the connection holds.”

“Much appreciated.” I say, glancing at Ironfist through my visor. “Ironfist, you want me to take point? I’m more heavily armored, so…”

Ironfist smiles down through his visor at me, clapping a gauntleted hand on my shoulder. “You’re adorable.” With that, he moves ahead, walking past one of the wrecked perimeter turrets. “I opted for the partial power armor because I was looking forward to a challenge. If I’d brought my own power armor, this would’ve been too easy.”

I shrug, reaching back and grabbing my axe handle as the clamps holding it to my back unlock and release it. “Far be it from me to deprive you.” I glance at the destroyed turret as I walk past it. “…this damage looks like it was melee in nature. I’m not seeing any melt damage from plasma bolts or breach marks from coilgun spikes; looks like the whole thing was smashed in from the top.”

“Aye.” Ironfist agrees. “If you notice the footprints around the turret, you’ll see that some of them are pretty large. Whatever did that is at least as big as me. Maybe even bigger.” There’s a hint of anticipation in his voice, as if he was looking forward to throwing down with whatever destroyed the perimeter turrets.

I raise an eyebrow as we started down a wide, convex set of steps that lead down to the base of the skyscraper, shrinking in radius as they go. “You’re almost eight feet tall without the suit, Ironfist. I would rather not fight something that’s bigger than you.”

“Size is just a number, Axiom. Just ask Whisper; she fights plenty of things that are bigger than her and still comes out on top.”

“Point taken.” I say, studying the piles of rubble on either side of the stairs. It looks like the salvage teams that the CSS sent here had to do some excavation in order to reach the front entrance of the skyscraper. “So… this might sound a little dumb, but what exactly do Shyl-tari relics do?”

“Their functions vary, and are not entirely transparent. They are akin to Dragine artifacts in that regard; we know that they have purpose and function, but deciphering that purpose is difficult given how advanced the relics are, and the difficulties in decoding and interfacing with them.” SCION answers. “Harnessing a Shyl-tari relic’s potential is often a matter of trial and error, and in most cases where one is able to harness them, it is rarely in the manner that the relic was intended to be used. Barring the guidance of the original creators, it is unlikely that any of the harnessed relics are being used to the fullest of their potential.”

“Looks like it rained recently.” Ironfist says, splashing into pool of water at the bottom of the stairs. “I don’t suppose it should come as a surprise, but the public drainage doesn’t appear to be working after thirteen thousand years without maintenance.”

“The sewers have likely long since filled with dirt and debris after being clogged or blocked at their outflow points.” SCION observes. “However, any contaminants resulting from sapient waste have long since decayed or decomposed. This is likely just rainwater runoff filled with the usual bacterial load. I wouldn’t call it safe to drink, but nothing to be concerned about since your suits are sealed.”

“Good to know it’s just rainwater and not sewer waste.” I say as I wade into the water behind Ironfist. It comes up to my knee, creating a bit of a drag on my stride, but otherwise not much of an obstacle. Ahead of me, the lights of Ironfist’s suit click on as he tromps into the darkened lobby, and the lights on my suit do the same as I follow him into the dark.

“SCION, did the source say where the relic was in the building?” Ironfist asks as we walk past a decomposed pile that might’ve once been a reception desk.

“An exact location was not given; however, the relic was implied to be centrally located and highly visible, as if it was the core of worship or emblematic of the Shyl-tari regime at the time.” SCION replies, some static starting to creep into his voice. “I am sure you can infer what my recommendation would be, given that information.”

“That almost felt like a compliment.” Ironfist says, wading his way through another doorway and into a hallway leading deeper into the building. “You’re starting to break up a little, SCION.”

“Yes, the connection is faltering. There’s a lot of rubble in the way.” SCION replies, the crackling on the line more pronounced now. “You two are likely close enough that your comms will work just fine, but I may be fading out here in just a moment. Please remember to adhere to the buddy system and do not split u…”

SCION’s voice fades off into garbled white noise at that point, petering out soon after. Ironfist doesn’t break stride though, still trundling forward and checking the occasional doorway we come across. “Finally.” Ironfist mutters. “I thought he’d never fade out.”

I find that a little surprising; though I couldn’t really say I knew Ironfist all that well, I’d never seen him telegraph a dislike of SCION before. “Do you not like him?” I ask tentatively.

“It is not necessarily that I dislike him.” Ironfist replies, pausing in the hall to glance up at a hole in the ceiling where it looks like debris has fallen through, surfacing a small mound just above the water’s level. “There is something about him that just sets me the wrong way. Though I may be conflating it with this mission in general; it does not sit right with me.”

“Yeah, the whole theft angle is a little iffy, but—” I begin.

“It is not the theft, though that does bother me, but to a lesser degree.” Ironfist says quickly. “It is the fact that we are being tasked with retrieving a Shyl-tari relic, presumably to harness its power.”

“Tenji told me we could use it as a tool to help counter the Valiant.” I say, feeling somewhat obliged to defend the purpose of the mission. “And with the drubbing we took at the Cradle, we honestly need something to help level the playing field.”

Ironfist looks back at me for a moment, then starts trudging forward once more. “What do you know about the Shyl-tari?” he asks.

I scour my memory as I follow him, but find that I’m coming up dry. “Just that they were part of the War. And even that happened so long ago that historians are unsure of the details. All that’s left are stories that have been distorted over countless generations, to the point that they’ve become myths, and there’s no way to tell what’s fact and what’s fiction.”

“Many of the stories have become corrupted, but they still capture a broader truth. Even if historians and researchers and archaeologists refuse to acknowledge that truth.” Ironfist says. “The Shyl-tari were real. The damage they did when they invaded Myrrdicato is unquestionable. There are ruins on countless systems across the galaxy that attest to that period of calamity. And there is a reason the Dragine tried to destroy every trace of Shyl-tari influence they could find. That psi radiation SCION warned us about isn’t psi radiation, or at least not exclusively that. It’s something called Conviction.”

I don’t exactly know what to make of that. “Alright, so… what is this Conviction? Is it radiation, or…?”

“I suppose you could describe it that way; that’s certainly the way it comes across in the old stories.” Ironfist says, slowing to a halt as we come up against a cave-in in the hall. He turns around, motioning to an auxiliary hall we passed earlier. “Back that way. As told by the myths, many consequential Shyl-tari relics radiated Conviction. It was an unseen force that would, with enough exposure, slowly incline people into believing Shyl-tari tenets. It was not immediate, mind you; it was a gradual effect, something that took place over the course of a month or more, dependent on the level of exposure. The Shyl-tari turned entire worlds by deploying their relics across the surface of planets and saturating them in Conviction.”

“So it’s basically a mind-control machine.” I surmise, turning the corner into the auxiliary hall and starting to wade through the water there.

“No, or at least that’s not its primary purpose. The vast majority of relics gave off Conviction as a secondary effect. Most relics had other uses, which is probably what Tenji wants this one for.” Ironfist says. “But that is the danger of the relics. The Shyl-tari deliberately engineered them that way, because they knew there would be people that would seek to harness the relics for other reasons. And as they do so, they are slowly converted to the Shyl-tari way of thinking. They seek power, but in attaining it, they become slaves to the Shyl-tari belief system.”

“Okay, but what is that belief system?” I ask, navigating the substantially narrower hall that we’ve found ourselves in, carefully stepping over another pile of rubble. “Like, you’ve said that they’re bad, and they invaded the galaxy millennia ago, and brainwashed entire worlds, but what’s so bad about them? What do they believe in?”

“The Shyl-tari believe that everyone deserves a chance to live a happy, fulfilling life, full of meaning and purpose.” Ironfist explains. “Everyone, not just a few people. Not just the people at the top, not just the rich, not just the popular, but everyone truly deserves a life with purpose and meaning and happiness.”

“Alright, well… I’m not totally disagreeing with them.” I say doubtfully.

“What if I told you the price for this is that you have to give up your free will?” Ironfist says.

I open my mouth, then close it. “Oh… like. How do you mean?”

“The price of the Shyl-tari paradise is your free will.” Ironfist says. “Because in the Shyl-tari philosophy, free will is the curse that makes this universe flawed. It is the disease that has given rise to all the evil in the universe. We experience crime, we have atrocities, precisely because every living creature is given free will, and has the ability to use it how they wish, even if that wish is to inflict misery upon others. Evil does not exist without free will.”

I start to say something in response, only to find that I don’t have any words. My reflexive response is to say no, that’s wrong, except I realize that it’s not wrong. “Shit, that’s… actually a good point. But if people don’t have free will, that means there has be someone in charge, telling everyone what to do. And they have to obey.”

“Precisely. The Shyl-tari themselves are deities, and that is the promise they make to those that believe on them and worship them.” Ironfist says as we emerge back out into one of the wider halls. “Give up your free will, and we will create a paradise for you. Without crime, without war, without prejudice or cruelty — a society without all the horrors that free will makes possible.”

“But you wouldn’t be able to choose it.” I point out. “It wouldn’t be a perfect society because you chose it; it would be perfect because someone told everybody else what to do and how to do it, and you would do it whether you wanted to or not.”

“You would.” Ironfist agrees. “But you’d get to live the life you wanted to live. The Shyl-tari would give you what you wanted. All you have to do is follow the path they mapped out for you to get there. And that path is the only path you can take; there are no other options.”

I shake my head as we come out into another hall, this one rounded and looking like it encircles the center of the building. “I dunno. That doesn’t sit right with me. But… I do see why that would be attractive to some people. Especially people that have miserable lives, or are poor, or stuck in jobs they hate. Especially if they feel like they don’t have very much control over their lives to begin with. Giving up your free will probably doesn’t seem like a big sacrifice if it feels like nothing you do matters, or if life takes a shit on you no matter what choices you make.”

“Exactly. The Shyl-tari prey on the misbegotten, the downtrodden, the outcasts. They offer these people everything that their society had denied them, if only they will yield up their free will to the Shyl-tari.” Ironfist says, moving ahead of me and taking point once more. “And furthermore, they deliver. What they offer is not a deception; the Shyl-tari use their control over their adherents to form a perfect society, and the power granted by their belief to warp reality and make perfect what cannot be perfected by mortal hands. It is why they have survived so many aeons, outlasting so many other religions: they deliver on their promises, and so their believers are never discontent with them. But you could argue that without their free will, their believers are never allowed to feel discontent with them. Once you have given up your free will to them, you are filled with the love of the Shyl-tari — a prisoner to the sense of meaning you find in their service.”

“How do you know all this?” I ask, water sloshing around the ankles of my suit as I plod along behind him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you didn’t really strike me as the academic sort.”

“I wasn’t.” he admits frankly. “But in my later years, it seems I’ve mellowed out a bit. I’ve found that I’m starting to enjoy documentaries more. But that is not where this knowledge comes from, and any historian you speak to would tell you that everything I’ve told you is hypothesis, conjecture, and theory, since the Shyl-tari have long since been driven out of Myrrdicato after having been dealt a mortal blow during the War. No, Axiom, I know what I know because it told to me by Arcadia Phoenix, my goddess, who participated in that War when it happened. I know that is a bit of a stretch in this faithless day and age, but that is the power to which I owe my knowledge, and I stand by it.”

I need a moment to process his answer. Yeah, it’s a bit of a stretch to say you’re getting your information from a higher power. Streetcorner-prophet kind of stuff. But then again, there was that whole encounter last year where we summoned a demon lord from hell that was apparently a distant relative of Kwyn’s. That was pretty wild. Getting a history lesson from a goddess seemed fairly tame in comparison.

So I shrug. “I believe you.” I say simply.

“I was expecting more pushback than that.” Ironfist says, sounding pleasantly surprised.

“Well, I’ve been present at the summoning of a demon lord, so I can’t exactly say that the supernatural is completely unproven.” I say, ducking under a collapsed girder from the floor above.

Ironfist looks over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. “…is there something we need to discuss, Axiom?”

“Oh no no no!” I say quickly. “I don’t, like, worship demons, promise, it was just a mission-related thing, like strictly work-related, promise. I wasn’t even doing the summoning, I was just there to, y’know, to provide security and protection. I grew up in a Christling household, so, y’know, no demons here. I’m clean.”

“I should hope so.” Ironfist says. “Demons are nothing to be trifled with. Demon lords are particularly clever and capricious.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I say, thinking back to how smooth and charismatic the Blackthorn Demon was. “But uhm, so… this thing we’re grabbing, this Shyl-tari relic. It’s gonna be giving off this Conviction?”

“Almost assuredly. Just as the Dragine artifacts give off radiation of their own, the Shyl-tari relics radiate Conviction, typically on a low level. Though this relic may be damaged or malfunctioning, if it is driving the recovery teams to madness.” Ironfist says as we near a gap in the wall that looks like it leads into a wide atrium in the center of the collapsed skyscraper. “I will counsel Tenji against the use of this relic, though I doubt she will listen. Her concern over the rise of the Valiant is strong, and she wants to do everything in her power to protect what CURSE has built over the past fifteen years. I can’t blame her; we’ve worked hard to bring peace and stability to the galaxy, and now it’s starting to unravel. She is doing everything she can on the political and operational front to hold it together, but I fear her dedication to CURSE’s mission as the great stabilizer may lead the organization down some paths that should not be traveled.”

“And you think this path is one of them.” I surmise.

“It has considerable risks, that much is indisputable.” Ironfist says as we round the gap into the central atrium. “I would much prefer to deal with a Dragine arti… fact…”

“Because Dragine artifacts do not warp your mind the way a Shyl-tari relic will.”

Both of us stop dead just inside the threshold, tensing up. Within the atrium is a stacked dais that rises up slightly in the center of the room, as if to showcase something in a central location. But sitting on the top row of the dais is something I was not expecting: an old(ish?) man with a dense, thick beard and a healthy mane of grey hair. And normally I wouldn’t consider an old man to be much of a threat, but this dude is jacked. His shoulders are boulders, his neck looks like the trunk of a pine tree, his arms and legs are about as thick as mine while I’m wearing the Axiom suit. I can’t tell because he’s sitting down, but I think he might be even bigger than Ironfist. He looks like a wilderness prophet or a mountain hobo crossed with the biggest Venusian bar bouncer I’ve ever seen.

And there’s a couple of much shorter people in black cloaks standing on the lower levels of the dais near him, but honestly, they barely have my attention right now.

“And who are you?” Ironfist says, not hesitating to wade further into the room. Light is spilling down from the open sky beyond the third or fourth floor of the skyscraper, where it looks like it originally toppled.

“Who I am does not matter as much as what we are here for.” the old man says, turning his maned head to study the thing he’s holding in his hands. It looks like luminous, flat ring, maybe a foot in diameter, elegantly constructed of white and gold metal. He turns it in his hand, holding it up so we can see it. “This is what you came for, no?”

“Maybe.” I say, moving my free hand to the haft of my axe so that I’m now gripping it with both hands, ready to twist the handle and activate the plasma blades at a moment’s notice. “Why don’t you hand it over, and we can make that determination ourselves.”

The old man smiles, though much of it is shrouded beneath that bushy beard. “A sense of humor is a good thing for a Peacekeeper to have.” Lowering the relic, he holds it out to one of the cloak-shrouded people with him; the one nearest steps forward, an armored hand reaching out of the folds of black cloth and taking the ring. It disappears into the recesses of the cloak without a word. “We cannot give it to you. It is meant for other uses.”

“If that is so, then you will tell us what you plan to use it for.” Ironfist says, reaching the bottom of the dais and setting a boot on the edge of the slab. I follow uneasily, getting a better look at the cloaked people; I can’t see their faces beneath their hoods, as the shadow beneath them is unnaturally dark. Each of them is holding something that looks like a lantern carved of stone, with a wickedly flanged bottom and ghostly will-o-wisps drifting inside. “And we will make the determination as to whether it would be better in your hands or ours.”

“No, I don’t believe you will.” the old man says, lacing his fingers together. “But if you must know, it will be used to avenge Mokasha. Surely CURSE would not oppose that.”

“It depends on how you plan to avenge Mokasha.” Ironfist says, his gaze straying. I follow it to see that on the spiral staircase rimming the atrium, another cloaked person with a lantern is making their way down the stairs. On reflex, I turn and study the other entrances to the atrium to make sure there aren’t more people showing up to surround and cut us off. “If you intend to start a war with the Collective…”

“We don’t intend to start anything. There is no need, because it never ended. The war with the Collective never ends; it just has lulls between spikes of calculated aggression and expansion.” the old man says. “All we intend to do is prune back some of the Collective’s branches. To send a message, and ensure that both your children, and mine, have a future in this galaxy. But I will say no more; I am not some Saturday morning villain that can be goaded into disclosing more than he should.” His fingers come unlaced as his gaze fixes on us, and I can see the deep-set eyes have orange-red irises, molten like magma. “Now, you will tell me why you came to secure the relic.”

“Presumably to keep it from falling into the hands of groups like yours.” Ironfist answers without a hint of restraint. “You still have not told us who you are. Who you work for.”

“Who I work for?” His hands are planted now on his knees as he pushes himself up… and up, and up, to a towering eight and a half feet at least. This guy is huge. “I am Makalu, and I work for no one.” He starts to come down the steps of the dais, every bootfall weighty and forbidding. “My burden is the preservation of my people; my duty is the prevention of their extinction. And I am given to know that CURSE almost destroyed the ark which would’ve secured their survival in times of calamity.”

It takes a moment to click, and when it does, my heart drops into my stomach. “Shit.” I hiss, taking a step back as I twist the handle of my battleaxe, the clementine plasma flaring over the blades’ edges. “He’s a Maskling.”

Ironfist reaches back towards me with one hand. “Steady.” he cautions me, before looking back to Makalu. “We had no intention of destroying your Cradle. Capturing it and ransoming it for compliance with galactic laws, perhaps yes. Your people have been aiding and abetting the Valiant, providing them resources and intel as they run amok in the galaxy, threatening to destabilize the peace we’ve enjoyed for the last fifteen years. You attacked our HQ, killed noncombatant personnel in the process. We were within our rights to try to capture the Cradle and ransom it.”

“I did not attack your HQ. Because if I had, there would be nothing left.” Makalu rumbles, his boot landing heavy on the step just above the one Ironfist is on. “It is unwise to conflate me with the Maskling government; you may quickly discover that you prefer their gentler touch. Your little vendetta with the Valiant means nothing to me; I could care less if CURSE wants to play footsie with yet another vigilante startup in a galaxy full of them. But when you lay hands upon a vessel meant to ensure the survival of my species, we have a problem.”

I curl my fingers tighter around the haft of my axe. If I’m reading this right, this guy is a Maskling, but he isn’t part of the Maskling government. From the way he’s talking, it sounds like he’s an extremist, or part of some ideological fringe group. Which means that he might not play by the rules that more mainstream Masklings adhere to. Which could easily mean that he and his followers are more ruthless, or violent, or both.

“Well, that does not appear to be a problem anymore, as the Cradle is now safely in the possession of the Maskling Republic.” Ironfist retorts. He’s gotta have balls of steel, facing down a mountain of a man like that. “That relic you have, on the other hand, clearly cannot be trusted in your possession. So I’m going to have to ask you to hand it over.”

Makalu appears bemused by that. “And you mean to tell me that CURSE can be trusted with the power of that relic? The hypocrisy is so rank that I can smell it.” Turning about, he starts back up the steps of the dais, towards the center. “Your leader reaches for power beyond her attainment, beyond her capacity to control. I am doing both of you a favor in keeping this relic out of her hands; its power would consume her, and many others foolish enough to lust after it. The remnants of the Shyl-tari and the Dragine are not toys for the idle and the curious to collect and trifle with. Only those that recognize and respect the power and the risks of such divine detritus can safely harness their potential.”

“And you fancy yourself one of those elite few?” Ironfist demands.

“I fancy myself a conscript of fate. A prisoner of duty. A common man burdened with an uncommon responsibility. ” Makalu says, reaching the center of the dais and facing us once more. “I regret that you have come all this way to find that your journey was for nothing; I know such bitterness well. In time, I think you will see that it was for the best.”

“I will have to respectfully disagree with that.” Ironfist says, fully stepping out of the water and up onto the dais. “I will extend you one last chance to give up the relic. If you refuse, we will have to do this the hard way.”

“I think you should reconsider.” Makalu says gently. “If you insist on this path, it will an exercise in humiliation, and I doubt you want to do that to yourself.”

“We did not come all this way just to let that relic go without a fight.” Ironfist says, his fingers curling shut. “If you won’t give it up, I suppose we’ll have to persuade you by force.”

Makalu checks the band on his wrist. “As you’ll have it, then. Our ride will be here in less than five minutes. I suppose we may as well entertain ourselves while we wait.” With that, he nods to the cloaked individuals standing on the lower levels of the dais. The stone lanterns fall from their hands, hitting the dais with heavy thuds — and I quickly realize that stone chains are attached to the tops of the lanterns, sliding through their gauntleted fingers with the rasp of stone over metal.

Those lanterns aren’t just lanterns; they’re heavy, spiked flails, with a lot of reach.

“System, local comms only.” I order as I lurch forward to join Ironfist on the dais. “I assume we’re going after the cloak that’s got the relic?”

“Just keep the others off my back. I’ll get the relic from them.” he says, lunging across the dais without warning. The cloak that’s got the relic yanks it out, throwing it before Ironfist can reach them. I lunge for it as it flies over the dais, but it’s too far away, and is caught by the cloak on the stairs. Moving in that direction, I leap without thinking, my jump jets kicking in — and then, out of the corner of my eye, I see a stone lantern on a chain swinging towards me in a wide arc.

Oh, that’s gonna leave a mark.

I can feel the exterior plates over my ribs dent as the lantern slams into me, knocking me off-course and sending me careening into the wall of the atrium instead. Chunks of drywall, plaster, and dust go flying everywhere as I fall, my suit’s thrusters firing all over the place and trying to even me out behind I hit the ground. Water splashes around me as I manage to land on a hand and a knee, looking up just in time to see that lantern on a chain swinging towards me from above — this time with a circle of runes spinning around it.

I twist and lunge out of the way, the lantern missing by a good foot or so, or at least so I thought. There’s an explosion of arcane energy when it hits the water, a blast that hits me and carries me at the leading edge of a glassy sphere of water formed by the shockwave. My suit’s thrusters fire again, but can’t slow me down enough to keep me from landing hard in a mound of rubble from a collapsed portions of the atrium. Planting the head of my axe against a rusted girder, I shove back to my feet and twist around to see one of the cloaks moving around the lower edge of the dais, slowly spinning the chain lantern at their side. Behind them, the other cloak is keeping Ironfist back with graceful, dancing sweeps of their chain lantern, their cloak rippling and swirling around them like water.

“I do not like their weapons.” I mutter, taking my axe in both hands and going for a boosted jump back to the dais. The cloak on the lower edge swings their lantern up at me, as expected, and my thrusters fire midair to allow me to twist out of the way. As I come down on the dais, I swing my axe forward — nothing flashy or fancy, just trying to score a hit across their side — but the cloak quickly skips backward, whipping the chain of their lantern in the same motion. It loops around the shaft of my axe, yanking tight and almost ripping it out of my hands. “I really don’t like their weapons.”

“Get in close. It’s hard for them to swing when they don’t have room to work with.” Ironfist says even as he jumps one of the lantern swings to get in close to the cloak he’s fighting. Even though I can see him out of the corner of my visor, I can’t keep my full attention on him.

“You say that, but they seem pretty handy with the chain as well.” I grunt, getting a better grip on my axe as the cloak I’m fighting grabs their chain with both hands. This is turning into a glorified tug-of-war match, and I’m pretty sure they’re not actually trying to beat me — just keep me locked down long enough for their ride to get here. “Even if we beat these two, there’s still another cloak and the big guy to deal with. And we’re fightin’ the clock, to boot.”

“Less talk and more fighting, then.” Ironfist replies right before I hear a whump and see the other cloak go flying across the dais, flames burning on their chest in the outline of a fist. Encouraged by that, I wrench my axe back towards myself, the servos in the arms of my suit kicking into overdrive. The cloak I’m fighting with is wrenched towards me, and I twist the handle of my axe, the antigrav hammer on the other end humming to life just in time for me to swing it against them. It catches them right in the midsection, and I pivot in place, swinging them down into the pool around the foot of the dais. The water is shunted away by the antigrav field as they slam into the muddy floor, and when I jerk the hammer end of my axe back, the water quickly rushes back in to swamp the cloak before they can recover.

Turning around with the stone chain sliding off the haft of my axe, I can see Ironfist pummeling a sea-green shield that the third cloak has raised in front of themself. Ironfist’s fists are set afire, the burning metal hammering relentlessly against the barrier; cracks are starting spread across the glassy surface. When the cloak sees me starting to march towards them, they reach into the folds of their mantle, throwing the relic to Makalu just before the shield breaks. Ironfist is on them in a second, punching their lantern aside before catching them with a right hook, then coming in with a flaming uppercut that throws them to the bottom of the dais.

A boom and a sudden wash of light catches our attention; we both look around to see that Makalu is standing in the center of the dais, the relic floating horizontal over his upraised hand. Energy is channeling around the rim of the ring, pulsing into the sky in a powerful orange column that’s reaching up through the clouds.

“What have you done?!” Ironfist shouts through his suit’s speakers.

“Letting our ride know where to pick us up.” Makalu replies calmly.

I look over my shoulder to see the cloaks are starting to get back up already, gather their chain lanterns. The ones that were knocked into the pool are starting to trudge out of it, dripping water. “Ironfist, the cloaks are back up. I don’t think we can win this; we’re outnumbered.”

“We can’t give up. If we can’t win, let’s try to grab and go. I’ll charge and distract him while you rush in and grab the relic, then we bolt.” Ironfist replies, then goes hurtling up the dais. I start to sprint the the steps behind him, preparing to go into a boosted leap once he engages.

Makalu sees us coming — because how could he not — and doesn’t move. When Ironfist reaches him, his first flaming punch is stopped dead against Makalu’s open palm — and the retaliation punch comes so sudden and fast it takes me off guard. There’s a crack from Ironfist’s visor as he’s nailed in the face with a short, sharp jab that throws him backwards.

But I keep going, because that was the plan, leaping into the air with my axe outstretched to hook on the floating relic and yank it down. I’m almost there when I feel a massive hand clamp around the ankle of my power armor, and pull me down with an unbelievable strength.

I grunt as I’m swung down and slammed against the dais like a ragdoll. Trying to shake away the damage and impact warnings on my visor, I struggle to get back to my feet; I can see Makalu marching down the dais to where Ironfist is getting back up. Blows are exchanged as I get back to my feet, and Makalu doesn’t even look like he’s trying to dodge them — he’s just tanking those flaming fists from Ironfist.

Hurrying to scoop up my axe, I start back towards the relic over the dais, only to feel an immense, wrenching force yank me clean off my feet. I go flying through the air towards the hand Makalu has stretched towards me; a tangerine wristmark is orbiting around it, and the hand clamps shut around the neck of my suit as I arrive. I start to get my axe up to slash at him, only to immediately be swung around, hitting some thing hard. As a loud grunt comes over my comms, I realize that the thing I hit was Ironfist.

This hulking mountain of a Maskling is using me as a bludgeon to beat my coworker senseless.

I start to get my axe up again, but with Ironfist knocked down, Makalu punches me in the helm with his free hand. I think the only reason my neck doesn’t break is because it’s cushioned and reinforced by my suit; I’m jarred by the punch, and shortly thrown back down on the dais beside Ironfist, who is trying to get back up. The cloaks are standing around the edge of the dais, simply watching; it’s obvious that they feel Makalu can win this fight without their help.

“I will commend you for moxie and persistence.” Makalu says, each of his bootsteps landing heavy on the stairs. As he reaches us, he raises a foot and kicks Ironfist in the chest before he can get back up, sending him sliding further down the dais. “You have spirit. The odds do not deter you, and apparently, neither does a categorical ass-kicking. It takes considerable resolve to start a fight you cannot win.”

Waiting until he’s passing me, I swing my axe at him from where I’m lying on the dais. But his boot comes up almost immediately, the sole planting against the shaft and stomping it back to the ground, breaking my grasp on it. His wristmarked hand opens in my direction; I feel that wrenching force yanking me again, this time upwards as he catches me by the neck of the suit once more. Curling my hand into a fist, I hammer at his muscled forearm and wrist, but he’s got a grip like a vice, and his muscles are rock-hard. He drags me for a few steps like this, before his wristmark runes flip around and he opens his hand — and now, instead of being yanked towards him, I’m being shunted downward by that unseen force, slamming into the dais hard enough to crack the stone beneath my back as damage warnings go off across my visor. I can feel the pressure, even within my suit, can hear the metal and gears groaning as they try to hold up under the duress.

“I take no especial pleasure in this.” Makalu says as he kicks Ironfist down again, this time to the edge of the dais. “You are clearly both men of duty. Your intentions are good, I’m sure; albeit misguided, as your employment with CURSE shows. But at the end of the day, this relic will do more good for the galaxy in our hands than it would in yours.” Reaching down, he grabs Ironfist by the chestplate, lifting him into the air. “For CURSE, it’s just something they can use to try to keep up with their competition. But for us, this is a tool of liberation. Of retribution.”

“And who are you gonna liberate with it?” Ironfist grunts as I turn and start to crawl back to my axe. The pressure’s let up on me, even though I’m still reading some plate buckling on my external armor layer.

“Everyone, in the simplest terms.” Makalu replies. “This will be liberation from the threat of the Collective, from the tyranny of the shadow they cast on the galaxy. They keep taking our worlds. It’s time we took some of theirs.”

With that, he throws Ironfist into the water. I lay my hands on my axe, and right as I do, I feel a familiar yank — but this time, instead of pulling me towards him, Makalu slings me off the dais and towards where Ironfist landed. My suit’s thrusters fire, trying to slow me down, but I still collide with him, both of us sprawling in the water. Pushing me away, Ironfist lets out a snarl of rage and staggers to his feet while I get my bearings, and when my visor’s clear, I can see he’s trying to run through the water towards the dais. But Makalu and the cloaks are already at the center of it, grabbing lines that have been dropped through the open ceiling of the collapsed skyscraper. It starts reeling them up before Ironfist has even reached the base of the dais, and as they go, Makalu grabs the relic out of the air as they rise past it.

Knowing that I won’t be able to stop them, I don’t rush to get to my feet, instead searching the water until I find my axe and pick it up. From there, I stand up as Makalu and his lantern minions disappear into the belly of a ship that looks like it’s holding position over the skyscraper. As the bay doors close, a dull roaring fills the air, dust swirling from the upper levels as it turns and slowly powers away — it’s a large ship, larger than I would’ve expected to see in-atmosphere on a planet like this. At least as far as I can reckon, it looks like a frigate or a small destroyer.

Ironfist’s frustrated shout over the comms has me wincing, and I start trekking towards the dais. He’s currently braced on his knees, catching his breath; his suit of partial power armor is dented and scratched, and I don’t doubt that he’s probably pretty beaten up beneath it. As for myself, the Axiom suit probably has a few new dents that are going to need to be buffed out once we get back to HQ. The galling part is that Makalu hadn’t even been wearing combat gear — he’d had cargos, a shirt, and boots, and he still managed beat us senseless and scuff up our power armor with his bare hands.

Stepping onto the dais, I start doing a circuit of it, looking for anything of use that might’ve been left behind. But aside from the crater marks where the chain lanterns landed and where I got slammed into the dais, there’s nothing that immediately sticks out to me. No remnants, no detritus, nothing.

I pull a deep breath, fighting my mounting frustration, and look to Ironfist. “Should we stay and see if there’s anything in here worth salvaging? Or should we just call it and head back to the transport?”

“There’s nothing left here to recover. The Conviction radiation I sensed earlier is gone, likely because they took the relic.” Ironfist growls, starting down the dais. “We return to the transport, and from there back to Equalizer. The CSS cannot know we were here.”

“Understood.” I say, falling in behind him. I can tell from his tone that he’s not in a good mood, so for now, I’m keeping questions and conversation to the bare minimum. Once he cools off, I can see about having a conversation about what our report for this is going to look like.

Giving a last look over my shoulder at the empty sky beyond the open ceiling of the skyscraper, I step down into the water and start to follow Ironfist back across the atrium.

Event Log: Darrow Bennion

C.V. Equalizer: Ironfist’s Quarters

9/18/12764 12:08am SGT

It’s been about twenty seconds since I rang the doorbell for Ironfist’s quarters, and I’m about to ring the bell again when the door suddenly spirals open. “Apologies. I was getting decent.” Ironfist’s voice comes from within.

I step inside, data slate under my arm, to see that he’s finishing pulling a shirt on. “What did the infirmary nurses say?” I ask as the door spirals shut behind me.

“A few hairline fractures. Nothing that’ll keep me down.” he says, sitting on his bed. “They advised I take it easy on my daily regimen nonetheless. I’ve done this long enough to know that I shouldn’t blow them off, so I’ll be spending more time on meditation and prayers than I will in the exercise room. What about you?”

I reach up and rub the back of my neck. “Same. They told me to take it easy and not move my head around too much. He nailed me right in the helm; I’m glad I had it deployed. They said it probably would’ve snapped my neck if my head hadn’t been reinforced.”

Ironfist nods, blowing out a sigh. “Yeah. It’s been a while since I’ve seen that kind of strength.”

That takes me off guard. Ironfist is, physically speaking, the strongest Peacekeeper I know. It takes a lot for him to admit that he was physically outmatched. “I did some research once the infirmary discharged me, but I can’t find any mention of this guy in our database. I don’t know if I’m not using the right keywords, or if I’m just spelling the name wrong, but there’s nothing about him on our records. Doesn’t help that he didn’t say what group he was with, or leading… although I did read up on Maskling society and I learned a bunch. Turns out that they’re just like any other nation; they’ve got a mainstream, and then extremist splinter groups that do their own thing, so maybe…?”

“So maybe this fellow is a part of one of those fringe groups.” Ironfist nods. “Could be possible. Have you asked SCION for analytics yet?”

“He said once we get back to the HQ. He can’t link to the wider galaxynet while we’re in tunnelspace, so he’s only able to work with the smaller database we have aboard the Equalizer.” I say, glancing at my slate. “Once we’re back at the HQ, he said he’ll do a deeper dive into public domain and also into CURSE’s intel network, see what he can dig up. If nothing else, we’ll want to know who’s got their hands on that relic so we know who to keep an eye on.”

“At least we know what they intend to use it for. In the general sense.” Ironfist says, lacing his fingers together as he glances at his own data slate, lying on his sparse bedside table. “They are our enemies, and yet I can’t say I entirely disagree with them.”

“The thing about the Collective?” I infer. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. Do you think the Masklings could use the relic to reverse the assimilation of Mokasha?”

“Perhaps. It is known that the Shyl-tari were capable of altering reality.” Ironfist says, resting the knuckles of his laced fingers against his chin. “But that required the power of an actual Shyl-tari, fueled by the faith of their Zealots. Without that kind of power fueling the relic, they may be intending to harness the relic in a different way. A more destructive way, if the mention of ‘retribution’ is any hint.”

“Hopefully they only use it on the Collective, then.” I say, shaking my head, then wincing when the ache in my neck reminds me I’m not supposed to be doing that.

“I thought much the same.” Ironfist says. “Makalu was not wrong. This galaxy has lived too long in the shadow of the Collective, their borders slowly creeping outwards over the long centuries. We only ever slow them down, never fully stop them. Some part of me agreed with Makalu when he said it was time to take some of their worlds after they’d taken so many of ours over the last several millennia.” He straightens up at this point, squaring his shoulders. “But then I reminded myself there is a right way to do things, and a wrong way to do things. And knowing that relic came from a race of tyrant gods, and knowing what it may be capable of, I am worried that Makalu and his followers may be headed towards doing things the wrong way. If he makes a weapon out of that relic and aims it at the Collective, we may nod righteously and say it’s the right thing to do. But that opinion will change mighty quick if he aims it at us afterwards — and I doubt there will be much we can do, at least right away, to stop him.”

Those are sobering words. “And if he’s part of an extremist group…” I say.

Ironfist nods. “The Collective is probably not the only group that Makalu has an axe to grind with. And extremists are not known for moderation or cognitive consistency. If he makes a weapon out of that relic, the Collective will probably be the first group that he uses it against. But they will not be the last.”

“It’d be better off if he didn’t have it at all.” I conclude.

“Exactly.” Ironfist agrees. “Once the bees are out of the box, you can’t put them back in. So we should try to make sure they don’t get out in the first place.”

I look down at my slate. “Well, at the very least, I think I know where to go with my report’s summary now. You want to trade notes?”

“I could use a little help filling in some of the gaps, and I’m sure you could use the same.” Ironfist says, motioning to the empty chair in the corner of the room. “Make yourself comfortable. If you’ve got any insight into those lantern ladies, I’m game.”

“Lantern ladies?” I say as I head over to the chair to take a seat.

“Yeah, nailed one of them in the chest with a punch and… well. It clicked when I felt the outline of the torso plate underneath the cloak. So at least one of them was a woman, but can you blame me? I couldn’t tell what was under all of that cloak, and I would’ve aimed my punch somewhere else if I’d known.”

“Well, I guess now I’m not the only one beating up women.”

“Hah. You and Kwyn still doing those weekly sparring sessions?”

“Mnnnh… you know what, let’s focus on writing our reports…”