grievinglands
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Book 6: Chapter 7 - Geared Up (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-05-20 13:24:04 +0000 UTCThose who drink from the same poisoned well suffer the same sickness.
- The Warnings of Al’Jabbadi the Duwat of Ardent Sands.
A slab of obsidian-black alloy had been delivered, no, deposited, upon the table at the center of my chamber like an altar stone. The men who had brought it were giants swathed in matte-black armor, their visors opaque as obsidian, their movements disciplined and silent. They offered no words, and once their task was completed, they vanished back into the corridor.
My room, spartan and suffused with sterile light, attempted to mimic warmth with illusion. The windows, screens really, displayed a serene forest, its verdant canopy swaying in a breeze that did not exist. A digital simulation. A lie. There were no living trees this deep underground.
Still, the irony was not lost on me. A lie of ones and zeroes within yet another lie of ones and zeros. It almost made me chuckle.
Within the case, my weapon stirred. Zariyah. My Vessel Weapon. She was never truly still. Even now, locked in bindings of metal, there were faint vibrations, barely perceptible, a muted hum that throbbed. My companion, my curse wrapped in ensorcelled metal, she had been returned to me.
“What even is that thing?” Solarin leaned closer, too close. Gone were her usual ragged street leathers; now she wore a skin-tight tactical suit of synthetic weave, glistening faintly under the light. The suit flexed with her movements and lines of silver up and down its length. It was armor disguised as temptation, and its form-fitting cut left little to the imagination. It did not please me.
I, too, had availed myself to Voss Heavy Industries' armory. The archaic gambeson I had worn earlier, soiled with the grime of recent violence, had been replaced by an exo-fabric tunic. It was light as smoke, soft as whispering silk, and made ultimately for the rigors of war. Not to mention, or so I was told, it was very resistant to impact.
“A Vessel Weapon,” I said at last, the words tasting ritualistic. “If you must know.”
Solarin frowned. “That doesn’t mean anything. Gran said the Brokers couldn’t even analyze it. Said the material wouldn’t scan. Thought it was broken gear.”
“I believe it’s forged from the God-metal,” I murmured, pressing two recessed glyphs upon the case. “And, something, or someone, that remembers what it was like to be of the Divine.”
The seals hissed in protest before they opened. Then, silence.
“You are terrible at explaining things,” Solarin muttered, brushing a stray lock of hair from her eyes.
I did not answer her. I had become what I hated, a peddler of half-truths and quaint mysteries. My fingers found Zariyah before my eyes did. A jolt of static lashed up my arm as contact was made. She recognized me. And I, her.
“In truth,” I said, voice low, “I do not know what it is made of. Nor where it came from. Some mysteries… remain best unexplained.”
Solarin sighed, folding her arms. “You could just say you don’t want to tell me, you know.”
I fastened Zariyah to my belt. She settled there in her scabbard, but I felt her weight, not as a physical thing, but something else. As if I had become more complete.
“Are you sure you want to come with me?” I asked her.
“Well,” she smirked, “since I’m an unknown to Ingram, I can act as remote support. Gran’ll feed you data through me. It will have to be from a distance, though, but I’ll be able to provide long-range cover.”
“And that will mean…?”
She gave a grin that did not reach her eyes. “You’ll find out. Some mysteries… remain best unexplained,” she replied mockingly.
“Have you ever been in a combat before, girl…”
A soft chime rang from the doorway. Solarin’s expression glazed for a heartbeat. She was communing with the electrical spirits of this place, asking them who knocked and if they should be allowed to enter.
Apparently, they were, and the doors parted with a harsh whisper.
More of Helena’s men stepped inside, their forms armored and visored, their weapons holstered at their hips.
“This way, if you please,” one said deferentially.
Good. They had learned not to test me. They had learned respect.
Still, some small, distant part of me screamed at the sight of the weapons they carried—cold and compact, their shapes spoke of the unsung hymn of death. But I silenced that voice. It was I who was dangerous. Not the mere toys on their hips.
We followed them through the gleaming, whitewashed halls and corridors that turned and twisted like the intestines of some hollowed beast. I ensured they never walked behind us. I was not a fool. And trust, well, trust was a luxury I had long since pawned for raw Strength and heavy armor plate.
They led us into the hangar, a vast cathedral of steel echoing with the groan of machinery and the hiss of pressurized lines. And there, looming large, squatted a winged leviathan of the skies—a construct of iron, glass, and purring thunder.
Its fuselage was a brutalist monolith, slab-sided and armor-plated, adorned with rows of rivets like ritual scars. The canopy, a jagged dome of smoked glass, sat recessed into the machine’s hunched back like the visor of some ancient war-helm. Four massive engines were slung beneath stubby, two pairs of angular wings that looked more like siege ramps than instruments of flight. These wings bore weapon mounts and sensor pylons like the barbed arms of a slumbering behemoth, while heat-warped exhaust vanes glistened.
There was nothing sleek or elegant about it. It was not made for speed, but for survival. For storming through fire and flak, bearing its cargo into the maw of battle and dragging it safely back out again.
For a moment, I felt dwarfed by its presence and intent. This was something not even my old could match. This was no mere vehicle, but a war-prayer cast in gunmetal black.
And emblazoned along its sides was the name of the beast in this world’s script: Deucalion.
Had I but one of these machines of war, Alexandros and his silly invasion would be so much dust, cheating magics or no.
“That is our transport? For just two people, Sol?”
“Well, us, and what I’m bringing along,” piped Solarin, pointing at something close by.
Standing nearly two and a half meters tall, it bore a striking resemblance, at first glance, to the Iron Golem I had vanquished long ago in the Temple of Iasis, that dark shrine to the whore-goddess. Solarin had called it a Nex: a suit of metal that encased its wearer, granting enhanced strength and heightened capabilities.
Its armor was mottled in shades of brown, a camouflage intended to break up its blocky silhouette. Draped over its shoulders hung a scintillating cloak, mesmerizing to behold. It looked to me like a shifting lattice that seemed to bend the light itself. Next to it was what looked like a large, bulky pipe of black metal.
The Nex was a technical marvel wrought in the shape of man.
I sighed and looked at Sol. “You will be assisting me with that? Are you absolutely certain you know how to handle it?”
“Don’t worry!” She beamed enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I downloaded the Sims for this model ages ago and spent hours mastering it. That’s a classic Voss NX-79 Tartalos equipped with a Stealth Cloak and a Voss Banshee-MK3 anti-materiel rifle! More than enough firepower for anything we're likely to face.”
Somehow, her words did little to inspire confidence. As though sensing my unspoken doubts, Casia’s voice crackled reassuringly in my ear. “Sol will handle herself adequately. In a suit like that, she has certain… advantages.”
“Explain these advantages clearly to me—either you or your granddaughter, I don’t particularly care which. It’s better to fight alone than to enter battle alongside unknown variables.”
Casia hesitated slightly. “She’s a low-level…”
“Precog,” Solarin interjected firmly.
“And pray tell, what precisely does that mean?” I said, doing little to hide the sarcasm dripping in my voice.
Solarin answered casually, as though she were describing nothing more remarkable than the weather. “I’m a Precognitive. Give me enough data, and I can predict future events with a reasonable degree of accuracy.”
A skeptical frown crossed my face. “I’ve encountered those who claim the ability to peer beyond the present. Sadly, their gifts offered precious little true advantage.”
“That’s precisely where Sol excels,” Casia intervened smoothly. “My support, combined with the Tartalos suit’s advanced processing unit and the vast bandwidth provided by Voss’s technology, her predictive abilities become significantly enhanced. She'll prove to be an invaluable asset to you.”
“You might also consider using a Nex suit yourself,” Casia began cautiously.
“I have neither the familiarity nor the luxury of time to train with such devices,” I growled impatiently. “Also, I need neither gimmicks nor toys. The weapons and powers currently at my disposal will suffice.”
“It was merely a suggestion.”
Unimpressed with the advice, I just snorted.
With a bright smile and an energetic leap, Sol skipped up to the hulking metal form. Like a monkey, she clambered into her Nex suit’s cockpit. Watching the metallic contraption seemingly swallow her whole caused me to shudder involuntarily.
“It makes little sense for it to have a humanoid form. Surely there are more efficient shapes?” I questioned irritably.
“In the early Nex development phase, other forms were attempted,” Casia explained patiently. “However, aligning neural pathways with shapes radically different from the human form consistently resulted in psychological breakdowns—pilots suffered madness, plagued by sensations akin to phantom limbs without corresponding physical parts. Even now, the precise cause remains unknown.”
I found the entire concept irrational and offensive to logic. “Then why not pilot it remotely? Surely a remote-control system would be safer and more effective.”
Casia’s voice turned mildly exasperated. “You truly know nothing about this, do you?”
“Enlighten me,” I shot back.
“It’s fundamentally a question of speed and responsiveness. Wireless connections simply cannot react swiftly enough to the pilot's commands. That limitation also restricts the size of Nex suits—even high-speed wired connections have a finite rate of transmitting neural commands. Direct neural interfacing remains the only way to use Nex technology.”
“I just don’t know… it all sounds rather just too convenient.”
One of Helena’s lackeys walked up to me.
“What do you mean, too convenient?
“Excuse me, sir. Mister Gilgamesh, we really need you to board now if you are ready.
I exhaled sharply, nodding curtly to Helena’s minion. "Lead the way."
"Reactor online. Weapons online. All systems are nominal! Sync complete. Ready when you are, Gil," Solarin’s voice chirped.
My gaze flicked to her Nex suit. It seemed eerily alive, powerful, and disturbingly human in form. With a grimace, I replied. "Very well, Sol. It is time to board, apparently."
There was a muffled chuckle from Sol. “After you, then.”
The lackey inclined his head respectfully, pivoting on his heel and gesturing toward the looming VTOL craft. With deliberate strides, I crossed the gleaming metal floor, the heavy echoes of my footfalls reverberating as though heralding the start of battle.
Ascending the short ramp at the rear of the Deucalion, I stepped into the belly of the craft. The interior was surprisingly spacious, lined neatly with seats fitted with harnesses.
“I’ll need to strap you in for takeoff, sir,” the lackey offered hesitantly.
I merely nodded, sitting down and allowing the minion to perform his duty. Once he was done, he gave me a vague salute and retreated from the vehicle.
The Tartalos soon followed me in. Ducking slightly, Solarin piloted the mechanical creature smoothly into one of the interior bays, and the metallic beast she commanded swiftly locked itself into position.
“All packages accounted for,” came the electronic voice of what I assumed to be the captain from a speaker.
The heavy doors of the hangar bay began to grind open, and there was a rush of outside air. Engines roared to life, reverberating with restrained power. Through the viewport, the bustling hangar became a blur of motion and lights, technicians scattering away from the leviathan, their faces briefly illuminated by the sweeping glow of guidance beams.
A sudden lurch pushed me back into my seat as the Deucalion lifted gracefully, defying gravity with deceptive ease. It hovered for a moment, poised like a predator surveying its territory, then surged forward smoothly, slicing through the open hangar bay doors and ascending into the sprawling darkness beyond.
Beneath us, the city's sprawling network of lights glittered. The craft tilted, banking gently as it ascended rapidly through the smog-layered darkness, the engines transitioning from a throaty growl into a muted, reassuring hum.
Casia’s voice, steady yet tinged with apprehension, broke the tense silence over the channel. "Remember, timing is everything. You will need to move quickly."
Solarin laughed lightly, clearly reveling in the thrill. "Relax, Gran. I’ll see everything coming long before it sees us."
I leaned back, letting my eyes drift closed briefly, steeling myself as I fought against a sudden sense of vertigo. I had forgotten that I did not handle heights well. "Then let us hope, for all our sakes, your sight remains clear."
Comments
Mesa
My old world I think
Joao Lua Candido e Sarmento
"This was something not even my old could match." - Is something missing there?
Mesa
by product of being loopy
KingOrgasmusTwo
He’s so random sometimes and I love it
