I S L E O F I V A L I C E / / M A N Y Y E A R S P R I O R
Her eyes cried out as her voice, laden with awe and fear, sunk deeper into her bloody esophagus.
Amidst the competing sounds of clashing metal, shrieks, and armored feet stampeding against the broken earth, the young soldier could only gaze in horror at the sight before him, stumbling backwards and allowing the heft of his golden armor to yank his back to the ground. A multitude of thoughts wracked his brain and he choked on a gaggle of jumbled words as he frantically heaved breaths and struggled to return to his feet. The body before him finally fell to its knees and its head slumped to the side, an eyes-wide visage permanently claiming residence. Fresh blood poured down the neck and stained golden armor as it continued to make its ground-ward descent, quickly escaping from the wound created by a long, shining blade lodged straight through the throat. The terrified young solider squealed and slid backwards before finally finding the momentum to rise to his feet. Shimmering blue eyes of the now deceased bore into him under the light of a setting sun just as a taller and much bulkier armored figure approached the boy. He stopped just beside him and closed his eyes briefly before turning to face his horrified charge.
"It's not your fault, Corbyn," a deep voice almost bellowed over the sounds of battle. "This is war, my boy. She knew what she signed up for, same as you."
Corbyn's fear slowly subsided and twisted itself into a whorl of anger as the bigger man spoke. Pools of darkened ocher soaked up the image of the armored woman on her knees before liquid overflowed and dripped down from the corners of each pool. In spite of this, his countenance remained steadfast. A large hand gripped the young soldier's shoulder and the equally large body attached turned to face Corbyn fully. "I know this is war... " he said without breaking his gaze "You don't have to console me, Brigand. I understand perfectly."
Brigand removed his hand and unsheathed his sword. It was tall and slim, a weapon that at first would seem too dainty for a larger man, but those that knew the man who wielded it also knew just how deadly it could be in his hands. "Good. Even if you are only eighteen years old, a man should be able to compartmentalize loss in the heat of battle. It's the only way we survive in times like these." Removing the tower shield from his back, the hulking knight motioned toward the horizon and took off at a jog, blending in with the other golden-clad soldiers heading off in the same direction. Corbyn continued to gaze at the armored woman.
Her brown locks were still tied back in a ponytail, the few rogue strands swaying in the gentle breeze as her lifeless head hung to the side. She was petite even in the somewhat form-fitting armor and one hand tightly clutched a blade sized perfectly for its owner. "At least you died in defense," Corbyn muttered as he slowly bent down to pick up the sword sprawled near his feet. He glanced at the shield on his back before wrapping his free hand around the hilt of the sword as well - his resolve was clear. "I'm sorry... " He said as he rushed off after Brigand and the rest of his fellow company.
S O L D I E R E N C A M P M E N T / / Z A L E R A T U N D R A
For a man of the abilities of Corbyn Vesper, the commander was surprisingly less than fond of flying. Fear played no part in his objection, rather he felt the most vulnerable while traversing the skies in some iron behemoth. He had elected to take a seat with the rest of the various SOLDIER personnel in the back of the Shyp, in spite of his ranking, simply on the hope that it might bring some additional comfort. As the others made conversation amongst themselves, Corbyn rested against the back of his seat, arms folded and eyes closed. In stark contrast to the rest of the armored individuals, the commander chose to wear the uniform most associated with his personal comfort at Fort Lullin - a form-fitting carbon weave top of navy blue fibers disappearing into ebony bottoms of the tactical variety and combat boots. A single shoulder pauldron adorned the left shoulder, its chest and back strap also home to a presently empty holster. Armor was just too troublesome for the man, so he had made the decision months earlier that he would never wear it on active duty. His resting mind cleared suddenly and an inaudible groan escaped in the same moment. She was awake.
"You're sure this isn't a simulation, right?" the voice of a mature woman echoed.
"I told you already, we've been deployed. And why in the hell are you still talking like that? I thought it was an experiment?" Corbyn replied within his mental space. Asteria, the Aeon forcibly bonded to his DNA, almost never spoke beyond the mind of her host.
"I've come to enjoy the broken speech of humans. It's amusing," She echoed with glee. "Do you still plan on ignoring my offer?"
Corbyn audibly sighed. "Obviously. I'm capable enough without your devil's deal. I'll manage."
"Deployed means going into battle, does it not? Are you sure you'll manage?"
"It's not like they're sending me alone. I'll be with a team and besides, our team's role in the mission is infiltration. I know you don't understand us completely, but that word usually means stealth. Avoiding a fight if possible."
"Sounds pretty cowardly to me."
"Who the hell asked you anyway?"
"If I'm forced to come along, I'd rather do something than watch you and others sneak around."
"No one's forcing you to do shit. Go back to sleep or dormancy, as you call it."
"The moment you borrow my power I'll be reawakened anyway. Or did you forget that it's my power?"
Corbyn's body shook roughly as the Shyp made its landing. The pilot over the loudspeaker apologized for the roughness as the commander rolled his eyes and grabbed the large, double-headed lance leaning against the wall next to him, placing it into the holster on his back. "I don't have time for this pointless argument, I have to meet the others," Corbyn relayed in his mind as he rubbed his forehead.
As expected, the air was frigid in the Tundra. Corbyn briskly strolled down the ramp of the Shyp and crunched down on the collection of brush and cold underneath with each step as he made a beeline for the main tent. The encampment was not necessarily large, though it was exactly as the lancer expected. Various SOLDIER personnel scurried from point to point and the general atmosphere of the area was heavy with preparation and rush. Just ahead near the tent, the commander could easily make out the figures of those he would be working with, chief among them the giant known as Corr and a fellow associate, Carmen Auset. The air grew colder and sharper as he neared the group and white breath soared into the skies in the form of wisps as an exaggerated sigh escaped. Auset was doing her thing again. As Corbyn approached the group, he slowed his walk and offered a risen hand as a form of general greeting to all.
"Please, please tell me you've got some decent food," He said to Corr, his eyes pleading with hunger. The travel by Shyp was bad enough due to flight, but the worse sin was the god awful crap they tried to pass off as food. Even SOLDIER could not have the luxury of high-quality cooking.