Date: 11-01-100 A.R(Age of Radiance)
Time: 10:00 PM
Weather: Overcast with Light Snowfall
Region: Bus Stop BS-6-04, Northern Region of Atlas
A stiff wind swept by.
Whispers of snow sailed with it.
The light pole outside flickered with a steady hum, illuminating the fall of snow blanketing the perimeter in a comfortable blue.
From one's time spent in Atlas, all these things combined were the signature mark of the Kingdom.
The technological powerhouse of Remnant. The frozen kingdom of opportunity. The home of graceful might. Or so it was called in its fancy brochures.
One could make a name of themselves here with its historical glory, the rich tapestry of ancient technology that was buried in its unchartered earth, and spoils from Grimm so dangerous that not even back-to-back huntsmen purges could ever hope to clear them.
All the things Malik needed to make things better for his people.
The only price one had to pay other than stiff taxes, unbreachable social circles or the occasional outbreak of violence. Was the damnable cold biting into your very soul.
Ever since Malik was transported here from earth, three long months ago. The cold was a creeping march on his being every step of the way. It made it hard to be active for the cause of God, but ease was bound to come like it always did.
A man in faded blue clothing sat inside an enclosed bus stop. His eyes fixed on the fall of snow just outside his temporary respite.
He took out an exasperated sigh, fog coating his very breath.
Maybe this is why Allah gave humanity of this planet aura? Ignoring the literal demons and evil doers that stalk this world.
Despite the heat, Malik shoved his hands in the pockets of a smooth trench coat that parted by being buttoned from the middle and from a thin line at the bottom back of the coat, revealing a bland shirt and pant underneath. The splitting ensured the coat wouldn't get in his way in combat. After feeling some comfortable warmth in his hands, Malik recounted why he was here in this frost touched wasteland in the first place.
His memories were a delicate thing, broken pieces connected by a single thread. With that thread being, Allah the creator. Major events he could recall were blocked by an unknown pressure; the shorter ones would pop up sporadically with time. But all given obstacles would disappear every time he would pick up the banner of his religion and plant it wherever he was required to.
It was like a spark he would receive every time he cemented his connection with God.
Whenever he felt awful or was put in a tense situation. Internally, Malik would send his right hand to the heavens. And it would answer with the grip of God who would flood his heart with warmth and reassurance, and his mind with unearthed revelations or wisdom.
Remember me. And I will remember you.
A wise yet ancient voice echoed out from his heart. The wave soothed travelled up to his mind and captured it in a soothing embrace. It felt all-encompassing yet the most natural thing in existence. Malik knew the saying was from the Quran, despite rarely opening the book. And the voice was what he perceived to be of God's.
He had grown accustomed to the voice of Allah throughout his life. It was a confident, wise voice of a man. Every time the lord talked; Malik's full attention was summoned. It felt as if he was staring at the pinnacle of reality itself, with the Almighty just standing there. The presence of the creator was a welcoming thing, and the Muslim didn't care if others considered him weird for that. As far as he was concerned, he already felt he crossed that bridge of weirdness a long time ago and just accepted things from God as is.
Especially when the lord had proven himself on multiple occasions.
Thankfully, he kept this aspect of himself under strict secrecy.
The religion of God has tiered access of ilm -knowledge- and 99.9% of the people didn't need to know about Malik's situation.
With a flex of his leather gloved hands, Malik reminisced more about the lord. The lord talked when it was appropriate but didn't turned Malik away if a heart to creator conversation was needed as per the situation.
Malik indulged in this calming sensation for a bit as it was pulsing a wave of peace from the center of his chest, relaxing his entire body.
...
With a deep breath, the low-level huntsmen remembered why he was here.
The Dust Fall Council, the coordination body of non-kingdom huntsmen inside Atlas, had posted a request for a mid-level purge of Grimm near a remote mining town operating in the frozen wilderness of northern Atlas and southward of the great caps of giants mountain range. It was a high priority asset for the kingdom, but it rarely saw incidents worth sending huntsmen over to.
The Town of Frostbite Falls.
He was a short bus ride away from his mission location, he could probably take a direct path to it through an alpine forest but why risk something dangerous like that when a bus was coming in an hour, the previous one had to turn back due to a maintenance issue.
As for the mission itself. An incident report was filed last night by a local patrol of Atlas soldiers near a work camp of the settlement. Some weird Grimm was poking out from the clearing of a nearby forest; the ongoing snowfall made it hard to see. They couldn't take pictures but recounted it having a tall, slithery silhouette with two scythe-like arms and lines of red glow running across its body. Attempts at contacts were called off by the local guild's huntsmen watching over them, a wise decision since Malik knew that any Grimm with the discipline to not attack on sight was not to be messed with.
Alas, Malik secretly hoped they were wrong, and it was all a nothing burger and he would catch a ride back to the lower city of Mantle by morning. Travelling on the kingdom's transit service, the Griffin Grid, took its toll on the huntsman.
Scrunching his nose in frustration. Malik remembered a guild, organisation of huntsmen, hailing from Vale that had a protection force stationed there. The name Kettle Raiders surfaced from his mind, maybe he read that name somewhere?
Well, whatever the case, investigating the presence of Grimm was not something they were clearly interested in. Which meant they wouldn't bother sending teams out to check what they saw and must have high tailed it back to safety to leave this situation for someone else.
Normally requests like these would be handled by a freelancing team of C-class huntsmen. Instead, it was assigned to some D-class nobody.
Malik Ur Rehman.
His peers called this class the unofficial errand boys and were only good for taking out low-level Grimm stragglers, helping menial tasks of law enforcement, providing logistical support for huntsmen operations or checking up on far flung villages. Anything more would require heavy hitters from Class C to S to come rolling in.
This request was dropped onto his lap by his troublesome dispatcher, Melissa. Knowing full well he should never be getting something dangerous as this.
Under normal circumstances, he would have yanked one of her ears for this untamed stupidity. Or pluck one of her prized feathers or two in front of everyone.
Much to his sadness, the situation of Atlas right now is anything but normal.
The usual peacekeepers, primarily the Atlas military and Dust Fall Council, were busy getting mixed up in a kingdom wide conundrum. Atlas was pushing a grand event that would boost the local tourism and business sectors, the usual activity it needed to throw more money in its growing economy and R&D sector. Security along with coordination of high traffic areas amidst unreliable weather saw manpower dwindle. Now add Grimm and bandits acting out. And suddenly every combatant who served the kingdom was about to be very busy.
And poor Malik got the short end of it.
Malik wanted nothing more right now to stay at home. Watch some tv maybe or grab a bite to eat. But the people needed him now more than ever. And well... Malik did need a way to climb up with experience and effort. The two E's that define a Muslim. Those two E's count the most in tough conditions.
Being good during hard times is what matters the most to me.
Yeah... that too.
With a sigh the man adjusted himself in his bench, feeling its remarkable warmth of the built-in heater seep through the leather padding despite the freezing circumstance of the outside. Marvel of Altas engineering if he had to say.
His eyes took in the surroundings of the bus stop, a spacious white coated shelter that was protected from the elements by plexiglass walls and dust powered heaters built into them that operated in quite hums. The shelter contained a pair of leather strapped bus benches that could provide comfortable respite for eight individuals. A nifty wending machine in the corner, and a compact hologram terminal connected to the CCTS network . Under the usual conditions would display various transit routes or news, sadly was not working due to ongoing maintenance at the local node connected to the network.
If you paid close attention, you could find the brand labelling of the SDC stamped on electrical appliances along with a plethora of other corps Malik would like to search up on later. Undoubtedly the lion's share of the dust used to power everything across Remnant and the mint needed to disperse its property came from the SDC, resulting in them being shoehorned in as partners in every industry known to man.
Even in this isolated bus stop in the middle of a frozen highway.
Heck, the rows of highway light poles may have an SDC snowflake stamped on the dust junction box attached to it. Just below the insignia of the kingdom.
The subtle influence of the dust extraction and processing company across Atlas was something Malik picked up over time in the kingdom. The company was something he would like to know more about as he found dust and mint interesting.
The wiry man focused his gaze on the automatic entry doors, which were the only glass surfaces that were transparent enough.
The first thing he picked up... was his own threatening reflection slightly obscured against a backdrop of snow.
It was a peculiar sight.
A man in a trench coat could be seen sitting rigid with an air of seriousness, his arms crossed over and his jean covered legs tensed up as if ready to jump at a minute's notice. His face, the only thing that popped out were subtle brown eyes and sun kissed skin around them, with the rest of his visage obscured by a baseball cap and smooth mask that covered his face from nose to chin. His clothing was dyed in an odd pattern of faded blue.
His looks resembled some form of spectre. Something you wouldn't be able to pick out in the wilderness of Atlas or the streets of its settlements. Waiting for something or someone.
The tenseness inside him was spilling out.
Just looking at the reflection caused his heart to tighten and mind to whirl with the threat of memories.
Memories he would like to face down in a more hospitable environment.
Well attempt to...
A tumble.
A fall.
A storm roared to life in his mind, each passing second was seeing its foreboding form materialise over him. Flashes of vision acted as the drizzle, the sounds that followed the proverbial downpour. He couldn't make heads or tails of the chaos; all he knew is that they were significant. Important. Yet he wasn't allowed to recall them. They picked up speed akin to a swirling tempest. Ripping apart his defences until they swallowed him whole.
He gripped his face and screamed in agony.
The first memory burst forth of a world on fire, charred bodies were piled in front of a burning masjid. The minaret of the masjid stood tall; the imam was still making the call to prayer despite the world coming to an end.
The second memory revealed a hectic battlefield. Malik fell upon dark monsters. His rifle thundered; his sword swam in the blood of creatures. The vision halted as soon as his eyes levelled with her.
The third memory was the table of the great game. It was labelled with all the threats that assailed the servants of the lord. A dark hand casted its shadow on a map that faced a land coloured in gold. Malik moved his piece, the king, in front of it.
The memories stopped. With rugged breathing Malik did his best to calm himself down, even if warm liquid dripped from the side of his face and his heart thundered like no other.
He stayed like that for a bit, waiting for his emotions to flush out. His chest felt trapped in a vice of a grip that loosened in relief every passing moment.
He could feel the invisible hand of the lord on his left shoulder. It brought him some calm. Calm that cooled the mind and loosened his chest.
The sound of the wind picking up was all he could focus on.
Be patient with your burdens Mr. Rehman. I will never leave your side.
That... was helping.
Malik removed his face covering to avoid soiling it from his tears and snot.
For a moment, he rested his head on his palms. Hunched over forward with the support of his elbows on his thighs. The leather of his gloves pressing into his face.
His tear swelled eyes were focused on the tilled floor in deep thought, peering through the cracks of his fingers.
His vision blurred through the haze.
These memories, these duties, these burdens.
It was something he was familiar throughout his whole life.
Ever since he was young, he always wanted to be the man who wanted to protect Islam. He was aware of the state it was in the twenty-first century yet he still wanted it to rise back up despite the odds. His youth was filled with prayers to God to send him down the path of total victory filled to the brim with miracles and reward from Allah. A victory that would be maintained all the way up till the end of days.
But as he got older, the path of total victory can only come when you wage total war. And war was something one could never fight without the will to pay the appropriate costs.
Costs Malik was horrified of paying yet he knew he had to. His hesitance in doing so left scars on his mind and body, teaching him harsh lessons that mankind would only get what it strives for as promised by Allah in the Quran. Compromising on your goals due to the COSTS was no valid excuse to give up on them.
After all, the lord said he merely alternated victory and defeat, peace and pain to reveal the sincerity of his servants.
One could say that Malik should make things easier for himself. Just be a simple mujahideen or scholar, no need for him to take up such burdens...
But he could never come to terms with betraying his best and closest friend, Allah.
Malik knew the lord was worth the cost, he just had to build up the courage to go all in for his sake.
Malik swiped some built up snot from his face. He wiped his hand on his thigh.
Allah was someone who Malik had a connection with from a very young age. When he first contacted the lord during prayer, he was a hidden figure. His presence could only be felt by the sensation of peace that touched Malik's heart like no other and the soothing of the mind with wisdom.
Malik prayed to said figure, and his prayers would be answered with time. Every time he encountered a reminder regarding him, he would obey it to the best of his abilities with a sincere heart. Whatever queries Malik had would be answered with subtle drops of knowledge. Sure, he was tested, but the lord was always there with him no matter how much Malik was severely shaken. Mending his scars, shedding his weakness, and rewarding him sufficiently.
This connection grew till the point that the lord was someone who was permanently in the centre of his heart. And the good, friendly lord took a more direct approach talking to Malik.
The lord was someone who clearly cared about his creations, about humanity. Alas, most people ignored him for one reason or another. Malik wasn't one of them, he couldn't be unfair to God after all that he had done for him. And God cared about the Prophet -peace and blessings upon him and his household- and he cared about his followers as well.
As such Malik grew to care about the wellbeing of these servants of Allah, the Ummah. He was willing to pay the ultimate price to see it flourish like never before. But the reality of his situation was quite different.
Malik thought he would immediately be granted the strength to prevent the deluge of suffering that consumed everyone back at home, to get that victory he was yearning for. But he had forgotten that the lord does not like hastiness.
With a deep breath, he sucked in air from the nose. Smelling the sharp yet odourless air, he was used to as it settled in his lungs with a cold weight.
From the limited knowledge Malik acquired of this world, it seems this is where he would get that strength to attain ultimate victory. On remnant.
Aura was a force multiplier never seen before. It was the perfect counterbalance to Grimm, and something that could be woven into Remnant's craftsmanship with the help of Dust and its utilitarian byproduct that facilitated the miraculous effects of aura and dust, Mint.
Malik's aura on the other hand was anything but normal. It was below average amongst huntsmen, the worst part? It was barely functional. It gave him bursts of speed, some manipulation of dust and mint. An amp of strength there, but nothing like the consistency of his colleagues. His experience from the battlegrounds of earth was the only thing that kept him going and pass his D class exams to attain his huntsmen licence for the corresponding level.
He would need more effort, more help. More of everything really.
He raised a trembling hand through his hair, massaging the sides of his head afterwards.
He knew the perfect prayer that would make things better and make him ready for his mission.
Malik formally seated himself and cupped his hands together, palms facing the heavens.
A hoarse voice recited.
"Allahumma salli ala Muhammadin wa'ala aali Muhammadin kama sallaita ala Ibrahima wa'ala aali Ibrahima innaka Hameedum Majeed. Allahumma barik ala Muhammadin wa'ala aali Muhammadin kama barakta ala Ibrahima wa'ala aali Ibrahima innaka Hameedum Majeed."
Sending peace and blessings upon the prophet and his household is how you get unshakeable goodness. Malik's life was a testament to this.
Catching his breath, he looked around a bit. Eyes drifting from the reflection of himself to the duffle bag by his legs. It contained the items and weapons he needed for his mission. His mind flashed a weapon named Zulfiqar, a modified M-16 A2.
A weapon from earth that awoke a warmth in his heart that one would find with a friend. Zulfiqar stood by him against the trials of war.
Woefully said companion was hiding back at his dwelling, a precautionary move to prevent the locals from learning about Malik's origins. They were quite jumpy, and livelier than he could ever be.
Alas the bag with him right now contained a reliable service rifle from the Atlas military, a bastard sword used by huntsmen trainees, first aid kit, food, and ammo.
A buzzing sound was heard from his coat.
His scroll.
Malik turned it on and watched its holographic screen come to life, a silver insignia of a dust crystal that was chipped from the top and had sparking clouds hovering above it flashed on the screen. The words DFC was written down on the centre.
"HHHHEEELLLLOOOO! Come in Braveheart! Markus, can you hear me? Report in please, the CCTS node in your area is operational. System says maintenance was over 10 minutes ago. Don't want you stringing about out there when you can be cosy back at the station. Hehe. Dust, the station manager will be off-kilter if you were late again." A feminine voice, refined with velvet sounded from the scroll.
Ah, the operator that was assigned to him. Along with the cover name he used for the locals.
"This is Markus... I would like permission to use callsigns. Someone... could be listening in." Malik wasn't a composed man when talking to people, he had to take it slow with them. His reminder on operational security was a necessity.
Wars on earth punctuated this lesson quite well.
In response, he could hear Melissa's signature tittering from the other side.
"Sure, Watchdog. Would you like to indulge in some coffee to keep you running over there? Maybe rest in your signature blankies that you go to sleep at the station with?"
Heat crept up his face, his mouth was slightly ajar with his cheeks flushed.
"Leave those out operator B23! I... Uh, I have you know they are the only things that keep me warm... Other than my barely functional aura."
He could hear her leaning back and fighting back a chuckle. It was always easy for her to get under his skin.
"There, there Braveheart. Listen, I am sending in your intel for the assignment. Pay VERY close attention to it." She said as the notifications of his scroll beeped.
The huntsman immediately opened them.
Mission Designation: Show Down
Operator: B-23
Huntsmen Team: Watchdog (Leader: Watchdog)
Objective: Investigate a Spectre (Grimm Sighting) near Frostbite Falls -DATA LOST-
Grimm Threat Level (GTL): -DATA LOST-
Mission Difficulty Signifier (MDS): -DATA LOST-
Expected Duration: -DATA LOST-
They were empty. No worse than empty. The bar on the top right of his screen showed a strong signal, meaning that data couldn't be loss even if it wanted to. And judging by her previous antics, it only meant one thing...
"Wo-Women, this isn't the time for games! Correct this mistake at once!" Malik rattled out.
"TSK TSK TSK." He could practically see her wiggling a silk gloved finger at him.
"That's no way to talk to your lifeline here. Every moment you spend out there, it can be extended by yours truly. You could even say I am your Queen in this very situation! Why don't you make it a bit easy on yourself and say my full name. Unlike last time." She harped some more to him.
The last part unnerved him.
Malik furrowed his brows, staring at the scroll with an intensity that he really shouldn't be feeling right now.
This operator was infamous as a work hawk even by the strict standards of the operational department, but had a playful side to her that turned her into a tricky harpy. Some say the stress of her being a work bird got to her, and this was how she deals with it.
Any reports to the DFC regarding her were met with silence and closely followed by her hitting back in admittedly funny ways. Wasting time, money and his pride. Maybe this was those moments again?
Problem is he couldn't remember what he did to piss off this harpy from the Atlas nobility. He couldn't understand why she was an operator for the DFC in the first place! Not even mentioning the fact she's a huntress from a well-off guild. Then again, huntsmen do volunteer now and then as operators to collect side money or have a break in a safer environment.
Still doesn't explain why a Lady from the Atlas upper class like her volunteers at the DFC.
....
With a sigh, Malik spun his head for options.
He looked at the floor for a bit, the grey tiling of it showed him paths. Paths that led to dead ends except for one. The lord was practically highlighting it in golden ivory.
Appeasement.
Appeasement always worked with women, and it was time to do it again. It helped getting extra time from other female operators, this one should be no big deal hopefully.
His memories were wonky, and this was something his colleagues and nearly everyone in his station poked him for. The menace that was assigned to him was no exception.
She was the ultimatum.
He stared outside the window, scrounging up the splintered memories in his mind. The white canvas outside shrouded in night and falling snow remained as it were, the blue lit highway brushing through it vertically provided some contrast. It was intermediately lighted up by pole mounted roadway lights, stretching from one endless end to another. His eyes were swaying over the markings on the road, wandering over to signs with precautionary messages on both sides of it, and then over to a rolling hill further off in the distance. At day, sleek kingdom issued buses for the Atlas work force, expensive cars of its nobilities and commoners or specialised terminal buses would travel up and down the highway. Night turned travelling on it into a daunting task from the sheer feeling of isolation.
Grimm and bandit loved isolated passengers trapped in snowstorms or lost somewhere far flung where connection to a CCTS node was difficult.
He turned his contemplating gaze beyond the highway. Sitting just ahead snow-covered fields and rocky outcrops. A noteworthy hill lied ahead. It was a dark green, hunched over giant. Standing on the mouth of an endless alpine forest. The green of it all was buried in white yet silhouetted in the dark from Remnant's shattered moon.
It looked haunting. Yet nothing compared to the mountain range it was dwarfed by. The great caps of giants. The shattered moon of Remnant barely lit it through dense clouds, but Malik could make out its behemoth stature that would always draw bad feeling from him. It was a great wall of slate, divided into flat-topped summits marked with five distinct capped heads.
Malik knew from an old newspaper the Atlas military attempted to build a base on top of it, the costs of logistics alone shot down their plans and they never bothered to do anything other than letting guilds indulge in expeditions towards it.
He turned away from the intimidating sight and gazed upwards.
The skies were rolling blankets of clouds with a touch of ethereal blue beauty, with the distant glows of airships travelling through them. A cloak of darkness that was sporadically brighten up from the lights of various aircrafts that resembled cars passing through a foggy tunnel. The belly of the clouds was tinted a blue hue from the grand settlements of Atlas. Malik knew the skies of Atlas would remain busy no matter how tough the weather got; other then Atlesian engineering making it possible, the kingdom was staging a crucial event after all that would see air traffic flow to every major point of interest in the city. Night time travel was much preferable by air, even with the threat of airborne Grimm.
Feeling a bit better, he decided to look around the lively perimeter of the bus stop lit up by the streetlight, all the while praying for a quick answer. He found it in the serene fall of snowflakes under a flicker of blue. He thanked God as the snowflakes pilled on a snowbank near the light pole.
Her name ended with black. And since the people around here had a tendency for punctuating the colours they liked in their name, her name would probably have an ebony thrown there in the end as well.
"Melissa Ebony Black."
"..."
The answer earned him a moment of silence.
"..."
He didn't like the intensity that emitted from the scroll one bit.
The moments trickled to minutes; a heavy calm settled in between the two.
The operator appeared to be in deep contemplation.
The quite was broken with the sound of her removing her headset, scooting her chair away, getting up and walking away.
"Melissa."
No response.
"Operator B23!" He tried again, tenser.
Only silence filled the bus stop.
Maybe a diplomatic approach would work? Anything to get his task over with, and him sleeping on a heated bed.
"Melisa... P-Please... Come on women. It's cold... out here." The grown up Mujahideen whimpered.
A minute passed and there was still silence. Suddenly, he could hear a couple of females, interesting creations of God, arguing. He couldn't make heads or tale of what they were saying. One voice sounded like wailing, the other sounded slow and overworked.
Moments passed by and he could hear shuffling growing louder till it stopped.
And to his surprise, his scroll answered again.
"Yooo, Markus. What's going on out there?" A sloth of a greeting echoed out. "Ugh, I heard you had a thing for stepping on toes, but never to make someone like Melissa crash out." The sentence ended with a light, gravely chuckle.
Malik could hear her get closer to the microphone. Speaking into it with a low whisper.
"You would think she was a fire dust with the way she was burning. He forgot mah name, mah name!" This time her chuckle was much quite.
A loud and indignant "EXCUSE ME." was heard in the background. That wouldn't escape Melissa by a long shot. Avians always had the keenest of ears and sharpest of eyes.
Malik on the other hand knew who the speaker was, it was the notorious chain smoker. Poor thing took too much stress on.
"Ah! operator B21. P-Please forward me my mission details, my current operator is becoming uncompliant and withholding critical info.... Again."
That provoked another chuckle and the rhythmic drumming of fingers, echoing another operator's fall into deep contemplation. He could hear her mutter something under her breath before talking again.
"Yawn, what were your full operating sectors again? I gotta confirm something."
"Pardon?"
Asking his current sector was fine, but the full area of operations assigned to him? This was getting confusing.
"Your assigned sectors my dude, most people have a hard time remembering stuff like that. Ahhh, I just wanted to check a sneaking suspicion of mine cooking in mah noggin. Have heard a lot about you from Melissa after all." Her response ended with slurping and the sound of a mug being placed on a desk.
Coffee? He wanted some!
Malik scratched his chin for a bit and stared into the bright ceiling. Its smooth surface felt soothing. "Since I am a class D huntsman, I ugh, get two designated sectors per kingdom. My first sector is the capital of Atlas, Mantle. The Lower City. As you may know, the first sector is always the home ground of any huntsmen, the second one is where they truly operate in to earn some bread as they say."
"Mm-hm. Carry on." The operator grunted, the sound of typing accompanying the noise.
Confidence was settling in his chest now.
"My secondary sector is located in the northern regions of Atlas. I have authority to accept tasks starting from the lower city, designated as Sector 1. Which branches of to four sub-sectors that start from 1-A and end in 1-D. These subsectors are based off the three major districts of the lower city, and its outer perimeter respectively."
The low-class huntsman paused a bit, recounting the areas of northern Atlas he was handed out. From what he remembered, sub-sectors covered points of interests in an inhabited region. Be it a large space of dwelling or the main intrigue of a settlement.
He stared ahead for a while, mulling over his brain for info. And continued. "Moving on to my second sector which is the Northern Regions... I am allowed to operate in sub-sector 3-A, Northlake Outpost situated up north and is known for its famous fishing town. My current mission location, Frostbite Falls Town, is subsector 3-B and is by the Dust harvest trench north-west. Finally, the Frostbite Mine Complex is subsector 3-C and it's located in the Hourglass Mountain range running near the north-eastern mainland. Current rank forbids participation in Grimm purges, VIP escorts, relic hunt expeditions and other dangerous activities unless a specific request has been made by the DFC or the Atlas military. I am only allowed to do low level legwork."
There was a pause before a new reply came. "He could recall that at the top of his head?" A far-off voice sputtered.
"Uhuh, uhuh. I am impressed my dude, really impressed. This confirms you are serious about this shtick rather than some lazy A-holes I know of. I am currently staring at your file right now. Everything adds up, most huntsmen have a hard time remembering legal stuff like this. They just stare at the mission board like beavemoles and pick whatever they like. Very irksome for operators like us. But now it's time for you to show us your... experience. A man who has Melissa as an operator hast to be interesting." Her voice took a turn to a low, even pitch.
Sadly, for her Malik was focused elsewhere.
Malik narrowed his eyes at the mention of beavemoles. Remnant also had unique fauna from what he researched, but Grimm and exotic wildlife hunters kept their numbers too low. Much to the huntsmen's sadness. He wanted to see the majestic Griffins that the Griffin Grid was named after.
"My experience... well that is lacking to say the least. I-It's low intensity work compared to my peers in the upper echelon." Hesitance was creeping into his voice again.
He needed to control that.
"Markus buddy. You... damn dude. What you do is anything but, I am seeing 10 cases of Code Downfalls here handled and FILED by you for this month alone." She blurted out, any form of sluggishness was cast aside.
Code Downfall was the Atlas Kingdom designation for KIAs, severely wounded was code Bastion. Most of the victims he prepared for the morgue were ambushed in isolated areas by Grimm or bandits and forgotten casualties from conflicts long past. Every time he went on patrol through the Griffin Grid, he felt naturally drawn to them as if Allah was guiding him to them through the aura in his body.
"Someone has to do the dirty work. I don't like seeing people forgotten on the wayside, especially when... Atlas has no problem drawing up missing persons rather than launching proper search and rescue operations." He looked down on his boots, the mud on them stained the floor. "As for my combat duties as a huntsman... I am renowned for being the bane of beowolves or pesky nevermore but that's it. I also volunteer for after-battle clean ups and paperwork in my assigned sectors."
He heard a heavy sigh from the other end.
"I understand very well Ma- "
"Please call me by callsign, operator B-21. I don't trust these lines."
"Huhhh! Sure Watchdog, you will get your bone. I know how awful it's been getting lately thanks to the Crystal Crown event. Dust, the brass doesn't give much thought for the poor village folk or less travelled areas, so you are doing some pretty good work." She paused a bit, mulling over her next batch of gloomy words. "Normally we would have our morgue units ready, but they are on standby for mass casualty events or high-profile cases, so now we have to drag people like you to get them to handle casualties. Let alone file their paperwork and send personal letters to their loved ones. That undoubtedly does a number on ya, and I am requesting you go for a checkup at the Behavioral Health Department of the DFC."
He didn't need that. At least not yet.
"I appreciate your concern operator, but that's not needed... I go for monthly checkups already. Ah, Rules dictate that only those are mandatory; more can be assigned on a per case basis." Malik kept a thick wall up against the therapist assigned to him. He wasn't interested in anyone picking his brain. Especially when she was keen on probing it with her semblance, seriously the people of this world were quite pushy.
"Tough guy ay? Your psychiatric reports indicate 70% mental wellness. 10% above the threshold fit for duty. Couple this with some pretty worrying remarks, and suddenly I don't want you prancing around in the snow no'mo." She finished with a sip of coffee.
He had to stop himself from crushing his scroll. Malik felt his mood drop getting called out like that.
Then again, a running theme of the people of Remnant was that they would always get in your face. No matter what.
"Look operator, I am fine as is. Your conce-ern is unneeded when a critical mission awaits me."
A drowned-out sigh echoed, and Malik could also imagine a hand running over a face.
"Just take care of yourself Watchdog, you don't know how many tough guys I have seen get buried by something they refused to face in time. Now as for your mission..." Her voice teetered off into silent mumbling.
A moment passed.
Then another.
"Mellissa? Can you come over here for a second." Her voice still sounded like syrup running over gravel, but something heavy bubbled underneath it.
"I am giving you five seconds for you to explain yourself before I call the station manager."
This was getting quite worrying.
"Come now darling, I have done no wrong." Melissa deflected.
"Explain why you have a moderate risk mission assigned to a nobody? Do you seriously think we have a shortage of casualties!"
Malik pretended not to be insulted. As for the casualties, it was nice to have some confirmation that the rumors getting by Atlas censors were true. Holes in security were known to rear their ugly heads during major events; Atlas had a habit of hiding its failures.
"There is no need for you to be a worry sprout darling, Watchdog here is more capable than he seems. All he needs is the right set of missions to spring him up! After all no construct can come alive without a bit of mint in it, eh?"
He could hear a heavy sigh from the other end. "I would believe ya if you weren't sending him to the bloody gallows! The council from Frostbite Falls has specifically requested a team of huntsmen Class B and above. This newbie won't stand a chance against whatever colorful breed of Grimm that awaits him!"
Mellisa went quite for a second. And as soon a tense minute was about to end...
She chuckled.
"Operator B21, I am advising you to keep your lien close and your eyes open. Watchdog is more than capable of handling this assignment. If you wish, you can exercise a smidge of patience and see your dust grow! Lest you blow a fuse that is..." The threat at the end was felt by everyone.
Malik noted whenever something pissed Melissa off, she would drop any hint of friendliness and adopt a no-nonsense approach that is befitting for someone from the Atlas nobility. Maybe he should do that more to get work done efficiently? Then again, she was quite vindictive as evident by his current situation.
Unfortunately for her, she wasn't the only one who was going off.
"Listen here you damn peacock!"
"A Atlesian Secretary bird if you wish to be more specific cub head."
"Whatever! I am your damn senior so don't go around telling me what I can and cannot do. Watchdog barely has a workable tally for beowolves, which is something that students in beginner schools reach halfway through their course. Why have you sent him alone to deal with a medium level threat? A swarm of beowolves or ursasi could be waiting for him!" It appears operator B21 could shed off her slothful side when angry... Malik would have never guessed it was possible with his brief encounters with her.
"I understand you quite well dear B21. You know that all nearby guilds are strictly playing gatekeepers or diving after relics thanks to their patrons, unwilling or unable to respond to threats in a pro-active manner outside the coverage of their precious settlements." She somehow managed to spat those words out despite her velvet tongue. "As for the non-guild options, any high-profile huntsmen or teams will not bother trekking through the wilderness of the northern regions just to respond to a threat that the Frostbite Falls council has mere sightings of, especially when the Dust Fall Council and non-kingdom organisations are paying out bounties for huntsmen to remain on standby for any high-profile incident pertaining to their localities."
B21's response shot out immediately. "But you are just plain wrong here! If the Grimm escalated to be dangerous, the Kettle Raiders guild stationed there are contract bound to send teams to take care of it. Having a D class play detective or worse, Grimm food, isn't gonna cut it! He should be cosying up with a buddy or two in the lower city. Not out there!"
....
Damn, he ugh, he forgot about that.
The huntsmen's mood -something that already bordered on rock bottom- dropped immediately. His frozen rear could be enjoying security duty somewhere safe and populated rather than going after a wild goose chase thanks to his maniac of an operator.
The air felt bitter. Malik breathed in. And then out. His chest heaved with rapid breathing. Pent up rage was clawing out.
'This dumb bi-' He ended the curse before he blurted it out in his head and instead opted to close the call.
His thumb hovered over the red call button, ready to end this farse of a mission and crash in some settlement for the night.
A pair of lungs sucked in breath from the other side, with a sharp and purposeful intent to fill up to capacity. Once they were packed to the brim, an un-lady like groan sounded from Melissa. All pretext of nobility went out the window.
"UUUGGGGGGGGHHHH."
Just as the groan droned to its end, an awkward silence filled the bus stop. If B21 and Malik were present in person, they could only stare at each other and wait for Melissa's apparent surrender.
The winds outside were picking up. The dance of flakes was becoming intense.
Her footsteps grew louder, each step a bold proclamation. Malik reckoned she should be face to face with B21 about now. "Allow me a moment of candour B21. Watchdog here is no mere huntsman. He's hardly ordinary I assure you. And as for the legal obligations of the Kettle Raiders, they are on record to fumble out excuses on matters related to Grimm extermination. Besides, it would be a waste to employ them in such a manner. The council of Frostbite Falls would be fools to squander their relic hunting expertise or mineral scanning talents on a mere sighting, considering they are contracted for a mining settlement."
With a soft pause, she drawled on. "As for our dear Watchdog, he has peculiar qualities linked to him that could be extracted through the finest touch of danger. I was meaning to tell you about him, so that you could be my accomplice in cultivating his qualities in a more controlled environment and help him along. But someone had to go about misremembering my name and appoint shame to my family's name!" She ended with a shout that caused his ears to ring.
Ah that was it.
If she were here, he could feel her stormy grey eyes lock on to him through his scroll. B21 on the other hand, choked out a chuckle.
"That's it? Heh, you are giving the poor dude a hard time all because he forgot your name? Pah woman!"
"Don't pah someone like me, this man should have the least bit of grace to remember the full name of someone who has taken him under their wings. The wings of my family chartered the frontiers of Remnant through history, aiding its denizens with knowledge it could never have access to and this huntsman." Malik could feel her piercing gaze on him, more a wounded pride then killing intent. "Has no shame in forgetting about my name as if I am just another trifling clerk to be written off! I have aided him, I warrant recognition!"
"Look operator... pl-ease don't take this the wrong way, but my memory is not strong. Names, faces even. They blur into one big mess... It's tough for me as is." Malik blurted out an answered with an even voice.
He should be in the midst of a mission by now, not caught in a drama with an operator he respected but wanted less to do with every passing day. How could he be at fault if he found it much easier to recall things then people?
Worry not Malik, the one who knows their lord. Knows themself. I will make clear your memories in time.
Lord keeps his promises. Lord keeps his promises.
"Lay off the poor guy will ya!" B21 to the rescue, yay! "He probably has a lot on his mind considering how much of a push over he is, no offence buddy." All taken! "But he's even more stressed out of his mind with a operator like you assigned to him. By the gears of Atlas! Instead of cultivating his qualities, you are gonna run them ragged. Dude would probably have a better time running across the wilderness in a random direction then relying on you to forward him basic mission specifications. I can see how you meticulously wiped the poor guys intel report."
The young huntsmen heard a lighter flicker, and B21 taking a long drag from a ciggy she popped.
The image of her doing that evoked a hazy memory of his brother doing the same thing. The face and name muddled in water. Malik felt awful every passing moment. The thought of him having a brother was pushed to the back of his mind. Right next to the fractured memories of his close circle.
"Snrk, no wonder the dude went through the proper channels and procedures to file a complaint on your feathered ass, Mel. I saw your face drop like a sack of potatoes and how your eyes bulged out when you got a letter of notice. The guy did something that no huntsman could ever accomplish against their operator, he got our esteemed station manager involved. If you didn't have your connections, you would have been transferred out of Atlas by now." She snickered some more. "Seriously I don't understand the need for ragging this dude over a name."
A pause settled in.
Melissa lifted it with a curt reply. "My B21, someone who has the ability to remember picture perfect detail of concepts a beginner would encounter struggles in, suddenly finds difficulty in recalling the simple names of people? Don't you think our dear Braveheart here should find it much easier to address people by their names rather than understanding the nuances of Atlas bureaucracy and bending it to his will? Unless of course he thinks we are just not worth remembering."
Oh no.
B21 stood still in thought. The gears of her mind ticked with each second, and Malik was damn sure he could hear the sound from the scroll.
With a slurp of coffee, and a puff from a cig. B21 leaned forward to speak with the sound of her business suit creasing, Malik could never fathom the sheer stimulus running through her veins. He sought refuge with God against whatever sentence that was conjured by her stress ridden mind.
Honestly no one here was free from it. Allah and his messenger P.B.U.H were right, every heart on this rock is hurting.
"Mmmh, maybe you are on to something Mel? Say Watchdog." She rolled his callsign off her tongue. "I think the both of us have known each other for some time now, and as acquaintances. We should know the names of one another like the back of our hands. Let's prove our Melissa here wrong, why don't you tell me mah name?" She ended with a sweet, gravely tone. Malike knew there was nothing sweet behind her voice.
Damn it.
Worry not mister Rehman. Whatever the result, victorious are those who are patient.
Okay, time to get his nogging jogging.
Smokers elicited a crowd of people to appear in his mind, mostly guys in multi-cam uniforms and office workers. Female chain smoker narrowed it down to a handful. One in navy-blue office attire with bear ears on her head was signalled out by his conscious. His brain spat out a name that ended with "ari". Cigarettes had tobacco. Tar was added in roads construction. The most likely candidate for her name is!
"Tari Table."
No sound was heard from the other end of the scroll, besides the muffled tittering of Melissa beating back a chuckle.
"Tari? Base of off tar? Seriously the thing we mix in our roads to cut costs." She puffed some more smoke.
"I-I heard its really cost efficient and perfect for the weather of Atlas, otherwise the roads alone would require huge tax nets."
"Cut the crap man... like seriously. You bring me my snacks two or three days in the week, and you couldn't even bother remembering my name properly? Alright, what's the name of our station manager, eh? The guy you wrote a report to and debrief about important stuff every now and then. The guy who pays your cheque face to face, should be easy right?"
"Look... P-Please can the two of you let this go? I don't understand what the big deal is. I have a hard time remembering things. It takes a bit too much out of m-me to remember." Malik gulped out a reply.
"Nu-uh It doesn't. You have a hard time remembering names only because you bring them up when they are most relevant to you. Now that I am starting to take a trip down memory lane myself, Melissa told me the letter you filed to the boss had his first, MIDDLE, and final name. That means you can remember the names of people, it just you can't be bothered to recall them. Isn't that right Watchdog!" She practically grinded that part out between gritted teeth.
Malik could only stare at his scroll in apprehension. Pondering if he could toss across the stop and hail down a passing Atlas military convoy for passage back to the lower city.
There was some truth there. The mujahid was surprised at the way his brain would facilitate with perfect names and ideas for tasks his heart was dead set on doing. But as soon as they ended, the fog that normally consumed it would return yet again. The frustrations of his peers were noted and understandable even since people on Remnant were quite sociable and would feel betrayed if someone they considered an acquaintance forgot about their name but for the time being, he wanted nothing more than to get this mission over with.
"L-Look operators... I understand that the both of you want to have a long talk with me. But can it wait until I get back to the station? I-I just want to get home by dawn. If you guys keep me here for long... I don't think I will be able to complete my mission in time." He pleaded one final time.
The operators fell into silence.
Melissa kept her quiet, B21 sighed and spoke out.
"Ah, alright Watchdog. Just make sure you get our names right next time, will ya? I know it may seem bizarre that we are jumping up and down on your back for this, but people of Atlas don't take kindly to someone forgetting about their names, mainly people they work with at a daily basis. Grimm's teeth Watchdog, they consider it a bad omen and if anyone else was here, especially nobles other than Melissa or councilmen. They would have you executed for this. Likewise, don't forget the name Bari Sable ya hear me!" She punctuated it by slamming her mug on the desk.
Man, these people take this seriously.
"Mel get the guy his mission detail already. I wanna see what's he made of."
Melissa cleared her throat and begun typing away. Malik on the other hand took stock of his gear and surrounding for the umpteenth time. The snow was falling as usual; the blue lights dotting the bus stop and highway were still on. His sword and rifle poked out from his duffle bag.
The typing stopped. The avian operator was thinking about something again.
A soft "What the Fu-" was whispered by Bari, followed by a hushed "Language!" from Melissa.
"I bring forth two tiding of news my dear Braveheart, would you like to hear the good or the ill?" Oh God it was just going to be bad, wasn't it?
"Just lay it out... please."
"The good is that a DFC observer drone is above you and will be able to provide real time intelligence. Additionally, a QRF team is coming to your location as soon as possible, their ETA is around 15 minutes. And as for the ill tiding, about an hour ago situation room had notified me that our mysterious target was spotted around the vicinity of Frostbite Falls and was keeping its distance. Mind you this doesn't warrant an emergency, but what does is that it's now reported to heading your way. The feed from the observer drone is available on your scroll. I suggest you see it." She paused, mulling over her next set of words. "I deeply apologies for my tardiness my dear Watchdog. I should had kept myself in check."
She had the decency to sound embarrassed at least.
The Usine operator chimed in. "By the Gears of Atlas, look at the speed of that damn thing!"
Malik minimized the call, and clicked on the feed shared with him.
The incoming video was crisp despite the flutter of ice crystals flowing through the screen. It revealed an aerial view of a massive alpine forest blanketed with snow that dusted the green of the pines with a soft white. In between them, jagged hills poked out from the expanse of snow, with winding ravines making themselves apparent as scars of the land. The entire forest was coloured in a shade of blue from Remnant's shattered moon that only punctuated its ethereal beauty. But admist the subtle openings of it. A Grimm Malik never encountered before travelled through it.
A ribbon of darkness was slicing through the pale snow of the forest, its 15-foot length undulating with hypnotic grace. The light of the moon and the drone's powerful optics reveal a horror that was slithery in nature. It travelled on all four, body long yet packed with subtle muscles and various forms of bone like plating that covered it head to toe in an overlapping, sleek design. Segmented and purposefully arranged to complement its lizard like body that moved with an otherworldly grace that slipped through the pines with minimal disturbance of the frost covering them. It also appeared to have a slender, yet armoured tail that the camera could barely keep up with.
Its head was armoured in the pattern of a jagged crest, with two sets of malevolent-red eyes that slanted outward on both sides of its face. The eyes were the size of a baseball, and blinked in a rapid pattern as if its mind was laced with the most horrific intoxicants known to man. Its maw was open and packed with two rows of jagged, sharp teeth that could easily render flesh and steel alike. The neck of the beast seemed to be flexible from the way it whipped that thing around while travelling. Even with the bone lining it.
From the tip of its snout to the end of its tail. A pattern of spikes made out of bones resembling whitened vertebrae emerged, that increased from the head yet winded down till it reached its tail. Undoubtedly to give it the perfect balance of armour and manoeuvrability. From whatever glimpses of the under-belly Malik could catch of, it looked like the least armoured part of it thanks to only four plates of bone covering it with large spaces between denotating the signature darkened flesh of Grimm. Its muscled hind legs, also had borderline no armour on them other than the tips of bones on its shins, knees and thighs. Nothing that could stop his swings.
More often than not, Malik would appreciate the drone's optical capabilities but when it zoomed in on its forelimbs. He wished it hadn't. Two scythes in the shapes of crescents extended from the fore of its arms, replacing what should had been normally there. And this beast was using it as a discrete chain saw. All the drone could reveal was black blurs in motion as the creature extended its arms ahead to cut down any branch or twig that got in its way, or leverage them as anchors to make swift turns in its maddening yet graceful dash through the forest. Malik could tell that it was hunting for something. It wouldn't take a genius to guess that since Grimm are attracted to aura, the mujahideen was its biggest target.
Under calmer circumstances. Malik wouldn't think much of the red lines on the body of a Grimm. Every time he gazed upon the most common places to find them, their faces. God would highlight the thought of the occult. Of someone meddling with black magic to summon these creatures, to tamper with them in the most grotesque way. Malik wasn't someone who doubted the lord, but his heart always needed a bit more evidence to listen to him and confirm his warnings. And right now, his heart had encountered enough.
The blood red lines on the Grimm draped out in a circuit styled wiring. Etching angular, geometric pathways across its entire sleek, bone-plated body. They started out from the core of its underbelly, wrapping around the torso in a web, branching backwards to a coil along the tail, and accenting the head and scythes in a contrast of deadly precision. As if someone sat down to carefully model the pathways across its entire body. Yet the most damning piece of evidence was the subtle marking of a hand on its shoulder plates and head. Anyone else could easily mistake it for routine Grimm physiology but Malik knew that it was too familiar. Too God-damn familiar!
A banner of pure white was planted on a pile of bodies. The Centre of it was marked with the darkened palm of the Black Hand.
A barrage of images caused Malik to instinctively grip his face. One showed a figure with ramshackle gear of rusted metal patrolling a street with men hanging from poles, another showed animated husks of the dead dragging bodies through the mud, and the most damning one of them all was a body of an Imam crucified to a pallet. The symbol of the Black Hand was gorged into his chest.
"The Black Hand..." Malik hissed under his breath. He quickly put the scroll on mute and prayed no one heard him.
These were the demons the Muslims were at war with back at earth! They defiled life, and puppeteer the dead for their machinations. God's curse upon them! To think these bastards were here on Remnant as well. The demons these defilers of life unleashed on the ummah... The demons... No.
"Those demons, I remember them now. They were made from the flesh of the dead... with darkened veins travelling through them and pitch-black eyes with not a hint of a soul in them... But all of them had the stamp of the Black Hand, in one place or another." He muttered in a trance as his mind raced to connect one dot to another.
Why didn't he think the Grimm were aligned with them? To give himself some leeway, the things looked more like corrupted fauna. Sure, they were attracted to negative emotions and attacked without remorse if they lost control, yet their behaviour matched habitual wild animals. He saw a pack of beowolves bark at one another and even rest as one, an ursa scaring off its kin to feast on a deer it hunted alone, and a murder of nevermore migrating elsewhere without giving attention to passerbys. Various research across Remnant supported this theory. And maybe... maybe it still holds true.
The Almighty ordered his brain to release hidden information.
Every time the Black Hand unleashed a demon. They needed a person at the bare minimum, along with a carcass of an animal or tainted metal work. Then they would conduct an unholy ritual to fuse the two together.
Malik brought the scroll closer and unmuted himself.
"Operators, tell the drone controller to focus on the scythes of the Grimm! I would appreciate it if they can provide me with thermal imaging!"
"Acknowledged." Came the curt reply of Melissa who was typing away. Bari on the other hand was on call with someone.
Moments later the drone feed zoomed in on the forelimbs. The screen went monochrome, with the Grimm captured as a faded white silhouette. Weirdly the lines of the Grimm were glowing pure white in a rhythm, brightest from the core.
'That thing is emitting great amounts of heat through the lines on its body. Interesting thing for later.' The huntsman filed that thought for later.
"The team they are sending out know where you are, so don't run away from your location and try to fight defensively will ya? No heroics!" Bari piped up.
"Got it."
Malik locked his gaze on the way the Grimm used its scythes. As it blitzed through the forest, its scythes were deployed from their normal tucked position against a row of low hanging branches that got in its way. With a flick of its shoulders, it lunged the scythes outward in clean diagonal cuts. Repeating the attacks again and again, until it got clear to resume its maddening dash. It suddenly met a thorny underbrush; it froze for a moment to judge what's ahead with narrowed eyes before suddenly lunging forward. It brought the scythes back to its body, forming a guard in the shape of a X right in front of it as it dashed forward. Tanking whatever thorn that got in its way.
After a brief minute Malik saw it encounter a ravine, rather than risk a jump. It darted to the tallest pine tree right next to it. Hook an arm to the base of the tree. Then with a burst of speed, it rears back, its hind legs tensing before launching into a coiled spring along the length of the pine. As soon as it reached the middle, its arms slashed forward. Delivering clean cuts that caused the tree to fall from the middle, and across the ravine. The beast manoeuvred its body on top of the falling tree, curving its body along its length to avoid being crushed. Once the tree fell with a loud thud that was picked up by the drone's audio sensors. It resumed its undulating travel; it's gaze momentarily flicked above at a nearby flock of birds flying away.
From what Malik witnessed, the attacks were the most concrete signs of the elements of a human being involved. The refined swings of the scythes, the trained guard it used, how it unconsciously kept its offhand scythe ready to parry or riposte, the way it even tucked them when not in use. All signs that pointed to a skilled duellist with honed muscle memory in each strike. The rest of its characteristics matched the rabid, animalistic nature of Grimm out for a hunt.
The Black Hand were here. Maybe... maybe Remnant is where they hail from.
The mujahideen brought his gaze back to the Grimm. The lines on its body were pulsing in a rhythm, except they seemed even more brighter now with each pule. It was looking off to the distance at a jagged hilltop that overlooked the area. He could even see all too familiar lights of the highway as well!
"Operator, tell the drone controller to switch off thermals... I think it's up to something!"
The feed switched back to normal. His suspicions were confirmed when the red glow of the Grimm was intensifying by the second. It stood on its hind legs in an upright position, balancing on the tip of a jagged rock by hooking a scythe for support. The D-class nobody still couldn't understand what was it looking at?
Just then, an arrow of dread stuck his heart.
Malik's mind screamed that it was watching him. With uncontrollable shakiness, he shifted his gaze away from his scroll and to the alpine forest right in front of him. Amidst the frost draped greenery subject to the fall of snow, a glowing red dot was cutting through. Casting finger like shadows through the forest and towards its prey. The huntsman channelled aura to his eyes right then and there. A measure done out of a mix of knee-jerk bravery and morbid curiosity.
His vision swam through bright highway lights, breached the fall of snow, cut through the branches of trees, fought against the brightening red and dancing shadows caused by it. Then finally locked on to the malevolent, red eyes of a blood thirsty predator out for a hunt. Did it just close its maw in a smile?
Malik would never find out since it released a thunderclap of a howl.
Slicing through the cold air, bypassing the thin plexiglass walls of the stop and hammering his ears with brutal force. The blue light of the perimeter along with the nearby highway lights kept flickering throughout the duration of it.
It came to an end with a heavy silence.
The mujahideen on the other hand had dropped his scroll on his lap and covered his ears. The ringing still lingered. And the approaching glow meant that it would be here within five minutes.
"Operators, I am jumping in to battle. Goodbye."
"Fight well Braveheart!"
"Give it your all and make sure you go defensive. I want you back here ya hear me!"
He closed the line then stuff the scroll into his pocket.
The Almighty made himself known with a hand on his shoulder.
The Black Hand will not stop you, Malik. Make it clear to them in battle. Destroy their plans with powers they could never fathom.
The command unleashed white-hot rage from the heart of Malik as the Almighty raised his hand from there, the mind of the Mujahideen was overwhelmed by whitening clarity. The eyes of the Slave of Allah glowed a deep golden.
In a wave of euphoria, Malik took stock of his weapons and prepared for battle.
-(-)-
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