Fiction:Cycles of Blood and Fire

=Part I=

Chapter I - Valra
“Ah fuck,” were Vatra’s first words this morning. The time on her alarm clock indicated that she had overslept by several hours, her work shift having started roughly an hour and a half before now. Even if she had awoken before her shift there would have been no time to meaningfully fulfil her pre-work morning schedule, having to rush her physical exercises and likely misaligning her emotional centres even further. Even while taking a break from living and practicing with her master to connect with the mundane world beyond the realms of dreams and the supernatural Vatra had promised to keep to a strict regimen to not lose any progress she had made in her training.

Recently, however, she had been lapsing. For two months in a row she had been experiencing fragmentary visions in both the waking and dreaming worlds, her reality penetrated by constructs of psyche: the shadows of many-headed serpentine monsters stretching from darkness at sunset, words spoken in a tongue she presumed had been either extinct since before her race touched the stars or was yet to be born, her eyes fixing their gaze into the soul-fire at the hearts of those around her and causing her to stare. Even today her dreamscape had been invaded by such visions rather than the usual nightmares, this time having watched herself burn and immolate from the eyes of an observer before her body scattered to ashes to unveil a serpent with scales of fire uncoiling and rising from thick, suffocating blood-smoke.

“Miss Morikair,” a voice sounded through her apartment from the front door. She was only awake now because of visitors, as her alarm clock had already activated and failed to stir her sometime ago. She suspected that if no one had come to see her she would have likely slept until midday or the early hours of the afternoon. She stretched and took some practice steps after delicately forcing herself to rise from her bed, acclimatizing her body to walking after such an intense and deep slumber. She focused briefly to flex her telekinesis, bringing her toothbrush from the far side of her room to her hand while approaching the cheap hygiene-paste dispenser installed into the wall. “Miss Morikair, are you present?”

“Coming.”

With a mouth full of toothpaste she sleepily skulked to the door. Her apartment was small, consisting of a single large room that contained a sink purposed for both cleansing dishes and for morning hygiene routine, a freezing and refrigeration unit for food storage, and various pieces of furniture composed of metallic sheets or frames such as her bed, table and wardrobe. Several kitchen and bathroom facilities were deemed communal within the building, having to be shared via dedicated slots for each resident on her floor with Vatra having already missed at least one of her shower slots on account of oversleeping.

Unlocking the door she cracked it open just slightly, peering through the small gap. Her voice was muffled by a combination of annoyance, toothbrush and paste. “Hello?” she asked in the most unwelcoming tone she could muster, before her eyes adjusted and made out her guests standing in the corridor. The silhouettes of three Zazane, tall and adorned in layers of protective body armour, cast shadows into Vatra’s small apartment as they towered over the young woman. Her heart raced and she felt her soul-fire beginning to ignite, fatigue burning away to reveal a hidden anger swiftly emerging to the surface.

“Miss Morikair, I--” one of the Zazane began, before she was cut off by Vatra slamming the door in her face before she could finish.

“Get away from me!” Vatra snarled, spitting paste from her lips. “I’ve nothing to say to you! I’m late enough for work as it is and I haven’t showered, the least of my concerns is whatever any shitty Zazane has to say to me! You shouldn’t be here!”

There was a moment of silence. Within that moment Vatra raced to the sink, carried by a growing fury as she swilled and spat to rinse and clear her mouth. She ignored the repeated knocking on her door as she wiped her face with a flanel, attempting to block out the tries at garnering her attention from the Zazane calling her name. She contemplated calling for law enforcement for a moment but then decided against it - she would rather not have to deal with two unwelcome parties in her apartment, especially not on a morning like this. Veatrex law-keepers were bothersome and Vatra found them to often be particularly arrogant or judgemental.

“Vatra Morikair!” the Zazane exclaimed louder, rousing Vatra to further anger by use of her full name. The Sylit cursed herself for allowing her attention to be gained so easily, even if that attention was hostile and fiery.

“Get the fuck out of my face!” she cried, moving back to the bed. She reached underneath the frame for her sword - a vibro-scimitar stored in an expensive sheath decorated with green and white blossoming flowers on a deep and bloody crimson backdrop - before she felt the door come loose from its hinges with a single forceful kick from one of the Zazane visitors. She twirled around, placing the sheath at her hip as she drew the length of the sword and held it ahead of her threateningly while watching one of the Zazane step inside. From a brief glance, her vision muddled by a cloud of rage, Vatra could make out this was perhaps the eldest Zazane she’s seen, her scales and crest having lost vibrancy and colour while her wings were withered. Silver-grey hair was tied and braided into two intertwining tails, weaving around one another like coiling serpents.

“Miss Vatra Morikair,” she spoke again, seeming exasperated. “Please put away the sword. I’ve come to talk, not to fight.” Vatra noticed the Zazane had, unusually, no weapons to be found upon her person. There was no evidence of any blades or guns, not even any form of sidearm, yet that did not mean she could not have been concealing a weapon in the event Vatra was non-compliant with her demands. She kept the sword aimed at the woman, her lips parting into a fierce snarl as she scowled towards the Zazane. Her attire was composed of pieces of light armour attached to a form of skin-tight bodysuit, worn under a dark long coat that she allowed to drape from her shoulders while leaving the sleeves empty, giving Vatra the impression that she was some form of officer.

“You broke down my door,” said Vatra, raising the sword and relying on her instincts, tempered by her training with her tutor and her time in Ae-Vrakis’ military academies, to form a combat-ready stance in spite of her tiredness and growing, unsteadying wild fury. “People who aren’t picking fights don’t break down other peoples’ doors!”

“Correction: I didn’t break down your door,” the Zazane said, casting a glance towards one of the two that had accompanied her to the apartment who now stood somewhat embarrassed in the exterior corridor. “One of my associates did and they shall find themselves appropriately reprimanded for such behaviour in due time. In the meantime, you are the same Vatra Morikair who is one of the students of Master Shinha Hachiman?”

“Aye, might be,” Vatra replied, still reluctant to drop her guard. There was a hint of spite woven into the blunt quickness of her words. “And you are?”

“First-Lieutenant Osmaeia Dharixhan,” she said, taking a step forward in spite of Vatra pointing the vibro-blade at her. “I work with the Peacebringers operating within the borders of Frenzy Space. I work the authority of Commander Keldar Taeran. I don’t suspect you’ve heard of us given we’ve done our best to keep our work from being illuminated to the public eye, but part of my job is cleaning up the mess that was made in the aftermath of Brood’s collapse. My Commander requested I approach you, Miss Morikair.”

“Vatra,” she said, cautiously lowering the sword back into its sheath. “Just call me Vatra. You’re right, I don’t know anything about any Peacebringers. It’s the first I’ve heard of it. What do you want with me?” As her rage began to fade and her soul-fire calmed and stabilized, Vatra realised she was meeting Osmaeia in little else than the sleeveless vest and underwear she had slept in. Somewhat embarrassed she said, “actually, uh, could you wait outside while I get dressed and then we can talk?”

The view from Vatra’s apartment window was comfortably mundane - a welcome retreat from the world of blood and essence and fire - with the sky a warm red-orange as a few black clouds rolled on a soft breeze to be carried elsewhere above an expanse of populous city streets and apartment complexes. Beams of sunlight illuminated Vatra’s rather cramped living space through the reinforced synth-glass as she sat at her table, dressed in a pair of shorts and a short-sleeved white top that cut off at the stomach and displayed an emblem of three sharp red triangles arranged in a Y formation within a ring. Across the logo, in Sylit script, were the words “Blissful Awakening”, an electronic pop band that Vatra considered to be one of her favourites. She particularly enjoyed the song ‘Goodbye Dreams’, from the Era of Diamonds album.

She handed a cup of steaming hot beverage that wafted vaguely of mint to Osmaeia, whose coat now rested on the back of her chair as she graciously took the drink. Vatra could see the elderly Zazane had sunken, dark eyes, presumably from a combination of age and stress, and could not help but find some measure of respect for Osmaeia. Although her wings were withered and her scales lacked any trace of vibrant colour, she found something beautiful about Osmaeia’s age and the aura of authority and experience radiating from her in spite of her nature as a Zazane. Although she would refuse to say it even if pressed, if she was to grow old Vatra would wish to be almost a fragment as beautiful and admirable as she found Osmaeia, who wore the experience of a thousand battles for all to see in the very air surrounding her.

“Lieutenant Dharixhan,” Vatra began. “You said your Commander wanted you to come and see me. Excuse me if I sound disrespectful, but I haven’t got anything to offer either of you. I’m just a student, not a professional soldier.”

“Please, ‘sir’ will do,” Osmaeia said after taking a deep sip of her drink. “And between you and me, I don’t believe that’s entirely true. You’ve had tutelage at Ae-Vrakis’ finest military academies and you’ve also received training from Master Hachiman themselves. A student you may be, Vatra, but presumably you’ve tasted blood yet.”

“They don’t like to be called ‘master’,” Vatra corrected. Osmaeia was right, however. She had received plenty of training in various fields of frontline and specialist combat and had participated in her first true battles while under Hachiman’s tutelage. Demons and those who sealed profane pacts with them served as her first blood, remembering the times she witnessed her tutor in action in the midst of combat. It was a surreal form of spectacle, for while Vatra could not bring herself look away in awe of her tutor’s sheer grace and power, she also found them a far more terrifying sight to behold than any demon plucked from the depths of her nightmares once they shed their veil of mortality and revealed even a partial aspect of the truth of their being.

“Why are you here, in any case?” Osmaeia said. “When we were routing for your location we expected you to still be residing with your master-- My apologies, your tutor on one of the moons orbiting Klambah, yet you’re here, in a rather claustrophobic apartment on Ae-Vrakis. Are you no longer Hachiman’s acolyte?”

Acolyte. Vatra was not sure why but she found herself despising that word. “I’m on a break. I wanted to go home and spend some time surrounded by… normal people, doing normal things.” Vatra said, glancing through the window to observe the streets of the urban district beyond. A far cry from the wild paradise that was Klambah and its moons, which were quiet aside from the many voices of the natural world. The flora, the fauna, the rushing wind and the coursing rivers. “My tutor never had the chance to live a mundane life, not really. I missed home. They don’t have anywhere they remember as a permanent home. Anyway, that’s beside the point. You didn’t answer my question before, sir. What do your Peacebringers want with me?”

Osmaeia set the drink down. “The Commander wants you to accompany a squad we’re putting together. You demonstrate a talent for manipulating Essence. She considered that you would be interested because it could mean potentially tracking down some of the Zazane that were involved in sacking Ae-Vrakis a decade ago, as they may have moved on to involve themselves with some… rather high-priority targets. Individuals who are posing a threat to stabilising and reclaiming the region. We have suspicions that perhaps some former gene-warriors of Kol Daren survived and are hiring themselves out as private military contractors.”

Kol Daren was not a name Vatra heard much. It had been more than twenty years since his death by Hachiman’s hand, having died years before she was born, and the events that occurred aboard his super-dreadnaught were largely unknown to the public beyond that the tyrannical creature was dead. Many of his loyalists died or were erased following in the aftermath of his death and much of the research invested into his personal brand of dark science was either lost, destroyed or stolen. Her tutor refused to speak of the monster or his works and would either attempt to steer conversations away or outright ignore queries regarding him. She dreaded to imagine what the man was like, given her tutor’s final encounter with them was enough to seemingly traumatise them into refusing to speak about him.

Then there was the matter of the marauders that assaulted Ae-Vrakis. Vatra consciously steadied her burning soul-fire at the mention of them, her grip on the arm of her cup tightening with whitened knuckles. Beyond the recent bizarre breaches into reality from her psyche, the nightmares she regularly suffered were their fault. The nightmares of her home lit aflame, ash falling like snow from skies bloated with assault craft and atmospheric fighters. The nightmares of her abandoning her defenceless siblings to spare her own life from the monsters that Osmaeia shared her kin with. Perhaps, if the Zazane had not murdered them, they may yet be alive.

“Y-You’re lying to me,” was all that Vatra could muster after a minute or so of contemplating on how to respond, the thoughts cycling in her mind. “You’re lying. You can’t possibly know the Zazane who were involved in the attack on Ae-Vrakis, it’s too convenient. You’re saying this shit to drag me into a war I don’t want any part of.”

“Not every Zazane, no,” Osmaeia conceded. “But we are more than certain we have accurate information regarding various major players who were involved in the attack. It’s confidential information, however, and truly I’ve told you far too much already, but… If you decide to accept my Commander’s request for your assistance in our operations within Frenzy Space, you shall be informed what we deem suitable and vital for you to know. Of course you will also be compensated for your service appropriately, directly from the Peacebringers’ funding to your financial account. Perhaps you can even rent a far superior apartment for when you feel like returning home from training with your tutor.”

“A promise of revenge and cash,” Vatra thought. “I bet Teach would be disappointed. Does this make me a mercenary, or a hired killer? No, the Peacebringers are doing good work in that hellhole - they’re keeping that mess from spilling outward into the rest of the galaxy. Teach wants me to be more independent anyway, I know they’re not going to be around forever. This could be a good opportunity to get something under my belt without their help for once and prove I can control myself.”

She finished her drink, the warmth, sweetness and gentle creamy texture soothing her nerves as she contemplated Osmaeia’s offer. The Zazane could have easily been deceiving her, it would not have been out of place for someone involved in a military - or even paramilitary - organisation. Vatra had met plenty of recruiters during her academic studies who lied through their teeth to sell the fantasy of war to impressionable youths on pretenses founded on hype rather than the crushing reality. Even if she accepted there was always the chance something bad might happen and the prospect of her tutor not being there to save her in the event of such unnerved her. “I’ll do it,” Vatra said at last, her eyes locked onto Osmaeia’s own. “I’ll help out your Peacebringers. This isn’t a permanent arrangement, though, sir. I kill the bastards who attacked my home and that’s where my involvement ends, right? I’m not going to spend years trying to clean up the mess you and your species made for yourselves and everyone else.”

“Understood,” Osmaeia said, meeting Vatra’s gaze coldly. She did not seem fazed by the implied insult in Vatra’s remark. “I’ll let my Commander know. We’ll give you the week to prepare your belongings and whatever else you wish to bring with you into the zone, then we can arrange a pick-up at the spaceport. After that you will be debriefed and introduced to my Commander and the squad that you’ve been tasked to assist. Then we will go over any need-to-know information regarding those responsible behind the assault on Ae-Vrakis.”

Osmaeia stood and reached for her coat. Vatra was almost taken aback by Osmaeia’s grace, her movements swift for someone she presumed was far older and more worn down than the majority of Zazane officers that were still involved on the frontlines. She crossed the length of the apartment at a swift pace, her coattails flowing behind her, before Vatra set her cup down and slammed her palms on the surface of the table. Osmaeia stopped in her tracks for but a brief moment, although she refused to look back towards the Sylit girl. “What about my door?” Vatra demanded. “What’re you gonna do about my door?”

Osmaeia looked down at the door, its hinges devastated from the brute force of the kick dealt to it. She pressed her foot against the door’s surface several times, as if testing its durability, causing it to creak. “Seems like a fine door to me,” she said before moving into the corridor with her personal guard. As heavy footsteps made their way away from Vatra’s apartment, she was almost in awe at the audacity of the First-Lieutenant, yet could not find it within herself to be too angry or surprised. There were greater things to be worried about than a mere, easily replaceable door and in truth, Vatra did not care much either now that the joint possibilities of both vengeance and proving her worth without her tutor were open to her.

Yet in spite of her newfound independence Vatra could not help but wish there was someone there to assure her that this was the right course of action. That this was the correct choice to make when tested. Osmaeia’s presence was comforting as a figure of authority but Vatra knew that the Zazane’s interests aligned primarily with the Peacebringers and their operations rather than her, creating a bias. For a moment she thought she wanted her tutor as Hachiman was always comforting in their private talks and radiated an aura of calm and assurance, yet the idea of turning to them like a child seeking a parent’s blessing was embarrassing. She needed a friend - or a partner. Vatra looked across her apartment. Spartan tidiness, aside from bedsheets and pillows she had not had the time to arrange due to the Zazane’s sudden intrusion. Empty of any soul-flames aside from her own. There was nobody for her to turn to. “By the Flame, Vatra,” she thought. “Don’t get yourself killed or Teach will be pissed.”