Estranged

Chaos

Germaine lunged forward, slicing at the figure’s neck. The figure leaned into the slice, confident in the ExoSuit’s impregnability against a pair of knives. In a blur, mid-strike, Germaine somehow changed the trajectory of his strike; instead snaking his arm around the back of the figure’s neck, slipping beneath, and hauling the figure to the ground with a seamless takedown.

Aliyah barely had time to blink before Germaine was up, sitting astride his felled opponent, hand raised and pulled back. The knives descended with frightening speed. Two loud clangs filled the roof’s air. Sparks danced in the centre where the knives struck the unyielding steel of the figure’s sword. Unfazed, Germaine raised the knives once more, preparing to strike again.

The figure acted faster, driving a foot into Germaine’s middle. All two-hundred-and-fifty-plus pounds of him sailed through the air, limp. He landed with a roll, then pulled himself up into a kneeling position. One hand was on the ground, like a pillar that was the only thing holding his body up, while the other clutched at his abdomen, face contorted in agony. He gasped as if fighting for each breath.

The figure sauntered quietly over to Germaine so that when the guard had managed to catch his breath and raise his head, he raised it to the figure. The sword lowered, resting temptingly against Germaine’s neck. Its blade gleamed red in the holo’s light, just as Germaine’s unwavering eyes did as they stared up at the figure.

“Where is my brother?” came the figure’s voice.

Germaine expressed no shock. He only stated blandly, “Haylen.”

The suit's visor slid down, revealing the cold face of Wilda’s personal guard. “Answer, else I end you, then them both.”

“And what if you don’t like my answer?” Germaine asked.

Haylen tutted, digging the outstretched sword an inch or two deeper to break skin. Germaine grunted as blood begun to dribble down from the shallow slice in his neck. “Don’t test me, you—” Haylen broke off her threat suddenly, c*****g her head. She remained silent for some seconds, after which she assuredly withdrew the sword from Germaine’s neck, then cuffed him in the side of the head with its pommel, all in one flowing move. Germaine dropped stone cold to the ground.

Aliyah’s heart raced faster. What she feared happened instantly as Haylen turned on her. The guard, sheathing her sword in the scabbard across her back, paid no heed to Aunt Jebba as she approached Aliyah. They stood a yard apart. Aliyah craned her neck up to hold Haylen’s frigid gaze.

The suit’s visor slid back up to shield Haylen’s face once more. The guard stepped closer, about to reach for Aliyah when she was stopped.

A hand-held Haylen by the arm—a grip so frail it might not have been there at all. Aunt Jebba stood behind Haylen. “If you take her, then you must take us both.”

Haylen did not bat an eye. “How cute,” was all she said, before lashing out with a measured blow to Aunt Jebba’s temple. She fell as quickly as Germaine had. Haylen bent, grabbing a stricken Aliyah by the waist and tossing her over her shoulder. “Careful now, missy. It’s a long way to the ground.”

The doors to the roof burst open, armed guards pouring out of them in a clamour.

But Haylen was already a blue blip in the red-tinged sky, with Aliyah in tow.

***

The ExoSuit was only half the equation. It was the ultimate armour, but its uses far surpassed that. An often-overlooked feature of the suit was the way it augmented its wearer’s physical capabilities. Ordinarily, Gringe was fit; sufficiently strong but also particularly quick. Not particularly. Extremely. When he wore the ExoSuit, he could reach unprecedented speeds.

The second half of the equation was his freakish senses.

And with these two things, Gringe charged at the walls of the Irrhyian Sector. He had barely taken five steps before he heard the frightening whirrs of energy from atop the walls. He was in the range of the cannons. Keeping his head up so he had a full view of the walls, he quickened his pace. Either side of him became a blur of green as he zipped along the dusty road.

Nine-hundred meters. One minute. He had to evade the beams for one minute.

Thrumming zaps like lightning strikes exploded from the cannons. A steady rain of proton beams fell, each of them arching across the darkening sky as they honed in on him. Explosions erupted behind him as they landed, shattering up the ground into a spray of dust and rocky shrapnel.

Gringe meandered in his run when he needed to, but only kept his eyes forward. Gunfire like a thousand firecrackers racketed off in the distance, joining the steady cannon fire. A second later, a hailstorm of bullets rained, plinking off his suit’s fibreglass surface. They did not hurt him, but collectively the bullets were a significant impediment to his momentum. Already he felt himself slowing down as he powered through the bullets.

Five hundred meters, thirty-five seconds left, Gringe ran up a slight elevation in the dusty road. Once he ascended it, the foot of Irrhyian’s walls became visible, revealing an additional surprise: around twenty-foot soldiers. At the sight of Gringe, they charged the District Head, yelling battle cries as they closed the distance.

Gringe gritted his teeth. The proton beams were enough trouble for him on their own. He was barely able to maintain his speed despite the additional gunfire. Now he had these foot soldiers to deal with. His mind raced faster than his legs carried him, searching for the optimal way to get to the walls when a message from Whylan came in through the ExoSuit’s in-built speakers:

Lady Synthë just reached us with this new boss. Aliyah has been taken. Wilda sent Haylen.

Questions. Gringe had so many questions. But if he had any hopes of getting the answers, he had to survive this first.