Chapter 8: What is Hidden Must Be Discovered

There was the destination, framed in an orange-red sunset, looking majestic, even beautiful—a sight an artist would be inclined to paint a portrait of. But the beauty was hard to realize when the location held a horrific mystery for Libbi and Joshua. Libbi would even go as far as to say she was frightened by the looming fortress that contained the headquarters for the Security Core, for somewhere inside was the answer to the conundrum behind the disappearance of her best friend, and possibly the whereabouts of Barouge. But what would the two of them have to endure to even approach the truth? Her greatest fear was for Joshua—he had acted so courageous, and was foolhardy enough to act in the same fashion; he failed to realize the danger of the situation.

“You don’t seem to be near as excited as you were.”

“No, not anymore. I can feel nothing but fear now.”

“Oh, don’t be such a pessimist, this is where all the fun begins. If we’re lucky we might even get a chase in alongside all the adrenaline pumping miniscule maneuvers. Let me tell you, a wild-goose chase is the best after all the original penetration is complete.”

It was madness, Joshua actually sounded as perky as Hell at that moment, and his eyes were gleaming as he glanced towards Libbi, whose expression was the exact opposite. She could feel the blood draining from her cheeks and the bags beginning to sag beneath her eyes; it was ridiculous to believe this pursuit would bring the same arousal of being as the intricate dance she usually participated in with Joshua, secure in the covers of that ever faithful idolatrous altar. This situation was nothing like the youthful regeneration brought on by her favorite form of recreation, instead she felt herself growing older with every beat of her heart.

“Come on, just drink it in. It’s beautiful! Embrace the adrenaline—let it burn within your veins—it will recreate you if you let it; and remember our destination now, remember the final goal. Inside is the secret behind the disappearance of a friend. Feel the life, the desperation; it’s there, just embrace it,” Joshua seemed half a prophet and half a character under the control of a hallucinogen. His eyes were just as contradictory in communicating the desires his soul; sometimes they shone with pure intent while other times energy leapt sporadically within them. Truthfully the polarity of her friend’s attitude disturbed Libbi, but one of his statements struck a chord inside her. The answer to the mystery was just inside those walls: that was her motivation.

Energy started to crawl through her, causing the blood to add pigment to her cheeks once more.

“Finally ready? Okay, we’ll have to abandon the PTD now and go by foot. The best way is straight through the wall; going over is too dangerous and expected, and going under takes too much time—so we’re going through. I’ll show you what I mean when we get there.”

There was nothing else for Libbi to do but nod.

“It would do best to be armed, so we’ll pass by the barracks of the new recruits and take a lonely soldier by surprise. Of course this requires knowledge of the set-up of the base,” Joshua muttered an expletive under his breath while Libbi looked on, entirely dumbstruck at her friend’s level of intelligence; the plans came quick and organized, every detail outlined. She always knew Barouge was intelligent, but to see Joshua thinking with ability comparable to that of the military genius was incredible. “If only we had Barouge with us, he memorized the entire military campus—wanted to be ready for his future workplace, he said. Damn that kid, I could really use him right now.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine as long as you have your head on your shoulders. You’re just as incredible as Barouge is, if not more, you just disguise it quite well, now just try to remember, you must know something of the blueprint.”

Libbi was suddenly feeling quite confident in her twisted friend, for despite the polarity of his character, the level of his intelligence was greater, outweighing the instability he presented. The sudden shift in attitude did not go without notice of course, and Joshua looked towards her with an expression of confusion and thankfulness.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. As a matter of fact, I think I know just enough for us to stumble on the place without too much difficulty,” Joshua paused looking towards the sunset, “It’s time to start moving, the shadows are growing into night.”

*****

Darkness was swallowing the woods, wrapping about the trunks of trees, and dripping from the branches above, slowly overcoming the last struggling bits of remaining light. It was nature’s invitation to rest and rejuvenate, and it was evil’s invitation to begin the haunting of dreams, and materialization in mad men. Kelly struggled to discern which message was more potent that night as she walked among the tents where women, children, and elderly were retiring to their beds; it was such a tranquil atmosphere in that haven of the woods, yet something else was pressing from outside. There was no appropriate way to describe the feeling, just the atmosphere tasted, smelled, felt, and sounded in some distinct fashion, setting alarms off inside her head.

Kelly had a sudden impulse to find Nethro and just throw herself into his arms, the one place she had felt safety while she had been in that world. But her savior was on guard at the moment, ready to ward off whatever disaster might be induced to take on the cloak of darkness to complete its work, and he had given Kelly strict orders to remain with the rest of the company. No inclination worked within her to disobey this order, for she did not want the strange power to be awakened within her again—she did not want to loose consciousness only to awaken to a scene of gore painted by her own hand. The mere thought made her shiver in revulsion, and her stomach twist about itself—she feared her power more than the hidden enemy, more than the troubles that continually plagued her.

The weight of the situation was becoming unbearable, Kelly could feel tears moving to her eyes until they were wiped away, replaced by the image of several cloaked figures drifting through the trees. They were not anywhere near her, but she still knew the people were real. An instant passed and she was seeing from the eyes of the strange men, they were observing a group of people from a distance—Kelly’s heart stopped—she thought she knew those being watched, and then she saw it, one of the men looked up, and she was staring straight into the eyes of Nethro. A scream burst forth from her as the vision dissipated. Nethro was in trouble, there were strange men... watching. She knew then that the fighting had already begun. There was a way to protect all of them, Kelly just had to swallow her fear and let the enormous power control her once more.

Without any command to do so, her feet began to move, carrying her towards the battle, the sounds of which were just reaching her ears. Metal slammed against metal incessantly, the din was angering Kelly, and she felt herself start to lose control and the power start seeping through her body. But she wouldn’t let it overrun completely, she still feared the power in her heart.

*****

Soft-spoken words drifted to Barouge’s ears every once and a while; it was the foretelling of battle—whispers, promising screams. Hunger for destruction grew inside him once again; it was a concept that relieved him once more of consideration of the secrets drifting about—battle with distinct sides distracted from the conflict internally, amongst men supposedly fighting to accomplish the same end. Confusion was soon to find its end though; Barouge could smell the change in the atmosphere, could feel the shifting of adrenaline inside him, and could taste the sweat at the corners of his mouth.

Silence became tangible as Barouge’s party sped to the now quiet persons. Three seconds: burning anticipation. Two seconds: fear. One second: mind blank. Zero...

Barouge’s eyes looked directly into a set of cool complacent ones; no surprise was present on the man’s features: he just calmly reached for his sword even as Barouge dove from the tops of the trees to meet him, his blade already drawn. How could anyone face imminent death so coolly?

*****

There was no surprise in the attack, Nethro had known it was coming for the past few minutes, and had warned his men of the impending clash. Of course, he had no time to warn them about the exact moment the party would break through the trees, but he had given them enough—he could feel it in their energy as they drew their swords. Nethro’s sword was already in his hand, and he looked with cool eyes towards the first attacker, diving straight towards him. It was simple enough to dodge the uncontrollable approach, but Nethro was halted in his attempt to kill the boy, for realization stopped the tip of his sword from drawing blood. This was that boy, the one they needed.

The moments hesitation almost cost Nethro his life, the famed Barouge was fast, and his next movement was not near as reckless, a deft stab just below Nethro’s blade, rising upwards to meet his heart. Nethro rolled to the side, swinging to injure, but his strike was deflected as Barouge stepped in to meet him, this time approaching from the top, the blade gliding towards Nethro’s neck. The next few moments blurred together, at least for anyone observing, but for the two fighters each fraction of a second was filled with a precise maneuver essential to preserve life, and attempting to steal another.

At first Nethro attempted to refrain from making any moves that could result in the death of his opponent, but he quickly learned that such an idea was a terrible strategy. As long as the battle only involved swords though, Nethro could manage going in for the kill, because if he succeeded, he could stop the blade moments before it did any harm. On the other hand, adding the gun would mean a shot fired fatally—and that traveled unimpeded—would cause certain death. Unfortunately fate had an interesting way of making fears tangible as soon as they are noticed, and this case was no different. As soon as Nethro considered the risk of the added element of the explosive weapon, Barouge drew his from its holster. The conflict had just increased in intensity, and that was not only true for Nethro, he could hear the cries beginning around him, and it had only been little under a minute since he began fighting Barouge. Nethro prayed Prisleene would come soon, but until she arrived, there was only one-way for him to stay alive. A smirk crossed Nethro’s face as he drew the pistol from his belt. It was time to see just how good this Barouge was.

*****

From the second Barouge had engaged his opponent in battle he had the strange feeling he had managed to come into contact with the most skilled of the entire group. His movements were fluid, trained, fast, and each had a specific purpose. Sweat was already beginning to accumulate on Barouge’s forehead, and caused his grip to be unsure as he took hold of his gun. There was no denying the man was still holding back, and Barouge only knew one way to take advantage of the opening caused by the lack of judgment, he had to get off the first shot. But even as he pulled the gun from its holster, the action was mimicked. Barouge’s shot was uncontrolled and missed horribly because of his frustration. His opponent took advantage of Barouge’s folly—reaching inside his circle of safety—the blade drawing blood as Barouge stepped away.

Red was the magic color; the reality of the conflict clicked inside Barouge’s head, and all abstractions dissolved. Everything that was unsure was replaced by his knowledge—the sweet understanding of battle. He pushed off the ground and began to flip over the other man, distracting his attentions with the barrage of attacks both from his sword and gun; meanwhile, Barouge observed what was taking place around him. There were originally fifteen of the other force, and now there were only ten, apparently struggling against the others of Barouge’s squadron. That was all he could assess in the short time he had before gravity reclaimed his presence. Apparently the battle was not going to be very long on the ground though, as the other man spun in the air, entangling Barouge’s sword in the task of fending off the other’s blade and both his feet, as well as one or two shots. Barouge responded by flipping, swinging out one of his feet to drive the fighter into the ground. But the maneuver failed, the man taking hold of his foot, once his feet were planted, and swinging Barouge around. He was forced to land with his hands before collapsing to his shoulders, rotating and rolling to come back to his feet. Once he stood straight he was met by a bullet, fired towards his face that he only just deflected, while shooting at the other himself. The other fighter began to charge, easily deflecting each and every shot with small movements of the wrist. Noticing a tree behind him, Barouge used the trunk to brace one of his feet before he launched his next attack. He leapt in a low arc, spinning over and over again, his blade moving at least five times faster than his body. The clash of the two charging fighters sent a dreadful metallic echo through the woods, overpowering all the other sounds of battle. Barouge ended up teetering on the backs of his heels while his opponent tensed for a killing blow. There was no way for Barouge to reclaim his balance, and he gritted his teeth as he saw the man release the tension in his muscles. But Barouge did not die; instead he was knocked onto his back, dropping his gun and then sword as both hands received stinging cuts. It was obvious why the fighter had held back the entire fight now; the person had no intent to kill. Barouge could discern such, even with the steel of his opponent’s blade tickling his neck.

“Barouge!”

The entire forest grew calm for Barouge at hearing that voice. He could not believe it, was it the person who he had been dreaming of since he left her? Ever so slowly he turned his head to look whence the sound came, paying no heed to the fighter running from him, or the sounds of Captain Sanguin yelling for him to stand. Only one thing existed, it was that form that Barouge could only see as angelic—Prisleene, standing no more than twenty feet from him. As soon as everything registered in his mind he leapt to his feet and ran to her, disregarding the ricocheting bullets flying about him. This must be a dream.

*****

Fighting: it is often exciting to hear of, to witness, even to participate in, but what ends does it meet? Sure it removes obstacles, but by doing so, it presents others. Death is not excused lightly, especially when it can be pinned on a person. So why do humans practice fighting, continue in its exercises until it is a fine art? It must be a ways of feeling accomplished, a way to win over stupidity. And Lord knows people need a way to win over stupidity.

It always astounds me how Barouge ends up in these positions though—I thought he was smart. And now there is a woman to boot. Excuse me, but we must take a break from all these whims and woes of human kind, and go to something a bit more lacking in the human, and approaching the darkness of an emotionless void.

*****

Everything was dark, and the atmosphere was moist. There was very little physical stimulation between the profuse lack of light, continuous smooth stone, and soundless shadows—other than the occasional footfall echoing from above. It was an atmosphere in an entirely different sphere from what Ms. Stochas, Prisleene’s mother, knew.

Her entire life was upended in a single day—and a day that began like any other, but the events to follow were incomparable to any previous time in her life, or very many others’. Not everyone was kidnapped by a group of people claiming to know where her daughter was when she did not even know she had gone missing. That had especially worn on Ms. Stochas’ nerves, but it was not near as jarring as witnessing her original kidnappers horribly slaughtered, and then being re-stolen by the murders: remembering only the bag being thrown over her head, and waking up in the dingy cell.

There was no way for her to possibly know how long she was being held there, time slurred together, becoming as indefinite as the depth of the darkness serving as the real prison. Most would only be capable of self-pity in such a state, but not Ms. Stochas, the mother inside her allowed no other worries besides those for her daughter. If she were in such a horrific state just because of her relation to her daughter then what was Prisleene suffering?

Ms. Stochas worried over how intricate this web was, worried how many might be entangled inside it, and shivered to think of how insignificant she and her daughter must be in relation to the greater scheme—their lives were measured near worthless, she was sure that must be the case. Coincidences of this unnatural level only occurred when the plot behind them was more intricate than the finest silken spider web, and larger than physical dimensions, allowing for the ensnaring of several people flying by. Yes, just flying by, caught and lying hopeless against the adhesive designs of unseen lying and secret combinations. She could only pray that the Great One would be merciful on her and her daughter.

Suddenly Ms. Stochas was overwhelmed by a light pouring in from some trap door situated in the ceiling not five feet from the front bars of her cage.

“Ms. Stochas, we have some questions for you. It would be in your best interest to answer truthfully and with as much detail as possible.”

*****

He kissed her. Amidst the battle spray—he kissed her. Barouge did not understand why he did it. It occurred driven by instinct, and he found he was unable to drawback again. The entire world could dissolve from beneath him, and he would continue clinging to Prisleene. He could tell she wanted him too, she surrendered herself to his arms, to his lips, hanging almost completely limp in his embrace. But the world was not dissolving, and Barouge caught the sound of someone rushing up behind him—his ears still pricking with the adrenaline of battle. Tearing his sword from its sheath, Barouge spun about, gripping Prisleene tightly to his side. To his surprise he was not facing a member of the group he attacked, but his own comrade; but he still attacked with the same ferocity, his sword slitting the others’ wrist before piercing his shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing? She is the enemy!” Barouge’s comrade spat.

“The way I see it is, if you are attacking her, you’re the enemy.” The voice that issued forth from Barouge was low and cold, sending shivers up his own spine.

“Traitor.”

The broken officer drew his gun and fired, but Barouge blocked it with the man’s own sword before drawing his blade from the other’s shoulder and thrusting it into the emblem of the security core, lying atop the man’s heart. He felt cold and dead as he twisted the metal about in the man’s chest, almost enjoying the sight of the life leaving him with each weakening convulsion. But Barouge was awakened from his madness by Prisleene’s trembling form that he still held tightly to him. Turning, he stared into her eyes—brimming with tears. He felt as if each one of those tears was magnifying his own grotesque acceptance of the terrible, and throwing it back in his face.

“What have they done to you?”

Words had never caused Barouge such pain as that one question did. He wanted nothing more but to fall at her feet and beg her forgiveness at that instant, but he could no longer ignore the conflict as he heard a bullet whiz by him. Battle instinct roared inside him. In a single second he had hidden Prisleene behind a nearby tree, lifted his own sword, and recovered the blade off the dead man’s body. And he faced the new opponent, both blades spinning. He no longer felt classified to any side of the conflict, instead he fought for one purpose, unbound by indefinite ideals—all that mattered to him was Prisleene’s safety, and that gave him power as the coming opponent and he clashed. The cacophony of metal slamming and grating against metal rattled Barouge’s nerves: there was doubt in his mind as to whether or not he would ever become used to the horrific sound. But it still did not halt his progression, the energy was so potent inside him that the other was soon lying lifeless on the ground, while Barouge began walking backwards to where Prisleene was hidden—facing the conflict, prepared for the next one that dared break away.

A demon and an angel grew inside him, each grudgingly accepting the presence of the other to achieve their separate ends: blood lust verse love. Such polarity of characters managed to exist knowing that one added to the protection of the other—strength granted by blood lust, and purpose granted by love. History would agree that frightening things came from the combination, but sometimes humans can never learn.

Barouge soon found himself fighting off two men at once, he had taken enough time fending them off to realize they were once more comrades of his, but his energy did not slacken in the least. Yet it did evoke small questions striving for recognition in the back of his mind. Now was not a time to think though, this was Barouge’s release, he refused to consider complications, favoring the blatant ferocity of the field of battle. His immediate distractions did not last much longer though, as he beheaded one, and followed up the death by spearing the other with the tips of both blades. Red clouded Barouge’s vision and perception, the demon was beginning to force the angel off its throne. Soon the only other officer from the security core present was Captain Sanguin, who was currently engaged in an epic dance with Barouge’s first opponent.

Abstaining from joining the two masters took copious amounts of restraint on Barouge’s part, but he determined it would be better to figure out exactly whom these people were. But when he turned to speak to those still living they shied away. He was perplexed by their reaction, until he heard and felt Prisleene beside him, and learned from her blatant form of speech what the rest feared to say.

“You look gruesome. Really, what did they do to you?”

The tenderness in her voice was what finally threw off all remaining war instincts and passions, and he willfully crumpled at her feet as she sat down on a log, running her fingers through his hair and along his face. Neither heeded the continuous blasts and clangs echoing from above.

“What did they do?”

*****

Sweat trickled down Joshua’s forehead as he slowly pushed a stone from its position in the wall surrounding the Security Core. It was a random yet convenient structural flaw in the creation of the otherwise near impenetrable fortress. He had accidentally discovered it one day while he was “visiting” the premises with Barouge, the day after his friend’s second failure at acceptance. At that time Barouge had wished to break in and wreak some sort of havoc on the people who had once again told him he did not belong. Of course they ran into the problem of entrance, and the military genius had commenced a detailed examination of the stone wall; Joshua, feeling bored, had leaned back, and ended up revealing the opening needed for access.

A smile twitched at the corners of Joshua’s mouth—those were the days, when mischief was the common form of recreation, strange that it should lead to such an interesting ordeal. With a grunt, Joshua slammed his shoulder against the stone one last time, and it slid into the fortress, followed by him, carried by his own momentum.

“Joshua!”

“Shh, no need to worry, climb on through. The coast is clear.”

Before Joshua had a chance to get back to his feet, Libbi tumbled out of the opening, landing right on top of him.

“Perhaps you could be a bit more graceful next time?”

“I could say the same thing to you, if you had not fallen on your butt I would not have fallen on you either.”

With a sigh Joshua just pushed Libbi off of him, since she was making no movement to remove herself. He was just brushing the dirt from his clothes when he felt a sharp pain across the back of his head.

“That will teach you to be rude.”

It was strange, as Joshua turned to look at Libbi—her hair slightly out of place, and an expression of anger across her lips—he could not help but feel this attraction to her. What an inopportune time for such feelings, and he had sworn to him and her not to see her in such a way anymore. Frustration led to an increase of anger at receiving the punishment, and Joshua had to exercise some control to keep from lashing out at his friend, but he had to make some movement; the two could not remain there with feet sunk into the earth, eternally caught in a conflict of emotions. So with a grunt of discontentment, Joshua tossed Libbi over his shoulder, and began to carry her towards the center of their destruction. Libbi made no attempts to resist, but her mouth fell open in shock at being treated in such a forward manner by her friend.

Of course the treatment and the random spurt of anger had deeper stimuli—Joshua did not quite realize them, or at least would not accept them, but it would be absurd to suggest the stresses of the undertaking so close at hand held nothing in correlation with the contorting of the usual tranquil exterior of the two companions. With such insanity involved with even suggesting taking on such a force has to cause dimensia of the characters involved. Few have had the bravery to stare death right in the face and continue to walk willingly into the creature’s arms. Yet Joshua convinced himself the shivers he was feeling were caused by the cool of the night air eddying over the ground, he would not accept the fear screaming for recognition.

*****

Fear caused the Captain to suffer drunkenness greater than any alcohol ever had. The forest leapt and swerved while his legs moved like jelly beneath him, hardly holding his unbalanced form. But yet he rushed towards his destruction, fearing that tardiness would only increase the pain to be inflicted, but it appeared he would not need to stumble along much longer.

The darkened woods were severed with a beam of light that slowly grew, severing the ground and spreading the earth to either side in space. It seemed as if sound should accompany such a horrific extraterrestrial phantasm, but the forest—if it was possible—seemed to seal away any sound within, the frightened Captain doing the same. The beam stopped its expansion as soon as it reached a comfortable width for a grown man to walk through. Everything was still, not a leaf dared tremor, wind was inexistent; all nature watched with bated breath, waiting for the anomaly to give reason for its presence. Ages passed before the Captain caught sight of a shadow deep within the light that slowly moved closer. A spell of dizziness overtook the man once more, he witnessed the death of many of his soldiers that day, and here amidst the deathly calm of a dark forest, he was going to meet his own demise at the hands of some devil.

“Captain Covintive,” the voice came as if it were a dream, and the Captain blinked to try and make-out the face of the being who just stepped out of the light, “I am disappointed in you, I could not have given you a simpler task. It was easiest to capture her as soon as she arrived, but now the world is going to suffer for your mistake, and perhaps more than just our own. Come, there is someone who wishes to meet you. You have angered people much more powerful than me.”

The Captain tried to plead for mercy, but his sickness was only continuing to escalate, and all that left his mouth were the contents of his stomach. He could feel his mind losing consciousness, but before he collapsed the General took hold of his arm and dragged him into the blinding riff.

A second later the light closed, and left the forest. A light breeze ran through the trees, rustling the leaves and awaking the creatures of the night once more.