Perceived Fate

A few hours passed and the handover was soon arriving. Darkness had long set in and as they returned Malum got to see Tim who was looking down.

He looked into the darkness to see the newbies missing an outline. Malum didn’t look anymore as he would soon get the chance to see the body.

The Outpost suffered some clear damages and Malums group spend a small amount of time clearing up the broken wood spread across the ground.

The strewn corpse of the demon had several more cuts than it needed to have and Malum guessed that the fury of the bereaved had been inflicted onto the demon.

The demonic bird was massive, its wingspan alone covering the same areas as half the camp. That gave it speed that no human could match and in the air the beast was closer to the strength of the higher 50s. On the ground however, the beast was slow. It main attack was its feet and it’s strong beak but on the ground both had severe restrictions.

Considering the placement of the body, the fallen had taken the role of bait to get the beast to land. Malum didn’t know if Tim had planned the strategy or if it had taken place naturally. Jake also realised this from the bodies but Malum didn’t want to see conflict arise so he moved the corpse into shelter and burned the demon back to whatever hell it had spawned.

He discreetly told Jake to keep his intuition to himself and after everything had been cleared up was when the group finally got some sleep.

Tim had been thinking to earlier. When he was fighting against the winged beast. Thankfully his he had been given some warning otherwise even he thought he might have fallen to that beast.

It was fast, to fast. Like a blur it moved and Tim couldn’t even begin to see the beast attack before he already felt some blood moving down his torso.

He remembered his panic. A rare emotion for him nowadays but one he had felt far to much recently. The beast needed to land, it needed to lose that speed that made it such a threat.

A plan formed quickly, although Tim didn’t have the time to think of the consequences. He let one of the newbies slowly drift from the group. He said that grouping up could lead to it finding them and that better safety would be found dispersed.

He pointed them in different direction and one he heard a cry he knew one of his bait had been taken. The demon was feasting on his flesh when his blade fell one of its wings.

It’s pitifully easy, Ike cutting through dry grass. The second strike hit the beasts body before it went through into the other wing.

It was long dead before its body slumped to the ground. It crushed the soldier as it fell.

That’s when his brain caught up, realised what it had done.

Trever had died and it was his fault. The guilt hit like nothing ever before. It was his fault, his plan that had got him killed. Never before had he been so responsible for someone and yet the second he had been in a leadership position he had sacrificed one of his own so quickly.

He had been chasing perfection, and had just realised that his efficient tool was coated in blood.

Yet he couldn’t’ even allow himself to feel the guilt. He knew others who fell into despair and that outcome was something Tim couldn’t allow. He had ambitions and so he ignored his emotion as much as he could. He would do better, that was his promise. Nobody else would be allowed to die.

Malum woke to the sound of crying. He opened his eye to see the rising sun illuminating several soldier around the corpse he had previously stored.

Except this time he noticed another lying down with it.

He looked to see Tim standing by the door. Never had Malum seen him so angry. Blood dripped from his knuckles, and Malum saw that his eyes had grown sore from starring.

His mind was to focused and Malum went to help him snap out of it. It was so easy to fall into pits of emotion, the battlefield seemed littered with them.

“Hey Tim, you doing good?” Malum tried to sound cheery.

Tim looked dazed at Malum, then snapped back and said, “Oh, Malum, yeah I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” He seemed to think for a second before he looked at Malum again, “Good luck out there.”

He got patted on the back and Malum was forced to leave. He didn’t want to make their relationship awkward and Malum confirmed the man was clearly feeling something for his plans so he left it there.

He woke his squad and went for another shift.

Iron, blood, dirt.

3 words, and that’s how Malum would describe the battlefield. Constantly was he looking at his sword, constantly was blood clinging to his clothes and erupting from wounds, and the dirt acted not only as a backdrop but when he rolled or ducked it always found a way to get into the most uncomfortable of places.

Hands, eyes, shoes, the worst was when it affected his grip, or his movement. That was when the dirt got deadly, as a single slip meant assured death.

It was like a dance on a newly polished piece of wood.

The similarities to dancing and fighting was no coincidence. He had learned from his Uncle that dancing was just an evolution of fighting. It was everything beautiful about fighting taken out and used to amuse the masses.

The spoke of theatres and colosseums, and sometimes Malum dreamed himself to witness some of these spectacles. His Uncle spoke so vividly of the bloodthirsty crowd of the colosseum. The spit in their throats as they roared for more blood. Nothing, his Uncle said, was similar.

In theatres they were much more refined gentlemen. The merchants, the Nobles, the higher classes of society. They were unlike the barbaric masses and instead opted for the more elegant dancing as their preferred choice.

As Malum cut through yet another demon he wandered what a Noble would think of his actions. His movements were elegant like a dancer yet the blood that spilled onto his face would excite only a barbarian of the colosseum.

He cleaved through another; it was a good question. After all, those houses and those theatres and that large colosseum all needed soldiers protecting them from demons.

Malum left the question to the endless abyss of his mind. he focused on his predictions and continued to work on his craft. Someday his martial art would be called a dance, its grace and eloquence unquestionably enough for any theatre to marvel at.

It was just a stray thought but an ambition, nonetheless.

Tim couldn’t allow himself any rest. To much was his mind, plagued by guilt.

`Joseph, Ross, Trever and now Blake!`

He wanted to punch something. To release the anger that he felt, against the world, against those bastard demons!

`No, I can’t let anger ruin me like this. That’s how section B got wipe out before, you said that you would learn and never repeat that mistake.`

He looked at his fists and at the indentations that his nails had left.

Instinctively he reached for his cloth. Wounds to the hand could lead him to the grave, and he didn’t stop himself from wrapping a patch around his hand.

`Live. Be angry later.`

Logic couldn’t overseed reality. A dream never managed to find its way into Tim’s hut that night.

Malum had caught a few injuries but it wasn’t anything that time wouldn’t heal. His eyes drifted as sleep wasn’t knocking yet and so instead he found himself looking towards Tim’s squad and the newbies fighting together.

He looked over at Jane, Davis and Malum guessed that the last one was Troy. He knew that Trever had been the body he recovered but the other two names weren’t sticking in his head and to be honest Malum thought that both were likely going to be dead before he remembered.

The nameless recruit looked aright but a mistake or a tricky demon was going to end him. To survive you had to be either exceptional enough where your mistakes can’t be punished enough or you don’t mistakes.

A few minor ones had already put a few bad slashes on him and if not for Tims exceptional efforts towards the man, he would have already found himself by the Reapers side.

Following Tim, Malum noticed the man moved around more and killed far less than usual. As the battlefield progress Malum noticed how well-placed Tim’s kills were.

Like a true Squad Leader, he observed his members and saw who was lacking he would get them back on track and repeat untill the shift was over.

No longer was he a paddle on the boat but a wheel on the deck. This brought about benefits as much as it did negatives.

It fit the title better but Malum pondered if it was the right decision. He looked longer, took a few more notes and left Tim as he was. The deaths had clearly affected him but at the end of the day Malum wanted the two teams separate.

Tim had his team manage, and Malum had his own. How they did it, was up to him and Malum would keep it that way.

It wasn’t long before Tim group finished of the last of the wave. Thankfully nothing eventful occurred no deaths happened. Malums group came next and apart from a few injuries everyone made it back okay.

The second wave they had to face was over and they had yet to lose a single member. They celebrated with some of Geralds leftover alcohol and toasted the burning corpses of demons they had slaughtered.

The trip back was as arduous as always but this time they all had a small skip in their step as they thought about the city that they would soon be visiting. For many, including Malum, this was going to be the first city they had ever seen and everyone was exited to see it.

Tim’s group had often talked about the high walls and stone buildings, the soldiers marching around and the glass windows.

They could hardly wait and marched like it.

They decided to break paths from Tim as they rested and recuperated from the losses of the new team and decided to just merge teams as Malums group was still holding strong. That left Tim’s group with 6 and Malums with 5 so the next newbies were going to split between the two if not taken to other Section where they were needed more.

As he passed through the hills, Malum for once got a good look at the sun and the scenery. It was beautiful and for once since he entered this hell he felt at peace.