Chapter 72: Fire Hazard

Chapter 72: Fire Hazard

“What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow

Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,

You cannot say, or guess, for you know only

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,

And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,

And the dry stone no sound of water. Only

There is shadow under this red rock,”

- The Waste Land, T. S. Elliot (1922, 2nd Era)

Erec pushed himself over to Olivia—shaking her. There was blinking in the corner of his vision, but the advancement was the least of his concerns. After a few horrible seconds of silence, she groaned. Still alive.

“What in the... Did you see the Stag?” the girl muttered in a daze as Erec pulled her to a sitting position. In the encampment not too far away, others were starting to move. The pulse hit them as well; maybe they were getting better too. “It... tried to convince me to join it; then Her voice cut in, and it stopped—“

Screams. Screams were coming from the camp. Olivia shut up as both their eyes jumped to the centuria.

There wasn’t time to wait—Erec helped yank Olivia to her feet, half dragging the dazed girl as they began a slow jog to the camp. But, as they saw what was happening, it was clear they were already too late.

The soldiers turned on one another. A few yards away, blood was flying as jerky-moving brothers and sisters jabbed blades into other humans. They bled out, screaming for help as their allies attacked from within the camp. Towards the edge of the tents, Erec watched a soldier grab another by the hair and tear a knife across their throat. A river of blood ran down their collarbone as five feet away, a man tried to wrap his hands around a woman’s neck and strangle the life out of her.

Somewhere in that bed of chaos were Garin and Colin.

Anger sparked within as they reached the edge; Erec jerked the man from the woman's right as his fingers closed around her throat.

Olivia shoved the man with the knife aside as she rushed behind Erec—the poor girl he’d saved didn’t have long, choking and gasping as she desperately pawed at her bruised throat. Olivia darted in and began to mutter a quick prayer.

The two men swayed on their feet—already shuffling toward Olivia and the choking woman. Erec threw himself between the two soldiers and the victim.

“What the hell? What is this?” Erec asked—eyes looking past the two men. Fires were breaking out in the camp.

Neither of the men made a sound.

The one with the knife took a lunge at him.

Time slowed to a crawl as the knife tip flowed through the air toward his chest; unquestionably, a weapon like that couldn’t pierce his Armor. Yet, he saw it so clearly. A ghost of where the knife would go—a complete outline of how the man would move; it passed by in a flash.

But his eyes took it in.

And his body acted of its own volition—he saw where the weapon would be, and his hands acted accordingly.

Like flowing water, he grabbed the man by the wrist, holding the knife, then gave a sharp twist. The weapon dropped to the ground, and he kicked it as it fell—sending the blade flying far away from either of these two silent men.

A second later, Erec used his control of the man to shove him to the ground, pressing a knee on his back—yanking his head and slamming it into the ground with just enough force to stun him.

Erec nodded and took a second to steady himself. To fight away the flames flickering in his stomach. He stared at Olivia. “If I lose it... Save as many as you can from me, alright?” He asked, his voice shaking a little.

It was hard fighting back.

He’d try to save as many as possible; he hoped someone more intelligent than him might be able to free these people from the White Stag. But he couldn’t trust himself to fight away the anger at what he might see.

Olivia gave him a nod, and he broke into a jog.

“VAL...” Erec said quietly. “If I go too far, pump me with sedatives. We can’t afford to lose it here.”

[Understood, Buckaroo. Don’t worry, champ. You’re a real go-getter. You’ll do fine!]

Horror. Pure horror. As they ran through the burning camp oftentimes they saw that they’d already been too late. Pools of blood. Still bodies. Collapsed soldiers stared at their slain friends with utterly devoid faces. Murder was abundant and swift as the phantom of the White Stag came in a crashing wave of death and destruction.

Those owned by it did everything they could to damage anyone around them.

Tragedy on a scale that these people hadn’t seen in years.

But some were still fighting for their lives—Silent ones still roaming looking for a victim. Erec tore through people, freeing those struggling and disabling anyone owned by the Silent Stag.

With Olivia at his side, they could fight and utilize their advanced skills and Armor to swing the fight in their favor. Seeing the Knights, the soldiers could rally behind them, forming ranks as they witnessed a ray of light tearing through the burning camp.

Olivia took charge of giving orders—telling some to collect supplies, and secure the silent ones they managed to disable.

Which was okay with Erec. It took his all to keep his rage from spiraling at the sight of all the death.

He wanted to paint with blood.

The desire burned so brightly that his hands shook, only tempered by the realization that if he gave in, he'd be killing other humans.

His hands worked as his mind struggled, slamming his metal gauntlets into guts, smashing faces into the ground, and trading blows with the weak.

Each time a fist flew, that inferno threatened to catch him on fire. To force him to let go as it screamed how useless this was; by delaying his pain now, he only gave pain to the future.

These people would never recover.

He could spare the soldiers from killing themselves by doing it himself—the weak didn’t deserve to live anyway.

Erec smothered the sparks when they caught. Without Fury, he was strong enough for this; the new addition to his Armor made it feasible to handle even the more veteran soldiers that came his way.

Seeing how their bodies would move—the path their weapons would take—feints, slices, stabs. It was enough to give him an edge.

Over the frantic flight through the camp, he only got better at figuring out how to use the split-second information feed. To adapt and rely on his Armor's micro-adjustments to maximize each movement. So what if his mind warred—his body flowed like water, devoid of thought as it sorted out the chaos spawning around him.

And then he found him.

Garin.

Locked in a fight with Yuvia—she was on top of him, her blows smashing into his helmet as Garin tried to force her to stop, and failed.

Erec saw red.