Super-Soldier in Another World

Hoplite’s fist collided with the face of the last standing Fiend, its purplish flesh caving inward before falling to the stones with a wet plop. He shook the shards of bone free from his gauntlet and did one more sweep of the surrounding area, seeing that all the still-twitching Fiends were now fully incapable of movement. Did they still feel agony despite most of their brains having been destroyed? Perhaps the bodies did, but not the consciousness. Was it a mercy to destroy their brains or would that only send them into a different kind of torture? Were Hoplite’s foes currently experiencing eternal darkness? With these mutants being unable to die, who was to say that they weren’t?

Fiends were undying, suffering from wounds that would never heal for eternity… That indeed was the case, unless all the flesh was burnt from their bones. Again he found himself marveling at the still-writhing Fiends, broken and battered beyond all recognition yet still somehow living. A thought occurred to Hoplite then, a foolish thought, but an interesting one nonetheless. If Hoplite himself were to become infected with the Death Spiral, would he still be able to regenerate his own wounds?

If so, then the curse would be almost a strict benefit to him. He would become truly unkillable whilst still able to heal himself due to his mutations. Yet there were too many unknowns involved with Hoplite’s potential infection to take that risk. What if it shut down his regenerative capabilities entirely, or worse, what if he hurt something and infected it with the curse? Fighting the Final Kind’s forces would become far more difficult if they weren’t able to die. The pain would drive them insane eventually, forcing them to turn on their comrades to ease their own agony. Fiends could heal themselves if they harmed an uninfected host, easing their anguish and spreading the curse further.

The Final Kind’s forces would transmit the disease through their ranks, eventually infecting their homeworlds and reducing the alien scum to nothing more than wriggling piles of screaming flesh. It could completely collapse their entire damnable civilization… but… But what if it spread to Earth? Infected Final Kind would no-doubt spread the curse to Ternan’s as well. Humanity would crumble beneath the weight of collective anguish just as the Final Kind would.

It would be mutually assured destruction.

That would not be worth the potential immortality Hoplite would achieve, the mere thought of Earth becoming infected nearly turned his stomach. He then turned his attention away from the twitching masses of meat, walking quickly away from the carnage he’d inflicted. Now that this section of the bridge was cleared, Hoplite would move the wagon into the rest stop. The vehicle was still there, parked before the wide entrance.

Hoplite had seen Michael, Lance, along with the rest of the party, enter this dark cavernous maw earlier while he had been fighting the Fiends. A good idea, for who knew just how many Fiends could be lurking within? As Hoplite neared the wagon, he caught sight of Alistair’s eidolon, Baomiel. The creature’s lower half slowly knuckle-walked toward the entrance of the rest stop, its massive three-fingered fists spattered with blood. The upper half of Baomiel, the more human-looking one, crossed its arms as it stared directly at Hoplite. There seemed to be a curious glint in its eyes, and before Hoplite knew it, the creature called out to him.

“Outworlder,” The angel yelled, “I’d have a word with you a moment, if that is alright.”

How strange… Baomiel seemed to have two voices, both speaking at once through only the upper half's mouth. One of the voices sounded almost noble, not all too different from the high-born human’s of the First Arm. The second voice, however, was the complete opposite. It was low guttural and savage, as if a bear made of rocks had learned to speak. How many vocal cords did the mutant possess?

Hoplite said nothing as the two came to a standstill before the entrance of the rest stop, with Baomiel’s upper half at eye level with Hoplite’s helmet.

“Forgive me for taking your time. I realize that it is important to you.” Baomiel’s voices said in an almost apologetic tone, “But I must know… has the Outworld fallen to Doxhar?” Baomiel continued, bringing its tones down to a whisper, “Did he manage to slip past the Pillars?”

Hoplite blinked in confusion before replying, “I don’t have intel on any ‘Doxhar’.”

A brief wave of nausea suddenly came over Hoplite then, but it dispersed as quickly as it had come. He would likely need to eat soon, he realized. Hoplite hadn’t eaten since the death-day celebration for Muro. That had been around three days ago, certainly that explained why he had felt nauseous out of nowhere.

Baomiel then let out a breath, “That is a relief. Thank you Hoplite.” It said with a smile, “Come, our work is done and you must rest. I will guard the entrance tonight, I do not require rest.”

A short moment of silence passed between the two before Hoplite replied, “Affirmative. I will be taking the wagon inside.”

“Wise.” Baomiel replied, “Also, you must not mention Doxhar’s name,” Baomiel said quietly once more, “Not to anyone. It is a dangerous name and it would drum up questions that the Pillar-Gods forbid me from answering.”

“Why did you tell me then?” Hoplite asked, narrowing his eyes, “Sounds like a security risk.”

“I needed to know if the Pillar-God’s efforts regarding your world had been in vain. Now, if you please…” Baomiel said, gesturing towards the dark archway of the rest stop.

“Why can you say the name but no one else? You live here as well.” Hoplite asked in his usual monotone, “And what did you mean about your gods efforts for my world? Is Doxhar…”

Hoplite suddenly felt nauseous again, yet the intensity of the sickness nearly forced him to vomit, despite his empty stomach. He managed to maintain his composure before Baomiel, standing straight and eye-level with the creature’s upper half. Hoplite would need to eat soon, very soon.

“I will not answer any more questions on this subject, I am sorry.” Baomiel said flatly, “It is what you would call ‘top secret’. I fear I will be punished for even bringing this up to you, but the Three Heads must know that the Outworld still stands. For their peace of mind.”

Classified intel then. Hoplite had no real reason to share Doxhar’s name with anyone… That was unless it became important. Already there were a dozen more questions Hoplite had for the angel, all of them pertaining to Doxhar and the Pillar-Gods. What were the gods' efforts concerning Hoplite’s world? Had they been to Earth before? How was Doxhar involved in all this and how could just his name be dangerous?

Baomiel did say that there would be consequences for uttering that name, but what were they? Based on what Baomiel claimed, it was safe for Hoplite himself to say Doxhar, but not so for the natives of this planet. Would an Ahkoolian burst into flame on hearing it? Would their deities smite them from afar? Maybe it would just drive them insane, sending them into babbling fits of madness until they finally died. With Hoplite’s mind now open to these possibilities, he knew he couldn’t risk asking those sorts of questions to his team mates.

From now on, he’d treat mentioning the name of Doxhar as being fatal, just as mention of CHIMERA would be fatal… Just to be safe. Without a word, Hoplite moved away from Baomiel, gripping the wagon’s pull bar and dragging it through the archway. It would be wise for Baomiel to not stand right outside the entrance where it would be visible for any passing Fiends to see. He was about to tell the angel that very thing, but Baomiel had quickly followed after the wagon, indicating that the creature was already very well aware of that fact.

Turning his attention back ahead of him, Hoplite bumped his chin, enabling his helmet’s night vision to see the extent of the blackened stone hall. It seemed to extend for about a hundred feet or so, with no branching paths leading up to the light that shone at the end of this tunnel. It looked to be torchlight, meaning that the others were just ahead.

Indeed it wasn’t long before he heard their voices, chatting casually as if there hadn’t been any Fiends within this place. They certainly had enough time to finish scouting the place out while Hoplite and Baomiel cleared out the encroaching Fiends. Hoplite had been afraid that there would be a small horde waiting in here, but it seemed that wasn’t the case. Unless they had already taken care of them, of course. Any injured Fiend within the rest stop would need to be removed from the premises if so.

“Hey there sir!” Michael shouted, shouldering his rifle as Hoplite pulled the wagon into a large circular chamber, “Everything’s clear.”

This massive room was bare of anything save Hoplite and the others. It had to be roughly the same size as the amphitheater on the Sparrow, with four bowl-like grooves set in the ground. Likely those grooves were meant for a fire, but where would the smoke go? Was there a tunnel in the groove that the smoke could be pulled through? Perhaps these weren’t meant to be firepits, but Hoplite found it hard to imagine them being anything else. He bumped his chin, the night-vision disabling and leaving only the light of the team's torches to see by.

And Michael’s helmet light, which the marine kept active despite the already burning light sources surrounding him. The battery life on those helmets was long, but that didn’t mean they’d last forever. Hoplite had brought extra batteries for Michael’s helmet, but the marine should still be more conservative with his power usage.

“Affirmative. Bridge is cleared.” Hoplite replied, stopping to duck under the pull bar. “Disable your flashlight unless needed private.”

Michael hesitated for the briefest of instants before he complied, clicking off the light with a slightly shaking hand, “Yes sir.” He whispered, tone nervous.

He’d need to leave his helmet light on for Michael once it was time to douse those torches, which would have to be soon if the smoke couldn’t escape this room. He scanned the chamber again, looking for any potential hazards. This bridge was supposed to be ancient, there was bound to be wear and tear somewhere. What if one of the large stones that made up the ceiling decided to come loose? Each massive brick was roughly the same size as the wagon, if one fell it could crush the team flat. Yet when Hoplite took this time to observe the brickwork, he was shocked to find that there was no weathering to be seen.

Besides the thick layer of dust coating the stone, there was no damage to be found. This shocked him for a moment before he remembered what the Greatbridge was supposed to be made out of. ‘Setstone’ Lance had called it. It was supposedly indestructible, or may as well have been considering that nothing had managed to even scratch it across all of Ahkoolis’s long history. Perhaps they really were invincible, after all, the Greatbridges had lasted through ten ages of history.

Meaning that even these apocalyptic ‘Godling Wars’ had not managed to bring them down. Was there anything in the Eighth Arm’s arsenal that could even scratch them? He considered for a moment as he ducked under the pull bar, wondering if a standard nuclear detonation could level the construction. Maybe the stones themselves would be spared, but if they all came loose then surely the Greatbridge would fall… Unless the bricks were unable to be separated?

After ten ages, not even the seams connecting the bricks were worn. Where could setstone be acquired? With its insane durability, there would have to be some way they could be utilized for the war effort.

“This is home sweet home tonight.” Alistair said with a short sigh, “We’ll be able to rest easy, Baomiel will guard the entrance for us.”

“Well that’s a relief…” Lance said with a sigh of her own, “I have no need to sleep just yet, I will help keep watch… though I don’t believe Baomiel will need the aid.” She finished, sparing a nervous glance at Alistair.

Again being an elf came with great advantages, such as a greatly reduced need for sleep. If only that had been a mutation that Hoplite himself had acquired during his infusions, his capabilities in the field would have been greatly enhanced.

“No,” Alistair confirmed with a grin, “But he does enjoy talking if you want to keep him company.” Alistair said, nodding to his eidolon’s wide back, “If you aren’t afraid that is.”

Lance gulped as she stared at Baomiel, the lower half's tongue idly licking the dust from the ground as its upper half kept vigil over the darkened hall.

“I will try to muster up the courage.” Lance said non-committedly.

“Well…” Alistair said slowly, “As long as you don’t try to shoot him.” He finished, sparing a brief withering glare for Michael.

The marine just shook his head and muttered, “I didn’t know he’d look like that.” Under his breath.

That was right, Michael had never seen Baomiel before. Likely seeing such a creature had prompted Michael’s fight or flight, something that Hoplite didn’t blame him for. After all, Baomiel was… unique, in its appearance.

“Let’s just get to bed.” Elum said with a yawn, “I’m about to fall over and I don’t wanna suffer the curse of consciousness any longer.”

“First,” Twindil said, raising a single finger, “We’re going to need Afina’s blessing. It will only take me a few moments, I need to make contact with one of her angels first.”

Angels? Were they like Baomiel or did every deity have their own kind of angel? Did they all work for the Pillar-Gods? It was hard to say, but Twindil might be able to provide more insight on the nature of ‘angels’. Alistair too could prove to be a valuable source of intel, after all he was bound to Baomiel, who was an angel. Surely he must understand somewhat about how angels operated.

Kid’ka then not-so-subtly cleared his throat, standing up straight before marching straight up to Hoplite, a nervous grin on his face.

“While we wait for Twindil… uh, well what I wanna say is, um…” Kid’ka stuttered, “Do you want to Thoma- wait no sorry.” He struggled, “I am changing- no wait that’s not what I meant. I am changeling-” He continued, face scrunched up as if he were in agony, “I can’t talk today… I am wanting to Tomkall- Bah!” Kid’ka shouted in frustration.

Hoplite squinted at hearing Kid’ka’s mouth salad. Was the man on some kind of narcotic? Why couldn’t he talk correctly? He didn’t look to be drunk and despite Kid’ka’s broken speech Hoplite could not hear any slur in the pale man’s tone.

“What I meant to say is, I challenge you to Tomah.”