No Ice Cream

The Citadel of the Eternal Remnant was all Mhlengi knew. His goal was to become a high-ranking member of the Church. Life would be better that way. He grew up in the slums, where everything was dirty and everything could kill you. It would be no exaggeration to say every kid from the slums either wanted to be part of the Church or wanted to oppose it.

The Church ruled with an iron fist, so it was no surprise that it was hated. They preached the Doctrine of the Eternal Remnant, which stated, "The faithful are considered the 'Eternal Remnant'—the chosen ones who survived the apocalypse due to their inherent worthiness and the protection of the divine. They are destined to rebuild and lead the world under the guidance of the Citadel." The Citadel didn't tolerate heretics, for they believed in The Warning of the Scourge, a dire prediction that heresy and misuse of technology would lead to a second apocalypse. This warning was used to justify the persecution of heretics and the strict control over technological relics.

The Church was powerful, and no one knew who started it. But Mhlengi believed his salvation was with the Church, so he devoted himself as a believer in hopes of climbing the ranks. Now an Acolyte, he could wear clean clothes, bathe regularly, and smell nice. His dreams were being realized. Most people in the slums got sick because they were filthy, rarely showered, and couldn't afford soap. Soap was for people like him—a Man of God.

Of course, food security had improved for him since the Church owned many farms, which meant he received food every month. It wasn't luxurious like the higher ranks, but it was better than slum food. If he saved up, he could even get himself some wine. And God, did he love wine.

Seeing the guard drop dead out of nowhere reminded Mhlengi of his mortality. He had grown accustomed to his security. He was an Acolyte; no one was crazy enough to oppose the Church, let alone kill a Guardian. It might have been a Guardian Recruit, but the Church didn't take to opposition well. And killing a believer was one of the highest crimes. The Citadel would hunt down such a heretic with relentless fury. As fear tightened its grip around him, Mhlengi's mind raced with the implications. If someone was audacious enough to kill a Guardian, it meant that the sacred authority of the Citadel was being challenged. The notion that a heretic had killed a believer sent chills down his spine. He had heard that some of the heretics from the old world were sly and merciless. That's why they had to kill them as soon as such a facility was found. The heretics of the old world were dangerous; even the Church feared these beings that caused the Fall.

The protocols demanded immediate action, but the shock of seeing one of their own felled so easily paralyzed Mhlengi. He had to act quickly but also ensure his own survival. The sacred mission could not afford another loss, especially his own, at the hands of some desperate relic from a forgotten past. He knew what the Church could do for him and was a believer, but he was a realist. He had to protect his life first and not become cannon fodder.

As an Acolyte, Mhlengi's rank was low. The only weapon he could wield was a Faith Shield, a reinforced physical shield, sometimes with minor energy enhancements, carried by Guardian Recruits and Acolytes. He also had a Consecrated Sword, a well-crafted blade made from salvaged materials, often inscribed with holy texts.

Even though he didn't know what to expect, he knew the facility had no advanced weapons, and the best the culprit could do was to take the dead Guardian Recruit's weapon. They could win with numbers.

As if reading his mind, Sizwe emerged from the room slowly and picked up the sword and shield. Mhlengi and the Guardians just watched this man. He was tall, dark-skinned, with bright brown eyes. His hair looked like dark wool, forming a mini Afro.

Sizwe had been hiding and waiting for a moment to strike. As a former military weapons manufacturer, he was taught to strike first and ask questions later, but he had to assess the threat first. When the men walked in, he could see they had swords and shields. If they had guns, he would be hiding like a chameleon, but these men had medieval weapons, which was weird.

He knew he could take these men since he had training, but underestimating your opponent is to die. He waited for the right time to strike. He killed the first Guardian with the sharp edge of a broken metal shard he had found near the pod. The makeshift weapon slid through the gap in the Guardian's armor, piercing vital organs with precision. Now he had a sword; it was better than the shard. Even though he had trained with many weapons in the military, a sword was not one of them. Sizwe preferred daggers. But thinking wasn't required in this situation. He moved swiftly, his training guiding his hand as he silenced the second Guardian with a brutal thrust to the throat. Each move was calculated, efficient, designed to ensure he remained unseen and unheard. As he watched the life drain from their eyes, the gravity of his actions weighed on him, but survival demanded ruthlessness. Sizwe knew that every second counted now—he had to keep moving, eliminating anyone in front of him before more of the Citadel's forces arrived. He didn't know how many there were. He didn't really care much; he just had to escape. He didn't even bother with who was left. He just headed straight to the broken door. His body was still adjusting, but it was good enough. He ran to the door and just as he appeared in the hallway—

BANG! A familiar sound filled his ear.

TING! The bullet hit metal. It was either the gods were by his side, or he was super lucky. In that split second, Sizwe identified the gun that hit his shield. It was the Springfield Model 1861.

In the cryosleep chamber, Mhlengi sighed in relief. He thought he was a goner. The heretic moved in ways he had never seen before. He killed two Guardians in a few seconds, but Mhlengi smiled when he heard the shot. He knew there were Guardian Enforcers outside the chamber and they both had divine relics. Even though they were low-grade relics, they were still divine relics that someone like him could only dream of touching. The relics were how the Church controlled the masses. The Enforcers were no joke; a single shot from an Enforcer could kill a grown man. That is how powerful the Citadel is. This heretic had no way of escape. Mhlengi had read the history of the divine relic: The Springfield Model 1861 "Redeemer" is a modified version of the classic rifled musket widely used during the American Civil War. Originally manufactured in Springfield, Massachusetts, USA, in the year 1861, this weapon has been adapted by the Guardians of the Citadel of the Eternal Remnant to serve their needs in the post-apocalyptic world.

The "Redeemer" maintains the traditional design of the Springfield Model 1861, featuring a walnut stock and iron hardware, but has been fitted with a few modern adjustments to improve its usability. These modifications include a rudimentary scope mounted on the barrel and a reinforced stock to accommodate the rigors of modern combat. Despite these enhancements, the rifle remains temperamental, prone to jamming and misfires due to its age and the degraded quality of ammunition available.

Technical Specifications:

- Caliber: .58

- Action: Percussion lock, muzzle-loaded

- Effective Range: 200-300 meters

- Weight: 4.4 kg

- Length: 1,400 mm

- Barrel Length: 1,020 mm

- Scope: Basic magnification scope, added post-manufacture

- Capacity: Single shot, manually loaded

Having two Guardian Enforcers was a blessing. He knew he would survive now that the heretic was face-to-face with the wielders of divine relics. Another shot sounded immediately after the first one.

_____

In the hallway, Sizwe's mind was racing. He had to survive this. After blocking the first shot, Sizwe didn't waste a breath. He immediately went on the offensive, catching the Enforcers by surprise. They had never seen such a fearless man; when men heard the thundering sound of the divine relic, they usually ran from it, not towards it. This man was like a demon with bright brown eyes. His face was calm as still water. There was no doubt in his eyes, nor even the fear of death. This sent chills down the spines of the Guardian Enforcers. The other Enforcer shot his gun in panic and missed the brown-eyed demon. Not a second later, he saw his comrade fall. It was like a fairy tale. No one in the Citadel would believe this, but he couldn't let shock grip his heart. He was trained by the Church and wouldn't fall so easily. He immediately dropped his gun and pulled out a dagger, but a sword was already upon him at this point. All he could do was parry the stab. The Enforcer had never thought a sword could be this scary. It was pointed at him with the intent to kill. It was the first time his life was truly in danger. Although he was caught by surprise, he was still able to parry the sword, but it still nicked him by the ribs. The wound was superficial, but the Enforcer knew that one mistake would mean his death.

Just after he survived the stab, the sword came down at him like a guillotine trying to claim his head. He was able to block the strike but the sword dug into his shoulder. Sizwe pulled back the sword inflicting more damage. The enforcer went down immediately, he was not dead though. Sizwe's objective was to escape, killing more people takes time and he knew a back exit of the facility and the Enforcer was in his way. As the enforcer fell to his knees weak, Sizwe dashed past him taking the dagger and a rifle along with a few bullets for the fallen enforcer. Even though he was in a rush, it would be stupid to leave a gun behind. It could save his life if he met with trouble. This all happend so quickly that Mhlengi was in disbelief as he watched the heretic dash away. It was like a nightmare, one enforcer dead and one injured. This was not good.

Sizwe finally reached the exit, he looked outside and the world looked awful. The only thing he could mutter was:

"So no ice cream?"