Taste of War

Seraniti's body trembled, a violent shiver coursing through her spine as the air around them seemed to press down like an unseen force. "What was that?!" she yelled, her voice barely cutting through the fading echoes of mayhem.

She turned toward the window, her breath catching as the world outside came into focus. The building across from them—once a solid structure—had been reduced to a skeletal ruin. Only a few shattered walls remained, their edges jagged and crumbling. The roof had caved in entirely, its remains buried under a thick cloud of dust and smoke. Loose debris still rained down, clattering onto the broken pavement below, while people ran frantically through the streets, their figures silhouetted against the glowing embers of nearby fires.

Her pulse hammered against her skull.

She turned back toward the counter, eyes locking onto Samīr, who was crouched over Amīrah. The four-armed woman was bracing herself, using her lower limbs to keep her head from slamming against the floor while her upper hands dug into the wood for stability.

"Uhh…could you still do it?" Seraniti asked, forcing an innocent smile that did nothing to mask the nervous energy running through her.

The sound of a fight was growing louder outside—shouts, sharp bursts of gunfire, the unmistakable chime of MICA's being discharged.

For a moment, Samīr didn't respond. He stayed low, taking in slow, measured breaths, as if calming the panic clawing at the edges of his thoughts. Then, finally, he let out a relieved sigh, his fingers flexing against the counter as he pushed himself up.

"Yeah. I can." His voice was steady, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. He leaned against the counter for support, shaking his head as if resetting himself. "I do hope you can survive this little conflict. Just come back in two days."

Amīrah slipped away into the back of the store without a word, her movements swift and purposeful.

"As for your first question," Samīr continued, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the momentary shock. "It was most likely from a terrestrial warship from Kjera. Artillery to be exact."

Before Seraniti could respond, Amīrah returned, now wearing her own packguard—its surface scuffed, worn, and stained from years of use, yet still holding together. She tossed another one to Samīr, who swiftly strapped it over his work clothes with practiced efficiency.

The sight of the old but sturdy equipment gave Seraniti pause. Even with the dust, the damage, and the age, it was clear that these two had dealt with this many times before.

That thought sent another shiver down her spine.

"What's a…umm…what did you say…Ahr…till…ury?" she asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

Samīr and Amīrah both turned to look at her. Their expressions twisted into something between disbelief and mild disappointment, as if she had just announced she didn't know what fire was.

Seraniti's cheeks flushed, heat creeping up her neck as she crossed her arms defensively. Their judging me!

"I'm from a city! Got a problem with that?!" she snapped, her embarrassment morphing into indignant defiance.

Her hands clenched into tight fists as she shifted her weight, as if bracing for another round of condescension. But before either of them could respond, Zora—who had been mostly silent until now—let out a snort of amusement.

A small screen flickered into existence from her bracelet, hovering just above her left wrist. She scrolled through the displayed text with lazy precision, her feline ears twitching slightly. Then, with a self-satisfied smirk, she tilted her head up slightly and recited, "It says it's a big gun that shoots explosive ammunition. Heh."

There was a beat of silence.

Then it was her turn to be stared at.

Amīrah and Samīr's unimpressed gazes shifted toward her, the exact same look of disbelief plastered across their faces.

Zora blinked. Her triumphant smirk wavered slightly. "What?"

She tilted her nose higher, ears flicking in defiance. "That's what it says, right? I'm not wrong."

Samīr rubbed his temples as if she had physically pained him, while Amīrah exhaled through her nose, shaking her head.

"We're going to die." Samīr muttered, mostly to himself, rubbing his temples as if the sheer absurdity of the situation was physically painful. Then, without missing a beat, he straightened, exhaling through his nose.

"Anyway. Good luck out there." His tone was flat, as if bidding farewell to someone heading into a storm they had no business surviving. He gestured vaguely toward the ruined streets. "This town will stay like this for a few months, at least. You can try your luck here, or find another way out."

That was the last thing he said before he turned on his heel, grabbing both hielaman and placing them onto the rack with a heavy, mechanical motion. Without another glance, he disappeared into the back of the store, his form swallowed by the dim, flickering lights of the storage room.

Amīrah followed, just as silent, her four arms adjusting the straps of her packguard as she stepped past the counter. There was no final remark, no dramatic pause—just the quiet acceptance that they had said all that needed to be said.

That left Seraniti and Zora standing in an awkward silence.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the weight of the city pressing against them.

"Well…" Seraniti started, but found nothing else to say.

Zora simply shrugged. "Yeah."

With that, they both stepped outside.

The first thing to hit them was the wind—hot, thick with the taste of dust and burnt metal. The town was an absolute wreck. The building across from them was still crumbling, its skeletal remains shifting under its weight. Distant plumes of smoke bled into the murky skyline, the air tainted with the acrid scent of scorched materials and ozone. The ground was littered with shattered glass, torn fabric, and the occasional streak of blood—though whether it belonged to the dead, the wounded, neither of them could tell.

A screen flickered into existence just ahead of them, its structure stabilizing—only to be slammed by a stray shot before it could fully solidify.

CRACK!

The impact sent jagged distortions racing across the surface. The screen buckled slightly under the force, the sound of screeching metal filling the air as the projectiles scraped and ricocheted against it. The hits—coming from somewhere out there—were fast, sporadic, and violent. Some rebounded into the rubble, while others splintered against the ground, kicking up small bursts of dust and debris.

Both Seraniti and Zora ducked on instinct, crouching low as another impact sent a violent ripple across the barrier.

A breathy, incredulous chuckle slipped from Seraniti's mouth, followed closely by Zora's low, amused snicker. The sheer absurdity of dodging death only to be immediately shot at was almost comical.

"Damn" Zora muttered, shaking her head as she reached downward, her hand slipping into her own silhouette before her fingers wrapped around something solid.

In one swift, fluid movement, she pulled her Twin Mŕtvy free.

The twin weapons gleamed even under the low light, their polished surfaces reflecting the embers in the distance.

Seraniti stood, rolling the tension from her shoulders as she flicked her wrist.

Her ever-trusty screen, floated to her side. She gripped the handle, feeling the tempered material against her palm, and shifted her stance slightly. Her free hand grabbed the battery rod before yanking it towards her.

She pulled it upward—and the one beside it followed its lead.

Collapse fluid floated from the container, before coagulating as segments' emerged from within. The segments' of the cannons continued to emerge, each piece locking into place with the soft sound of air being pushed out alongside the hissing of pieces.

As the final components locked into place, the collapse fluid that had momentarily left its container retreated, flowing backwards as if nothing ever happen. A low hiss followed as the final segments secured themselves into place. All of this happened in less than five seconds.

Seraniti inhaled slowly, shutting her eyes for a moment as she centered herself. The air tasted of iron and ash, thick with the residue of destruction. She exhaled sharply, letting the tension bleed from her body as her ritual dictated. The warmth of her breath dissipated into the cold air, and as she opened her eyes.

She tilted her head upward, gaze locking onto the massive silhouette looming in the distance. "Just looking at these things makes me sick to my stomach." Her voice carried no tremor, just quiet disgust.

Zora, who had been adjusting her grip on her Twin Mŕtvy, glanced at Seraniti before following her gaze skyward. The Feline's ears flicked, and her nose crinkled slightly. "I see nothing, Mashaa. So, tell me—what do you see this time?"

Seraniti's pupils dilated as she used a sequence—Beholder. The circles within her irises froze before spinning backward. Her vision sharpened, tunneling into the unseen. Layers of perception peeled away as her sight honed in on the thing that lurked beyond ordinary comprehension.

"I see a Behemuth." The words left her mouth like lead. "I don't know how big it is, but it's as large as this town. Maybe larger."

Her eyes dissected the massive thing, struggling to process its shape through the distortions that clung to it like a haze. "Its head… rectangular, but not quite. The structure is off—unnatural. Its mouth, if it can even be called that has two main hands for a mouth and two under them. One almost atop the other." Her breath hitched slightly, but she forced herself to keep going. "From its head down to the middle of its neck, it's just bone. Stripped bare."

She pushed deeper into her sight, past the warped visuals, forcing her mind to adjust.

"Its body looks like those whales from old videos. If those things are even real." She muttered, narrowing her focus. "They say there's something called an ocean that separates the plates. But the rest of it…"

Her voice trailed off.

She could see the blackened skin covering its body, clusters of hardened formations protruding in uneven patches. Óhreinn. Large, pulsing clusters of it. A natural growth? An accumulation? She wasn't sure.

She tried to push her sight further—to see what lay beneath it, what it dragged. Her head throbbed instantly as if the very act of looking sent a violent pulse of pressure through her skull, as if her mind was rejecting the acknowledge it outright.

"Ach! This maldito fucker!" She recoiled, clutching her forehead as a sharp, rhythmic pounding assaulted her senses.

Zora caught her before she could stagger further, one hand gripping her shoulder while the other kept Twin Mŕtvy at the ready. "Mashaa!"

Seraniti let out a strained breath through gritted teeth. "F-ch! Yeah, that was a bad idea." The remains of the Behemuth's presence still clung at the edges of her consciousness. "If I had pushed further, I might've had a damn heart attack."

She took another breath, forcing herself to speak through the aftershocks. "Oh yeah. It also has a circle floating above its head. Missing a piece, too. I think I told you about this before."

Zora exhaled through her nose, her tail flicking once before settling behind her. She stared at Seraniti, then closed her eyes for a second, collecting herself. When she opened them again, her usual expression returned—calm, and lazy.

"You have." Zora's voice carried the smallest trace of something—maybe worry, maybe just acknowledgment—but whatever moment they might have had was shattered in an instant.

The screen surrounding them lit up with a rapid barrage of impacts from one side, the concussive force rattling the screen with an ear-splitting screech. Seraniti's instincts fired before thought could catch up—her hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Svalinn's handle. With a sharp yank, she swung it between them and the unknown attackers, its body hitting the ground with a slam.

"We were having a moment here!" she barked, voice laced with irritation more than fear.

Zora's MICA chimed from her left wrist before she vanished.

Not even a second later, she reappeared next to the attackers, her Twin Mŕtvy already in motion. One blade shot forward, impaling one of them in the shoulder before yanking them off balance. In the same motion, she grabbed another by the collar, twisting on her heel—

Then they were gone.

Just like that, two of their opponents were eliminated.

Seraniti barely had time to process before her gaze flicked across the remaining figures. Seven left. Three casters. One defender. Two rangers, both are carrying melee weapons alongside their firearms. And the last one…an Idol.

Both sides stood motionless for a heartbeat, taking measure of one another. Then—

Three MICA's chimed in unison.

Three casters lifted their staffs, sequences forming in rapid succession—before three streaks of fire tore through the air, heading straight for her. At the same time, the two rangers broke into a sprint, weapons raised as they fired a mix of bullets and beams toward her.

Seraniti barely exhaled before reacting.

She leaned back, her body moving before thought, her MICA chiming again as a sequence activated beneath her feet. Reverse.

The world shifted—momentum reversed. She launched herself backward in a controlled retreat, Svalinn still locked in her grasp as both of her cannons followed suit before they pointed towards the group closing in on her. The ground beneath her cracked slightly as she landed, boots skidding against the dirt before stabilizing.

"Kjera, huh?" she muttered, mostly to herself, ignoring the heat of the flames still lingering in the air. "One of the major mining companies… what could you possibly be here for?"

Not that she really cared.

She wasn't a saint like those so-called heroes—the ones who threw themselves into the fire, convinced they were changing something, only to end up dead. Forgotten. Just another set of bones buried beneath the weight of someone else's victory.

She raised her palm, fingers splayed as her MICA chimed in response. A sequence bloomed beneath the closest attacker—a precise, pattern that burned itself into the ground in an instant. Then—the world exploded.

A pillar of flames erupted beneath them, swallowing the attacker whole in a violent burst of heat. The searing light reflected off the edges of Svalinn, distorting the battlefield for just a moment.

But the attacks didn't stop.

She barely had time to process the sudden blur of movement from her left—one of the rangers had closed the gap, a short sword flashing in their grip.

"Shit—!"

CLANG!

The impact rang deafening, a violent shower of sparks illuminating the space between them as the sword slammed into Svalinn's body at the last second. The force of the blow sent a sharp tremor through her arm, but she didn't hesitate—

Her MICA chimed again.

She activated Reverse, momentum wrenching her backward just as the cannons jerked to follow suit. The sudden shift in movement sent her skidding, her boots grinding against the dust-covered pavement as she steadied herself.

Then she snapped her hand forward.

The cannons' apparatuses spun, their golden components catching the flickering glow of distant fires. The potential inside them surged.

Then they fired.

The first projectile screamed through the air, hurtling toward the group of casters—they scattered immediately, instincts kicking in as one of them barely managed to erect a screen before impact. The defender moved on reflex, attempting to minimize damage—

But it was too late.

The explosion engulfed him.

The secondary cannon shifted, its trajectory set on the ranger still on her flank. He had barely begun his next motion when the shot connected—

A sickening crunch followed as he was launched backward, his body twisting mid-air before slamming into the pavement.

Seraniti didn't let the heat die.

Before the moment passed, she formed a fireball in her free hand, the condensed mass of flames whining from the sheer heat coiling inside it. Without hesitation, she hurled it forward—

Then it struck true.

A scream tore through the air. Her instincts flared, but she wasn't fast enough. A beam of fire roared past, just inches over her head. The intense heat licked against her feathers, the dirty scent of burnt edges filling her nostrils as she dropped low, barely avoiding the full impact.

"What the hell!"

She surged forward, eyes locked onto the three remaining casters—but before she could reach them, the Idol moved with no expression.

It stomped onto the ground, the force behind it sending a shockwave through the pavement. The ground beneath her shifted, softened to the point her footing collapsed beneath her.

She stumbled, her balance thrown off just enough for the Idol to seize the opening. A hand gripped her arm—the strength behind it was immediate, suffocating before a kick landed on her chest.

It connected solidly, knocking the air from her lungs as she was hurled back. The impact sent her crashing into the wall behind her, a dull bang reverberating through her skull as she hit hard enough to leave an indent in the stone.

"Ah! You—!"

She barely took a breath before she launched herself forward, kicking off from the indent and slamming back onto solid ground. Her fingers curled tight around Svalinn—

Then she threw it.

The Idol dodged—but Seraniti was already moving.

She snapped her fingers.

The cannons' apparatuses spun violently, their internal systems humming as stored potential surged into reality. The Sakharov round fired first—a single, crackling shot of electrical disruption—the Idol jerked, its body locking up as the stun took hold.

Then came the Minié round. A split-second later, it tore into the Idol's arm with a sickening crunch, the limb severing completely.

"A—!"

Seraniti didn't let up. With a yanking motion, Svalinn lurched from where it had been thrown—

The massive screen crashed into the Idol's back, the sheer force launching both of them into a building meters away to which its surface caved in.