Moral Obligations

'He's joking, right? He wouldn't be wasting time arguing for his status otherwise, right?'

Ilyas stared at Alexander dumbfoundedly while Cenric rubbed his temples with his paws in exasperation and panic.

'Right?'

Alexander frowned in displeasure at their reactions, "I do not understand why you two are blaming me for this misfortune. It's clear who the enemy is."

Before Cenric could utter something foul, Ilyas asserted, "With all due respect, Young Lord, are you playing a joke, or are you not thinking straight?"

Alexander looked down and smoothed his collar. "Well, this certainly isn't the time for jests, my good man, and my mind is at its finest, thank you very much," he said woundedly. 

A trepid silence condensed the air between them before Cenric groaned and asked, "Ah... I believe the Nineteenth is still in Peyton Valley, so any chance of the Salivitians reaching them before they leave the Plain is thankfully nought. But the Twentieth is a good few days behind... How long is the Twentieth Procession staying in the Argian Plain, and how long will it take the Salivitians to reach it?"

Alexander straightened. "One week for the Procession to reach the Plain if complying with the schedule, then two weeks' rest. For the Salivtians to reach them... I'd say two and a half weeks from here," Alexander said.

Cenric remained silent with his paw rubbing his forehead stressfully.

Alexander added, "If we make haste, we can reach the plain in a week ourselves. We'll even manage a few days' rest in the encampment. But I'd wager they'd all be scrambling to leave as soon as we warn them." 

After a thoughtful silence, Cenric hefted the bag of tomatoes and stomped away without saying a word.

The poor GentlePug was seething inside. 

Without letting his panic settle, and his thoughts spiral, Ilyas followed.

Alexander wasn't far behind either.

***

Ilyas and Alexander were squatting in an especially intense thicket, while Cenric, short as he was, stood level with them. They were stalking the elegant trail to the manor.

Apparently, according to Alexander, their presence was concealed by being near him due to his 'Imitation'. Cenric had no problem believing him, but Ilyas had his doubts. It bothered him being left in the dark about who everyone was imitating on this Goddamn surface. And could it really be possible to conceal the mechanical ominous breathing of his mask?

'Gosh, I should really ask.'

Ilyas made sure to be between the two, lest they start clawing at each other instead of the enemy, but he still wasn't spared their nonstop, back-and-forth barbs.

"It isn't often that one has the honour to be in a predicament with a Young Lord, especially one so exceptionally imbecilic," whispered Cenric derisively.

"I must say, as an esteemed citizen of the capital, I've always been intrigued by your species. It's just such a disappointment that only your tongue evolved, but your brain remained... primal."

"Oh, how dare-"

"Shhhhhhh!" Ilyas interrupted them. They both went quiet, begrudgingly, until Ilyas asked, "So what's the plan? How are we gonna get away?"

"We wait," Alexander said.

Ilyas tilted his head, "Until what?"

"Until they lose hope in finding us," Cenric continued.

Ilyas sighed and asked impatiently, "What if they do find us?"

Alexander scratched his head, then said, "They won't. But if they do... I don't know. I guess we'll just die. The squad they sent were all Imitators, with a chance of having a Congruent among them. We in the Retreat only have one Congruent after all."

Cenric nodded and added, "That'll inform you of our chances, good sir. It is also worth mentioning that Alexander and I are both scouts. Our Imitation is for observation and secrecy, not assault."

Ilyas's face contorted in frustration behind the mask as he said, "So what? You'd just lie down and die if we are found?"

Both Cenric and Alexander smothered a sudden burst of laughter. 

'What the hell are they laughing at in this situation?'

Alexander poised himself, then said, barely managing to keep himself from breaking up again, "You southerners are quite strange, indeed. What kind of men would we be to do such a dishonourable thing?"

Cenric rubbed his stomach and added, "To die without a fight? Never have I heard of such a cowardly act."

Then, without warning, Cenric released a claw and scratched his paw, leaving a deep, bloody gash on himself. 

Alexander, meanwhile, swiped his hand on a small blade protrusion on his utility belt, also leaving a gash swelling with blood on his palm.

Ilyas's head whipped between them frantically, dumbstruck and shocked by their sudden and bizarre action. 

'Huh?'

They both went utterly silent after that, shutting their eyes tightly and focusing on something. 

It was as if they were meditating, but with a more dire prompt.

Then, something that made Ilyas hold his breath and blink repeatedly in disbelief happened right before his eyes.

The blood swelling in their hands began to swirl and protrude from their hands, denying their liquid nature, and coalescing to assume the shapes of blades. It was a disturbing and abhorrent sight.

The stench of iron emitting from the dense crimson blades made his skin crawl and his face grimace.

Then, from the tips of the blades, the crimson slowly began to fade into the colour of steel seamlessly. A reflective silver surface replaced it all until even the hilts assumed their traditional fashion. 

Ilyas's jaw dropped as he gaped unblinking at the sight before him. 

The small GentlePug wielded a rapier, while Alexander wielded a majestic Longsword.

'Wha... What the hell was that?! I get it, a long time has passed, but seriously, what the hell was that?!'

"What the hell was that?!" Ilyas hissed. At least this thought deserved to be said. 

Alexander and Cenric shook their heads in dismay, tsked, and sighed.

"You really do know nothing, southerner, do you?" Alexander whispered.

"I'll tell you what, good sir, I'll tell you all I know about Coherency if we survive our current Plight," Cenric added.

Ilyas ran his hand through his hair, still in disbelief at what he saw. If Cenric and Alexander saw his face, they'd see a stressed-out, pale face with a wrinkled nose and furrowed brows.

'At least he'll explain things without me having to ask.'

Alexander took a deep breath and returned his focus to the trail. "Our seekers will pass through this trail in about ten minutes. There will be five of them, and pray to the Celests that there is no Congruent among them. We wait for them to finish loitering about the area, then, when they move on, we escape through the forest and make our way north to the plain as fast as possible. What say you two?"

Ilyas remained silent and turned to Cenric. He obviously had nothing to say. These two were experienced scouts who, due to their still being alive, were obviously competent. 

Who was he, a Vault Dweller who only found himself involved in all this horror a few days ago, to assert an opinion?

Or even be of any help?

They had weapons and were obviously proficient at using them, and they also had experience. What he had were a couple of ugly, debilitating wounds and a socially incapable yet ambitious heart.

'Is it too much to ask? A Personal Task, and a room on par with a Level Four chamber. No! I deserve much more! A Level Three. Agh! Damn this cannibal infested continent!

Cenric nodded firmly at Alexander's plan. "Yes. For a simple-minded, imbecilic young Lord, you quite surprisingly concocted a viable, straightforward plan. However, in the unfortunate, improbable scenario in which we are exposed, I believe you should use your bow to neutralise as many as you can while moving about the thicket to conceal your location alongside your Imitation. I'll circle and attack them from the opposite side, utilising their distracted state."

Alexander nodded and added, "Indeed. I must say, I am quite astonished by your scheming mind, Pup. And after our element of surprise is depleted, I'll join in the melee and pray that our combined efforts yield fruit."

It was a simple plan, because that was all they could afford.

But Ilyas was left feeling unsettled with himself. They didn't even consider him in anything. It was understandable, of course, since he was ordinary and wounded, but still, was that all he was?

A 'moral obligation'?

Ilyas frowned and gritted his teeth in frustration at his uselessness. 

Was he about to let others pave the way for him yet again, with him just 'existing'? Like Ray and Kim did in the Vault, leaving him completely reliant on others in a world where one can only rely on themselves?

Weak and soft?

Was he about to let Cenric, the GentlePug who abandoned his entire mission to save his life, and risked his own in the process, to yet again, stand on the front line alongside Alexander, just for his incompetent, pathetic self to cowardly join the Procession with his tail tucked between his legs?

His life preserved by the blood of those he never did anything for? 

How would it taste? How would his life taste after that?

'But what the hell am I supposed to do? I barely managed to kill that middle-aged ordinary man!'

No! No, no, no.

What was he supposed to do? Well, the same thing he always did and excelled at. Complete this damn task, and merit some worth to his pathetic life.

Ilyas clenched his jaw, set his trepidation and paralysing fear aside as he did that horrid night, and turned to both of them and said:

"I'll be the bait."

Both Cenric and Alexander jolted and turned to him with shocked, confused expressions.

"Say what, good sir?" Cenric muttered. Not bothering to whisper, it seemed.

Alexander tilted his head and frowned while saying, "I'm sorry, my Southern good man, but I don't think that's a... bright idea. Your state demands that you do not need to do anything other than stay close to me."

Cenric seemed to wholeheartedly agree as he continued, "Indeed. Iyas, sir, your physical condition is... quite distressing to say the least. I cannot afford for you to risk your life facing such vile beasts. It would be very dishonourable for us to let you do so."

Just as Alexander was about to add another point to the countless perfectly fair reasons why Ilyas should stay put, Ilyas shook his head vehemently and raised a shivering, bruised hand to stop them.

"I... this is my choice to make. I'm..."

Beneath the mask, Ilyas squeezed his eyes shut, straining himself against his nature.

"I'm certain of it. I cannot allow myself to be a burden in such circumstances. To me, we're all moral obligations. We're all in this together until we reach that damn Procession."

It was a hard thing to say. So Goddamn hard. But it was proper and necessary.

He was going against his nature far too many times anyway, so why not bash through it all?

It was against his nature to be in such a scenario in the first place.

It was against his nature to have killed a man in the goriest way.

It was against his nature to wear a disturbing mask that promised things he could never accept.

So why not burden himself with some selfishness masked under selflessness, too? 

Why wouldn't he want his companion to live? Sure, he didn't trust him in the least, and will not do so any time soon, but...

But...

But damn it, he just wanted to see this adorable GentlePug who saved his life survive with him. 

He would not just watch as these two men fought with all their might and bled while he blames his wounds and hopes for the best.

If he wanted to live past this horror, he'd better do so with his own two hands.

Alexander and Cenric remained silent for a few seconds, considering his words, then they both nodded resolutely, as if commending him. 

"Who are we to stop you, my southern good man? Especially when you seek such honour?" Alexander whispered with a hint of pride in his eyes.

"Truly," Cenric agreed. "But must you use such foul language, my good sir Ilyas?" 

'Huh?'

Cenric smiled, then said softly while returning his sight to the trail, "I'm jesting, Ilyas. I'm... proud of you. I'm proud that I made the right decision that night."

Just then, distant footsteps resounded from the trail, and all three assumed serious expressions. 

 It was time to face their plight.

It was to see what these cannibalistic horrors looked like.

And when they stepped into view, Ilyas sighed mentally in disappointment and thought:

'Huh? They're human, too? At least have some horns!'