Aimee was shambling down the darkened red alley, standing at the last place her fuse had been popped at. Toothy protrusions shot up like icicles as her alabaster skin dimmed, along with the toothy imprint. She pushed her cherry lips together in consternation, gazing at the bodies of the scientists that laid over the cracked tiles, her fingers clicking along a panel of light emitted from her visor.
"F*ck, these guys had keycards! How did Corjian...he's accident like me! The scientists are supposed to hunt us down, not assign us important personnel!" She scanned over various scrawls of information, the photos of the scientists hanging along on the screen with both names and additional information. She poured over the contents as her eyebrows creased under her visor.
'On important official duty.' These words kept springing up with no additional information, though she kept trying to hack even further into the scientist's database. This was a very serious matter, one that could disturb her quiet life that she had established from evading those rabid scientist dogs for months! Only half a year had passed since she escaped from the asylum...and the screaming still lingered on the forefront of her mind.
She was so enveloped that her senses had dimmed, consumed entirely by the extraneous lengths of effort she was undergoing to bash through the firewalls that sprang up left and right. Her teeth grit against each other before they were ground, wearing down the enamel that quickly regrew and sharpened as anger germinated, almost flowering.
"You're not getting very far. Need some assistance, miss Aimee? Or should I say, Five Workshop? Or would Fifth F*ckup be more familiar to you?" A rhythmic pitter patter clashed against the silent, yet tense alleyway, as a synthetically clothed figure beat a metal baton against his alloyed gauntlets. A breathing mask that ended vertically in a knight adjacent tassel fluttered about, sometimes pointing upward, sometimes downward.
Aimee's stature suddenly stood up ramrod straight, and her primmed bun started to become untidy as she threw herself against the wall in shock. Her eyes, hidden behind her visor, shook visibly with great fear spanning between the furrowed sclera, and her body trembled with each smack of the baton.
The figure let out a creepy laughter that crawled in her ears, disturbing her canals greatly. Her lips quivered as they clamped down together, forming a slightly curved frown. The figure clasped the metal baton hard before closing in as Aimee scooted backwards, inching right up into a corner.
It placed the rod on her stomach, pushing it up along the constraints of her upper body before it settled on her windpipe, her teeth bared in discomposure. The man loomed over her, husky breaths pushing against the darkened space of the cannisters in the gas mask, before he punched Aimee in the gut as she lurched forward, her throat slumped on the metal cylindrical stick as air was exhumed from her lungs.
"Oh, you poor, poor, thing. Did you really think you escaped..." The mask filled her line-of-sight completely as it drew ever closer, and she could smell the antiseptics on the suit. The stinging smell of sterilization beat up her nostrils, as pearls of liquid fell from her lacrimation, along with the faint imprint of teeth appearing.
"You're mad? Be grateful." The suit let out a long whistle as he made an arc with one of his arms, drawing it to the side while he used the rod to angle Aimee's face. "You got to live like a dog, in these sh*t filled alleys, all because we let you! You're one of the few accidents that don't require any medication, so we needed to see what you could do. I'm pretty impressed..." The scientist removed the rod, though he didn't back up one bit, still lingering over her tautly pressed body that clamped against the dirty red wall.
"Though in normal times, I'd kick in your mutt *ss until I can stuff you in a body bag, so you won't ever be able to escape, these are desperate times. So, the Council sent me to cut you a little deal..." He paused, letting the ambience of the tension wash over both he and Aimee as he stuck out his hand.
"You'll be at the battle of the Fracois Frontline, because we're advancing on those Western Mage sh*tbuckets. This is non-negotiable, as refusal will result in your immediate termination. Oh and I WISH YOU WOULD REFUSE!!!" The man broke out into a pulsing yell that seemed to reverberate, while Aimee swallowed down both her hatred and her fear and nodded along.
The deal was made, drawing another intrepid soul to the transpiring armed conflict. Her hands were bounded in chained cuffs as the heavily armored scientist brought her out of the dingy alleyways.
Though she hated the captivity that beset her, Aimee inwardly admired the boundless sky that hung above her. It had been a long time since she witnessed it in all its glory...
--
In the Western Territory of the Renthic Mages, robed troops emerged from menacing, towering palisades and boundaries that sought to pierce the very sky. The procession was composed of three different types of forces, all with their own purpose in the battle that was to come.
The mages with simple robes, tomes, and staves floated in the sky, flashes of runes suspended below their feet as they worked their so-called 'magycks.' These were the support of the mages, who would redirect attention, command cadres, and shake up the focus of the enemy with their specialized preparations.
The templar like forms that were clad in rune etched metals stood firmly as they battered the ground, each holding tightly onto an amulet shaped like various shields. Their jobs were to defend against the scientific onslaughts with the pittances of magic they had, becoming meat shield barriers with very little reusability. There did seem to be a few noticeable exceptions, however, as some moved adeptly with waves rippling off of their every step. These units had three sets of amulets, one, the standard shield, another, a sword, and the last, a staff.
Lastly, there were thinly robed shambling humanoid figures, through which rocky granules sprouted out in their skin. Most of their faces were contorted into stone like grins, and their digits were somewhere between clawed and blunt stubs. The rocky plates shifted as it let out shrills of dissonance, their movements coordinated into quick, jerky steps. These were known as the Swill, a mass of people who could manifest absolutely no magic and were thus deemed worthless. Through appropriation of the Eastern scientist's gene spliced specimen, they had woven magic into their flesh and brought about mutations that turned them into both sturdy warriors and moving mana faucets.
The more notable ones had translucent shards and tendrils of the rocky fibers coursing from and through their body in thin veins. They could not remove the etched smiles from their faces, though at least their faces were fair and graceful. It was the only dignity the mages allowed to grace their ruined forms, along with a shattered consciousness that occasionally surfaced from time to time.
Two mages in ornate robes flew side by side, chatting with each other. They were both female and looked near identical, their orange wavy locks bound by a cylindrical clasp that hung behind their neck.