The night of June 13th was a particularly busy one; it marked the darkest sky the residents of Cascadale island had ever witnessed, The clouds covered the moonlight as they showered the entire city in light drizzle of rain. The Night illuminated solely by the varying bolts of lightning now and them carried an ominous feeling, something big was gonna go down tonight. On one side of the city, a single mother was busy preparing dinner for her unruly daughter, and on the other side, a few dozen shadows were making their way across the urban landscape, all cloaked in taupe-colored cloaks.
Running at speeds unimaginable by human standards, they appeared as mere blurs in the dark and windy night.
Finally one of them broke the eerie silence, "Captain, how much farther must we go?"
"Silence, Private #1779," barked another cloaked figure with a crooked chevron moustache.
"It's all right, Sergeant Amery," interjected a firm voice, "We should only be a few blocks away from last sighting of our target. It should take only a few minutes to get there."
The owner of this commanding voice was Captain Brahn, a muscular yet gentle figure who exuded an aura of respect like no other.
"How could they subject us to this? It's an utter waste of time. The Guard Corps has far more important duties," complained the figure with the chevron moustache, Sergeant Amery. "I still can't believe that the Senator and Baron agreed to send an entire platoon to deal with a kid."
"You're mistaken. They didn't send a platoon just for a 'kid'," sighed the Captain, causing his soldiers' confusion. "They dispatched this platoon to capture a Criminal of the Third Decree, Target with the priority level of three."
The soldiers went silent, In the terms used by the commoners, A target with Priority level of three should be equal to Traitor to a Nation in terms of priority to capture. To send the Guard Corps after such a target was truly a bold decision, Although Guard corps was an unit composed solely of elites, The targets of Violet-rank were at least Crest ranks. While they were all still Initiates of Green Rank at best, Orange Rank if you counted Lieutenant Amery, Although captains, even the weakest of them were Crests, and even among them Captain Brahn was a force to be reckoned with, A Rank-Blue Crest.
Although a bit nervous the The platoon kept up the pace until they entered a small alleyway. In front of them across the alleyway was their destination, As they saw a massive building, A skyscraper if you may call it that, it had over two dozen floors almost. Across the the alleyway they could see something else moving and making their way towards the platoon, covered in shadows, Coming into the view were another platoon of cloaked figures, their cloaks faded scarlet in color.
And yet another platoon arrived, clad in beige cloaks. This was followed by a staggering thirteen more platoons, all one after another.
The soldiers from different platoons regarded each other with indifference and ignorance unlike anything. Sizing each other up, there were over 700 soldiers squeezed into that small alleyway. Mathematically, it should have been impossible, but the denizens of of the hidden paths mathematics held little weight.
"Captain Brahn, it's been quite some time, hasn't it?" uttered a murky voice; as an old, crooked figure emerged from the shadows.
The visibility was low due to the night and rain, but these soldiers could easily see each other with what could best be described as uncanny clarity. "You're still as disorganized as I remember, Tsk Tsk. How could anyone expect things to work out when they entrust an entire Corps to a rookie?"
This crooked figure was Mor'vas, the captain of The Stinger Corps, specializing in poisons and venomous substances.
"Of course, Captain 'Vas. If I recall correctly, it's our first meeting since this year's Captains' meeting," recollected Brahn, unshaken by Mor'vas's snide remarks. "By the way, how's your leg? I heard it was fractured while you were on duty at the 'The Academy', I also heard that it was a rookie in-fact who fractured it?
You should take care who knows what another rookie would do"
The soldiers around them couldn't help but snicker at Brahn's words; even some captains let out a chuckle or two. Brahn appeared wise enough not to be offended by Mor'vas's veiled insults, yet he wasn't going to let them go unanswered either.
Brahn might have considered this a minor exchange, but Mor'vas right now was fuming. His face turned purple with anger. He swiftly bared his right hand at Brahn, his nails growing to a length of 3 cm and oozing a purple toxic substance. Fortunately, two other figures stepped between him and Brahn, obstructing his line of sight.
"Old man Vas, shouldn't you also greet us?" boomed a red-headed man, towering like a bear. With his fiery hair and a bushy beard, he had small beady eyes. This person was Loran, the Captain of the Demolition Corps, a master in the art of demolition, be it for anything.
"Indeed, he should," came a sharp yet loud voice. The owner of this voice was a young man in his early twenties, with a sleek and handsome face and navy hair that stood up like the head of an axe. This man was Captain Mosvey of the Explosion Corps, and their specialty was pretty self-explanatory.
Mor'vas knew better than to attempt a move against Brahn when two other captains stood between them.
Suddenly, a clap sounded behind them as a figure in a dark green army uniform emerged from the shadows. His wrinkled face and grey hair betrayed his old age; he appeared to be in his late 50s or so when he was much much older. Although short and scrawny, his stature was rigid as a mountain that had weathered the ravages of time. His uniform consisted of a dark-grey tunic with a high-standing collar, pitch-black boots, and various medals. The tunic itself was formal in design and impeccably clean. On his chest, his name was embroidered: 'Major Nemery Scal.'