The Yatara mountains rose like broken teeth from the sand, their slopes uneven and jagged, forcing any unit into narrow paths where a single mistake could lead to catastrophe.
At night, those paths became liabilities.
I lay against the rock, rifle slung uselessly behind me, its true purpose to get me accostumed to the weight.
A desert eagle, my channeling sidearm, resting in both hands.
Its imprint: The Tower.
Support units weren't meant to be isolated. Our role was simply to observe.
Which meant that the moment I lost visual confirmation of my squad, the operation had deviated from plan.
I adjusted my position by centimeters, careful not to dislodge gravel. A single stone rolling downhill could alert different threats.
The Undebian sentries could triangulate my location judging by the slope of the stone's fall.
Geortarian drones would get distraced.
Or worse...
Below me, nestled between the mountains, sat Barda.
A small village, made out of stone reinforced with metal, floodlights mounted on towers.
The lights made out cones in the darkness, leaving the rest of the settlement in shadows.
They avoided light.
Undebian troops patrolled the perimeter.
Proper soldiers, moving in pairs, rifles slung.
Their armor bore the local crest, indicating they were an independent command structure.
I checked my clock, I hadn't received a signal or orders, not yet.
Standard procedure was to retreat toward the last rally point, however with this terrain that might've been impossible.
A gust of cold wind slid through the rocks.
An unmistakable scent...
I tightened my grip around the pistol.
Channeling weapons weren't as elegant as they sound.
Mass-produced frames, seals of the arcana on them, designed so people like me without the proper biology, could borrow power.
The Desert Eagle felt heavy. Not physically but internally. A pressure behind my back, like it was pressing outward.
The instructors had said it was the body's natural reaction to mana.
That smell only kept getting stronger.
I shifted my head just enough to scan the slope to my left.
There it was.
No limbs, no eyes, no silhouette, just a semi-translucent mass slowly dragging itself over the rock, deforming to the terrain.
It reflected the floodlights from Barda.
Lowest classification of a monster.
Every movement it made produced a faint, wet suction sound as if it were an octopus peeling itself off the stone.
Firing wasn't an option, the recoil alone would echo through the slopes.
A knife would be useless, the impact would be completely absorbed.
I steadied my breathing and brought the pistol closer to my chest.
My finger rested on the imprint along the frame.
The Tower.
The arcana that been channeled for my weapon.
I angled the barrel not at the approaching monster but at the stone beneath it.
Pulling the trigger halfway, the pistol didn't fire.
Instead the frame gave a small single flash.
The stone gave way, crumbling inward and downward in a controlled slide.
Minimum output without discharge.
The Tower was collapse. Structural failure.
No scream or splatter was heard from the blob as it fell downward, just a wet thud as it dropped into a crevice to narrow for escape.
I exhaled slowly through my sone as the mana left a hollow ache in my chest.
Checking my clock once again, at that exact moment the commander had sent me an order.
"Slide down. Don't worry about sound we're ambushing at once."
I slid my pistol back into my thigh holster, looking down at the village of Barda
For a moment I hesitated, thinking about the massacre that would come along with the hostile occupation.
But my famiily back home...
My younger siblings, both of them just about to enter school, they'll be needing plenty of money for their notebooks, pens, devices...
I shook the hesitation off my body and slid down the slopes, the stone crumbling below my boots as I went downwards.
Almost tripping when I reached the floor I ran towards the village, focusing my ears on the loudest source of sound.
Floodlight snapped off as the first gunshot cracked, plunging sections of Barda into darkness as Geortarian jammers went live.
The village went to chaos.
Shouting overlapped with orders that dissolved into screaming, metal rang against stone as people ran into unseeable walls.
I broke into a spring, boots hammering against packed sand, no longer caring about stealth.
The true ambush had begun.
An Undebian senty was face down, his helmet split clean through.
His rifle lay a meter away, a large pool of blood connecting them.
Further in, the village burned.
Not metaphorically, literally.
Some of the troops had been given molotovs to burn down the wooden houses that were made in a circle around the central stone houses, the flames effectively trapping the villagers inside the ring.
Civilians ran, some barefooted, others dragging children.
The bags they clutched split open as they ran, spilling food, papers, and other useless things onto the ground.
Their screams never stopped.
Names, prayers.
Gunshots cut them off mid-syllable.
A woman collapsed near a well, a dark bloom spreading across her back.
A man dropped beside her a second later, his momentum carrying him forward so he hit the stone face-firt.
His scream was cut-off in a wet click.
Behind me a door slammed, I could also notice the sound of a wooden plank being used as a lock.
I examined the door, running my hand across, from bottom to top.
Closing my eyes, I simply aimed my desert eagle to eye height and shot without thinking twice.
CRRRK
Splat.
The door gave away, folding inwards from the mana around my bullet as it flew, it hit what probably was the family's father figure.
Right in the forehead.
His poor brain, probably couldn't even process their door giving away.
The man's wife and another woman, or maybe it was the other way around? I don't know, but they were both trembling as they saw me.
My pistol's in cooldown, the arcana aren't an all-powerful force after all.
"Please... Let us go, we won't get in your way."
"Yes, please... We-we just want to have a family, and live, we're people, just like you."
Readying my rifle, I said, avoiding eye contact with both women. "I'm not allowed to speak with you. But please, close your eyes."
The woman on the left's eyes widened as she heard my voice.
"You, you're an Undebian, just like us! That accent!"
She sprinted towards me and held my hand as she looked up at my eyes.
"You must know how hard living in times of war is! Please, listen to your heart, and let us be fr-"
Its hard to say anything when a hole has been carved out of your throat.
"I'm sorry." I whispered to the woman, letting her fall to the ground as I sheathed my knife back onto my pocket.
The remaining woman gave out a loud scream of desperation, as the other one finally stopped moving.
- - - - - - - - - -
"How's everything going?" One of the troops tapped my shoulder.
We both glanced at the still bodies of both women that were collapsed down the floor.
"These your first kills, eh? Good work, keep it up, we only got a little bit more left."
He patted my arm and sprinted down to the city center.
Glancing around I kneeled down at the bodies of both women, and with the blood that pooled beneath I drew a symbol on the floor.
Two swirly lines that collided with one another, fusing down the center at simple glance, but actually never touching.
"Dereba jino Kamidaralo. Biji vida vibeme..."
I said, my eyes closed and my head leaned down.
It was a prayer my mom had taught me to saw every time something died, whether it was an animal dad and I had hunted down or in this case, two women I had just taken the lives of.
May Kamidral take their hearts to the astral plane above us.
I followed the troop to the village's center.
The center of Barda was a circular plaza.
Pavement made out of stone, surprisingly well-maintained.
The well at its heart was carved from pale stone, a common ore from the Yatara mountains, renowned for its beautiful bright white color.
Geortarian troops had secured the perimeter, rifles raised outward, forming a loose ring.
At the well's edge, two soldiers held a man by the arms.
He was older, but not elderly.
His clothes were finer than the rest of the villagers', layered fabric and stitched patterns that gave him an aura of leadership.
As he was dragged, his feet dragged uselessly against the stone.
He was screaming in some incomprehensible dialect.
It was a thiuck mountain accent, his vowels were bent in positions almost opposite to the regular ones, he skipped over consonants or approximated them to others.
His voice cracked as he continued shouting and cursing.
A Geortarian officer stepped forward, immaculate uniform untouched by blood.
"Quiet him."
One of the soldiers twisted the man's arm just enough to give a crack and force a scream out of him.
At the far end of the plaza, a pole stood embedded in the stone.
One thing I'll admit about Undeb Dehulm is that we're not the most united nation, rather conformed of spread apart mostly indigenous communities that had to be put together for political motives.
The village's flag still hung there.
Faded fabric, dull colors and noticeable patches.
Two troops moved in, one cut the rope. The flag slid down slowly.
The village leader let out a sound that wasn't a word anymore.
They forced his head up.
"Watch," the officer said calmly.
The Geortarian banner was unfurled. A red base covered with a black cross and the mark of Kurviz in white.
As it rose, the village leader began to cry.
Not loudly, there was no point to screaming anymore.
The old flag was kicked aside into the ring of flames.
The Geortarian one locked into place.
"Well done, our work here is over."
The village leader finally went limp, and they let him fall.
"Cruthfior take care of him."
Only three people were given a channeling weapon and out of those I was chosen for finishing the job.
I slung my rifle and took out my desert eagle, looking down at the leader whose eyes were swollen and red as tears dripped down his cheeks.
He looked up at me for just a moment.
"Red eyes, you're not one of them."
I raised my boot and closed my eyes, imagining it was a rat that had sneaked into my home.
My desert eagle was never fired at the village center square.