4.2 - Adam

  The intel provided by Bluttar — possibly the name of the alien humanoid dog — was scarce but sufficient.

  His home was a primitive village roughly twelve thousand square meters. The camp was where the Eclipse operative Adam was looking for, along with UN.SY. citizens, was being held.

  Among them was Jaarmuth. The enemy commander was present on the battlefield.

  The dog had said something amusing when asked — or when he tried to ask — how he had learned the UN.SY. language.

  A talking circle helped him, he claimed.

  But never mind that.

  Adam stood atop the last tree before the clearing where the enemy base rose.

  The area was roughly circular, carved out by the creatures themselves to harvest materials for the wooden palisade encircling the camp.

  He ran a quick mental checklist of his gear:

  Grando III SMG with light mag — check.

  Spata pistol — check.

  MPPTL 30 mm grenade launcher — check.

  Spare SMG drum mag — check.

  One 30 mm plasma grenade — check.

  One 30 mm signaling flare — check.

  Alien body odor to mask his scent — unfortunately — check.

  And last, but not least: new curved greatsword — check.

  The last two, courtesy of the enemies he’d just felled.

  He was ready.

  —The Alloy system flashed into his head.

  Primary mission objectives:

  Protect girl.

  Extract codename Skyros.

  Secondary mission objectives:

  Locate and assassinate enemy commander. Eradicate threats. Acquire intel on UN.SY. activities on the planet.

  He frowned at the first words the system had fed his mind.

  Protect girl — Alba.

  Why is she at the top of the list? he thought, frowning.

  His Alloy’s system generated priorities based on the host’s thoughts — his thoughts.

  Something’s wrong with me.

  She was just a random girl who had freed him, chasing some delusion.

  He could think of three reasons why she had appeared in the Alloy.

  First: taking care of her was the best thing he could think of right now.

  The last thing Adam remembered was the airlock. Then he woke up on this planet.

  —Everything that happened before he’d rather forget.

  You must not forget.

  At least protecting Alba would keep him distracted.

  Second: Laura’s last words.

  He had never accepted the promise she'd pushed on him. But he thought that, maybe, in protecting Alba he was fulfilling it.

  The third reason was plain absence.

  Adam had fought — lost it all already.

  Even if he had a whole world in which he could start anew, just like Laura wanted, he didn't know what do with it.

  Even waging war against Hephaistos made little sense.

  He had searched for centuries and found only traces. He had tried hunting the cult down only so it would leave him, Alex and Laura alone.

  Right now it was just a self-serving revenge.

  Alba needed him. And Adam needed a purpose.

  Leading her to safety was a reason good enough to keep going.

  “Enough nonsense.”

  A sharp exhale.

  Focus.

  He amputated the thoughts — heightened his senses.

  The world exploded inside his brain.

  It filled eyes and ears, mouth and nose. It fused with his skin.

  Tall, purple-green grass rustled below. In the dawn breeze, each blade emitted its own unique sound as it brushed its neighbors. Critters scampered, slithered, crunched at the roots.

  Then—

  Bitter. Still and sturdy.

  The palisade.

  Beyond that wall, the world smeared together.

  It smelled of smoke and meat. Tasted of sex and blood. Sounded like feral quiet.

  A bonfire. Large. Center of the camp.

  His senses roamed farther.

  Many ribcages rose and fell slowly. Fur rustled behind leather tent flaps.

  Nocturnal hunters sleep at dawn — as expected.

  Footsteps echoed. Rusted iron tasting bitter on his tongue.

  Hostiles: 8

  Guards.

  Threat: Minimal.

  Adam’s senses kept wandering.

  A twitch spread on his dermis — an irregularity.

  A magnetic field — oscillating. Something small, floating near the camp’s center.

  UN.SY. tech.

  Secondary objectives updated: Investigate device. Attempt recovery.

  Close to that presence—

  Bloodlust. Menace.

  Threat: unknown.

  Jaarmuth.

  Then — moaning. The scent of rotting wounds. Despair.

  The prisoners.

  Amidst it, someone bloody and battered — yet calm.

  His scent was different from a human’s.

  But familiar.

  Skyros.

  Objective location: Confirmed

  Estimated hostiles: 55

  Adam dialed down his senses. Even his brain couldn’t consume the world for long.

  His fingers darted to the omni-com: Going in.

  He sent the message — then leapt down.

  Landing without a sound below, he rushed forward — stepping only in the empty spaces between the rustling vegetation.

  He headed for the camp’s nearest entrance. No gates to bar the way in.

  After the long cryosleep, his body felt better each day.

  It would reach peak condition again eventually — surpass it, actually.

  He’d noticed it moments after awakening in this new world — his flesh regenerated faster than it should.

  It wasn’t his old improved regeneration.

  It was the Alloy Florentem Carnis.

  Her Alloy.

  That Thing had done its disgusting work on her too.

  Weaving. Digesting. Integrating even that Alloy into his blood. Carving Adam’s guilt into his own genes.

  A feeling he dared not linger in.

  Hostiles: 2

  The guards at the main entrance.

  The one on the left — slower pulse, shallow respiration, low vigilance.

  Suggested action: Assassination.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Adam launched into the air, clearing the wooden wall just before the entrance.

  He landed behind the guards, soundless.

  The sword struck the instant the Alter touched the ground.

  Its point plunged through the enemy’s trachea, twisted, then hissed free from the corpse — before flying toward the second enemy’s head.

  Hostiles: 0

  Maybe there was a fourth, simpler reason for Alba to appear into the Alloy System.

  There was the possibility Adam just liked her.

  He had to admit: despite her goofiness, he was growing fond of the girl’s company.

  Impossible.

  The sword hissed in the empty air cleaning its edge of blood.

  Forty years outside — barely weeks since Laura’s death in his head.

  The only mercy was that one could feel the passing of time during cryosleep.

  Adam exhaled again.

  “I’m distracted.”

  His body was in decent shape. His mind was not.

  He glanced toward the clearing.

  He’d left Alba hidden atop a tree with a rifle, ready to snipe anything not human that tried to flee the camp.

  She’ll be fine.

  Adam didn’t know what was wrong with her, but letting her witness a massacre wouldn’t improve her mood, he guessed.

  He had even considered helping a few human enemies escape, if it might ease her mind. He’d planned on freeing them anyway — mostly to take advantage of the chaos, make sure the surviving predators couldn’t track he and Alba.

  If some humans lived, it changed nothing. They posed no threat.

  Eclipse was no more. Humanity’s annihilation — was not an objective anymore.

  And Adam never actually cared about that.

  “Maybe this Jaarmuth will give me a proper distraction...”

  Guided by warmth and the scent of burnt meat, he headed for the center of the camp, planning to cut straight through it.

  He slipped between the faint glitter of discolored grey scales that wrapped the homes of Jaarts. The cone-shaped tents made from wood, bones and reptile hides filled the surroundings in chaotic clusters.

  Thin threads of smoke curled from the holes atop them — the last breaths of smothering fireplaces.

  After circling a tent Adam found himself at the village’s heart. The large fire dimly burning before him proved that.

  He already understood what had happened here. His senses had given him enough feedback from a distance.

  But seeing it up close was still surprising. Even for someone like him.

  He was looking at the aftermath of a feast.

  Long, sharp logs jutted from the earth. They surrounded the flickering, dying flame of the boinfire like antennas of some ruined comms contraption.

  Impaled on their ends — the message conveyed to the fire.

  Dead bodies. Each a human one.

  Or at least, they had been.

  Darkened. Burnt. Butchered. Stripped of most of their meat.

  Limbs gone. Ribcages exposed. Innards removed.

  —He really didn’t need Alba to see this.

  She’d probably freak out, he thought, trying to picture her reaction.

  The realization that he was worried about her flickered into his head.

  It doesn’t matter if you care for her. You can’t even take care of yourself.

  The voice of reason.

  Your affection is worthless if your nature is beyond your control.

  The fire popped. A Jaart snarled quietly, still asleep.

  Adam snapped back into focus.

  Hostiles: 11

  Ars Arcum: Inc—

  He held the instinct still.

  Not yet.

  Adam resumed examining the surroundings.

  Eight creatures lay near the fire, sleeping or cozying.

  Close to them: the shaft of a felled large tree. Its surface etched with symbols and simple drawings of armed figures fighting beasts — a middle ground between a table and an altar. And it was bloody.

  Something lay atop it, its edge shining under the bonefire light. A weapon similar to an axe — a butchering knife.

  Not meant for humans originally — too big — a greatsword almost.

  That’s where they prepare the meat.

  Could these Jaarts be considered cannibals? They weren’t human. But Adam’s answer was: yes, they are.

  Humans didn’t consider Alters their kin — but they didn’t consider them food, either.

  And the same applied in reverse. Mostly.

  The few Alters who had devoured a human... something was wrong in their heads.

  There was a limit. A boundary.

  You don’t eat what’s too similar to you. You don’t devour what you can converse with.

  It wasn’t instinct. It wasn’t respect. It was species survival.

  Some called that survival civilization.

  Loomed by a thumping only his ears could feel, his eyes went beyond the butchering altar — to a large, conical structure. Two guards stood outside, vigilant.

  A large hearth pulsed behind leather and pelt curtains. Slow. Rhythmic — threatening even while asleep.

  Suggested action: Assassination.

  This would’ve been the perfect time to get rid of Jaarmuth.

  But Adam wanted to dare. Have an earnest fight.

  Adrenaline rushing — memories blurred by sword swings.

  —Again. That flicker on his skin.

  The mysterious technological object was inside.

  That can wait.

  His eyes darted in the opposite direction.

  Farther away, one of the Jaarts stood beside a metal plate suspended between two poles by ropes — an iron hammer in hand.

  The alarm.

  Ducking low, he crossed the distance in a single lunge.

  The sword’s pommel. The beast’s skull.

  He caught the corpse before it hit the ground, laying it gently against one of the poles. Then he cut three of the four ropes holding the plate — rendering the device ineffective.

  Now, the prisoners.

  He moved along the edge of the open space — the bonfire’s primitive plaza — and flicked his tongue, following the scent of living humans.

  As he reached the far side of the settlement, something caught his attention.

  Something that felt alien — here.

  Out of place.

  A wooden carriage, meant to be pulled by beasts, with an iron cage mounted on top. Chains inside.

  His eyes slid to the space beside it: a fence. One meant to hold livestock.

  Beyond it Adam felt them.

  Humans: 24

  Status: Damaged to critical.

  And a twenty-fifth subject. Skyros.

  No guards outside.

  Strange.

  Adam focused to enhance his hearing — detected sounds from a nearby tent.

  Muffled moans. Fear. Excitement.

  And a rhythmic sound.

  A human girl. With the supposed guard.

  He crept beside the tent closest to the fence and peeked inside.

  He saw a Jaart on top of the human.

  One clawed hand clamped over her mouth, keeping her silent. She lay there naked. Bruised and defeated.

  Alex’s furious eyes flashed in Adam’s mind.

  Alexander “Marte” — although not blood kins — Adam’s brother.

  He was farthest thing from a philosopher, but an idealist to the core.

  His mind could only see good actions and bad ones, barely anything in between.

  Adam had never been skilled in telling right from wrong. Alex had been his moral compass for all of his life. In a reality where the Alliance told you what was wrong — then the opposite a second later — Alex’s simple reasoning was far from granted.

  But now Adam had lost that compass. He’d have to choose for himself.

  One time, Alex had caught an Alter abusing a prisoner.

  Thirty seconds later, when his fists were finished, the war criminal had become paint and texture on a wall. Twenty-eight of those seconds his brother had used to ask the scumbag why.

  Alex... he would’ve made a mess of this camp.

  Hostiles: 1

  He laid down the cumbersome sword and crept inside.

  Adam’s hands. The creature’s neck.

  With a loud snap, the rhythmic sound stopped abruptly.

  He gestured for the girl to remain silent as she pulled herself from under the dead body.

  As she did, Adam heard something light clink on the corpse.

  Hanging from the creature’s unlatched fur pants was a metal ring holding something.

  Primitive iron keys.

  Adam took them, then stepped back into the fresh air of dawn, nearing the fence. He felt the girl slipping out of the tent just after him and breaking into a run.

  I don’t have much time. She’ll be found out.

  A simple iron bolt locked the entrance. As he opened it, he could feel the people beyond holding their breath.

  Time for a little acting, he thought.

  “H-have they come to take another?”

  Cries. Confusion.

  “E-E-Emily! What happened to Emily!?”

  “Leave us alone beasts!”

  “I-I don’t want to be eaten. Please! Mercy!”

  Fifteen males. Nine females. Various ages.

  All naked. Beaten. Wounded.

  They lay in the mud in two rows, iron collars locked around their necks, chains pinning them to the ground.

  One was unconscious. One hand severed.

  He wouldn’t last another day.

  Officer Leilai, Adam realized.

  The missing piece of him they’d find in Skyros’ pod.

  When they noticed Adam wasn’t one of the Jaarts, they stared, confused.

  “He’s… one of us? Thank the Union Leader!”

  “W-who are you?”

  “Your savior,” Adam said, shaking the keys in front of them.

  He gestured for silence and twisted the ring, pulling out two of the three keys. Then tossed one to the first person in each row.

  “Are you with the group that landed north? What happened to you?” asked a fat man — clearly not an officer — while unlocking his collar.

  “North, yes — I was with them,” he lied. “But we got separated when these creatures attacked us.”

  So more survivors are north of here.

  “How many more are being kept here?” Adam asked.

  “Two other girls... o-other people were taken away in carriages... t-the others...” The chubby human paused. Looked at the dirt. “They were eaten.”

  Silence.

  “There were eighty of us in the beginning. Two pods from the Tabula Picta,” another voice continued, steadier — this time a woman. Military personell, probably. "The ones you see here are what remains of those two landing pods.”

  “Half of us died in that forest. Then these creatures came, at night and overwhelmed us.”

  Her voice cracked with rage an disgust, but the words remained clear.

  “These savages... they did unspeakable things — we’re livestock to them."

  “The carriages. Where are they going?” Adam asked while the sound of iron collars and chains falling accompanied his words.

  “I don’t know. But one thing I know — this planet: it’s not inhabited.”

  “Try not to think about that. It’s time to fight back,” Adam replied flatly. “Where are your weapons? Did you have any firearms?”

  “We did. But I saw the creatures destroy them when they found out they couldn’t use them — then took revenge on us.”

  “How many trained officers?” Adam pressed.

  “If we count Emily... five. Soon to be four.” She gestured toward the man missing a hand, expression heavy. “I don’t think Lieutenant Commander Leilai will make it.”

  Adam had kept his eyes low throughout the conversation. The golden irises would tell the truth more than any word.

  He hadn’t seen his face yet — but a glimpse caught his eye.

  Seated at the far end of the fence, away from the others.

  Hands and feet tied, he was silent, impassive to the conversation.

  Long black hair. Toned muscles.

  Even if smeared with blood and dirt Adam recognized the symbol on his shoulder.

  The symbol Adam, Laura, and Alex had created.

  The one Adam still bore under his right arm, below the armpit.

  A black-filled nine-rayed sun.

  The symbol of Eclipse.

  Skyros looks fine. Capable of escaping on his own once freed.

  The plan could be set in motion.

  A few measures had to be taken first.

  The prisoners wouldn’t pose much resistance to the inhabitants of the camp.

  Physically far superior to the average trained officer, those hunters would make short work of this demoralized, unequipped crowd.

  But they would fight.

  Humans could summon unbelievable resilience when their lives were at stake. And they knew — whatever happened during escape was better than the alternative: being butchered for meat.

  He glanced at the prisoners as the last one finished freeing himself.

  The key was never handed to Skyros. They must have found out he was an Alter-human.

  Adam pulled out his pistol and, grabbing it by the barrel, offered it to the female UN.SY. officer who looked most reliable.

  “I can’t do much,” he said. “But take this. You can pick up more weapons from the enemies you kill on the way out.”

  “Thank you… whoever you are.”

  “We can hold introductions until we all make it out of here.” He gave her his best impression of a smile.

  “W-wait. Aren’t you coming with us?”

  “No,” replied Adam, voice flat.

  “Why?” asked another prisoner.

  “If I really want to give you a chance, there’s someone I need to take care of first. Their leader.”

  Most of them looked fell silent. Some widened their eyes in terror.

  Those expressions made the battle to come look promising.

  They’d met Jaarmuth.

  “The big one. Sleeping in the large tent. I’ll try to kill it before it wakes up,” Adam lied.

  “Are you crazy?!” the girl raised, but was silenced immediately by sharp glares.

  If the guy wants to sacrifice himself for us, let him. That was the meaning behind those gazes.

  “Let’s go, then. We don’t have much time,” Adam urged. “Head for the exit while I create a diversion.”

  Silently, the twenty-four slipped out, the unconscious officer carried with them.

  The last human paused to give him a nod — a wish for luck — before vanishing into the sprawl of tents.

  “I would give you an applause if my hands weren’t tied, darling.”

  A sharp voice, full of sarcasm.

  Captivity hadn’t broken the last remaining prisoner it seemed.

  Adam turned.

  The Alter had raised his hands, mimicking an applause without making a sound.

  “That was an impressive performance, Alter-human,” he continued.

  “Skyros,” Adam said. “I’m here to get you out.”

  “I’m flattered. Might I ask whom I’m speaking to, and why?”

  Upper-class courtesy. Overly sophisticated speech. Subtle mockery.

  Just a few sentences and Adam had codename Skyros’ profile traced:

  A pain in the ass.

  “Questions later,” Adam cut in — then tossed him the last key. “We have to get out of here. Unless you’d prefer to... dine under the moonlight with these creatures — while being the main dish.”

  He tried to match Skyros’s tone. Adam just didn’t have the same verbal finesse.

  As the collar dropped from his neck, Skyros let out a soft, composed laugh.

  “Aren’t you amusing, now?” he said. “I admit — compared to remaining here with these humans, escaping with a mysterious Alter-human is far more enticing. I’m a romantic at heart, you see. These—”

  “Can you run?” Adam interrupted, already annoyed by the man's verbosity.

  “Of course,” Skyros bowed slightly.

  “Good.”

  Adam tossed him the submachine gun.

  He’d originally planned to give him the pistol, but the humans needed it more — just to survive the few minutes required for a diversion.

  And Adam didn’t need a firearm here. Especially considering how UN.SY.'s weapons quality had plummeted since the end of the War.

  “Then you should start running,” Adam continued. “There’s an exit at six o’clock. Head there. The woods. An ally of mine will cover your escape.”

  “Your hurry is justified, I’ll concede that to you. And... you’re resourceful,” said Skyros, noticing the Grando didn’t require ID confirmation.

  “But why should I trust you? Being an Alter is not...”

  Without a word, Adam raised his arm — showing him the blackened sun.

  “Right behind you, brother,” Skyros replied with a smirk.

  “I told you. Six o’clock. Woods.” Adam cut him off. “I have things to do.”

  “You don’t mean you were telling the truth? You’re going for that creature?" The Alter's tone grew serious.

  "She’s stronger than you think. A sword and a grenade won’t be enough.”

  Adam stepped closer, handing Skyros the submachine gun drum magazine.

  “Don’t worry. I can handle myself.”

  Adam felt a brief shiver run through Skyros’s skin as he said that. He must have caught the gleam in his eyes that only H.O.Pe. humans and Alloy possessors had.

  “You’re a first-gen, alright — but don’t underestimate the mother of these hunters. She’s on par with your kind — maybe worse.”

  Adam turned and stepped out of the fence.

  “Six o’clock. Woods,” he repeated.

  Then headed once more for the bonfire.