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The ruins rumble, dust and sand showering Cyno in a light mist. It’s nothing he’s not used to, but it makes it harder to spot the gold of the Traveler amongst the falling golden sand.
The Sages were….creating something. Something so big it made these old walls tremble with the force. He’d told Aether and Dehya to go on ahead of him, and he finds himself sending a small mental prayer to the Dendro Archon, hoping they remain as competent as they’ve shown him so far.
Cyno….didn’t have many in the way of friends. If it weren’t for the current circumstances, he would be at their side right this moment.
As it stood, however, someone needed to fend off the Doctor’s new brand of…attackers.
Another assailant- a civilian - charges at him, flailing wildly. Cyno sidesteps them easily, using the momentum to pivot on the ball of his foot, the sand shifting just so under his weight. He brings his spear up with a twirl, ramming the handle into the man’s temple.
He’s holding back considerably, using just enough force to knock him out for a short time. The man goes down, his head cushioned by the sand below. Cyno quickly turns him on his side to be sure he can breathe easily, then dodges another incoming blow from what appears to be a female guard, flanked by two more civilians.
He leaps back, clearing several feet to avoid blades and what appear to be….farming tools.
These people are innocent. They do not deserve his judgment, not here. Not for this. They hold no intent to be here, if their blank expressions and eerily glowing eyes were anything to go off of.
He lurches to the right when he hears another guard coming up behind him. With his free hand, he grabs the body of the spear, yanking it forward to send his assailant tumbling. One swift kick to the temple, and they’re out too.
When he finally meets this Doctor….it is him who would be weighed upon the scales. Using innocents, putting them in harm’s way, and for what? Power? Creation of a “New God”?
Cyno would never follow a God who used these methods, enacted by servants or not.
He lets out a slow breath, watching his opponents draw closer. They’re attempting to box him in against the nearby wall. He glances down, noting the sand had turned to mud and- ah. That’s…a possible plan of action.
When it looks like a woman is about to break from the group to swing- was that a gardening hoe?- at him, he turns. With a running start, his feet make steps up the wall, propelling him up, up-
Then he leaps off the stone, the steady surface granting him more momentum than the sand did. He goes sailing over his attackers. At a glance he can see they’ve all gathered in the little pool of underground water. Perfect.
Bringing his spear around, he spins on his way down, ramming the butt of his weapon into the mud. Energy crackles along his arms, his fingers, infusing his weapon and spreading into the moisture below.
He watches the blank faces stare at him for a split second before they contort with the electrical force of his Vision. Just a little, just a shock, and it’s enough. Everyone goes down with a splash into the water, incapacitated.
From there, he’s quick to move them to safety, his vision protecting him from being shocked as well when he works to lay them out on the shore.
Their eyes remain a glowing blue-green, the color glazed and flat, misting over their pupils. They stare sightlessly at the ceiling, their muscles continuing to periodically spasm with electro energy. Cyno’s eyes narrow. He has a theory, based on what Aether had told him, and the general color of the civilians’ eyes here….
He stoops down, running a careful finger along the edge of the device set in the prone woman’s ear. It pulses softly, but otherwise seems normal enough.
But nothing about this is normal. He’d abandoned his Akasha terminal long ago in case of spy-ware, but would the Sages go even further….? Had they found a way to override free will?
One quick movement, and he removes the Akasha terminal from the woman’s ear. She gasps, lurching upwards as if to stand, but then falls back limply. The glow dims and leaves her eyes, and her eyelids flutter closed shortly after.
Cyno holds the device in hand, everything falling into place.
He’ll keep this as evidence. The punishment will be heavy upon those responsible for this.
Cyno uses the lull to remove the terminals from the others he’d fought, removing them and placing them carefully in a pouch at his hip. For something so small, they really caused so much trouble-
The only warning he receives is the quiet shift of sand, nothing of note since the walls continued to periodically shake with whatever Aether and Dehya were dealing with-
But then a hand buries itself in his hair and pulls. Cyno lets out a surprised cry as his head gets yanked back, a blade coming up for his throat-
He doesn’t take the time to think. He shoves his arm in the way, holding the worst of the damage at bay as his assailant's arm hits his own. He grits his teeth and throws an elbow into what’s likely to be the solar plexus area of his attacker. He’s rewarded with a pained grunt, and the hands on him slacken just enough for Cyno to duck down, out and away.
He whirls around, bringing up his spear in the nick of time, taking a blow much heavier, much faster than he’d come to expect from his latest opponents. Cyno glowers as his feet sink a little into the sand with the force, looking up to see-
“Alhaitham? What are you-” he doesn’t get a chance to finish as the Akademiya’s Scribe shifts, going to aim a kick at Cyno’s ribs. His grip tightens on his spear and he leaps back in a direction away from the unconscious civilians, narrowly avoiding the attack.
“You were supposed to guard the exit, what are you doing ?!” Cyno shouts, ducking under a swinging sword. He turns the momentum into a roll, coming up to a defensive crouch, his spear pointing forward. “You-”
And then he catches sight of Alhaitham’s eyes. They’re his normal blue-green but now-
Glowing. Pupils so glazed over they can barely even be seen.
Just like everyone else fighting him in these ruins.
Cyno’s lip curls, and he growls lowly.
Looks like the sages and Doctor found a way past Alhaitham’s supposed safeguards. Aether warned the man about the dangers of wearing a terminal, why didn’t he listen -
He’s forced to duck again as a sword comes bearing down on him.
Alhaitham is as quick as always, movements sure and precise, giving very little warning of what his next strikes will be. He also had the obvious advantage as far as height here, strikes raining down on Cyno from above. He’s a much more dangerous opponent than the civilians before-
But Alhaitham is not operating according to free will. He is not guilty here. Cyno could not hurt him.
….Not badly anyway.
So he dodges, left, right, spinning to the side to aim a strike at the man’s legs. He’s promptly blocked.
He’d been counting on that.
Cyno uses the split second of stillness to launch forward, leaving his spear and stepping up the interlocked weapons, running up the man’s arm and coming to crouch on his shoulders.
Alhaitham stumbles back, then lurches to the side, as if to shake him off, but Cyno holds fast, burying a hand in the man’s hair as a handhold. There was no time to appreciate the irony of it-
With his free hand, the General Mahamatra takes hold of the headset currently resting over his opponent’s ears, which is currently connected to the lightly pulsing Akasha terminal-
And he pulls.
After minimal resistance, the headset comes free, actually launching into the air with the force of Cyno’s throw. The wire snaps as the device goes sailing.
Alhaitham goes down like a bag of bricks. Cyno lets out a startled cry, rolling off the man’s shoulders upon impact with the ground.
He coughs, spitting out sand as he sits up. He could have….executed that better.
He looks over to the fallen Scribe, reaching to roll him over, but stops when he finds Alhaitham already stirring. Quick in everything, wasn’t he….
“Are you alright?” Cyno asks, voice rough with sand inhalation. And possibly a little fatigue.
The man groans, and he gets his arms under him, lifting himself from the sandy ground. He clutches at his head for a moment, continuing to stare at the sand below.
“Alhaitham. I had to remove your Akasha terminal. You were not in your right mind.” he explains. Alhaitham remains silent, head hanging. Cyno’s brow furrows. Did he hit his head on the way down…?
He watches as the man before him sits up slowly, wincing as he goes. The hand on his head migrates to his ear, fingers brushing softly over it. Cyno now notes there’s some blood trickling from it. More alarm bells go off in his head. Akasha terminals weren’t bodily installed like that, at least not normally. Only rarely would they…..
Oh.
Operating on yet another theory, Cyno leans forward and lays a careful, inquisitive hand on Alhaitham’s shoulder.
He blinks as the man lurches, a fist filling the young General’s line of vision-
He dodges, but still gets clipped by the attack.
Cyno swears under his breath, holding his soon to be bruising jaw. Leaning back, he glares at the other.
Alhaitham is staring at him, breathing heavily, body tense. His eyes are wide and somewhat wild, as if watching for an incoming fight. Considering the situation, that’s to be expected.
But his eyes are clear, pupils easily visible. No more glow.
Cyno sighs, relieved his intervention was successful. He then leans back to sit in the sand, deciding to use behavior he’d learned to help Collei feel more comfortable. He sits still, in plain view, one hand on his jaw and the other on his lap. Unarmed, no sudden movements coming. He lets the silence stretch on as Alhaitham pulls himself together.
Eventually, his shoulders relax. His breathing evens out. And then-
“What. Did you do,” the Scribe essentially demands, voice clipped, words carefully enunciated. Cyno tilts his head, taking this to further back up his theory.
“The Sages were using the Akasha to….control civilians. The devices.” Cyno answers slowly. He taps his own ear, where a terminal would be if he were foolish enough to still wear one. The man’s gaze flicks to follow the movement, then back to his face. “It took hold of you as well.”
Alhaitham brings a hand up to lightly touch his own ear again. Cyno gestures to the sand about three feet away, where his headset lies. The man huffs. He’s rebuilding his composure by the second.
“You broke. My terminal.” he announces, still too clearly enunciated, volume a little too loud to be conversational. Cyno just nods. A beat passes, and with his next words he raises his hands to Sign along.
“You’re welcome.”