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The mission was almost over— it was search and retrieve, an easy in and out. Silver Wolf was good at that. The Stellaron containment had gone off without a hitch, and Silver Wolf and Ren were well on their way to the pick-up location where Kafka was set to retrieve them in a few hours.
Ren stayed a few paces behind Silver Wolf, watching the surroundings like a hawk. He’d done this on their first mission together, too. The way he circled warily was almost amusing, a silent watchdog companion.
“Careful,” he spoke up as the landscape changed around them, from storm-blasted wasteland to the remains of a city. “The script said there’d be danger.”
“I know, I got it,” said Silver Wolf, briefly flipping her glasses down over her eyes. Several enemy signatures lying in wait in the ruins, likely more whose thermal presences were being obscured. “Antimatter Legion.”
“Barely a challenge.” Ren sounded bored. Silver Wolf couldn’t help but agree, shrugging and tapping at her light screens as she prepared to fight.
“Ready when you are,” she said, keeping a tight grip on the Stellaron container. In a flash, Ren was past her, and the game began.
Predictably, the Voidrangers came out of the woodwork as soon as Ren threw himself into their line of sight, unable to resist the call of violence even if it made them stupid. Silver Wolf deleted the first few on sight, commands locked and loaded, then dashed forward to follow Ren into the fray.
Ren fought like a true berserker, his cast-from-hit points damage-per-second unmatched in Silver Wolf’s eyes. That bandage on his wrist was soaked in blood again somehow, but the Voidrangers dense enough to get in Ren’s way were worse off by far, lying in pieces on the floor.
Silver Wolf locked on to enemy after enemy, pixelating them out of existence with a tap of a button. She mostly avoided the areas where Ren was fighting so as not to get in his way, but sometimes it was just too satisfying to set foes up for him and watch them fall like bowling pins.
It went well, at first. Silver Wolf had been facing waves of mindless hostiles since she was old enough to access the web— but of course, there had to be a challenge.
Red alerts popped up to Silver Wolf’s left, warning her that the Stellaron container was experiencing energy instability. Cursing, she backed away toward the edge of the fight, swiping away her combat window to work on the container’s suppressive code.
Silver Wolf sent out a combat ping, and immediately Ren swooped in to cover her retreat. His deft blade made quick work of any melee challengers, acting as both defense and offense at once. He didn’t so much as meet Silver Wolf’s gaze or say a word, but his actions spoke for him.
Ducking out of sight, Silver Wolf crouched down in the shadow of a half-demolished wall, fingers flying as she worked to stabilize the container with the Stellaron inside. There was an explosion nearby— someone must have arrived with the Antimatter Legion’s heavy artillery, or something— but she kept working, unfazed by the sound and the crackling smell of ozone. Ren could handle the fight on his own, probably, but she hated the idea of leaving a teammate out to dry in the middle of a raid.
The container seemed to resist Silver Wolf’s attempts at hacking it back into compliance, struggling like there was something alive inside, and she chewed on the inside of her lip as she tried not to get distracted by the knowledge that those explosions seemed to be getting closer.
Just a little bit more, and it would be stable. Silver Wolf couldn’t afford to choke at this point in the match, when everything rode on her success. She turned to press her back against the wall and make sure there was nothing to interrupt her work. Almost there. Now—
There was a burst of light as a laser fired, followed by a searing crack close enough to send a spark of pain through her ear. The impact was accompanied by a technicolor spray of blood in high-fidelity graphics, painting the floor in an instant. Ren was moving again despite the damage, lunging forward with all the coordination of a crash-landing spaceship, and the next blast punched a hole through Ren’s torso instead of turning Silver Wolf’s future into a Game Over screen.
Everything was dizzyingly red, from Ren’s mangled shoulder to the open maw where his ribcage should have been. For the split second before catastrophic blood loss caught up with Ren fully, he looked blankly down at the mess of his chest, silent. Then, he crumpled. The Voidranger with the cannon turned back to Silver Wolf.
Adrenaline jolting her out of her momentary shock, Silver Wolf slammed her hand down on her light console, deleting the Voidranger from existence in an explosion of color.
The only remaining sound was Silver Wolf’s own breathing, growing steadily quicker. She glanced around wildly for more enemies, closing in around her, but there was nothing— all dead. The front of her body felt warm, fabric starting to soak through and cling to her skin. She fumbled with the zipper on her jacket, tearing it off and mopping Ren’s blood off her face, her neck, her arms.
Pull it together. He’ll get back up soon. He always respawns, Kafka said so.
His body was already stirring, threads of muscle twitching and winding around each other. Silver Wolf tore her eyes away, but there was nowhere to look. Her head throbbed. Everywhere were the remnants of the fight, broken armor and messy red splashes and Ren’s left arm lying several meters away, its bandages unraveling.
Everything was too real, as real as the new stains on Silver Wolf’s clothes.
Pull it together. Pull it together.
In the distance, thunder rumbled. What had Elio mentioned about the atmosphere of this planet? That in addition to blocking air travel for much of the day, the poisoned sky caused corrosive rain to fall?
Glancing up at the shattered ceiling, Silver Wolf realized she was going to have to move.
On Punklorde, almost everyone worked in teams. Loners usually didn’t last long. Looking at the lifeless body stitching itself back together piece by agonizing piece in front of her, she realized that if she’d done this mission alone that would be her.
The realization made Silver Wolf’s stomach do a disconcerting little flip, though that might also have been due to the nauseatingly thick scent of iron hanging in the air, or the tiny, spidery crackles and occasional pop of his reconstituting bone and flesh.
It took her three tries to get a grip on Ren’s half-shredded coat, her gloves slick and hands trembling. The missing arm did almost nothing to reduce his considerable weight, and the wet trail that his body, still sluggishly bleeding, left on the ground was like something out of a heavy-handed environmental horror virtual reality experience.
Yeah, Silver Wolf doubted she would be playing any more of those in the near future.
She thought of trying to use her Aether Editing to get rid of the blood and gore, but somehow the idea felt… wrong. This was the reality that Ren lived in— as much as Silver Wolf might want to, she couldn’t delete that fact.
After several interminable minutes of effort, she managed to drag Ren’s limp body to a dim room that at least had three mostly complete walls and a roof. His bloodstained sword and the Stellaron were next, Silver Wolf fumbling with the hilt and handle. She left Ren’s arm where it was. Hopefully he wouldn’t need it back.
Silver Wolf sat down and tucked her knees to her chest. She couldn’t seem to stop shivering, though it was barely cold. She went to push her bangs back from her forehead, yanking her hand away as if burned when her fingers came into contact with a sticky texture.
Her breath came in a choked sob as she frantically wiped the blood off her hand in the dust. It wasn’t the first time she’d won a match with all her teammates downed, so why did it feel so heavy this time? Ren would come back, just like in a game.
(But it was different, Silver Wolf knew it was different.)
The Stellaron was behaving, at least, only murmuring discontentedly in its firmly secured case. Its sound blended with Silver Wolf’s sniffles and the increasing pitter-patter of rain on concrete and dry earth. Eventually, through the white-noise symphony, Ren began to breathe.
--
The only thing he could sense was a splotch of crimson in his sight and the taste of iron in his mouth. His limbs were unresponsive.
— He must have died.
Ren’s body hurt all over. Waking from death was always his least favorite part of the endless cycle of his existence. The bliss of unconsciousness slipped away like water through cupped fingers, and every wretched nerve ending screamed with the awareness that he was, against his will, alive.
If he was to be grateful for anything, then at least the cool ground beneath him offered some relief, and the sound of rain dampened the headache pulsing behind his eyes.
He was not alone in the room.
Tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, Ren caught sight of Silver Wolf. She sat with her chin on her knees, looking blankly forwards. Her hair and clothes were dark and stiff with dried blood. His blood, he realized, his mind still foggy and slow.
From the gore on her small gloves, she’d dragged him to wherever they were now. To hide from any remaining enemies, perhaps? She hadn’t even noticed that he was awake yet. He recognized that distant look in her eyes, staring ahead at nothing. He wore it often enough himself.
His head ached, vision blurring with gold. Years ago, in another world, another life— a lost child surrounded by the corpses of their loved ones, the rubble of a conquered civilization.
Monsters would be just outside, pouring from the mouths of their mechabeast ships, hunting the survivors— he couldn’t just lie here. He had to move, had to hide, use anything he could as a weapon— no.
Ren’s attempt to shake the thoughts away sent new shocks of pain through every part of his body. He groaned aloud, catching the bloodied figure’s attention. Her face came back into focus. Silver Wolf.
“You’re awake?!” she said, scooting closer to look at him.
“Yes,” he managed, tasting iron in his throat. His voice was an ugly, wet rattle.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” said Silver Wolf unexpectedly. “The Stellaron had my attention. I should’ve been more careful.”
Ren shook his head slightly, gritting his teeth against the dizziness that followed. It was his duty to take hits, and hers to manage the containment technology. She’d done her job well.
“Can you move?” asked Silver Wolf. “We didn’t make it to the rendezvous point.”
“I don’t think it would be a good idea.” The mara was pulsing through him at an alarming level, stirred by pain and unwanted memories. Everything was already falling out of alignment again, Ren’s grasp on the present growing weaker. He could practically feel Silver Wolf’s fear from where she crouched over him, uncertain.
“Focus,” he told her. “I will… be fine. Keep your head.” And I will focus on keeping mine in turn, he did not say.
They were not safe. He heard the scrabbling of claws outside— monsters in the rubble, searching for their escaped prey. It’s not real, he told himself. But they were here. Hunting him. He’d been followed across the universe by a predator he could never truly escape.
It was getting more and more difficult to hold his body still, despite the pain. Ren’s fingers twitched for the weapon lying at his side.
“Get away,” he hissed. The monster hunched over his body hesitated, for some reason.
“What’s happening?” Familiar. Strike now while it's confused. Ren's hand reached his sword and tightened around the hilt, and then in one desperate movement he sank the blade all the way through his thigh and into the ground below, as far as it would go. In the ensuing moment of white-hot clarity, he saw Silver Wolf recoil with a startled yelp.
“What was that for?!”
“I said get out of my sight,” snarled Ren. The child’s terrified face swam in his vision for only a moment before she turned tail and fled as asked, disappearing behind a crumbling support.
The blood in Ren’s veins blazed like ichor, spasms of agony tipping his fevered mind further towards madness. He was waiting, holding out for something, some distant reprieve to keep him from drowning. What kind of reprieve, he could no longer remember.
“—kind of losing it, please come quickly… coordinates…” A voice filtered through the buzzing in Ren’s head, distant. His body twitched and struggled to rise like a marionette on frayed strings, scarlet bloodlust clawing its way up his throat.
The blade in his leg slowly carved through flesh as he writhed, keeping him locked in place. Inside his chest, the monster growled in displeasure.
Ren wasn’t sure how long he waited like that, pinned like a butterfly to a corkboard. Pain and blood loss dimmed his vision with every attempted move. There was a voice sometimes, garbled and incomprehensible, and the most he could do was hiss like a beast in response, all bloody teeth and numb tongue.
Eventually, the roar of starship engines eclipsed all else. Eventually, there was the soft voice that tamed his mara and made him safe. Eventually…
He closed his eyes and let the darkness take him.
--
The only thing he could sense was cool air and a strange lightness in his body. He wasn’t sure if he had died.
“…”
It seemed that speech had not come back to him just yet— all he could manage was a hoarse gasp. Even so, his sudden shift in wakefulness had not gone unnoticed.
“Welcome back, A-Ren,” said Kafka’s voice. The residual threads of her power sifted through Ren’s consciousness, soothing him. Her footsteps approached as Ren tried to open his eyes, wincing at the light.
“I brought you water,” said Kafka. “Care to sit up?”
“Silver Wolf,” said Ren once Kafka had helped him sit and take a drink of water. “Where is she?”
“It’s good to see that you remember,” said Kafka. She tilted her head towards the door.
“I’m right here,” said Silver Wolf, peeking around the doorframe into the ship’s cabin. She didn’t look very good, damp and bedraggled from a shower but somehow not seeming refreshed. There was a vulnerability in her grey eyes that Ren rarely caught a glimpse of, one much heavier than the momentary disappointment of losing at a game or being teased by Kafka.
“Come closer,” said Ren. Silver Wolf took a step into the room. Her usual outfit had been replaced with a casual dark blue tracksuit that Kafka had recently bought her, and she was slouched in on herself in a way that betrayed wariness but not injury. Ren let out a small sigh of relief after giving Silver Wolf a quick once-over, confirming that she was fine.
“Are you better now?” mumbled Silver Wolf, staring at a spot on the wall.
“You gave her quite a fright,” said Kafka fondly. Ren did not share the lightness with which Kafka seemed to be treating the situation. There was a deep and enduring hole of grief that yawned inside him— for the loss of innocence, another life stained by the corrosion of which Ren himself was now a vector.
“I’m fine,” he said, dredging the remains of gentleness up from the rotted depths of him. “You were helpful. You did well.”
He thought he remembered some other bright-eyed disciple, someone in the past who also glowed with the slightest earnest praise, but the memories were dim and out of reach. There was only Silver Wolf, here and in the present. She was looking at him now, a small smile tugging at the sides of her mouth and a sparkle returning to her eyes.
“Yeah, well. Of course.” It wasn’t quite her usual bravado, but she was trying. “I’m the best. But, uh.” She faltered again, the hesitation returning. “Thanks. Back there. You did good too.”
It took Ren by surprise, almost— the awkward compliment, the implication of teamwork, of being helpful. Unfamiliar in a long-forgotten way, but… welcome. He didn’t even have to look back to know that Kafka was smiling.
Loners, all of them, accustomed to walking their own divergent paths. Together, though, perhaps they were safer. Better. Good.