Waterstrider

Second District, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fifthmonth, 1634 PTS

Mung Seo noticed the marks on the hatch as he stepped in, his experience telling him that they had clearly been left by a blade. The cuts were rough, and he knew that to make such powerful tears in the Staiven-crafted metal, the wielder would need a strong blade, as well as far more strength than Mung himself had. A shiver of fear ran down his spine. Who could be the one who had broken in?

He couldn’t help but take a glance behind himself, only to be urged on by the squad leader. Black Bullet PMC was a group that hired mercenaries of all races and cultures, which was how a Seiyal like Mung had ended up in a squad with two Staiven, a Jobu, and a Telaretian.

“I suspect we’re dealing with at least one martial artist, maybe more,” he said.

“I don’t hear anything,” replied Umruj with a gruff, deep drawl. “Perhaps the intruder has already left the premises.” Due to the physiology of his species, this was simply how his words sounded, regardless of how he enunciated. He was rather tall, his body heavily scarred, and in some points revealing the tattered flesh under his torn scales. While it was all injuries that could be repaired in surgery, Umruj claimed that he was too frugal to spend so much money on vanity. Knowing the alien’s personality, Mung couldn’t help but suspect that he just thought it made him look more intimidating.

Mung reached out with his soul senses. He was wary of entering into sites like this without being as careful as possible. Far too many fools died walking into ambushes in this profession. He was only a meridian refiner, so he knew far too well his own weakness. A single well placed bullet could kill or cripple him for life.

The senses of his soul felt hazy, as if there were a mist occluding them. This caused his hackles to rise even more so than if he had actually sensed someone inside.

“Something’s wrong,” he said, holding one hand up. “I can’t sense anything.”

“I sense it as well,” said Nilhn, one of the Staiven in the squad. He was a good marksman, which for a Staiven meant the senses of his soul were unusually strong. “I didn’t even realize something like this was possible.”

“We still need to go in,” barked Ainzel, their Staiven squad leader. “Follow the rules. Mung, go in first. You’ll be able to react the fastest if there’s an ambush. Operating orders for this one are to kill the intruders but be careful to keep damage to any equipment inside at a minimum.”

“Understood.”

Mung took another step past the shattered hatch, making his way deeper inside of the manufacturing laboratory. All he had been told about the place was that they were some sort of pharmaceutical company, and he had not particularly cared until now. But now that his senses were stifled to such an extent, he felt like the nature of this place itself had to be related somehow. Just what sort of medicines were they developing here? Some sort of poison for clouding the soul senses? But if they were developing something like that, why would they have only hired a group like the Black Bullet PMC for protection? Surely they would want a proper internal security force for such a project. There were simply too many who would wish to sabotage it.

Mung stepped past the second hatch, which had been torn apart in much the same manner as the first. A faint keening alarm sound could still be heard blaring inside, but it seemed muted somehow. He tried to take a look at the room within, but it was shrouded in darkness. Mung frowned in annoyance, but was not surprised. It was not unusual for Staiven companies to neglect the installation of lights in areas they did not expect any aliens to venture, so his equipment contained preparations for such an issue. He reached up to his helmet and turned on a headlamp which had been attached there.

The bright light flared out all around him, but failed to illuminate anything. No, after a moment of surprise, he realized that was not the case. On the contrary, in fact. The light was illuminating a dense black mist which shrouded the room, something he had mistook for mere darkness.

“Sir,’ he called back, “there seems to be some sort of visible gas in here. I can’t see very much.”

“Umruj, Buzol, get in there. One of you aliens should have senses that work.” Ainzel cursed as his subordinates had problems inside, and directed the rest in before himself as he made his way in. As soul sense was one of a Staiven’s most important senses, he had to be feeling even blinder than Mung did.

“This smoke occludes my vision as well,” said Umruj, his slotted pupils expanding as he tried to get a better view. After a few moments, his nostrils expanded to take in more air. “But I do smell both Staiven and humanoid. At least one of the intruders was a Seiyal or a Celan.”

“Had to be a Seiyal,” said Buzol, peering into the darkness. “My people are strong, but even if another Jobu did choose to wield a sword, I can’t imagine they would have been able to do that to a door.”

“Your enforcers have swords, do they not?” Asked Umruj.

Buzol snickered.

“And how would an enforcer fit through the first hatch to reach the second? Much less the question of how they would have brought it to the second district without being noticed.”

Umruj sighed in annoyance, choosing to ignore the Jobu woman. He felt like she took a particular amusement in mocking him every time he made a suggestion.

“Do not be so complacent,” said Mung. “I have a bad feeling about the situation. My intuition tells me that they are still here.”

“Yes, yes,” said Buzol. “If they are here, why haven’t they attacked us yet? I suspect they would either be in a different room or are hiding from us. Probably noncombatants among them, in that case.”

“I trust the Seiyal’s gut feeling,” said Umruj. “Young, primitive peoples tend to have more developed instincts due to need.”

Ainzel sighed, pissed off by his subordinate’s banter. It was fine when they were on break or waiting, but during a mission, particularly one that had turned odd so quickly, he found himself not feeling so lenient.

“Let us simply get this over with,” he said. “Go in and look for them.”

Ignoring his reservations, Mung stepped into the mist, choosing to hold his breath and simply trust his senses. His senses of touch, sound, and smell were entirely unaffected.

Mung was only three steps in when he heard the first scream. It was a feminine voice, coming from his left. Immediately preceding it he had felt nothing but a slight rush of wind.

“What happened?” he asked, surprised. His question was echoed by the rest of the squad, but no answer returned.

“Buzol, report,” said Ainzel, but there was no response.

From several feet away, Mung could hear Umruj mumbling curses under his breath.

“Sir, I believe we should step out of this mist. Clearly this martial artist is too powerful for us to fight blind,” said Nilhn.

Mung felt another slight breeze, and there was no response from the squad leader.

“Squad leader?” he asked.

“I think he’s dead, Seiyal,” said Umruj. “We need to go.”

"Shit!" called Nilhn, his voice then turning into a scream.

Mung had already started sprinting back out of the room, empowering himself with a movement technique to gain as much speed as possible. Flickering miasma burned through his body, the chaotic energies electrifying his muscles and causing him to shift in an odd, stuttering motion that made him both much faster and far more difficult to target. Before the Riverfiend had shown up on the station, Mung had secretly believed that his Sparking Steps were possibly the greatest movement technique present on the station. In moments he had already moved past the first hatch of the entryway, so close to making it out alive.

Behind him, he heard a voice speaking in quiet seiyin, his mother tongue.

“Capture the martial artist.”

“Understood, sir.”

Somehow, this spurred Mung to move even faster, but he was not quite fast enough. As good as his movement technique might have been, it could not compete with the power held by one more than an entire realm higher. He crashed to the ground unceremoniously after his back was impacted by a great force, powerful enough to topple him. Above him stood a handsome man who looked to be in his early twenties, though Mung knew he had to be much older than that. The man smiled down at him, but Mung’s eyes were drawn to the sword held in his hand. It was dripping with red blood, the sort that humanoids had. Humanoids such as his squadmate Buzol. Mung cringed back, almost missing the wounds that dotted the man’s torso, small cuts and grazes that seemed to be very precisely inflicted. From the wounds, thin streams of black and red smoke fell down. The red pooled on the floor before slowly dissipating, while the black floated free in the air. For a moment, Mung almost thought that the man before him was a Reth.

“I surrender,” said Mung, giving up. This man was at least a core formation practitioner, and from the mad look on his hooded face- Mung couldn’t help but see him as a demon of the unorthodox path. “You’re from the Redwater Sect, right? I can pretend I didn’t see anything. Or maybe I saw that it was the Hadal Clan, or the Celans? Whatever you would prefer.”

He forced an awkward chuckle, while he heard a shout of pain from a voice that was undoubtedly Umruj’s.

“You don’t need to worry,” said the sanguine practitioner. “The squad leader has a use for you, and so you still have a right to live, at least for now. But you’ll cooperate with whatever he has in mind, yes?”

“Of- of course,” said Mung.

The man smiled down at him.

“It is good that you know your place,” he said.

The smoke slowly ceased to emerge from the man’s body, and behind him, Mung saw others begin to emerge from the mist.

“I can light it up at any time,” said a middle-aged man. He glanced at Mung. “Do we need to toss him back in?”

“No, we’ll take him with us,” said another man, his voice recognizable as the one that had ordered Mung’s capture earlier. “Knock him out and carry him, Hedouin. Garsa, Taiel, you take the carts up to the skydock. The Vice-Sect Leader has called us an aero. Eden, blow it once we’re up the stairs."

“I shall see it done.”

Moments later, Mung felt a pain in his neck, and fell into darkness.

Smog and Sanguine Miasma: [Rethian Smog, also known simply as 'The Smog,' is a phenomenon believed to have been created by Saaya, and has earned her the title of 'Lady of Shadows.' The Smog is a thick black smoke that is slightly poisonous to many species, but healthy for the Reth to breathe. It also forms naturally when Reth use their progression system, as it is said that ever since the Rethian homeland was destroyed, the Smog was moved into the spirit world. However, rumors say that it is not that the smog is tied to the Rethian progression system specifically, but instead deeply entwined with sanguine miasma in general. This would explain the functionings of some of the odder techniques that sanguine martial practitioners among the Seiyal have developed in recent decades, as well as, some have hypothesized, the reason why red-eyed Staiven supposedly never survive to Elder status.]