"Prepare the battlements!"

General Gore paced amongst his well-fortified stronghold. Walls of mountain rock surrounded the area, isolated within a crater dug several hundred feet into the war-torn earth. The sunset draped the fortress in a deep, smoky black. "If we're going to capture Gyone," he continued, "we will not spare our most coveted of arms! I know you will not disappoint me!"

Two Anubians rested near a small river created by a mini waterfall from the rock's edge in an unnatural sputter, like it was dispersing from pipeline vein systems rather than naturally-occurred erosion.

Gore stormed in their direction, glaring at the two with inconsolable disgust.

"And what in the holiest of specters do you two think you're doing?" capping his anger on pins and needles. Quickly, the burliest of the two stood up to their feet.

"Well um ... it's ah ..."

The general's cap came undone.

"I don't care if your hands were torn apart finger by finger, you insubordinate turds! Get off your lazy hides and start stockpiling! ... Or maybe you'd fare better on restraining duty."

The leaner of the two stood.

"You're insane!" he exclaimed out of line, steadily marching. "That thing will eat us alive! It's been trouble ever since it's got here!"

Unamused, the daunting general viciously grabbed his insubordinate by the throat in retaliation, slowly tightening his grasp.

"At least feel grateful I'll let you die with your own damn opinion." Gore's fumes subsided. "Be happy with that much." He forced his cold, metal jaw within spitting distance to the choking Anubian. "I should let that thing use you as a chew toy after what you did, Private Oxmen.

"And be sure that the next stool you kick aside isn't the one under your goddamn feet. Because you've sure as hell done your fair share of kicking."

For a finite moment, his glaze expressed disappointment.

A flavor finely seasoned: father to son. But not entirely so. Not by blood, anyway.

He proceeded to throw Private Oxmen to the ground and stormed away to the center of the Anubian stronghold where a large, steel platform was eager to take on his weight. Standing as a true leader, fit and imposing stature, the general demanded all eyes without a word.

"Listen up men! One of our recon teams has reported that Gyone Irensho is drawing near. We need to continue our efforts twofold and keep vigilant.

"We cannot—and I repeat this once—cannot let him pass us by, understand?!

"Our only hope of survival rests within his capture. Once we have blasted him out of hiding and claimed our prize, we will prosper greatly and begin to rebuild our domain anew!" The crowd roared and cheered in unison. Their volume booming, only further amplified by the crater around them. A war chant worthy of calling even the moon to face their wrath.

Gore waited for the point to settle, silenced the crowd with a wave of his hand.

"Make no mistake: we need him alive, for those of you looking for blood. Even then, the thirsty should take heed that they don't spill their own. Our target is absolutely lethal and has earned the name 'Silent Death of Crygor.'

"He will not hesitate to kill you given the chance!

"Stand united, act as a unit, and never play the martyr. Dying should be a last resort.

"I cannot lie to you and say that we are immortals. That we will get out of this hunt without a fallen brother.

"There is a reason I require you heavily prepared.

"Some of you will die.

"However, be aware that you are dying for the good of our race! Our forthcoming future is in thanks of your efforts. For we are, and are wholly proud to hold the title of the mighty Anubians of the New Age!"

Gore's speech created uproar amongst the troops with bullets flying and chants abound.

The two Anubians whispered, conversed stealthfully to each other in the distance, both wearing standard-issue battle armor – coated with steel plates that could take many bullets. A flimsy foundation enough to ward death, but not without its own exploits.

They were just another statistic of the Anubian war machine.

"Do you think this is gonna work man?" asked one slacker to another. "Stellar words and all that, but did you catch a look at who he's being chummy with? That big fucking sweetheart over there ain't some crazy hybrid animal I've ever seen!

"Gives me chills ..." Oxmen was holding his neck to gather breath.

"Of course I have!" said Oxmen hoarsely. "He's not hard to miss. This Senyo guy's just using our 'godly' fucking general like a pup to a bone, using his damn desperation. And ego. Chances are he's not even going to pay up.

"And who's gonna look so godly when that bombshell hits?"

He paused. "He's up to something."

"You're telling me," replied the other Anubian, sitting back down on the harsh dirt.

Oxmen turned his back on the whole subject, began gathering water from the river with his canteen and drenched himself with it as to cool his growing bitter itch.

The water flowed down from the top of his naked scalp, branched out into rivulets to feed his curious markings. His battle brother looked at him, holding back a chuckle.

"No booze today, Dimm?" Busting chops failed to hold back laughter.

Dimm is bald as all Anubian men are. Hereditary, not a choice made freely by their male breeds. Though something distinct helped the young warrior stand out of the mashing cogs: his birth markings.

Etched upon his forehead from the womb resembled that of Anubian scholars: a dying breed in the form of an incomplete, triangular crest.

He also bore a long, kempt brown goatee and lamb chops across his jawline. Cursed with a young face, fashioned with bravado.

Dimm stared angrily with his white-pupil eyes.

He threw the canteen at the back of the Anubian's head at a tipping point. If his friend were joking, the troubled scholar certainly wasn't having it.

"Ow! The fuck?!"

The young scholar sat in silence, seeming to sulk in a paralyzing episode of melancholy. The Anubian shot a cursory glance at Dimm, reached out to him apologetically.

"Hey, man—don't get all pissy again. Sorry." The burly brother pleaded, but without nuance. No clue how to flank.

Dimm said nothing.

He pulled a locket out of his pocket and opened it. Within it was a picture of a female Anubian. The face resembled his, only she had thick, long brown dreadlocks which ran down to her tattered brown dress. He stared at it contently as if lost in his own train of thought, fulfilling a common ritual. The other Anubian approached Dimm.

"You'll never let it go, will you?"

Dimm collected his thoughts while he stared angrily at his comrades, carrying many sorts of ammo, guns, and other equipment. Too much it seemed for only one manhunt.

"And why should I?" he uttered with disdain. "I've given my blood to my brothers for strength and wisdom. She guided me through it all from beyond the clouds!"—peculiar stares shot back to his diatribe—"But as she tried to forgive, I can only sit with nothing but the realization of just what was done ...

"Fucking murderers."

The Anubian looked to Dimm, the young scholar alleviating visibly with a careful restraint to his breath.

"It's not like we all took turns stabbing her," he condemned, "it was the order of Gore and the Brotherhood, remember?! Blame them, if anybody. We all know why she did what she did. We've been over it time and time again! I know it must've been awful to watch your own mother die, but you've gotta understand ... We're your brothers no matter what, man. We look out for each other because we are all we have at the end of the day, you know that. And I'm sure I'm not the only one of us who wishes they could turn time around and prevent their judgement. And even if they are wrong, we have to stand together."

Dimm stared at the locket. Then glanced at his friend, grateful smirk manifesting as his grasp back on reality tightened.

Or a very convincing mimicry.

"Thanks. Helping keep my head in order through all these years ... I'd be dead without you, Boren.

Boren blended more with the coalition, as his birth markings were those of the commonplace Anubian soldier.

The silhouette of a Falcon.

Strange, how a type so common is associated with a bird that hasn't been seen in over one-hundred years.

He wore an eye patch over his right eye, while the left held their homogenized iris of gleaming white. A trait shared by all Anubians, male or female.

He stroked his fully-bearded chin as he glanced back at the Anubian horde still relentlessly praising. His focus shifted to the desperate attempts to control Senyo's 'pet' with restraining chains.

"Yeah. Anytime, Dimm."

Enamored in the smoke-laden night sky—as chimneys scorched coal to keep their soldiers warm and their stomachs gorged with the biggest and deadliest of game—Boren's mind fell into reminiscing.

Smitten, the burly warrior turned around.

"Hey dude, you remember that time we-" he sprang from his position when his eyes caught wind of Dimm climbing the cliff near the waterfall, attempting to reach a convenient opening of their perimeter gate.

He'd been dooped.

"Dimm, you idiot! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Boren berated.

Dimm looked down and held his arm out from the cliff. Clearly, this wasn't up for debate. He resonated with enthusiasm.

"Are you coming or what? Brothers till the end, right?" He mimed their well-known battle manifesto like collateral.

Boren's breath exhaled audibly. His eyes couldn't possibly roll any harder in that moment. He grabbed onto the cliff and, begrudgingly, started to scale the jagged rock wall upward. Unfounded levels of regret nearly trumped his love for his childhood friend.

Nearly.

He frequently peeked down, hoped to the Spirits beyond that this fool's errand all went unnoticed. When they reached the peak of the crater, both crawled out in single file.

Vertigo and a voice of reason never complimented each other the way Boren wanted them to.

No.

He figured that this tough love required some degree of bruises. And to do that, they needed to stand on even footing. Unfortunately, this meant that they would effectively have to momentarily go AWOL: a crime immediately punishable by death. Especially during their race's dying days.

If you abandoned the collective, you were no better than rotting hide – not even worth the chew.

"This is some real role-reversal shit right here, Dimm!" confronted Boren, now stood up. "I thought you were supposed to be the Scholar—you should know better! If we get caught, I swear if we don't die right away, I'm gonna kill you myself!"

"Relax, Boren," retorted Dimm, "you should know better than to think I'll stay alive there anyway. My days are numbered ... So"—he shrugged—"I'm leaving," without a flinch.

Boren knew he wasn't bullshitting.

"Man, you must be out of your damn mind, Dimm ...?"

"Well, who followed who?"

"I didn't want to see you get your ass shot off, man!" He tempered to a whisper. "All it takes is one patrol—one!—to call in, and you're as good as dead! I won't let that happen to you, Dimm. Buck the fuck up!"

"No," the scholar scoffed. "It's about time for a new life; one without all this crap." He turned his attention to the fresh night sky full of stars and a perfect crescent moon shining down.

"Not this shit again," groaned Boren, holding his forehead. "What's an Anubian got in life outside his family?" Dimm said nothing, content to dream.

The silence only pushed Boren further.

"Hello? Still with us-"

"I don't know, Boren! Not yet. But why would I just wait to die?" Dimm pointed to his crest. "But I feel a calling within me, like—this needs some room to breathe. Explore the vast unknown. A little freedom."

Boren's face rose with disbelief and a tint of mockery as he parted his arms in showcase.

"Well, we have all the freedom we could drown in man. Where to on this quest of 'enlightenment?'"

Dimm pondered to himself.

Long and hard, the runaway had plotted a plausible destination. Finally, a bulb sparked. The Scholar pointed down to a massive, walled-in metropolis full of skyscrapers and gleaming lights; one of the last of its kind.

"Anywhere but here right now. But I feel that we should pay this Senyo character a little piece of our mind, ay?"

"You don't mean-"

"I do. Crygor city's just a few hours away."

"And just how the hell are we going to get back into that place?"

"You remember the layout.

"C'mon. We got in there without any trouble at all. Or at least I didn't," he suddenly recalled. "But with the right kind of plan, we could get this scrawny shit bag and take the credits ourselves!"

Boren remained hesitant, arms firmly crossed at his chest as his eyes darted from side to side.

What did he fear more? Criminal levels of ousting to possibly reclaim some hope for their people – and become the hero he always dreamed of?

Or the long climb back down?

Luckily, by some miracle amount of planning, that very same artificial pond never looked so puny.

In his heart, he conceded Oxmen's fate was sealed. And for that reason alone, Boren surrendered himself; not with a departing, cautionary fist, but with an entirely different flame kicking his doubt to the curb – if only for the moment.

Suddenly, Boren slung his arm over Dimm's shoulder in embrace. Bitter annoyance turned savage delight, he, too, turned to the mega city with a star-like welcoming.

Anubians are a people of extremes, and when an idea invades their head, it won't stagnate. It'll become their life's goal. In this case, Boren had just stumbled upon a destiny: lead the blessed Scholar to the promised land, kick a suit type's teeth in, and come back a king. Even so far as General Gore to grace him the captain position he imagined he damn well deserved.

"Now you're talking my kind of language, man!" he shouted, disregarding his volume. "Lead the way, 'oh valued Scholar.'"

"What," said Dimm. "You're sticking around?" Boren paced ahead of Dimm.

"Just—don't push your luck."