//------------------------------// // 21: Know Thy Enemy // Story: Feathered Hearts - Continuation and Chronicles // by Firesight //------------------------------// Gilda had to go off by herself for a minute—a few minutes, in fact—to mentally and emotionally recover from the battle before she was fit to face others again. Unfortunately, there was nowhere she could go that was private, as she couldn’t stray far from safety while activity from the Marines and her griffon soldiers continued around her. “Fucking police call,” one of the lower-ranked Marines—Anderson, if Gilda remembered his name correctly—muttered as he walked back towards the gathered group of griffons and humans, carrying a jangling cloth bag. “Well, you just had to take a few extra potshots,” his equally grumpy Marine companion replied under his breath, his bent-over shoulders shrugging as he continued to pick up small empty cylinders out of the grass. Gilda had only dimly noticed it at the time, but the Marine and civilian weapons ejected what appeared to be an empty cannonball container after they were fired. Incredibly, and completely unlike griffon airship cannons or anything short of their repeating crossbows, the mechanical action of the shot somehow also cycled in a new cannonball. It enabled them to fire continuously without an arduous reload procedure; even the process of swapping out a cannonball quiver seemed very quick and simple. “Still worth it. That was the most fun I’ve had since I joined the Corps.” Anderson smiled briefly, then glanced over at Gilda, who was watching them out of the corner of her eye. “Any idea where we’re going next?” “Fuck if I know.” His companion looked up into the deepening dusk at a fresh flapping sound and frowned. “Do you see that shit?” “Yeah. Fucking crows, man,” Gilda watched as the PFC glanced up in disgust to the trees, which were now filled with scavenger birds, especially loudly cawing crows as they called their friends to feast and other predators over to rip open the larger corpses. “Looks like they’re all waiting for their dinner.” “Yeah, well, just so long as it’s not us.” “Cut the chatter and keep picking up the brass. And if you don’t want to do this again, obey orders next time and cease fire when you’re fucking told!” Imlay informed the pair unsympathetically from where he was overseeing them as two of his three fire teams maintained a perimeter. “We’re not staying here long, so if you guys aren’t done when we leave, then you get left behind with your new friends.” He motioned up to the hungry avian eyes watching them. Gilda didn’t think he meant it, but it was clear to her that the Marine Corporal was as no-nonsense as Tribune Narada when it came to the obedience of his underlings. She then turned her attention to the third Marine fire team—Brennan’s—who Imlay was keeping in reserve. Their weapons were still held ready and loaded with fresh quivers, but they had gathered around a surprised Decanus Nydia. She was looking a bit lost at the attention as a minor wound to her side from a charging razorbat—Gilda hadn’t noticed them, but there had apparently been a few present in the fight—was treated by Chief Jacobs. He had shaved the short fur from the area with some kind of odd machine that buzzed softly, swabbed it with some substance to sterilize it, numbed it by injection and then closed the wound with a set of stitches. She could have healed it herself, but at Giraldi’s order, she was conserving her power, which they would need if more corrupted mages appeared or severely injured soldiers needed healing. Despite her familiarity with the procedure, Gilda had to look away as the human healer delivered the injections—it took a winceworthy three to numb the area. But Nydia barely seemed to notice, staring off into the distance and paying him no mind until the Marines came up to her. “—and then she fucking jumps in the air, and just bats all the damn lightning away!” one of the Marines declared excitedly, slashing the air with his free arm in an exaggerated manner. “Collected it in a ball and sent it all right back at the caster too!” “Oh, it was nothing,” Nydia muttered a little softly. She seemed dazed and despondent to Gilda’s eyes—was she suffering some form of battle trauma? “Nothing? Shit, it was totally ninja!” another Marine replied, offering her his fist. Though looking distinctly uncomfortable, the Mage managed a weak smile as she bumped it with her own. “Uh… thanks?” “Totally fucking badass ninja,” another Marine added to an odd look from the Ravens who were speaking with Giraldi; the more talkative eagless could only roll her eyes before she took it upon herself to walk over and shoo the Marines away. “If you four please, she needs to be alone right now. I know you are trying to compliment her, but what you don’t realize is that she had to fight her own mentor up there,” the Raven eagless explained. Her scimitar and repeating crossbow had been holstered on her back; the latter had a fresh quiver drum attached. “That was First Stave Tunica. Or what was left of him.” The Marines instantly fell silent as Nydia began to tear up, her beak quivering. “Oh, Jeez. Sorry, we didn’t know—” “Now you do. So please depart,” the grey-dyed warrior asked them politely but pointedly. “Well, what about you three?” Brennan asked. “We saw what you Ravens did—you guys took out nearly as many enemies as us! Just cut them to pieces with those badass blades! That was totally ninja, too!” “Please do not call us that,” she told them all shortly. “We are not ‘ninjas’, which is a word you should not even know. We are a secret warrior society trained in both ancient and modern combat arts, serving the Gryphon Kingdom as needed to protect it from the shadows.” She then turned on her heel and stalked off, her tail flicking repeatedly. “Dude, they’re totally ninjas,” Brennan said under his breath after she departed, earning a brief tail lash by the Raven eagless as he was overheard. Deciding she wasn’t going to find any peace and quiet, let alone peace of mind at that time, Gilda slowly mastered her raw emotions and still-racing heart, which she found was afraid to slow down in case the Cloven should reappear. But that seemed unlikely given the birds had returned along with all the animal sounds she would normally expect on a late summer night; the song crickets were singing and horned toads were croaking happily away. That means another old legend is true—that birds fall silent when the Cloven are close. Their presence and chatter means the Cloven are NOT close right now. In fact, they’re nowhere nearby and can’t reach us again without warning. Steady, Grizelda Behertz… she told herself, trying to control her fears with simple logic, which was something she’d never been good at as a rule.  Remember, this is just the first of many battles to come, and you can’t fall to pieces now. Maybe later, when we can rest, but not now… She suddenly wondered if Marco had his flask of buffalo whiskey with him, as she could use a strong brew just then. That she was hardly alone in her struggles was of little comfort as she noticed the equally traumatized Chris, Tara, and Marco, who were being addressed by Imlay in the presence of Giraldi and Fortrakt. The former had put a comforting wing over Marco’s hunched-over back and was speaking to him softly, while Fortrakt was doing the same with Chris and Tara as he was treated by Chief Jacobs for a set of steel claw slashes on his hip. They would normally be Magus-healed, but as they were not particularly severe and Nydia had been ordered to conserve her power, they were treated with human medicine instead. She had to look away again as her former junior partner was injected with whatever painkilling potion the humans possessed, but Fortrakt simply mastered his nerves by keeping his attention on Chris and Tara, whispering something to the latter she couldn’t hear.  Whatever he said, she fell into his embrace and cried, clutching his neck and burying her face in his dark golden eagle feathers while he wrapped a wing protectively around her. Though she might have teased him about that before, she was just glad he and Giraldi were there for them, especially when they needed comfort she would have had trouble giving just then. But still, that didn’t worry her so much as Imlay’s presence. Uncertain what the Marine Corporal’s intention was—did he still want to disarm them? How could he after how well they’d fought? She decided to head over immediately even though her head wasn’t fully right either. “You were right, Corporal…” a still-trembling and audibly shaky Chris finally admitted as she got close enough to hear. He was still doubled over and seemingly unable to rise; she did a double-take to see Fortrakt had laid his talons on the top of the human male’s back, rubbing it gently. “You were right. We’re in way over our heads out here…” But instead of scolding him or being smug at being proven correct, the Marine Corporal gave him a sympathetic nod. “I’m sorry you three had to learn this way. Believe me, I didn’t wish this on any of you. But for your first time in combat, it looks like you all did pretty well.” He nodded grimly to the fallen griffon and other corpses around them. “Chief Jacobs says you all performed superbly for civilians, though he did note your mag swaps need practice, Mister Lakan. You also failed to go for your pistol, Mister McLain, as your targets closed in. Miss Fields obeyed the Chief’s orders to switch to them, but you didn’t,” he gently chided. “I d-didn’t even hear him…” Chris admitted, his head clutched in his hands with his Nagant now slung loosely on his back. “And I didn’t even think of my pistol. It was right there at my hip, but I completely forgot I had it.” Imlay nodded knowingly, as did Giraldi. “You had tunnel vision. Understandable, but not acceptable. Everything you do in battle has to be based on full awareness of your surroundings—without it, you’re far more likely to make a mistake like missing an order or not seeing a critical threat,” he told them bluntly, but not meanly. “This is exactly why I didn’t want you fighting with us. This isn’t one of Brennan’s video games and there are no saves or respawns out here. If you screw up, you die. Actions in combat must be immediate and instinctive—the time you waste fumbling a reload or remembering your sidearm could cost you your life.  “And above all else, orders must be heard and obeyed instantly. If they aren’t, combat cohesion falls apart quickly, which can be fatal to not just you, but the entire unit. That’s why I’m punishing Anderson and Armstrong over there.” He nodded over to the two Marine PFCs, who were continuing to pick up the innumerable metal casings on the ground and still grumbling about it.  “Then now will you disarm them?” Raleigh asked him; Gilda could smell the sweat and fear on the Ambassador’s aide; he had stripped off his jacket and partially unbuttoned his white dress shirt. “They’re untrained amateurs and I really don’t want to get killed by them.” Marco’s head shot up. “Dude, we saved your fucking life while you just cried like a baby on the goddamned ground!” he reminded the rotund human heatedly, his anger returning in an instant. “Would you rather we let you get torn to pieces?” Chris added irritably, causing Raleigh to wisely fall silent. “As tempting as it was, we didn’t!” Giraldi, however, answered far more calmly. “With respect, Mister Raleigh, your criticism is not warranted. I saw them—they took down at least a dozen attacking griffon soldiers, including Paladins with intact armor.” He turned to Imlay next. “And I would say the same to you, Corporal—had these three not been here protecting your rear, you would have been outflanked and quite possibly overrun, even with your admittedly impressive weapons,” Giraldi told him pointedly as he continued to gently rub Marco’s lower back with his wing, offering him the same reassurance a sire might give a young and frightened cub waking up from a nightmare. “They have proven themselves capable warriors, and the fact that they reacted badly after such an unexpectedly savage attack does not reflect badly on them. Believe me when I say I have seen griffon soldiers under my own command fare just as poorly after their first battle, or even worse in the past,” he said with a glance at Gilda as she came up. “I believe you. And you’re right. They have,” Imlay surprised them by agreeing. “If you let me continue, I was going to compliment them. I’ll start with you, Mister Lakan.” He turned to a surprised Marco first. “I’m told you kept your cool and your aim true for the most part; Chief credited you with at least four kills. I also didn’t want to say it before, but for a custom AR, that’s very well-put together if you did it yourself. It looks like you did your homework and researched your parts properly. Believe me; I’ve seen civvies load theirs up with all sorts of ridiculous and useless bling, but yours looks solid from its sight to its sling.” Marco blinked. “Oh, uh… thanks.” “You’re welcome. We’ll work on practicing your mag swaps and switching to pistols later, but for now—well done, Mister Lakan. And that brings me to you, Mister McLain.” He turned to Chris next and laid a hand on his shoulder; Gilda still had to stifle a flinch at the use of what would be an intimate contact for griffons used so casually by humans. “Chief pointed out some issues with your performance, but he also said your nerve and accuracy were impressive even facing an all-out attack, scoring several headshots both up close and at range,” he noted with a nod to the Naval ‘Corpsman’ still working on sewing up the steel claw slashes on Fortrakt’s hip, which though deep, had surprisingly stopped bleeding even before they were closed. “And I meant it,” he said as his hands moved in and out like griffon tailor talons to close the widest rifts in Fortrakt’s flank. They were right where a pony cutie mark would be; she had the thought just then that it would give him a set of lurid scars that he might be able to impress eaglesses with later. “With a little seasoning, you’d make an excellent Marine or Naval Marksman, Mister McLain. We might have to find you an EMR—that’s an Enhanced Marksman Rifle. You’re that good.” “I would concur, as long as you’re trained properly on it. Given how much she liked your Russian rifle, I’m sure Lance Corporal Henderson would be more than willing to help,” The Corporal said with a brief smile before turning his attention to Tara. “But the Chief reserved his highest praise for you, Miss Fields. He says you proved effective with all three of your weapons, obeying orders instantly and switching between them quite fluidly. He gave you five kills, including a trio of attacking Paladins that fell to your shotgun and pistol at close range.” Tara looked up at him blankly from where she was being held by Fortrakt, then down at her feet again. “Oh. Thanks,” she said dully, the barest hint of a tremor in her words. “It was my granddad’s pistol, and…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes got distant. “I’m sorry. I just… need some more time.” Imlay frowned, but nodded. “You three are clearly suffering from battle shock. As the Optio mentioned, it happens to the best of us when we see our first action—even trained Marines,” he admitted ruefully to a concurring nod from Giraldi. “Unfortunately, there’s no time to coddle you. We’ll be moving again soon, and all of you will need to be mobile and ready. Have your moment of grief, but then stow it deep and set it aside. You can fall apart later, after we reach safety.” “And it’s really that easy?” Chris muttered, clutching his head. “Just set it aside? God above, I don’t think I’m ever going to get over this…” He took a shuddering breath. “You can and you will, because you must,” the Corporal said in not so much sympathy as certainty. “Because right now, I need every rifle I can get, and as the Optio says, you guys had our backs. I’m stubborn, but I’m not stupid. For all your flaws, you’ve proven you can help, and we do need you right now. So while we have a chance, give your weapons a quick cleaning—especially you with that acidic ammo, Mister McLain. Because we’ll need them ready and reliable later.” “Sir, yes sir,” As Gilda watched, a hollow-eyed Marco sketched him a salute, and then he finally saw her. “Hey, Gilds. How are you doing?” he asked weakly, trying but not quite succeeding in smiling. About as well as you, she didn’t say, still struggling to control her own emotions. “Fine—thanks to you three and Chief Jacobs. And to you as well, Optio,” she bared her throat at Giraldi. “Your war hammer strike at the end there was well-timed. That Talon eagless was only a leap away from reaching us.” “It was, except I nearly shot him…” Tara shivered again in Fortrakt’s grasp. “I’m sorry, Galen. You just flashed across my vision so fast and…” her voice trailed off. “But you didn’t,” he told her as Chief Jacobs finished his work on Fortrakt, who experimentally flexed the area and grimaced only slightly; Gilda wasn’t too concerned about the injury given she planned to keep him in the air. As near as she could tell, he had led the aerial battle well given the bulk of his force remained intact, inflicting three times the casualties they had suffered. “Your arrows, if that’s what you call them, were all true.” “Thanks, but…” she squeezed her eyes tightly shut again. “I still could have.” “Now you know why we were worried about friendly fire,” Imlay noted. “You have to make decisions in a split second out here. It’s hard even for experienced Marines.” “But like he said, you didn’t, girl,” Chris reminded her; as Gilda watched he accepted a circular canteen from Imlay from which he gulped down water after spitting out the first mouthful. “You didn’t falter. None of us did.” He seemed to be reminding himself as much as Tara. “I guess, if thanks to…” Tara trailed off and her eyes went distant again, then she gave Fortrakt a final squeeze to his neck before she stood up and took several deep breaths, accepting Imlay’s canteen from Chris from which she drank in turn. “Nothing. Never mind. If you need me, I’m fit for duty, Corporal,” she announced as she returned the canteen, trying to stand to attention before him. “And may you remain,” he said with a satisfied nod, returning the item to his belt before turning to Gilda. “With respect, Centurion, as this arrangement worked before, I recommend keeping the civilians in the center with the Chief and Decanus Nydia. With the loss of most of our earth griffons, I’ll detail two fire teams on the flank and leave one on the rear.” “Sounds good,” she said dully, only half-listening. “And as for you three—do exactly what you did here and protect our rear,” he addressed the civilians next. “You guys will have our backs and keep whatever these things are from flanking us, but if another battle erupts, do not move towards the action or fire in our direction without a direct order from me or Chief Jacobs there,” he instructed Chris, Tara and Marco, locking gazes with each in turn. “Understood?” “Understood,” they all nodded and murmured; Gilda turned to see Chris and Marco trying to rise to their feet as well. “But all that said, for a bunch of stupid civvies, you guys did good. Real good,” Chief Jacobs added to a concurring nod from Imlay. “Your hip wounds are sealed and sanitized, Decurion. The stitches should hold and will eventually fall out on their own once the area has healed, but try not to aggravate them in the meantime.” “Thanks, Chief Jacobs,” Fortrakt said with a distracted nod as Chris reached up to squeeze his talons, indicating he could let go. Gilda was only starting to wonder about Fortrakt’s state of mind when Tara thanked him for his comfort by bending over and giving him a kiss on his beak, eliciting a brief blush and even a twitch of his wings as both Giraldi and Chief Jacobs smirked. Well, I guess he’s okay! Gilda granted with a weak smile if her former junior partner was just as smitten and dweeby as he’d ever been. But she also decided it was best to head off any of his more untoward impulses and draw his mind back to his duty; it was for that very reason she wasn’t hugging Marco hard just then. “Decurion? Are you fit for further action?” she called to him, to which he stiffened and saluted. “Sir, yes sir!” he immediately and emphatically answered with a thump of his chest, his flush quickly dissipating. “My hip feels a bit stiff, but it shouldn’t matter much in the air. I have fifteen sky griffon soldiers still available. I regret to report the loss of five flyers, but I may also report they fought ably and honorably against overwhelming numbers.” He stood at attention before her. “Understood,” she said quietly. Counting the earth griffon losses, that meant she was down another nine soldiers from her old Turma, including half the decade she led only a month before. She wondered then if she’d ever get the chance to mourn their loss or mark their passing properly. Or worse, if she was responsible for their deaths. “You led your soldiers well, Decurion,” Giraldi noted as he came up. “Your tactics were superb, allowing you to preserve your force instead of letting it be defeated piecemeal or overwhelmed by sheer numbers.” Fortrakt blushed again, but only briefly. “Thanks, Optio. But our losses…” He looked away. “Were unavoidable,” the veteran earth griffon finished emphatically before Gilda could. “We did not then know what we faced, and by the time we did, it was too late. We will honor our fallen later, but it is our survival we must see to for now.” “My thoughts exactly,” Imlay addressed Gilda next; it took a moment before she realized he was standing next to her. “With respect, we need to talk, Centurion.” He gave her a brief salute. “Right.” Gilda looked towards the sky as she returned the honor, noticing the increasing number of crows that were gathering around the clearing. She had been expecting them to show up, just not so quickly, and half-wondered if that was an omen. They walked off a little ways before Gilda spoke again, though they kept in sight of the others and carefully away from concealment. “Your Marines are… impressive,” she told him. “There’s no way we could have won this fight without you, even with the Ravens here. Your combat power is off the charts compared to ours.” “Now you know why we were so careful about not divulging the capabilities of our weapons to you,” he replied slightly wryly. “But be proud, Centurion—from what I could see, your soldiers fought with discipline and bravery, both in the sky and on the ground. “Those that didn’t die at the start,” she muttered, blaming herself for not realizing the cart was a trap when every instinct she had was screaming something was wrong with it. Imlay stared at her for a moment. “I am truly sorry for the losses we suffered, but don’t blame yourself for them—we had no idea what we were facing or that those corpses could somehow come back to life to attack us. Which brings up the question: how did they?” he asked her, to which she and Giraldi could only grimace. “We have no idea what we’re facing. But from what the Optio said just now, you do?” “Yes,” she said, raising her haunted eyes to his. “I know exactly what we’re facing—every griffon here does. We’re taught about them from cubhood in old myths and legends. We fought them once well over a thousand years ago, and they nearly annihilated us. To this day, we still train for them at the Gauntlet, because even if we were sure they’d never return, the threat they pose is existential. Not just to us, but to all races of Tellus.” “I see,” he said without emotion. “Then I would appreciate being enlightened.” She nodded. If this really is the Cloven, then there’s only one indisputable way to prove it… “It isn’t enough to just tell you. I have to show you. So have your Marines bring a grass lion corpse to us. And preferably one of the less smelly ones.” She screwed up her face in distaste. After giving her an odd look, he obeyed, detailing Brennan’s fire team for the task. Though less than pleased at their orders, they did so, grunting as they picked one up by the legs and more or less dragged it over, then threw it down before them.  Once the deed was done, one of the Marines extracted a small container of some slightly colored liquid that smelled strongly of citrus-scented alcohol and squeezed it onto his palms, rubbing it all over the surfaces of his forepaws and talons vigorously. He then offered it to his friends, who immediately availed themselves of it and did the same thing. By that time, Gilda had summoned the Shadow Decurion, Decanus Nydia, and Giraldi, who ordered Fortrakt and the remaining griffons to take over perimeter watch so the human Marines and civilians could see directly what they were up against; even Raleigh hobbled over on a pair of improvised crutches at Imlay’s request. As the dead animal was delivered, she could see up close the damage the Marines had done to it; there were small holes all over its neck and body, leaving her guessing the one in its left eyelid was what finished it off. The holes themselves were bloodless, which came as no surprise to her, but did to the Marines, who noted the fact aloud. “What the hell… there’s no blood from where we shot them?” Chief Jacobs looked distinctly uncomfortable when he reached the only possible conclusion. “Because corpses don’t bleed.” “Precisely,” Giraldi said grimly. “See? They’re zombies!” Brennan said eagerly again, leaving Gilda wondering what in the name of his human ancestors he found so exciting about the prospect of reanimated corpses. “Oh, come on!” Jamal replied a little nervously. “There’s no such thing!” “Cut the chatter, all of you! We’re here to find out what we’re facing. Centurion Behertz will be explaining just who—or what—the hostiles are, so pay attention!” Imlay ordered them sharply, causing his squad to obediently fall silent. He then turned to Gilda. “That said, is he right? Are they zombies, Centurion?” Imlay asked, seemingly unaffected by the sight or smell of the beast. “In a manner of speaking.” Gilda knew the term from an odd genre of movies she’d watched in Equestria with Rainbow Dash once or twice; they were horror films where dead ponies came back to life and started eating the flesh of living ones. Though she never understood their allure, they had an avid following especially among teenage pegasi, and she certainly understood the effect the idea would have on the normally peaceful plant-eating ponies to see their own kind mercilessly kill and mindlessly eat members of their own race. “Just watch, and all will be revealed.” Gilda took a deep breath as she looked at the gathered humans, who were staring at her expectantly. “We believe that what attacked us and set up the lightning field above us is an old foe we thought was long gone. An ancient enemy of the Gryphon race called the Cloven of the Sun,” she spat out the last few words like a curse. There was a murmur amongst the humans while Nydia visibly shivered at the name. Gilda gave them a few moments before clearing her throat, waiting for them to quiet down again. She then motioned towards the hole-riddled corpse of a creature. “As to what they are… look at this lion. Do you notice anything odd about it, PFC Jamal?” she asked him directly, given he’d been the one to express doubts that they were previously dead. “Uh…” Jamal crouched, looking closely at the fallen feline. He sniffed at it, wrinkling his nose, and then frowned. “That’s not right. This animal smells like it’s already… rotting. Like it’s been roadkill for days.” He looked nervously at Gilda. “Do these, uh, types of animals decompose quickly?” Gilda shook her head, guessing he was trying very hard to avoid the obvious conclusion. “No. It’s so rotted because it was dead long before it attacked us.” “Damn right it was dead!” Brennan said. “But… how?” Henderson spoke up this time. “How could it have been dead long before?” Gilda exchanged a look with Giraldi and Ebon Umbreon, who stayed silent. “I could explain, but… I think it’s just better to show you. Shadow Decurion, would you do the honors?” she motioned to the beast with a wing. “By your command.” He saluted her, then grabbed the grass lion corpse by its maneless and quite mangy head. Drawing a short blade from his belt, he proceeded to surgically scalp it with a rather sickening sound, skillfully opening up its skull. “Hard-fucking-core,” one of Brennan’s Marines muttered as several looked suddenly ill. Gilda had to give the Raven his due, given it was an incredibly accurate scalping that removed the top-half of the cranium without touching the brain inside. Once it was visible, most of the Marines took an involuntary step back at what they beheld. “Wha… what the hell?” a wide-eyed Jamal asked. Even though she knew it would be there, Gilda felt more than a little sickened to see it herself. Around the grass lion’s brain was a long and thin black insect; its spindly legs digging deep into the grayish matter. “What. The. Fuck?” Marco whispered while Tara stared at it in horror and Chris looked on the verge of throwing up again; Raleigh dropped his crutches and took an involuntary step back, not even realizing he was standing and walking again on a previously broken leg. “That is a Cloven Parasite,” Gilda advised. “It’s how dead animals and griffons alike are reanimated and turned against us. It invades corpses and turns them into puppets, needing only control of the central nervous system to do it. Decanus Nydia?” Gilda then called to their Magus, who looked scarcely less sickened. “Give it a tug. Let them see how deep it goes.” “By your command.” The Mage Knight replied slightly wanly and stepped forward, her floating staff glowing. Light surrounded the parasite, which was then slowly tugged outwards, making a few very unpleasant noises as it was gradually but only partially separated from its host. Even after being pulled several pony inches away, it wasn’t completely detached. Its long spindly legs remained deeply embedded in the grass lion’s brain, but it was more exposed for everyone to see. “Oh, that’s not right,” Brennan muttered, looking a little green as his inexplicable excitement seemed to have finally ebbed. “That’s not the T-Virus or anything else.” Imlay glanced at him, then narrowed his eyes. “So this thing just burrows into a brain to gain control of a corpse? How long are its legs?” “Depends on how long it has infected its host,” Giraldi replied this time. “It is said that before it enters a body, it’s about five uncias long.” “Uncias?” Imlay echoed. “An uncia is the Roman measure of inch,” Chris offered despite his sick expression. “It’s almost exactly the same as our own.” “Sorry. About as long as my talons,” Gilda clarified, holding hers up briefly in comparison, noting again the use of ‘Roman’ to describe something griffon. “To answer your question, Corporal, it enters its victims through either their mouth, ear or nose, gnawing its way towards the brain. Once it gets there, it grows and embeds itself directly into the mind and nervous system until…” Gilda nodded towards Nydia, who grimaced but raised her staff to point at the parasitic creature’s head. “Please step away from it,” the Decanus mage directed as she closed her eyes. With minimal magical effort, she produced a small spark of electricity that made the floating Parasite twitch a few of the grass lion’s legs, causing the Marines to instantly raise their cannons again and Raleigh to stumble back. “Fascinating,” Brennan muttered. “Not the word I’d choose…” Tara was leaning heavily on Marco now. “It’s disgusting. And here I thought bot-flies were bad.” A freshly ill-looking Chris turned towards Gilda. “So, that’s what these ‘Cloven’ are? Corpse-controlling parasites?” “No,” she replied grimly, taking another deep breath. “The Parasite is just the tip of the talon. They’re part of a hive mind that comprises what some would say are just a single massive, all-consuming organism.” “Where did they come from?” Imlay asked. “We don’t know where they originated,” the Shadow Decurion replied. “Or even how they got their name. Some say they were a pure black magic creation invented by an unknown agent meant to deconstruct all life. Others suggest that they were created by King Sombra specifically to fight the Solar Soldiers of Celestia, but he lost control of them,” he further recited, leaving Gilda wondering what kind of education and upbringing the Ravens actually received.  Are they trained from birth, or are they selected at some point? she couldn’t help but wonder as the discussion went on. “The first and only time they appeared in griffon lands was some fourteen hundred years ago, back when our race was feudal and divided,” Giraldi picked it up from there. “There were four distinct territories then, each led by the four Tribal Leaders we called the ‘Blessed’.” “As you say, Optio. Records of that time are sparse as our written language was still new, but… it is said that they came like a shadow in the night; fast, silent and deadly.” The Shadow Decurion pointed towards the black insect wrapped around the grass lion’s brain. “They started using Parasites first to infect griffons of power; sowing chaos and distrust amongst their tribes. It wasn’t until our Primo Basileus himself realized something was amiss that the other Blessed were warned.” “Primo Basil-what?” Brennan asked. “Basileus,” Chris replied. “On our world, it was a term used for a ruler of the old Byzantine Empire, which was the successor to ancient Rome. Sometimes it’s called the Eastern Roman Empire. If I remember correctly, Gilda, you told me and Tara that he was the one that united the griffon tribes under a single banner to defeat a mighty foe. Then this Cloven… was that the foe you were talking about?” Gilda nodded. “It’s not a subject we enjoy discussing. Sorry I wasn’t more specific.” She offered an apology with a bared throat. “This enemy doesn’t seem too hard to detect, though,” Brennan said, hand on his chin as his odd smile had returned. “I mean, these Parasites obviously aren’t going to stay hidden for long if they can’t stop the body from rotting. Plus you griffons look plenty strong and have a good handle on weapons. A hit in the head is all that it takes to kill them, right?” “Not quite that simple. You have to destroy the brain, or sever the spine at the neck. They can’t work their puppets without an intact nervous system,” Ebon Umbreon explained. “Enough damage to the body will also render them unusable, so their hosts tend to lose effectiveness over time as they rot or take damage.  “That same damage means that corrupted forms can’t move as fast or fluidly as living ones can, but the parasites also absorb the memories of their hosts. They can then use those memories to wield weapons as well as control the body.” “Absorb their memories?” Imlay asked as the Marines exchanged uncomfortable looks. “Yes, and they then pass those memories along to the hive,” Giraldi noted. “So, if they capture a corpse who has information on defenses or numbers, then that information becomes known to all of them, and they tailor their tactics appropriately.” “Son of a bitch…” Jamal said as Gilda noticed Giraldi and Umbreon exchanging a confused look. She could well imagine they were likely having the same reaction she had to hearing the human curse for the first time, not understanding it was a reference to something other than Diamond Dog females. “They’re the fucking Borg, then. That means if they got even a single Marine…” “Exactly,” Gilda said grimly, wondering what he meant by ‘Borg’. “They would gain knowledge of your weapons and tactics as well. Thus, one of our longstanding customs was to burn our dead to make sure they couldn’t be converted to Cloven hosts. Unfortunately, that’s not an option here since setting fires may attract attention—or worse, a dragon attack.” It was only then she noticed that several of the stronger Marines seemed to be carrying long, thick tubes on their backs. “We cannot take the risk of our fallen being turned against us, So for any dead we suffer from here on out, we have to leave their bodies behind with their brain destroyed.” The Marines exchanged an uncomfortable look. “With respect, we don’t like leaving our fallen behind, ma’am,” Henderson said, and Gilda decided not to correct her regarding the form of address. “We always try to return the bodies of our dead to their families.” “I see. We would normally attempt to respect the customs of our allies, but it is simply not possible here,” Gilda told her. “Unfortunately, we cannot take corpses with us. We can only ensure they cannot be used by the enemy.” “We can put them in storage gems,” Imlay suggested. “You can do that if they’re dead, right?” “Only if their internal magic is completely drained, and—” Giraldi blinked, perhaps recalling as Gilda did in that instant that humans didn’t have internal magic. “Yes. You can.” “Then that’s what we’ll do,” Imlay said. “Still, I don’t wish to sound dismissive, but this threat seems… manageable. Given corpses decay, they’d need a steady stream of dead to keep infusing their ranks. Once it dries up, this Cloven would gradually dwindle in numbers down to nothing.” Giraldi and Umbreon grimaced as Gilda shook her head. “If Parasite-controlled corpses were the only thing to worry about, you’d be right. Unfortunately, they are but a single tendril of a much larger group.” “What do you mean?” Imlay asked. “I mean, there are pure Cloven forms as well,” Gilda said grimly to knowing nods from Umbreon and Giraldi. “When King Fortis sounded the alarm, the Cloven stopped using subterfuge and struck everywhere using a massive army of those forms they had secretly amassed, invading all Four Territories at once. Worse, they had by then established dozens of small bases that could quickly replenish their losses by producing many centuries—by centuries I mean hundreds—of additional soldier forms a day at each.” One of the Marines whistled. “Well, fuck,” he stated, but Imlay didn’t seem perturbed at all. “How did they do that?” “By recycling their dead and that of their enemies,” Ebon Umbreon said in disgust. “When their soldiers and corrupted corpses fell in battle or got too rotted to use, they could be thrown into special vats, broken down and then reconstituted into fresh soldier forms. In this way, all life would be slowly converted to Cloven, and worse, each subsequent generation would evolve further, gaining additional attributes and intelligence. So we don’t want to fight a long war with them, as they’ll only get stronger and smarter while we get weaker.” There was a gagging sound. Looking up, she noticed that Raleigh appeared ill, giving Gilda only a brief glance before his eyes went back towards the ground. “Excuse me,” he mumbled before hobbling away despite his previously broken leg, having apparently heard all he could stomach. The Marines watched him leave; a couple looked like they were going to make jokes before Imlay silenced them with a glare. Despite her distaste for the portly human, Gilda shuddered as well, wondering anew how Lady Arnau and King Fortis had ever beaten the Cloven in the first place. “He’s right. Using such methods, they can reproduce with phenomenal speed. Give them just a few days and a steady supply of corpses from conquered areas, then they can overrun large tracts of territory as well as any opposing force in their way.” “Okay, so what do these ‘soldier forms’ look like?” one of the Marines asked. “Enormous insects,” Gilda replied, to which Giraldi nodded. “Or at least, that’s the way they appeared at the start. History records the Cloven soldiers evolving after every battle as they learned more about their enemies.” “When they first appeared, they were said to resemble giant black-shelled hornets that attacked from the air with stingers and pincers,” Giraldi picked it up from there. “Then as the war progressed and they went through generations of soldiers, they started resembling griffons. They began to walk on all fours, developing larger claws and unnaturally sharpened beaks. During the final battles of the war, they even started differentiating their fliers and their ground troops.” “How so?” Brennan asked. “Flyers had two spikes for forelegs, wings sharp enough to cut through flesh, and a barbed tail,” Umbreon recalled. “Ground troops didn’t even have wings anymore, replacing them with two sharp spikes, which they could manipulate like the flyers. They were a far more dangerous and developed foe by then, but that was not the reason why they were so hard to fight off.” Imlay and the rest of the Marines seemed to approach closer. “What was the reason?” the Corporal asked. “Just as you saw here, they were utterly merciless,” Gilda replied. “Their hive mind gave them unparalleled discipline and unmatched morale. They didn’t care how many dead they suffered breaking a position or capturing a town; they’d just march over their wounded, trampling them underwing as they slowly but brutally ground you down, then recycle you for use in their own war machine.” “Nor could you hide from them behind walls or mountains or rivers, as any barriers you put in their way were quickly surmounted,” Giraldi finished for her. “It was said they could climb right over any fortifications, using their own bodies to build bridges or ladders if they had to.” “Christ Almighty. They sound just like Army Ants,” Brennan muttered, to which one of his team scoffed. “Oh, is that all? Unless they sound like Marine Ants, I ain’t exactly shaking in my boots.” His words elicited some slightly wan laughter. “Quiet!” Imlay ordered, shutting him up before looking back at Gilda. “So, what you are saying is that we could have an army of this Cloven marching on us as we speak?” “Possibly,” Gilda replied. “However, our Raven friends are reporting no nearby movement and if you listen, all the animals are active again—it was also said in our old legends that birds and especially crows fell silent when Cloven were near,” she belatedly remembered. “I don’t know how long that’ll last, but even if they are marching on us, we’ll have plenty of warning. That gives a chance for Decanus Nydia to finish treating our wounded flyers, though I’ve instructed her to only heal the more severe injuries to help conserve her power. Scrapes and more minor slashes will have to be treated by your healer.” “You mean Chief Jacobs,” Imlay clarified. “And the proper term for them is ‘Corpsman’. Proper address and all that,” he reminded her. “So about the Cloven… is there any way to stop them? Any weaknesses we can exploit?” Henderson asked. “Their greatest strength is also their worst weakness,” Giraldi replied. “They have a hive mind, but they also have a central intelligence and leaders we can strike at. What gives them their unnatural drive and discipline are the ones giving them directions—the Cloven Overlords.” “Overlords?” Imlay echoed. “So basically, the hive Queen?” “In a manner of speaking, but not entirely correct as there are more than one,” Ebon Umbreon answered. “Whatever their nature, they are very different from the soldiers; much bigger and far more dangerous. They also have some sort of magical capabilities of expressing thoughts outwards—that was the theory on why they can control the Cloven soldiers.  “Whether it’s true or not, it was noted that if you kill them, then those they controlled become nothing more than a disorganized mob that is easy for even a much smaller force of trained soldiers to deal with.” The Marines absorbed that for a few moments before any of them spoke again. “Great,” Anderson said as he rubbed his eyes. “So let’s see… we’ve got giant insects, a telepathic bug boss… and we’re the Mobile Infantry.” “Huh? What’s that from?” Jamal posed the question Gilda wanted to ask. Several Marines stared at him in disbelief. “Seriously, Jamal? You’ve never seen Starship Troopers?” one of them asked, to which Jamal could only stare back and shake his head. “Nope. Never even heard of it. To me, this sounds like a cross between the Borg and the Flood from Halo. They possessed corpses, too.” “Never heard of it? Dude, we have got to get you educated,” Brennan said. “That movie’s required viewing for a Marine!” “Yeah, except this is more fantasy shit with zombie griffies,” Stavrou added, then he looked at Imlay. “You know, maybe you should change your name to Rico, Jamal.” “Fuck that, Flip-boy is an actual Filipino. We should call him Rico,” another Marine replied. That elicited a series of grins. “I’d lose my shit if he shouts that fucking line.” The rest of the Marines laughed as even Imlay broke into a small smile; Gilda could only exchange a series of bemused looks with Giraldi, Nydia and Ebon Umbreon. She was sure she’d get the reference if she asked Marco, but she was a bit perturbed at how unimpressed they all sounded at the existential threat the Kingdom faced, until she noticed their eyes taking on a harder edge.  The laughter faded as the Marines seemed to mutter amongst themselves. Some began patting the bulging pockets of their vests, which she now knew were filled with additional quivers containing countless cannonballs. Imlay looked at Gilda. “Anything else, sir?” When Gilda shook her head, he turned back towards his Marines. “Okay, boys and girls, you now know what we’re up against. So let’s get ready to kick some Cloven ass.” “Fucking A,” a Marine muttered as the rest began to walk off. Imlay himself was about to join them when Gilda stepped forward. “Corporal, can I talk to you?” Imlay looked at Gilda. “What is it, sir?” She paused for a moment, trying to find the right words in her mind. “Corporal, considering we are facing off against a very strong and dangerous enemy, we need to be made fully aware of your fighting capabilities.” The Marine Corporal stared at her. “You just saw what we can do. What else do you need to know?” Giraldi stepped forward. “We need to figure out how to work together properly. That means how we integrate our forces in terms of positions, movements, and formations,” he explained. “In other words, we need to know where you usually position your troops and how you conduct maneuvers. That way, we won’t accidentally bump into or shoot each other.” Imlay nodded his understanding. “I think we can make arrangements on that.” “Good. We also need to know more about your weapons and—” Gilda began. “No,” Imlay quickly cut her off. “No?” Giraldi echoed. Imlay shook his head regretfully. “I’m sorry, Optio, but no. Our military personnel are under standing orders not to divulge any sensitive information about human weaponry.” “Standing orders?” Gilda frowned. “From whom?” “From people with a much higher pay grade than mine,” Imlay replied in some visible disgust. “I don’t agree with it, but orders are orders.” He was already turning away when Gilda called him to stop. “Hold on, Corporal. We don’t need specifics,” she tried again. “We just need enough information to see how we’d adjust our formations to fight alongside each other.” Imlay frowned again. “I’m sorry, sir. Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” he repeated, then began to speak a bit more slowly. “Military personnel are not allowed to divulge any information on our weapons, unless ordered otherwise by the right authority.” Gilda blinked. Was Imlay reciting orders given to him? And why the emphasis on the start of his last sentence? Or did she just imagine it? “Then who would be the right authority in this case?” “That would be Ambassador Goldberg,” he replied. “And he’s in Arnau.” Gilda exchanged a look with Giraldi. “And if he’s not available, who is the next one we can turn to? Raleigh?” she suggested with some distaste. “Captain Moran,” Imlay answered to a grimace from Gilda. “Or at least his second, First Lieutenant Nantz. But they’re also in Arnau, and for as much as I would love to get them on the comms and see if we can get that changed, that damned lightning field up there screws any chance of getting a clear signal.” Giraldi muttered something obscene under his breath, and Gilda couldn’t blame him. “Then with respect, it is left to you as the ranking soldier to decide this, Corporal.” “I wish I could be more forthcoming, sir,” Imlay replied apologetically. “Unfortunately, my standing orders do not allow that. And before you ask, it doesn’t just involve us, but my government’s agreement with Equestria.” Gilda frowned and exchanged another glance with Giraldi. What in the crows did Equestria have to do with this? “Can’t you make an exception for such extreme circumstances as these?” “I truly wish I could, sir,” Imlay said. then repeated his previous statement, speaking more slowly. “Military personnel are not allowed to divulge any information about human weaponry unless ordered—” “Yes, yes, we get it,” Giraldi cut Imlay off, but the Marine continued unabated. “—otherwise by the right authority.” This time, Imlay’s golden eyes locked with hers before shifting slightly, which got Gilda’s attention. He then motioned with his head towards the side to where Chris, Tara and Marco were still huddled. Following his briefly averted gaze, she only then realized what he was trying to tell her and exhaled heavily. “Thank you, Corporal.” “For what, sir?” Imlay replied without so much as a hint of irony or emotion, walking away before Gilda could reply. Giraldi looked a little lost as the Marine Corporal moved off. “Did I miss something, Centurion?” “A loophole,” Gilda replied placidly. “I’ll take care of it. In the meantime, keep talking to Imlay. See if you can work out with him just how we can combine our formations so that we don’t accidentally cross claws. Just don’t ask him about human weapons. I’ll get back to you shortly on that…” Two versions of chapter 22 are available from here. You can either read the T-rated one, or the M-rated one. Just click the appropriate link below: —Firesight ===> next: Chapter 22 (M-rated) ===> next: Chapter 22 (T-rated)