Chapter 3: Unveiling

“Check his vitals.”

A persistent beep resounded.

“Take off his armor.”

A clamor of metal on metal twanged.

“How deep is that wound?”

Cenzo could hear voices and the sounds of activity floating around him. He could feel their hands removing his heavy battle armor, relieving some of the pressure from his side. The sound of medical techs coming and going out of his room faded in and out of his consciousness. His skin was tingling like a thousand little bolts had charged through his body. How did he get back in the mobile base so quickly?

“General Napoleon, can you hear me?” a voice inquired filling his eyes with stinging light.

Cenzo raised his hand to block it. “Fine,” he grunted out. “What happened?”

“It seems you had gotten caught in the crossfire when the troops tried to take down Morgan,” he explained, running a mini scanner on his body.

At the mention of his nemesis’s name, Cenzo bolted up, much to the chagrin of the doctor. “Crush, where are they holding him?” he demanded.

Antoine Crush, lead physician for the royal family, tsked loudly at Cenzo. He had known Cenzo since he was a little boy toddling alongside his grandfather. Even back then he was a strong and agile figure. There was not much that could take Cenzo down. He had witnessed it first hand, having followed the battles on the mobile base vid-screens. Now, after spending the last twenty minutes trying to resuscitate him from his wounds, Cenzo’s only concern was where they had stowed the Messian general. Amazing.

“Forte has him held up in the hold, awaiting your orders,” Crush answered, dressing the wound at his side. “Seems Morgan the Merciless sustained some damage as well, but we’ve been told not to attend him yet.”

Cenzo thought over that decision. “Good, I’ll look over the prisoner and see if attendance is needed,” he assured, sliding his legs over the side of his bunk to rise. “No need to waste our medicine on him.”

Crush had it on the tip of his tongue to admonish his patient for leaving his bed, but it was no point. Cenzo had already slipped out of the rest of his uniform and into a pair of black pants with matching tank then promptly marched out the door to find Forte. He ran the day’s events over and over in his mind. Every thought fell to Morgan’s last words to him: You insure my safety; I’ll insure your answers. And answers were what he needed.

He marched briskly down the hall, passing soldiers who were tending the armaments and battle suits. He could hear their respectful salutes as he passed. As he was nearing the hold, the door zipped open to reveal Forte stepping out. He stood surprised to see his general and friend up already, but then he realized who it was and knew his shock was a waste.

“So Crush didn’t put up a fight?” he taunted.

“Like he would’ve won,” Cenzo threw back, getting ready to enter.

Forte stood in front of him, halting his entrance. “Cenz –“

“Aries, I know you are not standing in my way?” Cenzo threatened, staring down his friend.

“Ordinarily, I wouldn’t, but there’s something I think you should be aware of before you go in there,” Forte began, sparking his suspicions.

“Is he still breathing?” Cenzo growled.

“Yes.”

“Then that’s all I need to know,” he answered, shoving his friend aside to enter the room.

“Cenz, wait!”

But when Cenzo stepped into the hold he was met with a surprise. Morgan was unconscious, hanging from the ceiling by the wrists. The general had been stripped of the Messian-issued long coat and uniform under armor. Long, milk chocolate plaits spilled down a muscular back and draped over lean, defined shoulders, just barely covering a pair of large, rounded breasts. Cenzo took a second glance. Breasts?

Without missing a beat, he asked, “Anyone else see this?”

“Just the two guards at the doors and I’ve given strict orders to stay mum until I had your orders,” Forte replied. “I also left the final unveiling to you.”

“Thanks,” Cenzo uttered almost reflexively as he continued to stare at the hanging body. With that Forte turned and left.

Once the hold door slid shut, Cenzo called out to the MB computer, “Lock down the hold.”

“As you wish, general,” the computer replied securing the doors automatically.

His eyes had not left Morgan’s body. He was utterly fascinated with it. Never in all his years had he seen an engineered body on a woman. He had been accustomed to lush, soft lines made for childbearing, not toned arms and abdominals that could withstand the rigors of war. The only semblance of softness resided in her breasts, which sat firm and heavy against her chest. Her skin was a taut caramel color, blemished only slightly by little battle wounds and bruises from earlier forays.

He stepped closer, further studying his subject. His prisoner. This was the Morgan the Merciless. This was the beast that had haunted his dreams. This was the terror that had reigned down on them for years; this little lady with her scimitar and stars. He glanced over at the metal table holding her weapons:  a sheathed machete, fifteen stars of varying sizes, and, of course, the dreaded EV scimitar. This was all he – she – carried for armament? What else did she rely on? He returned his eyes to the Messian general. Damnit, she was a general in her world, able to order hordes of troops to fight at her whim. Yet in his world she would barely have the right to speak, let alone fight.

Cenzo edged closer to her. The titanium mask was shadowed by her plaits as they dangled from atop of her head. He could smell her sweat, a mingling of earth and feminine essence. It was different from a Spryten dame, who smelled of crushed flowers. He drew even closer to her body; compelled to touch her skin. His long, chocolaty fingers grazed the bruises along her ribcage following them to the scar by her barely-exposed hipbone. Like him, she had seen many battles. His eyes traveled down her body to her muscular thighs still wrapped in painted on, boot-cut leather pants. The rest of her legs fell in symmetry with her body; long, thick and graceful – like she was honed by a blacksmith. His gaze followed the path back up to her mask.

At close range, the symbols were more prominent and by the look of it, it appeared to be more worn than earlier believed. The helmet, too, had seen many a battle. His fingers dug underneath the edges of the mask, lifting it from the general’s face. As each feature revealed itself, Cenzo was thrown back. First, he was treated to a pair of luscious, ruby red lips parted slightly in her unconscious state and framed by a strong, rounded jaw line. Second was the pert nose with lightly flared nostrils hugged by high cheekbones. Lastly, closed, round eyes framed by long, spider-leg lashes and heavy, arched brows furrowed together as if she was having a bad dream. What was running through the little general’s head as she hung unconscious?

Cenzo was amazed at how stunning she appeared in her strength. He held her jaw in one hand turning her face from side to side gently as if studying a piece of art. Again, the questions rotated in his head. How could this little thing have terrorized their empire for nearly seven years? She couldn’t be more than twenty years old. How could she have been the assassinator of the Heroic Seven? More importantly, was she Toro’s assassin? One glance at this woman’s face was like looking into an angel, but one look at her body spelled out her hidden strength. If she had been wearing one of the haremite gowns, no one would have believed she was an assassinator or a general or soldier for that matter.

His eyes wandered up to her hands still wrapped in leather with the lethal, titanium talons. They appeared long, but that could have been the added addition of the talons. Why did Aries leave her with them? He reached up to remove them, when a husky voice arrested his movements.

“He already tried that.”

His eyes immediately collided with that of Morgan’s, and were further startled by their commanding steeliness. They were far lighter than he had earlier assumed on the battlefield. A fiery, umber pool surrounded by a brownish ring blazed with authority and the fires of hell. The cherubic face was no longer. It had been swiftly replaced by the demon he now recognized full well. Cenzo quickly squared his shoulders, placing his hands behind his back to further study his quarry.

“And how do you know that?” he demanded in his most intimidating tone.

“Next time you see him, check his chest,” Morgan growled back.

He didn’t remember seeing any scuffle marks on his friend, but then he had been intent on seeing the general. “I’ll make a note of that when I see him,” he assured her. “So, you were conscious when they brought you in.”

“Of course, your men found a most interesting way to wake me,” Morgan implied coldly.

“And how was that?” Cenzo demanded softly, simmering with his own anger that his men would overstep their bounds.

“Dunking me in electrified water and then wailing their armed fists into my body,” Morgan casually explained, boring her eyes into his. “I don’t think we got off on the right foot.”

“Did you retaliate?” he asked.

“Let’s just say that I sent a few of your men to the infirmary. Now, if they walked away from there is any man’s guest,” she grinned with a serpentine smile. “They didn’t think to tell me.”

“How did you succumb?” Cenzo continued.

“Ah, now that is a secret only your good friend, Forte, can answer,” she sighed looking away toward the exit just as the door slid open. “Isn’t that right, Forte?”

Aries Forte stood frozen in his spot staring at Morgan then Cenzo who also seemed to ask the question. “So, the bitch’s awake,” he replied, avoiding her question.

Cenzo turned and pulled Aries aside. “Did you know about this?”

“What?” Aries threw back.

“Did you order her tortured?” he grilled.

Aries stared into Cenzo’s eyes and could see the possessiveness and authority stare back at him. “Look, the men had already had a crack at her before I came in to stop it,” he quickly explained. “None of them were aware of her – special condition.”

Cenzo glanced back at Morgan who returned both their glares with a smug smile. “Ah, I see. You opened up the Cracker Jack box and found a Jill,” Morgan mused, seeing a blush form on Forte’s face. “I forget you Spryten’s live in the dark ages when it comes to women. Is this the part where I cower in fear and hide beneath my skirts?”

Forte was about to respond, when Cenzo cut in, “How did you know he was coming through the door?”

Morgan glanced back at Cenzo and started to swing casually back and forth. “Forte promised me he would be back to-“

“To make sure she was still alright,” Aries cut in quickly, staring at Morgan to dare her to say different.

That made her grin deepen, “If that’s what you Sprytens call it.”

Forte narrowed his gaze at Morgan then returned his attention to Cenzo. “We have bigger problems, Cenz,” he announced.

“What?”

“It seems one of the royals have caught wind of Morgan’s capture and is demanding to see – her,” Forte explained with a brief nod to Morgan.

“Deny them access,” Cenzo shrugged off.

“I don’t think that is an option, says he was sent directly from your father’s court,” he insisted, producing several documents from a folder. “His paperwork checks out.”

Cenzo threw his head back and ground out, “Fuck.” He turned and snatched the papers from Forte’s hand. When he recognized the name on the form, he sneered coldly, “Royal Werner… and his son, Calydus.”

“Indeed,” Aries confirmed.

Cenzo shook his head disapprovingly. He hated his father for sending his hound dogs to check on him. There was no way he could contain this change of events now. Especially, if he has to deal with Royal Constance Werner, one of his father’s deepest leeches – and his grandfather. “How far is he from the base?”

“Not far. An hour or so,” Forte responded.

“Try five minutes,” Morgan threw out.

Cenzo glared at her. “How do you know?”

“If your royals are anything like ours, they’ll give you as minimal warning as possible,” she grinned. “But I wonder who’ll be more surprised, this Werner or you.”

Cenzo sighed wearily, trying to think, but his thoughts were interrupted when the sound of a knock resounded through the hold. He immediately stared at Morgan, who was like the cat at the cream. For a prisoner, she was not acting as if she was in the arms of the enemy with a simple thread of her life in the balance. Why was she so calm?

The knock resounded again. He turned to the door and bellowed, “Enter.”

Chapter 2: Chaotic Encounter

            As quickly as the space had opened up, it had simply vanished, sending Cenzo and Morgan out of the makeshift ring and away from the fray. How easily these rebels had turned the tables on them? Morgan’s men were making short order of Cenzo’s troops, having inverted their own tactic on them. Now, Cenzo’s men fought desperately to get out of the box, while the demon general’s men sliced them to shreds. It was this very shifty attack style that frustrated Cenzo to no end. One could even say he was envious of their cunning and quick wit. But the wound stung further when Morgan slipped passed him, unscathed, into the depths of the surrounding forest. In his anger, he had followed suit; disregarding the voices in his helmet warning him not to give chase.

            As Morgan’s steed dodged the undergrowth, scattering brown and gray leaves all about, Cenzo glared into his back, wishing a branch would fall on him to halt his progress. He was boiling mad; the kind of rage that clouded his judgment and increased his killing desire. How could that beast make such an entrance and exit without as much as a scratch? How could his men not have fired off one shot to numb him? He would’ve taken the slip better if Morgan’s gravelly voice wasn’t still echoing his parting comment.

            “Is the little boy having a tantrum? Are we breaking your toy soldiers?”

            It rattled like the worst taunt. He had to catch the general this time. Like a wolf with a rabbit a bite away, he was ravenous. The forest began to unwrap before him into another valley. The battle behind them could barely be heard over the drone of his ground runner and the full gallop of Morgan’s stallion. The valley was quiet and it was the perfect place to layout Morgan. Having reached the valley first, Morgan stood up on his charger with the grace and precision of a skilled performer. As if the horse understood the next command he swiftly turned around to face Cenzo and halted. Morgan folded his arms as if studying his approach with amusement. Cenzo – not far behind – continued to send his ground runner toward Morgan.

            As he drew nearer, Morgan crouched down sending the stallion in motion. His knees jutted out on either side while his ankles and feet glued together, making one sleek line. His long, war coat billowed behind him like a black sail. The mask glinted in what sun shined through the ominous clouds above. Morgan’s gloved talons gripped the saddle steadying him. As before, the two combatants were focused on the other’s approach. This time, Cenzo raised his L-gun and adjusted the calibration.

            This son of a bitch is dead, Vicenzo said to himself. He’s gonna feel this in his grave.

            Just as they were nearing one another, Cenzo aimed his gun directly at Morgan. Unfortunately, before he could let off his shot, lightning clashed the skies, blinding him for a mere second. However it was at exact moment Morgan flew from his steed straight into him, slamming him back into the seat. A sharp, biting pain dug into his shoulders, causing Cenzo to gnash his teeth with a grunt. With the same momentum, Morgan dragged him over his head and off his ground runner to the dried, craggy grass.

            “If you plan to face me, face like a man,” Morgan growled in a low gravelly voice. “Leave the toys at home.”

            Cenzo kicked off his opponent and rose with a wince for his shoulders. “Don’t worry. I got two man-made weapons just waiting to snap your neck.”

            A cold laugh reverberated from behind the titanium mask as Morgan crouched into a defensive Crane pose. “Let’s see how they hold up.”

            Like an enraged bull, Cenzo slammed his armored fists toward Morgan in rapid succession, only to have his enemy duck and dodge his efforts seamlessly. Morgan came back with a knee to the Spryten’s chin and then a fisted claw to his stomach armor. Cenzo stumbled back to quickly assess the damage. A large dent pierced his gray fight suit, which caused Cenzo only a momentary surprise. This armor was supposed to withstand a nuclear bomb explosion, yet with just a simple twist of the wrist Morgan had ripped a fist-sized hole in it. Anger quickly replaced his surprise.

            “It seems you’ve heard stories about me, General Napoleon,” Morgan sneered.

            “By the look of this dent in my armor, the rumors must be true,” Cenzo calmly replied, resetting his fighting pose.

            “You shouldn’t always believe what’s been reported to you,” the demon general countered, deflecting the fist with a kick to his ribs.

            “And why is that?” he growled catching Morgan in a grapple.

            A glint of light pierced through the eyelet holes in the mask, drawing Cenzo’s eye to them. He wasn’t sure, but he swore he was seeing Morgan’s actual eyes. They shined like a pool of umber; a topaz gem encased in titanium. They were warm yet steely and in control with the smallest hint of mischievousness. This jarred him. Why would he notice something like that?

            Morgan took advantage of his distraction by doing a full kick to his helmet, which promptly fell to the ground under impact, rolling a good couple of yards away. Long, heavy black dreads spilled down Cenzo’s back like cat-o’-nines. The mane surrounded a strong, dark chocolate face covered with a neatly trimmed, but thick beard. His eyes a blackened brown shade framed by thick slanted brows glared back at the general viciously.

            “My, my, my, aren’t we a pretty boy?” Morgan chuckled from behind the mask.

            Thoroughly enraged now Cenzo charged the general, this time prepared for whatever tricks he had in mind. As Morgan went to duck his onslaught, Cenzo dove for his legs instead, knocking them both to the ground. Not wasting any time, Cenzo began to pound his heavily armed fists into the titanium mask. He was determined to rip it from Morgan’s face. He continued pounding, trying to smash it into a mass of skin, brain and blood. But he failed to notice that his punches were barely causing a scratch, much less a dent, in the armor. 

However, despite the protection of the mask, Morgan could feel every knuckle and scrape. Cenzo was truly determined to maul the general’s face into putty. This he could not allow. Finally, a chance came allowing Cenzo to lace his fingers under the mask in preparation to remove it, thinking Morgan had fallen unconscious. With a strong brace to the ground, Morgan wedged upwards throwing Cenzo off balance. This allowed for Morgan’s knees to connect solidly with his unprotected midsection, left open during an earlier strike. Cenzo leaned off to the side trying to invert the piece of armor bruising his ribs.

How long do I have? Morgan demanded, mentally. This bastard wants blood.

Silence greeted her.

Ginz, how long do I have?

Still, there was no answer.

This was not good. Morgan did a quick mental scan of the field where the troops had been left. What greeted the general was an eerie silence? No trace signatures. No mental blips. This could only mean one thing. Fuck, Morgan thought.

Fuck, Ginz, tell me you’re still mobile, Morgan called out.

Through a fuzzy fog Morgan heard Ginz. Morgan, the operation may be compromised.

Talk to me, Ginz.

Apparently, they got a new toy we haven’t heard about. I’ve got no intelligence about it. Fortunately, no one’s dead as far as I can tell, but they’ve been paralyzed temporarily, the lieutenant explained. I’ve been watching the Sprytens move the troops into transport vehicles. I was able to roll out the way when it rumbled through, but, Morgan, this is not your normal L-gun.

Shit, Morgan gritted. Hightail it to a hiding place. I’ve got to move fast.

Be safe, Ginz replied. No telling if he’s packing it too.

Morgan returned to the fight and was able to stand up. The two warriors were wearing down. Morgan needed to insure that the plan would continue itself despite being taken off line. Stepping forward, swaying from the recent assault, the general squared off against the Spryten.

“You don’t realize the danger that you’re truly in,” Morgan began elusively.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Cenzo gritted out holding his exposed side.

“I wonder if you were allowed to see your brother’s body,” Morgan taunted.

Cenzo could feel his rage rise again. “Why?”

“Then I’d wonder if all the blame could truly be placed at my feet,” Morgan continued, starting to circle him.

“It was your handy work, alright,” he affirmed. “Right down to the bite marks from your scimitar.”

“And who provided you with such fine information?” Morgan pushed.

“Who do you think?” Cenzo growled. “The attending doctors on the battlefield, a soldier who witnessed your treachery.”

 A laugh rumbled from beneath the mask as Morgan drew closer. “And what makes their words ring true, if you never saw the body?”

“All the witnesses had attested to your presence on the field,” Cenzo threw back.

“And I have witnesses attesting I wasn’t, namely the Spryten soldiers I had defeated that very day,” Morgan tossed in return. “Including the soldier who claimed to have seen me. Now what?”

Cenzo stepped forward his anger brimming to the top of his resolve, but with it also brewed his doubt. Morgan stepped even closer. “Didn’t you even doubt your brother’s unfortunate mishap with me? How or why would I ever have met your brother on the battlefield if he wasn’t a soldier? It would’ve been you I had encountered more easily than him. More likely as well. Why would I need to eliminate him? And lastly, aren’t these the same doubts running through your mind – even now?”

Cenzo glared at Morgan. He was standing within arms reach and if he reached out his hand he could wrap it around his neck easily. But he began to notice things about Morgan he had not noticed before. Morgan was a head shorter than him and, despite the heavy the armor, his frame was very nimble yet athletic. He had always pictured him to be a hulking beast with bulging muscles, standing eight-feet tall, but now that he got a look at him his original doubts surfaced more strongly. Even though Morgan was a skilled fighter, Victoro should’ve been able to take him, at least enough to stay alive.

“I see you have your doubts surfacing again,” Morgan urged stepping forward. He stood a hair’s breath away now.

Cenzo was at a loss. He never questioned any of the doctors’ findings since he trusted they would never lie about something as serious as a royal family member’s autopsy. However, Morgan’s newest assault had sparked old feelings about the assassination of the Heroic Seven nearly six years ago. This is why his father had made it imperative to capture Morgan, to stop him from repeating his treachery. His father had begun to ingrain the notion in everyone’s head that Victoro’s death was directly related to their lax persecution of Morgan the Merciless for his earlier perfidy. What would the Messians gain by assassinating his brother, despite his being the next in line for the throne? 

But despite his doubts, Morgan was named as the killer and that image was all Cenzo had (or needed) to send him to his death. However, if he wanted the real truth he needed Morgan alive to get it, which would not sit well with the court or his conscience. Even though Morgan was a known killer with one war crime behind him already, could he be capable of another? This sparked more doubts and questions, considering the demon general seemed to take credit for any wrong doings he had done.

“And do you have answers to my doubts?” Cenzo ventured easing his guard slightly.

“I may be able to fill in some holes on a lot of doubts,” Morgan replied. “The question is: are you willing to hear them?”

Morgan could see the wheels turning in Cenzo’s head. He was actually considering it. Just as Morgan was about to latch onto Cenzo’s wrist, a flash caught his eye. Morgan recognized the blast from an L-gun. Checking the signature, Cenzo’s troops had caught up to them. Fuck, he swore to himself, hollering aloud, “Get down!”

Cenzo turned his head. “What the f—“

Morgan kicked him down, nearly dodging the blast. Seeing his chance, he began to run toward his charger. Stunned, Cenzo registered that the general had just saved him from being blasted in the back. He bolted back up and raced after him. Morgan had made it to the stallion and was mounting him, when Cenzo took hold of the collar of his long coat to fling him backward.

Morgan leaped back onto his feet, and then quickly crouch kicked Cenzo, who just as swiftly dodged the attack.

Ginz, how long do I have? Morgan demanded, dodging Cenzo’s fist.

The blast is not far. One maybe, two minutes, Ginz replied. They are currently aiming it your way.

How do I absorb enough of the impact? He wondered.

If you can reverse your internal pulse to create a small kinetic shield, it may be enough to knock you out, but not enough to paralyze your body, the lieutenant explained. Just know that jolt is gonna hurt the both of you like a motherfucker.

Thanks for the heads up. Proceed with countdown.

Morgan quickly grabbed a hold of Cenzo’s arm and pulled him toward his body so they were face to face. “You insure my safety, I’ll insure your answers,” was all he said before a barrage of images flashed before Cenzo’s eyes, one being his brother standing on a smoky battlefield staring back at him.

Morgan glanced back to see a wall of electricity heading right for them. It bore down on them like a net. He returned his countenance to the Spryten warrior, still dazed by the images he had seen. But soon, Cenzo was staring at the wall of electricity as if he had never seen it before in his life. Could the general not know of this new technology? Morgan would find out soon enough, feeling the first waves of the electron pulse run through his body.

The grip he had had on Cenzo’s arm had been ripped apart due to the impact of the blast. The two combatants were tossed clear across the field from one another. Morgan’s steed raced away in fear leaving his owner to the troops barring down on him. Morgan could see the cloudy sky above, trying his hardest to stay as conscious as possible. Suddenly, as if another blast had fired, Morgan felt his body short and black out.

“Fate, guide me.”

Chapter 1: The Eye of the Enemy

Smoke filled the air. Blasts shattered dirt and debris to all four corners of the battlefield. The Spryten army was losing a harsh battle to their enemies, despite having the greater numbers. It couldn’t be explained. They had the bigger tanks, the bigger weapons, yet by some miracle the enemy was immune to the onslaught and cut their numbers by the second.

Vicenzo Napoleon, General of the Spryten Special Armed Forces and second in line to the Spryten throne, watched from his ground runner. He had kept his eyes scanning the field looking for one combatant in particular. It had been rumored that Morgan the Merciless would make an appearance at today’s battle.

It had been no secret that Vicenzo sought the infamous Messian general. After the raid on his brother’s party, which had resulted in his brother’s death, Vicenzo wanted to nail Morgan to the wall and cut out his guts. He was angry and the death, although a year passed, stayed fresh on his mind. He had loved his older brother dearly – as he cared for all his siblings – and it had nearly killed him when he had received word that the convoy his brother had ridden in along with many of the other Spryten officials had been ambushed, many perishing.

One survivor, who had died from his wounds later, had described the ambush like hell raining down on them. The Messian guerillas were merciless in their attack. He hadn’t even recalled weapons being used. They had swooped down as if flying through the air and slit throats left and right. The survivor had vividly described Morgan the Merciless. A visage in all black, complete with a titanium mask to shield his face but not the vicious glint in his umber eyes. The mask was etched with Messian symbols untranslatable by Spryten scholars.

He had dealt the killing blow to Vicenzo’s brother, Victoro. Apparently, Victoro had put up a good fight against the vile beast. They had matched each other blow for blow and Victoro seemed to have had the upper hand. Only, Morgan had given him a false impression of his skill. Much too confident in his skill, Victoro fell into Morgan’s trap. With a swift movement, that Vicenzo still questioned and, with the passing of the only survivor, could not have answered, Morgan, as if by magic, halted his brother’s arm as it swung to cut him down and with just as much swiftness sent his own serrated scimitar straight into him.

The vision woke him up almost every night. He was not there, but he had felt every inch of that blade shred through his brother. Morgan haunted him and he thirsted for his blood. He had made it his mission to study his enemy and learn his whereabouts. He interviewed soldiers who had met and fought the specter head on in battle. They described a hulking figure in black that swooped through the sky like a ravenous falcon. He never used a pistol or other modern weapons. Just that serrated scimitar, which Vicenzo had learned had a special name, El-Mar’s Vengeance, or EV for short.

One soldier said he had heard Morgan cry out its name as if commanding it to slice and sever. Another soldier mentioned seeing Morgan fling a bevy of silver stars that killed several soldiers including a commanding officer. When they had completed their tasks, Morgan had retrieved all, but one, back with the simple beckon of his fingers. The soldier produced the star for Vicenzo, who now carried the star around his neck as a keepsake.

He found himself studying it every so often as if trying to will Morgan to him. It was a solid circle of worn silver with six serrated blades that extended and retracted. While retracted, it looked like a simple pendant, but once the circle was clicked it extended into the deathly blades that could easily sever fingers, wrists or slit a throat if thrown right. It was a merciless little trinket, which made Vicenzo all the more determined to capture the bastard and rip him apart.

“Sir – they’re coming over the horizon!” a voice called from the field.

Vicenzo woke from his daydream and glared through his darkened visor at the specter on the field. A dark dust cloud swirled in the distance. It consumed L-gun blasts and it tossed his men clear across the field in its wake. Vicenzo kicked his ground runner into gear and headed into the fray.

He drove right into the storm. The screams grew louder and direr as he drew closer to the source. There was the culprit surrounded by his officials who Vicenzo quaintly dubbed, the Black Sandstorm-12, BS-12s for short, because a dark cloud of sand always preceded them in battles. He raised his L-gun and began to fire blast beams hoping to stun them. It was imperative that they capture General Morgan and his BS-12s alive, much to Vicenzo’s disgust.

The Spryten royal court had demanded that the criminals be delivered into their hands, so justice could be handed down. Vicenzo grudgingly complied with his father’s court’s wishes, but his desire was to run the blackguard through.

“I need men behind these bastards,” he called into his communicator. “I want them boxed in!”

“Cenz, you know that’s damn near impossible,” the response coming in from his second in command, Aries Forte. “The last time we tried the Pen Tactic we limped away from this fight with barely half our men.”

“This time I need them to increase the power on the L-guns from stun to neuro-shock,” he ordered. “Shut down their internal systems and they’ll drop like flies.”

“It could also kill them,” he advised.

“What the fuck do I care?”

“You care,” Aries chuckled into the communicator. “You’re father makes you care.”

“That’s his political game, not mine,” Vicenzo growled.

“Yeah, but that’s what’s kept his court in check all these years,” Aries answered.

Vicenzo did not respond. His old friend was right. His father made sure his court got to see all the blood and gore to show them how rich his power was. Captured Messian rebels were touted out before his court and executed in lavish ceremonies. Some soldiers would bring back rebel organs to the delight of his father’s court, weaving stories of how they were killed.

Vicenzo hated the political machine his father relished in. His brother had been enchanted by the same spell. He, on the other hand, had taken after his grandfather, in that he was a warrior not a politician. Fight the Fight, regain the Right. That was his grandfather’s motto. The Right was regaining the Messian land thought to have been Spryten land. The war had gone on for so long it was not clear who were the rightful owners, but that was neither here nor there. Vicenzo fought because it was in his blood, not to gain the love of the people.

“Don’t leave any room for those bastards to move,” Vicenzo hollered coldly, nearly drowned out from the roar of the ground runners.

On the other side of the field, riding black, shielded chargers, Morgan and the Empirical Elite raced toward the Spryten ground troopers without hesitation. They had received word on the soldiers’ location from their inside man. They had waited patiently for them to arrive, but had made it appear as if they were on their way to attack a Spryten village nearby. The plan needed to go off without a hitch. Over the last year, they had no good chances in achieving their goal and the Fate was growing further concerned.

“I cannot believe this is the only way,” Vollo grumbled. “Do you know how embarrassing this is going to be?”

“Look, I don’t like this plan either, but if we are going to make this goal we are going to have to make this sacrifice,” Morgan replied focused on the soldiers before them. “The Fate says that we need to make the move now or our window will close forever.”

“It’s not like we weren’t expecting this, Vollo,” Nginzah Marsaun added, slicing into a Spryten. “Besides, Morgan’s the one who’s getting the raw end of the deal. Sorry, boss.”

“Fuck you, Ginz,” Morgan growled tossing off another soldier. “We’re all gonna be screwed on this deal. Everyone, ‘cept you.”

“That is true. You get to be the outside communicator on this one,” Vollo replied.

“That’s ‘cause they have a real issue with women in power,” Ginz replied with a joking chuckle. “Good luck, Morgan.”

“Again, fuck you, Ginz,” Morgan replied also smiling beneath the titanium mask.

“With pleasure, sir,” she laughed separating from the pack.

“Stay safe, Ginz,” Vollo called also separating from the trio.

Morgan stood alone staring into the fray. He was here somewhere, his trace signature was strong. Vicenzo had been tracking the general for quite some time. Morgan had learned his signature early on. His animosity toward Morgan had been so strong that there was no way not to find him on the battlefield.

 The general quickly switched to stealth mode. Target has been sghted. Proceed to Phase II: Separation.

Yes, sir, the response came from the Empirical Elite as one.

Run Operation: Box Break and then Operation: Corrales.

Suddenly, the formation changed. As if working individually, the Empirical Elite began sifting major groupings of Spryten soldiers further back on the field, leaving the two generals a wide berth facing one another. It was their hope that the Spryten general would take the bait and follow Morgan out of the Pen, but he was a crafty adversary and there was no telling what he would do.

He looks mad, Morgan heard Vollo report. You sure you want to face him alone?

Trust me, I’d rather stare down a barrage of neuro-pulsers, Morgan replied.

At least we know you can survive that, Nginzah added from her side of the field.

Yeah, but they don’t. Back to work, ladies.

Good luck, sir. The Empire’s Finest are with you.

With that reassurance firm in place, Morgan barreled straight ahead toward the Spryten general.

“What the fuck are they doing?” Vicenzo growled into his communicator.

“Sir, it’s like they’re leaving their general out in the open,” a soldier explained. “This is highly irregular on their part.”

“I don’t care what it is, pen those mother fuckers in,” he ordered. “This is our only chance to capture them as a unit.”

“Yes, sir.”

Vicenzo had a clear view of Morgan the Merciless. He sat upon his great steed with black sand coating his dark armor. He was fitted in a dark coat that seemed to morph with the armor on the charger. His hands were wrapped in titanium-infused leather with talons reinforced in the fingertips. They glinted fiercely against what little sun shined through the clouds. His face and part of his head was covered by a titanium mask inscribed with various Messian symbols, which Vicenzo could not translate. A barrage of plaits laid across his shoulders and down his back adding to the sinister visage. All signs of life seemed non-existent except for the swirls of mist escaping the nostril holes. Vicenzo desired to rip off that mask to reveal his brother’s murderer and watch in delight as he drove his machete deep into his neck.

I think it’s time to tame the bull, Morgan announced as the steed charged forward.

“If he wants to fucking do this, then let’s do fucking do this,” Vicenzo growled as he set his ground runner in motion.

The two combatants were on a collision course for one another. If Morgan’s men could hold the space long enough, it was on the general to make sure to lead the bait to the destination. The eye of the storm was closing and it was a matter of seconds before the warriors met head on.