Chapter 5 The Loyal One Finds Him
The road north was a grey ribbon of cracked asphalt. Tree roots had punched through the surface in eight-inch increments, lifting heavy slabs of concrete to forty-five-degree angles. These slabs sat in staggered rows along the highway, the grey stone pitted with holes where the internal rebar had rusted into red dust. The air was cold and dry, carrying the scent of frost and the bitter smell of cedar. Adrian walked with an even interval, his boots striking the gravel in a repeating pattern. His three shadows—dark, flickering silhouettes of the hollowed—trailed him at a ten-meter distance. They did not make a sound, their feet passing over the stone without displacing a single pebble.
The forest on either side of the road was composed of twisted black cedars and thick vines. The vines had climbed the rusted frames of abandoned vehicles, the green leaves covering the shattered safety glass and the oxidized steel of the doors. One transport truck sat in a ditch, its undercarriage exposed and its frame bent into a jagged V-shape. The green growth had strangled the engine block, the thick stems winding through the radiator fins and into the empty passenger cabin. The wind moved through the open windows of a sedan nearby, a high-pitched sound that did not break as it traveled through the hollow interior.
The abandoned service station sat fifty meters ahead. The pumps were crushed beneath a fallen support beam, the metal painted a faded red that was now obscured by rust. Stagnant oil had leaked into the station's drainage sumps, the dark, viscous fluid covered in a film of grey dust. A rusted tool kit lay in the center of the road, the metal red with corrosion and the hinges seized. Adrian's boots crunched on a pile of shattered porcelain from a nearby cafe, the white shards mixing with the charcoal ash of the street.
Footsteps hit the road from behind. The sound was a repeating metal clink against ceramic and the heavy strike of soles on the asphalt. Adrian stopped. He turned on his heel, his hand resting on the silver necklace.
Kaito Mura was forty meters away. He was broad-shouldered, his Iron Veil jacket made of thick black nylon that was now stained with dried blood and white lines of salt. A jagged scar ran four inches from just below his left ear down to his jawline. A heavy pack was strapped to his shoulders, the nylon webbing straining against the ceramic plates of his chest-piece. The pack weighed approximately seventy pounds, the fabric bulging with the shape of canisters and supply crates.
Kaito stopped. His pupils were dilated as his eyes fixed on Adrian's face. White vapor exhaled from his mouth and vanished into the cold air. The straps of the heavy pack creaked as he shifted his weight. His boots began striking the asphalt in a repeating pattern until he reached the space behind Adrian's left shoulder.
"Saitama is three days north," Kaito said. His voice was a rasp, the sound of a man who had been breathing the ash for days. "There's a fortified checkpoint twelve miles up the road. We can reach it by nightfall if we maintain this pace."
Adrian looked at him. Kaito's jaw was a straight line of bone, the muscles tensing under the scar. His eyes were bloodshot, the whites yellowed from exhaustion, but his grip on his rifle was firm.
"Lead the way," Adrian said.
They walked in silence. Kaito scanned the treeline, his head moving in an arc as he checked the shadows between the trunks. The forest grew thicker as the road narrowed. The branches of the cedars interlaced over the asphalt, creating a tunnel of dark green and grey.
The light under the canopy was filtered, a pale green that did not reach the road. Moss grew in thick, damp patches on the north side of the trunks, the smell of damp rot heavy in the air. The moss was a deep, saturated green, its surface covered in a thin layer of moisture that did not evaporate. Adrian watched his three shadows as they passed through the tunnel. Their density increased in the lower light, their flickering edges pulling the luminance from the moss until the road grew dark. Kaito's gaze drifted to the shadows, his eyes narrowing as he noted the translucent shoulders of the duplicates.
"The ZCG accounts remain active at the Iron Veil terminals," Kaito said, his eyes on the horizon. "We can pull blue crystals for supplies at the next zone. It will bypass the personal credit line."
Adrian nodded. The Soul Force behind his ribs was a physical pressure, a cold weight that was decreasing as the shadows maintained their forms. He needed a place to rest the body.
The green growth had reclaimed the highway, the asphalt disappearing under layers of black mud and dead leaves. The vines were thick as a man's wrist, their surfaces covered in fine, black hair that gripped the stone. They had forced their way through the door seals of abandoned cars, the interior upholstery now a mass of roots and damp fabric. The air smelled of wet earth and cold iron.
By evening, the trees thinned. A concrete wall rose out of the dusk. The rampart was five meters high, the top lined with rusted razor wire that caught the fading light in thin, silver lines. Blue-white floodlights were mounted at fifty-meter intervals, the crystal-powered units humming with a high-frequency vibration.
Ten hunters stood on the ramparts. They wore grey tactical gear and held D-rank rifles made of steel and crystal. They shifted their weight, the ceramic plates of their armor clinking as they leveled their weapons at the road.
Adrian and Kaito stopped twenty meters from the gate. The floodlights swiveled, the blue-white glare hitting Adrian's face. The light was sharp and direct, causing the dust motes in the air to appear as white lines.
"Identify yourselves," a voice shouted from the wall.
Adrian did not speak. He stepped into the light, his features illuminated by the blue glow. He looked up at the hunters on the wall. The movement on the ramparts stopped. Two hunters lowered their rifles, the muzzles pointing toward the ground. One man turned and spoke to a group behind the parapet.
Kaito moved toward the outer console at the base of the wall. The terminal was a block of grey metal, its screen a small rectangle of dark glass. He reached out and entered a series of twelve digits on the keypad. The keys were made of reinforced plastic, worn smooth by years of use. They clicked under his gloved fingers, a sharp, repeating sound in the silence.
The screen flickered. White text appeared on the dark background, the light reflecting off the visor of Kaito's helmet. He moved through the menus, the display flashing as he accessed the bypass protocols. The ZCG account status changed from 'Inactive' to 'Emergency Override.' He tapped the final command, and the terminal beeped, a single, high-pitched note.
"Account recognized," Kaito said.
The heavy iron gate moved. It moved with a series of metallic screeches as the motor pulled the rollers across the track. The vibration of the gate opening traveled through the asphalt, a low-frequency hum that Adrian felt in his boots. The gate was made of four-inch steel plate, reinforced with cross-hatched bars.
The mechanical screech of the motor stopped when the gate was three meters wide. Kaito shifted his pack and stepped forward, his boots hitting the concrete of the inner courtyard. Adrian followed. The shadows trailed him, their dark forms passing through the blue light of the floodlights without reflection. The hunters on the wall watched them pass, their hands resting on the edges of the stone.
The courtyard was a rectangle of reinforced concrete. In the center, three residential heaters were active. The heaters were tall, industrial units, their orange filaments glowing with a heat that caused the air above them to shimmer. The smell of dust burning on the coils was thick, mixing with the scent of ozone from the floodlights. Adrian felt the dry heat hit his face, the temperature a sharp contrast to the cold of the valley.
Groups of hunters sat near the heaters. Their gear was scuffed, the nylon straps of their packs frayed at the edges. One hunter wore a chest-piece with a cracked ceramic plate, the white internal material visible through a jagged fissure. They looked up as Adrian entered, their eyes fixing on the scar on his left arm and the shredded black robe trailing in the dust. They did not speak. One hunter sat on an empty ammo crate, his hands trembling as he held a cup of hot broth. Another was cleaning the mud from the treads of his boots with a small iron file, the scrape of the metal against the rubber a repeating sound.
Kaito led the way toward the supply post. The post was a metal counter built into the eastern wall, protected by a wire-mesh screen. A clerk sat behind the mesh, his face pale in the blue light of a desk lamp. He wore a heavy wool jacket and a headset with a single earpiece.
"Bypass approved," Kaito said, leaning his weight against the counter.
The clerk looked at Adrian, his eyes widening before he turned his attention back to his terminal. His fingers moved across a mechanical keyboard, the keys clicking in a fast sequence. He reached for a canvas bag beneath the counter. The bag was heavy, the fabric strained by the weight of eighty blue crystals inside. He set it on the metal tray. The crystals clinked together, a sound like breaking glass.
"Eighty blues," the clerk said. His voice was thin. "Rations are in the second bin. Mana-wraps are in the third."
Kaito pulled the bag toward him. He reached into the second bin and pulled out four tins of preserved meat and a packet of dry crackers. The tins were cold, their surfaces covered in a thin film of oil. He placed the rations into his pack, the weight causing the nylon straps to tighten. He moved to the third bin and took three mana-wraps—strips of white fabric infused with silver threads that hummed with a low vibration.
Adrian watched the shadows as they entered the heat of the courtyard. The orange light from the heaters shimmered as it passed through their flickering edges. The dark matter of their forms reacted to the thermal filaments, the smoke-like energy thickening and thinning in a sequence that matched the pulse of the Soul Force in Adrian's chest. They stood in the shadows near the wall, their featureless faces turned toward the ground.
One shadow shifted its weight, its form displacing a plume of dust that had settled on the concrete. The dust moved through the orange glow, illuminated by the heat of the filaments. Adrian stood near the central heater. The heat moved into his bones, replacing the invasive chill of the valley. He felt the weight of the Soul Force behind his ribs, the pressure steady.
He took a bowl of broth from a stack on a nearby table. The ceramic was hot. The steam rose into the blue-white floodlights, the vapor disappearing into the dark sky. He sat on an empty crate, his back against the cold stone of the inner wall. The hunter with the iron file stopped his work to watch him. Adrian did not look at him. He drank the broth, the heat spreading through his chest as the sound of the iron gate began to screech once more. The rollers moved across the track, sealing the courtyard. The heavy steel plates met with a thud that vibrated through the crate.
Adrian looked at the orange filaments. The shadows of the hunters on the wall stretched across the concrete, meeting the dark forms of his own duplicates. The fifth day was ending. He sat in the heat, his hand resting on the necklace. The sound of the wind was gone, replaced by the hum of the crystals and the low voices of the men in the courtyard. He closed his eyes, the warmth of the heater hitting his face as the stars grew brighter above the ramparts. The stone behind him was solid. He would wait for the dawn.