“One pack of cigarettes, please.”
“Hey, aren’t you?”
“Just the cigarettes, please.” Davon snarls as he slams the coins onto the counter.
“Alright, pal.” The cashier weakly mutters, holding out a pack that Davon snatches from their plump hands. He marches out of the shop into the rain. That’s the tenth time he’s been recognized today. He’s beginning to run out of places he can be alone when he’s on leave.
He hardly understands how Orson can revel in fame and how Shanna can so easily ignore it.
Every time Davon goes somewhere on his own home planet, he finds himself missing the battlefield more and more.
He would lose his mind if it weren’t for- “Don’t you think you were kinda harsh back there?”
“Sorry, Gerry, but I really was just hoping to relax with you today, not deal with pestering fans.”
“Well, it must have really upset you if you forgot that I was the one with the umbrella.” Gerry laughs as he pulls Davon closer to shield him from the rain. Davon sighs as he’s met with the friendly embrace, “Yeah, must have…” his words trail off under his breath as the two begin to walk back toward the train station.
“You really can’t do anything, huh? Even though you grew that ponytail, and got stabbed and scarred practically everywhere on your body, they just paint over the murals to match, and it’s been what? Ten or so years since they first put them up?”
Davon smacks a cigarette out of the pack, lighting it in his hand when Gerry finishes speaking. “Just a side effect of being the Emperor’s Messenger, I suppose.”
Gerry chuckles again, smiling at Davon’s comment. “Sure, comes with the territory, that’s so like you to say.”
Davon shyly smiles with him. That’s Gerry, always smiling, always laughing, so full of life. Davon’s thoughts are soon interrupted, although in a way that he doesn’t mind at all.
“Still, it must be nice sometimes, having everyone love you, I mean.”
Davon goes red at the statement, hoping the raindrops can hide his blushing face. “Well-” His cigarette nearly falls out of his mouth as he attempts to spit out a coherent sentence.
Gerry gives that calming laugh of life again, “What?”
Davon slams his hand onto his lips, pulling out the cigarette as he exhales smoke into the rain, wishing to hide his face as much as he can. “Not everyone, Gerry. Not everyone loves me.”
“That’s ridiculous. Of course, the Republic doesn’t but-”
“Do you?” Davon regrets the words the instant they leave his mouth. He nearly swallows his cigarette out of embarrassment as he looks upon Gerry’s sweet, innocent face. His bright green eyes hide beneath rain-soaked glasses.
“Of course I do.” Before Davon can take in Gerry and meet those wet, sultry lips that he’s always yearned for, Gerry finishes his response with four words that might as well be a nail in Davon’s coffin: “You’re my best friend.”
“Well,” Davon sighs. “I guess that’s all that matters then.”
“So you aren’t upset, lord?”
“Upset?” Magnus laughs at his desk.
“Davon, why would I be upset that one of the Republic’s greatest soldiers is now under our command? Simply removing the Scorched Archer from their ranks increases our odds of winning this war dramatically, and by adding her to ours, we’ve secured a major advantage. Her superb performance on Quandroiz only further confirms this.”
Davon takes a nervous drag on his cigarette. Unsure of the Emperor’s intentions. “You know you can’t make her a celebrity, right?”
“Why not?”
Davon rips the cigarette from his mouth at the question. He smacks the flame out on the desk in an act of anger.
Magnus raises an eyebrow at this, being more intrigued than upset.
“My lord, she’s an animal! You didn’t see her on the battlefield. All the stories about her are true! She told me herself that she’s been fighting in this war since she could stand! Given her reputation alone, you shouldn’t even be considering such a thing.”
The Emperor shifts forward, resting his elbow on his desk while stroking his beard in regal thought. This lack of an emotional reaction only furthers Davon’s anger.
You think you’re so much better than a soldier like me, don’t you? He thinks, leaning down to sink into the chair and await a response from the one delusional enough to call himself Emperor.
A smirk slowly touches Magnus’s mouth. “What did you see, Davon?”
“When I first saw her?”
“Yes. On that battlefield, when she was captured.”
Davon allows the chair to overtake his body.
He wipes the sweat from his brow, gulping down his disgust at the memory before speaking, “Everyone who's ever been on the frontline has heard the story of the Scorched Archer. They’ll tell you basic things like she’s never missed a shot and that she can kill men twice her size with her bare hands.
The further you get to where the fighting is the worst, like Frax or Clauz, the men there will tell you that each of her arrows ignites into fire, and that she simply refuses to die, no matter how many times you cut into her; some question if she even can die.
Those are just the tall tales, though. Every war has characters like her who are meant to strike fear into the heart of the enemy, take the Elf of Death Lady Triminiv, for instance. You yourself have done quite the job of making your own bogeymen in that similar vein, but the truth is that all the stories about the Scorched Archer, all the rumors and whispers, are nothing compared to the horror of the woman herself.
The way I saw her fight, there’s no way to describe it. I can hardly even call it fighting. She was a blur, a phantom. I never saw how she did it, lord. I don’t know how long she did it.
All I know is that she didn’t stop.
Apparently, a small group was able to corner her after she took out the seventh legion, but I wasn’t there for it. I was only able to see the aftermath with our battle reporter. The corpse's lord,” Davon shields his face with his hands, making a considerable effort to hide his horror, but no attempt to show his dismay as he heavily finishes his sentence.
“What she did to them is the kind of thing that no rational person could do, human or otherwise.”
Magnus hangs his head low.
He keeps his eyes trained on his desk while Davon regains himself. The light from the city of Rome sneaks its way in through the window on the otherwise dark night, illuminating his face as he whispers with a grim smile, “You said she was an animal, so put her on a leash.”
Davon had already determined that he would have to do this on Quandroiz.
Given that Nadeden had already grown close with Gerry against his wishes, Davon knew that their relationship would be the key to keeping Nadeden in line. However, Emperor Magnus Ohavim’s words had done far more than just reaffirmed Davon’s actions.
They gave him the sudden realization that he could no longer keep Gerry safe.
The thought had occurred to him on many previous occasions where doubt got the better of him, but now…
Now it was all he could think of.
Every time he saw Gerry with Nadeden, every time he shared a meal with him and would be joined by her, every time the Warbound would make a public appearance and Gerry wouldn’t visit him after the show, every time he walked out alone only to find that the happy couple hadn’t left the dreadnought, every time he walked with them after a battle and every time Nadeden would join him in battle, the thought would nail itself into him deeper and deeper.
No amount of cigarettes or drinking could take his mind off of the inevitability of Gerry falling away from him.
“She’ll kill him one day.”
He once told Shanna, when visiting a tavern in between sorties on a planet he was too drunk to remember the name of.
“Why?” Shanna asked, slightly more sober than Davon.
He kept his hazy eyes on the window to view Gerry and Nadeden. They were laughing outside.
“She just isn’t human. Not because she’s some unknowable creature with no emotion, but because she has too much emotion and nowhere to put it. She’s never had anywhere to put it, so she puts it into violence.”
“Doesn’t that make her like you?”
“I put my emotions into drinking and smoking, Shanna, that’s what makes me human.”
Shanna then chuckled out of her own ignorance, “I thought you put it into the Division.”
“I will,” Davon said as he took his eyes off the window. He reached for another glass, “one day.”
That night, when he was drunker than he ever had been, his plan began to form.
“You want to kill the Emperor?”
The amount of concern in Orson’s voice unnerved both Shanna and Davon.
The trio met in the dreadnought subbasement after Davon had held yet another meeting with Magnus.
The anticipation of this meeting and the need for it only strengthened in Davon as Emperor Magnus Ohavim went on long tirades about how to implement new ideas into the manufactured religion, how to cover up the recent failed occupation of Clauz, and the one he stressed the most, how to make the public view him as the all-powerful, benevolent ruler he saw himself as.
All of it made Davon want to do the deed himself right then and there, but he had to wait.
He had to make sure the time was right.
He had to plan, he had to make sure he wasn’t followed, he had to make sure no one was listening, he had to make sure that Shanna and Orson were both on board so that he could say to them right here and now. “No, I won’t kill Emperor Magnus, and neither will either of you. None of us can risk it. When this is done, we’ll need our reputations intact so people will still follow us.”
Both Shanna and Orson were washed in a wave of confusion at the statement.
“But you said you had a plan to take him down?” Shanna asked, as clueless as ever.
Davon removed a cigarette from a pack in his uniform, pulling a match out as well. He struck it, knowing who was just a few levels above them. Above them with Gerry. “I do have a plan,” Davon said, sticking the lit cigarette in his mouth.
“Nadeden is going to do it.”
“Now? You really wanna do it now after we’ve only spent what? A year planning it?” Orson cautiously shouts under his breath, trying not to be heard as he speaks with Davon again in the subbasement of the dreadnought.
In a matter of minutes, they’ll arrive on Frax with Nadeden.
Davon paces frantically. He itches his scalp and tugs on his ponytail before snuffing out a cigarette, “You didn’t hear what I did.”
“I am hearing it, Davon. It's insane, and it’s too soon. I thought we would wait until the war was over.”
“Emperor Magnus can’t win the war. He’ll never admit it, but he knows it.”
“So he’s going to use these things to do it? These things that I don’t even know are real?”
“They’re real, Orson,” Davon stresses the comment as best he can without raising his voice.
Orson bites back in the same tone, “You don’t know that.”
“You didn’t see them!”
“That’s right, I didn’t, and apparently, you gave the evidence to Shanna, so I never will! If anyone in high command asks why she isn’t here, what are you going to tell them? Huh? Did you think that through!” Orson’s voice rises to a point that the levels above are now dangerously close to hearing him.
He clearly doesn’t understand what’s at stake.
He doesn’t believe it, and he especially doesn’t believe Davon.
Davon knows all this and pushes further. “Of course, I thought it through. I’m the only one of us who thinks anything through. So I’m asking you to think now. Why Frax? Why are we here now? When the fighting is the most intense it’s ever been? More importantly, why do the Republic and Division keep fighting here?”
“Well, it’s one of the oldest human colonies, it’s survived countless wars, it’s a symbol.” Orson scoffs, unaware of Davon’s hint at justification.
“Why?”
Orson goes silent before it hits him. “Religion. The temples are still here, the catacombs that-”
“Now does it make sense?” Davon’s question goes unanswered because Orson knows now.
He knows that “It has to be now, as soon as we get back home.”
Davon nods along at Orson’s revelation. “Alright, now here’s what I need you to do.”
“I’m sorry, everyone,” Davon states, stretching his back with a yawn and tossing away his cigarette, “But I seem to have lost one of my Daggers.” He eyes Orson from across the dusted, bloodstained building that the Fifth archery squadron has secured with Nadeden’s help.
“I’m gonna go look for it now.”
Orson goes pale at the words “Take your time.” He anxiously blurts over the sound of battle.
“What’s he doing?” Nadeden asks, “We just clear a building, and he thinks he can run off?”
Davon pays no mind to Nadeden’s concern as he slips out into the wrecked alley.
Her opinion means nothing to him.
Not just because of Gerry, but because there are much larger forces at work now.
Forces that the Emperor cannot acquire.
He recalls that last meeting with Magnus.
“The temple on Frax is at the center of the planet. It will be difficult to reach, so you’ll need to go alone, but I trust you to do it.”
Davon looked up from the crude illustration of a stone pyramid on Magnus’s desk. “What will I find there?”
Under the cover of night, Davon descends into the open roof of the temple, wondering if its shape was meant to point up at something or welcome something into it.
Perhaps the sun?
Emperor Magnus Ohavim gave a wide-toothed grin larger than any Davon had ever seen. Even larger than the one he gives when his adoring public cheers for him. “How do you know your religion is real, Davon, that when you pray, someone is listening?”
Davon laughs at the question, “It’s faith. Just like my faith in our cause, lord.”
Davon lights a match within the temple.
The weak flame reveals that he is in a room that is much smaller than it should be.
A room with nothing but runes written into the stone.
“Yes, but you do think the Gods are real, don’t you?”
Magnus opened the folder which he had previously pulled the illustration of the temple from.
Davon carefully watched each of the Emperor’s movements.
“Yes,” Davon answered, concealing the unease in his voice, “Yes, the Gods are real.”
“They are here with us, Davon, but not in this reality.”
The folder was fully open, exposed for Davon to gaze upon.
The temple floor shifts as Davon traces a rune resembling a tree.
The rune becomes a head as the stairs are revealed.
“You read about the ancient Machines as a boy, correct?”
Davon gulped as he overlooked the notes and illustrations of rituals, occult writings, and machine-like heads that Magnus had laid before him. “Correct, lord.”
“Then tell me, Davon, if you believe the Gods are real, do you believe magic is real?”
Davon goes one step at a time, keeping the dying flame close to him.
His body is trembling now.
The runes that he can see surrounding the steps have become sporadic now.
They might as well just be numbers.
But who counts in only ones and zeros?
He has to die. Davon repeated in his mind as he frantically scanned the contents of the folder.
He’s onto something.
He has to die before he figures it out.
A man like him can’t have this power.
He has to die.
He has to die.
He has to die.
Davon reaches the bottom of the steps.
The catacombs, in which the first generation of Frax were supposedly buried. The holy resting place that every human being believes keeps their ancestors. Many have prayed to the dead that rest here.
And now Davon will defile this place.
“You never answered me.”
Davon stared into Emperor Magnus Ohavim’s burning eyes that hid beneath the mask of his friendly tone.
“Oh…” Davon was speechless. His nerves had taken him, his mind was racing, his arms were shaking; this is all too much.
He can’t do it anymore.
He can’t keep Gerry safe anymore.
Unless?
Davon smashes the hammer into the center of the catacombs until his knuckles are bleeding and there is nothing left of the floor but dust and the head that hid beneath it.
“I need to know, Davon, will you find these for me? These machine heads can grant any wish you desire. It’s been said that they’re responsible for killing off the dwarves. They rewrite reality itself. Think of the power. Think of the allure of them. Think about what you want. I need all three of them.”
Sweat ran down Davon’s ear as the Emperor whispered into it.
He nearly melted with horror at the words “Three? Why do you need three, lord?”
Davon wraps his fingers around the metal head within the catacombs. He snuffs out the match to feel the full extent of it.
“Enough.” He whispers.
“For my three wishes, Davon,” Magnus placed the folder’s contents inside it, sealing the paper cover shut.
“To win the war,” He said, holding up one finger, “To gain ultimate power,” He raised another finger, “And to become a god.”
He stuck out a third finger before waving his full hand into the air and slamming it down.
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Davon shouts and slams the metal head to the floor with the strength of all the rage within him.
“Now, shall we allow your friend, Gelmidas, to join us?”
Davon nearly leapt out to strangle Magnus, but when Gerry entered, all that hatred was washed away.
Because Gerry is all he has.
He is the one who makes Davon’s life worth living.
He is the one he’ll do anything to protect.
The one who he will gain all the power in existence to be sure is safe.
Davon loves Gerry.
He has always loved Gerry.
He always will.
No matter what.
The sunlight pokes into the tent, scorching Davon’s eyes as he awakes on a rickety, hastily made bed.
Gerry stands over him with a cold look. A look that Davon isn’t used to seeing.
“What is it?”
Gerry adjusts his glasses at Davon’s question, sighing as he sits down. “Orson told me everything.”
“Oh,” Davon mutters as Gerry crosses his arms to portray the frustration that Davon already knows he’s feeling. “I wanted to tell you.”
“Don’t try to explain yourself, Davon. We’re still going to kill Emperor Magnus.”
The sudden confident agreement strikes Davon off guard, leaving him to the immediate conclusion that this is because of Nadeden.
“You just don’t want Nadeden to do the job?”
Gerry makes his position on the chair a more defiant one before answering, “That’s right, I know you and Magnus asked if I could kill her, and I said yes then, but I just can’t do it. At least not anymore.”
Davon senses that Gerry is holding something back.
He is quickly proven correct, “It isn’t just how I feel about Nadeden that keeps me from doing it, things have-” Gerry hesitates.
Whatever this is must mean a great deal to him. “Well, things have changed. I waited until you were awake because I wanted you to be the first to know, and the first I asked for advice.”
The inquiry makes Davon shift upward in bed. Placing his back against the thin wooden frame, Davon folds his hands and smiles.
“I’m here for anything you need, Gerry.”
Gerry shyly returns the smile, “I appreciate that. You’re a good friend, Davon.”
“So what is it?”
Davon loves Gerry.
Nothing will change this.
Nothing could ever change this.
Although he’s keeping his feelings hidden from Gerry, he knows that he has always loved Gerry.
He always will.
No matter what.
Unless?
The Sunlight bursts in through stained glass windows, hitting Davon’s eyes as he awakes in the medical center of the Division Plaza with Gelmidas and Adamus standing over him. “I told you, Father, you should have sent me to hunt the Scorched Archer. Davon is skilled, but my abilities are far more powerful than his.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that when I’m awake, kid.”
Adamus takes a startled step back from the medical bed. “Davon! Father and I were worried.”
Gelmidas huffs, “Adamus, leave us.”
“Why?” Davon asks. His eyes pierce into Gelmidas like daggers.
“I want to hear about how the hunt went, Father.”
Gelmidas snarls at his son’s comment, “I said leave us.”
Adamus shrugs, scowling as he exits.
The interrogation begins as soon as he leaves.
“Where is the unit?”
“Dead.”
“Did she do it?”
“Yes, she killed the unit and did this to me, she’s definitely aged, but the Woman is still too fucking stubborn to die, just like us. And before you ask if I spoke with her, the answer is no. We fought in space. Something came to pick her up before I could capture her. My guess is that it was another ship. It’s entirely possible that she isn’t working alone. So are we done now, or are you going to scold me further, old friend?”
Davon tells Gelmidas all this without even looking at him.
An act that Gelmidas could care less about, the information is what matters to him. “Good. Now get some rest. If we get news of another sighting of her, I’ll need you to move as soon as possible.”
Gelmidas walks around Davon’s bedside to exit the medical center. He gives him a cold look. “And Davon, don’t speak for Adamus like that ever again.” He steps over to the door.
He holds his hand over the knob in hesitation. “Davon?”
The pair look into each other's eyes from across the room.
“Thanks for your help.”
Gelmidas opens the door, and Davon smiles.