Most Servinae had lived for thousands of years. The value of their life had come and gone and many had been reduced to mere heralds of hedonism. Death was welcome and life had devolved into an endless pursuit of pleasure. The Servinae were by all means the perfect prey for the abyss; their numbers, genetics, and willful ignorance in the face of danger had turned them into the apex of dark desire.

  The abyss had spread from the Primordía Abyssal Forest through unknown means. By the time rangers had arrived at the dark vessel, only the twisted remains of ungodly things remained. The Anomalies of Primordía had left behind a conscious message of what can only be described as disgusting adoration for the human form.

  It had been over eighteen months since the abyss had spread its spiraling tendrils across the sleepy landscapes of Esthes-3, causing a cataclysmic change in all who encountered the spiraling horrors. This upheaval ignited within many aimless souls the yearning for purpose beyond mere existence on this decaying world. The desire to cull the darkness was attractive, but unfortunately for most it was a job filled with unease, sadness, and terror. Nonetheless, thousands had chosen to take on the mantle of the hunt. Yet, effective Kyyr abilities were exceedingly rare, and even rarer were those that could function properly in the sickly atmospheres of Esthes-3. Creating an army of hope and little efficiency.

  The abyss was deep and full of terror and those who could not see the light that lies within themselves would perish. In the months following the rise of the abyss, hundreds were swallowed by its gaping maw. The toll had been immense in those dark months leading to the reawakening of the Coarseblood.

  Many died, and many more would die amidst the glamor of the Penthtestat.

  The Penthestat had drawn Servinae from all corners of the world, commemorating the endless battle between the Albios Albus, the Symbol of Loyalty and Rakk Nakash, a True Leviathan and spawn of the abyss. It was a literal duel of the ages that was so vast and grand that when the Albion rose above the endless serpent and cleaved its very soul from its rotting body, it was celebrated across the universe. Yet, the victorious Albion vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a grim ocean of spines and skulls torn from its abyssal foe. To honor the Albion Albus, the Penthestat was established—a grand festival held for five days each year, uniting diverse cultures across the universe in collective remembrance of loyalty’s eternal battle.

  This tradition has led us to today, under the shattered skies of Esthes-3, where the abyss and calamity have come to intertwine in a confluence of absolute fate.

  So we find ourselves on October 17th in the AGE of the SED in the year 10586. The Ranger Squads—Voltasaxx, Guivre, and Boreas—prepare for nightfall as the abyss encroaches on the living graveyard.

  M?ry’Plu was divided into four main districts: the northernmost was Gore’s Vivatheca, where the Vai’Tolant was held; south of that was M?ry’Plu Armed Plaza; southeast of that was Skolas Sky Metropolis; and surrounding these main districts were the Masmmer’s Ruins that had been mostly swallowed by the Gilded Forest of Hor’Dio.

  Rangers had aggregated at the edge of Gilded Forest, bracing for what they could only predict to be a massive wave of monsters.

  A young ranger, barely into his twenties, tightened the final adjustment on a sensitivity gauge bolted to the side of an Auto-spear system. Straightening up, he glanced down the row of hidden traps and sensors stretching into the grass and sighed.

  Brushing his dark blue hair back from his brow, he thumbed open his crystalcomm and checked his current objective as complete. With that, his crystalcomm buzzed, and he received a message.

  Rendezvous back at post 14.

  “Finally! No more stupid traps!” he shouted up at the sky, causing the only other nearby ranger to flinch.

  “Could you be any fucking louder, Mick?” Ranger Ty snapped in annoyance.

  “He he, sorry…” Mick said with a weak smile, “I’m just so done with this order. It’s just so much work for a problem we could just bomb and burn!” he emphasized the last words with an open swing of his arms, mimicking an explosion.

  Ty stood up, brushing the golden weeds off his uniform. “Ugh, If only. But with old Siegwick in High Command and the Ethics Council riding him constantly, we’ll be doing annoying little jobs like this for the rest of our lives.”

  “True—I still wonder why old Siegwick is so dead-set on recovering genetic samples.” Mick gathered his tools. “As long as we kill their monster forms, their souls get released into whatever heaven, so what’s all the fuss? You know, I could be spending some sweet, lovey-dovey time with my sweet Selena. But nope! Here I am rotting with a goober like you…”

  Ty rolled his eyes before he stared into the golden glow of the Gilded Forest, his dark eyes studying the faint contour of the shadows and light within. ““Yuhu, whatever, Mick. Just—” His crystalcomm buzzed sharply. “Agh!” He scowled down at the screen. “Guess what? Old Siegwick’s recalling my unit for more debriefing. Great.”

  “Awww. That sucks.”

  Ty sighed, giving the equipment one last, half-hearted check. “Let’s get a drink or something before tonight’s op—we’re gonna be dead on our feet tomorrow.”

  “Yup, yup.” Mick nodded, “Good luck with old whitebeard!” he called after Ty, watching as his friend mounted a personal glider and rode off toward Post 21.

  Mick checked the time, 1645 (4:15 PM) he rolled his head back and stared up into the sky. The dark shadow of a massive cloud covered the sun, letting his eyes rest on the scenery above. He stared into the sky, spacing out in a sea of thought.

  Shk Shk

  His eyes fell back down on the now dark forest just beyond the perimeter. His midnight blue eyes scanned the tree line with an uneasy drag; aimlessly they studied the contours of trees, bushes, and…

  His eyes stopped on a figure. What the? He took a step back, dragging his other foot against the underbrush.

  Shk Shk

  Mick’s eyes darted to his right—

  Huh?

  There were old ruins from who knows what lining the forest edge on his right. Old, weathered pillars carved out of strange, sparkling stone decorated with old, battered decorations and rusty coils of wire and metal.

  Shk Shk Shk Shk

  Rustling but from his left. His eyes shot back to the figure.

  Phew…

  Relief flooded him as the cloud moved just enough to return to the forest its golden glow, revealing the figure to be a simple twisted tree.

  The fleeting revelation quelled his nerves, but there was an anxious tension in the hushing of the wind against the faint echoes of M?ry’Plu. Swallowing his pride, Mick slowly walked away from the perimeter, his back to the safety of the not-far-off post 14. He continued to scan the treeline, unsure if there was something watching from the darkness of the deep-cut shadows.

  His feet dragged against the unseen ground below the thick golden grass when—

  THUD!

  “Ow, fuck!” Mick cried out.

  He’d tripped on an unseen something.

  “Oof.” He looked around. “Glad no one saw that.” He slid his knees under himself and pressed his hand against the soil…?

  Ewwgh?! What in all that’s gold?

  Mick pulled his hand back in disgust. The ground was unnervingly warm, the moisture clinging to his skin with a clammy, unnatural slickness. Brushing his hand against his pants, he staggered upright, a low sense of dread pulsing through his mind. He hesitated, but curiosity compelled him to brush aside the thick golden grass.

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  What the fuck?

  Under the golden grass, something pink and slick shimmered in the low light—not true grass, but something grotesquely imitating it. His nose flared instinctively, catching a strange, sweet, lemony scent bleeding into the air. Primadrossa? He pushed aside more of the grass, revealing that the growths had spread all around him.

  A chill ran down his spine. He stumbled backward, fumbling with the comms system integrated into the jaw brace of his uniform.

  But he froze—

  He saw them.

  Three beasts crouched at the forest’s ragged edge, their forms barely distinguishable against the thick shadows.

  Thump.

  His heart rattled against his ribs.

  Thump. Thump.

  Rak’da? No—here? Impossible.

  Thump. Thump. Thump. THUMP—

  The largest of the three broke from the tree line, its hulking frame stalking toward the perimeter.

  Pain.

  Bone-rending, coarse pain ripped through Mick’s body.

  Mick's tear-filled eyes looked down at his foot. A curved, bony hook—wet and glistening—had erupted from the pink growths, burrowing through the meat of his calf and into his bone.

  “AAAAAAAAAH!”

  Mick shrieked as he fell to the ground, as he coalesced Kyyr into his arms in blind desperation. He clutched the slick, bone hook when—

  CRRRRSHK

  The hook wrenched violently around his leg, the brutal torque twisting his leg and shattering his knee with a sickening crack.

  Absolute agony ripped through him as the hook slid across the ground, dragging him helplessly towards the perimeter’s edge.

  He smashed the comms button on his jaw and randomly broadcasted his screams into any available channel.

  “SOMEONE—AUGH! FUCK! HELP ME! PLEASE, TY! SEY! ANYONE, PLEASE!” Mick screamed into the comms, his voice cracking with terror. He clawed at the dirt, nails tearing into the inside of his gloves as the hook dragged him backward toward the perimeter line. Grass lashed his face in stinging bursts, the world blurring as his body skidded helplessly. His guts coiled in a sick, primal dread as the harrowing realization of where he was going overtook him.

  “P—PLEASE SOMEONE FUCKING COME TO SECTOR 5! THERE’S A BREACH! HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!” Mick howled into the comms, his voice raw with panic. Static-laced voices crackled back at him, but their words blurred into meaningless noise. His heart slammed against his ribs as he was dragged closer—too close—to the jagged line of traps, sensors, and barricades bristling at the edge of the perimeter.

  He felt a jagged pain echo through his mangled leg as the hook jerked violently, whipping him into the air.

  For a breathless instant, time seemed to slow. Mick hung suspended midair, twisting helplessly at the mercy of the bladed tendril. In that frozen moment, he saw the three monstrous figures watching impassively from the dark edge of the forest.

  Gravity.

  His gaze dropped, drawn downward by a sickening drag to the tangle of bladed traps and Kyyr-charged devices beneath him.

  With bone-breaking force, the tendril swung him directly onto the barrel of an auto-spear sentry—its massive, spear-like blade erupting through his shoulder with a sickening CRACK, splintering his scapula like dry timber.

  “HRRRGK—!” Mick choked as the cold metal ripped through his shoulder, searing agony exploding through his muscles. “AUGH! HELP! PLEASE!”

  The largest of the three monsters seemed to stare at Mick, strung helplessly on the spear like a shrike’s meal. A low, breathy chitter escaped its throat. It approached the forest’s edge, revealing its dark visage under the bright blue sky.

  It was as black as night. It had a long Rak’da-like snout. Lining the back of its head were seemingly quills that reached the back of its head. On either side there were also pointy, wolf-like ears, but what was most peculiar about the creature was its eyes—or rather—lack thereof. From the ridge of its spine to the tip of its snout, the beast’s flesh writhed and spiraled, an endless, slithering mass of slim tongues that masked its features beneath a living shroud of darkness. It was as if a hood of the abyss itself had been draped over the beast’s skulls.

  The hound-like creature painfully parted its mouth. Ripping tendrils in half as it revealed a long row of serrated, see-through black teeth. Dripping out of its jaw were many more tongues that sprawled out as it let out a deep howl.

  The auto-sentry snapped to life, dragging the body of Mick’s broken body as it snapped its aim toward the Caused Beast.

  “NO! NO! NO NO NO NO!” Mick pleaded to the universe as the spear aimed and—

  The spear launched. Cold, brutal metal tore through his mangled shoulder, ripping a fresh scream from Mick’s throat as the massive projectile slammed into the monster’s head.

  His body lurched, sliding painfully down the chain tethered to the spear, flesh tearing wider with every jolt. He hit the ground face-first, the world spinning in a haze of gold and blue. His only solace was the soft brushing of the wind against the searing agony of metal grinding inside his wound.

  He lay there, his breaths deep and painful, his eyes dropping to his side as he came face-to-face with splintered bone and the blood-stained metal of the chain.

  Dear Symbols please…

  Without warning, the chain began to move, twisting his ruined arm backward. Muscle and shattered bone grinding into his nerves.

  The Auto-spear was reeling back its metal projectile.

  Mick’s breath hitched into a frenzy of panic as he watched the grass part ahead—and then the massive shaft of the spear slammed into the poor ranger.

  Around him, sentries snapped to life, their gunfire ripping into the air as they unleashed hellfire on the monster—but Mick did not care.

  All his attention was on the sickening, wet sloshing of his own muscle and bone being torn open again by the brutal weight of the spear lodged through him.

  “AUGH!” Blood spilled from his mouth as he desperately fought to slide himself off the rod.

  The weight of the heavy metal against his body was unbearable. The crushing pressure of the metal against the shattered bone in his shoulder caused him to gasp in horrid wails as he fought to hold onto the ground with his one good arm.

  It felt eternal, his vision blurring as he struggled against the weight of steel crushing down on his flesh.

  It was over.

  The bladed tip retracted with a mechanical hiss, disappearing back into the auto-spear’s barrel.

  Mick fought to stay awake, clinging to a fragile hope that someone—anyone—was coming to save him.

  Then came the pull of gravity.

  He felt his body rise from the grass. One of the creatures had him—lifting him like mangled roadkill, dangling him before the sentry’s barrel.

  The auto-spear’s AI stuttered in confusion, its targeting system flickering between friend and foe, struggling to separate Mick’s bloodied silhouette from the monster’s dark frame.

  It couldn’t fire.

  The other sentries hesitated, their processors registering the human in the line of fire—but they had no time to calculate.

  The creature spun, lashing its freakishly long tail across the perimeter. One by one, the sentries crumpled under the brutal sweep, torn apart like brittle scaffolding.

  It dropped Mick like a cheap doll. Its freehand ripping off massive blades that had been lodged into its skull.

  The other two followed, slipping through the shattered perimeter, their Kyyr signatures flashing bright against the sensors—sending a deafening alert to every ranger in the region: something was coming.

  Mick watched, dazed, as the three monsters ignored him, using him purely to clumsily breach the perimeter.

  Mom… Selena… Ty… please, I can't… I can't move. I was supposed to take Selena out tonight... She'll be waiting. She'll be alone... I don't want her to be alone... I—I...

  A creeping cold coiled around him as the last of his blood drained into the grass. Mick felt strangely detached, his vision blurring into darkness. Memories drifted through him like sand in his hands. Laughter, the taste of his favorite meal, the gentle comfort of his home. There was warmth that was slowly spreading through him, a dreadfully comforting embrace. He struggled against its warmth, desperate to hold onto his dreams of tomorrow.

  I don't want to die... Please... gods, Symbols, anything that's out there—please. Not alone...

  Oblivion—its dark hold syphoning his memories, his self, into a black box beyond the reach of life. Encased in the lingering essence of false sunlight.

  Someone… “help…” me… “please—”

  Alarms blared across all 33 Posts, their shrill wailing so visceral that even the Servinae hidden deep within the city's entrails turned, their faces drawn toward the chaos unfolding at the forest's edge.

  Siegwick rose from his seat in confusion, double-checking the time on his watch. The harsh daylight seeping through the windows made his skin crawl with a rising, anxious rage. Grabbing his gear with deliberate speed, he stepped out of his Stolkglider.

  He pressed the comms system embedded in the jaw of his uniform. “Lyndworm Unit—divide and fortify the breach!”

  Rangers who had been summoned by Siegwick were quickly shifting into position, their equipment clattering in a frenzy of motion.

  But amidst the scramble, one ranger stood frozen—caught between duty and helpless dread—as he listened to the voice of his dear friend beg for help over the comms, the desperate cries weakening with every breath until they collapsed into faint, broken groans... and then, finally, silence.

  Ty slowly turned in the direction of sector 5 as nauseating despair enshrouded him.

  Trepidatio Artificialis.

  L.Osric