Heaven's Curse

Chapter 4

The next day, trepidation consumed Gothalia, as she stood before the gate of the Cetatea—the fortress that trained, guided, and housed all military personnel. Not even with Anton beside her, did it quell the fear rushing beneath her skin. Not even Maximus’s snarky remarks could take her troubled mind from the dawning possibilities of her fate. “So? You think they’ll care if we’re late?” Maximus queried.

Gothalia did not utter a word and marched forward. “What do you think?” Anton remarked, within ear shot of Gothalia before striding after her.

Maximus replied: “I don’t know that’s why I’m asking.”

A Peacekeeper manned the gate while other recruits entered the Cetatea carrying their chosen weapons. Gothalia pulled at the strap of her bag that hung over her shoulder, her grip tightening around it as she approached. The deep red uniform of the Peacekeepers, the colour of blood, stood out against the clean pearl stone grounds. Just like their face-plates, black as ash.

Gothalia paused in line with the rest of the recruits, while Anton, and Maximus stood behind her. “You know it’s not too late to back out.” Gothalia muttered, not entirely believing her words.

Maximus scoffed and crossed his arms. “Yeah right, and miss all the fun?”

“And besides it’s either this or a public whipping.” Anton replied.

“You won’t be whipped.” Gothalia remarked. Hoping she’d stay true to her word. If she complied, everyone would be spared.

“You don’t know that for sure. Do we really trust anything the Grand Elders say?”

Gothalia did not comment. Instead, her eyes lingered over the red-haired man in front of her. His hair the same shade as the Peacekeepers uniform, and she could not help but stare.

Then the trance ended.

“Your pass.” The Peacekeeper declared, impatiently. Gothalia pulled out her pass and the Peacekeeper scanned the card over his armour. The armour lit up green then Gothalia proceeded. As she entered, she spotted the familiar dark red-haired man casually speaking to Grand Elder Michalis.

“What’s he doing here?” Gothalia muttered, scowling at the Grand Elder.

Then she heard Anton’s agitated voice from behind her. “What pass?”

Gothalia sighed. “Here we go, again.” Then turned back to the Peacekeeper. “He’s with me.”

“You may be allowed entry, but they aren’t.” the Peacekeeper declared, pointing at her cousins.

“That’s discrimination!” Maximus growled, and crossed his arms. “Why I never—” Anton elbowed Maximus in the side when footfalls approached.

“What seems to be the problem here?” Grand Elder Michalis declared, his hands neatly behind his back. The black and grey uniform he wore, much like the other Grand Elders with reminiscence of red the shade of the Centurions, often reminding every one of their power and authority. Including, the shield of the Grand Elder insignia upon his right chest. His grey eyes lingered over all of them, impassively. His well-groomed red hair and neatly clipped peppered beard, in which distinguished him from many, Gothalia found him much too unsoiled for her liking.

“My Lord.” The Peacekeeper began. “These two don’t have a pass.”

“Of course, they don’t. I sent for Gothalia not these two.” Grand Elder Michalis told the Peacekeeper.

Anton stepped forward to attack and Gothalia held out her arm. Stopping him. Anton examined Gothalia with obvious surprise, as her eyes lingered on the Grand Elder. “However, I’m also aware that we need every soldier we can get. Let them through.” He turned his back with a small smile marring his ageing features. “Good luck.”

When Gothalia, Anton and Maximus entered the Cetatea, Anton remarked, “Good luck, what did he mean by that?”

“Who knows.” Gothalia sighed, aware she already knew the answer.

“What do you mean by ‘who knows’ obviously he knows we’re going to die.” Maximus butted in, disgruntled. Then they paused before the other recruits in the large foyer of the Cetatea. The same foyer Anton was dragged away in, the day before. The thought of it sent chills down Gothalia’s spine and a familiar pair of eyes watched her from behind the reception desk. Gothalia caught her gaze but as quick as it ensued, the receptionist glanced away.

Gothalia returned her gaze to the hall that led to the Grand Elders chambers and to the Centurion barracks. A man strode into the foyer from that same hall she had been eyeing before he stopped in the middle of the room.

His features hardened at the sight of her when his eyes coasted over her group. His gaze rested upon Gothalia a little longer than she knew it should have, before drifting over the rest of the recruits with surprising disinterest. “Welcome,” he began. “I’m Squadron Commander Nicolas Ignatius-Gerado and I’m here to greet our latest volunteers.”

“Huh? Does he know not everyone volunteered?” Maximus inquired.

“Shh!” Gothalia hushed Maximus who turned his gaze from Gothalia and to the front. While Gothalia listened attentively, as Nicolas urged everyone into equal lines that covered the entire foyer. Anton and Maximus—true to their word did not leave her side. Even once everyone lined up and Nicolas marched dauntingly before the first row of recruits.

The smile he had fell from his face and shifted into something almost sinister and cruel. Regardless, she did not turn away when his voice echoed around the room, “I trust all of you graduated the academy while I see some of you, found your stations,”—His gaze locked with Gothalia’s in the back row before he continued—“Regardless, of your chosen station, if you’ve transferred. You’re more than welcome here. We appreciate and respect those who willingly fight for our freedom and our people.” Nicolas continued but Gothalia’s gaze drifted to the familiar face in the crowd of Centurions who had gathered along the stairs that lined the walls.

She recognised his mahogany hair and piercing green eyes that complemented his tanned skin. He wore the familiar Centurion non-combat uniform, a standard uniform for those who wandered the Cetatea and anywhere within New Icarus. Gothalia’s eyes lingered over the muscles beneath the black material of his arms and skin-tight leggings and combat boots. Then his eyes drifted to her and quickly Gothalia turned away, aware she could still feel his gaze on her. “Now that’s over. Let us begin.” Nicolas said and Gothalia regarded him curiously, aware she hadn’t heard anything he said prior.

Everyone marched down the hall in three standard lines through the halls of the Cetatea and to Gothalia it had not taken much longer until they arrived at the arena. A stadium and equally as tall. Gothalia glanced at Maximus who in turned regarded her with similar perplexity. “What is this?” she asked him.

“Were you even listening?” he tested.

“Not really. No.” Gothalia responded, her eyes gazing over the others.

“It’s our first tournament. They’re not expecting anyone to actually do well, but I think they’re trying to determine who has potential and who doesn’t.”

“Why not wait until tomorrow when everyone’s fresh?”

“If what Danteus said is true. The war’s at our door. They wouldn’t want to waste time trying to figure out who’ll last and who won’t. They’d do it now so they can focus on those who they believe has what it takes.” Maximus muttered, his scrutiny on the other recruits, as they tossed their bags, they brought with them to the Centurions who strode through the room requesting anything that could slow them down.

Gothalia glanced at the bag on her shoulder. It didn’t hold much but just enough. She knew her items, Maximus’s and Anton’s, shielded the cloaks they brought in. A Centurion stopped before them and held out his hand. Silently, Gothalia handed him the bag and watched him walk away before collecting the others.

“In one minute, you’ll have chosen your three-man team. When that timer goes off”— Nicolas declared gesturing to the timer above the arena—“The tournament will begin as I said before. This isn’t a game. When you’ve taken down your opponent they’ll be removed from the simulation.” Centurions secured metal bands to the wrists of each recruit and Gothalia recognised what they were as they’d placed one on her, Maximus and Anton. It was their life bands—something that would monitor them in the arena. “Your goal is to use any means necessary to take out the other teams. There are no rules but one rule: you must take out your opponent, mercy is not an option.” A smile greeted his face and Gothalia regarded him, strangely as he glanced at the timer which indicated—time up. “Have teams been chosen?” A silent confirmation greeted him. “Good luck.”

Then the Commander faded from view as did all the other Centurions. The environment around Gothalia changed, and she recognised where they were.

In a jungle. She heard the crashing of the waves thrown at the sandy beaches in the distance. “Where are we?” Anton asked, after some time.

“I think, we’re on an island.” Gothalia believed, scanning the shore from over her shoulder, taking in the smaller islands not too far from the bit of land she was on. Then she heard a call. Not of pain, but of war. Quickly a recruit she recalled seeing in the area moment’s ago ran to them.

Quickly, Maximus stepped between Gothalia and their opponent, deflecting the impending sword. Anton unsheathed his sword and struck. The sword impaled her torso and at once blood pooled. Shock engulfed Anton, who caught her when she fell. Panic marred his face, while her fearful grey eyes watched him, with uncertainty before dissolving within his arms as if she were never there. Moments later, Anton climbed to his feet and glanced at the blood on his sword.

Each of them, tried to make sense of what had happened, before he sheathed his sword and declared with such detachment, “We need to keep moving.”

Gothalia and Maximus didn’t say a word. Instead, they nodded and marched through the tropical rainforest in silence. Humidity stuck to their skin and soiled their clothes in sweat and grime, but they continued forward. “How many more are alive?” Maximus asked, after some time.

“I’m not sure,” Gothalia replied. “I’m not even sure how we can tell.”

“Surely, they would have allowed us to keep track of their numbers.” Maximus uttered.

“Does anyone know how many of us total there were?” Anton asked.

“No.” Both Gothalia and Maximus replied.

“We’ll I guess we keep fighting until they tell us not to.”

“What about the others?” Gothalia asked.

“What others?” Maximus asked from beside her.

“The other two that were supposed to be with the woman who Anton . . .” Gothalia couldn’t finish the sentence. She glanced away and infamy flashed across his features.

“Not sure but we should keep an eye out.” Anton retorted. “They may not have known her well, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they attacked while our guard is down.” Gothalia paused and glanced at the foliage behind and around her. Her eyes took in the stillness of the jungle and the silence that accompanied it. Satisfied, they were alone, she shadowed Anton and Maximus. Unaware, two pairs of eyes watching them as they travelled through the jungle.

Hours passed and Gothalia’s group did not encounter anyone. “Why haven’t we seen anyone for the past hour?” Maximus asked, his eyes scanning the horizon in the distance.

“Not sure,” Anton replied, equally alert.

“Surely this island is big enough that we can all keep our distance,” Gothalia remarked, climbing up the hill between Anton and Maximus. She paused for a moment, her gaze lingered over the numerous foreign plants and foliage she knew she’d never learn the names of before continuing on, after Anton. He led them the way through the jungle and towards a riverbank before kneeling beside the clear water. Scooping the water in both his hands, he drank. Quickly, Gothalia and Maximus mimicked, thirst branding their throats. All of them, unaware of the approaching footfalls them from behind.

The edge of a sharp blade pushed against Anton and Maximus’s throats. “You took out our comrade. It’s only fair we take out yours.” the man commented, his eyes on Gothalia who froze under the scrutiny and slowly turned to face the voice. His blond hair glistened beneath the artificial sun while his brunette comrade regarded Gothalia with clear disapproval before he pointed a pistol at her head.

“I still can’t believe they allow women in the Centurion division. Didn’t anyone tell you? You won’t last. Especially, you demon.”

A call of a horn echoed in the distance. Confusion flickered across every face and every eye stared in the direction of the sound.

Swiftly, Gothalia disarmed the man who pointed his gun at her, using the same gun, she shot both men in the knee. She glanced at Anton and Maximus; without a word they ran after her as she ran through the jungle, fleeing their dismantled pursuers. Then the call of that same horn ceased. Gothalia paused, with Anton and Maximus among the thick leaves. She glanced around; her apprehensive eyes carefully regarded her environment.

Then she crouched low, along with Maximus and Anton, when they heard the rapid splashing of water and the clashing of pebbles against stone on the riverbed as foreign men dressed in odd clothing sprinted to the injured recruits. Both of whom, were unaware of the approaching mud-covered warriors.

Silently, the group watched the strangers approach the recruits. Quickly, Anton pressed his hand against Gothalia’s mouth when she jumped, recognising a stranger observe the bushes where they hid with meticulous speculation. Maximus, equally terrified, regarded both Anton and Gothalia until they heard his footfalls recede before advancing towards the other recruits, who screamed in pain and begged for their lives.

Gothalia, Maximus and Anton peered through the opening of the plants and watched a man spear a recruit in the chest while the other slit his throat. Just like the woman before, they had vanished into thin air as if they never existed. “We need to get out of here,” Anton recognised. At those words, Maximus crouched and quickly vanished into the forest. Gothalia followed, and Anton after her. His fearful eyes browsed the surrounding behind him from over his shoulder every few hundred meters.

When they were certain they had put distance between them and the strangers, Gothalia queried frightfully, “What the hell was that?” Catching her breath.

“I . . . I don’t know.” Anton responded, hesitantly.

“Nobody knows who they are Thalia or what they are.” Maximus replied, catching his breath. “Let’s just try not to get caught by them.”

“Sounds like a decent plan,” Anton replied. Then straightened, his gaze lingered behind them once more. No one followed.

Gothalia listened to the environment around her, and silence greeted her. Then, she ran through the jungle and towards the beach where the timer hovered in the morning sky before her. She noticed the birds that flew through it and the clock remained untouched. “A hologram,” she muttered. “What’s the point of this tournament again?”

“To survive,” Anton replied, from beside her.

“Right . . .” Gothalia muttered not impressed.

“And that’s until the timer stops?” Maximus enquired.

“Something like that.” Gothalia responded. “Until then, we’re stuck in here.”

*

“Is it true? There are Valdis members in the simulation? Think they’ll last?” A Centurion asked, with humour and sarcasm on his lips. Danteus glanced at the man opposite him, who sat at another table, surrounded by other Centurions, Legionnaires and Cavaliers. Danteus ate the rest of his food, in the cafeteria and listened as he continued, “I mean, I doubt the Valdis will even last the first week.”

“But they’re demons remember killing is what they do.” Another soldier declared; his uniform almost identical to Danteus’s except green. The colour of the Legionnaires.

“True.” The Centurion declared. “But in a weird way that is what we need.”

“Shh!” the Legionnaire hushed, throwing her hand over his mouth. “Don’t say that too loud. Someone will hear you.” The Centurion gently slapped his friend’s hand from his mouth. Danteus slowly shook his head, at their lack of secret, then noticed his comrades approach with their trays of food. Pulling out their chairs, they sat opposite Danteus who greeted them.

“You look worried, why?” questioned Asashin Brutus-Marius immediately.

“Not sure,” Danteus affirmed. Asashin and Altair Augustus-Grimory shared a look.

“Does it have something to do with those new recruits?” Asashin queried, his dark eyes watched his friend closely.

Quickly, Danteus remarked. “They’re not recruits—not yet.”

Both Altair and Asashin studied Danteus. “That’s very meticulous of you.” Danteus considered Asashin’s comment, with a raised brow for a moment, then shrugged at his old friend’s expression. “Just saying. Even if, the reports suggests there is an unusual spike in Xzandian activity. Everyone’s still trying to figure out why.”

“Well, they’re probably going to be at it for a while,” Danteus remarked with a sigh. “It’s not really our problem.”

Altair added, “No, I guess not, and neither was picking a fight with Rufus and the Barak clan. What was that all about?”

Danteus glanced at Altair, “We’re really going to go there?”

“Why not? I think it’s appropriate, especially considering that there are problems as you say but you insist on taking no responsibility for such problems.” Altair remarked, examining Danteus, with a baleful smile.

“Don’t speak to me like that. I hate it when you do.” Danteus growled, glaring at his old friend.

Altair’s smile grew. “What? You don’t like the truth?”

Asashin’s sudden wholehearted laugh caused the surrounding Legionnaires, Centurions and Cavaliers to regard them questionably before returning to their lunch and menial conversations. “Not very many people do my friend.”

“Whatever,” Danteus remarked.

“But Altair’s right, what made you attack them?” Asashin enquired.

Danteus conceded defeat. “Fine, I’ll tell you, but it’s not how it sounds, and I didn’t attack them—per say.”

“What then? Did Garret accidently end up in the sanatorium with the others?”

“Okay, Garret was not by my hand but some of the others perhaps.”

“And what? That’s supposed to justify your actions?” Altair asked, distantly.

“No, it doesn’t. I’m just saying there was a reason why I tagged along.”

Asashin and Altair shared an uneasy glance but did not utter another word on the topic. As such, Danteus returned to his meal. His table of three, filled with a comfortable silence and a hint of misgivings. Though, it was not long after until Danteus, Asashin and Altair found themselves at the edge of the town shrouded in winter furs with their next mission on their mind. A coat of artificial snow surrounded them, boundless and empty with no sign of life.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Altair questioned, following after Asashin and Danteus. Their trail marking the blanket of snow behind them.

“Anything that appears out of the ordinary.” Asashin commented.

Danteus paused. Asashin and Altair noticed his sudden rigid posture and vigilant gaze.

“Like what?” Altair questioned, hesitantly. Then a roar echoed throughout the white meadow. Quickly, Asashin, Danteus and Altair glanced at the mouth of a cave in the distance, far from the Fire Reserve. There stood a Chenoo—a snow monster—its golden eyes regarded them with anger and hatred. Two more Chenoo pulled themselves from the snow surrounding the men. Then the largest Chenoo at the mouth of the cave disappeared into the snow and reappeared in front of them. 

“Like that!” Asashin growled. All three Centurions removed their swords stationed at their waists and regarded the enemy carefully.

“Now what do we do?” Asashin called, over the roar of the monsters. 

“We do what we’ve been sent to do.” Danteus remarked and unsheathed his sword. “We take them out.” Danteus, Asashin and the Altair fought the persistent Chenoo. Then they noticed their pattern of attack. Whenever they were on their last monster, more would re-appear, crawling from out of the snow. To Danteus it appeared as if they were deliberately trying to wear them out. 

“This is like something out of a horror movie,” Asashin remarked, through hefty pants. “They just don’t quit.” 

The decreased the Chenoo numbers a few more times until they re-appeared once again. After, what felt like a very long time, they were on their last monster once again. Asashin, Danteus and Altair regarded it carefully. Their eyes alert for additional monsters. When no other monsters arrived, they closed in on the monster. 

Before Danteus delivered the final blow. The monster muttered, “The Fragments . . . . . . Midnight . . . Eclipse.” Danteus paused and regarded the Chenoo. Swiftly, Altair struck down the last monster in place of Danteus. 

Then he glanced at Danteus who stared at the Chenoo as it faded from sight. “Why did you hesitate?” Altair queried as he sheathed the sword at his hip. 

“What did it say?” Danteus queried, even if he knew what it said.

“Um, I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention.” Altair remarked, with a shrug. Then, turned to Asashin, “Did you hear it say anything?” 

Asashin shook his head. “No. Why?” 

“Danteus thinks he heard it say something,” Altair mentioned. Danteus frowned at Altair’s off-the-cuff manner. 

Asashin placed his hand on Danteus’s shoulder and regarded him with a steady gaze. “Are you sure you heard it speak?”

After a short pause, Danteus replied. “Maybe not.” Then the snow beneath their feet retreated into pools of puddles. The land around them returned to its usual naturally green shrubbery and grass. Altair turned from the group and moved to the horses. 

“I don’t know about you guys, but I want to call it a day.” 

Asashin pulled his grip from Danteus’s shoulder and followed Altair. “I agree. I think I’m all battled-out.” Asashin glanced at his old friend. “Are you coming? You can’t stand there all day.” Danteus regarded Asashin then strode past him. 

“I can you know. I just have better things to do.” Danteus remarked, and returned to their horses. Asashin smirked at that comment.