The Reluctant Prophet

Price of Safety

Romans 13: 1-5

Let everyone be subject to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God. Consequently, whoever rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgment on themselves. For rulers hold no terror for those who do right, but for those who do wrong. Do you want to be free from fear of the one in authority? Then do what is right and you will be commended.

She closed her eyes just for a moment, slipping away into what she could no longer call a dream, wanting nothing more than to pretend everything was as it always had been. The sounds of battle rang in her ears, the muffled cries of the dying in the distance, the smell of gunpowder mixing with that of burning flesh. This wasn't something she wanted to remember.

"You will retreat, commander."

"We can take them!" She disagrees arguing a far too familiar scenario; desperately trying to hold her armies advantage against a faltering command that couldn't see past their own miscalculation of the enemy's strength.

"Their capabilities were underestimated, losses will be too high." All they could see was the data, not the battle at hand. They were far too used to having the overwhelming advantage. Not having to fight a real battle. She had it well under control yet they didn't trust her.

"Let my team push forward." She urged them having seen the ranks beginning to falter. She was used to winning when the odds were against her, had to. It taught her how to read a battlefield. How to push on when there was nothing else to give. Lord Justin grabbed her by the arm the retreat horn already sounding in the background.

"You will not! That's a direct order from Destroyer. He wants you on ship now." She looked over her shoulder watching the armies fall back. Her troops watching her for the final decision. "The crimson core will handle it." She growls what one could only describe as undercinable series of ungodly swear words, putting both arms straight up, hands open, palms faced back signaling the retreat to her men. Her heart sank.

"Time to go gentle men." She reluctantly stepped onto the back of the troop transport followed by her men. Her attention focused on the crimson core standing on the hill. Their leader licking his lips winking at Aurora with a sadistic grin. "Oh how I loathe them."

"Ruthless vultures." Her lieutenant interrupted hitting the button for the door as they lift off. Aurora watches the crimson cores' staffs glow blue as they charge their EMP emitters. Aurora slammed her fist into a wall with enough force that it split the skin across her knuckles. "Next time, commander." She sits on the bench fuming, allowing him to bandage her hand.

"What about this time? What about those we could have brought with us? The lives we could have protected." He placed his hand in hers trying to keep her from digging her nails into her palms. She didn't hide her emotions, they liked that about her. It was one of the many reasons they willingly followed her despite who they ultimately served.

"We can't save them all." He wipes the blood off the top of his hand where her nails had broken his skin.

"Tristen, he knows." She drops her head flexing her bandaged hand.

"If he knew we would all be dead."

"He just likes to watch your butt when it walks away." Caleb sits down in the jump seat next to Tristen trying to lighten the mood.

"Seriously, commander. We have got to get you something other than tights to wear." Marcus adds getting a good chuckle from the small army and a smile from Aurora. The group fell silent able to hear the screams of the dying over the engines. They all bow their heads in silence for the world burning below them, it never got easier. She was mercy in an unmerciful existence, the voice of reason, redemption, and salvation to those that tried to stand against Destroyer. The crimson core was something else entirely, the polar opposite. They were mercilessly sadistic taking pleasure in inflicting the most horrific deaths imaginable. War, famine, plague, and death so dubbed by those who had seen the aftermath, each named for their particular set of skills. So good at what they did they were simply left to their own devices without restraint. Once unleashed imposible to recall. It was something they didn't speak of, chose not to acknowledge out loud. For when a world faced them... Death was a repeave to say the least. The troop transport settled into the landing bay of the massive flagship. The engines powering down with a whine, the door making a heavy thudding clank against the deck. Aurora's men were pushed aside, ambushed by men with rags to clean the blood from her armor. She wouldn't allow it walking through them and out into the hall followed closely by her men in two tight rows behind her. If she was to face him after yet another retreat she would do it wearing the blood of the innocent, she wanted to remember them, every life.