GRAVESKIES

Chapter 20

Metal clattered endlessly. The chaos had subsided; the monster children swarmed inside the belly of the rattlesnake. Grey lights flashed across the train walls at lightspeed. White violent noise echoed through a vacuum.

A tiny toolbox of killer creatures prowled the country barefoot. Each carried in their hands smaller insects of steel to cut open other puppets. The enemy was a singular non-human thing. Belvarre. Fighting a concept came to them with ease; "Belvarre" was something too big to have any concrete significance. Belvarre did not hurt like them. Belvarre did not yearn like them. Belvarre only possessed the options to live or to disappear.

Now they shared rushed plans and rations. They shoved final, grossly indulgent bites of food in their mouths. They sharpened their spikes and nails; harnessed lighting and velocity at their heel. Spoke final prayers. Spoke as little as they could to each other. Kran quickly pocketed a picture of his little Safiya. Commander stood next to him, and Commander needed a pillar of support more than anyone.

Dianne's fingers moved quick over the screen, weaving stories. She shivered with every damning update of the assault.

"It can't be. They found out we were going to attack and stole the headstart."

"Or perhaps it's a coincidence," Kran offered gracefully.

Heavy boots thundered on the railing. Flashes of steel between swelling warmth of skin. Soldiers in tight black uniforms passed around weapons. Goosebumps. Bruising, blushing digits.

"They found out we were going to end this war first. Our plans, how could they pull ahead when we'd reached so close to the finishing line..."

General Kran grasped her shoulders so tighly that she stumbled over. They stilled in the middle of the ruckus. "It is a coincidence." Doubtless. Steady.

Right. She couldn't fret over the alternative now. On the screen, she exchanged details of the situation with the vanguard of the Varian frontline, a strip of Southern land, now mercilessly abused. Her eyes flicked to the digital clock, and back to the announcement of the first Akan brigade collapsing.

Rushed, disoriented, their preparation schedule skewed— the Akan soldiers had been thrown into battle without explanation. This was the consequence.

Kran threw his head back to bark an order at his Division, before leaning towards her. "Don't you dare lose focus now," he snarled. "Not when everything depends on you."

"That's not an option."

Storyteller rolled out maps of Belvarre and of zoomed-in Akan-Belvarre borders. Face pinched, clicking her marker neurotically, she pinpointed the location offered on the screen.

"Can we make it on time to stop the Rakians' momentum?" Kran's boots thumped on the ground as he arrived with more bundles of paper.

Storyteller wordlessly grabbed a sheet, pulled up her sleeves and splayed it open. Began sketching attack formations. Kran's question wasn't even worth acknowledging. It was do or die.

"We've missed out on the chance to use the Lost Divisions too, I suppose."

Dianne's mouth trembled. Her eyes stayed trained on the maps.

Kran continued. "Our last resort. In our ideal scenario, they would've had time to make it in battle, but now... they're too far away, almost to the other side of Belvarre. We can't mobilize them into battle. They wouldn't even have time to settle in formation."

"I wasn't going to use them for fighting, anyway."

Before Kran could pose any follow-ups, Storyteller continued.