Chapter 1: Faith in Armor.
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“Atten-TION.”

The three privates stood at attention, robust cobalt armor chinking as it fell into place. The sergeant, pacing in his own, rank-distinguishing armor, examined his team.

“You there,” he called. “Private Lysane, stealth and recon specialist.”

“Sir!”

“Are you ready for your mission?”

“Yes, sir!”

“is your blade sharpened, and armor shined?”

“Sir, yes sir!”

“Do you promise not to switch roles with Typhon this time?”

“Sir, ye—what?”

The sergeant looked at his private with an air of supposition. “Do you think I’ve forgotten what happened last time?”

Lysane shifted uncomfortably. “Sir…I…uh…”

“It’s all right, bro.” Typhon, the stocky guardian, stepped in. “You see, I was weight training Ly by having him carry my shield – you know, these recon shields are light. If he fights with that kind of strength, he’s not even going to kill a jelly in good time.”

“Hey!” came the interjection. “That’s not true, you know I—“

But Typhon already had him into a neckhold. “And just between you and me, Sergeant Anders, we all know our Ly can use a little sandwich,” he finished, with a wink and a grin.

Anders left with a chuckle, trying not to listen to Lysane squirm and protest the neckhold. “And you, Hip?”

The diminutive bomber adjusted his glasses and looked up to his superior officer. “Oh, me? Yeah, I totally have everything ready. See, I even got my scarf.” He held up a purple sheet of cloth. “Well, don’t just stand there. Does it match my boots?”

Anders refrained from commenting, as it was common knowledge that if one didn’t have nice things to say, one shouldn’t say anything. “Hip, I’m more interested in your bomb selection.”
“Oh, those? Psh, I have all the interesting ones. Well, original ones too, I guess. It should totally do the trick.”

Anders eyed his Heavy Deconstructor. “Hip, you DO know we’re investigating the Gloaming Wildwoods, right?”

“Whoa, whoa, hey. You never know what’s gonna be down there,” the fashionable hipster retaliated. “Plus, you should see that thing in action. It totally blows up anything manmade. Or gremlin-made. Or…clockworks made. You’ll see, trust me!”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Anders remarked with a smile, “Till then, I’ll make sure your storage box takes good care of this until we get back.”

“Oh, just keep it.”

Anders stared blankly at the metrosexual bomber.

“One free sample per customer. And that way, it’ll be coming down with us anyway,” he announced gleefully.

Anders pocketed it with a sigh. “Alright, but don’t get your pants in a mess if I never touch it. I mean, when’s the last time we’ve seen a construct there?”
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Talk to me, Kora.” Anders leaned back in his tent and sipped a coffee.

“Greetings Sergeant Anders, this is Intel-Agent Kora communicating with you regarding—“

“Cut to the chase, Kora. I know who you are,” he laughed.

“—well, alright. A number of training groups have disappeared over the past week, all centered around the Gloaming Wildwoods area. We suspect there may be some connection.”

Anders took a swig of his coffee. “Tell me more.”

“Each training group was the recruits’ first exposure with the second stratum of the Clockworks. They were split in the standard configuration: three privates, proto geared, being led and trained by a top-ranked private, ready for promotion. In our cases, we have MIA and presumed KIA Private Irving, Private Wilder, and Private Varnus, along with their recruits.”

Varnus. That name sounded familiar. “By any chance, do you know if Varnus was a member of—“

“Lieutenant Barrus’ first strike platoon, yes. He was a member of your class, and trained alongside you. You may have remembered fighting him in Cyrano’s close combat fencing.”

“Right, I remember him.” Varnus, that crazy b****d.

“Anyways, it should be a fairly straightforward mission. Your tier two 3rd-stratum cleared B team should be more than sufficient for the job. Any further questions?”
There was a slight pause as he stared thoughtfully into the corner of his room.

“Sergeant Anders…?”

“Oh, sorry. No, that will be all,” he lied.

“Then good luck. Kora out.” The line disconnected, and he removed his comlink.

Varnus, you crazy b*****d. What got you down there?
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“So, you’ll be gone how long, again?”

“Just a couple of days.” Anders double checked the equipment in his pack: rations, tent, fresh undergarments. His team did likewise as they prepared to board their elevator in the Arcade, which was scheduled to depart in five minutes.

“But it’s just a Stratum 2 checkup, right? Why can’t they send someone else? It’s two whole days…”

“Serena, it’ll work out. They’re sending us because they’re not sure anyone else can get the job done as well as we would,” he reassured his girlfriend. “You never know what could be down there…”

She rolled her eyes. “Wolvers, what a scare. Maybe you’ll even run into the Snarbolax, which we routinely hunt as the final training test.”

“I’m just going to investigate. Everything else shouldn’t be a challenge.” He mounted his pack, and adjusted the straps. “I promise I’ll be home in time for Valentines.”

“I guess you’re taking your squad, huh?” she trailed off, before beginning with renewed energy. “Hey! You know, if one of them wants to stay, it is near holiday season after all, and I’d love to try my new magnus…”

Ty smiled. “I’d love to do that, but you know, I can’t leave my squad with you two lovers. First they’ll be searching, and before they know it, you two will be hiding in the bushes going…OKAY JUST KIDDING DON’T SLAP ME.”

Anders lowered his palm and laughed. “We can take our vacation down there later, if you want. The only one that’d be willing to slack is Ty, and trust me, we need a guardian, not a gunner. Plus, who’s gonna keep Jodi company, while I steal her Lysane for a couple days as well?”

“Well, all right then,” she pouted ruefully. “Have fun, I guess?”

Anders moved in for the hug. “I’ll be back before you can say Valentine,” he said, joining his team on the elevator and loading his mist tank in the slot.
She watched as the four knights disappeared into the darkness of the Clockworks with a whirr. “Valentine,” she whispered.
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Ty was off the elevator with a jolt, shield up and sword in the standard defensive position. The squad fanned out closely behind, Ly quietly sweeping the front with Anders, Ty, and Hip crawling as a cohesive unit through the exposed jungle of the Gloaming Wildwoods. Not a creature was in sight.

“At ease, men,” Anders ordered. The squad lowered their guard and surveyed the looming forest. Already, Anders could feel the pit of anxiety forming in his stomach. Something was off…

“Well,” Hip spoke up, breaking the silence, “where are all the wolvers?”

“I guess they’re too busy munching on dead recruits, huh?” Ty jested. “I’d get in on it too, but they’re probably a bit smelly for me now…”

“Cut it, Ty,” Lysane defended, “Show some respect for the fallen.”

“Alright, alright, too soon, I know.”

Anders resigned himself to his thoughts. So it’d been a while since he’d been down here, training recruits and running them through the basics of combat. But usually, wolvers were all over the elevators that came down; whether rookies or full-blown Wardens, they’d always be trying to grab a meal. Could they be deeper inside…? Or, is something more sinister at work here?

“Let’s check the training path. Move out.”
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They had almost reached the second checkpoint before they found a clue of life. A single wolver, nothing more than a mere pup, lay hiding in the
bushes. Anders hushed the squad to a halt, and motioned Lysane forwards.

Lysane advanced cautiously; hand on hilt, heart in his throat, counting the seconds between his steps. The wolver watched him approach with its huge, beady eyes, retracting deeper into the bush, as if hiding could save it. It watched as the flourish slowly extended out of its sheath, closed its eyes, and braced for the coming impact.

He hesitated. He was so certain that it would dodge behind him, prompting him to draw and slash as it passed. This one, though…whether inexperienced or simply frightened to death, it was offering no resistance. Coming this far along a training route that had eaten three squads of recruits and three seasoned soldiers, only to find one morbidly frightened wolver pup, incapable of even baring it’s teeth…

Lysane sheathed his sword. “This wolver,” he said, “It’s….scared.”

The squad rose from the tight defensive triangle they had formed. “It is” Hip said, adding more than a touch of pity in his voice as he watched it tremble in the bushes. “So scared…”

Anders watched as it reopened its eyes, almost in shock at the fact that it was still alive, regained its composure, and darted through the underbrush. Then, as before, it was just them and the heavy, almost tangible atmosphere of silence.

“Scared of what?” Ty asked.

Silence.
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Another eternity of cautious tiptoeing passed until they came across a clearing. This clearing, unlike any before it, finally gave them a taste of danger that had been so absent during the earlier phase of the trail. Scattered proto armaments and footprints trailed in elaborate shapes around the single bell which remained tall in the center.

Then there were the large, dark tracks of burnt underbrush, drawing huge, vicious lines across the battlefield. Almost the entire surface was blackened, and the “freshness” of the ashen told Anders that it was mere days since the battle occurred.

“Well, ain’t that a s**tshow,” Ty grimaced, looking at the wreckage before them.

Hip bent down, digging an armored glove through the earth. “There’s no nitronome residue,” he analyzed, grinding through the ash with his hand. “No deconstructor remains, or shards of crystal bombs, or barrage spikes…whatever did this, they did it with a pure combustible.”

“Only constructs and gremlins use pure combustibles in the clockworks. This…is a beast’s lair.”

“It’s what the dirt tells me,” Hip finished, adjusting his glasses. “One more thing, Sarge. I’m no spiral medic, but as a bomber, I can tell you that only second degree, if not third degree, combustibles penetrate the earth this far.”

“But no enemies this shallow even have access to second degree combustibles.”

“The dirt doesn’t lie.”

Anders was still processing the implications when Ly’s voice sounded across the clearing.

“Sarge! You’re gonna want to see this.”

Anders followed Lysane to the center of the clearing, which, from the intensity of the flames, had formed into a dramatic depression. As they closed in, Ly pointed Anders to the trough of the branded valley: amidst the black lay specks of a hue of cobalt which eerily resembled the one they bore so proudly.

They began digging as the other two watched the perimeter, sweeping layer and layer of ash off the reclaimed armor set. Albeit scorched and warped from the high heat damage, it was clearly of Spiral design, or more specifically, Second Sergeant; no doubt the squad of recruits could be confirmed KIA if their guide hadn’t even managed to survive the encounter.

Ly and Hip pinged their comlinks. “It’s either Second Sergeant Irving, Second Sergeant Wilder, or Second Sergeant Varnus,” Ly read. “Those are the ones that Kora marked were MIA.”

“Maybe there’s some identification information listed here, like size, variant, or class,” Hip added.

“There’s no need for that.”

The squad turned towards Anders, who was staring deeply into a freshly-uncovered green proto crest, adorned on what was once the left-breast mesh.

“It’s Varnus.” [Click for Spiralspy!]

___________________________________TWO___YEARS___AGO_____________________________________________________

Cyrano stared at the long line of recruits, each one clad in standard cobalt armor and calibur. “At ease, soldiers,” he gruffly nodded.
Not like it did anything. To be in the presence of a Warden Lancer, much less, the Champion of the Spiral Order himself, Cyrano, set the recruits on edge. His flowery hat, his fastened coat adorned with the first lancer crest, and The Namesake secured tightly to his side; the whole vision of Cyrano emitted an aura of awe and fear that soaked his diminutive audience through and through.

“You,” he said, “are recruits. And I am among the best we have here in Haven. As such, it is my duty to train you in the fine art of close-quarters dueling.”

“You will be quick,” he said. The Namesake flew out of its sheath and pranced through the air, slicing blurs in the wind as it hummed with the deadly sting of controlled power, striking down invisible enemies. His blade was everywhere, his body nowhere.

“You will be disciplined,” he continued. With a quick whip, he saluted an invisible opponent and leapt back. Then, he was in his ready position: primary foot turned right, lateral balance, sword and arm ready to decimate his opponent; the poise of an artist, the power of a soldier.

“But above all else,” he warned, “you must be honorable. Respect your opponent, respect the Order, respect yourselves.”

His audience nodded in mute agreement, still in awe of his presence. “To begin our instruction we will have a little competition. “You will each of you, fight to overcome your comrades. As the losers are eliminated and the victors move onward, I will assign ranks based upon your performance. The winner of our competition will be awarded a crest.” The recruits craned their necks to see the small glimmering proto crest secured under Cyrano’s Warden crest. Guardian Major Barrus stepped forward. “Now form a line! I want those caliburs off, we don’t want you hacking through each other’s armor.” The recruits jostled and shoved each other, all struggling to form the head of the line. “You two, step to!” ordered the Warrant Officer. The first two recruits saluted one another and drew their caliburs and circled each other like wolvers, both eager for Cyrano’s approval.

Cyrano drummed his fingers on The Namesake’s exquisitely crafted hilt. The current crop of recruits was poor. “What are you thinking Lord Cyrano? They’re green as grass, but these are the only ones that passed the combat simulators,” Barrus inquired.

“Their standard is the best we’ll get.”

Hours passed as Cyrano and Barrus watched the ensuing fights, proctoring the battles and intervening when necessary, mentally noting the style and skill of the recruits all the while. In front of them a dull “clunk” echoed through the training all as one of the privates brained the other with the hilt of his calibur. “Private Varnus, that will do. Private Jonah, you have been eliminated,” called Barrus. Jonah hung his head and sidled over to the growing crowd of eliminated recruits, while Varnus crowed his victory. “This one fights with spirit, but his moves are clumsy and brutal. More in the fashion of a schoolyard bully than a fencer,” mused Cyrano.

“Anders, and Nigel, you’re up,” ordered Barrus.

Private Anders swept his calibur upward in a warrior’s salute. He was already tired from his tussle with Private Braxton, and Private Wilders had been no pushover either. Shaking slightly under the stern gaze of his instructor W.O. Barrus, he glanced timidly at the tall figure of the Champion of the Order, scrutinizing him from under the brim of his chapeau. Across the training ring, Private Nigel did the same. “You may proceed.” Nigel lunged forward in dramatic fashion with his calibur, eager to impress the commander. Anders easily dodged the clumsy blow. Moving forward rapidly he checked Nigel’s swift advance with a slight push to the shoulder. Nigel stumbled, his footing disrupted as he realized he had badly overextended. Before he could move another inch, he found the point of Anders’ calibur at his throat.

“Very good Private Anders, you are eliminated Private Nigel,” announced Barrus. “This one has talent, his moves are swift and light,” murmured Cyrano.

Barrus checked the roll call, and nodded to the crowd of defeated knights amassed. “And for the final round, fighting for the proto crest which will be awarded by the Warden Private Varnus vs. Private Anders.” He nodded to the top ranked recruits, who had already taken their post on opposite sides of the ring. Cyrano’s eyes darted from the tired Anders, who quietly cleaned his blade and mentally preared himself, to the rallied Varnus, who was flexing and beating down imaginary opponents. He waited.

“Begin.”

Anders swept his caliber up, saluting as he did with every match. His salute was matched with a spit in the sand, as Private Varnus charged. All eyes moved as the two clashed near the center, caliburs flaring. Anders buckled under the swiftness and vigor of the incoming attacks, struggling to parry Varnus’s brute force and savage speed. Varnus snarled, watching as his attacks were harmlessly redirected.

But even Varnus, with all his strength and vigor, could not fight forever. His attacks slowed, his arms heavy from exhaustion, and Anders felt each successive blow weaker than the one before. Cyrano nodded, approving the simple yet elegant strategy exhibited by the recruit.

And with that, Anders struck. With a swift blow, he locked Varnus’s blade in the sand and elbowed him, knocking him to the floor. Varnus, with all his energy drained, looked up at the clear victor, who backed away and gave his opponent a chance to recover. Rage boiled within him.

Barrus was about to call the fight off when Varnus, with a new bolt of energy, rushed to his feet and kicked the sand towards Anders and rushed in behind it. Anders, blinded by the cloud, was still scraping the sand from his visor when…

SHINGGG.

Anders stared ominously at the blade mere inches from his nose, stopped by a blurry white line. As Anders focused on it, he made out the razor rapier edge and intricate engravings.

“Enough,” Cyrano said. With a whirl, he danced the edge of The Namesake around Varnus’s parried calibur and knocked it to the ground. Cyrano sheathed The Namesake, eyes tracing a path from recruit to recruit.

“Your crest, as promised,” he spoke dismissively, tossing the badge to the eager Varnus without taking his eye off Anders.

Then, he was gone, back turned and proud stride carrying him into the distance.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“…So he bore this crest proudly, proof as champion of the tournament and top of the recruits,” Anders finished, polishing the last of the dirt off the green trainer’s crest which should’ve been his. “Even through the rest of his poor training, even through the dishonor, even through the instability one and a half years ago; it never left his chest.”

Hip and Ly stared on at the green glow in Anders’s hand, absorbing the story until they were interrupted by Ty’s voice. “Sarge!”

Within seconds, the hounding of wolvers and sounds of commotion were upon them. Instinctively, the knights formed up in a defensive huddle, Typhon at the front with the others watching sides. Shadows danced through the woods, flickering rapidly through the clearing. Panicked barking of the racing wolvers rang through the forest, disturbing the utter silence the squad had been used to.

But they were running…away?

Anders lowered his guard as the silence returned, the tornado of bestial panic fading into the gloomy forest. His gaze glanced into the distance, suppressing annoyance as he tried to put the clues together. Then…

It had been faint at first, but with the whirlwind of panic past, the robotic clunking became louder and louder, heavier and heavier, more and more widespread. Typhon readied his shield while Lysane watched his scanner anxiously, watching red dots multiply. “What on Cradle…?” Lysane whispered as the whining of mechanical gears descended on them.

The clearing lit up as a lance of flame sliced across the ground, and the battle was on. Anders was out in a flash, combat roll recovery position, calibur drawn, while Typhon planted his shield and braced for impact. Flames licked the edges of his shield as he uttered a guttural cry of strength. The assailant stepped out from the shadows and fixed its single eyes on its enemies, whirring as it processed the situation. With a command, multiple others sprung from the underbrush.

Anders watched as more retrode charges warmed up, lasers locking in on his squad. “Scramble!” he ordered. Flame tracks scorched the area the squad had been; behind the ashen haze, he could only see the glow of Typhon’s shield rushing to engage. With a battle cry of his own, Anders rushed to engage.

Hip reached for his Heavy Deconstructor, only to find the slot replaced by a static field generator. “Damnit, Sarge!” he thought to himself, “I knew I shouldn’t have let him take it.” He made do with blast bombs, lobbed them liberally into the fray while catching up to his squad.

“Feel it,” Anders whispered to himself, ignoring the latent explosions as best he could. He ducked right smoothly, dodging a first attack while bracing his shield for the second. The retrode’s knuckles buckled against his shield as Anders rolled with the momentum, skimming a few electric circuits with his calibur in an elegant reversal. Unfazed, his robotic foe charged on, strikes finding only air as Anders rolled to his left. As the retrode’s momentum came to an end, Anders charged, shield leading as he used his superior mobility to duel. A dodge left, a slash right, and a parry of an instinctive left thrust later, Anders was where he wanted to be. A two-handed slash on the front, and the retrode turned accordingly; a backhand across its back slicing through crucial circuitry, and the retrode fell forward, barely catching itself on its knees as its balance program tried to compensate for the complete loss of function in its lower body. With a warrior’s decisiveness, Anders finished the fight with a well-aimed strike to the neck. The retrode’s head came loose with a flurry of electric sparks as its body collapsed, its critical systems losing power and deactivating. Anders turned to his left, watching as Typhon struck down a foe in a similar fashion and Lysane ambushed a retrode from behind, delivering a critical hit right through its control panel. It sputtered and died.

“Sarge!” Hip gasped, just catching up to his squad. “There’s more!”

Sure enough, another wave of constructs dashed through the underbrush and rushed. Gremlins followed suit, a couple wielding hammers while others carried gun puppies through and prepared an offensive line. As the squad recuperated, Lysane analyzed the approaching dots on his scanner, attempting to formulate a plan.

“Boys, it’s been a hell of a ride,” Anders said, worry written on his face as he gauged the looming situation.

“Sir, wait! I’m getting something weird…”

A small contingent of yellow, friendlies, seemed to approach from the side, rushing to collide with the lateral front of the red forces. Among them, one dot zipped with impossible speed, racing towards the frontline.

Lysane had barely taken his eyes off the scanner in time to witness a ball of shadow land amidst the forming frontline. Pinpoint slashes rang out at supersonic speeds, with such force that even fifty meters away, the ripple of wind could still be seen reverberating through the underbrush. As all knight, gremlin, and construct looked on, a dark figure, knightly in shape, stood amongst the destroyed gremlins and turrets. Without hesitation it turned, chapeau lowered, black plume high in the air, vorpal barb at the ready.

As the robots turned to counter the new threat, a squad of friendlies collided into the lateral front with an impressive flank: swordswoman and guardian leading the charge while a gunner dipped in and out of combat, shots flying downwind with pinpoint accuracy. The frontline was consumed by the whirl of blades and sparks of parries within seconds.

Typhon was already rushing forward when Anders ordered the charge. Together, the met the frontline dead in the jaw, blades flashing and shields gleaming in the reflection of newly fabricated scrap metal.

“Sergeant Helena, we’ve got the front secured!” the second guardian shouted.

“Push the line, Vot! Drive them back into the hole they crawled up from,” the swordswoman snarled. As Vot drew the line, Typhon dove in right next to him, the two guardians doubling the pressure on the enemies.

“Ly, hit them where it hurts!” Ty urged, devoting his strength to pushing forward. As Ly searched desperately for an opening, a cobalt blur rushed past him. In moments, Anders was on the ground, tackling a mecha knight and exposing the lateral side yet again. “Now!”

With a smooth roll, Ly was in the clearing, weapon charging with an elemental glow. Ensuring his weapon was set to “shock,” he yanked the blade forward and unleashed the full potential of its power source on the line of enemies.

A gigantic burst of blue-white electricity surged forward, frying circuits and overcharging the power sources of their robotic enemies. The last things Ly saw before absolute whiteout were robot heads exploding at the surge of voltage, which reflected off the guardian shields and returned for a deathly second dose. In his blinded state, Ly flew back from the force of the charge, landing in what he hoped was friendly territory as he heard his team rush into the thunderstruck frontline. Faint, hasty orders hit his ears as the world began to desaturate – he could just make out Ty and Anders running into the brush chasing survivors while the second squad secured the area.

It was over. They survived.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“How does he look?” Anders asked anxiously.

“Not too bad,” the second squad’s medic, Daina, replied. “The shock broke through most of his elemental seals, so he’ll want to get that repaired. Otherwise, he’s lucky though – a few electric burns, stigmated nerves, slightly scorched corneas, but it’s nothing that will bug him for too long.” She smiled at Anders, and patted Lysane on the head.

Anders nodded thanks to Daina and walked away, whispering additional thanks to the powers above for the fortuitous save – not only were they a higher ranked team, but they had the foresight to bring a medic. He nodded to Ty, who was relaxing against a tree and making small talk with Vot, as he walked towards the superior officer of the second squad.

“Sergeant,” he said, throwing a modest salute.

Helena returned the solute, and the both relaxed. “Sergeant Anders. What brings you down here?”

“Our mission from Spiral HQ. We are currently investigating the disappearance of three training squads down here, which were led by rising officers.”
Helena chucked. “Do you have your answer?” she smiled wryly.

“Constructs…down in the gloaming wildwoods. Second and third grade constructs too. I don’t understand.” He shook his head. “Those squads…never stood a chance.”

“They’re not the only ones,” came the gruff reply. The emblazoned dark knight approached, a deathly shadow following in his wake. Everything about him spoke of a tarnished elegance, an eroded greatness, a blackened soul. Anders had only felt the magnitude of reverence this fallen knight emitted once before.

“Who…are you?”

Sergeant Helena stepped in. “I believe I can answer that for you, Sergeant. My team was sent down here about a week ago, in order to investigate the ‘shadow presence’ which lurked in the gloaming wildwoods doing the exact opposite of all the other shadow presences. This one was helping, not impeding. Saving, not killing. The Wardens were most curious.”

“The Wardens?”

Helena shrugged. “I suppose I would be too, now that we’ve discovered the truth.” She nodded towards the dark knight.

He turned, looking Anders in the eye. “My name,” he said, enunciating every word with a regality and clarity that gave it away before he finished, “is Maverick.”
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Anders was in awe. He knew it from the start – that same presence, those same moves, that same discipline…of course, the black knight was a Warden. But of all Wardens, Warden Maverick himself, the up and rising Lord of Shadows, infamed duelist only once bested, by Cyrano himself? The same Warden that had disappeared only one and a half years ago in self-exile to the clockworks, proclaiming that he was finished with the Spiral Knights as a whole?

“So…you were investigating?” Anders admittedly had no idea where to start with this.

The gunner, who had joined the conversation and introduced himself as Jed, nodded. “We suspected that the shadow would be within the Lair, so we investigated. It was a carefully planned mission, nothing more,”

“Carefully planned, my a*s,” Mav scoffed.

Jed shot a glare at Mav before returning to his default state of logic and reasoning. “We had intended to only search the area, and try and find the one shadow that did not behave like the others.” He shifted. “We…were not successful.”

“They aggravated everything,” Maverick laughed, taking the failure in stride. “I was only there to save them.”

Jed shook his head. “Not my finest moment.”

“But…,” Helena picked up, leading on, “That’s not all we found. It seems like a large number of constructs and gremlins are surfacing into the Lair, scaring the wildlife and causing it to collapse into the disordered state that is now.”

Jed nodded. “I picked up two extremely large, electromagnetic field generators at the core. Typically, gremlins only use them for Gun Puppies, but this is something on a completely different magnitude. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to investigate further before the swarm of Snarbolax attacked, and well…you know the story from there.”

“They have since moved…up. As if…they’re attempting to surface.”

Attempting to surface? Constructs? Gremlins? Gloaming Wildwoods…? The puzzles pieces floated in Anders’s mind, unaligned, with no matching parts.

Mav nodded to Anders. “Want answers, kid? Then grab your recon, or Jed will do, as your recon’s blinded right now, and let’s move.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The two knights struggled hard to keep pace with Mav, who glided through the shadows like a native. Abruptly, he signaled a halt, and the three knelt into the underbrush.

“Up ahead.”

Anders and Jed watched the scanner, large electromagnetic pulses drawing concentric circles. “This is it,” Jed remarked, “The same thing we were unable to investigate.”

Quietly, Anders and Jed moved forward, making as little sound as possible in the underbrush. They eventually arrived at a cliff, overlooking a large clearing, and went prone for full stealth.

Jed, the recon, glanced first. An eerie silence penetrated the atmosphere, and Anders could feel Jed’s shock.

“Jed, what is it?”

Jed motioned forward, and handed Anders his binoculars, pointing southwest.

Anders looked through, and felt his stomach leap, heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He wasn’t sure whether he was more surprised at the number of troops, or at the fact that he didn’t need the binoculars to see the two oversize, menacing, flaming gun puppies that made the horizon. He could almost see its bright red eye blazing into his soul, as if it was omnipotent and sensed his presence. And suddenly, everything made sense.

Anders withdrew, white-knuckled with tension. “Spiral HQ has to hear about this.”

Answers, at last.