Shattered Line

Chapter 43: Silence

Isla stared at the scattered men bustling about the outer courtyard of Adamantium's central castle. They readied themselves for battle with a variety of armaments from the crates and weapon racks, marking the final preparations. Soon, she would materialize to Elysium, beginning the transfer of troops.

She leaned against the warm stone railing, her eyes shifted from one fully-equipped soldier to the next. From helmet to heavy black sollerets, their guises gleamed red underneath the blazing sky. Though not elaborate in design like their King's, their clean cut armor held a careful toted craftsmanship.

The men carried their helmets, their hardened and battle stiffened faces inflaming bloodlust. She felt the electrifying air, the jolts and twinges. Their desire intermingled with hers, squashing her anxiety. She was ready.

"This. Is. Amazing," Ham whispered, his mouth gaping wide.

"Do you think they'll notice anything missing?" Wolfe commented, his gaze enthralled by a crate of daggers.

"Wolfe, you're drooling." Ham laughed while wrinkling his nose. Sweat spots marked the underneath of his arms and down his back.

"I wouldn't try it," Lance intervened, "the last thing we need is trouble with the Arcadians."

"If he does anything stupid, you're free to make him suffer." Varnis yawned while lounging on a bench behind them. His lance leaned against the corner, propped up.

"Aren't you their boss? Trouble with one, brings trouble for all," Lance argued while glancing between the two.

"Hey now, let's not kill me off, okay boss?" Wolfe said without turning his head.

"How much longer will this take?" Isla interjected. She regarded Lance, waiting for an answer.

Lance scratched his head, running the same hand down his face. "Like I know."

"What do you know?" Slate drawled.

Lance glared at him. "You know as much as I do."

"Slate, be nice, he's our ride back home. I don't want to get shafted because of you," Ham cried.

"Shut up fatty."

"Someone's grumpy," Wolfe snickered from the side.

"I don't understand why we have to help this God again. Didn't we make a point last time, never to help?"

"That was only you, smartass. Some of us prefer having a job," Wolfe explained.

"If you hated the idea, you could have stayed home," Ham groaned and shook his head.

"Someone's gotta watch when the God tries to knife us in the back," Slate growled.

Isla sighed. "Yes, I'll stab you in the back when I'm busy fighting my father to death."

Slate jerked her way, his jaw clenched and eyes bulging from their sockets.

"Slate, shut up, or I'll let her do it," Varnis grumbled.

"Damn God. Damn smell," Slate mumbled under his breath before walking away.

"What a colorful individual," Asterick chuckled as he strode up with Lucifer.

Except for their cape coated with red fringe, both Asterick and Lucifer wore similar fashioned armor, blending into the army. Once helmeted, she would lose their positioning with ease amongst battle. Even now, Asterick restrained his hair into a ponytail, his bangs hanging free. The change dropped his age, his appearance youthful.

Their transformation from well-dressed Nobles to battle hardened soldiers forced her eyes upon herself. Even she acquired new armor—albeit forced by Lucifer—leather and sturdy, but providing fare mobility. A perfect fit, he knew her well.