Chapter One - Today's Catalyst
The grand equalizer; Terra Fōrdon. Home to the greatest monsters to have been birthed.
"...that's the last crate?" The supply officer questioned, he too having just finished stowing away various items.
"Yep... phew, heavy stuff right? If only the airship could moor up closer and save us the trouble. It never gets easier carrying all that so oft-"
"You'd be used to it by now." He crossed the tarp tent, flicking sweat from his brow and finding himself a flask. Of which its contents are left to the observing man's imagination. "How long have you been doing this? Months now brother! You ought to get some more fire in your furnace."
"Aha... sure thing cap'."
Being a human, the hard menial labor of a scavenging crew was almost above his physical capabilities, tiring at best. The others here are beings of more robust species - more capable of this difficult work. It's essentially tradition for them to find something to criticize about the human amongst their ranks.
"So, what's the outlook of today? 72's airship joined us so the extraction site is pretty full. Want me to go down there also?"
A light gust of wind blows across the desolate desert, stirring inside the operations tent, and bringing a flurry of sand. The supply officer however appears unbothered, his reptilian eyes blinking away any speck that finds their destination there.
"Of course. The extraction crews can always have an extra. You can handle it, I know you can. There are a few more things to clear up on the surface before I send you down."
The extraction teams tirelessly hunt away for relics of the old era. Anything down here can be pawned off atop the sky islands for some value. Or auctioned to researchers or the military for an extra. Scavaging comes with a noticeable risk, however, notably Terra Fōrdon's new 'caretakers'.
"I was hoping you'd let me stay up here..." He returns bouncy exhales, barely passable as laughs. "Ever since I joined up, it's been nothing but work, work, and more work. A death march is what I'd call it."
"You humans are just weak."
It's apparent the supply officer has no interest in his complaints. As far as the officer is concerned, he's merely a frail human, squirming around where he has no business - in a sense he's correct. Being a member aboard an airship expedition to Terra Fōrdon doesn't exactly command a 'wow' from people. It's a hard job, one that could get you killed for countless reasons. People instead regard you with pity or some other degrading view.
Humans haven't any place in these missions. Some go as far as saying humans have no place living atop the sky islands themselves. If they are more 'generous', they might remark that they can compromise and that: "Humans can go live on the rim islands". He was aware of this sentiment, but there wasn't much else in the job business. More accurately, any employer that wants a human employee.
"Though like I said, there are a few loose ends to tie before you go down."
"So what will it be?"
"Some of the excavation crew reported sounds coming from behind some rock faces. I'd like it for when you go down to check them out and report back."
"I feel like you are sending me on a suicide mission..."
"I'm sure you'd understand if I was."
He hopes that's a joke. "Yeah, right..."
"Bring some sounding equipment down. It'd be real bad if it's a Fōrdner nest."
"Here's you wanting me to go mess with it... Anyway, where's Chlydial?" Chlydial, a well-known member of Sky Island 73's expedition crew. An especially kind Varanesian, vastly the reason 73 ended up with its human counterpart. Chlydial had a way with words and prospected ways around things others would cast aside for being too difficult. Also having the benefit of being a long-life species.
"Him? He's already down on the site. Level 3 if I recall correctly. He's assigned to section 8 with the old steel deposits. Deal with those noises and you can join em' for the day. I know you love the bastard."
"So boss finally discarded him to the hole?"
"As with everyone else. Got'cha worried about your bud?"
"Well, a good friend is hard to come by these days."
The supply officer scoffs humorously at the young man's defense of Chlydial. Maybe it doesn't show, but he agrees - good friends are in high demand, and finding one is more useful than most imagine.
"So those 'loose ends' were just the brief on what's in store for me today?"
"That'd be it, correct. Grab your gear and head on down now boy." Giving the human a rough pat with giant hands, the supply officer waddles deeper into the tent.
Getting to see Chlydial again will be enjoyable. Going out for some drinks will definitely be on the table. He tosses a shredded cloak around himself, wrapping his head in an equally decrepit scarf. Getting torn apart by sand isn't one of his interests.
"Don't forget the sounding equipment! I don't want to see you scurrying back in here!"
"Ah! Sounding equipment... sounding equipment..." It's best not to forget the main piece of equipment he'd be requiring.
Metal box in hand, down the lanes of tents and sand, forwards to the expedition site. A long day surely awaits, a long day covered in different earthy substrates... 'This'll be fun,' He thinks to himself 'messing around with something best left undisturbed. Let's be honest, who'd willingly fiddle with some unknown presence hidden in a wall? Seems foolish to me, but maybe that doesn't transfer over to the other guys. We all come here prepared for the worst - I'm no exception.'
Instead of being rewarded a leisurely stroll to his workplace, beneath him the ground tremors. An explosion, or something, ejects copious amounts of dust and materials from the depths of the extraction site. His knees almost giveaway only just catching his weight and steadying. The shock is immediate, people hurrying from within their tents to get a clear view of what's occurring.
Sparringly, there is quiet. "What was that? What did you drop!?" The supply officer barrels out of his tent.
"Something exploded."
"Exploded? That explains the cloud... Shit, it better not be what I think it is."
"Are we leaving? Or...?"
Dust-covered men pour from the hole, panicked and desperately running to shelter. Dropping all they have in the process. A message is clearly conveyed from their shouts: Fōrdners. He expectantly looks to the supply officer, only to see him sprinting towards the airship.
Grabbing a passing myphorus' arm, sliding him to a halt. "What's going on? You came from the site right?"
"Fōrdner nest, human! Pack it up!"
"What? From what level? Are there any casualties?"
"Let go!" Breaking the hold and hurrying off again. "Level 2 - Of course there are casualties! Get to the airship if you don't plan to die here, kid!"
'Sound advice'. He drops what's cluttering his hands about to join in fleeing, only for Chlydial to cross his mind. 'Chlydial is on level 3 below level 2. How's he gonna get out-'
A moment of hesitation proves to be too much. A Fōrdner with its snout already wet with blood leaps from the depths and exits an obscuring cloud. Now seeing the promised threat hysteria peaks. Airships waste no time departing and snapping their mooring ropes. A monstrous creature with no discernable sensory organs seemingly hard-wired to hunt and kill. One of so many others that brought the end upon this world. A nightmare staring him down.
If he was to run, perhaps he'd clear a few metres before feeling its claws pierce his back. He can't believe the supply officer just left him for dead! And what about Chlydial? What's come of him?
His muscles twitch, ready to spring him into a run, but he freezes up. For some reason, his body refused to obey his instincts.
Before he realized, the Fōrdner's step kicked him into motion, bolting into an alley between tents. "Damn... One more day... One more day..." He shouldn't waste breath on pleas, but it's all he's got now.
Its screeching supersedes the whirring of rotors and screams. Kin joining atop Terra Fōrdon's surface. He has been chosen as its next prey, and he will be caught.
That cloak he'd donned for working below whips behind him, slapping away at his legs. He'd never realized he was this fast. Though compared with his pursuer he's essentially walking. Proven by its sudden appearance ripping through a tent.
"Gah-!" Catching on his heel, he crashes to the ground. Consequently saving himself from the Fōrdner's swiping claws.
"Come on shoes, find some grip... Find something! Anything to move, come on!"
Blood he hadn't detected trickles down his forearm. He rotates onto his back, looking up at his impending demise. "It wasn't meant to end like this. Not yet!"
Instead of a searing pain caused by a monster's vicious jaws, his ears ping and deafen. Ringing unpleasantly. Sky Island 72's airship crew happened to be of a military garrison. Thankfully meaning an armed presence - armed with generously sized cannons. Their shells dart through the sky, striking any threat their gun crews could target. Of which are plentiful.
Another moment to live and to escape. One he doesn't plan to waste. Back to his feet, he flees from the stunned Fōrdner. 'It can't kill me if it isn't trying...'
Predictably, that doesn't last. Those shells didn't hit the one he needed them to, only the sound confusing it momentarily. It's right back onto him, this time dead set on finishing off this evasive pest. There've been heroes of sorts throughout the years of various backgrounds and specialties. Sword saints, sages, you name it. All have tried to reclaim Terra Fōrdon from the vile beasts that now inhabit it. Though their continued presence puts into perspective the effectiveness of these 'heroes'.
"Ah... that's all I've got... Gah- Just, one more step..."
"One more... step!"
He gets that step, but the Fōrdner gets far more. Again he finds himself head to head with something he cannot beat. Will he luck out one more time? Unlikely. It's fast, like a stream down a mountain.
"Are you going to devour me? Or just kill me?" An answer won't come.
Those cannons fire again, the shells this time aimed just where he needs them. But at this distance - either he's dinner or confetti. Finding aim true on the Fōrdner's torso, and its jaws sinching his shoulder. Too much to exclaim in pain it practically sets him down then and there. But he holds on, he'll see this to the end - the very end.
Venom courses through his veins, burning and searing away.
However, just before it can tear him piece to piece, the shells pierce clean through. Instead ripping its jaws away from around him. A shower of stone and sand throws him down, layering atop him. The shelling saving him, and now condemning him.
'I can't move... I'm stuck... Ah, it's dark...'
Buried in the shallowest grave offered, he lies seething in his injuries. A second more and he'd certainly of been dead. Though what good does that do him now? Instead, he'll suffocate beneath the soil of a place he shouldn't have ventured to. Darker and darker... colder, heavier.
An unwelcome slumber creeps through him, sapping away remnants of pain and consciousness.
Every second ticks towards something less, fading away his awareness.
Expectantly, there would be no after-work drinks with Chlydail.
