Chapter Ninety-One – Cosmic Football – Part Three

Upon further analysis of Subject Theta 447, we have found similar genomic patterns to her pet, Subject Theta 448. Based on the research from another branch in the UWO regarding folklore surrounding dragons, we can only surmise that 447 may in fact be the fabled Dragonborn. More study will be needed to confirm our suspicions. Unfortunately, the DNA of both subjects seems to degrade by some kind of magical means within twenty-four hours, making the request to clone them impossible. We are exploring alternative measures to reach the objective, but with the subjects now missing, efforts are proving… fruitless.

-Classified Notes of UWO Researcher Tamble-

I already miss the cool breeze from the morning desert air. It's stupid hot in the midday sun, we've been moving for hours, nearly to our destination, one of the derelict spaceships, it looms high above in the sky. Soon we can rest in its shadow. The only person who seems to be enjoying themselves is Mira, looks like the heat doesn't have much sway on her, just like Sage told me it wouldn't. I still remember squinting at him in that weird room with bioluminescent life. The same one where the guy served me ballsack tea. Asshole.

Part of my unbound question that he answered without restriction led down the rabbit hole, leading to a variable I hadn't expected. Needing Mira. According to Sage, that was the easiest way to accomplish my goal, or at least reach the first phase of it. Looking at Cortez, seeing the dagger eyes she's giving Mira, I didn't think about the actual cost. Doesn't matter though, I need to do whatever it takes, my goal is not a selfish one, but a necessary one. If I'm going to carve my own path, I need the strength to do it. I need the strength to crush any threat that comes for Earth.

Fuck this heat, no ones talking, not even Tran, which gives me time to think.

There are nine other Marauders, all with the sole mission to fuck over Earth and ensure it fails. According to Fisban, one escaped detainment by way of a Respec On Death quest. No one knows if they died doing the quest, or if they are grinding levels to come back to Earth and dish out some unhealthy doses of ass whooping to the ones that tortured them. Fisban said she might be on that short list, given that her mentor was one of the ones that led the project.

They haven't made any big waves like the six Champions have. Those six dumbasses even plastered themselves as the WHA heroes. Like a calling card for Marauders. I'm surprised none of them have been assassinated yet.

Anyway, it worries me that the Marauders are being so damn quiet. Are they content in failing their mission? Or are they silently making plays without being detected? Slowly grinding levels to someday come out in full force. That's one of the reasons I really need to push harder. I need to be the strongest. Otherwise, I'll just be a bystander. I can't rely on gimmicks and system exploits forever. Eventually, Mythren and his goons will have me so bound by specific rules and clauses that I won't be able to take a shit without permission. Before that happens…

My hands clench as I push through the thick sand. I will become the strongest. Not just on Earth.

Azeroc was the first… he won't be the last.

***

The metal skeleton of the ship is surprisingly cool to the touch. Makes sense though, it's probably an alloy of some kind.

"We should take samples," Jericho says, pushing up his goggles, he's the only one besides Tenny that packed some. I guess Fisban's over prepared personality rubbed off on him.

"I concur," Tenny says, removing her goggles and pushing up her standard issue glasses, "This might be the best preserved alien technology that anyone has seen. Most worlds we are sent to are primitive by Earth's standards."

"A lot of good their tech did them," Greymore spits, rolling his eyes.

"Sir, their ships may have experienced a malfunction due to the electrical interference on this planet, to dismiss their technology as useless…"

"I didn't say useless, Lieutenant, I… never mind, take your damn samples."

"Roger that, Sir."

Tenny moves toward Jericho, both of them studying the first wall panels, neatly packed electronics are half broken from what I assume was the impact of this massive ship falling. She's probably right though, taking samples would be a good idea. Electronics function fine on Earth. Part of the mandate for soldiers clearing gates is to bring back anything useful, for the betterment of Earth's ability to fight the gates.

That's part of why I wanted her on the team, she's highly focused and organized, something I'm not great at. Almost every person is here for a specific reason that makes us stronger, more adaptable.

"Looks like someone gutted this thing," Barlow remarks, moving his hand against old char marks, like they cut with a laser of some kind.

"How old do you think the wreckage is?" Cortez asks, moving her hand across one of the markings.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Strangely, the language on this ship doesn't automatically translate. Weird. First time I've seen that, except with religious symbols, but those aren't really words, they're symbols of ideas. These look like words, punched intentionally into the metal carcass of this ship.

"Old, I'd guess."

Cortez looks at me with a lazy eyebrow, "Old?"

I shrug, "Really old."

She laughs a little and moves on, following Niva who's jumping between the wreckage.

"Alright Ruther, you're up," Greymore nods, looking up at the intersecting cross beams that move into the belly of the ship.

Probably a couple hundred meters up, like a metal mountain. They didn't look this big from the binoculars.

"Right, what's the order?" Ruther asks, resting his hands on his ballistic vest collar, he's got a scar under his eye that crosses his cheek and barely touches his top lip. He has a thick British accent, and a smug look, like he knows he's the guy. And he is. All of Greymore's people are the guy or the girl. The one most people aspire to be. They're all certified badasses with out of regulation hair and attitudes. That's spec ops for you though. Best of the best.

Greymore points at me, "He's got it."

Ruther smiles, giving me an approving nod, "Whatcha need god slayer?"

"I need you to go to the top, place two poles on the top, use duct tape if you need to, doesn't matter, then take both of these balls and toss them through both sides."

He squints at me, then looks back at Greymore who nods.

"This why I'm wearing a jersey?"

I nod.

He turns to Greymore, "Is this punishment for that one thing?"

"Nope."

He squints at him, "Is this because I dyed my hair pink for the mission?"

"Nope."

His squint becomes so tight that he looks like his eyes are closed, "Is this because…"

"Nope."

His eyes open and he shrugs, "Right then, two shakes and I'll be back."

He grabs both balls and puts them in his bag. He cracks his neck and starts climbing, so fast that I'm actually in awe of it. This guy's like a superhuman gymnast. Jumping from beam to beam with ease, landing on his hands and cartwheeling… I'm not sure he needs to do that part, but he is.

"Is his class…"

"Nope, he's just really fucking good at showing off."

"I could do better," Clayton says, crossing his arms and looking upward.

"No, you couldn't," Greymore sighs, pulling out his can of tobacco and putting in a lip, the third today, "In my prime though…"

"Bullshit," Clayton says with a smirk.

Greymore grunts before he spits, "Let an old man dream, damnit."

Clayton smiles, shaking his head.

Looking at me Greymore asks, "What's the next move?"

"We don't know what the Marorak is, but in the words of Fisban, we need to secure our main objectives first. Water, food and shelter."

Greymore knows all of this, but he's humoring me, or trying to get me to act more like a leader. He pulled me aside a week ago and told me he wanted me to start taking more of a command role. He said he won't always be here to hold my hand, and being a leader is an expectation of the UWO hero, even if they don't see me as that yet.

He's a good guy, and he gets along well with most of my team, besides Tran. Him, Mwangi and Gilroy actually became drinking buddies with Clayton, the four of them, they can clear a cooler of beer in two hours flat.

"Right," Greymore says, looking around at the metal structure, "Shelter's definitely taken care of, and food we all packed a month's worth in our go bags, if we ration it."

"Our focus should be water then."

He nods, patting my shoulder.

"Might be worth sending out some scout teams," Clayton says, musing an object in his hand, looks like some debris from the old ship.

"Let's do that."

"Good plan, boss," Greymore nods, then motions for Clayton to make it happen.

I know that if I fuck up leading this mission, Greymore and Clayton, even Mwangi and Dorliac will step in, hell, even Tenny could take over, but it's still stressful. I'm used to taking orders, not giving them.

This is part of the process though. Seek discomfort to find growth.

***

A loud voice echoes in the metal hull, "I will remove your hands from your body if you try to touch them."

"Fuck's sake," Greymore sighs, spitting on the ground, "Fucking Tran."

We move toward the commotion, Tran's dangling in the air, being held up by only one of Mira's hands. She's unnaturally strong.

"Put him down," I ask.

Her eyes turn to me, her gaze narrowing, "He asked if he could touch my horns and you want me to release him?"

"Please?"

A suppressed smile flickers over her lips as she drops him.

"Damn dude, I just wanted to know what they felt like," Tran says, dusting himself off.

"Tran, leave her alone," Cortez says, there's a tense reluctance in her tone though.

The act surprises Mira who tilts her head at Cortez. Maybe they can work together. Cortez is certainly trying. It's something I asked her to do, despite how pissed she was, she agreed.

"I'm just trying to make her feel welcome," Tran shrugs.

"She knows she's welcome, asking to touch her is weird," Cortez chastises, her hands on her hips.

"Sorry."

Mira looks at Tran like he's the dirt under her nails after a long day of work, "And stop claiming to have slayed a god, you sound foolish."

"I did."

"No, you did not."

"Technically, I helped."

"No…"

"He did," I say, shrugging, "Technically help."

Mira blinks at me, a strange inquisitive expression on her face.

"Did no one tell you?" I ask, but as I ask it, I realize that she was unconscious when she arrived on Earth. She's also been held in a secret facility since then and had no contact besides what she said was frail humans in white lab coats. Or at least they sounded like lab coats.

"Tell me what."

"I killed Azeroc."

She blinks slow, then tilts her body, her eyes squinting, "Darling, did you hit your head again?"

I shake my head, remembering the last time she questioned me like that was with that Lich she hung out with. The same one that she eventually turned into a mask after feeding him to her dragon... six? Or was it seven times? Doesn't matter. They were both convinced I had brain damage. Dicks. Wonder what happened to that guy anyway.

Tran smirks, "I was wondering why she wasn't treating me better. She didn't know, that's why."

"I don't think it had anything to do with not knowing," Barlow says, taking a drink from his canteen.

Mira comes closer, her eyes swirling with a purple hue, "You're not lying, are you?"

"No, he's very dead."

Her confused expression changes, a grin sliding across her face until it exposes her sharpened canines, her head tilts back as she roars with laughter, raising her hands from her sides and looking up, "You're next, Jaledi."

"She kind of laughs like a villain," Cortez whispers in my ear, she's smiling though, like she finds it endearing in some way. It is kind of funny, almost cartoonishly villainous.

"Yeah, she does."

Something above calls my focus, a ball falling to the ground, then another. A muffled echo rumbles down the ship's belly.

"Goal!"

Within a breath, Sage appears next to me. Eyes fixated on the sports balls.

"You're sure about this, meatsack?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Terra strides into my view next. Looking down at the balls and then back at me, "He's going to be pissed. He takes rules and agreements very seriously."

"Not my problem. Just call him here, I'll do the…"

Time stops, light begins spindling around me, and then darkness follows.

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