III

III

 

"Twenty-one-hundred. We should be reaching the end of the tunnel soon," Eulis muttered to no one in particular.

Eulis looked up from his pocket watch. The inside of the giant pipe looked like a gloomy cave. Under the electric lighting, the conveyer continued to move along with a low roar. The conveyer was meant to take Oilshell from the mountain to the purification plant. Tonight, though, the belt wasn't carrying minerals. It was carrying three thousand townsfolk, all of them looking a little uneasy.

"How is your leg, Father Tres?"

Eulis and Tres were sitting at the back of the group. Eulis turned his attention away from the group of huddled, frightened townsfolk and to the priest who sat next to him. "Does it hurt?"

"Negative. There is no pain." Tres' face was emotionless as always. He was currently treating the area on his right thigh where he had been shot that morning, when he had been defending Eulis. Under the manmade skin was shape-memory plastic, which had been pinned back to allow Tres to access the damage sections. "However, the condenser in my upper-right leg is damaged. There is a possibility that my leg will overheat in a prolonged battle." Tres continued to assess the damage to his body.

"I see." Eulis looked a little pained. "I'm really sorry for this morning, Father Tres. I shouldn't have said such terrible things to the person who defended me. You were right. I am weak."

"Negative." As ever, the mechanical soldier was expressionless. He wasn't accepting the apology. He continued to work on his leg as he spoke. "It is true that your psychological hesitation was the cause of our failure in a previous battle, but in today’s battle, you have aided the townsfolk to escape. I have to reassess your value now."

"No. I really am weak." Eulis was surprised at Tres' kind consolation, but still he shook his head sadly. "It's been two years since I inherited my father's position. I intended to work hard. I built roads and schools. But when it comes to war, I'm useless."

Eulis looked down at the fragments of Oilshell on the conveyer. His eyes were full of bitterness. He screwed up his face as if he had just been forced to drink some bitter medicine. "As soon as I heard the first gun shots, I blanked out. Next thing I knew, I was outside of the castle. I am a coward. I wish I could have been born as someone who could feel joy in the heat of battle, like yourself." Eulis pulled his character apart, bit by bit.

Tres' reply to it was calm: "I have not once felt joy in battle." Tres did not speak out of pride, but rather to make Eulis understand. "Ever since I was turned on, I have not felt the need to fight. My battles have been because I was ordered to... or something similar. Your assessment of me has been incorrect, sir."

"Ordered? You mean that your superiors told you to do this?"

"Negative. There was no direct order. But any task which serves to defend my mistress' life or position is my top priority. I have to neglect everything else.

"I see." Eulis sighed. He looked back at the townspeople, who were still squatting down, glancing around in fear. There was something that Eulis prioritized over all else too. He would risk everything to save it. He would risk himself if he could save them...

"It's strange," Eulis started to think. When Eulis turned back round to meet the eyes of the bloodless Tres this time, he smiled. "Father Tres, why will people fight to save the lives of others, even at the risk of their own lives? Why stand against those that are stronger?"

"Count, silence please." Tres ignored Eulis' musing. He quickly turned around. He flipped the safety catch on the giant gun in his hand.

"What is it? Father Iqus?"

"The enemy."

Their world was torn apart in the next moment.

About one-thousand feet behind them, there was a large explosion, which engulfed the pipe; the wind created by it knocked the townsfolk down.

"What was that?!" Eulis shook his head. He'd temporarily lost his hearing. But he could see that the belt had stopped moving and the townsfolk were screaming out in fear. He turned around to ascertain what had caused the explosion, but what he saw froze him to the spot. "It's them!"

A gaping hole had been made in the pipe. It looked like a huge demon had come down and taken a bite out of it. A large snow drift had also fallen into the tunnel. What really caught Eulis' attention, though, was not the destruction. From the other side of the gaping hole were a swarm of black shadows.

"Ne-New Vatican!" Eulis gulped.

"They must have detected us," the mechanical soldier offered as a short explanation.

From armored vehicles lined up outside the hole, hundreds of soldiers had started filtering out.

"Go ahead," Tres ordered Eulis as he changed the cartridge of his fun to tungsten bullets. "We are about seventeen miles from the mountain. If you move quickly, you will be able to arrive there within one hundred and fifty minutes. Then when you arrive, you must seal the entrance as quickly as possible. That should buy you some time."

"What are you going to do, Father Tres?" "I will stay. I can hold them off here and buy you some more time."

Tres watched the all-Terran vehicles maneuver their cannons. People on foot would be no match for such vehicles. Tres would have to take out the vehicles, or they would catch up with the evacuees. "Leave it to me. Hurry, sir. You are the only one who can guide them."

"I... ah..." Eulis opened his mouth as if to say something, but Tres had already turned round. "You are not a war leader."

The townsfolk were looking at each other with concern and calling out pathetically.

"You have a priority. That is to protect them." "I'm sorry, Father Tres!" Eulis lowered his head defeated, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry!" "GO! NOW!"

The young Eulis turned around and began to lead the townsfolk further down the tunnel.

"Switching to Genocide-mode. Combat Open." The unlucky soldiers' heads that got in the way of Tres' flurry of bullets were turned into hunks of meat. But it wasn't long before the cartridges in his guns ran out. Tres quickly hid himself behind a boulder. The bullets that were aimed at him buried themselves into the snow.

The soldiers made exclamations of frustration... but they didn't expect the next round of bullets that sunk into their chests.

"Deleted thirteen, downed three..." Tres shook out his wrists. White steam came from the magazines lying on the floor. "Search-mode. Locate the captain."

While he changed the magazine in his rifle, Tres searched for the commander. The snow and geography should have been in his favor, but with this much of a strength disparity, that was no longer the case. Also, against armored vehicles, his defensive capabilities were greatly reduced. He was equipped to fight in the snow, but his polymer-based artificial skin was unlikely to be a good defense against such high-powered weaponry. He needed to take out the commander quickly. That way, he could confuse the ranks and segment them.

"Are you hiding here? Heretic scum!"

While Tres was considering his options, he heard a throaty voice calling to him. Suddenly a giant sword came crashing down, splitting the rock that Tres was hiding behind.

"God is all-knowing and all-powerful. Don't think you can escape, sinner."

Heidrich's eyes glinted with lunacy. He roared then swung the swords, which glinted in the light that was reflected off the snow, back down to the ground. "Die!"

"Point-two-eight seconds late."

Tres dodged, rolling backward and then springing to his feet. His artificial muscles and lightweight frame allowed him to perform some very acrobatic moves. He jumped up into the air and repeatedly pulled the triggers of the guns in his hands.

"Hah! Not good enough!" Heidrich snorted. He kicked up snow, which swallowed the M13's bullets.

Suddenly, Tres disappeared. No, he hadn't disappeared. Gunslinger had, with lightning speed, moved to the right and was now letting loose another flurry of bullets. It knocked his enemy back for a second.

Heidrich slashed at the air again, but Tres had already moved behind him. Though Tres had avoided that slash, another one came from the right. It would have been physically impossible to avoid if it had not been for his abnormal weight.

"Point-oh-eight seconds late."

However close he had come to death, Gunslinger didn't look perturbed. As Heidrich slashed again, Tres turned his gun and fired straight at his enemy. But it was Tres' body that grumbled. He had overexerted himself; he took a step back.

Had his leg been overexerted and given in? No. From his right knee, there was black smoke pouring out. It looked like the coolant in his right leg supports had been damaged and it was now overheating.

"Praise the Lord. I've got you, AX!" Heidrich swung his sword into the air. It drew a silver line in the air.

Tres was still trying to stand back up again.

From the deep gouge in his cassock, internal fluid spurted out. Torn artificial flesh sprung out of the wound like elastic. Still, Tres tried to lift the gun...

"A mere Doll is no match to me!"

Heidrich planted a kick in Tres' chest, knocking him back down to the ground. He'd taken some substantial internal damage. His body was twitching in places. Tres wasn't trying to get up anymore.

"What foolishness." Heidrich mocked the fallen warrior at his feet. He thrust the point of one of his swords against the man's neck. "I am a warrior of God. Sacred. I could never lose to the likes of you. I feel sorry for you, you lapdog of Sforza!" He carefully steadied his sword. This was to be the last blow.

But Tres didn't beg for his life. Instead, he murmured something colder and more unforgiving than the snow: "Shall we test how 'sacred'?"

On pure instinct, he jumped back—if he hadn't, he would have been sure to lose his head.

A dark black wind shot across the ice. The force of this entrance was almost explosive.

"Well dodged. You are more than just words, then," a calm voice mocked Heidrich.

When did this newcomer arrive? The figure stood between the fallen tuned soldier and Heidrich. It was another young man with pale blonde hair with glittering eyes.

Heidrich turned round to the man. "Who the hell are you?!"

He yelped when he saw the man twirling a baton in his hands move toward him. Panicking, he dodged the attack, but it managed to graze his cheek. This was no ordinary man! "Another heretic, like the Doll!"

"I am Hugue," the newcomer calmly replied. His hand twisted behind his back as if it were a separate creature to him. Suddenly, he sprang into action. He turned somersaults around the soldiers who had tried to blindside him. Lashing out here and there with his stick, he knocked a man to the ground with each swipe. He didn't once look down at the victims who lay screaming in pain on the floor. He then turned his blood-drenched staff to Heidrich.

"I am AX Agent Sword Dancer. I will not forgive this treatment of my friends, New Vatican. Leave now!"