Golden conflagrations sparkled along the silent corridors where Centurion Peacekeepers and their heavy guard waited. Echoing steps, taken by Anaphora and Gothalia brought to life the silent walkway.
Gothalia pulled her dark gaze from the Peacekeepers, feeling the chill of their gaze on her as they proceeded down the hall.
The corridor echoed with their light breathing and hushed conversation. “What exactly are you implying?” challenged Gothalia. Anaphora had ventured to the surface world yesterday but had been reticent to share the details of her mission. She only informed Gothalia of Alastorian presence at the Darwin prisons and those lurking around the outer edge of the city’s suburbs. Nothing more. Gothalia hadn’t interrogated her further on the topic, but had wondered if she told her everything.
“What I’m implying, Gothalia, is undercover work—you need to head to a club tonight in Darwin’s CBD. An Xzandian Scout Commander has infiltrated the city and is meeting with an unknown source. You need to lure out the source without being detected.”
“And if I am?”
“Fight. They’ll kill you if you don’t.” Anaphora’s convincing gaze halted Gothalia’s further question and caused her to turn attention from her mentor—contemplating why the Xzandians were clustering around Australia. More importantly, around Darwin, of all places.
“You’ll be given additional orders when we arrive at the Council Chambers.” Anaphora eyed the grand door less than a meter from her, lined in elegant silver swirls and carved with dancing golden flames. Within the centre, upon a stagnant large silver fire, a shield proudly bore the insignia of the Centurions and Military personnel.
“Aren’t we already here?” Gothalia asked, with a raised brow that dared sarcasm. Anaphora displayed a sly smile.
“You were so talkative. I wondered if you even noticed.”
Gothalia’s sarcasm vanished. “Funny.”
They waited for the double doors to unlock, beneath the watchful eye of the security cameras, scrutinised by Peacekeepers on the other side.
When they entered, the doors swiftly shut behind them.
The room was a little livelier than the daunting stillness of the hall, equipped with a small bonfire in the centre of the stagnant foyer.
Stairs lined either side of the walls of the spacious room, climbing to the upper level where the Elders sat, surrounded by books in ancient languages, delicate pieces of art, and lost artefacts.
The black marble floors were the same everywhere. Regularly waxed, and smoothly mirrored both Gothalia’s and Anaphora’s forms as they glided across the room.
Gothalia peered at their moving reflection, coloured in a golden glow from the bonfire.
She tore her eyes from the likeness beneath her boots and climbed the marble stairs.
When she entered the open room, she paused beside her mentor, gazing upon the Grand Elders of their secret society—the Masters of the Elite Excelian Battalions, among other things.
Each of the twelve members of the Council passed laws, advised the Royal family of the Fire Reserve of appropriate actions, judged those who committed crimes, and guarded the Land of Fire.
The members of the Grand Council were never voted in, unlike the surface world. They were the descendants of their bloodlines, but the selection process was strict. Only those worthy of the title as Grand Elders could become Grand Elders.
Each member of the Council sat high on a balcony lining the entire room, carved into the terraces before their seats were the first twelve letters of the Greek alphabet. Beneath it were Hieroglyphics, each representing the elemental techniques their clans were well known for.
At the base of the balcony were their elite guards and those who conducted special errands for the Grand Elders, the Cratians. Their powers were rumoured to have no bounds; some who displayed tremendous courage and bravery had their likeness etched into the walls of the hall of honour, a reminder for the many generations that followed to uphold their commandments on the battlefield and anywhere they may walk.
“I see you both have returned home unharmed. Well done,” proclaimed Lord Michalis Drakeus, the head of the Grand Council.
He was an older adult, with a neatly trimmed red beard peppered in silver. His dark, gentle gaze held wisdom and power as he assessed the women before him. “As for the mission, Lady Reagan?”
Both Anaphora and Gothalia kneeled on one knee. Their curled fists steadied their weight as they dropped their heads in respect.
“The mission was a success, Lord Drakeus. As predicted, the enemy is assembling around the Southern Hemisphere. No doubt, to give the rest of the world a false sense of security.”
“What about their Scouts?” he questioned, his eyes observing both women with calculating curiosity.
“They’ve all been eliminated by Centurions, Legionnaires or the Cavaliers. All that remains is the one scheduled to be assassinated tonight. As our informants discovered their appointment is with an unknown contact who if everything goes well will react accordingly.”
“I’ve read the report, Lady Reagan. This unknown contact, it’s not someone that we’ve encountered in the past, is it?”
“No, my lord. It’s confirmed that this contact may not be Human but rather a fellow Excelian.” Gothalia glanced at her mentor, horrified that a member of her race was collaborating with these creatures, aliens who intended nothing more than to wipe everything and everyone off the planet.
Silence blossomed within the council chambers before Michalis Drakeus spoke, eyeing Gothalia.
“I recognise that expression you wear Gothalia. Where does this surprise come from, child?”
“Forgive me, my lord. I just . . . Never expected our enemy to be like us.”
“I’m aware you are young, Lady Gothalia. I am also aware of your difficult upbringing, its struggles, and the horrors you’ve endured. However, I had hoped from all these trials in your short life you’d understand one thing: we may all wear the same name as Excelians, but we are not all allies. There will be multiple times when Humans or Excelians will betray each other or will work to aid each other. Human nature, like Excelian, is often unpredictable.”
“Forgive me. I must have lost sight of that.”
“It’s not unexpected. It happens from time to time. Even your commanding officer had a similar reaction when she found out.” He glanced at Lieutenant Colonel Anaphora Reagan-Valdis before returning his attention to Gothalia. “We’ve all been created from the same need to survive. Just because our transition from Human to Excelian was necessary at the time to adapt, it doesn’t mean everyone created from this or any similar source is going to fight for the idea that no one else should suffer, as we did. And in some parts of the world they still do. Some people will be ringmasters and will not care who they abuse or kill as long as they’re satisfied with whatever outcome or goal they desire.”
“Of course.”
“I hereby sanction you, Lieutenant Gothalia Valdis, to return to the surface world anonymously. Find this Excelian man or woman. Determine their intention and their connection to the Xzandians. Then eliminate the Excelian without arousing suspicion from the Law Enforcers. You’re dismissed.”
Both women climbed to their feet, and, with a final salute, a cupped hand over their heart and slight bow, then exited the room.
Down the stairs, they strode and out the grand doors that reminded any and every person who entered that every action conducted was judged and recorded.
Gothalia turned away to prepare for her mission before Anaphora’s words stopped her.
“You’ll be expected to carry out this mission alone; two Centurion officers will tail you, should anything go wrong, but they’re not to interfere unless you’re dead or close to death. Work as if they are not there.”
Surprised by Anaphora’s words. Gothalia composed herself and accepted the computer chip her mentor handed.
“This has all the information you need. Arthur has all your tools, weapons, and transportation prepared. You leave in half an hour for the surface world.”
When Gothalia arrived at the Artillery and Combat Zone, the tranquillity of the air calmed her anxiety. Often, whenever she was here, the place would buzz with the activity of other Centurions walking back and forth, carrying car parts, weapons, or gadgets. In the background, she would hear the grinding of metal, the explosion of a tested grenade in the back room. Sometimes she would listen to the pulsing of electric drills as they manufactured or repaired vehicles or gadgets.
It was during those times that a member of her father’s clan was nearby to ensure the fire from the explosion of the grenades wouldn’t spread or cause a dangerous explosion that would ruin the entire foundation of the building or the lives of those within proximity.
“There you are!” a cheery voice called, through the clatter of noises, clear as a bell.
Arthur Cicero’s brown eyes shone with admiration at the sight of her. He was a man much older than her, but without a doubt, he was the smartest man she knew.
“Surely, you can move faster than that,” he taunted, and Gothalia’s smile dropped. It had been a while since she has last seen him, and she had almost forgotten his unusual sense of humour.
There were times, Gothalia knew, when his dry humour and sarcastic remarks, would almost get him burnt by members of the Ignatius clan or buried alive by the quick-tempered Earth Utilisers of Regalis decent. He was brilliant, but not smart enough to know when to and when not to speak.
Gothalia hastened her pace, frustration reinforcing the folds of her youthful features. Rude as ever I see, she thought.
“I’ve been told you have my gear and transportation ready?” Gothalia inquired, not bothering to comment on his last remark. Once she reached his workstation, she watched him quickly return to a gadget he had fiddled with when she entered the room.
His workstation was covered in various contraptions, both complete and incomplete. The refurbished computer assembled behind Arthur was stacked with a pile of papers off to the side next to a printer, often forgotten and unused.
Whenever Gothalia arrived, she remembered he would be behind a three-dimensional screen with algorithms, shapes, and words. It was something Gothalia could not begin to describe how it worked, but it was still impressive, nonetheless. It worked like any computer just faster.
“I do. Including your outfit.”
“Huh?”
Arthur’s brown eyes glinted in mirth at her misunderstanding.
“Didn’t they tell you; you’ll be infiltrating a club to get to your target. So, you need to look the part. You can’t show up looking like you want to start a fight.” Arthur examined the gadget under the light before his attention returned Gothalia. He was obviously entertained. Her dark eyes glanced to the side, avoiding his beaming smile.
Gothalia did not speak; grateful Arthur held back his laughter.
“Here it is.” He held up the dress he expected Gothalia to wear. She walked around the bench and gripped the ends of the dress, noticing the purposely revealing sections. It would show her stomach and back and one shoulder.
“I’m supposed to wear that?” Gothalia’s eyes cautiously roamed over the dress while her mind crossed out the weapons, she would not be able to take with her into the club. “Where am I supposed to put my weapons? Why this dress?”
“Like I said you have to look the part and there are black heels over there to match.”
Internally, Gothalia groaned.
Regardless, of how times she told herself it was to blend in, she could not rid herself of her irritation.
“Well, how am I supposed to get to my target if I’m fighting off weirdos?”
“You’ll find a way. Women always do.”
At that comment, Gothalia’s irritation only intensified.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
Arthur’s smile curled dangerously along his lips, and Gothalia fought the urge to throw him across the room, as she knew he did not deserve it, for now.
“Yes, and you will not be unarmed, but you’re expected not to draw your weapons on the Humans. You’ll be wearing these underneath.” He glanced at the short sword, two knives and an earpiece.
“That’s all?”
“Yep, but no one said you couldn’t use your flames. Just don’t burn the entire city down. The usual light beam will transport you, but you will leave here with a standard Centurion bike. I have packed the rest of your weapons on there. Along with your uniform and armour should you need it. And this—” He tossed Gothalia a leather jacket. “To cover the big fire emblem on your back when you ride to the arranged hotel room to change.”
“Why didn’t you just let me use one of the cars?”
“Can’t. They are all currently at the disposal of other Centurions, and Anaphora said a black bike. She chose the dress. The weapons and gadgets are prepped and ready to go.”
“Do I have to wear make-up too?”
“If you don’t mind, it’s been set aside.” He smiled. Gothalia snatched the dress and jacket from his hand before collecting the make-up and striding to the assigned bike.
Placing all her items on, she mounted the bike and started the vehicle. It roared throughout the lower levels of the garage. Then, she guided it to a large teleportation pad in the centre before glancing at Arthur, who stood behind the controls. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Gothalia confirmed.
“Good luck,” he said earnestly. Before Gothalia knew it, she arrived at Lust-us, after leaving the hotel room she checked out from, behind. This club was expected to have the Xzandian contact, but she knew by the bouncers lingering at the door and the many people that was not all it was going to have.
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