Caelin lay on the ground, twitching, as Callum knelt nearby. The 5ER Sergeant turned Field Operative for Deep Bastion had seen complete psychological breakdowns in his past, typically while serving abroad.
But here? Now?
The System was bad. Earth was bad. But life went on.
Reaching up, he touched one ear and grimaced. Even after nearly a year, he wasn’t completely comfortable with the updated comms efficiency. Clearing his throat, he used his HUD to access the party menu, activated voice comms, rocked back on his heels, and stood up.
“Lieutenant Colonel?”
“Go for Elias.”
“Problems. We’ll be a while.”
Callum expected the silence, and Elias didn’t disappoint. His former and current CO eventually replied.
“The Reaper?”
Callum just grunted his affirmation.
“Understood. I’ll stall Morgan. Get him here though, Sergeant.” There was another pause. “Can we trust him?”
Callum took his time before replying.
“No. But Dara does.” His jaw tightened, just for a second, before his voice settled flat.
“That girl doesn’t trust easy. Not anymore. Not since…”
“Agreed.”
More silence.
“So we might. In time. Speaking of, how is Dara?”
“Not good. But… she’s a fighter, sir.”
“That she is, Sergeant. That she is.” Elias paused again, and Callum heard the man sigh. “Nothing I can do about it. I’d just take up wall space if I checked in on her. Get here, Callum. Morgan won’t wait long. She’s already riled up.”
“She knows?”
“About who the Reaper is? Yes. This isn’t going to go well, but we need to just rip the bandage off. If we don’t… if we keep them apart… she’d tear Deep Bastion apart to kill him. Just get here, as fast as you can.”
“Will do, sir.”
With that, the two men signed off, and Callum again looked down at Caelin. Callum didn’t care what the System claimed. Right now, Caelin was just another soldier who needed help. The Sergeant watched silently, taking everything in. His eyes flashed as he recorded specific details for his report. If he wasn’t sure about the changes to comms, he was completely behind the ability to record high-level details accurately.
Caelin was huddled up against the wall. He barely moved, except when he detected a noise. Then his head would snap around, like he was listening for something out of sight. Then the tremors would start again. Both hands would twitch rhythmically against the floor. His hands twitched, fingers curling like they wanted a weapon, but his mind couldn’t catch up. This would be followed by the breathing. His chest would rise and fall slowly, then it would speed up, like he was about to hyperventilate, then he’d go for minutes without taking a breath.
Callum moved forward and crouched down beside the Silenced One.
“Caelin? We’ve gotta move.”
Caelin didn’t move, didn’t react, just lay huddled in on himself. Then, when Callum thought he’d need to reach out, the man’s head snapped around and looked right at him. But there was no reaction, no recognition. Waving a hand between them, Callum watched as there was no tracking. Caelin’s pupils just stared right through him.
“Ark… Lyn?”
“Soldier?”
“Re-edu… tion?”
“Caelin?”
Then the fear was back, and Caelin scurried away like he was doing everything he could to escape. Callum stood up and took a step back to give him space.
“Caelin. I’m not here to hurt you.” Callum looked to the side like he was deep in thought. “I know Dara. Your… friend? Dara?”
At this, Caelin looked up, like Dara’s name had breached the wall his mind had erected around him. Without warning, Caelin lunged forward and gripped Callum by the shoulder.
“Dara? You need to get her out of here. When I… when I let go, the System will come for me.”
Looking down at the hand gripping his shoulder, Callum frowned. He’d heard what Caelin had done. The Leviathan, the Warhound… the Tyrant. The stories carried a weight, a strength. But this man, his grip was barely holding on. Before Callum could stop him, Caelin had fallen to his knees, then toppled over to end up back on the ground.
“Caelin. We don’t have time for this. Kael’s forces,” Callum hesitated for a moment, then grimaced, “Kael’s forces want your head. They’re coming for you… and Dara. They’ll kill you both. The Lieutenant Colonel isn’t strong enough to hold them back. We need them, for now. Caelin, we can’t fight for you.”
And then light exploded.
No warmth.
No sound.
Just refusal.
Wings.
Golden. Wide. Engulfing.
Wings of Succor.
Triggered. Not cast.
Dara. Still unconscious. Still dying. But not letting him go.
A pulse hit, sharp and unreal, a thread of presence snapping tight through the void. Not pain. Not warmth. Just Dara.
WINGS OF SUCCOR: ACTIVATED
TETHER STABILIZED SOURCE: VALKERYS
PSYCHOLOGICAL BREAK INTERRUPTED
He didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t breathe right.
Without moving more of his body than was needed, he waved away the Silent Nature prompt, frowning as it didn’t disappear. It just moved to the side of his HUD.
But he hadn't finished the command. He didn’t trigger the end.
Not because he’d wanted to hold on. Because someone else had stopped him.
Dara didn’t respond to their link.
Her life-force pulsed at the back of his mind.
Callum said nothing more.
He just stayed where he was.
Caelin didn’t thank him.
Didn’t hate him.
Didn’t feel anything at all.
Just the weight.
Of being here.
When every part of him had tried to leave, he had given up. He’d stepped off the cliff.
In his mind, it had been over.
Dara’s Wings had pulled him back.
“Sergeant?”
“Caelin?”
“What’s the situation?”
The Sergeant reached down, and Caelin took his hand as the Wings collapsed into nothingness, then watched as the native strained to pull him to his feet.
“You’re heavier than you look.”
Caelin didn’t respond. He just leveled a piercing gaze on the man.
“Right.”
Caelin released Callum as soon as he was standing, then staggered as he had to find his balance. Growling softly to himself, he pushed away from the sweat-slick wall he now found himself against.
“Can I…” Caelin again turned a piercing gaze on the Sergeant, who just held both hands up.
“Understood. Just,” he looked down the corridor, “we don't have a lot of time.”
Time passed, and slowly Caelin got his breathing under control. The hand tremors were something else. He looked at the Sergeant and gave the man a slow nod.
Caelin’s voice came as a faint whisper. “You… couldn’t have known.” He drew a shaky breath, eyes unfocused. “…Why’d you stop me?”
“I didn’t,” Callum said quietly. “I’ve seen soldiers up against it. This time, I just said something.”
Caelin gave a slight nod, breath hitching.
“I… no.” He took a breath, lifted a shaking hand, then used it to push away from the wall. He started to speak again but stopped, offering Callum another small nod.
Callum met his eyes. “Everyone stumbles. Especially after serving. Take the hand, soldier.”
Caelin grimaced. “Serving…” The Silenced One's fist shook harder as he clenched it into a fist.
Life materialised into the corridor, watching Caelin before speaking.
“You can still ser-”
Caelin looked up as the Harbinger's voice cut off. Callum had a large handgun leveled at the side of the cosmic being's head, something that seemed to have surprised Life enough that they had stopped speaking.
“Callum? You can see them?”
The Sergeant nodded, his gun hand steady.
“Interesting.” Caelin turned from Callum to Life. “Has this happened before?”
“No. It shouldn't happen now.”
Caelin reached out, rested his hand on top of the gun, and pushed it down.
“Not your enemy. You don’t want them as one.”
“Make it quick. The Lieutenant Colonel is waiting.”
Callum stepped back, and Caelin turned to Life.
“No.”
“No? You won't serve me?”
“You knew my answer before suggesting it.”
“Stranger things have happened. Still, I can wait for you to push that button on your HUD.”
“I wonder… would the System take the time to see who else is in my head?”
Life spun to lock eyes with Caelin, then, like they'd realised they'd given something away, gave Caelin a small nod.
“Press it and see.”
They stood and stared at each other. One, the Harbinger of Life, feared across the Multiverse by those who understood the Harbingers, counterpoint to Death, sworn enemy of the Harbinger of Void. The other, Caelin, a Silenced One, former Reaper, forged by Death itself, still shaking, alone.
Life tilted its head, voice curling with a faint, taunting edge. “You’ll never outrun what you are, Caelin. You know you’re not the only one left. The Mantle is still waiting.”
Caelin’s gaze hardened, but when he spoke, the words were quiet, almost like he was speaking to himself. “Does the Multiverse even need a Harbinger of Death?”
Life’s smile sharpened, something cold flickering at the corners. “That, my dear Caelin, is something only the two of you can answer.”
With that line, Life disappeared, leaving Caelin looking at the lights above him, lights he only now realised were flickering. Looking around, he saw that several were out completely, leaving large sections of the corridor in shadows. Caelin pulled up his hood, retreating further into shadows, and released a broken sigh.
“Callum, what am I walking into?”
“A cluster fuck.”
“I need more than that.”
“True. The Lieutenant Colonel will hear you out. Morgan… she served with Logan.”
Caelin nodded inside his hood.
“So she wants to kill me?”
“And Dara.”
Caelin nodded again, then looked down the corridor.
“That wouldn’t go well for her.”
“We need Kael’s support to keep Deep Bastion going. Elias, the LC, doesn’t want it. But we need it.”
Again, Caelin pushed away from the wall, frowning as his hands kept shaking. In his long life, at
at least the parts he could remember, nothing like this had ever happened.
“Understood. Take me to them.”
Together, Callum and Caelin entered a large room.
Caelin dropped his hood and drew in a slow, steadying breath, trying to get the tremors under control.
The space was half-command center, half-workshop. If the two sides went to war, the workshop would win. Thick reinforced steel walls braced with bent railway tracks. Maps covered the walls in thick, crisscrossing layers, handwritten notes, old pencil corrections, red-lined updates, and ink scrawls hastily tacked up beside scattered printouts.
Unlike the dim corridors they’d followed to get here, the lights worked perfectly. With his hood down, the room blazed with bright light, making him wince.
“Weak.”
The words slipped out, too quiet for anyone to hear.
Caelin didn’t know if he had meant Earth natives or himself.
Workbenches cluttered the far side, crowded with half-finished barricade assemblies, coils of salvaged wire, scavenged sensor rigs, and stripped-down weapon cores, parts laid out in neat but urgent arrays. Power tools hung from worn hooks, their grips polished by constant use, while faint, scorched marks on a nearby metal vice showed where someone had pushed a welding tool too hot, too long.
The air smelled of solder, old oil, machine grease, and faintly, unmistakably, of human habitation. A stained mug sat abandoned on one corner. An old, folded military jacket was draped carefully over the back of a reinforced chair, its sleeves threadbare at the cuffs. Against the far wall, a battered datapad flickered faintly on a recharge cable, its cracked screen flashing a half-failed boot cycle.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Predatory Perception surged at the edges of Caelin’s mind, lattice threads crawling like ghost-light across every surface. It wanted the maps, the fallback routes, the weak points, the unspoken defenses layered behind the visible ones. He had to stop himself from moving toward them. His HUD flickered and pulsed, trying to pin the overlays in place, but his own fragmented weave strained under the weight, spitting incomplete threads and shaky updates across his vision.
His hand trembled faintly.
He pressed a fist to his temple, jaw tightening.
Multiversal Healing worked under his skin, but it could not touch this.
Not absence.
Not the void where the Harbinger had been.
Not the hollow left by the loss of the Silenced Ones.
He exhaled sharply, the breath dragging rough through his chest.
When his eyes opened, the world sharpened into cold, narrow focus, his gaze falling first on Elias.
NON-LINKED ENTITY DETECTED
NAME: Elias Marchant
RANK: Lieutenant Colonel, Royal Australian Engineers, 5th Engineering Regiment (5ER)
CLASS: Fortress Architect
Trusted. Listened without judgment.
Knows the truth about Kael and Logan.
THREAD TRACE - PREDATORY PERCEPTION
Data reconstructed through spatial pressure, emotional bleed, and Benediction-linked memory echoes.
Trust vector confirmed: sustained.
Entity categorised as a stabilising presence in collapse environments.
He panned his eyes to the other end of the table, locking gazes with Morgan.
NON-LINKED ENTITY DETECTED
NAME: Morgan Vyne
RANK: Corporal, 2nd Commando Regiment (2CO)
CLASS: Field Inquisitor
Fast, disciplined, dangerous.
Never asked questions.
Kael didn’t need to corrupt her. She was already his.
THREAD TRACE - PREDATORY PERCEPTION
Relational imprint faded.
Loyalty markers locked.
Threat index active.
Caelin’s gaze flicked away and turned inward to roll through his notifications until it stopped at Callum’s. He didn’t remember seeing it before. His mind strained, staggered under the weight of shattered threads, fragmented currents of memory spinning like brittle glass through the back of his thoughts.
Morgan’s eyes stayed locked on him. Even with his head turned, Caelin felt her attention, sharp and weighted, a coiled edge pressed right between his shoulder blades.
She stood smoothly. Shoulders squared. Posture clean and tight, the telltale weight shift of someone who had fought bigger, faster, meaner, and survived. Her mouth curled into a sharp grin.
“So.” Her voice snapped across the room. “You’re the cunt who killed Logan. I thought you’d be taller.”
Elias stood and raised a hand, voice calm.
“Inquisitor. Do we have time for this? The—”
Morgan spun sharply, stepping around the table to confront the man, then raised a hand toward him.
“Shut it. You’ll make time for this.” Her eyes flicked once to Callum, then to Caelin. “Creature. You’ll make time because this tin shed needs you to make time. You’ll make time because I’m making time. You will,” she paused to accentuate her words, “fucking damn well make time for whatever I want to make time for. Got it, old man?”
Elias met her stare flatly, expression unreadable. Slowly, deliberately, his gaze lowered to the outstretched finger planted just shy of his chest, then back to her eyes. He exhaled once, a slow, measured breath, lifting his hands briefly in a calming gesture. Nothing in his face softened. He lowered them and waved Callum closer.
The Sergeant shifted beside him, leaning over the map table as they began speaking in low tones. The scrape of boots on concrete, the faint brush of fingers against old paper. Elias’ attention shifted to his subordinate, then to the map table, but he was following Morgan’s movements with an intensity that seemed out of place.
One line from his bio surfaced again. Knows the truth about Kael and Logan.
It wasn’t out of place. It was warranted. Elias knew about 2CO from Dara.
Caelin’s eyes slid back to Morgan. When she spat lightly on the floor, Elias’ face didn’t flicker with surprise. It flared with disgust. A flicker of cold contempt sharpened behind his eyes, not just at the disrespect, but at everything Kael’s Raiders represented.
And Morgan did not just carry it. She wielded it.
She smirked faintly, catching the flicker in his gaze.
“I don’t believe you killed him, Reaper.”
Her weight shifted. Her stance tightened. This was not mouthiness. This was a soldier measuring another soldier, poised to strike.
“Let us see if you are worth the fucking name.”
Caelin caught the faintest sigh from either Elias or Callum, low enough that Morgan seemed not to notice. When he looked past her to the two 5ER men, they were talking about the base, seemingly ignoring what was unfolding in front of them.
“…supply tunnels…”
“…bunker pressure seals…”
“…secondary fallback lines…”
Morgan’s boots scraped faintly against the concrete, weight shifting, shoulders square.
Caelin stood still, hood down, breath shallow. His fingers twitched faintly, the tremor licking up his hand, a whisper of something deeper, not physical, not fixable.
Her grin curled sharp. “So, you're the cunt who killed the Warhound? Prove it.”
He didn’t answer.
She moved.
The first strike came sharp: elbow slamming upward, twisting into a tight hook, boot driving low toward his thigh. Caelin let the elbow skim past, let the knee take him, his ribs flaring under the impact. His body rocked, but his eyes stayed flat, his breath steady. This was a waste of time. He knew it. She knew it. Elias and Callum knew it.
But she needed to mark her territory.
Morgan closed fast, shoulder crashing into his chest, driving him two steps back, hand locking at his collar, dragging his weight off balance.
His elbow slammed back, hard, cracking into her ribs. She grunted, the noise low, sharp, controlled, but she didn’t loosen her grip. Her boot smashed down into his foot, heel grinding bone, even as her knee snapped upward again.
Caelin felt the hit ripple through his gut. His vision pulsed faintly at the edges. His breath came cold and clipped.
Still no words.
Arkaelyn flashed through his mind.
Her fist hammered up under his chin. His head snapped back and his HUD flickered once, then twice. He felt blood hit his tongue, copper-bright. His hand twitched faintly, shaking harder.
Morgan’s grin sharpened.
“Thought you were death. All I see is some broken stray.”
Her words slammed home harder than any of her attacks.
He didn’t let it affect him, but for a moment she was right. He was alone. The only Silenced One left on Earth who wasn’t aligned with Ansen. He was a stray. He was alone. He was broken.
That was what he needed.
All he needed.
He could fight.
He could win.
He wanted to.
Not because of Death.
Not because of Ansen.
Because he, Caelin, wanted to fight.
For himself.
A cold smile worked its way across his face and the tremors stopped for a moment. He slammed his palm up under her jaw. She twisted, biting down, spitting blood, grabbing his wrist, twisting it sharp, trying to wrench the joint. He snarled faintly, pivoting hard, dragging her forward, crashing them both sideways into the wall.
Her boot cracked into his knee. His leg buckled. His ribs jolted sharp as her elbow smashed into his chest again, grinding him back. His smile tore wider.
He wanted this.
Needed this.
His mind reeled.
For a flicker, just a flicker, old patterns surged up through the static.
He shoved her back, hard, body straining. Her foot shot out, kicking the side of his thigh, driving him back two more steps. He barely caught himself on one hand, breath tearing sharp through clenched teeth.
Morgan came in again, low and tight, boot slamming toward his ribs, but this time his hand shot up, catching her ankle, dragging it sideways, slamming her down hard onto the concrete.
Her breath punched out of her chest. She twisted, snapping her boot into his side, driving him backward again.
She rolled, came up sharp, hands bloody, teeth bared.
“Don’t just defend. Fight me, you fucking bastard.”
Caelin surged forward. His palm slammed into her sternum, driving her back, but she twisted, slipping under, elbow hammering into his side, knee grinding into his thigh, driving him back again. His breath cracked once, twice.
They locked, hands snapping forward, shoulders smashing, legs twisting, dragging each other across the floor. His pulse thundered in his ears. His vision blurred faintly. His chest heaved.
Morgan grabbed his arm, yanked him forward, smashing their heads together with a brutal crack. His skull rocked. His vision wavered. Blood sprayed faintly across her cheek.
She laughed sharp.
“That’s it, cunt. Wake up. Show me who killed the Warhound. Show me.”
Caelin shoved, elbow cracking under her chin. She staggered half a step, spat blood, circled fast, shoulders shifting.
He felt his fingers twitching again, harder now, harder.
He clenched them, forced control.
His mind pulled tighter.
Old rhythms.
Old instincts.
Old orders.
Morgan surged forward again, fists flying, elbows grinding, shoulder crashing into him. His back hit the wall. His ribs crunched faintly under the weight. His breath hitched, shuddered. She grinned sharp, teeth bloody.
“You’re slowing, cunt. Weak.”
Caelin’s eyes narrowed slightly.
The tremor in his fingers stilled.
The breath in his chest slowed.
His heartbeat steadied. The tremor stopped. Not because of muscle. Because the Reaper stepped forward, pulling the man with it.
He moved.
Her next fist shot forward, but his hand was already there, slamming her wrist aside with crushing force, twisting under, elbowing hard into the soft edge of her ribs. She gasped, mouth snapping open. He pivoted on his heel, dragging her forward, slamming her shoulder first into the wall. The concrete cracked faintly under the impact.
She twisted, trying to slam her boot into his leg. He caught her ankle mid-air, wrenched, spun, driving her down hard into the floor.
Morgan grunted, rolled, tried to scramble up, but his foot slammed into her back, driving her flat again.
Her teeth snapped together. Her breath punched out sharp. She twisted under him, driving an elbow backward, trying to catch his knee. He shifted just enough to let it miss, then crashed his own elbow down into the back of her shoulder, sharp, brutal, precise. Something popped faintly under the pressure.
Morgan snarled, wrenching sideways, gasping through the pain.
“Fuck you.”
Caelin stayed silent.
He surged forward, grabbed her by the collar, yanked her upright, and smashed his forehead into her nose with a sickening crack. Blood splattered, hot and sharp, across his cheek.
Morgan reeled, eyes wild, fists hammering blindly against his chest.
He let her strike twice, three times, then slammed his palm hard into her chest, driving her back, booting her sharply at the knee. She staggered. He closed in instantly, shoulder smashing into her stomach, driving her backward into the wall again.
Her breath tore out. Her knees buckled slightly.
She hissed, spat blood, tried to slam both fists up toward his head. He ducked under, drove a crushing uppercut into her stomach, feeling the blow sink deep, doubling her forward.
She coughed hard, gasping, chest heaving.
He locked his arm around her neck, twisted her sideways, slammed her bodily into the floor again.
Morgan’s fists clawed, scrabbling at his arms.
She tried to twist, tried to kick.
He lifted her halfway up, slammed her down again.
She gasped, breath hitching ragged.
He crouched over her, cold, controlled, driving his forearm against her throat just enough to choke, to press, to remind.
Her fingers clawed against the floor. She snarled.
Her eyes flared wide, rage and panic fighting for space.
Caelin’s fingers flexed slightly.
The tremor was gone.
His mind was clear.
He twisted her arms, locking the joints, pressing until she whimpered faintly, just under her breath, then shoved her hard, sending her sprawling sideways across the ground.
Morgan rolled, coughed, spat blood, eyes burning sharp as she surged upright again.
Her fists clenched tight.
Her whole body shook, but she came at him again, reckless, desperate, fists flying.
Callum’s mouth tensed. “Sir.”
Elias’ eyes didn’t lift. “Not yet.”
Caelin sidestepped, slammed his palm into the back of her head, drove her face first toward the wall, caught her at the last second, twisted her backward, slammed his knee into her chest.
Her head rocked. Blood sprayed faintly from her lip.
She gasped, boots slipping under her as she tried to re-center.
He didn’t let her.
He surged in again, grabbing her arm, twisting it sharply behind her back, slamming her forward onto one knee. She screamed hoarse through gritted teeth, twisted with everything she had, slammed her elbow into his ribs.
He didn’t even flinch.
He released the arm, palmed the back of her head, drove her down into the floor hard.
Morgan coughed, body shuddering under the force.
Her fingers clawed faintly at the concrete.
Caelin stepped back once.
Let her rise.
She pushed up on shaking arms, blood smearing her mouth, eyes wild and furious.
She lunged.
He caught her wrist, crushed it in his grip, twisted, wrenched her sideways, slammed her hard against the wall.
Her breath tore out in a thin, sharp gasp.
Her second fist came up, driving into his ribs, right at the old injury, the wound Logan had left behind.
Caelin grunted faintly.
His hand snapped up, catching hers mid-strike, locking it cold, immovable.
Their eyes locked.
Morgan’s chest heaved.
Her breath shook.
Her fingers flexed faintly, as if she knew she had nothing left.
Caelin’s head tilted slightly, a flicker of something dark pulling at the corner of his mouth.
His grip tightened.
Across the room, faint voices drifted to him.
“…pressure seals…”
“…fallback routes…”
“…dungeon breach proximity…”
His head jerked sharply, the word spearing through the noise.
Dungeon.
Morgan lunged again.
But Caelin moved first.
His hand shot up, locking around her throat, slamming her down hard.
She gasped, fingers clawing faintly, eyes wild, lips twisting.
He crouched beside her, voice cold, cutting.
“Stay away from Dara.”
Morgan coughed, blood smearing her mouth, grin breaking sharp.
“She still needs a fuckin’ protector, huh?” Her eyes glittered. “First the old man, now you? Fuckin’ baby.”
Caelin’s eyes flickered, reflecting ethereal power.
The air bent faintly.
Ethereal energy surged, cold and sharp, crawling up his arms, rippling across his shoulders.
The scythe formed, jagged, ghostlit, flickering cold in his hand.
He rose, dragging Morgan up by the throat as he held the weapon above her.
He slammed the haft into the ground.
Once. The air cracked.
Twice. The shockwave rippled faintly.
Third time. The pressure surged, locking the room in a tense, sharp silence.
Morgan’s breath hitched.
Her grin faltered faintly.
Her eyes went wide, chest shaking under the pressure.
“If you think you can take her, try.”
With that, he dropped her to the ground and turned away.
Caelin’s voice dropped, cold, final, detached.
“Your Soul isn’t even worth the kill.”
As he walked away, the ethereal power he had been holding pulsed outward, casual, effortless, a storm released with a breath.
The force slammed into Morgan, ripping across the floor, sending her sliding hard across the cracked concrete. She coughed, gasped, fighting to drag herself back up before she gave up.
Caelin approached the table as Callum stepped sharply back, tension flickering in his face.
Elias stood calm, extending a hand.
“Lieutenant Colonel Elias Marchant, 5ER.”
“Caelin. Death’s Ethereal Bl…”
The word stuck, caught sharp in his throat. His breath hitched, eyes flickering faintly.
He forced the next words flat, cold.
“Caelin. No rank.”
--------------------------------------
Full Character Bio’s:
NON-LINKED ENTITY DETECTED
NAME: Elias Marchant
RANK (PRE-COLLAPSE): Lieutenant Colonel – Royal Australian Engineers (5th Engineer Regiment)
AFFILIATION: Deep Bastion Command
ROLE: Commander – Fortification and Survival Operations
STATUS: Active
LEVEL: 24
CLASS: Fortress Architect
NOTES:
Oversaw 5ER deployments across Liverpool prior to the Collapse.
Converted rail infrastructure into fallback zones before the System emerged.
Never aligned with Kael — tolerated his presence for Bastion’s survival, nothing more.
Trusted. Listened without judgement.
Knows the truth about Kael and Logan
THREAD TRACE – PREDATORY PERCEPTION:
Data reconstructed through spatial pressure, emotional bleed, and Benediction-linked memory echoes.
Trust vector confirmed: sustained.
Entity categorised as a stabilising presence in collapse environments.
NON-LINKED ENTITY DETECTED
NAME: Morgan Vyne
RANK (PRE-COLLAPSE): Corporal – 2nd Commando Regiment (2CO)
AFFILIATION: Kael’s Raiders
ROLE: Deep Bastion Liaison – Raider Enforcement Oversight
STATUS: Active
LEVEL: 19
CLASS: Field Inquisitor
NOTES:
Shared three deployments with Valkerys under 2CO command.
Fast, disciplined, dangerous. Never asked questions.
Kael didn’t need to corrupt her. She was already his.
THREAD TRACE – PREDATORY PERCEPTION:
Relational imprint faded. Loyalty markers locked. Threat index active.
