Waterstrider

Little Celah, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Thirdmonth, 1634 PTS

Deuvar glowered as he inspected what remained of his warehouse.

The building, perfectly intact just the day before, had been left as a barely standing skeleton of a structure. Three walls had been torn apart while most of the others had been filled with holes from gunfire, leaving even the area immediately surrounding the building scarred by the fight. At any moment, it seemed as if the entire structure could topple, crushing the soldiers who were now dutifully picking over the debris for surviving scrap. Of all the many extremely precious items the Heirs had prepared to send to their backers, most had been stolen or destroyed, and the enforcer unit that had taken part in the fighting would likely need at least a month of time in a bay getting repaired.

And for all that, the thief had still escaped.

He walked towards a trio of Korlove grunts who had been part of the encirclement, among those who had last seen the thief. They were cleaning up the wreckage, sorting the scrap into piles of slag and useful material, their spindly limbs dexterously sorting multiple pieces at once.

As he approached, a Jobu laborer replaced their buckets and carried them off. The soldiers looked up at Deuvar’s approaching figure. They clearly recognized him, and one seemed to involuntarily shiver.

“Tell me what you know about the thief,” he said, mouth creased in a firm line.

All of the soldiers within the Heirs knew by now not to play around when Vice-Leader Deuvar was in a bad mood, and words immediately began to spill out from the group.

“A- he-he was a Seiyal, one of the dark-skinned ones. Blonde hair, as well,” spoke one of the soldiers, a man who was rather bulky for a Korlove. While it was near impossible for most other races to tell the Korlove sexes apart, due to their deep cultural ties most Jobu had spent their entire lives around the bug-like race. To Deuvar, the distinction seemed obvious. He nodded at the words, considering them.

“Hadal Clan?” he asked.

He couldn’t imagine why their opposition would have attacked in such a way, sending in only one member like this, but he could understand why the Seiyal organization would want to ruin their stockpile. The squad leader writhed her torso in the Korlove approximation of a shaken head.

“It’s hard to tell, but those were not the arts of the Hadal Clan. What he used were undoubtedly formless techniques. Nothing else could explain the way he was moving. The man dodged our bullets, Vice-Leader.” This bit of information came from the squad leader, a tall and spindly Korlove woman named Kande. Deuvar narrowed his eyes.

As far as he was aware, not even any of the Hadal Clan’s subfamilies held arts of that nature.

Reinforcements sent by their main branch? No, if that was the case, they would have sent an expert far beyond the core formation realm. An outsider, then? Perhaps that would explain the nature of what he had stolen from them. Few clans would risk the ownership of such an item, if they knew what it was. Only an organization as powerful as the one backing the Heirs could handle the danger it posed.

Given the situation, the Leader had tasked him to reacquire it at all costs. If anyone realized what they had been holding, the Heirs could be wiped out without a mere grain of dust left behind to hint at them ever having existed. Worse, if they were not in possession of it again before the courier arrived...

There was another problem as well. Despite the fact that the warehouse contained such important items, worth more than the combined wealth of their entire organization, it had barely been defended by a handful of soldiers. He could remember ordering its defense by at least four squads of soldiers as well as two enforcers, but even the enforcer piloted by Kalthen had only arrived after some informants had raised the alarm.

This implied some flaw in the organization. A mole, perhaps. He would need to order an inquisition, find the source of the error. Perhaps it would be found as merely a mistake by one of his underlings… but it was best to be sure. If that was the case, though, Deuvar would hate to be the one at fault for this clusterfuck. He would already have to put in a good deal of work covering for one of those who were.

Leaving the squad behind to continue salvaging what remained of the precious materials from the wreckage, Deuvar walked briskly over to the skydock, where an exhausted and injured Jobu man in his 20s was leaning back against the railing, watching workers rig up a crane. Roughly thirty feet away, a damaged enforcer unit was being fussed over by an army of dockworkers. It was being prepared to be moved by airship to the shop of one of the Heir’s in-house mechanics. Deuvar couldn’t imagine they would be happy to have such a large and important workload dropped into their laps all of a sudden.

Kalthen was slim and limber, at least for a Jobu. His biceps were still larger than the size of a smaller race’s thighs, and he sighed as Deuvar approached.

“How much shit am I in?” he asked. Deuvar replied with a question.

“Did you really have to destroy everything in the warehouse, Kal?”

The young man shrugged in response, giving Deuvar a confrontational look.

“I couldn’t just let some Hadal trash waltz away after stealing from us, Uncle. I thought I could get him.”

Deuvar sighed. His nephew was a skilled and competent man who had qualified to pilot an enforcer on his own merit. But he was young, and had an aggressive nature that he had inherited from his mother. Kalthen finally turned his gaze to lock eyes, and Deuvar inspected the smooth-shaven face that looked just like that of the boy’s grandfather. Deuvar met his gaze, holding it until the younger man turned away.

“I can deflect the blame somewhat, but there’s something you’ll need to do.” Deuvar wasn’t happy with the prospect of placing this role on the shoulders of his yet inexperienced nephew, but he knew it was the best way to help him.

“What do you need?” Kalthen asked.

“I’ll need you to head the search for the man you fought this afternoon. You had a good look at him, yes?” The young man nodded. “Good. You’ll be working with our informants, and I’ll find a squad of soldiers to back you up. In fact, go grab soldier Kande’s squad after this, they’ve seen him as well.”

Kalthen’s face lit up with a cruel smile, undoubtedly looking forward to getting revenge on the Seiyal who had escaped him.

“One more thing,” said Deuvar, “Before you get too excited. You’ll be working with Triezal on this.” The smile fled from the young man’s face, immediately replaced by a scowl.

“Why is he working on this? Isn’t he busy with that new front in Otan?”

“The Leader requested his transfer, and I agreed. You’ll share command for this job,” said Deuvar.

Kalthen had a sullen expression on his face, so Deuvar clapped his shoulder, regaining his attention. “Look, Kal. You’re in deep with today’s fuck up. Your mother won’t shield you from it and there’s only so much I can do myself. The Leader is angrier than he’s been in years, and I can’t blame him. We need this man caught and we need you to retrieve what he took. As fast as possible. If you can get this done, rather than just removing the stain on your record, it’ll make you look good in front of the Leader. Do you understand?”

His nephew nodded, so Deuvar started backing away. “Good. I’ll tell the squad leader to report to you, and you can get started. The leader expects you not to sleep at all tonight.” As Deuvar walked away, Kalthen’s gaze flickered toward the point the Seiyal thief had leapt from. He gripped tightly to the bars of the railing, causing it to slightly crumple before releasing it. A grim expression covered his face.

Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Thirdmonth, 1634 PTS

“Oh?” asked Sirena Hadal, Matriarch of the Hadal Clan, “and it wasn’t one of us?”

Her counselor, Wei Hadal, shook his head.

“We have no knowledge of any such martial artist on the station, and I’ve heard he was using formless arts.”

Sirena stroked her chin, thinking on the matter. Formless arts…

The Hadal Clan had originated from the orthodox alliance of Sunlit Hall, and many of their members still retained their views, even so far from home.

Sirena herself was more practically minded. What mattered about a person was how useful they could be to her clan. She cared little about the man’s use of unorthodox arts except for how it might cause her people to perceive him. In fact, if possible it might be useful to train a secret squad in formless arts. The agility and nimbleness they granted was unmatched, as far as she was aware. The damage such unorthodox arts caused to the souls of their users was a problem, but she could just recruit from a pool of the most loyal and devoted servants of the clan for the task. Though that plan would depend on whether the man was willing to join the Hadal Clan or not. If he had come all the way out here, he was likely unaffiliated with any of the major clans.

Sirena’s gaze moved outside of the window, looking down upon the stacks of the district most of the station’s Seiyal population lived within. As he was of her own species, undoubtedly they would first assume he was one of her own. It was a problem, but perhaps it could also be an opportunity.

“Find him," she said, “he could be of use to us if he chooses to remain on the station. It’s not as if any of the other groups will want to take him in, after all. Also, find out what he took from the Celans. That could be important.”

“As you will, matriarch,” said Wei, bowing and turning to leave her room. Pausing but a moment, Sirena lifted her hand once more.

“One more thing, Wei. When he is found, alert me before making any moves.”

Her most trusted subordinate bowed and silently filed out of the room. Alone in the palatial space, Sirena casually rubbed the skin above her cerebral meridian, fighting off a slight headache as she looked around the office that had been hers for over a decade now.

The residence of the Hadal Clan’s family head was disgustingly opulent. If Sirena was honest, to her it seemed gaudy beyond reason, nothing but gilded frames and stands, expensive prints and calligraphy covering the walls. Everything in the room emanated miasma, likely one of the greatest collections of spiritual treasures from Canvas within twenty light-years. It did not match her aesthetic sensibilities, but it would damage the clan’s honor for the matriarch to live in anything less than the most opulent conditions they could afford to procure. It also served to intimidate the few important guests that were allowed to conduct their business personally with her.

Perhaps quite soon that man would be one of them.

Unorthodox Arts: [Isolated on the dangerous continent called the Crucible, the heritage of the Sei met with the gifts of Toval, and new, powerful arts and techniques were developed in the colonist’s striving for survival. These techniques, utilizing the formless and sanguine miasmas, came at a cost, damaging the bodies, souls, and minds of their practitioners. If an unorthodox martial artist failed to achieve constant progression, the symptoms would worsen. Eventually, the movement spread back to the territory of Sunlit Hall,and unorthodox martial artists became known for being brutish and evil, forced to take up evil action in order to obtain the resources they needed to achieve these constant rates of progression. Despite this, new generations continued to join unorthodox sects and clans due to the draw of the immediate power these arts offered to practitioners.]