William Benedict
The fire was rapidly spiralling out of control. Even as the 42nd Legion made their approach, they could see the ominous black smoke rising over the roof tops from several streets away. Every man smelt the acrid stench of burnt kindling. Captain Benedict encouraged his men to double time it, leading his troop from the front. What in the world was going on down there?
After turning a second corner they reached the scene of destruction. Benedict took in the utter devastation and grimaced instantly. What could possibly be the cause of such bloodshed? Horrified faces stared around in fear, looking to him for direction.
“Move in! Water mages up front! Deal with the fires!” Benedict barked with a series of swift hand gestures.
“Sir! Contacts at twelve o’clock! Five hundred meters and growing!” Cob, his adjudicate yelled.
Shadows darted ahead, their forms barely distinguishable behind the crackling flames and smothering fumes. Benedict raged, bringing his gaze around to snap out more orders. No one would escape his justice.
“Alpha-four, two and three. Take your men and pursue the culprits! Alpha-one and five, secure the area!”
Chorusing a chain of affirmatives, his officers set out with haste. Benedict followed Alpha-one and five as they embarked upon the scorched wreck of a carriage. Its horses had long since abandoned their post, but the crew remained. Their bodies were scattered over the pavement and road, still warm from the recent action.
“Sir!”
More yelling arose ahead, a resounding commotion. Drawn in by the noise, Benedict followed his men as they circled a man wreathed in flames. The figure stared down at his hands, dread painted over his features.
“We are the Forty-Second Legion! Do not resist! Turn off your flames immediately!”
Mercilessly, they doused the man in water before moving in to restrain him. Others raced around to contain the fires and aid survivors.
“Sir! Some of the dead bodies… They’re Therians!” Cob discovered. Crouched over a body, he indicated the weapon implements so famously apart of their limbs.
“The soldiers?” Benedict
“Fifty-seventh Legion… D Company. Rosevolts rabble…” Cob murmured, kicking another body over.
“Sir! Sir!”
“What now?!” Benedict exclaimed, addressing the exasperate corporal behind him.
“There’s only one survivor!”
Headquarters – Days Later
“April Rosevolt. Stand.”
The court room was a dimly lit theatre. Several lecterns dotted the head of the room, forming an intimidating line of bureaucratic power. Figures of prominence and power dominated a single ambo each. Highlighted by individual spotlights, they measured the gathering audience impassively. April stepped up to the clearing before them, taking position behind the defendant’s lectern that ran opposite to the leaders’. Surprisingly, very few others inhabited the room. April could only see several shadows amongst the prevailing darkness, and only two that she recognised.
Bandages supported her right arm, forming a sling as it wrapped around her shoulder. Adopting an upright posture, she bowed respectfully as was tradition when called to a hearing.
“Lieutenant April Rosevolt, reporting,” she stated.
Holding the attention of everyone, an elderly man named Victor Hawthorn occupied the central pulpit. He was the current General and overarching commander of all military forces. Adjusting the rimless glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose, he leaned forwards to speak.
“Lieutenant. In light of recent reports, we would like to commend your bravery, but the premature death of the prisoner leaves us dissatisfied. Additionally, your negligence cost the lives of ninety-five percent of your company and extensive damages along a civilian center. What do you say?”
“I…no excuse, sir,” she responded.
“Then you are hereby stripped of your rank and summarily discharged,” he announced, “I’m sorry miss Rosevolt.”
April reeled slightly, taking the blow emotionally. She felt nothing except for the faint ring in her head, a mute cry of loss and pain. “Sir!” she affirmed and saluted before stepping down.
April’s Residence – Hours Later
"April, don't you think you're being a little too reckless? I mean, you haven't even fully recovered yet!" Reginald protested. The former medic followed April's brisk pace down the corridor, attempting to halt her. Ignoring him, she stormed into the living room that currently housed her alien guest.
“I’ve held up my end of the bargain!” April said, slamming the door open to get his attention. The frame wobbled profusely with aftershock. His name was Touya, and he was a Therian. An ancient race of supernatural beings that sought asylum on Artamus. They first met over a week ago, yet even now he remained a mystery to her, “Now, I want you to lead me to the Therian who killed my men.”