FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chaos before the Heart

Edwin pulled his eyes open as the ever-familiar company of uncertain fright fell upon him.

Now this he recognized, this feeling. Not so much the restful nights and periodic ripples of joy. No, more so the lingering dread that things were askew, amiss, and he needed to have his guard up. Months on the road lead to this instilled paranoia, to the point of agitation with his friends. Oh indeed, Aloise and Pik accused him of worrying too much. Maybe they were right.

Except they weren’t in the room.

His pale eyes glanced around in search of either, and they did not appear. That wasn’t right, not at all. Pik was a Yoklin of devious antics, certainly, but she’d make herself known and was smart enough to keep in his peripheral at proper hours. And Aloise? The bun was hardly an arm’s length away from Edwin these days. If you couldn’t see him, you could at least smell his gentle perfumes and rosy aromas. All of that was absent.

Well. Fuck.

Edwin thought to chance their names, but he already knew. He pushed himself from bedside and took stock of his surroundings, ignoring the hum of the Maxa’s engines. Outside the circular window a landscape stretched out below, blackened from a near-lightless sky. Near, for the Moon took its throne in the dark skyward sea, stinging Edwin’s eyes if he so much as glanced at it. He stifled a shudder then set to the task ahead: finding his friends.

A dreadful thought entered his mind: his friends were in trouble. No. That would not do.

Call it paranoia, or instinct, or sheer expectation, but their absence yielded an uncomfortable feeling. Where else would they shuffle off too at an hour like this? Pik, certainly, might get up to something suspicious, but she was on unusually good behavior on the Maxa, most likely because agitating the municipality might invoke serious consequences. Aloise was also nothing if not courteous, so he’d tell Edwin if he was off somewhere.

No, his intuition was right, sure as a giant bogmoth coming to fire.

He set to strapping on his boiled-leather overcoat, strapping on a small squadron’s worth of weaponry. Solarian revolvers, flintlocks, blunderbusses, and Stick – a four barreled carriage gun that was more prototype than anything. Hat and scarf hid his features, protecting pale flesh from intrusive light, also taking “Grandad,” a black-iron woodsman axe for good measure. You never knew.

Edwin thought to check for anything else he might need, but the idea that every second wasted was a second his companions were in danger – or hurt – sent him into a quiet panic. He had to find them, but by Sol where the hell did he start?

He flicked through his mind, scanning the pages of his memories for a clue or hint. Hmm. Wasn’t much. He could rely on their usual habits, such as Pik’s scouring for botanical abominations or drugs. Aloise was foppish theater and prim parties, ignoring his tendency to stab things. So, something theatrical and something related to fungus. Ah fye, were the two even together?

Another pause. He sniffed the air, noting the subtle but distinct aroma of Aloise’s perfume. Could he potentially follow that? No, no, that was foolish – what kind of fellow would carry a scent so strong you could smell the flowery ambrosia above all else?

. . .

All right, that would work.

Edwin pushed out the room door and again kept his nose to the air like a dog. Well, suppose he was one anyway, in a morbid sense. Indeed, as luck would have it, there was a very, very timid hint of perfume in the hallway air. Not strong but absolutely Aloise. The bun was the kind of fellow who enjoyed to stand out and above his peers, even by smell.

This was a start. If he found Aloise, he could find Pik next – or at least Aloise would hopefully have an idea where the Yoklin gal was. Urgh. Hopefully they were all right. Edwin told himself they were very capable and could handle themselves, which was true. But the building nausea an cold chill in his heart he couldn’t shake.

Edwin made haste down the hall, absent of people. Still hard to believe the Glorium Maxa was an airborne vessel, or that Sol Solaria was capable of producing such technological behemoths. He heard rumor of that sometimes, either from fellow Marsh Guard or in Southlander cities that tickled the northern borders of the Sol capitals. Not just flying machines either, but walking ones, like men, only “driven” by men, such as when they guided arcana-coaches. He was vaguely familiar with the automata, machine creatures, but this was all different. What wonders and horrors lied in the center of Capita Sola?

The thought distracted him long enough where he almost didn’t see the fray of red static blossoming in the air. Edwin stopped, looking down the hall. Against the cylinder lamps and wood walls, indeed, snakes of deep scarlet fractured the air like little strikes of lightning. At first, he thought it some queer happening thanks to the power surging through the Maxa. But when it happened again, like the shot of a gun – minus the gun part – he knew something was amiss.

His free hand pushed down and gripped a weapon. Didn’t need to be any sort of magical to know this little light show was, in essence, wrong. Edwin thought to speak out, but what would he say? Ask the fireworks what they were doing here?

He glanced behind him, making sure there wasn’t an uninvited guest heading his way. No, only darkness. Wait, darkness? The lights behind him were flickering. Oh. Good.

“Edwin?”

A black, horrified chill screamed up Edwin’s spine. Goosepimples devoured his body and his soul went frozen. Edwin snapped his gaze back to the sparks of red and gazed with mortified awe, because the sound was worse than any funeral dirge or cultish hymn than he could possibly fathom. It was a voice, a voice familiar, a voice that wasn’t supposed to be there. It was actually impossible. In all ways, in every shape and form, Edwin shouldn’t hear what he did.

“Edwin?” it called again.

Out of pure instinct Edwin yanked out one revolver and primed it towards the offending voice. The sparks, in retaliation, swirled and struck the ground. From it, they spun in a burning circle, hissing and seething, molding the air. This was no mistake, this was something worse. . . Worse, because from the crackle and fracturing lights, a silhouette formed, slow like the mucky depths of Dagados, a matter that writhed and whined into existence like a foul bug pushing from its slimy cocoon.

“Edwin. . .” the voice continued.

Paralyzed, Edwin watched with nightmarish astonishment as the matter shaped and molded into a body. A body he knew, a body he recognized, a body belonging to the cold, unfeeling grip of the poison swamps.

A body lurched from the sparking light, a corpse of a thing stumbling into view. Once it was a man – the memory of one. Once it was a fellow Marsh Guard, a dark-skinned fellow with a lineage far in the mysterious east, even beyond the lands of Ussad. Once it was a man that Edwin spoke and shared drink with, guns with, and patrol with, like many others. Once that man was alive, til he fell sideways into Fleshmud, and the sticky mattered boiled his skin. When they the pulled him out, the other half of him didn’t come with.

And so there it was, that body. The upper torso missing its left side, where pale fungus grew from bulbous, bloated flesh and the drenched rags of a Guard’s attire clung to the ghoul’s sour skin. Dark, foul water dripped and pooled from various wounds and portions of brain matter were visible from the exposed head. A single pale eye stared out and locked to Edwin, accusatory.

“Edwin.”

Edwin managed to work his jaw. “No.”

“You left us,” said the ghoul. “Why did you abandon us?”

“YOU AREN’T REAL!” bellowed Edwin, his grip wavering, his aim shaky. No. Not by the tits of Karletta Frampt was this possible. IT could not be, it was not so! This man was dead! Claimed by the foul swamp! His body thousands of thousands of miles away! Separated by distance and time! Years! YEARS!

The form took a step forward, its greasy bones and sloppy flesh crafting a hideous sound enough to make a weak stomach lurch.

“NO!” Edwin shot back.

“Traitor. . .” said the thing.

No, no, and no!

“I’m NOT!” challenged Edwin. “STOP! LISTEN TO ME!”

The corpse most certainly did not, closing distance. Edwin felt cold, as though ice flooded his veins, his heart racing and hammering his chest.

“It isn’t like that!” pleaded Edwin. “Please, stop this! Let me go! Let me GO!”

Alas the corpse kept its accusing, affixed gaze upon Edwin, ever nearing, filled with its accusations and guilt of old. It reached out with hand, bony fingers closing towards the bogfoot, muttering ‘traitor’ over and over.

Edwin commanded his finger to squeeze, but it did not. He screamed at his legs to move, but they did not. Was this it, then? To be swallowed by a dark memory, manifested here in some ungodly way?

The swamp was going to take him now, finally. It would choke him with its slimy barbs and yank him into the thick muck. He’d suffocate in that black poison, slowly. The worms might eat through his heart first, if he was lucky. His body torn apart by giant leeches, all under the grinning light of a dread moon. He saw that repulsive knoll in his mind. . .

And a small blossoming pink flower. He blinked.

A voice, light and soft, came through. Edwin, if you don’t pull zhat trigger, you’ll fucking die.

Edwin exhaled like he’d pushed up from water and heard his revolver ignite. A round stung the air and burned down the offending foe in a single, precise shot. Weak, spongy bones and dull flesh exploded, and the offender was no more.

Edwin heaved, staring down at the literal corpse, his brain racing with questions. A deep mourning ate at him, mixed with fear and sadness. He killed his old comrade – quite literally this time. What was this?

Related, he had to imagine, in the disappearance of Pik and Aloise. Edwin rubbed his eyes and tried to gather himself. “I’m so sorry Uro,” he whispered.

The lights continued to flicker and fear renewed itself in Edwin. His memories were literally manifesting themselves, due to. . . he didn’t know. But he did know that if he didn’t find his friends, they’d suffer, or worse. He’d throw himself off the Maxa before he let anyone hurt them.

“Alright,” he said to himself, “keep it together.”

If anything, at least the mild hint of Aloise’s perfume was recognizable above the swamp body, which – Edwin noted – vanished in the same cloud of red sparks. He was gonna’ get really, really drunk after this.

-*-

It was worse than Aloise could’ve anticipated.

Varyd, captor of Pik, Edwin, and Zetsu, lead his squad through the immense double doors said Zetsu was trying to force his way through. Within, Aloise didn’t know what to expect, save for something wicked, something demonic. And oh yes, it was certainly that, but magnified.

Within the interior was an immense room – a ballroom – like you found amongst the royals and affluent when they snorted opiates and spoke of dull, monosyllabic rumors. But this ballroom wasn’t infested with the rich, the proper, nor the Solarian elite. Oh, no, it was indeed littered with, well, daemons. In a brief flash of amusement, Aloise could hear Edwin say “what’s the difference,” but snapped himself to focus.

He, Pik, and Zetsu were minded on the sides by the commander’s guard, while Varyd marched forward into the crowd of dimensional strangers. But, these creatures weren’t the monstrosities you encountered in children’s stories or religious ramblings. They were well dressed, well spoken, well armed. They were, more or less, the dreadful reflection of mortal sins, denizens cloaked in suits and dresses with snarling faces, multiple limbs, bizarre heights, discolored flesh, dispositions like insects and beasts, all clattering about as though this was all some magnificent dinner party.

. . . was it?

Aloise’s tall ears flicked at the sounds, so bizarre and familiar to him despite their alien nature. His pink eyes darted about, noting the lavish furnishing, the banquets of food, the deformed statues, all of which indicated an elite status – but of a daemonic nature. He shuddered. He sensed something was amiss upon the Glorium Maxa, but this!?

“What interesting company you lead, commander,” he intoned to Varyd, bitterness in his voice.

Varyd paused, gesturing with a hand. His company pulled the trio to the side, out of sight, while Varyd glanced to Aloise. At first, he said nothing, pulling free a trinket from his officer’s pocket, a strange object with odd red symbols inscribed along its black exterior.

“You may prove useful,” the commander said.

He looked over the three, clicking his tongue. “A southlander in fancy clothes. A stranger from the Dying East. . .”

Varyd’s eyes trailed down to PIk. “. . . and one of you.”

Pik snorted and blew a raspberry. Aloise felt his hackles raise – he was no commoner! Zetsu, though, was strangely quiet. In fact, his once pleasant, oft-grinning features were now set and hard. He gazed out at the cavorting party of elite daemons with hate in his eyes, jaw clenched, fingers tightening. Aloise noticed too.

“Do you have love for your benefactors, Southlander?” said Varyd to Aloise, taking his eyes from Pik. “Solaria has helped the commoners, has it not?”

Aloise gave a short roll of the eye. “Really. You want to discuss politics? Now?”

Varyd looked over to the party of daemons. “I wonder where your loyalties lie. I wonder what you would do to save an empire. How far you’d go?”

Ignoring the situation, at least in brief, Aloise leaned to the side. “I was second generation born in zhe city Oxley. I’m as southlander as you have a Kharstovian beard.”

Varyd didn’t look convinced, not that it mattered much given the situation. “But for what it’s worth. . .” Aloise continued.

“. . .I’m more zhan familiar with the ‘benefits’ granted by the bootheels of Sol.”

Varyd chuckled. “A fair response.”

He glanced at the trinket in his hand one more time, thinking over his objective. As he did, a soldier marched into view. “Sir.”

Varyd regarded him as the soldier spoke. “Emergency reports from the lower Maxa, sir.”

The commander’s expression soured. “Say again?”

The soldier, his young face stretched with a frown, sweat over his skin, didn’t know how to answer, exactly. “I. . . there are incidents of violence being reported, but they’re. . . unusual. Sir.”

Everything about the situation was unusual. “If you’re telling me then someone’s asleep at the wheel. Get Paskerly and Omandis off their ass and send regimens to the problem areas, at once.”

A nod. “Sir.”

Aloise’s long ears flicked at the conversation. “Having some trouble, are we?”

Varyd gave the trio a long, slow stare. “Strangers you are, but may yet do more for the Solarian people than you could realize.”

He gestured to his sentries minding the three. “Unbind them. But do not let them leave.”

Varyd turned, item hand. “I do not think we will meet again. Though, when you have a decision to fight or flee, I hope you make the right one.”

Cryptic, he wandered into the crowds of elite daemon-kind, bizarrely welcomed amongst them. His presence was familiar to the bestial creatures, indicating this entire affair was something conducted before. As instructed, though, the worried soldiers unshackled the three but stood at the ready, though their eyes were locked on the crowds and the fate of their commander.

Impatient, Pik nudged Aloise’s legs. “Psst. Pspspspspst.”

“Not now, Pik,” hushed Aloise.

“But. . .” the Yoklin protested. “Why are we waitin’ around!? Shouldn’t we do something?”

“Just give me a moment.”

Aloise looked to Zetsu, who had remained icy and silent. For the first time since meeting him, the rabbit was ill-at-ease in his presence. Indeed, the amiable behavior, the flash and flavor of his personality were masks he hid behind.

Naturally, it was time to prod. “You’ve grown awfully quiet, Zetsu.”

The stranger hardly moved. “It is as I’ve seen in my dreams. This is destiny.”

Aloise huffed. He was still on that, was he? “And zhis is what you saw in your dreams?”

Zetsu didn’t respond. Or at least, not in the way Aloise hoped. “Soon, I’ll make all this right.”

Free of his cuffs, Aloise rubbed the bridge of his nose. Ah yes, he’d had his fill with this affair. It was supposed to be nice and simple, it was supposed to be a nice little vacation away from the road and rials of below. But that was asking too much now, wasn’t it?

“Blahblahblah!” hooted Pik. “What are these zagwas even doing!?”

Aloise wasn’t sure himself. The daemon presence was eerily familiar, given his own reliance on such power. But these creatures weren’t like myths and monsters, they were. . . well, as if nobility. He could only make out a few certainties: there were many of them, they had a hierarchy given how some appealed to others in terms of behavior, and there was a large ring-like object in the room’s center.

Ah?

“What is zhat. . .” Aloise murmured, noting the design of what appeared to be a machine.

He wasn’t familiar, that was more Edwin’s speed in terms of recognition. But, the bun did notice a few select details: a ring terminated at its top sat in the room center upon a black pedestal – a stage even. That stage was beset with markings Aloise did not know, only that they were daemon in origin. Attached to this machine were ribbed tubes interconnected to several other apparati. Containers, perhaps? They were tube-like, six in count. Whatever the case, it was the subject of Varyd’s scrutiny.

Then. . . Aloise remembered something.

He shared many characteristics with daemon kind, and one such was the ability to craft a pocket dimension, fashioned from the soul, a “gift” from The Baron. Aloise’s own little world was a luxurious room he stowed away fancy knives and fancier clothes, and he accessed it like a doorway.

Aloise blinked. Gods.

. . .this thing was a door. A door to where!?

Clearly it was wherever this ensemble of deviants arose from. Suppose he shouldn’t be too surprised given Zetsu’s accusations from before. The other details, at this point, scarcely mattered to him. This all had to stop. Not because he had some deep love of the Solarian empire or the lives upon the Glorium Maxa, but because it was interfering with his time off and the safety of his companions.

He glanced to one of the soldiers, another young man wearing an expression of fearful disbelief. Boy probably scarcely had fuzz on his nuts and here he was, facing down a parade of entities from a different realm. He also had the Rhozen, clenched in hand like a jester with a staff.

“Careful with zhat,” chastised Aloise. “Zhat is an actual weapon, not one of your oafish pellet pissers.”

It dawned on Aloise that Varyd had left him unattended. On purpose. It also dawned on him that his arrival, along with Zetsu, wasn’t planned. This entire ordeal was clearly a practiced one and their arrival wasn’t an expectation.

“Can we blow this up now!?” Pik whined. “Look at these gagwaks, they’re nothin’ special!”

Aloise didn’t respond at once, thinking it over. Something was going on if the report from the previous soldier was anything to by. Something bad. Therefore, longer these creatures remained, the more problematic things became. So, what then? Send them right back where they came from and then. . . destroy the device? Ugh, it sounded so crude.

“. . .we need to get rid of zhat,” Aloise finally said, gesturing towards the device.

Pik’s long ears wiggled as she followed Aloise’s finger. “That? Pfftah, easy, lemme just. . .”

“Not yet,” quieted Aloise. “I’d rather not fight zhe entire room. Let the fools assemble and wait to strike.”

PIk huffed. “Boring.”

“Perhaps,” challenged Aloise, “but I’d rather not set zhe whole bloody ship on fire, understand?”

The rabbit looked to Zetsu again. He didn’t like the stoic, steady quiet. “Zetsu?” he offered, voice soft and sultry, hoping to perhaps lure the stranger back to a semblance of “normalcy.”

For the first time, it did not make an appeal to the swordsman.

“My destiny is through that gate,” Zetsu repeated. “This is it.”

“Zetsu,” hissed Aloise. “Do us both a favor and not act zhe fool. Please?”

Finally, the stranger returned Aloise’s eyes and offered a smile. “You know better than that.”

Grunting, Aloise frowned. “Zetsu!”

He reached to grab the stranger by Zetsu, in a quick movement, shifted towards the guard on his right. He tapped his shoulder. The young man, a bit startled, turned on Zetsu and barked a command.

“Hey! Back in line!”

Zetsu ignored this and drove his gloved palm straight into the man’s chin. A small crack emitted from the impact, knocking him unconscious. The other sentry, noting the fuss, grabbed his handgun though Aloise interfered. “Dammit!”

Of course, being “disarmed” meant nothing, as Aloise summoned an elegant knife and shoved the point an inch away from the soldier’s neck. “No, now, enough of zhat. Put down your little toy and give me back my blade.”

Pik rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fiiiiinnnally, what were we waiting for anyway?”

The young man, not to keen on having his life ended, did as told. “Please, please, don’t kill me! I’m not even a real soldier I’m just a security guard and the job was easy andandandandand. . .”

Aloise pushed a finger to his lips, leaning. “Shhhhhhhh.” He kissed the boy’s cheek and his lips whispered sultry words into his ear.

“Leave. Just remember it was Aloise La’vey that let you go.”

Startled, the soldier handed over the Rhozen, abandoning his post. Pik snorted. “The zuk was that?”

Aloise stowed away his knife and smiled as he returned the sabier to its rightful place. “It’s what I do.”

“Yeah, well,” Pik chuffed, throwing a thumb over her shoulder, “while you were after another dick, ol’ sword-boy ran off.”

Indeed, Zetsu had vanished into the dark, having retrieved his weapons. At this point, it was clear Varyd had no intention of keeping the three prisoners. Was he trying to force their hand? It appeared to have worked. So, what then? Aloise could let Zetsu meet his “heroic fate.” He wasn’t particularly attached to the Easterner, and if the man sought a valiant end, let him have it.

He was a stubborn fool, a romantic ninny.

. . . like in all his favorite trashy books.

“So he has,” Aloise commented. “Hmph.”

For a moment, Aloise unsheathed Zhe Umbral Rhozen to eye its slivery metal, his reflection caught in the polish, fuchsia energy sparking around him as a thrill ran through his spine. “Ah, well. I suppose we have to save everyone’s life. Zhe ungrateful larks.”

Pik made a face. “Zuh. Being a hero? Ew.”

Aloise pushed his hand into the slender curve of his hip. “If it keeps our Edwin safe, zhat is all zhat matters.”

Pik, realizing she was free of a guard’s leery eyes, stretched and prepared for something a little bloody. “Yeah. . . I do like bog-brain.”

She squeezed and adjusted her small but sizeable front and smacked her haunches. “And his dick.”

Aloise made no comment, watching the party continue. It was good they hadn’t gone noticed, but likely they blended into the crowd as miscreants themselves. That, or said daemons were so busy indulging themselves they were too busy to bother otherwise.

Clapping her hands together, Pik dawned a toothy grin, her hands hissing with a black aura of arcane. Aloise waved her off though.

“Wait, wait,” he said, pointing. “See what he does first.”

He meant Varyd, who wandered into the crowd with familiar authority. Indeed, even from where Aloise stood, it was clear Varyd was no stranger to these, well, strangers.

“Huh? Buh why!?” contested Pik.

“Because zhe old man is up to somezhing and he might make it easier for us.”

Pik blinked. “Eh? Fooor?”

Now, Aloise fully withdrew the blade with an effete flair, his teardrop tail wiggling in excitement. “What do you zhink?”

-*-

Edwin wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. Steady on, old boy, steady on. Your friends are in trouble. Follow the scent, follow the trail.

As the cloaked figure navigated the metallic guts of the airship’s vast halls, distinct rumbles emitted around him. Not the hum of the Maxa’s arcana-engine. No these were familiar. Explosions, perhaps. Explosions? Edwin’s mind immediately jumped to Pik, knowing her penchant for chaos. But as more vibrations rattled the metallic interior, he realized these explosions were happening all over. Something was happening. Something, he wagered, related to that living nightmare that assaulted him a few moments ago.

Urgh, why was this happening? What horrid forced was so strong it ripped a nightmare from his mind and made flesh of it? It was static, it all sounded like static!

As Edwin padded through another hall, a young figure bounded into him, colliding into his shoulder with an indignant oof. It was a young man, uniformed in Solarian regalia – or something like that – couldn’t have even broken twenty. The boy squeaked, gazed up at Edwin, face frozen in panic. He didn’t even manage an apology before attempting to bolt off.

Attempting, because Edwin nabbed him by the shoulder and held him. “Hang on, you.”

“Agh! Let me go!”

Edwin pulled him close, leaning. He sniffed. What was that? On the boy? It was distinct, a rosy perfume, an elegant ambrosia. As Edwin studied him closer, he could see the vague outline of a lip mark similar to. . .

Aloise.

“And where have you run off from, eh?”

The guard hesitated. “I. . .”

Edwin tapped his cheek. “Popular with the ladies, I see.”

The young man did not speak, uncertain of whether he should move or sit still.

“Been out rabbit catching?”

The boy blinked. “W-what?”

And now the ex-Marsh Guard sighed. “Lookit. Tell me where you just ran from, or I’ll start bendin’ you in ways you’re not supposed to bend.”

Threats were barely necessary by Edwin’s stock. This kid was no soldier despite his uniform. More like a travelling guard that got a cozy position on a luxurious ship, likely spent his free time flirting than he did fighting.

He nodded. “Okay, okay! From the Centrechamber! That’s all! From the party! It was on Commander Varyd’s orders, I swear!”

Hmm. Edwin released him. “Good boy. See any bunnies?”

Relieved, the guard took a step back. “I. . .”

“Trust me, kid, if you saw his ass you’d know him.”

The boy frowned. “She was a he. . .?”

Edwin sighed and nodded to himself. Aloise. “Thanks. Now, off with you.”

In a blink, the boy was gone.

To the Centerchamber, then. Edwin only hoped he wasn’t too late, but given the groaning of rumbling explosions. . .

He was gonna give those two such a pinch in the ears.