EPISODE 2

A Sacred Duty

Several of the Templars pressed forward, using boosts from their suits to leap over piles of rubble, speeding toward the purported Sekaran army holdouts. This dropship and a dozen others like it would secure what was left of the big cities on the Nemayr colony world. The world had been held by Sekarans for more than two hundred years. It would finally be restored to balance with its people learning to worship the one true God.

Drin followed the others, charging and leaping over piles of rubble that had once been buildings. He recalled playing a hopping game as a child. What had it been called? An odd thing to think of in the middle of combat. Twelve Square. That was the name of the game. Each square represented one of the twelve tribes of Eloria. The adults at seminary encouraged the game as a way for the young Templars-in-training to memorize their history and heritage. The kids enjoyed it because hopping from square to square proved challenging. It was only a meter or so at a time between those squares, but Drin recalled failing more often than not. As an adult with nanites, he didn’t even strain himself as he stepped over twenty times those distances.

“Woo!” Jellal shouted ahead of him. His friend had far too much fun with this. Just like a child, he thought of these battles as a game.

Drin had seen enough death to never consider warfare a game. They had a sacred duty to perform. Glory would come later, but it would hurt in the present. That was the way it should be. And even though holy war was not considered murder under doctrine, Drin would seek confession from Father Cline and ask forgiveness for each and every life he took. Assuming he survived the battle.

The Templars bounded into one of the few standing sections of the formerly great city. The scenery had gone from rubble to intact buildings, though these had their windows blown out from the blasts. Glass shards lingered everywhere on the streets.

Drin slowed his step, watching the others as they moved forward. Some had assault rifles on their shoulders, others held their light swords. Primary weapons were ordained, not used by chance. Drin’s proficiency with a light sword meant he would have to move to the front line before they engaged the enemy.

A rumbling came from a block away. The Sekarans came flooding around the corner. They cheered and shouted in their own language, invoking their own false god as surely as Drin and the others invoked the true God.

Faith brought strength. Faith brought victory. Couldn’t the Sekarans see the folly in their ways?

They would once the Templars made them.

With a deep breath, Drin charged. Several of the other Templars moved with him. Their paces matched each other perfectly as a refined unit. They had equal space between them, packed tightly enough that an enemy wouldn’t slip through their ranks without meeting a light sword’s blade. The Sekarans, by contrast, were disorganized, untrained. While they had superior numbers, they didn’t have the mental faculty or the discipline. The warlords and battlemages used these poor men as pawns in service to them, nothing more.

The Sekarans opened fire with their laser-repeaters. Small beams of light and energy pelted the charging Templars. The armor adjusted for the weapons’ frequencies and provided adequate shielding. All it would do was drain a little bit of their energy. That could prove dangerous over time, which was why Drin moved in for a swift kill.

He leapt into the air, rising far above the cluster of Sekarans. Some raised their laser-repeaters to fire on him, but others concentrated on the rest of the group. The move served to split their weapons’ fire. He landed in the middle of the enemy and spun around. His movements were fluid like a dance. The twirl of his light sword severed the heads of a dozen Sekarans with one stroke. Their screams of pain blended into one senseless cry as their bodies hit the ground.

The action disrupted their ranks and caused the remaining Sekarans to spread out. One shouted something, a phrase Drin recognized. “Focus fire!” He’d heard it before. It was the only way their laser-repeaters would be effective against a Templar. They didn’t focus on him, however. They focused on Jellal.

The other Templars cut through the Sekarans, but even as they made progress, another wave of enemy soldiers spilled around the corner. Some threw rocks, but most had more traditional energy swords with metal hilts. Electric charges sizzled as their blades met with the fluid energy of the Templars’ light swords.

A shock stick pierced the armor of another member of his unit. Drin tried to cut his way through the Sekaran soldiers to get to him, but by the time he arrived, the Templar’s nanites flickered out, leaving a naked man to get stabbed, kicked, and beaten to death by the mob of Sekarans. Drin chopped at the assailants with his light sword, but his brother had already lost his life. When he finally came to the body, he saw it was Antun. He muttered a prayer for the man’s soul.

Anger welled in Drin. One of the faithful had been killed. At least he had died in God’s service, but it didn’t take away the sting. Drin growled in a guttural rage.

Even though they had taken down one of the Templars, the Sekarans weren’t equipped to fight them. They were just fodder, sacrificing themselves to slow down Drin and the others. He knew what was to come. They were being softened up for the real battle.