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Ilshar Ard’sabekh


The tension in the air did not dissipate, but neither did the treeline erupt in fire and shrapnel, and thus after a few slowly creeping moments Ilshar felt safe enough to turn his attention away from the looming uncertainty and back to the plate still held in his hand. The intensity of the sensations he could feel seeping from it was unsettling even to an ether-touched mind, perhaps moreso due to how familiar they were as opposed to the slippery and nebulous emanations of the Chasm. Unfamiliar as he was with vrexul spirituality, he wondered just how much of the fallen insurgent lived on in this fragment. How fitting, he thought, as he slotted the plate into a loose gap on his back, to be properly integrated where his suit was lacking once conditions were more favourable. The fungus thrived on the dead and almost-dead. Such was the way of the Nexus.

"These ones were on our side. What got them is after us," he replied over the comms. On their side as far as Zanovia went, at least. Who, if anyone, the vrexul had truly followed remained a mystery, though Ilshar was ready to wager that they had been breakaways from the war. A venomous resentment much like the one he felt now had suffused those he had seen turn away from the battlefields and disappear into the void. What was less familiar, however...

"And they've been tampered with." It did not look like simple looting, certainly not his own crude groping and severing. Even if the CivSec and their allies had decided to harvest the vrexul's organs for some reason, it seemed much too clean for the hasty field job it ought to have been. Perhaps their main goal had been to make space for these implants, but this only raised even more ominous questions. The fact that the pulsating tangle did not look like an obvious booby trap, be that a bomb or an infection vector, did little to set him at ease. "I'd stay clear of them."

With crouching, wary steps, Ilshar began to make good on his own warning, keeping close to the ground as he edged away from the bodies and towards the surer protection of the rocks. The unpleasant suspicion lingered that he might already have been too late to avoid the bio-construct's effects, but for the moment it was drowned out by the awareness that he was an exposed target. He kept his gun trained on the edge of the clearing, noticing with some relief that the voidhanger looked ready to provide cover. Even if he did make it, however, he knew the safety would be temporary. There were too many unclear things in this place for it to be secure - and the cannon still waited ahead.
Ilshar Ard’sabekh


There was something wrong about this place, that much Ilshar agreed with as he dropped off the unztadlige's back onto the clearing's blasted ground. The increasing distance they had gained from the sounds of battle below had not been unwelcome, but there was always such a thing as too quiet a moment, especially this close to an enemy's positions. He found himself doubting whether the steadily creeping fog that had welcomed them among the trees was itself some trick of the cannon's defenders, an artificial vapour released to obfuscate the approach to the mountaintop. Excessive as that might have seemed in a heavily wooded area like this, it might not have been without its advantages. Right now, much to his irritation, it was interfering with his own detection attempts. The organs of taste and smell opening and breathing about his skin were quickly flooded with its bland humidity, leaving these senses useless. All he was going to perceive without seeing it were qillatu discharges through his more exotic implanted receptors, and even than might have been too little, too late.

And then there were those bodies.

Ilshar trudged up to the grotesque heap of mangled carcasses and crouched beside them. He had seen similar-looking things before. Not quite identical, but then they tended to be as augmented as any military type in the Expanse, if not more. The memories he had of them were not good.

"Hope these aren't what I think," he grunted aloud as he dug about the mass of splintered carapace and insectile viscera, now and then extruding a long, wormlike tongue to try a piece to the taste. If the League had brought vrexul, they valued this planet much more than anyone had imagined, and his squad's job had gotten that much harder and more dangerous. But even if these were vrexul - he was still not fully sure - had they actually been with the League? If their shells had borne any signs of their allegiance, most of it was now too battered to tell. As he rolled over a dismembered body with no small effort in search of identifying marks, Ilshar spotted an intact smaller plate on its underside. The material looked solid. Too heavy for a whole suit, certainly, but this much was just about the right amount to patch up a vital spot on his own piecemeal armour.

He had just finished painstakingly tearing the segment of slick bio-metal from its host when he heard Rasch's warning. Rotting Abyss, let it not be vrexul. He hunkered as best he could behind the heaped bodies, reaching for his gun and casting out his ethereal senses. If the Nexus was propitious, this cover, however improvised, would be enough.
Ilshar Ard’sabekh


With the situation defused, Ilshar eased back into his usual slumping hunch, briefly raising a hand as the ZRF group departed. Ultimately, it was a small thing they fought for. A planet, a government, a few billion lives at most. A little spark for hatred; the lords of the League or the Dominion, every bit as mortal as they were, would have thought nothing of it. But it was all their world, and it was hard to blame them if they snapped at the blundering of those supposedly here to help. Here to help - the Dolsilvec people had sounded like that during the war, too, and what had come of it? The good kind of allies kept quiet and did what they had to do, and so he, too, remained silent as he listened to the Intransigence contact's briefing, eye-rifts warily opening in his squadmates' directions all the while.

"Ready," he finally assented once everything had been laid out and the group prepared to move. Approach, seize, commandeer. The human had been right to look askance at him; that had never been his specialty. Covert approach and sabotage, yes, but the plan here was supposed to be something a touch more elaborate. What that would leave for him to do besides watching the approach once they got there remained to be seen. "Any of you good with League systems?"

If they got there, of course. If CivSec had any neurons, they would not have left their benefactors' gift lightly defended.
Ilshar Ard’sabekh


As Ilshar ambled towards the improvised assembly point, his lateral perceptors saw the bipedal symbiote of the huge Echo - or was it actually an extension of the unztadlige? - briefly fall into step beside him. He scarcely had the time to wonder if it, too, was there to ask for something before it rattled at him in its mechanical way. "Notice: Apologies. Elaboration: This platform may have caused unintended friendly fire during fire mission." Of course, the ether-worm. It had been taken out by Echo's shot. Not in little part, Ilshar reflected, his own fault for failing to consider just how destructive that cannon was.

"No harm done," he grunted back. These things happened on the battlefield, and at least this time nobody had died. He did appreciate the gesture for putting him more at ease about the unztadlige; machine-like as it sounded and looked, there was something like a living mind under its metallic carapace after all. That was well. Thinking machines unsettled him.

What he appreciated much less were the shots that rang out behind him and the confusion of voices that followed. Ilshar turned about and ground his teeth together in annoyance as he surveyed the degenerating situation. That fool human. Did the Intransigence recruit just about every thrill-seeker with a loose trigger they could dredge up from the Expanse? He could sympathize with their guides over more than just a shared genetic heritage. Had someone like this been with him on Enthuur during the war, odds were that he would have ended splattered across a wall.

"It shames me to be reduced to fighting alongside such a one as this," he raised a hand in a placating gesture as he replied to the ZRF leader in the closest approximation of the latter's language as he was fluent in. It was not something he had used often before but still it rolled out from his mouth far easier than any lingua franca intelligible to non-tarrhaidim ears. "Had my fortunes in my own war of survival been any better, I would have been glad to avoid her smooth-boned kind."

He nudged a shoulder towards the rest of the squad. "But consider, my fellows in the cosmic sowing, that their masters will seek retribution for their pawn, and it will be the worse for us. You still have the greatest prize," the Ulvath's barrel nodded in the scielto's direction, "One such as the regime surely values more than the blood-driven hominids. You need not brook this one's meddling much longer. This force should be gone soon, and all that is in my power to aid your cause elsewhere on this world, I will do." Ilshar nervously squinted a few half-formed eyes at the Envenomed's contact and Rasch, who had been far more peremptory in his address. He hoped the former was not about to contradict him about the squad's departure, however unwittingly.
Ilshar Ard’sabekh


In the chaos of smoke and erupting bullets, Ilshar could not say if his bullets had struck anything alive. There were screams, but one who had been in battle more than once knew to disregard them. He had even read it in some manual that had been passed around during the war. An involuntary scream could mislead as much as a deliberate lie, or something like that. Overconfidence at what sounded like the enemy's fear or pain could kill. So, he focused on the rhythm of his own gunfire. A burst, a pause, another burst.

Dust and splinters exploded and rained down around him as the CivSec forces at last turned their fire against the squad, forcing him to take longer pauses before ducking out from behind the shattered wall to shoot. To his dismay, the building he was behind was steadily being reduced to as bad a shape as the one whose failing cover he had left. If this kept up much longer, he could very well be finding himself exposed, and the fog of smoke could only do so much to conceal him from sight.

Unnaturally coloured lights flashed overhead, then the sound of a thunderous impact rolled down from the distant treeline, and Ilshar staggered as a wave of psychic feedback struck him. It was not as bad as it could have been had he still maintained direct contact with the ether-worm to that moment, but the strain from the collapsing connection was enough to cause a moment's disorientation. Let them not find me now...

Fortunately, as his senses realigned, the battle was already winding down. The gunfire died out, and a voice that for once was not screaming or cursing called out to them, corroborated by the suitable comm code. With a grunt, Ilshar hauled himself up from behind the battered wall and trudged towards the newcomer - their presumptive ally. On the way towards the house the (ostensible) human had emerged from, he saw the ZRF rounding up some of the enemies who were still mostly intact. He shrugged. Their planet, their war, it was up to them. They knew the situation best. As far as he was concerned, the contact was the main priority now; with the starting briefing alone, he had no idea where to go from there, and he doubted the rest of the squad had either.
Ilshar Ard’sabekh


For a moment, Ilshar felt as if he had fallen bodily into the Chasm. Part of his mind had followed the ether-worm as it slithered towards the treeline, an odd sensation as if some of his sensory organs had been surgically detached, altered and carried around while still somehow connected to his mind. It was disorienting, the sort of thing that could send a novice etherealist stumbling dazedly into the line of fire, confusing the oneiric creature's odd perspective and fluid airborne movement for their own. But Ilshar was no novice, and he remained firm on his feet even as those sensory angles that had stayed with him registered the approaching etheric blast. He drew his focus away from the worm long enough to right himself from his leaning position and crouch before the world around him erupted into a flash of unnatural colours and distorted perspectives.

His connection with the ether-worm had lessened the sensory shock, momentarily inuring him to this sort of abrupt shift, and his attention flowed back to the Chasmic entity as soon as he was positive that he still had at least some moments of safety. He saw, or perhaps rather felt, the potent signature among the trees, let senses that were only partly his slide over the barrier's surface. Ilshar did not see the being within as clearly as the worm would have - tall, spindly, a scielto perhaps? It was hard to say - but he could tell that it had not noticed the translucent void-predator, or at least gave no sign of it. This was just as well. As long as the barrier stayed up, there was nothing he could do to strike at the enemy etherealist, but as it was he could prepare something for when they would inevitably attack again. Wait. Stalk. Ambush. He impressed these simple thoughts onto the ether-worm's consciousness as he withdrew from it, leaving it to hover among the tree branches; if the Nexus favoured him, it would be ready to strike as soon as the prey was exposed.

Ilshar awoke to his body in time to see figures moving in through the now battered settlement. Their focus on Echo's towering bulk, evidently as unsettling for them as it had been for him, bought him precious seconds to lunge away from the now ruined building and behind a still mostly intact one across the street, praying the smoke would cover him enough. The human that had been with him seemed lost in the haze, but he had more urgent things to think of as Rasch's voice crackled within his helmet. It made sense that, as the most mobile of their team, he would flank, while the giant unzatlidge drew fire. This left it up to Ilshar to do what he did best in these situations.

"Received," he growled back into the comms, "Giving cover fire."

He leaned part of his torso out from behind the corner and raised the Ulvath's barrel. It was not a weapon built for precision, but that was not what he needed. Pressing the trigger, he sent a sweep of explosive bullets towards where the CivSec squad's fire gave away their position. A brief pause, then another burst. A pause, and another. There were not enough of them to call for a continuous automatic barrage, but these sporadic volleys should have been enough to pin them in place while the rest of the Envenomed struck home.
Ilshar Ard’sabekh


With a storm of gunfire and comms interference, it began. It had been a trap after all by the looks of it, but Ilshar was past the point of congratulating himself for seeing it coming. It was less of an achievement than a bare minimum for survival in situations like these. And if he wanted to cling to that life-giving threshold of performance, now was not the time for gratification, but action. Sensory organs blossomed over his exposed membranous hide, globular protrusions and spiral-sunken circles that glowed with putrid grey-green luminescence. Enhanced senses swept the tangle of houses, overlaying sight, smell and more esoteric modes of perception still. The tang of smoke and metal from projectile trails. The ill-describable, but unpleasant taste of qillatu discharge- no. The etheric blast that arched towards the gigantic Echo had come from too far away for his perception of the source to be useful to him even if he could pinpoint it.

But perhaps it could be to something else.

The human close to Ilshar called for a grenade. Not a bad idea, that, perhaps he should have prepared some. Too late for that now.

"No grenades," he growled in reply, "Keep shooting. Give cover. I'll take the ether-blaster."

Finding heavier cover, as their pointman had called out, was easier said than done when every passage between the buildings could have been a killing corridor. The best he could do was move away from the corner and towards the central point of the house he was hunkered behind. It would put him closer to the still suspiciously open door, but it seemed a more acceptable risk than sprinting across the ambushers' line of fire.

Weapon slung across his chest, Ilshar raised his arms and retracted most of his sight organs, turning his focus inward. Semi-material senses reached inward, through and beyond semi-ethereal entrails. He had sometimes heard that, according to physicists, the act of observing something could provoke a change. While he had never been one to study anything quantum, the principle rang true to him. Not because of any persuasive argument, but from simple, tangible experience. Looking into the Chasm is more than perception - it's bait.

The space between his upheld hands darkened, as if some invisible shape were filtering the daylight directly above it. Startlingly, the ground below remained clearly lit. In a moment, there was a blurring, a folding of perspective, as if the tarrhaidim and the house behind him had been a drawing on a piece of translucent paper that was being folded around that one point in midair. The suspended shadow grew deeper, expanded - and then it was gone, and something writhed in its place. A sinuous form twice as long as Ilshar's arm twisted through the air, as if swimming through water, crystalline in its transparency and yet oozingly, unmistakably organic. Smell. Seek. Hunt. The ether-worm whirled, circular tooth-ringed jaw snapping, and slid away, towards the direction where the blast had come from.

Ilshar leaned against the building's wall, dizziness coursing through him as implanted and template-bred organs fought to absorb the qillatu diffusing from him exertion. The moments immediately after reaching into the Chasm were the worst. The most dangerous. He could only pray to the source of all that churned and slithered that the rest of the team was keeping the enemy distracted enough.
Ilshar Ard’sabekh


He was already halfway to disappearing into the brush, an odd mound of gnarled metal steadily creeping towards the open ground of the settlement's edge, when he caught the familiar tones from their talkative - by Ilshar’s standards, at least - local guide. It was not something he had heard before, not exactly. Some of the words he did not entirely grasp, and some others were unfamiliar to him in this context; back where was from, they used to say rings rather than coils… Used to say, yes, not anymore. But the meaning could not have been more clear. This planet was alien to him, its conflicts and his own role in them something he understood detachedly at best - business, he had truthfully said. And still, it was heartening to know that here like anywhere he was among fellow spores of the Nexus. In the end, a tarrhaidim was just that. Maybe the vrexul had the right of it in their own way.

Twisting back his torso, Ilshar made a gesture with one hand, a circle with sharp fingers pointing inward. Once it had been a ritual greeting, but like his spirals it had taken on a more common meaning these days, one anyone could understand. Keep within it, and it with you.

Then the forest parted around him, and the war demanded his attention again. The vrexul had it easier, he thought as he swept the barrel of his gun left to right across the outer row of buildings, ready to let out a suppressive burst. There were fewer of them, and they weren't really part of any nation. Meanwhile, if a tarrhaidim came out from one of those houses in Zanovian Security gear, he would have to shoot, brotherhood in the Totality or not. Hadn't it always been that way?

Once upon a time, Ilshar ruminated as he shuffled ahead behind the other two, he liked to think he had done it for an actually good reason.

Artillery thundered, far away but still much too close, and his skin bloomed with receptors again. Here was a trail of fresh steps, and there was motion in the woods, much like what their own group's must have been. Too far to smell what it was. He did not like the uncertainty. 

With a lurching step, he brought his back to the wall of the open building, putting it between himself and the opposite end of the village. If something was moving in, they were going to need cover, but still he hesitated to enter it. That footstep trail did not feel right.

"Careful," he growled, only just loud enough for the rest of the team's vanguard to hear, and motioned to the open door, "Smells like a trap. They move in from outside, wait inside, and they have us. You hear our contact?"
Ilshar Ard’sabekh


The soil on this world smelled good. Lately, Ilshar had found himself jumping from one dry, dusty planetoid to another, a grainy film clogging his sensory glands with an annoying taste he was only now fully getting rid of. The humid wafts of boggy, unsettled earth that Zanovia had greeted him with had been a more than welcome change. It did not quite smell like home - nothing ever really did - but it brought back pleasant memories of boundless tropical peat fields under a hazy sun. The only irritants were the persistent smells of battle, still too fresh to have settled into a comfortable decay, and the smokestick of the human riding along with him, to say nothing of the transport itself.

He gnashed his teeth as the vast creature lurched ahead under his feet. He was still not wholly used to the idea of a living thing so tightly woven with cybernetics it was almost a machine itself, let alone an intelligent one. The mass of mostly etherically inert metal made him uneasy, not faster than light travel had the first few times. Depending too much on machines. That had never been the Alazann way. Better the simpler, more straightforward things, like the gun weighing down in his hands.

The guides’ chatter was at least a distraction from the strange mechanical colossus and its eeriness.

“Mercenaries?” he grunted in response to the tarrhaidim’s musings, “Could say that. Business. Hate…” The lower rows of his ocular bulbs dissolved into his head, and new ones opened further up, looking at the sky between the trees’ canopy. “Elsewhere.”

At last the trudging ride was over, and Ilshar heavily hopped down, some wary eyes still trained on the giant - Echo, it had been designated? - as part of it detached to follow. Maybe it was a machine after all. He gave another grunt of acknowledgement as the group’s voidhanger moved ahead, snapped on his helmet and hefted his machine gun before following into the undergrowth. He smelled the sap now, the rotting plants underfoot. Nothing out of place, their guide was probably right about that noise. Still, they were in a warzone now. If time had taught him anything, it was that it paid to always keep every gland open. Especially early on, when nothing seemed to have gone wrong yet.

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