Hoplite sped onward, Michael hooting excitedly as his armored boots left deep imprints upon the forest floor. Lance gave a little yelp of fright every now and then, clinging hard to the arm he was using to hold her aloft. They had been running for close to six hours now it felt like, and Michael's enthusiasm hadn't seemed to drop one bit as he occasionally let out a long 'Woooo!' or 'Hell yeah!' whenever Hoplite had to jump over an obstacle or quickly swerve around a tree.
Lance did not share in the young marine's enthusiasm, her pale flesh having turned a shade of sickly green some time ago. She would likely need more time to recuperate once Hoplite set her back down. It shouldn't be too long before they reached the Bastion, perhaps another few hours of sprinting, nothing too traumatic for her guts. They were deep in the Faewood now, the setting sun again casting a fading orange haze through the many leaves above to shadow the forest floor with its dancing lights. It was a sight that Hoplite had… come to enjoy.
Not locked within his cryo-pod or fighting in close quarters in gun-metal gray hallways or across barren blasted wastelands; simply out in the forest, his eyes drinking in the garish beauty of the Faewood greedily, it was… pleasant. Hoplite hadn't felt this way when he had killed the Admech in the Caliston forests. Had it been because of the fact that he had a clearer mission at the time? Had that been why Hoplite hadn't taken in the scenery as he did now? Perhaps…
This growing appreciation for things not related to warfare were beginning to make him somewhat uncomfortable.
Despite that feeling however, Hoplite could not stop from enjoying his surroundings. As an object, a thing, Hoplite should not view anything as beautiful. Nature was simply another potential battleground, nothing more. The thought felt hollow as Hoplite stared in awe at a squirrel scrambling up a tree nearby. Hoplite had seen countless squirrels back on Earth when he was training to serve Terna; had he been just as intrigued by the creatures then as he was now?
He must have been, they were the same species and-
Hoplite's eyes widened with shock when suddenly, a fast moving blur emerged from behind a far off tree, several paces back from the one the squirrel had been climbing. It had been too far off to pick up on his motion tracker, but he had seen it through his camera. What could move that fast at that size besides himself? In the instant Hoplite noticed the blur, time seemed to slow to a crawl; as it always did when he was fully focused, and he saw it more clearly. A man, with lightish green flesh and bloody red hair that was blown back by the sheer speed of his sprint. In that same instant, the man turned his head, those red eyes seeming to lock onto Hoplite.
At the same time, both of them dug their heels into the forest floor, twin trails of furrowing soil following each pair of feet until they both came to a complete stop. Hoplite briefly chided himself as Lance and Michael stared at him with their brows knit, Lance looking particularly green while doing so. This wasn't related to his current objective, there was no reason for him to stop and talk to this… anomalous individual. Hoplite turned to continue the journey back to the Bastion, but the stranger then began jogging toward them. What did the mutant intend?
Lately even the term 'mutant' seemed to be ringing hollow. Perhaps Hoplite should refer to them by the terms used by the locals. After all, this really wasn't a mutant, was it? They were a completely different species in a different dimension, not mutations of humanity.
The fact that Hoplite did not argue with himself after that thought was concerning, but until he had definitive answers, he would continue to assume that this indeed was a different dimension. Hoplite then set down Lance as Michael noticed the stranger, undoing his own straps and falling to his feet behind Hoplite, staring with narrowed eyes at the approaching stranger.
The green man was huge, being at least of a height with Hoplite out of his armor. He crossed wide scarred arms over his muscled chest, smirking with a set of full white teeth and orcish tusks, coming to stand a dozen paces away. He was shirtless, with tattered pants and flesh scored with as many scars as Hoplite himself had. That bloody red hair seemed to writhe in the wind like long scarlet grass, his equally crimson eyes seeming to stare hungrily at Hoplite.
"You…" The stranger said, his tone deep and gravelly, "Have got to be the one."
Michael unslung his rifle and brought it to bear, not aiming it yet, but staring at the stranger with intensity. Hoplite noticed that the young marines finger was nearing the trigger, but other than that, Michael remained almost completely still and silent. Something about this stranger had set Michael off it seemed. Hoplite unslung the Magnus, not aiming it, but having it at the ready in case the stranger turned out to be aggressive. Lance swayed and stumbled over to a nearby tree, leaning heavily against it as she hung her head.
She still made sure to keep the stranger in view, though she didn't seem like she was too worried. Lance's gaze seemed to be fixated on the strange glowing purple collar around the stranger's thick neck. It was an odd thing to wear, especially given that the only other article of clothing the orc wore was a pair of tattered trousers.
"I don't know what you mean." Hoplite told the stranger flatly, "We have an objective to accomplish. Goodbye."
The stranger laughed before saying "But you are my business… Tell me, are you this Hoplite that I've heard so much about?"
Lance lifted her head slightly to stare at the stranger, and Michael's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"...Affirmative. Now leave." Hoplite ordered sternly.
"I will not." The stranger said, his smirk turning to a frown. "I have come to challenge you to Tomah. I have seen what you did to Ferow the Raven, I wish to test my mettle against you… Know me, Hoplite!" He yelled as Michael lifted his rifle, aiming directly at the stranger's head, "I am Tuji, the Son of Zodd!" He declared, holding his arms out wide as he furled his fingers.
It was then that Hoplite noticed the dried blood caking Tuji's hands. Hoplite blinked in surprise as a strange feeling began welling up in his chest. For whatever reason, Hoplite desired to neutralize this man. Desire… that was one of the most dangerous emotions, one that every Hoplite was trained to suppress, yet now Hoplite could feel nothing more than the urge to eschew his shotgun so he could go and beat the orc to death with his bare fists.
Why did he feel this way all of the sudden? Taking a deep breath, he reigned in his insubordinate emotions, keeping his hands clasped firmly on his shotgun. Whoever Tuji was, he was clearly a hostile, that had to be the reason Hoplite felt this way. Yet why did he want to be rid of his gun to engage in close-quarters? He would simply blow the orcs head off and be done with it if the creature charged him.
With that thought, Hoplite fully raised his shotgun, finger on the trigger as the Pillar-born continued his mad laugh. Lance screamed in terror, falling to her rear as the green seemed to fade from her face to be replaced by a stark paleness.
"N-no!" She screamed, backing away on all fours as Tuji began to cackle "P-pillar-born!?"
"I must thank my Third Father for guiding me directly to you, Hoplite!" Tuji cackled "He has always had a way of helping me find my next challenge!"
Pillar-born? Hoplite had heard that term from Lance before… when they had met that strange party of misfits. Lance had asked Twindil if she had been sanctioned, the paladin having indeed confirmed that she indeed was not Pillar-born, or in simpler terms…
A Godling.