Night in the Misty Mountains was not merely the absence of light but the arrival of something sentient and cruel. The mist thickened until it became almost tactile, brushing against my armour like damp fingers searching for weakness. In certain pockets it shifted colour subtly, turning faintly green or violet where venomous compounds condensed in lethal concentrations, and my suit began issuing low warnings about airborne toxins rising to dangerous levels. The air itself tasted different at night bitter, metallic, threaded with a sweetness that made the back of my throat tighten. The whispers that had lingered faintly during daylight now coiled around me more boldly, seductive and patient, like distant voices promising rest if only I would stop moving.
The first Impnis came without warning. I heard the rush of wings before I saw it, a dry, leathery thrumming that cut through the fog in erratic pulses. Then dozens followed. They descended in a violent spiral, bat-like creatures with elongated skulls and serrated teeth, their membranes thin yet reinforced with bone spurs along the edges. Their eyes burned faintly red in the night spectrum, locking onto heat signatures and sound vibrations. One brushed past my shoulder, claws scraping against armour with a shriek that set my teeth on edge. Their bodies smelled of rot and stale blood, and the collective sound of their feeding frenzy echoed through the valley as they swarmed some unseen prey beyond my vision. I ran without engaging thrusters, conserving energy while keeping my movement low and unpredictable, but their thermal senses tracked even the residual warmth radiating from my armour.
I spotted a narrow body of water reflecting faint bioluminescent glows from strange plants along its banks and dove without hesitation. The cold struck like a blade. It cut through the outer plating's temperature regulation before stabilizers compensated, and for several seconds I forced myself to remain submerged, slowing my breathing to minimal output while the Impnis swarmed overhead. Their silhouettes passed like shadows across the water's surface, wings stirring ripples that distorted the dim lights beneath. The sound of their screeches vibrated through the water, muffled yet no less chilling. When they finally dispersed, drawn elsewhere by more vulnerable prey, I surfaced slowly, visor scanning the treeline for any lingering motion.
Even half submerged, I kept cycling through short-distance comms. Static. Interference. Then, faintly, a voice cut through the distortion familiar, strained, unmistakable. My heart surged so violently it felt like a physical blow. "Quentin," I breathed, though the interference swallowed my reply. The atmospheric shift was scrambling signals unpredictably. I withdrew the spike from my belt and drove it into the soil near the waterline, initiating a wider pulse scan. The device sent calibrated acoustic and electromagnetic bursts through the terrain, mapping heat signatures and metallic anomalies within extended range. The readout flickered, adjusting for environmental interference, and returned three life forms nearby. Two were unidentified. The third pulsed with a familiar identifier marker tied to Quentin's armour.
I rose from the water cautiously, droplets sliding from my plating, and re-engaged dark mode. The faint bioluminescence of odd plants and low-crawling insects cast shifting shadows across the rocks, creating patterns that seemed almost intentional in their concealment. The mist's whispers grew louder, coaxing, insidious, promising safety in stillness. I ignored them and sprinted toward the signal, every sense heightened, blade held low and ready.
When I reached a vantage point overlooking a narrow pass between jagged outcroppings, I saw him. Quentin stood below, posture tense, eyes scanning too quickly, movements sharp with fatigue. He looked thinner somehow, manic energy flickering at the edges of his expression. Two additional heat signatures hid themselves expertly within the terrain. I studied the geometry of the pass and immediately saw the trap. One attacker would strike from higher ground, forcing Quentin to pivot toward a second waiting below, compressing his escape routes and exploiting his aggressive counter-strike style.
I circled upward without a sound, using terrain masking and suppressing even the faint servo hum of my armour. The first enemy lay prone against a dark ridge, black armour blending seamlessly into the rock, blade poised for the ambush. I approached from behind and angled my sword between the overlapping plates at the back of his chest. The thrust was swift and precise. I felt the resistance of armour give way to flesh and then the sudden slackening of his body as his heart was pierced before he could register the betrayal of his own strategy.
Without pausing, I retrieved a solar flash bomb from his belt and hurled it toward the lower ambush point. It detonated with a violent burst of white brilliance that tore through the darkness, turning night into day for a fraction of a second. The enemy below screamed, visor failing to compensate for the sudden intensity. Quentin reacted instantly, instinct driving him forward before logic caught up. He launched with brutal force, heavy sword arcing downward and splitting the blinded attacker from collar to chest in a savage, final blow. He pivoted in the same motion, blade whipping toward me with lethal precision.
I raised my sword and absorbed the impact. The collision reverberated through my arms and into my bones, a sudden ache reminding me how close we had come to friendly death. "Princess," I managed, forcing a grin beneath my helmet, "are you trying to kill your friend now?" Quentin froze, recognition flooding his eyes, and then he surged forward, wrapping me in a fierce embrace that knocked the air from my lungs. The relief in that contact nearly undid me. For a heartbeat, the war receded, and we were simply boys who had survived another impossible turn.
He pulled back quickly, urgency replacing warmth. "Bloody hell, I thought I was done," he muttered, voice trembling despite the bravado. "We talk later. They know us by name, Aziri. They're fast. Strong. Sextus and I split to thin them out somewhere back 5km north of here. Six went after him and Gunish, the fool was meant to head east but he went west" The words hit like cold iron. I nodded once, already scanning the area for additional movement. "Okay loot what you can from that bastard," I ordered. "After that we'll double back 5km to your original split location after we'll head west hoping to catch a track of them. We move fast and quiet."
We stripped what equipment we could signal scramblers, energy cells, unfamiliar blade components working with mechanical efficiency. The distant cries of Impnis echoed through the valleys again, and somewhere farther off the mist carried another tremor that might have been movement or memory. The night pressed closer, thick with unseen threats. The dread that had begun at the riot ship's fall now deepened into something heavier, more spiritual, as though the mountains themselves conspired to erase every hope we clung to. Yet as Quentin and I launched into a full sprint toward Sextus's last known direction, adrenaline cut through despair like a blade. Whatever hunted us in these moving mountains would not find us passive. Not yet.