Ignatius-Valdis [Heaven’s Curse, #0]: Chapter 2

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The hall was silent. Too silent. Goosebumps sprinted along Gothalia’s skin. She eyed the Centurion Squadron Commander ahead of her. Where was he leading them? How did he somehow know the way? The Humans paused behind Gothalia who lingered behind the group of Excelian fighters. “I think I know this way,” said Michael. His dark eyes scanned the sign on the wall.

The Centurion Squadron Commander regarded him. His expression was unreadable; the flickering lights of the corridor casting shadows across his face. “You know this way?” he asked in English.

“Isn’t that what I said,” Michael answered.

Gothalia regarded Michael for a moment as did the others but didn’t say anything. Anthony handed Michael a key. Puzzlement crossed Gothalia’s features and she wondered what door it opened. Gothalia eyed the key, it didn’t look like a standard surface world key. It was bigger and made of brass. Then she understood. “It opens the Vault.”

Michael and Anthony regarded her. “How do you know?”

“I cannot say.” She answered quicker than expected.

“That sounds totally suspicious.” Anthony remarked and crossed his arms as he kneeled with them. Until, he uncrossed his arms before they all moved once again around another corner and towards the greenhouse.

“So, you’re telling me it opens a vault?” Michael asked, not believing he said so the way he had. That reminded him of the trauma he had in his system. Not that it couldn’t be managed.

“Not a vault. The Vault.” Gothalia remarked. “That’s all I can say.” The Squadron Commander nodded at Gothalia, pleased with her reply, and motioned for Michael and the others to fall in. They advanced, footsteps ringing against the greenhouse’s cold metal walls as tension coiled tighter with each step. Gothalia remained on edge, every sense keyed to the faintest noise, half-expecting the uneasy silence to be shattered by whatever waited around the next bend.

“If we make it past the greenhouse, we should be able to make it out to the gardens.”

“Gardens?” the Cavalier questioned. “There are a greenhouse and gardens. Not a garden?”

“Greenhouses.” The Squadron Commander answered.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Based off the design of the golden marble floors, the golden chrome chandeliers, tapestries, the large windows over there and everything else. We’re inside a palace,” he said, with dawning realisation. The Squadron Commander watched them, scanning for anyone who might ask where they were—but no one did. Instead, they looked around, scanning their environment. Gothalia hadn’t realised at first, but the palace’s interior was pristine and exquisite. They stood in the dungeon.

She began to question where they had travelled and the recalled the path they took led by the Squadron Commander. She regarded him cryptically and glanced at the family shield on his left arm. Then she pulled her attention away.

As they pressed on, the faint sound of their bare feet against the polished marble floors mingled with the distant hum of the greenhouse ventilation, each step drawing them further from familiarity and deeper into uncertainty. The opulence of the palace’s corridors, with their intricate golden accents and looming tapestries, felt simultaneously majestic and foreboding, heightening the sense that something momentous lay ahead, just beyond the next ornate doorway or shadowed alcove. “We should go back.” The Legionnaire suggested.

“We need weapons and shoes,” he replied.

The Squadron Commander agreed, until a room where the Xzandians walked from caught his eye. He watched as an Xzandian sauntered into the room, carrying Excelian Centurion, Legionnaire and Cavalier, weapons, armour and uniforms. His gaze narrowed. When did they? He considered their options and said, “Change of plans.”

“There was a plan?” Michael asked. The Squadron Commander disregarded his inquiry and instructed Michael and Anthony, to remain in the area and out of sight, until their return. Without further discussion, they concealed themselves.

Gothalia remained quiet and followed his gaze. Confusion washed over her features as she regarded the room. She hadn’t seen what he saw. None of them did. A frown marred her features. She sensed hostility. Subtle voices echoed from the room and down the hall. Xzandians strode the gallery. They hid before peering around the corner after the Xzandians passed. “What’s the plan?” the Cavalier asked the Squadron Commander.

“They’re housing Centurion, Legionnaire and Cavalier armaments and uniforms. We’re finding out what else they’re hiding.” He affirmed, he gave a tri signal, and they split and kneeled along the hall.

Closely, Gothalia observed the Xzandians then waited until they vanished. Once she was convinced, they wouldn’t return for some time, restored the tri signal. Soon after, she slipped along the gallery wall toward the end of the hall where the room was located. Gothalia scanned her surroundings—there were no Xzandians in sight. She quickly pressed herself against one side of the doorway and paused. Movement came from within.

Gothalia’s attention was caught by the Centurion Squadron Commander in the back, the Cavalier closest to her and the Legionnaire not too far from the Squadron Commander where he loitered out of sight at the end of the hall with an artificial crossbow in hand. The crossbow pointed at the doorway she and the Cavalier stood on either side of. Gothalia frowned, the crossbow would only hold for two minutes at most. That’s all the time they had.

Gothalia regarded the Cavalier. The Cavalier regarded her.

Gothalia slipped into the room without a sound; the Cavalier trailed her and took up a hidden position just inside the door. Fists up as the Cavalier stood prepared to eliminate any Xzandian that entered the room.

Quickly, Gothalia dispatched the Xzandian that examined the weapons and armour. Gently, she placed him on the ground careful to not make a sound. She moved to the weapons and armour. She gathered what she needed. A sword, the waist belts, sheath, forearm braces, knife, the Fabricator and boots. She moved from the bench and towards the door. The Cavalier collected the same items and returned to the door.

Gothalia sent a di signal and informed them, room clear and coded what items were in the room. The Squadron Commander frowned.

The Legionnaire entered the room, collected all items except for the Fabricator, and positioned himself by the door while Gothalia and the Cavalier exited. Both Gothalia and the Cavalier waited on opposite sides of the doorway. Gothalia faced the north end of the hall, and the Cavalier faced the south end of the fall, equipped with their Fabricators as artificial crossbows, remaining vigilant for any presence of Xzandians.  The Squadron Commander approached from the west hall and entered the room.

Gothalia and the Cavalier retreated into the room once again, on either side of the room, they pointed the crossbows at the only entrance and exit. At first, the Squadron Commander examined the items and maps laid out on the bench before turning his attention to the AIs on the table. No one touched them. He then looked closely at each AI lined up along the wall, and began matching each one accordingly to the Legionnaire, Cavalier and other Centurion by the insignia on their uniforms that hadn’t been removed unlike others.

He turned a shelf beside him and regarded all the insignia enlists on silver metal plates. Each one different. Used to identify each Centurion, Legionnaire and Cavalier ever drafted. He frowned and how they were lined. Almost on display. “We need to move.” He knew something wasn’t right. He grabbed two pairs of shoes on the bottom shelf.

Without a word, they carefully exited the room and returned to Michael and Anthony and handed them the shoes. “Put these on quickly.” Quickly, they put the shoes on. “Let’s go.” he said, and without further comment, they advanced through the palace with vigilance, remaining alert for any Xzandians.

With each step they took, they removed Xzandians from their path as they moved towards the palace searching for a way out. Quickly, they moved through the halls and towards the large formal gardens past the large ballroom. Swiftly, they descended the outer stairs and followed the gravel path towards the hedged maze where they later found a gazebo. They waited within. Cautious of any Xzandians. When none arrived they fell silent.

Fifteen minutes past as they rested then half-an-hour. No one said a word until, Anthony shifted his legs becoming numb. He moved his leg and his shoe knocked the Cavalier’s shoe. Gothalia regarded the exchange confused and wary. The Cavalier kicked Anthony’s foot back and glared. “Keep your feet to yourself.” she harshly whispered.

“It was an accident. It’s cramped down here.” Anthony whispered back. “I’m not playing footsies or anything. Relax.”

“Shut up they’ll hear us.” the Legionnaire said, from beside Anthony and on the other side of Gothalia.

“They’ll hear you. You’re the loudest.” Gothalia shot back in a harsh whisper.

“Don’t you lot start.” Michael said, opposite them.

“What does that mean?” the Legionnaire asked. They all regarded Michael with genuine confusion and he began to explain:

“It’s short for: don’t start your nonsense.” Michael said. The Centurion Squadron Commander eyes remained vigilant on their surroundings.

“We’ll move again soon.” the Centurion Squadron Commander said. “First and last names and rank you have three seconds.”

Michael said. “Michael McGuire. Sargent.” Michael slowly annunciated his rank. He considered withholding it until he realised the Squadron Commander already knew.

“Anthony McGunner. Sargent.” he smiled at the Cavalier, also picking up on that a lie wouldn’t help him.

“Angeliqua Marius-Brutus. Cavalier. Squadron Lieutenant.” the Cavalier said.

“Catullus Metrius-Casteus. Legionnaire. Lieutenant.” the Legionnaire said.

Everyone glanced at Gothalia. “Gothalia Ignatius-Valdis. Centurion. Lieutenant.” There was a heavy pause and she glanced at the Squadron Commander, as did the others.

“Ivanius Derius-Marius. Centurion. Squadron Commander.” Ivanius said. He turned to Gothalia. “You’re an Ignatius?”

Gothalia fell quiet. Then answered. “Yes. I am.”

Everyone fell quiet as a gentle hum caught every Excelian’s attention. Michael and Anthony didn’t hear the hum. Instead, Anthony began to ask questions until the Squadron Commander held up his hand and signalled for silence. Everyone fell silent. They were closing in. “We move now.”

Quickly, the Squadron Commander moved until Michael and Anthony didn't. Ivanius regarded them a moment. “How did you know we were soldiers?”

“It was obvious. We’re not your enemy.” Ivanius said, turning his heel, he moved on. Gothalia, Angeliqua and Catullus followed.

Michael and Anthony made to follow until something caught their attention. It hovered in the air, a red light sat with it as it hovered in the air. It wings propelling it up, down, left and right. “What’s that?”

The red light scanned them. Its augmented voice rang out in a language they couldn't understand. They ran opposite the direction the Excelians scattered. It beeped again, the red beam trailing after them. Then, in English, it said: “Enemy detected.”

Michael fell on the loose gravel and Anthony ran back to help him up before they ran into the other side of the gardens towards the bridge that passed a stream and towards another garden before they kept running. Xzandians pursued.

* * *

“Humans.” A figure clad in black watched the human men run through the gardens toward the forest. He sprinted along the roof, dropped onto a balcony, and neutralized an Xzandian armed with a long-range rifle trained on the men. He took out another, then another, before moving down the path to follow them; eventually he caught up. The humans armed themselves with knives carved by Xzandians. The figure—clad in black—watched them and said, “Where are the Excelians?”

“Which one?” Anthony asked.

“There’s plenty.” Michael said, taking his stance.

The stranger took in their appearance. Mess and grime clung to them: dried blood crusted in places, dirt caked to the skin down to the ankles. Hair hung in uneven tangles, matted where it had stuck together and knotty where fingers had failed to separate it. Their clothing hung in tatters, fabric frayed and stained, seams split as if by struggle and neglect. Every detail spoke of a long, hard journey — not just of distance, but of endurance: a body pushed past comfort, a life sketched in scuffs and wear. The stranger’s eyes lingered, trying to read the story written across those wounds, but found only a raw, stubborn silence. “You were prisoners weren’t you?” he asked them.

“What’s it to you?” Michael asked.

Anthony stayed quiet.

“I won’t stop you.” the stranger said. “If you go that way there are more Xzandians. There are walls you can’t climb in that direction and in that direction there’s a path further into a forest that’ll buy you enough time to travel beyond the place walls. It’ll take two days on foot. There are stables nearby with three horses left. There be none now.” He gestured in the direction they should leave.

“The Excelians we ran into were by the mouth of the maze.”

“Centurions?” he asked.

“Centurions.” Anthony said. “And others.”

“Others?” the stranger asked.

“A Legionnaire and a Cavalier.” Michael answered.

The stranger stepped aside. The human men watched him for a heartbeat, then ran past. Once they were out of range, he studied the direction they’d gone and moved silently toward where the Xzandians waited. Purple diamonds crawled over his skin, shifting to dark blue, and within seconds he melted into the background—an invisible silhouette among the shadows.

* * *

Gothalia observed their surroundings. “We need to retreat,” she suggested, taking note of their numbers and where they stood.

“Why?” Squadron Commander Ivanius Derius-Marius asked.

Gothalia gestured at the heavily armed Xzandians, their pilots and their gear. “They’re more likely to attack as MYA rather than the alternative.”

“Numbers?” Ivanius asked.

“Eighty-one.” the Legionnaire Catullus Metrius-Casteus said. “Fourteen on the eastern boardwalk. Seventeen in the courtyard. Thirty-Three in the loggia. Twenty on the upper terrace, sectioned by five at four quarter towers. No scatters in between.”

“What are they guarding?” Ivanius asked.

“The Vault. It’s untouched. They haven’t cracked the codes yet.” said the Cavalier, Angeliqua Marius-Brutus.

Ivanius turned to Gothalia next to him. “If we retreat are we retreating?”

“Only retreating. We’re here.” Gothalia said and then pointed to the boardwalk and the gates. “We need to get there.”

“Can we re-align from here to there quicker than they can spot us?”

“No we can’t and it’s only a matter of time before they find the guards and—” The alarm rang. More Xzandians filled the battlements, pilots armed their machines and small fixed winged drones were launched from the central building.

“They shouldn’t have access to that alarm system.” Ivanius said. “We re-align north, east, south and west and re-set there.” More codes were past from the Squadron Commander to the Lieutenants then they moved on.

Gothalia didn’t wait for assent. She vaulted the low parapet and slid down the moss-slick stones toward the boardwalk, boots thudding in measured cadence. Behind her, the squad tightened into formation—streamlined, silent machines of practiced retreat. Ivanius moved with them, blade sheathed but fingers restless at its hilt. The Xzandian alarm shimmered in the humid air like a swarm of angry beetles; lights winked along the ramparts, casting angular shadows that scrambled their planned routes.

“Catullus, watch the eastern approach. Angeliqua, get a read on the Vault—see if anything’s been breached,” Ivanius barked. Orders landed and were absorbed; the Legionnaire and the Cavalier obeyed with that quiet efficiency of those who had swallowed danger whole before breakfast.

Small drones flitted overhead—tiny, hard-bodied things that pinged like wasps on a mission. Ivanius cursed under his breath. “They’ve got aerial feed,” he said. “Someone’s handed them the rooftop frequencies.”

Gothalia crouched behind a ruined balustrade and peered through the gloom. The loggia’s three dozen Xzandians were arrayed in a staggered mesh, their visors glowing with HUD overlays. The four quarter towers each held a cluster of marksmen; between them, the courtyard watchers were keyed to civilian traffic and maintenance logs. No scatters—no blind spots large enough for a squad-sized manoeuvre.

“We’ll have to move under the rip,” Gothalia said, voice low. “They can’t sustain thermal sweeps in the rain. The humidity fries their arrays for short windows. We time it with the next downpour and we slip onto the boardwalk.”

Ivanius looked up. Drops began, thin at first, veiling the view. Somewhere a Xzandian pilot spat words into a throat-mic; the sound carried thinly, muddied by static and rainfall. “How long until the Vault team cracks the codes?” he asked.

Angeliqua’s eyes were hard. “They’re skilled, but the Vault’s cipher matrix is layered threefold and we’ve seen them stall on the second layer before. Ten minutes at most if they dedicate everything.”

Catullus made a short, dismissive sound. “Then we don’t have ten. We can slow them—misdirect. I can get a couple of charges inside the eastern cisterns and take down the eastern watch.”

Ivanius weighed the options like a man counting coins. Retreating without the Vault could mean an endless war of attrition—the Xzandians armed with whatever lay inside. Pushing for the Vault risked annihilation, but the alternative was surrender of strategic advantage.

“Gothalia,” he said finally, “you said only retreating. But if we can’t clear a path—if we can’t reach the gates—then what?”

She met his gaze, rain darkening the hair at her temple. “Then we make a promise to the Vault,” she said. “We deny them everything.”

The squad was silent. That was the kind of decision that carved people into song or memory—few made it out to be sung. Ivanius felt the weight of it like a stone in his chest. He thought of the lack of civilians they’d been tasked to protect, of the long chain of command and the ledger eyes that would count bodies this night.

“Catullus,” he said finally, “prepare the cistern charges. Angeliqua, get ready to probe the Vault for a breach point. Gothalia, you and I take the boardwalk—slowly. If the window opens, we run for the gates. If it doesn’t, we have a contingency.”

Gothalia nodded once. The downpour thickened, a curtain their instruments could barely cut. From the loggia, a searchlight traced the rain like a stalking blade. Drones hummed closer, their acoustic signatures sharpening. Catullus slipped away into the shadow of the ruined colonnade with two grenadiers, the soft clank of their charge-waxes audible only to those who listened.

On the boardwalk, plaster fractured underfoot. Civilians’ discarded market crates lay like the bones of a small war. A sentinel’s silhouette cut across a gap—too far to call out, too close to ignore. Ivanius signaled with his hand; Gothalia melted into motion like a shadow crossing salt. They moved in the spaces between the sentry sweeps, every step measured, every breath timed to the pulse of the rain.

The eastern cisterns echoed with muted detonations as Catullus’s plan was executed.