Book 3, Chapter 98 - Negotiations (1/2)

Cloudhawk covertly stuck his head into the Dark Atom’s conference hall. The first thing he noticed was that these ‘honored guests’ from the wasteland numbered only a handful. Most of them were totally unfamiliar to him.

The most recognizable group were the ones in crimson red robes. They were lead by the barefoot man, ascetic in bearing. The weapon he held was the standard that he carried during the recent battle. The flag was furled, its image hidden. However, the resonance from it was thick with baleful power. Just the sight of it filled Cloudhawk with an oppressive sensation.

That was the former second in command of the demonhunter military squad, the one they called Wyrmsole. He was a big name from the former generation of Skycloud leadership, stronger than a normal man could imagine. Even Frost had failed to gain the upper hand in a fight against him.

For the last several years, the Sanctum of Judgment had been active throughout the wasteland, under the guise of spreading the will of their god. In reality, they had been busily establishing their own wasteland power. From the beginning they had had no contact with the Dark Atom. Likely due to conflicting ideals, they had been loathe to align themselves with the rebels. However, a series of unfortunate events had befallen them. Their leader, the Crimson One, was badly injured. Fishmonger’s Borough – which had been the source of their wealth – had fallen into the hands of Squall and the Highwaymen. They were also revealed to their enemies, and their difficulties obvious to the rest of the wasteland. They had no choice but to court allies.

Besides them, there was another group that caught Cloudhawk’s attention.

They were uniquely equipped, different from wastelanders and elysians alike. Of the three who led them, their highest authority was a young woman, cold and beautiful like an autumn breeze. Beside her was a man covered from head to toe in an imposing set of armor, and a hideously scarred mountain of a man. All three sat in solemn silence, faces grim. A dozen or so burly men stood at their backs surrounded by an air of ruthlessness. These men were officers, discharged from the elysian army after years of service. None were to be taken lightly.

Familiar faces. Looking at them, Cloudhawk couldn’t help but feel conflicted. Cloudhawk’s mind went back three years prior, to something the scarred Instructor once said;

To some Hell’s Army is a group of evil men and women. But we don’t think of ourselves as evil, because the truly evil will do anything to get whatever they want. Hell’s Army is willing to sacrifice anything. We are a necessary darkness.

What happened in the years since Cloudhawk left? What were they forced to do that was so bad they turned their backs entirely on Skycloud?

Perhaps it was the allure of the wasteland’s brutal inclusiveness. After being stationed in the filth for so long, it was only a matter of time before you put down roots. After spending so much time in blood and darkness, eventually it changes you. Changes you enough to take a road there was no coming back from.

Both of these groups had played a crucial role in the war for the Blisterpeaks. If the Sanctum of Judgment hadn’t shown up when they did, the Dark Atom would have been wiped out. If Hell’s Army hadn’t acted, Wolfblade would be dead and he wouldn’t have had a chance to activate Nirvana.

As for the rest, there were all manner of eclectic groups as part of the meeting. At a glance Cloudhawk counted another six or seven groups he didn’t recognize, each one different from the one before. Most seemed to be mutants with the one unifying factor being they all looked ready to tear someone’s head off. Among them were two figures that captured Cloudhawk’s interest. From what he could gather they represented the two strongest mutant factions, because the others gave them a wide berth. Obviously the others were afraid of their bosses.

One was covered in a black robe with the hood drawn, an impenetrable darkness hiding his face. It almost looked like there was nothing inside the cloak but shadow. He stood among the others, oozing with a dangerous presence that was clear from across the room, almost like something could burst out of that cloak any minute and devour everyone.

The other one was clad in robes as well, but were green and didn’t have the same all-consuming quality as his companion. Half of his face was revealed but it would have been better if that were not the case. This mutant was the most hideous, most savage looking thing Cloudhawk had ever seen. His features were all twisted and misshapen, and a cloud of fetid stink hung over him at all times like a decaying corpse.

He’d never heard of anyone like these two. It seemed there was still a lot about the wastelands Cloudhawk didn’t know.

It was clear by looking at them that these men and women had grown impatient. Eventually, the long awaited people they’d come to see emerged.

The first was dressed simply, like a scholar, with an eye patch slung across half his face. This was clearly Wolfblade, leader of the Dark Atom. Beside him was his silver-haired protector, the lead researcher second only to Wolfblade. Hellflower.

“Our humble Nucleus is happy to receive such illustrious visitors from far across the wastes. An honor, friends. An honor.” With an easy and welcoming facade, Wolfblade approached the gathered leaders. Smiling amicably, his eye searched the ground and eventually alighted on the robes mutants. “The renowned northern barrens… a place rife with battling clans, ancient ruins and magnificent cities. There four kings hold sway, recognized by the robes they wear; green, black, purple and blood. Unless I am mistaken, we are graced with the presence of two of them. The green-robed King Toad, and the black-robed King Canker.

Cloudhawk continued to eavesdrop with rapt attention. Wasteland mutants, calling themselves Kings?

The one in black remained silence, so it fell to King Toad to speak. His ugly face twitched as sound rumbled forth from its fetid vocal chords. Several in the crowd visibly gagged. “An undeserved reputation. I would not presume to call myself king before the likes of Wolfblade. Simply call me Toad.”

Kingly those his words were, there was nothing inviting about the green-robed monstrosity. This corpse-like beast looked at Wolfblade like he might a distasteful insect.

“You are all very busy people. You’ve come a long way to attend this meeting, so I will not waste any more of your time.” Wolfblade made his way toward a large chair and took his seat. He sat back and rested his hands on the arms of the chair as though it were a throne. “I know why you’re here. We share a common enemy in Skycloud, and the Dark Atom will always be at the fore of future clashes. In our last exchange tens of thousands of soldiers were slain, resulting in the worst elysian loss of life in a century. No one expects them to let this stand. Sooner or later they will respond, and when they do it is not only the Dark Atom who will be in danger. The whole of the wastelands will feel elysian ire.”

“That’s right.”

“Indeed.”

A spattering of concurring voices arose from the crowd. Chaos was on the horizon, and these groups had come to the Dark Atom to seek an accord.

Toad, Canker, Wyrmsole and the giants of the valley did not react. They knew the words that were to come held the most importance.

“Generations of grievances have been tallied between the wastelands and Skycloud. Every other decade, the elysians send their soldiers to eradicate as many of our people as they can catch. During these purges, numerous burgeoning groups are destroyed. Hundreds of thousands of lives are lost. Yet our people are resilient, tenacious, and like weeds we sprout up stronger – burned but not razed, culled but not exterminated. The reaping came again, but this time the Dark Atom stood strong before our enemies – and survived. I am sure you all understand the significance of this.”

“No single entity in the wastelands is strong enough to withstand the crushing tide that is Skycloud’s army. But on the precipice we stand upon, and the chaos it entails, is an opportunity for our beleaguered people. We must seize this opportunity to join together, and form an alliance of wasteland powers. Gather the disparate sands of the desert and form a mighty fortress. Only together are we strong enough to finally rid ourselves of our oppressors.”

Wolfblade's speech caused the blood of his agents to boil in anticipation. Finally they were going to stand proud and fight the elysians responsible for so much suffering!

The purpose of this meeting was to reach a consensus, that one day the Wastelands Alliance would rise together. Starting now, what was a land of strife and division would join together under a single banner. But the question remained, who would lead this fledgling resistance? How would domain be assigned?