“Boot-Arm! Munro! Get your asses up here!”
Galen winced, folded his cards, and handed them back to Marty, who had just dealt. Boot threw his hand down, muttering, “Fucking hell. Now what?” His cards slid across and off the short makeshift table they had set up, and Hajin bent to pick them up.
“Good luck, fuckers,” Hajin said as Galen and Boot started to jog away. Boot turned and walked backwards a second, gave Hajin and Marty a rolled-eyes look of disgust and then flipped them off with both hands; Marty laughed, but Hajin just watched silently as he shuffled their hands back in.
Sergeant Hessel gave them each a glare when they got up to him, giving them each a brief critical look over, taking in their well-worn uniforms, Boot’s scorched left sleeve, Galen’s lightly dented helmet that Boot had painted a little fanged smiley face into. Galen watched Sarge carefully – you could always tell how much trouble you were really in for by how little Sarge bitched at you first, before giving orders.
To his dismay, Sarge didn’t waste any time at all. “OK, guys, we need to move up; the 7th says spawn are within five clicks, and might be backed up by a full-fledged demon. Get geared up and be ready to scout in three minutes.”
Galen grimaced and turned to go, but Boot had to stay and bitch. “Any protection this time around, Sarge, or are we bare ass-naked again?” Their company had a good amount of magical support, but as scouts they rarely were issued any, out of fear the demons or the demon-spawn would sense it from afar.
“Did you fucking hear me, Oram? They said it’s a demon! You get nothing; you want it to fucking sense you and munch your dumbass head? Get moving, you damned idiot!” Galen grabbed Boot by the arm and dragged him along as he muttered angrily under his breath.
Five minutes later they were geared up as best they could, without any magical protection, and fifteen minutes later they were three blocks from the company, slowly making their way through the rubble that had once been the East Armister section of Juncture. Boot had stopped bitching the instant they had left and was deadly serious and quiet. Galen watched their backs while Boot scouted in front, occasionally motioning to Galen in quick gestures of scouter hand language.
Galen watched his friend carefully. He was worried about him – after that last disaster three weeks ago where they lost KC and Shin-go and maybe forty others, he hadn’t seemed the same. He was too reckless, too careless – he was riding the edge and wouldn’t admit it. Galen had tried to get Boot to reign in, but he wouldn’t even listen to him anymore. Boot had always listened to him, hell, even when they were little kids, he would listen to him. No more.
Boot motioned Galen up, and he quietly made his way up until he was next to him, leaning against what remained of a wall, five feet before a wide but cluttered street.
“Anything?” whispered Galen. Boot shook his head, and gestured they should edge around the corner and head west. Galen took a quick glance back before they started around the corner. He was just able to make out a few faces, Marty and Hajin, and a couple other guys, friends from the company, mostly hidden but he could still make them out, knowing where to look. They were watching, silent.
As soon as Galen and Boot edged out of sight, the meese showed up. Boot cussed in whispers at them and tried to bat them away. Galen didn’t mind them as much, and in less tense times thought they were kind of cute, although he’d never admit that. They were a distraction now, though. The meese swarmed them, popping softly about as they ported from one spot to another, snapping in and out of place, asking questions in their piping, musical voices.
“Fucking vermin – goddammit Galen, get rid of them,” hissed Boot. He shooed them away with one hand but didn’t dare swat at them. Squash one and it would still be murder – no matter how small and rodent-like they were, they were still sentient.
“Bugger off, guys, it’s dangerous here,” whispered Galen. The meese agreed with him, nodding and chirping about how dangerous it was. Galen frowned and listened, then quietly talked with the meese while Boot simmered with impatience and scanned the street around them.
“Hurry it up,” he hissed.
“Shup, they’ve seen spawn. Give me a sec.”
Finally Galen was done. All but five of the meese disappeared, each with a little pop. Galen knew the ones that were left; they’d followed him around before, but he couldn’t tell what their names were – their names seemed to vary with their location, position. They were very aware of their position in three dimensional space, it seemed, and named themselves accordingly. Galen pointed at the one clinging to his left shoulder. “You. Check across the street, behind that airbus wreck. Yeah, that green thing. Go.” He gave orders to the other meese, directing them here and there, instructing them carefully how to keep their position relative to Boot and him, and they all popped off until it was silent again. His instructions would keep them rotating in wide circles around their position.
Boot shook his head, annoyed and disgusted. He was the better scout and they both knew it, but Galen knew how to talk to the meese, and the meese would warn them of anything coming. Sometimes Galen could get them to do most of the scouting for them. “They’d better fucking keep quiet,” Boot hissed. Galen shrugged – not much he could do about it.
They worked their way west and northwest, heading to the area the scouts from the 7th company said they saw spawn-sign, signs that the demons’ servants had been slithering around. Every few minutes one of the meese would pop back, whisper information and/or gibberish in Galen’s ear, then port away again. Whenever Galen stopped to talk to the meese, Boot would transmit back an update to Sarge. Their location and a video/audio feed from each of their helmets was being sent back all the time, but Sarge always insisted they keep the updates coming too.
Suddenly, with a soft staccato all the meese popped back, scattering themselves over Galen’s shoulders and helmet, all of them talking excitedly at once. Galen tried to quiet them down as Boot scowled, angry and worried. Finally Galen got the gist of what they were trying to say. “Ambush. Fucking ambush, tell Sarge.”
Boot got a hold of Sarge and whispered at him as Galen tried to get more details out of the meese. “Galen, Sarge ain’t buying it. You get on the transmit, you fucking explain it.”
Galen tried to explain what the meese were telling him, but honestly he wasn’t quite sure what exactly it was that they had seen. The meese were all too excited to slow down and speak low enough so that he could understand them well. All Galen could tell was that they were frightened, and thought there was danger, an ambush of some sort.
Sarge railed at him, shouting in his earpiece. “Dammit, Munro, I didn’t send a squad of fucking pixies out there to scout, I sent you and Oram! Now quit fucking around and get your eyes on whatever the hell it is that’s out there!”
Galen ended the transmit, knowing the Sarge could still kind of hear them. “We need to move up; I can’t tell what the hell they’re talking about.”
“Well shut them the fuck up; we can’t go anywhere with them making all that racket.” Ten feet away and you probably wouldn’t hear the meese at all, but Galen understood. The meese were too noisy, and even a whisper at the wrong time might get them killed if spawn or, worse, a demon was around. Galen got them to shut up, amidst squeaky protests. A couple of them popped away again, but the others clung to Galen’s shoulders and upper arms, quivering. Once they were quiet Boot started moving ahead again, motioning to Galen to be silent.
They made it three more blocks, slowly. The meese would sometimes shudder, making a tiny thrum against Galen he could barely feel, but they were silent, and the ones that had left did not return.
Finally Boot stopped, abruptly. He motioned to Galen to stay back, and crouched low to the ground. He dipped his head for a second, sniffed, and then jerked back, nearly losing his balance and falling. He caught himself and stayed still, not moving a muscle for a good minute. Then he slowly, silently rose to his feet and turned to Galen. Demon, he signed. Galen froze. The company had run into plenty of spawn, but only three full-fledged demons so far, and each time had been a disaster.
Boot silently made his way back to Galen. I’ll go ahead, he signed. You stay here.
Galen argued with him, signing quietly, trying not to make a sound. We need to stay together.
Boot watched but shook his head. No, you stay here. I order you to. The two were the same rank, but Boot was always in charge on these missions. Galen continued to protest. Finally Boot reached up and turned off Galen’s video feed.
You stay here. I’ll leave this with you. And he reached in a pocket and pulled out a light-bead, a little sphere, iridescent yellow. He forced it into Galen’s hand, were it lay, warm. He had stolen some protection after all. I’ve got one too. We’ll be fine; the demons can’t sense these unless they’re triggered. With a grin he flipped Galen’s feed back on. And I order you to use it if you need to, Munro.
Flustered, Galen couldn’t reply. Boot was going to get in shitload of trouble for this; he had no right to be swiping these things, especially when the Sarge had sent them explicitly without them. He stared at the bead in his hand, not believing Boot had really taken it, or given it to him. By the time he looked back up, Boot had moved on. He didn’t look back.
Galen nearly called out to him, trying to get him to stop. Nearly. He checked himself, choking back his words. He clenched his jaw in silent frustration, then with a short gesture sent the meese out after Boot. They clung to him, then popped off, reappearing on Boot’s shoulders. He glanced at one then ignored them.
Boot carefully made his way up the street, pausing at the entrance to a narrow off-alley, then stepped carefully onward.
The next few moments lasted forever, at least for Galen. Halfway across the alley, Boot suddenly jerked his head to the right, and was swept off his feet, into the air and into a pile of rubble, against the other side of the street. The demon that got him was too fast to see, just a blur of dozens of sharp dark undulant foot-long wedges that feathered in and out of sight in a rush like leaves in a gale.
Boot was cut to pieces by the demon before he ever hit the ground.
The demon lingered over him, gently feathered the weirdly changeable wedges of itself in and out of him, through his body and the debris underneath, slipping in and out of dimension. Galen was frozen, in fear and disbelief. A wave of terror swept through him, pulsed off the feather-demon; like all demons, no matter what they looked like, this one bled terror off of itself in huge, paralyzing waves.
The demon slid around and turned to Galen; wedges turned and pointed at him. He threw the light-bead at the ground as the demon rushed him. With a sharp crack the bead broke, and a dome of light burst into being around him. The demon slammed to a halt at the border of the magic, shrieking. The shriek drove Galen screaming to his knees, covering his ears. He crouched over the light-bead until the shriek stopped. The light shone through him, unaltered, shining straight through his body, through everything, casting no shadows. When he was able to get to his feet again, the demon was gone but spawn were all around him, all shapes, all manner of horror, pouring past him in the direction he had left his company.
He tried to transmit to Sarge but knew it was no use. Sarge knew what was coming.
Galen stayed put, standing still in the protective dome of light while the spawn boiled past him.
He could not see Boot’s body. The endless tide of spawn covered it.
By the time he had managed to get himself under control, after the wracking sobbing faded to a raw, bewildered grief, his company caught up to him. The dome was commandeered and he was sent out to fight.
He didn’t do very well.

Corporal Ksantae Oram, known as Boot, Boot Oram, or Boot-Arm, was the first casualty in the Feather Battle of East Armister, one of the last battles in the Seventh Demon War of Juncture. For his sacrifice, and a nice donation from his family, he was made a saint, like thousands of other people who had fought the demons and lost. Saint Ksantae.
They did not find a light-bead on his body.

Corporal Galen Munro also fought in the Feather Battle of East Armister. He lost an eye, a hand, and his best friend. The hand was called back with magic. The eye was replaced with a cybernetic implant. And the friend... well, dead friends never do come back.

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