Cross Conviction

The majority of the Third Hunter Team and Recovery Team were stood back to back in the foyer. In their haste to exit the building, they found themselves surrounded by several gurgling mud creatures, some jittering as others lurched and contorted inhumanly. Claws at the ready, Max looked over his shoulder toward his allies.

"How many are there?" he asked.

Gustavo scanned the room as best he could without taking his eyes off the monsters directly in his field of view. "At least a dozen, maybe more."

"Why aren't they attacking?" Magnolia nervously inquired.

"I'm not certain..." started Gustavo, "but I suspect it might have something to do with their lack of eyes and ears."

Max's eyes narrowed as he observed the twitching and swaying movements of the mud men in front of him. "But that one I killed earlier charged us after the explosion. They can definitely hear us."

"Then why don't they hear us talking right now?" Eduard interjected.

"Exactly," Gustavo continued, "There's no way that's it. I think they have to be sensing the vibrations produced by movement."

Eduard cocked his head. "But aren't sound waves vibrations, too?"

"They are," answered Gustavo. "Still, there has to be a reason why they can pick up the vibrations from our footsteps or an explosion, but not our voices."

In the midst of trying to get control over his heavy breathing, Dominic asked, "Do you h-have any theories?"

Gustavo briefly closes his eyes before answering with a nod. "Yes, just one."

With that, he raised his hands in front of his face and began clapping loudly.

"What in the Lord's name do you think you're doing?" hissed Magnolia, "Weak or not, there are too many of them. If they rush us now, we won't stand a chance!"

The creatures, however, were unreactive. Satisfied, Gustavo moved on to the next phase of his cryptic plan.

Holding his hand out behind his back, he beckoned to his companion. "Here, Magnolia. Give me your ring."

"I will do no such thing!" she complained, "It's worth more than your life!"

"Are you kidding? Is now really the time to be materialistic?" Gustavo snapped back.

Frustrated, Gustavo looked down at his person before running his hands over his pockets. Further disgruntled by the realization that they were empty, he quickly reached atop his cap and tore away the metal button that held its cold-weather flaps in place, causing them to drop to his ears.

Gustavo then looked down at his button and sighed. "I hope this will do."

Suddenly, he tossed the button toward the middle of the foyer. It bounced off the ground with an audible ding before coming to a rolling stop and falling over. Before the button had even come to rest, the two mud men closest to it charged in its general direction. However, when they were within a meter or so of the round piece of metal, they abruptly stopped in place and began stamping their feet, one at a time.

"That's it," Gustavo said with certainty, "They can only feel us when we move because they sense vibrations through their feet."

Max tilted his head in confusion. "But that other one heard the explosion, didn't it?"

"No," answered Gustavo, shaking his head, "it felt the explosion shake the floor."

"Ah!" Max exclaimed, "I get it now! Their feet are on the floor so they can feel whatever makes the floor vibrate!"

With a nod, Gustavo replied, "Correct."

"Be that as it may..." started Magnolia, "I fail to see how that information benefits us."

Slowly, Gustavo knelt down, careful not to move his feet in a way that would give away his location to the monsters. He retrieved his three orange frogs from his overcoat pocket and held them in the palm of his hand.

They can feel small objects moving, but they can't figure out exactly where they are once they stop, Gustavo thought to himself. So long as these three aren't predictable in their movements, they should be safe.

Glancing toward his kneeling teammate out of the corner of his eye, Max asked, "Hey, uh... buddy? What are you doing?"

After a deep breath, Gustavo began to speak. "Alright you guys, I need you to move quickly and erratically. Don't stop in one place and make sure that, when you move, you jump as far as you can. If those things get too close, just stay put and they won't be able to find you."

"Are you kidding me?" Magnolia scoffed.

Max seemed less than thrilled as well. "Yeah, I mean... that's a great plan and all man, but I think I'm missing something."

"I wasn't talking to you," Gustavo replied. "The frogs are going to keep those things distracted for as long as they can. I'm trusting you guys to finish them all off before they can catch the frogs."

Taken back, Max tried to reason with his teammate. "So that's a little better and all, but even if the mud guys aren't fighting back, there's no way I can kill them all that fast."

Quiet until this point, Emmy suddenly spoke up. "It's a good idea," she reaffirmed. "I'll help you, Max."

"Okay," added Eduard, "I'm with you, too."

A cocky grin spread across Max's lips. "Well, well, well," he mused, "In that case, let's see who can mess up the most of them, huh?"

"And just what am I supposed to do?" Magnolia interjected annoyedly, offended that she was being left out of the battle strategy.

Dominic chuckled nervously in response. "I think maybe we just have to sit this one out, you know?"

"Ridiculous..." she groaned, crossing her arms defiantly.

Now that the plan was laid out before them, Max, Eduard, Gustavo, and Emmy prepared to play their respective roles. For a moment, the air was tense. The only sound reverberating through the foyer was that of the muddied gurgling projected from the creatures' gaping maws. Then, just as the two teams were about to take action, a echoed from the far side of the building. While the creatures didn't immediately pursue the detonation, they all turned to face its origin in apprehension.

Back in the armory wing, Whirlwind had driven his armored opponent into the wall with such force that the ceiling above the point of impact had partially collapsed. Before the dust had begun to settle, the red-eyed warrior violently launched himself at his adversary, intent on him. However, just before the screeching blades of the boy's left propeller made contact with the intruder's neck, the fiend slipped downward and quickly rolled out of the way. The wall where the man had previously been slumped was immediately torn to pieces, which were in turn catapulted around the room as deadly wooden splinters. Sturm narrowly avoided one such projectile, which firmly lodged in the wall next to his head.

With Whirlwind's left propeller still viciously tearing into the wall, the enemy seized the opportunity to mount a counterattack. The intruder leaped backward several meters and thrust his arm forward, commanding a thick stream of metallic fluid toward the boy. Whirlwind, however, was ready. Holding up his right propeller, he dismembered and dispersed the airborne liquid throughout the area. The armored intruder gazed upon the sight with understanding. An attack from afar would not work.

The intruder raised his metal-clad hand in Sturm's direction and, open palm toward the swordsman, began to turn his forearm inward. As he did so, Sturm felt a weight lifted from his back. From behind his cracked goggles, Whirlwind watched on as the two rifles carried on Sturm's back, had their steel components reduced to the same metal liquid. This liquid was then levitated toward the intruder, as the rest had before. With all of their steel melted away, the wooden rifle stocks and handguards collapsed, falling to the ground at Sturm's feet, along with their slings.

As the enemy raised his hands outward from his sides, the liquid rushed around them, forming two spheres. These spheres then rippled with increasing intensity before giving way to the distinct shape of two long scimitars, melded to the man's metal gloves.

So he can melt any metal... Sturm thought to himself, and then reshape it to create any weapon.

Whirlwind pressed his foot firmly against the wall and leveraged his weight to free his lodged propeller. While the grinding resistance had caused it to lose some velocity, it quickly returned to full speed as the knight candidate stepped toward his opponent. The intruder, however, did not move.

"Awful confident of you to bring knives to a supercharged engine fight," Whirlwind taunted, "But then again, you're hesitating, aren't you?"

Whatever expression lay on the enemy's face, it was veiled by his metal helmet and mask.

Lurching forward in preparation to attack, Whirlwind held his propellers off to each side. "Unlike you, I have no reservations," he said calmly.

Launching forward, Whirlwind tilted his propellers backward just enough to boost his jump's speed and distance. At the apogee of his vault, the boy had pushed himself just centimeters from the ceiling. Fist outstretched, he was prepared to drive his whirling propeller through the enemy with all of his might. From Sturm's perspective, however, time seemed to slow to a standstill.

Something isn't right, thought Sturm, He switched from projectile attacks to a pair of blades, but then made no effort to advance at all. Could he be...?

Realization suddenly washed over the young swordsman as his eyes widened in terror. "Wait, don't fall for it, Whirlwind! It's a-"

Before Sturm could complete his warning, the enemy raised one bladed arm into the air and, with that, Whirlwind was impaled from all angles by long, shining metal spines. The piercing impact forced the knight candidate's blood from his body, staining the ceiling above him, as well as his snow-white hair. Now suspended in the air by the shimmering skewers, Whirlwind began to cough and heave blood. Through the rapidly darkening vision of his piercing red eyes, the formerly confident young warrior scanned the hall in an attempt to identify the source of his doom.

From his perspective on the ground below, Sturm was able to understand what had transpired. The earlier clashes between Whirlwind and his opponent had resulted in metal liquid being splattered across the hall. The substance had coagulated into countless small blotches spread along the floor, walls, and ceiling. Then, when Whirlwind was about to deliver a decisive blow against the enemy, these tiny traps were activated, each projecting a long, sharp spine through the boy's body. 

With Whirlwind's consciousness all but extinguished, the skewers retracted, allowing him to come crashing back to the ground in a bloodied bundle. Seeing this, Sturm prepared for the worst. He struck a defensive stance and, with a shaking hand, held forth his bayonet. The enemy's gaze was now upon him. 

Now alone, the swordsman began to silently pray.

Praise be the Lord my rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle.