Cross Conviction

Sprinting down the hall, Sturm came across the wrecked heap of another mud creature. Several meters further down, he came across another. A third melted figure materialized as he rounded the corner to the armory sector. Had these monsters been caught in the blast, or had they fallen victim to one of the academy’s defenders? Unsure of what might lie ahead and fearing a second detonation, Sturm hurried toward the main weapons vault. There he found Whirlwind struggling with the door handle.

Announcing his presence loudly, Sturm asked “Is it locked?”

Whirlwind didn’t bother looking in his direction, instead remaining focused on the door. “Why are you here?” he replied.

“Emmy asked me to help you,” Sturm answered, closing in on the door.

Whirlwind snorted and took a few steps back from the heavy vault entrance. “I don’t care who sent you, I didn’t ask for your help. Leave.”

With that, Whirlwind took a running start before slamming the underside of his boot into the door, causing it to fly open and slam against the inner wall of the vault. Sturm was somewhat taken aback. Desperate times called for desperate measures, but was the door guarding their weapon cache that insecure, or was Whirlwind more powerful than he looked? With the barricade removed, the white-haired boy didn’t hesitate to immediately rush inside. Assuming that it would be safer to vacate the open hallway, Sturm followed him inside.

The armory room was moderately sized- though somewhat smaller than Sturm had expected. Its walls were lined with rifle racks and the corners were host to many stacked crates. Most of these containers were labeled with various ammunition calibers, though others bore the cautionary mark of explosive storage. Near the middle of the room, set against the back wall, were several tables hosting the widely varied gear of the knight candidates- from exotic fixed blades to bizarrely-smithed firearms and even the odd book. Though curious, Sturm knew he hadn’t the time to consider which weapon belonged to each of his peers. Indeed, another audible volley of gunfire served to stress the urgency of their situation.

“So?” asked Sturm, carefully stepping aside the doorway to hide his presence from anyone who might pass through the hall, “Did you find it?”

Whirlwind did not answer. Instead, he walked toward the center-right table and, with covetous, lingering movements not befitting the current emergency, retrieved an elongated metal contraption. He then slid his right arm through the open middle of the machine and gripped a horizontal steel rod at the far end. After securing a series of latches, he grabbed a near-identical piece of equipment from the table and repeated the process on his left arm. Whirlwind then wrapped two long belts of ammunition around his shoulders, crossing in the middle of his chest, and fed them into ports in the sides of either cannon. With both gauntlets affixed and loaded, he lifted one final object- a face-covering consisting of an armored lower half-mask and goggles and strapped it to his head.

Since Whirlwind faced the wall during his equipping process, Sturm had difficulty ascertaining the exact purpose of his gear. It wasn’t until the hostile candidate turned in his direction that the swordsman was able to grasp his self-proclaimed rival’s true nature.

The gauntlets affixed to Whirlwind’s forearms each housed a large bore cannon. Judging by the barrel's diameter and the length of the receiver, the weapon had to be at least fifteen millimeters in caliber, if not more. Attached by a hinge to the gauntlets at the wrist were three long, flat blades that ran parallel to the boy’s forearms. Since these edged lengths of steel were in no position to be used offensively, Sturm assumed that they were either for use as armor plates or, perhaps, intended to swing forward as a sort of bipod.

Most curious was Whirlwind’s mask. The armored section which extended from his nose to chin was painted grey and embellished with a wide, grinning shark-mouth pattern complete with many triangular teeth bordering a dark red maw. Set atop this metal slab was a large, squared set of goggles that left only a trace of his blood-red eyes visible. Both pieces of the mask combined gave the knight candidate an almost inhuman appearance, like a blend of monster and machine.

“Move,” said Whirlwind, aggressively.

Though the defiance was clear in Sturm’s eyes, he heeded the boy’s words and vacated his path. For a moment, Sturm mulled why he had even agreed to assist Whirlwind, as he was well aware of the latter’s disposition toward him. Aside from that, the short-tempered agitator had apparently handled himself without trouble, easily defeating the mud creatures outside and breaching the locked armory door. It seemed that Sturm’s help was unneeded and unwanted.

Resolving that this detour must not be wasted, Sturm snatched two rifles from a nearby rack and slung them around his shoulder. He also grabbed a P08 handgun and slid it halfway into his shirt pocket before tucking a loose stick grenade into his waistband. By the time he turned his attention back to Whirlwind, his unwilling companion was already exiting the armory. Hurriedly seeking to arm himself with a familiar weapon, Sturm detached a long bayonet from a stored rifle and held it firmly.

This will have to do for now. he thought to himself.

With blade in hand and weapons secured, Sturm followed behind Whirlwind and exited the room. During the time the boys were in the armory, the smoke had thickened in the hallway. While it hadn’t become dense enough to render an individual completely blind, it would likely inhibit target identification beyond ten or fifteen meters. This would prove troublesome, as when Sturm and Whirlwind started back toward the dormitory wing, they were immediately met by a tall, dark figure at the end of the hall.

Whirlwind’s heavy steel gauntlets rattled as he pressed on through the smoke toward the unknown silhouette. Slightly encumbered by the weapons toted on his person, Sturm followed along cautiously.

“Can you make out who that is?” Sturm inquired.

Whirlwind scoffed. “I don’t give a damn. If they attack me, I’ll kill them.”

Before Sturm could respond to this less-than-assuring boast, the lights were suddenly cut. Despite the many windows lining the right side of the hallway, the rays of the low, early-morning sun were unable to illuminate the smoke-darkened path. With a bothered grunt, Whirlwind lifted his left gauntlet and triggered a high-powered flashlight that easily cut through the smoke and cast a bright beam down the hall. To Sturm's great unsettlement, the figure at the end of the hall was no longer present. Fearing the worst, Sturm immediately swung around and readied his bayonet. Now back to back, the boys surveyed the surrounding area. 

Sturm felt his hearts pounding against his ribs as he struggled to make out anything through the smoggy darkness. "Do you see him?" Sturm inquired tensely.

"Quiet," snapped Whirlwind.

Just then, a suspicious, tingling feeling washed over Sturm's back. It was as if an electric charge invaded the air, causing the tiniest hairs lining his skin to stand on end. Panicked, the boy quickly spun around and was met with a terrifying sight. Looming over him, occupying the small space that had been between Whirlwind and himself, was a tall, helmeted man clad entirely in black armor and tattered cloth. Though little light infiltrated the area, it was clear that the man's helmet was similar to that of a medieval knight, save for the fact that it was capped in a shape reminiscent of a German military helmet.

Instinctively, Sturm leapt back prepared to defend himself. "Whirlwind!"

Alerted by the commotion, Whirlwind turned and cast his light across the shrouded man, revealing the metal armor showing through his cloth wrappings to be finely polished. Though Sturm was caught in the path of the incredibly bright flashlight, his eyes remained mostly protected underneath the man's long shadow. 

"Turn around slowly and look this way or I'll blow you apart!" Whirlwind commanded, cannons trained on the intruder.

After a pause, the armored man seemed to heed Whirlwind's warning. Slowly, he pivoted toward the red-eyed knight candidate. Realizing that should Whirlwind open fire, he'd be directly in the path of his volley, Sturm carefully repositioned himself against the man's side. Once the intruder was fully facing Whirlwind, the boy raised his flashlight upward to get a better look at his helmet. Expecting to get a glimpse of the mysterious man's eyes through the metal helmet, Whirlwind was shocked to instead be met with two hollow, black vacancies. 

"What the fu-"

Before Whirlwind could complete his awed exclamation, the black-clad enemy lashed out at him with a previously hidden sharpened metal rod. The weapon narrowly passed over the boy's head as he ducked backward before vaulting back to put some distance between them. Sturm immediately went into action, rushing the man from behind with the intention of ramming the bayonet into one of his joints, as this was the place where his armor was likely to be the weakest. However, just as Sturm came into range, the intruder delivered a powerful and precise, kick to his chest, launching him several meters backward. Coming to a sliding halt against the cold, smooth tiles, the swordsman looked up to see that the man was still facing Whirlwind.

He had anticipated and countered Sturm's assault without even looking.

As Sturm struggled back up to his knees, he found his breath hampered by the previous impact of the enemy's metal greave. Despite Sturm's obvious turmoil, Whirlwind paid no mind to his predicament.

Whirlwind held his right gauntlet upward at a roughly forty-five-degree angle and exhaled sharply beneath his mask. "This one is mine, bastard. Stay out of it and stay down if you like your head attached to your body."

Returning to his feet, Sturm hesitantly stepped aside once more, leaving the potential path of crossfire behind the armored menace. "Fine," he said aloud, leaving the aggressive candidate to his chosen fate.

Prepared to prove himself against a powerful opponent, Whirlwind snapped his right wrist forward, causing the three hinged blades on his wrist to swivel outward and lock into place vertically with a metallic clang. Then, these sharp-edged prongs began to rotate around Whirlwind's wrist. The unknown enemy remained unresponsive as the speed of these blades increased, generating an increasingly loud sound. Only now did Sturm understand the nature of Whirlwind's bizarre weaponry- the heavy gauntlets each featured a bladed propeller, not dissimilar in shape to what would be found on a fighter aircraft. 

"What's the matter?" Whirlwind taunted, "Scared to get close?" 

Though Whirlwind's weapons were unconventional, Sturm recognized the uncertainty that would undoubtedly plague anyone unfortunate enough to face down such an exotically armed adversary. Watching as the propeller increased speed to the point where its individual blades seemed to reverse their trajectory before disappearing entirely, Sturm considered the possibility that Whirlwind's confidence wasn't entirely misplaced.

Whirlwind then put one foot forward and shifted his body so that it was almost entirely covered by the wide diameter of the howling blades. "Let's start the morning off right with a clean kill."

Torn wrappings thrashing violently in the wind being generated by the whirling propeller, the intruder leaned forward slightly in anticipation. A vicious clash was imminent.