Young Writers Society

Hello all~

Thank you for reading LAPIS!

For those of you who're just now discovering LAPIS, this is actually a revised telling of a story I've already published here on YWS, but the original was all in 1st person, told from Isugoro's PoV.

If you're interested, you can read it starting here -> https://www.youngwriterssociety.com/work/SereneSi...

Now then, enjoy

LAPIS: ReWrite

~Maddie

There are times when I remember what peace is. It had a warmth . . . yeah. There was an innocence that transcended everything, whether it had been the most simple of moments or the most important act of time. At the time, I took it for granted, as did everyone else, really. No one had a reason to believe the serenity we knew, the calm of our world, would be taken from us.

There are times I remember what peace is.

However—

“Everybody get down!”

Those times are rare nowadays.

*

A chorus of exploding metal rips through the south end of the Air Transport Bay. The vibration shakes through the entire structure, so strong that is sends men flying off their feet and over the edge of the safety barriers. All that can be heard is the whistling of air cutting past each body as they tumble back to the Earth below. Fortunately, the Bay hadn’t been too far off from the ground yet, so those who had fallen overboard make a hard, but survivable impact onto the dirt.

A pain only imagined prior shoots through one of the young men. He grunts as he tries to turn over, coughing slightly as he tries to take in that he was one of the fortunate to survive—

At least for the time being.

He starts to prop himself up when suddenly a sharp pain shoot through his body, causing him to fall back against the dirt. He clenches his teeth as he grips his right arm, connecting the dots easily that he’s dislocated it. A metallic taste starts to mix in his mouth, and he spits again, knowing well that it’s blood. He breathes heavily as he attempts to look around, blinking as much as he can to escape the dirt that must be blinding his eyes. To his dismay, however, as hard as he tries, the dirt cloud or whatever he believed to have been impairing his vision doesn’t give way, and it’s now he realizes

He can’t see.

“Dammit,” he mumbles to himself.

“Jintez!”

He looks back as he hears his name being called, put on high alert as he doesn’t recognize the voice. His heart starts to pick up as he finds no choice but to crawl, feeling around with his left hand for something, anything, to use for cover. His hand skims over the burnt remains of high grass, a few spots hot from fresh ash and still smoldering blades. It’s hard to believe that this once could’ve been a place where such life could grow, as the smell of gas and smoke constrict his lungs, and the barrage of gun fire above syncs together to create a horrifying melody. He crawls faster.

To his shock, he actually hits something with his hand, the structure a cool metallic texture against his palm. Feeling a bit higher up, he makes out the curve onto what was the bottom of the object, realizing quickly that what he’s discovered is an overturned ATH. His fingers work down and side until he finally finds what he’s been looking for; an opening where the window once was installed. He doesn’t waste a moment, hurrying into the cabin of the vehicle. He winces slightly as bits of glass slice his hand, but compared to everything else, it’s nothing he can’t handle. Once fully inside, he leans against one of the walls, trying to steady his breathing as he tries to remove his right jacket sleeve.

“Damn, I better get some leave after this. . . .” he whispers as he finally gets the sleeve off, pausing a moment before taking a deep breath, “. . . Okay.”

Without a moment spared, he pushes his arm back into place, the jolt of the relocation causing a staggering pain to rip through him. He can’t help a short yell to escape his lips, before he falls back against the steel. Sweat drips down his face, probably mixing with dirt and blood as it tracks down his jaw. After a moment, he raises a hand to his head, feeling his hair slightly matted and tangled, though fortunately, no major wounds. He runs his hand lower, across his shoulders, collarbone and right upper arm. The raised padding on his uniform is cracked in a few places, though overall intact. Rips in the cloth are damp, meaning he must’ve been grazed at some point. He shakes his head. Memories prior to the fall seem to have disappeared.

A minute passes, and it seems that the fighting is only getting more intense. He can hear the shouting of men trying to charge, followed by screaming, gunfire exploding all around and superiors still trying to move their men forward. Searching his mind, he doesn’t recall why he’s in the middle of this Hell. He hasn’t heard a single teammate, supervisor, really anyone he recognizes. Why is he here—

“C’mon, just kill that thing!”

He turns his head as a man’s voice catches his attention. Immediately, he takes the man’s words as a description of their common enemy in this God forsaken war; the Noxcus.

They’re more monsters than simple Terrestrials. They kill without reason, without mercy. Their abilities are terrifying, downright destruction. They’re trying to kill all humans. They’re trying to take over the known universe for their empire.

He tests his right arm, finding it stings, but otherwise operative. He reaches down, and finds his AA-12s still fastened in their holsters attached to his belt. As his breathing finally starts to slow, thoughts start to float through his mind.

Should I just stay here? I have no idea where we’re located, and as far as I know, I’ve lost all communication with Command. Hell, this may be the only cover in the surrounding area.

“Shoot to kill! She must die!”

She?

Usually, it can’t be determined in the middle of battle what gender a Noxcus is, considering they wear padding that fills out a female to look like a male. From all records, only high ranked warriors ever wear their traditional battle attire. Could this be a fight against a squad of them?

As he thinks, he doesn’t realize that he’s moving, crawling through the wreckage to the opposite side. Only when he realizes it, his gut sinks as his body moves against his will, and he crawls out of his hiding place.

“W-What the—“ he stutters, trying his best to turn back to the ATH, but to no avail. Suddenly, his body breaks into a sprint, somehow dodging nearby fire. His heart pounds, his mind racing in confusion and panic. He pleads with his body to stop, but nothing happens, he just keeps running. His arms then give, reaching into one of the holsters to release an AA-12. He wastes no time in raising it, setting it against his shoulder as if he could possibly aim in his state. His fingers naturally curl around the grips, and it’s not long before his finger finds the trigger, squeezing tightly. The familiar vibration of the gun beats into his body, his mind racing.

Why the hell am I shooting? I’m guaranteed to just be shooting at nothing!

“Jintez! Fall back now!”

The voice from before screams at him, but still, his body doesn’t give, lowering the gun a moment as he turns slightly. He looks over his shoulder, a rather dumb action given his condition.

“No! She needs me!”

His mind falters. That voice, it’s his. Looking back through his thoughts, he realizes that before, they were being told to kill whoever this “she” is. Now, against all sane thinking, he’s actually trying to protect her?

Who even is this person? Why go to this length to help her or really, kill her? Is she an enemy, a Noxcus?

What is going on?

He’s caught off guard as a wave of intense power surges through him. It’s electric, stunning his senses as the impact actually throws him off his feet. He flies back until he smacks into what are probably remains of a building, a jolt of cracking and pain shooting through his limbs. He grunts as he falls to the ground, coughing slightly. His body feels heavier, weaker.

Somehow, he manages to get to a sitting position, his body having the gall to actually bring him to stand. He winces as he tries to breathe. He’s probably cracked a rib, if not a few. Still, that doesn’t stop his body from going for the remaining AA-12 he has. He grips it tight as he starts to sprint toward his probable death, zig-zagging in a foolish attempt to stay alive. Though, after a few seconds, everything . . . fades. The sounds of war disappear, the ringing of silence almost too strange for him to process as he slows. “. . . Did I die?” he trails, thinking, “I don’t remember being shot or anything, but then again, not like I know what –“

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

He pauses, looking over his shoulder as he hears a woman’s voice. Though, he’s distracted as light suddenly begins to return to the blackness he’s known. It’s a strange, almost living light, a tint of blue beating within the bright white glow. Of course, one would assume there would be an ere of caution around such a sight, but instead, he can’t help but walk toward it. A mixture of curiosity, and strangely, calm, consume him. Despite never before seeing anything like this, there’s something about it that makes him feel safe. The light envelops him, and after a moment, he’s caught as he sees a hand reaching out to him. It’s smaller, feminine.

The woman?

He starts to reach toward her, asking quietly, “Who are you –“

BANG

He jerks straight up to a sitting position, panting hard as he furiously looks around. As his eyes scan the low lit space, his body starts to relax as he recognizes that he’s no longer on a hellish battlefield. The room is one of the transport barracks. He glances over, seeing in the little light there is the file he had been too tired to skim through the night before. He reaches over and picks it up, opening the folder to see his newest station photo he’d taken just a few days ago.

It was about time too, the last one had been taken when he was just seventeen, three years ago when he had just been called into active duty as an infantry soldier. Of course, he’s now more than just a simple private, but still, his new standing is still sinking in. “. . . Second Lieutenant Jintez,” he whispers as he reads the paper, smirking a little to himself, “Lieutenant Jintez; decent sound, I guess.”

A soft snore catches his attention, and he looks over to see his roommate apparently unaffected by his short outburst, strewn out across his cot with one arm dangling over the edge. A chuckle escapes his lips as he looks over his roommate. “Damn Cent, you still sleep looking like an idiot,” he mumbles, before he sighs, falling back with a soft recoil from the cot, “. . . wish I could sleep like you.”

He holds his photo up, tracing the image. It’s been a long time since he’s taken a photo, so it’s odd. From what he remembers, he was told to just look as he usually does, so his blonde hair falls a bit messy, his bangs framing his blue eyes, though on occasion a strand does fall in front. While it’s just a half body photo, it’s easy to see he’s taller, well built for a soldier. He wears one of the daily uniforms, no padding with a short collar, faded green with black trim. A symbol of a golden phoenix is embroidered on the top, the official insignia of their country; Vesperia.

A moment passes as he just takes in the image, before he finally puts it back in the folder, turning over to set it back on the table by the holograph clock. 03:20, Ortus 14th, 3000.

They don’t have to be up for another three hours. He pulls the sheets up, and before long, he finds that the need of sleep is overwhelming, closing his eyes.

“Dude, wake up!”

“Wha-What?”

He turns over, surprised that the room is lit, the sun peaking over the mountains. Though, he barely has a moment to take it in before pair of pants is thrown at his face, catching him off guard.

“C’mon Goro, we’re gonna be late for breakfast if you don’t get up.”

He pulls the pair off to see his roommate, and best friend, Cent, staring at him. He meets his chestnut brown eyes, and snickers, pulling his sheets off, “Aye, aye, Mr. Leprechaun.”

Cent takes out one of his undershirts and throws it at him in response, hiding his grin as he turns away. The name is one Cent hears now and again, considering that his curly hair is a bright red hue, and freckles dot his skin. He stopped caring years ago when they had first met. “By the way; Goro, you really shouldn’t be making fun of how I sleep,” Cent replies as he walks back to his side of the room.

“Goro.” It’s been his nickname since he could remember. Cent has called him that basically their entire friendship. It’s a shortened version of his full name; Isugoro.

It’s common that people ask him where his parents came up with such a name, and the honest truth is one shrouded in a bit of an embarrassing story, as far as his parents have told him.

Isugoro looks back up at Cent, sighing as he stands, “So, you were awake when I woke up last night?”

“You kinda sounded like you were dying, how could you not wake me up?” he replies, giving him a smirk for a moment before his expression becomes more serious, “Have another nightmare?”

Isugoro looks away, putting on his undershirt as he thinks. He’s never been the type of person to go on and on about how he’s feelings, much less the type to talk theories about his dreams and what they mean to him. “. . . Nah, it was nothing,” he trails.

Cent stares at him a moment, before he groans, swiping his tooth brush from his bag before he looks straight back at Isugoro. “Alright, you suck at lying,” Cent says, “How long have I known you?”

“Cent—“ he starts.

“No, Goro, how long have I known you?” Cent interrupts.

Isugoro sighs, then replies as he pulls on the pair of black pants, “Since we were seven.”

“That’s right. I’ve known you for thirteen years. I can tell when you’re lying,” Cent says, pointing his brush at Isugoro, “So c’mon.”

“It wasn’t even really a nightmare,” he starts.

“But your dream did wake you up, right?” Cent questions, turning back to walk over to the sink, “So, what happened? Have a falling dream or something?”

“No, well, not really,” Isugoro replies, “I was in a war zone, and couldn’t see anything.”

“What the hell?” Cent replies as he puts toothpaste on his brush.

“Yeah, I was blind or something. I hid under an ATH—“ he starts.

“A what?” Cent interrupts, looking back over his shoulder at Isugoro, “Remember, I’m not infantry.”

“But you’re still a soldier who went through training,” Isugoro retorts.

“If it doesn’t pertain to battle communications or engineering, I don’t remember it,” Cent answers with a shrug.

While Cent just blows off the notion, Isugoro slumps a little, his shoulders falling as he stares at his best friend. “It’s an all-terrain hummer,” he replies.

“Oh yeah, those things that can fly a couple feet higher than pedestrian crafts,” Cent says, thinking out loud, “I guess I did have to program one back in Liber.”

Isugoro rolls his eyes as he walks over to the wall where his bag sits. “Any way, for some reason, even though I couldn’t see, I decided to run out and start shooting.”

“Sounds like you,” Cent mumbles as he brushes his teeth.

“Oh be quiet,” he replies, before his expression falls, “I was trying to save some girl or something.”

Cent goes still. There’s a few moments of silence where neither of them make a sound, before Cent breaks the silence, finishing up brushing his teeth and spitting, turning to face him again as he lets the water run a moment. He reaches back and turns the faucet slowly, the room going mute. Cent meets his gaze after a moment, everything much more serious than he usually allows. “. . . Someone we know?” Cent asks cautiously.

The two have known each other for years, having been raised in the same town before they were both drafted into the war. Out of everyone Isugoro has ever known, only Cent knows everything about him. He doesn’t let people know too much, it’s too much of an annoyance. Isugoro looks away from Cent, leaning over and grabbing one of his pair of boots and one of his unpadded tops, the same faded green one he had worn in his photo. “I don’t know, didn’t get that feeling. Still, I didn’t hear a name, see a face, nothing,” he replies, “But everyone around me was yelling to kill her, and I was yelling no. I didn’t get a chance to figure out why.”

Cent watches him as he pulls the shirt over his head. It seems the atmosphere has gotten too depressing even for him, and soon enough, he’s chuckling. “Well, if you were protecting her, she must’ve been caught up in some real shit. The guys around you were probably just some idiots that got Mind Warped,” Cent comments as he sits on the end of his cot.

“If that’s your take from it,” he says as he starts over to the sink, “It ended really weird though. Everything went quiet and then suddenly got all bright—“

“I thought you said you couldn’t see,” Cent interrupts.

“Well, not ‘til this point.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, but anyway,” Isugoro continues, “I thought I was dead, and then I heard some girl, and before I knew it, I heard a gunshot that woke me up.”

At that comment, Cent grins as he watches Isugoro pull out shaving cream, tapping his chin a moment before he speaks, “Ya think it means something?”

Isugoro grumbles to himself in response to the question. While he enjoys his conversations with Cent, sometimes the red head can go off on tangents of theories and other science crap. Not that it’s something new, since the day they met; Cent has always been an over-thinker. Hell, Isugoro almost fought him the first few times they spoke just because of some of his ramblings, stupid as they probably were considering how young they had been. Of course, Isugoro never attempted to raise a finger to Cent, mainly due to the fact that Cent was older.

It’s not a large margin; Cent was born a little over a month before him, but still, the hierarchy was set. Any time the two would disagree, Cent normally came out on top by pulling the age card, save the occasion where he just couldn’t prove his point right. Either he did that, or he would give Isugoro a certain look. Normally his eyes were warm, but in situations where he had to get his point across, his eyes became intense, unavoidable. Fortunately, those circumstances were rare, so his main fall back to win a debate was strutting his age. It wasn’t until they had known each other for a good eight years that the roles started to change. Around fifteen, Isugoro entered a growth spurt. Unsurprisingly, considering how tall his parents are, but at that point, Cent and he had always been roughly the same height. With age, however, Isugoro started to gain the literal upper hand, considering Cent no longer had a solid way to win. That, and by that time, the two were old enough to handle real problems in a somewhat adult way.

Nowadays, the two just banter until an agreement comes up. Cent never caught up to him in terms of height, as Isugoro now stands a good eight centimeters taller than him, with a larger build since he is an infantry soldier, and Cent is off field communications in most battle situations they’ve been in.

“Well? You gonna answer?”

Isugoro glances over, Cent staring at him as he now stands by the door. He looks from Cent back toward the mirror, seeing that while he was distracted, he had finished shaving. His blonde hair falls at a slant per usual, his blue eyes a bit tired, probably from the night before. He runs a hand through his hair, sighing as he turns to face Cent. He simply shrugs. “War is hell.”

Cent can’t help but laugh at the answer. “That’s an understatement,” he chuckles, before gesturing to the door, “C’mon; we need to get to the cafeteria.”

“But I need to—“ Isugoro starts, grabbing his boots.

“Put ‘em on in the elevator,” Cent says as he pushes Isugoro out of the door, “We’ll be late.”

Not really given much of a choice, Isugoro hurries down the hall with boots in hand and Cent beside him. Other men, even a few women, appear after a minute or so, but none of them say a word to the two. They were the only ones from their prior squad in Liber to be transferred, so no one knows them. Not that either really care, the two keep to themselves for the most part. They only started talking to the others in their squad after being there for about a month, though even that was understandable. They were seventeen and new to everything having to do with war, while the others had been either older volunteers or experienced soldiers.

Their time at Liber was now in the past. The two now are part of a thirty man dispatch that, as Isugoro had been told, had been specifically chosen to transfer to one of the most important bases in Vesperia.

Base 035 of the Summan Territory; Gelus.

Gelus is one of the largest, and eldest, bases in Vesperia. Since, it’s played a major part in Vesperia’s history, and in this war, it’s become of the most important, due to its advance research developments in weaponry, defense, and Noxcus Intelligence. However, for Isugoro, there’s one thing he’s been interested in since they discovered they were going.

Gelus’ advanced soldiers.

While most soldiers believe it’s just a propaganda story, there’s been whispers that Gelus has is the home to advanced soldiers, described as “super humans.” Some say they’re A.I.s made to look human, others say it’s just a squad of one of our terrestrials allies stationed at the base. No one really knows for sure. Cent thinks it’s just a strategy to maintain the base’s glorious image. Isugoro on the other hand . . . while cautious, has a curiosity that’s pulling him toward the idea that there’s something at Gelus worth seeing.

It’s not long before they make their way into the cafeteria, Isugoro’s boots quickly shoved on. Cent shoves him quickly to a pair of seats in a far corner of the room, and the two sit, allowing him time to adjust before –

“Attention!”

Everyone stands in unison, saluting as a burly man walks into the room. He runs a hand through his receding grayed hair as he takes the stage, his small mustache twitching as he looks among us. His similar uniform is much more dignified than any of ours, his status displayed proudly on his high collar; Lieutenant Colonel. He pauses a moment, before he takes a deep breath, putting a hand to his right ear. A click rings through the room. “At ease,” he says, his voice resonating through the room.

We all relax, but stay standing. “Soldiers, as you are all aware, we are in the middle of a tremendous war; one of which we haven’t seen the like of prior. We, as humans, have fought amongst ourselves for centuries, to the point that six hundred years ago, we almost destroyed ourselves in the Continental Apocalypse,” he continues.

“Why the history lesson, we all know this crap—“ Cent whispers to Isugoro.

Isugoro elbows him slightly, signaling him to shut up. Cent grumbles, but complies. “Nuclear war almost killed us. Yet, we as the human race pulled through with might and determination, and because of that, we underwent the Great Uniting of 2500, and the Continental Countries of Vesperia and Orienus were born. For five hundred years, we as humanity have yet to see another great calamity between our own kind. We even made relations with those that are not human; terrestrials of different systems, galaxies, and have grown with them beside us as allies,” the Lieutenant Colonel says, his tone becoming more serious, “But as you are all aware, that all changed four years ago when something of a different kind befell us. We had seen reports of territory take over, but it was in late summer of 2996 when a great massacre forced our hand; the Plannis Massacre.”

A tension grows amongst the group, eyes unable to meet others. “. . . That horrible day, over 15,000 lives were lost in a matter of two hours. Both countries were heart-broken and furious, and demanded to know who did it, and why. . . .” he trails, swallowing hard before he continues, “The only response we were given was translated to

“For what we claim as ours, we will destroy all of you.”

A few in the group start to show signs. Knuckles start to turn white hidden behind soldiers’ backs, brows furrow, and eyes grow dull, distant. Cent glances to Isugoro. His face is calm, staring straight at the burly man with no sign of emotion, be it anger or acceptance.

The Lieutenant Colonel clears his throat, then continues, “Since, we have fought with the strength we have always been proud of. Those of you that stand before me today have proven that you are equipped to be true assets to Vesperia; true representatives of the human spirit. With this transfer, always keep that in mind. I’m sure that each of you will prove your worth at Gelus.

Good luck, and God speed.”

“God speed my ass—“ Cent mumbles under his breath.

“Cent,” Isugoro whispers, his tone sharp.

Cent looks away, both distracted as the man raises his arm up and salutes. The group salutes back. "Fight with the setting Sun-" the Lieutenant Colonel starts.

"For the coming Sun of tomorrow," they respond in unison.

"Carry your Arms-"

"For the Arms of your Brothers."

"Fight for the Light!"

"Fight for our Right!"

"Vesperia!" the Lieutenant Colonel yells.

"Vesperia!" they yell back.

The Lieutenant Colonel grins, and lowers his arm, allowing them to sit and start the meal. Cent is pulled into a conversation against his, talking about some girl he’d gotten the attention of the other day during training. Isugoro is silent. He looks over his shoulder at the rising Sun. They’re in a valley beside the mountains, right outside the Summan Territory, which Gelus is located in the heart of. The peaks look high and majestic as their snow caps reflect the rays of light. Pine trees line the skyline. Birds fly high through the youthful sky. Everything here seems peaceful, hiding the Hell that is on the other side of the mountains.