*****
"Muzar Tarcones?" The lieutenant asked. "The same Muzar Tarcones that still holds every bladeball record worth having?"
"The one and only," Thortizan calmly replied
Lieutenant Wertson rubbed his chin with the tip of fingers, the perplexed look on his face growing as he studied the images projected on his telipad. "Meaning no disrespect sir, but wasn't he convicted of murder. Then sentenced to life in the Blacadoma Caverns over fourteen years ago, where he met his death four years later?"
"That is correct," Thortizan replied. He stood before the cockpit entrance, their helmet's audio projecting his voice over the pervasive scream of jet engines.
Thortizan empathized with the younger man's confusion, having recently gone through a similar thought process. He took a moment to study his lieutenant and the other fifty soldiers seated in two orderly rows on either side of the narrow cargo hold.
These are the best of the best but their true value will be revealed by the end of this historic day.
"Now listen up. This will be the only briefing on our mission before reaching the drop zone in exactly thirty-one minutes. Our mission is to locate and capture one Muzar Tarcones, aka The Hammer during his illustrious career as a Point Tackle for the Segroit Missiles."
Thortizan paused in his narrative as a string of highlights started, showing a sample of Muzar's mind-boggling exploits on the trifield. Most of the men that composed the special ops team were but babes by the time the name Muzar Tarcones became synonymous with the sport of bladeball. Given the aggressive and violent nature of the sport, every one of the elite soldiers grew up playing the game. Superior players in their own right, none were more apt to appreciate the insane skills possessed by Muzar Tarcones.
The man's entire career was one, ongoing highlight. To this date, dozens of separate fan clubs around the world debated endlessly on what plays should make the all-time top ten. As such, Thortizan was certain his men had viewed hundreds of Muzar Tarcones highlights before this moment. So for the last play chosen for his brief he chose a piece of vintage footage few had seen, showing his one and only encounter with the Hammer on the trifield.
It was his fifth and final year as a student. None of the church academies had produced a squad worth mentioning for decades but a few of the pundits were tossing Thortizan's team around as a pre-season contender. Thortizan, a seasoned player and captain of the experienced squad, had started to believe in the hype. I still remember the palpable expectations I had for that season. Who knew, if my play kept improving, I might have been drafted. A minute and thirteen seconds into the match, both his high expectations and bladeball career were dashed.
Thortizan rubbed his right collarbone as the montage of highlights finally reached the rarely seen footage. He hoped a few of his men would recognize him in pads and helmet, or at minimum do the math and make the connection. He had watched the play countless times since and to this day could not think of how he would have reacted any different. From the throw, to the flip turn off the wall, to the savage impact of his block, Muzar played it perfect.
A chorus of "Ooohhhhs!" escaped as they watched Muzar, flying horizontal to the ground with forearms crossed in front him, crumple a young Thortizan standing dumfounded in the middle of the field, mesmerized by the still curving ball.
I never saw him coming. I didn't even see that impossible shot score. He admired yet again, after the fact, how the ball completed its third and final turn, thread the extended arms of his two teammates and fly into the narrow goal. The highlight ended with Muzar timing his landing with arms extended up in triumph a split second before flashing red goal lights erupted. In the far edge of the screen, five yards away, Thortizan lay flat on his back, out cold. He came to an hour later with three broken ribs and a right collarbone snapped in two places. Thortizan's bladeball days were effectively over after that fateful play.
I was just one of many to fall victim to the magic that man created in his amateur career and would continue to perfect as a pro. Still, I consider myself privileged for the opportunity to have played against the best the game has ever seen.
"After being convicted of murder in the first degree for the death of three Drakarlean citizens..." The images moved from bladeball highlights to a compilation of sound bites and coverage of the highly publicized trial. "Mr. Tarcones, as a future lifetime resident of Blacadoma Prison, soon became known by his fellow inmates and public at large as The Law."
As the brief recounted the events leading to Muzar’s fall, Thortizan reflected on his personal memories of the man. From his perspective, Muzar lived the dream life of everyman man living in the modern era. By age twenty-six, he had experienced more fame and fortune than most could imagine, much less realize. Up to that fateful day he committed those heinous crimes, he was the most beloved and admired person on the planet.
And he threw it all away for a handful of Ecifrican scum! It was an act that puzzled Thortizan and the Drakarlean elite to this day.
"We have all studied, with intimate detail, the enigmatic leadership skills displayed by Muzar Tarcones while incarcerated at Blacadoma penal facility. From his unique style of martial arts, to unprecedented urban warfare tactics, his influence is evidenced in all we do today." The brief transitioned into a condensed overview of the referenced archived footage. The images were procured from security cameras placed throughout the inmate run facility.
The first significant episode shown occurred about three months into Muzar's life sentence. Prior to that time, he had managed to survive in relative isolation from the rest of the population. But, by design, the lack of sufficient food, water and basic survival needs had forced him to surface to fight over a recent drop of supplies.
Push came to shove soon after a random supply drop into one of the main caverns, connected to the surface by a mile long shaft. In the midst of the mayhem that ensued, as gangs fought to gain control over the precious currency, Muzar managed to secure a bottle of water and a few cans of food. Unfortunately, he failed to escape the detection of several inmates who quickly put up chase.
Eleven inmates, all members of an Ecifrican gang known as Destiny's Charge, cornered Muzar in one of the many dead-end cul-de-sacs. Ecifricans comprised over seventy percent of the prison population, a number that hovered near a half a million. The Ecifricans allowed other provinces represented in the inmate population to form their own gangs and semblance of leadership. Of course, each had to pay homage to Destiny’s Charge. All, that is, except for the tiny minority of unfortunate Drakarleans sentenced to the maximum-security penitentiary. Of those who were, all were tortured to death upon their immediate arrival.
The Church of Salvation rarely delayed or edited these public broadcasts that had emerged as the best imaginable deterrent against crime. This included their millennia long, draconian enforced capital punishment. In tandem, and to a greater affect, they used the events of Blacadoma as the primary tool used to edify their enduring propagation of the Ecifricans race as sub-human.
Muzar’s first encounter with Destiny’s Charge showed him first make several feeble attempts to reason with the men. His pleas met by with scoffs, the ring of bodies tightened. Each armed with crude clubs and blades, their excitement mounted at the prospect of finally capturing the elusive icon. They had something special in store for the most famous Drakarlean known in modern times, it would be an exercise in torture they intended on relishing for weeks to come.
Resolved in his decision to fight for his survival, Muzar crouched into a posture that, for a brief moment, eerily resembled his signature stance on the trifield. Attacking first, he sprung into the front line of assailants. None of the assailants were prepared for the raw savagery of that preemptive strike. In a violent blur, five bodies littered the floor. Arms, legs and necks lay twisted and bent in repulsive, unnatural positions, the flesh riddled with lethal gashes and punctures. As Muzar stepped clear, blood pooled from the heap and began to seep across the floor.
/> The most devastating act of violence occurred next. Shocked in anger, the self-appointed leader of the group swung his club toward the back of Muzar's head in retaliation. But Muzar was ready for the counter strike. Even when slowed down frame by frame, the awesome burst of speed and force in which Muzar thrust his fist into the man remains a natural phenomenon difficult to comprehend. The scene ended with a close-up of the dead man's caved in face, the remaining Ecifricans scattering and Muzar's casual escape down a dark hall.
Thortizan scanned his soldiers with satisfaction. The sobering scene delivered the full weight of their mission, clutching the group into a primal state of alertness. "Soon after his run in with the Ecifricans, Muzar Tarcones unified the Sidropans, Maltenoise and few Drakarleans. In the process, he seized and maintained control over three of the seven main caverns."
The brief proceeded with a few of the more epic battles that took place over that time period between Muzar's united minority and Destiny’s Charge. Shots from various surveillance cameras revealed brilliant, orchestrated tactics. Muzar leveraged the confined setting of the caverns and narrow passageways to gain the advantage and ensure victory time and time again.
"A special task force, led by yours truly, was formed in response to the strange influence Mr. Tarcones appeared to be having on his fellow inmates. Our charge: to manipulate the situation with the goal of learning the full extent of what the man was capable of accomplishing." Thortizan recalled the unfettered pleasure he and his colleagues experienced while playing God the following four years.
"At first, we exploited the already prevalent law of supply and demand by cutting off all supply drops into the caverns he controlled, forcing Muzar to take the offensive. Again and again, he raided the Ecifrican camps and stole what they needed to survive. Next, we began to supply the Ecifricans with raw materials to increase their limited arsenal of crude weapons. Not only did this one-sided arms race tactic fail, but we soon discovered that his numbers and control over the caverns continued to grow in strength."
"They were united by a faith based, disciplined leadership and trained in superior combat, survival and military skills and tactics. In short, Muzar Tarcones had spawned an elite fighting force from the bowels of hell."
Thortizan had watched the hordes of condemned inmates swear their undying allegiance to Muzar grow year after year. In that time, he developed a respectful, almost paranoid, caution of the man. This despite being thousands of miles away as he observed all via sanitized security videos. His perceived control over the man's fate only added to the fear of succumbing to Muzar's boundless charisma.
Not since Apostle Drestan led our people to freedom, had man been subjected to the persuasive power of one individual. The memory helped Thortizan come to grips with his own apprehension about the pending mission.
Thortizan expanded on his exposition. "As their ranks swelled, the inmates that aligned themselves with Muzar Tarcones began to call themselves the Stewards of the Law."
Condemned to finish their final years in wretched purgatory, Stewards of the Law claimed to discover a higher purpose. Discontent with one’s lot was no longer justified, as Muzar taught his followers to perceive all of life experiences as an adventure; as an opportunity to grow.
"The soul is no longer forced to fend for itself". The mantra fueled his devout followers that were all too familiar with the opposite while living in Blacadoma. Or, in most cases, their lives before incarceration. "Strength is abundant for the soul truly aligned with its brethren," was one of the man's more famous statements to emerge.
At no point did Blacadoma ever become a desired destination for any sane person. The average lifespan of the condemned still hovered around eighteen months. Few managed to avoid the typical death delivered in some form of gruesome butchery. For those who did, rampant malnutrition, infection or other natural causes would end their miserable lives. No, for the vast majority, Blacadoma remained a nightmare to the collective imagination.
But the popularity of the public broadcasts of the events taking place in Blacadoma Prison continued grew to new heights during Muzar's four year reign. Anyone with access to a telipad or wallscreen stayed glued to the happenings at Blacadoma, waiting to see what Muzar did next.
The Stewards of the Law, a cult like the world had never seen since the Church of Salvation, had begun to spread. Everyone who had studied the social phenomenon agreed. The movement spawned from the depths of Blacadoma's subterranean caves was infecting the free world at a frighteningly fast past. Muzar had gone from public icon as an elite athlete, to living deity as the savior of society's discriminated rejects.
"Inspired by the events in Blacadoma, liberals wrote essays and gave speeches comparing Muzar to every saint or apostle known. Some went so far as to claim he was nothing short of the second coming."
Even some of the church's top leaders, behind closed doors at least, had started to view the man with strange reverence. Citing examples of his actions became common place in many heated and earnest debates on the origins of race, culture or religion.
"This pestilence known as Muzar Tarcones has outlived its usefulness," Cardinal Fertinand declared at the apex of it all. Thortizan's predecessor made it clear to covert task force it was time for Muzar to disappear. Each panel member had been handpicked for the position due to their pure bloodline and staunch allegiance to the Order of Apostle Vorenius. They all understood the implications conveyed by their leader and in response, set out in earnest to exterminate the problem.
No one had commiserated on how to destroy Muzar Tarcones more than Thortizan and his team and yet every approach they attempted over the years had come up short. Desperate, they incarcerated hundreds of thousands of innocent Ecifrican men and women. By fleecing the Ecifrican compounds in this manner, they produced a fresh body of Blacadoma inmates. "We will overwhelm him with sheer numbers. In the process, we will reduce the already paltry supply of food and water," Thortizan remembers conspiring with his smug partners.
The strategic move was the biggest blunder of his career, a mistake he remains grateful was never exposed. For their omnipresent position was fatally hindered by their rampant prejudice. As a result, Thortizan and his team failed to detect the precursors leading to a truce between the Stewards of the Law and Destiny's Charge. The influx of new Ecifricans had become enchanted by Muzar's growing legend. As a result, they learned the details around his arrest, a perspective their inmate countrymen were not privy to. The bold move acted as a catalyst that ensured the tentative truce became a lasting reality.
The situation had spiraled out of control. The covert panel, never formally approved therefore having never existed, disappeared over night. Elected officials and appointed panels swooped in to find a solution to the public nightmare. The situation was but a breath away from escalating into a bona fide threat to their theocratic control.
Every department offered suggestions but none appeared to offer a solution. After much debate, Cardinal Fertinand presented the only viable plan of action. In short, send in armed troops, annihilate the lot and start over. Relief swept over the empire when, without any warning, the situation took care of itself with the sudden disappearance of Muzar Tarcones.
"Just over ten years ago, Mr. Tarcones vanished. After three straight months of no signs of his whereabouts he was declared dead. Recent intel informs us that not only is Muzar Tarcones alive but he somehow managed to escape from Blacadoma." Despite their conditioned discipline, murmurs of shock and disbelief erupted.
"Enough! Do not forget, we are dealing with an adversary that was once one of us. One of the few people in the world with both the capital means to facilitate an escape from Blacadoma and the motivation to do so."
"Drop zone in ninety seconds!" The pilot’s voice interjected.
The men stood in unison at the prompt and began to double check their gear. Thortizan walked toward the rear of the jet, making eye contact and smacking men on the back and shoulders as he went. Once th
ere, he punched a large red button on the sidewall that turned green and hydraulics lowered the back bay door, revealing a moonlit sky.
Thortizan turned and addressed his men. "Our purpose has arrived; the time has come to reclaim the world in the name of our Almighty Savior!"
A chorus of "Praise be to him!" met the close of his words as the green button began to blink. Single file, the ordained Vorenian Knights spilled into the night sky unified by a divine mission all believed was destined to occur.