Ruda’s hooves pounded the concrete as she turned to face the walker, still worried about possibly misreading who Davinia was addressing. To her left, a pothole appeared, created by an incredibly high-speed bullet fired from the high-caliber rifle designed for hunting armored vehicles. The passing shell’s impact nearly knocked Ruda over, tearing off a chunk of her shoulder pad as she accelerated toward Latke.

  Dangerous, yes. But not for me. Craters appeared on either side of her, with tiny cracks radiating from them. The chainsaw bit deep into Yeshua’s armor, reaching the skin; his shaky grip weakened, and the dog’s jaws snapped against his faceplate, his steel fingers holding it tight.

  Under the fake fire, Ruda reached Latke, and the walker’s figure began to turn. The crusader ducked under the descending metal elbow, hearing the slap of a piston and the whir of blades. The Wolfkin’s shot had stripped the metal from the crusader’s ankle, catching a chunk of hide interspersed with scales. Ruda grabbed the walker’s arm, using it as a support, and swung forward, leaping onto the machine.

  “What are you planning...” a rough voice asked.

  She saw Latke’s narrowed eyes staring at her supposed ally, who had leaped above the rooftops and was descending, shooting continuously. Latke reached for the pistol on her belt, and the hound barked a warning, but the realization came too late. As if by chance, Davinia’s shot had struck Draz’s trusted officer squarely in the forehead, piercing her skull and destroying the brain.

  The walker stopped, then leaned forward, holding itself with the half-bent arm. Ruda landed squarely on the vehicle’s shoulder, rushing to Yeshua’s aid despite the expectation of an imminent shot to the back. But no betrayal came. Davinia stopped her fall, clutching the ledge with her toes, and stepped onto the roof, while Latke’s hound whined.

  The red faded from the dog’s coat, giving way to a budding white coat and growing brown fur with white spots. The beast’s eyes dimmed, losing their intelligence, its mass deflated to the size of a small, frightened mongrel, and Yeshua tossed the stray aside, reaching for the running chainsaw. Together with Ruda, they pulled it from his injured shoulder.

  “Horror!” Davinia’s voice echoed across the battlefield, attracting the attention of the guards. She pressed a black hand to her mouth, allowing Ruda to see a mischievous smile. “Our magnificent mistress has been treacherously murdered! Retreat, everyone, back to the fortress! The enemy is far stronger than we expected! This must be reported, my brave comrades! Without an army, we cannot win!”

  The governor’s advancing soldiers retreated faster than any sea wave. The raiders retreated into the ruins, ignoring the cries for help from their wounded and crippled comrades, too concerned for their own lives. Anyone who might suspect Davinia also fled, deciding not to risk themselves in the uncertainty of battle, especially now that their strongest allies had vanished.

  Where she had run toward the walker, Davinia’s shots had left three dots, placed too precisely to be coincidental: two directly above each other and one slightly to the right. Cracks connected these holes, forming the letter L.

  Lightbringer, the army. Over two hundred years ago, at the first meeting of the Dynast and the Taker of Oaths, the Reclamation Army declared war on the Oathtaker, intending to destroy all traces of the founder’s power in the name of so-called salvation of humanity from the shackles of mental captivity. Brutal hypocrites. Liberation through death. The Oath is spread voluntarily, and we do not allow the young to join our ranks until they are of age. In the decisive battle, the champions of both sides met, razing mountains to dust, and at the end of the battle, Lightbringer, the Spear of the Oath, ceased to breathe forever. His body rested in the capital, immersed in stasis, and his son abandoned his faith for Iterna.

  A lovely reminder. But we stood firm after your mightiest blow, she-wolf!

  “Alive?” Ruda asked Yeshua. He nodded, wincing as she moved to remove the damaged pauldron, blood gushing from the gashes.

  “The artery isn’t punctured. We don’t have time.” Yeshua breathed heavily. “It will heal on its own.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Ruda took the weapon and ammunition from the dead woman, handing them to the sariant. “Ney, you...”

  “Still sparkling, Fawn!” her lover laughed, leaning on his hammer.

  “Then share your light with the wounded, Gorgeous.” Ruda smirked, realizing how fast her heart was beating in her chest.

  Not from fear, but because she felt like the organ had grown larger and was about to split. She wanted to cover her face with her hand, hide her deformity from everyone, forget the overwhelming disgust that threatened to make her double over and vomit. The change even affected her voice, making it rougher and weaving a growling note into every word. Ruda recalled the former magister’s teachings, ignored the indelible shame, and joined Farrin, carefully pulling the child’s injured hand from the sliced gauntlet.

  It was a nasty sight. The blade had severed the poor girl’s fingers at the knuckles, shattering the bones within the stumps. Sharp shards pierced the tissue, causing the skin to swell, making it difficult to stop the bleeding. They could have left the tourniquet Farrin had applied, but no one knew how long they would be on the road, and the slightest forgetfulness risked further maiming the child. The bandit herself glanced sideways at Ruda, leading her first to think of the monstrous mug her face had become, but then she understood.

  “Go. I can handle this,” Ruda said, picking up the field first aid kit, relieved to see the Common labels on the vials and instruments.

  Farrin nodded gratefully and moved over to Bahran, tending to his bleeding wound and trying to stay away from the needles growing on the mutant’s body in place of the ones he’d used. The shot had torn off the man’s ear and also deeply ruined the surrounding scalp, and now his eardrum was visible, pulsing in the wind.

  Around them, the raiders were finishing the wounded guards. The surviving bandits rescued from the arena busily gathered supplies and stripped gear from the dead, donning a hodgepodge of the most intact pieces on themselves and the civilians, suppressing any argument with curses. A few dared to glance at their injured allies, considering shedding the ballast that was slowing their escape. Chernogor warned them of the consequences of such a decision, standing on the defeated foe.

  Scum remains scum. Ruda thought, glancing at the girl’s closed helmet. “I’ll need to cauterize your fingers. It will hurt, but don’t be concerned. They’ll make you new ones later, out of stylish metal, and you can paint them however you like.”

  “Will I be able to work in the fields?” the girl sobbed.

  The crusader wiped the blood from the palm and noticed traces of calluses during sterilization. A scar from a whip crossed one callus, enraging the young woman.

  “Of course, sweetie.” Ruda coaxed the little girl, administering a fast-acting anesthetic designed to render an adult semi-conscious, increasing the chances of a successful operation outside of a hospital. Cenfus would have given Ruda suppositories up to her tonsils for using untested local drugs on a minor, but unfortunately, the responsible doctor wasn’t here. She took out a portable torch, turning down the power. A flame appeared at the end of the tube. “Don’t even think about being sad about it. The artificial fingers will be much more flexible and dexterous than real ones. You can bend them forward, backward, sideways, sort rice...” The flame licked the exposed flesh, eliciting a scream from the girl and the smell of burning meat. The civilian tightened his grip on the trembling body. “...Anything. Everyone will envy you. You’re my treasure, so patient and brave.”

  “Trust the teacher,” Rustam whistled, shifting in the farmer’s arms. “She saved me and is ready to give her life for us.”

  “I’m tired of death,” the girl said inaudibly. Her helmeted head slumped onto her shoulder. “I never want to see a slaughterhouse again. Can everyone not die for me ever again?”

  “We’ll try. Otherwise, my father will whip me,” Ruda joked. She wanted to apologize to Rustam, expressing her regret about intending to kill him at their first meeting, but changed her mind, thinking such words might frighten the children. They would have time to talk later.

  “Let me go. It looks like my legs are working again,” Rustam pleaded.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Fuck you! You can run all you want later! Hold that cucumber tight like a chest of gold,” Ruda said to the Insectone. Having finished the procedure, she reattached the cut-off portion of the gauntlet, securing the seam with hardening foam. Far from being perfect, but better than nothing.

  “I’m not a cucumber!”

  “What evidence do you have to the contrary?!”

  Ney burst out laughing, tearing himself away from organizing the defense. Even the girl forced out a chuckle through her drowsiness.

  “Should we find another way out of the city? They’ve probably alerted the guards,” Yeshua asked Chernogor. The sariant clenched and unclenched the fist of his wounded hand, testing his reaction. He shook his head at the worried look. “I won’t dishonor Commander Eloise with cowardice. Don’t you dare.”

  “You have a family. Let the old men take their chances,” Chernogor said. “No. We have the key to the gates.”

  The body at his feet groaned, rising on its hands and leaning against the wall of the house to look at the crusader winding the trophy whip around his wrist. Swift pulled off his helmet, exhaling.

  “You’ve done a lot of chaos, old man,” the guard said.

  “Killings weren’t part of our intentions. If we’d been allowed to leave peacefully, there wouldn’t have been any casualties. So what will it be, Swift?” Chernogor asked. “You told me to keep my wits about me. Draz is busy with his dealings far away. We’re close. And we want to be very far away.”

  “In that case, technically, you’re not our enemies, and my duty to Rabor is to escort the troublemakers out,” Swift replied in the same tone. “Your machines, along with the gifts, are still in the same location. Promise not to touch my people, spare my life, and I’ll disarm the explosives planted on them.”

  “Deal.” Chernogor extended his hand, helping him to his feet.

  Ruda found herself an axe and reloaded her pistol, realizing she was tired of this infiltration, sneaking through the alleys, and having to fight alongside unprincipled bastards. There was nothing better than meeting sinners in fair combat, crushing the ignorance that threatened society under the spikes of her mace.

  The dog that remained behind them howled sadly, trying to wake up its owner.

  ****

  Draz rose from the beaten-into-the-floor corpse, which was spurting blood and sparks in equal measure. Wiping the blood from his face, he croaked, calling for Souzan as his soldiers forced the surviving defenders to kneel with their hands behind their heads. Those physically unable to do so, such as the Malformed, were kept under closer observation, ready to immediately finish off the Abnormals at the slightest hint of resistance.

  A medic approached him, offering assistance, and Draz waved the woman toward his soldiers. He wasn’t in the best of shape. His liver was punctured; there were holes in both lungs; metal tendrils had crushed his vocal cords during the fight; at least three fingers were broken, and he was bleeding like a cusack from a severed iliac artery. His skin stretched, using up valuable weight to regenerate. But he won’t die, and his subjects will be useful later.

  “And what were you counting on?” Draz croaked before the prisoners, spreading his arms and trying not to show weakness. “I’d give you the severed head of your leader, but I doubt I’d find those remains. Who do you think brought Rabor to its current heights?”

  “Small compliment, considering the carnage you unleashed on the city,” a soldier snapped. “Your minions killed clerks at night, and now you’ve started a war. Under Paikan, we had peace!”

  “Don’t.” Draz stopped Feda, who was about to incinerate the insolent man. “Where’s your boss? He’s holed up in the north, gathering curious people and doing nothing. I brought civilization here. It’s me you should thank for something as simple as retirement. In the past, old people were simply killed. Paikan doesn’t protect you, doesn’t solve your problems. He does nothing but collect tribute.”

  “Which you steal!”

  “A lie. I don’t need such baubles.” Draz wasn’t angry, finding satisfaction in honesty. “Authority must wield force. I allowed small fry to collect a cut for safe passage, practically begging the big guy to shake off the dust of bygone years and come here and take action. But he ignored it. What ruler would ignore the insolence of his subjects?” The soldier swallowed, bracing himself for death, when a giant hand stopped near his face. It patted his cheek. “Don’t know? I’ll answer. A sensible one. Any political figure has too many concerns to be distracted by meaningless vendettas. The shrieks of the masses are nothing; action is what counts. Only an impotent man stands idly by while all sorts of scum brazenly rob him. Paikan no longer possesses the strength to protect his subordinates or uphold his laws. Tonight is proof of that. Gulab was loyal, fought honorably, and died alone, unable to stop the new era knocking at your doors. Hail King Draz.”

  “Subject me to any torture you wish. Fry me in scorching water, flay me, and force me to die a long, painful death under the influence of electricity or a raging storm... I petition for a quick execution for my comrades.”

  The soldier’s defiant gaze never left the bubbling blood on the governor’s lips, likely hoping for a miracle to destroy the victor. Such bewitching ignorance. His modified kidneys had already cleared the poison from his veins and heart, and the neurotoxins contained in Gulab’s knife were unable to bind to his muscles due to the enhanced mutations grafted onto his body by bioengineering specialists.

  “Why would I do it?” he asked. “Those who have seen the truth swear allegiance to me and join us. The stubborn ones off to the jail. We’ll see how their opinions change after we drag Paikan’s corpse down the street.”

  As he expected, the soldier refused to break his promises. First a few dozen, then two hundred mercenaries rejected the former leader. Draz remembered the stubborn boy, winking at Feda to assign him a watcher. Loyalty was a valuable quality, and the ranks of his inner circle needed fresh additions. Today or tomorrow didn’t matter. The taste of real wine only improved with age. For now, ordinary swill would do.

  “The databases are intact,” Souzan reported, returning from the central hall. “The administrators didn’t even rig the control panels.”

  “I’ll have to express my gratitude to them when we meet. I’m afraid we sent them somewhat contradictory signals with our directness. Go on the comms, calm the townspeople, and reassure our lost folks they’re safe,” Draz said.

  “You will grant me the authority to act as regent?” Souzan removed her helmet, wiping the glistening sweat from a lump on her forehead.

  “I’m a little hoarse. I need to get some sleep... Milady Regent,” Draz smiled.

  Her deep eyes reflected concern, and Draz turned, shielding Souzan with his back. Latke’s two hounds collapsed, twitching their legs in convulsions. Their transformation had reversed, returning them to the appearance of ordinary mongrels, to the astonishment of the assembled people, who didn’t understand the significance of this phenomenon.

  The power ceased to work. Which meant…

  “No,” Draz whispered, shaking off his shock and returning his attention. “You and you, take the dogs! Carefully! You three, Latke had a kennel in the western part of the city, not far from Mackay’s hotel. Legs in hands and off to there, gather all the puppies.”

  “Are they supposed to be euthanized?” the pillager asked.

  “You’ll be euthanized if a hair drops from them!” Curse his wounds. He almost lost his voice from the effort. “Deliver the mutts to the steward. They are to be generously fed and cherished. Hand me over a comm.”

  “Your Highness!”

  Draz grabbed the offered helmet, racing through the complex’s corridors to the exit, trying to contact his troops. The communications jamming systems activated by the administrators made the task impossible. The first report arrived only after he had reached the outside, causing him to groan. Oztai and Cihan, whom he had sent to extract information from the boy, had failed. Davinia reported this, and Latke declared a manhunt for the fugitives, soon perishing along with many soldiers because of an unexpected encounter with an entire enemy squad instead of the five fugitives. The operator relayed Davinia’s report, informing about the presence of unrelated bandits in league with Latif’s rabble and the freed slaves, confirming the presence of an outside party. The Wolfkin chickened out, deciding not to pursue the unknown, but Draz learned the most important thing.

  “Prepare the Robber of Nations! Send my personal transport into the city; this will instill confidence in the residents and help us catch the fugitives.”

  “Impossible,” the operator faltered. Wait, why is it a girl? And why can’t I hear the others? “Shortly after Latke entered the battle, an unknown individual wearing power armor, identical in appearance to yours, and of similar height, entered the armory. Having received the correct identification codes, the guards let him in, and he unleashed a veritable slaughter, while the second intruder incapacitated the remaining operators and then accessed your personal terminal. Both escaped after blowing up the mechanisms for controlling the fortress gate. The staff are extinguishing the fires in the assembly shops. I don’t have access to... I was just training as a communications specialist...”

  “Promoted,” Draz interrupted her, simultaneously instructing the operator to raise the alarm and transfer troops from the north to the city, and pondering the current situation as he moved south, leaping over several buildings at a time.

  Who, the Sky freeze his ass, was his height? And possession of his access codes... Paikan? Yes, it had to be him; no one else could have pulled off such a performance. What could have been in his terminal? Aside from precise maps of the region, there was nothing of value there. Davinia had reported the administrators’ intention to send for help. What if they had already done so, and Paikan intended to give his wayward subordinate a slap in the face? He probably wanted to undermine Draz’s authority while his minions were eliminating Latke, demonstrating the governor’s vulnerability both publicly and by sending him a message privately, without causing any civilian casualties.

  Such a stunt was quite typical of Paikan. He loved solo forays and knew how to pique people’s curiosity, leading them to walk into a trap. His presence fully explained Gulab’s courage. But the decision to launch an attack on the administrators today had thrown all their plans into disarray.

  Nothing has changed. I have every advantage. Draz thought he saw a flurry of whitish flakes fly overhead, startling the governor to his core. Looking up, he noticed no change in the sky. Apart from the cries of Souzan leading the squad after him, there were no other unusual sounds.

  He reached the battlefield where Latke had fallen, and in dismay sent the civilians away, promising to compensate them for the lost houses. Even the fact that they had seen him wounded didn’t matter.

  Draz knelt, scratching the grieving dog’s scruff, and touched the fallen officer. Latke hadn’t been particularly intelligent or strong. She had served faithfully, demanding no special treatment. Now she was gone. Draz’s growl merged with the dog’s. His bloodshot eyes stared at the walls, and his body temperature rose, creating a trickle of heat escaping from his nose.

  He had failed to save his friend, but vengeance remained within reach. The five foreigners will turn to ashes.