“Then what do you call the appearance of this before my city?” Draz asked.

  He took the terminal from Souzan, turning on the display, fuming. Every second wasted on pointlessly convincing Paikan of the obvious put the entire kingdom at risk. Even now, the Oathtakers could set up checkpoints in the canyons, sweeping away unprepared defenders. To save their subjects, their power, and their future, they must act at once!

  “A bold intervention,” Paikan yawned, accepting a cup of coffee laced with vodka from an attractive girl. “Notice how the pyramid moved back without turning. This combat unit is based on ancient technology; otherwise, their cannons would have pierced you, but its generator is straight from the Old World.”

  “Intervention?” Draz was taken aback. “Why do you think that? They moved south...”

  “Yes, yes, I know about the weakened garrison. You shouldn’t have taken the whole gang, Mahmud.” Paikan obligingly refilled the tense raider’s glass. “You should have kept your nose to the ground, like Hess. Apart from his lack of fortuna in gambling, he keeps his zone clear.”

  “I never lose more than my personal funds, boss,” Hess said.

  “It’s foolish not to follow a wise rule.” Paikan patted him on the withers. “Why do you need trucks for your personal use? Let’s roll back to your question, Draz. Why would the Oathtakers take the southern bastion? To make things easier for the steppe dwellers? That doesn’t make sense. No, they need the western bastion.”

  “Itil held it,” Draz nodded. “The storm must have lowered their guard, and they were caught off guard.”

  “Do you believe that?” Paikan asked. “Itil is competent. They were let through.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us about that?!” Feda shouted.

  “Because I put the facts together less than an hour ago,” Paikan replied. “Remember the deal offered by her?”

  “About her brother?” Souzan raised an eyebrow. “We refused, sir. In accordance with your wishes, we did not interfere in squabbles within influential gangs.”

  “That way there was less massacring for power.” Draz took a seat at the table, catching Ismail, who was trying to grab the waitress by the ass. He squeezed his wrist hard enough to elicit a slight yelp and released the brute, accepting the steak from the girl. He cut the meat in half, handing half to Souzan, wondering how their private negotiations could have leaked. She refused, forcing him to eat to replenish his calories. “Also, the boy was innocent. He’s a cuckoo, but he wasn’t up to anything. I thought he was already buried.”

  “Then why did Itil’s envoy sneak in to see me for medications for radiation poisoning and cancer, risking being torn to pieces by the minions of the hapless admirer? The foolish girl punished herself, even though she stopped herself in time. Suppose someone with highly advanced healthcare approached her, offering a permanent solution to the problem plaguing her conscience.” Paikan drank his coffee and called over a servant, asking for a stronger drink. “Right after Latif’s raid on the fertile lands to the west.”

  “So...” Souzan’s eyes widened.

  “Always consider a situation from all angles. The Oathtakers had one-fifth of their territory turned into a cesspool. Where will they get the strength to hold an additional region? In a fight between two, the third wins. As long as we’re here, the balance is maintained. Regarding the lovely sea lion who gave you so many scratches, Draz. What can you tell me about her?”

  “A mutant. Her name is Ruda.” Draz glanced at Souzan, trying to understand what was going through his supporter’s mind. “She has an ability. I’m willing to bet she needs a catalyst to use her power. Her face was growing scales, the eyes were changing shape, and she became physically resilient. If she could transform at any moment, why not do it beforehand, in a calm environment? Besides increased speed and physical capabilities, she had something else. I can’t be specific, but she guessed the direction of my blow without hearing or seeing me.” He paused. “I can kill her.”

  “Don’t sulk. You’ve survived an unforgettable experience.” Paikan assumed the role of gracious host, setting the food before the guests. “One of your best qualities is that you never know when to quit.”

  “Ruda leaped into the arena. To save an Insectone,” Souzan said.

  “Bingo!” Paikan laughed. “Your descendant was relaying the events to me via video link. Honestly, I’ve never heard of outsiders being accepted into orders, but the black dragonfly processing you into protein definitely wore crusader armor, and I’ve never seen such a dashing troll. So, what do we have? The automatic defense systems are down. Why didn’t the Oathtakers attack the weakened Rabor? If not at that opportunity, when? They don’t have enough soldiers. Their operation to rescue the kidnapped coincided with a third party’s intervention.”

  My descendant? Draz put aside his drink, sitting idly as Paikan explained the connections between Davinia and the crusaders. When the subject of Davinia’s weapons came up, his hand crushed his goblet. He should have questioned the surviving raiders, led away by the hairy bitch. He’d pursued that scaly scum, allowing her to survive out of a desire to make them suffer, and missed Latke’s real killer.

  The governor folded his fingers together, trying to calm the turmoil in his soul. Never again would he act rashly. The music continued to pound his eardrums, flashes of multicolored light reflected off the glasses, waiters brought new dishes while the crowd rejoiced, and the old geezer continued to drone on with his lecture, shifting to an explanation of algebra. Shabun stood like a shadow behind Paikan, accepting a glass of tea and glaring at Draz. Feda refused to sit.

  A girl in a lilac dress with a single slit revealing her slender leg approached the table, carrying a tray. The angel incarnate smiled as she skirted the raiders, but Draz noticed her eyes change for a split second, clouded with pure, unadulterated hatred, directed at Paikan, who was simultaneously engaged in conversation with the scholar, raptly conversing with the leaders, and encouraging the dancers with compliments.

  This could be interesting. Draz remained silent. The girl had only one glass.

  “A stronger cocktail for everyone gathered,” the babe cooed, placing the full glass in front of Paikan and raising the clay vessel, intending to fill the others’ goblets.

  Shabun fixed his gaze on her.

  “Just a second, lightning.” Paikan raised his hand.

  A whirlwind of emotions flashed across the inexperienced fool’s face: disappointment, despair, impotent anger, and finally, resignation. Paikan poured some of the glass’s contents into his palm, sniffing the dark liquid. Then he licked it off, to the maid’s timid triumph that made her lips twitch. Paikan drained the glass in one gulp, leaning back in his chair.

  “Too strong, my sweet viper,” he squeezed out. “I can literally feel my vertebrae narrowing, blocking the air. The blood isn’t flowing to my heart but back to my brain, swelling... Oh! It passed. It hasn’t happened in a while, has it, Shabun?”

  “Fifty-eight years since the last time, sir.” The spy bowed, not taking his eyes off the assembled group.

  “She was planning to poison us?!” Feda barked.

  Draz heard the hum of the generator powering his officer’s wrist emitter.

  “Extinguish your fuse; you’re not a bomb. I am capable of protecting all my guests,” Draz said dryly, his tone immediately changing to a friendly one as soon as the trembling girl’s hand was between his. “Don’t be discouraged. The path to success is paved with failure. Iternians are always the most entertaining guests. For such a performance, I promise to release you at the first price your family offers me. Until then, prepare me another dose. If it’s stronger, I’ll release several slaves of your choice.”

  “I...” The girl blinked and squeezed her own tiny hand around Paikan’s. Her expression hardened. “I’ll kill you, slaver.”

  “That’s the spirit! Shabun, she’s magnificent!”

  “Very determined, sir,” Shabun agreed. “Don’t empty the bottle completely; I’ll borrow the formula...”

  “She even dares to threaten you!” Feda stepped back, aiming the emitter. “Such insolence must be punished.”

  Draz pushed away from the table, kicking Souzan out of the potential trajectory. No, idiot. You weren’t listening to me. With grim anticipation, he saw the emitter’s muzzle swell with energy, ready to unleash searing plasma, vaporizing the would-be assassin along with Paikan standing next to her.

  Feda gasped, clutching his elbow and stepping back. The cables powering his weapon spat sparks, trailing from his mangled arm. The muzzle of the cooling emitter fell, cut off by the fingers of Paikan, standing next to the descendant of the League. Feda’s armor beeped a series of warning signals, signaling damage, but Paikan’s hands had already grabbed the man by the shoulders, crushing his pauldrons and easily tossing the armored fighter onto his back.

  “I warned you.” The punch pierced Feda’s faceplate, breaking his nose and knocking out his front teeth. “Basic respect for my rules. Civility. Who do you think you are, brat, that you think you can threaten my guests?”

  Paikan’s hand sank up to the wrist into Feda’s shoulder, breaking his collarbone and dragging a crumpled section of armor inside. The brutality didn’t stop there. A hail of punishment rained upon the agonized officer. Paikan’s fists crushed the raider’s elbows and knees into dust; his merciless fingers tore half the victim’s face off, revealing wet flesh. Feda’s scream rose to a shrill, shrill shriek that drowned out the music. His body arched, trying to escape Paikan’s rending grip, which had grabbed the officer by the groin.

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  “Paikan, that’s enough.” Draz stood up, hearing the sound of tearing fabric. A wet, red piece slapped against his chest, then he felt hands on his shoulders, easily pushing him to his knees.

  “Enough of what? Mercy?”

  White teeth, with strands of saliva stretched between them, danced before Draz’s face, startling the governor. Once, after the war with the League, he and Paikan had made a joint expedition, rescuing the kidnapped children of Volnitsa from the clutches of cannibals. The punishment the cannibal leader received, his screams, and the bones gnawed clean were forever etched in Draz’s memory. Paikan always saved the vital organs for last.

  “Vile louse, do you think me harmless? You bet on my desire to preserve peace?” The teeth snapped against Draz’s nose. “Gulab craved battle, a last worthy stand instead of slowly fading away from old age, and I orchestrated his wish. You were supposed to raise an army, besiege me, and give me a long-forgotten amusement, but you’re incapable of even that, you cowardly vulture. None of what you planned was a secret to me. But now that a fresh, funny thrill has arrived in my lands, what need do I have of you? You brought a boor and didn’t warn me of the danger out of politeness. You’ve become predictably dull in your disloyalty, Draz.”

  Two fingers pierced the sunglasses, creating two neat openings, and stopped near the wide-open eyes. Shabun pressed the scimitar to Souzan’s neck, holding her in place. The crowd of revelers rushed to the exits; the old scholar watched the proceedings; and the leaders who had joined the rebellion remained motionless, awaiting the outcome of the clash.

  Paikan raised his hand, and Draz, crazed with horror, saw white squares forming on the brown limb. The skin seemed to peel away, releasing the nightmare lurking within. No, no, no... Every instinct within him demanded to unleash the heat in Paikan’s face while he had the chance. But the bastard would dodge it; he always did, and then nothing would save him from that damned force at such close range. His plan to kill Paikan envisioned an entirely different scenario.

  What should I do? What’s the correct way to act? How... Draz’s thoughts froze.

  ****

  Paikan looked around, noticing his friend’s numbness. Everyone else froze in their unchanging positions: some had their feet raised off the floor, beads of sweat had stopped flowing, and their eyes had taken on a glazed expression. Shabun stood motionless, missing the chance to use his power. The stream of blood pouring from Feda froze, becoming a frozen waterfall. The drones flying to clean up the mess stopped in midair.

  The bright lights dimmed, the disco’s jumble of colors taking on a calmer, grayer hue. Paikan approached the table, hearing the ceremonial and solemn music of the trumpets. He poked his finger into the nearest wine, failing to pierce the surface.

  “Neat.” The annihilation field enveloped his finger, disintegrating the liquid into particles, and he felt a rush of pressure sweep through the room. Space tried to shift, as if the hands of a jammed clock were about to begin moving again. A palpable displeasure, tinged with suppressed tension, touched his mind. “Not an illusion. Perhaps you’ll stop hiding? My will cannot be subverted. I’ve already figured out how to create a painful backlash for you. Why do you need the extra trouble? You came to talk, my unexpected yet welcomed introvert, so let’s talk.”

  The spotlights refracted, arching. They formed a single hoop of light hanging above Paikan. A multitude of tiny threads intertwined the circle’s interior, forming miniature versions of the image. At the center of this jumble of light, a point appeared—a white, pulsating sphere, spreading warmth and care throughout the room. One glance at it called to one’s knees, accepting the offered grace.

  Even before the Barjoni had sculpted him to be immune to influences, he already knew how to resist such parlor tricks.

  A white foot, glowing with a faint light, stepped out of the sphere. A second followed, then a torso emerged, arms outstretched in greeting. Red eyes, filled with understanding, stared out from a flawless face, and six wings, framed with gold at the tips of their feathers, spread out, casting a shadow over Paikan. The visitor was no different in height from a Normie.

  “Hello, wonder,” Paikan smiled at the novelty. “Spatial control, subtle mental influence, physical alteration of the body or projection, and even time manipulation. How do you combine so many powers without bursting like a balloon?”

  “There is no limit to God’s abilities,” the stranger sang in a musical voice, caressing his interlocutor’s ears. “My child, I have heard your heart’s cry. You pursue every possible pleasure, finding no lasting satisfaction in any. You have no goal left worthy of your efforts. Miserable pastimes don’t fill the gaping void in your soul, offering you no relief or allowing you to cast off the shackles that force you to drag out a gray existence instead of enjoying a full life.”

  “You certainly know all about grayness,” Paikan chuckled. “Are you going to tempt me now, or will that be later?”

  “I have no need to tempt you, for you have summoned me more powerfully than any magnet. You were once a man, but now only a withered husk stands before me.” The Whitie returned the smile. “Accept me, and I will create rain, greening this plague-ridden desert.”

  “How intriguing.” Paikan sat on the empty chair. “And what would such deliverance cost me?”

  “Nothing you would miss.”

  “I don’t know; my soul is very precious to me.” Paikan cracked his neck, creating a coating of destruction on his palm.

  “Soul? My son, it has become blacker than soot because of your own actions,” the vision said. “What sins have you not committed?”

  “You are a god. You tell me.” Paikan turned over the bottle of poison, regretfully realizing his inability to drink. Another wave of indignation washed over him.

  Time manipulation was a funny thing. Based on the works he’d read, creating perfect stasis, protecting an object from entropy and external stimuli, required a titanic amount of energy. Any object disrupting the integrity of the stasis field caused monstrous overloads in the machines forming it as they recreated the previous protection, incorporating a new object into the field.

  Powers worked differently, but a sudden intruder had to endure the most excruciating strain as the ruler’s power, capable only of destruction, tore apart the carefully crafted immutability of reality, giving nothing to incorporate and nothing to envelop. The attempts to conceal this made Paikan laugh.

  “Do not blaspheme, child! I have come to save you, but I can equally doom you.” The Whitie warned. The air grew chilly in response to his words. Frost formed on the walls, forming ice that reflected nightmare scenes. Cities were destroyed, melting in the rushing fire. People begging for salvation were devoured by brown hordes of armored insects. The images changed rapidly, but the meaning remained the same. “No, your soul will come to me at the appointed time. I will not command you to do anything you have not done of your own volition. You have already decided to pursue those who challenge your authority. Become my apostle. Receive my communion. Grant me your will and receive true power in exchange. Cast aside your past sins. I will give you a goal worthy of your efforts. Aboard the ship of sinners is a valuable slave, possessing a priceless ability, named Grisha, wandering in the fog of disbelief. Find him, capture him, so that I can convert him, and my splendor will heal the wound in your chest, rekindling your ambitions. Together, you will become the foundation stone of my kingdom!”

  A vision of a slender boy, tossing and turning fearfully in his sleep, appeared in his mind.

  “Nope,” Paikan drawled, taking in the child’s appearance.

  “You dare reject my offer?” The glow around the intruder flared brighter than the sun.

  “There have been two shocks in my life that changed my worldview.” Paikan tossed back the bottle. “The first was the realization that my father didn’t consider me family, and my mother didn’t love me. The son of a whore, I was doomed to pick pockets while she fucked. Afterwards she picked mine. It was then I realized everyone claws their way to happiness. For years, I gathered strength to overthrow Mad Hatter and found my country, until I saw the power of this woman and Ravager. Two people could destroy an entire country, proving to me the futility of building anything. In the end, everything falls apart.”

  “But it doesn’t have to continue! Surrender yourself entirely to me so that I can build an eternal kingdom in this reality. Imagine the authority and might you will gain by standing on the first step of my throne.” The intruder extended his hand.

  “The desire for power is incapable of satisfying itself. It is insatiable by its very nature. If I were to gain control of the planet, what would it give me besides obligations and worries? Nothing. I built what I believed in and abandoned it, realizing the futility of my efforts. Might? I’ve met serfs happier than the mighty leaders of bandits.” He nodded at the images. “I am a monster. I have no illusions about justifying my actions. But even I have not built such a monstrosity. You present death and destruction, calling your believers slaves, reserving beauty and grandeur only for yourself. In terms of imagination, you are on the level of the lowest dregs of society, too preoccupied with worsening the lives of your neighbors rather than improving your own. Not impressed. Ha, why should I give you my will? Did you conquer it?”

  “Insolent baboon! Disgusting fart, tolerated only by virtue of my mercy! You dare think you know anything about my imagination?! You, who existed as a recluse for decades, achieving nothing, locked away in this tiny patch of my realm, whose prime of desires peaked at dancing naked with whores?!” Shadows rippled from the Whitie’s ruby ??eyes, trapping Paikan between two red-filled tunnels. Desperate cries erupted from the icy reflections, squeezing out ceremonial music in a chorus of incessant agony.

  “And I don’t regret a single day.” Paikan’s smile widened. “Perhaps you wouldn’t have become such an arrogant son of a bitch if you’d tried loosening up...”

  An invisible wave passed through him, sending shivers through his entire body. Deep cuts opened on his arms, legs, chest, and neck. His skin lost its luster, wrinkled, and clung tightly to his bones. Grayness dominated his hair, and suddenly a deep fatigue overcame him, making it impossible to rise from his chair. His once-taut belly now sagged in a disgusting mass, reaching his ankles. His back ached, the biting cold brought shivers, and his eyelids tried to close. With difficulty, Paikan grabbed the corner of the table and raised his head.

  “Not bad. ‘God’ struck me, and yet here I am,” he croaked.

  “Your arrogance knows no bounds, dandruff!” The intruder’s wings flapped, sending a gust of wind into Paikan’s face.

  “You bore me.” A crack ran across Paikan’s face, giving way to a bright flash of white. His tired eyes swelled, hardening to the red alloy and regaining their sharpness. A feeling of pain pulsing from the white figure reached his mind. “Get the fuck out.”

  “So be it.” The figure straightened with effort. The intruder’s limbs folded back, disappearing into the hovering hoop. “One way or another, everything will happen as I wish. You didn’t want salvation, so receive your place in the dustbin of history. You will never find fulfillment.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Paikan’s whisper turned into words, and he found himself standing in his previous position over Draz, his arm raised in the playful threat. Not a single mark stained his body. Colors and sounds returned to normal.

  How unusual. Had he been mistaken in his assumption about the Whitey’s time manipulation? Perhaps he was hallucinating? No, he believed in himself, absolutely certain that what had happened had actually transpired.

  Initially, he’d wanted to get his hands on the Oathtakers’ generator, giving Draz a rude slap to spur him on to greater heights. But killing such an impudent fellow? Oh, that was an enticing task. Mad Hatter’s servants were asking about the demon called God. That Barjoni spoke of the suspicious, inexplicable death of Nero Rho’s agent in the steppe.

  It seemed he had a worthy occupation for the coming years. Grisha. Paikan knew of a family willing to adopt Abnormals who showed exceptional promise. First, he’d get this kid, and then he’d visit the Barjoni family for information.

  “What do you want?” Paikan asked the kneeling Draz.

  “Revenge. I want them to pay for the deaths of my soldiers.” Draz swallowed.

  “Then why didn’t you ask for it right away, you silly man?” Paikan cried, raising his shocked subordinate. “Shabun, stop tickling Souzan’s neck and get our men up. Carry Feda aboard the Dauntless before he gets blood everywhere. Girls! Back, back! Oil me up. Tell the armorers to prepare my armor. We’re going to plunder the pyramid, gentlemen!”