Szarel stood over the metal table, his hand resting on the chitinous carapace. Even without his armor, Jake seemed so large. His torso was longer than Szarel’s. The blood had stopped flowing, coagulated by Abnormal physiology in a last, desperate attempt to preserve its host’s existence, unaware of the loss of a critical organ.

  The calm eyes examined the hole in the chest, noting the complete destruction of a lung along with most of the rib cage. Before burial, the integrity of the bones would need to be restored using synthetic substitutes, and the wound sutured to prevent the family doublet from collapsing. The commander’s severed limbs lay next to him. Not good. Torn joint edges, significant tissue crushing, compromising the integrity of the arms and legs. A specialist would be needed to avoid resorting to a closed casket...

  A trickle of steam escaped between Szarel’s lips. The chill seemed to bring him back to reality. Planet, what am I thinking about? My boy, taken far before his time...

  He didn’t turn around as the morgue door slid open and the series of lunges thundered across the ceiling, accompanied by the beeping of an activated terminal. The few precious minutes of peace he had snatched for grief were gone.

  “Report.” Szarel lowered chitinous growths onto Jake’s eyes’ clusters.

  “Their biological ages range from eight to sixteen years. We didn’t find a single adult specimen during autopsy. Each was induced into a state of uncontrollable aggression by a cocktail of hormones and drugs. I’ve recorded the exact names in the written report,” Cenfus said dryly.

  Dishonor. I’ve brought shame upon the Order. Tainted Jake’s memory. I’ve turned us into butchers, slaughtering teenagers.

  Two hundred years ago, much of the radical religious segment of the army—including the Onyx Order—attempted a coup to remove the insufficiently pious Lord Steward and install the responsible Dominator. The insufficiently religious were slaughtered in secret, falsely blaming the massacres on the stubborn resistance of the locals. The high general personally put an end to this vile plot. Since then, the templars and crusaders have tirelessly cared for all the country’s inhabitants through their actions, unconcerned with unattainable things like atonement or erasing the stain on their history.

  Well did Szarel kept his vows!

  He should’ve ordered the release of sleeping gas into the corridors, turning the cruiser into a den of fog, but the severe damage and excessive attention paid to Paikan confused his priorities. I am unworthy of my rank.

  “Command will take the circumstances of the situation into account, taking into account the impossibility of predicting age on the battlefield. There’s no shame on us, Magister.” Captain Mikhas communicated with them through the speaker, remaining on the bridge.

  “What are... Have all the violators been suppressed?” Szarel asked.

  “The sensors aren’t detecting any unaccounted movement, but Butylin expressed doubts based on the pattern of the destroyed ventilation hatches. Unable to find any basis in his arguments, which were based largely on intuition, I nevertheless scorched the ventilation ducts with heat of 1,500 degrees Celsius. Not even a stray parasite was found, but the sergeant insists on a search party,” Mikhas replied.

  “Authorized.”

  “Magister, we don’t have many combat-ready personnel.”

  “All the less reason to risk them. Have Ney join the sergeant,” Szarel ordered. “Recall the kitchen staff and other non-critical facilities for combat duty.” All servants of the Order underwent combat training and were warned about the possibility of temporarily joining the infantry. After a brief hesitation, the magister added, “Also accept any raider, with the exception of those prescribed mandatory bed rest.”

  “Civilians?” Mikhas clarified.

  “Yes. Only adults with experience.” Szarel fervently regretted his inability to show emotion.

  Curse me for this decision.

  “Delacroix and I will check the armory,” Cenfus said in a tone that was unquestionable. “His assistant will have to leave the bridge for the chapel, ceasing his advances on the radio operator. The boy is too young; his battles are still ahead.”

  “He’ll survive,” Szarel agreed.

  “Since we’re on the topic of survival, what are your instructions regarding my overgrown patients?” Stubbing his limbs into the ceiling, Cenfus approached, coming shoulder to shoulder with the magister, and then lowered himself, releasing a liquid mark of farewell onto the deceased’s neck.

  The doctor turned brusquely to Szarel, examining the intertwined tissue of his regenerating jaw muscles and the papery skin growing over the seething mass. With a flick of his gloved finger, Cenfus pushed the gum back into place, easing the throbbing itch.

  “Keep them unconscious. The Onyx Order will pay for their treatment, regardless of the tribunal’s verdict.” Szarel patted his dead son one last time and walked out of the morgue with Cenfus.

  The lights went out as soon as the doors began to close. No. He doesn’t like the dark. Don’t leave him in the night. Szarel continued to pace, smothering the turmoil tormenting his soul.

  “That may not be necessary.” Cenfus jumped from the ceiling.

  His two pairs of legs merged into two limbs with a soft click, and the medic straightened, taking a hesitant step at first, then striding calmly across the floor. His hands underwent a similar transformation. The sharp claws of the Crusader Cenfus cut through the rubber of his gloves, displacing the image of a responsible doctor.

  The gray face turned to him, ready to deny the monstrous proposal.

  “The Barjoni were planning to open a free clinic in Stonehelm while the city was being rebuilt,” Cenfus continued. “A bribe of charity in exchange for lucrative contracts for infrastructure restoration. However, we can’t be picky now. What should interest us is first-class Iternian medicine, coupled with qualified psychologists trained to work with the Malformed.”

  “Cenfus... Sometimes I forget how loyal you are to your patients.” Szarel desperately wanted to smile.

  “Have I ever given any reason to believe otherwise?” A claw drew a line in the air. “First, I will forcibly euthanize anyone threatening them, then I will restore their bodies to wholeness.”

  With a confident gait, Cenfus overtook the magister on their way to the elevator.

  ****

  Itil folded her arms, watching the Shroud of Darkness pass through the bastion’s gates. Her heart no longer beat with excitement. The die was cast. The locals—some eighty thousand strong—had already set out on the arduous journey south, relatively safe from the wrath of Volnitsa’s ruler, should he choose to pursue. Upon reaching the edge of her domain, they would go straight to the Oathtakers with the documents, trusting their survival to their promise.

  Never had she remembered the bastion so quiet. No cries of slaves begging for release came from the pens. No sheriffs held court from the elevated positions along the road, settling disputes between farmers and robbed merchants. The forges built into the mountainside were cooling, filled with priceless ore, spare parts, and metals. In the armories, rows of containers full of ammunition stood alongside the scattered wreckage of transports and broken weapons. Grumbling villagers weren’t attempting to secure additional security during their underground descent to fill reservoirs with water from the underground river.

  Only a piercing wind broke the silence, rolling trash and bones along the narrow streets between deserted stone houses and wooden shacks in various states of disrepair.

  The settlement, located east of the great gate, prospered by collecting fees from bandits setting out on raids and by supplying water to arid regions. Itil’s wise father had prudently created canals that carried industrial waste as far away as possible, preserving the purity of the precious underground resource. All important structures were located within caves, and carefully constructed air vents protected the upper levels of the settlement from the toxic emissions of the factories.

  Ordinary townspeople, merchants, homeless rabble, and farmers dwelled in houses nestled against the mountains. Hoofed cattle—mostly cusacks, now taken by the evacuation—were fattened on mushrooms picked from the lowlands, which were also used to bake bread. A palisade, supported by a row of guard towers, ensured relative peace.

  First her father, then her brother, and she constantly improved this barrier, as the heavy armament mounted on the bastion did not face east, dispelling any ambitions to separate from Volnitsa. The fat years had fostered the appearance of cheerful carvings and paintings on the walls, and Itil even dared to dream of installing real statues and fountains, protecting the eccentrics responsible for painting pictures for a living. Art brought the various classes together somewhat, and she received a request to open a large cave for sports games.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Now none of this will happen. Not during her reign.

  An entire team of mechanics was working on the cruiser’s hull, welding together gaping holes. Itil saw them from the cliff. But the force screen kept all sound from escaping, and the enormous pyramid passed through the bastion gates without the slightest rumble. She tried to see Szarel, unsure what exactly she wanted to know.

  A hint that the visiting commander had lied and her people were facing extermination? An encouraging nod, confirming the loyalty of the sacrifice made to her? Itil had spent herself entirely, committing indefensible crimes to strengthen her personal authority, to further the prosperity of her town, and now she had abandoned it all.

  For another man. Strangely, this act didn’t seem so foolish. The deformed mutant showed the council a video of the Oathtakers’ boss of bosses, the so-called president, elected—no one here believed it—by the citizens. He also showed them the supreme general of the neighboring country, wisely omitting the speeches and focusing on the abilities of these freaks.

  Even if they enslaved the people of Itil, Paikan would never reach them. She didn’t quite understand why the two of them worked together without worrying about being stabbed in the back or why these Abnormals hadn’t yet taken over the world with such power, but they were the best protection in more fertile lands.

  So she bought all the slaves, sending them along with the population as a gesture of sincerity to the future patrons. Itil warned all the gangs she knew about the move, including those to whom she owed favors, increasing the number of fugitives many times over, much to her astonishment.

  She didn’t deserve loyalty. What remained was the simplest and most important.

  The giant gates began to close, sealing the passage. Crafted from incredibly robust materials salvaged from the ruins of the Old World, they would ensure a delay even for Paikan’s diabolical machine. Itil used her personal terminal, deactivating the automatic opening function upon presentation of identification codes and removing the ability to receive signals from any device other than this one. Her technicians had spent years methodically hacking the programs installed by Paikan, but complete control of the passage was worth it.

  As soon as the last crack in the gate disappeared and it seemed to become one with the two-hundred-meter wall reaching to the mountain peaks, Itil pocketed the terminal and hurried through the passage leading to her palace. A dozen soldiers greeted her respectfully as she rushed into the very heart of it, a spacious chamber, painted a wavy golden color on the underside, imitating sand dunes. The upper half began with the pale blue of clouds, fading to the light-dark hue of night, illuminated by spotlights. Glittering minerals—stars—adorned the ceiling.

  Here was Itil’s greatest mistake. A sin that could not be forgiven, but the harm of which could be undone.

  He lay in a clean bed, covered with a gauze blanket. The thicker material brought pain to Merhzlad’s peeling skin, though he never admitted it, enduring all the hardships with fortitude. His limbs were swollen; sparse gray wisps remained of his once-impressive head of hair; his lips had retracted, revealing yellow teeth that reflected the color that had consumed his green eyes. Itil knelt beside her brother, relieved to see that he was breathing well today, and the gray plaques on his ulcer-ridden body had faded. The medicine was working; all her personal physicians had assured her of Merhzlad’s imminent death, but nevertheless, he had recovered enough for the journey.

  And soon she would restore him. Then she would place the knife in his hand, accepting any fate.

  “Naughty, naughty girl.”

  Initially, she thought Merhzlad was teasing her. But she saw his eyes stare past her, and his hand try to reach up to grab the light pistol. Spinning around at the top of her speed, Itil grabbed the rifle, realizing the futility of the attempt.

  A shadow detached itself from the ceiling, landing as a black blob and flashing a flawless smile. The stranger rose to his full height and sauntered toward her.

  “Lord Paikan,” she squeezed out. “You appear battered.”

  “Did you notice? I’m overjoyed, too.” He touched a disappearing bruise on his cheekbone. “Tell me, what were you missing? Have I ever stood against you?”

  “You didn’t stand up for me,” Itil replied, emboldened. “Draz robbed you of my gifts, tortured me, and you remained silent.”

  “Would you prefer that I leave you no leeway?” Paikan inquired.

  “I would prefer that your laws be upheld. That you provide me with the medicine I requested. Then I wouldn’t have to seek it elsewhere, compromising my loyalty!”

  Itil reached into her pocket, clutching the grenade and slipping her finger through the pin. Paikan extended his hand toward her, deliberately playing with his fingers slowly in front of her face. She waited, frozen like a common slave in the presence of an enraged master seeking an outlet for his foul mood, and convinced herself she had time. She must have. In reality, she feared death, wanting to survive at any cost.

  His finger touched the tip of her nose.

  “Bonk,” Paikan chuckled. “Loyalty? ‘He’s better than you at domestic affairs; you’re better than him at foreign affairs. Two halves that bring greatness.’ That’s what your daddy told you on his deathbed, wasn’t it?”

  “How did you...”

  “But you were always too smart to take a hint.” Paikan squeezed past her, squatting by Merhzlad’s bed. “Hello. It’s been a while. Can you think, or should I give you a painkiller?”

  “I can do you one better. Good day, Lord Paikan.” Merhzlad’s mouth dropped open, releasing the foul smell of bile. “My answer is still no.”

  “That question didn’t come from me.” Merhzlad shuddered convulsively. “Don’t go back to the past. I don’t like people speaking in my name without permission. The insolent have been punished. You see, Merhzlad, your sister is playing the innocent lamb here, hurling accusations at me for failing to protect her from Draz. But do you know why I ignored it? Who weakened your clan by selling you out and, consequently, emboldening the vultures?”

  “Yes,” said Merhzlad. “I know. And I forgive Itil. We were young; I allowed myself to speak arrogantly, pushing instead of supporting...”

  “You were absolutely right!” Itil screamed. “All your ideas, your concerns... They have been confirmed! It’s my fault, only my fault. I believed their poison, showing carelessness! Betrayed you!”

  Paikan hesitated. He sat, his surprised eyes shifting from brother to sister, pondering something. Then he stood, slapping his hands loudly on his armored knees.

  “Everyone’s trying to take my fun away today,” he said. “But disappointment has its charm. Itil, I rejected your deal. Today I’ll offer you another. Open the bastion, and I promise not to hunt you for a year.”

  “Accepted,” Itil blurted out without hesitation.

  A chance! Here it is—a chance! They can survive.

  “People are very peculiar. We are so full of contradictions. Take you, for example,” Paikan chuckled. He gestured at Merhzlad. “You’re trying to convince yourself that you’re acting in his interests, putting his well-being above all else.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Itil,” Merhzlad croaked.

  “But his ticket to recovery lies in the successful return of the Oathtakers,” Paikan continued. “You just agreed to sell them to us, despite possessing weapons. Though the chances of such an outcome are incredibly slim, the sole path to your brother’s survival lies through my death. Instead, you willingly danced to my tune, saving what was most precious to you.” A knowing smile played across his face. “Your hide.”

  Itil froze, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the rifle’s grip. It was true, wasn’t it? She had a choice, and she chose selfishly again, favoring herself over...

  “Itil!” Merhzlad raised his voice. “Remember your promise! Together! I accept your offer too. As long as we live, we have options.” He stared at Paikan. “Tell me, how are you lying to yourself?”

  “Don’t tempt fate, Merhzlad,” advised Paikan. “Everything has its limits, my mercy included.”

  “Is this realization tormenting you? Limits? You can’t accept...”

  “We agree,” Itil said quickly, bowing to Paikan.

  His hand didn’t fall on her neck.

  ****

  Itil stepped out onto the cliff face for the second time, watching the thundering infernal abomination of Paikan, witnessing firsthand the full force of his reach. Thousands of combat units of all sizes trailed after their leader, ready to crush the fugitives. Their incredible numbers poured into the settlement, reducing most of the houses to rubble. She wished the crusaders success, but deep down she knew the futility of such a wish. Paikan remained supreme, aware of everything happening in the region, and his promise meant an execution, postponed for a year.

  They couldn’t hide forever.

  Paikan took the terminal from her, depriving her of her last chance for daring resistance. In truth, Itil herself didn’t know if she would have had the courage to close the gate on the mechanical behemoth. She hoped so.

  Another lie to ease her conscience.

  After standing for about ten minutes after the tail of her pursuers had departed, Itil trudged back, her head bowed. She kicked a pebble, and it rolled toward the palace entrance, striking the prone body of a guard.

  No!

  Fright gave her unprecedented speed. She raced to her brother’s room, horrified at what she might find there. Paikan hadn’t lied; he’d never lied before... Kicking open the door, she flew inside and halted in confusion.

  A mutant sat on the chair next to Merhzlad. Vaguely resembling a woman thanks to small breasts, the tall creature was covered in thick fur from head to toe. Her elongated muzzle with gleaming white fangs gave her a mongrel appearance. Beneath the black jumpsuit, which left paws and neck exposed, his muscles rippled. His tall ears twitched, catching Itil’s breath, and glittering amber eyes blinked.

  “Hello!” The mutant waved her paw. “Sorry I sent your boys off to dreamland. Their honor is unharmed; they’ll recover soon. I just didn’t want any interruptions to our friendly conversation. Your brother and I were getting chatty... By the way, are you aware of his condition?”

  “Can hazard a guess,” Itil confirmed.

  Merhzlad raised his thumb, calming the pounding blood in her temples a little. There was no danger. So far.

  “So, we had a girl who got lost here, so we went on an excursion to this lovely land. Bald, plump, hard to miss. She ended up on the crusader cruiser. Merhzlad—a charming fellow, very flattered to meet him—told me they passed by here recently?” The mutant rubbed her paws, sniffed the air, and rolled her eyes.

  “Who’s we?” Itil asked.

  A tile broke behind her, then the doorframe collapsed, and sweat broke out on Itil’s face from the rising temperature of the room. Merhzlad sat up on the pillow, taking a swig from the flask the mutant helpfully offered him. The largest and longest talons she had ever seen in her life landed on Itil’s shoulders, pinning her in place.

  They resembled swords carved from burnt wood, coated in a rough crust. A palpable warmth emanated from these deadly instruments, conjoining with the furnace waiting behind her. An index finger rose, lightly tapping Itil on the shoulder, and she nearly fell from the force of the touch.

  “Where is my little baby girl, thief?” the unknown one rumbled with the crunch of burning branches, exhaling a stream of hot air that brought a flush to Itil’s ear.

  She remembered Paikan’s words about the weapons. She couldn’t stop him, but perhaps fate had gifted her with a dagger capable of reducing the tyrant to ashes.

  No wasting time on questions, Itil readily told everything, requesting support for her allies.