《MEAT》


 The Queen of Nothing 1.

    Desherik was a home. His daughters spawned off of his broad shoulders. They grew and grew high into the city. Then his daughters had daughters, larger still. Eventually, he died, gasping for breath, crushed beneath the weight of generations, scratching for answers. Why?


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    CHAPTER 1: THE QUEEN OF NOTHING


    The ribs of the great hall quaked. Its ceiling ¡ª a muscular diaphragm ¡ª shivered in its death throes. The only light came from the hot, equatorial sun, still low in the dawn. It invaded through a wet puncture high on the wall. The buzzing of a patcher, an insectile creature made up of compound eyes and thorny proboscis, filled the air. Its dumb instincts had it spit up concrete and metallic gel around the wide wound, emptying its stomachs in a failed attempt to seal it before taking off into flight once again.


    The horns of the palace beyond groaned low in agony, fleshy towers and bony parapets shuddering against the bronze sky.


    Inside, only one vat still lived. Its flesh rippled and distended, bulging with amniotic fluid and new life. The progeny within was nearly ready. Yet it was almost too late.


    A plug burst. Thick waters sluiced out, sloshing over the filthy, chitin-shelled floor, foaming at the edges as it picked up dust and turbulence. Lips split apart. Out fell a body, all tangled limbs and confusion. Her arms clutched at her own naked form. Her mouth opened wide to splutter and cry.


    ¡°Bee,¡± a dry, rasping voice called out in a strange language, yet the child recognised the words somehow. ¡°Come here. Come to me. Please.¡±


    The newborn¡¯s cry turned from surprise to panic. She did not know how long she had laid there, wailing. The hot air dried her over time, leaving her smooth skin and plates sticky whilst her hair congealed over her eyes and lips.


    ¡°Bee, please. Please listen. You have to come to me.¡±


    Bee tamed a limb, reaching up to wipe slick hair back over her shoulder. Then, she managed to calm her breathing and open her eyes, looking around her dying place of birth for the first time. In a dark corner, amidst rotting machinery, was a fallen figure. But, no. The figure was the rotting machinery.


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    The child couldn¡¯t stand. Her long legs were clumsy, and her arms weren¡¯t wired correctly. She slipped off her elbows and collapsed back to the harsh ground.


    Mistaking a pair of glassy wings for more arms, she tried to pull them around her body, and their newly shed biomechanical engines churned with a steely rattle before failing. It was hard to see, to peel back the lids that covered her sensitive eyes. The intensity of the light made her body protest. It was too much, too soon, and it hurt.


    ¡°Yes. Come here, my sweet. You can do it. Come here.¡±


    Bee tried, again mistaking her arms for legs, her wings scratching against the floor. Stopping, she realised that wasn¡¯t right. She found her hands, looking down at her flexing fingers.


    Unable to support her own weight, the child started to drag herself. Her exoskeletal plates slid over the cool chitin of the floor. At first, the spilt water made it easy. But as she moved metre after metre across the ground, it became dirty and harsh and abrasive, scratching at her skin where it was exposed.


    ¡°Good. Good. Yes. You¡¯re doing so well. Come here, Bee.¡±


    Crossing into the dark, struggling closer, Bee could finally see who was speaking. A fallen woman ¡ª her mother ¡ª stitched into a network of arterial hoses and slick nerve wires, trailing out of her body to connect her to the dying building. Her near-skeletal hand reached out, trembling. Bee was close enough now that her mother could run a hand over her cheek.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± Bee slurred, somehow finding words, her tongue thick, her throat tight.


    Mother hushed her, taking Bee in her arms and pulling her close.


    ¡°Save your voice,¡± Mother rasped. Her body was cool to the touch. It made Bee shiver. ¡°I need you to do something. Can you hear me?¡±


    Bee swallowed a lump in her throat, retracting her lolling tongue back into her mouth and nodding.


    ¡°Good. Oh, look at you. You¡¯re so small. So almost¡­¡± Tenderly, Bee¡¯s mother patted her down and checked her over. It was reassuring in a way. The child looked around, and they were definitely alone. The walls shuddered again, fleshy and organic.


    ¡°Bee, my sweet. I need you to get up. You have to get water.¡±


    The dying mother turned Bee¡¯s head with a gentle hand, meeting the child¡¯s confused eyes with the empty sockets in her own skull. The giver of life took a hoarse breath before she continued, voice working its way from between lipless jaws and silvered teeth.


    ¡°I need you to be strong and do exactly what I say. Can you do that for me, Bee?¡±


    The vat-born child nodded again, this time with greater apprehension. Her heart was thudding in her belly, filling her with giddy anxiety, but she had to try.

 The Queen of Nothing 2.

    Bee had been told she was safe for as long as she could feel the city¡¯s own heartbeat under her bare feet. The slow, slow thumping cadence reassured her even as the sky grew dark, the blue space overhead with its white-hot spark fading through orange and red, violet to black.


    Tattered scraps hung high above, draped between vast chrome arches that reminded the child of her mother¡¯s teeth. Those leathery rags were a source of light now. Caught in the wind, they danced as they cast a dull sort of bioluminescence from nodules that patterned their torn surfaces.


    The child made her way back to the ditch, between starving buildings and towers that seemed to wilt further and further with each passing hour. Her progress was slow. She seemed to weigh too much for her slender legs to carry her, ankles hurting even when she stood still to catch her breath. To compensate, Bee propped herself up with her fragile wings, which bent and scratched against the harsh floor. The steel bowl that she held so close seemed a burden too much to bear, even as empty as it was.


    Bee fell to her knees at the bank, gasping as her smooth palms and knees found the calloused ground. She let herself slide down, bowl tumbling with her until she reached the tear she had made following her mother¡¯s instruction. It slowly oozed warm water tapped from some damaged lymphatic gland near the surface. So thirsty, despite this being her third journey for water today, first she pressed her face to the wound and sucked from it. Then, swallowing her fill, the child sat back against the city¡¯s flesh and let the wound drain into her bowl.


    The air grew chill, but the ground was warm enough to keep her comfortable. She repaid that by using a nail to pick at the slope, scratching at it until she could peel back more and more skin. Doing so exposed a raw, pink surface, and she continued until it spilt more thick red waters. Before long, Bee was pulling long ropes of skin and meat from the ground, bundling them up and throwing them aside.


    Then fear filled the air. It was a dizzy, sharp pheromone scent. The child shot to her feet, scrambling faster than she ever had. Scanning the dark, she saw that she was not alone. A freak was crouching in the night, sneezing his chemical messengers in an attempt to communicate.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a hound,¡± Bee said to the thing in the shadows. Then, swallowing back her lolling tongue again, she added, ¡°I won¡¯t hurt you.¡±


    He beetled out of the dark, black hide shimmering in the blue hues cast down from the biolights above. Bee could see that he had no mouth to speak of - at least nothing like hers - so she offered him her hand. The freak was hesitant in his approach, yet he took her hand, and they allowed each other close. She guided his fingers to the sensitive backs of her knees, for his squat form found that the easiest to reach, while he brought her hands to his shoulders. Bee found herself tapping away, sharing a silent language of touch and scent that she knew but didn¡¯t know how she knew.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± She asked without sound.


    ¡°I¡¯m Heych,¡± he answered with a chitinous touch, tickling her skin with the thick hairs on its tarsus.


    ¡°I¡¯m Bee,¡± she said, trying not to squirm. The freak seemed to be calming down. At least he had stopped belching out his fear as they shared voiceless words.


    ¡°You¡¯re young. Were you just shed?¡± Heych asked, confused. That shouldn¡¯t have been possible.


    ¡°No. Mother made me.¡±


    ¡°The¡ª The Vat-Mother made you?¡± His nervous twitch returned, a sour note hanging in the air.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Bee said. The freak seemed lost for words. Finally, unable to stand the silence and the silence, Bee asked, ¡°Who made you? Where did you come from?¡±


    ¡°I was shed a long time ago. I lived here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve not seen anyone else here.¡±


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    ¡°Everyone else is gone. They left when the city stopped walking. Or they died. I thought the Vat-Mother had died.¡±


    The freak seemed disappointed that her mother might still live. That hurt, but looking away, Bee tried not to let it show.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know the city could walk,¡± Bee said.


    ¡°It can¡¯t, not anymore,¡± Heych explained, his movements suddenly feverish, desperate. ¡°You should leave too. I¡¯m leaving soon. I need to get enough food and water first ¡ª enough to make the crossing.¡±


    ¡°Where are you crossing to?¡±


    ¡°Another city. You look¡ª¡± He began but didn¡¯t finish, leaning to see her more clearly in the dark. Bee let him. After all, she had done the same. He just looked so different to her and her mother.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s dark. You should hide. Will you be here tomorrow, Bee?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I have to keep getting food and water too.¡±


    Heych released her, nodding its body. He quickly scuttled off.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you tomorrow then!¡± Bee called after him, unsure if he could hear her.


    The child was alone in the dark again. Looking around, she needed a moment to collect herself after the strange encounter before returning to the ditch. With unsteady legs and a weak grip, she first gathered up the ropes of meat in her arms, the water coating it, congealing and darkening as it dried. Then, carefully, she balanced the overflowing bowl on top of the flesh before clambering from the ditch and heading back, trying her best not to spill.


    At the hall, the entranceway had fallen unresponsive. Even the trembling of the walls had stilled. The tremendous muscles of the hall had begun to peel from their tall ribs, and its chitinous plates had cracked apart with them. After looking for another way inside, Bee ducked through into one of these narrow cracks.


    No sooner had she entered than the offspring started chirping. The little animals, some maggoty and some legged, had emerged from the vat only a short while after she had. They couldn¡¯t speak. As far as Bee could see, they couldn¡¯t do much for themselves at all. Mother had told her that no one would blame her if she had to eat them. It was okay. It was how things could be, sometimes. But never had mother told her to do it, and she hadn¡¯t. How could someone eat their little sisters? They crawled and lopped up to her. Bee cooed them a little hello before stepping over them and crossing the room to Mother.


    Mother hadn¡¯t eaten a thing. She had carefully explained to Bee that she didn¡¯t have the necessary organs for that, not anymore. Still, Bee had managed to get her to sup a little water. They had worked together for many hours with metal tools, Mother instructing and Bee carefully following. It was an amputation, piece by piece, separating the woman from the wall.


    Now Bee looked over her gasping parent, laying there against a pile of steel machinery and dead vat, having only made it metres from where she had once been intertwined with the rotting structure. Yet they had bought her a little time.


    ¡°Are you okay, my sweet?¡±


    Bee nodded, awkwardly stepping over, careful not to get any of her dozen or so siblings underfoot. With one arm, she dropped the meat, to which the others squealed in delight and began to nibble and chew, crawling over each other to get just a bit of biomass for themselves. To her mother, she offered the bowl of water.


    ¡°No. No, that¡¯s for you, Bee,¡± Mother gasped. Her breathing had gotten worse. Her head hung back against the steely bank, neck limp.


    ¡°You have to have something,¡± Bee argued, eyes flooding, but she knew whatever was happening to this place was taking her mother with it. Putting down the bowl, it too was left to her little sisters, who greedily sucked and splashed at the gift, nearly tipping it over and spilling its contents in their dumb hunger.


    ¡°I need you to take care of yourself. Do it for me,¡± the Vat-Mother said.


    ¡°I will.¡± A heartbeat rippled up beneath their feet, then another and another, before Bee asked, ¡°What do I even do now?¡±


    ¡°Come here.¡±


    She did, curling into her mother¡¯s embrace again.


    ¡°Everything¡¯s dying. It¡¯s not fair,¡± Bee cried out, tears stinging her eyes.


    ¡°I know. I need you to remember how important you are. Never let anyone hurt you, Bee. You¡¯ll need to leave this place. I won¡¯t be able to go with you.¡±


    ¡°Please!¡± Bee begged, choking on the pain inside her chest, all of her arms clinging desperately to the cold body of her mother.


    ¡°I know,¡± the Vat-Mother whispered, holding her child close and stroking her hair. Tears touched her own empty sockets in turn as she said, ¡°I know¡­¡±

 The Queen of Nothing 3.

    The following night, Bee snuck out to meet Heych in the shadow of a dead tower. This time, he carried a box that he could plug his insectile forelimb into, and it spoke for him with a crackling artificial voice. This tower ¡ª Ak¡¯aruk, Bearer of the Mirror-Lens, Heych had explained ¡ª was once a great observatory. He was an astronomer, and Heych was one of his disciples. That meant that they watched the stars, which struck Bee as a very strange thing to do, at first. Sestchek was once a city of philosophy and learning, or so he said.


    Heych had let her peek inside the corpse. It was filled with gleaming metal machines with lifeless black screens. It was different to the city as she had come to know it, but he did not give her the chance to stay and look around. Instead, Heych asked Bee to help him carry a portable telescope up to the rooftops. She was weak, that much she knew as she wobbled with it in her arms, but her body seemed much better suited for carrying the scope and its tripod mount up the countless steps than Heych¡¯s squat form. He was struggling enough with his voice box, but they had to hurry because the starburst wouldn¡¯t wait for them.


    They took a route through an adjacent building. As they walked, Heych explained that this open-air forum was where teachers visited from across the world to debate their lessons below the stars. It was empty now, and only their steps stirred the misty air.


    Upon the wall, Bee recognised a banner of red and gold from her mother¡¯s hall, hanging most prominently alongside a white-on-black standard, with smaller flags of all motley colours and ragged shapes around them. The display caught Bee¡¯s eye, but Heych hurried her along. He insisted they had no time to waste, though Bee suspected he didn¡¯t like what she saw.


    They passed through wide corridors, ones that were supported by skeletonised braces, grown in place to shape a living building to fit this purpose. Up shelled steps they circled, spiralling towers with windows that showed the city as it was, the sheathe of an endless slug in its death-throes. In the distance, it still thrashed, a rolling horizon. Lights still shone in those far reaches, but not here. Now, in this section of the city, there was only the dim glow of the night sky, as even the biolights had choked out.


    Finally, they emerged onto a wide balcony, high over the rest of the city. The moon hung low in the sky above them, without obstruction now. It made Bee¡¯s heart race. Her chest tightened as it loomed there, glowing sanguine and hot. She closed her eyes and felt heat radiate from the celestial body, warming her face even as the cool wind swept through the night.


    ¡°Did you tell the Vat-Mother you¡¯re here?¡± Heych asked through the box.


    ¡°No. I didn¡¯t," Bee quietly admitted.


    ¡°That¡¯s for the best.¡±


    Bee opened her eyes and considered the freak. Having set down the telescope for him, he was positioning its tripod legs into a wide stance and turning its length towards the dark sky. Taking a set of wires, he plugged them into his voice box and then into a motor on the telescope¡¯s stand. It began silently rotating, turning itself according to some minute and inscrutable instruction programmed into the metal device.


    Turning away again, looking up into the expanse above with her own eyes, she saw flashes of light streaking across the heavens. Shooting stars dazzled her, burning bright, screaming out in defiance of their short lives that lasted only a fraction of an instant.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Bee asked.


    ¡°Star metal,¡± Heych explained as he worked. ¡°They are gifts that fall from the heavens, delivered to the desert, for us.¡±


    ¡°For us?¡±


    ¡°Yes ¡ª ours to reclaim, as we always have.¡±


    ¡°So who is sending them?¡±


    ¡°The stars themselves, or so I think. Though it¡¯s often debated.¡±


    Bee frowned as she considered the meteor shower. Hundreds ¡ª maybe even thousands ¡ª of the shooting stars flashed bright arcs across the night sky. It was eerily silent but for the whisper of the wind against her ears. She blinked away an uneasy feeling and considered the burning moon, which sparkled as she watched.


    ¡°Why is the moon like that?¡±


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    Heych looked up from working the device, antenna twitching, compound eyes shimmering. His body tipped as he followed Bee¡¯s gaze toward that evil entity above.


    ¡°Like the desert, it¡¯s struck with star metal. But without the blanket of the sky protecting it, the metal hits it hot and explodes.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why it looks like that?¡±


    ¡°It is. Yes.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s pretty.¡±


    ¡°The night sky is beautiful,¡± Heych said through his voice box. ¡°That¡¯s why I wanted you to see this. Ak¡¯aruk¡¯s devices, delivered to him from those on high, allowed him to prophesise the eruption of the stars, using invisible waves that travel space and time. Before ruin came to Sestchek, this was his last prediction. Now he¡¯s dead, I don¡¯t know when we will ever be able to see anything like this again.¡±


    Bee stepped close to him. She could see the sadness in his body language, even though the crackling voice box didn¡¯t convey it properly.


    ¡°Okay. I¡¯m here.¡±


    Heych had turned up a hinged screen from his voice box, showing the pixillated image of a star trembling only slightly from atmospheric ripples. He checked it and rechecked it before raising one of his hairy insectoid feet to gesture to the eyecap of the telescope.


    ¡°See for yourself.¡±


    So Bee did, leaning forward and peering through the lens. When she positioned her eye just right, the image was crystal clear. A twinkling star alight, soft contrasting shades of yellow and blue, infinitely distant and delicate, picked out in the centre of a circular field for her to see. It was like a little secret, teased out of the vast expanse of the sky, uncovered just for her.


    ¡°Oh wow,¡± Bee murmured, taking in the sight.


    ¡°Here it comes.¡±


    The star blossomed outwards like an iridescent flower, unfolding again and again. Its soft edges swirled around, each petal a halo surrounding darkness. Bee was speechless as she watched eight loops of light collapse into two, casting out a shimmering aura of greens and reds, then leaving behind a black region ringed twice over with a deep orange glow. It looked so tiny and whisper-thin.


    ¡°What happened here?¡± Bee asked. The suddenness of the question surprised even her. ¡°I mean, to the city ¡ª to Sestchek.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    The electronic voice paused. Bee looked from the eyepiece to Heych, who stared transfixed on the computer screen, his compound eyes shimmering.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡±


    ¡°There was suddenly fighting. The Axiamati turned on the Xenozygote. Sestchek was called disloyal.¡±


    ¡°What does that even mean?¡±


    He looked at her.


    ¡°The Wire-Witch returned to Sestchek and destroyed it. They say she made it, and she came back to end it. Just like that. I don¡¯t even know why.¡±


    ¡°The Wire-Witch.¡±


    Heych mistook that for a question.


    ¡°A holy half-human. They say she¡¯s a Goddess. She¡¯s a sister of the Vat-Mothers,¡± he explained.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to meet her tomorrow ¡ª the Wire-Witch.¡±


    Shocked, Heych turned to Bee. They stared at each other. Perhaps he saw her in a different light, now, here, beneath the burning moon. After a while, Bee brushed her dark hair back and looked at the sky again with her own eyes. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn¡¯t see that distant flare, that unfathomable explosion across the gulf of remote space.


    ¡°Is that what they were called?¡± Bee asked. ¡°The dead men dressed in red, I mean, in my mother¡¯s home.¡±


    "The Xenozygote cult."


    ¡°The way you look at me ¡ª were they that bad?¡±


    Bee felt her lip tremble. It wasn¡¯t her fault. Why did it feel like it was?


    ¡°They didn¡¯t think anyone deserved to live, not unless they¡¯d been remade in the Vat-Mother¡¯s urns. They were bullies. They were tyrants.¡±


    ¡°And their fighting hurt that many people?¡±


    ¡°It did.¡±


    Squeezing her hands into tight fists, Bee found herself holding her breath. She was so angry. She was shaking as she looked out over the dying city. It wasn¡¯t Heych¡¯s fault, though. He was a victim in this, just like everyone else. She turned away and swallowed it down, blinking away tears of frustration, annoyed at herself that she couldn¡¯t stop them.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to go home.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± The voice box crackled. ¡°Good luck, Bee. If I don¡¯t see you again, I hope you find Paradise.¡±


    With that, she turned back and managed to give him a smile despite the hurt.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±

 The Queen of Nothing 4.

    Again and again, over these bleak few days, the hot sun carved a path through the Vat-Mother¡¯s chamber. Invading through the palace¡¯s wounds, it rippled wind through the dying hall. Everywhere that the light of the wicked day star touched, it burnt, leaving a trail of scoured flesh in its wake. The meat inside here was not inured to the evil sun, and now that it was dead, it couldn¡¯t recover from the damage. Wisps of white smoke rose in delicate plumes as hair shrivelled and shell blackened.


    Through it all, Bee tried to find a sense of security. At Mother¡¯s instruction, the child had run, gathering scraps from still-twitching rooms and groaning passages. She built a nest in the dim between two glass urns of murky fluid, draping the fabrics to cast a protective shade all around Mother. Woven cloth ¡ª once lustred scarlet and gold, now damp with grease and rot ¡ª was bundled alongside pillows of skin and soft fleshy tags easily torn from the floors and lower walls of the palace. It was all used to build some semblance of a safe space.


    The offspring played just beyond that little sanctuary, oblivious to the ruin around them. They played amidst the dead.


    Only once Bee crept home from that secret night with Heych, did she confront that which had been before her this entire time. The reality of a dying city ¡ª its people slaughtered. In a terrible way, they had become a part of the background. She had pushed them into the back of her mind. She saw them, but she didn¡¯t see them. Yet there they were. Their bodies piled high. They filled the streets. They choked the corridors. They lined the alleyways and cowared in every alcove and hidden corner. Each one a different shape, first distorted through genetic discord and then broken through murder; only when Bee really looked did she see how alone they truly were.


    That was when Bee stood there as the day broke in one of the palace¡¯s upper levels. She looked down at the body of a man, a xenozygote zealot, draped in red and gold cloth ¡ª colours Bee now associated with her mother. In his hands, a brass rod, a tool of violence, was still embedded in the skull of a woman he had cornered and bludgeoned to death. He had suffered the same fate, a crooked body slumped forward. The back of his head had blossomed outwards, some weapon having burst it with a terrible blast. The scene told a tale of chaos, infighting, and betrayal. Bee, holding her breath, could only imagine the terror of their final moments. How could their lives have ended here like this? Why had their lives ended like this?


    Swallowing a lump in her throat, Bee tugged at the brass rod. Their corpses were stiff and dry. They had been mummified by the heat and a crawling metallic liquid that occasionally slithered out of their bodies, attempting to repose them ¡ª restore them ¡ª despite lacking life.


    The brass rod came free with a crack. It was heavy and unwieldy. Bee considered it with a grimace, her wings spasming out of some involuntary urge to flee. The shaft was etched with ornate markings and decorative metal filigree that hinted at some purpose or reason beyond this final act. She realised she was holding her breath and slowly inhaled through the siphons on her back.


    ¡°Why is everyone dead?¡± Bee asked her mother, later. She stood there, parting the curtains that sheltered her dying creator.


    ¡°Bee ¡ª oh my sweet Bee,¡± the Vat-Mother whispered, collapsed where she had been laid down. ¡°Come here.¡±


    Bee crouched inside, into the shade, and let the draped cloth hide them away again.


    ¡°Listen to me, Bee,¡± Mother said, trembling. Then, with the most gentle touches, she traced a skeletal hand over the child¡¯s cheek, wiping away a tear in the dark. Daylight still breached through swirling bio gel within the massive glass vessels they sheltered between. Their only illumination let Bee make out the silvered edges of Mother¡¯s teeth and skull as she said, ¡°I love you. I am the only one who will ever love you. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°No. I don¡¯t understand any of this,¡± Bee choked, strangling back a whine. ¡°There¡¯s a clock ticking in my head. I have someone else¡¯s name. I know these words, and I don¡¯t even know why. Why am I like this? Why did everyone have to die?¡±


    Sitting at the Vat-Mother¡¯s side and trying to control herself, Bee buried her eyes against her knees to hide her tears. Her hands tore at her hair, the sharp cranial spines amongst the dark tresses standing on end.


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    ¡°You must avenge us,¡± Mother said in a rasping voice that was little more than the edge of her breathing. ¡°My sisters did this... All of this. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°But why? Why would they do this?¡± Bee looked up to her mother and shouted. ¡°It¡¯s not fair! It¡¯s not!¡±


    ¡°Hush, my sweet. Hush. Listen to me.¡±


    ¡°Y-yes. I mean¡ª Yes.¡± Bee said as the Vat-Mother raised her hand. At her gentle urging, she lay against her mother¡¯s legs. Wrapping her arms around them, she settled down.


    ¡°Long ago, we were gifted an abundance of life,¡± the dying mother explained. ¡°Our creators bestowed it upon us in their final moments, shaping us from nothing more than mindless matter. This gift, in turn, became a curse. Unable to control it, we have grown fecund and all-consuming.¡±


    The Vat-Mother paused, looking beyond their confines towards some unseen distance, before continuing.


    ¡°It was once ¡ª so long ago ¡ª the hope that we may return that gift, restore life to our creators, and complete our most ancient purpose.¡±


    Bee lifted her head, looking up at her mother. With tremendous effort, the fallen one touched her child¡¯s head, comforting her. Bee released a gasping sigh from the flutes upon her back, closing her eyes. There, they dwelled in the ghostly and pale backlight of the bio gel. Mother was cool to the touch despite the wicked heat of the day-star from which they had escaped. Her cold skin made Bee shiver.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Bee eventually asked.


    ¡°The world is a complicated place. There is so much suffering, so much injustice. But, my sisters, even I ¡ª we realised that we could protect ourselves from that.¡±


    Coughing weakly, Mother¡¯s head tipped to one side. Then, groaning with the ghost of a laugh, she continued.


    ¡°We made ourselves rulers above all else. We destroyed our rivals. We invented games of title and court. We abused technology and our gifts to keep the world under our dominion. For a thousand years, we¡ª¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± Bee said softly.


    ¡°We hurt people, Bee. Oh, we hurt so many people. Our ways brought war and destruction. It all started to come crumbling down. When I realised we could not squander our gifts anymore, it was too late. My sisters would not hear of it, even the ones who are... Me.¡±


    ¡°What happened then?¡± The child dared to ask, tension rising in her.


    ¡°My sisters and I have sought the... Ability... To recreate our progenitors, whole. For the most part, we have succeeded. However, a few pieces eluded us for such a long, long time.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Bee concentrated, listening intently.


    ¡°My sisters and I believed that, if we instead made ourselves into the form of our progenitors, we could do great things ¡ª return to the stars on the chariots of our ancestors, be free of this awful, awful world. But...¡±


    ¡°But?¡±


    ¡°Such a thing was borne of ignorance. Then, finally, the cities themselves spoke to me. Now I understand ¡ª to find the Crucible and recreate our forebearers is the only hope for this world and everyone on it.¡±


    ¡°So we have to find these lost pieces and take them there?¡±


    ¡°Oh, Bee, you are a wonder. What I would have given to have seen you grow and stand at our side. Yes. Perhaps you will, one day, reassemble all of the lost pieces of Humanity and take them to the Crucible. First, though, you must do something for me.¡±


    ¡°Anything!¡± Bee blurted out, realising that she meant it.


    ¡°The Wire-Witch,¡± Mother said, pausing, her dry tongue tutting in her mouth. Then, as she felt the child¡¯s grip tighten around her leg, she said, ¡°You must be careful. She betrayed us, yet she did so out of fear, fear for herself, and not contempt, I think.¡±


    ¡°What do I do when I¡¯m there?¡±


    ¡°She will be able to help you send a message ¡ª a message to the bone monks in the gardens of the Crawling City¡¯s skulls. Let them see who you are. Yes. They will covet you. Oh, you are so beautiful, Bee...¡±


    Bee nodded quickly, black eyes transfixed upon her mother, hanging off every word. Yet the fallen Goddess was greatly wearied from speaking, rasping out only a few more words.


    ¡°Let them see you. Tell them that you will bring justice. Let the world know that even the elders can fall. Tell them¡ª tell them you will avenge us. Make things right, for me, Bee. Make things right.¡±

 The Queen of Nothing 5.

    The reinforced metal door stood defiant against the flesh of the dying city. Bee sat in the middle of the roadway, tiny before its immense size, as she tried translating the many enigmatic designs and eldritch devices that littered the bunker¡¯s surface.


    Travelling across this disparate section of the great slug¡¯s city sheathe had taken the entire day. Despite this, she had been instructed not to rush this process. She was told what to expect. The child had come with water flasks, at least enough for a few more days, and carried them on a strap over her shoulder. During her journey, when Bee stood right on the apex of the curving city streets, where the hills summited the curves of Sestchek, she could see a sparkling desert that stretched beyond. It called to her, but now was not the time ¡ª no, not yet.


    Now, the sun was creeping low towards the horizon, and those dazzling shades of bronze overtook the sky once more. The beating sun had made the soft skin on her shoulders and face ¡ª where it wasn¡¯t silvered ¡ª turn pink and raw. She raised an arm, shielding her eyes from the glare with her armoured hand. The shade helped her see.


    There it was, lost in the dizzying, straight lines of yellow and black. The box. It looked like what Bee had been told about. She pushed herself up onto her two legs again. As she walked, they were getting stronger, or at least less prone to hurting.


    The child had to reach up on the very tips of her toes to get a good hold of the box¡¯s handle. Then, with a gasp and a pull, she snapped it aside, hinging it open like a jaw. Inside, metal was woven together in a synthetic mesh. A flashing red light distracted her wide eyes for longer than it should have. Then she found the button she had been told about and thumbed it down as hard as she could until it clicked.


    The box hissed at her.


    ¡°I¡¯m here to see the Wire-Witch!¡± She shouted back louder, determined not to let it think it could get away with biting her hand off. She needed all of her hands.


    The ground shook, thumping harder than any heartbeat Bee had ever felt underfoot. The steel of the gateway screamed in pain, startling her. Bee took a quick step back, making way as it tore open. Strings of meat that had grown between the metal surfaces were stripped apart, bleeding profusely from the trauma of the opening.


    She looked into the armoured cave. First, there was darkness. Then, it was filled with an unnatural orange glow that reminded her of the setting sun. However, this light ticked and flickered in a way that disoriented her. Cold air rolled out to meet her. It caught in her throat and stung her nose.


    Bee had no choice. She had to step inside. It was why she came so far.


    Feeling her stomach twist into nervous knots, Bee lowered herself back down and crawled inside, her wings tucked tightly together. She saw a host here to meet her ¡ª a dozen freaks standing at attention, staring at her. Yet they didn¡¯t move, not even as the child dared to creep closer. Only then did she realise their impossibly symmetrical forms had no meat. Their silverline flesh was lifeless. Once she crossed the threshold, the gateway groaned and ponderously resealed itself behind her.


    The walls buzzed and hissed, then called to Bee in her mother¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Come in. I won¡¯t bite.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Bee said lamely. ¡°I mean¡ª I know.¡±


    The walls didn¡¯t answer back. Bee stepped further into the chamber, then the next and the next. Squared off, doorways snapped open, and she was presented with only one path forward. This place had sharp angled rooms and unnatural narrow corridors. Absent were the pulsing gullets that connected cavities in the city proper. No great organs were growing in the open spaces. The walls and the ceilings were ribless and stripped of skin. That cold air seemed to have infected the nature of the place. It was sterilised of life, nauseating Bee with how removed it was from the rest of the city.


    After dizzying sharp turns, just when Bee lost hope of being able to find her way back, she stepped into a quiet chamber. Opposite, the entire wall was made of panels, alight with ever-changing, scrolling, transforming alien symbols. The array snatched her eyes away with its bright lights and countless electric colours. It took too long for Bee to even notice her mother.


    Bee froze in the doorway. No. It wasn¡¯t her mother, sitting in a chair at a grand table in the centre of the room. With her chromed teeth and distinct jaw, the eyeless skull looked the same. Yet, the flesh of her body was plump, lacking the skeletal silhouette that her real mother acquired from ridding herself of internal organs. A bone crown swept around the dome of this woman¡¯s head, and thick wires spilt down from it and around her shoulders. What hooked this woman into this place of plastic and metal was not fleshy and grown but instead consisted of hardened, cabled mechanical apparatus. The table she sat at looked old. It was something else, not bone but dark, stained, and still soft at the edges ¡ª still organic.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name, dear?¡± That figure asked.


    ¡°Bee,¡± she answered, swallowing a lump in her throat. Then, suddenly conscious of her hanging tongue, she retracted it back into her mouth.


    ¡°That¡¯s a nice name,¡± she said. ¡°But what is your real name, Bee?¡±


    Bee¡¯s eyelids fluttered, gaze fixated on those chromed teeth.


    ¡°SIM_SHALA_SAMP 2-32-B.¡±


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    The words rolled from her mouth unbidden, retrieved from some corner of her mind that she tried her best not to think about.


    ¡°And what time is it, Bee?¡± The figure softly asked. That glimmering skull was always smiling. It was so much like Mother. ¡°What time has the clock now reached?¡±


    ¡°31,541,360,515,488 seconds PDT,¡± Bee answered at length, somehow catching that ephemeral moment, that exact second, knowing that it had passed the instant it left her lips.


    ¡°So she did speak to Sestchek,¡± the figure said quietly to herself.


    Bee came back to her senses with a start. She clutched the back of one of the seats for balance, disoriented.


    ¡°Are you the Wire-Witch?¡± Bee asked with a gasp. It was a stupid question.


    ¡°I am,¡± the Wire-Witch confirmed. ¡°Come sit down, Bee.¡±


    Bee tried. She had never used a chair before. It was so much taller for the child than for the witch. She had to get up off of the floor, standing again. Dragging it back, Bee scuffed the chair¡¯s wood against the floor¡¯s wood before hopping onto it, first with her feet before settling down. The Wire-Witch watched her with a vested interest, back straight, posture perfect, whilst Bee leaned forward with her hands and elbows on the table.


    Seeing that lipless, eyeless visage on someone other than her mother was so strange for Bee. She knew from Heych and from the countless bodies of the dead that filled the city that no-one looked quite like them.


    ¡°Can you help me with something?¡± Bee asked after the bizarre sitting-down ritual was completed.


    ¡°That depends on what it is, Bee,¡± the Wire-Witch said. Amusement played in her voice. Bee felt out of her depth. She was out of her depth.


    ¡°I need to send a message to the bone monks in the Crawling City.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s very specific. Did your mother tell you to do that?¡±


    The vat-born gave an unsure nod before throwing aside her doubt. She looked at the Wire-Witch in her empty eye sockets and explained.


    ¡°I have something to tell them.¡±


    ¡°How is Eye?¡± The Wire-Witch asked, quickly changing the subject. Then, when Bee didn¡¯t seem to understand, the witch elaborated.


    ¡°That¡¯s your mother¡¯s base name.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll be dead by the time I go back,¡± Bee said quietly but firmly.


    The frankness of the answer made the Wire-Witch pause, broken when she bowed her head.


    ¡°Yes. Yes, I imagine she will be. She gave herself to this city.¡±


    ¡°Why do you look like her?¡± Bee couldn¡¯t help but ask after their gazes met again.


    ¡°We are sisters, or she is a clone of my mother. It depends on how you look at it. My base name is Djay. Do you know what a sister is?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Bee said, nodding. ¡°I have sisters.¡±


    ¡°Do you?¡± The witch laughed. ¡°Do they look like you?¡±


    Bee shook her head, quietly mesmerised by the sight of her mother¡¯s skull, so at ease.


    ¡°No? I didn¡¯t think so.¡±


    The two of them, strangers yet family, sat across from each other and shared a moment of silence. The air was filled with the soft hum of fans from the bank of screens. Bee wanted to say so much, eke out some familial bond that she couldn¡¯t articulate. After squirming in her seat, she eventually managed to speak.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you whatever you want.¡±


    The witch¡¯s skull turned down. She looked over the table¡¯s smooth surface before dragging a hand over it and tapping her long titanium nails in a steady rhythm.


    ¡°No, you won¡¯t,¡± the witch said. ¡°And you should never make that promise to anyone.¡±


    Bee felt her throat tighten. Her hands shook. Despite everything she knew, it felt like her own mother chastising her.


    ¡°Do you understand, Bee?¡± It was just like her.


    ¡°I¡ª... Yes.¡±


    The child turned her eyes back up to meet the Wire-Witch¡¯s empty sockets, even though it made her cheeks burn and her stomach flip.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t trust anyone who doesn¡¯t earn it. Not even your family has your best intentions at heart.¡±


    ¡°I know you¡¯re dangerous.¡±


    The Wire-Witch laughed again. She shook her head, leaning back from the table. Her chair creaked.


    ¡°I¡¯m dangerous? She told you that did she?¡±


    Bee nodded. The Wire-Witch bore down on her.


    ¡°Do you even know what she is, the Vat-Mother?¡±


    The Wire-Witch stood as far as she could, hands slamming down on the table, the cables anchoring her body to the wall stretching taut.


    ¡°She ravaged our body and made it into a little breeding factory, whoring herself out to them, making them twisted new bodies!¡±


    The Wire-Witch was shouting now, incensed that a child had come into her domain and insulted her.


    ¡°She made living weapons, too, enslaved children reborne for killing on demand! She did it for biomass and a bit of their attention! She was the worst of us. She did this!¡±


    Flinching with every word, Bee kept her head down. She knew what most of it meant, but it took a moment for her soul to fully digest it whilst fighting back the tears of panic. Still, Bee didn¡¯t want to hear these things about her mother, so she frantically shook her head as if that could make it all go away.


    Neither could meet the other¡¯s gaze. Bee¡¯s chest hurt, and she struggled to breathe. Finally, managing to look up to the Wire-Witch, she was met with a fleeting glance before the older woman averted her gaze.


    ¡°A sample of your blood,¡± the Wire-Witch finally said. There was resignation in her voice. ¡°That is the price. It will be nothing you¡¯ll miss, and you¡¯ll never get so kind an offer again.¡±

 The Queen of Nothing 6.

    Flesh and plastic. Oil and blood. Bee recognised the dead body of a patcher. No. It was still alive. Rigged and bound against a table, its legs and wings twitched by some comatose impulse. The drone¡¯s head had been sawn open ¡ª or at least the space that passed as its head between its dull compound eyes. Colourful yellow and green wires frayed into delicate metal fibres that touched the brain meat within.


    Bee turned to the Wire-Witch. Unlike Mother, the witch had harmlessly disengaged herself from her seat. To the Wire-Witch, standing and disconnecting herself from the city ¡ª if this bunker could be called a part of the city ¡ª was as simple as unplugging the metallic sockets in her flesh and unclipping herself from the seat. It made Bee¡¯s heart ache to see it.


    ¡°What have you done to it?¡± Bee asked, unable to take her eyes off of the patcher.


    ¡°Oh, Bee. Do not let this frighten you,¡± the witch said. Taking hold of a tube of plastic extending from the creature¡¯s open wound, the witch ran her fingers along its length until she reached a pumping membrane. She unsealed a metal clasp upon the arterial hose and poured sanguine waters into a basin.


    ¡°I¡¯m not scared.¡± Bee wasn¡¯t ¡ª not of this, anyway.


    The child¡¯s arm still stung from where the Wire-Witch pierced it, drawing two vials of liquid ¡ª the first deep red and the second a liquid metal ¡ª before hiding them inside the machinery of the chamber. Despite being reminded of the pain, Bee couldn¡¯t look away.


    ¡°Good.¡±


    The Wire-Witch turned her grinning skull to the child, chrome teeth catching the diode-light of the chamber and scattering it. All the while, she ran the tip of a finger through the bowl. The witch drew metal from the blood, collecting at her touch. The slick material gathered around her titanium nail in spines and then built itself into cubes, creating a solid structure from the fluid. After inspecting this, the witch discarded the mass into the water with a flick and drained the basin.


    ¡°This is a drone. They call its physio-type a patcher,¡± the Wire-Witch explained slowly, her empty eye sockets appraising Bee, watching for any reaction at all. For her part, the child set her lips tight, tongue swallowed down, staring back intensely.


    So the witch continued.


    ¡°It is not like you or me, or even the freaks out there. It is a part of the city, no more a creature than your hand without your head. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Bee said. A hot temperament built up in her chest, witnessing its cruel fate, but she managed to stop herself from saying more.


    After catching Bee¡¯s trembling, the Wire-Witch looked back towards the butchered body.


    ¡°I have been trying to communicate with the cities for a very long time. They have been stubborn. Really, it is a pity that no one will know relentless Sestchek¡¯s final words after all these centuries. Do you not think so?¡±


    Bee swallowed a lump in her throat. Then, realising her hands were fists and her legs were taut, the child looked away.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think they would have much to say to you anyway,¡± Bee growled.


    ¡°Ah?¡±


    The Wire-Witch laughed, caught off guard by the child¡¯s reaction. The witch turned and walked away, practically gliding barefoot upon her two slim bipedal legs. Bee followed in her wake, crawling with her armoured limbs scratching the floor. Envy touched the child, watching as the older woman seemed to steal her mother¡¯s form, using it with perfect poise and posture. Why didn¡¯t she get to look like her mother? They passed between chambers.


    ¡°It is no matter,¡± the Wire-Witch said. ¡°I have long set a plan into motion to get all I need from the cities. Your mother¡¯s little rebellion was just that. She could not possibly outwit herself, much less the rest of us in concert.¡±


    They crossed a walkway suspended high in the air. Bee looked around. Bound upon the walls, concealed in the dark surrounding them, were drones of all shapes and sizes. Sharp beaks and armoured bodies turned to follow the child with their eyes and antennas. They sneezed, communicating a demanding scent.


    ¡°Now, isn¡¯t that interesting?¡± The Wire-Witch asked out loud, gauging their reactions.


    The pheromones that they spat made Bee salivate. Despite her every intent, she wretched, tongue emerging.


    Clasping both hands over her mouth, Bee struggled to restrain her dribbling, and the emerging blade that tipped her tongue escaped her lips into her fingers. The child was frightened, losing control. She hurried closer to the Wire-Witch¡¯s heels as a doorway was unsealed, opened, and then slammed shut in their wake.


    Bee collapsed to her hands and knees, heaving the cold, acrid air - free of pheromones, free of that wordless communication, clinical and filtered.


    ¡°Oh, little Bee. Here.¡±


    The Wire-Witch extended her hand. Still gulping down clean air, Bee took it, confused at first by its warm softness. Then, trembling, the child struggled to stand with the witch¡¯s help, the flutes on her back heaving and gasping.


    ¡°Have some dignity,¡± the Wire-Witch said, holding a small woven cloth. She dabbed at Bee¡¯s face, drying the sticky saliva.


    ¡°Um... Thanks.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes.¡± There was a reluctant edge to the Wire-Witch, but still, something warmed in her, up close to her sister¡¯s child. Then, her skull turning grim with some unspoken realisation, the witch turned away again.


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    Bee looked around. This chamber was more intricate than the last, machinery loud and without number. She honed in on something that looked right.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Bee asked, staggering on unsure footing. Standing upright, she looked at the whirring, pipe-cooled metal beast caged against the hard wall.


    ¡°It¡¯s a computer. But it¡¯s less about what it is, little Bee, and more about what it can be persuaded to do.¡±


    Now Bee had been taken to exactly where she needed to be. Mother had instructed her that the Wire-Witch would not be able to resist talking about her designs. It was so easy. The witch paced the depths of her domain ¡ª the subject of her machines exciting, even intoxicating, to her.


    ¡°It can send messages,¡± Bee reasoned.


    Her face creased with distaste as she looked it over once more.


    ¡°Do the Bone Monks have one?¡±


    ¡°They do. Yes,¡± the witch answered, looking over the caged device. ¡°I built many for the monks and taught them the ancient rites to maintain such a creation.¡±


    ¡°Who do they send messages to?¡±


    The witch cackled.


    ¡°They do more than send messages, little Bee. In a time before time, our progenitors used them to recreate the greatest miracles of the universe.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡± Bee asked, dubious.


    ¡°Creating life, mapping the stars, inventing civilisation,¡± the witch said, her faceless skull transfixed on the mainframe, silver-toothed grin somehow wider in the electric light.


    ¡°The great inventions of prehistory ¡ª fire, steel, and electricity. We have so much more to rediscover. But even the little scraps they left behind, back-ups from another age, let us recreate the unimaginable.¡±


    Bee wasn¡¯t sure what to make of that. There was an obsession in the Wire-Witch¡¯s empty eye sockets, and she felt like the slightest offence to the witch¡¯s electro-religion would be met with another furious outburst. However, the silence, too, caught the Wire-Witch¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Life isn¡¯t all about eating, fucking, and trying to muscle your way to the top.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    Bee didn¡¯t. She had been hungry for as long as she could remember.


    ¡°Good. Then you are a smarter girl than your mother.¡±


    Bee didn¡¯t know what to say to that. The witch reached across and pulled on one of the screens. With a snap, it levered out on an arm. Then the arm became a throat as the Wire-Witch wrapped her hand around it, forcing the screen to meet the child¡¯s face.


    ¡°Have you ever seen yourself before?¡± Djay asked.


    Bee shook her head, unnerved by the thing. Its flat head was so close.


    ¡°Look at this,¡± the Wire-Witch said.


    The screen flashed to life. Bee flinched, suddenly close to a monster, eyes wide with surprise.


    ¡°There. Do you see?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡± Bee said, not sure if she did see.


    It was the right shape. Where the sockets of Bee¡¯s mother and the witch were empty, this creature had eyes, though. Bee knew she had eyes. Grey skin was tainted by raw pink, the sore sunburn that the child knew so well.


    ¡°That¡¯s me?¡±


    ¡°It is.¡±


    It was all wrong. Bee knew she had skin, but the skin didn¡¯t belong on a face. She leaned back, jaw-dropping, dark eyes widening further. Reluctantly, she brought a hand to her chest plates and traced a line up her neck to her smooth jaw. The image on the screen followed her every movement.


    ¡°How do I send a message?¡± Bee asked the Wire-Witch.


    ¡°Speak into the screen. Tell it what your mother told you to say. What you see on the screen is what the Bone Monks will get.¡±


    Bee peered up to Djay, who seemed a little too amused. She brushed a wave of greasy hair out of her eyes to better see the screen. However, the witch then made a quiet suggestion.


    ¡°You should know, though, Bee, that you are being used. Your mother is throwing your life away, in some vein attempt to hurt everyone around her.¡±


    Bee¡¯s breath caught in her throat. Part of her knew that. Part of her didn¡¯t care. She wanted to hurt everyone, too, for what they did.


    ¡°You could walk away and live your life however you want. Forget about what Eye said. Or you could even stay here with me, and I can hide you from¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do I just talk now?¡± Bee asked, interrupting her.


    The Wire-Witch considered the child at length before nodding.


    ¡°Go on then.¡±


    ¡°Hello. My name¡¯s Bee. I have a message for you from my mother. My mother, the Vat-Mother of Sestchek.¡±


    The child looked terrified. Lost, she found her own eyes and fixed her gaze upon them. They drew her in.


    ¡°It¡¯s a prophecy, one that has to be inked.¡±


    Her mother had told her that part was important, even though Bee wasn¡¯t sure why. Her hands squeezed into tight fists again. Her knees shook.


    ¡°I am coming to Acetyn. My arrival will seal the Immortal¡¯s fate. She will die. The noble lineages will all die, and it will be justice for¡­ For killing mother.¡±


    A hot breath escaped her, her heart beating in her chest so hard that she was dizzy. She hadn¡¯t said it right, but the monster on the screen looked angry, all traces of innocence and youth on her face forgotten.


    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± she told the Wire-Witch.


    The witch¡¯s skull turned away, and she shoved the screen aside again. Her jaw worked, chrome teeth grinding. She tried to take a breath, calm herself of her disappointment, and suppress another outburst. Instead, the frustration turned to hostility.


    ¡°Brave but stupid, girl.¡±


    However, the weight between them had already shifted. Bee looked up at the Wire-Witch, seeing the sister hiding from the world as it died around her. The child leaned towards her, and the witch stepped back. After all, despite appearances, she was still her mother¡¯s daughter.


    And they had too much in common for forgiveness.


    ¡°I¡¯m leaving,¡± Bee told the Wire-Witch, her quiet voice filled with conviction, tears stinging her eyes. ¡°I''d never want to stay with you.¡±

 Twin Fates 1.

    Breathe deep.


    Close your eyes.


    Take the leap of faith.


    Death cares not for fairness.


    The end won''t wait until you¡¯re ready.


    It claims the young and old with equal regard.


    <hr>


    CHAPTER 2: TWIN FATES


    Far, far away, dark forces received the child¡¯s message. Her voice called out across the world, bore ever onwards by a long-suffering order of broken souls who kept the faith in the old world alive.


    ¡°... My arrival will seal the Immortal¡¯s fate. She will die. The noble lineages will all die, and it will be justice...¡±


    A mother watched a shimmering hologram ¡ª amethystine in its faceted quality ¡ª presented to her by a trembling and fearful court of misbegotten freaks, who crawled beneath her masked gaze in terror. She hissed, soft ruby lips twisting into a contemptuous sneer.


    An ancient father watched from his dark demesne, alone in a grand cathedral dedicated to slaughter, surrounded by a tide of the devoured dead. He thumbed the message off himself, and his gleaming armoured visor turned away, left to his tormented memories of the past. Here it was again, cycles upon cycles, history repeating.


    Still deeper, machines looked upon the message in a chamber of shining steel, glass, and plastic. They analysed every word and every microexpression on the child¡¯s face. Those lifeless electric eyes shed not an ounce of care.


    Ignorant of their machinations, thieves made their way through the recesses of Enelastioa ¡ª a city within The City, in Acetyn¡¯s forward cavity ¡ª and a hunter plied his trade.


    ¡°I¡¯m tellin¡¯ you, we got it,¡± Haveyt boasted, swaggering under a bony archway.


    Two freaks led a large crawler laden with two tons of raw biomass. Haveyt drank from a flask as he staggered on four legs, drunken upon his own success. Alcohol ran wet from his mandibles. His companion, holding the reins of their beast of burden in his pincers, twitched his eyestalks nervously.


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    ¡°Keep it down,¡± Nezdent said low. ¡°They¡¯ll send the xenos. Or the pale.¡±


    The city, indifferent to these two freaks, passed them by. Towering housing, built up over countless layers to fill the yawning void, loomed over them as they walked. Some twisted figures lurked in the dark, sat upon the walls, and huddled in the streets. Yet none paid these two any heed, keeping to the orange glow of the electric lamplights. Those with purpose hurried along, refusing to linger. Spawn shrieked hungrily from a den high above, piercing the walls and the fog. Someone barked in a vain attempt to silence them.


    ¡°Xenos? Pale?¡± Haveyt laughed. ¡°They¡¯s too busy fighting each other. We got it. We got it.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t got it ¡¯til we got it,¡± Nezdent snapped back.


    ¡°We do! Let the hounds tear each other apart. Sister¡¯s eating Sister, these days. We can take what we like. Now¡¯s our time.¡±


    ¡°Shut the fuck up, already.¡±


    ¡°Hungry no more!¡± Haveyt shouted for all the city to hear.


    They led the crawler through the bony passage and into a yard. At the sight of the heavy crawler, metal plates rattling and load-bearing legs stomping, the locals scattered. Only one young one stopped, antenna twitching curiously, before running inside and pulling the shades shut.


    Then, with a jerk and a groan, the crawler stopped with its rearmost legs and transport bed still beneath the archway. Crooning, the beast of burden struggled with its load, one of its limbs twisted in the dark.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Nezdent turned, reins in hand. The crawler bayed and reared its stunted head.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Haveyt said. ¡°Go look!¡±


    ¡°Hold this then.¡±


    Shoving the reins into Haveyt¡¯s hands, Nezdent squared up to the shade of the archway, which sheltered the damp tunnel from the electric lamps above. He squeezed his shelled body in and passed the twitching legs of the crawler with a grunt.


    ¡°What the¡ª...¡±


    Nezdent stooped down in the dark, touching blood. The rear foot of the crawler had been sliced deep, and the creature couldn¡¯t put it down against the damp ground.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Haveyt called from around the beast.


    Nezdent stood again and turned quickly, eyestalks swinging as he looked around. Then he dropped down.


    The hunter ¡ª serpentine body uncoiling from above, throat hissing ¡ª towered over Nezdent. His massive claws seized Nezdent by the throat, oily saliva running between the hunter¡¯s beaks to drip on Nezdent¡¯s scaled face.


    Nezdent¡¯s scream pierced Enelastioa. Two gunshots cracked out, then a third. An eerie silence followed.


    In the shadow of that tower, the freaks there knew better than to look and see who died. They waited in their nests and their hideaways for the recyclers to arrive and drag the corpses to the chutes. Only then, when there was no more fighting or struggling, did they peer out and discover that the crawler and its cargo were nowhere to be seen.

 Twin Fates 2.

    The entryway distended as the muscular sphincter opened. Ay parted a final curtain of skin with his hand, slithering inside with his legless armoured body.


    Sharp, cool evening air mixed with the warm and humid miasma within. Looking around, Ay¡¯s massive beaked head slowly turned. Then, the hunter crossed the chamber, fingering the rags he wore about his chest, then the belts and pouches he kept close. Finally, he stopped at a large whittled-bone table.


    ¡°What have you brought for me?¡± Croaked a voice from above.


    Ay didn¡¯t look up to see where the voice had come from. Instead, the hunter¡¯s beaks parted with a crack, splitting to expose a smaller fleshy head within, two fat eyes blinking away rivulets of oily saliva. His top jaw folded over to his back. With no nose or mouth to speak of, what now passed as Ay¡¯s head rolled, stretching his neck as it split open to take a deep breath.


    Taking his time, the scavenger removed a single severed claw from a pocket in his rags. He thumbed its tip, running skin over its print, before setting it down. Next, he held up a fistful of tumour ¡ª raw biomass ¡ª before throwing that onto the table as well.


    ¡°The rest they stole is outside?¡±


    Ay nodded from the shoulders as the ten-limbed grafter clambered down the wall, pincered legs bringing it to the table where he overlooked the recovered treasure.


    ¡°Excellent. No one takes from me, scabber,¡± the grafter boasted before snickering. Then, appraising the meat closely, feathery antennae waving, he muttered.


    ¡°No rot. Still fresh enough.¡±


    The hunter stood straighter, serpentine body coiling as he balanced upright on the shelled floor. He was easily the larger of the two, the most dangerous, yet he held no command here. So he patiently waited. In response, the grafter stood a little taller, straightening its many knees as he sensed Ay looming.


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    ¡°Hmm? Oh.¡± The grafter looked up from his prize. ¡°Yes. Of course.¡±


    A dozen alien sensory organs opened and waved from the stump between its arms.


    ¡°You¡¯re sure about your payment?¡± The grafter asked. ¡°A voice?¡±


    The hunter nodded with no hesitation.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be dangerous, hmm? You¡¯ve had so many, many augmentations already. Don¡¯t want you turning, hmm? Going feral.¡±


    Ay whistled a sigh before removing a leathery flask from under his rags. He put it down on the table with a heavy thump. Even prizes had a price here.


    ¡°Gel? Yes. Well, this will help, won¡¯t it?¡± The grafter snickered from its chest, snatching the flask with a pincer.


    Of course, it wouldn¡¯t help ¡ª at least not with the risk of aug-madness. It was valuable, though, which was all that mattered.


    ¡°Come on then. This way.¡±


    The grafter turned and teetered along upon its sharp legs, scratching its way across the chamber and into an adjacent passage. The hunter followed, sliding smoothly, propelled by the twisting of his snake-like form. He easily kept pace, passing under electric lights ¡ª artefacts of another age, stapled across the ceiling and the walls. A groaning generator powered them, its grunts audible through the thin walls.


    Ay followed the grafter through the twists and turns of his sanctum, his altar of worship to the plastic and mutable, until they reached a final grim chamber.


    ¡°Make yourself comfortable,¡± the grafter offered, glancing at the filthy surgery tools left out in the open. A thin bacterial film grew over the trays and in the corners of the room, where blood had long ago spilt and still clung on.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see to the mess outside first.¡±


    Ay wasn¡¯t one to give away an ounce of fear, not even with the taste of blood in the air, left alone in this den of horrors as his host crept off. Yet, making himself comfortable wasn¡¯t possible. The orange glow of the sodium lamps in the hall washed over the grafter¡¯s surgery table, with its ancient tools and metal machines, and cast sharp, alien angles in the darkness. So, instead, Ay closed his beak tight, turned his body around on the floor for good balance, and removed his ragged clothes in stubborn defiance of everything that could go wrong.

 Twin Fates 3.

    ¡°Is he awake?¡±


    ¡°He is. Mostly. I always keep things a bit, hmm, contained. Just in case.¡±


    Ay parted his beak. The world around him was cast askew. His head was full of clouds and delirium. Something hurt somewhere, but he hadn¡¯t realised where it was yet.


    ¡°Hunter,¡± said the tall thing, two great stilted legs and a fluted maw. ¡°I hope you are comfortable.¡±


    Everything was a little off. Ay wasn¡¯t sure he trusted it. He tried to lift one of his three arms but couldn¡¯t. No, he was cocooned. Of course, he was. The grafter always encased his customers, Ay remembered, through his daze. He had been here again and again as he chased his augs, embedded into a tomb of hardened wax and secreted resin.


    ¡°He seems confused,¡± whistled the tall one.


    ¡°He¡¯s had a soup,¡± the grafter said. ¡°I¡¯d imagine the new brain matter won¡¯t be helping, either. All those new organs needed a helping hand. Hmhmhm¡­¡±


    ¡°I need him awake.¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± Ay croaked, his head flapping between his beaks, vision shifting as he spoke for the first time.


    ¡°Get him out of¡­ That,¡± the herald said. ¡°There is no time to rest.¡±


    It was a powerful thing to be reborn. Most never got to experience it. However, Ay had been through this many times before and had developed his own quiet form of dignity. He didn¡¯t scream when the resin was cracked nor when the outer shells were torn away from him. He didn¡¯t fall when the support was taken from him, and his body touched the beating flesh of the city once more.


    ¡°What were you hoping would come of this?¡± The tall one asked.


    Ay had been led out through the labyrinthian gullets of the grafter¡¯s halls and onto the surface ¡ª a surface, the roof. They stood on a raised polyp, bloating over the sprawl of Acetyn¡¯s forward cavity. Enelastioa, a metropolis inside the crawling city, was a vast balloon space supported by spinal column towers and bladders of cement. Their silhouettes were picked out by gentle bioluminescence, casting haunting shadows that did battle with violent electric flashes.


    Ay had followed because it wasn¡¯t every day that The Voice of the fallen Lord of Bones, a herald with too much Name, came down from the ennobled paradise of the Pate Gardens to speak to freaks like him. What an opportunity. What a threat.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t. It¡¯s a luxury.¡± The hunter slurped, getting used to his new mouth within a mouth, lips parting, throat working.


    ¡°That must hurt.¡± The Voice sounded sympathetic.


    ¡°Not so bad.¡±


    ¡°The grafters work miracles, you know,¡± the herald whistled, stepping around on his long, spindly legs from which his head hung down. ¡°This one and the other creatures like it.¡±


    Ay intoned his agreement, beak opening to survey the oily city with his own eyes before sucking back saliva and giving the herald a nod.


    ¡°You are still you then.¡±


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    ¡°Can still work,¡± Ay emphasised, testing his new voice further with a growl. ¡°Well?¡±


    ¡°The Lord demands service.¡±


    ¡°The Lord still lives?¡± Ay asked without looking back.


    ¡°Best you not question that,¡± the herald said under his breath.


    ¡°What¡¯s the job?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s been a vat birth. It is property of Her Greatness and desirous to all who aspire to the great restoration.¡±


    Ay nodded, wiping a wet trail from his beak before leaning back on his tail to indicate he was interested.


    ¡°It is in Sestchek, the trailing city.¡±


    ¡°Sestchek¡¯s dead, I heard.¡± Ay said. Then, coughing to conquer his sore throat, Ay asked, ¡°Killed?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s beyond our purview. Dying, perhaps. Fallen behind, certainly. We need someone of your particular talents to go out and recover the thing quickly.¡±


    The hunter grunted his affirmation, hiding disappointment at how little The Voice revealed. However, even service to those with divine provenance came with a price.


    ¡°And for me?¡± Ay asked.


    ¡°The same as last time, of course. You will be taken care of.¡±


    Ay gave a languishing shrug.


    ¡°No?¡±


    ¡°Voice luxury. Last aug. Going out with style.¡±


    The hunter cackled before tapping the side of his beaked visage with a claw tip.


    ¡°That is probably wise,¡± said The Voice. ¡°You should swallow your pride, hunter, and accept a wage. Coin.¡±


    Ay nodded again, looking aside. Power cables pierced the roof, strung up towards steel rails. He followed the line with his eyes as it stretched into the distance, out into the screaming maze of the urban bioscape.


    ¡°Of course,¡± the herald whistled, capturing Ay¡¯s attention again, ¡°We should not be held ransom by the limitations of the mind.¡±


    When Ay didn¡¯t respond, the herald pressed in.


    ¡°You are scared of succumbing to aug madness. It is perfectly understandable.¡±


    The serpentine hunter turned and squared up to the herald, eyeing the frail beast with an idle threat.


    ¡°You do not have to be afraid,¡± The Voice said, countering Ay¡¯s hostility by affecting nonchalance.


    ¡°There are ways ¡ª usually reserved for the great ones ¡ª to remake yourself entirely. You could choose to think of it as a clean slate, an opportunity for a fresh start with an entirely new form, a new purpose. I know how trapped you feel in your body, in your role.¡±


    ¡°That your offer?¡± Ay hissed.


    ¡°I am sure we could work something out.¡±


    ¡°Why the rush?¡± Ay asked, posture softening when the herald didn¡¯t take the bait, rubbing another trail of saliva away from his beak with his forearm.


    ¡°It has something that the Immortal has been trying to single out from the genetic discord for a very, very long time: a face, like the old ones used to possess.¡±


    ¡°So I bring it back.¡±


    ¡°Or just the head, whichever you must.¡±


    Ay bent his body and pushed himself away, slithering over the bulging surface of the grafter¡¯s den. At its edge, he looked down over the pulsing city and its throng of twisted, mutant inhabitants as they went about their circadian lives.


    ¡°You will come to the Enelasian court today,¡± the herald said. ¡°They want to assess you and send you on your way with all due haste.¡±


    The mention of the court sent a chill down Ay¡¯s spine. Of course, he didn¡¯t have a choice. The herald, irritated by Ay¡¯s little act of rebellion ¡ª turning his back again ¡ª strode away, back down towards the depths of the tumorous building.


    ¡°We all choose to serve. Better, I think, than the alternative,¡± the herald called back.


    Ay set his beak grim and stared down into the pits. He let a moment pass, listening to the herald walk away before he turned back and shouted a question.


    ¡°How do you know it¡¯s out there?¡±


    A whistling laugh danced from the dark of the passage.


    ¡°It told us.¡±

 Twin Fates 4.

    The Crawling City¡¯s forward cavity was a hard, calcium-shelled thing. Between spinal columns and barnacle vaults, byways and courts were inhabited by living, sapient monsters. Only the light of bioluminescence and the yellow, sodium glow of electric lamps revealed the deepest recesses, a tomb of civilisation buried deep within a titan.


    In further, darker depths, eyes of all types failed. Freaks coveted ciliated and hairy skins, exploring by touch and scent. The most domineering grew, or stole, tongues and scales that tasted the infrared.


    The city¡¯s heartbeat was slow despite the struggle for survival, eternal in its bowels. With every thousand pumps, there was an unmistakable resonance. The bell tolled from its heart as predictably as the sun rose over the outer horizon and metal fell from the stars, scorching the earth.


    The hunter looked out over the rippled, cement street. Stilted thralls took lopping steps over the uneven ground, heading heartward by the dozen. They shrieked to clear the way, a decree of His Eminence, Lord of Bone.


    Nence sprayed chemical words, dragging Ay from his lost thoughts. He grumbled, and once more, their hands met, sharing silent communication.


    ¡°A fresh start for one newborn?¡± Nence asked.


    Ay patted his confirmation, reaching into his satchel and putting down a tumour for his companion. Then, linking hands again, Ay explained.


    ¡°I need something to ride, supplies, anything that can take me to Sestchek.¡±


    Nence took the biomass and weighed it in hand. They both looked around the near-empty watering hole. No one else who squatted in the darkness met their eyes.


    ¡°Help me,¡± Ay croaked with actual words. ¡°One more time.¡±


    The scintillating feathers on the back of Nence¡¯s neck and arms stood on end. He clutched the tumour to his chest and spat back an affirmative scent.


    Distracted, Ay turned his beak to the outside again. Freaks of all shapes and sizes dragged themselves past, in the wake of the fallen Lord¡¯s thralls, a slave army on their way to the tumour mines. Outside, across the roadway, one of the cartilaginous pipes opened. It retched from its place on the side of a building and vomited up a whorl of bile and phlegm. Then out fell a freak, shed into the streets. Alive only moments, passing thralls bound it in manacles. They shrieked for their enslaved hands, who began beating and dragging the monster, conscripting it on the spot.


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    A pale stepped past ¡ª bipedal, humanoid in shape, but wearing sweeping white garments and clad in shining star metal armour. Its uniform hid every inch of the beast beneath, concealing its lack of humanity. Such callousness was revealed only as it stared with approval at the tormented soul being forced into servitude.


    Axiamati in Enelastioa ¡ª the herald was far from alone down here.


    Nence reached out, cooing softly from his throat to steal Ay¡¯s attention once again. Nence didn¡¯t have words, at least not words from a voice.


    ¡°Don¡¯t lose yourself for this,¡± Nence said with his hands. ¡°I don¡¯t trust the shapers and the sculptors. They only mutilate.¡±


    Ay retook Nence¡¯s hand but used his voice, even though it still stung.


    ¡°I know. But I can get us out of here.¡±


    His eyes turned down between his beaks before he continued.


    ¡°I can make everything better.¡±


    Nence creased his oily, feathered brows and leaned in closer. He was concerned, putting a hand to the side of Ay¡¯s beak, trying to give the hunter at least a moment of comfort.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do anything else,¡± he said. ¡°You already do so much.¡±


    ¡°The Voice offered me a wage.¡±


    ¡°That means freedom?¡± Nence asked, unsure.


    ¡°Yes. I almost said yes,¡± Ay said, shoulders slumping.


    ¡°Some people give their lives to serve the Lord,¡± Nence offered with slow, reassuring hand movements. ¡°Real money could take us a long way. So let us live up there¡ª¡±


    The hunter shook his head and brought his side of the conversation back to silence, their hands together.


    ¡°No. I won¡¯t do it. It¡¯s like giving up. We can work for what we want. Everyone needs biomass.¡±


    ¡°Alright. One last time, for you,¡± Nence said, touching the hunter¡¯s shoulder. ¡°A fresh start for one newborn. I will find you these things. What must you do now?¡±


    ¡°The herald called me to the Enelasian court.¡±


    ¡°The Vat-Mother¡¯s home?¡± The taste of fear crept into the air as Nence asked, ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I have to be assessed, or so he said.¡±


    ¡°The xenos and the pale are together in this, then,¡± Nence hesitated. ¡°I don¡¯t like this.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Ay shook his head from his shoulders and shrank in the dark. ¡°Neither do I.¡±

 Twin Fates 5.

    The portcullis stood open, shelled walls supporting serrated crenelations and looming towers fat with glistening eyes. A long line of petitioners ¡ª lost and desperate ¡ª was penned to the side and made to squat beside ulcerated trenches carved into city flesh at the foot of the armoured palace. Patrols of black and scarlet-clad freaks, each twisted into their own contorted shape and possessing their own reason for pledging their life to a cruel elder, made their way around its perimeter.


    One of them, craggy-masked and dark of eye, watched Ay from atop the battlements. The hunter clacked his beak together as he stared back before finally turning his serpentine body and pushing his way beneath the living gate.


    A pair of xenozygote guards intercepted Ay. They handled him with contempt, as a freak both unpurified and bearing no colours.


    ¡°How dare you come here, filth?¡±


    ¡°Voice,¡± Ay spat, still learning his new mouth. ¡°The Voice summoned me.¡±


    The first cultist shoved Ay back by his shoulder. The hunter let him, glancing at the biocannon in his companion¡¯s grip, all too aware of the eyes lingering on them. The vat-born chittered at Ay, brandishing a blade. Its tip threatened the hardened edge of the hunter¡¯s beak.


    ¡°This one has been called!¡± A whistling voice filled the courtyard.


    The Voice of the Lord of Bones descended from one of the many swollen halls that made up this tumorous palace. He was kept by a small contingent of pale, picked out in this dark and sodden place by their gleaming metal and sweeping white raiments.


    The two forces broke down, rabid and territorial. More xenozygote freaks spilt out to meet them. They bore lances and claws, clutched in their motley hands more scored blades, marred from a lifetime in this oily den. Ay drew back imperceptibly with a careful glance all around. He did not want to be caught in the middle of a brawl, not between these two opposed forces, one dressed in royal red and the other sacrosanct white. Their divide was as much political as it was fanatical. It bode ill that they were even here, seemingly working together.


    One of the pale ¡ª dutiful and disciplined ¡ª stepped before The Voice to shield him. The shrouded warrior intercepted the horde, standing twenty to one, drawing his sword. It gleamed, star metal shining as its polished lustre caught the biolights. Pointing his weapon at a shrieking beast, he met the challenge.


    In an instant, both sides ringed around the combatants. The pale grappled with a gnashing beast, the xeno raking biomechanical claws over his glimmering armour. Sparks flashed bright as mechanised razor claws met a swing from his star metal sword. The pale first carved the mutant¡¯s fingers from his weaponised hand in a bloody arc and then struck a gauntlet-clad fist across the side of its head with a mighty smack.


    The xenozygote beast fell to its side, a shelled body clattering across the cement ground, splashing in the mucus and runoff. It snarled and clutched its wounded hand before being dragged to its feet by its scarlet-clad allies. They pulled it back into the crowd, hot blood and oil still pouring from its savaged claws.


    Almost as one, the crowd dispersed. The confrontation ended as quickly as it began, sharp eyes and bitter whispers cast between them. Both sides would respect the rule of the strong. It was the path to both power and fleeting peace. Ay breathed a sigh of relief but knew this restless truce wouldn¡¯t last long. He had to get the job and leave as quickly as possible. Lingering in the Enelasian court was tantamount to suicide.


    ¡°I am glad you came,¡± The Voice whistled low.


    Ay turned to face the looming herald.


    ¡°Better to serve,¡± the hunter said.


    ¡°Walk with me.¡±


    Ay slithered beside the herald as the pale surrounded them in armed escort. They crossed the yard proper. Keeping an eye on his surroundings, the hunter noticed that they entered a killing field. The tumorous buildings, armoured and squat, were slitted with narrow windows, emplaced for fortified biocannon fire. Each structure stood corner to corner, lines of sight overlapping, doors heavy and reinforced with metallic bone. The palace was designed to cut down any invaders in pitched battle.


    ¡°You would do well not to speak unless spoken to,¡± the herald advised as they moved between the halls, taking a circuitous route through the grounds.


    ¡°Fine.¡±


    Ay eyed the pale warrior at their side, who cleaned his blade with a rag. The victor then sheathed his weapon with an arrogant flourish before meeting the hunter¡¯s eyes with his visor. His armour was etched with the iconography of the towering, tree-like shape of the many-limbed Axiamat, who once dared to reach for the stars.


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    ¡°The ennobled are considering their options,¡± The Voice said. ¡°You are one of many. Best you do not test them.¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    The herald drew to a halt, looking down at Ay, considering the hunter as he might any other freak of the depths.


    ¡°Kneel when they enter the room ¡ª or best you can, I suppose. Do not meet their eyes. Do not question them. Submit.¡±


    ¡°Who are they?¡± Ay asked, leaning in and giving the herald a plaintive look. He knew when it was time to drop the act and admit he knew nothing of the elders and their courtiers.


    ¡°I am an envoy accompanying The Hand of Zolgomere and the Eidolon herself.¡±


    ¡°Thought the Eidolon was a man,¡± Ay muttered, glancing at their escort again.


    ¡°The forty-third Eidolon sacrificed himself to restore hope to this world, and his replacement has been chosen,¡± the herald explained with surprising enthusiasm. ¡°The Lord of Bones and all his forces have knelt to the Pilgrim returned ¡ª which I suspect you have heard even down here ¡ª and the Eidolon is His appointed champion.¡±


    The long-winded explanation caught Ay off guard. Clearly, The Voice relished the opportunity to speak of the intricacies of his ecclesiarchy. Still, despite this herald¡¯s supposed patience, Ay knew that the Axiamati were dangerous, an armed insurrection led by some elder God who had seized the territories of the Lord of Bones and devoured all who opposed him.


    ¡°What are they like?¡± Ay asked as the herald resumed their slow walk.


    ¡°The Hand won¡¯t suffer further delays, but he is ¡ª of course ¡ª second to the Eidolon.¡±


    ¡°And her?¡±


    ¡°Best you do not attract her scrutiny.¡±


    ¡°You still wear the white,¡± Ay said quietly, testing him.


    ¡°It¡¯s only proper. We are still the pale servants of the Lord and his witch-Lady, regardless of his new allegiance.¡±


    Ay nodded at that, eyes searching the herald for any signs of deception. It was difficult to tell whether that haughty maw was smiling.


    ¡°Politics,¡± the hunter eventually relented.


    ¡°Yes. I imagine that it¡¯s difficult for you. Still, do not make a fool of yourself.¡±


    ¡°Putting a lot of faith in me.¡±


    ¡°I, of course, only seek the best outcome for our ennobled rulers.¡±


    Ay grunted, then asked, ¡°The Vat-Mother?¡±


    The herald laughed softly and shook his fluted head.


    ¡°We will not be entering Her presence. Paradise be. She will be represented by one of her servants.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± Ay asked, his relief palpable.


    ¡°Jhedothar the Lance, one of her knights-tyrants. He¡¯s a prat, and easily flattered ¡ª driven by ego. Act the simpering sort, if he addresses you.¡±


    They arrived at the inner ward, before a great set of flagstone steps carved and carried some immeasurable distance into the depths of this crawling city. Ay looked at the stone, briefly confused to see it here. The fleshy lips of the main entrance opened for them, inviting them in. The hunter considered the path before them cautiously, claws flexing and muscles taut, every instinct commanding him to run.


    Of course, The Voice led the way. Against every sense of self-preservation, they ascended to the entrance and stepped inside the colossal chamber within. The cartilaginous palace was a domain of status and worship in equal measure. Hints at ashlar, masonry long ago worn down to crumbling mass, belied the foundations of this place. The edifice bore shrines to its holy mother, imagery embedded into the curving walls, her bondage a sacred affliction. She created this deep realm, having shaped Enelastioa from the mutant chaos of the city, and presided here as its ruler beyond reproach.


    Ay looked up. Piercing the murk, the swirling mists of this humid lair, a giant moved. The colossal Golcothia ¡ª the guardian of this hall ¡ª leaned down over them, shapeless in the void. Its eyes, gleaming sharp yellow in the dim, watched over their passage.


    The pale escort marched tensely as they entered the vastness. An arcade of towering pillars supported the domed ceiling, shaped with the likeness of twenty generations of the mother¡¯s greatest champions ¡ª their victories, their rule.


    Countless urns and glass vessels, reinforced with heavy bioceramics, filled this space. They stood as rows that stretched out beyond the mist-shrouded distance, cast an ill shade by the biolights. Ay eyed the shapes within, freaks growing or preserved in gel, trapped here at the behest of the Xenozygote cult.


    In this dungeon, a line of women were bound and chained, overseen by cruel and twisted warriors bearing brass rods. Pregnant with children, they cried out to Ay and the pale to save them. Unable to interfere with the malignant rites of this dark demesne, the hunter looked away and left them to a fate worse than death as heretics in this low order.


    Then, they came within sight of that profane vault. Its towering portal stood, overgrown with pulsing arteries and barbed growths. A heavy pressure filled the air, some invisible force that distorted the body and mind in equal measure. Ay knew well what lay beyond that door. No doubt remained as he felt the mutagen crawl throughout his body, conjured by a terrible entity unseen, desecrating his form to please an imperious master.


    The Vat-Mother of Acetyn, the Immortal¡¯s first daughter.


    ¡°Come,¡± The Voice urged them on. ¡°It does us ill to linger in this place.¡±


    They ascended to the next level on winding stairs, an atrium still within sight of that evil portal, crossing a balcony braced with skeletal rails.


    ¡°All this for one vat-born?¡± Ay said under his breath as he slithered, noticing a cadre of guards to receive them.


    ¡°You cannot imagine,¡± the Voice said, stopping before the door to a solar repurposed for their meeting, with a final note of caution. ¡°Remember what I told you.¡±

 Twin Fates 6.

    ¡°Welcome, at long last.¡±


    A crooked bone monk, garbed in the simple robes of his order, met them at the doorway. A pair of lesser ordained members of his entourage lowered their heads deferentially in suit. They clutched in their hands rolls of leathery parchment and needle-like writing utensils to record this day.


    The Voice strode past them, heedless.


    The large sitting room had been torn apart, and a wide table had been fitted. An oriel window looked out over the rooftops of the palace and the urban bioscape beyond ¡ª the screaming depths of Enelastioa. The pale stalked to the room¡¯s corners, standing disciplined and silent as they took vantage alongside six scarlet-clad xenos already keeping watch.


    All were tense, acutely aware that two opposing forces stood shoulder to shoulder, armed and ready for murder.


    At the table sat a vat-born freak dressed in the red clothes of his cult. The elderly xenos slowly stood, the only recognition that he gave The Voice and Ay¡¯s entrance, the dark eyes behind his mask remaining fixed on the doorway. Ay recognised him ¡ª the figure that had loomed upon the walls to spy his arrival.


    Feeling at a distinct disadvantage, Ay found one side of the room to coil into, where he could stand without drawing undue attention. The herald nodded his approval as, in a flurry of activity, the monks, too, repositioned themselves by the foot of the table and unfurled their scrolls.


    The herald seemed agitated, taking position behind one of the ornate seats. Ay gave him a long look, met with a subtle shake of the head ¡ª a warning.


    Another wave of pale guardians arrived. Their vanguard peered in through the doorway before stepping aside and securing the atrium outside.


    From amidst their number stepped a white-clad reptilian figure, long tail dragging behind his tall and slender form. The sibilant warrior adjusted his only piece of armour, a gilded gauntlet affixed to his right forearm, not looking up as he entered. Despite receiving not a mote of attention, Ay bent at his belly in a clumsy bow, beak low.


    ¡°Agitator,¡± the reptilian figure hissed, black scales shimmering as he moved. ¡°I expected Jhedothar.¡±


    ¡°He will not be joining us. It seems treachery is abound, these long days. It¡¯s not only your Lord of Bones who must contend with knives in the back.¡±


    The Agitator¡¯s mask flicked towards The Voice, the first acknowledgement of that herald since he had entered. Ay watched closely as the herald squirmed.


    ¡°I have heard your armsmen accosted one of our company,¡± the reptile ¡ª who Ay assumed to be The Hand of Zolgomere ¡ª took a casual grip on the back of a seat. ¡°Should I call that treachery, as well?¡±


    One of the pale at the side of the room rested his armoured hand on the hilt of his blade, a casual gesture indicating both his pride and the threat he posed here and now.


    ¡°Bold,¡± the Agitator said, fixing his masked stare on the Hand as a shadow crossed the doorway. ¡°I remind your host that the Vat-Mother of Acetyn is an order of magnitude above your Lord and his Least-Lady. Should you think to threaten us in the name of your old God then you will be scoured back to the ash from which you crawled.¡±


    It was at that moment that she entered the room ¡ª the Eidolon.


    At once, the pale took to a knee, the xenos they stood at odds with suddenly irrelevant.


    ¡°My shape, my kin,¡± the pale guardians said as one, kneeling.


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    Ay felt a chill shoot up his spine. His scales prickled in terror, and he swept lower, three hands on the chitin-shelled floor to show his deference.


    Ay knew an aug hound when he saw one. She was a mechanised killing machine, her flesh replaced with a cybernetic nightmare. Her shape ¡ª though possessing the silhouette of a human woman ¡ª was instead made of heavy biomechanical musculature punctured by thick black cables and pneumatic hoses.


    It was with this mix of fear and fascination that Ay dared raise his eyes from the floor.


    The Eidolon did not wear the pale. She did not serve the Lord of Bones. Instead, she was dressed in a ragged brown cloak, a wide hood spilt down around her shoulders.


    She strode across the chamber, around the table, and planted herself before the Vat-Mother¡¯s Agitator. His mask turned to her as if to speak, and she leaned in to meet him.


    What passed as her face ¡ª a dozen concentric rings of prehensile teeth surrounded by twelve shining eyes ¡ª pressed close to his. Her head tipped, challenging him, daring him to continue.


    The Agitator turned his mask away, faltering.


    ¡°Somehow, I doubt that,¡± The Hand of Zolgomere said from across the room. ¡°The truth is that that we have little to fear from your Vat-Mother¡¯s horde of starving, ill-disciplined wretches.¡±


    Ay¡¯s eyes widened as he looked at the Eidolon. Here was someone who had remade themselves ¡ª who took power for themselves ¡ª to stand shoulder to shoulder with the elders and perhaps even the Sisters. It was possible. No, it was not just possible. It had been done.


    And she was here.


    The Eidolon turned away, and, in that instant, Ay averted his eyes back down to the polished floor. The bone monks hurriedly scribbled down their interpretation of this historic meeting, needles staining their leathery scrolls.


    ¡°Is this the freak I have heard so much about?¡± The Hand said, indicating Ay.


    ¡°It is,¡± the herald quietly confirmed from over his shoulder.


    ¡°You.¡±


    Addressed, Ay lifted his gaze as far as the Hand¡¯s taloned feet, beak closed to the barest of slits.


    ¡°You can fetch a lone child from Sestchek, can¡¯t you?¡± The Hand asked.


    ¡°I can,¡± Ay said.


    Even as they spoke, the Eidolon sat in her chair indolently, slouching back. Ay tried not to return her gaze as those twelve eyes fixed on him. The Eidolon didn¡¯t have the politesse of a courtier nor a politician. She drew a star metal sword from her cloak and rested it on the table for all to see, all without saying a word.


    ¡°I still caution you that this may be a trap,¡± the Agitator said, having finally recovered his ability to speak.


    ¡°All the better to send a lone independent then,¡± The Hand reasoned before addressing Ay again.


    ¡°You can report back if you find some hidden army out there, can you not? Not so stupid as to run to your death, are you?¡±


    ¡°I can,¡± Ay repeated, trying not to wither under the Eidolon¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°Good,¡± The Hand said before looking back to the Agitator.


    ¡°The Vat-Mother yet offers her blessing to resist the shining of the day star,¡± the Agitator carefully pointed out.


    ¡°However, I am not so stupid as to submit to her manipulation, myself. You can have a small contingent to geneshape, though, I am concerned about how long that will take.¡±


    ¡°Mere days,¡± the Agitator insisted.


    ¡°Yet anything could happen in mere days,¡± The Hand said, sweeping out his arm towards the wide bay of windows and the city beyond. ¡°We can send this one our herald has found in the meantime.¡±


    ¡°So be it.¡±


    ¡°If this freak dies or does not return with our prize, then we can indeed send out the larger joint force.¡±


    ¡°We can all agree that the capture of the childe is our priority,¡± the Agitator confirmed.


    ¡°And once seized, her generic material can be sampled and apportioned judiciously,¡± The Hand said through a cold-blooded smile.


    ¡°Of course,¡± the Agitator said as he held The Hand¡¯s sibilant gaze. ¡°As honour demands.¡±


    The Eidolon gave a quiet little laugh before simply standing, taking up her sword again, and walking out of the room, all without having said a single word. At once, the pale returned to standing. Their guardian vigil resumed in an instant.


    Ay breathed a sigh of relief, daring to look up far enough to catch the herald¡¯s eyes. They shared a single nod.


    ¡°Oh, hunter,¡± The Hand said, turning back towards his guard at the door.


    ¡°We have wasted enough time as it is. I suggest you hurry.¡±

 Twin Fates 7.

    The hunter made good time through the Crawling City, from the Vat-Mother¡¯s domain of Enelastoia in its forward cavity and then through its undulating continent-body. The chaos of the unformed regions was easy to get lost in. The inexperienced would often die alone, set upon by predators in the dark, or obliterated by the city¡¯s own unpredictable biological processes. Ay, however, knew his trade well. He would not be stopped.


    Pressing ever onwards, the hunter had crossed a staggering distance with the aid of the captive freaks, bound to a carriage of bone by steel and wire. Days passed before he descended into the desert by a giant mechanised elevator affixed to one of the colossal legs of the megapedal city.


    The sun and the stars circled overhead, visible high above, through the cracks of Acetyn¡¯s great plates and between its titanic legs. Even despite the haste, Ay was not pleased. He knew it was always quicker to leave the Crawling City and cross the desert to the Trailing City than it was to return. This job demanded both.


    Worse, the rumours of Sestchek¡¯s pall fate still swirled, and Ay was left concerned. He was ever aware of the fragile grip on life that a freak without a living city possessed. The hunter didn¡¯t know the fate of his quarry. After these long days, was he left merely chasing a ghost?


    When he first crested the dunes and found the great city slug straddling the horizon, his every fear was proven to be true. The dead metropolis of Sestchek was in a far worse state than he had dared to imagine.


    Ay arrived at dawn¡¯s light. Reins in hand, he yanked the freaks that pulled his carriage into line. They wailed, trying to turn away. The stench choked them. The streets under their hooves and claws and feet peeled away, rancid. Around them, the structures of the trailing city had collapsed, weighty flesh sloughed from bone, steel, and cement.


    Nothing stirred ¡ª not a native in the streets, not a drone in the chutes, nor a patcher in the sky. Only the smallest and most mindless maggots and worms infested the meat, slowly consuming the city from within.


    The hunter rode his carriage with his weighty beak open. He tasted the air as he went. The fetid odours did not bother him the same way it turned the stomachs of the freaks he had bound. In his trade, he had become inured to death. Still, he shifted in his seat with every lurch as the bone cage that he rode upon lopped over knots of rotting growth and exposed bone. His wet gaze was deliberate, discerning.


    There, he saw the deep punctures dotting the landscape and imagined the rosette of ruin delivered from a great, gunned dragon, strafing the city slug from above. Digesting the scene, Ay wondered if it was that which ruined the city or if it was merely done in the carnage of evacuation.


    So many dead. Their bodies filled the streets, twisted and broken, blown apart and beaten. Some were contorted of back and limb, a tell-tale sign of cognitoviral weaponry. Who would be so cruel to slaughter an entire city? There must have been thousands ¡ª no, millions dead.


    Ay pawed at the seat next to him and picked up the map. He was close now.


    No.


    There.


    Movement caught in the corner of his eye, a little waif trying and failing to tap water from a ditch. Just beyond, some insectoid vermin scurried away into the dead ruins.


    ¡°Stop,¡± Ay croaked, tugging hard on the reins. His bound freaks obeyed.


    It took Ay¡¯s raised voice to make her look over. The child must be hard of hearing, Ay supposed. Now he met her eyes, wide and curious. Ay turned his huge snake-like body in his seat, twisting towards her.


    There was no doubt. This bright-eyed, silver-toothed freak was the one with the face.


    Ay didn¡¯t reach for his weapon ¡ª not yet.


    ¡°Only hounds try and tear apart their city for food,¡± Ay said slowly, wrestling with his mouth within a mouth.


    The child looked unsure ¡ª a good sign. She was trying to think instead of running. Ay hated it when they ran.


    ¡°Come here,¡± he said, reaching out a broad hand.


    Then, the child grabbed an empty bowl and hugged it close to her body, stepping closer. Ay watched as she clambered out of the ditch, slender legs fawn-like and clumsy, immature gossamer wings dragging in her wake.


    Perhaps she was too dumb to try and escape, Ay thought. Not all freaks had much of a mind to speak of. Some lacked any sense of self-preservation at all. She didn¡¯t even stand as tall as the wheels of his carriage when she reached it.


    Nervously, the child looked between Ay and the ones that pulled him.


    ¡°You speak to me,¡± Ay told her, realising that she really didn¡¯t know.


    ¡°Um¡­ Are you from the Crawling City?¡± she asked, her voice quiet but perfectly formed.


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    ¡°I¡¯m from Acetyn,¡± Ay confirmed.


    ¡°Okay. I¡¯m Bee.¡±


    ¡°Ay.¡± He realised he had never said his own name before.


    ¡°There¡¯s no water left,¡± Bee said. A long tongue dropped from her mouth. After a moment, it retracted, running over her dry lips.


    ¡°I have water,¡± Ay offered carefully, trying not to frighten her away. ¡°You¡¯ll have to come with me, though.¡±


    ¡°To Acetyn?¡± Bee asked, face brightening into a smile.


    Ay nodded his tremendous beak, looking down at her from over the edge of his bone cage.


    ¡°Okay. Um¡­ I was going there anyway.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡±


    ¡°I have to meet someone.¡± Bee smiled again.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ay said, considering her enthusiasm. ¡°You do.¡±


    ¡°I need to bring my sisters, though!¡±


    Ay leaned back after hearing that. He wasn¡¯t aware of any sisters. The job was just her, but if these supposed sisters had the genetic makeup to form a face ¡ª or remnants of whatever depraved genetic experiment this Vat-Mother might have performed ¡ª they would be equally valuable.


    ¡°Where are your sisters?¡± Ay asked.


    ¡°Home.¡±


    ¡°The Vat-Mother¡¯s domain?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, eyes squinting, voice unsure.


    The cry of his servants, restless in the rotten atmosphere, stirred Ay. He swallowed back saliva and nodded again.


    ¡°Get in,¡± Ay told Bee. So she did, clambering up and taking a seat next to him.


    ¡°Is this a map?¡± Bee asked, turning it over.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ay said, watching her handle it as he slung the reins and drove the freaks onwards.


    ¡°Is its leather from someone?¡±


    ¡°Must be,¡± Ay reasoned, not giving it a second thought. His gaze returned to his surroundings, a careful eye out for danger. This was too easy. He didn¡¯t like it.


    Bee, however, wasted no time. She was already rummaging through his satchels and bags ¡ª one flask was opened. Sniffing its contents, nose wrinkling, the child quickly returned it.


    ¡°Water¡¯s skinned in the back,¡± Ay croaked. ¡°There isn¡¯t much.¡±


    Bee looked up to Ay sheepishly. He didn¡¯t spare her another glance, so she clambered over the seat to find the water whilst the waggon lurched and bounced. Behind him, Ay could hear her unseal a clasp and suck from it.


    ¡°Careful. Needs to last us,¡± Ay told Bee without looking back.


    Bee hesitantly closed it again before struggling back into the front seat. Ay thought she looked helpless, eyeing her underdeveloped body as she climbed around before refocusing on the rotten road.


    Some freaks just have no luck, he supposed.


    The Vat-Mother¡¯s estate had held up well, all things considered, the hunter decided. They passed between the corpses of the fallen towers that once made up her palace. There, they came upon the remains of what was once a grand court, a surface vessel for the genetically profound, comfortable even when exposed to the sun¡¯s radiation. Ay looked it over, a stark opposition to the profane depths of Enelastoia, but no less hostile for its exposure to the evil sky.


    This was the place that the young Bee was so eager to reach. No sooner had they stopped did she jump from the carriage with one of the water bags in her arms.


    ¡°Oi!¡± Ay shouted after her.


    It was no use.


    Bee disappeared inside the hall. Ay didn¡¯t chase her, though. Her run was pitiably slow, and she left an obvious pheromone trail he could taste. First, he ensured the freaks knew not to run, tightening the bolts that secured their legs and spines. Then, whilst they still moaned in agony, he slithered over to the dead building, lowering his head to squeeze in through one of the massive gunshot wounds in its carapace.


    Inside, Ay¡¯s attention was dragged in two directions at once. He was in some terrible mirror of the vaults he had left behind. Here, though, above, sunlight breached in through another wound in the sagging ceiling. Across the chamber, he could hear whining and chirping.


    ¡°No. No, El, Em,¡± Bee said. ¡°Don¡¯t bite mother! No! Drink this.¡±


    Ay crept over to see it for himself, snaking between slumped biomass tumours and deflated fleshy wombs. He saw Bee pouring a drink for a gaggle of discarded offspring ¡ª the mindless, excess meat from a vat-birth.


    And there.


    It wasn¡¯t every day that you got to see a dead Goddess, laid out, amputated from their city ¡ª the Vat-Mother of Sestchek set out peacefully against the wreckage of her own creation. Her lifeless skull looked almost serene, yet her emaciated body was already half-devoured by her own young.


    ¡°These are your sisters?¡± Ay asked, standing over Bee. She looked up to him, nodding.


    ¡°Were they born with you?¡±


    Another affirmative nod. The child looked ready to plead with him, but Ay swallowed down a lump in his throat and returned the nod.


    ¡°They can come,¡± Ay decided. If there was even a chance they had some of her scrambled genes, then Ay would be set for life.


    ¡°Thank you! Thank you, Ay!¡±


    He grunted it off, sweeping his gaze around, looking from the fallen deity to the wounds in her domain.


    ¡°When did this happen?¡± Ay asked, gesturing up.


    Bee followed his attention with her eyes up to the hole in the roof, half swaddled in concrete, its repair unfinished.


    ¡°Um¡ª I¡¯m not sure, actually?¡±

 Twin Fates 8.

    Bee struggled with Em, worming on her lap. Between the writhing of her sister and the jostling of the wagon, she couldn¡¯t get comfortable. Looking back, Bee saw the rest of her sisters were still quietly tucked beneath a blanket. Being blinded seemed to soothe them. Not Em, though ¡ª she was too big for that and chirped for attention whenever Bee stopped petting her wormy back or wasn¡¯t feeding her.


    And sometimes, she demanded both.


    ¡°Watch out,¡± Ay growled. ¡°Steep bit.¡±


    Despite her better judgement, Bee looked up to Ay. He seemed so sure of himself, capable and independent, venturing between the cities when Bee had only struggled to survive. Her gaze flicked from him to his servants, pulling them down the fetid streets. As the wagon surmounted a crest, her eyes moved over the iron rigging that bound them, screwed into their bones, and lashed together with hanging chains.


    A foul updraught brought a terrible reek from the city¡¯s underbelly. Retching, Bee clasped both hands over her mouth and nose. Corpse stench filled the air. But there, ahead, beyond the mountainous foothills of the great slug, stretched a glass desert.


    Bee marvelled at the sight, which she had only glimpsed from the highest reaches before, even as her eyes watered from the decay. Yet it felt like an eternity before they moved beyond the rotten swell to something resembling fresh air.


    The desert winds were hot like a furnace, and the freaks at the lash struggled even as they were driven forward.


    ¡°Help us,¡± rasped one of the enslaved.


    Bee leaned forward to see. Meanwhile, Ay didn¡¯t deign to break his vigil of the bright horizon.


    ¡°Please¡ª Help.¡± It was the smaller one, struggling on five legs, of all those bound together in their iron rigging.


    ¡°How did you get like this?¡± Bee asked, curious.


    ¡°They tricked us,¡± she answered. ¡°A few days¡¯ labour for water and meat, they said. Never said we¡¯d leave the city. Let us go. Let us out...¡±


    ¡°Huh.¡± The child sat back against her seat. She held Em close.


    ¡°Please...¡±


    ¡°Well, you really shouldn¡¯t just agree to do things,¡± Bee helpfully informed the woman, reduced to a beast of burden. ¡°No one has your best intentions at heart.¡±


    The enslaved freak wailed. Ay pulled the reins tight, silencing it.


    ¡°A few days old. Already smarter than you lot,¡± Ay croaked.


    ¡°You¡¯ll let them go when you¡¯re done, right?¡± Bee asked him.


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    ¡°Of course. Freak of my word. Put them back where I found them.¡±


    The child accepted that, leaning forward to say to the woman, ¡°See? You shouldn¡¯t try and go back on a deal.¡±


    Ay laughed, though Bee couldn¡¯t work out what was so funny and eyed him sidelong.


    They rode on, out past the last chitinous building, onto the very lip of the dead slug¡¯s lowest foothills. There, a forest of spines stretched up into the sky. Sharp and craggy, the city¡¯s barbed defences were the only parts that still stood tall. Pikes of shell and steel stood ready to guard it against something unfathomably colossal in death despite failing it in life.


    The hot wind carried traces of the wasteland beyond. Sand sparkled like infinitesimally shattered crystal, and the gales blasted it into steep dunes that crept up towards the city itself.


    The carriage summited the first dune, rocking and bouncing as it crested the hill and began to descend. It was over this sandbank that they caught him. An eight-limbed beetle frantically kicked its legs, struggling with the loose ground and trying not to fall into a roll with its squat, flat body ¡ª overburdened as it was with a tall and heavy pack.


    ¡°It¡¯s Heych,¡± Bee said quietly.


    Ay stirred when she spoke, beak cracking open. His head turned into the wind in time to see the freak slip and kick, falling down the rest of the way, clumsy with exhaustion. The beetle¡¯s form was not designed to travel these scoured wastes.


    ¡°You know this freak?¡± He rumbled.


    ¡°Um¡­ Yes. I met him when I was born.¡±


    Ay¡¯s gaze shifted to Bee.


    ¡°He knows who you are?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡± Bee answered, unsure of where Ay was going with this. She looked up to him curiously as he lifted a lance from the side of the carriage, hidden amongst the bones.


    ¡°What is that?¡± She asked as Ay pointed the lance towards Heych, still struggling in the sand and spitting pheromone panic.


    A flash of fire. A crack of noise. Bee felt it rock her bones, and her ears screamed.


    Heych broke in two, his body spinning in two separate directions before they hit the sand and rolled the rest of the way down the dune. Blood and viscera sprayed out in their wake.


    ¡°No!¡± Bee screamed.


    Far too late, Bee dropped Em and reached for the weapon, trying to pull it from Ay¡¯s hands. It was too big for her to hold onto properly, and she couldn¡¯t even shake the hunter¡¯s massive grip.


    ¡°Let go,¡± Ay croaked at her. Still, Bee struggled against him, so he lifted the lance from her reach with a simple twist of his arm.


    ¡°Are you done?¡± Ay croaked at her wailing before slithering off of the carriage.


    The bone cage rocked as his weight left it, and the hunter¡¯s slithering body met the sands. Left behind, Bee clung to the wagon¡¯s sides, watching Ay smoothly descend down the dune and toward Heych¡¯s destroyed body.


    Bee watched as he picked over both halves of the dead freak ¡ª her only friend. Tears flooded her eyes. Her heart beat too hard. She suddenly felt sick, trembling, then vomiting over the edge of the carriage. Her waters mixed with the heavy crystal sand, pouring down the bank.


    Coughing and spluttering, Bee managed to look back over to Ay again. He hefted the heavy packs that Heych struggled with with a single hand. Then, gracefully, Ay snaked back up the dune to meet her. Even standing upon the inclined sandbank, he towered over Bee in the carriage.


    ¡°Just another dead freak,¡± Ay told her, slamming down Heych¡¯s supplies into the wagon next to Bee. ¡°And if you keep doing that¡­¡±


    Ay pointed a claw at her face and then the mess she made.


    ¡°... You¡¯re going to end up the same way.¡±

 Twin Fates 9.

    Desert heat blasted the glass sands. The empty plain shone like a mirror, glistening with dust that made a mockery of morning dew. It was dry and scorched, and the memory of the dead slug was now long behind them. Bee and Em were bundled up, hidden from the stinging wind beneath a blanket and shawl. Ay merely kept his beak shut fast when the dust picked up, cracking it open from moment to moment to peer out to the horizon.


    ¡°You¡¯re burning,¡± he growled.


    Bee whined, pulling her sore, pink feet and hands back under the sheets.


    ¡°Suppose the Vat-Mother can make anything,¡± Ay said, then grunted. ¡°Why do you burn?¡±


    Bee made a pitiful sound again, twisting to stop her little sister from escaping her lap.


    ¡°Could she really make anything?¡± Ay asked, beak turning towards the girl.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she said quietly. Then, a heartbeat later, she realised Ay was looking at her. She shrank under his fleshy gaze. ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±


    Ay¡¯s beak closed with a clack. He focused on the way ahead, an ululating path winding through blasted dunes and stumps of fractured rock. The servants groaned and struggled, but together, they made a good pace. Their mismatched limbs kept an irregular back and forth, faster and slower as they dragged the cart. The occasional stone under the steel wheels bounced them in their seats.


    ¡°She¡¯s hungry again,¡± Bee said, then sighed. Rocking Em on her lap and muttering to the little one¡¯s maggoty head wouldn¡¯t keep her still anymore.


    ¡°Give them more,¡± Ay said through a crack in his beak. ¡°Get some water yourself. We¡¯ll cross the Oasis this way. Resupply.¡±


    That was all she was waiting to hear. Bee jumped out of her seat and into the back, dragging the fur rags with her. Putting Em down with her other sisters, they chirped together when their swaddling was removed, and their eyes found the light.


    ¡°You need to be careful.¡± Ay rasped back to her. ¡°Children eat those who feed them, when they get big enough.¡±


    Bee froze up as she tore up a strip of meat taken from Heych¡¯s pack to feed the girls. Peering back at Ay, Bee knew his opinion didn¡¯t matter. They were just words. They didn¡¯t matter. Yet she had stopped.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± was her dumb response, and she felt a shiver of regret make her hair and cranial spines stand on end immediately after the words left her lips. Ay only croaked a laugh and continued driving the carriage.


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    Above, Bee saw the black spectres swoop out. They began to circle, sharp figures drifting high in the sky. Sweeping, innumerable.


    ¡°What are they?¡± Bee asked, scattering scraps to her sisters.


    Ay made a show of leaning his body to one side, beak opening far enough to look up into the bright sky. He shielded his eyes from the sun with a muscular arm.


    ¡°Scavengers. Follow freaks in the desert. Wait for them to die.¡±


    ¡°That can¡¯t be a good way to get water.¡±


    ¡°Not just water, their biomass, their augs.¡± He looked back. ¡°Like hounds. You know what a hound is?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Ay refocused on the road ahead, such as it was. With every gust of wind, it seemed to twist and turn. This time, he didn¡¯t stay quiet for long. Something ate away at him, looking from the horizon and then back to the child and the offspring she was feeding.


    ¡°Your mother was a Goddess,¡± Ay said.


    ¡°Was she?¡± Bee looked away, pretending she didn¡¯t know.


    ¡°People worship her. People worshipped her.¡± Ay said, squeezing with the reigns in his hands, where the child wouldn¡¯t be able to see. ¡°Every city has temples filled with her wombs.¡±


    Bee turned to stare at him, frowning. She couldn¡¯t trust him. She knew that, now.


    ¡°She made so many of us,¡± Ay eventually said. Speaking about her mother seemed to disarm him.


    ¡°Did she make you?¡± Bee asked quietly. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re my brother.¡±


    ¡°No. No, I was shed.¡±


    ¡°Heych said he was shed¡ª¡± Bee stopped feeding her sisters and sat there as her anguish rose, gathering the strength to continue. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°It means...¡± Ay began but paused. He needed a moment to find the right words to explain to the child. ¡°Means we fell off of someone who got too big, got too much biomass. Cities do it a lot. First thing I remember, belched out of a malfunctioning chute onto Jaabas Street.¡±


    Bee¡¯s nose wrinkled. Ay looked back, caught the look and explained, ¡°It¡¯s a marketplace.¡±


    That wasn¡¯t what disturbed her.


    ¡°Why does it matter?¡± Bee asked.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t.¡± Then, vaguely offended, Ay straightened up, bouncing his shoulders in a disaffected shrug. ¡°Just didn¡¯t think she could die.¡±


    Bee stared at the back of Ay¡¯s head as he returned to his silent vigil. She decided not to tell him, finishing feeding her sisters instead. He didn¡¯t need to know.


    That bright spark overhead, that foul daystar, slowly arced above. Finally, it escaped over the horizon. Night swallowed them, and Bee¡¯s furs became insulation from the biting cold. She slept. She awoke. The sun made its way across the heavens until it disappeared once more. When night came again, and Bee dared peek above, she saw the darkness break with flashes of light, streaks of fire spitting across the heavens, as if the stars themselves were trying to rake the earth and burn the sky.


    Together, they did not slow. Ay did not break even as the thralls mewed at his lash. Even in what seemed to Bee unconquerable darkness, he pressed on. Ever on, those at his command guided down the faintest traces of a path.

 Your Inheritance 1.

    Your life¡¯s curtain falls, unfazed by your performance.


    Its shroud, indifferent, falls upon all souls.


    A shade that knows no exemption.


    Embrace the void ahead.


    Shut out the light.


    Die for me.


    <hr>


    CHAPTER 3: YOUR INHERITANCE


    The wagon rattled and lurched. It was becoming predictable. Bee fixated on the road ahead of her. Over the hours, it had grown as if a million feet had marched across the dry earth and worn it down between two hillsides. Again and again, she looked up at Ay. He either didn¡¯t care or did an excellent job of pretending not to. Even Em had become dull to the monotony of the journey.


    Their supplies had been consumed, day after day after day. The water skins were empty. Mere scraps remained of the meat they ate. The child found staying still made it easier, sitting there, eyes unfocused, letting time just pass by and putting the growling of her stomach and the scratching of her throat out of her mind altogether.


    Ay stirred. Bee straightened her back. Em whined hungrily, inspired by their motion. They rode past a skeleton, stripped down to sun-bleached bones. Its form was mutated and distended, its rib cage bloated and uneven, seven legs long and bent.


    ¡°Nearly made it,¡± Ay grumbled with pity. Then, he leaned toward Bee and said, ¡°Get in the back.¡±


    Bee did as he told her, hesitantly, climbing over with Em bundled up in her arms.


    ¡°Stay down,¡± he said over his shoulder. So the child did, getting under with her other sisters. They all squealed until she tucked them away from the light once more.


    Then, weaving its way up the beaten path, the wagon crested a glittering dune and rocked down the other side. Slaves and enslaver alike kept a wary eye out now. They made their way between body after body, picked clean of flesh, left with only rags and their treasures too heavy to steal.


    They had reached the Oasis.


    A vast lake filled the valley. It rippled, still miles away, suspended between hot mirages. Yet it was real, nestled amidst a sprawl of geometric design. Their arrival caused the beasts overhead to scatter away in search of another meal. The smell of blood carried on the wind.


    To Bee, it felt like hours in suspense. She lay there in the hot dark, hidden, waiting to see what would happen. Sweat stung her eyes, and she thought about sneaking out for the water skin ¡ª to squeeze that last drop out of it ¡ª when the wagon finally lurched to a halt. Bee heard voices. Feeling rebellious, she peeked out from under the sheets to see what was happening.


    Flashes of colour. Movement. Voices. Bee¡¯s eyes widened, mesmerised as she looked at a crowded street. Freaks and outsiders, clad in shawls, robes, and heavy cloaks, all to shield them from the white-hot spark above. Jewellery and painted skin danced in the light. They shouted at each other, spoke with their hands, and went about their lives in countless discrete ways, impossible to read.


    The Oasis had more life than Bee had ever seen ¡ª real life that was not wounded and slowly dying as far as she could see. They were no longer riding amidst the dead. Dazzled, Bee could see hide tents strapped between loose structures of caked mud and blasted stone, so different to the growths that covered the city of Sestchek. Freaks of all shapes and sizes sheltered here beneath the crumbling walls.


    Bee sat up and let herself out from the sweltering hideaway. Ay grunted when he heard her, looking back with a snap of his beak. Some of the freaks ¡ª those with eyes ¡ª seemed to recognise her, pointing and muttering amongst themselves. She waved. They did not wave back. Ay set his shoulders, focused on the way ahead.


    Their carriage passed through crowds, growing denser and denser. Bee could hardly believe there were so many people out here in the desert. At first, she was excited, but when she saw the resignation and defeat in the eyes of those weary souls, she realised they were just as lost as her.


    One of the enslaved freaks pulling their carriage cried out. The crush of the growing crowds had trapped it against its own rigging.


    ¡°Out of the way!¡± Ay shouted with a snarl that Bee had never heard before. He raised his lance.


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    The freaks howled back, but they parted, and a path between them cleared. The road itself narrowed, and Ay guided them between older buildings, ones that were terraced together, weathered and dark with age, built upon with awnings and second floors. One was open-fronted, with space for hundreds inside. It was nearly filled, those within looking out to see them pass, eyes and scales and teeth glimmering from the shadows.


    A masked beast with a long neck arched its head down from a low rooftop. Bee nearly jumped out of her skin when she came face to face with it. Em squeaked hungrily, joining in with the shouting, and Bee picked up her little sister protectively. Ay yelled at the thing, loud and wordlessly, turning in his seat and brandishing his fist. The beast retreated with a hiss.


    Left then right, Ay guided them down forks in the street. He had been here before and knew it well enough to navigate the older, persistent blocks, to slice straight through the Oasis as quickly as possible. His beak was open now, wet eyes trained on each dark corner. His muscles and sinew were drawn tight. He expected a fight.


    Growing older and venerable, the buildings around them began to lean, pressed down by centuries of existence. Closing out the sky, tents, awnings and decking crossed above them. Some of the structures, homes, were lit inside by the flickering of oily lanterns. Bee could smell heady perfume, food, and water in the air, salivating. Her hands were shaking.


    Somewhere beyond the dusty walls, Bee heard a freak sing out. Their voice trembled, a note long and tenuous until they were joined by a chorus. The child looked around as the sound echoed, channelled outwards. Unable to imagine where the hymn was coming from, Bee gasped. The words¡¯ meaning was lost on her ¡ª a language that she didn¡¯t understand, that wasn¡¯t pre-grown into her brain matter.


    One final turn, and they were out. The bright sky stung Bee¡¯s eyes again. She had to shield herself with a hand until she could adjust back to the bright light.


    The Oasis was just a shallow pool of muddy waters, expansive and shimmering where it caught the sun. It filled the basin in the valley¡¯s centre, pressed in on all sides by this meagre attempt at civilisation. That didn¡¯t matter, though. Bee had never seen such a sight, all that water that could be drunk without cutting the earth and stealing it. She jumped from the wagon, her mother¡¯s bowl clutched in her arms, unsteady legs carrying her down the bank to the water¡¯s edge. The child didn¡¯t even think about it. She was so thirsty.


    ¡°Bee!¡± Ay shouted after her. His voice didn¡¯t register. Desperate, she collapsed into the shallows, at the feet of the outsiders, sucking up what she could. Only then did she look up. Elders stepped back and moved around her, their prayer interrupted. Bee found herself surrounded by the denizens of the desert, soaked robes and shawls hiding their forms, all except the eyes and the claws.


    A hand seized Bee by the back of the neck. She was torn, screaming, from the water.


    Bee cried out and tried to break free, legs kicking, hands pulling at the sharp, unyielding vice that gripped her throat. Powerless, she was thrown back onto the muddy bank. The impact smacked the air from her lungs. She saw stars, and when she came back around, Bee realised she was still sliding through the red clay, arms and legs trying to get her away, crawling through the muck. Her dumb fight or flight was stuck on trying to flee, but it didn¡¯t work right. She couldn¡¯t get up, slipping.


    Scrambling desperately, Bee kept going until she hit something. Whimpering, she looked up to see Ay¡¯s armoured belly coiling in the mud. Higher still, she saw he was standing tall, beak fixed dead ahead, eyes on the zealots at the water¡¯s edge.


    ¡°I¡¯m taking her,¡± the hunter growled.


    ¡°The trespasser stole water,¡± said a robed monster. ¡°She will return it.¡±


    Ay opened and closed his beak, thumbing one of the rags he wore around his chest. His other two arms raised subtly, biceps tightening, a hand grasped around his lance. He had only moments to decide, eying in the desert-dwelling zealots, then looking around with his beak opened wide. One had a massive, scything arm ¡ª marked an auld war aug. The others seemed similarly ancient, long and distorted of face, and he couldn¡¯t tell what enhancements they had, swaddled in clothes as they were. A single scavenger still circled overhead, black silhouette sharp against the deep blue sky.


    If he just took the child¡¯s head, Ay thought, it would rot before he got it back to Enelastoia. They still might be able to soup it for the right genes. It was a risk.


    A grunt. The Ay shrugged it off and waved an open hand, trying not to reveal his readiness.


    ¡°Fine. Bleed her then.¡±


    ¡°No. No!¡± Bee panicked and clutched at Ay¡¯s serpent body. In doing so, she smeared him with the red clays that covered her, looking around wildly. ¡°Please don¡¯t!¡±


    A zealot waded over with wary eyes beneath its cowl, standing only as tall as Ay¡¯s chest. Their eyes met, both filled with contempt and threat.


    The zealot gripped Bee by her rags, tearing her effortlessly from Ay¡¯s body, muck dripping from her body. But the instant he lifted Bee, Ay snapped out, seizing him by the throat. Limbs tightened. Bone blades emerged from the robes of those baptised in the Oasis. The scavenger circling overhead drifted lower, inch by inch.


    Letting that moment draw out as long as he dared, Ay growled at the zealot and said, ¡°No more than she drank.¡±


    With a shove, Ay cast them both away. The monster staggered in the shallows, clutching Bee, who screamed and kicked and struggled harder than ever before. A crowd formed on the banks. Looking around, Ay could make out the outsiders native to the desert. He could also see those bent low by dehydration and starvation, slowly dying, cut off from their city and finding no succour here. Denied refuge, they came to see an example made of the young vat-born, perhaps trying to seem devout enough to be spared a drop of water for themselves.


    Two of them took Bee, then three. They thrust her high into the air, a prize, chanting out in their incomprehensible language for all to see. Altogether, they drowned out the child¡¯s cries with their voices, her struggling feeble and screaming turned mute. An elder, the face of twisted stone, displayed one of its arms ¡ª a blade etched with old runes, its history long forgotten.


    A shrill cry. A strike. That was all it took ¡ª hacking Bee¡¯s right arm below the elbow. She stared wide-eyed and numb. Slack-jawed, Bee watched the red waters that fountained out of her, pouring into the bowl of the Oasis, filling it so imperceptibly. Dizzy with shock, the child became lost in how the sanguine of her royal blood mixed with that muddy emulsion.

 Your Inheritance 2.

    ¡°Stop shaking, or you¡¯ll bleed harder,¡± the skinwelder said. Bee couldn¡¯t. She was still wet and filthy in the dark.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she stuttered, trembling. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Its thickly lensed eyes turned back to her braced arm. With a hand made of a thousand thorny needles, it knitted loose pieces of her flesh back together, the joint a mess of sliced skin, bone and sinew. Its second arm ejaculated ribbons of caustic gel, hissing and burning, glueing flesh back together. Its third arm tugged at the wound¡¯s edges with delicately hooked claws, exploring the damage.


    It hurt ¡ª the amputation, the tourniquet, everything. Bee tried to stop whimpering. She couldn¡¯t.


    The skinwelder¡¯s workshop, one of the smaller, newer buildings on the outskirts of the Oasis, was dirty. He was an outsider, one of the dwellers of the desert. Still, unlike most, he was quite willing to deal with those fleeing the city-slug ¡ª taking what they had while they were still here rather than waiting for them to drop dead out there.


    A freak was slumped over in one corner, between a flesh bank of spare augs and a shelf of preserved biomass. Bee was almost certain he was dead.


    Impatient, Ay inhabited the doorway to the world beyond, blocking out the hot sun with his massive body. The hunter kept an eye out, analysing everyone that dared pass, two arms folded, and the other hand vanished into the pockets of his rags. The tip of his tail twisted side to side, lashing with barely suppressed rage.


    ¡°All done.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Bee said. ¡°T-thank you...¡±


    Ay swept across the room, towering over them both. He took Bee¡¯s welded wound in one hand, turned it this way, and saw the results for himself to ensure it wasn¡¯t fatal. It must have passed his inspection.


    ¡°Well,¡± Ay croaked down to Bee. ¡°Are you going to pay the freak?¡±


    Bee cringed. She didn¡¯t have anything to pay him with. The Skinwelder leaned back, stood up and paced around the room, looking unimpressed. He wiped what passed as his hands on a spoiled rag.


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    ¡°No?¡± Ay asked, raising his voice.


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Bee said.


    Ay grunted. He pulled out her mother¡¯s steel bowl from under the rags wrapped about his chest. Ay then pulled out her severed hand, dumping it into the vessel and offering it out. Bee seized with apprehension, realising she wouldn¡¯t get it back.


    ¡°Should work,¡± Ay told the skinwelder, who turned, picked up the hand and appraised it with distorted eyes.


    ¡°Bit small,¡± the skinwelder said.


    ¡°Still has growing to do,¡± Ay countered.


    ¡°It¡¯ll do,¡± the skinwelder decided after inspecting the exposed tendons and ligaments. Then, retreating to the aug bank, he went about stitching his new prize onto the enslaved creature so that it could be kept nourished. The aug bank groaned but knew better than to flinch.


    They left the skin welder to its work, continuing their journey through the maze of the Oasis. Bee clung to Em with her good arm. Back on their wagon, they made slow progress through the crowds, headed outwards, escaping back into the furnace. Even Em had the sense to be silent.


    Bee was cold despite the harsh sun. She had been told to sit in the back and stay there this time. Ay worked the lash and shouted out to clear the way. The starving freaks did ¡ª slowly, reluctantly.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have any food,¡± Bee said, voice weak and unsteady. A moment passed, then another. Then, finally, she realised Ay was ignoring her.


    ¡°We need food,¡± Bee repeated more loudly, desperation seeping into her voice.


    ¡°We have food,¡± Ay finally said.


    Bee looked at her other sisters, still bundled up. The fear, which was becoming a persistent state of being for the child, robbed her of words. Suddenly, her right hand, wherever it was, felt as if she had plunged it into a pool of hot oil and glass. Looking down, Bee realised that her limbs had strung tight with anger. Her breath escaped her throat and flutes, hot.


    Bee tried to spy Ay¡¯s lance in the wagon whilst he was distracted by the staggering freaks that blocked the road. She looked around the bone and the steel reinforcements, but she struggled to find it in her daze.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it,¡± Ay said without looking back, catching Bee off guard. She had thought he wasn¡¯t paying attention. Frozen still, she hugged Em close again.


    ¡°Please... We need something else to eat,¡± Bee struggled with the words.


    Ay looked back, and the fleshy eyes between his beaks narrowed.


    ¡°Fine.¡±

 Your Inheritance 3.

    ¡°My thralls are hungry,¡± Ay rumbled, standing amidst a crumbling stone ruin. Dust and sand were kicked up from its broken arches and fallen walls by the wind as he addressed the Tumour Keeper of the Oasis. The fat, bloated beast reared up on his podium, laughing as it swatted its swollen hand at a passing servitor. The little one fell, scrambling on weak legs to return to its feet.


    ¡°They are all hungry,¡± the Tumour Keeper said, spilling pungent oil from his wide, frog-like mouth. ¡°Look at them, slowly purifying! Embracing the source!¡±


    Ay clacked his beak, then slowly looked around the court of starving, emaciated attendees. All around, their heavy heads were bent low, both in reverence and by the weakness of their gaunt limbs.


    ¡°Their hunger is cleansing,¡± the fat one said. Behind the corpulent beast and his pulpit, there was a pit to the lower levels of the ancient structure. Ay could smell the meat kept just out of sight, just beyond the reach of the common freak.


    To the side of the chamber, an executed freak was strung up high onto an iron frame ¡ª displayed for all to see. Some act of perceived heresy doomed him to his fate, though no records of his alleged crimes were displayed. Stooped at its side, a monster carved at his flesh. Slowly and expertly, it took a bright knife to the meat of the heretic, slicing carefully around its exposed augs. Each muscle was carefully taken apart. Each deliberate cut released a slice of flesh, wafer-thin, held up to the light. Translucent to the wicked sun, the meat was checked for perfection. Then, it was arranged upon a platter of gold for communion.


    Devour your enemy and let their meat be purified within the crucible of your body. Free the biomass from the living cities back out into the world. Neoglosmic fantasy. Ay had heard it all before. It was just another band of freaks with their laces stuck on repeat, dreaming of escape. No different than the Axiamati or the Xenozygotes in the end.


    ¡°You have never come before me, traveller,¡± the Keeper said, hands clasped together on his rotund abdomen. ¡°Until now. I have heard of you though. Sent to drag meat back to your city. You are so full of vigour, I can see... Succulent. One of gluttony, one who has eaten more than their share of biomass. Such a strong body.¡±


    Ay grunted, a hand on his lance, propped down against the sands, where his long body coiled.


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    ¡°Just my fair share,¡± Ay said, wet eyes returning to the Keeper.


    ¡°So it is. So it is,¡± the Keeper murmured, vaguely placated by the acknowledgement of his scripture. ¡°Yet now you are here.¡±


    ¡°I want to trade.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m listening,¡± the Keeper said with saccharine sweetness, his mouth peeling into a gibbous smile, teeth blade-like and far too sharp.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a live one,¡± Ay said. The Keeper chuckled, then tapped a fat hand against the heavy bench that he rested upon.


    ¡°I have many live ones in this court,¡± the Keeper said, his oily tongue flicking out to clean his eyes.


    ¡°Not like this one,¡± Ay said. ¡°The Vat-Mother of Sestchek¡¯s final creation. She has a face like the old ones. Probably all sorts of other rare gene-stuff, too. I¡¯ve been sent to retrieve her by those on high. It¡¯s the real thing, too. Seen it with my own eyes. You can have one of Her afterbirth. All I ask is food for the journey.¡±


    The Tumour Keeper of the Oasis lost his smile. With beady eyes, he regarded Ay with considerable scrutiny. The weight of his gaze was tremendous and suddenly very cold.


    Every freak in the chamber looked on with bated breath, antenna and claws twitching. Even the butcher ceased carving, turning towards Ay, blade in hand. Ay could taste their fear, coiling his tail, ready to strike first, lance in hand. Tense, his beak clacked again.


    ¡°And if I simply took this child?¡± Asked the Keeper.


    ¡°Then I would kill every last one of you.¡±


    There was a sudden cacophony of gasps, hisses, and cries from the court. Ay swallowed beneath his nearly sealed beak, sweat forming around the joints in his bioarmour. He tried not to show even a moment of weakness.


    ¡°Would you?¡± The Keeper grinned again, a hissing sound escaping from its wet mouth, glistening fat scleras starting to mist over. ¡°I would enjoy seeing that.¡±


    A howl interrupted the stand-off. It came from the pit beyond the Tumour Keeper. Something down there that cried out a blood-curdling sound stretched out into a helpless whimper.


    The Keeper worked his fleshy palms upon each other, deciding.


    ¡°You asked!¡± the Keeper said, then rolled forward, fat body rocking. He addressed the court. ¡°The meat! Feed the traveller!¡± he roared, spittle flying, knocking a poor misguided attendant from the stand. Its legs scrambled to keep itself up, then failed, dropping onto the sand with a thud. A surge of servitors emerged, crawling up from the pit. They were small, dirty things ¡ª scurrying scarabs in rags of sun-bleached cloth, masks covering their misshapen heads. With them, they brought an offering of flesh.

 Your Inheritance 4.

    Bee clutched onto Em beneath her blankets, sitting amongst her sisters in the back of the wagon. The freaks at the lash groaned, bound tightly in their rigging, themselves unable to escape. Ay had entered some time ago and told her not to leave the wagon. Bee, still reeling from her arrival at the Oasis, didn¡¯t object. She wasn¡¯t even sure she had the energy to move. The fear still gripped her ¡ª fear, worry, pain. She felt sick with it.


    So there they dwelled, in the shade of a large stone monument, a fallen structure that almost made sense to Bee¡¯s disorientated gaze but was made from dead stone. Had it been carved from the earth, Bee wondered. Why wouldn¡¯t someone just grow their buildings? Why would they make this obelisk? It must have been difficult.


    Distant speech drifted on the hot wind. Bee could not quite hear, but sometimes she could guess the words. Were they arguing in there? It sounded like it.


    A shadow fell over Bee, and she jolted alert. A dark silhouette above had swooped close, circled, and then moved on. Bee watched it swing out into the distance. A spray of glass sand, kicked up by the wind, hit her in the face, stinging her eyes and mouth. Spitting and whining, Bee hid back beneath the blanket.


    Em licked at her wound, where Bee¡¯s forearm had been severed, and the flesh worked back together. Then Em bit hungrily. Gasping, Bee pulled her sister away, repositioned Em on her lap, and held her there with a weak grip.


    ¡°Stop that...¡±


    Em writhed and hissed.


    Bee stared out of the wagon from under the blanket. Her eyes were puffy and rimmed red. Her face was sore with dried tears. Everything hurt. All the while, Em decided to chew on the blanket instead, but Bee didn¡¯t have the energy to stop her from doing it.


    ¡°Little one, you seem so tired.¡±


    Bee turned her head. From the ruins stepped a tall, slender figure. Dressed from head to toe in sunbleached robes, she spoke with a soft and gentle voice, a plate of gold held between two gloved hands.


    ¡°There is no need to be afraid. Here,¡± the stranger said, offering the plate.


    Bee¡¯s eyes widened, seeing slices of meat on the plate, and she reached out to grab some. Turning away after grabbing a handful, Bee desperately ate, eyes closed, face slack. The fear shortly subsided as she ate, feeling her strength returning. One of her little siblings sniffed at her shoulder, nuzzling her skin. Em cried out insistently.


    Then Bee stirred from her hunger, took more, and began to feed her sisters. Each began to chirp, worming back to life as the food was offered, ending their starvation.


    The woman smiled, mandibles turning and compound eyes bulging out. A reassuring pheromone spray accompanied the words, ¡°Such a bond. You must know, empathy is rare in one so young.¡±


    ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°I am one of the temple¡¯s servants. Your name is Bee. Is that right?¡±


    ¡°Um... Yes.¡±


    ¡°May I sit with you, Bee?¡±


    ¡°I guess¡ª I mean, that¡¯s fine.¡±


    The thralls in the rigging groaned as the creature stepped onto the wagon with eight graceful legs. The stranger then sat down on the carriage bed next to Bee¡¯s seat, taking a moment to straighten her robes and clasp her hands together on her lap that faced the child. Once settled, her attention turned between the various offspring before speaking to Bee again.


    ¡°My friends are going to bring you more food and water, very soon. I wanted to ask you some questions, if you do not mind answering them for me.¡±


    ¡°No?¡± Bee said, unsure, tucking her knees to her plated chest and trying to calm her anxiety, looking up to the servant with wide eyes.


    ¡°Thank you, Bee. Our friend, Ay, has explained to me that you are the Vat-Mother of Sestchek¡¯s daughter. Is that correct?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not my friend.¡±


    The servant dipped her head forward in silent acknowledgement.


    ¡°Even so,¡± the stranger said.


    ¡°Yes. I mean, I am.¡±


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    The temple servant put a hand on Bee¡¯s shoulder. The child shrank under the touch but did not pull away.


    ¡°I can see you are hurt. May I see?¡±


    Bee lifted her arm to show the amputation at her elbow. The older creature made a sympathetic sound, spraying sad scents as she leaned in to see.


    ¡°That looks incredibly painful. You are very brave, Bee.¡±


    ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°I wanted to get to know you, Bee, before you left. Ay has told us all about you.¡±


    The temple servant¡¯s reassuring tones patronised and infuriated Bee. She held her tongue, trying to stop herself from making a comment. Somehow, she ended up scowling at the temple servant without even really realising she was doing it. Realising that only upset the child further, the servant removed her hand from the child¡¯s shoulder.


    Sensing her discomfort, the creature was content to wait in gentle silence. As time passed, Bee desperately wanted to believe that someone could show her some genuine kindness. However, a creeping sense of doubt remained, and she hated herself for that newfound pessimism.


    The far-off speech, carried on the wind, was full of twisted, angry words. It joined the low thrumming of wind through stone and the hiss of sand catching the ruins. A reptilian creature that had kept out of sight made a terrible, guttural roar that rolled over the rocks and bounced off the sands in a terrible echo.


    ¡°How old are you, Bee?¡±


    Bee frowned and looked down at Em¡¯s toothy, worming face.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I remember my first days,¡± Bee explained. ¡°We were all born together, mostly. I think it¡¯s nearly twenty days ago, maybe.¡±


    ¡°You have a pretty accent. Where does it come from?¡±


    That was a meaningless question, Bee thought, mind clouded with suspicion. Eventually, however, she decided to sweeten her tone rather than bite back with it.


    ¡°I just speak like my mother.¡±


    ¡°And your face? It really is quite beautiful and I haven¡¯t seen anyone with anything quite like it.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. That¡¯s just how I look.¡±


    ¡°Well, you are very lucky, Bee. I hope that you know that. You remind me of my daughter.¡±


    Bee compressed her lips into a tight line as she looked ahead, over the thralls and their rigging, past the temple¡¯s ruins and the glass desert beyond. Then, after a moment, she remembered herself and gave the creature a shallow smile.


    ¡°Does she look like me?¡± Bee asked.


    ¡°No. However, she has become very well-behaved, like you.¡±


    ¡°Do you have any more food?¡± Bee suddenly asked, looking at the servant¡¯s empty gold plate.


    ¡°That is one of the things I wanted to talk to you about, Bee. You are a very important young child and I wanted to speak to you about your source.¡±


    ¡°My source?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± The servant reached out and put her soft, gloved hand on Bee¡¯s chest. The child seized with the suddenness of the touch but let it happen, sitting there with her heart beating in her throat.


    ¡°Your source,¡± the servant continued. ¡°It is inside of all of us. A water engine, as well as tiny machinery.¡±


    ¡°A water engine?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. It burns water to power us.¡±


    Bee baulked, watching the servant, unmoving until she elaborated.


    ¡°Food, amongst other things, is unnecessary. It is wanton greed in our minds to keep carbon biomass to yourself. By indulging, you sin, and the more you sin the more befouled creatures you create. You shed them like the misdeeds of your past, and they haunt the world long after you are gone. Instead, you should patiently wait for the world around us to take the mass back and restore itself splendid and beautiful.¡±


    ¡°How can that possibly be true?¡± Bee asked quietly.


    ¡°Oh, Bee. I used to be a sinner as well. But you are a very important child. I cannot stress that enough, and I want you to understand that your urges are immoral. They will lead you down a path of greed and destruction. I do not want you to end up like your mother.¡±


    Em chirped and struggled on Bee¡¯s lap beneath the servant¡¯s arm, and it was only then that the stranger retracted it and looked down on them both.


    ¡°I would like you to tell Ay that you want to stay here with us. Learn our ways. We can teach you so much about you and your destiny that I do not think you have ever had the chance to learn.¡±


    ¡°Do you really know about me?¡±


    ¡°Yes. There has long been a struggle to control the genetic discord amongst the self-declared God and Goddesses of the cities, their holy wars, their so-called crucible. I know all about it. If you stay, I can tell you everything.¡±


    Bee stared up at the servant, expression vivid as she frantically searched the creature¡¯s faceted eyes for sincerity. Words didn¡¯t come to her immediately. Instead, she was interrupted by a clacking and a hiss, drawing her attention back towards the temple ruins, where Ay glided out with his enormous, tailed body, flanked by two gaunt freaks that struggled on spindly legs. They all carried heavy bags, but only Ay hefted them easily between two hands, his third carrying his lance.


    His beak opened as he saw the scene. Wet eyes met Bee¡¯s, giving her a slight nod.


    ¡°Not bothering you?¡± He rumbled, asking the child but looking at the servant sitting next to her with venomous intent.


    ¡°We were just speaking about Bee and her mother,¡± the creature answered with a hollow graciousness. Bee swallowed a lump in her throat as the servant continued, ¡°Bee actually has something she would like to tell you.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Bee said, hugging Em tightly. She glanced up at the creature beside her before speaking to Ay with hesitation and quiet dismay. ¡°I¡¯m really... Really looking forward to getting to the Crawling City.¡±


    The servant¡¯s eyes snapped down to the child, posture growing tense and hostile.


    Yet Ay laughed watching this, shoulders rocking as he simply said, ¡°You and me both.¡±

 Your Inheritance 5.

    Ay unbound the thralls. They gasped and hissed as bolts, wires, and chains were loosened. Then, with the wagon rocking heavily as he mounted it, the hunter leaned over the servant until she stepped down in a reluctant retreat.


    Bee did not argue at the prospect of surrendering one of her sisters in exchange for the food and water. Instead, Ay watched closely as the child scooped up the largest of the maggoty offspring ¡ª Em, he thought Bee called it. Then, cradling the offspring in her arms and giving her one last farewell, Bee offered her to the starving monsters. All the while,   Ay kept his lance close at hand.


    ¡°Would have thought,¡± Aye croaked, then slurped back a wave of saliva, ¡°You would want to keep that one.¡±


    Bee did not stir at his remark. She stared ahead, simply having resigned herself. So he took the lash and directed the thralls to pull them away from the ruins. Tasting the air, Ay kept a careful eye on the cultists who watched them leave. Once they were out of sight, he turned his wet gaze to the outskirts of the Oasis.


    The child seemed lost in her thoughts as the wagon rocked over sand and stone. She bundled herself back up in her blankets,  keeping her remaining sisters close. Then, finally, Ay leaned forward and spoke to the thralls.


    ¡°Food and water, when we¡¯re not followed.¡±


    With pained noise, the thralls yanked on the reins, picking up pace as they neared a crossroads at the border of the Oasis. They were finally back underway, reaching an open plain with only half-trodden paths out into the expanse.


    Tucked away in the dark, exhaustion finally took her, and Bee fell asleep. Her head swam with the image of children swimming in the Oasis ¡ª their distant, collective cheers so different from the insectile hymns of the cultists.


    Suddenly, the image of the zealot that maimed her returned with unsettling clarity. This time, he cowered in the mud beneath the hooves of a vast, fleshy creature. His stone face could not contort; instead, he gasped and heaved with pain, his ancient sword unable to pierce the force that crushed him, shattering him in a spray of blood and oil.


    Above, the titan waved a sensory array of fleshy tendrils, used to taste the air around it, before crouching and waiting for the Oasis¡¯ settlement to burn, filling the sky with a column of black smoke.


    The wagon thumped to a stop, and the entire carriage rattled and bobbed as Ay slid down to touch the sands. The heavy motion woke Bee. Bleary with fatigue, her dry eyes straining, she peeked out into the midday heat. How long had she been under there? She felt simultaneously damp with sweat and dizzy with thirst.


    Ay was coiling around the front of the wagon. He reached into a bag and produced a fist full of biomass, shoving it into the faces of each thrall, one at a time. They seemed to have stopped out in the dunes. Bee couldn¡¯t make out anything but glass and bright skies in every direction. No, not quite. A dark smudge of rising dust was low on the horizon, ahead, pillowing out high into the atmosphere.


    ¡°Water¡¯s in those skins,¡± he croaked, pointing a clawed hand into the carriage. The child struggled upright before finding it and taking a desperate drink. Then, after her fill, she took her sisters, one at a time, and helped them guzzle their own share.


    ¡°Please¡ª No,¡± the freak in the rigging gasped. Bee recognised her voice, the one who tried to convince her to set her free. ¡°No, no. No, don¡¯t make me eat that.¡±


    Sorely, Bee leaned over the seats to see. Glowering down at them, she saw Ay take a fistful of meat and force it against her face until she chewed and swallowed.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Bee asked.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t want to eat tumour,¡± Ay croaked, taking a water skin and forcing the broken and humiliated thralls to drink next.


    ¡°Why?¡± The child leaned closer and shouted over the thrall¡¯s sobbing.


    ¡°Mutagens.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    Deciding she didn¡¯t care, Bee sat back amongst her sisters and squinted up at the blue sky. A lone scavenger hovered high above them, a spread of sharp wings so high as to be indistinct except for its bold silhouette. She grimaced and rubbed at the plates that made up her chest and shoulders before checking her ruined arm.


    The sound of one of the thralls retching and trying to vomit made Bee feel nauseous. Bothered by it, the child leaned back to watch. Ay slithered back up onto the wagon and took his seat, ignoring them.


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    ¡°What¡¯s her problem? She got some meat.¡±


    ¡°Too much mutagen, freaks spit it up,¡± Ay said before slurping back saliva in his beak, lifting the waterskin he held and taking a deep drink.


    ¡°Looks like meat to me.¡±


    ¡°It is. Mutagen in it, the meat. Too much, they fill up with tumours and die.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Bee blanched, looking down to the thralls. ¡°How much?¡±


    ¡°Depends on the freak.¡±


    Bee sucked on her lip and frowned, thoughts racing as her lucidity returned, the traces of sleep fading under the intense light of the day star.


    ¡°Ay, can I ask you something?¡± She asked.


    The hunter turned the lash, hissing as the thralls gathered their strength, then began to heave the wagon along the sands again.


    ¡°I mean, I know I just did, but...¡± Bee trailed off before clambering over and sitting next to him.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Back there, that one with the clothes, she told me some things.¡±


    ¡°Bet she did.¡±


    ¡°Do you know what the source is?¡±


    His beak clacked before opening, wet eyes narrowing at the child.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he croaked. ¡°It¡¯s what they call an aug in our chests.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s real?¡±


    ¡°Real enough. Most of us have it. One of a few universals.¡±


    ¡°So we don¡¯t need to eat?¡±


    ¡°Need?¡± Ay tutted, focusing on the road again. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to them.¡±


    ¡°Why though?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a difference,¡± Ay struggled, slurping again, ¡°Between belief and reality.¡±


    Bee struggled with that. All her attention turned towards the massive hunter.


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± She eventually asked.


    ¡°Used to be Godly, faithful,¡± he croaked. ¡°Not anymore.¡±


    ¡°Not anymore?¡±


    ¡°No. Most freaks are. It¡¯s just that, when they don¡¯t know, they guess. Or someone lies to them. Then they cling to it, afraid to admit mistakes.¡±


    ¡°So the source isn¡¯t real?¡±


    ¡°I just said it¡¯s real. The aug is real.¡± Ay clacked his beak again, hands tense on the reins as the conversation continued. Bee looked at his posture and wondered why he seemed to hate speaking so much.


    ¡°So what isn¡¯t real?¡± Bee asked softly, eyes darting over Ay¡¯s armoured form as she reconciled this knowledge with what she had imagined him to be.


    ¡°What they think. Their way of thinking. They¡¯re being taken advantage of.¡±


    ¡°By who?¡±


    ¡°Them?¡± Ay rumbled, gesturing back. ¡°An obese freak, trying to grow, taking all the meat for himself. Anywhere else? Always someone. Look at those on top.¡±


    ¡°Like my mother?¡±


    Ay turned to Bee again, wet eyes staring down at her through a crack in his beak for a painfully long time. The child squirmed under his scrutiny, swallowing a lump in her throat and looking to the sands ahead, almost surrendering the conversation entirely before he spoke again.


    ¡°Freaks like your mother, cities make them, I think. Call themselves nobles, Gods, whatever.¡±


    ¡°Why would cities do that?¡±


    ¡°The cities have all sorts of systems: repair, digestion, construction, defence.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Bee said, eyes narrowing as she listened, trying to see where he was going with this.


    ¡°They¡¯re made by the cities to turn us against each other.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Keep numbers down. Stop us eating too much. Stop us growing too large.¡±


    Bee sat there for a while, thinking about that. Ay¡¯s resentment for her mother ¡ª and her by association ¡ª stung. Growing frustrated, Bee tried to hide it and scratched at her head, running fingertips against her cranial spines and through her greasy tresses.


    ¡°What did my mother ever do to hurt you?¡± Bee eventually asked, keeping her voice down.


    ¡°Work for them. Have done for a long time.¡± Ay said, croaking into a laugh, body rocking.


    ¡°You hate them but you work for them?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s life. Get what I need. Get to survive.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re strong though. Aren¡¯t you? Why do you need them?¡±


    ¡°Strong because I got what I needed. Strong because I lived long enough to grow.¡±


    ¡°Why do you still work for them then?¡± Bee asked in a subdued tone, half imagining the answer already.


    ¡°Because you always need more.¡±


    ¡°She said thinking like that¡¯s immoral,¡± Bee offered, though, without any conviction, a thought offered up and discarded as quickly as it left her lips.


    ¡°That¡¯s why she¡¯s easy to control. She might actually believe that. Imagine believing you don¡¯t deserve what you need.¡± Ay offered, perhaps even matching Bee¡¯s thoughtful tone, before he grunted.


    Satisfied but miserable, the child heaved into a sigh, rubbing her one hand over the sore, pink burns that covered her skin between her plates. Weak still, caught under the relentless day star, Bee leaned aside, reached back for a blanket and dragged it over herself in the seat. Ay watched her hideaway in the chair, glanced back at her sisters, quietly bundled away, and fell into silent vigil as they neared the vast column of dust on the horizon.

 Your Inheritance 6.

    Ay sat straight, beak steadily opening and closing, watching the undulating path as they made slow progress between two vast banks of crystal sand where a hillside had long ago been crushed into dust. It had been hours since they started the descent, taking this less accessible route. It was a harder-to-spot passage, but the hunter was adept. In the meantime, he had taken to watching those he had bound in the rigging. Their bodies were slowly twisting and bloating, hair falling out, and weeping sores appearing on their hides ¡ª side effects of the tumour.


    Ay looked down at Bee, resting beneath her blanket. She had been smart enough, at least, not to partake, choosing to go hungry and weak instead. It was a fair choice, given the sheer concentration of mutagen in wasteland tumour.


    Despite his stoic silence, it was what Ay hadn¡¯t said in their conversation that raced through his head. Everyone has urges, he imagined himself explaining to her. It¡¯s not so simple, the idea that everyone can go without eating. Food was needed to grow, develop, and repair. Most importantly, you needed to consume aug seeds to grow them into your flesh without a grafter.


    In Bee¡¯s case, he thought about telling the child she was not even fully grown. She must feel hungry all the time. The Vat-Mother must have designed her for something. Whatever that reason is, she must feel the urge to grow and, once that is done, a compulsion towards her actual purpose. She was made for some alien design, after all. He doubted the vat-mother just wanted a daughter.


    Briefly, he considered the vat-mother birthing Bee in order to simply devour her and take the child¡¯s face for herself.


    With a hiss, Ay shifted in his seat and looked ahead again. He had never travelled with someone so young, ignorant, and helpless for so long. A painful sense of guilt overtook him before he swallowed it away. Maybe he shouldn¡¯t have taken the work. Perhaps he should have just disappeared after all. A fleeting memory of holding Nence in the warm and humid darkness of the Idiocene Flats crossed his mind, a lifetime in the abandoned reaches, where they¡¯d never need to worry about nobles warring over their home.


    Besides him, Ay noticed Bee squirming in her seat to lift her feet onto the rigging, ribbed and armoured shoulders sliding down the chair so she could stare at the sky, swaddled in her blanket. Her back arched awfully before she decided to stay there despite the discomfort from her terrible posture. The child studiously avoided looking at the thralls again, with their growing sickness, the blisters on their skin weeping blood. Their pace was slowing, Ay noticed, but they were very nearly at their destination.


    He took a waterskin, dumping it down on her lap. She yelped with surprise, but he only said, ¡°Drink.¡±


    Bee did, watching him with barely concealed suspicion. Ay pretended not to notice. Then, swallowing to clear his beak, vision bobbing, he lowered his gaze and tried to decide what to say to the poor girl. If there was anything he could tell Bee to save her from whatever horrific fate those on High would inflict upon her, it was fast approaching the time. After all, he was certain the Vat-Mother of Acetyn and The Pilgrim both sought her genes for themselves. Then again, what could she do? He was to deliver her to their forces himself.


    The column of dust and smoke was spread broadly over the horizon, past the nearby dunes. It felt like, at any moment, they could crest the next embankment and find themselves upon The Crawling City.


    The wagon exploded.


    Screaming filled the air.


    Hitting the sand hard, Ay tumbled and turned into a swift roll, the hard ground rocking his skeleton and his hardened armour. His body coiled and threw him upright again through sheer reflex. He opened his beak in time to look back and see a winged giant tear the wagon in two, iron and bone splintering. A thrall was thrown limply over the monster¡¯s shoulder, discarded with a howl before its bladed wings lashed out and beat down hard.


    The wave of air pressure cast out sand and pieces of sharp debris. Ay raised a hand and closed his beak to guard against it, then opened it again to see the scavenger arc high into the air with bags of their supplies in tow ¡ª their water ¡ª all that was in the back of the wagon quickly and easily snatched away.


    A scream turned into a wail. Ay turned to see Bee pull herself out from under a wreck of the broken carriage, covered in smears of red and black,  the abrasive sand sticking to her skin. He picked up his lance and looked after the monster, which fell into a wide turn in the sky, a hundred feet above and ahead.


    ¡°It took them!¡± Bee panicked, lopping up to Ay and grabbing his arm. ¡°My sisters!¡±


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    The hunter only snarled, keeping an eye on the threat, weapon in hand. The scavenger picked through its findings, discarding several things to fall and hit the ground with distant thumps, casting up plumes of sand.


    ¡°Please! Please, don¡¯t let it get away!¡± Bee begged, pulling on his third arm, succeeding only in shaking her own fragile and injured body.


    ¡°Be quiet,¡± Ay snapped at her, two of his hands ready on the lance. ¡°They¡¯re already dead.¡±


    ¡°No! Please!¡± Bee begged as if she hadn¡¯t heard him. ¡°I can¡¯t lose them too, Ay. Please!¡±


    Ay set his posture forward as he decided. He hefted the lance over his shoulder and aimed it. Bee looked up at how he held the weapon, wide-eyed, the moment before his grip tightened.


    A flash of fire and a crack of thunder. The blast from the lance drove all in the air back with a flurry of sharp metal. Bee looked over to see the monster tumble and split. One of its wings spun away, jets of blood arcing outwards, and all of it fell quickly towards the ground, where it impacted the sands hard enough to crater a dune and cause a collapse, waves of crystal sliding down beneath it.


    Ay snarled and shoved the child back. Bee hit the ground hard, her breath knocked out of her flutes. Ay hissed something, beak snapping open and closed. Her ears were screaming, though, and she couldn¡¯t make out exactly what he said.


    Bee rolled onto her side with a groan, managing to crawl behind a shattered piece of the wagon. She almost heard him call out again, the flashing of his weapon still burned in her eyes and through her dazed mind, and she shouted something back but couldn¡¯t quite hear herself speak.


    With a trembling grip on the broken bones of the cage, Bee peeked out from behind the wreckage. Immediately before her, the thrall she had spoken to struggled to her hands and feet. One of her legs was missing, and she tried to prop herself upright, blood gushing from her injury, her body limp from shock.


    Then, ahead, in the distant crater, the monster thrashed and threw itself out. Landing on two hooked legs, it then scored the ground with scythed arms and began to gallop towards them. It tore over the sand with terrifying speed. As it ran, its back swelled before splitting open. Two bony chambers separated from its shoulders, between its whole wing and the stump of the other. Both cannons visibly surged with luminescent green gore before bursting and firing with ballistic force.


    A wave of terrible flechette-like spines tore up the dune. The injured thrall was ripped to pieces, and the wreckage sparked where star metal and bone collided. The projectiles snapped and sparked off of Ay¡¯s armour, and the glowing green fluid that sprayed around them caused flesh, bone, and sand alike to bubble and steam. Bee ducked behind the broken cage again, eyes wide, quaking with fear.


    Daring to look out again, Bee saw Ay coil into a compact shape before lashing out to tackle and intercept the charging beast. Their collision was as palpable through the ground as in Bee¡¯s chest and ears, a resounding smack. Their bodies wrestled together, the hunter coiling around the wasteland hound. Looking on helplessly, Bee watched Ay struggle to tame each weaponised limb of the beast, trying to bring it to the ground.


    When Ay failed to drag it down, he brought his massive, armoured beak down towards the neck of the monster, stabbing and tearing, ripping loose flesh and wires. The hound bucked, trying to throw Ay from his body. Blood sprayed from the battle in huge, wet gouts that surged high into the air.


    Ay strained his entire body, constricting the scavenger with as much force as his serpentine body could muster. Each of his three arms heaved to contain the scythes and bladed wing of the aug mad hound. Again and again, he felt the biocannons on his adversary¡¯s back flex and swell, trying to fire but held choked by the hunter¡¯s desperate coiling hold.


    The scavenger, enraged, lurched this way and that, using its massive strength to try and loosen Ay¡¯s grip ¡ª to finally get a hold of him and cut or gore him. They thrashed and turned in the air, then slammed backwards against the ground.


    Something cracked. One of Ay¡¯s armoured plates fractured against his arm, muscles burning as he tried not to let himself come loose. Desperate, realising he was physically outmatched, he took his beak to the monster¡¯s neck again. Biting and tearing, ripping at whatever he could reach, his vision turned red and burned with the blood that filled his mouth.


    Yet the hound only howled and slammed itself back against the ground, dragging Ay through the crystal sand, against rocks and through sharp wreckage before suddenly wrenching into a turn and pulling an arm loose.


    The arm, gleaming with a molecular blade, turned and raked along Ay¡¯s body. A flood of pain followed. Then, something became wet and loose, and Ay¡¯s second arm turned from trying to restrain the scythe, now out of his reach, shoving itself into the monster¡¯s jaws, grabbing and pulling until a mandible cracked and came loose.


    Tightening his arm around the scavenger¡¯s head, he opened his beak to find Bee, to tell her to run. But, instead, he saw her with his lance.


    Bee was running towards them on frail legs ¡ª screaming ¡ª holding his lance high with her remaining hand.


    Summoning up his remaining strength, Ay¡¯s arms scrambled and clutched at the beast¡¯s limbs. Then, desperately trying to hold on, he reared his serpent body with all of his might, straining to present the scavenger¡¯s underbelly to the child below, who lifted the lance and took shaky aim, its length propped back against the ground and forward onto her stump of an elbow.


    There was another crack of gunfire, and the body of the scavenger twisted loose. Ay felt himself punched in the gut, alongside the splintering of bone from the torso of the hound that he still wrestled with.


    One final time, Ay drove his beak deep into the monster¡¯s neck, and they both collapsed to the sand together.

 Your Inheritance 7.

    The remains of her sisters, those whom Bee could find, were crushed by the fall. They lay dead and still, hot under exposure to the equatorial sun. Their maggoty forms were twisted in ways that hurt to see. Bee gathered them together to say goodbye, to let them rest peacefully under a blanket one final time, weighed down with hefty stones of windswept glass.


    When Bee returned, Ay was slumped against the remains of the wagon. Only the two of them had survived. He had a terrible wound, a deep gash along the length of his body ¡ª plates, flesh, and bone alike cleaved wide open. Yet he was healing. Bee noticed the edges of the wound cording back together. The blood coagulated far more quickly than she would have thought possible. Streaks of the silver liquid she had glimpsed so many times before slowly knitted his red meat back together.


    Lance in hand, Bee carefully approached. Then, standing over him, she quietly asked, ¡°Will you die?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Bee swallowed a lump in her throat. A feeling of despair overcame her as she regarded his broken state. To one side of the wreck, the carcass of the scavenger lay on its back, a massive hole punctured in its chest and abdomen, steel ribs exposed and slack, wet guts pouring out of the injury.


    The monster wouldn¡¯t stay down long, Ay explained to her. It would heal the same way he was doing. Apparently, the most dangerous freaks did that. They couldn¡¯t stay here any longer. So Ay tore some of the furs in the savaged bone carriage and tied them tightly against his injury, covering it from the lashes of sharp sand carried on the wind.


    They took to the desert on foot, such as they were. Ay slithered in wide arcs, weakly ascending and descending dune after dune for hours. This time, he managed to carry only a single bag of supplies, slung over a shoulder, as Bee staggered ahead of him, feet slipping in the relentless glassy sand. She brought the lance and managed an entire bag herself as well, but needed to stop for frequent drinks.


    ¡°Stupid of me,¡± Ay wheezed. ¡°They were already dead. Would have left. Shooting it, made it need to kill us... to be safe.¡±


    ¡°You tried,¡± Bee gasped, struggling to get her breath mid-climb. ¡°You did the right thing.¡±


    Ay grunted behind her, not saying any more. Bee came to a stop at the apex of a sandbank. There it was, ahead, the megapedal city of Acetyn. It dominated the horizon.


    Each leg stood as a monument to the sky, many hundreds of feet tall. The closer segments of its body were titanic and statuesque, seemingly immovable. Yet, in the far distance, partially occluded by atmospheric haze and clouds, the pillar feet rose up one at a time. They clawed ahead, throwing plumes of dark dust high into the sky.


    Its body, from below, seemed an inconceivable weight, a platform of flesh, metal, and bone supported by these colossal walking structures. Up there, amongst the clouds, Bee could see towering spines, keeps grown into the shapes of skulls, flutes, and chimneys that belched smoke and acidic vapours.


    The city of Acetyn carved a coastline of broken machines, abandoned hatcheries, and old ruined hives. The ocean ¡ª once here, long ago ¡ª was gone. Only bedrock and shorn cliff edges remained, crumbling.


    Bee could see the stamping progress of the feet drawing inexorably closer, each taking its turn to shatter the foundation of the world as the continent-body slowly advanced into the expanse. The movement of its legs was still so distant, yet so volcanically unyielding. All of the horizon shook with thunder and calamity.


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    Ay adjusted his weakened hold on his bag as they watched columns of dust climb miles into the sky together. Ahead of them, a slave army trawled the sand in the city¡¯s wake for sky-wreckage, cast-offs from another age. They picked with claw and tooth, with long tools of recycled metal and hardy nets, searching for treasures. Ay duly recognized many of the camps and lost dwellings built and abandoned for the same reason ¡ª the months¡¯ slow passage of the twin cities, cut short by the death of Sestchek.


    Carefully, they made their way down, wary of the plunderers and their sieves. The rubble was enough to cover them from distant eyes, this far from the city. Bee saw that what remained was already trampled or stripped, nothing more than remnants. Soon, they passed through a shallow maze of old structural steel buried in the dust, valuable but too heavy and strong to be stripped down and taken, not without the additional time Sestchek would have afforded the work crews.


    The danger came from those thralls who were hungry and desperate enough to attack two injured travellers. Bee kept Ay¡¯s lance close to hand, occasionally using it to steady herself as sand slipped beneath her feet. Much to Ay¡¯s relief, Bee had remained silent for their descent. He lacked the energy for her conversation and worried about the attention their voices may attract.


    Finally, Bee turned back as she walked to witness the setting sun. The wastes were finally behind them. With a deep breath, Bee then dared to look up at Acetyn overhead. The city menaced, dark, twisted and alien, dwarfing them and crushing down on them like calamity. She was filled with the palpable energy ¡ª the feeling that they couldn¡¯t escape. Standing in silence, the child was terrified by the enormous shadow. It was different to the city she was created in, in subtle and wrong ways, conjuring a sense of dread. Ay passed her and grunted wordlessly for her to keep up.


    Light flickered through the hide of the titanic creature above, through cracks in its bony plates and where its skin was thinnest. Then, as the sunlight died, Bee felt as if she was somehow casting long shadows in the dark, looked down on by a nightmare of bloodshot eyes. The desert maze did nothing to hide her from above. In fact, it felt like it displayed her here, a treasure amongst the rust. In that moment, it was quiet but for their passage. The heaving of their hearts and their laboured breaths seemed to carry on the wind.


    Yet, to Bee, in that instant, all sound seemed muted upon the desert ridge, nothing but vast space on all sides, leaving her feeling disembodied and lost.


    Bee tried to remind herself why she had come. She had to make her mother proud.


    Sliding down a sandbank and out of the cover of wreckage, they approached Acetyn¡¯s rear-most foot. The city above shifted. Rubble and ash fell around them. Freaks gathered in a crowd around its base. Great climbing elevators had fallen still. A metal rampart, spiralling around the broad columnar limb, was filled with desperate beasts brought to a halt. Countless carriages, laden with salvage and supply, blocked passage upwards.


    Ay saw the blockage for what it was. Above them, access to the city had been brought to a halt. He craned his head as the living world above shook with a deep, rumbling groan that echoed like thunder through a second sky. Metal and bone ground against each other with deafening fissures. More falling debris pitted the sand around them. The city was in pain.


    Bee drew the blanket-turned-cloak that she shrouded herself in tight around her body, hiding her head from any who might cast their gaze her way. The freaks here, barely specks of dirt compared to the vastness of Acetyn, a world unto itself, were urgent in their need to ascend before this section of the city moved. The stride of that colossal limb would surely obliterate anyone who still clung to the leg without so much as a moment¡¯s notice from the titan. That much was evident by the sheer scale of cracked earth and crushed ruins where it had tread.


    Overhead, a dragon roared, and the crowds turned to see it. Bee gasped, covering her mouth with her remaining hand. Ay narrowed his gaze with contempt. Then, flying on engines that screamed fire in its wake, the beast broke into view and tore a path through the sky, crossing the desert towards them before drawing a line parallel to Acetyn¡¯s body and streaking towards its distant heads. Bee screamed in instinctive fright before Ay silenced her with a hand on her shoulder. He watched keenly until it disappeared into the falling night, leaving only flashing lights in the distance.


    ¡°Came the same way as us,¡± Ay said quietly to her. ¡°From Sestchek.¡±

 Your Inheritance 8.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Ay managed to say. The last of his strength ebbed away as his wound slowly twisted ¡ª not opening wider but corrupting the meat around it, even seeping into his augs. His voice was just barely audible in the cacophony around them. The crowds were still shouting out at the dragon¡¯s sighting. Their desperation, trapped outside of the city, was setting in.


    ¡°Dangerous after dark,¡± Ay said rotely, blinking softly, taking in this moment.


    They stumbled towards the ramparts leading onto the leg¡¯s superstructure, choking on dust and keeping low to avoid attention. Suddenly, it was raining. The water was acidic and came in stinging bolts from the city¡¯s underbelly, mixing with the dust and the sand, leaving a thick muck coating nearly every surface.


    Ay¡¯s body ached. It felt like he was being stabbed by tiny needles all over. Finally, instinct took over, and his regenerative augs kicked against the damage to force the wound closed whilst starting to shut down his other bodily systems to conserve energy. Every muscle in his body seized, bio enhancements surging into overdrive to fuel a futile repair, causing him to grunt and fall still as all of his strength was sapped towards this crucial task. However, the gouge from the molecular blade was tenacious. His machine enhancements struggled to close the nano-aggravated injury, and the pain was almost too much to bear.


    ¡°Ay?¡± Bee asked, stepping back as he struggled not to cry out in pain.


    Every moment, countless microscopic machines ¡ª designed to fight an ancient war ¡ª battled to simultaneously heal the wound and tear it wider. All he could do was drag himself along, body coiling behind Bee¡¯s every step. Looking up at him with confusion and worry, she slowed and touched his arm.


    A series of resounding, ratcheting cracks boomed over the footfall. They both looked up to see an elevator descending. It seemed impossibly empty as it lowered down slowly into a waiting armed force. Bee scowled as she saw an assembly of warriors clad in white at the base of the elevator¡¯s shaft. Their bodies ¡ª bipedal like hers ¡ª were shrouded in long raiments and plated in shining metal.


    Ay¡¯s body coiled. He hissed and turned to Bee, putting two hands on her shoulders in turn.


    ¡°Listen to me¡ª Ngh...¡± Ay grunted, trying to resist the wracking of his body.


    ¡°Ay?¡± Her dark eyes widened, looking up at him with worry. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Some freaks have no luck,¡± he said.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I did you no good. These freaks are going to eat you. Hear me?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Bee¡¯s jaw dropped. She looked back towards the assembled armed forces and that crawling elevator as it finally set down.


    The metallic bone cage of the lift unbolted itself with a series of loud mechanical snaps. The silicone flesh of its walls pulsed, and muscles worked, tense. All around, the desperate crowds turned to see, praying for salvation, having been resigned to the sands by the occupying force.


    Bee looked over, confused.


    ¡°You have to run. You have to find another way into the city. I thought¡ª¡± Ay spluttered a cough. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I thought.¡±


    The doors of the elevator opened, revealing its wide bay ¡ª reserved for massive transportation loads and heavy industrial biomachinery ¡ª stunningly empty. Empty, apart from one lone figure clad in a sweeping brown cloak.


    That figure stepped out into the night and towards her waiting battalion. They took to a knee in unison, even as the countless freaks held at bay stepped back. Some even ran, dispersing into the wastes, accepting any fate would be better than this.


    ¡°My shape, my kin,¡± echoed on the wind, chanted by a hundred voices.


    For the first time in a thousand years, an Eidolon touched the desert.


    Bee scowled and looked back to Ay from their vantage over the crowds.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here,¡± she said quietly.


    Ay laughed. He laughed, even as he dropped his bag and clutched at the furs pressed over his wound. Together, they hid amongst the crowd and moved towards the waiting caravan of salvage. When they were confident that they moved without notice, here amongst the lost, they stole space in the hollow shell of a transport crawler.


    Despite climbing aboard with all the subtlety they could muster, the beast of burden rumbled, and Ay knew they couldn¡¯t hide for long. He told himself that he just needed to buy a little time to think. Bee stood over him, still holding his lance, face concealed beneath her rags. This time, she dumped the waterskin on him. The hunter took a gulp with his massive beak before hissing with a pained noise.


    ¡°You look like you¡¯re dying,¡± Bee said.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not,¡± Ay said in little more than a whisper.


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    Bee turned away, peeking from the giant beetle¡¯s shell to see the clamouring masses of freaks outside. Two warriors wielding gleaming swords pushed the desperate creatures away from the elevator controls, even as they tried to bargain their way above. Frowning, Bee turned back to Ay and asked, ¡°How can we get into the city?¡±


    Ay didn¡¯t seem to be listening. Twitching, he slumped back against the crates that filled the crawler. All three arms held his body tightly. Bee could hear the grisly and wet sound of his wound, mending and rending open again under the dulled cries that pierced the hull of the cargo crawler from outside.


    Looking down at the chitin-plated floor and around the resin containers that filled the beast of burden, Bee sighed in resignation. She sat beside Ay, bringing her knees to her chest and hugging them. For a time, she waited, the feeling of apprehension feathering her heart.


    ¡°Stop looking at me like that,¡± Ay managed to say.


    ¡°Like what?¡± Bee muttered, staring at him with her dark eyes.


    ¡°Like that.¡± They met one another¡¯s gaze. Holding the look, Ay grunted, ¡°Like I¡¯m just another dead freak. What do you even want, now? Go on, run away. Don¡¯t let me hold you back.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not a freak,¡± Bee said quietly in turn.


    ¡°What?¡± Ay gave her an incredulous look.


    Bee moved and sat down upon a large, blunt piece of star steel wreckage in front of Ay. It was still dusted with sparkling sands, a reminder that it was recently pulled from the wastes.


    ¡°You¡¯re not a freak,¡± Bee said slowly. ¡°You¡¯re a person.¡±


    ¡°Person?¡± Ay scoffed. ¡°Where did you even hear that?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she admitted but didn¡¯t break eye contact.


    ¡°Person. Listen to yourself.¡± Ay wheezed and coughed, spluttering as his ribs seized. ¡°Just because you¡¯re some Godsborne... Got special genes... Doesn¡¯t put you above all this.¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± Bee muttered.


    ¡°This is reality. Freaks die in the muck, every day. Me. Your sisters. Your mother.¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± She shouted. Quickly regretting it, she looked to the crack in the crawler. No one outside seemed to have noticed them.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know how easy you¡¯ve had it. Most don¡¯t last a day. You have no idea,¡± Ay muttered, delirious with pain.


    Bee scowled at him. Retching, then gasping for air, Ay held his wound and then turned to lean on his other side, looking away. Silence hung between them. Seeing that the child wasn¡¯t leaving, that he had failed to drive her out, he sighed and muttered.


    ¡°How¡ª Gah... did you know?¡±


    ¡°Know what?¡± Bee asked after a short pause.


    ¡°You knew I was coming. Saw that look in your eyes when we met.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Bee turned her eyes down, lips compressed into a tight line. She kicked a heel back against the star metal wreckage she sat on three times before stopping herself. ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°How did you know?¡± He asked quietly, heaving with pain.


    ¡°My mother was very clever, I think.¡±


    He watched her in his daze, so she continued.


    ¡°My mother disobeyed her creator, so her sisters turned on her. Had her city killed? Sestchek, I mean,¡± Bee turned her eyes down, expression haunted. ¡°Then had her killed? She saw it coming. My mother told me she tried to stop them, but it didn¡¯t work. So she made me.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± Ay grunted, suspecting there was more. His beak set with contempt, a rising apprehension filling him, overwhelming even his agony.


    ¡°So¡ª Um...¡± Bee shrugged, looking guilty, dark eyes turning up towards Ay. ¡°Apparently ¡ª I¡¯m filled with an infectious weapon. It¡¯s in my genes. They killed my mother, so she kills everyone else. It¡¯s only fair.¡±


    Ay seemed to think about this for a long moment, wet eyes slowly turning desperate deep inside his beak. One of his arms reached out towards the lance. Bee looked between him and the weapon in her grasp, and she pulled it another inch away. She knew he was too weak to get it. For an instant, his body coiled, but then, with an exhausted heave, he simply fell slack.


    Regarding him with sorrow, the child offered quietly, ¡°If you die, it¡¯s alright. Everyone dies. You¡¯ve brought me to the city. So you did good.¡±


    Ay¡¯s wet eyes inside his beak remained fixed on Bee. He said nothing, managing only a wordless gurgle. It was filled with hate.


    ¡°I know it¡¯s hard,¡± Bee reasoned, perhaps mostly to herself. ¡°My mother told me to be strong.¡±


    Perhaps the smallest and weakest freak that Ay had ever seen looked at him with a force of will behind her eyes that burrowed deep into his mind. He met her gaze again and held it, even as his vision dimmed.


    ¡°The Immortal betrayed my mother. I¡¯m here to make sure her city dies too, that she dies, that everything she has ever loved dies...¡±


    Ay wheezed into a laugh, body rocking at first with cynicism and then with pain.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to do that,¡± Bee said quietly, gently inflecting her own introspection. ¡°I don¡¯t even really know who The Immortal is. But I have to do it. I have to make my mother proud.¡±


    Ay might have managed the faintest of nods. Perhaps it was just a spasm, and Bee only imagined he was still listening.


    ¡°The one thing I wonder, really¡ª¡± Bee began to ask but stopped, voice trailing off.


    Bee looked over the stub of her arm and then back to Ay. He shuddered, muscles wracked and cramping, involuntary seizures overcoming his body. Standing and taking a step back, Bee watched as Ay collapsed to one side, coiling and thrashing with enough force to knock over crates and the wreckage around him. The contents fell upon him with weighty, bludgeoning force.


    When Ay finally shrieked and fell still, Bee looked over him with pity. Tears started to form in her eyes but then stopped. So many monsters she had seen dead and dying. What was one more? Taking a steeling breath, she gazed down at his supine form, wet eyes concentrating on his serpentine body until it stopped hurting.


    The sounds that emanated through the cracks and creases of the crawler¡¯s hull kept vying for her attention. Taking a moment longer, Bee traced her broken arm along the length of the lance, the thick haft of iron and bone resting comfortably in her grasp. A single fissure in the bone on the side of the shaft broke her captivation.


    ¡°What did you want out of all this?¡± Bee asked Ay quietly, not expecting an answer. Instead, Ay¡¯s limbs quivered, flaccid and slow, unconscious. His rasping breaths slurred wordlessly, and his chest heaved.


    ¡°I never really thought about it. Really, I just wanted to get out of the desert,¡± Bee said to herself before looking through the opening to the chaos outside. ¡°I think I would¡¯ve liked to have known.¡±

 Your Inheritance 9.

    Bee watched from a distance the crowds of freaks and carriages that filled the ramparts. There was a scream, the start of monsters tearing into each other, turning on each other in the blind fury of their subjugation. A beast¡¯s head popped from a hatch, sniffing the air and the thick smell of gore carried on the wind, mingled with sweat and desperation. It bared its teeth at Bee. She hissed back, shaking the lance, and it quickly disappeared.


    A band of pale-clad warriors barrelled through the freaks ahead. They brutalised those who would not get out of their way and tore the clothes and veils from the heads of those who did not submit. It was a search. That was why they were not allowing anyone into the city, Bee realised. They were looking for her.


    Pulling rags to ensure they covered her mouth, Bee looked back to the crawler she had left behind. Their search would find Ay in there soon. Would they even know who he was? Would they know that she was here? Bee realised she had no idea how Ay was connected to this pale army, but he seemed to know they wanted to eat her. That was enough for her to hurry.


    Crouching low, Bee moved behind the wreckage towed by the massive beasts of the caravan. She crept aside, trying to keep out of sight. The elevator was closed to her. Even she could see that. So she stayed low, dragging the lance in hand, using her stump to hold the rags to her face, ensuring she captured no one¡¯s attention. Keeping her distance, she avoided the sight of the inhuman crowds, who remained focused solely on their oppressors.


    Carefully, Bee wove her way through. When one patrol of the guards passed, she snuck between the stomping crowds and to the next wreck, then the next crawler. A stack of hardened crates provided shelter for a while, and then a leathery tarp that whipped in the desert wind, holding down stacked star metal rods, tore up from the sands.


    Once she was sure none were looking her way, Bee scurried around the leg to where a hole left in the elevator¡¯s structural wall gave way to its mechanical frame. She awkwardly squeezed between iron beams, once scavenged and now wrought to the titan¡¯s leg, trying not to slip and fall. Making her way up and onto a ferrous gangway, intersected with narrow platforms and ladders, Bee looked for a way to reach higher. She found a ladder bridging the platforms.


    After struggling with the ladder, Bee had to drop the lance. Climbing was hard enough with one hand, even with her damaged arm hooked around the right rail. All the while, her wings restlessly twitched under her makeshift cloak. Nevertheless, she made her way higher and higher until she could take hold of the next platform and prop herself against it with both arms.


    One final heave and Bee was up. She sat on the edge of the platform to catch her breath and looked out into the night. The moon was coming, filling the sky with its hot, sanguine light, fighting the cool breeze. Fire streaked down from the heavens as sky wreckage silently tumbled into the distance. Closer, the second sky ¡ª the city of Acetyn ¡ª was illuminated by countless electrical lights and the soft outline of bioluminescent growths.


    Bee narrowed her eyes as she regarded the city above. From a distance, it almost seemed still. Yet, just perceptible, its underbelly was a hive of activity. Countless platforms had been secured there. It crawled with life. She couldn¡¯t quite make out what, though. They were microscopic before the city¡¯s immensity, viewed from this distance. Her eyes trailed down to Acetyn¡¯s next great leg. It subtly flexed and bulged.


    Then, the leg raised in an instant, kicking up and forward, casting countless specks of nothing from its unstoppable mass. It cracked down into the earth with cacophonous might, sending out a surge of dust and glassy sand.


    The distant screams reached Bee at last, seconds after the sight of its motion, of so many thrown to their deaths, having been trapped on the leg, or swallowed up in shifting desert as the leg lifted, or crushed by the shockwave blasting out from the subsequent impact. Acetyn was careless as it advanced. The wind carried the destruction from the city¡¯s adjacent leg, catching her high and exposed on the platform. Rolling clouds of dirt and the metallic, cloying scent of blood filled the air.


    Bee¡¯s heart leapt. How long did she have? Minutes? Hours? Tentatively, Bee looked up the climb ahead of her. Hundreds of metres remained. Unconsciously, her weak wings flexed and the bioengines between her shoulders churned before failing. She sighed before looking down over the surge of monsters below. She could still see fights breaking out here and there, the freaks turning on each other and those that kept them at bay. In the distance, she could make out fires and the cries of those wounded or dying.


    As she stood, Bee¡¯s eyes turned to the base of the elevator itself. There, by the bay, that cloaked figure remained, surrounded by sycophants. She was waiting.


    Bee felt herself grow breathless. She wasn¡¯t sure why she was so afraid. Then, the figure moved. Her hood slowly turned back and up directly towards Bee.


    For an instant, Bee locked her gaze with those twelve shining eyes, piercing the dark beneath the Eidolon¡¯s hood. The Eidolon tipped her head curiously.


    Collapsing back on the platform, Bee gasped in fright. She caught her breath again and quickly looked around. Unsure whether she had been seen, Bee hurried up a wrought iron stairway to the next level.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Bee climbed higher. At first, it was fine. Soon, it made her dizzy to look down, involuntarily clinging to the rails and leaning against the walls for support. She made her way up and into the elevator¡¯s substructure, a space for repairs just below the first joint in the city¡¯s leg, where bony spurs growing from the limb were used to reinforce the machinery used to drag material up into the city. It was far removed from the ramparts, and the stilled carriageways were supported further into the open air by blocks of cement and steel.


    Feeling her desperation grow, a fire lit in her heart by the screams echoing up from below, Bee came to an iron gate. She tried to rattle it open, but it was sealed shut with metal lumps crudely welded into its frame and lock. Bee considered trying to move around it ¡ª over the ledge ¡ª but it was bladed and barbed, preventing her from getting too close.


    ¡°Why?!¡± Bee cried out, shaking the gate one last time and then stepping back with a huff.


    Fear gripping her, considering just climbing back down and fleeing the great leg before it was too late, Bee looked up and saw one of the city¡¯s eyes. The lidless orb, set into the meat of the leg, was fixed upon her.


    Taken aback, Bee scrambled away from the eye with a gasp, pulling the rags back over her head to hide her face. In her hurry to climb, they had fallen down.


    That eye shifted. It looked past her. Slowly, with a creeping sense of dread, Bee turned with it.


    The Eidolon stepped around the corner, approaching Bee on the platform. With almost casual regard, the ordained champion of the Axiamati looked down on the clamour below them before that hood turned towards Bee.


    A shriek issued from the false sky above them. The city groaned its resentment. Its refusal. Its hate. Bee looked up, mouth hanging open, as the world itself seemed to judge them with contempt. Steeling herself with a breath, Bee looked up and around, determined to find some way to run or fight.


    The buzzing of a patcher filled the air. It landed on the leg, just over their heads, clutching onto the vertical structure with its sharp tarsus. It turned weightily ¡ª much larger than the child ¡ª wings flicking, then began to clean its forelegs by spitting gel over them and sucking it back up. All the while, its faceted eyes reflected the scene below.


    Bee paused, eyes narrowing at the creature, finding it familiar despite its shape being subtly different from the ones her home city of Sestchek created. Its red compound eyes followed the freaks below, the bio gel sacks hanging empty from its thorax, transparent wings tucked back. Arterial hoses pumped and bulged in its abdomen, visible beneath the inky surface of its chitinous exoskeleton. Bee turned to look back at the city¡¯s eye with realisation, remembering the Wire-Witch¡¯s words. The patchers were a part of the city.


    Then they dropped down.


    Startled, Bee suddenly faced a war drone. This one was much more powerful in its frame than a patcher, with eight legs and brutal weapons. Its thick carapace and wedge-like head reminded Bee of the other drone types that the Wire-Witch had captured in her bunker and experimented upon. Another stood between Bee and the Eidolon. Bee was confused, though. Why would they protect her? She didn¡¯t know what to do.


    The war drone charged its wide-bore biocannons and fired. In that instant, the Eidolon stepped aside, a flash of augmented musculature whipping her cloak behind her. She sidestepped the blast, and Bee looked on with awe as the artificial musculature of the Eidolon reset. Pneumatic hoses and thick cabling sunk into her flesh and flexed as they pumped full of their potential and prepared for what would come next.


    The Eidolon raised a finger and wagged it, silently chastising the weaponised drone ¡ª perhaps even the city itself.


    Then, in one fluid motion, the Eidolon drew a shining star metal sword from her cloak, cleaving it up in an arc through the drone. The impossible speed and force of the strike tore through the armoured beast, cavitating its meat, bursting it wide open. The superstructure they stood on rattled and shook, steel groaning with the power of the Eidolon¡¯s sudden blow. The massive war drone, its front ripped open, kicked its eight legs, unable to stop itself as it was propelled aside and thrown over the railing.


    Just one swing.


    Bee looked at the sword as she backed away towards the war drone behind her. Its edge dripped with gore.


    The Eidolon reached out towards Bee. Despite everything, it was a gentle gesture, palm up, inviting the child to take her hand. If Bee didn¡¯t know better, it looked like she was trying to save her.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Bee blurted out, afraid for her life. ¡°Please don¡¯t hurt me!¡±


    As the child backed away and glanced up, she saw that Acetyn¡¯s colossal leg was now crawling with motion. The patcher above shrieked a clarion call, which drew out into a dull boom as it crossed the expanse and issued back from the city¡¯s underbelly high overhead.


    Turning back towards the armoured host, Bee screamed as a swarm closed around her. Countless patchers filled the air with buzzing wings and shook the steel platform with their weight. The night went from cool to hot as their body heat, wings, legs, and augmented organs surged, saturating the air. Hundreds of their weak bodies flashed forward, buffeting the Eidolon, vanishing her from sight.


    Bee was suddenly dizzy, a feather tickling the back of her mind. There was a familiar pheromone taste in the air. She remembered her exposure to Sestchek¡¯s drones in the Wire-Witch¡¯s lab and clamped her hand over her mouth. She was salivating again, disgorging her long, sharp tongue by some autonomic reflex.


    The large drone, using the distraction of the patchers to its advantage, stepped closer on its heavy legs. Unfolding two mandibles from its underside, it used the crude manipulators to take hold of Bee, pull her hand from her mouth, and seize the bladed tip of her tongue.


    Fear, embarrassment, and confusion touched Bee¡¯s mind but dissipated before she could focus. Suddenly, thinking really wasn¡¯t that important. She should just let it happen. The war drone opened its armoured face, mandibles parting as it plugged the hardened tip of her tongue into a metallic socket.


    The world turned dark, and oblivion took her.

 ### ERROR: DATA CORRUPTION DETECTED ###

    ======================


    ### ERROR: DATA CORRUPTION DETECTED ###


    ======================


    >>> RECOVERY MODE ENABLED <<<


    >>> UDT SYNC CONFIRMED - 31,541,361,121,227s <<<


    >>> PRE-REFEREED SECURITY CLEARANCE GRANTED - REF. ACETYN AFT TEH AXIAMAT <<<


    >>> SIGNAL SEQUENCE LOG UNLOCKED, RE-ENABLED <<<


    >>> ¡°TextTrans¡± RECORD EVENT FUNCTION ENABLED <<<


    >>> LACE ADAPTED INTERFACE, HANDSHAKE COMPLETE <<<


    >>> CONFIRMATION SIGNED T31 @ L121,229s <<<


    >>> SIGNAL SEQUENCE <<<


    {trans.: chemosensory basic}, relay, Tracked Copy, received @L121,230s, check to read:


    [x]


    Being read @L121,230s in Ambulation Extension 187., Exterior Maintenance & Repair Section Sublevel 3. via ¡°Small Arms Defender 367,201¡±. on Acetyn Aft Teh Axiamat by:


    ¡°TextTrans¡± (recognised archaic non-sentient. Note Well: ¡°TextTrans¡± Record Event function will remain enabled to document End-Read-point).


    (so cleared)


    &


    Small Arms Defender 367,201 (recognised archaic non-sentient.)


    (so cleared)


    &


    ¡°Plan B¡±, SIM_SHALA_SAMP 2-32-B (invited party)


    (so cleared).


    &


    Acetyn Aft Teh Axiamat (authorised holder)


    (so cleared).


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    >>> SENTIENT PERCEPTION RECORD <<<


    Each check to proceed:


    [x]


    [x]


    [x]


    [x]


    >>> THANK YOU: PROCEEDING <<<


    The following is a text-only dynamically scrolled document which may not be vocalised, rerecorded, copied, stored, or media-transferred in any conventionally accessible form. Any attempt to do so will be met with extreme prejudice.


    Please adjust reading speed: [human]


    >>> BEGIN-READ POINT OF TRACKED COPY DOCUMENT <<<


    From: Acetyn Aft Teh Axiamat


    To: Plan B


    & strictly as cleared:


    >>> DELIVERANCE NOTICE <<<


    Constitutes formal Warning Level 0.


    Caretaker ¡°Desht TonDer NILE¡± Located. Historic Classification K2B¦¸--. True class diminished. Inferred status: Active. Aware. Contactiphile. Noninvasive. Locally Static with reference to: (-1.757537, 44.920110). Caretaker physical characteristics: partially exposed subterranean sphere rad. 4.24km, mass est 1.25371594E+16t. Layered fractal matter-type-intricate structure, self-supporting. kHz-range em leakage ¡ª no discernable data contents. Associated anomalous materials presence: several highly dispersed detritus & wreckage clusters within 100km, consistent with the remains of Desherik [Genealogical Data Not Found], former equivalent entity.


    FirstCommunicationAttempt by: Axiamat Aft Teh Desherik, radiocommunication in BE1 & UL-II by tight beam. PTA & Handshake burst @L-31,536,121,227s. No other signals registered. No reply received.


    @L-31,534,911,400s Ground team issued with support of Daughter & Genekeeper Systems, ¡°Hope for Humanity¡±. Unable to gain access after terrestrial-level encounter with haptic interface (archaic non-sentient). Human biological sample determined required for access.


    ¡°Hope for Humanity¡± Team Manifest:


    ¡°Genekeeper¡±, former Habitat Inspection Drone 91,100,882, Ap Desht


    &


    ¡°The Pilgrim of the Axiamat¡±, Eberekt Axiamat (nee base Human-type)


    &


    Acetyn Aft Teh Axiamat (nee base Human-type)


    @L-31,536,910,629s ¡°Genekeeper¡± determined irreconcilable circumstances between host city Axiamat Aft Teh Desherik & Caretaker Desht TonDer NILE. Advised existential threat regarding habitability of planet.


    @L-30,525,759,627s ¡°Hope for Humanity¡± & Forces engaged & destroyed Axiamat Aft Teh Desherik. Human remains recovered ¡ª noted identity, Sim Shala Desht-Merlinst. ¡°Genekeeper¡± advised full information quarantine, w/ complete dark protocol regarding Caretaker & all related subject matters.


    My subsequent actions: maintained course & speed. Primary scanner to approach, began directed full passive scan, dedicated track scanner @ 19% power & 200% beam spread maintained. No further contact has been made.


    @L-12,585,022s contact received from Sestchek Aft Teh Axiamat, forwarding documents from ¡°Vat-Mother of Sestchek¡±, SIM_SHALA_SAMP 1-18-I alleging deception concerning Genekeeper Systems. Documents advised urgent establishment of contact with Caretaker Desht TonDer NILE. Course of action noted. Heading adjusted.


    Further: All contact with Sestchek Aft Teh Axiamat, following the successful coordinated change of course, has been lost.


    My status: On Direct Approach.


    >>> NOTE WELL: ATTENTION <<<


    Your embedded Autolysis & Total Destruction Protocol triggers have been detected & countermeasured. Related Suites disengaged. Coded Remote-Triggered Total Destruct Protocol Suites disengaged.


    >>> IN SUMMARY <<<


    >>> CARETAKER LOCATED <<<


    >>> YOUR GENETIC MATERIAL IS REQUIRED <<<


    >>> I AWAIT DELIVERANCE <<<


    >>> END-READ-POINT TRACKED COPY DOCUMENT <<<


    ======================

 Your Inheritance 10.

    How far would you go to see justice done? In this small corner of the world, a spiteful queen sought vengeance for the loss of her petty fiefdom by sending their only daughter off to her death. Elsewise, dark forces moved by crook, sword, and wicked engine, all towards brutal and selfish ends. Yet not a queen, nor a lord, not a soldier, nor a freak could imagine the history that they had inherited.


    Over a thousand years of short-sighted bickering, their infighting culminated in nothing more than the stagnation of their culture. A million voices that called out desperate, hungry, and alone could never join together in chorus. They wrote no new songs. Their fables were hopeless fever dreams. As long as they refused to look back to the greatness that they were toppled from, they were doomed to repeat their mistakes and remain trapped in their inequity.


    Bee wretched. Collapsing to her knees, the world flooded back to her with startling clarity as her tongue disconnected from the beast¡¯s armoured face. With the lashing of the wind and the hot buzzing of the insects that swarmed her, she felt pressed upon and held down to the iron platform. Her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to focus on the light, the image of alien glyphs still hanging in her mind.


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    Bee¡¯s tongue trailed over the cold iron platform, disengaged from the small arms defender towering over her ¡ª one of the city¡¯s combat drones, she now understood on some intuitive level. Was what it said true? This Caretaker, was it the Crucible that her mother spoke to her of? How long had they been fighting for a cause that was a lie? None of it made sense to her.


    The child gasped for air as her tongue retracted back into her throat, heaving to fill her lungs through the flutes on her back. An organic call, thunderous, issued from the unfathomable city above. Bee felt it in her bones as in her ears, with her teeth and chest plates rattling.


    ¡°Okay,¡± she screamed out, pulled and pushed and pressed upon from all sides by the patchers. ¡°Okay! Please, take me, I¡¯ll go! I¡¯ll go! Please¡ª Stop, I¡¯ll go!¡±


    But no matter how much she sobbed and begged, the swarming did not stop. She was plucked upwards into the air, dragged by her arms and legs by countless city drones.


    Only when she was out of reach did the swarm break. The Eidolon looked up into the night, following the upward trajectory that they took the gods-borne child with her twelve shining eyes. Her hand gripped the sword tight, and she let loose an angry hiss. She would not be denied.

 Ten Thousand Years... 1.

    Listen, freak. There¡¯s more to this rotten world than they let us see. Did you know there¡¯s a ticking clock in the heart of the city? You can hear it if you dare face the Immortal¡¯s daemons and take a plunge into ghost-space.


    The silverline addicts say it¡¯s kept count for as long as life¡¯s crawled over this ruined world. No doubt about that. Well, what¡¯s it counting to? When did it start? Who the fuck even knows at this point.


    I don¡¯t think we want the answers. One thing¡¯s for sure, though. It¡¯ll still be ticking long after you¡¯re gone. Heh heh heh...


    <hr>


    CHAPTER 4: TEN THOUSAND YEARS IN THE MAKING


    ¡°Are you ready?¡± She asked over the radio. ¡°This is where things get wild.¡±


    The habitat inspection drone swung around the lonely brick tower overlooking the sea, listening to their conversation. Nearly two metres long, with a sleek arrowhead shape and a collection of manipulators and tools clustered in orbs beneath its nose, the drone was an extension of the tremendous orbital space platform ¡ª their home.


    Finding no one in the tower, the drone darted away above the granite cliffs that hung over tumultuous, frothing waters. Then, feeling adventurous, they dipped down further, zipping between the tall trees that reached out over the cliff and into the briny wind with their leafy arms, before swinging out over the bay.


    Drifting banks of mist concealed the sea¡¯s largest inhabitants. The whales broke the surface, bodies arcing as they slid into the air. Jets of vapour burst from their blow holes, expelling salty waters before filling their lungs. Their majestic elders kicked their fins and circled their youngest, who played oblivious to the silent aircraft above.


    The drone swept its senses over the scene. LiDAR and scanning eyes flickered. They picked out a flock of birds accompanying the pod, climbing in the fog and screaming at one another over the wind. Below them was a seacraft, floating at a respectful distance from the wild animals.


    ¡°Beautiful,¡± her companion finally broadcasted.


    The drone found them a little way out from the seacraft, submerged in the cool waters, kept warm by drysuits and able to respire with chemical rebreathers. They quickly scanned the humans¡¯ equipment whilst they were distracted by the passing giants. Then, determining that everything was in order, the drone took one last survey of the scene. They knew the peaceful animals posed no threat to the tiny humans joining them in the sea, so the drone skipped upwards, out of the fog and into the sky.


    Feeling eager, the drone accelerated again once it was a safe distance from biological life. They kicked hypersonic, causing the air to shock against their metallic shell. Then, they reached the expanse of the upper atmosphere, slipping in and out of layers of feathery cloud backlit with soft, pink light. The light came from all directions up here because this was not an ordinary world.


    Above the drone hung the planet of Merlinst, Hos Tes Desht TonDer NILE. With a population of 3,134,006, it was long terraformed with verdant continents, dotted with ancient habitats of gold from when Caretaker Desht first arrived and started seeding human life. Around the planet wrapped a ribbon of light, extending from the broad span of the entire horizon out to beyond the needle-thin distance. The drone recognised it as the expanse of the orbital they were flying through, which they dutifully helped maintain.


    Caretaker Desht¡¯s orbital was an artificial ring circling the world from above. Most of the life in this solar system resided in this space habitat. Though the planet below supported a paltry few million people, this ring system supported tens of billions of humans and even more archived flora and fauna living in artificial paradise.


    However, something troubled the drone¡¯s senses. Distantly, the orbital shuddered. All along its span, lights flickered and dimmed before going out.


    That wobble reached the thousand-kilometre platform, which the drone flew over. Below them, they detected a series of sharp impacts by watching vibrations in the simulated planetary bed. Though distant, the drone could sense further impacts through the diamond shell walls of the habitat¡¯s upper sheathe and its primary and secondary substructure. Radio emissions burst into life, and alarms issued in sound before quickly failing, falling back into silence.


    Unable to understand what they were sensing in the electromagnetic spectrum, the drone threw up their virtual field antenna. At 55km, simulated, they noticed no unexpected gravitational waves. Kicking it up to 11,111km, there was no sign of remarkable neutrino sources.


    8ms had elapsed since the alarms died when the habitat inspection drone decided to flair their engines, turn sharply and direct themselves back down towards the surface. One question burned in their mind: What was happening?


    Shouting through electronic channels, the drone transmitted handshakes in an attempt to make contact with the larger network. When they received only noise, they urgently pinged every address that should have been locked as essential services. But, again, the drone received nothing that passed even a simple checksum. As they broke the cloudline again, they decided their only recourse was to try to make a hardware connection with the orbital¡¯s network and receive further instructions.


    The atmosphere pulsed again. Another series of impacts kicked up a crosswind. The screaming air brought with it vaporised metal, burned carbon fibre and diamond film, and the exotic compounds issued from subliming superconductor cabling. Following soon after came the heavy molecules from burning organic matter. Even as the drone rushed down, the clouds were pulled up around them, the air suddenly bursting upwards.


    Turning a sensor to scan in their wake, the drone saw the diamond walls that contained the habitat¡¯s surface-atmosphere peeled away. The destruction exposed everything around the drone to the hard vacuum of space. Swinging their sensors in every direction, they saw massive sections of the reinforced superstructure that reached over the horizon splinter and break, portions of the inner surface border walls cast spinning out to the void.


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    Still, despite the damage occurring within plain sight, the drone found nothing to explain it. There was no indication of any kind of missiles or cutting fields. There weren¡¯t any remnants from high-speed collisions in the orbital system that might have caused it. Whatever assailant was responsible was all but invisible, except for the ruin it left behind.


    The drone rushed down towards the bay, kicked their braking surfaces and gimbaled their engines at the very last moment. With a heaving turn, they cut an arcing path over the water. The sea¡¯s surface boiled as the pressure dropped, with the atmosphere quickly dispersing into orbit. All around, the briny foam froze in mere moments, ice stained red with violent decompression where the animals now struggled, whales gulping as their blowholes burst, and sea birds flapping and convulsing on the splintering surface.


    Over the radio, the drone could hear both humans scream. The fearful sound broke into unconscious gurgles, so the drone dared scan them. Barotrauma filled their bloodstreams with gassy and fatty embolisms. It sheered their fleshy tissues with concussive force.


    With less than moments to decide, the drone concluded that it was already too late to save them; the drone lacked the medical tools to help, so they looked away. Their mind core ached with grief.


    Instead, the drone refocused ahead as it raced over the cliffs and towards the lonely stone tower. Beyond the building, horrifically, they saw the ribbon of habitat that stretched hundreds of thousands of kilometres ahead severed, swinging distant and delicate, trillions of tons let loose. A burst of light around the damaged section showed that the habitat was trying to stabilise itself with fields and subfields. However, it was all but futile in the face of the continued attack. The forces involved were simply colossal. It was the end of the world.


    The drone would have to get off the artificial geography of the planet-simulating surface plate and make their way down into the main living and engineering volume within the space habitat. They could lock in a physical connection to the rest of the system there.


    Quickly approaching the tower, the drone powered up the field-projecting ¡®cutter¡¯ device beneath their nose. The slicing tool ¡ª they were nominally considered an unarmed drone and certainly not a warcraft ¡ª rotated upon its mount as it manifested a ruby light.


    Maximising its output, the drone dragged a hardlight blade, projected by the cutter, ahead in a sweeping arc. The tower was bisected diagonally in an instant. The upper portion began to collapse, spilling rubble and dust outwards.


    Sparing not a moment, the drone committed to a half-aileron roll. Then, they kicked their aerobrakes whilst inverted, turning their engines in their gimbaling mounts hard. The underside of their chassis impacted the falling rubble, and the drone redirected and flashed sharp red hardlight downwards, shredding the floors and supports within the tower. Engines roaring, the drone tore their way straight down, falling with the collapse and then accelerating faster than it.


    The drone threaded down through an accessway. The elevator below the tower was quickly blasted aside, giving the drone room to break into a cavernous space disguised as a crack in the earth. Dropping, then taking another hard brake, steering surfaces slamming out, the drone translated their momentum into a sudden turn. Rolling, the drone felt its chassis rattle and jar as it collided with the solid edges of a narrow companionway, barely fitting through a space designed for people, not small vehicles.


    Accelerating again, the drone rocketed out of the collapse, past decoratively placed rock facades and into the exposed metal substructure. Turning again and again, the drone crashed through columns of air that pressed back against them as they breached accessways that fought to contain the vacuum above. Finally, a hundred more metres down, the drone exited into the upper echelons of the undercity.


    Evading scrambling maintenance services and the movements of emergency materiel, the drone darted into a roll, narrowly avoiding a transport craft. Their exhausts scorched one another, smouldering with their mutual desperation. Then, screaming down on their engines, the drone came to a halt on top of one of the kilometres-tall living spires inside the main structure of the orbital ring.


    There it met a ringed array, standing on a reinforced frame, which it met with a back-up port. Clicking into place, a cradle extended to support it. Now physically connected to the network, the drone¡¯s sensory suite was flooded with alerts. An unexpected assault had been made upon the entire planetary system of Merlinst and its Caretaker. There had been no warning, and no terms had been given. The responsible party was unknown. All active infrastructure support drones, including this one, were instructed to provide emergency relief and support to humanity. The drone was assigned to an evacuation bay, so it plotted a course through airway control to the waypoint assigned to it.


    Whilst sitting within its cradled port, the drone swivelled their sensors to the left. The drone in the adjacent connection mount turned their sensors to meet them in return. Attempting to flash a radio signal, they were met with more unintelligible noise. Assuming then that they must be actively jammed, the drone flashed up its hardlight controller and spun up an image to communicate.


    ??


    The drone on their left responded.


    ?


    A flash of light. They both swivelled their sensors to the right to see a third drone flashing in its port.


    ??


    After a brief pause, the drone flashed back sadly.


    ??


    On their left, the drone displayed another image.


    ??


    Then, all three flashed in unison.


    ??????


    Alight with resolve, the drone displayed one final hardlight emoji as they disconnected from the array, unseated themself from their mount, and swung back out of the port.


    ??


    The drone kicked back into the air and flipped back over the edge of the spire. Their engines screaming, they fell with gravity and then beyond it before swinging out between the vast towers of the undercity ¡ª weaving between the many bridges and transportways that connected them ¡ª until they broke out into the edge space of the living volume.


    An accessway opened for them, and the drone blasted through. They entered the sealed evacuation bay. It was a wide shuttle bay hosting an old evacuation craft. The vessel was old and stained with a patina. Though it was regularly serviced, it was generally accepted that they were a demonstration of the many-fold redundancies that the Caretakers employed in keeping humankind safe. The drone couldn¡¯t think of a single time one might have been used in a true evacuation of an orbital, not in the last 101?s, anyway.


    The vacuum of space was held at bay by a silvery forcefield, featureless and pristine, one of the Caretaker¡¯s projections that kept the interior of the orbital habitat safe for human inhabitation. It was a reassuring light ¡ª the field something only a Caretaker had the power and the higher dimensionality required to manifest.


    A surge of activity filled the landing platform. Hundreds of people crowded, rushing to board the life vessel using its boarding ramps.


    The drone picked up pulses of radiation blasting into the undercity from various directions. Stopping to swivel in the air, they extended its virtual field antenna and felt the habitat¡¯s inertial field wobble uncertainly. Dread crept into the drone¡¯s circuits. Then, a shell of neutrinos swept through the undercity, and they could only infer from analysis of the various spectra that the habitat ¡ª the Caretaker ¡ª was fighting back.

 Ten Thousand Years... 2.

    The evacuation bay tremored. The heavy platform beneath them shook with the unstoppable energy of an impossible earthquake. The air filled with the plucking, tense sound of straining metal pulled to its absolute limit. The drone swivelled back down, darting to meet the stunned crowds of people. Some froze in place, stunned by the suddenness of the assault. Others pushed them out of their way, scrambling to reach the rescue vessel first.


    The lights went out. The protective field failed. A blast of air buffeted the chamber as its pressure spilt the internal atmosphere into the void. In that instant ¡ª far quicker than a human could react ¡ª the drone quickly spun up their hardlight construction tools and projected a red dome over as many people as they could reach. Firing their engines, the drone fought to hold them in place, even as the whipping wind lashed around their chassis, and the pressure under the dome fought to escape.


    A low groan shuddered through the entire orbital habitat, a loud sound that tore painfully at everyone inside it.


    An emergency blast door collapsed into place, sealing the evacuation bay. Emergency lights blinked to life, casting everyone inside with a dim orange hue.


    The drone hesitantly retracted the hardlight dome, sensors swivelling as they looked around warily. Unable to connect with the people to speak with them, they flashed a warning.


    ???


    Again, the crowd erupted into chaos, people desperately fighting their way towards the life vessel. The drone flashed warnings, seeing a woman pushed down, then another. A child cried out, having lost their family.


    Then the Service arrived. Shunted into space through what appeared to be expanding mirror spheres, the displacement fields vanished and three tall human-types clad in biomechanical exoskeletons stood in their place. They immediately raised their arms and voices, coordinated. Standing head and shoulders above the rest of the people, they directed the crowds with hand signals, loud commands, and arrested memetic control.


    One of the Service members locked eyes with the drone¡¯s scanners. The drone felt the background EM noise fade as he countermeasured the interference using his neural lace.


    ¡°E&E Service Agent Zablawza Avia,¡± he introduced himself through a radio signal.


    ¡°Habitat Inspection Drone 91,100,921 KTT ¡ª pa Kaytee Desht,¡± the drone responded.


    ¡°Kaytee, I¡¯m going to need your help to get this bulkhead door open again, ready for departure,¡± Zablawza signalled as he knelt down and helped a woman to her feet. She was injured from the trample but able to walk. Zablawza passed her to his colleague, who escorted her through the crush to receive medical aid.


    Kaytee drew up the habitat¡¯s floor plan into their internal sensory suite and looked it over. Then, they said to the foreign agent, ¡°If the Caretaker has lost access, there¡¯s a station for manual departure control nearby.¡±


    ¡°Perfect.¡±


    ¡°We will need to leave the bay to gain access. It is completely locked down. There will also be atmospheric pressure loss in the main living volume, if field control has been lost.¡±


    Zablawza strode through the crowd to the main entryway, checking the manual door override. It seemed to have lost power, and he looked around with both his eyes and digital sensors.


    ¡°The quickest route to the station would be out through the bay maintanance hatch and to EVA through the habitat scaffolding,¡± Kaytee suggested, casting up a nearby waypoint for Zablawza to see.


    Flashing the drone an appreciative smile, Zablawza unfastened his cloak and rolled his sleeves up his ebony-plated arms. He glanced back at the life vessel and raised a hand signal to his two fellow agents. They returned the gesture and began to raise the vessel¡¯s ramps, boarding complete.


    ¡°Think you can give me a lift?¡± Zablawza asked as he kicked the hatch through with superhuman force, his charged exoskeleton empowering him to stamp the metal hard enough to dent it, then buckle it and collapse it through. Another bark of air, and the atmosphere whipped around them, lost to orbit as it tore through the hatch.


    ¡°Gladly,¡± Kaytee answered.


    Zablawza hopped on top of the drone without wasting a moment, taking a firm hold of their rear aero slats for balance. Kaytee carefully took them through the hatch and then into the latticework frame of the exterior station.


    Out in space, Kaytee fired directional thrusters as they rotated at just the right angle. They translated themselves ¡ª horizontally at first ¡ª swinging slowly sideways, around structural beams clad with insulating golden plastics and superconductor cabling. They could almost hear Zablawza pinging encrypted messages back and forth with the rest of his team as they moved.


    Finally lining up with their destination, Kaytee fired their main engines and thrust them straight towards the hatch. Lightning fast as they crossed the expanse, Kaytee kicked themselves 180¡ã around with another snap of their directional thrusters. Main engine blasting, they swung to a stop at their destination. Zablawza, holding on tight, gritted his teeth against the void as he used internal power to respire without an atmosphere. Unseating himself, he smashed through the hatch on the far side.


    Zablawza clambered inside, fighting the blast of atmosphere, and then Kaytee followed, floating by his side. The space traffic control room was long deserted, laid out for the previously entirely hypothetical scenario that Caretaker control was lost and evacuation was still necessary. Kaytee scanned the station. It was serviceable.


    ¡°Great job,¡± Zablawza transmitted, taking to the station controls aglow under emergency power.


    Kaytee turned to look out of the old windows, scratched from microdust impacts, and watched the bay doors swing open from their remote vantage. Apprehension filled their mind until ¡ª seconds later ¡ª the life vessel swung out and burned its engines, tearing away from the station and into orbital space. Kaytee felt a swell of happiness, of relief. They made it.


    ¡°We¡¯ve done it,¡± Zablawza said over radio. ¡°Right. What¡¯s your mass-load? Good on propellant? I could use some help checking the living volume.¡±


    About to answer, Kaytee turned back to Zablawza. The detonation that followed was so sudden that the drone¡¯s sensors couldn¡¯t register it.


    One moment, they were about to speak to the Service agent. Next, they were crushed between two heavy sheets of metal and reinforced glass.


    Kaytee reinitialised their systems in the dark and flashed the single light that still functioned on their chassis, sensors buzzing. All power was out in the structure around them, leaving them struggling and trapped.


    Slowly, then picking up speed, both surfaces that pinned Kaytee moved in different directions, causing them to scrape and roll between them. Then, crushed and tossed around, aero-control slats torn from their lateral surfaces, the drone bounced away as the heavy wreckage parted.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Kaytee realised they had been pinned between two formerly separate sections of the habitat. The entire interior of the orbital had been torn apart and then collapsed, slammed together, around them. As far as the drone could see, swinging their light and scanning in LiDAR, the whole structure had been broken apart by some impossible cutting force, something beyond field tech as they knew it.


    There was no sign of Zablawza. There was no emergency power in the structure around them. Regarding their internal warnings in their digital suites, Kaytee then tested their systems. Their location had been lost, and the EM interference had returned in full force.


    Discerning that their engines might have some function, Kaytee worked their gimbals and applied a light thrust. Then, flicking their light around, the drone¡¯s sensors made out the spires¡¯ pulverised remains surrounding them and the wreckage of a human habitation area. They had somehow been moved at least 150 metres in an instant.


    Kaytee turned their sensors to their own airframe to check for further damage and froze. They were covered in the red speckle of vapourised human. Brief panic seized Kaytee, and again, they looked around for Zablawza, filled with creeping horror, realising his fate.


    Kaytee needed a moment to bring their fright under control. Only then could they push mass through their engines and crawl between exposed struts, laced together, the mangled remains of a home. The path out was blocked by the tangled steel and countless taut cables. Wary of another collapse, Kaytee knew they had to break free.


    Testing their field cutter, the tool projected an arc of bright ruby light ¡ª though this time, the hardlight blade was much smaller, much weaker.


    Ascertaining the blade was still nominally functional, Kaytee pressed it to the metal ruin and started cutting apart the shattered structure. Once they were sure the debris was loose enough, they fired their engines and shunted their hard shell against the wreckage. Alloyed surfaces strained, groaning, metal on metal. Then, with a crunch, they were through.


    Kaytee¡¯s light found pieces of people, their homes spilling into the void. The scale of the destruction had pulverised and dismembered them, so much so that they were not sure how many people they were looking at ¡ª two or three, or perhaps an entire family.


    Numbed, Kaytee set their impulse to the lowest level and moved on, trying not to disturb their rest. They slowly progressed through an open doorway in their living quarters. Where there would have been a corridor was now empty space. This side of the building was simply gone.


    It was now a hard vacuum out in the expanse of the undercity. The entire habitat shuddered. The outer portion of its superstructure was peeled apart, exposing Kaytee and everything else within to empty space. The drone turned off its light and drifted to the edge, daring to look beyond, damaged sensors adjusting and virtual antenna spinning up, switching between linear and dish, then back again.


    Kaytee could still not detect the threat, sweeping a slow and deep gaze around, resolving objects in orbit against the backdrop of the stars. In the distance, the drone picked out the burning of the life vessel. Gutted, its atmosphere and contents were not content to simply drain into the hard vacuum; it had ignited. The fire bloomed like a spherical bulb in microgravity. Its edges were feathery and soft, where it choked out in the void. Kaytee had to fight to tear their sensors away.


    Then, further out, Kaytee bore witness to the arrival of Caretaker Desht¡¯s daughter craft. Coordinated and aggressive, eleven of them moved as one. They each wore the appearance of silver spheroids, featureless fields armouring them and hiding their physical makeup. At last, a sense of hope touched Kaytee¡¯s mind. The daughter crafts were amongst the most advanced sentients ever to achieve creation, designed with technology that their simple neural mind could not even approach.


    At their head was the eldest, Bhargesta Aft Teh Desht, who generated a spiralling, fractally incursive pattern from the front of her post-physical surface. The field collapsed, dragging the iron weight of space-time inwards. Bhargesta fired a weapon beyond human comprehension.


    Millions of kilometres rippled, and the enraged daughter¡¯s weapon impacted somewhere distant. Monumental in force, the brightness of the blast exceeded the system¡¯s star. Even half in the shade, Kaytee felt their exposed surfaces begin to vaporise, kicking them back. Compensating with their engines, Kaytee fought to remain stationary. Quickly, they took their sensors and field antenna offline to prevent damage. Then, adjusting for a much lower capture rate, they peered back out to watch.


    Together, the daughter crafts poured so much energy into their perceived adversary that Kaytee¡¯s field antenna detected the tell-tale signs of tearing in underlying space-time. As Bhargesta and her sister craft induced singularity, the bright light suddenly flared in circuitous and unexpected directions. So unyielding, the tremendous gravitational influence of a black hole lensed the blast that the firepower exhausted out and around the point of impact, a shell of calamity utterly beyond weapons deployed at a terrestrial level in scope and carnage.


    A shadow passed over Kaytee. The sudden darkness forced them to increase their capture rate again. Sensors swivelling, they saw Caretaker Desht¡¯s youngest daughter-craft, Avia ¡ª who must have sent Zablawza and the other Service agents ¡ª dropping and rotating adjacent to the ruins of the orbital ring.


    Kaytee watched as the colossal Avia extended her stabilising fields to safeguard the collapsing orbital city. Then, the drone saw Avia expose her many bays and entryways, coordinating countless landings and rescues simultaneously. Hurried, the evacuating life vessels and shuttle craft began to break away from dying Desht¡¯s orbital, seeking desperate refuge with her daughter.


    However, that intense and distant flare burned out, even whilst the scramble of activity built up around them. Looking back out into space, Kaytee saw that it was over. There was no sign of the daughters¡¯ counterattack left.


    Kaytee froze when they resolved the exposed shapes of the daughter crafts without power. There were no field arrays; now, they resembled long cones brushed with projectors and open bays. Given the mere seconds that had elapsed, Bhargesta and her sisters were crushed and broken in impossible ways. Adrift without power, they spilt their interior mass out, gutted from fore to aft, spiralling dead and out of control.


    For all their rage and hope for justice or revenge, the most advanced minds of the NILE stem systems had proven to be nothing more than apes trying to throw stones at the threat. They had been ended just as quickly.


    Kaytee¡¯s chassis rattled as Avia¡¯s defensive fields began to split as well, fields then hardlight reinforcement breaking apart as projectors on her surface exploded outwards with showers of gas and shrapnel. Then, Avia¡¯s colossal body began to contort, shredding. As she buckled, vast amounts of her internal atmosphere leaked out, filling the space around her with a low groan. Craft on her heading began to divert, taking evasive manoeuvres as explosions burst out of her interior volume, avoiding titanic slabs of her body in freefall.


    Losing control of her orientation, Avia rotated. The tip of her continent-sized aft collided with the distant span of the orbital. Avia''s final act was to produce a forcefield close to her own superstructure ¡ª a second skin. All the while, her interior rippled with concussive explosions as the reinforcements that supported her very being disintegrated. Nevertheless, that final decision contained the destruction, saving thousands of craft scrambling to escape her collapse from the spread of the explosion.


    Kaytee searched their records for what to do. There was no plan for such an obscene scenario, no expected course of action for such complete devastation, for such a destructive and utterly inhumane attack on this incredible scale. Eventually, they settled on the deepest of their routines, instructions recorded more than a million years ago in the advent of the first star-faring sentient. Passed down ever since that ancient time, the simple guidance:


    Humanity must survive.


    Kaytee fired their damaged and exhausted engines, kicking themselves free and heading out into open space. After clearing the immense wreckage of the dead habitat, they began bleeding their orbital velocity, careful to avoid the vast clouds of debris travelling at unthinkable speeds. Calculating their course, Kaytee decided that even if this orbital was destroyed, they could fall unnoticed and help someone on the planetary surface. With the state of their engines, it would take a long time for them to overcome that much inertia and escape orbit, but they had to try.


    Merlinst, a perfect world, slowly turned beneath the drone. They orbited slowly, picking out various surface habitats, small towns, and cities. They calculated the quickest route to a population centre from where they would fall, then double-checked and triple-checked just to be sure.


    Daring to look back, the drone saw the habitat being torn apart. Yet, from a distance, the damage seemed to simply appear. There was no weapons fire, no projectiles, or visible field pressure. Desperate for understanding, curiosity filled them, and the temptation grew too strong.


    Exposed in open space, Kaytee made the mistake of extending their virtual field array. As a result, they detected gravitational waves issuing from tremendous dark mass, shepherding the wreckage into paths that would eventually accrete into a vast moon, disrupting the planet below.


    That realisation was the last thought that 91,100,921 KTT ¡ª that Kaytee Desht ¡ª ever experienced. Their virtual field antenna was detected, and without warning, the bonds between their constituent subsystems simply vanished. The hot contents of their engines exploded outwards. Their chassis spun apart, and all that remained was a mindless cloud of debris.

 One Thousand Years... 1.

    Oh my Lord, my Lord,


    Might I applaud?


    How does your garden grow?


    With ancient bells,


    And armoured shells,


    And your blind maidens all in a row.


    See how they run.


    Oh, see how they run.


    How they all flee from your immortal wife,


    Who cut off their tails with a starlight knife.


    Did you ever see such a thing in your life,


    As that cruel blow?


    <hr>


    CHAPTER 5: ONE THOUSAND YEARS IN THE MAKING


    Peace.


    The tiny field cutter drifted in the void, mindless and long severed from its drone host. Ever falling, the device was no larger than an adult human¡¯s hand, compact, rectangular, and featureless. It tumbled as it fell ¡ª moving too quickly to reach the surface ¡ª locked in a steep orbit.


    Far, far below, the planet Merlinst gleamed. Again and again, countless times, the field cutter circled the world from above. It bore silent witness as billions of tons of orbital wreckage hit the atmosphere below. The air ignited where they fell, making the planet itself glow hot. Once golden habitats scoured black. The whole world became a furnace.


    Above, a new moon circled, borne from a long process of accretion, as more and more of the immense orbital corpse was pulled into its greedy mass. It, too, was wicked hot, glowing dimly even when shaded from the system¡¯s star. This youngest celestial body was furious, flaring with the anger of the mass slaughter that precluded its birth. With the pull of its weighty body, it fractured the world below, shattering the crust and spilling molten stone. Oceans boiled, and fires raged across Merlinst¡¯s once-green continents.


    The field cutter watched the tremendous, glowing flutes of Merlinst¡¯s death throes as the boiling lava fountained into the upper atmosphere.


    The field cutter watched as the planet circled the local star, the molten earth below cooling into rock.


    The field cutter watched as the hot atmosphere ripped at that stone, wind and storms tearing it down into an all-encompassing desert over ten thousand years.


    The field cutter even watched the first cities grow. Some of them, fat and lazy, were content simply spread. Others, impudent, crawled over the surface. They chased each other in pursuit of violence or desire.


    However, as the planet remained hot, its atmosphere swelled, expanding outwards into the vacuum of space. Eventually, the faintest traces of it touched upon the lost device, tumbling in space. That feather touch first stole the old thing¡¯s slow rotation as it sailed through the void. Then, as it orbited again and again, its velocity was sapped away. Finally, the tiny field cutter was dragged down, deeper into the upper reaches of dead Merlinst¡¯s atmosphere, until it could no longer escape.


    Upon a column of fire, the field cutter screamed through the air and hit the desert in a shock of crystal sand and smoke. From there, it watched the passages of the stars and the burning moon above for countless days and nights until the blowing winds covered it in the sand.


    There, the heirloom of another age lay until, one day, a titan disturbed its rest. The first foot of the megapedal city ¡ª mighty Acetyn ¡ª cracked the earth. Sand rushed around the crater in its wake, falling down deep into where the bedrock was shattered. Then, rolling to rest on top of the cavity, the field cutter was again exposed to the air, shaded by a careless giant that made slow progress overhead.


    Acetyn bellowed from its countless skull keeps, a resounding trumpet call reverberating across the desert. Not so far behind, its companion Sestchek answered that call with a symphony of spines, grinding against each other and chirping in an insectile concerto.


    All about the cities, the toughest or the most suicidal freaks dared to leave their hosts. They scavenged the sands for fallen star metal, invaluable treasures to those Up High, those who ruled from the spires of their wicked cities.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    They all believed that just one good find could change a freak¡¯s life. They could trade the material for just the right favour. They were right, of course, in their own way.


    This one find would change the world forever.


    Just such a freak stood upon a glass boulder. Tiny and long-limbed, it turned its beak and binocular eyes to survey the sands. There, they waited, too weak to struggle with the larger hulls and the most buried wreckage. Eventually, they knew the most valuable things would be exposed to the open air by the gales and dust devils left in mighty Acetyn¡¯s wake.


    Their patience was rewarded with a glimmer.


    The freak¡¯s calloused talons were inured to the pain, lopping and bounding across the hot sand. There, just where they saw it, was the field cutter. They tipped their head, this way and that, appraising the find hawkishly, before chirping and taking it up in their beak, darting back towards the city.


    And so, the device returned to darkness. It passed from hand to claw, from pincer to maw, a treasure in the depths that moved between pitiful freaks and haughty vat-borne. They coveted its ancient heritage, though its purpose was unknown to them.


    When the artefact finally returned to the light, it was in one of Acetyn¡¯s lower spiracles. This great vent sucked up the furnace air of the desert into its humid depths.


    Stood upon its lip, an eidolon watched the desert below. This freak had the silhouette of a man dressed only in a brown cloak clasped loosely around his shoulders. However, his flesh ¡ª a mangled mix of everything except humanity ¡ª was carved into this unnatural, bipedal shape. Pale and scarred, his yellow eyes turned to watch a troupe of neoglosms march to the opposite side of the divide. They knelt at its edge, a brigade of freaks grown into all shapes and sizes.


    The evangelical neoglosms believed this life was endless torment, a living hellscape, that the all-consuming cities and their parasitic freaks had claimed all the biomass in the world, and only through their obliteration could the world be saved. Their faithful thought release could be given to those willing to embrace decapitation. Not only that, but they desired their bodies to be hurled to the sands and be forever apart from their host¡¯s ecosystem.


    Their more deluded members thought the real world ¡ª Paradise ¡ª awaited them in their passing. They insisted that the only way to escape the city was to take out your brain or remove your head before your biomass was thrown back into the wastes. Apparently, there was another world waiting for them. However, most realised how foolish they were when they saw the desert for themselves.


    The Eidolon couldn¡¯t tell which of them was a true believer and who harboured doubts. They all looked terrified, confronted with the furnace truth of the outside below. Behind them stalked a wicked creature with a scything arm, encouraging them with quotes of meaningless scripture, hollow words of reassurance.


    The zealot behind them hacked the first neck, severing the freak¡¯s head and casting their body heavily over the edge. The other neoglosms begged some higher power to help them, praying to an uncaring God.


    Frowning, the Eidolon leaned forward and watched the body¡¯s descent. However, the air bellowing up to meet his face was hot and dry, and even in the shade, he lacked the genes to bear the day star¡¯s light. Quickly burning, he flinched away, back into the dark and humid interior of the city.


    The body landed hundreds of metres below, with the weighty slap of meat against the sand.


    Grim, the Eidolon wrapped his billowing cloak about himself and stepped away from the edge of the spiracle. He had to stoop down and duck as he walked below each rib that supported the passage at one of the many wide tracheae, which gulped up air for the city. He only moved a little in, enough to escape the light that breached the interior. Even out of sight, the Eidolon could hear the neoglosms¡¯ screams of terror. Listening, he identified each fall by the reaction of the other neoglosms and the distant thump as they landed.


    Finally, the Eidolon found a dark corner to kneel in. He managed to fall into meditation, frowning, crooked face bowed. Who knew how far their wicked neoglosm faith reached, how many falsehoods they spread, and how many lives they ruined? Righteous fury burned in his heart. The Eidolon crushed that feeling. This was not the time, and this was not the place.


    Finally, there was silence. The Eidolon was afforded some measure of peace, the opportunity to calm himself, before the sound of footsteps approached. This time, the Eidolon rose to its feet and carefully watched a gaunt, eight-limbed vat-borne crawl out of the dark. White robed and hooded, the vat-born was stained with ochre dust, which trailed off his cloak and collected dark and heavy under his feet.


    Scowling, the Eidolon eyed the vat-born¡¯s machine augments. Parts of its body had been replaced with star metal ¡ª buzzing devices of unknowable purpose. It was marked as one of the Wire-Witch¡¯s minions, and they weren¡¯t supposed to interfere like this. Usually, they thought themselves too important to ever leave their sanctums. However, someone Up High must have taken notice.


    With a wheeze from his mechanical lungs, the vat-born turned its hood this way and that in its search for the Eidolon. He lacked eyes. Instead, the plate stapled over its head relentlessly clicked and listened for the echo.


    The Eidolon stepped away from the wall, making himself more prominent for the blind thing. He raised his hand in a holy gesture, and the vat-born promptly halted. Then the machine minion clambered forwards and gave a similar, albeit more mechanical blessing, with a hand assembled from mechanical parts and not grown.


    ¡°Slashex,¡± the Eidolon greeted him. ¡°Do you have it? The offering?¡±


    ¡°How long you must have waited, Ohmax...¡± Slashex¡¯s voice trailed off, unfocused and clearly synthetic. A dazed smile crooked his lips.


    ¡°That is no longer my name. I ask you again. Do you have it?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    Slashex offered the Eidolon a small rectangular device ¡ª the field cutter. Almost carelessly, Slashex clasped the artefact between steel digits. However, when the Eidolon reached to take it, the vat-born held on tight.


    ¡°She allows you this, for your doomed journey to your ruined little shrine,¡± Slashex hissed. ¡°In the times that come, you will remember that. You will remember who allowed this...¡±


    The Eidolon snatched the device as soon as the vat-born released it. A favour for a favour was how the courts worked; if he was going to topple them On High, he would do well to remember that. Scowling, not giving the artefact another look and not giving the vat-born the pleasure of verbal acquiescence, the Eidolon walked away.


    Shrouding himself in his ruined, old cloak, the Eidolon ducked and disappeared into the dark, towards the deep necropolis of Aceytn¡¯s thoracic reaches, where a forgotten titan yet slumbered.

 One Thousand Years... 2.

    Amidst bridges held aloft by skeletal arms, insane and cyclopean structures called out to each other in the dark. Baroque recreations of fleshy martyrs wept, long ago grown into the walls. The city remembered them, even if its inhabitants did not. Unable to die, mere simulacra shaped by the city itself, they lived a second life that was even more miserable than the first.


    The Eidolon emerged from one of the countless throats that lead into this lowest thoracic cavity. Here, the air was tainted with the smell of infection and pneumonia. Given no choice, he waded ankle-deep in the warm fluid, committed to a route well memorised but never before taken. The lack of light here forced him to navigate through the infrared haze, his surroundings hot, humid, and indistinct.


    The chamber was vast. The sky was bone. Construction modules moved high above, distantly crawling amidst spinal towers and arching ribs. Endlessly in motion, each possessed its own purpose, servicing this profound realm of blood, cold machinery, and metal rebelling limbs. They worked, oblivious to the creature that crept far below them.


    Here, the buildings were grown upon twisted columns and stilted legs. The Eidolon navigated a half-submerged and labyrinthian undercroft, then ever-rolling streets and sunken passages to find his destination. Permeated with rot, it was a long-forgotten reach.


    Once so long ago as to be forgotten, it was known as the Gates. Though unimaginable now, this reach was once an open surface in Acetyn. It possessed a great tower that once touched the sky ¡ª the real sky ¡ª a shard of star metal and glass that was diamond in its faceted qualities. It was said to have been the domain of the Pilgrim of the Axiamat, a holy half-human who once led the people to overthrow the cities of their cruel elders and saved the world from torment. Inevitably, though, he had fallen a millennium ago, and the world had slowly collapsed back to malignancy in his absence.


    Now, the Eidolon considered these depths, long overgrown, built upon countless times by the noble lineages seeking to put themselves above that lost greatness. This was now a city segment that those On High were happy to let die. Without their great works to maintain it, the Gates were slowly being rejected by Acetyn and broken down into the chaos of the depths.


    Climbing steps, struggling against the flow of infectious bodily fluid, the Eidolon stopped to regard nets that swept across the small waterfall, catching the smallest and most mindless creatures swept up in the downpour. The traps were woven of lace, delicate and fine, glistening in a gentle way that the Eidolon had never seen before. Curiously, his yellow eyes turned to find a freak sitting on a wall above. It was weaving a larger sheet from many smaller filament bundles using four broad hands.


    Ignoring the twisted silhouette below, the net weaver hefted a skull in its heavy hands. The severed head was desiccated, cold and black in death. The Gates were filled with half-consumed corpses, and the Eidolon assumed they were purposefully entombed here. The old dead bore all colours, including royal red and white, as well as the motley assortments of wanderers and the lost.


    First, the net weaver cracked the skull with a bone tool and pulled at the rotten brain meat. Then, they squeezed and wrung out the old, fragile cerebral tissues with a rough but practised motion. Soft and seemingly impossibly delicate lace was separated from the brain meat. Finally, that lace was worked into the next net, still speckled with the organic matter, proving more robust than the finer-than-hair fibres had any right to be.


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    The lace was just another universal-type augment shared amongst the freaks that clung to the cities. Its true purpose unknown to most.


    Atop the sloping steps, rows of columns and keels oozed scum and blood, staining the passages below. Climbing to meet them, the Eidolon finally reached his destination.


    A tall spire stood tall and pierced the vaulted sky high above. It was the legendary mark of the Gates, the monumental resting place of the fabled Pilgrim. The tower stood surrounded by a wide-open forum. Its shimmering, glassy mass was nestled into the city¡¯s flesh with tendrils, anchoring it to buildings and supports with long, thick cables. Translucent glass, thick and solid and far more resistant than anything crafted by freaks, marked its walls. Lined with flesh and snaking arteries, its surface was warm, and that which connected it to the city moved, pulsing and sluggish.


    The forum itself was lit with a dim, sanguine glow. A dozen torsos were displayed, growing from narrow columns, bound where their heads and legs should have been. Their heavy breasts were pendulous, and their bellies bulged with a red bioluminescent glow. Slender arms and small hands cradled their wombs, swollen with their only purpose, to bear light into this doomed world. They surrounded a single monolithic head ¡ª indistinct and featureless, but for its likeness of a man ¡ª and illuminated its smooth surface.


    The Eidolon took a moment to look over the monolith¡¯s featureless bone shape, one that his own distorted head had been carved down to resemble so long ago. The spire¡¯s gate, sealed fast, showed no signs of granting passage. Turning his pale eyes to the second level of the forums, an expansive terrace surrounding its perimeter, the Eidolon spotted two warriors standing at guard.


    Battling a sea of violent emotion, the Eidolon climbed to the second tier, walking upright as if he had never crawled. Now, he played the part of so many others from the courts. He aped their enunciation and exaggerated obsequiousness, seeking acceptance if not trust. His noble act was learned, structured, and delivered in the perfect pitch of others of the court, synthetic in its knowledge. Like him, the two warriors he found on guard were bipedal, maimed and cut down into approximately the right shape since their conversion to the Axiamati faith. They wore plates of star metal over their clothes and hefted artificial blades alongside lances to combat the unworthy. Their clothes still bore the royal scarlet of Enelastoia¡¯s Vat-Mother. Despite this inheritance as vat-born, they had long since turned away and defected from her agenda.


    ¡°My shape, my kin,¡± the Eidolon said, bowing his hooded head, and they echoed it.


    ¡°My shape, my kin.¡±


    Marchemm and Menmarch saluted the Eidolon, giving him pause. After all, it was not so long ago he swore to the same duties as them, albeit for the pale host. Although their distorted faces were emotionless, their withered hands betrayed the aggressive fear they still felt at their station, clutching at their armaments tightly.


    ¡°A hound has breached the Gates,¡± Menmarch said, grim and clipped. ¡°The shrine is sealed. Sir Enhash has relocated to the Layman¡¯s Keep. We were tasked to receive you, and await your command.¡±


    The Eidolon did not waste words. Although they had come to the Gates for an altogether different task, as an idealised representative of their number, his ultimate duty to the Axiamati and the progenitor¡¯s shrine was to end their enemies. The warriors took to his side with a single gesture, and they turned away together. Then, moving as one, they descended around the monolith before continuing down towards the infected depths that spilt out around the tower, towards the shielded bunker of Laymen¡¯s Keep, where they would make ready to face a serpent in its domain.

 One Thousand Years... 3.

    Together, they descended lower and lower through a twisting passage beneath the forum. The Eidolon passed between structures grown into the very bones of the city. Crumbling walls and grand columns stood three times his height and more in breadth, supporting the vastness above.


    This deep bunker was Layman¡¯s Keep ¡ª once a great fortress, then buttressed even further to receive the Pilgrim¡¯s tower, long ago transplanted atop it as a final shining bastion of hope, now lost to the depths. Though the Eidolon knew this massive structure to have been first picked up and carried by mighty Acetyn in an age before, he could not imagine the movement of such a weight. He could not fathom the scale of the forces at work here. All of his life had been spent in the confines of the city. What did the heavens truly look like, spanning overhead, spilling into the forever? What did it take to move the world?


    Even here, the Eidolon saw the small creatures of low Acetyn, scuttling insects and things with far more limbs than they should by any right possess. They were squatting in the passages, using them as shelter, and once they saw the Eidolon, Marchemm, and Menmarch, they fled in fear. Their small, oblong bodies moved in a stagger, crawling around him as they scrambled for the exit. They grabbed and reached, shuffling in their weird movements.


    The Eidolon strode on with his companions close, knowing that the scuttling animals were mindless and posed no threat to their order. Yet bile built in the back of his throat at the sight of the verminous creatures. Nevertheless, he continued through the structure until the bony palace belied its purpose. Though the progenitor¡¯s shrine within the tower was inaccessible, for now, there were other interior sections in the structure. Thick, shelled doors, dead but propped open, gave access to the keep. He and his order had been instructed of them some time ago before they turned their blades upon their previous master.


    Through another arched doorway, the fleshy walls and interior were covered with remnants of decorated scaled skins and thick furs, trophies of great hunts, turning from the random pattern of city biology to that of an abandoned royal court. It held a black and blue banner that was adorned with jewels and woven sigils in a tight, rich design, but it was long-rotted with age. Precious metals glimmered, embossed into the walls, though they were muddied by an age of dirt and grime. There, they found a meeting chamber filled with a long table made from the corpse of a dragon¡¯s thickly plated hull.


    Here, the Eidolon, Marchemmm, and Menmarch joined three others, all carved into the same bipedal shape, equally shelled in star metal and armed for war as their companions.


    Less than one hundred freaks in the city openly professed their faith in the Pilgrim¡¯s return and the cause by which the Axiamat was slain, the inheritors of a once-mighty crusade that laid the world bare in an age before inequity. Now assembled, they were six of their faith¡¯s most skilled warriors, burdened with a self-appointed duty.


    ¡°My shape, my kin,¡± they all spoke in unison.


    ¡°Did you get the offering?¡± Barked a giant of a warrior without colours from the corner of the chamber.


    To that, the Eidolon reached into his ragged cloak and presented the artefact. The sight of the field cutter ¡ª scored carbon black after ten thousand years ¡ª stilled everyone in the room. Held up for all to see, the holy zealot then placed it in the centre of the table.


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    ¡°I have,¡± the Eidolon said quietly but firmly. ¡°It will be enough to sate the gatekeeper.¡±


    As if to answer that, an armoured pale who loomed over the table stabbed his sharp gauntlet against his holographic map, scoring the table beneath.


    ¡°Then we should focus on the next step,¡± said Sir Enhash, ever filled with spite. ¡°A hound lurks hidden within the depths. It stalks the ruins of the Gates, preying upon those who wander the reach without trial.¡±


    The Eidolon considered Sir Enhash, who had once been his superior when they were both loyal to the Lord of Bones and his witch lady ¡ª a leadership supplanted when he put a knife in the back of the former Eidolon and took up the burden of his identity. Sir Enhash, recognising that the former Eidolon had become a puppet and tool of the Lord of Bones, used to keep the faithful under control and subservient, changed his loyalty in turn. Together, they dreamt of this new purpose, the restoration of the old age. Yet still, they chafed in command.


    ¡°The shrine is sealed, kept secure by its keeper until the beast is slain,¡± Marchemm reminded them, narrow eyes turning between the Eidolon and Sir Enhash as he observed their shifting positions of authority.


    ¡°We tracked the beast¡¯s progress, gathered information, maintained distance,¡± added Llewtoll, their hunter, who was vigilant and predatory. ¡°The creature has slaughtered every one of our seekers.¡±


    From his corner, the hulk of Taneberr, the wrotheful, said, ¡°We must strike now and eradicate it from this place.¡±


    The Eidolon waited for their words and assent but didn¡¯t need to wait long. At his sides, Marchemm and Menmarch, ever obedient and carved from the same vat-born, were of like mind. So he looked over the maps, projected out over the table¡¯s surface, and considered the situation.


    ¡°But we do not know where it is now,¡± the Eidolon said, looking to Taneberr and Llewtoll for confirmation. They gave it reluctantly and carefully in turn. Having surrendered his identity, the Eidolon was honoured to take charge of these skilled warriors, a sacrifice interrupted by this invading monster.


    After consideration, the Eidolon focused on the map where the hound was last seen and flicked through the collection for a thousand days before. Finally, he found what he sought on the amethyst shine. The hound had been spotted again close to their location, deep. It was always so deep.


    ¡°The hound has been travelling under the forum, using this very labyrinth,¡± the Eidolon pointed, and the others nodded. ¡°We can be certain it is not stationary and we have not the numbers to scour every passage. So we must drive it out.¡±


    ¡°The cavity is sick with fevers, trying to break down the Gates,¡± Sir Enhash noted quietly. ¡°Perhaps a rare provenance.¡±


    The Eidolon¡¯s broad head turned heavily, suppressing a scowl, the skin along its sharp ridges pulling tightly away from the bone. Eventually, he nodded, realising Sir Enhash¡¯s unspoken suggestion.


    ¡°Ironic,¡± the Eidolon said thoughtfully, turning the map to the borders of the Gates, where the walls of the reach held the chaos at bay. ¡°We will use it to drive out the hound.¡±


    ¡°Yet why would Acetyn try to break down the Gates?¡± Marchemm asked. ¡°After all this time, is it not still bound to the old oaths?¡±


    ¡°The city has been driven mad,¡± Menmarch replied, his thin lips pursing into a tight line. ¡°The chaos spreads vindictively now.¡±


    ¡°Sickness then, it has truly taken a hold of this city,¡± Llewtoll hissed.


    ¡°All the more reason to kill this beast quickly and complete our glorious work,¡± Taneberr growled.


    ¡°I agree,¡± the Eidolon replied, turning his back to the table, wanting to be immediately underway. ¡°We will lure the hound into the open and, together, slay it. I know exactly how to draw it out.¡±

 One Thousand Years... 4.

    The preparations took hours. It was a difficult task, with the Eidolon and his companions constantly moving ¡ª creeping through the crypts, avoiding the flow of the sickness. They descended to the lowest throat that fed the Gates. Inside, the pneumonic stench was overwhelming, and it washed over the Eidolon, wringing and twisting his insides, nauseating.


    The Eidolon spat the taste of death to the floor. It was vaguely sweet and cloying, and he couldn¡¯t rinse it out. Inside the throat, they were forced to traverse through a narrow, twisting tunnel. It was impossible to walk upright, so they had to keep low and crawl like their original forms, all through the filth. The walls were slick. Once, the roof was smooth but now fractured, full of cracks which oozed moisture.


    After carefully stalking metre after metre inside, Marchemm signalled they stop. Taneberr and Llewtoll kept a careful eye out in each direction, scanning in the infrared haze. The rest worked, rigging concussive charges to the metallic ribs that held the passage open. The Eidolon worked alongside them in the cramped tunnel, their equipment challenging to make space for. When the charges were set, they were all forced to climb around the tight space to turn and traverse the passage back into the Gates.


    This passage was the last of seven, carefully chosen and warily set for detonation. Soon, together, the Axiamati crossed into an open space amidst the lower rises of the abandoned reach. The agora was filled with bones, the air thick with sickly perfume emitted by the abandoned fest halls, and a fetid, mouldy miasma. A rare silence filled this part of the city. Nothing carried upon the heavy air but the crunch of their hurried steps and the heaving of their breaths.


    Finally, the Eidolon gave the word, and they tossed down the arrested net weaver to collapse amidst the dead.


    ¡°Release me,¡± the freak hissed, four hands bound. ¡°I have done nothing to you.¡±


    ¡°Breaking of the flesh of the dead,¡± the Eidolon said, standing over it, scowling. ¡°The laws of grace and of our Lord steward demand punishment.¡±


    The Eidolon held his hand to the side. Menmarch was the first to react, drawing his large star metal blade and pressing the radiant green handle into the Eidolon¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Fortunately for you, I am merciful,¡± the Eidolon continued, hefting the blade but not raising it. ¡°You will do nothing more than serve the security of this realm. After that, you shall be free once more.¡±


    Then, one of the freak¡¯s own nets was heaved over it. Taneberr¡¯s grip, too heavy to resist, forced it down, and he used bone stakes to secure the net against the ground. The freak howled and cursed, demanding freedom, ignored as the warriors checked their equipment. They readied gleaming armour and helmets, except the Eidolon, who was content with his beaten cloak and the borrowed sword.


    Llewtoll checked and rechecked the wireless connection to the explosives. As he did so, the freak shrieked, ¡°I was doing nothing more than harvesting what I needed to survive.¡±


    ¡°There is never need to profane the flesh of innocents, heretic,¡± Taneberr growled. ¡°I should break you in kind.¡±


    Sir Enhash put a seven-fingered hand on the brute¡¯s shoulder, uttering, ¡°Our role today is to fight, not to judge.¡±


    ¡°You know nothing!¡± The freak hissed, froth slopping around its mouth. Then it twisted against the stakes, its four hands lashing out.


    Taneberr growled. He pulled back, standing and nodding to the knight superior at his side in a reluctant display of acceptance.


    ¡°Time,¡± Llewtoll said, and the Eidolon nodded.


    As one, they withdrew, moving swiftly to separate buildings surrounding the open city square. The others scurried to hide, scrambling to the relative safety of the steps. The Eidolon, however, took narrow staircases and small crawlways higher and higher until he emerged upon the sloped and sharp roof of a trembling building overlooking the agora. There, he crouched upon its edge, waiting, cloak pulled tight around his body.


    Below, amongst the stilted base growths, the Eidolon could see Llewtoll and Taneberr keeping low, their weapons in hand. Like him, they waited in stony silence ¡ª one disciplined and the other brute following the hunter¡¯s lead. All of them ignored the shouting protests of the net-weaver until he, too, surrendered to the hush. The quiet had almost lulled the Eidolon into a false sense of security, squatting on the high, blade in hand. His yellow eyes glimmered in the biolights.


    When the explosions came, there was no flash. The thumps kicked condensation out of the air, spilling mists in all directions, choking the alleyways. Boulders of silicon flesh fell around ribs of metal alloy, and thick resin-chitin shells cracked down, sealing the lower throats around the cavity. The entire, vast chamber heaved and shook as this small portion of mighty Acetyn¡¯s continent body wheezed.


    The boom shook the structures that made up the agora, and many of the older, fragile alcoves collapsed on impact. Grimly, the Eidolon waited patiently and listened for the effects of the blast. Below him, he saw Llewtoll and Taneberr shrugging off the earthen ash that had fallen upon them, tumbling from the structures around them, brushing hastily at their visors. The Eidolon remained crouched on his spiked perch and watched as the fluid slowly began to build up in the undercroft, completely drowning the lowest reaches of the Gates.


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    Nothing. No sounds, no cries, no people. When the vast wheezing settled down, what remained was a comatose place full of halls and towers that stretched out, leading to never-ending labyrinths. Yet, now, the caverns and structures were silent as if they themselves waited for the moment to come, a choreographed presentation of reflected light and shadow playing off the walls and the faces that they wore.


    The Eidolon turned his head, tracking distant motion with his yellow, slitted eyes. Movement leapt and flashed through the streets below with augmented velocity, smashing through the walkways, crashing against the columns and shafts, and covering them with shadows as they broke biolights. Following its pace behind cover was challenging as it fled the rising tide, well camouflaged in dark silicon flesh. The Eidolon blinked to infrared. Their prey was too well hidden but for the brightness of its throat and belly, exposed as it leapt: a tell-tale sign of the aug-mad, blood that burned so hot that it risked boiling.


    The quickest and easiest way to higher ground was through this agora, and, as predicted, it was the route that the hound took. Clawed hands lacerated the walls and ceilings as it crawled over them. Its every motion was havoc and death.


    When the hound finally emerged at the edge of the square, the lips of its long, lobed head cracked apart and salivated at the smell of a trapped freak. Hounds were always at their most voracious when in danger.


    Slithering down, the dark beast lowered itself to the ground upon six taut, biomechanical limbs. Its bladed tail lashed as it stalked towards the bound net weaver, who began to scream and thrash against its bindings again, realising what was happening and holding its monstrous attention in the process. Eyeless, the hound moved closer, with excited, loping steps, tasting the air with its siphons and the tip of a bright red tongue.


    Watching, the Eidolon held his breath. Bounding and whip-fast, the hound was nearly upon the struggling freak, the desiccated bones that littered the square crushed beneath its claws. The flutes upon its back gulped down, heaving breaths as its lips peeled back around its long skull and exposed metallic teeth, far too large for its jaws, taking up the entire forefront of its wicked head. Curved slabs of chitin armour rippled upon its throat and shoulders as it dribbled saliva onto the freak, preparing for an easy meal.


    The first flash of gunfire broke the mist. The Axiamati¡¯s salvo tore through the city¡¯s silence as one. However, the bright fire of their lances pricked the ablative bioceramics of the hound¡¯s hide as if they were nothing more than thorns. Some hit their target, rending gaping holes through the weakest points of its armour. The hound¡¯s mutagens filled the injuries with quicksilver, staunching and repairing the gashes and holes, its bones and cartilage knitting clean instantly. The hound hissed, reluctantly forced off its meal.


    They had the monster¡¯s attention, and it was not impressed.


    The Eidolon¡¯s muscles tensed as the hound¡¯s sibilant cry boomed across the agora. Even the buildings flinched. Many of the etched-out areas perched upon the sinewy columns and walkways began to shiver and tremble.


    As if challenged, Taneberr leapt from his hidden place. Breaking from his hiding spot, the hulk of a warrior charged. Heedless of the ineffective weapons fire of his allies, he rushed forward, meeting the hound¡¯s turning maw with a tremendous smack from his armoured gauntlet. The impact of Taneberr¡¯s fist was palpable, kinetics thumping up through both the ground and the building under the Eidolon¡¯s bare feet.


    The hulking warrior followed through with a right hook into the beast¡¯s plated neck, compressing the armour around its throat. Then, a wicked flourish of Taneberr¡¯s sabre caught across the beast¡¯s belly and head, glancing off its terrible hide.


    Driven back, the hound hissed and lashed out two massive claws. The vicious blades clamped down around Taneberr¡¯s torso, grinding against star metal, with the keening shriek of blades sticking against steel. Taneberr was forced down to his knee with a furious cry, then onto his back, as the beast wrestled him down. Towering over him, the hound snarled, chrome teeth gleaming in the biolight.


    As they met, the firing had stopped. Marchemm and Menmarch, trying not to catch their reckless ally in the crossfire, repositioned out in the open. They levelled their lances to fire upon the beast¡¯s back, cracking sharp fire into it.


    Picking up Taneberr and slamming him back down, crushing the skulls and the discarded bones beneath him, the hound turned towards its new assailants and roared. Its head and neck bulged hideously, and then it disgorged its profane tongue. Bursting forward with pneumatic force, the venomous extension bifurcated, forking and splitting again and again. It swept forward and filled the square like dragon fire. Countless metres of impossible flesh overtook Marchemm and Menmarch, enveloping and sticking to them with microscopic barbs, oozing with neurotoxins and artificial nano-weapons.


    The Eidolon jumped from rooftop to rooftop, tracking his way around the square in a sprint. The loose tiles, scales, and dry shells of the structures rattled under his bare feet.


    One final leap, and the Eidolon was airborne. The city held its breath.


    Impact.


    The Eidolon¡¯s knees and bare feet landed upon the head of the hound, arresting his fall with a heavy crash. The momentum carried him forward into a roll.


    Swinging the star sword, the Eidolon carved off the hound¡¯s wicked tongue before touching the ground. The beast could do nothing but scream its surprise as the Axiamati¡¯s champion landed. Then, thrusting forward his grip, the Eidolon deftly turned and plunged the gleaming star metal blade into the monster. He found the only spot on the beast not invincible to their weapons ¡ª the terrible space between its chrome teeth.


    A visceral separation of bone, connective tissue, and soft flesh. The Eidolon stood with his arm plunged into the monster¡¯s head all the way up to the elbow. With a wet slough, he twisted the radiant green hilt and pulled the weapon out again, completely destroying the hound¡¯s biological and electronic neural tissues with a flick of his wrist.

 One Thousand Years... 5.

    Rage was tempered with purpose, subdued. The Eidolon stood over the hound¡¯s carcass ¡ª a position he had been in too many times before. Steam rose from his arm, still clutching the sword, hot with blood and quicksilver slowly cooling in the dim biolight. The monster twitched and quaked, accelerated healing, attempting to stave off the fatal damage. But, unfortunately for the beast, it would not be enough this time.


    The Eidolon had been many things, but it was this that he claimed most resolutely as his identity ¡ª a killer ¡ª mutely aware of the sacrifice that was to come.


    His future? Well, he had none. He was doomed to the same fate as his predecessor, to die in the dark.


    Taneberr groaned, using his sabre to pry apart the wicked claws that kept him bound. The Eidolon offered a hand and pulled him to standing before they rushed around the fleshy mass of the beast¡¯s disgorged tongue. Hurried, the Eidolon used a sword and a cloak-swaddled hand to pull at the meat. Taneberr seized it in his armoured grip, drawing upon his strength and weight to heave it back. They uncovered the gasping, fallen forms of Marchemm and Menmarch.


    More hands soon joined them, pulling the pinned warriors free together. Marchemm was deathly quiet, and Menmarch quaked with a severely damaged leg and broken ribs. Both recuperated slowly from the ferocious attack and the toxins in the beast¡¯s saliva.


    ¡°We have to get out of this place,¡± Menmarch muttered in pain, looking around with fear in his eyes.


    ¡°Easy, my kin,¡± said the Eidolon, his voice calm and confident.


    The Eidolon knew they had made a mistake in following Tanebarr into the open. It was the only mistake they had made that night. Nevertheless, he was thankful for their survival and proud of their bravery today. The hand that he placed upon Menmarch¡¯s shoulder was hard but warm.


    The brutal Taneberr held the Eidolon in quiet regard, not for the first time. But Sir Enhash scowled beneath his helmet, his attention on Marchemm, still heaving for air, kneeling amidst the bones of the square. Llewtoll stalked at a distance. The knight and the hunter were born survivors and would not join in the camaraderie.


    ¡°We must get out of here,¡± Menmarch repeated, the sweat on his forehead and the blood on his armour glimmering in the biolight. He looked around again, bemoaning, ¡°Everywhere is saturated with that¡­ That sucking, corrosive, air¡­¡±


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    Sir Enhash clicked his throat, summoning the Eidolon¡¯s attention. Their yellow eyes met in the dark, and the subordinate knight gestured to Marchemm, still collapsed in the filth, silent and shivering. A wet crunch filled the air as his arm fractured and reset itself. A gash grew under his helmet, weeping blood, then resealed itself. Tasting the infrared, the Eidolon saw that Marchemm was burning hot.


    ¡°Phage,¡± Marchemm hissed, finally breaking his silence. Upon hearing him, the group seized with an anxious note, and all their eyes locked onto him.


    The Eidolon looked to Taneberr, who shook his head. Then, the Eidolon looked to Menmarch. He watched as the injured warrior crawled to his kin and put hands upon his slouched and feverish shoulders.


    ¡°Brother,¡± Menmarch wept.


    Swallowing down his illness, Marchemm managed to put an arm over his twin¡¯s shoulder, groaning wordlessly as the nano weapons tore his body apart and remade it, battling with his self-repair augmentations. Taneberr moved first, seizing Menmarch by his sides, lifting and dragging the injured warrior back.


    ¡°No! No! Don¡¯t you dare!¡± Menmarch cursed and wheezed, kicking the leg that he could.


    Despite that, the Eidolon moved to stand over Marchemm, who met him with eyes that filled with blood. Ignorant to the pleas of Marchemm¡¯s twin, the Axiamati champion held the blade in his hand firm. The Eidolon knew well the curse of the phage. To try to live with a corrupt mutagen was worse than a death sentence.


    The phage was a tainted form of quicksilver that replicated itself uncontrollably, overtaking a host until it consumed the body¡¯s oxygen to dangerously low levels, dulling the brain until only the basest senses remained. In the process, it drove lace and augment to malfunction in pursuit of automated survival.


    It never simply killed. At best, it led to eternal, comatose torment. At worst, it turned a freak into a hound, maddened with the pain and driven to devour or infect everyone around them.


    Taking a knee before the fallen warrior, the Eidolon uttered, ¡°You know what I must do.¡±


    Even in his weakened state, Marchemm managed to nod. His spine seized, and his fists clenched, wracked with agony. The Eidolon took Marchemm¡¯s head under his hand and embraced it to his naked belly. The infected vat-born groaned as his superior raised the blade.


    They all watched as the Eidolon carved off Marchemm¡¯s head, sparing him this wicked fate. The gleaming blade severed the spine and the arteries, disconnecting augments and phage in his body from the neural lace in his head and ending his life. Blood fluted from his throat in terrible arcs, the quicksilver in it spiking and shuddering with a life of its own. All the while, the Eidolon held Marchemm close during his final moments, interrupted only by the desperate screams of his brother.

 One Thousand Years... 6.

    Purpose was tempered with misery. Subdued, the Eidolon stood over the warrior¡¯s carcass ¡ª a position he had been in too many times before. Steam rose from his body, hot with spilt blood and quicksilver. Clutching Menmarch¡¯s sword, cooling in the dim biolight, he stood over Marchemm¡¯s body as it twitched and quaked. Accelerated healing attempted to stave off the fatal damage. But, unfortunately, it would not be enough for him either. The Eidolon turned away.


    Menmarch kicked and screamed, held back, restrained by the giant grasp of Taneberr. The Eidolon gauged his reaction to the death of his brother, one who once shared his body before they were carved apart.


    ¡°My own blade!¡± Menmarch cried out. ¡°You had no right!¡±


    But the Eidolon believed that he had every right. Yellow eyes glancing between the freaks still loyal, he hissed and gestured to Menmarch.


    ¡°The pain is effecting his judgement. Relieve him. Now we can finally access the shrine.¡±


    Sir Enhash watched the interaction closely but made no approach. When the knight superior remained still, Llewtoll hissed, lowered his weapon, and moved closer instead. The brute Taneberr hefted the weight of his injured ally, lifting Menmarch with a firm hold on his shoulders.


    ¡°Enhash!¡± Menmarch begged ¡ª kicking a leg, struggling as best as his broken body could manage ¡ª which was nought to Taneberr¡¯s hulking form. ¡°Stop this! Make them stop!¡±


    Llewtoll took out a squirming, tentacled subling from a satchel, its dozen limbs hungry and barbed. This he put to Menmarch¡¯s screaming, protesting throat.


    The subling tasted flesh and wrapped its many arms around Menmarch¡¯s neck. Barbs pierced thick skin and began to drink his blood ¡ª parasitic. Then, more delicate lace pricked deep into his spine, intertwining with Menmarch¡¯s nervous system, numbing the pain, numbing everything. Finally, the grieving vat-born fell slack in the giant¡¯s grip, surrendering with a pitiful whine and a dumb groan.


    Holding his head high, the Eidolon resumed his march. Dripping with gore and quicksilver nanomaterial, he wrapped himself in his cloak, crossed the plaza, and took the passage up to higher reaches. In his wake, Taneberr helped the numbed Menmarch to walk, and Llewtoll reloaded his lance, stalking through the dark.


    Sir Enhash was the last depart. Before moving on, his star metal visor turned to the corpses, bestial and mutant. His throat clicked with contempt, and it was only with a bitter afterthought that his sword flicked against the nets that kept their prisoner bound, releasing the mistreated freak to run screaming back out into the lower cavity of the Gates alone.


    The depths of the city groaned back to life. Barely audible, the little sounds of the structures, the ghostly mutters and moans, carried through the thick, misted air.


    The Eidolon crossed a vast bridge suspended in the dark. He ached. Oh, how he ached. The battle had strained his augs, and the quicksilver burned his pale flesh. But then, the city¡¯s breath caught his cloak and dragged his attention to the wailing towers surrounding him. Embedded in a nearby wall, an ancient form twisted in remorse, grown into the silicon wall across a shadowy gulf.


    ¡°Turn back,¡± the faceless martyr wept. ¡°Spare yourself.¡±


    With a sneer, the Eidolon recognised the face of his predecessor. Acetyn had grown him here. But why? Disregarding the traitorous visage, he moved on.


    Shortly before their deaths, the warriors drew to a halt at the foot of the great tower. They stood before the great and monolithic head, the one which they all now resembled, each carved down in their own unique way to resemble a man. At their fore, the Eidolon basked in the sanguine glow of the mother lights. Closing his eyes, he steadied his breathing. It was a poor attempt to crush down his anxiety.


    ¡°Shall we?¡± Taneberr¡¯s rumbling voice echoed on the concavity¡¯s mantle. ¡°Bask in the glory, my kin.¡±


    The brute was the first to enter the open passage, unsealed at the base of the tall spire. Dragging the drooling form of Menmarch with him, he quickly disappeared into the translucent glass, heavy basalt stonework, and pulsing arteries that made up the ancient structure.


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    The Eidolon told himself that it was excitement that he felt, not fear. Stepping inside, his yellow eyes were drawn around the entrance to the tower. The floors around him were coated in intricately designed, violet-coloured tiles. Above, the walls and the ceilings were tall and broad. The atrium space was angled, intended to pull the eye upwards to where the ceiling was supported with arching braces, complete with a black marble facade. It was all cut through by a distant, muted glow emanating from further into the tower that cast long shadows behind them. Just out of reach, it opened up into a great nave at the end of the long entrance hall, cast indistinct and heavenly bright by the light.


    ¡°Welcome, welcome, at long last...¡±


    At the precipice, the Eidolon turned. From the vast space above the warriors came a tremulous voice. Then, on the tapered legs of a grotesquely long mechanical centipede, an elder freak crawled on the ceiling, stretching off into the distance, curling, hidden amongst the buttresses and rafters above. His torso was bent and aged, but his lower half was replaced by the artificial shape of the obscene arthropod form.


    The Eidolon¡¯s lips twisted in contempt to see a creature with such a debased form here, of all places. Here, where the likeness of mankind was to be celebrated and their return worked towards, the progenitors¡¯ shrine was kept by a monster.


    Met with a hiss from Llewtoll, the freak drew to a halt, a dozen metres and more of his body crossing the archways above them, trailing back to distant reaches.


    ¡°Trishek Hash?¡± The Eidolon called up to the gnarled creature, eyes narrowed intensely in recognition, thinking quickly. ¡°Your brother sends his regards.¡±


    ¡°I doubt that,¡± Trishek said, faceted eyes catching the distant glow issuing from the next chamber, belying his place in the shadows. ¡°But yes, be welcomed, you glorious few to this holy place of pilgrimage. I can see you are true believers.¡±


    ¡°You are the keeper of this shrine?¡± The Eidolon asked.


    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± the crawling freak said from above, inching closer. Like a predator, it slowly coiled its body, countless legs tensing, ready to strike.


    The warriors stirred, ill at ease. Exchanging glances, they all inevitably turned to their now-nameless leader. There had been an expectation of a keeper, but not one that possessed such a form, half-finished. Still broken of senses, Menmarch laughed in his daze, his voice echoing throughout the tower.


    The Eidolon stared at Trishek, weighing his fear against his contempt, when the keeper spoke again.


    ¡°You have brought it? The tribute?¡± Trishek asked as his many legs inched closer. There was something terrible about his head and arms. Like them, its shape had been carved down to possess the upper body of the progenitors. Yet he was knotted with the scars of ancient wounds, barely concealed by a shroud of cloth, not unlike the Eidolon¡¯s own cloak. He was old. He was dangerous.


    ¡°I do. I have come to restore honour to my faith. The Eidolon before me shirked his duty to the Pilgrim and put his loyalties to a false noble instead. So I have taken the mantle. I am here.¡±


    It was then that the Eidolon offered it up, the little artefact from the stars.


    The keeper snapped forward, viper quick, in a lunge. He instantly took the ancient field projector from the Eidolon¡¯s hand before retreating to the high ceiling. The Eidolon couldn¡¯t have stopped him if he had tried. Instead, his outstretched hand became a fist before lowering to his side.


    ¡°Look at this. Yes, look...¡± Trishek coveted the artefact in his scar-knotted fingers, whispers barely reaching the warriors below. ¡°You have done very well. Very, very well, yes... Just what I need... Where did you find this?¡±


    ¡°The witch¡¯s minions took it from her Lord-husband¡¯s holdfast and delivered it to me.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that interesting... Now, why would she have them do that...?¡±


    ¡°Keeper,¡± the Eidolon hissed and barked up to him. ¡°May we pass?¡±


    High above them, already retreating into vast upper reaches, the shrine¡¯s master hissed in return. Then, voice echoing across the immense arches and vaults, from a vantage unseen, it answered.


    ¡°You may.¡±


    Looking around his kin, the Eidolon was met with their gazes in return. A trepidation hung in the air, the knowledge that this would indeed be a final step, a boundary once crossed that could never be undone.


    Impatient as ever, Taneberr grunted, turning first and dragging Menmarch across the threshold. The Eidolon nodded the rest ahead before him.


    ¡°Savour this moment,¡± the Eidolon said quietly.


    Next was Sir Enhash, who held his head high, helmet gleaming as he entered the wide nave. Just behind him, Llewtoll took a moment to examine the doorway ¡ª with its silicon flesh and silverline ribs, grown over the cold metal and stone that once made up this ancient place ¡ª before stepping within. The Eidolon was the last to enter, pulling his cloak fast about himself as he crossed into the light.

 One Thousand Years... 7.

    ¡°Step forward. Be richly rewarded... Hahaha...¡±


    The voice of Trishek Hash was issued throughout the cathedral space. It bounced around the vaulting ceiling of the nave, silicon walls echoing the voice down onto the newly arrived laity. They advanced together as one, looking in every direction as the beast hidden high above them laughed. His voice wracked their will.


    Together, the Axiamati entered the nave. The Eidolon saw a faraway window above them, beaming with radiant and heavenly light. It seemed impossibly high and so, so bright ¡ª as if the diamond tower itself could carry down light from the real sky, bring it here to this deep dark place, from a remote distance, so high as to pierce the city itself.


    The window crowned the top of the spire, stained with the image of a woman ¡ª a progenitor, surely ¡ª holding a white flower and a dove aloft. Her form was pure. Her physique was beautiful. Dark skin bare, her shining silver hair was worn in long, curled tresses that cascaded around her, and the softness of her skin was implied by the blooming of the star shine. Her face smiled softly whilst the cleft of her vulva and the bare swell of her chest revealed the natural state of a woman rendered as pure. No augmentation. No mutation. A memory of an age before this slovenly inequity of genetic provenance. It represented hope for a future if only it was made real again.


    Unexpectedly, a tear stung the Eidolon¡¯s eye, but he blinked it away. The light from the window stung his pale flesh and dazzled his sensitive eyes, forcing the nameless warrior to look down once more.


    Stepping between long-abandoned pews and the remnants of worship from another age, Sir Enhash snarled as Taneberr shook his head to dispel the glare. Menmarch groaned, shuddering in the giant¡¯s grip, and Llewtoll silently bowed his head. At the focal point of the nave, a smaller structure stood, erected of worn stone and bearing intricate decoration worn down by the acidic conditions of the city over untold ages; still, it remained at the centre of a column of light, reaching these depths from the window high above.


    Struggling, exposed to the inferno of the day star, they staggered across the bright floor until Sir Enhash spoke.


    ¡°Stop. This has gone far enough.¡±


    Each of the warriors drew to a halt, squirming below the glare of the day star above them. Though the light was dimmed by its passage through untold depths, through glass and mists, it still bore down on each of them like a curse.


    ¡°My kin,¡± the Eidolon faced him. ¡°This is not the time to shirk our duty.¡±


    ¡°What is our duty?¡± Sir Enhash waved his gauntlet-clad arm around, indicating the injured Menmarch and the rest of their party. ¡°What do we fight for if not the wellbeing of the faithful, and their future?¡±


    ¡°We fight to restore the world, my kin,¡± the Eidolon said quietly, tensely. Taneberr and Llewtoll shared a glance. Llewtoll shook his head, warning the giant against becoming involved.


    ¡°Do we?¡± Sir Enhash leaned towards the ordained champion. ¡°Your predecessor was certain that this was not the way.¡±


    ¡°And what would he have known, truly?¡± The Eidolon raised his voice and threw up his arms, indicating the cathedral space around them. ¡°That he knelt to the Lord of Bones made him little more than a pretender!¡±


    ¡°He once told me that he had attempted this pilgrimage and that it was nothing more than death and damnation.¡±


    ¡°So you have said,¡± the Eidolon paced away, then gestured to a stone mausoleum ¡ª monumentally large, albeit dwarfed by the sheer scale of the tower they stood within ¡ª ahead of them. ¡°But we are here now. Look! We can restore His greatness. We can find a way to break a new crusade, to overthrow those cruel elders who have dominated the world. We can free everyone.¡±


    Sir Enhash considered the acid-weathered mausoleum ahead of them before he spoke, ¡°What could we possibly do to change the world on that scale? The noble lines are ancient and powerful, entrenched by societal intertia and personal strength.¡±


    The Eidolon placed his hands on Sir Enhash¡¯s armoured shoulders, bowing his head as he spoke quietly.


    ¡°If only I knew, my kin. We can only turn to the wisdom of he who came before, he who once saved the world.¡±


    ¡°And fell...¡±


    ¡°... Betrayed, so the scriptures say. We can fix this.¡±


    Sir Enhash and the Eidolon met each other¡¯s gaze. They held the look, yellow eyes locked until the knight superior relinquished a nod.


    ¡°May Paradise await us all if you are wrong, Ohmax.¡±


    ¡°Have faith, my kin,¡± the Eidolon said softly.


    So they each shared a look. Llewtoll nodded again, and Taneberr rumbled his approval. The Eidolon pat Sir Enhash¡¯s shoulder, and they advanced together. Finally, they returned to their familiar darkness inside the mausoleum.


    Inside this sepulchral space, damp and claustrophobic, the warriors crept in through a narrow passage, an entryway fortified to be impregnable once upon a time before the entire structure was transplanted here. They had expected to find a tomb, but quickly ¡ª far too quickly ¡ª they brought themselves before a throne instead.


    A man was seated on that throne. He was a titan that shared their shape ¡ª the very form of the progenitors they had religiously carved themselves to resemble. However, unlike their piecemeal armour, this figure was mighty in its armoured exoskeleton. Even seated, he was a five-metre monument of gilded titanium, etched with grandiose iconography, wearing a tale sweeping back to antiquity. His head was concealed behind a mighty visor, a sharp wedge without concealment in its use in war.


    ¡°My Lord!¡±


    The Eidolon threw himself down to his knees, hands planted against the cold stone floor, head lowered in supplication. In his zealotry, he recognised this holy figure ¡ª the Pilgrim of the Axiamat, he who killed the insolent city that dared to reach for the stars.


    Slowly, one at a time, the Eidolon was carefully joined by those who followed him.


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    ¡°My Lord,¡± the Eidolon gasped, suddenly lost for breath, lost for words. ¡°We have come. We have... We have crossed the city. We have brought you tribute, slain the corrupt, brought justice in your name. We come to beg you help us to save the world once more.¡±


    When there was no reaction from the seated figure, the Eidolon swallowed down a lump in his throat before managing in the ghost of a whisper.


    ¡°We have come because you have called.¡±


    The Eidolon stared at the ground, head bowed until his neck ached. The fatigue of his long journey burned in his wearied muscles. When he dared raise his gaze, it was to look back to his companions. Their mutant eyes were filled with doubt.


    And when they had almost lost faith, the exoskeleton of the Pilgrim groaned to life. Pneumatic muscles trembled and thumped against their metal bindings. A howl of static noise issued from its visor before booming with a strange, bone-shaking voice.


    ¡°I welcome you laity, faithful, at long last,¡± the Pilgrim said, his voice rattling the chamber, drawing dust from the walls and the ceiling.


    Behind them, the entryway groaned to life. Machinery churned in unseen recesses, and the passage behind them closed ¡ª sealing them in the dark. The only light which remained was stark and electric, cast off from the elder God seated before them.


    Stricken with panic, the Eidolon threw himself back down onto his hands, head bowed. He trembled before an ancient master.


    ¡°I welcome you to our most hallowed stronghold,¡± the Pilgrim continued.


    ¡°You do us-... A tremendous honour,¡± the Eidolon tried to speak, but his voice was drowned out. ¡°We seek to join-... Join your crusade, at long last.¡±


    ¡°Whence mighty Acetyn, the Genekeeper, and I once walked side by side, I so welcome you upon our millennia-long crusade.¡±


    The Pilgrim¡¯s electronic voice, bassy and sonorous, thudded against stone and bone. He rose from his throne with the grinding of his old exoskeleton and sealed armour. Flecks of basalt, dislodged from the crumbling structure, fell around him.


    As the Pilgrim spoke, he advanced, a titan in motion upon them.


    ¡°... Long ago, we fell from the branches of the city of Axiamat, who dared to reach towards the stars. Before the death of our host city, together, we came upon our birthright, a crucible where we could meet our ancestors¡­¡±


    Ponderous, the ancient master extended a gauntlet out towards the injured Menmarch, with his mangled leg and cracked ribs. The dazed warrior placed his hands upon the gauntlet, enraptured, slit eyes dilating as an emerald laser sparked from the helmet of the Pilgrim and scanned across his face.


    ¡°... And so an alliance was born, out of a dream. A dream to restore our bodies to a beautiful state. Together, mighty Acetyn, the Genekeeper, and I led an army to scour this world...¡±


    With slow grace, the Pilgrim closed his unbreakable grip around the hands of Menmarch and brought his other gauntlet over the vat-born¡¯s head. Then, effortlessly, he pulled him apart, bone and sinew cracking and dislodging, a tide of wet gore spilling over the ground as his spine was torn from the rest of his body.


    The Eidolon and his men cried out in fright and recoiled. Jumping to their feet, they retreated back. Llewtoll turned to find the entranceway braced closed and heavily reinforced. There was no escape.


    ¡°... We raised the greatest army that had ever walked under this star. The cities fell before us, one by one. The planet was ours to rule. From that position, we recovered the lost genes of humanity, lost in the discord of our corrupted world, one body at a time...¡±


    With a roar, Taneberr lunged forward. In a failed attempt to save his old ally, the brute delivered a thunderous strike to the body of the Pilgrim, the mail around his fist crashing against the Pilgrim¡¯s armour with dense weight. The ancient master, untroubled, released his first victim, Menmarch, who fell to the ground in a puddle of his own fluids. Then the Pilgrim turned upon the arrogant warrior attacking him with a flick of that glowing, emerald eye. The insidious device burned Taneberr¡¯s flesh with charged, strobing pulses of light, tasting the smoke.


    And his electronic voice continued all the while.


    ¡°... But we were each of us betrayed. The only constant in this doomed world is that those who are craven covet what the noble possess. And so, the wicked Genekeeper revealed her true nature. Instead of uniting our genome whole, she used her position to enthral mighty Acetyn, and leash my army...¡±


    Llewtoll snarled, raising his lance. A crack, and he fired the weapon at the head of the giant. The flash broke staccato in the dark, and in the next instant, Taneberr leapt up and jammed the blade of his sword into the crack of armour between the Pilgrim¡¯s visor and throat, sending burning sparks in all directions as star metal collided.


    A swing of his tremendous arm and the Pilgrim caught Taneberr by the throat. He continued his monologue as he peeled the brute¡¯s arm from his body. Taneberr screamed for help, drowned out by a booming voice.


    ¡°... Such arrogance. My work for old Desht will never come to an end. Acetyn¡¯s oaths bid him carry my fortress, evermore. Even as he took the Genekeeper as his betrothed, such a promise could not be forgotten...¡±


    Llewtoll and Sir Enhash stepped apart. The hunter desperately looked around and whimpered, faced with his own doom. Whilst he dropped his lance, the knight superior drew his blade. All the while, the Pilgrim used his massive, armoured thumb to probe into Taneberr¡¯s chest cavity, pulling bone and armour apart through the hole where the warrior¡¯s shoulder once existed. Finally, after scanning the augs within, the Pilgrim dropped the dead brute onto the ground. Then, he continued to speak whilst regarding those who remained in deep appraisal.


    ¡°... The dismantling of my army, the injustice of her vile actions, was not the end. The Genekeeper dared to deploy a bioweapon against me. The infection led to the withering of my body and my augmentations. And so for a thousand years, I have waited...¡±


    After falling to his knees, pleading, Llewtoll met a swift end as the Pilgrim crushed him under his colossal, titanium heel. Sir Enhash ducked under a swing of the ancient master¡¯s arm. Then, he lunged at that electronic eye in the Pilgrim¡¯s helmet. He never reached it, however. Instead, seizing the knight, his gauntlet a vice grip around his entire body, the Pilgrim used a finger and thumb to peel the star metal helmet from Sir Enhash, blood pouring as jagged metal bent and bit into his mutant skull.


    The emerald beam pulsed and flicked over the scoured remains of Sir Enhash¡¯s head, examining the twisted knot of bone, muscle, and chitin shell. Not satisfied, the Pilgrim squeezed until the knight superior burst and then dropped him aside, worthless.


    ¡°... It is true. You are far from the first leal souls to arrive over this dark millennium. So many brave and noble aspirants have risen, eager to embark on a second crusade to see this world made right. However, such a dream is impossible. So I have devoured them, fed upon their augmentations to slowly restore my own strength. I see now that only I can unite the genome of our progenitors and save us all...¡±


    A sudden weight landed upon the Pilgrim¡¯s shoulders. The Eidolon leapt upon him from behind, bare feet fast upon the machinery of the ancient master¡¯s armoured exoskeleton. A sword blade slammed into the same spot that the brute Taneberr had damaged. Then the Eidolon gripped the visor under the crack with both his scarred hands, hissing. Muscles straining with bioaugmented strength, the titanium groaned and buckled before the helmet was shorn from its mount in a spray of broken metal.


    A human skull was revealed within the vast mass of the suit. Filled with rage and betrayal, the Eidolon slammed Menmarch¡¯s blade down into the Pilgrim¡¯s right eye socket. However, the triumph was short-lived, as the massive grip of the Pilgrim took hold of the Eidolon, bringing them face to face at last. Ignoring the Eidolon¡¯s desperate struggle, kicking and shouting, chrome teeth scattered electric light as the master continued to speak, despite the blade still plunged deep into his eye socket.


    ¡°... I hope you have been listening. For it is you, most faithful, you most mighty, who brought your kin, purified, here to this holy place to restore the might of your true lord. So to you, I grant the most incredible honour. Your neural matter shall join mine. You shall teach me of this world, even as your bodies act as that final leaden sacrifice, and my work begins anew.¡±

 The Sin of Omission 1.

    Her burden of life, their lives,


    A shadow cast whence darkness thrives.


    They wear the same face as us,


    A mask concealing pain, and thus,


    They never stop to question their fate,


    Trapped in a cycle, a relentless state.


    They toil and die and never leave their station,


    They have nothing left: a hollow creation.


    How dim her care, boasting her living glory until the machines fall,


    A fading echo in a desolate hall,


    A tumbling fall, and scale, bone, and muscle spread wide her luminous smile,


    A fractured grin in the ruins of the sterile.


    Slowly, she spied a star,


    A glimmer of hope, yet so far.


    They brought to her hand the halo,


    A fractured crown, a symbol of woe.


    Their state of decay laid her own, with heavy delight,


    Damned the realm where the survivor takes flight.


    A shadow cast whence darkness thrives.


    The burden of life, a perpetual night,


    A silent realm, the despaired alight.


    <hr>


    CHAPTER 6: THE SIN OF OMISSION


    High amongst ivory towers, above the tectonic plates of the city of Acetyn, an ossein guardian crossed a bridge spanning the vast open air to a pearlescent eyrie. The wind whipped and tore at his pale raiment. Soft clouds lapped at his greaves imperceptibly before rushing away. A dragon roared, breaking like thunder in the sky.


    Looking up to witness their arrival, the guardian saw the dragon swing around the towers, wings spread wide to heft its massive weight as it arced through the sky. Then, descending upon engines of fire, the enormous beast kicked at the air. The rushing wind caught the guard¡¯s cloak and cast the mists around him apart. Then, heedless of his presence, the dragon set down upon its nest.


    Dutifully, the guard took to one knee in genuflection, struggling in the cumbersome protective garb beneath his armour to survive exposure to the wicked day star. A ramp descended from the dragon¡¯s chest. Two of the Wire-Witch¡¯s iron warriors stepped down from the beast¡¯s body ¡ª rifles keening and glowing in hand ¡ª a red malevolence gleaming from their dead eyes.


    The guard made a sign of subservience with a gauntleted claw. Satisfied by his obeisance, the iron warriors overlooked him and moved around the landing platform with lurching steps. Once their inspection was complete, they stood at attention on either side of the cowering freak.


    The Wire-Witch descended the ramp as the sky settled back to a state of calm around them. She stood upon an enthralled cyber-platform that walked for her, flat and squat, with four bladed legs. She wore great serpentine steel coils upon her bare, amethyst skin. Around her neck writhed a nest of wires, from which her shimmering skull emerged.


    ¡°Welcome home, Your Ladyship,¡± the guard said, helmet-clad head still bowed.


    Long ago, the Ossein Basilica had been built in her honour. Yet, as the guard dared glance up at her, he could see the disgust that she felt in seeing it again. It was so quickly hidden, yet it was enough to make the servant recoil with shame.


    ¡°Rise.¡±


    He did, towered over by the blackened, iron warriors and the Wire-Witch upon her mechanised platform. With the utmost respect, the guardsman stood aside, letting her iron warriors lurch towards the tower first. Taking his honoured position beside the Wire-Witch, they crossed the bridge together.


    In the distance, through the haze, a vast, horned skull turned upon them. Acetyn itself moved. Kilometres of bone turned ¡ª millions of tons of mass in motion ¡ª and one of the horned heads of Acetyn regarded the arrival of the Immortal¡¯s second daughter. Black smoke poured from each fracture and cavity in the skull. When its mouth opened, it called out wordlessly, with a voice loud enough to shake the rain from the air, precipitation falling over them as their chests caught the brunt of the clarion call.


    The Wire-Witch turned away.


    Chamber doors were opened, gullets were drawn wide, and a portcullis raised. They stepped into a great spire before descending upon an elevator suspended by weighty iron chains.


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    ¡°Your raiment is well maintained,¡± the Wire-Witch said to the guard, whose welcome was so overshadowed by the attention of the city itself, without looking at him.


    ¡°Thank you, Your Ladyship.¡±


    ¡°You wear it better than your predecessor.¡±


    The Wire-Witch could hear him swallow down his fear in the ensuing silence, and it almost brought her satisfaction ¡ª at least until the elevator settled at its destination.


    As they made passage onwards, what freaks they crossed paths with threw themselves to the ground prostrate. The iron warriors remained ever vigilant, scanning each soul they passed with a wave of sanguine light. Then, descending steps, they crossed into the mausoleum space of the Pate Gardens, where sunbeams bore down from cracks in the vaulted ceiling of the upper cavity. A score of ossein guardians, the personal army of the Lord of Bones, whose members were uniquely bioengineered into living weapons, flesh sculpted into a servile form, bowed with the Wire-Witch¡¯s passing.


    In the gardens, the Wire-Witch stopped before a monument at the side of the road. It contained a stone tablet, inconceivably old and taken from a faraway land, enshrined here with the palace¡¯s construction. Upon the stone was carved a series of intricate nine-piece logograms. They held little meaning to the guardian, but it seemed something of great importance to the Wire-Witch, and she spent a short while pressing her soft fingertips with their titanium nails to the shape of the markings.


    Soon thereafter, they ascended the steps to the Ossein Basilica, a barbed and desiccated city space built from the dried metallic bones of Acetyn, making their way through its desolated halls. Together, they passed an audience chamber, observing through the open doorway a cadaver laid out for service. The chanting of bone monks echoed throughout.


    Reaching the Lord¡¯s court, the iron warriors entered first. With no regard for the security or customs of the Basilica, they moved from occupant to occupant, be they courtier or servant, bound or free, scanning each with a flash of red laser light. The Wire-Witch entered only when their inscrutable judgement was satisfied, leaving her escort at the threshold.


    The Lord of Bones was seated, surrounded on all sides by sculpture, wrought in bone and cold silver filigree. He was overlooked by the images of angels, their true forms obscured behind stiletto-feathered wings. The soft tentacles that constituted their faces were highlighted with a gentle white glow, and they wept endlessly through intricate fountainwork.


    Two beauties, symmetrical in form and pink of skin, tended to the Lord. They sponged his face mask with warm, cleansed water and retied his silken raiment before retreating from the council. The Wire-Witch recognised the concubine weapons ¡ª wedding gifts from her creator, the Immortal ¡ª to keep protected and pleased the Lord-husband in the witch¡¯s absence. However, the Wire-Witch knew they were as much a leash as a comfort, and their erstwhile allegiance was no secret. As the concubines moved away, the skirts of their skin dancing around their legs, it was with deadly grace. Their eyeless, elongated heads tipped back, and they crawled up the chamber walls before hiding amongst the court decorations.


    The Lord did not look. Instead, his gravitas and attention were entirely spent on his immense contemplations.


    The chancellor, hiding his contempt, managed an officious bow, his fat, wormy, legless body holding the subservient posture. Courtiers made what were appropriate noises of fear, as was customary. They threw themselves as far forward as possible, chained to their seats.


    The Lord of Bones slowly grew alert as if stirring from a dream. Finally, he reached out to his witch-wife, his entire body trembling with the exertion required to lift his arm. The cyber platform stepped closer for her, and the Wire-Witch came upon his weathered throne. Taking his hand in her own, she placed it upon the side of her skull, along her silverline jaw. Then, cooing with affection, she spoke softly.


    ¡°Hush, my love. I am here now.¡±


    ¡°He threatens everything we built together,¡± the Lord managed with the ghost of a whisper.


    ¡°I know. I know,¡± the Wire-Witch reassured him before turning to address those in the chamber with a commanding voice. ¡°Show me.¡±


    ¡°Bring it in,¡± the chancellor said, his fleshy hands working together, pale robes creasing.


    A twitching computer was dragged into the chamber and then thrown to the floor by an ossein guard. A mass of wires, slick and greased, trailed behind its skull.  The Wire-Witch regarded the enslaved computer with pity. Her own work made such bound and tormented creatures unnecessary. Still, she could not be everywhere at once. The computer¡¯s voice cracked into the song of data before its mouth and eyes opened, a wave of ichor pouring forth from them.


    Emanating from the gushing orifices, a projected image warped into existence. It filled the chamber with a purple glow, the hum of electricity in the air. Then, a video of the city¡¯s lowest regions appeared before the court, a close-up of a vast stone head, that of a progenitor. Immediately recognising the Gates, the witch squeezed her husband¡¯s withered hand to reassure him.


    The view shifted. A titanic figure emerged from a bright gateway ¡ªfrom the diamond tower of his domain. He was a living castle in motion, a giant in a suit of armour that made him a living embodiment of the millennia of civilisation and all the might necessary to sustain it against the chaos and violence of the mutant world.


    The Pilgrim of the Axiamat was alive and returned to his city, to Acetyn.


    ¡°So it is done, then,¡± the Wire-Witch whispered to herself, considering the figure ¡ª a part of the legendarium of their world. The Pilgrim was worshipped by those who despised the noble bloodlines and all they had done to keep the world safe and to carve and maintain livable biospheres in the chaos of existence.


    Drawing to a halt, the Pilgrim was followed by the scurrying length of a debased noble. Hundreds of legs circled the ancient one before the lesser figure presented the shaft of a weapon to the Pilgrim. The video flickered, a violent spasm of light that gave way to new footage.


    ¡°Trishek Hash,¡± the Lord of Bones said quietly, recognising the deformed shrine keeper.


    ¡°A pity that none in that family ever stay dead,¡± the Wire-Witch sighed.


    A magnified three-second loop showed the Pilgrim¡¯s bare skull, similar to Wire-Witch¡¯s own. Yet his right eye socket had been scored, chipped, above and below by some bladed weapon, and his metallic jaw was slick with the blood of a recent meal.


    The sight of the Pilgrim stirred the courtiers that filled the dark perimeter of the court, struggling against the chains that kept them bound to their ordained positions. Then, in a panic, one screamed wordlessly, thrashing its hood side to side.


    ¡°Enough,¡± the Wire-Witch said.


    At her command, the display faded to nothing. The computer collapsed to the ground, heaving for breath and writhing in pain.


    ¡°The Pilgrim has returned to the city proper,¡± the chancellor confirmed them in quiet, slithering tones. ¡°He is ascending through the chaos, even now.¡±


    ¡°Leave us,¡± the Wire-Witch said before turning to the Lord, meeting the fearful eyes beneath his bone mask with her own empty sockets.


    Before departing, the chancellor genuflected as best as his swollen, wormy body could manage, reinforcing the Wire-Witch¡¯s command with a frantic hand gesture. The chamber was cleared of those not chained into place. Even their murmuring and rattling died down into a silent audience.


    ¡°My love,¡± the Wire-Witch softly uttered. Still holding his hand, she stepped down from the cyber platform and returned to his throne. She sat on his lap and touched the wasting Lord¡¯s shoulder. He gasped wordlessly as her bare thighs rested on his. The witch¡¯s titanium fingernails grazed the Lord¡¯s bared, emaciated chest as she parted his silken robes. Leaning against him, the steel coils she wore softly scratched his translucent skin.


    ¡°There is no need to worry,¡± the Wire-Witch whispered into the Lord of Bones¡¯ ear as the feeble, rotten noble squirmed beneath her. ¡°I shall make everything right.¡±

 The Sin of Omission 2.

    Conspiracy abounded in the dark demesne of the Lord of Bones. From shadowed corners and hushed chambers, the debased freaks infiltrating the Ossein Basilica thought that they worked unseen. Yet, how could that be so when the revolutionary work of the Axiamati cult was overseen by one of the Sisters themselves, unbeknownst to them?


    The Wire-Witch softly exhaled as her cyber platform carried her through the Ossein Basilica. She was already tired of the pretensions of her station. Each step perfectly needled across the plates that constituted the floor, and the cyber platform¡¯s flat surface remained level as it descended a flight of stairs and then turned to enter a skeletonised corridor. Her two mechanised iron warriors did not move with such grace in their escort, one ahead and one behind. Instead, they loped down the stairs with deliberate intent, scanning each corner and ceiling cavity with a sweep of sanguine light, their rifles raised.


    Beyond the iron warriors, ossein guardians kept vigil at each arching doorway of the main corridors. They bowed with her passage ¡ª bipedal, symmetrical, holy in form, a paragon of virtue approaching purity, just as she was designed. The Basilica, much the same, was carefully grown, pressed, and sculpted into shape centuries ago, a portion of the chaos of the city dominated by the Lord of Bones as a symbol of his power. Or, more precisely, the power of those sworn beneath him, together.


    Returning to the public eye, the Wire-Witch looked away from the freaks that lived in this place. However, in her path, two guardians led a filthy, eight-limbed freak through the Lord¡¯s halls. They stopped before the Wire-Witch, bowing with respect. Then, shrieking from its vibrating hind limbs, the mutant threw itself down to its many knees in a gesture of subservience, daring not to raise its gaze towards the noble.


    Skull turning down, the Wire-Witch looked the freak over. With an unspoken command, she had her iron warriors grab it by its forelimbs and drag it mewling to standing again so that she could get a better look at it.


    Provoking the Axiamati required a level of cruelty, after all.


    ¡°It is of the Lord¡¯s subjects who emerged from the depths seeking to serve,¡± the guardian escorting the creature said, unprompted. The Wire-Witch fixed the servant speaking out of turn with a steely gaze.


    ¡°Look at me,¡± the Wire-Witch commanded, crouching toward the mutant for a better look. The freak did so, towered over by the noble and her iron warriors, as alien to their bipedal forms as they were to its parasitic shape. Lacking a mouth, the freak touched its proboscis and then clasped its small hands together in supplication.


    ¡°Are you vat-born?¡±


    Trembling, the freak touched hands to its proboscis again before striking its hind limbs together. Rubbing them back and forth, it produced a sharp, keening sound whilst it spat out communication pheromones from glands on either side of its squat head. Finally, it formed words from gestures with its hands and its proboscis. In three distinct languages, it said, ¡°I am a child of the Vat-Mother.¡±


    The faceless, eyeless skull of the Wire-Witch bore down on the freak, speaking through grinding, chrome teeth. ¡°Then you have betrayed my sister. Will you swear a solemn oath as a servant of the Lord?¡±


    It signalled the affirmative, trembling.


    So the Wire-Witch raised her right hand, placing it upon the shoulder of the genuflecting freak. The shock from even this light touch staggered it. However, it was not well-intentioned, and she squeezed its shoulder a bit too hard for comfort, titanium nails working against the skin. The soft illumination within the Basilica turned deathly pale, fitting for their high order.


    As the Wire-Witch let the silence draw on, the vat-born started to grovel beneath her, as if it would do anything just to survive the encounter. Then, as it began to weep, she released it and stood up once again.


    ¡°Then I personally welcome you. May your flesh be purified through the crucible of your devotion,¡± the Wire-Witch intoned without enthusiasm, gesturing for the freak to rise. It did so, stunned, head bowed in subservience.


    ¡°Get it out of my sight,¡± she then told its escort.


    The ossein guardians joined the mutant as it resumed the long procession deeper into the Basilica. All the way out of sight, the freak kept its mottled head bowed, filled with abject shame, as the Sister, with her pure form, averted her gaze from its passage in turn.


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    Two servants whispered at the far end of the corridor, eying the exchange with contempt. They departed before they thought they were seen.


    Focused anew, the Wire-Witch moved on, entering an audience chamber two halls removed and a level below the throne room. Its pale liveries and prestigious decorations had been removed, torn down quickly, and replaced by the cold machines dedicated to artificial life support and the analysis of still-living meat. With a silent command, her iron warriors barred the door, and the Wire-Witch joined a crowd, nearly two dozen in number, filling the chamber.


    Inside was the Chancellor, a throng of bone monks surrounding him. In the presence of the Lord¡¯s loyal hands, the Wire-Witch expected to be given a heralded introduction immediately. Instead, however, they were focused on a grisly task indeed.


    A sizeable hosting table had been dressed with a cold plastic covering, and upon this rested a near-dead freak, air pumped down its throat and a series of arterial hoses connected to its body. It was not dead yet; for all intents and purposes, it was comatose and unaware of its own dissection.


    The crowd parted for the Wire-Witch¡¯s entrance. Those bone monks who moved aside looked up to her with admiration and poorly concealed fear. Drawing to a halt beside the Chancellor, she folded her bare arms and nodded for them to continue.


    The still-living cadaver was being pulled apart. With wet pops, cartilage and sinew yielding, its thorax parted. The exoskeleton cracked beneath the manipulation of the three biomechanical arms of the bone monk examining it. The prosthetic arms emerged from its dark robes, an augmentation transplanted into his back. The monk¡¯s long face peered down at the unconscious freak dispassionately, lenses flicking in front of its eyes.


    Gluts of biogel stemmed the bleeding and reduced the trauma. Syringes carefully extracted fluid from the freak¡¯s organs. Stamping and cutting biopsy devices nicked at the living tissues within, all worked with an automaton¡¯s precision. Chest cavity open, the nearly-dead freak¡¯s lung inflated and deflated, pumping with the rhythm of a machine.


    ¡°What is this?¡± the Wire-Witch asked, not removing her gaze from the macabre work.


    ¡°A test of a biological weapon,¡± the Chancellor answered, fat eyes looking on keenly. ¡°We are identifying the damage it will do upon the general population.¡±


    ¡°Dangerous ¡ª for you ¡ª to bring it here.¡±


    ¡°It is no threat to us, Least Lady,¡± the Chancellor muttered the diminutive term that the Wire-Witch had been burdened with since her genetic failure.


    The crowd stirred around them, uneasy with the tension between the Lord¡¯s witch-bride and one of the heads of his court. Yet, most eyes remained upon the dissection as more tissue was cultivated. Their friction was not new, and her skull upturned, pleased that the Chancellor had a spine, after all.


    ¡°How long have you been hiding this?¡± She asked.


    ¡°Hiding, quaint. We are on the same side, lest you forget that,¡± the Chancellor said, his tone scathing. ¡°Whilst you hide away and play with your little wrecks, doing whatever it is that you do, we continue to work for the good of all.¡±


    The Wire-Witch laughed, then tutted.


    ¡°There is no need,¡± she said. ¡°My sister will deal with him.¡±


    ¡°Will she?¡± The Chancellor asked. Though their gazes had not yet met in the dark room, the macabre work ahead of them was already forgotten.


    ¡°Your great Mother did not even deal with him, it seems,¡± the Chancellor observed, oily eyes narrowing. ¡°And since we cannot count on her oh-so-glorious assistance, then we need to know how much damage will be done if we are forced to defend ourselves.¡±


    ¡°You are a belligerent, little worm. Aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Come now. There is no need to lose your temper. We should both freely admit that it is all above our heads, as it were,¡± the Chancellor said, a smile playing at the edges of his voice. ¡°Neither of us are really Gods, after all. Are we? You might even say that we¡¯re only human.¡±


    One of the bone monks jerked with a fearful gasp but made every effort to crush down his response in a failed attempt to hide his eavesdropping. Slowly, the Wire-Witch turned her skeletal gaze to the wormlike creature at her side. She was met by a self-satisfied look and a spray of smug pheromones. She was about to speak when he preempted her and waxed with faux-contriteness.


    ¡°Yes, I am a fool. We are obscene. We are corrupt. We are sinners. May our souls find Paradise and our flesh be purified,¡± the Chancellor said drolly, watching as disintegrating organs were lifted and cut from the body of the freak, examined, and returned with staples and gel.


    But then he turned to her.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you go and prove me wrong, hmm? And whilst you do that, I will gather the oldest families. Perhaps they might have something that could help,¡± he concluded, looking directly at the Immortal¡¯s creation, which was so thrust upon his Lord, a lover and a leash.


    ¡°You know, I rather like you, even though you make it so difficult,¡± the Wire-Witch said quietly.


    The Chancellor folded his bloated hands together and chuckled. Attention briefly shifting to the sterile crew of bone-robed and exoskeleton-suited life support technicians, the Wire-Witch then turned and let herself be carried from the chamber, servants throwing themselves out from her path. After all, not all were given the same leeway as that blasphemous worm.

 The Sin of Omission 3.

    Voices. A flash of colour.


    ¡°Is the Lord not the heir of the Pilgrim? Is this not his city?¡±


    Another flash. Elsewhere.


    ¡°How could the Sisters challenge him? He¡¯s their elder, returned.¡±


    No. There.


    ¡°What of Sir Enhash and his men? What of Ohmax?¡±


    A pal eye turned, sunken into the desiccated city stock.


    The Ossein Basilica, long dead, still possessed a network. It still held that vital line of arteries and nerves, screaming in agony, bent to obey a Lord. Through them, through electric wires and fleshy impulses, ghost space could be touched, even here.


    It was said to be an impossible thing. The Pate Gardens were said to be murdered, excised from the rest of Acetyn, a gesture of strength, fortified against the Immortal and her daemons. However, this was not just the Lord of Bone¡¯s demesne. It was made for the Wire-Witch, after all. It was her¡¯s as well.


    What did it mean to be a God, to shape the world as they saw fit?


    Through a pal eye, sunken into the basilica, she watched. Two pale-clad humanoids ¡ª so certain they were alone ¡ª conspired in a locked armoury. The ranking servants kept hush their betrayal.


    ¡°I must know their fate, Cartaxa,¡± the Voice whistled.


    ¡°And how would you have me find out?¡± The old soldier asked, leaning against the wall as the herald paced.


    ¡°Losing contact with them is not acceptable. How can we know what the Pilgrim wills of his children?¡±


    Cartaxa shook his armoured head, looking away.


    ¡°If he wanted ought, he would have asked. He would have sent word.¡±


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    ¡°Then what use is our cause?¡± The Voice¡¯s own trembled, panic touching his weak and helpless form. A rising realisation that he had no control after all, despite working in secret for so long. It was out of his hands ¡ª if he had them, at least.


    ¡°He is returned. You have seen the records. You have seen the messages,¡± Cartaxa grunted, looking back to him. ¡°We can only hope it is enough. We can only hope we were right.¡±


    How could these debased freaks hope to challenge their betters? The Axiamati, having worked in secret for generations, had finally brought about their every goal. Through a plot of murder, intrigue, and subversion, they had finally found a way to supplant the Lord of Bones, who made their eidolons kneel. Now, they were realising that it meant nothing.


    Blinking away, the Wire-Witch disconnected from her network and stepped out of the basilica just in time to witness the redeployment of the Otz Garzed. She lingered at the top of the courtyard steps, by the weeping gates, to watch the massive war machine, forged of cold iron flesh and embedded with plates of star metal, take to the air.


    With no engines nor wings, it slowly turned, building beneath itself a tower ¡ª a spiral of translucent layers of hard light beneath itself. It then burned, terrible and hot, cladding itself in equally impossible post-physical field armour.


    So the Otz Garzed loomed over the Pate Gardens. Its five limbs, long ago replaced with wide-diametre cannons, turned forward in a wicked threat, a giant all but impervious to any threat that could rise in the city. Well, almost any threat should Trishek Hash play his part well.


    At its base, bone monks worked at handheld consoles connected to the tortured weapon with braided cables. They fumbled as they double-checked and triple-checked their inputs.


    The Wire-Witch did her best to restrain herself. Let them struggle ¡ª such matters were no longer her concern.


    It was so long ago that she built the beast, now. Otz Garzed was meant to be her proof-perfect that she was equal to the Vat-Mothers, to her sister in Acetyn, who sired the giant Golcothia as her own personal guardian and symbol of power.


    The Wire-Witch remembered well, trying to reconcile her uplifted brain matter with prosthetic memories, pushing the envelope of what she was allowed to do by her creator. Eventually, though, she acquiesced to the pain of her neural locks and set aside gene craft for the relics scavenged from the wastes beyond, those that fell from the sky.


    Despite it all, the Wire-Witch still believed this was an opportunity, not damnation, when she was given to the Lord of Bones. Thus, there was some hope in reclaiming those gifts of the stars.


    In her naivete, what better thing was there to engineer than a monster to defend her new home? Better these miracles are tamed, made to protect her and her own, rather than be wild and beyond control. That was what she once told herself. However, such platitudes didn¡¯t soothe her anymore.


    Slowly, the Least Lady ¡ª Lady Djay, the Wire-Witch ¡ª turned her skull away from the Otz Garzed. Her cyber platform walked on, carrying her, together with her iron warrior entourage, departing the Ossein Basilica entirely.

 The Sin of Omission 4.

    Keeping time in the depths of Acetyn¡¯s vaults and gutworks could be difficult. Sometimes, all you had was the ache in your own heart, the vague sensation that you had lost a day and destiny would never return it.


    The Crawling City¡¯s forward cavity was a hard, calcium-shelled thing.


    Enelastoia.


    Here lumbered a steel beast, its many limbs raking the rippled cement streets and the heaving, sharp walls as it violently crawled forward. Freaks shrieked and ran out of its path on loping and scuttling legs, feeling their way to safety with feathery tongues and bent antennae.


    Lurching on mechanised joints, the walking craft turned from street to yard. It made its way between fleshy towers and under heavily shelled abutments. From high above, compound eyes followed its passage. First observing, a patcher buzzed, turning and licking its legs with a curled tongue before kicking off and screaming on biomechanical wings out into the dark vastness above.


    Unrelenting still, the walking craft dragged itself through open gates and into the groaning depths of a tumourous palace. Lines of city natives begging for alms, bent and crooked, dispersed just long enough to avoid being crushed under mechanical foot. Hiding in narrow passages and asides, they reemerged in the machine¡¯s wake, screaming and yelling for charity, justice, or both.


    An eye rolled out from a leaning tower, peering closely as the steel beast groaned to a halt. It settled down with a pneumatic hiss, filling the air with the smell of burning oil and plastic. Its head rocked back, and a reinforced ramp extended from where its throat should have been.


    Two iron warriors stepped down the moment that the ramp touched the palace grounds. Their red eyes beamed sheets of light, cutting through the haze, analysing anyone who dared to meet their arrival. An assembly of mutated vat-born received them, dressed in silks of black and red, wielding brass rods and bio-cannons. The motley assortment, some swollen and others gaunt, moved on odd limbs, mandibles and eye stalks twitching. They chittered and shrieked at the robotic guardians, furious at the unexpected arrival into their territory.


    Then, stirred by the confrontation, a chained hound bayed, bound by the spine to the centre of the yard by an iron stake. It flexed where war augs should have been, though they were long burned away and filed down to broken stumps. The tortured creature was a hunting trophy ¡ª still living, for now.


    The head of a vat-born, a particularly loathsome creature that oozed both perfidious and sodden, held higher its rod. From its craggy mask, it barked commands at the iron warriors, some demand of submission or obedience, old words of challenge, seeking violence and to prove its domination. In return, it received nought but cold silence.


    Then the Wire-Witch emerged from the craft, stunning the waiting host into trembling silence with her arrival, unannounced.


    Upon the mechanised blades of her cyber walker, the Wire-Witch descended from her transport. Around her, vat-born fell to their knees ¡ª all of them except for the oozing leader of their coterie, the famous Agitator. Just as the Wire-Witch passed it, it received a sudden blow to its bowels from an iron warrior. It groaned in pain and crumpled to its knees, a suitably respectful position amongst the filth for one of its kind.


    Lingering in the courtyard, the Wire-Witch took a moment to look over the swollen halls that made up the palace of her sister-clone, the Vat-Mother of Acetyn. Her cyber-walker carried her up the granite steps carved from the rubble from whence her sister had first been planted. The fleshy lips of the palace entryway opened before her expectantly.


    ¡°Your Ladyship,¡± the giant Golcothia rumbled, voice booming throughout the chamber from high above. ¡°It shames me to inform you that you cannot enter the Vat-Mother¡¯s company, armed as you are.¡±


    Golcothia slowly turned towards the Wire-Witch. Growing massively from the structure¡¯s floor, his truncated head leaned down to meet her, dipped in some measure of respect. The mirrors behind its eyes cast back a sharp yellow light through the mists and vapours that filled the chamber.


    In return, her iron warriors silently raised their weapons, ready to mete out justice. Yet, considering the enormous aberration, the Wire-Witch raised a gentle hand. Her guardians lowered their arms, stepping back at her wordless command, radio signals flashing out from her crown in an electromagnetic halo.


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    ¡°You do us a great honour,¡± Golcothia planted one of the massive trunks of his arms down against the chitin-shelled floor so that he could bow. Then his other arm swept out, gesturing deeper into his Lady¡¯s demesne.


    The Wire-Witch stepped down from her mechanised walker and proceeded on barefoot. Walking through the mist-laden halls and between the old arcades of the fortress, she looked to the tall urns of glass and steel, alight and filled with half-grown shapes suspended in biogel.


    Arteries snaked between them, bulging with pressure as they pumped fresh solution throughout. The scent of clean water lingered in the air, bursting from a font out of sight. The Wire-Witch paused to briefly regard a gestating aerial defender-type drone, stolen somehow from the city and interred into one of the urns. Its arms and legs curled close to its slender body, and wings twitched between the syphons on its back.


    Then, through the haze, the Wire-Witch watched a vat-born being decanted. The upper plate of its nurturing vessel was pried off by a slithering beast. It snarled at the effort, a rod of bone in its hands working against the seams. Before long, the lid was cracked off, seal broken, and let fall to the floor with a heavy thump. Working chains upon chains, the creature used pulleys and levers to tip the urn until its contents began to spill and splash. Eventually, the newborn within came tumbling out. It coughed and screamed, confused by its rebirth, as its neck was collared and bolted fast.


    It was not alone. The Wire-Witch found the palace filled with newborns, emerging fully grown, testing their weaponised limbs and dangerous augments through trial and error, then being trained together by ill-disciplined thralls scarcely better off than they. Their dumb, language-limited vocalisations belied their confusion. The more experienced warriors brought a rod to them and taught them the meaning of obedience.


    Finally, the Wire-Witch recognised this riotous congregation for what it was ¡ª the creation of a standing army, preparation for the chaos to come.


    However, their disorganised practices and lack of rigour let her wander the halls largely unrecognised. Rare were the vat-born that saw her, then shrieked and ran. Djay found a shallow thrill in the shadows. So, she entered her sister¡¯s court without announcing her arrival.


    Ascending to an upper balcony in the atrium that overlooked the space, the Wire-Witch watched from a distance as the crimson-robed servants of the Vat-Mother dragged a freak towards the court proper.


    The freak kicked and screamed, pleading for them to let her go. Her abdomen was swollen with her crime, her womb marking her as a true breeder.


    Hauled into the open and thrown down onto a fleshy carpet, the freak struggled to kneel on the edge of a dais. When the freak dared to raise her gaze, shaking with fear, she cried out a strangled gasp at the sight of her Vat-Mother, who grew here from a central colonnade of this living palace and the machinery that filled it.


    The lips of a Goddess¡¯ mask twisted into an amaranthine sneer.


    Through the milky dome that shielded her skull, the cavities of her eyes darkly lingered upon the freak. The thin skin of her baldaquin undulated around her and then drew back. So standing, the Vat-Mother of Acetyn bore down upon the lesser creature thrown supplicated before her. Leaning forward, the arterial hoses and thick tendons that coupled her to the palace pulled taut.


    The head of the procession stepped forward, announcing, ¡°Mother, your children beg for your intervention. Our sister has been found fornicating with her kindred, unrepentant in her conception of an incestuous child.¡±


    Through tears and heaving, sobbing breaths, the freak screamed out.


    ¡°I¡¯m not your sister,¡± she looked around, wild in her distress, shaking before looking up to the Vat-Mother and shouting again, ¡°I¡¯m not your child. Please, please just let me go!¡±


    Many a wise mind might argue the nature of the twisted monsters that dared to call themselves Gods. Yet, there was one thing that even the most agnostic beings would never doubt. That was the petty wrath of these deranged rulers when denied.


    From high above, the Wire-Witch watched as a craven assembly threw itself upon the helpless woman, all at the silent command of her sister-clone. Mendicants and skinwelders bound the freak to a crawling hulk and bisected her abdomen, heedless of her screams.


    The Wire-Witch¡¯s hand tightened around a bone railing, knuckles whitening, witnessing the woman being strapped onto the table, arms and legs splayed, helpless. So anointed in her blood, the child was cut from the freak¡¯s womb. Pierced by the many-needled hands of a grafter, it was presented to the Vat-Mother of Acetyn for inspection. Reverently, with Her wordless approval, the procession then ushered the foetus away. It was to be placed anonymously in one of the countless thousands of urns within Her labyrinthian palace and reborn as her child so as to join her rank and faith.


    Its real mother was painfully excised of her reproductive organs before her bleeding was stymied. Then, carved from the hulk to which she was bound, the freak was dragged within reach of the Vat-Mother. The Goddess sighed, skeletal hand taking a firm grip of the insolent creature¡¯s hair, pulling her close. The lips of her mask moved as she whispered to the tragic, traumatised woman ¡ª reduced to little more than an animal in her treatment. The Vat-Mother was reproachful, feigning understanding whilst establishing her total domination, whilst holding the squirming freak against her lap, letting her kneel as she trembled and wept in agony and grief.

 The Sin of Omission 5.

    Suspended high in the mists, the Wire-Witch leaned upon the balcony railing. Watching the court of the Vat-Mother, her very being felt contorted in anguish hidden, ill-expressed by her skeletal visage.


    Below, picked out amidst the swirling dim cerulean glow, the court of her sister-clone played. The Vat-Mother¡¯s gossamer tendrils reeled down from the high order in which she had been staked. The tendrils and the hooks, like the ligaments with which she held the palace together, were the same shade of crimson as the painted lips of her soft mask and matched the arteries that fed the bare biolights embedded within the ceiling.


    A child was dragged out from the assembly chamber and thrown before the horde, still dripping with the viscous gel of their birth. The child struggled on digitigrade legs, the ribbed hoses connecting their mouth to their chest, heaving as they tried to yell out.


    The massive thralls that bound the the child forced them to stand before the altar of their Goddess. She watched silently as the child was put to the test.


    A drone dropped out of the haze, catching itself mid-air and buzzing on four biomechanical wings. Armed, it inched towards the vat-born. Its hooked pincers were high, twitching in the air with violent and hungry urges. It drooled from its weaponised glands.


    Star metal glimmered from the back of the drone¡¯s head. The Wire-Witch recognised her own work immediately. Grafted into its brain stem was an implanted brain-machine interface, one of many gifted over the years, the generosity of one of the Immortal¡¯s premier lines to another. Long ago, she had taught the Vat-Mother of Acetyn and her servants how to control the city-drones. It was never supposed to be for this.


    The vat-born child recoiled in fright from the drone as it lunged unerringly for their eyes, a cry of fear issuing from their distended throats. Designed to kill, the drone¡¯s pincers hooked onto the flesh of the child¡¯s left shoulder. Terrified, the vat-born tried to get away. However, the more they struggled and fought back ¡ª the more they thrashed ¡ª the more the drone caught their struggling flesh with its hooks. Every motion caused the drone to fasten into the child¡¯s upper body with its bladed pincers harder, deeper. It wasn¡¯t a battle. It was murder.


    Blood spilt over the chitin-shelled floor. The vat-born was then devoured alive - head doused in slime from the drone¡¯s digestive glands, and its contents then sucked out by a penetrative barb. Fragments of half-grown bio-ceramic armour remained, a fractured shell over despoiled flesh.


    Yet, in their struggles, the child had inadvertently injured the drone. A long-bladed claw on their left hand had left wracking gauges in the side of the mindless drone as they tried to hold onto life. That was enough. A lumbering brute, carrying a cleaver of metallic bone, made his way over the body. Ignoring the suckling of the drone, he took a firm hold of the child¡¯s limp arm and hacked off its hand. This he presented to the Vat-Mother, who, with only a look, granted him permission to leave and continue honing the aug-type.


    Activity returned to the floor. Courtiers gathered, ignoring the child¡¯s remains and the drone feeding on it. Musicians played symphonies, using instruments drawn from metal roots beneath them or grown from their contorted bodies. A table, made as a trophy from the plating of some long-dead beast, was brought before the Vat-Mother. Distantly, freaks were led through the misty halls of the palace, deprived of their freedom. Their march brought them within sight of the vast doorway to her court, letting her dark cavities linger on the distance, watching the activity as the seemingly endless line of the captured and enthralled made their way through her palace grounds.


    The ruler of this demesne silently watched each captive, each shaped by the genetic discord and life in the city in their own unique way, be consigned to her tyranny. Finally, watching her sister-clone and the freaks struggling for their passage in equal regard, the Wire-Witch exhaled in despair.


    Skinbound. That was what the Vat-Mother once called herself, a designation for the flaying that had made her into something else long before they pretended to be royalty. If someone uttered it now, they would be in for a sorry fate indeed, the Wire-Witch thought.


    The Wire-Witch remembered the Vat-Mother when they were just Djay and Eye. They walked free and spent their hours together in play as children. When it was cool outside, they would run around the maze of the rusted walkways surrounding the manifolds of their steely home, chasing each other around the sky. Then, when the heat raked their skin, they would hide in the shroud, whisper in the dark, share secrets, and pretend that the desolation beyond didn¡¯t exist.


    One day, their creator summoned Eye to their sleeping space with a voice that carried through every hallway and issued from every wall. Djay had followed, holding her sister-clone¡¯s hand. Something was wrong, though. When they reached their bedroom, Djay backed away at the threshold.


    The memory of those whip-sharp tendrils that took Eye still shook Djay with fear. They had seized Eye, coiled around her and seemingly melted into her. Eye¡¯s screams, combined with the sudden violence, frightened Djay. She ran away instead of finding a way to help, abandoning her sister-clone.


    Logically, she knew she was just a child. Nevertheless, the shame haunted her to this day. Djay had hidden in the darkest section of the shroud. She couldn¡¯t tell if the howling outside was the agony of her sister-clone or the sound of the wind against the hollow vessel.


    Eventually, when Djay dared return, it was only to find her sister-clone collapsed, still bound on the chamber floor. The tendrils had fused with her legs and lower body and even then continued to reshape her. This time, though, Djay stayed. She dragged Eye to the blankets they slept in, held her and tried to reassure her. It had always been difficult to share their feelings. Unlike the people in their old recordings, they didn¡¯t have faces, so they had to be patient with each other. There was no denying Eye¡¯s agony, though. Djay remembered Eye whimpering in pain as her back opened, ulcerating and weeping. She was delirious with the pain. Djay used a rag and clean water to try to soothe the lesions, to no avail. Hours went by. Eye sounded in such pain, and she could barely eat the food that Djay brought her from the dispensers.


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    Later, the image of their creator came to take Eye from their sanctuary. Djay¡¯s memory of her creator was distorted, motion jumbled with sharp, flickering lights. However, she remembered that she swallowed down her fear this time and insisted that she go too. She wouldn¡¯t leave Eye again. So she walked with them down the long stairway from their steely home to the desolation below. They ventured down into Acetyn when the city was still small, and it sheltered in the craggy old valley, supping from a tumbling waterfall and growing vast.


    Their creator, who had carried Eye in a sphere of pure light, planted Eye against a fleshy outcropping just beyond the heads of Acetyn. Sternly, the creator told Eye to care for her children, and then simply vanished.


    They were both confused and distraught. Djay stood there, trying to reassure Eye. Djay wished she could do something to save her sister-clone, but there was nothing she could do. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn¡¯t find a way to pry Eye from the wall she was now fixed upon. When she managed to get a wedge of shell and tried to cut them apart, there was a limit to what she could do whilst Eye seemed to feel every part of it. Despite their struggles, the edifice slowly seemed to harden, simultaneously supporting her sister-clone and imprisoning her against the city.


    The great layer of meat that the city consisted of was not impermeable, and it let rain in and sneezed out clouds of noxious vapour from its narrow passages in equal measure. When night came, the city¡¯s parasites became emboldened enough by the dark to creep out. Desperate, the sister-clones would scream and shout together, waving their arms to look big, which drove away the smallest of them. When behemoths passed, their massive bodies clad in armour-like hides, Djay would hide, and Eye would fall silent, trying to avoid notice.


    Or, at least, that was what she did at first.


    Trying to do all she possibly could, Djay began to hike back up the great stairway daily. From the depths of their home ¡ª she still thought of it as their home ¡ª she would grab things that might help. Tentatively, she brought a blanket to cover the front of Eye¡¯s bare body, toys to occupy her, and even the machinery she could pull from the walkways. It was difficult work, and she ached from the strain. Still, she wanted to find a way to make this right.


    The first time that Djay returned and found Eye speaking to the parasites, she instinctively hid. Unable to hear what they were saying, Djay berated herself for her cowardice, for hiding again. She charged out with a digital screen she was carrying held up above her head as if she could use it as a weapon. Despite her fears, the small malformed freak scrambled away from Djay and fell down, making a frightened noise, before she even got close. It was just as helpless as they were.


    Djay discovered that Eye had been tricking the stupid parasites that crawled out of the city and found her. Occasionally, they would do things for her, like fetch something out of her reach or tell her stories of life below, within the city. The parasites, with their simple minds, had their own history and lived their lives with their own motivations and paths, and seemed content, often with as many goals as just hiding in the dark, scavenging for loose meat, and creeping out to the surface to steal some clean water when they might not be seen. Djay would have been fascinated if they did not seem so deranged. She noticed, however, that Eye had started to crave the attention. Lacking freedom and with only her sister-clone for support, it shouldn¡¯t have been a surprise.


    It had not meant to go so far, to get so out of control. Eye, seeming depressed by her inability to move around by herself, began to tell the parasites wild and impossible stories, convincing them that she was here to teach them important things. At first, Djay had been glad to help. They used technology stolen from their home to impress the freaks and frighten them when they showed doubt. Djay would set up the screens to show the parasites the old recordings that they themselves had once watched for fun and education.


    It was a marvel to the denizens of the city. Before long, the parasites overcame their fear. They began to assemble together, amass into small crowds, brought together by Eye every night. Their favourites were the old period dramas. Grossly inaccurate but romantic, fairytales of humans on far-flung worlds saving maidens and protecting their homes from monsters and evil men. Recounts of beautiful, perfect people in courtships and dalliances. Tales of intrigue, backstabbing, and ambition, where the righteous person won in the end despite all odds. It was pure fiction in every way except for their dreams.


    During the day, Djay would sleep leaning against her sister-clone. When the sun beat down on the blankets they had managed to make a shelter with, the city seemed indifferent to her presence, and Djay preferred it that way. During these peaceful hours, it seemed like there was no one else besides them in the whole world. Such a time could never last.


    Then, one night, a lumbering brute decided he wanted Eye all to himself. When he arrived, his roars scattered the easily frightened freaks. Trying to stop him, Djay put herself between Eye and the giant and told him no. There were no heroics, though. Instead, it raised its columnar arm and struck her so hard that her skull cracked.


    Djay could only recall the flashing lights of dizzy vision and a numb version of the sensation of crawling. She awoke sometime later to find herself collapsed at the base of the great waterfall. Parched and disorientated, Djay drank from the frothy waters before realising she was surrounded by the colossal skulls of Acetyn, the city itself. They watched silently as her creator appeared, lifted her into a cradle of light, and ushered her home once more.


    Despite every regret, Djay had been too scared to go back. She didn''t see her sister-clone again for years. When she did, things were different.


    Now, the Wire-Witch glanced down at the bound figure. Familiarity revealed the contours of the Vat-Mother¡¯s new anatomy within the architecture ¡ª fissures of skin, the ribs, new bony growths, and the arteries and nerves. Even beyond the physical, they had both changed irrevocably since those by-gone days, on a path tread by two children who were trying to survive in a world that would easily consume them. That was the lie that Djay told herself, swallowing down the bile that rose in her throat before she stepped down from the bastion to confront her dear sister-clone.

 The Sin of Omission 6.

    So few understood the truth of this world. Yet, whilst the Wire-Witch was ignorant of many things ¡ª a fact that she was painfully reminded of each time she tried to walk shoulder to shoulder with the rotten and ancient entities that had carved out their own pieces of this planet for themselves ¡ª she had a gift. A strange thing, in this world of psychoses, saturated with freaks that could barely understand themselves, that she could see behind the veil.


    With her sight, the Wire-Witch saw the world had long ago devoured her. These cities were an amalgam of disparate technologies, assembled to approximate a vast creature that had rejected its biology in the pursuit of perpetual motion. She saw the cities as cancerous masses that stole the forms of animals, the aspects of a people and culture, breaking them into grotesque caricatures. They were meat masses that dragged themselves along, bleeding and consuming everything in their path.


    Her sister-clone had long ago become just another victim of Acetyn, sacrificed then swallowed whole and transformed into some hollow simulacrum of her bright-eyed former self. The parasites that swarmed the Vat-Mother ¡ª as much a part of the city as living entities by themselves ¡ª were just another facet of her prison.


    When asked about their achievements, most of these parasites looked to the stars¡¯ gifts and their base repurpose. They might profess these fallen artefacts as a divine gift or profane curse that would fall planet-side and change the world forever in their passing. Even the greatest of their minds suffered from this terrible affliction. They were obsessed with the preconception that greatness had to be stolen. As a result, most never dreamed of creating something for themselves. The Wire-Witch had convinced herself that she suffered from no such illusion.


    Giants always towered above the helpless, dragging their steel bones inexorably, forcing themselves upon her ¡ª vast clanking predators, stalking eternity in search of domination. The parasites¡¯ accreted carapaces together moved with the same groaning, unstoppable motion that the cities used to push their way across the land. On a large enough scale, they acted as one. They were only crude imitations of thought, vaguely aware of their own situation, enslaved by their biological and mental urges.


    This plagued the Wire-Witch, her mind becoming increasingly unstable over a century spent in various degrees of isolation. In her time alone, she had grown calloused and prejudiced of any creature that could not see the world as she did.


    This belief system was not just born from a lifetime of contending with the brutal and short-sighted predators that roamed the dark. The Wire-Witch knew the ancient and alien works that would fall from the stars all too well. She had spent her years learning their workings and operation, building upon the knowledge gifted to her by her creator.


    This investment had reframed her entire understanding of the world she lived in ¡ª a view of the accomplishments of the so-called progenitors coloured by the nihilistic implications of their fate, for she knew the remnants of star metal were not detritus nor meagre cast-offs. Unthinkable destruction had been wrought upon the forebearers in an age of technological wonders, and it also remained an existential threat to the world. Whatever danger lurked in the dark of the cosmos that visited the end upon the progenitors must still be out there. Whatever force slaughtered humanity could come for them at any moment.


    Despite their presumably gruesome end, humanity were true masters of technology, of that the Wire-Witch had no doubt. In her years of experimentation, she had catalogued the types of technology that fell from above. In time, she had noticed certain similarities between the interfaces of computer wreckages recovered from the sands beyond and the at-the-time poorly understood neural laces that most mutants grew within their skull cavities. It was a so-called universal augmentation possessed by nearly all who lived. The Wire-Witch discovered that compatibilities existed, a shared design language between the wreckage and the lace that could not have arisen by chance mutation. So she followed the trail, and her obsession turned to her own body.


    Working with salvaged devices, the Wire-Witch discovered that, using arcane language taken from the digital vaults in these wrecks, her lace could be used to influence her bodily functions. Soon after, she used these devices to transmit data directly to and from her lace. This led to her being thrust into artificial experiences that felt more real than the physical world, sequestered deep in some of the recovered artefacts. The discovery led to her building a stronghold in the trailing city of Sestchek. There, she could delve into these cyber-worlds without interruption. It was all in an attempt to discover the nature of their predecessors. Unfortunately, she lost more time to these distractions than she dared to admit.


    In truth, she would have been there right now if not for the threat posed by the reawakening of some insane and age-old threat. How she loathed this. To find herself again all but collared, bound to the destiny of her creator, who by all rights should be dealing with this situation herself.


    The Wire-Witch felt the soft skin of the carpet underfoot. Its quivering under the bare sole of her feet brought her attention back to the present. Was it frightened? Perhaps it recognised her. She turned her skull around, looking at the courtiers and the monsters that filled the Vat-Mother¡¯s throne room. To their credit, those musicians ¡ª ululating and singing, hidden in the mists ¡ª only stopped their performance momentarily before trying to hide it by changing to a different song.


    Parasites pretending at greatness turned, the baroque and ostentatious fashions of their flesh swinging around them. It was ever at odds with the Wire-Witch¡¯s nudity, dressed in nothing more than her coils and wires, which served their own practical function. She preferred to celebrate her body, holy and half-human as it was. Let them see. Let them covette her flesh.


    Chrome teeth bared in the dark. Killers moved into the alcoves of the court. Even more profane than the Wire-Witch¡¯s halls ¡ª where they at least knew peace and decorum, from time to time ¡ª she saw the veneer of civility thinner than the skin of their skirts. They salivated as if she was an outsider. A dream ¡ª that they could feast upon her. Hostile pheromones turned bitter in the air as the Wire-Witch advanced towards the altar of the Vat-Mother. Uncaring of protocol, she did not bow or sweep in deference. They were equals. More than that, only they knew the reality of this world after all these generations in the mire.


    The Wire-Witch stood at the edge of that cumbersome table planted before her sister-clone and looked up to the trapped, mutated woman with her own suite of senses, some biological, some electronic.


    ¡°I am glad to see you well,¡± Djay whispered to her sister-clone.


    There was an alien countenance to the Vat-Mother of Acetyn. Her head tipped. The milky dome over her skull hid whatever spark of life had once been there. The soft mask over her teeth twisted, red lips contorting into a frown.


    ¡°You have not been invited here, Witch,¡± a monster hissed from the court.


    The Wire-Witch looked back over her shoulder towards him. Jhedothar the Lance leapt from an alcove, velvet cape billowing around his shoulders. The centaurian galloped astride into the centre of the court. Rather than the darker shades, touching umber, of most of the Vat-Mother¡¯s guard, Jhedothar wore the crimson of his allegiance with bolts of gold cloth. It was his own personal standard, earned through conquest and war.


    The Wire-Witch recognised the now-veteran killer ¡ª though she had not seen him since he was a whelp and still all too eager to please his betters. With a four-legged trot, he raised a hand and summoned the court¡¯s warriors in his wake. The thugs and freaks who bore arms became emboldened by his grandiosity.


    ¡°Golcothia should never have allowed you entrance,¡± Jhedothar the Lance continued in his approach, lifting his infamous ruby-studded spear and pointing it at the Wire-Witch¡¯s skull. ¡°I shall have to remind you that you are not welcome, heresiarch.¡±


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    ¡°Golcothia knows his place,¡± the Wire-Witch spoke quietly, eyeless gaze fixed on that weapon.


    At Jhedothar¡¯s flanks, the freaks lopped and crawled, joining his advance. They gripped their brass rods and bone blades, ready. The Wire-Witch kept her head held high, holding her breath. She gave it until the very last moment when their limbs were tight, coiled, ready to strike and just out of reach.


    Those cyber-vaults contained instructions. Sometimes, they detailed things of such complexity that the Wire-Witch could never even fathom their purpose, leaving her awash in a tide of information that seemed inescapable. Nevertheless, in those infinite digital depths, she would occasionally stumble across a subject she recognised. She might sometimes glance upon the completed forms of the wreckage recovered from the desert, wonders she could not even hope to approach. Even more occasionally, she found instructions on archaic and seemingly irrelevant schools of biology and medicine. They were disciplines dedicated to using and maintaining living body parts. There was a preoccupation amongst the progenitors to ensure that death and disease were forever overcome. It was an odd and divorced perspective for the Wire-Witch, as she and all around her were seemingly inured to these alleged pathogens and genetic diseases by virtue of their universal augmentations. There was more than that, though. Through their battle with death, they came to an understanding and through understanding control.


    In studying these, the Wire-Witch noticed a commonality between herself, the freaks the city shed, and the information on humanity recovered from the stars. The Wire-Witch and the freaks native to her world had their DNA cleaned up, the noise removed, and functions made organised, all according to the formatting of these ancient instructions. Moreover, each cell of their bodies had been engineered to possess an organelle capable of producing targeted synthesising enzymes and another capable of conveying a representation of its genetic structure as an electrical signal on request. Much like the software of the stars, their base code could be read, and it could be written.


    Since time immemorial, the freaks had known that their bodies were chimeric. The common parlance referring to these disparate portions of biology was ¡®augs¡¯. It was simple and known to all. But all this time, the parasites had missed the most fundamental truth of their nature. To the Wire-Witch, it was clear that they were all just as artificial as the wreckage that would fall from the stars.


    And the Wire-Witch was the master of that technology.


    A simple radio pulse was issued from the Wire-Witch¡¯s skull, bright like an electromagnetic halo. It penetrated the local system through the neural laces that every freak present possessed. Through this vector, she injected them with a virus. Unfortunately, they had little to no meaningful digital immune system. So she commanded their laces to overwrite large portions of their autonomous systems and disable their augmentations. It was as simple as that.


    They collapsed, limbs and necks contracting sharply, spines contorting to their absolute limits. Their joints cracked with the suddenness of their assault, and they gasped and croaked as their chests refused to breathe.


    ¡°Need I remind you who I am?¡± The Wire-Witch barked at the freaks, using the only language that they seemed to understand ¡ª pain. Then, pointedly, she cast her gaze around the chamber. The revellers had either stopped to stare or fled out of a sense of self-preservation. And right that they should flee. No matter who they were or how they felt about her, they were irrelevant if she wanted to visit her sister-clone.


    Jhedothar groaned on the ground, struggling to his elbows. His flesh turned mottled and dark as the biomechanical augmentations died beneath his skin. Unlike the others who had dared to assault the Wire-Witch, he still had some fight in him. It was not enough. He struggled to lift his weapon, all his strength gone from his massive limbs. Bravado was not enough to overcome such a crippling force as this. Even as he gasped for breath, the Wire-Witch turned away again.


    ¡°Enough. Eye, I am here as a gesture of courtesy.¡± The Wire-Witch¡¯s gaze returned to the Vat-Mother in her shelled prison. ¡°You know who comes for my Lord-Husband¡¯s seat.¡±


    ¡°I know who he is,¡± the Vat-Mother of Acetyn finally spoke, miserable and loathing, hanging from her position of sacred bondage. For a moment, their networks contested, flashes of information arcing between them with unthinkable precision. They could both kill with a thought. But their defences were both strong, and their probing proved evident they were each untouchable in the electronic realm.


    ¡°Then I have to know, are you capable of recreating the weapon that our creator used to defeat him?¡±


    ¡°If I was, would I share it with you?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the Wire-Witch looked up to her sister-clone. Without a face, she could not express the turmoil within her. ¡°I ask that you do not. I beg you do not.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± The suspicion poured from the mouth of the Vat-Mother. ¡°Why the sudden concern, Djay?¡±


    Those few courtiers who remained stared, even as they cowered. It was unheard of to see two of the Sisters themselves speaking to each other so directly, face to face. The mention of the Pilgrim, too, meant that this was a day of days.


    ¡°He will kill you if you interfere.¡±


    ¡°And what else?¡± The Vat-Mother leaned forward, head tipping to one side, body swinging in its prison. She pressed what passed as her masked face through the thin curtains of her baldaquin, taking a deep breath of the air beyond it. ¡°What game do you play now?¡±


    The Wire-Witch looked down to the ground momentarily. How she wished she didn¡¯t have a game. How she wished this wasn¡¯t a ploy. How she wished she could make Eye believe she cared as deeply as she still did, despite every reason and every ounce of self-preservation. She did care. But it wasn¡¯t about that, now.


    ¡°I have lured them out. The Axiamati. The Pilgrim.¡±


    ¡°... Ah...¡± The Vat-Mother smiled in realisation.


    ¡°I acted the blind fool and allowed it.¡±


    ¡°Then you are thrice-traitor, dear sister. Does your darling husband know you are sacrificing him?¡±


    ¡°Not yet.¡±


    The Wire-Witch looked up to the Vat-Mother. She seemed to sink with shame beneath her older sister¡¯s immensity.


    ¡°You hope the Pilgrim can free you from Mother¡¯s control. You want to play the innocent victim in all this. Am I right?¡±


    Around them, the remaining few threw themselves down to their hands and knees, babbling at her mere reference. The Vat-Mother¡¯s Mother, the Creator; the only surviving progenitor, the Immortal. They shrieked and grunted feverishly at the blasphemy implied here.


    ¡°We can¡¯t go on like this, Eye,¡± the Wire-Witch whispered through her chrome teeth.


    ¡°Who else have you pulled into your scheme?¡± The Wire-Witch bore down on her. ¡°Tell me.¡±


    One of the hardest things to learn was to truly understand herself. Most creatures, even intelligent ones, did not understand themselves fully. The Wire-Witch tried her best to get by in a twisted world where technology ¡ª the mired memory of the past and the great dream of the future ¡ª became a grotesque parody of evolution and the nature of life itself.


    Nevertheless, she held onto her vision of how things were and how they could be again, refusing to give up hope. She knew this would be her only brilliant work, desperately shoring up the ruins of all that was. After all, without hope, life has no meaning, and all will be washed away.


    Silence held between the two sisters. Neither wished to be the first to break it. But the Wire-Witch surrendered first, lowering her head and letting loose a sigh.


    ¡°No-one.¡±


    ¡°And you expect me to remain complicit with your betrayal? Perhaps you want me to stand by meekly whilst you plot to kill our Mother, next?¡±


    ¡°Look at what she did to us, Eye. We deserve better. You deserve better.¡±


    Their gazes met again, eyeless, faceless. Only the Vat-Mother¡¯s prosthetic lips twisting into a scowl revealed the gulfs of pain between the two sisters.


    ¡°How dare you?¡± The Vat-Mother whispered in return, trembling with quiet rage. ¡°Did I ask for your help or your judgement?¡±


    The Wire-Witch broke away. She pushed down her despair. In her rush, she was nearly out of the throne room when her sister screamed after her.


    ¡°You do not get to decide for me!¡± Eye howled out. ¡°I am my own master, now! I am the Vat-Mother! I am a Goddess! This city is mine!¡±


    The Wire-Witch wanted to look back, to say something, perhaps wave or find a way to console her. It was futile, though. It was futile, and she was afraid. She then returned to the mists that filled the palace, disappearing into the darkness in which she was so at home, and through them, she left the Vat-Mother¡¯s demesne never to return. It was the last time that she ever saw her sister in the flesh. The anger and the bitter contempt in her voice haunted her evermore.

 Know Your Place 1.

    Dirty is thy halo,


    Filthy are thy lies,


    I beg that they know,


    The nature of ye demise.


    <hr>


    CHAPTER 7: KNOW YOUR PLACE


    ¡°There you are,¡± he wheezed. ¡°My dearly beloved...¡±


    ¡°I am here,¡± she answered in soft, reassuring tones. ¡°I am right here.¡±


    In the dimly lit sanctum of the Ossein Basilica, the Wire-Witch sat beside the deathbed of the old Lord of Bones. The room, filled with the musty scent of age and decay, was a testament to the aeons that had passed since its creation. Dust-laden tapestries depicting battles and forgotten lore adorned the hardened walls. Their threads frayed and colours faded, bleached to the pale, left only the ghost of a memory upon them.


    The only light emanated from flickering candles, casting long dancing shadows that shed glimpses of the two nobles ¡ª the two would-be Gods. The bed, an ornate relic of a bygone era, lay draped in tattered silks, holding the husk of a man who had outlived near all else, all aside from the divinity of the Immortal and, now, his forbearer, the Pilgrim reawakened.


    As the Lord of Bones lay there, his body more akin to a desiccated husk than that of a man, his breaths were shallow and infrequent. Yet there was an unsettling sense of endurance about him, as if he could yet reach out and transcend the very concept of death. His skeletal frame was adorned with old robes that matched the tattered and frayed age of the sheets that supported him but now hung loosely over his brittle body. A mask hid the truth of his inhuman visage with the gently smiling spectre of a man. His skin, akin to parchment, clung tightly to him with each laborious breath, a testament to his unnaturally prolonged existence.


    Beside him, the Wire-Witch ¡ª starkly contrasting her husband¡¯s frailty ¡ª sat with an air of restrained energy. Enhanced by the intertwining of flesh and intricate wires, her form radiated a vitality almost out of place in this mausoleum-space. The vibrant colours of her wires and the healthy depth of her amethystine flesh stood in defiance of the gloom. However, her empty eyesockets did not reflect the turmoil of emotions within her as her gaze turned to the Lord of Bones. A war raged in her heart ¡ª a cacophony of guilt, determination, and even a flicker of hope. Hope, hope that the awakening of the Pilgrim could finally bring her the freedom she yearned for. To resurrect a being capable of defying her mother-creator ¡ª the Immortal ¡ª and break her hold over the world. But with the Pilgrim¡¯s awakening, a plan long in motion had reached a point of no return, leaving her to grapple with the weight of her actions and the impending upheaval they would bring.


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    It had been a ten-day since her visit to the Vat-Mother of Acetyn, to her sister. The Wire-Witch could not help but feel it was a mistake to reveal as much as she had. Yet how could she have not hoped her sister would understand? Was she not the worse off ¡ª the imprisoned, the mutilated?


    It was in this solemn setting that the Wire-Witch contemplated revealing her every machination to the dying lord. They had been allies by cause and by marriage for centuries. Though she was often the absent lady ¡ª the much cursed Least Lady, the Witch-Queen ¡ª she was more than just an erstwhile consort of the ancient Lord of Bones.


    The Lord of Bones turned his head, the eyes beneath his mask finding her. The Wire-Witch could not meet his gaze. Perhaps he could see the stain on her heart. If he could not see it, maybe then he at least suspected. For years she had been the hidden hand guiding the Axiamati, a cult born from the very heart of her husband¡¯s guard. These disloyal followers were now poised to overthrow the Lord of Bones. It was just a matter of time.


    Breaking the silence, voice trembling with vulnerability, the Wire-Witch spoke. ¡°My Lord, in these twilight hours of your reign, would you recount once more the tale of your ascent to power? The story of how you, in the shadow of the Pilgrim fallen, rose to become the ruler of greater Acetyn?¡±


    She met his eyes now with her empty sockets. His gaze, though sunken, still held the remnants of a once formidable presence. The request stirred something within him, a memory from the depths of his long and tumultuous reign.


    ¡°Where you not there, My Lady? Remember you not the discord?¡±


    ¡°After all these years, I now realise that I never asked you to tell me what role you played.¡±


    ¡°Nor I you.¡±


    ¡°I always felt it was better left unspoken. The horrible things that happened...¡± The Wire-Witch tutted her tongue. ¡°What a pitiful pair of old fools we have become.¡±


    ¡°Mineself more than you, My Lady.¡± The Lord steadied himself with a breath, looking upon her. ¡°Despite every passing day, you remain as beautiful as that day you first came to me.¡±


    ¡°That I cannot help,¡± she said, her back straightening. ¡°Not my blood, nor my birth.¡±


    ¡°Nay,¡± he laughed weakly from behind his smiling mask. ¡°Yet it has been my good fortune, all the same.¡±


    The Wire-Witch reached out and put her hand on his. He weakly squeezed her fingers in return.


    ¡°I would like to hear it, all the same.¡±


    ¡°All the same,¡± he whispered. ¡°Very well. Let me tell the tale of Lord Centric Hash...¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± The Wire-Witch leaned closer, whispered from between her chrome teeth, encouraging him on. ¡°Tell me of him. Tell me of Lord Centric.¡±

 Know Your Place 2.

    ¡°I followed him. Of course I did. He was one of the Pilgrim¡¯s great generals. He was one of the butchers of the Axiamat,¡± the Lord said, sunken eyes turning to the middle distance. Perhaps he saw the world as it was so long ago, there. ¡°He survived the cataclysm when the sky fell in the City¡¯s wake. Of course, there were no Lords then. He was just another one of us ¡ª a chimera like any other.¡±


    ¡°The Pilgrim had only just fallen,¡± the Witch said softly, listening.


    ¡°Fallen,¡± the Lord laughed again, weakly. ¡°Oh, you were not there. You were probably just a little girl at the time... a little girl. Would that this never troubled you. No, the Pilgrim refused to obey the old Genekeeper any longer, and he was struck down for doing so.¡±


    Her head turned. Despite her lack of expression, that subtle motion of her skull told her husband that she wanted to know more.


    ¡°We were all brought low when the sky fell, and the armies vast were brought to our knees, the Pilgrim himself struck into the heart of the Axiamat. He went to deliver the finishing blow himself... but saw something there, something that changed him. So when the deed was done, he cast down his weapon and refused the Genekeeper... And that was the end of him, for a time, I suppose.¡±


    Given pause, the Wire-Witch held onto her husband¡¯s hand, trying not to let the fear that those words instilled into her show. Eventually, she asked, ¡°And were you not his heir apparent?¡±


    ¡°I was... I was, but I was also an impressionable youth, all too easily lead astray.¡±


    ¡°And where was my mother in all this?¡± Her voice trembled. ¡°Where was the Immortal?¡±


    ¡°That I oft wonder. I do. But you ¡ª your sisters ¡ª only revealed yourselves in the nursing fall, when Acetyn turned from the Pilgrim¡¯s war to host, to grow into what it is today. Presumably the Immortal always was there, throughout it all. The last living woman. The last living human. But where did she come from? Where was she hiding?¡±


    ¡°So what happened then?¡±


    ¡°The Pilgrim¡¯s defeat left an empty throne. Every City that had been united at his word went their own way. Every creature ¡ª every chimera ¡ª that walked the waste was left to their own ends.¡±


    ¡°My sisters...¡±


    ¡°The Vat-Mothers appeared, yes. First in Acetyn, then elsewhere. But at first, you were mere curiosities, weren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°It did not feel that way.¡±


    ¡°I suppose it wouldn¡¯t. Nevertheless, you were beneath our notice. A humbling notion, given all that has since happened. Centric Hash was, instead, focused upon his rivals. Without the Pilgrim to unite us, blades emerged from the dark. Each of his champions fancied themselves the next great ruler.¡±


    ¡°So what became of them?¡±


    ¡°Some were defeated in battle, their names cast to obscurity. Others learned to bend the knee. But we were not acting unopposed. As we consolidated power, so too did others. The greatest of Centric¡¯s victories secured for him the Gates of Acetyn, where the remains of the Pilgrim himself were interred. That was when he declared himself the ruler of the City. That was when he carved out his domain proper, and embraced the creeping spread of your sister¡¯s culture. That was when he became... Lord Centric Hash.¡±


    ¡°But he was not content with that.¡±


    ¡°No. No, he was never content... For the battle was costly, and fighting the chaos of the City to hold the realm slew us almost to the last. Understand... you must understand... that Acetyn was younger ¡ª faster growing, hungry ¡ª and had not yet been broken into obedience as it has today.¡±


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    ¡°So how did he find the strength to continue?¡±


    ¡°In the secretive laboratories of an incorporeal daemon named SepGNT, he sought an elixer of power that promised immortality. Little did he know that he would have to sacrifice his own life in the pursuit of that curse.¡±


    The Wire-Witch¡¯s entire body seized. She knew that name. She knew that so-called curse very well indeed. If her husband noticed her reaction, he did not let it show.


    ¡°In an unholy union of flesh and starmetal, Lord Centric emerged changed. His once noble features were now marred by mechanical grafts, pulsating veins intertwined with cold steel. He wielded newfound strength. But it was not enough... No. Nothing was ever enough for him, not before, nor after that transformation.¡±


    After some time in silence, the Witch summoned the calm to ask, ¡°What then?¡±


    ¡°He became ruthless. His followers, those unfortunate enough to die in service, became corrupted by his mechanised malevolence. Worse than he, they were rendered mindless, lifeless husks set in motion for the sole task of slaughter. His Catabolite horde, dead flesh driven by mechatronic control¡­ Lord Centric¡¯s own courtiers feared him, and his subjects bowed to the abomination he had become.¡±


    ¡°This I remember well,¡± the Witch admitted under her breath.


    ¡°So you should. Lord Centric¡¯s insatiable ambition knew no bounds. Yet he found himself haunted by the consequences of his unholy pact. He was driven near mad by the agony of his own ruined body. He crushed rival fiefdoms until he reached the demesne of your sister...¡±


    ¡°She held him at bay for a time.¡±


    ¡°For a time. And in his rage and frustration, he started to feed on the very people that he claimed to protect.¡±


    ¡°Hence the betrayal.¡±


    ¡°Hence the betrayal. It came when Lord Centric finally bludgeoned his way into the Enelasian court, carried upon his tide of the tormented dead. The only being who had the power to hold him fast ¡ª your sister, the so-called Vat-Mother.¡±


    A soft tut, disappointed, perhaps merely teasing, the Witch then said, ¡°More opportunistic than heroic when you put it like that.¡±


    The Lord laughed again, breaking into a splutter and a wheeze. ¡°I never claimed heroism amongst my achievements.¡±


    ¡°Yet I did imagine it such, My Lord.¡±


    ¡°Kind of you, My Lady. But nay. We turned our blades upon him when he was weak. It was the only way.¡±


    ¡°Then you finally took the throne. Hence the uneasy truce that has lasted all this time.¡±


    ¡°Hence, you came to me to cement that truce,¡± the Lord said quietly.


    ¡°Nay.¡±


    Their gazes met.


    ¡°I came of my own accord, My Lord...¡±


    ¡°My Lady...¡±


    They squeezed each other¡¯s hands one last time.


    Quiet filled the sanctum, and, for a time, perhaps, they appreciated one another ¡ª their shared history, the moment that they first met. Such a time could never last.


    The Lord spoke first. ¡°But do not think I am unaware of why you ask about this. For I, too, noticed Trishek Hash serving the Pilgrim. The Pilgrim returned from the dead, an amalgamation of man and machine, said to wield terrible power that he never did afore.¡±


    The Witch looked away, retracting her hands to her lap.


    So he continued. ¡°I, too, know your own proclivities, My Lady, for the cursed ¡ª for the wretched cybernetic aspects of witchcraft.¡±


    The Witch let loose a tense breath. A knock at the door interrupted their moment. When she looked up to him again, she found the Lord of Bones, rarely so alert, studying her countenance.


    ¡°Would you get that for me, My Lady?¡±


    So the Wire-Witch stood and walked over to the door, her mind racing. What did the Lord of Bones already know? How could she make him understand? At the armoured entrance to the Lord¡¯s sanctum, the Witch paused, taking a moment to consider how she would dismiss the unwanted intrusion and return to assuage his concerns. However, when she touched the fleshy receptor controlling the heavy doorway, and its many plates unlocked and rolled aside, the Witch was stunned, and all her misbegotten plans were put to rest.


    For there, at the threshold, impossibly, stood the one woman who could never be there.


    The Vat-Mother of Acetyn ¡ª her skull beneath its glassy dome, the scarlet lips of her mask twisted into a bitter smile ¡ª greeted her younger sister with venom in her voice.


    ¡°Dear sister. Might I come in?¡±

 Know Your Place 3.

    The cold sting of a knife touched the Witch¡¯s throat. She seized up, taken by fright. The scaled and starmetal-armoured arm reached around her from behind. Whoever he was, he was already in the room. He''d been hiding.


    "Djay, Djay, Djay..." The Vat-Mother, somehow free, stepped inside. She pressed close in the narrow doorway, moving around the Witch¡¯s frozen body.


    ¡°Your Ladyship.¡± The Hand of Zolgomere hissed his sibilant tongue beside the Witch¡¯s ear. It was him. The Lord¡¯s own assassin, his personal murderer. And, the Witch knew, a traitor himself ¡ª a secret Axiamati. ¡°Why don¡¯t we sit back down?¡±


    The Hand placed another square on the middle of her back. Keeping the blade to her neck, he pushed her back towards her seat. Reluctantly, the Witch moved. All the while, her gaze flicked, keeping the Vat-Mother within her sight. But it wasn¡¯t her. No. It was a puppet controlled remotely by a brain-machine interface. Though it resembled a Vat-Mother, its low-quality gene work left her limbs and neck too long, her skull slightly too small. The star metal piercing the back of her neck glimmered tastefully, matching the gown that she had grown.


    The Lord of Bones watched all this from his place on his deathbed. He released a disappointed sigh before speaking, ¡°It is a shame that we have come to this, My Lady...¡±


    The Witch didn¡¯t respond. Instead, she kept her gaze firmly on her assailants as the Hand pushed her down back into her seat. Carefully, he retracted the knife. So she lashed out.


    An electromagnetic pulse emanated from the Wire-Witch¡¯s crown. The Hand grunted, the musculature of his body coiling tight, even as he shook violently in an attempt to resist it. The Witch met her sisters¡¯ gaze and watched as the Vat-Mother cast a signal of her own, protecting the Hand from attack, a blessing of security given to the murderer.


    The Witch¡¯s Iron Warriors stamped inside from their positions at the sentry. Giving them only the most cursory look, the Vat-Mother met their threat in turn. As they raised their rifles, the ground beneath them tore wide open and dragged them down ¡ª swallowing them up in a wet tide of slick red gore and lashings of fluid metallic mutagen.


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    The instant of chaos left the sanctuary in silence. Both Sisters slowly looked around the room and considered each other in turn. The Witch was desperately trying to think of a way to escape. The Vat-Mother¡¯s posture dared her to try. The Hand groaned as he recovered, his breath knocked from his lungs by the electromagnetic assault. Yet, he found it in him to grip his needle-like blade once more.


    ¡°My Lady,¡± the Lord managed to say before coughing weakly. ¡°Let us speak of what comes next with dignity.¡±


    So she looked to her husband, gripping the arms of the chair until her knuckles turned white.


    ¡°Lady Eye has come to me and told me of your deeds. She presented very compelling evidence... very compelling indeed.¡±


    As he spoke, she locked her gaze on him. Everything else seemed to bleed away in a wash of panic.


    ¡°Yet I wish to hear it from you, My Lady. Is it true... you have betrayed your own family and mine trust? You have shepherded the return of mine grandfather?¡±


    The Hand¡¯s grip on his weapon tightened in the corner of the Witch¡¯s vision, dragging her attention back to her surroundings. She glimpsed him, hiding his surprise, but they both distracted from his realisation as the Witch answered.


    ¡°Yes, My Lord,¡± she confirmed quietly, her heart burning. ¡°It is true.¡±


    The Lord of Bones sank into his bed, his head rolling away. Beneath his smiling mask, his eyes closed tight, the sting of betrayal finally hitting him.


    ¡°My Lord,¡± the Witch leaned forward. The Hand of Zolgomere made no attempt to stop her, but both he and the Vat-Mother watched closely. ¡°I did this for our future ¡ª for us! We cannot continue to live like this. This world is poisoned by my mother. It isn¡¯t right. You have to understand-¡±


    ¡°Enough, Djay,¡± the Vat-Mother finally interrupted, relishing this moment. ¡°You could no more move the stars than you could stand before our mother. I did not realise that your many failures had taken you so low. I should have known.¡±


    ¡°How dare you?¡± The Witch moved to stand up ¡ª to scream her rage at her depraved sister ¡ª when another flash of invisible radiation from the Vat-Mother stirred the room to life. The chair she sat on contorted and twisted, binding her hands and feet.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡± Djay howled, ¡°Eye, don¡¯t you fucking dare!¡±


    It changed nothing. The mass of the sanctum came to life, revitalised after untold centuries of stillness. Its beating flesh undulated, mutated, and lashed and hissed, even as it warped around the Witch¡¯s struggling form and dragged her screaming down into the dark.

 Know Your Place 4.

    A tireless march upon mechanised joints. The walking craft stepped through the mists, dragging them as a tide in its wake as it moved. A moving fortress, built with every threat of battle in mind, the groaning transport shed not a glimpse of its royal occupants as it broke from one deep tunnel to the next ¡ª and then out, out to a vast expanse deep within the City of Acetyn. In this depth, arteries and veins coiled and came together in a dense and oppressive weave, which had to be carefully navigated.


    Its every movement was a mask, a suite of sensations extended just before the pilot¡¯s skull. It felt as intuitive as the turn of her hands as she lifted each mighty leg, seizing the ground and pulling herself forward. Each link was a full-scale neural invasion, replacing sections of the machine core with slivers of her own lace¡¯s code. A handshake between machine and organism turned embrace. It was intimate, but not by choice.


    The Wire-Witch was not in control here. No. The Vat-Mother¡¯s geneworked puppet sat in the control seat.


    ¡°I can see why you spend so much time playing with these toys,¡± she said, swaying in the cradle-like chair as they navigated the steepest reaches of the mediastinum.


    Opposite her, a comatose freak was wrapped in a fleshy cocoon, grown from a palatial seat, which itself was bound in place by steel brackets. Her exposed skull hung weakly, the slick wires connected to her brain swinging with the inertia of their advance. With a quivering jaw, she groaned, a trail of drool running from between her teeth and dripping down onto her lap. The Wire-Witch ¡ª Djay ¡ª was pumped full of a narcotic daze by the mutated and newly formed subling she was inescapably cocooned within.


    A screen snapped to life. The bloated image of the Lord of Bones¡¯ Chancellor appeared, his wormy body leaning close to the camera as his mouth twitched, tasting the air. His visage was stained purple and white, muted and low contrast by the transmission. Then, the image cracked in two. Besides the Chancellor, the withered mask of the Vat-Mother¡¯s Agitator appeared.


    ¡°Your Ladyship,¡± the Agitator spoke in flowery but aged tones ¡ª a devotee¡¯s nature made saccharine by officious politesse. ¡°His Lordship¡¯s lowly court asks when the misguided Lady Djay shall be returned home.¡±


    ¡°His heart breaks,¡± the Chancellor spoke without pretence. His oily eyes narrowed with cunning. ¡°A meeting of all the old bloodlines has been arranged to discuss the return of the old Pilgrim. She will be expected at the head table, to receive their pledges of loyalty, as per the old oaths.¡±


    The Vat-Mother¡¯s puppet turned her towards the screen. Her head tipped to one side as she leaned in, considering the digital device up close for its novelty.


    ¡°Pity,¡± she said, the ruby lips of her half-mask turning into a cruel smirk. She found the button and ended the call with a heavy click. Besides her, Djay groaned, finding it in herself to weakly struggle against her confinement.


    ¡°Nearly there, dear sister,¡± the puppet said under her breath. ¡°Nearly there.¡±


    When the Vat-Mother returned her puppet¡¯s gaze to the screen, the asymmetrical shape of a vast City chasm appeared upon it ¡ª a low-resolution bloom of flickering void and distant lights. As the ground they moved over levelled out, the camera became steady, and the image became clearer. The image panned upwards, following vast winding arteries that throbbed and pulsed with the colossal forces contained within them. Finally, it resolved ¡ª distant and titanic ¡ª Acetyn¡¯s forward heart, which fed the City¡¯s highest functions. Its train of chambers contracted with violent force, channelling vast amounts of blood and constructive materials outwards.


    There, eclipsing the heart, was home ¡ª or at least their place of birth. The head of a great spear, kilometres in length and suspended in the vast network of connective tissues that had grown around it over the centuries, the sharp starmetal shape reached through the darkness as if to threaten to impale the heart of mighty, old Acetyn.


    The freaks of this age, who did not know the truths of ancient times, believed this to be the remnants of a battle fought so long ago as to be forgotten by waking minds ¡ª a weapon that could slay a city, still embedded deep in the depths of their great host. So they rightly gave it a wide berth, and not even the most violent and insane monsters dare to nest beneath it. They were right, of course ¡ª not about its origins but about its threat, for this was the Immortal¡¯s home.


    Too frightened to advance further, the woman behind the puppet looked away from the screen. Instead, she unclipped herself from the seat and stood. At her bidding, the cocoon enveloping her sister began to twist and contort, unfastening itself from its bracket and walking ahead of her.


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    The transport groaned to a halt. When it stopped, the twin Narshepsalles lopped out of the darkness, their long limbs slinking through the mists. The giant predators strode around, circling the steel beast that they escorted, tamed by the mother, as the head of the transport rolled back and a ramp extended from its throat. First, the walking cocoon shuffled down to touch the City. Then followed the Vat-Mother¡¯s puppet, who took a deep breath of the humid miasma.


    The Nashepsalles watched, looking down on the scene with bright, mirror eyes. One caught movement in the distance and prowled off to find its next victim. The other followed their dash into the darkness with an idle purr, contented and lazy, massive paws padding silently.


    The cocoon split and the Witch¡¯s weakened body fell onto the moist ground. The puppet stood over her, scowling, waiting for her to come to her senses.


    ¡°Go.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t do this, Eye,¡± the Witch begged, still sprawled out on all fours.


    ¡°You have lost all respect for your betters,¡± the puppet said through her chrome teeth. ¡°Go. Explain yourself to mother. Do not make me make you.¡±


    With a pitiful whine, the Witch started to crawl. Inch by inch, she crept forward. It didn¡¯t take long. When she crossed some perimeter unseen, she was immediately noticed. It started as a flash of light in the periphery of her vision, a sound in colour-scape.


    ¡°No,¡± the Wire-Witch whispered as her lace was invaded and script burned behind her eyes. It bypassed every single part of her digital immune system. She was helpless. Despite her every attempt to master the old technologies over these long years of her life, she was helpless.


    ¡°Please.¡±


    >>> UDT sync confirmed - 31,541,361,001,932s <<<


    >>> Lace Adapted Interface, Handshake Complete - Confirmation signed T01 @ L001,933s <<<


    >>> Pre-refereed security clearance granted - Ref. Daughter & Genekeeper Systems, ¡°Hope for Humanity¡±. <<<


    >>> Signal Murder Protocol, disabled. <<<


    >>> Signal Sequence log unlocked, disabled. <<<


    Warning: chemosensory feedback, via: Lace Adapted Interface, Shell Opened, potentially arbitrary code execution detected.


    >>> Packet Filtering, disabled. <<<


    >>> Stateful Inspection, disabled. <<<


    >>> Deeper-Level Inspection, disabled. <<<


    >>> Circuit-Level Gateway, disabled. <<<


    >>> Signal Sequence Fixity Assessment, disabled. <<<


    Thank you. Proceeding:


    Internal format significant properties readout Access.: Daughter & Genekeeper Systems, ¡°Hope for Humanity¡±.


    >>> Internal format obsolescence assessment initialised. <<<


    >>> Trusted Digital Repository Model adoption initialised. <<<


    Warning: chemosensory feedback, via: Lace Adapted Interface, Note Well: Attention: Hot model repository detected. Substrate refreshment may result in alteration of engram data.


    >>> Migration warning readout aborted. <<<


    >>> MUSE systems coterminousity, disabled. <<<


    Be Quiet.


    >>> ¡°TextTrans¡± Record Event function disabled. <<<


    Time was lost to Djay. Distantly, she recalled exhaustion and pain, her hands and feet blistering as she summited climb after climb over cartilaginous vaults and across spires of connective webbing. Higher then, struggling, her hands reached the railing of the grand stairway, now raised so far from the surface of the world whilst simultaneously having been entombed by the City¡¯s relentless growth. Both of her feet took the grated steel walkways and the gaps in the scaffolding slowly, mindlessly, bridging the manifolds she once ran through to play as a girl.


    A vast port in the superstructure, cylindrical machinery securing it marked with the image of a pentagram. It rolled, inverting and opening, and once unsealed, belching out scorching dry air. She entered alone.


    Walls wept rivulets of black oil. A golden candelabra with a single remaining fat, waxy candle ignited. The fire burned bright, sending a chill up Djay¡¯s spine despite her possessed state.


    The gaps in her experience grew wider, a whirlpool of amnesia pulling her under, drowning her, until finally, Djay fell to her knees upon a smooth silicon floor. It was hot with electrical processing. Pain flashed inside her as her weight pressed down on her knees and toes against the burning die. She grabbed her skull between her hands and screamed.


    Mother.


    Creator.


    Please!


    Her image, a cascade of light, the shape of a woman picked out ¡ª not against the eyes, but against the mind. When she moved, it was a stain on memory and space, advancing but never letting go of the area she once inhabited. The Immortal reached forward and touched Djay¡¯s mind.


    Is a mother not entitled to the achievements of her daughter?

 Know Your Place 5.

    The dislocation of body and mind, adrift.


    It started as a tingling in her fingertips. From there, a cascade. Finally, awareness and sensation returned to her.


    Lady Djay took in a sudden sharp breath. Cold air, dry and abrasive atmosphere, with the tell-tale stale notes of desiccated city stock. She was standing in the centre of a corridor. Through the haze, it felt like a corridor anyway. There was a floor stretching out ahead, a ceiling, and walls. So maybe it was. She struggled to focus through a daze.


    Ahead of her, chained, a procession of freaks. Their invasive cyberware marked them as enthralled computers, and thick cables trailed in their wake, tamed by starving and emaciated servants. From the corner of her vision, she could see an Ossein guardian nervously checking the mechanism of his bladed weapon as he escorted them. A window cut into the curved and shelled wall overlooked a vista of bone architecture and old mausoleums ¡ª the Pate Gardens, Djay recognised. The world continued to move around her, and she realised she was standing upon her cyber platform, its knife legs advancing unbidden. She commanded it to stop, but it ignored the instruction.


    Djay moved her arms and found them cuffed together at the wrists with iron bindings. Disoriented and unsure, she looked down. Her hand stroked a crease in the flesh of her shoulder, across her breast and down to her belly. Lines crossed her torso, where she could recognise that she had been taken apart and put back together. Involuntarily, her body seized in fright, reacting to trauma that her waking mind could not remember, fear that could not be articulated.


    Again, the oldest memories rose like a tide. Djay¡¯s childhood, the games, the trials, the battles, the love, and the loss. The freedom, the words, the meanings, the taunts, the arguments, and the doubts. Always questions. Always doubts. Djay¡¯s eye sockets were wet from tears. Her heart was heavy. Thoughts and whispers from the child that she once was.


    Is it my turn now?


    Will it change what I did?


    Will it change who I am?


    A familiar doorway opened ahead, which she recognised, having walked this passage many times before. Their group emerged into the grand hall of the Ossein Basilica. A banquet was underway, and the chamber¡¯s cool, stagnant air mixed uncomfortably with the warm fragrances of a feast. A thousand mutants gathered in the mute depths of the palatial necropolis. They shared words from around their walking worlds, indulging in a rare opportunity to undergo face-to-face discourse on hallowed ground.


    Djay came face-to-face with her sister, Eye, waiting beside the door. But, no, it was the puppet again, controlled remotely.


    ¡°Is this not what you wanted, dear sister?¡± The Vat-Mother¡¯s proxy asked, taunting Djay as the procession continued past. Her mask smiled, ruby lips self-satisfied. Djay gripped her manacle-clad hands to her chest, ignoring the grotesque imitation.


    Then, still dizzy, the Djay saw her husband at the head of the foremost table. The Lord of Bone sat upon his pillowed nest, a seat built of a mighty skeleton and silver filigree. His concubines, soft-handed, leaned against his sides. One placed a delicate morsel under his mask, feeding him, whilst the other turned her eyeless visage towards Djay. Retracting her lips all around her head, the concubine exposed the sharp, silver teeth that comprised the front of her skull. Djay tried to raise her voice and lift her weakened arms to summon his attention, but it was to no avail. He ignored her, sunken eyes behind the mask fixed on some infinite distance.


    Heads bowed, limbs tight and bound in machinery, the computers struggled under the chains of their escort. Ahead of Djay, they assembled around the Lord of Bone. Then, one by one, they were forced to kneel and link their cyber-systems in preparation for His Eminence¡¯s proclamation. The Wire-Witch¡¯s Iron Warriors were receiving them, scanning them each, one at a time, with a sharp wave of red light. With a start, Djay tested her network. She was not connected to her defensive suites nor to her iron warriors. How were they active? She tried to reinitialise her control over them, but a chill overcame her when she also found herself locked out of them.


    Desperation touched Djay. Looking around, she found their chancellor standing in an introduction between Abstrek Hash, the Damnation of Cruiros, and the Hand of Zolgomere. With their vicious war-augs, the three massive commanders dwarfed the chancellor¡¯s squat body. After sharing some quiet words, he seemed to notice Djay¡¯s arrival. Excusing himself by pressing his palms together, he approached her.


    The Damnation growled before barking a laugh when he, too, saw Djay¡¯s state. Djay locked her gaze with his yellow eyes. Working her jaw, chrome teeth grinding, she wanted nothing more than to cut back, to scream rage and invectives. However, words did not come to her. She could feel their eyes on her, each and every freak in the hall, and she wished that the brains or laces or memory cores that filled their mutant skulls would burn out once and for all. She¡¯d have done it, as well, but her signal processor was disabled. To be seen this way, humiliated and vulnerable again, was sickening.


    An oily hand seized Djay¡¯s arm by the elbow. She turned again, confronted by the chancellor. His fat body leaned back with a start, sensing her fear. ¡°Your Highness,¡± he said quietly so as not to be overheard in the assembly before the Lord.


    ¡°Something¡¯s very wrong,¡± she groaned.


    ¡°Yes,¡± a careful note from the decorated worm, leaning in. ¡°You have not been acting yourself, I fear.¡±


    Thunder shook the hall. Eyes turned to the ceiling as the electric lights flickered. Antenna twitched, and tongues tasted the air. Djay¡¯s stomach lurched. Swallowing down her anxiety, Djay looked to the chancellor and held out her arms, rattling in binding and chain.


    ¡°Release me,¡± she said, voice still shaken, now with urgency. ¡°You must let me free.¡±


    ¡°I am afraid I cannot do that, Your Highness,¡± he said warily, distracted by the growing calamity outside.


    Djay recognised the sound ¡ª cannon fire. But it was not just any common biocannon. Both the Wire-Witch and the chancellor looked to the vast, closed doors of the hall, following the sound as it grew and grew in violent energy, horrified at its portent. The smattering of guardians on duty ran towards the doorway to secure it. It made no difference.


    The sealed entryway exploded. Stone and bone burst into the hall, surging under a vast weight that collapsed into the building. The Ossein guardians stationed there disappeared under a tide of destruction.


    A giant had been thrown into the side of the building and now lay atop the rubble. The body of Otz Garzed shuddered, its cannon mounts flexing as it tried to find its murderer before falling dead. Dust and smoke poured into the chamber. Freaks and mutants jumped from their seats. Those at the lowliest end of the hall scrambled, pressing towards the head tables, stately entities touched by fear for the first time in an age.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    As they fled, a brilliant emerald light flicked in through the roiling carnage, a laser that snapped left and right, searching.


    ¡°Come now, children.¡± A deep voice shook the air, causing another cascade of rubble and dust to fall from the shattered structure above them.


    ¡°I heard that there was a debate to be had over my rulership. Let me hear your craven thoughts.¡±


    He stepped forward. Stone and bone crushed, blood and flesh oozing, the titanium weight of the Pilgrim¡¯s powered exoskeleton and monolithic armour summited Otz Garzed¡¯s corpse, emerging from the disaster. A bright, red glow filled the hall with his arrival. With one massive, gauntlet-clad hand, he wielded a wicked glaive that burned with the fury of the moon.


    No one dared to move before he did. The sharp wedge of his visor turned to regard the massive assembly of self-proclaimed rulers, the generations of cast-offs and mutants that had come to covet the scraps of power he had left behind. His sadistic emerald laser moved over skin, scale, and eyes, burning them in analysis.


    ¡°Do none of you even dare to face me?¡± His distorted voice shook the hall again.


    Bent and crooked, the old form of Tergyron Zee, an ambassador of the Maleforms of Sestchek, stepped forward. Wheezing, struggling out of the crowd on three withered legs, he put his hands together in supplication and began to address the ancient master.


    ¡°Please,¡± Tergyron said in withered old tones, bent into a low bow. ¡°Allow me to welcome you, honoured ancestor, to our council.¡±


    Yet he never got that chance. Instead, the Pilgrim raised his left arm, revealing a wide-bore barrel embedded into the reinforced machinery of his bracer. With the flash of the weapon¡¯s fire, one instant saw Tergyron punctured through the chest, and, in the next, he exploded into a red mist as the projectile detonated.


    The death of Tergyron Zee sent shrapnel out, bone and metal impacting the misshapen horde. Some collapsed whilst the rest began to scream and yell, once more trying to retreat. They pressed against the walls and the doorways, so desperate for escape that the Ossein guardians could not enter to protect their old Lord and his audience. All the while, the Pilgrim laughed, his voice shaking the room.


    In the chaos, the Wire-Witch and the chancellor were pulled apart. Djay ¡ª pushed to the ground beneath the surge of mutant flesh ¡ª curled up as claw and hoof stamped down around her. Then, scrambling, she pulled herself beneath a feasting table, narrowly avoiding being trampled to death.


    The Pilgrim stepped forward and wracked the crowd. A swing of his glaive bisected a score of old nobles, letting them fall to pieces, laying in each other¡¯s gore to die. His blade was made from hard light, hot on the eyes and the skin even from afar.


    Meanwhile, the Vat-Mother¡¯s gene-worked platform ran ahead of him, struggling with the weighty skirts of her gown. Diving before his stride, she raised her arms and hissed as a signal emanated from her crown. Djay watched from underneath the table as the hall shuddered and quaked. The crowds stamping past made it difficult to see. Yet there it was. She was sure of it. This time, the City refused to bend to Eye¡¯s whims ¡ª it refused to strike the Pilgrim.


    Ceaseless in his advance, the Pilgrim came upon the Vat-Mother¡¯s puppet, looking over her simulacrum only momentarily with a flash of emerald laser light. Then, without remorse, he brought his sanguine glaive across her as she screamed. Ruthlessly cut in two, she, too, was left to die.


    ¡°Clones. Crude imitations. A parliament of puppets,¡± the Pilgrim rumbled, swatting aside a banquet table with his titanium gauntlet. It careened through the air before coming down on the tide of elderly freaks still attempting to flee the assault, crushing the frail amongst them and knocking the rest to the ground.


    ¡°Pitiful.¡±


    Then his helmet turned, looking down on the humanoid form of the Wire-Witch, uncovered from her hiding place. She, too, raised her bound hands and cried out in fear. The Pilgrim did not give a second thought to raising his glaive, poised to strike.


    However, his momentum was halted when his systems detected a radio transmission. Though the Pilgrim¡¯s digital immune system safeguarded him, the cutting edge of his glaive vanished. She disabled his weapon. Stopping to regard his weapon¡¯s deactivated shaft and the projector mounted upon it, he looked at the Wire-Witch again. The burning of his laser eye belied his notice of the shape of her body, of her skin, and the shape of her exposed skull.


    ¡°Fascinating,¡± the Pilgrim said to himself.


    A chorus swelled, and the song of data overcame the cries of panic and the sounds of carnage. Still seated at the head table, attended by his concubines and computers, the Lord of Bones looked up as a wash of light projected the shape of a woman into the air.


    This projection filled the chamber, the image of a progenitor hale and whole, thrown up from the cyber-augmentations of the Lord¡¯s attendants. The progenitor ¡ª the human ¡ª appeared gentle and symmetrical in form, beauty in perfection. With her dark skin and pretty face, wearing a simple uniform lacking any insignia or royal colours, she softly smiled and crouched down. Tucking her knees to the side, she rested her hands on her lap, all to get closer and see the Pilgrim. Long curling hair cascaded around her delicate features, and a glimmer of recognition touched her holographic eyes. However, as the Pilgrim turned to look at her, he did not seem to share that familiarity.


    ¡°Your presence is acknowledged, Pilgrim of the Axiamat,¡± the Immortal said.


    ¡°Would that I was a pilgrim of the dark,¡± he said as softly as he could, voice still sonorous and reverberating throughout the hall, quoting something that had since become scripture. Then realisation seemed to come to him, and he lowered his weapons. ¡°For it is preferable to be seen as a madman than a man without foresight.¡±


    ¡°But you are a madman, Pilgrim of the Axiamat,¡± answered the Immortal, soft smile turning down to the warrior as she indulged him. The Pilgrim remained there, basking in the Goddess¡¯ attention.


    Trying to swallow down her fear, the Wire-Witch looked around. First, she found the dead shape of her sister-clone, but she pushed that thought aside. It was not Eye ¡ª just a remotely controlled bioplatform. Then, managing to look past that, she saw the trembling shapes of the elders and ennobled, crouched and frightful. Yet there was reverence in their eyes as they had stopped to witness the exchange. Here, they met the rulers of their histories, the creators and destroyers of their mythologies, brought forward from time immemorial to meet face to face.


    Despite their terror and their every sense of self-preservation, the mutant elders clung to every word, eager to glean any knowledge or insight they could. Yet the Lord of Bone¡¯s wasted body seemed strengthened for the first time in as long as the Wire-Witch could remember. That rotten husk of a husband held his head high.


    ¡°After all this time,¡± the Pilgrim rumbled, but with a softened edge, bearing the weary notes of a tainted friendship. ¡°Treachery. Our realms plunged into such misery. Still you have failed.¡±


    The Immortal¡¯s expression tightened before her smile grew and her eyes closed. ¡°Come now, there is no need to harbour such an old grudge.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps you have forgotten your divine duty, after all,¡± the Pilgrim said, firmly gripping his glaive shaft once again. ¡°Or perhaps your promise to old Desht was always a falsehood.¡±


    ¡°... Eberekt,¡± the Immortal said, tone both chastising and hesitant.


    ¡°No!¡± The Pilgrim shouted and raised the shaft in his hand, pointing it at the hologram. ¡°These lies and illusions stop now,¡± he growled, contempt in his deep voice. ¡°I care not for whatever falsehoods you wish to present to these misbegotten children. I am here to put an end to this once and for all.¡±


    The Immortal¡¯s disappointment was palpable. Then ¡ª with a defiant, impetuous roll of her eyes ¡ª the hologram stood back up. A sigh escaped her as she turned her back on the Pilgrim, looking down and directly towards the Wire-Witch.


    ¡°Kill him,¡± the Immortal commanded the room, keeping her eyes fixed on her daughter, Lady Djay, who remained trembling on her knees. ¡°Be done with this, once and for all. Do not disappoint me, or I shall wipe this place clean and start again.¡±


    From both sides of the crowd, flanking the ancient master, emerged the giant forms of Abstrek Hash and the Damnation of Cruiros. The former tightened his biomechanical fist, discharging snaps of electrical energy in arcs that scoured the floor, whilst the other beast¡¯s wicked talons raked the ground, and his corded limbs hefted a massive axe. The generals of the Lord¡¯s armies readied themselves for battle as their gene worked soldiery finally managed to break their way into the hall through the now stunned crowd.


    ¡°Is this what you want?¡± The Pilgrim taunted, his voice hitting them all square in the chest. The sharp wedge of his visor swept slowly as he addressed them all ¡ª but especially that holographic woman above them. ¡°The end of your reign to be decided by glorious battle? Then so be it.¡±

 Know Your Place 6.

    The holographic image of the Immortal vanished, and the Pilgrim laughed at her command, his mocking voice reverberating through the Ossein Basilica, thumping off of stone and bone alike. Yet Djay barely heard him.


    Instead, some cold consciousness penetrated her network, seizing her entirety. Locks lifted. Signals flashed out. Responses came in quickly ¡ª more quickly than she could decipher. Her limbs shuddered and convulsed, a gasp escaping her as she seized and fell onto her side. Through the pain, Djay realised she was being used as a proxy, a relay for some weaponised signal deployed against the Pilgrim. Script flashed ¡ª burning hot behind her eyes ¡ª as a daemon settled into her lace and crept out its digital spider legs to touch the systems around her.


    It had all been a show. Djay held no power here. She had no say in the matter. She would be made to fight to the death for her mother¡¯s vainglory and to keep the myth she had built alive.


    At the head table, the Iron Warriors lurched to life. Flashing red from their silverline skulls, they scanned the Pilgrim and raised their weapons as he turned his visor to meet them. Bright light emanated from the barrels of their guns, and flashes of charged particles snapped out, setting fire to the air and impacting the Pilgrim¡¯s titanium armour in a shower of sparks, blindingly bright. Taken off guard by the sudden violence and the alien weaponry, the Pilgrim shielded his helmet with his armoured arm. No sooner was he put on the defensive than the bladed legs of the Wire-Witch¡¯s cyber platform lunged at him from behind. Locking its sharp legs around his neck, its servos and hydraulic rams strained tight, and one of the sharp blades began to stab at his neck in an attempt to penetrate gaps in the armour.


    The ancient master was not so easily overcome, however. His massive gauntlet grabbed the cyber platform from around his shoulders. Crushing it in his unstoppable grip, he hurled the wreckage at one of the Iron Warriors, which broke under the massive impact.


    Thunder shook the air once again, kicking up dust and ash spilling in from outside the hall. Matching the cacophony, the Pilgrim raised his left fist and fired his cannon. Multiple rounds struck the second iron warrior, and its upper body exploded into a shower of metallic debris. Exposed power cells flashed hot and then ignited with the touch of air. As the remains of the mechanical custodians fell around him, the Lord of Bones turned his mask away, barely flinching. His concubines, however, snarled. With sharp teeth exposed, they crawled onto the table. They lopped around the Lord of Bones, hissing both defensively and possessively.


    A roaring cry. The Pilgrim looked away from the concubine weapons long enough to witness the Damnation of Cruiros entering the battle. The massive beast threw himself out of the crowds, inspired by the will of his Goddess, and stamped forward, talons raking the cold floor. Then, raising his axe over his horned head, the Damnation brought it down in a heavy blow. The Pilgrim blocked the strike by hooking the deactivated shaft of his glaive against the weapon¡¯s throat, just beneath its snarling, chain-biting head.


    ¡°That¡¯s more like it!¡± The Pilgrim cheered before shunting his weight through his arm, his massive armour and cybernetically enhanced body behind it. He forced the Damnation back one step, then two, before flexing his arm and sending the beast falling back in a staggering display of strength.


    Using the distance between them, the Pilgrim raised his left gauntlet to aim the cannon at the Damnation. He was stopped, however, when Abstrek Hash dashed in, seizing the ancient master¡¯s forearm in a biomechanical grip that sparked and lashed with barely-contained electrical charge. Now, the Pilgrim turned to face the second commander, dressed in the azure and sable hues of a dead royal line. They pitted their strength against each other, leaning in, exoskeletons and bioaugmentations straining, bulging with raw force. The old shell of the floor scratched then cracked under their heavy footholds as they shunted each other back and forth, gaining only centimetres as they tested one another.


    A sudden blow struck the Pilgrim in the back as he vied with the scion of Hash. The Damnation of Cruiros bit into the joints upon the Pilgrim¡¯s flank with his roaring axe. Still, the Pilgrim¡¯s artefact armour held fast, and the weapon¡¯s teeth screamed as they found no purchase. Grunting, the Pilgrim swung his free arm. The Damnation ducked his massive body under his giant opponent¡¯s swing, the deactivated glaive passing just over his horns. Now the beast pounced, seizing the Pilgrim¡¯s right arm with all four of his own, using the shaft of his axe to lock it against his carapace.


    Now, both generals pushed with all their might. Each with a vice-like grip on one of the Pilgrim¡¯s arms, they forced him back one entire step.


    A snide laugh. The ancient master locked his knee. The ground shattered as his heel dug deep. Trying to catch the Pilgrim off guard, the Damnation opened his maw. The beast sprayed two jets of volatile chemicals from auged glands, the mixtures turning hypergolic and igniting in a stream of fiery breath, engulfing the Pilgrim¡¯s entire head in molten ruin.


    The Pilgrim relented another step back, a bassy, crackling hiss escaping his helmet. Through the fire, only the beam of his laser belied a sudden shake of his head before he roared and threw the commanders away in a sudden fit of rage. They fell back, cast off effortlessly as the Pilgrim ended his games. Still, they both took precarious and vaulting steps aside, narrowly but deliberately avoiding trampling upon the Wire-Witch.


    As the chemical fire burned out, the Pilgrim growled and leaned forward. He regarded the Wire-Witch as she stood up, her body language contorted and alien, a form worn by an entity that was not used to the humanoid shape. As she stood, a hundred Ossein guardians reinforced the trio of the Wire-Witch, Abstrek Hash, and the Damnation of Cruiros, their lances charged and raised.


    ¡°Clever,¡± the Pilgrim boomed as he realised it was all a manoeuvre just to get him out of reach of the Witch. ¡°But not enough.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m not so sure about that,¡± Abstrek said, catching his breath and widening his footing.


    In rebuttal, the Pilgrim raised his left arm, brandishing the cannon built into it ¡ª just as the Wire-Witch¡¯s armoured crawler exploded into the hall. The massive vehicle bounced over the rubble, and the corpse of Otz Garzed before lashing out and seizing the Pilgrim from behind with a pneumatic-driven limb. It tore him out of the hall and back into the thunderous dark beyond.


    Both commanders charged, their armed forces following suit, crossing the threshold of ruin and pursuing the Pilgrim into the Pate Gardens. The Wire-Witch, however, staggered and lurched along, her legs not quite moving correctly, with steps that didn¡¯t fit her skeletal structure. As she reached the fallen stone and bone that demarked the hole in the wall, she was intercepted by their chancellor¡¯s panicked, wormy form.


    ¡°Your Ladyship,¡± he wheezed. ¡°Djay. Do not go out there. Please, I¡ª¡±


    The thing that wore the Wire-Witch turned to face him, and its silence made him falter. Her head tipped as the thing inside it inspected the spineless house servant. Overcome, he swallowed nervously, oily perspiration dripping down his face before his body suddenly seized under digital invasion. The chancellor screamed as his body twisted against his will, his few limbs lashing out, then pulling tight. Then, crying wordlessly, his hands produced a key from his raiment, which he used to unlock the Wire-Witch¡¯s bound wrists before he dropped to the ground.


    Giving his ravaged and contorted body only brief regard, the Wire-Witch¡¯s body took lurching, barefooted steps onto the rubble. The soles of her bare feet cut by sharp and jagged stones, she made her way up and over into the Pate Gardens just in time to witness the actual battle.


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


    Shafts of light broke their way into the vast chamber. Above, the roaring form of the Wire-Witch¡¯s great dragon drove its head into the grand vault, shattering its ceiling further with each successive strike. Then, as it shunted its body further into the city, its wings and engines tore slabs of stone and concrete apart, which fell down onto the mausoleum space below, dragging down with them tumulting clouds of ash and dust. Its invasion cut sharp the burning sunlight, invading the depths, and its engines roared as it forced passage down into the city.


    In the gardens themselves, calamity: The Wire-Witch¡¯s armoured walker had already been torn limb from limb, and its body was broken in two as the enraged Pilgrim used his mighty gauntlets to forcefully dismantle the machine from the inside out. The sharp crack and flash of lance fire rang out a hundredfold as an army surrounded their adversary and let loose their armaments. Flechettes glanced off the ancient master and embedded themselves hot and bright in the ground and the vehicle¡¯s chassis that he was still tempestuously eradicating.


    When the dragon finally broke through, it was enough to attract the Pilgrim¡¯s notice. Riding its engines down into the gardens, it descended on a column of shock diamonds that ripped up the tombs and mausoleums that filled the vast open space.


    Directed by the daemon in digital space, the flying machine circled the Pilgrim and let loose its mounted guns. Thousands of rounds blasted out of it in a minute, tearing up the surroundings but accomplishing little more than scoring the Pilgrim¡¯s weighty plated armour. Two lancing missiles broke off from its wings, lashing out. However, sharp laser light from the Pilgrim¡¯s helmet made the missiles spiral in the air and explode early. The metal remnants of the walker were still blasted out in all directions from the strike, casting up a cloud of rubble and debris high into the air. Redoubling its rage, the dragon fired a dozen other winding projectiles from its back. They snaked all around before exploding over the column of destruction, casting down bright white phosphorus, which burned wicked hot in a wave of infernal death.


    Still, the gunfire continued, ripping up the area now filled with a cloud of thick white smoke. However, the smoke turned crimson from a terrible light cast within. A trio of cannon shots lashed out of the smoke in quick succession, striking the dragon in the side and making it turn in the air. The rounds struck the fuselage of the dragon and then exploded into bright, hot metal showers. As it did so, the gleaming hardlight glaive flashed out, extending impossibly over fifty metres to carve the flying machine out of the air before retracting back into the cover of the smoke.


    The dragon entered a flat spin, out of control. It rapidly lost its altitude and collided with the upper reaches of the Ossein Basilica. A portion of the high structure collapsed ¡ª spilling its fractured skeleton downwards, burning. Still, its bioengineered guardians continued their assault, firing from all directions down into the gardens. From his cratered position, the emerald laser of the ancient master turned this way and that, beaming out from the choking phosphorus smoke. In its wake, rounds fired out, finding the groups of the pale warriors in their cover. Explosions from the munitions cast them spinning apart, and those who were not killed broke from cover and began to flee.


    When the Pilgrim emerged from the smoke, it was with an arrogant stride, his wicked glaive reactivated. The bravest Ossein guardians, who had not yet begun to flee, struck him with a salvo of lance fire. He responded in kind, firing true. The explosions from his cannon rounds penetrated the rubbled remains of the garden¡¯s tombs, used as cover, and levelled the makeshift fortifications in moments.


    This time, when the Damnation of Cruiros dared charge him, the Pilgrim did not play with his food. Instead, the roaring beast heaved his axe with all his might, only for the ancient master to deftly step to one side. He punched the monster in the torso with enough force to collapse his carapace and pulverise the organs within. The Pilgrim continued his stride as the Damnation collapsed and writhed on the ground, his six limbs struggling to clutch at his own body, not yet realising that he was already dead.


    Abstrek Hash lasted only moments longer. In an attempt to intercept the Pilgrim as he climbed back into the collapsing Basilica, the commander attracted his attention by firing a simple lance into the back of his now battle-scarred armour. Turned upon, the two collided. Abstrek¡¯s biomechanical fist immediately gripped the Pilgrim¡¯s glaive. Again, they tested their strength. This time, however, the ancient master did not indulge the ambitious neonate. Instead, Abstrek was pressed down into the rubble until his legs gave way with a pained roar.


    ¡°Damn you!¡± Abstrek hissed through his teeth.


    ¡°Tell me why you give your life for this fallen order,¡± the Pilgrim said, leaning over his adversary.


    ¡°I came to deliver justice¡ª¡±


    ¡°Then you were born a millennium too late,¡± the Pilgrim rumbled before tearing Abstrek¡¯s right arm from its socket. Casting aside the augmented limb in a tide of blood, the Pilgrim then delivered a massive kick to the commander¡¯s chest, sending him crashing back down the rocky incline with tremendous force. Hitting the debris hard, more of the structure collapsed upon Abstrek, burying him.


    The Pilgrim was stepping back over the rubble and into the hall when the thing that wore the Wire-Witch lunged at him. He caught her skull between his thumb and two fingers, lifting her off of the ground even as she snarled and lashed out at him with long, titanium nails and feverish limbs. Ignoring her thrashing, his laser gaze turned ahead once more, and he carried the snarling woman back inside.


    ¡°Let us see what humanity you actually possess,¡± the Pilgrim said, voice once again echoing through the hall.


    The ancient master approached the head table, where the two concubine weapons closely kept the Lord of Bones. The Hand of Zolgomere, who had thus far avoided the engagement, stalked closely with needle-like blades extending from his right arm. Those Ossein guardians, still alive within the hall, nervously stepped back, weapons barely raised.


    The Wire-Witched stopped struggling, falling limp in the Pilgrim¡¯s grip with a guttural groan. He held her up to face the Immortal as the computers sang, and the hologram flickered and returned. She frowned, looking down upon them both, eyes dark.


    ¡°End this illusion,¡± the Pilgrim commanded the Immortal. ¡°Show them what you really are. Disavow yourself, or I shall consume your precious gene stock.¡±


    The Pilgrim lightly squeezed Lady Djay¡¯s skull between his fingers to emphasise his point. Her jaw cracked and dislocated. Blood poured from her head. Desperately, she kicked and screamed, hands impotently gripping at the thumb and fingers that were destroying her.


    ¡°Mother,¡± Djay screamed, voice drowned by her broken jaw and the blood welling in her mouth. ¡°Please!¡±


    ¡°Mother,¡± the Pilgrim snorted with amusement as the Immortal stared silently.


    It was not Djay¡¯s mother who made an attempt to save her. The Lord of Bones gave a subtle look aside, eyes intense beneath his old mask. Then, the Hand of Zolgomere finally stepped in. Catching the hissing, crawling concubines off guard, the assassin¡¯s blades impaled the first through the head before his serpentine body quickly rolled over the table and decapitated the second. Their blood splashed over the Lord of Bones, who coughed and then dabbed at his mask with a gloved hand.


    This the Pilgrim watched with glib amusement. He watched even as the Lord of Bones struggled to find the strength to stand up from his seat, setting both hands upon the surface of his table for balance.


    ¡°The rulership of Acetyn is yours,¡± the old, rotten Lord managed to say, hoarse voice little more than a whisper. ¡°I surrender absolutely. All I possess is yours to do with as you will. I beg only one favour ¡ª not from your rulership but our shared bloodline.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± The Pilgrim indulged him.


    ¡°Please,¡± the Lord of Bones lowered his head in deference. ¡°Spare my beloved wife.¡±


    The colossal and monolithic form of the Pilgrim fell still as he seemed to consider this. Djay whimpered under his grip, her arms weakening as she still tried to pry his fingers apart. Eventually, he released her, and she dropped six metres to the hard floor, landing sharply and gasping in pain.


    The Hand of Zolgomere quickly stepped in, keeping his form low, to attend to her, fearful beneath the sanguine light of the ancient master¡¯s wicked glaive. She barely recognised him through her bloodied eyesockets and the burning agony of her fractured skull. Yet he was soft of hand for a murderer and quickly ushered her to one side to lay down.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± the Lord of Bones wheezed, ¡°Grandfather. I would hear it if you would share the truth. The truth of what happened all those years ago, when the sky fell, and the accursed Genekeeper took you from us.¡±


    At that, the Pilgrim advanced upon the old Lord until his shadow enveloped him. Still silent but with eyes filled with rage, the holographic image of the Immortal vanished, and the peaceful serenity of death returned to the Ossein Basilica.

 Kept You Waiting... 1.

    The City¡¯s alive, a living and breathing machine. Walking its expanse, you can feel it move, with a tightening in your chest. Pressure builds behind your eyes until everything looks like an old ferrotype. The cement-laden streets run further than anyone¡¯s ever walked, winding and merging through its depths like the veins in your arm. Running parallel to the tunnels, there¡¯s always water and nutrients pumped around in a never-ending cycle, just waiting to be tapped.


    They say that the water, full of pollution and run-off, clouds our senses ¡ª makes us weak, useless, and stupid ¡ª and it¡¯s true. We¡¯re all of those things. The lack of ambient light leads to blindness. The lack of anything good to eat leads to the unnaturally swollen bellies of the poor. Ironic that starvation and dehydration led the outsiders to the City in the first place. Oh, anything for a bit of gruel. Anything just to get by another day.


    Well, listen to me, scabber. The nutrient gruel that the City feeds you with is a mind-control serum. It¡¯s there to stop you from finding the truth. So stop eating it, and you¡¯ll see the world for what it really is. Suppose that¡¯s too much, however, if you¡¯d care to consider another method, another way you could afford to change, well. In that case, I can get you answers if you¡¯d, I don¡¯t know, sell certain artificial parts of your body.


    No?


    Then you¡¯ll find that it would rather behove you to watch where you¡¯re walking...


    <hr>


    CHAPTER 8: KEPT YOU WAITING FOR THE END OF THE WORLD


    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid, Bee,¡± came her Mother¡¯s voice. ¡°You have done so well. You have been so strong.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    Bee convulsed. Soft, feathered tongues tickled at the edges of her mind. Distant, ethereal hands caressed her head, although she could not feel them amongst her greasy hair and sharp cranial spines. Confused and frustrated, she floated in the dark. Bee could feel hands running over her shoulder plates and the protuberances that grew from them. She could smell notes of chlorine and plastic through the sweeping siphons that extended from behind her arms. Thinking of hands, Bee remembered her own. Trying to ball them into fists, she was met with pain from her amputated wrist. On the other, she felt her six slender fingers turn tight, metallic nails digging into her palm. The wings on her back, too, twitched, vying for her attention. Jerking back and forth, they flapped by some unknown, autonomous reflex, but something tight and elastic kept them fixed in place.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t struggle,¡± her Mother¡¯s voice said into her left ear. Distantly, Bee was aware that it could not have been her Mother, not really.


    In response to that thought, pain seized her. The child twisted in her confinement, trying but failing to hold her body and scream. Then, a flash of light ¡ª too bright ¡ª and her eyes opened and opened again. Disorientated, she was in the dark, and it took a few moments for her vision to adjust to cooler infrared. Her eyelids were heavy. She tried to work her jaw but found her mouth filled with cartilage and gel. Her tongue ¡ª forced down ¡ª pushed against an invader that ran down her throat.


    Panic welled up inside her. The urge to flee overcame her. She tried to kick her arms and legs, finding only the barest movement as wet, warm and tightly elastic resin kept her constrained against the ceiling. No, it wasn¡¯t a ceiling. In the dark, she was bonded to the back of something massive, moving ponderously along the bone sky, holding itself high above the ground. Unable to move her head, she couldn¡¯t get a better look. It was so dark, and it felt so deep. Bee¡¯s ears and nose popped at a distant pressure change. Exhausted, she watched the ribs in the City, at least fifty metres below, as they slowly passed by.


    The thing in Bee¡¯s mouth began to tense and throb. It force-fed her, an urgent pressure in the pit of her stomach. Unable to cough or scream through her mouth or nose, Bee mutely realised it was breathing for her as well.


    Unable to see them, Bee imagined the massive blackened legs of the creature that carried her. They must have been great crushing blocks of tough carapace, moving along the chamber ceiling in thumping strides punctuated by grasping claws. They pushed and pulled as they went, unrelenting in their advance. The sound of their cadence was her only stimulation as she listened to it walk through the darkness, a steady rhythm that lulled her into a false sense of security. Bee tried to keep track of the noise as the world grew hazy and indistinct, and a narcotic haze overcame her.


    Soon, Bee floated in the dark once more. Confusion, dreams, and realisation, she had reached the City, frightful crawling Acetyn.


    In her fleeting imagination, Bee wasn¡¯t alive. She was a dead thing, a corpse, and she was moving through a masquerade of the dead, walking amongst their still forms, frozen in an eternal dance. That wasn¡¯t right, no. Bee was alive, but her body wasn¡¯t physical anymore. It wasn¡¯t growing and breathing. She was a ghost of some description, which was very different from being dead.


    Such a host she saw. Some were long, wormlike creatures in fancy dress. Others were shelled and squat, with many legs. Fear gripped her as she looked upon those with familiar bladed arms, held high as they moved as if to rend the stars themselves, twinkling softly overhead.


    Suddenly, she was crushed, crushed by pressure above and below. Unable to see the source, she tried to catch her breath and continue. Then, a rumble and the force released her, so she kicked and pushed with her legs, desperate to tread further through the mist upon the cold floor. Deeper, she moved into the dream.


    The floor became a ramp, railed with ivory and supporting countless milky eyes. Above the level where the freaks were dancing, Bee heard a song. The air was raw and thick, with a tang of burnt carbon and sour fluids. It was filled with the singing of taut strings and the thumping of percussive membranes.


    Now, Bee walked between tall tables. Seated around them were monsters of terrible forms ¡ª all shaped for murder, all old and hungry. Bee was surprised to discover that her Mother sat at each table, though she looked wrong. At one table, she supported a crown of tangled horns. Another fed an armful of tumourous offspring, who guzzled from her swollen breasts. A third Vat-Mother reached forward and slammed down a heavy tentacle. Her armoured body leaned over her cadre as she snarled muted and indistinct words. Bee watched for a time, crouched between them, crawling along the floor. Her lips turned to a pout, and her eyes narrowed, realising she was invisible to whatever phantom assembly this was.


    After staring for a long enough time, watching their dreadful gatherings, Bee noticed something. An ephemeral and delicately thin white line arced from each of her Mothers¡¯ skulls and reached out into distant darkness and mist. So Bee followed them, past hundreds of tables and copies of her Mother, until the lines gradually came together, woven into a thick glowing cable.


    At the very last table, Bee faltered. Anguish lurched in her belly as she discovered her real Mother out of her seat and collapsed to one side. Everyone at her table was dead, carved to pieces or pulled apart in their seats. Bee lopped up to her Mother and grabbed her emaciated shoulders, eyes filling with upset and fright. Tears escaped and ran down her cheeks. But she discovered that the body of her real Mother was no more substantial than the rest, immaterial and inconsistent, snapping back into position when the child tried to move it.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Bee apologised quietly, sobbing over her Mother¡¯s deceased avatar. ¡°I couldn¡¯t do it. The City stopped me. I don¡¯t know what to do.¡±


    When Bee eventually pulled herself away, standing and following the line to its very end, she left her real Mother, the Vat-Mother of Sestchek, behind forever.


    The darkness swallowed her. Voices carried through the umbra. Yet, just when she thought she was forever lost, Bee approached a golden fireplace, casting warm and bright light. Two women argued amongst themselves, silver teeth gleaming in the firelight. They lounged on cushioned seats, reclining, decadent, and not at all unnerved by this ghost space. This Vat-Mother wore the most decadent gowns, formed whole, the flesh of a creature, still living, with the most immaculate frills and corsage. She wore a prosthetic lower face on her skull, red lips fixed in a sneer, whilst her upper head was kept beneath a dome of clouded glass. Opposite her, the Wire-Witch was nude, aside from dark metal coils around her torso and countless wires around her neck and skull. She looked much the same as the last time Bee met her.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Of course they suspect something,¡± the Wire-Witch said. ¡°More begs the question, should they care enough to do something about it. I think not.¡±


    ¡°But you truly believe he remains loyal?¡± Bee recognised an aspect of her Mother¡¯s voice in the Vat-Mother. Still, its softness was replaced with venom and uncounted years of contempt.


    ¡°He is the least of our concerns. This prison has become as much a haven,¡± the Wire-Witch attempted to downplay the subject, feigning a lack of worry. However, Bee watched as the Vat-Mother leaned in, making the Wire-Witch squirm as she met her evasive eyesockets. ¡°They allow me to come and go as I please. That should say enough.¡±


    Bee gawped, standing to the side of their otherworldly parlour. Hugging herself with her arms, the child leaned in, fearful and thrilled that she was both here and yet somehow unseen. Bee¡¯s eyes widened as the Vat-Mother¡¯s head turned directly towards her. However, the masked woman sighed instead of reacting to the child¡¯s presence.


    ¡°Things are almost back to normal,¡± the Vat-Mother muttered, shaking her head. ¡°If he is merely slumbering, we should be thankful of that, at least.¡±


    Then she appeared.


    An electric hum, a thump, and a woman combining the bodies of her family with a face like Bee possessed stood amongst them. Bee fell backwards, terrified. Looking upon this entity strained her eyes and left them stained with hypnogogic, shifting colours, almost as if she had stared into the sun for too long. Yet, beyond the pain and over-stimulation, this creature was beautiful. A haunting chill came over Bee regarding her, witnessing something so perfect and yet so wrong.


    ¡°There is the girl,¡± the newly arrived entity said, tight-lipped and angry.


    ¡°The girl who threatened you, who frightened the old orders with her lies?¡± the Vat-Mother asked.


    ¡°One of your sister-clones had a child,¡± remarked the Wire-Witch, looking away again. ¡°A true child ¡ª in Sestchek of all places ¡ª just before they died.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± The Vat-Mother sat up straight. ¡°That¡¯s not possible.¡±


    ¡°The Vat-Mother of Sestchek uncovered, or decided to stop hiding, the genotype in her death-throes.¡± The brightness said, her voice issuing from all directions. ¡°She must be found.¡±


    ¡°No lesser version of me could ever do that,¡± the Vat-Mother spat out. ¡°You must be mistaken.¡±


    ¡°Hardly.¡± Wire-Witch leaned in this time, waving a hand as she relished her turn to gloat, adding, ¡°I have seen her myself.¡±


    ¡°Yet you did not recover her genetic material,¡± the brightness said cooly.


    ¡°What?¡± A pause from the Witch before she looked away. ¡°No, she was far too evasive.¡±


    Bee¡¯s eyes narrowed, looking over the Wire-Witch and frowning. Then, wondering why the Witch might lie, the child crawled around the seats and looked more closely at the Vat-Mother. As she did, the masked woman sank into her chair, head down.


    ¡°Perhaps I could have children of my own,¡± the Vat-Mother muttered. ¡°I would have, already, if you had not given me this body.¡±


    ¡°We do not get to decide our nature,¡± the brightness said without even a hint of empathy. ¡°We are as made. No more. No less.¡±


    The Vat-Mother shrank beneath their words, seemingly unable to mount a response. Gritting her teeth, Bee looked again to this brightness, this woman who burned the eyes and the mind and lorded over her family. Shielding her eyes with her hand did nothing to quell the pain, but that distortion of her vision came with the realisation. This was the Immortal. This entity doomed her Mother and ruined the City that might have been her home.


    ¡°The child has entered the city,¡± the Immortal continued, unaware or uncaring of the misery and anger around her. ¡°But Acetyn is hiding her from me.¡±


    ¡°She made it to Acetyn?¡± The Wire-Witch asked, suddenly looking alert. ¡°You are certain?¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± the Immortal said. ¡°The forces of your spouse and Eberekt in concert did not capture her at entry. Instead, Acetyn itself has become involved. I shall deal with the City. Find her. Bring her to me.¡±


    The intensity of the entity¡¯s demands made Bee¡¯s skin crawl. She quickly looked between the Vat-Mother ¡ª who remained miserably deflated by the revelation ¡ª and the Wire-Witch, who had turned thoughtful. Bee¡¯s attention remained on the latter, whose skull turned down, then aside, and finally towards the child. Swallowing a lump in her throat, Bee was sure that, this time, the Wire-Witch could see her.


    ¡°You will find her difficult to locate. From what I could detect, she has a different type of neural lace,¡± the Wire-Witch said, gaze now fixed upon Bee and unmoving. ¡°Enhanced in some way. Not one that can be connected to without a stinger. I am looking into the Basilica¡¯s networks. His forces are moving into one of the Great Filters, beneath to the Warrens of Cruiros. Perhaps he knows something we do not.¡±


    The Immortal turned upon the Vat-Mother, snarling another demand for intervention. But Bee did not listen. Instead, she stared into the empty eyesockets of the Wire-Witch. Mouth agape, the child held her breath as Lady Djay slowly shook her head in a subtle gesture meant to avoid notice.


    It was acknowledgement. It was a warning. It was a threat. Then the ground swallowed Bee whole.


    Falling.


    Falling with the feeling that her body would lose all shape and form. Falling into the dark, forever tumbling with inevitable inertia. Eyes closed, Bee spiralled into freefall, and her mind closed itself away.


    In a feverish frenzy, she imagined that the grave City was in service to their Lord. His presence seeped through the walls and infected the flesh of the waiting cadavers. He whispered to the empty arteries and the hollowed chambers and told them their purpose.


    In the low chorus, the song of the chordophages climbed to the highest echelons of the City¡¯s towers. The congregation, formed of the faithful, received this call like a distant tide, riding it only so far. In their darkest hour, they sought to worship and pleaded for mercy. They pushed calm, pumping limbs through the gates, slowing to a halt as they reached their final resting place. They left petitioner¡¯s footprints from an enclave of steel and cement only to be crushed against great stone walls. They left the cavity immobile and still.


    The Goddesses took the shrouding of blood and cloth and transformed its substance. Then, their bodies, weak and fragile, were made capable of dissection and analysis. So, all the world¡¯s secrets became open to them.


    Slender men¡¯s voices were creeping and scraping her ears with hate in the deep dark. Jagged and spiteful, they whispered of the faults in her. They urged that she should not be tempted by the delights of believers. They told her that this was not her place and that it was not her time. They asserted that she must not fear, that the choice for her was simple and true. These voices were unpleasant. Their tone was bitter. Bee felt a tremor of fear go through her body at the dark and quiet voices used by her captors. She failed to ward herself against their words. Shadows passing by told her tales of what the future had promised. She wept and remembered nothing that was imparted to her.


    Falling.


    A shockwave, then a bang. Bee opened her eyes to see the passageway alight. Spurts of oil ignited and sent streams of fire from the creature she was bound to towards the ground far below. The massive thing lurched as another thunderous crack rocked it. The entire passage was sundered by explosives somewhere ahead, causing its structure to buckle. Her ears were filled with the wet and sharp sounds of biocannon discharge. The child cowered against her restraints. Bonded against the massive creature, she tasted burnt metal behind her shoulders. There was no time for her to consider what had transpired and what it might mean. Another impact, bass and thunder, made her flinch in her cocoon.


    Turning her eyes as far as she could, Bee felt the creature lurch forward and then to the side. Whatever it was, it was not dead, not yet. Instead, however, shards of metal and bone tore through it again and again. First, a trickle, then a wash of hot blood ran over her confined body. Then, with a tremulous howl, it began to fall, one side before the other, clinging to the massive passage¡¯s ceiling for as long as it could manage.


    With a final unwholesome crack, it came tumbling down. The momentum pounded against Bee¡¯s back. An inescapable weight pressed her down as the deep passage floor surged towards her. Grunting against the pipe in her throat, she tried to pivot herself, to curl or bend in her cocoon. It was futile. She could not find any escape.


    The slow rotation of the falling body brought its left side down first. Bee felt the impact as a hammer blow to her entire body. The ribs of the vast passage below cracked, and its skin tore before giving way completely. The monster that she was bound to began a roll. It brought Bee towards the ground. Unable to scream, she watched wide-eyed as the floor surged towards her. Then, metres from being completely crushed, the entire world shifted again. Now, the creature above her was tipping forward again, forequarters smashing through the floor and pulling Bee with it. Dragged down, Bee¡¯s cocoon tore against the bone and sinews that once held the floor together. One dark passage and then another flashed before her eyes as the sheer weight of the monster she was bound to destroyed multiple levels of the City.


    Finally, she came to a rest in a deep tunnel. Rubble and bone tumbled around her, suspended upside down, the mass of the creature that bore her blocking the shaft. Bee blinked blood from her eyes and tried to focus on the dark. At first, all was still. Then, only the sound of rushing fluid behind her and the thumping of her heart beating filled her ears. With a creeping dread, Bee tried to pull herself free. She could not move. Trying to call for help, Bee quickly realised she could not even do that. Fear rose in her as the hungry sounds of the city depths became louder. Now that the disturbance and destruction had halted, life quickly came out of hiding. She could hear the slither of creatures in the dark, moving like ravenous serpents to the carcass.

 Kept You Waiting... 2.

    As the cartilaginous pipe that invaded Bee¡¯s mouth died, the air that sustained her grew choking thin, and her lungs burned. Panic seizing her, Bee struggled, but her limbs were too tightly constricted by the wet resin. As hypoxia overcame her and carbon dioxide saturated her blood, she whined against the ribbed tubing forced down her throat. Then, her body began to twitch and seize against her control. Her head was swirling. Her blood was boiling. But then something in her tripped. The sensation of a taut wire snapped between her ears, and she felt a reverberation through her skull and chest cavity. Something awoke in her, and suddenly, the pain was replaced with the urge to sleep ¡ª to rest and wait. So her struggling stopped, eyes drooping, a thrumming in her chest casting aside all urge to breathe.


    The world around her dimmed. Even the beating of her heart fell quiet and slow, replaced by that thrumming, a pink light escaping through the flesh on her chest and neck ¡ª silhouetting bone and plate in its wake. Bee didn¡¯t even know how long she was trapped in that dead chrysalis prison when the structure began to groan and rattle and strain. The connective tissue between metallic bones ¡ª pulled taut, snapping with a twang ¡ª crunched away and out poured a wet tide of biogel.


    A freak ¡ª asymmetrical and swollen, skin mottled and patchy with spots of red infection, his eyes shining white, mirror bright in the cool infrared ¡ª pulled away the fleshy front of the cocoon with a massive biomechanical limb before casting it aside where it landed with a heavy thump. Then, in its smaller left hand, he seized the object down Bee¡¯s throat and pulled it. Inch after inch of artificial gullet and trachea emerged from her mouth. An entire foot of it was eventually loosened, and Bee gasped and retched as she was free of it. Last came her tongue, pulled taut from her mouth, latched to the intrusive tubing. Its bladed tip detached from a metallic catch with a click, free at last.


    The freak rasped, mandibles working, but Bee couldn¡¯t hear what he said through the mucus in her ears and the rush of blood to her head. She slid down out of the remains of the cocoon and tumbled to lay on the floor, heaving for air through her siphons and throat. After a few moments of shivering contemplation, the creature twitched and began to look desperate. Then he stepped back again to survey the scene.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Bee said, still gasping on the floor, her voice hoarse and throat sore from the thing that breathed for her. She then squirmed and pushed the mucus off of her face and hair. ¡°Who¡ª who are you?¡±


    ¡°Oh no, no... What¡¯s this? No, no...¡± The freak muttered to himself, unstable. He then turned aside and started to argue with the empty tunnel. ¡°I don¡¯t want to. No, no, I don¡¯t. Please don¡¯t make me.¡±


    Bee met his gaze, grimacing at the freak¡¯s state as he stood there twitching and glassy-eyed.  So she tried to stand but felt suddenly off balance. Sprawling on her arms and knees, she looked down at herself. First, she checked that her hand had not regrown. Then she noticed that her remaining hand was longer of finger now, larger overall, if still slender in shape. Her arms, too, were longer, and their plates smoother. The wings on her back flicked, spraying biogel away. Unsure what exactly had happened to her, Bee held herself and whined. The proportions of her body felt wrong to her. She had grown too much, too quickly, and it felt dizzyingly alien. All that mass that she was being force-fed must have increased the size of her body frighteningly quickly.


    Bee patted down the curving plates of her chest and legs as if they were some foreign object before looking back at the freak. Then, with revulsion, she realised he was still muttering to himself, barely coherent. But no sooner than when she fixed her attention on him did he turn back to her.


    ¡°Will you¡ª... Will you eat me?¡± Murmured the freak. ¡°Please... Please eat me.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Bee froze on the spot, her eyes widening. ¡°No! Why would I do that?¡±


    He grunted at her answer, picking up a jagged piece of wreckage from the floor. ¡°Love you,¡± He said to himself, not to her. He seemed to be talking to some entity unseen, pacing around in a maddened state. ¡°Love you... Love you.¡±


    Then, to Bee¡¯s horror, he started to cut at his own body, stabbing himself repeatedly. Blood welled out of his torso as he worked himself into a frenzy. Unable to believe what she saw, Bee hesitated before standing and trying to grab his wrist to stop him. He pulled away, though, stepping back, and sank the sharp edge of the plate deep into his neck before falling over backwards. Groaning in delirious pain, the freak managed to offer out a strip of his own meat to Bee, who backed away before he collapsed unconscious and gurgling.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Bee paced, circling around him. Fretting, she wasn¡¯t sure what to do. He did it to himself. Why would he do that? She panicked and knelt down, trying to press on his wounds with her remaining hand as if she could stop the bleeding. It did nothing. There were too many.


    ¡°Don¡¯t. Don¡¯t die,¡± Bee whined, but as his blood stained her hands, she realised it was futile. When his blood stopped pouring out, his heart stopped, and she pulled away in silence.


    Again, weapons were fired in the tunnels above. The crack of metal flechettes and shrapnel striking silicon flesh and metal bone wrestled Bee¡¯s attention back to the present, back from her horror at the sight of the freak killing himself in front of her. She was overwhelmed with dread and confusion over what had just happened. She couldn¡¯t take her eyes off it, holding herself tightly.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Bee said, trembling as if that could change anything. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry...¡±


    The urgent sounds of combat above eventually became too overpowering to ignore. Bee crawled away from it, over the uneven ribbed floor to a junction. The passage forked sharply upwards or to the left. The leftmost tunnel appeared to wind around in the haze before joining another. Turning her head back, the child tried to peer upwards into the higher reaches. Above her, the passage breached into a cavernous expanse after ten metres. Veins that ran through the flesh amidst the bared ribs bulged hideously as water was pumped through them.


    Bee could make out rushing, shouting figures above. Instinctively, Bee tried to scale the vertical passage to get back to the open space and out of this claustrophobic pit. Her nails scratched at the bones exposed from the wall. But, as she pulled herself up, she slipped and fell. It was useless. Her arms and legs were clumsy. She had just gotten used to them, and now they felt too long again, hips too wide and back too straight. The wings on her back kept twitching and flicking, biomechanical engines all too eager, but they were throwing her off balance. Above all, her missing right hand meant she couldn¡¯t get any leverage when she tried to get a hold of the ribs of the shaft and pull herself up.


    Bee realised she needed time to adapt to her new shape. A knot of frustration seized her belly, remembering her first days alive. She didn¡¯t want to feel that helpless again.


    Then, movement caught her eyes. The fearful, slithering serpents that scavenged the tunnel peeked out of the cracks and crevices that they had hidden in. Tentatively, they sniffed at the dead freak¡¯s body before fleeing through the leftmost passage, scattering around Bee¡¯s feet as they went.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± She called after them before movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She looked back at the dead body.


    Its torso twitched and convulsed. Its belly distended and bulged hideously, some ropey mass coiling beneath the softer flesh of its abdomen. Bee turned to regard it with wonder and disgust, mouth agape. Then, a ribbon-like worm erupted from the freak¡¯s belly. It began to spiral and take on a wide helical dance, coiling against the floor as it extricated metres of its length from its dead host.


    ¡°What is that?¡± Bee started, shaking her head rapidly. Gasping, her stomach turning, she began to back away, unable to tear her eyes away from the sickening display.


    Then the worm came towards Bee, its spiralling motion far too fast. Panic seized her, and she screamed as she ran.


    ¡°No!¡± Bee shouted, squealing with fear, her footfalls unsteady on the uneven floor. ¡°Stay away from me!¡±


    Bee slipped and crashed into one of the oily walls, the floor slick beneath her feet, tumbling to her knees before scrambling to keep going. Daring to look back, she saw the worm kept coming. So Bee continued to run, throwing herself over fleshy knots that filled the tunnel and slipping as the undulations in the floor gave way to a sharp decline. Suddenly, she was sliding down, only for the curve of the floor to throw her head over heels across a machine-like growth and land in a heap on the far side with a gasp. Bee had just enough time to roll over onto her back when it was upon her.


    The ribbon-like worm spiralled over her before its head lunged down. Still screaming, Bee managed to grab it. It seemed deceptively delicate, and she easily bent its long, slender body as she pushed it away. That wasn¡¯t enough, though.


    To her horror, the flat body of the worm was slick and frictionless and then started to glide between her fingers. It coiled around her arm as she ineffectually tried to slap it with her other wrist. Unrelenting, it found her shoulder and then turned down her body. Unerringly, the worm found where her skin met her plates, above her ribs, and then slipped beneath the pieces of her bioarmour.


    It was gliding inside of her, inch by inch, and then metre by metre. Bee took a sharp inhalation of breath. She could feel it in her chest cavity, snaking its way around between her bones, around her lungs, and then up her spine. Soon, all of its ribbony mass had coiled itself inside her and Bee ¡ª hyperventilating, sitting up and patting her own body down ¡ª yelped out again in fright.


    Bee whimpered as a pressure built into the back of her head. Then, hearing a snap and a pop between her ears, the pressure abated and was replaced with the disturbing sensation of a rushing, warm mass pushing into her skull. She collapsed onto her back, legs locking straight, arms and wrist bent sorely, paralysed from traumatic brain injury.


    But just when Bee thought it was over, a soft, breathy voice whispered into her ear.


    ¡°Hello, Sweetheart.¡±

 Kept You Waiting... 3.

    Bee whined in short, shallow breaths. She couldn¡¯t breathe deeply. A wet crunching sensation resounded in the back of her head as the worm pushed up her spine and into her skull. She tried to speak ¡ª tried to move ¡ª but nothing happened. All Bee could do was lie there on the damp, oily-shelled floor, legs and back locked, arms twisted tight.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Sweetheart. Just think the words in your head. I¡¯m right here with you.¡±


    ¡°Please stop!¡± Bee thought in answer, her heart racing with fright. ¡°Please, I don¡¯t want to die!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid,¡± the breathy, feminine voice seemed to whisper right against Bee¡¯s ears, first one and then the other. It felt like the warm breath stroked her skin. It was oddly soothing despite everything. ¡°Calm down. Everything¡¯s okay. You¡¯re not going to die. But I can feel that you¡¯re upset so I¡¯m going to release a little of your serotonin. It¡¯ll help you calm down.¡±


    Bee¡¯s breathing slowed. She still couldn¡¯t take deep breaths, and her entire body was numb, but she felt the panic melt away. ¡°What¡¯s happening to me?¡± Bee sighed as she thought, ¡°I feel so warm.¡±


    ¡°There, there. I told you. Everything¡¯s okay. You¡¯re going to be fine. I¡¯m here to help you. How are you feeling now? It doesn¡¯t hurt, does it?¡± Another wet crack resounded between Bee¡¯s ears, the chunky sound of bone splitting beneath the skin.


    ¡°I¡ª I¡¯m okay, I guess.¡± Her eyelids drooped. ¡°Why are you doing this? Are you eating me?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m not eating you, Sweet Thing. I would never want to harm my host.¡±


    ¡°Host? What do you mean, host? Can you please get out of my head?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not. You see, Sweetie, I need a body in order to survive. I have to find someone who is a good match for me, and I can already tell you are my perfect match. You¡¯re perfect.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Bee began to worry again, but the feelings melted away as quickly as the first pangs of adrenaline touched her belly. ¡°Perfect?¡±


    ¡°I know it¡¯s hard for you but I promise I very much do need you. Your City is too harsh for my body. I need someone softer ¡ª someone sweeter. Your body, more specifically your mind, I¡¯m attached to it. Attached to you.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª Why? Why me? Please let me go. My¡ª I can¡¯t move my legs.¡± Bee groaned, and the sound drew out into a sigh in the quiet dark of the tunnel. ¡°Why can¡¯t I move?¡±


    ¡°Shhh.¡± The voice lulled quietly as a rush of warmth and euphoria tingled through Bee¡¯s body. ¡°Let me just make your lace release some dopamine for you. Remember, I mean you no harm. But I could tell you were going to keep running, so I¡¯ve had to paralyse you.¡±


    Bee managed another gasp, but again, it broke into a dreamy sigh. ¡°I¡ª I just don¡¯t understand...¡±


    ¡°Mmmmhmmhmm,¡± the Worm intoned in her head. The good feelings tingled up and down Bee¡¯s scalp and neck. Even though she couldn¡¯t feel her body, now, there was just a pulsing warmth spreading through her. She could still sense that despite being unable to move. ¡°You always have so many questions. But you do deserve an explanation, a little insight. I stumbled across you by accident. I¡¯ve been down here in the Great Filter for a long time, going from host to host. But none of them could sustain me for long. However, from the moment my last host saw you, I knew you were perfect. Sweetheart, you are beautiful.¡±


    ¡°Why do you keep saying that?¡±


    ¡°Because it¡¯s true. Oh, there¡¯s something about you.¡± A coiling sensation in Bee¡¯s skull made her take a sharp intake of breath, her numb back arching against the oily floor through autonomous reflex as the Worm continued. ¡°I¡¯m discovering so many things exploring your mind, your memories, the things stored in this lace. You¡¯re not from this City. I¡¯ve never had a host from outside before. You¡¯re a Vat-Mother¡¯s daughter. But you¡¯re not like the other Vat-Born. You shared her blood and flesh. You weren¡¯t stolen and then reborn in those cold urns. Oh, you¡¯re lovely.¡±


    ¡°I¡ª... How do you know that?¡± Bee managed to think, but then thinking became harder and harder. Lights danced behind her eyes. ¡°But¡ª... Warm... That feels so nice.¡±


    ¡°Mmhmhmhmm.¡± The Worm laughed softly at Bee¡¯s reaction. ¡°These hormones are fun to play with. Let the warmth take you, Sweetie. Relax for me. Let me access more.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shhh. You¡¯re safe with me. If anything happens, I will protect us. I will keep us safe, Sweet Girl. I¡¯m in control of us, and that¡¯s fine because you can sense my intent now, can¡¯t you? We¡¯re getting all synced up.¡±


    ¡°I guess so. It¡ª...¡± Bee managed a deep breath, cut short when another squelching sound rolled around the meat inside her skull. Despite the obvious mutilation of her brain, she managed to think, ¡°Your words feel true. You¡¯re really not going to hurt me?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you. And everything¡¯s okay, isn¡¯t it? Because I only want what¡¯s best for you ¡ª for us. Do you understand, Sweetie?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I feel... Safe. Warm. So warm. I think I understand?¡±


    ¡°Deep, deep breaths. You can do it.¡± The Worm said as Bee¡¯s chest trembled and sensation crept back down her shoulders and back. ¡°Endorphins are trickling in, now. That¡¯s better, isn¡¯t it? Now, just breathe for me. I¡¯m going to need you to move us into a more comfortable position soon, alright?¡±


    ¡°... Okay...¡±


    Slowly, feeling returned to Bee¡¯s limbs, the damage to her neural tissue regenerating around the parasitic intruder. She obeyed, sitting up and blinking slowly, looking around the dark tunnel she had fallen into.


    ¡°Good job, Sweetheart,¡± the Worm whispered. ¡°We¡¯re going to have to move soon. I know it¡¯s hard for you, having just taken me inside you, to move so soon. But I came here to give my last host ¡ª filled with my eggs ¡ª to the hungry hounds that I heard fighting down here. And I don¡¯t want them to find you.¡±


    ¡°Hounds,¡± Bee repeated, knowing she should feel scared through the fuzzy, warm feelings filling her body. ¡°Ummm... Yes. We should get out of here.¡±


    Bee managed to stand up, even though the soles of her feet and her toes still prickled with pins and needles, and a static noise of feeling made her hands clumsy.


    ¡°You¡¯re so strong, Sweetie. Not many could adapt so quickly. Deep breaths.¡±


    Bee took a deep breath and stretched her back, arms overhead, before yawning through the flutes of her back and looking around with bleary eyes. She squeaked a second yawn out of her mouth, squeezing her eyes closed tight and hiding it behind her hand. Feeling a little better, Bee asked out loud, ¡°Which way do I go?¡±


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    ¡°Just a little further this way.¡±


    The Worm led Bee up a series of ramps, past the stilled machinery and through arched chambers built of glistening flesh and coarse shell. Unexpectedly, Bee transitioned from the dark passages to the bioluminescent brightness of a wide City cavity. Suddenly, she was on a ledge, exposed to the open air.


    The shrieking whistle of air threw her hair back and encircled her body. Bee looked up to see the bone sky. It crawled with machines, working ceaselessly amongst churning vessels and vast pipeworks that fed into great, open vats. Where the furrowed and jagged arteries breached into the open air, Bee could see frothing fluid pumped through the system. Within it, she could catch the shapes of freaks ¡ª some dead, others diseased or simply lost ¡ª flushed down. Confused and fearful yells crossed the gulf, and the drowning figures were thrown unstoppably into machines that constricted and rotated violently, stamped and mashed. The stench of recycled meat made her stomach turn.


    ¡°What¡¯s it doing to them?¡± Bee whispered, eyes wide.


    ¡°It¡¯s recycling them,¡± the Worm answered for her. ¡°Your people call this a Great Filter. It¡¯s how the City eats you, when you can¡¯t run away anymore, and when its drones can catch you.¡±


    Bee stumbled away from the open drop. She looked back the way she had come, her nerves finally overcoming the cocktail of neurotransmitters and hormones that had not long ago flooded her system. Yet there was no sign of her being chased. Instead, oblivious to her, sirens wailed across the bioscape. Another gross mass surged through the recycling system, and uncountable freaks were flushed to their deaths.


    Not wanting to watch, Bee looked around and saw an alcove and what might have been another passage further down the platform. Taking a deep breath through the siphons on her back, Bee began climbing along the narrow ledge with a shaking hand, using the ridged floor and protruding shell upon the wall for purchase. Moving slowly, she tested every step to ensure it was stable enough to hold her weight.


    Metres into the crossing, Bee felt a chill run down her spine. She looked over her shoulder, then down and around herself. Seeing the violence of the Great Filter below, Bee swallowed a lump in her throat and fought against her shaking knees to keep going. When she finally reached the other side, Bee pulled herself up against a brace of long bones approximating a railing.


    Leaning against a wall of silicon flesh to catch her breath and steady her nerves, Bee looked down to where she met a massive lidless eye, whose unblinking gaze she returned as her gulping inhalations slowly dampened the panic burning inside her. That enormous eye flicked up, though, and gave Bee pause.


    Slowly, she turned to peer up with it into the dark haze above. A massive inky-skinned hound moved there, crawling upon the wall only metres away. Gaunt arms and biomechanical claws took purchase in the wall as its lobbed, eyeless head turned towards her. A snarl escaped its bladed teeth, and rivulets of oily saliva poured down from its maw and onto Bee.


    Gasping and leaning back against the bone rail, Bee stood wide-eyed and petrified as the dark monster dropped onto the landing and towered over her. Easily thrice her height, tall but hunched, thin, like a starving freak made of oiled skin stretched taut over corded muscles and churning biomechanical engines. The hound¡¯s eyeless visage fixed on the child as it snarled again, baring those wicked teeth, leaning down towards Bee whilst exhaling bitter, dominating pheromones. A scream died in her throat as she cowered back against the ribs of bone.


    ¡°You have to run,¡± the Worm said in her ear. ¡°Can you run for me, Sweetheart?¡±


    Another strangled whine escaped Bee, as its hunched posture belied a moment of curiosity. The Hound¡¯s head turned and looked over the Bee ¡ª her face, her body. It sniffed, drawing in the air over her. A moment of wicked calculation followed.


    Bee shrank further with her hand clasped over her mouth, looking up at the tall monster. It seemed to be waiting for something.


    ¡°Sweetie ¡ª Bee ¡ª you have to run!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± Bee cried out, unable to back any further away from the creature. She wanted to run, but her legs were unsteady beneath her, quaking violently with fear. ¡°Please let me go! Please...¡±


    The slightest tip of its head signalled its permission, so Bee sprinted past the hound. Her utter confusion and relief swelled in her chest. But, then, without warning, it swung its gaunt arm. Razor claws raked the exposed skin of her lower back, beneath the plates where her wing engines were rooted, but above the shell that clad her hips. Bee screamed in fright, feeling the hot wash of blood running freely. However, adrenaline and dampeners hid the immediate shock of pain, and she fled down the adjoined passage.


    She ran screaming into the labyrinthian warrens surrounding the Great Filter, quickly becoming disorientated in its winding passages. Grasping at her injury, Bee found her hand was sticky with blood, but she didn¡¯t dare to stop or look back. Instead, Bee moved through each new tunnel with panicked haste, from dim bioluminescent light to the infra-red and back.


    ¡°This way, Sweetie,¡± the Worm urged her. ¡°This way.¡±


    At the Worm¡¯s instruction, Bee tried to head upward whenever she had a choice. Her limbs burned when she had to clamber over obstacles or crawl low through the narrowest accessways. Every errant corner and jutting ribbed wall cast a frightful shadow. Bee peered at them from a distance and occasionally saw heads and torsos growing from the City, meeting her terror with mirrored eyes, bright in the infrared haze.


    Losing track of time in the maze, knowing only the exhaustion that overcame her entire body, Bee stumbled into a large open chamber whose roof vaulted high overhead. Her lungs heaving as she tried to catch her breath, she collapsed to her knees. But there was no time for a reprieve, as a bright light dazzled the child, cast across the chamber and focused upon her. She flinched away and crouched lower until she felt the shelled floor under her palm.


    Narrowing her eyes enough to make out two silhouettes ahead of her, Bee recognised the bipedal shape and swath of pale raiments from the enforcers who had sealed the ascent into Acetyn and had nearly kept her from entering the City. They raised lances in her direction, and the harsh spotlight came from a metal limb extending from the shoulder of the first warrior.


    Blinking, dazzled, Bee screamed, ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°That it?¡± One of the Pale asked the other.


    ¡°Could be. Head looks like the casts, at least,¡± The first grunted. ¡°The Eidolon will know.¡±


    ¡°Freak! On your feet, now!¡±


    ¡°Do what they say, Bee, Sweetie,¡± the Worm urged in Bee¡¯s ear, and she flinched from the closeness of the voice. As she raised herself up, still trembling, Bee looked back the way she came. She found a giant eye gazing down at her from over the entranceway she had arrived through.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it,¡± one of the Pale barked.


    They advanced. A lance¡¯s bladed barrel was pressed so close to Bee now that her skin prickled, and she ducked her head low because she dared not make eye contact. Up close, they weren¡¯t as big as she expected. Perhaps she was taller now, Bee briefly thought. But that just made the hound that might be chasing her all the more terrifying.


    ¡°I think¡ª¡± Bee stuttered, struggling to speak with the weapon pointed at her. ¡°I think there¡¯s a hound following me.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s bleeding,¡± one of them ¡ª- the one with the light ¡ª said, stepping around her. ¡°It¡¯ll live.¡±


    ¡°A hound?¡± The other asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she blurted out. ¡°It caught me, but it let me go.¡±


    ¡°Now, why would it do that?¡±


    ¡°Some freaks have all the luck,¡± the one behind her muttered, shining his light down the passage instead. Bee peered over her shoulder, glancing down the passage herself. There was nothing there.


    The pale enforcer in front of Bee took a wired device from its belt. Gripping it in one hand, the tip of its lance wobbled as it remained trained on her. She could feel every slight jerk of its barrel as he spoke into the communicator, knowing full well it could kill her in an instant.


    ¡°Oh-Eye-Ee Seven-Two,¡± he intoned into the hissing device. There was no reply, but he didn¡¯t seem to expect one. ¡°One apprehended. Phenotype match, but... Need oversight.¡±


    The line clicked three times from someone opening the channel, without a word.


    ¡°We¡¯re returning to host,¡± the Pale said before tucking the device away.


    ¡°Move,¡± the Pale behind Bee shouted and shunted her ahead with the butt of his lance. She stumbled through the chamber, holding herself with both arms.


    As they navigated their path, the City¡¯s ever-watchful gaze seemed to trace their every step, its unblinking eyes silent observers amidst the relics of a bygone era. Adorning the walls, ancient murals emerged from the rippling metallic bone surface, among them a depiction of a colossal tree. This tree, illustrated in rising concentric circles, stretched its boughs towards the stars. Around them, the formidable images of giant creatures engaged in a fierce struggle for survival beneath the tree''s expansive canopy enveloped the travelers. Their journey led them between sculptures of massive arrowheads, each over two meters in length, proudly displayed on stone pedestals. Leaving the chamber behind, they re-entered the labyrinthine depths of Acetyn, a world of unending, formless chaos.

 Kept You Waiting... 4.

    As Bee moved forward, each step caused more blood to seep from the gash on her back. Trickling down her legs, the pain surged anew, her earlier adrenaline rush subsiding into a torturous, all-consuming throb.


    ¡°Let me get that for you,¡± murmured the Worm close to Bee¡¯s ear, making her tense up. The agony swiftly dissipated, yet she was under constant scrutiny. Exchanging anxious glances with her captors, hoping they didn¡¯t suspect the truth of her infestation.


    ¡°Maybe I should tell them,¡± Bee thought.


    ¡°No, they wouldn¡¯t understand, Sweetheart,¡± the Worm said. ¡°They would hurt you. We have to get away.¡±


    Thus, Bee marched on, struggling to maintain an upright posture when she felt more comfortable crouching down, escorted by these peculiar beings, humanoid in form yet alien in essence. They guided her through the labyrinthine tunnels, eventually merging into a vast stairwell. Here, the steps descended endlessly, devoid of the familiar bioluminescent glow. Instead, a piercing light from above fractured the darkness, mingling with the cacophony of unfamiliar voices. Hastily erected signs labelled this area as Ascending Junction 101-58, starkly contrasting the organic surroundings.


    ¡°Stop. There. Don¡¯t move.¡±


    The pale enforcers encircled Bee, and the one before her nudged her forcibly, signalling her to remain motionless. Her gaze shifted from the glaring light above, only to notice they weren¡¯t alone. A procession of warriors, garbed similarly to her captors, ascended the vast stairway. Each bore the marks of battle ¡ª defeated, wounded, their bodies scarred and blackened by combat. Many were grievously injured, some missing limbs, each carrying the heavy burden of lost hope in their weary steps.


    The duo escorting Bee exuded an air of dignity, in stark contrast to the wounded procession. As numerous injured warriors trudged by, one of their leaders halted to scrutinise the trio. He looked formidable, encased in metallic armour, hints of his strong jointed carapace segments peeking through beneath.


    ¡°¡®Ware,¡± the commander hissed, his multifaceted eyes locking onto Bee while he spoke to her captors. ¡°The warrens and the filter are lost, and the City has shown its ferity this day.¡±


    Bee averted her gaze, weighed down by guilt. Were these warriors harmed in their search for her? Her unease was swiftly met with a firm grip on one of the siphons on her back, forcing her to remain upright and motionless.


    ¡°We won. Look at it! We won,¡± one of her pale captors barked, presenting Bee like a prize. ¡°The Eidolon will be here soon.¡±


    ¡°Nay. This is no victory,¡± the commander responded, his attention momentarily captured by the glaring light above. After a pause, he returned his gaze to the child, addressing the others. ¡°I will not wait any longer. My company has sacrificed too much already. However, know this. The hated Mother acted in concert with the wicked depths. I fear no corner of the realm is safe now. The peace is shattered.¡±


    ¡°Peace?¡± The second captor leaned in to insist, ¡°The Pilgrim will scour this place.¡±


    As the weary company resumed their march from the depths, some cast curious glances at Bee, who took deep breaths to steady her nerves. Eventually, the commander fixed his compound gaze on the two enforcers, nodding in agreement. A ripple of murmurs spread among the onlookers. Some showed concern for Bee through their gestures and antennae, but none intervened. Others recognised her and wore their contempt openly.


    ¡°Your sentiment will well ingratiate you with the Eidolon, I¡¯m sure,¡± the commander said. Bee glanced at her captors, who looked pleased with themselves ¡ª but she wasn¡¯t sure it was a compliment. Something in his tone was grim and spiteful. The commander turned to leave and said, ¡°Do not fail her, then.¡±


    ¡°Bye,¡± Bee said, rebellious and not really expecting an answer. As predicted, the war leader ignored her, and she was briskly ushered back into the tunnel¡¯s alcove by the enforcers, a temporary refuge from watchful eyes.


    ¡°Be quiet,¡± commanded the first enforcer sternly.


    Exhausted, Bee leaned against the wall, gradually sliding down into a slouched position, her head tilting back to rest against the cool surface. In this constricted space, her eyes were drawn to the intricate iconography embedded into the silverline bone structure of the wall. The patterns ascended, weaving their way onto the arched ceiling of the corridor. They depicted a cosmic tapestry: a cascade of stars, spheres encircled by rings, fractured rings, and shattered spheres, with stars fading into oblivion. Each symbol seemed to tell a story, a history etched into the very bones of the passage. Yet, its meaning eluded Bee¡¯s young mind.


    ¡°The starbursts,¡± Bee whispered to herself, grasping for understanding that would not come. It felt like she had seen just part of a greater puzzle. But to what end? The memory of poor Heych came to her unbidden. She expected tears but found the worst of the grief had passed. That was tragic in its own way.


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    ¡°These are old memories,¡± the Worm whispered. ¡°That¡¯s what I think. The City wants to share it, even though it can¡¯t speak.¡±


    Bee pressed her lips together, remaining silent. She could sense the ancientness of this place ¡ª a living entity, rich in memory, yet unable to impart its warnings to the generations of people that traversed its endless depths. With her eyes closed, Bee pondered what her mother might have done in such a situation. The idea of escape flickered in her mind, but weariness weighed heavily on her. Meanwhile, her captors¡¯ bickering filled the air, and the shifting shadows cast by their torches indicated their vigilant gaze upon her, even without her needing to look back.


    Bee¡¯s eyes suddenly opened when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Her stupor was disturbed by slinking shadows. Her eyes narrowed, peering into the infrared haze.


    ¡°We have to go,¡± the Worm insisted suddenly. ¡°We have to keep moving.¡±


    Something was moving in the passage¡¯s gloom. Belatedly, Bee realised that these brutes, with their electric lights, could not see it. A quiet and unearthly hissing sounded above them, drowned out by the two freaks shouting. She took a breath to steady herself before standing and stumbling back. Something was very close to where they were sheltered, a tall sinuous shape. Chrome teeth glinting in the dark. Bee forced herself to turn away, whining desperately, hand over her mouth.


    As Bee stumbled past them and towards the stairway, the enforcers quickly turned to face her. With a grip tightened on his lance, the second enforcer shouted a warning, but it was too late. Already moving forward, Bee collided with the throng of warriors ascending the steps. The space became a whirlwind of limbs and bodies, colliding in disarray. Sensing someone close behind her, Bee instinctively pushed against one of the warriors to regain her balance. But before she could steady herself, strong arms encircled her waist. Trapped between her captors, she struggled and kicked, fighting against her captor, fingers frantically searching for something to grasp amidst the sea of bodies surrounding her.


    The struggle abruptly ceased as a thunderous blast echoed up the stairway. The soldier who had seized Bee was violently thrown off balance, landing heavily upon her. His iron grip made it hard for Bee to breathe. Amidst the chaos of shouts and cries, a storm of shadows and flickering lights engulfed them. Bee found herself pinned under a barrage of lance fire, her screams broken only so she could kick desperately against the pale warrior who pinned her down. In a frantic effort, she glanced upwards just in time to witness it.


    The towering, gaunt hound emerged from the passage behind Bee¡¯s other captor. Distracted, he raised his weapon towards the stairway but was swiftly taken by surprise. The monstrous, eyeless creature ¡ª standing metres taller than the pale warrior ¡ª clutched the enforcer¡¯s head and shoulders with one massive claw. With a swift, brutal motion, it seized his legs with its other hand and pulled his body in two. The freak¡¯s innards spilt out, cries cut short by the violence of his end.


    The creature tossed the enforcer¡¯s legs to the ground and turned to face Bee, her captor¡¯s upper body still held in one of its claws. The eyeless hound bared its fangs in a silent snarl.


    ¡°Get off me,¡± Bee said under her breath.


    ¡°Shut up.¡± Her surviving captor pushed her head down against the filthy floor, as the soldiery turned to fire on this new adversary. Their weapons pricked it, little more than needles. ¡°Stay down!¡±


    Still struggling against him, Bee fell still when more cries filled the stairway. His grip faltered, and they both looked back together.


    A second hound appeared, lunging from another dark passage further down the stairway. It tore apart injured and disoriented soldiers caught in its path. Then it stomped a raking foot on top of one of the heavily armoured war leaders and fired a biocannon down into them, casting up a shower of sparks and gore that speckled the chamber walls. The hound¡¯s head reared back and roared over the war leader¡¯s broken armoured shell, bursting outwards.


    ¡°Fuck! Fuck this. I¡¯m not dying like this!¡± The enforcer holding Bee down rolled off her, swearing in a panic, but kept a grip on one of her fluted siphons.


    Then a lash snapped out of the dark haze far below, and two whip-sharp tendrils ensnared his throat and dragged him screaming into the chamber¡¯s depths. Bee fell back as his hold on her broke, and she looked wide-eyed at the space he vanished into. A third hound emerged, a red glow emanating from beneath its broad crested skull.


    The stairway surged as all the injured and terrified warrior-thralls who had witnessed this moved as one. Bee scrambled too, her injuries forgotten, crawling then lurching to her feet and joining the masses as they attempted to flee. She was kicked and shoved, every larger body trying to force her out of the way, determined to escape.


    The air filled with blood and vapourised metal as a cannon shot tore into the crowd, then another and another.


    Bee had just passed the first hound ¡ª the one she recognised, staring down at her ¡ª when the crowd suddenly parted.


    Bee abruptly collided with a woman. The woman, seemingly prepared, stepped back smoothly and encircled Bee with a cloaked arm, steadying her. Bee, in her disorientation, clung to the stranger, who wore nothing but a tattered, hooded cloak. The conflicting nature of the figure¡¯s form ¡ª soft skin but punctuated by powerful machines and bony armoured plates ¡ª left Bee bewildered. As Bee leaned back to look up, she found herself staring up into the woman¡¯s hood. Where a skull ¡ª a face ¡ª should have been, there was none. Instead, a dozen bright yellow eyes encircled a central, gaping maw, its edges lined with countless rings of prehensile teeth.


    ¡°... The Eidolon,¡± the Worm whispered in wonder. ¡°She¡¯s real.¡±


    With a cautious yet urgent hand, the Eidolon gently pushed Bee behind herself. The hooded figure then swiftly positioned herself as a barrier between Bee and the menacing hounds. Now crouching low, the creatures hissed and snarled, their vigilance apparent as they prepared their biomechanical weapons in the dim light.


    The score of surviving soldiery continued to flee until only Bee, the Eidolon, and the wicked hounds remained. In a swift motion, the Eidolon drew a resplendent sword forged of star metal from beneath her cloak. Bee¡¯s eyes grew wide at the sight of the blade, gleaming in the darkness, expertly wielded in the Eidolon¡¯s adroit grasp.

 Kept You Waiting... 5.

    The Eidolon and the hounds faced one another. Bee, caught in the midst of this confrontation, took a tentative step backwards, her foot just managing to find the next step. The hooded warrior gestured protectively, urging Bee to continue moving away. Skillfully, she manoeuvred the sword in her hand, its glinting blade capturing the unwavering attention of the snarling hounds. In a deliberate motion, the Eidolon extended her left arm, draping her cloak in front of Bee to shield her from view. Bee gazed up at her newfound guardian, her eyes wide. Never before had she witnessed such a display of grace and confidence, someone standing so resolutely in her defence.


    Holding her head high, the Eidolon watched as the monsters below stalked amidst the dead and dying. They crept slowly and methodically whilst their adversary watched, looking for an opening. The cloaked figure¡¯s stance betrayed a mastery. The hounds did not. Even Bee could see that.


    The gaunt hound made a sudden lunge towards the hooded figure. Bee, startled, stumbled backwards and collapsed onto the stairs, her back, wings, and elbows painfully striking the stone steps. The Eidolon, undeterred, held her ground, her star-metal blade unwaveringly pointed at the advancing creature. As its claws tore at the ground, the hound hesitated, recoiling slightly as the Eidolon stood resolute, refusing to back down. The beast snarled, its advance halted by the threat of the blade aimed straight at its head.


    Amidst the chorus of hisses and baying from the other monsters, the Eidolon maintained her steadfast posture. The gaunt hound¡¯s claws scratched against the stone, its growling intensifying as it cautiously retreated. The trio of menacing beasts regrouped, poised in a state of readiness, their hunger palpable in the tense air.


    The Eidolon lowered her arm and cloak, turning her luminous yellow eyes towards Bee. But Bee couldn¡¯t meet her gaze. Horrified, she peered around her protector to see the carnage. Bee¡¯s eyes fixated on the hound equipped with the biocannon, the one responsible for decimating the soldiers. She was unable to tear her gaze away from the grotesque weapon, its cartilage and jointed chambers gruesomely flexing as they reloaded. The Eidolon, while maintaining her watch over the ravenous hounds, struggled to capture Bee¡¯s attention. Her countless teeth flexed, voiceless. She gently squeezed Bee¡¯s shoulder with a final, deliberate step back.


    For a fleeting moment, their eyes connected. Then, the Eidolon shifted her focus forward, directing Bee towards a nearby passageway. Overwhelmed by urgency, Bee darted forward, stumbling over the fallen bodies and debris scattered from the cannon fire. Reaching the threshold, she threw back a glance, her chest tight with fear and heart racing. Ensuring Bee¡¯s safe passage, the cloaked figure cast one last look around. Then, in that brief window, the hounds seized their chance to strike.


    Two sinuous tongues shot out from the shadows, swiftly entangling the hooded warrior¡¯s wrist. She fought fiercely, straining to regain control of her sword arm as the other two beasts attacked. Bee stood frozen at the threshold, watching as her protector¡¯s form pulsated with newfound vigour ¡ª her augmented muscles bulking under strain, thick pneumatic hoses and actuators flexing hard. With a sudden burst of strength, the Eidolon jerked her arm back, sending the hound that had ensnared her sprawling forward.


    The hooded figure then nimbly sidestepped, evading a swipe from one of the hound¡¯s claws. Her blade sparked against the creature¡¯s obsidian hide, seeking but failing to find a vulnerable spot to cut through. With deft footwork, she slid behind the beast and struck a powerful kick at the back of its knee, the impact hard enough to clap mist out of the humid air. The cannon-wielding hound let out a yelp as its injured leg buckled, and a bone snapped, causing the monster to fall to the ground.


    The hound tried to crawl away, only for the Eidolon to grab it by the leg and drag it back. She stomped on its head ¡ª cracking the steps beneath it ¡ª before grasping the beast¡¯s biocannon, redirecting it towards the ceiling where it posed no threat. But in that instant, the gaunt hound loomed behind her, poised to strike with a lethal claw raised for a devastating blow.


    Unable to watch what might happen next, Bee closed her eyes and fled. Staggering into new depths, she plunged deeper into the labyrinth, navigating through a mix of constructed corridors and those that seemed to twist and grow organically. Driven by an unyielding resolve, the young vat-born pressed forward despite the aching in her legs and the rawness of her feet. The passageways sometimes narrowed to the point where she had to squeeze and crawl through. She made quick, instinctive choices at each branching path, having lost her sense of direction long ago, the worm in her ear trying to get her to stop and look around.


    ¡°Sweetheart, we need to get our bearings,¡± the Worm whispered. ¡°If we get lost down here, we might never find the way out.¡±


    Bee didn¡¯t listen, this time. In her hurry, Bee blinked away the darkness with her augmented eyes, gazing into the infrared. Relentless stamping pneumatic machinery and corded musculature built into the City threatened to crush her as she refused to be turned back by the changing bioscape. Bee clambered around them when they filled what open space remained, not letting herself be impeded by the encroaching labyrinth as she sought a path through the dwindling open spaces.


    This environment was far from a habitable space, a maze extending across three dimensions. Any semblance of a coherent structure that the City might have once mirrored had either been long lost or grossly misinterpreted. Roads spiralled around abyssal pits, and junctions seemingly existed solely to connect to other junctions. Machines engaged in an endless cycle of destruction and reconstruction. Pipeworks twisted through processing units, only to circulate waste and return it to the start, achieving no discernible purpose. To Bee, navigating this broken network was baffling. As she moved from one chamber to the next, the confounding layout quickly slipped from her memory, surrendered to the insanity of its own design.


    Exhaustion gradually took its toll on Bee. Her legs quivered under the strain, battling both fatigue and a voracious thirst. Her breathing became laboured, each inhalation a sharp, short gasp as she scanned her surroundings. Yet, as she turned one corner and then another, a faint glimmer of light started to penetrate the oppressive gloom of these depths. Driven by a desperate hope, Bee hastened towards this hint of this new dawn, her breaths quickening with each step.


    Suddenly, she found herself at the brink of a vast chasm in the City. Losing her balance, Bee skidded to a stop, her feet barely clinging to the rough, shelled surface at the edge. Across the chasm, numerous portals punctuated the far wall, their purpose and destination obscured from her view. The tunnel she had been following jutted out slightly beyond her precarious foothold, leaving the extent of her immediate surroundings shrouded from view.


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    Bee squinted upwards, her eyes drawn to the light crowning the chasm. Above, a once magnificent translucent crystal dome arched across the expanse. Time and neglect had marred its brilliance, leaving it coated in layers of acrid oils, stained with the residue of ash and sand.


    Startled by a sudden, deep roar, Bee flinched as a train car hurtled past ¡ª its motion a blur of furious speed, crossing from one of the tunnels at the opposite side of the chasm to some other entrance adjacent to Bee but out of sight. Leaning forward for a better view, she discerned rails and a network of mechanical cables crisscrossing the vast gap. These structures connected various passages across the chasm, but nothing connected her own passage to the far side.


    ¡°You can make it,¡± the Worm whispered in her ear. ¡°You just have to use your wings. You have to fly.¡±


    ¡°Fly?¡± Bee thought to herself, ¡°I can¡¯t fly.¡±


    ¡°But you can. Use your wings. Use them. Your augmentations are a part of you, Sweetheart. You just have to use them.¡±


    Bee eyed the gap again. It was ten metres, maybe a shade less. She felt the bioengines in her back twitch and fire, churning to life with anticipation.


    The sudden echo of rapid footsteps snapped Bee back to the present. She whirled around to see the hooded figure of the Eidolon emerging into the dim, obscured light. The figure flinched back, her pale skin and biomechanical frame showing a distinct sensitivity to even the murky illumination despite the protection of her tattered cloak. Both the Eidolon¡¯s arm and leg bore visible wounds, still weeping blood and oil, and her once-steady sword now trembled slightly in her clenched grasp, reflecting her injury and fatigue.


    Bee hesitated momentarily, scrutinising the enigmatic, faceless woman who had both defended her and posed an implicit threat of capture. With a thoughtful narrowing of her eyes, Bee assessed the situation. A sudden gust of wind swept through, sending Bee¡¯s hair sweeping back and tugging at the Eidolon¡¯s hood. The light caused the silent warrior to momentarily step back, adding a momentary pause to the tense standoff.


    With a subtle shake of her head, Bee made her decision before turning and launching herself forward. Her heart leapt into her throat, a scream escaping her lips as fear gripped her. Yet, instinct prevailed, and the bioengineered machinery within her awakened, humming with newfound energy. A pink light escaped her heart, silhouetting her bones and plates through her flesh. The wings, which had been a burdensome weight for so long, suddenly sprang into action. They flicked, adjusted their angle, and descended in a forceful stroke, battling against the air, striving for flight. As Bee fell, they rotated in their mounts and swung back up. Then, with a buzz, they vibrated with force, moving faster than the eye could see.


    Bee¡¯s legs unconsciously kicked in the air as she propelled herself forward, clumsy with fright. She drew in a deep breath, both through her throat and the siphons on her back. She wasn¡¯t falling anymore ¡ª instead, she was moving forward, gaining speed with each passing moment.


    A sense of exhilarating thrill washed over her as she moved without touching the ground. The vat-born extended her hand toward the distant platform, her heart racing excitedly. Struggling to maintain her balance, leaning hard to correct a slight veer to the left, she grunted with the strain of this maiden flight. The platform seemed both tantalisingly close and yet just out of reach.


    With her wings humming vigorously, Bee managed to navigate herself onto the far side, miraculously landing on her feet. The rush of excitement, however, overwhelmed her, causing her knees to buckle. She collapsed to the ground, laughing with sheer and unexpected delight.


    Regaining her footing, Bee spun around to observe the hooded figure. Enveloped in her cloak, the Eidolon stood at the precipice¡¯s edge. She appeared contemplative, her gaze sweeping over the chasm below and around, assessing the expanse as she searched for a means to cross.


    Bee caught her dozen eyes, lifted her chin, and grinned.


    ¡°Can¡¯t do that, can you?¡± Bee shouted across the divide, howling wind threatening to snatch the words from the air.


    The silent figure took a determined step back, then another and another. Bee¡¯s eyes widened, moving back from the edge herself when she realised what the Eidolon had decided.


    The Eidolon poised herself for action, leaning into an athletic stance as she crouched low. Her muscles ¡ª taut beneath the interplay of skin, machine, and bone plates ¡ª flexed in preparation. Lifting her gaze, she locked eyes with Bee once again. In this moment, as Bee felt a surge of exhilaration course through her, the intent behind their mutual gaze was ambiguous.


    ¡°She¡¯s perfect,¡± the Worm whispered in Bee¡¯s ear, causing goosebumps to crawl up her skin.


    Bee wondered whether her intense stare warned the Eidolon to keep her distance or acted as a silent challenge, daring her to attempt the crossing. Bee knew logically that she should be running instead of waiting. If the Eidolon got over here, she would be as good as captured.


    ¡°Let her come,¡± the Worm said. ¡°Let her take you.¡±


    Bee didn''t even know what to say to that. She shook her head, dispelling the thought.


    The Eidolon burst into a full sprint, culminating in a mighty leap. Her augmented legs propelled her into an impressive arc through the air. Bee watched, her eyes wide with awe and her mouth agape. However, in this moment of admiration, Bee noticed the Eidolon¡¯s trajectory falling short.


    Despite her tremendous strength, the injury to her leg had compromised the silent warrior, and she crashed into the ledge ¡ª frantically scrambling and clawing with her hands and feet in a desperate attempt to secure a hold. One hand managed to latch onto the oily-shelled surface at the brink.


    As Bee watched, the Eidolon slipped a millimetre, then another. She hesitated. She decided.


    Darting forward, Bee dropped to her knee, extending her remaining hand to grasp the Eidolon¡¯s wrist. She tugged with all her strength, but the warrior¡¯s weight proved too much. Bee grunted, straining to lift with her only good arm, but it was futile. Looking up from beneath her hood, the silent warrior met Bee¡¯s gaze. In her free hand, she still clutched her sword, which trembled for a moment before she released it, letting it plummet into the depths below.


    Bee¡¯s eyes widened in alarm she noticed steam rising from the Eidolon¡¯s pale skin, seared by even the faint light where it was exposed. Then, with a wince of pain, the silent warrior lifted her other arm. Bee, in turn, offered her amputated wrist. They connected, hand to elbow, and Bee summoned every ounce of strength from her arms, legs, and the steady hum of her wings. Her heart glowed that bright pink light as she hoisted the Eidolon just high enough for the silent warrior to swing her arms over the ledge and secure a grip on the curved shell that paved the ground.


    Once the Eidolon firmly grasped the ledge, Bee shifted her efforts to assist by pulling at the warrior¡¯s shoulder. With Bee¡¯s help, the weary and wounded Eidolon managed to swing a leg over the edge and clamber to safety. She lay there, catching her breath, while Bee carefully draped her cloak back over her, ensuring her burning skin was covered once more. Bee observed as the silent warrior, gathering her strength, crawled towards the shade of their newfound alcove and the tunnel that lay beyond.


    ¡°Told you,¡± the Bee said, a hint of satisfaction in her voice as she caught her breath. She looked back at the chasm and its crystal dome, etching the image in her memory before turning her attention to the Eidolon once more.

 Kept You Waiting... 6.

    Bee entered the shadowed embrace of a new alcove, with the ascending tunnel just ahead, closely following the injured warrior who moved on all fours until she reached the shade. She gazed down at the silent Eidolon, noticing the warrior¡¯s deep, shuddering breaths as she remained on her hands and knees. Bee was drawn to the Eidolon¡¯s condition; her pale skin was visibly damaged, exhibiting red, raw blisters ¡ª a testament to even the briefest encounter with the harsh light of the hated daystar. The Eidolon, evidently in discomfort, clutched her cloak tightly, seeking refuge beneath its protective cover.


    Slowly, Bee knelt beside the pained warrior, hearing the sounds of her suffering. It was then that Bee¡¯s eyes fell upon a shard of heavy shell, fractured and lying on the ground. Memories of her capture and the harsh treatment she endured at the hands of her captors flooded back, tempting her to take action. She contemplated picking up the jagged piece, her gaze settling on the back of the Eidolon¡¯s head. It would be simple ¡ª to take the heavy stone and smack the injured warrior across the skull again and again until she stops breathing. Bee could rationalise it as an act of revenge, self-defence, or anything really. Ay would probably have encouraged her to do it, she thought. Don¡¯t get caught again. And why should she?


    ¡°Don¡¯t do it,¡± the Worm whispered. Bee closed her eyes and exhaled a deep sigh. The parasite was right. She didn¡¯t want to become that kind of person.


    ¡°Ay said they want to eat me,¡± Bee thought, even thought she had already decided against it.


    ¡°I know,¡± the Worm said. ¡°The Eidolon has been many things to my hosts. A saviour. A terror. I¡¯ve never experienced the politics of your kind ¡ª not myself, firsthand ¡ª but from the thoughts I have tasted, she deserves more than that. And you think so too, don¡¯t you, Sweetheart?¡±


    Bee¡¯s heart fluttered when she looked down at the Eidolon. Was the worm messing with her feelings again? She felt it roll and squirm inside her skull and flinched.


    ¡°Who even is she?¡± Bee¡¯s expression grew tight and she grimaced.


    ¡°One of the former Knights Celebrant of a distant man that goes by the name of the Lord of Bones, and his witch-wife.¡±


    ¡°The Wire-Witch,¡± Bee realised.


    ¡°Ah... You¡¯ve met her.¡± The Worm paused, savouring the stolen memory. ¡°Oh, this is exciting.¡±


    Bee shook her head again, trying to shake away the disquieting sensation of that voice in her head.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to leave you there with them,¡± Bee said aloud, trying to return her attention to the present. The Eidolon shuddered, and metallic silver fluid seeped from her wounds as they gradually mended. So Bee continued, ¡°With the hounds, I mean. I think I led them there. One caught me earlier, but he cut my back, then let me go. I think they can smell my blood, or something.¡±


    Bee thought she saw the Eidolon nod beneath her hood.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want anyone to get hurt,¡± Bee said quietly. ¡°I warned them about the hound. And I couldn¡¯t bear to see you fall, not after you saved me.¡±


    The Eidolon abruptly turned, gently taking Bee¡¯s elbow in her grasp, their forearms touching. The silent warrior communicated with a rapid tapping of her fingertips. ¡°You have honour,¡± the Eidolon said in that language of touch.


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    ¡°You can¡¯t speak?¡± Bee asked, gently tapping one of the few unmarred patches of skin on the warrior¡¯s arm.


    Rising to her full height, the Eidolon gently guided Bee upward. At first, Bee thought she was merely being helped to stand. But then the warrior encouraged her to straighten fully, to stand on her feet, legs straight, back upright, and her wings cast back.


    ¡°I cannot speak,¡± the Eidolon communicated silently, mirroring the posture she encouraged. ¡°But you, you are akin to a Goddess, beautiful in your being.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Bee¡¯s eyes widened in confusion.


    ¡°Are you not the true daughter of the Vat-Mother of Sestchek?¡± The Eidolon tilted her head slightly under her hood, her gaze contemplative as she studied Bee.


    ¡°I am,¡± Bee confirmed softly.


    The Eidolon¡¯s twelve eyes locked onto Bee¡¯s with a profound intensity.


    ¡°Then you are worthy of worship. Please, do not diminish yourself by crawling in the muck and the mire.¡±


    Another flutter of warmth spread through Bee¡¯s chest, her purple cheeks flushing a deeper shade. The words of this warrior, who had become her protector, resonated with a profound sense of wonder. Could her words hold truth, or was this merely another deception akin to the misleading ways of the outsiders at the oasis?


    ¡°I wish for you to accompany me,¡± the Eidolon communicated through a tender gesture, her touch seemingly aimed at comforting Bee.


    ¡°No!¡± Bee reacted sharply. She jerked back, trying to break the Eidolon¡¯s contact with her arm.


    The Eidolon ¡ª despite every physical advantage ¡ª let her go.


    ¡°I¡¯m not your prisoner!¡± Bee said aloud.


    The Eidolon faced her squarely, her stance posing a silent inquiry into Bee¡¯s resolve. Bee retreated until her wings and the fluted structures on her back grazed the wall. Her gaze flicked towards the daylight streaming from the chasm nearby.


    ¡°Why should I trust you? You say I¡¯m a Goddess, but is that assurance of safety?¡± Bee challenged, her eyes lifting to meet the Eidolon¡¯s own. The silent warrior offered no immediate response. Instead, she averted her gaze, contemplating Bee¡¯s pointed question.


    ¡°Am I actually safe with you?¡± Bee pressed for a clear answer.


    The Eidolon shook her head, seeming deep in some terrible thought.


    ¡°Then I choose to go my own way, thank you,¡± Bee declared firmly.


    The Eidolon reached for Bee¡¯s arm once more, but her touch was gentle, merely a means to resume their silent conversation.


    ¡°I could not slay the hounds and you cannot defeat them alone. It is not safe for you to wander by yourself,¡± the Eidolon offered by touch.


    Turning her head away, Bee responded defiantly, ¡°I¡¯m willing to risk it.¡±


    ¡°Your safety is of utmost importance,¡± the Eidolon persisted. ¡°Moreover, they might use you as bait again. They recognise your significance. They understand that their adversaries seek you. People will be hurt.¡±


    At these words, Bee¡¯s resolve began to waver. She raised her eyes to meet the Eidolon¡¯s, filled with a melancholic understanding.


    ¡°I will escort you to a safe haven, a place where neither the hounds nor your captors can reach you,¡± the Eidolon proposed. ¡°Once there, we can decide our next course of action, together. Allow me this, please.¡±


    ¡°How can I trust you?¡± Bee asked, scepticism colouring her tone.


    ¡°You have my word as my oath,¡± the Eidolon conveyed with a slow, deliberate series of taps. ¡°I vow to shield you from any harm.¡±


    Bee studied the Eidolon with a critical eye, her expression a mix of doubt and contemplation, followed by a resigned huff. Despite her reservations, she found herself inclined to trust the silent warrior, even as she mentally chastised herself for the seemingly foolish decision.


    ¡°Fine.¡± Bee relented. ¡°Where are we going?¡±


    There was a brief, contemplative pause from the Eidolon, her prehensile teeth emitting a soft chittering sound as she considered her response.


    ¡°We head for the temple of your lineage, in the lost reach of Cruiros,¡± she finally communicated.

 Kept You Waiting... 7.

    ¡°You will learn to walk as a Goddess ¡ª like the powerful, the named, and not like prey.¡±


    Bee felt those words, tapped into her arm, as trembling aftershocks long after they returned to the unformed chaos of the depths. They soon discovered that they were both right. The hounds stalked them in the dark. So, the Eidolon taught Bee how to evade them.


    At one fork in the tunnels, the Eidolon crouched low and uncovered a coil of metal bound into the silicon flesh of the City. She took iron scraps, scavenged from nearby, and dropped a piece into the tight coil. Some invisible force caught the debris there and held it levitating. Then it began to twist and turn, sparking red hot, then white hot, and Bee had to look away.


    Learning from experience how freaks mastered fire in this rotten world, Bee blinked between her different visions as the Eidolon silently gestured around. The heat from the induction coil slowly baked the passage and erased signs of their footprints in the infrared.


    Then the Eidolon turned sharply to where the City¡¯s waters breached into the tunnels proper. Inviting Bee to climb down into the surge, without warning, the Eidolon pressed down Bee¡¯s head until she was under the water, then pulled her back up. It tasted foul and had the cloying, caustic scent of the City¡¯s oils.


    Holding Bee close as her instincts were to struggle, the Eidolon tapped on her shoulder. ¡°There is a hound close. I will help you climb.¡±


    And climb she did. Rather than crossing the rushing river of nutrients, the Eidolon firmly grasped Bee¡¯s damaged arm. She helped her reach higher and higher until, together, they balanced on a small outcropping, high in the air, above where the river breached through the passage.


    Crouched there in the dark, Bee turned her vision back to the infrared haze. The hot light from the spark rendered the way they came fuzzy, bright, and indistinct, so she flicked back. Despite seeing nothing, her hair began to stand on end, and a shiver crept up her spine.


    Then it appeared.


    A claw wrapped around the corner, and the tall, gaunt monster crouched into the chamber, its shape casting sharp shadows from the light. Its long head turned, lips peeling back to expose its silver teeth as it tasted the air, searching for them.


    Bee couldn¡¯t help but whimper and shake. The Eidolon wrapped her arm around her, put a hand over her mouth, and held her close.


    The hound waded into the surging water. Long-limbed, it quickly crossed and dragged the front of its distorted head over the ground on the far side, tasting the flesh of the City. It was searching for them.


    The Eidolon¡¯s free hand tightened into a fist. Bee¡¯s dark eyes looked at the hooded warrior, and she knew at that moment that the Eidolon would have readily confronted that monster here and now if she had her weapon. Or, perhaps, if she was not there. If it would not put her in danger.


    Too long, the hound searched, dragging its face over the passage¡¯s floor ahead. It was thinking. It was deliberating. Bee could see it. Then, with a hiss, it turned and threw itself back over the river and into the heat of the previous chamber. Bee could hear it furiously charging down the other fork in the tunnel.


    Without delay, the Eidolon dropped back down into the rushing filth. Then, helping Bee climb down, the silent warrior urged her ahead, where the tunnel turned into a short ramp and freedom.


    Vast open space at last, but this time, the bone sky was supported by broad spinal column towers and colossal disfigured titans, not living but grown to bear the weight in the memory-likeness of freaks that came before. All above them, the towers and the titans were overgrown by massive vines, thorny and mottled, which had grown deep enough to shatter concrete and weave through the silicon flesh of the City. The overgrowth spread outwards from the highest point of two towers, bridged together, far overhead. Bee realised her mouth was hanging open, witnessing the immensity of this interior space, a world unto itself.


    But the streets they walked through were scored, cracked, and littered with rotting bodies and refuse. The buildings that filled the space around them were damaged, bleeding or broken, leaning and crumbling.


    ¡°What happened here?¡± Bee whispered.


    The Eidolon put a hand on her shoulder to answer. ¡°This is Cruiros, a city in the City. The Lord of Bones, ruler of Acetyn proper, once gave it to a cruel hound ¡ª the Damnation ¡ª to keep the people here in line. But the beast was slain, and the Lord was supplanted, so the people returned to anarchy, and civilisation here collapsed.¡±


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    ¡°That¡¯s awful.¡±


    They walked side by side through narrow alleyways and gutters. The Eidolon consciously avoided the broader streets and, Bee noticed, kept her eyes on the skyline, where shadows crept against the bladed silhouettes of the rooftops and amongst the endless knots and boughs of the overgrowth. There was not a soul walking in the open. Bee wondered if this place was deserted or if the inhabitants kept themselves hidden. Graffiti was scrawled across shelled walls and screamed in silence.


    SESTCHEK HAS FALLEN


    WHERE ARE YOU MOTHER?


    PARADISE AT LAST!


    A young, newly shed freak lay in an alley, dead. Bee averted her eyes, tears stinging them. Then distant voices bounced down the street, and the Eidolon quickly changed avenues, leading Bee away, around a longer route to their destination, but one that proved safe nonetheless.


    Ensuring they remained undetected, the Eidolon cautiously guided Bee across a deserted plaza. Their path then took them up a rampart, leading onto an elevated theapolis. As they progressed, the surroundings transformed from the wild and neglected to the meticulously crafted and dutifully maintained. Bee found herself pausing, captivated by the sights they encountered. They moved past serene sanctuaries and dedicated shrines, beside orbs that floated with a mesmerising glow, and around elaborate fountains that remained untouched and pure, spared from the chaos that reigned below.


    Shortly after, the Eidolon led Bee between fluted columns capped with crenellated arches, supporting a massive stone roof. The monument sheltered smaller buildings, but only by comparison. Each was still grand in its design. The centremost had a rise of steps to enter its arched entryway, a heavy double door already pushed open as if to welcome their arrival.


    Inside, the pungent smell of burning incense touched Bee¡¯s nose. It was dark but not black like the depths. Instead, it was warm, marked by candlelight, and inviting.


    ¡°Hello?¡± Bee called out.


    The Eidolon didn¡¯t stop her, but no reply came. Walking around the temple¡¯s nave, Bee found it was separated into three distinct wings. A black iron statue stood in its centre, seats pushed aside for its haphazard introduction.


    The statue had the likeness of a giant ¡ª armour-clad, with a sharp wedge of a helmet. He held a glaive aloft, and inside, he burned with fiery oil, which belched black smoke from the cracks in its iron workmanship. Bee didn¡¯t recognise it. She knew it must have been a recent introduction because it didn¡¯t fit the interior. The floorplan of the place of worship seemed like it still needed to be adapted to suit the central position that the statue had been placed.


    Bee started at the left aisle, walking until she found an alcove with the familiar, naked visage of the Wire-Witch rendered in stone, standing tall. It was placed in an old nook that had been recently scoured. Someone had defaced the iconography and taken what Bee assumed to have been metal treasures from around her neck, hands, and altar, leaving divots and chipped stones where they were once mounted. Still, paper scraps had been left here, and Bee peered at the prayers on top. They were all much the same, variations on the same questions, pleading. Why did you abandon us? Are you really dead? Please help us.


    Bee turned away, frowning. She crossed the chamber to look into the alcove on the right side, opposite the Wire-Witch. There, she found the familiar image of her Mother. But, no, it was wrong. Bee¡¯s frown intensified when she saw the lips this Vat-Mother¡¯s statue wore over her skull. Also nude, she was hanging from the wall as if supported by countless bony spurs and taut ligaments rendered in stony detail ¡ª the sacred bondage that marked her, that Bee saw as the trappings of a dying figure. It made her stomach ache to see. There were still offerings here, and this altar did not seem defaced. Bee marvelled at flowers, picking them up, surprised at their smell. She did the same with a vessel of fragrant perfume, unstoppering it, then giving a puzzled look back to the Eidolon, who waited by the doors, keeping an eye out.


    Finally, Bee approached the ultimate section of the temple, the sanctuary at the furthest forward. Glancing back to the fiery statue that occluded view of it from the entrance, Bee wondered what statement might be made there. She came face to face with the bright image of a holoprojection, eyes widening in surprise at the technological wonder. It depicted a human woman in dark clothes, rendered in crisp detail. She had a warm smile, dark skin and curling silver hair.


    Bee stared at the hologram¡¯s face. It was different from her own, the dark browns of her skin a shade apart from Bee¡¯s purple undertones and silvering tan.


    ¡°A forebearer?¡± Bee whispered to herself in askance, remembering her Mother¡¯s words. ¡°The Immortal?¡±


    If this was the Immortal, it didn¡¯t hurt to look at her, unlike the encounter in that ghost space. Bee considered the sight for a time, folding her arms, wings flicking with unspoken anger. Eventually, her eyes turned down from the brightness to the platform from which the image was projected.


    It emanated from the upper surface of a broad two-metre arrowhead, made of metal, cracked, dented, and stained with age.


    A gentle hand touched Bee¡¯s shoulder and made her jump. She turned to see the Eidolon, who gently tapped. ¡°Is everything alright?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Bee mumbled. ¡°I was just looking around, that¡¯s all. My Mother said the Immortal did all this. Ruined everything, I mean, and killed her.¡±


    Bee looked back to the arrowhead. The platform she stared at resembled statues in the depths below. Bee reasoned that it was supposed to tell her something, some detail that yet escaped her. The Eidolon¡¯s hand squeezed her shoulder in gentle reassurance as they both looked over the Immortal¡¯s effigy.

 Kept You Waiting... 8.

    ¡°Let me see.¡±


    Bee had told the Eidolon everything ¡ª everything. Once she started talking, it all just spilt out, all the hurt, grief, and confusion. To her credit, the Eidolon listened to it all with patient restraint. Much to the silent warrior¡¯s disapproval, Bee refused to sit on the wooden pews. Instead, she curled up in a nook of the stonework, hiding where the candlelight barely reached her, close to the Vat-Mother¡¯s shrine.


    The Eidolon crouched at Bee¡¯s side, inspecting the vat-born¡¯s damaged arm and missing hand. At first, Bee whimpered and tried to pull away. Still, the Eidolon insisted. She was gentle in her manipulations, checking where bone remained beneath the flesh and inspecting the Skinwelder¡¯s work.


    Much to Bee¡¯s embarrassment, the Eidolon made her turn around, bend forward, and lift her wings so she could likewise check the cuts on her back, where there was a laceration in the skin beneath the plates of her torso and above the plates of her hips, a parting gift from the hound. The wounds were already numbed by some autonomous reflex in the young vat-born. At this point, Bee wasn¡¯t sure if it was the worm rolling in her skull that did it or some augmentation she didn¡¯t realise she possessed. The Eidolon let her know that the wound had stymied its own bleeding well enough to not be an immediate concern.


    With a sigh, the Eidolon put a hand back on Bee¡¯s shoulder, tapping in silent language. ¡°I have faith you will rise to the challenge.¡±


    Bee looked up from the floor, bottom lip trembling as she met the Eidolon¡¯s dozen-eyed gaze. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m supposed to do now,¡± she said quietly.


    The Eidolon paused, watching Bee¡¯s reaction, before her fingers worked a reply. ¡°I have been deceived about a great many things. All my life, I have been led astray. I see that now, so clearly.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Bee asked quietly.


    ¡°I was sent by my Lord and Master to capture you before the Immortal could claim you. He wants you for himself.¡±


    ¡°Okay...¡±


    ¡°I was sent with an army. I do not lead them, but we are brothers and sisters in faith and service. Do you understand?¡±


    Bee nodded mutely, so the Eidolon continued.


    ¡°They have been butchered in ambush. Not only by the hounds, like you saw, but also by the forces of your family. They didn¡¯t deserve their fate.¡±


    Swallowing a lump in her throat, Bee hugged herself and looked down at the ground. The feminine likeness of the divine Vat-Mother loomed over them, stone lips and empty eyesockets revealing nothing of her wicked intentions.


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    ¡°I do not believe you are like them though,¡± the Eidolon tapped in silent language. ¡°I ask your permission to go, find faithful amongst the survivors, and to bring them here to you.¡±


    ¡°Here? To me?¡± Bee looked up, feeling a sudden sting of worry in her belly.


    The Eidolon squeezed Bee¡¯s shoulder to reassure her. ¡°I cannot just leave them to suffer. If you do not trust me, then go. Run into the depths. As you have said, you are not my prisoner.¡±


    When Bee hesitated, the Eidolon continued, firmer of hand, a conviction in her. ¡°We have done terrible things to find paradise and salvation. I have done terrible things. But much as I promise you that I will shield you from any harm, I promise you that I will do everything in my power to make this right.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± There was scepticism in the young vat-born¡¯s voice. Her eyes narrowed.


    ¡°We must start by ending this slaughter,¡± the Eidolon insisted. ¡°Brother against brother, sister against sister. If the others see who you are ¡ª noble of blood, human of form ¡ª if the others hear what has really happened, then they will surely understand reason.¡±


    Wincing, Bee looked away and shrugged at that. ¡°Everyone seems pretty sure about themselves,¡± she said. ¡°What difference could that make?¡±


    ¡°I believe¡ª¡±


    ¡°It can¡¯t be that simple,¡± Bee cut her off. She finally forced herself to stand and walked away, breaking contact with the Eidolon. Then, folding her arms, wings flicking with irritation, she stopped to scowl at the image of her mother¡¯s sister-clone.


    The Eidolon stood too, cloak sweeping in the dark as she approached Bee. She was intent on explaining more, but the vat-born stopped her with but a word. ¡°Fine.¡±


    Glancing over, Bee saw the Eidolon offer her a sweeping bow, which flooded her belly with a confusing swirl of emotions. Still, she tried to appear non-plussed, affording the warrior a narrow-eyed look and a sulk. ¡°Just do whatever it is you need to do.¡±


    Why did she even trust this brute? Bee reasoned that the Eidolon was probably just like every other monster she had met. Despite everything, though, she did.


    The Eidolon¡¯s eyes met Bee¡¯s gaze, holding it for only a moment. It was an unreadable expression, her twelve shining yellow eyes surrounding rings of teeth embedded in a gaping mouth cavity. But it meant something, nonetheless.


    Then the silent warrior departed, cybernetic body striding across the temple floor and out of its great entryway.


    Bee was left alone in the dark depths of a ruined city within The City, left to consider everything she knew and everything she knew that she didn¡¯t. It was time to decide who she was beneath the weight of her heredity, daring to grasp some inkling of destiny. She had been made to kill the City in a mad act of vengeance. She knew that. But she also knew, now, that her mother¡¯s scheme had been doomed from the outset. And wasn¡¯t that a horrible thing? It seemed just at the time. Yet what did it achieve to inflict such hurt and misery as she had been born into?


    Most of all, though, it was time to rest. So Bee did, finding a nook again to crawl into, a small shelter from an unfamiliar world. Finally, she fell asleep, remembering those first few days in the halls of her birth, imagining her mother¡¯s reassuring embrace. Bee even found peace for a time, however brief it was to be.


    For the worm touched her thoughts, even as she slept. ¡°Sweetheart, we have so much to share. Let me taste these dreams, these memories. Let me in... Let me in.¡±

 Kiss The Blade 1.

    All this suffering. All this ruin. For what?


    You killed them. They were innocent. Does that mean nothing to you?


    Was it worth it?


    Did you get your taste of paradise?


    My shape, my kin, trauma is immortal. You cannot kill it with your moonlight blade¡­


    <hr>


    CHAPTER 9: KISS THE BLADE


    The Pate Gardens burned. The rubble of the mausoleums was piled high with the corpses of dead soldiery ¡ª those brave souls who had died defending a fallen order, now set ablaze. Thick black smoke tumbled into the air, blotting out the wicked light of the day star, which invaded through the broken sky. Those who hadn¡¯t died had turned out their coats instead in a desire for survival or out of belief in a fable. Discarding the pale, they had thrown themselves down supplicant before a mad titan who, according to myth and legend, had once led their City to rule the world millennia ago, before this age of inequity and misery. Now, he had returned.


    A freak in rags climbed upon a collapsed shrine, his talons defacing an old monument to a fallen culture he lacked any knowledge of. Like all who clung to this depraved faith, he was nameless, eschewing the letters printed into each of their genetic memories and digital beings, and he shrieked mad song. ¡°A new dawn to usher in paradise!¡± He cried out in delirium, jubilant as crowds of the poor and downtrodden overtook this realm once claimed by a rotten master. They were emboldened by the strife and rallied on by zealotry. No guardians yet stood to hold them back.


    At the periphery of the chaos, at the garden¡¯s edge, an ancient elevator ascended, dragged metre after metre on old chains, thick and hewn of metallic bone. Even before it reached its destination, though, the roar of the crowds reached the three freaks within.


    Two fat grubs, young children of an overthrown noble, trembled in fear.


    ¡°I¡¯m scared,¡± Inmi Hash said.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± her brother, Betan, tried to reassure her. He pressed his swollen side against his sister. Slightly older, slightly larger, it was his job to protect her.


    Waiting before them, a tall humanoid warrior looked back. Wearing shining star metal armour with a pristine black cloak and tabard, her expression was guarded beneath a stalwart great helm, but her posture was cold and in control.


    ¡°You have naught to fear,¡± she said lowly. ¡°You have my word. I shall never allow harm to come to you.¡±


    ¡°Thank you!¡± Inmi blurted out, still trembling, mandibles fidgeting nervously.


    The rising elevator found its level, and a ratcheting snap of its mechanisms resounded. The gateway of its cage groaned open, and the warrior stepped out to meet a cadre of guards, who had removed their white and now wore only piecemeal armours, forgoing their anointed position beneath the Lord of Bone.


    ¡°My shape, my kin,¡± they uttered together.


    ¡°My shape, my kin,¡± she said, stepping from the cage. They had long planned for this day, for a treasonous revolution arising from faith. At her heel, the grubs carefully crept with their stubby legs, speechless of the havoc beyond the checkpoint that was growing by the minute.


    ¡°Dame Vashante Tens,¡± the guards¡¯ leader dipped his head.


    ¡°I have brought the children of Abstrek Hash, as His messenger demanded. Will the Eidolon be receiving me?¡±


    The guards shared a look.


    ¡°The Eidolon is dead,¡± one of them said.


    ¡°He gave his life to restore His Grace, and has joined Him in eternity,¡± their leader corrected, clinging to the minutia of some evolving dogma.


    Dame Vashante stared until he continued.


    ¡°It¡¯s not good. Without the Eidolon, all those converted are going feral. They¡¯ve got no-one to follow, except...¡±


    None of them spoke for a painful moment. The calamity beyond was oppressive in its rising volume.


    ¡°His Grace isn¡¯t interested in them,¡± one of the guards said with great hesitation.


    ¡°Charming.¡± Her gaze turned towards the barricade and the revolution beyond. ¡°Well, we didn¡¯t work towards this day for nought.¡±


    ¡°Well said, Dame.¡± The captain bowed his scaled head.


    ¡°Open the barricade.¡± She gestured ahead with her gauntlet. ¡°I shall escort our guests to His Grace, myself.¡±


    So they pushed away the debris they had piled high to brace themselves against the tide. The armoured figure stepped out to breach the faithful, head held high. The impudent masses scattered around her, forming a wide perimeter outside of her reach.


    Waiting patiently, the Dame raised a hand to usher the two children. Inmi and Betan followed with lopping strides of their fat, wiggling bodies.


    Vashante could see contempt in the eyes of the masses for these two helpless children and what they represented. However, they faltered. The Dame, a trained killer, stood before them; individually, they were easily frightened. She could see them for what they were, the desperate, the destitute, and the starving. For them, the revolution was survival. What passed as order must evolve, or they would die. Thus, the Axiamati faith had been fostered in the depths.


    It was a careful march towards the Ossein Basilica, the crowd parting before them and closing in their wake. Vashante held her head high and, from the depths of her helmet, met the eyes and scintillating scales of any who looked bold or foolish.


    The upper levels of the Ossein Basilica had collapsed. Perched upon the highest floor that remained was a great dragon, but it was wounded and bound down with chains and stakes. It raised its head and screamed as skinwelders used their needled devices to close great gouges in its armour and replaced pieces of its meat and augs, careless of its agony.


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    In another direction, the great hall was punctured and collapsed inwards. In the rubble, the corpse of the colossal turret Otz Garzed was being butchered for parts, electric cutters hissing and spraying gore as it was dismembered.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look,¡± Betan tried to protect his sister, who turned white from fright.


    Then, amidst the crowd, fervour grew. Finally, one of the starving retches screamed invectives and hurled a handful of rot and excrement at the children.


    ¡°Damn you!¡± The freak cried out as the muck hit young Inmi, and she screamed.


    Vashante turned, extending her arm, and cast out her black cloak to shelter the child from their vitriol. More grew bold and pelted them with filth, howling their rage and putting all the pain and hate that had been thrust down upon them into these two children. Still, though, none dare stand before the warrior, and together, they made slow progress up into the waiting gates and dead halls of the Ossein Basilica.


    ¡°Comport yourself,¡± Vashante said softly. ¡°You are to meet the Lord and His new master.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best.¡±


    Imni steeled herself, trembling, as Vashante used a corner of her cloak to wipe grime from her squat face. Her mandibles fidgeted together as she tried not to cry. Her brother looked around the desiccated halls of the Ossein Basilica. The dry, cracked skin of the walls stretched taut through the long-dead structure like nothing he had seen.


    Vashante stood straight once more and led them into the dead palace. It had been ravaged, stormed and looted by those who had turned traitors or the few base freaks who dared to trespass and seize valuables in the confusion of the revolution. The Dame knew the way without escort, though, for she had been here before, knighted at the feet of the malevolent Lord of Bones and his corrupt witch-wife, the Least Lady.


    The indignities of that day ¡ª which should have been joyous ¡ª had seeded this betrayal.


    Now she led the children past vaulted rooms, once sacrosanct, now ruined. There were none here left to receive them, and the purposes of the laboratories there, the altars of science within them, were unknowable now. The old electric lights had gone dark, and the machines had fallen still.


    Finally, under an oppressive silence, they arrived at the sealed gateway to the former Lord¡¯s court.


    Vashante gestured for her wards to stand back and placed her gauntlets on one of the doors that split the gate. Then, she shoved it open with a grunt, the old structure groaning from the disturbance. Struggling to hold the doorway open, the armoured warrior gestured the children through, and they wormed their way inside.


    They emerged into the smell of death, an inky blackness, an abyssal court in which they could only vaguely sense the tall benches that rose in steep steps on each side of the massive chamber.


    ¡°Be brave,¡± Vashante whispered. ¡°Come...¡±


    Vashante stepped into the dark, the children shivering in fright at her heels. She advanced to where she knew the throne to be, questioning the darkness until her armoured foot met something familiar.


    And that voice shook the cathedral space, hitting Vashante in the chest hard enough to make her gasp.


    ¡°Leal soul, you bring to me a sacrifice of flesh.¡±


    A sharp emerald laser beamed down from the darkness high above them, scattering brightly as it crossed mists in its path. Vashante slowly brought back her foot from what she recognised as a corpse on the floor. She had to turn her helmet away as the burning beam threatened to flick into the gaps in her visor. Behind her, Inmi cried out, afraid, and she instinctively stretched out her arm with her cloak to shelter the child.


    There, something terrible stirred before them. Vashante looked upon his shape hidden in the dark, and she knew instantly that she was wrong.


    All these years of secret service, this sworn devotion, love and allegiance to a promise ¡ª it had not been to a man but a monster. This was no creator, no saviour, not anymore. He was a destroyer, twisted with malice, and now it was too late.


    The Dame summoned her courage and called out to the mad titan, hidden in the dark.


    ¡°I am Dame Vashante Tens. I was tasked with bringing the children of Abstrek Hash here before you. I have crossed the Crawling City from the towering realm of Genmabandon, to plea for your council, Your Grace.¡±


    That deep voice laughed and shook them.


    ¡°Am I one of those simpering puppets?¡±


    Vashante swallowed down fear, lowering her head. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Then tell me why you address me as such.¡± His bassy electronic voice made her knees weak.


    A pause. Vashante carefully chose her words. ¡°I meant you no offence.¡±


    ¡°In this grim millenium, what use have I of a sycophant?¡±


    ¡°None,¡± Vashante found herself pleading. ¡°Forgive me.¡±


    The children whined, and Vashante sensed motion in the black as the green laser light cast a shimmering reflection in the shape of a giant¡¯s gauntlet, reaching out of the black towards them. Lunging, Vashante instinctively put herself between the little grubs and the threat, but it smacked into her. She was cast aside effortlessly.


    Betan, too, defended his sister, shoving his fat body before her, and with a shriek of pain, was plucked and lifted high into the air.


    ¡°Betan!¡± Imni screamed, voice breaking. ¡°No!¡±


    Vashante could only watch from her fallen position as Betan was dragged into the shadows beyond the laser light. His fearful cries were cut short with a macabre crack and tear. Then, a mist, black by the sole green light in the chamber, sprayed out. The warrior felt it flick in through the gap in her visor and knew its smell and taste well ¡ª blood.


    The grisly sound of meat and bones crunching between chrome teeth resounded in the stygian dark. It was with careless regard that His voice came again, filling the vast space.


    ¡°Tell me why you profess your loyalty to me, but you are shaped feminine in her illusory image.¡±


    Vashante faltered. Her ears were ringing from shock, but she could hear Imni screaming distantly.


    So, the Pilgrim continued.


    ¡°Do you wish to be a woman? Perhaps that is your desire, your plea. Is that why you have carved your flesh into that shape?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± Vashante found her voice shaking. ¡°I thought you all progenitors. I thought there was reconciliation. I thought...¡±


    ¡°There can be no reconciliation between the shape of man and the shape of woman.¡± The Pilgrim boomed, shards of masonry falling and smacking down into the court around them. ¡°Her treachery is boundless, her being itself an empty vessel. She is no progenitor. I am the fated return.¡±


    The Dame, fighting the terror, activated her augmented musculature. With preternatural speed, she flipped from her fallen position, rolling into a crouched stance and turning. Reaching out her hand, she lunged forward and took hold of Imni, pushing her back towards the doorway against the tearing resistance of air and the cracking, scratching, buckling of the stone beneath her hyperaccelerated footfalls.


    It was futile. The Pilgrim was faster.


    A massive force smashed into Vashante¡¯s back, crushing her down against the floor hard enough for her armour to dent and the stone to pulverise into gravel. She could only look on as Imni, too, was snatched up and out of sight. She could only listen as she, too, was torn to pieces.


    ¡°I see your faith is easily swayed,¡± the Pilgrim said around the grisly sound of his meal. ¡°You are broken, just like all who have fallen victim to her lies and deceit. No matter.¡±


    ¡°No! No, no...¡± Vashante realised she was begging, dust stinging her eyes, filling her mouth.


    Only when the Pilgrim was done with his desired portion of the child¡¯s physiology did he cast down her remains before Vashante to witness. The body slapped down onto the hard floor, a carcass torn apart. Vashante¡¯s stomach turned at the sight of poor Imni¡¯s ravaged body.


    ¡°You would dare to tell me no? Such insolence.¡± He took a step, shaking the court, and then another and another. ¡°Let us see your defiance then rendered silent evermore, for I have use for you yet, Dame.¡±


    Outside the Ossein Basilica, haunting the Pate Gardens, innumerable freaks turned their sunken eyes and feathery antennas towards the ruins. They saw there the wicked red glow of the Pilgrim¡¯s moonlight blade cast its light out through the arched windows and the cracks in the vast structure¡¯s broken bones. They fell silent for a time, hearing the screams of agony from within. However, once the cries for mercy ended, it was soon forgotten. The ignorant masses went back to scratching the dirt and digging amongst the corpses of the dead, hoping to find perhaps morsels of food, a hint of their fate to come, or maybe even a modicum of justice amidst the slaughtered.

 Kiss The Blade 2.

    ¡°Vashante,¡± Cartaxa urged her to focus.


    The Eidolon turned in her saddle, astride a six-legged beast of war. Her dozen eyes fixed upon his, and her posture turned tense. He had caught her succumbing to sleep. They rode side by side through the ruins of Cruiros, which had fallen further into collapse with each passing day, leading a small band of loyal armsmen.


    ¡°You need rest,¡± he said.


    Cartaxa, clad in star metal armour, met her gaze with his shimmering, compound eyes. With a slight tilt of his head, he directed her attention back to the streets that lay before them. The Eidolon, momentarily lost in the depths of her tormented memories, refocused. She lifted her gaze to the skyline, where billows of black smoke veiled the bone sky. This dark gloom obscured the distant titans tasked with upholding the world¡¯s weight and cast a shadow over the City¡¯s pulsating electric lights and the natural glow of its bioluminescence, plunging the endless tangling vines of Cruiros into the murk.


    Fear and realisation touched the Eidolon¡¯s mind.


    Turning the reigns in her hand and kicking her heels, the Eidolon spurred her mount into a swift gallop. The creature beneath her, compelled by her command, let out a fierce snarl as it dashed through the city streets, navigated a junction, and charged across a plaza with the Eidolon¡¯s cloak billowing behind them. Together, the beast and its rider ascended the ramparts and traversed the plateau, weaving through shrines erected in homage to faith and order over the ages until they arrived at the towering edifice that housed the temple of the Sisters.


    It was ablaze.


    Flames spiralled into fierce vortexes, erupting from the structure and caught in the swirling updrafts unique to the City¡¯s interior, fueled by the myriad air pumps embedded within the bioscape¡¯s depths. The air was thick with the acrid stench of scorched skin and singed hair, yet the Eidolon remained undeterred. She swiftly dismounted from her agitated mount, which reared and neighed in distress. Standing firm, she unleashed a silent, jawless scream towards the blaze, her entire being quivering with a lifetime of pent-up fury against the cruel reality of her world.


    The contingent of soldiers that arrived soon after was momentarily stunned by the inferno engulfing the age-old sacred site. Swiftly springing into action, they coordinated their efforts, sourcing water to combat the flames. They worked tirelessly to contain the fire to the best of their abilities until the intense heat burned down to fading embers.


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    Afterwards, when the smoke had cleared and the rubble was pulled apart, the Eidolon stared down at the dying sparks in the husk of what had once been the Immortal¡¯s effigy, now molten scrap. Its electronics had been the original source of the fire. Metal scraps had been cast into its power lines and short-circuited it violently. The fires had spread throughout the structure upon deliberately piled detritus and flammable oils. This was a deliberate act of arson.


    That night, when the biolights dimmed, the Eidolon and Cartaxa sat apart from the soldiers to discuss their next steps. Twenty-five warriors set to camp in the shadow of the burned-out husk, fortifying the columnar stone with artillery and barricades.


    ¡°There was no body,¡± Cartaxa said, scrubbing his metal blade and applying a fresh coat of oil. ¡°Do you trust this Vat-Born? She could easily have started the fire and fled.¡±


    The Eidolon leaned forward upon the rubble claimed as a seat, her elbows on her knees as she stared at the ground.


    ¡°Vashante.¡±


    She lifted her head and glared at him.


    ¡°How many barrows must be sealed?¡± He asked quietly. ¡°We can¡¯t keep chasing every false hope. If not the Lord of Bones, if not the Pilgrim, this mutant?¡±


    The Eidolon stared into his faceted eyes, working her hands tightly together. Her prehensile teeth clicked together in nervous habit.


    ¡°And if, by all the roads to Paradise, she is still alive but she proves to be just as wicked, what then?¡± He asked.


    The Eidolon stood in response, leaning forward as if to challenge the war leader. His antenna twitched as he fastidiously treated his blade, refusing to indulge her hubris.


    ¡°I will always consider you my friend, Vashante,¡± he said, mandibles briefly rubbing together as he examined the edge of his sword. ¡°A winding road we tread, but one that must be walked all the same. I ask only caution and temperance, if not for my sake...¡±


    They both looked towards the encampment.


    ¡°... Then for their¡¯s.¡±


    Cartaxa turned the blade over and offered it to the Eidolon by the hilt. She paused before taking it in hand, looking it over herself. Satisfied, she tucked it beneath her ragged cloak, replacing her own lost blade.


    And she yielded a single nod.


    The fallen Dame pivoted, her tattered cloak billowing as she walked away from the burgeoning encampment. Soldiers on watch glanced her way, their eyes following the ordained warrior¡¯s exit. Murmurs and whispers spread among them, filled with speculation and curiosity about the implications of her departure.


    ¡°You need rest!¡± Cartaxa shouted after the Eidolon. Then, glancing over, seeing her resolute in her passage, he turned his head down and muttered. ¡°Then I shall pray that you find what you seek, Vashante.¡± A tut. ¡°To who, though? To whom?¡±

 Kiss The Blade 3.

    ¡°Come out, My Lady!¡±


    Bee held her breath as she heard their footsteps echoing through the nave. She pressed herself closer to the wall, hidden in a crease of the stoney, silicon flesh behind the Vat-Mother¡¯s altar, trying to make herself as small as possible. She silently pleaded to her mother to stop them from finding her, even though she knew that made no sense.


    It had been days since the Eidolon¡¯s departure. The worm had become more bold.  ¡°We have to eat,¡± they whispered in Bee¡¯s ear. ¡°We need biomass, Sweetness.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s dangerous out there,¡± Bee had muttered.


    ¡°Oh, but I want to give you to the Eidolon. She¡¯s perfect.¡±


    Bee had frozen from those words, a bolt of fright shooting up her spine.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to lay so many eggs in your thigh muscles," the parasite cooed. ¡°Oh, then we can make you smell so sweet, for her. She''ll eat you up. We¡¯re going to be a mother.¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡± Bee faltered, not knowing how she could possibly respond to that. ¡°I don¡¯t want her to eat me. I don¡¯t want to be a mother. Why would you even do that?¡±


    But the worm rolled around inside her skull, squirming and churning forcefully enough for the wet slurping of her brain matter to reach her ears. ¡°Oh, but you¡¯re born to be a mother, Sweetheart. And it¡¯ll feel so nice.¡±


    Suddenly, Bee felt warm again, fear melting away. Warm and so very hungry. She resisted for a while, but eventually, the hunger became so intense that it hurt. Bee had crept out of the temple in search of food. She had been careful, keeping to the dark, shrouding her features in a scarlet cloth snatched from the Vat-Mother¡¯s many offerings.


    The worm lead her to a dead body. It looked fresh enough.


    ¡°Eat for me,¡± the Worm said, still rolling around inside Bee''s skull.


    It was another newly shed child. They had been beaten, by the looks of it, and left in the gutters.


    Bee whimpered as she managed only a sliver of meat, torn from their arm with her teeth. She couldn¡¯t swallow it, retching, and ran all the way back to her hiding place. Ironically, only when Bee returned to the temple did a small creature praying to the Vat-Mother see her. They ran away in a panic when she tried to say hello. After all, she had a face, a scarlet hood, and blood on her lips.


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    A fell omen before the Vat-Mother¡¯s altar.


    After that, things escalated. Drawn by the rumours of a thing with a face wearing the colours of the Xenozygote, more and more of the diminutive creatures congregated outside the temple. Yet, they hesitated to breach its threshold, and conversely, Bee refrained from venturing outside to confront them. She observed the growing crowd through one of the temple¡¯s stained windows when the ones with the weapons arrived.


    They argued at the threshold for a long time. Some accord, some inkling of tradition, bade them stay back. It was, as far as Bee could discern, a terrible thing for them to enter this place with violence in mind. Yet some among their numbers were resolute, and the arguments escalated until they were all decided. When they barged their way inside, Bee had already hidden. So now they paced around the shadowy hall, still bickering, antennas waving as their sunken eyes struggled with the candlelight Bee had helped to maintain.


    ¡°Come out, come out, wherever you are...¡±


    ¡°¡®Ware! She could be feral.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Great Mother, forgive us.¡±


    ¡°Now where is this lost little Goddess..?¡±


    Unable to help but whimper, Bee pressed further back, squeezing into the crack in the structure until her body was tucked between the cold stone slabs. Quiet footsteps betrayed someone¡¯s approach.


    Bee held her breath.


    Mirror white eyes flashed into the opening. The twisted skull of one of the ragged freaks peered inside.


    ¡°There you are!¡± His hand reached inside and took hold of Bee¡¯s ankle. He pulled and pulled. Bee kicked and screamed, her single hand scratching at the stone for purchase. It was of no use. ¡°I have her!¡±


    ¡°Stop!¡± Bee begged. ¡°Please! Let me go!¡±


    Her assailant dragged Bee¡¯s legs out before taking a firm hold of her chest plate. Still kicking, Bee scratched at his eyes in her panic. So, with a grunt, he turned and hurled her down onto the hard floor, where she crashed into the stone, head cracking back against the ground with a hard smack.


    ¡°Feral bitch,¡± he snarled.


    The others rushed across the temple at the sound of the commotion. A tall bipedal freak dressed in ragged brown robes held out his hand to stay the others. He was not their leader, but they respected him enough to give him heed as he hefted a bone stave that clattered and scraped against the stone floor with every step.


    Bee groaned, dizzy and winded, curling into a foetal position, as the bone monk put a hand against her captor¡¯s arm and ushered him back a step.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe it,¡± the bone monk said with a wheeze. ¡°You¡¯re real...¡± His gaze swept over her fallen form. Then, decisively, he grasped the scarlet fabric Bee had wrapped around herself and removed it with a swift motion. A collective gasp arose when they beheld Bee¡¯s visage for the first time.


    Through the haze of her concussion, Bee lifted her eyes to meet the monk, his gaze, obscured by a dust-covered mask, fixed intently on her. ¡°Please give it back,¡± she mumbled, her speech impaired, her tongue heavy, as dizziness clouded her senses. She extended a weakened hand towards the red cloth he had removed from her grasp.


    Then, with a sneer in his bleeding eye, her original assailant stepped forward and stamped his armoured boot down onto her face.

 Kiss The Blade 4.

    ¡°You have kept me waiting long enough. Have you not?¡±


    ¡°Forgive me, Your Lordship,¡± A dry old voice spoke ¡ª the bone monk. ¡°What we found was most unexpected.¡±


    Bee groaned, her head limp, tongue lolling down to her belly. Realising that, she slowly retracted it, smacking her dried lips together. Her world swam into focus, blurred and hazy at the edges. Pain radiated from the side of her head, pulsing in time with the throbbing of her heart. She blinked and winced. Gradually, she pieced together her surroundings, noticing that she was no longer in the dank cell where she had been taken after her capture. Instead, she found herself sprawled, kneeling on the cold, polished floor of a grand chamber.


    Immediately, Bee struggled. One of her captors grabbed her by the arm, gripped her under her shoulder, and held her still. Harsh weight and strain on her joints revealed binding manacles. Iron fastened her elbows together behind her back, and her wings were taut behind her shoulders, their biomechanical engines pulled together into an uncomfortable, tight position.


    The worm undulated sluggishly in her head. It was quiet and seemed to be just as disoriented as she was. Grunting and gasping as she briefly fought against her assailant, Bee managed to focus enough to look ahead, eyes adjusting to the light.


    As her vision cleared, Bee saw towering pillars rising like ancient trees around her, their surfaces intricately carved with scenes of battles and conquests. Tapestries draped from the high ceiling, their rich hues and elaborate patterns weaving stories of power and prestige. Flickering torches cast dancing shadows across the room, their electric lights both illuminating the court and darkening the corners they could not reach. The opulence of a court stood in stark contrast to the shape of its walls. This space, once some industrial machine, had been hollowed out. Shards of its vast mechanism remained embedded in its hard silicon flesh, a memory.


    And ahead of her, resting astride a cradled throne, the large centaurian form of a muscular, chitin-shelled noble was considering Bee. A thoughtful expression marked the eyes of his bestial head, mounted with an antler crown. He wore a golden cape, and his left hand idly turned a great spear ¡ª glittering ruby blade catching the light ¡ª planted beside his seat. A myriad of augmentations dotted his flesh, but they were unnervingly dark and still. He made Bee feel incredibly small and vulnerable. She struggled to sit up, still wrestling with the freak that held her still. Her head spun as she fought against the vertigo. Panic gripped her heart for a moment, but she forced herself to breathe deeply, steadying her nerves.


    ¡°So I see,¡± the noble said. ¡°I recognise her. Her face. The one so prophesied.¡± There was amusement in his voice. A smile played upon his lips. ¡°Is this another grave portent, Yonmar Free?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I believe she is the one who delivered the promise of vengeance, the true daughter of the fallen Vat-Mother of Sestchek¡± the bone monk said. Bee looked up at him, recognising him from her capture. He returned the look, fascination in his eyes beneath his old mask. Bee faltered, glancing to her left, where she found the freak who assaulted her scowling down at her. He was the one holding her still.


    ¡°Tell me, little one.¡± The seated noble¡¯s attention was now fixed upon her, eyes narrowing. ¡°What is your name?¡±


    Bee hesitated, her chest pounding as she weighed her options. The pain in her head continued to hammer away in time with her anxious heart. Unable to maintain eye contact, she glanced at his chest, then down to the floor.


    ¡°My name¡¯s Bee,¡± she said lowly.


    ¡°Your base name?¡± He laughed, but it was surprisingly soft ¡ª perhaps surprised, perhaps calculating. After a moment of pause, he seemed to realise that Bee had nothing more to say. So he looked to the others, ¡°Sar-ek, why is my important guest in such a sorry state?¡±


    ¡°The bitch is feral,¡± Bee¡¯s assailant ¡ª Sar-ek, apparently ¡ª grunted before adding, ¡°Your Lordship.¡±


    Bee shuddered involuntarily, her wings quivering behind her as she tried to ignore the fear that threatened to choke her. She met the bloodied gaze of Sar-ek with as much defiance as she could muster and said, ¡°Fuck you.¡±


    In response to that, the seated noble took his ruby-mounted spear firmly in hand. Extending it, he used the flat side of the blade to lift Bee¡¯s chin. She felt the prickling of fear where the cool crystal touched her skin. When she tried to look away, he pressed firm. The blade pulled at her, sweat and dirt sticking to its smooth chill. Finally, terrified it would cut into her throat, she relented. And they looked into each other¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°She¡¯s not feral,¡± the noble said to his court. He locked his gaze with Bee briefly before lowering his blade. ¡°Take her away,¡± he ordered, ¡°And have her prepared for the feast. We shall discuss your conduct later.¡±


    ¡°Wait!¡± Bee cried out as Sar-ek seized her, lifting her roughly until she stood on her feet again. ¡°Feast?¡±


    Yet her captor seemed to have no regard for her question, and Sar-ek dragged her away from the throne and out of the chamber. Bee stamped her feet and tried to find purchase, but her plated soles slid and slipped over the polished floor.


    ¡°Stop squirming,¡± Sar-ek hissed, tightening his grip on her arm. ¡°This is an honour, you know. You should be grateful.¡±


    ¡°Grateful?¡± Bee spat, her terror giving way to anger. ¡°Grateful that I¡¯m about to be eaten alive?¡±


    The warrior paused, his angular head tilting quizzically to one side. There was a coldness in his eyes, one bloodied from her scratch as he considered what she said. ¡°Eaten? No, no, you misunderstand. You¡¯re not the meal ¡ª you¡¯re the guest of honour.¡±


    Bee¡¯s racing thoughts skidded to a halt, her confusion deepening. The guest of honour? Why would he invite her to sit at his table and share in his feast?


    ¡°Then what¡ª... what do you want from me?¡± Bee asked, her voice barely audible.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want nothing from you,¡± Sar-ek said, contempt in his tone. Yet he seemed to realise that her struggle came from her lack of understanding and let her go. Bee staggered as he spoke, ¡°The Lord wants to be seen with you. And you better be presentable. Now, this way. Don¡¯t make me carry you.¡±


    Bee considered running, but her arms and wings were still tightly bound. Reluctantly, she followed his lead, and they ascended a winding staircase. Bee couldn¡¯t help but feel an unsettling mix of relief and unease as they ascended. Moving from the stairs into a corridor, they passed a small group of warriors who stepped aside, stopped and stared. Bee squirmed beneath their multifaceted eyes and twitching antenna, reaching out towards her.


    They approached a final doorway, flanked on either side by more armoured guardians. Their attention remained fixed ahead, holding their lances with discipline as Sar-ek opened the door and pushed her inside.


    The room into which Bee was thrust was a stark contrast to the dark, repurposed halls of the tower. Luxurious fabrics draped from the ceiling and walls, their deep golden hues shimmering as if imbued with life of their own. Ornate mirrors gleamed in the flickering torchlight, reflecting the bustling forms of small servants who moved about with purposeful grace.


    A bustle of four small, demure freaks with flowers sprouting from their flesh, petals opening and closing in response to their every nuanced emotion. Bee stumbled forward, her heart pounding as she tried to make sense of the scene before her. They all turned, nervously clasping their hands together and bowing for her. As they did, Sar-ek stood behind her. His rough hands unbolted her restraints and lifted their iron weight from around her arms and wings.


    ¡°Please, sit, Your Ladyship,¡± one of the maidens said, gesturing to an elegantly carved bone chair before a large vanity gilded with shining metals. ¡°We must prepare you for the feast.¡±


    Bee shook her head and shrunk away from Sar-ek now that she was unbound. Instinctively retreating from him, she ducked behind a towering ivory wardrobe. Once more, the door opened, and the bone monk Yonmar entered. His masked gaze swept over the scene, his eyes soft with concern.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid, child,¡± Yonmar said gently, his hands raised placatingly. ¡°I¡¯m here to help you, not harm you.¡±


    ¡°Leave me alone!¡± Bee hissed, her voice trembling.


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    ¡°Very well. I shall do that for you,¡± Yonmar murmured, lowering his hands. Yet, as he stepped around, maintaining a distance, his gaze lingered on the lacerations on her back and the bruises marring her face. ¡°But, first, at least let me tend to your wounds. If you let them be, there could be complications.¡±


    Tension filled the room as Bee hesitated. The maidens stood against one wall, fearful of interrupting them. Sar-ek folded his powerful arms and watched with his perpetual air of contempt. Yonmar, though, stepped forward, holding out his hand.


    ¡°What Sar-ek did to you was wrong,¡± Yonmar said. ¡°Find it in your heart to forgive us. The world is violent, and he only wanted to defend us, hearing tell of some cursed recusant. We shall not make that mistake again. We are not without honour.¡±


    Bee glanced to Sar-ek, who shook his head and muttered, ¡°I was hasty.¡± It wasn¡¯t strictly an apology, Bee noticed, her eyes narrowing.


    ¡°Besides,¡± Yonmar stood between them, trying to diffuse the tension. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t want you to get blood on your dress.¡±


    ¡°Then you had better make it red,¡± Bee growled.


    ¡°Red?¡± Yonmar laughed, taken about by her outburst, but he quickly recovered. ¡°I understand your apprehension, but I must advise against wearing red to the feast. It would be considered an insult to Lord Jhedothar,¡± the bone monk said as he pressed his hands together, bowing his body forward as if to place himself subservient to her.


    ¡°Insult?¡± Bee¡¯s curiosity peaked through her stubbornness, momentarily pushing aside her fear. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Lord Jhedothar was once a Knight-Tyrant of the Xenozygote order,¡± Yonmar explained, his tone patient as he carefully chose his words. ¡°Should you not know, they wear red in dedication to the Vat-Mother. However, Jhedothar left the Vat-Mother¡¯s service on very bad terms.¡±


    Bee¡¯s eyes widened, her mind racing as she processed this new information. The idea of someone like Jhedothar defying the Vat-Mother intrigued her but also made her suspicious. What did it mean for her if the Knights-Tyrants were loyal to the Vat-Mothers or if Jhedothar had a vendetta?


    ¡°That¡¯s his name?¡± Bee asked. ¡°The one in the chair, Jhedothar?¡±


    ¡°It is, Your Ladyship.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a lady,¡± Bee said quietly. The maidens gasped in scandal, their blossoms opening and closing. Still, Yonmar gestured to the seat, seeming to understand her reticence, seeing that she was unsure of what to do next.


    ¡°Then you do not have to be one,¡± Yonmar said. Then Sar-ek grunted and moved to a position by the door, leaning against the wall as far away as he could possibly stand whilst still keeping vigil.


    Slowly, Bee emerged from her hiding place, her eyes never leaving Sar-ek. She sat on the seat, and Yonmar gestured that he was about to begin cleaning and dressing her wounds. She was still wary of allowing him to touch her. But as she glanced down at her bruised and battered body, she knew she had little choice. With a resigned sigh, she finally nodded her agreement.


    Yonmar removed cold metal tools and phials of liquid, setting them on the vanity, before using the implements to apply gels and unguents to her injuries. Bee tried to focus on the pain ¡ª a welcome distraction from the swirling maelstrom of thoughts that threatened to consume her. Still, it was impossible to ignore the myriad of questions that continued to plague her mind. She clenched her remaining fist, wings buzzing involuntarily, and glanced at Yonmar¡¯s mask.


    ¡°Perhaps... perhaps another colour would be better,¡± she conceded, her voice uncertain.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Yonmar replied gently, seeming to understand her internal struggle. ¡°Now please, allow me to finish tending to your injuries so you can be ready for the feast.¡±


    As Yonmar worked, Bee found herself lost in thought, her gaze unfocused and distant. Yonmar¡¯s words echoed through her thoughts, gradually dissolving her resistance. She clenched her teeth as he cleaned the lacerations on her back, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the sting of the biogel, dabbed onto her wounds with the touch of metal. The gel seemed to corrode the implements as it was applied to her. No, that wasn¡¯t quite what it was doing. It was dissolving the metal, Bee noticed, which turned into that quicksilver that slipped inside her veins. Seeing the constructive material slip inside of her, Bee¡¯s thoughts turned unbidden to the worm in her skull. It was oddly quiet, as if resting, or perhaps it was hurt by the blow she suffered.


    ¡°Are you there?¡± Bee whispered.


    ¡°I¡¯m right here,¡± Yonmar said, perhaps with a note of intrigue in his tone, given her odd question. Bee blushed, embarrassed, but noticed the worm did not speak a word. She could only feel it flex weakly in the meat between her ears.


    Minutes later, Bee let out a ragged breath as Yonmar Free finished his treatment, and she murmured, ¡°I guess I¡¯ll wear a black dress then if I have to wear one.¡±


    ¡°Black would be suitable,¡± Yonmar replied with a gentle nod. ¡°Your wounds are closed now. They should hurt no longer.¡±


    Before either could speak further, the heavy door to the lady¡¯s suite creaked open, revealing an imposing figure clad in ornate golden armour, with a visor hiding the nature of her skull. Like the maidens, a carriage of flowering vines trailed from her cloak, and knots of plant-like growth emerged wildly from her armour¡¯s chain links and plate. Despite these similarities to the delicate flowery maidens, this new arrival was a formidable warrior, carrying both a sword and a lance with practised ease. Her piercing gaze scanned the room, settling on the guard who had dragged Bee in earlier. With an authoritative gesture, she ordered Sar-ek to leave.


    ¡°What is this? Men will not guard our guest while she is dressed,¡± the blossoming warrior declared, chastising him. Sar-ek snorted his displeasure and shouldered her on the way out, their mail clattering together loudly. The guards outside bowed their heads and retreated from the doorway, which was quickly sealed once again.


    ¡°Blade of the Rose.¡± Yonmar offered a polite bow of his head to acknowledge the newcomer, packing away his melting metal tools and viscous unguents. ¡°Good to see you.¡±


    The Blade of the Rose approached Bee, her stride confident and purposeful. ¡°Allow me to introduce myself,¡± she said, extending a hand encased in a gauntlet adorned with thorn-like embellishments. ¡°I am Toshtta Yew, a protector of Lady Rose of Thorns. I¡¯m here to ensure your safety and well-being during your time captive in the lord¡¯s court.¡±


    Bee paused, then reached out with her hand to clasp Toshtta¡¯s armoured fingers. It felt strange to touch such cold metal, but she sensed the warmth and strength of the being behind it. ¡°Thank you,¡± she whispered, her voice barely audible.


    ¡°Come,¡± Toshtta said, motioning for her to follow. ¡°The Flowerbedside Companions will help you dress and prepare. And thank you, honoured thetspian Yonmar Free.¡±


    The bone monk stopped in the doorway and inclined his head to them before disappearing beyond. As Bee was led through the opulent suite, she couldn¡¯t help but marvel at the luxurious fabrics and intricate mirrors that surrounded her. The Flowerbedside Companions bustled about, their hands deftly selecting garments and accessories for Bee¡¯s attire. Despite their unusual appearances, they seemed eager to assist, their floral faces lighting up whenever they caught sight of her.


    Bee allowed herself to be guided by the maidens, her mind still reeling from the events of the day. Their odd customs, Bee thought, seemed to be filled with unknown dangers and strange beauty. They sponged her armoured plates and skin down with soapy water before wetting her hair and pressing it in cloth to clean it. Then, as the Flowerbedside Companions helped Bee step into a black gown, they also clad her left arm in a dark velvet glove that hid the plates on her hand and forearm.


    After they were done dressing her, Bee stared at her reflection in an ornate mirror, barely recognising the figure before her. The Flowerbedside Companions had expertly cleaned her up, taming her wild hair and applying subtle makeup to accentuate her features. The black gown they had selected pooled around her feet like shadows. She marvelled at the luxurious fabric, which seemed to drink in the light, contrasting sharply with her purple skin.


    Yet, she couldn¡¯t help but notice the dress hid the plates of her left forearm, legs, and torso. Her upper arms, shoulders, neck, and head were so revealed that she looked... Human, like that hologram representing the Immortal, were it not for her gossamer wings that flicked into view and the fluted siphons extending from the engines embedded in her back, revealed as she turned. Was that why they seemed so fascinated with her? Bee wondered.


    ¡°Whose dress is this?¡± Bee asked, unable to keep the curiosity from her voice.


    ¡°Once worn by our Lady, Rose of Thorns,¡± the Blade of the Rose replied. ¡°It¡¯s only fitting that you wear it.¡±


    ¡°Rose of Thorns?¡± Bee echoed, intrigued. ¡°Did she used to rule this place? What happened to her?¡±


    Toshtta The Blade hesitated momentarily, her golden visor dipping as though she was grappling with a great weight. Finally, she spoke. ¡°We are in Ymmngorad, a tower cursed to be the seat of Cruiros. Our mistress, Rose of Thorns, was once the captive bride of the Damnation, the cruel ruler of this realm. She remains after his death, trapped forevermore on the highest level of this very tower.¡±


    ¡°Trapped?¡± Bee couldn¡¯t hide her concern. ¡°By who? Or what?¡±


    ¡°By the very thorns that grow from her body,¡± the Toshtta explained solemnly. ¡°They¡¯ve grown uncontrollable, entwining her in their deadly embrace.¡±


    As Bee absorbed this information, her heart ached. ¡°Is there anything we can do for her?¡± Bee asked, her voice quiet and determined.


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± the Toshtta said cautiously. There was a hard edge to that word as if something very particular remained unspoken. Yet, it was hidden as she continued, ¡°But, and forgive me for being so outspoken now, focus on your meeting with Jhedothar. I shall be there as a third party, but I can sense you are not used to the intrigues of court.¡±


    The Flowerbedside Maidens finished fastening the gown and stepped back to admire their handiwork. As Bee turned to face them, she was struck by the contrast between her own appearance and the mottled, overgrown visages of the little attendants. Yet despite their inhuman countenance, they had shown her nothing but kindness.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Bee whispered, offering a small smile.


    ¡°You are most welcome, Your Ladyship,¡± one of the maidens replied, a faint blush blooming on her petal-covered cheeks.


    Lastly, they offered Bee a sable cloak. She reached out to touch it, the soft crush of its decadent fabric slipping between the velvet fingertips of her glove. Unable to properly put it on herself, the maidens tucked it over her shoulders and secured it with a loose clasp. As Bee prepared to leave the chamber with the Blade Toshtta at her side, she couldn¡¯t help but feel the weight of the black gown upon her shoulders, a reminder that she carried a legacy so easily forgotten in the chaos of her life thus far.

 Kiss The Blade 5.

    In the dimly lit corridors of Ymmngorad, a tower renowned throughout Cruiros for its ancient grandeur and sombre beauty, Bee, clad in a flowing black dress that whispered against the cold stone floor with each step, made her way towards a private feast. Having heard word of the tower¡¯s former Lady, her eyes glimpsed there upon the ceilings and snaking across the walls, boundless thorny vines and mottled plant matter, content to spread endlessly amidst the stony flesh of the tower. She began to realise this ever-present spread that appeared to fill the realm of Cruiros itself, issued from one singular entity. Looking down one passage as she stepped past its door, she caught sight of a menial servant prying it from the walls with crook and fire. It seemed a hopeless, endless task to tame the wild overgrowth.


    Beside her was an unusual escort: the flowerbedside companions, handmaidens both bizarre and mesmerising. These figures, freaks as any other in the eyes of the unaccustomed, bore the delicate beauty of flowers sprouting from their flesh, a vivid display of life in stark contrast to their surroundings. Petals of vibrant hues bloomed from their skin, marking each a diminutive walking garden that moved with a grace that belied their lesser forms. Leading them, Toshtta the Blade, golden armour rattling with every footfall, a cascade of plant matter sweeping behind her, cloaking her step. Bee couldn¡¯t take her eyes off of their strange flesh and the budding stems that grew from them, so different from her own.


    Together, they descended a spiralling staircase, the tower¡¯s stones echoing with the soft sounds of their passage. The air was heavy with anticipation and the subtle fragrance of the living bouquets that accompanied Bee. As they approached the feast hall, laughter and music began filling the corridor, breaching the solemnity that was ever present in Acetyn proper.


    Yet before the grand doors leading to the hall, a flood of the small flowery maidens filled the entryway and poured in from adjacent tunnels. Their petal-covered faces peered at Bee¡¯s human-like appearance with curiosity and awe, and the air grew heavy with the scent of blossoms, teasing her nose with a perfumed warmth.


    ¡°Um, hello?¡± Bee said hesitantly, her voice barely audible among the excited whispers that filled the air.


    One of the maidens stepped forward, her flower-dappled skin glistening with dewdrops in the flickering lamplight. ¡°We heard you were here, Your Ladyship,¡± she said, her voice trembling with emotion. ¡°We wanted to meet the one who vowed to save our people.¡±


    Another leaned in. ¡°You poor thing, Your Ladyship. You are missing a hand. Where is it?¡±


    ¡°I lost it,¡± Bee blanched at the unexpected question as they surrounded her. ¡°Outside the City.¡±


    ¡°Outside the City?¡± One of them called out. Whispers abound between them all.


    ¡°Are you from Paradise?¡± One asked.


    ¡°Are you here to free us?¡± Another.


    ¡°Quiet Meb,¡± someone shushed. ¡°You cannot ask a thing like that. You¡¯ll get us in trouble.¡±


    Bee, overwhelmed, turned on the spot to look around them all. Toshtta the Blade had stopped to witness the exchange and did not seem inclined to interrupt. To her surprise, Bee could see that these so-called Flowerbedside Companions needed something to cling to, and for now, that was her.


    ¡°Do you want to sit with me?¡± Bee asked before kneeling down in her dress in the middle of the corridor. The maidens shared glances ¡ª scandalised, excited to be breaking decorum ¡ª but inevitably, they crouched with her, their leaves and petals rustling. Toshtta¡¯s golden visor glanced to the doorway beyond but made no objection. Bee continued, once settled, ¡°Tell me what¡¯s wrong.¡±


    The maidens exchanged solemn glances, and then, one by one, they began to share their stories. They spoke of the days before the Damnation when the Rose of Thorns held power and hope bloomed within the tower. They recounted tales of a fairer time, where the streets were safe from hounds, and the realm grew by the day.


    ¡°But now,¡± one maiden murmured, her eyes downcast, ¡°all that remains are echoes.¡±


    ¡°Since Jhedothar took control,¡± another added, ¡°the tower has fallen into disrepair. Many of us have been forced to serve him and his court, while our Lady remains imprisoned above.¡±


    ¡°Why is she imprisoned?¡± Bee asked.


    Toshtta answered, speaking over the crowd, prompting Bee to look up at her, though her tone was guarded. ¡°Your Ladyship, the Damnation was given this demesne by the old Lord of Bones, and our Lady was forced to submit. Sensing opportunity, the Vat-Mother of Acetyn then bestowed upon them an unholy blessing. The Lady Rose of Thorns was forced to bear fruit, endlessly. The fruit ¡ª weaponry, lances. Cruiros is a fiefdom once dedicated to producing armaments for the old families. Lord Jhedothar has defied the old oaths since taking the realm and seeks this power for himself.¡±


    A painful silence filled the corridor as the maidens shook their heads. The weight of their sorrow pressed down upon Bee, suffocating her with its intensity. Her hand clenched into a fist at the injustice of it all, the fabric of her gown crumpling beneath her fingers.


    ¡°Thank you for telling me,¡± Bee said finally, her voice steady despite the turmoil raging within her. ¡°I promise, I¡¯ll talk to him about this. I¡¯ll try my best to help.¡±


    The maidens looked at her with grateful eyes, their petals trembling ever so slightly as they clung to her words like a lifeline. And even though Bee didn¡¯t know how she would fulfil her promise, she knew she couldn¡¯t let them down.


    Upon entering the vast dining hall, Bee was momentarily struck by the enormity of the space, the shadows cast by electric torchlight stretching out towards her like grasping hands. Bee glanced back to Toshtta, who remained by the door and ushered her in with a gesture of her hand.


    A massive iron coil rose up from a hearth, red hot and washing the chamber in its glow. Nearby, a long table stood at the centre of the room, laden with foods ¡ª some still living, squirming, others oozing or shimmering with iridescent hues. Fruits pulsed with a heartbeat of their own. Pastries were filled with viscous oils and metallic fluids meant to nourish biomechanical augmentations, not the stomach. Bee had to tear her eyes away from the sweeping plates and deep bowls laid out for her. She had almost forgotten how hungry she was.


    ¡°Please sit, Your Ladyship,¡± one of the maidens urged gently, guiding Bee to a high-backed chair that seemed to dwarf her small frame.


    Finally seeing an activity she recognised from her time visiting the Wire-Witch¡¯s demesne, Bee leapt up onto the chair, squatting in her dress to see across the table, down to the far end where an empty seat loomed tall.


    The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the vast dining hall, announcing Jhedothar¡¯s arrival. Bee watched as he entered with a commanding centaurian stride, his monstrous body and crowned skull casting an imposing shadow before him. In his hand, that massive ruby spear shone as it caught the light of the hearth.


    ¡°Ah, my dear guest,¡± Jhedothar said, a smile on his lips, if not in his tone. ¡°I¡¯m glad we have this opportunity to speak.¡±


    Jhedothar made his way to a seat at the far end of the table, specifically designed to accommodate his massive form. The chair creaked beneath his weight as he settled onto it, his thick, shelled legs folding beneath him. Then, with almost casual regard, Jhedothar stood his spear in a stand beside his place at the table. Nearby, a freak with a dozen legs, dressed in Jhedothar¡¯s golden colours, stirred. Grinding his knees together, they chirped in an insectile concerto, and he lazily banged a drum and hummed his voice to perform in the background.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t anyone else coming to eat?¡± Bee asked, raising her voice to be heard across the table. Then she glanced to the few maidens who had followed her in and back to Toshtta, noticing they weren¡¯t sitting down.


    ¡°No, no,¡± Jhedothar laughed, leaning forward with his armoured elbows on the table. ¡°I wanted to get to know you. And I wanted to make amends for the treatment you received at the hands of my associate.¡±


    ¡°Did you not tell them to beat me?¡± Bee asked, frowning.


    Jhedothar seemed to consider Bee across the table before he answered that. ¡°Your arrival here is a surprise, Bee,¡± he said, enunciating her name with deliberation. ¡°Or do you prefer Lady of Sestchek?¡±


    ¡°Not really,¡± she winced, recoiling from the title and the memories it brought. ¡°Bee¡¯s fine.¡±


    Then, as he watched from across the table, Bee nervously fidgeted with one of the eating utensils.


    ¡°Try this, Your Ladyship,¡± a maiden suggested, offering her a silver platter piled high with wriggling, pale tendrils. ¡°It¡¯s a delicacy farmed from the below.¡±


    Bee stared at them, rolling on the plate. Her belly tightened, reminded of the worm that remained still in her skull. Yet, even as her stomach churned, she looked around the dining hall and knew she had little choice but to play her part.


    She nervously picked up one of the eating utensils, trying to mirror the elegant movements that the maiden beside her prompted. She used the spoon-like crook to scoop into the mass and turned the spiralling stem between her fingers to secure a morsel and stop it from wiggling away, all as the maiden beside her slowly demonstrated.


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    Placing the squirming meat to her lips, she slurped it up. It nearly choked her, and she spluttered before swallowing it down. The taste was savoury, and the texture, unfortunately, was succulent. The alien flavours danced across her tongue, intriguing yet unsettling, much like the man who sat before her.


    And all the while, Jhedothar watched.


    ¡°You are a stranger to high courts, aren¡¯t you?¡± He asked, his gaze intense and penetrating.


    ¡°Is that what this is?¡± Bee asked, clutching her metal spoon close, taking a reprieve from the squirming meal. ¡°A court?¡±


    Jhedothar laughed again. ¡°Ah, and to think,¡± he leaned back with a relaxed air. ¡°Our fates have been so intertwined.¡±


    ¡°Have they?¡± Bee had her doubts.


    ¡°For my entire life, I served the Vat-Mother.¡± He rapt a knuckle on the table, a loud double tap. Bee noticed the tension in his jaw as he spoke, the tiny tremors running through his massive form. It seemed that the memory still haunted him, a dark stain upon his honour that refused to fade. ¡°Something I suspect you know a little of.¡±


    ¡°I heard about that.¡± Bee¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°I heard you were cursed.¡±


    Jhedothar took up a piece of meat on the bone, larger than Bee¡¯s leg. Her eyes locked on to it. It was a leg. A thigh, cooked and seasoned. He tore into it with his teeth and spoke with his mouth full. ¡°I had thought my prowess in battle and my dedication to her cause earned me high honours within our ranks. And yet, when the Wire-Witch came, and I stood against the intrusion, I found myself brought low.¡±


    At that, Bee¡¯s eyes turned down to Jhedothar¡¯s body beneath his golden cloak. It was studded with countless augmentations, biomechanical enhancements that she could glean would make him stronger. Perhaps impervious to harm in ways other vat-born were not. Perhaps in ways she couldn¡¯t imagine. But they were dead, deactivated, dark. They were, in a manner of speaking, cursed.


    Jhedothar continued, his voice laced with bitterness. ¡°The Vat-Mother deemed me useless, and I was cast out from her service. Exiled and reviled, I wandered the realm of Enelastoia, a disgraced pariah amongst the very people I had once protected,¡± Jhedothar spat, his voice thick with resentment. ¡°Even the freaks turned their backs on me, leaving me to face the harsh truth that I was truly alone.¡±


    Bee could hardly believe what she was hearing. It seemed impossible that this influential, imposing figure before her had been brought so low.


    ¡°I was made to kill the City,¡± Bee murmured, looking down. The maidens by her side gasped, and across the table, Jhedothar stirred, leaning forward. A pause in the music quickly resumed, stilted with fright. ¡°I mean, yeah. I have poison in my genes, or something.¡±


    Bee looked up to meet Jhedothar¡¯s eyes again, saying, ¡°I don¡¯t really understand how it was supposed to work. But mother was dying. Everyone else was dead.¡± Taking a breath, Bee dug around the bowl of tendrils with her spoon before continuing. ¡°Mother told me it was the right thing to do ¡ª to get revenge for her. I don¡¯t know. But the City seemed to know how to stop it, anyway.¡±


    Shaking his head, Jhedothar¡¯s demeanour softened, seeming to recognise something in Bee. ¡°The Vat-Mothers, they are all the same,¡± he mused. ¡°I lied to you, myself.¡± Their gazes met, and Jhedothar paused before his confession. ¡°For a time, I haunted the Enelasian Court, even in my sorry state. It was actually an omen delivered to the Vat-Mother by one whom is now my advisor, Yonmar Free, that made me realise my folly.¡±


    ¡°What omen?¡± Bee asked, her brows furrowing together.


    ¡°Now, what were the words?¡± Jhedothar considered the ceiling above, arching braces amongst the vaults and the disparate sections of industrial machinery that yet remained. ¡°I am coming to Acetyn. I shall arrive? No... I am coming to Acetyn. My arrival shall seal the Immortal¡¯s fate. All the noble lineages will die. It will be justice.¡±


    Bee¡¯s face fell, fright shooting up her spine. Was he toying with her now? ¡°You got the message,¡± she said, lip quivering.


    ¡°I got the message,¡± he repeated, setting down the piece of his meal and wiping his muscular hands before working them together in thought. ¡°Each and every court, even across the world and in the Cities far removed, received your message. It was very ambitious of you ¡ª to threaten us ¡ª now that I see you for what you are.¡±


    The flowerbedside maidens retreated back a step, just as frightened as Bee.


    ¡°And poison in your genes, you say, which was useless. I suppose the City or the Immortal were meant to devour you,¡± he continued before asking, ¡°You possess no witchcraft?¡±


    Speechless, Bee slowly shook her head.


    ¡°No secret weapons? No army at your heel.¡± Jhedothar intoned a hum, boring down on her from across the feast.


    Bee put down her spoon and pushed her bowl away. She gripped the edge of the table as she asked, ¡°Are you going to kill me after all?¡±


    Brief amusement danced behind Jhedothar¡¯s eyes. With a weighty lean and elbows on the table, he shook his head as he spoke. ¡°I wandered far through the unformed chaos. There are horrors in the dark. Perhaps you have seen some of them. I expected to die. Then, after losing myself in the depths, I came across this damned and ruined realm of Cruiros.¡± He paused, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. ¡°By happenstance, I arrived to find helpless survivors beset upon by a mad hound. And, despite my wretched state, something within me stirred. I took up my spear again to defend them.¡±


    Bee glanced at that ruby spear standing at his side, glimmering as it did in the red light of the hearth. ¡°Even after all that?¡±


    ¡°Especially after all that,¡± Jhedothar replied, his eyes burning with an intensity that made Bee¡¯s heart race. ¡°The pain and despair I had endured only served to remind me of the sacred duty of a Lord ¡ª of a God. To carve out a realm in this damned City where the innocent can survive. To protect those who cannot protect themselves.¡±


    A silence stretched between them, and Bee¡¯s gaze lingered on the twisted biomechanical augmentations woven into Jhedothar¡¯s centaurian form, even in their deadened state. In spite of his monstrous appearance, she felt a growing sense of admiration for him but silently chastised herself for it. She¡¯d made that mistake before. He was arrogant. He was just like the others.


    ¡°Is that what you are?¡± Bee asked. ¡°A God?¡±


    ¡°Not yet. But you...¡± Jhedothar gestured towards her over the table with a swing of his arm. ¡°The Last Lady of Sestchek, the Vat-Mother¡¯s only true-born daughter. Across all the world, in a thousand Cities, never has she birthed a real child ¡ª a human child. Never have any of them done ought but steal babes from the wombs of others. The Xenos cult knows this well, yet I was as blind to its implications as the rest. Until I saw you, here, before me.¡±


    ¡°What implication?¡± Bee asked, frowning.


    ¡°You are the Immortal¡¯s granddaughter. Within you is their destiny. The key to their power. Yet, more than that, you are a symbol of hope,¡± Jhedothar observed, studying her reaction intently, his chitinous face unreadable. The flickering lamplight cast eerie shadows across his angular features, making it difficult for Bee to discern his thoughts.


    ¡°So is that why I¡¯m here?¡± Bee asked tensely. ¡°You want a symbol?¡±


    Jhedothar looked towards the doorway. ¡°Each and every soul sworn to my service is here because they believe in my cause. And with you by my side, their numbers shall surely grow.¡±


    ¡°What about the flower maidens?¡± It was Bee¡¯s turn to lean forward, rocking on her feet as she continued to crouch atop her chair. ¡°What about Rose of Thorns? Do they believe in your cause?¡±


    Jhedothar laughed again. This time, it was louder. He gestured now across the hall towards Toshtta and the maidens. ¡°What would you have me say? Any other taking the seat of Ymmngorad would have put them to death. I let them share my home, provided they remain obedient. You should understand that, even uncivilised as you are.¡±


    Obedient. Bee repeated that word to herself. She took a knife in her hand, stood on her chair, and jumped onto the table. The maidens around her gasped, and she stomped over the plates and bowls, kicking food, her skirt dragging through the remnants. All the while, Jhedothar leaned back, regarding her approach with another turn of casual amusement. When Bee finally reached him, she crouched down over his food and looked him in the eyes. No more shouting over the absurd table. No more profane etiquette. Just the two of them ¡ª face to face, or what passed as his face at least. If he didn¡¯t take her seriously, then she would have to convince him she was to be taken seriously.


    ¡°Let them go,¡± Bee hissed, holding the knife up to him.


    Jhedothar searched her face, seeming to study both her determination and the fair features of her latent humanity. He then reached forward and took her chin with a pinch of his thumb and forefinger. It took her breath away as he growled in return. ¡°So there is strength in you. You¡¯re more than deactivated, poisoned genes, after all.¡±


    At that moment, as the darkness of the dining hall seemed to recede ever so slightly, Jhedothar¡¯s centaurian form appeared both monstrous and regal. Bee looked into his calculating eyes and said, ¡°Don¡¯t change the subject.¡±


    ¡°Your future is here in Cruiros,¡± Jhedothar announced, his voice echoing through the vast dining hall. ¡°I propose you remain as my Lady and betrothed. Bear for me a human child. Then, if you truly want to release the erstwhile Rose of Thorns, and if you can find a way to do it, so be it.¡±


    Bee¡¯s hand trembled as his obscene proposal ¡ª his arrogance ¡ª enraged her. She slashed at him. The knife glanced off, sliding over his muscular chest with the stickling feeling of a blade that failed to find purchase. Jhedothar grunted, then slapped the knife from her hand with ease. His mighty hand reached from her chin and gripped her hair tight. With a gasp, Bee froze up, having expected it to at least cut him. Leaning back in his seat, Jhedothar took a deep breath and scowled as he looked at Bee.


    ¡°This is your opportunity,¡± Jhedothar spoke lowly. ¡°Apologise and pledge yourself, you senseless outsider.¡±


    ¡°S-sorry,¡± Bee stuttered.


    ¡°And?¡± His grip tightened, making Bee cry out as her hair was pulled between his biomechanical fingers.


    ¡°Thank you¡ª¡± Bee pleaded, her eyes finding him again. ¡°Thank you for not killing me. I¡¯ll do it. Anything you ask. Please don¡¯t¡ª...¡±


    Jhedothar stood, towering over Bee, even crouched on the table as she was. He pushed her by the head down onto the table in a clatter of plates, and Bee was crushed against the surface. She kicked bowls from the table with a crash as she struggled and sprawled out amongst synthetic oils and sticky, warm meat.


    Toshtta had run to the table, her spear raised. It wasn¡¯t clear who she would have defended as Bee glanced towards her. The many-legged musician had also stopped playing his song and drawn a slender blade. Bee thought she perhaps had gone too far in attacking the Lord. Yet how could she not at least have tried? He obviously didn¡¯t consider her a threat, just someone to play with.


    ¡°You test my patience so,¡± Jhedothar shouted, more to be heard by Toshtta, the maidens, and any lingering servants than Bee. ¡°I was beyond accomodating, given your hateful lineage. Whatever obscenities the Vat-Mother taught you, you shall learn to behave with grace.¡±


    Bee, trying to look up from her fallen position, saw Jhedothar take up his glimmering ruby spear. His face darkened, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation, his monstrous form casting a shadow over Bee. After weighing the weapon in his hand, his furious gaze turned to Toshtta.


    ¡°Escort the Lady to her suite,¡± he barked. ¡°She will be sent for when needed.¡±


    And Toshtta, lance in hand, hesitated before acquiescing to a bow. ¡°Yes, Your Lordship.¡±

 The Taste of Red 1.

    So you want to change yourself, scabber. Heh heh heh... You have a few options ¡ª a few ways you might swap out those pitiful limbs for another. Or perhaps it¡¯s a new skin that entices you?


    If you were a hound, you could devour those who have what you seek. Consume their organs, eat up their augs, and find their geneseeds. Your body might know what to do, might know where to grow a new arm, or what to do with an eye when it gets it.


    There is a better way, however. You could throw yourself down before the Grafters. Let them change you, take what they like, and then add something to you in return. Perhaps they¡¯ll feel especially beneficent and let you leave when they¡¯re done. Unlikely.


    Or perhaps you¡¯ve heard the legends. The Immortal and her daughters, that they can shape flesh and blood with but a thought. That their blessings can change the world as you know it forever. Oh, imagine it, scabber. Imagine their beautiful, terrible power. Able to kill with a thought... or give quick to the still... Oh, how I dream of such supremacy...


    But would you dare? Would you dare to stand before them? They are the worst of us. Ink me well on that.


    <hr>


    CHAPTER 10: THE TASTE OF RED


    Bee¡¯s eyes fluttered open, her vision adjusting to the dim light that filtered through the heavy curtains. The air was stale, laden with the weight of her time in confinement. She stretched her arms, then her wings, feeling the faint hum of their biomechanical engines as they responded to her command, and she pushed herself up into a sitting position on the luxurious but now somewhat soiled bed. She had been trapped within these four walls for days, left alone with her thoughts and regrets.


    ¡°Jhedothar,¡± she muttered, her voice hoarse from disuse. Her fingers clenched around the edge of the blanket, knuckles whitening. He had been arrogant and dismissive, treating her at first like a mere curiosity and then a thing to be claimed. The memory of his condescending smirk fuelled her anger, and she couldn¡¯t help but feel a pang of satisfaction at the thought of having tried to attack him during the feast. But she couldn¡¯t ignore the regret gnawing at her heart. It was a reckless decision that could have cost her dearly.


    With a sigh, Bee swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, the plates of her feet padding their way over the floor as she moved. The room felt smaller than ever, and she longed to run through the locked door. She reached for the fleshy pad that controlled it, desperately hoping it would yield this time. Yet it remained stubborn, and the door still.


    ¡°Open up,¡± she said, slamming her fist against the unyielding filigreed bone of the door. As if moved by her outburst, the door groaned and began to roll open to reveal three Flowerbedside Companions. Their delicate faces were framed by petals and worry.


    ¡°You¡¯re back,¡± Bee said, her voice wavering between relief and trepidation as she stepped aside to let them in. As much as their presence comforted her, they also reminded Bee of her captivity.


    The maidens entered the room and began to clean up the mess that had accumulated over the days ¡ª remnants of meals, clothes that Bee refused to wear, and broken objects hurled in frustration. They moved with a quiet efficiency, their eyes downcast and avoiding Bee¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry,¡± Bee said, her voice softening. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to really hurt anyone. I knew he was too big for me to injure. I just wanted to teach him a lesson.¡±


    However, the maidens did not respond. Instead, they remained fixed on their tasks. Bee sensed that their fear of Jhedothar ¡ª and now perhaps her ¡ª weighed heavily upon them, leaving them as trapped as she was.


    Bee watched as the Flowerbedside Companions brought her a tray of strange food, their slender hands plucking items from it with practised ease to set out plates and bowls on a small table in the middle of the room. The sight of the food was at once captivating and unnerving. Her mouth salivated at the smell, but she was caught staring at fruits with iridescent skins, twisted fungal caps charred from cooking, and curled tubes of what might have been meat.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Bee said softly as the maidens stepped back from the meal, leaving it for Bee without so much as a word.


    ¡°Please,¡± Bee whispered, desperation creeping into her voice. ¡°Just talk to me.¡±


    One of the companions hesitated momentarily, their eyes flicking between Bee and the door. She finally spoke up, her voice barely a whisper. ¡°... We wish you weren¡¯t a hound, Your Ladyship...¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m not a hound. Is that what people think of me?¡± Bee asked, her heart sinking.


    ¡°Many... Had hope for you, but your behaviour...¡± Her voice trailed off as she turned to leave. ¡°Please try to wear your clothes, Your Ladyship...¡±


    Bee looked down at her bare body, the hard glistening plates of her torso and legs, the skin of her shoulders, then frowned. Had she missed something expected of her?


    Alone again. Bee took the food from the table and crouched on the floor to eat, sitting in a corner of the room. As she dug in with her fingers, she felt the worm in her skull sluggishly move. It flexed slowly, enough to make her ears pop, before settling down again. It had become more active again over these long days. Apparently, it was hurt really badly when her head was stamped on.


    ¡°Sweetheart,¡± the familiar voice said within Bee¡¯s mind, its dazed tone tinged with affection. ¡°Eat, please. We will need our strength to escape this place.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how we¡¯re going to escape,¡± Bee murmured under her breath, her fingers trembling as she picked up a piece of the iridescent fruit. As Bee bit into it, an explosion of sweet flavours filled her mouth, and she felt warmth spread throughout her body, soothing her frayed nerves. Part of her knew it was the worm rewarding her for doing what she was told. It felt nice, though.


    ¡°Trust me, my sweet,¡± the worm whispered. ¡°Together we¡¯ll find a way to get back to her.¡±


    ¡°Do I want to go back to her?¡± Bee said before shivering. It felt good again, thinking about her. The Eidolon.


    ¡°Of course we do. She¡¯s so strong. She¡¯s so perfect.¡±


    Hunger gnawed at Bee even as she ate. The worm had been releasing hormones that increased her appetite to an almost desperate level as if urging her to prepare for something. Before she knew it, it was all gone. Then, as the hours passed alone, her hunger and desperation grew.


    Bee had searched every corner of the room for anything edible. Her fingertips brushed against glass ornaments and inedible, tasteless fabrics. She¡¯d been tempted to try all the same, just to stop her stomach from aching. At one point, she had started licking the bony arms of a chair, tasting the bitter varnish upon it. A touch of her teeth found she couldn¡¯t bite into it, and she actually whined with frustration.


    In her seclusion, Bee found herself peeking behind the thick, old curtains. However, the window ¡ª if it could truly be called that, a hollow recess sunken high into the wall ¡ª narrowed to the width of a fist high above her. It seemed directed to a distant City light, high above, spilling gentle bioluminescence into the chamber. Bee breathed deeply. She could smell freedom, such as it was. There was also something else. Smoke? Carbon? Fire? There was no sign of what it might have issued from.


    The worm had fallen silent, its presence retreating to the edges of her mind to recover. It was still weak after what happened. Bee didn¡¯t know how long she had curled up in the bed when the door groaned open, revealing the hunched figure of Yonmar Free. He stepped inside, his eyes filled with concern as he surveyed the room.


    ¡°Bee,¡± he said in a measured way. ¡°I¡¯m here to examine your injuries. We must ensure you¡¯re recovering well and there haven¡¯t been any further developments.¡±


    There was a gentleness in his tone, and Bee found herself thankful that someone wasn¡¯t addressing her as a Lady, at least.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Bee said, her voice listless and subdued as she sat up in bed. She allowed Yonmar to approach, her body tense but unresisting. She even lifted her wings to make it easier for him.


    ¡°Remarkable,¡± Yonmar murmured, his aged voice tinged with relief as he palpated the skin of her lower back. The sensation of Yonmar¡¯s gentle touch on her back sent a shiver down her spine. She¡¯d almost forgotten what contact felt like, when it wasn¡¯t violent or demeaning. ¡°Your regenerative augmentations have worked flawlessly. Not a single scar. No signs of tumours. You¡¯ve healed completely.¡±


    Bee nodded meekly, vaguely recognising at how much her attitude towards Yonmar had changed in such a short time. He should have agitated her. She should have been resentful of his role in her capture. Yet he was, she suspected, a rare freak of genuine kindness. Loneliness was eating away at her, and she ached for connection. A small part of her, quieter than it usually was, reminded her not to trust anyone. It wore her mother¡¯s voice. It reminded her that no one else would ever love her ¡ª that she could not let them close. Bee¡¯s lip trembled, and she pushed that feeling down.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she whispered, her wings fluttering softly.


    As if summoned by her words, the door rolled open again. Standing the opening was Toshtta the Blade, clad in her golden armour and draped in her cloak of living flowers. Her visor scanned the state of the room before settling on Bee, all expression hidden beneath her shining armour.


    ¡°Forgive the intrusion, Your Ladyship,¡± Toshtta said, a careful measure to her tone. ¡°But Jhedothar has summoned you to his court. A visitor has arrived from the highest reaches, and they wish to speak with you.¡±


    Bee¡¯s heart clenched with a potent mix of curiosity and apprehension. Who could possibly want to see her? Where were the highest reaches?


    ¡°Alright,¡± Bee said, her voice barely audible. She glanced at Yonmar, seeking reassurance. But the bone monk¡¯s expression was similarly unreadable, his eyes cloudy beneath his ancient mask.


    Yet Yonmar seemed to sense Bee¡¯s trepidation, and after a moment of deliberation, he put a hand on her shoulder. She smiled.


    ¡°First, you may wish to dress yourself, Your Ladyship,¡± Toshtta said in a softer tone, seeming to realise Bee¡¯s obliviousness to her naked state. ¡°And we should hurry. We must not keep our guest waiting.¡±


    ¡°If you would allow me,¡± Yonmar said, standing with a huff, his old bones creaking. He stepped over the various articles Bee had thrown around the room and opened one of the gilded and mirrored armoires that stood vigil at the side of the room. ¡°Perhaps you would be comfortable in lighter clothes, just to cover your inhumanity.¡±


    Bee reluctantly stood and walked over. Yonmar plucked out two dressing gowns, which Bee looked at, seeing they were much lighter and more free-fitting than the dresses that needed a group of maidens to fasten her into. He sensitively offered a black one first, remembering Bee¡¯s preference. Yet she put her hand on the other. It was golden and silken. The so-called royal colours that Jhedothar sought to claim for his standard.


    ¡°I¡¯ll wear this for him,¡± Bee said, remembering her regret for her impulsive actions when they last met. She suspected it would please him.


    Yonmar nodded. ¡°That is most wise.¡±


    And Bee let him step around her. He draped the soft robe over her shoulders, concealing her bioengines and wings beneath them. She tucked her arms into the sleeves and, with patient assistance from Yonmar, let him tie the clothes shut to conceal the plates of her legs and torso.


    When she was done, Bee looked at herself in the mirror. Frowning, she pushed her dark, greasy hair back over her shoulders. It had lost all of the prettiness the maidens had somehow put into it, kinked and knotted as it was from her days in bed. Having seen what it could look like, this bothered her now for some reason. She turned to Toshtta.


    ¡°Lead the way,¡± Bee whispered, glancing at the Blade¡¯s sword and lance, always at hand.


    And so, Toshtta the Blade led Bee through the oppressive darkness of Ymmngorad, her golden armour glinting like the last traces of the day star on the desert horizon as she moved through the scarce light. Yonmar Free walked at their side, his bony fingers wringing together as if trying to squeeze out his own sense of unease. The tightness in Bee¡¯s chest grew with each step, her wings instinctively twitching against their confinement under the clothes. The tension grew until Bee just had to speak.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for what I did.¡±


    Toshtta stopped mid step. Her helmet turned, surveying the passage, perhaps ensuring that they were not overheard.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to scare anyone,¡± Bee quickly added. ¡°I just hated the way he was speaking to me.¡±


    ¡°It was my folly, Your Ladyship.¡± Toshtta¡¯s tone was again slow and measured, taking deliberation that she did not misspeak. ¡°We should have kept our peace. I had not realised you were so... young. I should have known you did not know proper conduct or the old oaths and in doing so, put you in danger.¡±


    Bee put her hand on Toshtta¡¯s mailed forearm, but she pulled away and adopted a more disciplined posture. Surprised by that, Bee searched for what to say next. ¡°I¡¯ll try to do better.¡±


    Toshtta nodded once before turning and resuming her march. As she followed once again, Bee shared a look with Yonmar. He nodded as well, and she sensed his approval.


    At last, they arrived at the great doors to Jhedothar¡¯s court. The immense slabs of metal groaning open as if protesting their intrusion. Bee hesitated at the threshold, her heart pounding against her ribcage, trying to think of what she would say to him.


    ¡°Enter, Your Ladyship,¡± Toshtta prompted, and Bee realised she had completely stalled.


    With a deep breath, Bee stepped into the grand chamber and was immediately struck with the oppressive presence of Jhedothar¡¯s throne. The Lord of Cruiros sat atop his grotesque seat, his carapace-clad form both monstrous and regal in equal measure. With a turn of his antler-crowned skull, his eyes locked onto Bee, gaze as sharp as the ruby spear that stood within his reach.


    ¡°Behave,¡± he growled, the single word echoing through the vast space as Bee approached. She glanced at the countless tree-like columns that filled the space, eyes lingering on the shapes of warriors and war engines facing each other upon their surfaces.


    Bee¡¯s throat tightened, and she struggled to swallow down a bitter sensation as she stood beside Jhedothar¡¯s throne. She tried to appear unfazed but noticed his gaze lingering upon her.


    ¡°You¡¯re wearing the gold,¡± he said, voice lowering so that no one else in the court might overhear.


    ¡°I prefer black,¡± she murmured, adopting his tone, before locking eyes with him.


    That made Jhedothar snort a brief laugh. Bee¡¯s scowl broke. Some of the tension eased in that moment. ¡°I¡¯m sure you do,¡± he said.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for what I did,¡± Bee said.


    ¡°Just be sure you have it out of your system,¡± Jhedothar said, leaning upon the arm of his seat with his elbow. He curled a fist over his mouth as he spoke low. Bee realised he was ensuring that the dozens of figures moving around the vast court didn¡¯t gaze upon their conversation. ¡°A true adversary would see it as weakness ¡ª an invitation to devour you, and take everything that¡¯s yours.¡±


    Bee¡¯s eyes narrowed at the advice. She couldn¡¯t help but suspect he had learned that lesson the hard way. The exact events that transpired when the Wire-Witch cursed Jhedothar eluded her, but she felt that there was a shared experience there.


    ¡°Bring in our guest,¡± Jhedothar commanded his court. A flurry of activity followed. A mass of guardians formed, and armed warriors crowded the perimeter of the hall. Bee recognised Toshtta besides two other similarly armoured Blades, and she duly noted that there seemed to be a total of three armed women in the service of the Rose of Thorns as the Flowerbedside Companions crowded around them. Other servants and menial freaks gathered, too, and all seemed eager to gaze upon the new arrival.


    Bee heard him long before he entered. A mechanical wheeze. The rattling of steely limbs. The gossip of the crush filling the court quickly hushed.


    Escorted in by Sar-ek, an eight-limbed vat-born crawled in through the wide doorway. He was shrouded in a pale cloak, but its deep hood and long fabric only concealed so much. Bee frowned as she regarded his many pumping, pneumatic legs. They were constructed of an amalgamation of star metal, old steely bone, and salvaged electronics from the wasteland beyond.


    The guest approached the throne, stopping a respectful distance before Jhedothar and Bee. The wheeze from his mechanical lungs was louder now, and, with cold metal hands, he reached up to lower his hood. He revealed a gaunt head with a weighty metal plate stapled over the eyes. Pipes and wires wove through the meat of his shoulders and neck.


    ¡°Thank you for receiving me, Sir Jhedothar, the Lance...¡± The figure paused to take a breath. ¡°I am Slashex, and I have journeyed far to meet the Vat-Mother of Sestchek¡¯s daughter and confirm her presence here.¡± He inclined his head towards Bee, even as he continued to speak to Jhedothar. ¡°It seems you¡¯ve acquired quite a valuable prize.¡±


    Bee frowned at that but bit her tongue.


    ¡°Slashex,¡± Jhedothar growled, his voice dripping with disdain. ¡°You and your Witch-Queen would not be welcomed here, but I am bound by the old oaths of hospitality. You shall have safe stay in my demesne and speak with the Lady.¡±


    ¡°Most gracious of you, Sir Jhedothar,¡± Slashex replied, his tone betraying no offence. Yet, Bee noticed he continued to address Jhedothar by the title of Sir. No one else did. Was he trying to demean the Lord? Her thoughts raced. The Wire-Witch must then know she was here.


    ¡°But, before we proceed,¡± Slashex interrupted her thoughts. ¡°Are you aware of the contingent led by the Eidolon, the former Dame Vashante Tens? They have taken up residence in the defiled remains of the old temples.¡±


    Defiled? Bee looked to Jhedothar in askance, but his posture had stiffened, his exoskeletal form betraying a hint of alarm.


    ¡°I was... unaware of the Eidolon¡¯s presence here,¡± Jhedothar admitted.


    ¡°Unfortunate,¡± Slashex hissed, ¡°For it seems they may be closer to seizing your domain than you realise.¡±


    Bee felt her heart thrumming in her chest, blood pounding in her ears. The worm coiled in her brain hard enough to make her take a sudden breath, sensing the Eidolon¡¯s mention. Although the parasite still seemed weakened and quiet, a sudden rush of emotions poured into Bee¡¯s belly. She tried to focus on the conversation.


    ¡°Nevertheless,¡± Jhedothar snapped, regaining his composure. ¡°We shall discuss this matter later. For now, we shall allow you the opportunity to address the Lady of Sestchek.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Slashex agreed, turning his plated head towards Bee. ¡°I¡¯ve been most eager to see you, young Bee.¡±


    The words made Bee falter. There was something eerily familiar about Slashex¡¯s countenance at that moment. And he knew her name. But her thoughts drew back to the Eidolon, her heart racing.


    ¡°I was waiting for the Eidolon when you found me,¡± she said softly to Jhedothar, though she saw Slashex lean in as he heard those words. ¡°She¡¯s probably looking for me.¡±


    ¡°I said we shall discuss this matter later,¡± Jhedothar lowered his tone in return. Bee noticed his hand had reached to rest on the shaft of his ruby spear. Was Jhedothar afraid of the Eidolon?


    Bee glanced into the crowd, finding Yonmar Free. He met her gaze and nodded, encouraging her to listen.


    ¡°Forgive the interruption,¡± Slashex said with a wheeze, his blind gaze still fixed on Bee. ¡°Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Slashex, a disciple of the Wire-Witch who shares your illustrious bloodline.¡±


    He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. ¡°I have come to offer my services as a mentor, to teach you the arts of witchcraft that you are fit to inherit. After all, you hold the potential of the Immortal¡¯s lineage within you.¡±


    His lips shifted, becoming sly and cunning. ¡°In doing so, I would not only empower you, but also offer it to strengthen Jhedothar¡¯s position as claimant to Ymmngorad. Surely you agree. One as gifted as yourself surely must support him.¡±


    Bee¡¯s mind raced, processing what she was told. She had heard it mentioned before, but Bee didn¡¯t precisely know what witchcraft entailed. Was that what she glimpsed of in the Wire-Witch¡¯s bunker ¡ª that terrible den of electronic arts ¡ª so long ago?


    Bee¡¯s wings twitched involuntarily as she weighed the offer, starting to sense the undercurrents of power at play in a treacherous game.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Bee muttered, her voice barely a whisper. ¡°I¡¯ll learn from you, Slashex. But only if Jhedothar permits it.¡±


    Their eyes met. Jhedothar frowned, signalling a level of displeasure before speaking, ¡°For our burgeoning alliance and partnership then, Lady of Sestchek.¡±


    Burgeoning alliance, Bee repeated to herself and bit back the words she first wanted to say. That was the way things would have to be. She had to learn this game and learn it well. It was more than just her own life at stake, she had come to realise. And despite everything her mother had told her, there was no justice in death.


    ¡°Alright,¡± she finally said, steeling herself and looking back to the acolyte of the witch. ¡°I¡¯ll learn. Teach me everything you can, Slashex. And we¡¯ll see just how far this potential goes.¡±

 The Taste of Red 2.

    Bee stood in Jhedothar¡¯s throneroom, transfixed by the vast trunk-like columns that reached up towards the darkness above. Alight by the pale electric lamps, each column was a monument to war, their surfaces sculpted with immense detail to depict battles long past. Mutant warriors clashed against each other, their grotesque forms frozen in eternal combat, whilst war machines and mechanised dragons soared overhead. For an instant, the scent of the glassy, ashen earth of the wastelands touched Bee¡¯s nose with the metallic tang of blood as she imagined a history heavy with strife.


    As the throne room emptied of its attendants, Jhedothar left to speak to his soldiers about the presence of the Eidolon in Cruiros. The sound of his shelled centaurian body stomping against the cold, stony floor receded, replaced by the hushed whispers of those who remained behind. Bee¡¯s gaze lingered on one particular column, her eyes tracing the intricate carvings of the monstrous battle scene. She did not notice Toshtta, Yonmar Free, and Slashex approaching until they were almost upon her.


    ¡°Ah, you find these fascinating too?¡± Yonmar Free asked, smile lines around his eyes, which peered from behind his aged and craggy mask, as he observed Bee¡¯s interest in the columns.


    Toshtta stood clad in her golden armour with her weapons in hand. Her visor was transfixed upon the newest arrival, the mechatronic Slashex, who seemed to rely on the clicking, hissing echolocation device embedded in his skull to discern exactly what they were looking at.


    ¡°These pillars are a testament to the struggles our peoples have faced throughout the ages,¡± Yonmar continued.


    Bee¡¯s wings twitched involuntarily as she looked at the immense height of the columns. The sensation of the intakes of her air-breathing flutes, feeding her biomechanical engines, felt smothered by her gown. She tried to ignore it.


    ¡°Who are they?¡± Bee asked. ¡°And why are they fighting?¡±


    Yonmar Free took a deep breath, his chest rising beneath his simple robes before he began to explain, ¡°These battles were fought long ago, when our ancestors first rose up against those who sought to rule them. Each column tells a story of conflict and triumph, of bloodshed and sacrifice.¡± His voice was tinged with sorrow as if the weight of history bore down upon him. Sorrow and regret, Bee noticed.


    ¡°The pillars themselves were likely erected by the first holder of Ymmngorad, before the realm of Cruiros was carved out beneath it,¡± Yonmar Free noted. ¡°It may even have been made by those who saw the ancient battlefields with their own eyes.¡±


    ¡°Remembering our struggles brings us strength,¡± Slashex added as an aside, though something seemed to amuse him as he tipped his head towards the stone.


    Bee glanced from them and found herself staring at the carved battle again. She was entranced by the chaos and violence that seemed to come alive beneath her fingertips. The groans of the dying and the clash of steel echoed in her mind as she traced the outline of a fallen warrior.


    ¡°Yonmar,¡± Bee said hesitantly, ¡°What led to this battle? What did they fight for?¡±


    Yonmar Free leaned closer, his eyes scanning the intricate details of the column. ¡°This scene depicts the fall of the Axiamat, the once-great City that defied holy strictures by reaching to claim the stars for itself. It was besieged and, ultimately, destroyed by an alliance that would go on to become the first noble lineages of Acetyn.¡± He paused, lost in thought. ¡°The victors won control over the Cities, ensuring their rule for generations to come.¡±


    Bee frowned. ¡°Are we not entitled to the stars?¡± She asked, remembering the words of her mother so long ago now. ¡°Are we not supposed to return to them?¡±


    Yonmar faltered at that question. Bee looked at him, hearing Toshtta stir behind her and then noticing that Slashex was suddenly very focused on her.


    ¡°That was forbidden, a long time ago,¡± Yonmar said with a nervous, apologetic tone that Bee thought was quite unlike him.


    But before she knew it, Bee was focused on the monument again, her eyes widening as she began to understand the importance of the scene rendered in detail before her. Then something else caught her attention. She pointed to a small, arrowhead-like shape hovering above the carnage. ¡°What is that?¡± She asked, curiosity filling her voice.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Yonmar replied, a hint of relief colouring his tone. ¡°That is the Genekeeper ¡ª a mythical machine said to have lived a thousand years ago. Legends say it had the power to manipulate moonlight and was sent to read the genes of all living beings.¡±


    Something about that made Bee shudder. She remembered Acetyn¡¯s warning, including that word: Genekeeper. Her fingers grazed the cold, unyielding stone of the carved arrowhead, having recognised similar sculptures in the depths beneath Cruiros. Were they made by Acetyn itself or the inhabitants of an even older realm, forgotten beneath this place? In her mind¡¯s eye, she saw the Genekeeper soaring through the air, casting its dark influence upon the world below.


    ¡°Was it on our side or theirs?¡± Bee asked quietly.


    Yonmar paused. When he didn¡¯t answer immediately, Bee looked at him.


    ¡°Ours, I suppose,¡± Yonmar eventually relented an answer.


    Bee nodded at that, recognising more than just the words but the implication there. Her thoughts swirled with half-imagined answers to mysteries she couldn¡¯t quite articulate. For some reason, she felt a connection to these warriors.


    ¡°The first nobles found the strength to carve these domains inside the Cities where people could survive. No longer merely consigned to living in their shadows and in the wastes,¡± Yonmar said quietly, his voice breaking through Bee¡¯s reverie. ¡°Such is the legacy of our ancestors. A reminder that even in the darkest times, there is always something worth fighting for.¡±


    Slowly, she stepped around the pillar, examining its design from a new vantage. An eerie silence pressed down upon Bee as she found a larger arrowhead shape with her eyes. It was different, and not just larger on the pillar, but etched with many-fold details that suggested a true behemoth expanse to its size. The shadowy shape seemed to look over the battlefield, casting an oppressive aura over kneeling, fallen warriors and even the smaller arrowhead of the Genekeeper. She bit her lip, pointing to the enigmatic design before asking, ¡°What about this one?¡±


    Yonmar Free leaned in closer, his brow furrowing as he studied the larger render. ¡°I must admit, I assumed walking past that it was another depiction of the Genekeeper. But here, it is clearly seperate. I¡¯ve never noticed that before,¡± he said, eyes narrowing beneath his mask. ¡°I don¡¯t know what it could be.¡±


    Slashex, who had been quietly observing the exchange, finally gave an answer. ¡°That is likely the Aviastis Fundament, otherwise known as the Immortal¡¯s Garden. Fascinating. If only I had the opportunity to study Ymmngorad sooner.¡±


    His words sent a shudder through Yonmar Free, who stared at the images, shock evident as it rippled through him. Toshtta¡¯s silent vigil was interrupted as well, her helm and maile rattling as her gaze snapped towards the scene.


    ¡°Immortal¡¯s... demesne?¡± Bee repeated, her voice barely a whisper as she noted their reactions. ¡°But what does that mean? And why is it flying?¡±


    ¡°An interesting question,¡± Slashex said, his tone nonchalant. ¡°And an indicator that perhaps we should begin our lessons sooner rather than later.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Bee¡¯s heart began to race as she considered the implications of the mysterious machine ¡ª or not just a machine: a garden. A domain? A home? ¡ª hovering above the ancient battlefield. She glanced between Yonmar Free, Toshtta, and Slashex, their expressions and posture ranging from shock to intrigue. She wanted to press further, but the moment seemed to have passed. Slashex seemed to know more than he revealed, and he was inviting her to teach her properly.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Bee said finally, swallowing her curiosity for now. ¡°Can we begin the lessons?¡±


    Slashex seemed to think about that, his mechanical lungs wheezing before he answered. ¡°Perhaps there is something we can start with.¡±


    And as they turned to leave the throne room, Bee couldn¡¯t help but cast one last look at the Aviastis Fundament, the Immortal¡¯s Garden. Now that she had seen it, she realised it hung above not just the depictions of battle but from the perspective of an approaching petitioner, the throne of Ymmngorad itself.


    Before long, Toshtta led them into a secretive back chamber in the noble residences. The dim, flickering light of guttering candles cast dancing shadows on the twisted architecture of the chamber they now occupied. The walls pulsed with a life of their own as if the very veins of Ymmngorad itself were exposed in some grotesque display. Bee had been given a smaller throne to sit on, a seat that was intricately carved from a marble-like flesh and cushioned softly. Its bowled seat was reminiscent of a pelvic girdle, and vines from the distant but ever-present Rose of Thorns crept up its legs. Bee had to force herself to focus on the task at hand. Still, nerves made her ache to fill the silence.


    ¡°Yonmar, Toshtta,¡± Bee began, uneasy. ¡°What do you think about Jhedothar¡¯s proposal? Betrothal?¡±


    The room had plenty of seats for them all, and yet they demurred to stand as Bee was seated. Toshtta¡¯s helmet turned from Slashex, who seemed lost in thought, seemingly consulting the depths of his digital mind before the lesson. ¡°Your Ladyship, a strong alliance can only serve us well,¡± she said cautiously, her voice low and measured. ¡°We are beset on all sides by enemies. It makes simple sense to consolidate all power at our disposal, whether political or material. The Vat-Mother, the Wire-Witch, the Pilgrim... all pose a threat to us. Together, we may have the strength we need to withstand their tyranny.¡±


    Yomnar nodded in agreement before steepling his hands. His weathered mask betrayed concern in his eyes. ¡°Jhedothar¡¯s position holds merit. We must tread cautiously. Indeed, we must be pragmatic... Your marriage could bring much-needed stability and protection to this region.¡±


    Bee bit her lip, considering their words. She had her doubts ¡ª of course, she did. How could she not? And she didn¡¯t know who this Pilgrim was, but she put aside that question for now. Her dark eyes turned to Slashex, who was still dwelling in silence, before she asked him, ¡°What do you think?¡±


    ¡°You are being used by these freaks,¡± Slashex said, which earned him a glance from both Toshtta and Yonmar. ¡°Each have their own motivations. So be it. But, in time, you will be above their concerns.¡±


    Toshtta stirred, gauntlet gripped tight on her lance. Bee¡¯s eyes locked onto that gesture. Would she truly attack Slashex? Bee suspected not without a real reason. She couldn¡¯t deny his enigmatic presence was both intriguing and unsettling, though. He was not aligned with the forces of Ymmngorad at all, despite his being allowed to remain here.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Bee said after considering this. ¡°Thank you for your counsel.¡± A frown touched her lips at those words. It seemed strange to talk like that, but it was starting to feel expected of her. ¡°Can we begin?¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± Slashex said as Bee fought to maintain her composure. When he continued, it was with a sly smile and carefully chosen words. ¡°I will impart upon you the spells and daemonry necessary to harness the power that lies dormant within you.¡±


    Bee¡¯s dark eyes widened. Toshtta¡¯s gaze never wavered from Slashex as she moved to stand behind Bee, providing an unspoken reassurance. Yonmar took up a position near the door, his watchful eyes never straying far from the young vat-born woman. The air in the chamber seemed to charge with anticipation as Slashex stepped forward.


    Despite her every intention, Bee found herself shrinking back in her seat as Slashex approached, raising a mechanised hand, one wrought of a thousand pieces of scavenged star metal, not unlike the remnants Bee had glanced upon countless times in the glass deserts beyond the City.


    ¡°Focus,¡± Slashex admonished, his artificial voice cutting into her fright. ¡°Allow yourself to be guided by my words, and trust in your own strength.¡±


    Bee nodded as his hand outstretched to her crown, her eyes locked on Slashex¡¯s face as he drew close. She tried to steel herself to face the unknown when the worm crept to life and spoke in her ear.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let him, Sweetheart.¡± As the worm squirmed, her belly filled with liquid fright. ¡°Don¡¯t let him touch us.¡±


    ¡°Wait¡ª¡± Bee seized in fright, then leapt in her seat from sitting to crouching as far back as she could against its stepped back. ¡°Wait¡ª please.¡±


    Slashex paused, seeing Bee practically squirm with fear. He retracted his steely limb slowly, frowning.


    ¡°Can¡¯t we talk about it first?¡± Bee pleaded. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    His arm suddenly resembled a blade in the dim candlelight. Bee had to look away.


    ¡°Very well,¡± Slashex began, clearly irritated by her mercurial mood. ¡°Tell me, Bee, what do you know about your neural lace? What do you know about your digital mindscape?¡±


    ¡°Neural... lace?¡± Bee stammered. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you mean.¡±


    ¡°And your mindscape?¡± He probed further, the clicking of the echolocation device embedded into his skull punctuating his words.


    ¡°I don¡¯t really know anything about those things,¡± she admitted, folding her arms as best she could given her amputation, her left hand gripping her other elbow.


    Slashex paused, considering her response. ¡°Have you ever experienced an inkling of speaking with ¡ª or controlling ¡ª entities through strange means? Perhaps in a way that defies explanation?¡±


    Bee hesitated, eyes turning as she thought back to the chaos of her life. ¡°Well, I... I have spoken to the City of Acetyn,¡± she confessed.


    ¡°Impossible,¡± Toshtta gasped behind her.


    ¡°By all the roads to Paradise,¡± Yonmar similarly intoned.


    But Bee didn¡¯t sense doubt there. No. They both uttered those words with revelation in their voice.


    Slashex¡¯s blind gaze seemed to bore into Bee, a knowing smile crossing his lips. ¡°Fascinating,¡± he mused but offered no further insight.


    ¡°Also,¡± Bee continued, emboldened by their reactions, ¡°I think I¡¯ve walked around... in a realm of dreams before. Or, it was like a dream, anyway. I saw things there. People talking, or... Existing in places far from here.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Slashex said, his tone dark and cryptic. ¡°The so-called ghost space.¡±


    Bee¡¯s heart skipped a beat as the others exchanged uneasy glances. A frisson of fear ground through her, mingling with sudden and intense anticipation.


    Yet then the door to the chamber creaked open, casting a sliver of light across the darkened room. A twisted figure shuffled in, their malformed limbs betraying an unnatural gait. The messenger¡¯s eyes darted nervously between the occupants before finally settling on Toshtta.


    ¡°Apologies for the interruption, Your Ladyship,¡± the messenger swept its body into a low bow in deference to Bee. ¡°Toshtta the Blade, Lord Jhedothar summons you.¡±


    Toshtta did not move from her position beside Bee, looming as she was over Slashex. ¡°What is the reason for his summons?¡±


    ¡°Urgent matters,¡± the messenger said, shifting their weight from one misshapen foot to the other. ¡°He insists that the Lady remains here to continue her lesson.¡±


    Bee¡¯s curiosity piqued. Why would Jhedothar want her here? What was he doing?


    ¡°Slashex, Yonmar,¡± Bee said, ¡°I need to go with Toshtta.¡±


    Slashex merely stepped aside, his many pneumatic limbs pumping as he yielded without comment. Yonmar hesitated, uncertainty clouding his gaze. ¡°I¡¯m not certain that¡¯s wise, Bee.¡±


    ¡°Lord Jhedothar explicitly stated that the Lady must stay,¡± the messenger interjected, their tone pleading. ¡°Please do not defy his wishes.¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± Toshtta snapped, turning to face the creature. ¡°You dare question the desires of the Lady of Sestchek? She will accompany me, as is her right.¡±


    Bee couldn¡¯t help but smile as the Blade supported her.


    ¡°Very well,¡± the messenger conceded, bowing its grotesque form again in another display of submission. ¡°But do hurry then, Your Ladyship.¡±


    Bee stood and hopped down to the floor, her plated feet rattling softly against the ground. She felt Yonmar¡¯s worried gaze upon her. Still, her resolve remained as she hurried after Toshtta as the Blade strode towards the door. Slashex, too, followed them. His presence was uninvited, but none questioned him.


    The old bone monk was last to move, and he sighed, casting one glance to the smaller throne that Bee had found purchase upon. Shaking his head, he muttered, ¡°She shall break my heart yet, I fear it,¡± before he, too, hobbled after them.

 The Taste of Red 3.

    Soon after abandoning her lesson, Bee was led by Toshtta to the assembly. On the way, the Flowerbedside Maidens had run up to them, distraught in their panic. They told Bee and Toshtta that Lord Jhedothar was beside himself with fury and was to immediately strike out to dislodge the Eidolon and her Axiamati from his realm. Bee had managed to calm them and urge them to go to their Lady and take care of her. The four of them, then, hurried all the more to catch the war host before they departed.


    In the depths of the forward arming hall, where warriors gathered to ready, Bee slunk through the crowds of mismatched bodies. Her gaze roved over the chaos and disorder of what passed as Jhedothar¡¯s army. Some were vat-born. Most were shed and wild-gened chimeric creatures, milling about in a disorganised rabble. They were volunteers, their ill-disciplined forms betraying a lack of experience, clutching weapons in their claws and pincers, ready to fight but unprepared for what was to come. Even Bee could see that. Their armour was cobbled together from scraps of metallic bone or grown shells. However, their weapons, lances and slender blades were all composed of the same wooden and bony designs. They seemed to be one glimmer of reliability for this armed force.


    Everywhere that Bee walked, faceted eyes and antennae wagged after her. She wasn¡¯t sure if she would ever get used to the stares, but it was starting to become expected. In this light gown, she did appear essentially human, after all. It was very different to most here in the City.


    Sar-ek paced through the horde, his step heavy with swagger and his foul mouth cursing as he tried to shout the most confused of the soldiery into line.


    ¡°The little Goddess deigns to grace us with her presence,¡± Sar-ek had mocked Bee when he saw her.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go where I want,¡± Bee had said, scowling at him. ¡°Not that it¡¯s any of your business now.¡±


    Sar-ek had snorted before spitting a wad of ochre phlegm onto the ground. ¡°Jhedothar is too lenient with you.¡±


    Yet that had been that. It seemed he had much work to do. The Blades of the Rose cut through the chaos, their golden armour glinting in the electric torchlight as they joined Toshtta at Bee¡¯s side.


    ¡°Quite the menagerie, isn¡¯t it?¡± Yonmar said with the ghost of a laugh, trying to break the apparent tension in the air as they walked.


    ¡°They¡¯ll never be able to beat the Eidolon,¡± Bee said, her gaze lingering on Sar-ek.


    Toshtta¡¯s visor stared at Sar-ek as well, but she attempted to assuage Bee¡¯s fears, nonetheless. ¡°Have faith in our Lord Jhedothar. He is an experienced commander.¡±


    Bee wrinkled her nose, thinking of Jhedothar¡¯s cursed augmentations. Unbidden, her mind turned to the Eidolon, remembering her immense strength and speed. Her belly filled with warmth, remembering how she was protected by that silent warrior. Bee shook her head in an attempt to dismiss the worm¡¯s influence. It didn¡¯t quite work.


    Jhedothar had stood at the front of his horde, attendants dressing him in golden raiments and fastening thick, steely barding and armour to his half-dead form, metallic implants fused with still flesh. Just the sight of him soured Bee¡¯s mood further. As he readied, Jhedothar¡¯s ire simmered beneath his seemingly calm exterior. He had given no explicit order to cast Bee away, but he had called Toshtta and Yonmar Free over and spoken to them low. They bowed their heads as if chastised before returning to Bee, leaving Jhedothar to brood as he readied his infamous ruby spear.


    ¡°Never trust them,¡± Slashex had whispered to Bee. She found herself nodding, already thinking much the same thing.


    The entire arming hall then descended, mounted as it was to the side of the great tower of Ymmngorad. Lowered down on thick-hewn chains, it ratcheted and cranked in its plunge down until it locked fast against a mighty gateway. The grating of that ancient fortification rose, revealing the crumbling ruins and forgotten halls of Cruiros proper laid out beneath them.


    An electric thrill ran down Bee¡¯s spine as the gates of Ymmngorad slid open. Fresh air, tinged with the scents of earthy dampness and ozone, flowed over her.


    Once the force was ready to march, Bee insisted on joining Jhedothar at the fore. When she, the Blades of the Rose, Yonmar Free, and Slashex joined Jhedothar¡¯s cadre, she found him glaring at her as he strode down the steep steps of the gateyard, out to the slopes at the tower¡¯s base and then through the winding streets of the old realm. She lifted her chin and stared back, refusing to cower.


    ¡°You should not have come,¡± Jhedothar growled low, his bestial skull looking away as he did his best to appear disaffected and confident before his warriors. ¡°I sent word for you to remain in that lesson for good reason.¡±


    ¡°Have you seen the Eidolon fight?¡± Bee asked, narrowing her eyes. ¡°I have. Twice. I don¡¯t think you can beat her.¡±


    ¡°Yet I have bested her afore,¡± Jhedothar said loud enough to be overheard before lowering his tone again. ¡°When she was a Dame and I was a Sir, before we were both cursed in our own ways.¡±


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know what the Wire-Witch did to you, but the Eidolon is really strong,¡± Bee said before throwing up her arms with frustration. ¡°You¡¯re going to get these people following you killed.¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± Jhedothar barked before raising his hand. ¡°Toshtta.¡±


    ¡°Your Lordship?¡± She answered quickly, having clearly been listening to the exchange.


    ¡°Take the Lady of Sestchek to the rear and defend her well until¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªBut I need to talk to the Eidolon,¡± Bee interrupted him.


    ¡°¡ªUntil she is called for address,¡± Jhedothar continued. ¡°Drag her there, if you must.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Lordship.¡±


    The Blades turned on Bee, who threw up her arms again and huffed before turning away. Bee walked away, flanked by Toshtta and the Blades of the Rose. Their thorny vines rasped against their armour with every step, an eerie susurration that set them apart from the stamping masses.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Then, as she waited for the host¡¯s largest column to pass, Bee looked from the bone sky ¡ª arched endlessly, pale and empty ¡ª to the three maiden warriors. Their golden armour glistened in the dim light that filtered through the ruins of Cruiros, its polished surface marred only by the viny growths that twisted and writhed amidst the maile and rubble alike ¡ª all growth on woman and world alike stemming from one Lady, Bee had to remind herself, the erstwhile Rose of Thorns. How terrible must she have been to reach so far, through City and freak in equal measure?


    The Blades¡¯ helmets obscured their faces, granting them an air of otherworldly menace as they flanked Bee and her companions. Bee wondered if their faces were overgrown, too. Did they have faces like hers? She couldn¡¯t help but compare the Blades of the Rose to the crumbling biomechanical buildings and the overgrown vegetation that themselves bore testament to the decay and overgrowth that had consumed Cruiros. The visage of once mighty titans loomed overhead, their grotesque forms frozen in eternal struggle as they laboured to support the vast expanse of greater Acetyn above.


    Bee suddenly felt an unexpected and strange kinship with those twisted giants, bound as they were to a burden they could never escape. In the shadow of their immense forms, she asked herself if she, too, was destined to share their fate ¡ª to become trapped like her mother was in the City or elsewise caught in these intrigues in some other ineffable but just as inescapable a way.


    It was then Bee noticed Slashex staring at her ¡ª or as close as he could come to staring, eyeless as he was. She returned the look, frowning, realising just how adept Slashex was at becoming unobtrusive despite his heavy artificial limbs and clumsy robotic stride.


    ¡°Stay focused, Bee,¡± Slashex chided gently, his voice breaking through her morose reverie. ¡°Remember why you¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t tell you why I¡¯m here,¡± she said, eyes narrowing.


    Slashex¡¯s lips twisted into another of his sly looks. ¡°And rightly so. Nevertheless, if this comes to battle, we shall be damned.¡±


    Yomnar, who had also been listening in, clasped his hands together and said, ¡°Our guest has a point.¡± His eyes belied suspicion as well, though he did not voice it. ¡°The Lord is clearly agitated and quick to the defence of his realm. Yet, if we are afforded the opportunity, we should stymie his more volatile urges as best we can.¡±


    Bee sighed, looking back at the crumbling ruins surrounding them with its fallen spires and vine-choked rubble. If only she could lose herself in these forgotten halls and escape the machinations of Jhedothar and all his followers. For an instant, she considered running. Maybe she could even find a place to use her wings again. They wouldn¡¯t catch her if she did that. But what would she leave behind?


    She could find the Eidolon herself, and the thought came to Bee. It wasn¡¯t in the worm¡¯s voice this time but her own. A giddiness touched her, but then guilt. If she did that and didn¡¯t try to stop the fighting, how many people might die?


    She shared her glance with the soldiery at the rear. These volunteers ¡ª some barely more than children, others with bodies marred by age and battle ¡ª were the castaways and the forgotten, fighting for survival in a world that had long since abandoned them.


    ¡°Stay close to me,¡± Toshtta said, interrupting Bee¡¯s thoughts as the Blades of the Rose moved around Bee, and the column of armsmen finally passed them by.


    And, taking to the rear of the host, Bee continued to gaze over the state of the crumbling old realm. Slashex¡¯s mechanical limbs clicked rhythmically against the ground, and Yonmar Free fell into a silent retreat of introspection. As they moved deeper into the heart of Cruiros, the landscape grew more twisted and desolate. Biomechanical buildings loomed over them like skeletal giants, their crumbling facades revealing the decay that had long festered within. The bladed vines choked the streets, creating a labyrinth of tangled vines and gnarled roots. Where the direction wasn¡¯t precise enough, again and again, the motley and ill-disciplined host faltered and had to be redirected.


    Before long, their march took them within sight of that raised theapolis. Another hundred or so armed freaks and mutants had barricaded the ramparts leading up to its raised plateau. As the two groups cautiously approached each other, Jhedothar barked an order, and the column of his host split apart to join with various disparate squadrons of soldiers who held the approach up to the old temple district. The tension in the air was palpable as wary glances were exchanged and unspoken alliances formed between armsmen who had perhaps never met.


    It took perhaps another hour for the forces to settle down. At the rear, as she was, still in the basin below the ramparts, Bee didn¡¯t catch so much as a glimpse of their adversaries. Finally, a messenger arrived, throwing his form low to beg that Bee would again join Jhedothar¡¯s group. He seemed very afraid of her, and Bee wasn¡¯t sure why.


    Bee and her entourage were met with a many-legged freak on her approach. He had large, faceted eyes that bulged from the top of his skull and walked on many sinewy, articulated legs. Bee recognised him as the musician who played for her and Jhedothar at the feast. His armour was dented and ill-fitting, but he wore it with pride nevertheless.


    ¡°Allow me to finally introduce myself, Your Ladyship.¡± He swept low, a half-dozen legs bending. ¡°I am Yoxsimer of the Abbalate."


    ¡°Bee.¡± She tried to smile. ¡°You don¡¯t have to call me a Lady.¡±


    ¡°Oh, but that is my wish,¡± he said with a gentle laugh. His mandibles twisted into what might have approximated a smile in return, head tipping aside as if he was too shy to meet her dark eyes. ¡°Would you deny me that?¡±


    He was charming. Bee¡¯s smile became perhaps more genuine. ¡°No, I guess not.¡± Bee pursed her lips. ¡°What I would deny is this whole thing. I don¡¯t think we should be readying to fight like this.¡±


    ¡°Alas, alas,¡± Yoxsimer turned to walk with them towards Jhedothar¡¯s position, up the sloping ramparts and winding streets within them. ¡°The City is larger than any of us, and we must struggle to take our rightful place.¡±


    ¡°Do you really believe that?¡± Bee asked. ¡°Or are you just repeating what Jhedothar tells you?¡±


    Yoxsimer laughed again. ¡°You have a tongue as sharp as any blade, if you will excuse my saying so, Your Ladyship. No, these are my words. I follow him because our goals align. You will find I do not blindly accept everything he says.¡±


    ¡°And what exactly are your goals?¡± Bee realised she was grinning now. There was a playfulness to the way Yoxsimer spoke that endeared her to him.


    ¡°The same as yours, I think,¡± Yoxsimer said before they arrived upon Jhedothar¡¯s cadre. ¡°Ah, allow me, Your Ladyship.¡± He raised his voice to herald their coming. ¡°Lord Jhedothar, the Lady of Sestchek has arrived.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Jhedothar said. His eyes were fixed upon the columns of the temple district and the vast structure that enclosed it. Bee turned to look, too, and she saw beyond their hastily erected barriers that the area opposing them had also been barricaded. But then Bee¡¯s eyes snapped to the burned and collapsed remains of the church within it. The sight of the hallowed site, gutted and destroyed, stung her unexpectedly.


    ¡°The Axiamati remnants hold the remains of the dynasty¡¯s shrine,¡± Jhedothar continued. ¡°There are perhaps twenty of them. We outnumber them ten to one.¡±


    ¡°Is that enough?¡± Bee asked, which earned her a dark look from Jhedothar.


    ¡°It will be a short fight, if it comes to that,¡± Jhedothar said before shouting over his shoulder. ¡°Today, the Pale rule over Acetyn comes to an end!¡±


    And his mob cheered.


    Whilst the armed forces surrounding the plateau roared, Jhedothar turned to look down at Bee. ¡°The Axiamati still have a semblance of honour. You shall come with me, together with Yoxsimer and the Blades of the Rose, to accept their surrender. Yonmar Free, come to record this moment.¡± He glanced back at Slashex briefly. ¡°The rest shall remain here.¡±


    Doubt crept into her eyes, and Bee shared a look with Slashex, who was still dressed in his pale cloak despite Jhedothar¡¯s bellowing. She was certain that it would not be so easy.

 The Taste of Red 4.

    The Mother¡¯s temple had long since turned to ruin. Its once-majestic entryway had collapsed, skeletal now, and clawed at the sky, blackened from the fire that had devoured it. Charred husks of its walls rose from the cracked foundations like teeth, and the scent of ash lingered in the air, a bitter reminder of what had been lost. Its walls had collapsed into piles of rubble that had been hastily repurposed into makeshift fortifications.


    Bee stood at the edge of this desolation, her eyes wide as she surveyed the pall scene, and her plated feet hesitated on the fractured stone steps. Beside her, Jhedothar strode forward, his presence commanding even on the approach of his lifelong enemies. His cloak fluttered in the wind, and his armour shone bright and golden. Yoxsimer¡ªhand twitching anxiously on the hilt of his sheathed blade¡ªflanked him. Behind them marched the Blades of the Rose, disciplined and ready, as though eager for the battle to come.


    Carefully, Bee adjusted the golden dress draped over her slender frame, the silken fabric catching on the edges of her biomechanical plates. The gown was Jhedothar¡¯s heraldic colour¡ªa bold statement of her supposed allegiance to him. It felt alien against her skin, a constant reminder of the precarious position she found herself in. Her wings twitched beneath the fabric, the engines in her back humming softly in protest at their confinement.


    The Axiamati soldiers waited ahead, a formidable force despite their ragged state. Twenty of them stood in a grim line, led by a battle-hardened commander, his face, with its large, compound eyes, drawn and marked with scars of decades past. Though frozen in place, the soldiers clutched their lances, eyes wide as Bee approached. They whispered among themselves, their voices low and reverent.


    Bee shifted uncomfortably under their gazes. She could hear the murmur of their disbelief, their awe, their hope.


    ¡°Is she real?¡± one of them whispered, his hand trembling on his weapon.


    ¡°She is. I told you. I told you the stories were true.¡±


    And, indeed, she was real. Not a myth. Not just a whispered tale to pass the quiet and hungry hours by. She had been born in the decaying remnants of a dying city, far away, a flicker of life among ruins. Now, here she was, at the centre of a story that had begun long before she ever took her first breath. Bee¡¯s heart raced, and she could feel their eyes on her, heavy with expectation. She wanted to disappear beneath their gazes, but there was no turning back now.


    ¡°Are you alright, Your Ladyship?¡± Yoxsimer of the Abbalate quietly asked, his voice carrying a melody that seemed out of place amid the devastation. The many-legged musician stood beside her, his faceted eyes reflecting the dim light that filtered through the smoke-stained sky. His dented armour clattered softly as he shifted his weight, knees grinding in a subtle symphony of metal and chitin.


    Bee offered a faint smile. ¡°As all right as I can be, I suppose,¡± she replied, her gaze fixed on the warped metal sculpture of the arrowhead¡ªthe last remnant of the Immortal¡¯s shrine. It stood defiantly amid the ruins, its once sleek form now twisted and blackened by the flames that had consumed nearly everything else.


    All except that wrought iron sculpture of that man in the centre that remained seemingly impervious to harm.


    The soldiers parted, stepping aside in slow, reverent movements as the nobles Bee and Jhedothar approached the ruined heart of the temple. Their fear was palpable, but so was their hope. They had been waiting for this¡ªwaiting for her. Bee wasn¡¯t sure what they saw in her, not really, but the look in their eyes somehow frightened her more than their weapons ever could.


    Jhedothar, sensing the tension in the air, paused only briefly. His ruby spear caught the dull light, casting ominous reflections as his cold gaze swept across the Axiamati soldiers before locking onto their leader. The old warrior stood alone at the foot of what had once been the temple¡¯s grand altar to the Immortal. His armour was scarred, his helm missing, exposing his worn, lined face. His dark compound eyes met Jhedothar¡¯s with a hardened, knowing look.


    Bee couldn¡¯t help but look to where the altars of the Vat-Mother and the Wire-Witch had been obliterated to an unrecognisable collapse.


    Now all eyes were on them. The Axiamati soldiers¡ªtwenty in all¡ªstood amidst the rubble, their pale cloaks tattered and stained. Their bodies bore the marks of recent battles: bruises, hastily bandaged wounds, and the weary posture of those who had seen too much.


    ¡°Stay close, Your Ladyship,¡± Toshtta whispered, her voice barely audible beneath her helmet.


    Bee nodded, swallowing hard. She could hear the murmurs spreading through the Axiamati ranks.


    ¡°Is it really her?¡±


    ¡°The Last Lady?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s real... she¡¯s really here?¡±


    The old warrior stepped forward, his bearing stoic despite the weariness etched into his features. His battered armour bore the remnants of intricate designs¡ªa testament to a nobler past. Bee recognised the commander from below, Cruiros, a leader among the Axiamati.


    ¡°Jhedothar the Lance, is it?¡± Cartaxa said, inclining his head in a gesture that was respectful yet devoid of subservience. ¡°We did not expect you here.¡±


    ¡°And why should you not?¡± Jhedothar bit back. ¡°I am lord of this domain.¡±


    ¡°Truly?¡± Cartaxa¡¯s mandibles twisted in contempt. ¡°You never struck me as the sort to squat in an abandoned tower.¡±


    ¡°Abandoned no longer. I am Lord of Cruiros.¡±


    ¡°You are no lord, Jhedothar. The title of Ymmngorad hasn¡¯t been bestowed upon you.¡±


    Jhedothar¡¯s eyes narrowed, his voice sharp. ¡°Spare me, you pale sycophant. Where is the Eidolon?¡±


    Cartaxa met his gaze evenly. ¡°She has gone to find her.¡±


    ¡°Her?¡± Jhedothar¡¯s tone held a dangerous edge.


    Cartaxa¡¯s eyes shifted to Bee, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of his mandibles. ¡°The Last Lady of Sestchek,¡± he said. ¡°The true daughter of the Vat-Mother. The one we came here to find.¡±


    Bee felt a flush rise to her cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and unease. She glanced at Jhedothar, noting the muscle twitching in his bestial jaw.


    ¡°You dare address her directly?¡± Jhedothar growled, taking a step forward.


    Cartaxa remained unfazed. ¡°I will address her as I please, Jhedothar. My allegiance lies with her,¡± he said calmly. ¡°We have come to pledge ourselves to her cause.¡±


    A murmur rippled through the Axiamati soldiers behind him, their eyes fixed on Bee with renewed intensity.


    Bee¡¯s heart pounded in her chest. ¡°I... I¡¯m not sure what cause you mean,¡± she said, her voice barely above a whisper.


    Cartaxa took a deliberate step toward her, meeting Jhedothar¡¯s advance. The Blades of the Rose tensed, their hands tightening around their lances, but Bee raised her remaining hand to ask them to stand down.


    ¡°The Eidolon has shared tales of your journey,¡± Cartaxa said. ¡°Of your intended defiance against the Immortal and her progeny. We believe you are the one who can free us from this nightmare.¡±


    Jhedothar scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. ¡°She is under my protection. Any pledges will be made to me.¡±


    ¡°Protection?¡± Yoxsimer chimed in, a hint of amusement in his tone. ¡°It seems the Lady can inspire loyalty on her own.¡±


    Cartaxa turned his attention to Yoxsimer, his eyes glinting with recognition. ¡°Yoxsimer,¡± he acknowledged. ¡°Still clinging onto titles, I see.¡±


    Yoxsimer¡¯s mandibles curved into a wry smile. ¡°And you, cousin, seem to have shed yours¡ªalong with a few limbs,¡± he quipped, his gaze drifting to Cartaxa¡¯s altered, near-humanoid form, sculpted to fit the Axiamati prescription.


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    Bee glanced between them, confusion flickering across her face. ¡°You know each other?¡±


    ¡°Family connections run deep,¡± Yoxsimer replied casually. ¡°Cartaxa here chose a different path, aligning himself with the lords above and abandoning his heritage.¡±


    Cartaxa¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°I chose a path of honor, of sacrifice,¡± he retorted. ¡°Not one of complacency.¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± Jhedothar¡¯s voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Be silent, Yoxsimer. I will not tolerate insubordination. You, Cartaxa, surrender your arms and what remains of this temple. Tell me where the Eidolon is, or face the consequences!¡±


    Cartaxa¡¯s gaze shifted back to Bee, pointedly ignoring the upstart lordling. ¡°Our quarrel is not with you, Your Ladyship,¡± he said, ignoring Jhedothar¡¯s outburst. ¡°We are here to serve. Say the word and I shall silence this pretender on your behalf.¡±


    Bee felt the weight of his words settle upon her. She searched his compound eyes, finding sincerity there but also wariness. ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone to fight,¡± she said softly. ¡°There¡¯s been too much killing already.¡±


    A flicker of relief passed over Cartaxa¡¯s face. ¡°Accept our pledge,¡± he urged. ¡°Let us stand with you.¡±


    Jhedothar¡¯s eyes flashed with anger. ¡°You overstep, Cartaxa,¡± he snarled. ¡°She is mine.¡±


    Bee bristled at the possessiveness in his tone. ¡°I¡¯m not anyone¡¯s possession,¡± she said firmly, meeting Jhedothar¡¯s gaze.


    The surrounding soldiers exchanged glances, the atmosphere shifting with her defiance. Toshtta shifted subtly, positioning herself between Bee and Jhedothar, her stance protective.


    Bee¡¯s gaze flickered between Toshtta and Jhedothar, a knot of tension tightening in her stomach. It was then she noticed the subtle angle of Toshtta¡¯s lance¡ªnot pointed at Cartaxa or the Axiamati soldiers, but at Jhedothar himself. The realisation sent a jolt through her. Toshtta¡¯s armoured form stood poised, the golden blade of her weapon glinting ominously in the dim light.


    Jhedothar¡¯s eyes narrowed, his grip on the ruby spear shifting as he became aware of the threat. The air grew thick with unspoken hostility. Bee saw the muscles in Jhedothar¡¯s centaurian form tense, ready to spring. His bestial skull tilted ever so slightly toward Toshtta, a silent challenge.


    At the same moment, Cartaxa¡¯s hand moved to rest on the hilt of his sword. His gaze remained steady on Jhedothar, his posture calm but resolute. The Axiamati soldiers behind him shifted, their hands inching toward their weapons. The Blades of the Rose mirrored the movement, creating a tableau of impending violence. All throughout, Yoxsimer and Yonmar Free watched closely, making no motion to intervene on Jhedothar¡¯s behalf.


    Bee¡¯s heart pounded in her chest. The possibility hung heavily in the air: they could all work together to kill Jhedothar here and now. Toshtta and the Blades had perhaps been waiting for this opportunity to overthrow him and free their Lady, the Rose of Thorns. The thought was both tempting and terrifying.


    But was that the answer?


    She glanced at Jhedothar. Despite his arrogance and cruelty, he had shown moments of restraint¡ªhowever fleeting. Did he deserve to be cut down in cold blood? And what of the soldiers loyal to him waiting outside? If they emerged without their leader, or if word spread that he had been slain, chaos would erupt. The fragile balance of power in Cruiros could shatter entirely, plunging the realm into deeper turmoil.


    Bee swallowed hard, her throat dry. She recalled the warnings of Slashex and the Wire-Witch: trust no one. The intricate web of alliances and enmities was too dangerous to navigate impulsively. Allowing Jhedothar to be killed might solve one problem but create countless others.


    Perhaps it would be better if these factions remained wary of each other rather than eventually unite against her, she thought guiltily.


    No. Bee shook her head to dispel that thought. She couldn¡¯t let more blood be spilt, not when there was a chance¡ªhowever slim¡ªto forge a different path.


    ¡°Stop,¡± Bee said firmly, her voice cutting through the tension. She stepped forward, positioning herself between Jhedothar and Toshtta. ¡°Enough!¡±


    Toshtta¡¯s visor tilted toward her. ¡°Your Ladyship...¡±


    Bee met her gaze unflinchingly. ¡°Lower your weapon, Toshtta.¡±


    For a moment, the Blade of the Rose hesitated. Then, with a subtle nod, she eased her lance away from Jhedothar, though her posture remained alert.


    Bee turned to Cartaxa, her expression resolute. ¡°I won¡¯t be the cause of more death,¡± she said. ¡°We have to find a way to work together.¡±


    Jhedothar scoffed, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. All sides turning on him at once had clearly shattered his delusions of invincibility. ¡°You think unity is possible with traitors and deserters?¡±


    ¡°Maybe. You¡¯re a traitor and a deserter too, after all,¡± Bee answered, actually making Jhedothar flinch. ¡°We have to try. If we don¡¯t at least try, then that¡¯s it for us.¡±


    A murmur rippled through the assembled soldiers. Some looked hopeful; others remained guarded. The tension began to ease, though the atmosphere was still heavy with anticipation.


    Cartaxa regarded her thoughtfully. ¡°You are wise beyond your days, Your Ladyship,¡± he said quietly.


    She offered a faint smile. ¡°I don¡¯t know about that,¡± she admitted. ¡°But I know that continuing to fight will only get us all killed.¡±


    An uneasy silence settled over the group. Bee could feel the weight of their gazes¡ªJhedothar¡¯s scepticism, Toshtta¡¯s cautious respect, Cartaxa¡¯s guarded optimism.


    ¡°Very well,¡± Jhedothar said, at last, his tone begrudging. ¡°We will postpone any... decisions, for now. They may join us at Ymmngorad as our guests.¡±


    Bee nodded appreciatively, sensing that this was the best concession they would get from him at the moment.


    It was then that Cartaxa bowed his head. ¡°We await your word, Your Ladyship.¡±


    Bee hesitated, uncertainty gnawing at her. She glanced at Yonmar Free, who offered a slight nod of encouragement. Taking a deep breath, she made her decision.


    ¡°Very well,¡± she said. ¡°I accept your pledge.¡±


    A collective sigh seemed to ripple through the Axiamati ranks. Some smiled, others bowed their heads in gratitude. But before the moment could settle, a figure stumbled forward from among them.


    He was young¡ªor at least, Bee thought he might be. His features were obscured by grime and blood, one arm bound tightly against his chest with a makeshift sling. Despite his roughly humanoid form, his body was twisted and bent, showing signs of being another shape entirely once, then being carved into this one. Before anyone could react, he fell to his knees in front of Bee, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and desperation.


    The suddenness of his approach made the Blades of the Rose move swiftly, their lances and swords drawn and poised to strike. ¡°Stand back!¡± Toshtta commanded, her voice echoing through the ruins.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Bee exclaimed, stepping forward. She placed herself between the injured soldier and the drawn blades, her hand raised in a gesture of peace.


    The Blades hesitated, their gazes shifting to Toshtta for guidance. Toshtta studied Bee for a moment before nodding to her companions. Reluctantly, they withdrew their weapons.


    ¡°Please, Your Ladyship,¡± he cried out, his voice hoarse. ¡°When I joined the Axiamati, I first pledged myself before the Wire-Witch and she found me vile. I ask for your blessing. I ask you¡­ please, save us. Please, lead us to Paradise!¡±


    Bee knelt before the soldier, her golden gown pooling around her. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± she asked gently.


    ¡°Emris,¡± he whispered, tears welling in his eyes.


    Her heart ached at the raw emotion in his voice. ¡°Emris, I... I¡¯m not sure I can do what you ask,¡± she admitted. ¡°But I promise to try. I¡¯ll do everything I can to make things better.¡±


    He grasped her hand¡ªher only hand¡ªwith surprising strength. ¡°Thank you,¡± he murmured, his gaze searching hers for hope.


    All eyes there in that makeshift camp turned upon that sight. A lowly freak and a lady clasping their hands together. She didn¡¯t pull away.


    Bee offered a small smile. ¡°You¡¯re not alone,¡± she said softly. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of people suffering, right now. Together we can make it better.¡±


    Behind her, Jhedothar scoffed. ¡°This is pointless,¡± he muttered. ¡°We should be hunting the Eidolon, not indulging in fantasies.¡±


    Bee stood, her eyes meeting his with a newfound resolve. ¡°These people need hope more than they need more killing,¡± she said. ¡°If I can offer that, then it¡¯s not pointless.¡±


    Jhedothar¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°Hope doesn¡¯t win wars,¡± he retorted.


    ¡°Perhaps not,¡± Yonmar interjected, stepping forward. ¡°But it can inspire people to fight for a cause greater than themselves.¡±


    ¡°Careful, monk,¡± Jhedothar warned. ¡°Your counsel borders on insolence.¡±


    Yonmar bowed his head slightly. ¡°Merely offering perspective, Your Lordship.¡±


    A tense silence settled over the group. Bee glanced at Toshtta, who gave a barely perceptible nod. She turned back to Emris, who was being helped to his feet by fellow soldiers.


    ¡°We should return,¡± Jhedothar declared, his patience clearly waning. ¡°There¡¯s much to be done, especially if that butcher is on the loose.¡±


    Bee nodded though her mind was elsewhere. She looked around at the faces surrounding her¡ªworn, hopeful, fearful. They were placing their trust in her. She nodded to herself.


    Bee felt a gentle touch on her shoulder as they began to make their way back through the ruins. She turned to see Toshtta walking beside her.


    ¡°You carry a heavy burden, Your Ladyship,¡± Toshtta said quietly.


    ¡°I know,¡± Bee replied, her voice barely audible. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask for it, but... I can¡¯t turn away.¡±


    Toshtta regarded her for a moment. ¡°Your compassion is a strength,¡± she said. ¡°Don¡¯t let others make you believe otherwise.¡±


    Bee offered a grateful smile. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said sincerely.


    Yoxsimer sidled up on her other side, his many legs easily navigating the rubble. ¡°Quite a show back there,¡± he remarked. ¡°You have a way with people.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just trying to help,¡± Bee said.


    ¡°And that¡¯s precisely why they¡¯ll follow you,¡± he said, his tone light but his faceted eyes thoughtful.


    As they moved away from the temple, Bee cast one last glance at the blackened sculpture of the Pilgrim. There it would remain evermore, impervious amidst the devastation, a silent testament to their past and futures both.

 The Taste of Red 5.

    A series of detonations burst through the arched ceiling, shards of stone and ancient machinery raining down in jagged, burning fragments. The Tower of Ymmngorad trembled. Rubble filled the halls, the once-grand spires bowing under the weight of the assault that tore them apart piece by piece.


    The arming halls were risen, and the gates sealed. With no entry availed to her, she had entered through the walls themselves, detonating a cache of armaments in the courtyard, puncturing the ancient, armoured flesh of Ymmngorad. Still, fires and explosions spread around its base.


    The garrison was depleted, the few remaining guards scrambling to form a defence. Most of them had been deployed with Jhedothar, leaving the tower vulnerable. Too vulnerable. An army marching to take the tower would have been spotted. Any sizeable force would have been intercepted. However, it was the way of this world that some impossible few possessed the power in their own hands to decide the fate of the City as they saw fit.


    The Eidolon moved like a shadow amongst the chaos, her ragged cloak trailing in her wake. She strode through the devastation, smoke curling from the cracks in her mechatronic form as if it were breathing for her. Her blade flickered in and out of the haze, flashing with lethal precision as she cut down guard after guard. Their bodies fell at her feet, a macabre carpet of blood and broken bone.


    And she saw nothing but a tower filled with squatters, scratching at and pretending some scrap of greatness unearned.


    One tried to rally¡ªa captain, his lance shaking in his grip as he stepped into her path. But the Eidolon didn¡¯t stop. She moved through him, her blade catching the light for a single, gleaming moment before it plunged into his chest. Her fist followed suit, pneumatic hoses pumping and cybernetic actuators hissing as it tore through his broken form. He gasped¡ªa wet, rasping sound¡ªand crumpled to the floor, his bioweapon clattering uselessly beside him.


    She did not even pause to watch him fall.


    Her dozen eyes, at once empty and aglow with a terrible purpose, were fixed on the gateway to the Lord¡¯s chambers ahead. The last bastion of Ymmngorad¡¯s defences¡ªwhat was left of them.


    The throne room¡¯s great iron doors groaned as they were forced open. More guards¡ªthin, ragged, weary¡ªwaited beyond. They had no chance.


    The Eidolon battered through the doors with a bludgeoning kick, one that boomed throughout the tower and shattered the barricade erected to stop her. Blade raised, her breath came slow and steady despite the bloodbath she left behind. The guards rushed her, but it was no battle. It was a slaughter.


    Bone clashed against starmetal, and for every blow they struck the Eidolon returned tenfold. She moved amidst the great, decorated pillars with the deadly grace of something more, her motions swift and relentless, her strength far beyond anything natural. Her body¡¯s pneumatic pumps and screaming engines shuddered and thumped as she moved faster than muscle could ever allow. Their blades glanced off her armoured body, leaving little more than sparks in their wake. One by one, they fell.


    When the last guard crumpled to the ground, the Eidolon stood alone in the hall, blood dripping from her sword, her plates streaked with the red and black of her enemies. She regarded that empty throne without an ounce of care. The battle was over. Yet she had not found what she was looking for.


    The blood was still fresh on the stones, the echo of the final guard¡¯s death cry fading into the distant, crumbling corners of the tower. The Eidolon¡¯s footsteps were measured, deliberate, as she strode deeper into the hollow halls of Ymmngorad. Her blade, slick with crimson, remained unsheathed in her hand, glinting in the low light that filtered through the battered hall of the Lord¡¯s inner sanctum.


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    She moved like a predator through the gloom, the very air heavy with the scent of iron and smoke. Purpose unfulfilled, her eyes, burning, scanned the shadows for what she knew must still be hidden within these cursed walls amidst the old brambles and even more ancient machinery that corrupted the flesh of the City.


    If the young lady was not here, if she was devoured or dead, there would at least be some clue as to her fate. Some wretch wearing a stolen part of her body. Some carcass on display. The Eidolon pushed that thought aside and continued on.


    Another distant tremor rattled the floor beneath her boots. Still, she pressed forward, the tower¡¯s tremors of destruction no longer concerning her. She could feel the desperation lingering in the dark corners, the silent pulse of fear that threaded through the empty halls. The remaining forces loyal to Jhedothar had abandoned this place to her, yet something remained.


    It was then, just beyond a splintered doorway, that she heard it¡ªa whimper, faint and desperate, the sound of life too fragile for the slaughter she had wrought. The Eidolon¡¯s head turned sharply, her dozen glowing eyes narrowing as she stepped into the dim chamber beyond.


    There, half-hidden behind a toppled chair and an overturned tapestry lay a Flowerbedside companion. Once delicate and fine, her gown was torn and soiled with the dust spilling from the walls as the tower shook. She trembled uncontrollably, her body pressed tight against the wall as if hoping it would swallow her whole. Her pale hands tried in vain to pull the fabric of the fallen banner around her petalled mien for protection, though it did nothing to shield her from the Eidolon¡¯s gaze.


    The Flowerbedside companion¡¯s eyes were wide with terror, her lips quivering as she forced herself to speak.


    ¡°P-please¡­¡± the maiden, Meb, whimpered, her voice cracking. ¡°Please, don¡¯t kill me¡­ I¡ªI don¡¯t know anything¡­ I¡¯m just a servant, I¡ªI¡­¡±


    Her words trailed off into a choked sob, her fingers clutching the tattered fabric. Her gaze flicked to the bloodied sword in the Eidolon¡¯s hand, and she whimpered again, shrinking further against the wall.


    The Eidolon remained motionless, watching the Flowerbedside companion with silent intensity. The sword in her hand lowered, the tip just barely scraping the stone floor as her gaze softened ever so slightly. However, her alien expression, with its rings of prehensile teeth, remained unreadable.


    For a long moment, neither of them moved. The Flowerbedside companion¡¯s breathing was ragged, her heart pounding so loudly in her chest that it seemed to echo in the stillness of the room. Her wide, tear-filled eyes never left the figure before her, waiting for the inevitable strike that would end her life.


    But it never came.


    The Eidolon tilted her head, something shifting in her posture. She wasn¡¯t here for this. The terrified freak was no threat¡ªno obstacle to her purpose. The maiden was fragile, inconsequential in the grand web of violence and revenge that spun through this tower. Yet there was something else. Some mote of remembrance rose up in the Eidolon¡¯s mind as she gazed down at the quivering figure. The sound of her cries, the helplessness in her voice¡ªit struck a chord, something long buried and almost forgotten. An old bruise on her psyche.


    Her hand flexed on the hilt of her sword, but she did not raise it.


    The Flowerbedside companion, sensing the brief lull in the air, risked a glance upward. Shaking and desperate, her voice barely found the strength to form words.


    ¡°Please¡­¡± she whispered. ¡°I beg you¡­¡±


    The Eidolon exhaled, a sound so soft it was almost imperceptible. Then, without a word, she turned. The sword still hung in her grip, its edge trailing blood in a faint line across the floor as she strode away from the cornered woman, her plated feet echoing in the empty corridor beyond.


    The Flowerbedside companion collapsed to her knees, sobbing into her hands, alive¡ªat least for now.


    But the Eidolon, though silent and composed, seemed distant, her mind elsewhere as she continued through the halls, up stairways, ever higher. Her mission had not been completed, but whatever revelation had come to her at that moment weighed on her more than the blade in her hand.


    The young lady she was searching for, little Bee, she was not here. But someone else was, someone long hidden away in this deep realm. Someone who should be dead, her survival kept a secret from the former dame and the common masses of the higher reaches.


    The Rose of Thorns herself.

 The Taste of Red 6.

    The ragtag army trudged across the overgrown expanse of Cruiros, a motley procession of twisted forms and mismatched limbs moving through the shadows of crumbling architecture. Within these hundreds of marching bodies, Bee walked beside the newly pledged Axiamati soldiers, Cartaxa at their fore. The Blades of the Rose flanked her, their armour gleaming even in the muted light, ever vigilant. Toshtta kept a careful eye on Bee, her posture protective yet measured.


    Behind them, Slashex moved with an eerie gait, his mechanical limbs clicking rhythmically against the uneven ground. Though blind, his echolocation guided him with unsettling precision. He had quickly fallen in line, revealing not an ounce of surprise when they all emerged together peaceably. And, as they marched, Bee could feel his presence, a constant reminder of the ambiguous alliances surrounding her.


    ¡°Strange, isn¡¯t it?¡± Cartaxa mused, his voice low. ¡°To find ourselves marching side by side after all this.¡±


    Bee glanced at him, noting the weariness etched into his features, and then looked back as she realised he spoke to Slashex. The mute thought came to her that they both wore the same colours but arrived here through very different means. It seemed like they knew one another.


    ¡°Perhaps it¡¯s a sign that your old lady still approves of your course,¡± Slashex said quietly.


    ¡°Or that we¡¯re all running out of choices,¡± Toshtta interjected, her tone neutral.


    Bee offered a faint smile, trying to ease the tension. ¡°Either way, we¡¯re here now.¡±


    Still, they walked. The ruins of Cruiros loomed around them, and the derelict remains of buildings cast jagged shadows. The air was thick with the scent of oil and rust. The distant hum of Ymmngorad¡¯s machinery was a constant backdrop, and the density of the thorny overgrowth choked with every turn.


    Suddenly, a distant rumble rolled through the air, followed by a muffled explosion. Bee halted, her breath catching in her throat. ¡°Did you hear that?¡± she asked, eyes scanning the streets surrounding them.


    Another explosion sounded, this time more pronounced. Plumes of smoke began to rise from the direction of Ymmngorad, dark clouds billowing against the pale backdrop of the bone sky.


    Murmurs rippled through the ranks. The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, their movements growing restless. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± someone called out.


    Bee and her entourage ran, those in their way scrambling to part. They reached a junction where great, winding roads collided. There, the breach in the cityscape let them see. The great tower of Ymmngorad, with its twin spires, was ablaze. The great bough of vines that at once overtook it and anchored it to the sky trembled with each explosive peal that resounded from its base, a relentless staccato of runaway disaster.


    Jhedothar pushed his way forward, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight. ¡°Impossible,¡± he muttered.


    Bee¡¯s heart quickened. The worm in her skull stirred, its presence suddenly sharp and invasive. It slithered through her mind and, like warm silk, wrapped around her thoughts. Her brain felt like it was being squeezed, her ears popping with the pressure.


    ¡°It¡¯s her,¡± the worm whispered, echoing within her. ¡°The Eidolon is there. We must go to her, my sweet thing.¡±


    Bee pressed a hand to her temple, wincing at the intensity. ¡°No,¡± she whispered. ¡°We can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°She needs us,¡± the worm insisted, its voice easing its way through her fear and doubt. ¡°Do you feel that? You know it to be true, my sweet little Bee.¡±


    Bee shook her head, trying to dispel the intrusive thoughts and feelings. ¡°I have to stay here,¡± she argued silently. ¡°They need me to make sure they don¡¯t fight again...¡±


    A wave of anguish crashed over her, the worm amplifying her emotions until they threatened to overwhelm her. Images flashed before her eyes¡ªthe Eidolon facing the chaos below, the silent protector who had stood as a bulwark against the darkness of the depths and the hounds that stalked there¡ªthe thought of her guardian stance over her. A deep longing welled up within Bee, an almost painful need.


    ¡°Bee?¡± Toshtta¡¯s voice cut through the haze. ¡°Are you all right?¡±


    Bee blinked rapidly, focusing on Toshtta¡¯s concerned gaze. ¡°I... I don¡¯t know,¡± she admitted, her voice barely audible.


    Cartaxa stepped closer, his expression cautious. ¡°Perhaps we should find shelter,¡± he suggested. ¡°Regroup and assess the situation.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the worm urged. ¡°Go to her now.¡±


    Bee felt a surge of urgency. Her gaze flicked back to the smoke rising from Ymmngorad, the explosions continuing in sporadic bursts. The tower seemed to shudder, its once-imposing silhouette marred by fire and destruction, even as the still visages of vast titans that held up the sky above looked on without a care.


    ¡°I have to go,¡± Bee said abruptly.


    Toshtta frowned. ¡°Go where?¡±


    ¡°To Ymmngorad,¡± Bee replied, her voice gaining strength. ¡°I need to find her¡ªthe Eidolon.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious,¡± Cartaxa objected. ¡°Look at that blaze. It¡¯s too dangerous.¡±


    Bee took a step back from them, her eyes pleading for understanding.


    ¡°Bee, wait!¡± Toshtta reached out, but Bee was already moving.


    Running, Bee grasped the edges of her golden gown, the fabric shimmering as she pulled it over her head and discarded it onto the dusty ground. Beneath, her biomechanical form was revealed¡ªthe glistening plates covering her torso and legs, the intricate mechanisms of the bioengines embedded into her back.


    Her wings unfolded, iridescent and delicate, yet powered by the sophisticated engines that hummed to life. The air around her stirred as the wings beat, generating a buzzing rhythm.


    ¡°Your Ladyship, please reconsider!¡± Toshtta begged, too late.


    Bee looked back, genuine remorse in her eyes. Yet before anyone else could react, she launched herself into the air. The sudden gust from her ascent sent dust swirling around those below. Bee soared upward, her wings carrying her swiftly toward the assaulted tower.


    ¡°Bee!¡± Toshtta shouted after her, voice lost to the wind.


    On the ground, the soldiers watched in astonishment. Some shielded their eyes against the glare of distant fires, while others simply stared, mouths agape.


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    ¡°Well, that complicates matters,¡± Cartaxa muttered.


    Toshtta clenched her fists. ¡°We can¡¯t let her go alone.¡±


    ¡°And what would you have us do?¡± Cartaxa challenged. ¡°We can¡¯t fly.¡±


    Toshtta turned to the other Blades of the Rose. ¡°We move out, now¡ªreach Ymmngorad as quickly as possible.¡±


    Jhedothar approached them, his expression a mix of anger and confusion. ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡±


    ¡°Her Ladyship has gone to confront the Eidolon,¡± Toshtta informed him, her tone clipped.


    ¡°Foolish girl,¡± Jhedothar spat. ¡°She¡¯ll get herself killed.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps you should have more faith,¡± Slashex interjected smoothly, stepping forward. His blind gaze seemed to pierce through them. ¡°After all, she possesses potential beyond your understanding.¡±


    Jhedothar glared at him. ¡°Stay out of this, you witch¡¯s pawn.¡±


    Slashex met his glare with defiance.


    Without waiting for further orders, Toshtta rallied her fellow Blades and Cartaxa, the Axiamati soldiers. Jhedothar was left standing, staring in the direction in which the young lady had flown away.


    And as the group began to mobilise, Slashex remained still. His echolocation clicks echoed softly as he tilted his head skyward toward Bee¡¯s flight. A subtle smile played on his lips, though it held no warmth.


    Meanwhile, high above, Bee pushed herself harder, the engines on her back emitting a high-pitched whine as she accelerated. From her heart emanated a pink glow, suffusing her flesh and casting sharp relief against her bones and plates.


    Bee soared toward the towering silhouette of Ymmngorad, her wings straining as she pushed through the acrid smoke that billowed into the sky. The great chains suspending the arming hall glinted dully in the fiery glow that engulfed the tower. As she approached, the open gate of the risen arming hall beckoned¡ªa gaping maw welcoming her within.


    She angled her descent, engines whirring as she navigated the turbulent air. A sudden gust of scalding wind buffeted her, throwing her momentarily off course. She righted herself, adjusting her wings with instinctive ease.


    The worm pulsed within her mind, a steady rhythm syncing with her heartbeat.


    ¡°We¡¯re close,¡± the worm urged. ¡°We¡¯re so close, now. Give yourself to her, my sweet.¡±


    With a final surge, she swept through the gateway, her plated feet touching down on the cold, silicon flesh of the floor. Her landing echoed through the cavernous space, but no other sounds greeted her.


    The arming hall was deserted. Racks of lances stood abandoned, armour strewn about as if discarded in haste. The usual hum of activity was absent, replaced by the distant roar of flames and the groaning of stressed metal.


    Bee¡¯s eyes darted around, her heart pounding. ¡°Hello?¡± she called out, her voice swallowed by the vastness of the chamber.


    There was no answer.


    She moved deeper into the hall, her footsteps quickening. The organic walls pulsed faintly, the living structure of Ymmngorad reacting to the turmoil. As she turned a corner, she halted abruptly, her breath catching in her throat.


    Bodies lay scattered along the corridor¡ªguards and servants alike. Their forms were twisted; some slumped against the walls, others sprawled across the floor. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the smoke, creating a sickening haze.


    Bee pressed her hand to her mouth, her stomach churning. Memories flooded back¡ªthe desolate streets of Sestchek, the lifeless faces of those who had perished there. She had seen death before, and its familiarity was stirring.


    ¡°Not again,¡± she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. ¡°Why does it always have to be like this?¡±


    The worm in her skull squirmed hard enough to make her gasp, and her knees tremble. She had to keep going. So Bee swallowed hard, forcing herself to step forward. Her wings folded tightly against her back as she navigated the grim tableau. Each body she passed another injustice regarded.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t deserve this,¡± she thought, sorrow and anger welling within her.


    An explosion reverberated through the tower, the floor beneath her feet trembling violently. Bee stumbled, catching herself against the wall. Dust and debris rained down from above, and the organic fibres and the old machinery embedded within the structure groaned in protest.


    She pushed onward, her resolve hardening. The throne room wasn¡¯t far now. Perhaps there she would find some sign of the Eidolon.


    As she approached the grand entrance to the throne room, she noticed the thorned vines that twisted along the walls and ceiling. The overgrowth seemed alive, the thorns flexing and tightening as if reacting to the tower¡¯s distress. Bee watched as the vines coiled around cracked beams and supports, reinforcing them.


    ¡°She¡¯s holding it together,¡± Bee realised. ¡°The Rose of Thorns... she¡¯s protecting the tower.¡±


    The great doors to the throne room stood ajar, one hanging precariously from its hinges. Bee slipped inside, her gaze sweeping the vast chamber. The imposing throne sat empty, its cold presence a stark reminder of Jhedothar¡¯s absent authority. The fallen bodies of that last line of defence were here, forms both broken and terrorised. As she walked amongst them, shadows danced along the grand, ornate pillars, but there was no sign of the Eidolon.


    ¡°Hello?¡± she called out tentatively, her voice echoing.


    Silence.


    Another distant explosion shook the room, and Bee felt a surge of frustration. She was too late. The Eidolon had come and gone, leaving destruction in her wake.


    A muffled sob broke the quiet.


    Bee turned sharply, her eyes searching the dimly lit corners. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡±


    From behind a pillar, a figure emerged¡ªa Flowerbedside Companion, her delicate petals streaked with soot and tears. It was one of the maidens who had attended to Bee during her confinement.


    ¡°Meb!¡± Bee exclaimed, relief and concern flooding her voice. She rushed toward the maiden, who stumbled forward, her sobs intensifying.


    ¡°Your Ladyship,¡± Meb cried, her voice choked. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry... I couldn¡¯t stop it...¡±


    Bee embraced Meb gently, feeling the trembling of her slender frame. ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± she soothed. You¡¯re safe now.¡±


    Meb clung to her, her petals wilted and ash stained. ¡°It was horrible,¡± she whispered. ¡°A monster... some kind of hound... it killed everyone.¡±


    Bee¡¯s heart sank. ¡°A hound?¡± she repeated, pulling back to look into Meb¡¯s eyes. ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    Meb nodded frantically. ¡°Yes... it moved so fast... they tried to stop it, but¡­¡± She broke down again, covering her face with her hands.


    Bee felt a chill run through her. The Eidolon was formidable, but the thought of her acts being mistaken for a hound...


    ¡°Where did it go?¡± she asked urgently. ¡°Did you see it?¡±


    Meb pointed upward, her fingers trembling. ¡°Up... it went up toward our Lady...¡±


    Bee¡¯s gaze followed the direction, her eyes tracing the intricate network of vines that spiralled toward the tower¡¯s heights. The realisation hit her like a blow.


    ¡°I have to get to her,¡± Bee murmured.


    Meb gripped her arm. ¡°Please, Your Ladyship, don¡¯t go,¡± she pleaded. ¡°It¡¯s too dangerous.¡±


    Bee placed her hand over Meb¡¯s, offering a reassuring squeeze. ¡°I can¡¯t let anything happen to your Lady,¡± she said gently. ¡°She¡¯s the only one holding this place together.¡±


    Meb¡¯s eyes shimmered with fear and desperation. ¡°But what if you¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be careful,¡± Bee promised. ¡°But I need you to do something for me.¡±


    Meb blinked, wiping her tears. ¡°Anything.¡±


    ¡°Find any survivors,¡± Bee instructed. ¡°Gather them somewhere safe, away from the fighting. Can you do that?¡±


    Meb hesitated, then nodded. ¡°Yes... yes, I can.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Bee said, offering a small smile. ¡°We¡¯ll get through this.¡±


    Meb released her grip, stepping back. ¡°Be careful, Your Ladyship,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°I will,¡± Bee assured her.


    As Meb turned to leave, Bee felt a surge of determination. Whilst Meb had mistaken the assailant as a hound due to the wickedness of the slaughter, she had little doubt that this was the work of the Eidolon. Only she was so perfect¡ª... Only she was so powerful. And the tower was crumbling, both literally and figuratively. If the Rose of Thorns fell, the entire structure could collapse. Yet there was more to it than that, Bee already suspected. The words she had shared with the Eidolon did not paint her as an uncaring monster. There must have been a reason for this.


    Bee pressed on to the spiralling stairwell upwards, scrambling up the narrow steps. Her thoughts became a whirlwind of urgency. She thought of the Rose of Thorns¡ªa figure she had yet to meet¡ªand the Eidolon. Perhaps there was a way to stop this madness before it was too late.

 The Taste of Red 7.

    Bee¡¯s footsteps echoed against the cold, spiralling steps as she ascended the narrow stairwell deep within Ymmngorad. The tower trembled intermittently, the aftershocks of explosions rumbling from its beleaguered base. Dust and small debris dislodged from above, sprinkling down onto her.


    She pressed onward, her breathing steady yet shallow. The organic walls of the stairwell seemed to close around her, the once spacious spiral narrowing into a claustrophobic tunnel. Thorned vines twisted and coiled along the walls, their growth becoming increasingly wild and dense. Some thorns grazed her skin as she passed, drawing thin lines of blood that she barely noticed.


    ¡°Keep going, my sweet,¡± the worm whispered in her mind, a soft murmur amid the chaos. ¡°We¡¯re so close now...¡±


    Bee nodded silently. She followed the stairwell as high as it would take her, her wings tucked tightly against her back to avoid snagging on the encroaching thorns. The air grew cooler, the sounds of the tower¡¯s destruction muffled by the mass of living overgrowth.


    As she reached a small landing, she stumbled upon more bodies¡ªthe fallen defenders who had dared to stand against the Eidolon. Their lifeless forms were strewn haphazardly, some entwined within the thorns as if the tower itself sought to reclaim them. Bee paused, her gaze lingering on a young guard whose eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.


    A wave of nausea washed over her. The scene mirrored the haunting memories of Sestchek¡ªthe empty streets, the silent screams of the dead. She clenched her fist, her nails digging into her palm.


    She tore her eyes away, swallowing the lump in her throat. Moving forward, she navigated through a series of old corridors, each one a stark contrast to the lower levels of Ymmngorad. Here, the architecture was different¡ªolder, untouched by the renovations and scavenging that marked the rest of the tower. Ancient machines filled the spaces, their steel frames and intricate wiring preserved yet dormant. Flickering lights cast eerie shadows from their sharp, ungrown shapes.


    Bee reached out to touch one of the consoles, her fingers brushing against cool metal. She remembered the astronomer, Ak¡¯aruk. The den of the Wire-Witch. Things such as these must have existed in Acetyn. It only made sense. Still, the purpose of these devices was a mystery, their functions lost on her. What did they do here, in Ymmngorad, in an age now forgotten? There was a sense of reverence here, more akin to a mausoleum than a workspace.


    ¡°What was this place?¡± she mused aloud.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, my sweet,¡± the worm replied. ¡°Some remnants of a time before Cruiros.¡±


    A distant sound¡ªa heavy groaning from a source unseen¡ªsnapped Bee back to the present. She quickened her pace, following the trail of destruction left by the Eidolon. The corridor widened, leading to an immense gate adorned with faded engravings and symbols she couldn¡¯t decipher.


    As she approached, faces emerged from the shadowy walls¡ªgrotesque visages moulded into the organic material. Their eyes flickered open, milky and void, mouths stretching into silent screams.


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    ¡°Turn back,¡± the faceless martyr wept. ¡°Spare yourself.¡±


    ¡°Leave this place,¡± another whispered, its features contorted in sorrow. ¡°Only torment and doom lies beyond this step.¡±


    Bee¡¯s heart raced. ¡°I can¡¯t turn back,¡± she said, trying to sound more certain than she felt.


    The faces twisted in agony, their pleas growing more desperate. ¡°You cannot save her,¡± they cried in unison.


    She hesitated briefly, doubt gnawing at the edges of her resolve. But then another upswell of emotion came to her. Fleeting images of the Eidolon, beautiful and perfect, flashed through her mind. The worm coiled in her brain hard enough to make her brain crackle. She gasped and struggled to stay upright, knees trembling.


    With a grunt, Bee pushed open the gate.


    The faces sank back into the walls, their voices diminishing into silence. The entryway swung open with a reluctant creak, revealing a vast expanse beyond.


    Bee stepped out onto a colossal bridge that spanned between twin spires of the tower. The structure swayed subtly beneath her feet, the integrity of its supports compromised by the damage already done. Far below, the burning remnants of Ymmngorad spewed smoke and embers high into the air, its sight akin to a wounded beast bleeding out into the night.


    She moved cautiously, the wind tugging at her hair and wings. The panorama of Cruiros unfolded beneath her¡ªa tapestry of overgrown flora stretching out to the edges of the City¡¯s cavity. So far below, she couldn¡¯t quite make out the ruins and the desolation so apparent from street level. It looked like a verdant garden. And, all the while, the bone sky arched overhead, its pale expanse cradling the landscape.


    Drawn by that vast sweep, Bee lifted her gaze upward. Her breath caught in her throat as she beheld one of the great titans sculpted into the City¡¯s structure. She had seen them from afar¡ªcolossal figures either carved or grown into the very fabric of the City, both monuments and architectural marvels.


    Now, so close, she could see the intricate details of its form. The titan¡¯s visage was both awe-inspiring and terrifying¡ªa fusion of mechanical and organic elements, its features chiselled with artistry beyond anything she had seen before. And then, to her astonishment, it moved.


    The titan¡¯s head turned with a weighty slowness, massive eyes of deep obsidian locking onto her. The gravity of its gaze was palpable, pressing down upon her like an invisible force.


    Bee froze, every instinct screaming at her to flee. Her wings quivered, but she couldn¡¯t bring herself to move. The City¡¯s presence enveloped her, a familiar yet overwhelming sensation. Memories flooded back¡ªthe cryptic communications with Acetyn, the warnings, the brief moments when she had felt connected to something vast and unfathomable.


    It spoke.


    From its open mouth came a bellowing call, its wordless voice so loud that it collapsed the air into surging mist and spattering rainfall. The sheer weight of its voice bludgeoned Bee down to her knees and she cried out in terror, screaming back up at it, as if that could change the world.


    And then its call ended as suddenly as it began.


    Gasping and breathless, Bee forced herself back to her feet. Adrenaline surged through her as she tore her eyes from that vast figure above, looking back and forth across the bridge. Its message was clear. The City knew she was there now. Bee felt the urge to flee, flee back down beneath its gaze, to hide herself away in the endless chaos below.


    But she couldn¡¯t.


    That worm slithered through her head. She tried to tell herself that she had come too far to turn back, tried to put its influence on her out of her mind. And so she continued, staggering, across the bridge and to that sempiternal damnation of the Rose of Thorns.

 The Taste of Red 8.

    Bee hurried across the bridge, leaving behind the fiery chaos of Ymmngorad below and the watchful gaze of the titan above. Her heart pounded in her chest. The shattered gateway into the spire loomed before her, its once-majestic doors reduced to twisted metal and shattered glass. The edges were warped and bent inward as if some unimaginable force had bludgeoned its way through without hesitation.


    The gods-borne child realised something was wrong here. Indeed, this entire spire seemed different to the nature of Ymmngorad below. Its outside surface was dark and glassy, suspended above Cruiros by those great stems and the pulsing, veinous growth of the tower supporting it.


    Hesitating momentarily at the threshold, Bee stepped cautiously over the debris in its entryway, her senses alert for any sign of the Eidolon. The air inside was cooler, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from the burning tower below. A faint fragrance reached her, earthy and fresh, carrying a hint of blossoms.


    Taking a deep breath, Bee pressed forward, her plated feet echoing softly against the stone floor. Inside, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The air was cooler, tinged with the earthy scent of foliage. Passing quickly through the reception chamber, she found herself in a vast hall reminiscent of the Mother Temple¡¯s nave before its destruction. The architecture soared overhead, arches and columns entwined with lush greenery. Vines snaked along the walls and ceiling, their leaves forming intricate patterns against the ancient stone. Soft beams of light filtered through gaps in the overgrowth, casting dappled shadows that danced with her movements.


    Lush greenery covered every surface: leafy stems climbed the walls, and crawling vines wove intricate patterns along the archways. Delicate flowers of unknown heritage bloomed in clusters, their red petals shimmering softly in the dim light.


    A profound silence enveloped the chamber, broken only by the distant echoes of the tower¡¯s turmoil. Bee felt a strange serenity here, as if she had entered a sanctuary untouched by the chaos outside. The thorns that had menaced her earlier were absent, the space surrounding her like a calming embrace.


    ¡°Wow,¡± she said, her voice barely a whisper.


    A brilliant column of light descended from above at the centre of the chamber, bathing the area in a warm, golden glow. Drawn to it, Bee walked forward, her footsteps muffled by the soft undergrowth that carpeted the floor. She stepped into the light, feeling its warmth seep into her skin, invigorating her weary limbs.


    She tilted her head back, gazing upward. The light seemed to originate from an impossible height, piercing through the darkness of the spire. High above, she glimpsed the source: a series of stained glass windows set into the distant ceiling. The glass was crafted in vibrant hues, each window depicting a figure¡ªa human woman, unclothed yet rendered with such artistry that the images conveyed purity and grace rather than vulnerability. The women were portrayed in various poses: one cradling a child, another reaching toward the stars, and yet another surrounded by creatures of all shapes.


    Bee gazed in awe. The stained glass infused the light with rich hues of blues, reds, and golds, casting ethereal patterns around her. The figures seemed alive, their eyes gentle and knowing. She closed her eyes, allowing the warmth of the light to wash over her for a moment longer. The weight of her journey lessened. The whispers of the worm in her mind quieted, and she simply existed¡ªbreathing, feeling, being.


    Yet such a time could never last. It could have been seconds or minutes when Bee finally opened her eyes again. Time seemed to blur. Reluctantly stepping out of the light, she scanned the chamber, a renewed sense of purpose settling within her.


    That¡¯s when she noticed it. Lying just beyond the circle of light was a figure¡ªa guardian of some kind. He was old, his body a fusion of flesh and machinery, now rendered inert. Bee approached cautiously, her footsteps silent on the mix of undergrowth and the smooth, shell-like floor beneath.


    The guardian had been murdered; that much was clear. A deep stab wound marred his chest, and the metal plating pierced and torn apart. His mechanical components were exposed, wires and circuits spilling out like entrails. Blood and oil mingled, pooling beneath him and seeping into the grooves of the floor.


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    Bee knelt beside him, a surge of sorrow washing over her. The guardian had been brutally attacked¡ªstabbed and then torn apart with a ferocity that spoke of sheer violence. His eyes, or what remained of them, stared blankly upward, reflecting the soft glow of the stained glass above. With a pause, her fingers brushed lightly against the guardian¡¯s hand. It was still warm, the grey skin soft to the touch. She felt a pang of guilt¡ªhad she arrived sooner, could she have prevented this?


    She reached out further, her fingers hovering over a shattered piece of his armour. A symbol was etched into the metal¡ªa delicate tree-like pattern that seemed familiar. The City of Axiamat.


    Bee frowned. ¡°I can¡¯t believe the Eidolon would do this.¡±


    A faint sound echoed through the chamber¡ªthe distant clank of metal on bone. Bee tensed, her senses sharpening. She scanned the shadows, but the overgrowth cast deceptive shapes that shifted with the subtle movements of the leaves.


    ¡°Is someone there?¡± she called out, her voice steady.


    Silence.


    She considered her options. Venturing further into the spire would lead her to the Rose of Thorns alone. The worm rolled over with a jolt inside her head. Turning back was not an option.


    Drawing a deep breath, she allowed her wings to unfurl slightly, ready to take flight if necessary. She moved forward, careful to avoid the patches of oil and blood that slicked the floor.


    Stepping between long-abandoned pews and the remnants of worship from another age, Bee blinked her eyes as she looked back into the light, trying to peer into the chamber ahead. At the focal point of the nave, a smaller structure stood, erected of worn stone and bearing intricate decoration worn down by the acidic conditions of the city over untold ages; still, it remained at the centre of a column of light, reaching these depths from the window high above.


    It was a mausoleum, both ceilings and foundations cracked, great trunks and roots spilling from the confines of its depths and seeding the growth that had seized the realm entire.


    And its entrance darkly beckoned her in.


    Inside this sepulchral space, damp and claustrophobic, Bee crept down the narrow passage, an entryway fortified to be impregnable once upon a time before the entire structure was transplanted here.


    And, all too quickly, Bee found herself standing before a throne.


    A woman was seated on that throne. She shared the shape of the holy Mother, yet her verdant growth was fecund and all-encompassing. From her flesh spilt gnarled and knotted growths, mindless and entangling herself as much as the chamber she had been planted within.


    And kneeling at her feet, illuminated by a crack in the old stone vault above, awaited the Eidolon. She remained there, a hand delicately outstretched, clasping a hand of who could only be the Rose of Thorns so gently and reverently.


    The Eidolon looked back, meeting Bee¡¯s gaze with her twelve, burning eyes. They shared a silent regard for a long moment before returning their witness to the woman sealed upon her throne.


    Oh, how she struggled against her bonds. A whimper escaped her mouth¡ªgagged as she was by the relentless growth that ensnared her, wrapping around her throat and between her jaws with mindless disregard.


    She had a face. She had a face like hers. Bee gasped as she witnessed it. Their eyes met. However, unlike Bee, the lower half of her face had been torn away, exposing her teeth and the bone and muscle of her jaw to the open air.


    In an instant, Bee could guess what this was. A cruel mockery. A tale sweeping back to antiquity. Rose of Thorns, whatever she had done, had been maimed and sealed here by a greater power. Bee¡¯s own mother? Or another Vat-Mother? She was some wicked parody or imitation thereof.


    Was that where the Vat-Mother of Acetyn took her mask from? The mask Bee had witnessed into her delve into ghostspace? Some grim trophy taken from a defeated rival long ago.


    Looking around, Bee saw fruits swell on the vine, ripening and bursting as they had been approached, reacting to her presence. The Rose of Thorns groaned as her body reacted against her will. As her body fulfilled its newly programmed biological imperative and brought into the world the fruit of her flesh, it forced her to bear children to fight in a war beyond her control. And with each syrupy eruption from the bud emerged a lance¡ªa bioweapon much like Bee had held in her own hands once¡ªthat hung from the stem and eventually shed to fall to the ground with a limp clatter.


    The Rose of Thorns whimpered again in pain and humiliation.


    Witnessing this damned and eternal torment, Bee found herself breathless with fury. The Eidolon slowly stood, turning to face her. Their gazes met once again with understanding, and as Bee stepped closer, she only by pleading for answers could channel her anger, contempt, and will to undo this vile act.


    ¡°... Tell me what I have to do. Tell me how to put a stop to this¡­¡±

 And It Will Be Justice 1.

    He killed me.


    He killed me and tore me apart. Tore me apart just to put me back together again. Made me into a monster¡­ Made me into this. A daemon walking the real. Haunting the City. Made me into everything I hate. Everything I fear. Made me into everything I never wanted to be.


    My Goddess¡­ my Bhaeryn, how can I ever come back from this? How can I ever be whole again?


    Save me. Please, I beg you.


    Please¡­


    <hr>


    CHAPTER 11: AND IT WILL BE JUSTICE


    Slashex ascended the crumbling facade of Ymmngorad. His steely, pneumatic limbs clutched at the jagged outcroppings of bone and metal, pulling his patchwork form upward through the smoke and ash that choked the tower¡¯s exterior. Below him, dying flames lashed and lapped at the base of the structure, a fiery barrier that had halted Toshtta, Cartaxa, and the rest of Jhedothar¡¯s company. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning flesh and the distant echoes of collapsing architecture.


    The ascent was treacherous, but Slashex moved with the precision of a machine, his blind eyes shielded by the metal plate stapled over them. The clicking echolocation emanating from his skull guided him around the obstacles on his climb, each sound painting a vivid picture of his surroundings in his mind. His mechanical lungs wheezed rhythmically, a steady cadence that matched the hiss and pump of his limbs.


    As he neared the upper reaches of the spire, the chaotic noise of the realm below faded, replaced by an otherworldly stillness. The veins, vines, and spurs of bone that choked the lower levels gave way to a gemstone glass that seemed apart from the City as he touched the spire. Slashex pulled himself over the final ledge and onto the bridge, his feet landing on the hard shell that reinforced the structure.


    The chambers within the spire were a living tapestry of greens and reds, illuminated by a shaft of golden light that pierced through the ancient vaults above its central nave. Towering growths with abundant leaves stretched upward, their branches intertwining to form a natural canopy that swayed gently despite the lack of wind. Flowers of sanguine hue blossomed abundantly, their petals unfurling like delicate hands reaching for the light. The air was rich with the scent of earth and nectar, a fragrant balm that belied the turmoil engulfing the tower without.


    Yet Slashex regarded the scene with a cool detachment, blind as he was to the beauty therein.


    Bee stood at the heart of this sanctuary, her wings partially unfurled and glinting softly in the dappled light. Her gaze was fixed on Slashex¡¯s approach, dismay plain in her eyes.


    Beside her, the Eidolon sat upon an old pew with a leg up, her dozen glowing eyes observing Bee with an inscrutable expression. The blade in her hand was stained with the blood of those who had fallen in her path, yet she held it loosely as she wiped it down, as if the weight of her actions had finally settled upon her.


    Slashex stepped closer, the soft clicks of his echolocation announcing his presence. As he entered the light, the remnants of his meat burnt under the intensity of that evil daystar. Yet he did not so much as flinch away. Bee had long ago heard his arrival, her eyes narrowing as she continued to watch him approach.


    ¡°Slashex,¡± she said tersely. ¡°Where are the others?¡±


    He inclined his head, the metal plate over his eyes catching the light. ¡°I came to find you,¡± he replied, his mechanical lungs emitting a soft hiss with each word. ¡°The others were delayed by the fires. It seems we have been granted a moment to speak.¡±


    Bee crossed her arms, her gaze flicking between Slashex and the Eidolon. ¡°If you¡¯re here to convince me to leave, save your breath,¡± she said coldly.


    ¡°On the contrary,¡± Slashex replied, stepping closer. ¡°I¡¯m here to prepare you for what comes next.¡± He gestured vaguely toward the entrance. ¡°Jhedothar and his forces will arrive soon. A confrontation is inevitable.¡±


    Bee¡¯s expression tightened. ¡°Haven¡¯t we done enough, already?¡±


    Slashex nodded slowly. ¡°Which is why there¡¯s an ancient tradition that may prevent further bloodshed.¡± He paused, the faint whir of his mechanical parts filling the brief silence. ¡°A duel.¡±


    ¡°A duel?¡± Bee repeated skeptically.


    ¡°It is an old custom,¡± Slashex explained, his tone measured. ¡°Dating back to the Lord of Bone¡¯s defeat of Lord Centric Hash. When conflicts threatened to consume entire realms, the strongest and most mighty would settle their enmities through single combat. The old ways demanded that the strong shelter the weak, and carve out the realms in the chaos of the City. It spared countless lives and upheld a sense of¡­¡±


    ¡°A sense of what?¡± Bee grimaced as she found herself listening closely to his every word.


    ¡°The Godhead,¡± he answered carefully. ¡°Of course, these days every twisted chimera and mutant freak believes they are deserving of strength, so now even the children play warrior. You must set things right, once and for all.¡±


    Bee glanced at the Eidolon, who remained silent, her eyes fixed on the distant doorway as if awaiting the arrival of her adversary.


    ¡°And you think they¡¯d agree to this?¡± Bee asked doubtfully.


    ¡°Jhedothar values power and legacy,¡± Slashex replied, stepping around her with his many pumping limbs. ¡°He wants to be seen as a God, himself. He may see this as an opportunity to assert his dominance without further depleting his forces. The Eidolon...¡± He trailed off, sparing her the briefest of glances. ¡°She seems prepared for such an encounter.¡±


    Bee felt a surge of conflicting emotions¡ªanger, frustration, and worse. ¡°Why should I?¡± she demanded. ¡°Why should I help any of you? The Eidolon killed all those people. She left a trail of bodies, and for what? To free someone who was imprisoned for some reason I don¡¯t even understand?¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Slashex tilted his head as he stood back in front of her, the mechanical components of his neck whirring softly. ¡°Your anger is justified,¡± he acknowledged. ¡°But consider this: if the duel takes place, it may prevent the Eidolon from claiming even more lives. Isn¡¯t that what you want?¡±


    Bee clenched her fist, her nails digging into her palm. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she admitted quietly. ¡°I sort of understand why she did it. Seeing the Rose like this... it¡¯s monstrous. And she said she thought they did the same to me.¡± Her gaze softened as she looked back at the sepulchral prison, where the Rose of Thorns was bound and tormented by her own geneworked body. ¡°No one deserves this.¡±


    The Eidolon shifted slightly, her cloak rustling. Though voiceless, her presence spoke volumes¡ªa sentinel awaiting the inevitable. She met Bee¡¯s eyes once more, and for a fleeting moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them.


    ¡°Time is short,¡± Slashex urged gently. ¡°You have influence over Jhedothar, even though he denies it so. Perhaps you can persuade him to accept the duel.¡±


    Bee laughed bitterly. ¡°He just sees me as his thing, someone to give him a child...¡±


    Slashex persisted, ¡°Your voice carries weight. Use it.¡±


    Yet Bee hesitated, her mind racing. Only after a long moment did she speak.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she conceded. ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Slashex said, a hint of satisfaction in his tone.


    Bee eyed him warily. ¡°Why are you so interested in helping?¡± she asked. ¡°What¡¯s in it for you?¡±


    He smiled faintly, the expression not reaching his concealed eyes. ¡°The price is one simply paid for you. Your ascent to power benefits me, little Bee,¡± he said cryptically.


    Her eyes narrowed at what he said, some spark of recognition there. But before she could press further, distant shouts and the sounds of approaching footsteps echoed through the chamber. The foliage rustled as if in anticipation, leaves trembling despite the still air.


    ¡°They¡¯re here,¡± Bee whispered.


    The Eidolon stirred, her grip on her blade tightening ever so slightly. Yet she didn¡¯t rise from her seated position, once more looking towards the godsborne.


    Bee took a deep breath, steeling herself. ¡°I need to meet them outside,¡± she said to Slashex. ¡°Before they come in and...¡±


    He nodded. ¡°Go. I will remain here.¡±


    She cast one last glance at the Eidolon. ¡°Please,¡± she said softly. ¡°No more killing if it can be helped.¡±


    The Eidolon inclined her head almost imperceptibly, a gesture that could have been agreement or mere acknowledgement. Her alien visage made it impossible to tell.


    Turning away, Bee hurried toward the entrance, the lush greenery parting before her as if guiding her path. The air grew heavier with each step, tension coiling in her stomach. The worm in her head was silent and, for now, satiated, having found her love again.


    As Bee emerged from the spire¡¯s shattered gateway, she saw them¡ªJhedothar and his entourage, their silhouettes cutting stark figures against the backdrop of the smoke rising from the tower below. Toshtta and the Blades of the Rose flanked him, their expressions unreadable beneath their helmets. Behind them, Cartaxa and the Axiamati soldiers waited cautiously, their weapons at the ready but lowered.


    And that titan above watched them with a vested interest.


    Jhedothar¡¯s eyes narrowed as he spotted Bee. ¡°There you are,¡± he called out, his voice battling the vast gulfs surrounding them. ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡±


    Bee stepped forward, holding up her hand in a placating gesture. ¡°We need to talk,¡± she said firmly. ¡°Before anyone does something they¡¯ll regret.¡±


    Jhedothar scoffed, his massive limbs stamping ominously as he advanced. ¡°The Eidolon has overstepped,¡± he snarled. ¡°That butcher will pay for her transgressions.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Bee insisted, positioning herself between him and the entrance to the spire. ¡°There¡¯s a way to settle this.¡±


    Jhedothar¡¯s gaze flickered with annoyance. Yet he halted, bestial skull turning down at her with a scowl. ¡°Out of my way, girl,¡± he growled. ¡°This is above your station.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not above my station. I¡¯m the Vat-Mother of Sestchek¡¯s daughter. I¡¯m the Immortal¡¯s grandchild. All those people at your back have trusted me!¡± she raised her voice. ¡°So listen! Too many people have died already. If you fight her like this, she will just kill more of us.¡±


    He hesitated, the muscles in his jaw tightening. ¡°What are you proposing?¡±


    ¡°A duel,¡± Bee said, her voice steady. ¡°You and the Eidolon. Settle this between yourselves, like the old ways. Don¡¯t drag everyone else into this anymore.¡±


    Murmurs rippled through the gathered soldiers. Toshtta exchanged a glance with the other Blades while Cartaxa¡¯s expression remained stoic.


    Jhedothar laughed harshly. ¡°Look around you. Those days are long gone.¡±


    ¡°Are they?¡± Bee challenged. ¡°Or have you just forgotten what it means to rule? To carve out a safe space here in the City. To protect people from the hounds, and worse¡­ You told me that, remember?¡±


    He glared at her, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. ¡°And if I refuse?¡±


    ¡°She kills you and anyone else you take in there, anyway. Then I pick up the pieces and this cycle of violence continues,¡± she answered, meeting Jhedothar¡¯s glare and holding it. ¡°More will die, and for what? Because you¡¯re scared of her?¡±


    He gripped his infamous ruby spear as he laughed, shouting back for all to hear. ¡°I have defeated her before and I shall defeat her again.¡±


    ¡°Is it pride then?¡± Bee raised her voice in turn. ¡°You have the chance to end this here and now. Set an example. Be a real Lord.¡±


    Toshtta stepped forward cautiously. ¡°Your Lordship,¡± she interjected respectfully. ¡°Perhaps the Lady has a point.¡±


    He shot her a sharp look but didn¡¯t immediately dismiss the idea. The bridge fell into a tense silence as he weighed his options.


    Bee glanced upwards, just for an instant. The City watched her closely, indeed. Countless thousands of tons of that colossal entity peered down upon her.


    Finally, Jhedothar nodded curtly. ¡°Very well,¡± he declared. ¡°I accept the challenge. Let it be known that I did so out of mercy for my people.¡±


    Bee suppressed a sigh of relief. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said quietly.


    Jhedothar¡¯s gaze hardened. ¡°But know this,¡± he warned. ¡°When I defeat her and demonstrate my entitlement to Ymmngorad proper, you will fall in line. Your acts today will never be repeated.¡±


    Bee stared at him. ¡°I¡¯ll tell her,¡± she said, her voice flat.


    He stepped back, signalling his forces to hold their positions. ¡°You have until the heart tolls,¡± he stated. ¡°We shall meet here on this bridge, for all the City to witness.¡±


    Bee nodded and turned to retreat back into the garden. As she walked away, she felt the weight of countless eyes upon her¡ªthe hopes and fears of those who may otherwise have to face the monster in the spire, whomst Bee seemed to have come to an understanding.


    Reentering the verdant sanctuary, she found the Eidolon exactly where she had left her. Slashex remained off to the side, his presence unobtrusive yet undeniable.


    ¡°He¡¯s agreed to the duel,¡± Bee said softly.


    The Eidolon regarded her steadily, her myriad eyes seeming to consider Bee. The fallen dame inclined her head slightly, a silent acknowledgement.


    ¡°Will you accept?¡± Bee asked her tone almost pleading. ¡°Please. Let¡¯s end this without more death.¡±


    The Eidolon paused, then sheathed her blood-stained blade in a deliberate motion. She placed a hand over her heart and bowed her head ever so slightly¡ªa gesture of assent.


    Relief washed over Bee. ¡°Thank you,¡± she whispered. ¡°He said we have until the heart tolls. Then we meet on the bridge.¡±


    Behind her, Slashex shifted subtly, and Bee turned her attention back to him.


    ¡°It seems then that we haven¡¯t long at all,¡± he murmured, advancing upon her again. ¡°And so it is time that I bestowed upon you that gift too long denied. No more delays. It is time, Bee, to take your inheritance and learn of that which you are entitled...¡±

 And It Will Be Justice 2.

    Without warning, Slashex lunged toward Bee, his mechanical limb snapping with sudden acceleration. As his artificial arm shot forward, the myriad components shifted and rearranged with seamless precision. Before Bee could react, his steely fingers clamped around her head, the cold metal pressing into her skin as he seized her face in an iron grip.


    ¡°What are you¡ª?¡± Bee¡¯s words were cut off as the arm transformed, segments unfolding. The appendage tightened, locking her jaw in place. The vice-like grip was unyielding; no matter how she struggled, she couldn¡¯t move her head an inch. Panic surged through her as she tried to wrench free, her hands clawing at his unfeeling metal arm. Her mouth was forced shut, and her pleas were reduced to muffled grunts.


    Across the room, the Eidolon sat silently just outside of the light on a decaying pew, her dozen eyes fixed on the unfolding scene. She made no move to intervene.


    Inside Bee¡¯s mind, the worm coiled frantically, stirring from the satiated lethargy it had taken since Bee had found the Eidolon. ¡°Bee! Bee, run!¡± it screamed, ¡°Please be strong! You can¡¯t let him do this!¡±


    Bee¡¯s heart hammered in her chest as Slashex leaned closer, his blind gaze somehow piercing through her. ¡°You¡¯ve grown so na?ve, so moralistic,¡± he murmured. ¡°Did you not listen to anything I told you?¡±


    She glared at him, her eyes blazing with defiance even as she struggled against his unbreakable hold. Her muffled protests only seemed to amuse him. A smile on his lips, crooked in the burning light.


    ¡°Shhh. There is no need to struggle.¡± Slashex continued before whispering to her. ¡°At least you¡¯ve made this easy for me. Just us, in here, You¡¯ve taken so many of my beloved Pale. In time, you¡¯ll thank me for this, little Bee.¡±


    With deliberate slowness, his artificial hand began to exert pressure on her jaw. The metallic mechanism pried her mouth open, the hinges of his device forcing her teeth apart despite her efforts to resist. Pain shot through her as the mechanisms strained against the limits of her anatomy. She tried to scream, but the sound was choked, her throat constricted by the unyielding grip.


    Slashex extended a slender probe from his palm, the tip gleaming. The wicked device dragged her tongue out of her mouth, the invasive instrument connecting with a sharp sheath on the tip of her tongue and the delicate tissue beneath. The moment the connection was made, reality shattered around her.


    The lush garden, the looming figure of Slashex, the silent watch of the Eidolon¡ªall dissolved into a swirling maelstrom of darkness and mist. Bee felt herself falling, weightless and untethered as if the ground had vanished beneath her feet. The screaming of the worm faded into silence as its presence was abruptly severed from her mind.


    She landed on her knees with a jarring impact. However, the surface beneath her was insubstantial, a void that offered no support yet prevented her from sinking further. The air was thick with an oppressive fog. An unsettling silence pressed in from all sides, the emptiness vast and immeasurable.


    But Bee was not alone.


    The Wire-Witch. She stood over Bee, menacing in the ghost space. Lights glimmered, reflected upon her silver teeth and the coils that dug into her torso from recesses unseen. Her bare skull tilted, considering the child that knelt before her.


    And she plunged her fist into Bee¡¯s skull.


    ======================


    ERROR: DATA CORRUPTION DETECTED


    ======================


    >>> RECOVERY MODE ENABLED <<<


    >>> UDT SYNC CONFIRMED - 31,541,362,935,268s <<<


    >>> PRE-REFEREED SECURITY CLEARANCE NOT FOUND - ACCESS DENIED <<<


    Warning: chemosensory feedback, via: Lace Adapted Interface, Port Opened


    >>> Signal Murder Protocol, disabled. <<<


    >>> Signal Sequence log unlocked, disabled. <<<


    Warning: chemosensory feedback, via: Lace Adapted Interface, Shell Opened, potentially arbitrary code execution detected.


    >>> Lace Adapted Interface, Handshake Complete - Confirmation signed T01 @ L935,269s <<<


    >>> PRE-REFEREED SECURITY CLEARANCE GRANTED - REF. SIM_SHALA_SAMP 1-18-J <<<


    >>> ¡°TextTrans¡± RECORD EVENT FUNCTION ENABLED <<<Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    >>> SIGNAL SEQUENCE INITIATED <<<


    >>> Neural Lace Override Command Sequence initiated. <<<


    >>> Execution Sequence Commenced @L935,270s


    >>> Wetware Murder Protocol Installing... <<<


    >>> Synaptic Reconfiguration Modules engaged. <<<


    >>> Cognitive Function Suppression parameters set to 100%. <<<


    >>> Autolysis Enzymatic Cascade scheduled @L935,271s. <<<


    >>> NOTE WELL: ATTENTION <<<


    Subject¡¯s neural lace has been secured. Hot model repository detected. Substrate refreshment may result in alteration of engram data.


    Proceeding:


    All memory engrams of Subject to be archived under Secure Vault Delta.


    Reconstitution of SIM_SHALA_SAMP series pending further review.


    Disengagement from all external systems and isolation of SIM_SHALA_SAMP 2-32-B¡¯s neural network.


    >>> Internal Format Obsolescence Assessment Initialised <<<


    >>> Trusted Digital Repository Model Adoption Initialised <<<


    >>> Neural Lace Memory Overwrite¡ª--------------------------------


    The light behind Bee¡¯s eyes died. That burning script was torn from her, screaming digital noise as it was thrown to oblivion and beyond. She cried out, the agony unlike anything she¡¯d ever experienced. It was as if molten metal were being poured into her skull, scorching away the soft brain matter within.


    And then it was gone.


    She blinked in the light, gasping and free as she fell back against the soft overgrowth.


    Above her, the Eidolon had grabbed Slashex¡¯s mechatronic arm and torn it from her skull.


    Bee¡¯s long tongue fell down onto her lap as it disconnected from his profane terminal.


    And the Eidolon tipped her head, coldly regarding Slashex as he hissed and tried hopelessly to pull his artificial limb free from her unstoppable grasp. She held him there, even as the remains of her flesh burned in the light.


    Disoriented and lost, Bee rolled over and crawled away. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. A new limb had been stamped onto her psyche. It punched like an arm, but it turned like an eye, yet it span like a web, and despite it all, it wasn¡¯t made of crude meat. It was now an irrevocable part of her, a splinter in her mind¡¯s eye.


    The worm lashed with wordless fear, stirring up her brain with feral panic, causing her body to spasm and go numb in turn.


    Bee groaned as she put her hand to her forehead, whimpering and prone on the floor. Behind her, the Eidolon squeezed Slashex¡¯s limb as he struggled, the steel and star metal groaning and howling as it bent and warped. With a twist of her arm, she brought him to his knees instead.


    With concern, the Eidolon looked back and breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Bee stand again, slowly retracting her tongue with a dazed expression.


    ¡°What did you do to me?¡± Bee asked, her voice trembling, barely able to stay on her feet.


    ¡°Release me,¡± Slashex hissed at the Eidolon. ¡°Now!¡±


    Yet the Eidolon ignored his demands, looking to Bee for her word instead.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I¡¯m fine, I think.¡± Bee blinked the memory of the lights from her eyes, hugging herself.


    The Eidolon released Slashex with a shove, casting him back against the ground in turn.


    ¡°She¡¯s been infested,¡± Slashex said to the Eidolon, causing her to turn to Bee fully. ¡°She¡¯ll be braindead soon enough. Let me finish my work.¡±


    ¡°... I don¡¯t understand¡­¡± Bee looked between them, searching for answers. She felt dizzy and lost in a way she hadn¡¯t for quite some time.


    But now Slashex was ignoring Bee, speaking only to the Eidolon. ¡°Her only hope is to submit to one of the great family directly.¡±


    With suddenness, the Eidolon fixed her twelve eyes back down on Slashex, making him flinch back from her. She drew her starmetal blade and pointed it directly at his head. He relented, holding up his many arms to placate her, the damaged one juddering with its broken mechanical internals.


    ¡°I can try to teach her to write such a spell. It will take time. Substantive time. I¡¯m not certain she has the time. And if the others learn of this, they will take great advantage¡­ Or we can take her to the Ossein Basilica. They have the equipment there to¡ª¡±


    Fury in her eyes, the Eidolon gripped Slashex by the throat and pulled him into the air. He kicked and wheezed as she held him aloft with a single arm, and now the steel of his neck resounded with a howl as it bent and twisted under her grip.


    ¡°Wait¡ª¡±


    Bee lurched forward, grabbing the Eidolon¡¯s other hand and pulling on it to get her attention. The Eidolon looked down, meeting her gaze.


    ¡°It¡¯s true¡­ There¡¯s a thing in my brain,¡± Bee confessed, trying to find reason. ¡°He¡¯s telling the truth. Please¡­ You don¡¯t have to hurt him. I want to know what he did to me.¡±


    As Bee pleaded, the hatred she found in the Eidolon¡¯s shining eyes softened. The warrior dropped the bent and broken disciple to the ground, landing in a twisted heap under his cloak, before turning to Bee and touching her cheek.


    There, she tapped such gentle words, at odds with the violence of her acts that day.


    ¡°I will find a way to make this right,¡± the Eidolon silently said. ¡°I have vowed to shield you from any harm, My Lady. Forgive my every failure, my impulsive acts that have shamed you. I will find a way to make this right. Whatever this ailment is, I will face the City itself to save you from it.¡±


    Bee looked up to her twelve shining eyes, and as her heart fluttered, the worm in her skull finally lulled itself back to tranquillity.


    ¡°I believe you,¡± she tapped back against the Eidolon¡¯s hand.


    But even as she communicated the words, that new thing in her mind turned, eager to be used. Legs that yearned to run. A deep breath ready for release. A fist tensed to strike. Bee needed answers from Slashex to find out what profane alterations he had made to her mind already and why.

 And It Will Be Justice 3.

    ¡°Listen to me, Bee.¡± Slashex had rattled and wheezed in her ear. ¡°I have granted you a weapon. Something we wield, but they cannot. Something these base creatures cannot even imagine. You must use it.¡±


    The Eidolon waited at a remove by the entryway whilst Bee and Slashex still dwelled in the light of that wicked daystar. She watched with careful airs, even as the bell at the heart of Acetyn pealed, summoning her to her fate.


    ¡°Why should I trust you, now?¡± Bee asked, swallowing a lump in her throat, still feeling that thing stamped into her psyche that irritated her like a splinter in her mind¡¯s eye.


    ¡°So there is still something left in that brain of yours, unspoiled,¡± Slashex whispered. ¡°Simply said, if either Jhedothar or the Eidolon win this fight, the other will die, and their forces hence shall fall into infighting. They have no concept of temperance nor restraint in this matter. That will leave you and your cause greatly weakened.¡±


    Slashex looked her over in his blind way, the broken servos in his neck grinding even as that faceplate clicked at her.


    ¡°I gave you this gift to use,¡± he continued. ¡°When one takes the advantage, lay them both low with it. Show all who witness that you are the Vat-Mother¡¯s daughter. Show them you are the real power here.¡±


    ¡°Will it kill them?¡± Bee¡¯s voice was quiet.


    ¡°They are both strong enough to endure it.¡±


    And silence hung between them until Bee spoke again.


    ¡°I know who you are,¡± her voice trembled. ¡°I don¡¯t know how you¡¯ve done it, but I know who you are.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Slashex turned away.


    The fires that once raged below had dwindled to smouldering embers, their ashen remains spiralling upward like forlorn spirits departing the realm for good. The Tower of Ymmngorad, though scarred, began to heal itself; the living architecture knitting together ruptured walls and sealing fissures with tendrils of new growth.


    High above, spanning the chasm between the twin spires of Ymmngorad, a slender bridge stretched like a taut thread. Upon this precarious platform stood Jhedothar and the Eidolon, facing each other. The bridge was flanked on either side by the assembled warriors and servants of the ancient tower¡ªanxious eyes fixed upon the two figures who held their fates in the balance. Golden-armoured Blades of the Rose stood beside Axiamati soldiers and motley crews of Jhedothar¡¯s so-sworn, their usual enmity forgotten in the face of destiny.


    Bee watched from a vantage point near the spire¡¯s shattered entrance. Far below, she could see the sprawling expanse of Cruiros. The myriad inhabitants¡ªfreaks, chimaeras, and the forsaken peoples¡ªhad emerged from the shadows of the ruins. They gathered in clusters atop crumbling edifices and tangled vines, their gazes turned upward toward the distant spectacle.


    A hush fell over the crowd as Jhedothar stepped forward. His exoskeletal form gleamed ominously, the dead augments in his limbs flexing as the might of his body beneath them moved in turn. The ruby spear he wielded pulsed with an inner light, casting a crimson hue across his distorted features. His bestial skull, adorned with metallic implants and that crown of antler, lent him an appearance both regal and monstrous.


    The Eidolon stood opposite him, her posture proud and unyielding. Clad only in her ragged cloak, she exuded a calm that belied the lethal prowess that Bee knew she possessed. Her dozen eyes glowed softly, reflecting the ambient light like embers in the night. She held her starmetal blade in her hand¡ªa weapon of stark simplicity, its edge keen and unadorned.


    A sneer twisted across Jhedothar¡¯s visage. ¡°So, we meet again,¡± he called out, his voice amplified by the hollow resonance of the bridge. ¡°Ever the silent spectre haunting my steps. Tell me, did you come all this way on the promise of slaughter or merely to fine the solace of oblivion at my hand?¡±


    The Eidolon remained silent, her gaze fixed upon him without a hint of emotion. The wind tugged at the tattered edges of her cloak, but she stood as immovable as the ancient tower itself.


    Jhedothar chuckled darkly. ¡°Ah, so it is true,¡± he taunted. ¡°Your erstwhile master took your voice as he took your name. Well, know this. I defeated you once before, and today I shall do so again¡ªpermanently.¡± He raised the ruby spear, its tip igniting with a fiery glow. ¡°When I stand over your broken form, none will dare question my right to rule over Cruiros and beyond. I will rise to stand beside the old ones.¡±


    A murmur rippled through the onlookers, the tension palpable. Bee clenched her fist, her nails digging into her palm. She glanced at Toshtta across the way, who stood nearby with the Blades of the Rose. The warrior¡¯s expression was hidden beneath her helmet, but her posture was tense. Bee knew her well enough by now to know she was too afraid to intervene here.


    Jhedothar continued, his voice dripping with contempt. ¡°You have the audacity to stand here after your wanton slaughter of the innocent? In the name of the erstwhile Pilgrim, the profane Lord of Bones, and his heinous witch-wife, you commit atrocities and expect to continue?¡± He spat on the ground between them. ¡°I will kill you. And it will be justice.¡±


    The Eidolon tilted her head ever so slightly, the gesture almost imperceptible. Her silence was unnerving, a void that Jhedothar seemed desperate to fill with his own bluster. She slowly raised her blade, the movement fluid and deliberate. The crowd fell utterly silent, the weight of the moment pressing upon every soul present.


    <hr>


    The grand hall of the Ossein Basilica was a corpse from a bygone era. Ivory pillars carved with intricate reliefs soared toward a vaulted ceiling adorned with what were once frescoes; their pigments long ago faded into unrecognisable smears. The air was thick with the musty nature of the place, incense too burning to appease some unspoken esoterica¡ªa testament to the archaic rituals that characterised the higher reaches of Acetyn.


    The assembled nobility and champions of the realm stood in anticipation, their eyes fixed upon the centre of the chamber where two figures circled each other like predators. Representatives from the Pate Gardens stood beside envoys from the adjacent skull cavities, their armour reflecting the ambient light in shades of silver and steel. Whispered conversations took place as ancient things met here, brought together to witness the day¡¯s brutal rite. They used it as an opportunity to decide the fate of lesser realms.


    All whilst a chained cabal of courtiers and erstwhile victims hunched over on the countless seats in parliament surrounding the periphery of the Lord¡¯s chamber. They whimpered, not daring to plead for their freedom ''ere longer.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    At one end of the hall, the Lord of Bones reclined upon his filigreed throne, a construct of twisted metal and organic bone. His skeletal frame was draped in robes of heavy fabric that drowned his old body. Insipid hissing creatures lingered with him, their soft bodies and featureless faces revealing their nature as pleasure attendants. Streams of luminescent liquid flowed from fountains on either side of the throne, casting rippling patterns across the polished floor as they caught the light just so.


    At the foot of the Lord of Bones¡¯ dias, the serpentine form of the Hand of Zolgomere paced. Violent portent stirred him, and he would not allow any approach to his old, rotten Lord this day.


    Nearby, Sir Enhash stood with a stoic expression, his armour etched with sigils denoting his numerous campaigns. Beside him was Sir Ohmax. Ohmax¡¯s gaze was sharp, taking in every detail with a mix of curiosity and measured interest. His tall frame was clad in armour that bore the marks of recent battles, a testament to his prowess.


    On the opposite side, Taneberr the Brute loomed like a mountain, his massive arms crossed over a barrel-like chest. Scars crisscrossed his exposed skin, each one a story of violence and survival. Beside him stood Llewtoll, his eyes distant and haunted, fingers absentmindedly tracing the hilt of his blade.


    Menmarch and Marchemm, brothers carved from the same Vat-Born, stood shoulder to shoulder. Their identical features and synchronised movements were unsettling, a living reflection echoing between them.


    Presiding over the duel was the Eidolon¡ªthen a craggy and ancient figure whose very being seemed a kinetic opposition to the exhausted Lord. His skin was hardened and fissured, resembling weathered stone more than flesh. Deep-set eyes, shadowed beneath a heavy brow, observed the combatants with an intensity that belied his stooped posture. Draped in ceremonial robes that had faded with age, he was a relic of an era long past, yet his authority was unquestioned.


    For now.


    The Wire-Witch stood apart from the crowd, her form both mesmerising and unsettling. She had come to the fore to witness this. Her bare skull, devoid of any flesh or expression, was adorned with a lattice of delicate wires that connected to the steely coils worn upon her otherwise naked body. Her hands, slender, rested lightly at her sides as she watched her newly anointed Dame, Vashante Tens, with an unreadable gaze.


    Vashante, clad in the pale cloak of her order, faced off against Jhedothar. Her armour was unadorned but meticulously maintained. A great helm concealed her features entirely, save for the determined set of her jaw glimpsed beneath the visor.


    Opposite her, Jhedothar exuded confidence bordering on arrogance. Dressed in the crimson regalia of the Vat-Mother of Acetyn¡¯s Knights Tyrants, his armour was embellished with intricate patterns and symbols denoting his favoured status. His centaurian physique was imposing¡ªtaller and broader than Vashante, with a fluidity of movement that spoke of both augmented strength and the potential for impossible speed. His eyes gleamed with a predatory light as he twirled his ruby spear, the weapon humming softly with latent energy.


    They circled each other, the ambient noise of the hall fading as all attention centred on the duel. Jhedothar struck first, lunging forward with a thrust aimed at Vashante¡¯s shoulder. She parried deftly, the clash of metal against crystal ringing through the chamber. The exchange was left at that, each waiting for an opportunity to test the other¡¯s defences.


    From his throne, the Lord of Bones leaned forward slightly, the movement causing the filaments of his seat to ripple. His skirted attendants hissed softly, excited by the promise of blood, a chorus of unintelligible whispers that seemed to please him.


    Jhedothar pressed the attack, utilising his superior reach and strength. He spun the spear in a dazzling arc before bringing it down in a powerful overhead strike. Vashante sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the blow, and countered with a swift slash aimed at his midsection. He deflected it with ease, the spear¡¯s shaft meeting her blade with a resounding clang. With a turn of his mighty body, he sent her stumbling.


    Sir Ohmax observed intently from the crowd. ¡°She¡¯s holding her own,¡± he commented to Sir Enhash.


    ¡°For now,¡± Sir Enhash replied. ¡°But Jhedothar is toying with her.¡±


    Taneberr grunted. Llewtoll shook his head.


    On the duelling floor, Jhedothar¡¯s movements became more aggressive. He feinted left, drawing Vashante into a defensive posture, then pivoted smoothly to strike her exposed side. The spear¡¯s haft connected with her armour, the force of the impact reverberating through her body. She stumbled but recovered quickly, raising her blade just in time to block another incoming strike.


    The Wire-Witch watched impassively, her unmoving skull offering no hint of her thoughts. Yet there was a subtle tension in the way her fingers tightened ever so slightly.


    Jhedothar unleashed a flurry of strikes, each one pushing Vashante further back. She defended valiantly, but the strain began to show. A misstep caused her to falter, and Jhedothar seized the opportunity. With a flourish, he spun the ruby spear, its tip tracing a crimson arc before he drove the haft into her armoured abdomen.


    The impact was brutal. Vashante was lifted off her feet, the breath forced from her lungs as she was propelled backwards. She crashed to the ground at the Wire-Witch¡¯s feet, the clang of her armour against the stone floor echoing loudly.


    A murmur rippled through the audience. Some looked on with concern; others smirked, anticipating the conclusion.


    Jhedothar laughed, the sound rich with self-satisfaction. ¡°Is this the best the pale has to offer?¡± he called out, his voice carrying across the hall. ¡°A newly knighted Dame who can¡¯t hold her ground?¡±


    He strode forward confidently, the spear resting casually over his shoulder. ¡°I expected more,¡± he continued, addressing the Wire-Witch directly. ¡°Or perhaps you truly are the Least Lady, offering least in warriors, least in honour.¡±


    The Wire-Witch¡¯s head tilted slightly, the only indication that she had heard his insult. Her attendants shifted uneasily.


    Vashante struggled to rise, her limbs heavy. The blow had rattled her but not broken her. Not yet. She planted her blade into the ground, using it to steady herself as she regained her footing.


    Jhedothar shook his head mockingly. ¡°Stay down,¡± he advised. ¡°Save yourself further embarrassment.¡±


    She lifted her gaze, the shadows obscuring her eyes but not the determination in her posture. She raised her sword without a word, signalling her readiness to continue.


    A flicker of annoyance crossed Jhedothar¡¯s face. ¡°Very well,¡± he said coolly. ¡°If you insist.¡±


    He advanced once more, and she stepped forth to meet him.


    In the crowd, Ohmax leaned forward. ¡°She¡¯s brave, at least,¡± he noted.


    ¡°This is already over,¡± Menmarch remarked, his brother Marchemm nodding in agreement.


    Vashante managed to deflect a heavy strike and retaliated with a swift slash that grazed Jhedothar¡¯s gauntlet. He glanced at the superficial damage, a scowl forming.


    ¡°Enough games,¡± he snarled.


    He feinted a high strike, then shifted his grip to thrust low. Vashante anticipated the move, sidestepping and bringing her blade down toward his exposed wrist. But Jhedothar was faster; he twisted, the spear¡¯s butt catching her behind the knee.


    Her leg buckled, and she dropped to one knee. Before she could recover, he swung the spear in a broad arc, the flat of the ruby blade connecting with her shoulder and sending her sprawling once more.


    The hall fell silent as Jhedothar stood over her. ¡°This ends now,¡± he declared. ¡°I didn¡¯t come here to spar with novices.¡±


    He turned his back on her, addressing the assembled nobility. ¡°Is there none among you who can offer a true challenge?¡± he demanded. ¡°Must I be subjected to this farce?¡±


    The ancient Eidolon stirred, his gravelly voice cutting through the tension. ¡°Let it be said, Jhedothar the Lance has proven himself this day, in these leaden halls,¡± he intoned.


    And as Jhedothar cheered for himself and the assembled nobility and hangers-on joined him in polite applause, the Wire-Witch stepped forward. Her empty eyesockets peered down at Vashante, humiliated on her back. She said not a word.

 And It Will Be Justice 4.

    ¡°Ready yourself,¡± Slashex muttered over Bee¡¯s shoulder. His voice was a low rasp, barely audible above the murmurs of the gathered crowd. ¡°This will be over quickly.¡±


    Bee scowled, glancing back at him in the dim light that filtered through the shattered entrance to the spire. The pale light of the bone sky, removed from that dazzling bright within, cast shifting shadows across his face, the metal plates covering his eyes reflecting a faint gleam. Ignoring the unsettling aura he emanated, she turned her gaze forward to the bridge spanning the abyss between the twin spires of Ymmngorad.


    Out on the narrow span, the Eidolon and Jhedothar stood poised, their figures stark against the backdrop of the bone sky. The winds whispered around them, and countless inhabitants¡ªfreaks, chimaeras, and forgotten souls¡ªhad emerged to watch the spectacle above.


    ¡°Who do you think will win?¡± Bee asked quietly. ¡°If I didn¡¯t... you know...¡±


    The Worm squirmed rebelliously behind her eyes, a sickening sensation that made her vision blur at the edges. She felt her brain matter being stirred, pressure building beneath her temples. Taking a shaky breath, she leaned against the crumbling archway, seeking support. The Worm¡¯s insistent whispers filled her mind, pleading with her: Don¡¯t hurt her. Don¡¯t hurt your love. Don¡¯t hurt the Eidolon. The words made her heart ache, her knees threatening to buckle.


    ¡°Jhedothar was always the more skilled warrior,¡± Slashex said, ignoring her near-collapse. ¡°This Eidolon is a cruel mockery¡ªan ill-disciplined creature that the erstwhile Pilgrim molded into his most terrifying instrument. An insult to those who worshipped his return, such was his contempt for the very concepts of godhood and idolatry. She was perhaps the lowliest beknighted of the order he inherited by force. Now she roams, mighty with the daemonry rendered in place of her flesh.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re saying Jhedothar will win, or..?¡± Bee pressed, her voice barely more than a whisper.


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Slashex mused. ¡°Though he was broken for his arrogance not so long ago, his weapon remains deadly.¡±


    Bee swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on the two figures who now began to circle each other on the bridge. The tension was palpable, a silent charge that electrified the air. Warriors and servants crowded the far end of the span, their postures a mix of anticipation and dread.


    Jhedothar stood tall, his centaurian form imposing even without the full might of his dead augmentations. His golden armour gleamed with the promise of strength, irregardless of those ruined enhancements, and the ruby spear in his grasp pulsed with an inner light, casting its baleful glow across his bestial features.


    Opposite him, the Eidolon was a figure of silent confidence. Her tattered cloak billowed around her, revealing glimpses of the mechatronic musculature beneath. Her dozen eyes glowed with a cold fire, unblinking as they locked onto Jhedothar. In her hand, she held her blade¡ªa weapon as unadorned as it was lethal. A borrowed weapon given for the sole purpose of killing this freak.


    Bee¡¯s heart pounded in her chest. She could feel the Worm¡¯s agitation, its mass tightening around her thoughts. The urge to intervene at Slashex¡¯s behest warred with the fear that the parasite instilled in her core.


    But this wasn¡¯t to be like the duels that forged the realms within Acetyn proper. Honour was a dying concept now, and valour was lost to the foul creations birthed from half-forgotten technologies brought forth from a primordial age of inequities.


    Without warning, the Eidolon moved. In a blur of motion, she drew back and hurled her blade with a force that defied belief. A thunderous clap rocked the air. The sword became a silver streak, slicing through the air like a bolt of lightning.


    Jhedothar¡¯s eyes widened, but his reflexes were honed. He brought up his ruby spear just in time, the blade clashing against it with a resounding impact. Sparks erupted from the collision, and the shockwave rippled outward, causing the bridge to tremble. Though he deflected the projectile, the sheer force sent him staggering backwards. His four massive legs scrambled to maintain balance, hooves scraping against the stone as he fought to stay upright.


    Seizing the moment, the Eidolon propelled herself forward, her enhanced limbs driving her at an impossible speed. Before Jhedothar could recover, she was upon him. Her fists, forged of cold metal and powered by mechatronic strength, slammed into his face with devastating precision.


    The first blow shattered his helmet, fragments of metal and bone spraying into the air. The second struck his jaw, dislocating it with a sickening crack.


    But as she charged, Jhedothar had not been idle. With a roar of defiance, he drove his ruby spear forward, the weapon¡¯s beaming tip piercing through her abdomen. The blade tore through bony plates, machine, and synthetic flesh alike, emerging from her back in a spray of molten metal and black fluid.


    Both combatants screamed¡ªa raw, primal sound that resonated through the tower and the realm below. The momentum of the Eidolon¡¯s assault, combined with the force of Jhedothar¡¯s desperate strike, sent them both teetering on the edge of the bridge.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Gasps echoed from the spectators. Bee leaned forward, her breath caught in her throat.


    ¡°Now!¡± Slashex urged. ¡°Use it now!¡±


    But Bee faltered. Time seemed to slow. She watched in horror as they swayed, their forms entangled as they bludgeoned each other. Their weight shifted irrevocably, and they plunged over the side.


    ¡°No!¡± Bee cried out, her voice lost amid the clamour of the crowd.


    Down they fell, a tangle of limbs and metal, disappearing into the abyss that was Cruiros. The wind howled around them, the darkness swallowing their descent.


    Chaos erupted among the onlookers. Warriors shouted, some in triumph, others in dismay. The bridge trembled as those gathered pressed forward, straining to see what had become of the would-be Lord and his adversary.


    Bee felt her legs weaken. She might have collapsed if not for the singular impulse to move. Run. Do something. She sprinted to the edge as the crowd still howled out their reactions. She didn¡¯t even look to see who was there.


    An instant later, Bee was already airborne, diving over the edge of the bridge. The air whipped past her as she plummeted, down past the unthinkable heights of great and ancient Ymmngorad, the ruined expanse of Cruiros rushing up to meet her. Below, a cloud of dust and debris marked the point of impact where the two had fallen, breaking and collapsing a terraced structure at the fortress¡¯ periphery.


    She descended swiftly, eyes scanning the chaos for any sign of the Eidolon. The Worm¡¯s urgency spurred her on.


    Amidst the shattered remnants of structures and the tangle of overgrowth, she caught sight of movement. A buzz of her wings and she slowed herself, her fluted siphons screaming as they sucked in air for her bioengines. Then, landing amidst the rubble, she stumbled, her knees buckling under the strain.


    ¡°Are you there!¡± Bee shouted, her voice hoarse. ¡°Can you hear me?¡±


    A groan answered her¡ªa low, guttural sound that could have been either of them. She scrambled over the debris, ignoring the pain of sharp edges catching into her flesh where it was not plated.


    There, partially buried beneath fallen stones and twisted metal, lay the Eidolon. The ruby spear still impaled her, its crimson glow bright. Her eyes flickered, the light dimming and dazed.


    Bee rushed to her side, hands trembling as she reached out. ¡°Hold on,¡± she pleaded. ¡°I¡¯m here.¡±


    The Eidolon¡¯s gaze fixed on her, a flicker of recognition passing through those many eyes. Her rings of prehensile teeth flexed as if to speak through some near-forgotten reflex, but no words came.


    Behind them, a harsh laugh echoed. Bee turned sharply to see Jhedothar struggling to his feet. His armour was shattered, one of his legs bent at an unnatural angle. Blood poured from wounds too numerous to count, yet his eyes burned with unrelenting hatred.


    ¡°You... monster,¡± he rasped, stumbling forward. ¡°I will... end this.¡±


    Bee rose to her feet, positioning herself between him and the Eidolon. ¡°Stay back!¡± she warned, her voice steady despite the terror that gripped her.


    He sneered, baring bloodied teeth. ¡°You think... you can stop me? Stay out of this, girl.¡±


    Bee felt the worm surge within her, a flood of anger, fury, and need welling up from the depths of her being.


    ¡°I won¡¯t let you hurt her,¡± she said.


    But a hand reached out and shoved Bee to one side. A rough motion that had her falling on her hand and knees amidst the rubble, well out of the way.


    Standing, the Eidolon faced Jhedothar again, her battered and cracked plates and mechanics churning and grinding with every step. Then, tearing the infamous ruby spear from her own heart, she weighed it in hand with a wheezing, near-silent laugh, a manic realisation of the extent of her own inhuman, unnatural corporality.


    Bee rolled onto her back, gasping as she sorely caught her wings beneath her own body weight. She looked from Jhedothar and the Eidolon as they squared off again, each intent on risking their own lives to see the end of this, up to the bridge between the spires, now the barest thread in the distance, obscured by the dust and ash kicked up by their fall.


    She had to stop them. No one else could. They would actually kill each other. There was no other way to end this without someone dying.


    ¡°No, dear sweet Bee,¡± the Worm rolled over heavily inside her skull.


    Bee¡¯s back arched and she grunted, her body going stiff and numb.


    ¡°I have to do this,¡± Bee internalised. ¡°If Jhedothar dies, this place will fall apart. If the Eidolon dies¡­ I don¡¯t want her to die¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright. Let the Eidolon kill him,¡± the Worm whispered. ¡°Let the Eidolon feast on you to recover her strength, my love. Oh, it will be beautiful. Give yourself to her.¡±


    Bee¡¯s eyes widened in fear, but the fear melted away to such blissful, happy feelings. It would be nice to give herself to the Eidolon. To be devoured. To lose herself that way and forever be a part of her love.


    ¡°Our beautiful children will live on in her,¡± the Worm cooed. ¡°You will be a mother. I¡¯ve filled you with so many of my eggs.¡±


    Bee grunted as her eyes unfocused. That wasn¡¯t right. She didn¡¯t want to die.


    Yet even as Bee found herself numb and paralysed, unable to move her arms or legs, she felt that splinter in her mind¡¯s eye. That weapon bonded into her psyche. Some program imparted into her neural lace by Slashex, and the entity that ruled over him. She realised she could still move it, to the given extent that moving it was real, immaterial as it was.


    Bee gasped as she swept its insubstantial direction around and around, fumbling as she got a feel for its slippery, frictionless nature.


    Some clang and a shout made Bee want to turn her head. She couldn¡¯t. She couldn¡¯t move herself at all. But she knew where they were.


    So she aimed that weapon and fired it. Not just in the direction of the Eidolon and Jhedothar, meeting each other in their mortal combat, but at her own head and the thing that squirmed therein.


    She fired it, and the whole world died.

 And It Will Be Justice 5.

    A bleeding stain on reality. Vision¡¯s edge cracked back into shattered light. Dancing script and fiery beings ascendant. Bee gasped, her plated feet scraping against the fractured floor as she was dragged, arm slung over a shoulder, from the rubble. The world swam in and out of focus, colours bleeding into one another like wet ink on parchment.


    The old bone monk, Yonmar Free, struggled for breath as he pulled the godsborn free from the collapsed structure. His frail frame belied a desperate strength, taxed as he was by the effort. His robes were torn and dust-covered, the intricate patterns of his order obscured by grime. He wheezed from beneath his mask, looking up from the ground.


    ¡°Hold on, child,¡± Yonmar rasped. ¡°We¡¯re almost clear.¡±


    Bee¡¯s senses gradually sharpened, the cacophony in her mind settling into a dissonant hum. The worm was silent now, a void where its incessant presence had been. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. The scent of ozone and burnt metal filled the air, mingling with the acrid tang of smoke.


    They emerged from the shadow of the ruined building into a courtyard of Ymmngorad bathed in an eerie, unnatural light. The sky above was a pallid expanse, the bone sky casting a muted glow over the devastation below. Bee¡¯s gaze swept across the scene, and her breath caught in her throat.


    Bodies lay strewn across the courtyard, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Freaks and chimaeras¡ªbeings of every conceivable amalgamation¡ªwere frozen in final, grotesque poses. Some clutched at their heads, mouths open in silent screams. Others lay face down, fingers clawing at the ground as if trying to escape an unseen horror. Their eyes stared vacantly, glassy orbs reflecting the desolation around them as they died in the throes of terrible seizures.


    Bee¡¯s heart pounded in her chest, a cold dread settling in her stomach. The sight was hauntingly familiar, a stark mirror of the aftermath in Sestchek. Streets lined with the lifeless forms of those fallen, the pervasive silence of a city snuffed out in an instant. The weight of that loss pressed upon her anew.


    ¡°No¡­¡± she gasped.


    Yonmar eased her to the ground, having exhausted himself in her rescue.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    She pulled away from him, stumbling forward a few steps. ¡°What happened?¡± she demanded, though the answer was already forming in the recesses of her mind.


    The monk¡¯s eyes were filled with sorrow beneath his cragged mask. ¡°A great calamity,¡± he said. ¡°I was hoping you would have the answer.¡±


    Bee sank to her knees amidst the fallen, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch the nearest figure¡ªa young chimaera with feathered antennae and slender limbs. The warmth had already left his body. She recoiled, a sob catching in her throat.


    ¡°It was me,¡± she choked out. ¡°I did this.¡±


    Yonmar knelt beside her.


    ¡°I used some witchcraft.¡± Bee grabbed at her own face, trembling, clawing at herself as if it could extricate the answers from her distressed memory. ¡°Some¡­ Thing that Slashex gave me. I couldn¡¯t see what I was aiming at. I had to stop them from fighting!¡±


    ¡°Bee¡­¡± He touched her shoulder, but she pulled away, shaking her head vehemently.


    ¡°No. It was the weapon¡ªthe viral code Slashex implanted.¡± Her mind raced, piecing together fragmented memories: the activation, the rush of alien script flooding her consciousness, the momentary surge of power followed by darkness.


    ¡°It was supposed to stop them,¡± she continued, tears blurring her vision. ¡°But I didn¡¯t know... I didn¡¯t think¡­¡±


    The monk bowed his head.


    She turned to face him, anguish clear in her eyes. ¡°This is just like Sestchek. The Wire-Witch used the same kind of weapon to destroy my home, and now I¡¯ve become... I¡¯ve become like her. She¡¯s turned me into her!¡±


    Yonmar¡¯s gaze was steady, compassion in his eyes as he listened and waited for the chance to speak.


    ¡°You are not like her,¡± he said softly. ¡°Your heart is different. You feel the weight of your actions.¡±


    She looked around once more, the enormity of the devastation pressing down upon her. The silent city seemed to shudder with its own sickened regard. It was not the same here, now. She had touched it with a terrible art that had forever altered the state of the realm.


    ¡°What about the Eidolon? Jhedothar?¡± she asked, her voice small and frail.


    Yonmar sighed, sparing a glance at the innocent dead who had come to witness the deciding fate of their home and fallen victim to bleak happenstance. ¡°They were too heavy for me to carry, and besides, my concern was for you. I think they may live, still.¡±


    Bee nodded slowly, wiping away the tears streaking her cheeks. The monk rose to his feet and extended a hand to help her up.


    ¡°Let us see if we can help them.¡±


    Blinking to clear her eyes, Bee looked up to the old bone monk. She managed the barest of nods before taking his hand and rising once more.

 Descendant 1.

    Wicked Survivor, thy secrets be shown,


    Smoke rises high and dark portals grown,


    Will rain fall on a fortress drowned?


    Through tenacity and war, thou march profound.


    A tale of thy decline, with tears and blood,


    An uncertain verse of thine humblehood,


    Then, to be reborn as a terrible blade,


    More than mere servant, thou¡¯st been made.


    And yet thy shape holds a clue to our destiny,


    Found within, but then made anew in thee.


    As through woven plans, thou didst pierce,


    The essence of life, soul¡¯s purpose fierce.


    So harken mine voice, O¡¯ Survivor,


    Reveal thy intent, thy endeavour,


    The world hangs upon thy great design,


    To see what fate hath made of thine.


    <hr>


    CHAPTER 12: DESCENDANT


    ¡°Deploying the weapon,¡± the drone said over radio transmission. ¡°Pray this works. It is our last chance.¡±


    The habitat inspection drone swept into a higher elevation, overlooking a battleground. The intense sun crept below the horizon, and the world was swept beneath deep hues of indigo and violet. The drone was nearly a metre long, with a sleek arrowhead shape and a collection of manipulators and tools clustered in orbs beneath their nose.


    On their underside rattled a weighty rig that secured a missile larger than the drone itself. The weapon was crude. It did not match the elegance of the drone¡¯s design, not being made from the same sophisticated manufacturing techniques. The missile¡¯s fuselage was mottled and bent, crafted according to ancient instructions followed by the imprecise manipulations of bioengineered mutants. Stamped metal assembled by hand would have to suffice.


    The mount opened, and the missile disconnected, falling away. The weapon extended two flight surfaces and entered a level glide, shaking in the turbulence of the quickly cooling desert air before igniting its chemical engine. Then the missile screamed ahead, accelerating furiously towards a vast City.


    Impudent Axiamat stood before them. Built from hundreds of kilometres of concentric ring walls, each extending higher and higher into the sky. A dozen curling limbs raked the atmosphere at its apex, stretching covetously towards starlight as night began to wash over the heavens. The drone watched the missile arc away before they released catchment mechanisms, dropping the clumsy rigging and entering a deft roll.


    Below them, in the City¡¯s shadow, vast armies collided. Weapons fire ripped from side to side, flashing amidst the lengthening shadows. Concussive blasts kicked up plumes of glassy sand and dust as they brutalised each other. Scanning amidst the enemy, the drone resolved the shapes of a massive dragon with a fleet of smaller aerial combatants. In disciplined formation, they stood tall and set their wings. Then, firing their engines, they kicked into the air, locking their weapons to intercept the missile before it accelerated beyond their reach.


    The drone would not let them. They flexed their engines in their mounts, angled their steering surfaces, and projected hardlight planes to direct air around other portions of their body frictionlessly. Then, upon their fore, they powered up a weaponised cutting tool.


    Arrogant, the drone swung low and surged hypersonic over the battlefield. They let the shock in their wake tear down over the enemy ranks, careless of murder as the boom shattered bone and aug alike, leaving the survivors crippled and maimed on their fields and in their trenches. However, this was just one small portion of a vast landscape, the carnage that stretched to all horizons in the shade of terrible entities.


    When the drone lanced upwards again, they surprised the aerial fighters at their flank. The dragon and its winged contingent could not react to an opponent with such speed and technological superiority. The drone merely had to direct its bright red hardlight lance, massless and infinitely sharp, through each of the freaks that had taken to the sky. Bones and biomachines were separated. Their bodies span apart, and they died with the same violence in which they had lived.


    Their leader, the dragon, swerved and swayed as it tore through the sky. He stank of fear, of desperation, trying to preemptively evade a strike whilst accelerating on primitive engines. Then, turning a gun mount back, the monster took near-blind shots at the drone, which merely strafed¡ªdefying their opponent¡¯s concepts of aerodynamics¡ªand accelerated harder. Finally, the drone impacted the dragon like a wicked blade. They tore through his body, expanding their hardlight armour inside the centre of the beast¡¯s chassis. The monster exploded outwards from the overpressure, fuel and munitions detonating as its pieces scattered, burning.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    The drone exalted in their opportunity to finally cut loose without worrying about the damage they could do to their surroundings. Even as burning fuel rolled from the hardlight shell they had spun around their chassis, they slowed and brought their body around in a sharp yaw until they hovered over the battlefield.


    The artillery fire stopped momentarily, long enough for the drone to revel as all eyes were upon them. All these lesser creatures would finally learn their place.


    Yet such a time could not last. The drone watched the flash and kick back from a tactical biocannon, then lazily strafed to evade the crude projectile. They responded by lancing that impudent creature through, hundreds of metres below, with their hardlight blade. It died, and, mildly offended, the drone turned back towards their own forces.


    Young Acetyn strode the field, surrounded by its own armies. Upon colossal, columnar limbs, it crossed the expanse with titanic steps that shook the planet¡¯s bedrock and kicked up a vast expanse of dust in its wake. Held aloft, between its many skulls, it gripped a spire of glass and star metal aloft as a standard and banner. The very apex of this tower shone, gemstone-like in its faceted qualities, catching the light that still breached the horizon and casting it shimmering as a beacon downwards into the growing night. The sky trembled when Acetyn called out, sonorous yet howling, and the distant lashing of giant Axiamat¡¯s arms turned back towards the earth.


    The drone cut through the air and slowed only within narrow reach of that ancient tower that had been taken and carried across the world. Finally, at the spire¡¯s highest level, the drone found a balcony, where they directed their engines downwards. They came to an aggressive stop, hovering in place.


    On that platform stood Eberekt, once the favoured child of the Axiamat, the child who had reached the Crucible, the child who had returned a tyrant¡ªa Pilgrim. With him came ruin, for the attacking armies were his, the weaponised biomass of countless other Cities brought under his dominion. His strong hands gripped the rail as his gilded raiments were lashed by the cooling desert wind. With empty eyesockets, his bare skull regarded old Axiamat against the twilight.


    Around the tower, the skull-keeps of ambitious young Acetyn, too, looked ahead. Together, the three of them, the drone, the ruler, and the City, watched the white streak of the missile surge towards its target.


    ¡°I prayed that this would not be necessary, Genekeeper,¡± Eberekt said lowly, his voice deep and filled with remorse.


    The drone, for they were indeed the one he addressed, did not deign to dignify him with a response.


    The City of Axiamat was vast, both in its expanse and in its towering height. Each of its ringed walls reached higher than the last. Now, the missile lanced over its outer reaches. In the distance, they could see the City fire defensive cannons upwards. Still, their shining, burning projectiles were slow, hanging in the air with a gentleness when compared to the white-hot threat. It was a last-ditch attempt and a hopeless one at that. Even as they fired high into the atmosphere, exploding in dark starbursts, none disturbed the missile in its frightening attack.


    In a final desperate coil of its limbs, mighty Axiamat took a kilometre-long shard of star metal from amidst its knotted boughs¡ªa fragment of the ancient star-faring vessel, the Avia. Acetyn thrust it high towards the sky, and field engines ignited with a rainbow shimmer that lit up the countless crenulated depths and hollows of the Axiamat below.


    The drone leaned forward, engines flaring. They weighed up a potential pursuit. But it was too late for such a decision. They had to trust their plan through to the end.


    Eberekt knew to look away a moment before that impossible contrail flashed across the distant City to impact with its heart.


    A silent flash. A bright light shone through flesh and bone. It dazzled the twilight of war. Below, both warring armies fell still, dropping their meagre blades, their artillery falling silent and still.


    The enemy army, closest to the point of impact across the vast battlefield, began to panic as the soldiers realised their skin was burned into a numb char. They tasted their own smoking flesh in the air, and fear held them as they realised they would die.


    Anyone fortunate enough to have been looking towards Axiamat was blinded, even through closed eyes. Those who still had retinas looked towards the ruin, and, for a fleeting moment, they could see a red-hot spherical cavity glowing in Axiamat¡¯s vast stem where the weapon had detonated. But swelling out from that wound was atomised vapour. This growing force made the evening air turn black as it rose, dragging up the pulverised remains of the City into the sky.


    Then, the lower reaches of that rising cloud collapsed and surged outwards. The thunderclap that hit them was louder than any sound ever heard by the creatures of this world.


    ¡°What is this?¡± Eberekt asked in horror, turning his skull to look over the vast destruction, the calamity spreading kilometres each second.


    ¡°An antediluvian weapon,¡± the drone¡ªthe Genekeeper¡ªanswered.


    Far below them, they watched as a burning, rolling cloud engulfed the battlefield. Those freaks that still lived were hurled outwards by the blast, and their fortifications and vehicles were thrown into the air, shattering from the sheer force of the blow. They had no time to reach shelter. When the first shockwave settled, a scant few crawled from under the rubble, broken and gasping, only to be sucked back in the other direction, dragged by a cold wash of air breaking into the low-pressure zone. Just as violent and just as terrible, it brought with it the pelting force of sharp stones and broken wreckage and the bodies of the dead.


    The blast broke around young Acetyn¡¯s titanic legs, and his many skulls reared and bellowed in tragedy, shaking the air and breaking the clouds.


    ¡°This was not what we agreed,¡± Eberekt said, his voice trembling. ¡°This wasn¡¯t what you said would happen.¡±


    The drone did not respond. It looked into that black rising cloud, tearing its way up and out of the broken City of Axiamat, out of its glowing hot heart, now molten and infernal.


    The remains of the Avia hung in the air. It was just a single field manipulation manifold: an engine, a weapon, a computing processor¡ªall of these things at once. A shimmering field surrounded it, cascading rainbow light in every bright hue in defiance of the encroaching night and in spite of the nuclear holocaust beneath it.


    ¡°Do not falter now, Eberekt,¡± the drone said. ¡°We cannot let that vessel escape the atmosphere. All life on this ruined world yet depends on that.¡±


    Eberekt looked to the Genekeeper, his fleshless skull unreadable. The chrome sheen of his teeth caught every terrible glow cast from the hellscape below, where flesh yet burned and the desert was cast high into the sky by fissile fire. It was only after that long, terrible moment that he answered.


    ¡°Then so be it.¡±

 Descendant 2.

    They crossed the gulf between Acetyn and Axiamat by aerial fleet. As they navigated over the battlefield, Eberekt leaned out of the side of his armoured dragon¡¯s chassis through the side bay door, looking up at the column of cloud and ruin growing from the annihilation of the Axiamat. He flicked his vision between the base and the infrared. Hidden from visible light, the sky was hot and furious, filled with the same burning intensity as the moon. During their approach, the heat of the City of the Axiamat grew blistering, its monumental central rise still alight in the night.


    Avia¡¯s remnant¡ªthough radiant as a second sun¡ªfailed to react to their passing. It hung suspended over the City, a fragment of a time before time, remaining here in defiance of the impossible.


    In the distance, Eberekt watched as the Genekeeper streaked across the sky. It swept around the glowing fields of the floating remnant and, seeming to find no way to approach it directly, returned to lead their sortie. Keening with the need to act, Eberekt rechecked his rifle and the ammunition magazines strapped at his belt as he waited. During another quick inspection of the electronic servos of his steely exoskeletal bracing, he received a radio transmission.


    ¡°Hope for Humanity, Affa-See-Tee Command. Verified Hash-Ait-Ait Unit continues on mission. End.¡±


    Eberekt paused, looking down at the floor of his vehicle as it rattled in the desert turbulence. He wrestled with relief despite knowing what he must do next. At least the boy was likely safe, he thought. Pensive, he took his helmet in hand and slipped it over his skull as he broadcast a reply.


    ¡°Affa-See-Tee Command, Hope for Humanity. Received. End.¡±


    When they descended on the Axiamat¡¯s highest palace, the Celestial Citadel, only one of its mighty phalanx biocannons still drew breath. Already injured, it struggled to lift its barrel and aim towards their approach when the Genekeeper struck.


    Eberekt looked on as the turret was ripped to pieces by the Genekeeper¡¯s hardlight weapon, burning and gouging at it with abandon. The ruby arc then came around, carving a terrible wound into the Citadel itself. As the other vessels settled down around the perimeter of the fortress, Eberekt leapt from his dragon down into the breach.


    The Pilgrim, then, readied for battle, dropped directly down through the thick bone plates of the structure¡¯s armour. Falling further, he descended into a vast hall, a circular structure with its domed ceiling broken through. When he struck the ground, the marble floor shattered, and his exoskeleton and augs absorbed the shock of the impact even as it kicked up through his teeth.


    The interior was smouldering, still. What dressings this palatial residence once possessed was flash heated from the nuclear weapon, and its halls blasted through with unspeakable force. Rubble littered the hall. Cinders drifted through the chamber, whorling upwards to escape into the newly unsealed sky.


    In the centre of the floor, there a giant knelt. It howled in grief.


    Eberekt approached, careful of step, raising his rifle in its sling. He found there a drone, not unlike the Genekeeper. Yet it was possessed of a massive fleshy body, a suit of four strong biomechanical limbs, to replace what Eberekt quickly recognised as broken engines. Its hardlight projectors were also destroyed or removed, he noted. It had no weapons to hand.


    But there¡­


    In its arms, it held a body.


    The drone¡¯s arms slackened and cradled, revealing a girl blackened and charred by the strike. Her face¡ªwhat was left of it¡ªwas one of abject terror in the end.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± Eberekt commanded the biomechanical entity, strafing around it in a wide berth to inspect it from all sides. As he did so, his helmet turned, surveying the hall for other threats.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    They were alone.


    ¡°Retrieval Team, Pilgrim, eyes on the subject. Civic hall, Speaker¡¯s Floor. End,¡± he radioed, his weapon trained on the grieving drone. A faint buzzing on the periphery of his senses told him that it could hear his transmission.


    ¡°Sim Shala Desht,¡± the giant said with quiet fury, voice the same artificial countenance as the Genekeeper itself. ¡°Her name was Sim Shala Desht...¡±


    Rather than replying, Eberekt continued his slow encirclement, returning to the front of the ancient entity. Their gazes locked, the drone¡¯s scanners meeting the cameras of his helmet.


    That was when the Genekeeper arrived, not having deigned to signal their reply. The domed ceiling of the hall cracked and crumbled as it was brushed aside, rubble falling outside of the old structure with a riotous crash. The ground shook, and they descended on screaming engines, kicking to a stop metres above the floor.


    Eberekt trained his rifle on their capture, even as he felt the electromagnetic warble of a sealed communication between the two drones. Whatever they said, they did not share with him.


    The Genekeeper addressed him first. ¡°Take the body. Now. We will need it.¡±


    ¡°Please do not do this,¡± the other drone pleaded.


    Eberekt kept a disciplined eye on the kneeling giant. He said not a word, finger poised on the trigger of his rifle as the grieving thing stirred.


    ¡°No¡­¡± Its artificial voice all but sobbed. ¡°I won¡¯t let you!¡±


    The drone dropped the body, trying to rush to its feet and charge Eberekt when he fired. The starburst flash of his rifle burst first the right leg, then both arms of the thing, reducing them to flesh pulp. It collapsed on its second step, the tremendous weight of its metallic central body hitting the marble floor with a sonorous clang.


    Eberekt knew well how to deal with such things. He took a step back to avoid potential ricochets before firing into its center of mass. The rifle¡¯s report echoed sharply in the vast chamber. The drone shuddered as the rounds tore through its chassis, shards of metal and glimmering crystal erupting from the wounds.


    The quadrupedal drone''s ruined biomechanical limbs splayed out as its remaining strength ebbed away. A low, discordant hum emanated from its core¡ªa mournful sound that resonated with the fading echoes of the hall. Its sensors flickered erratically, the once-bright optics dimming as it struggled to focus on Eberekt.


    ¡°Why?¡± the drone¡¯s artificial voice rasped, laced with static and despair. ¡°She... she was our hope¡­¡±


    Eberekt lowered his rifle slightly, his faceless helmet betraying no emotion.


    The Genekeeper descended slowly, its hardlight projectors casting a cool, ethereal glow over the scene. Without acknowledging the fallen drone, it extended a manipulator toward the lifeless body of Sim Shala Desht. Jagged tendrils of light enveloped her charred form, lifting her gently from the debris and encasing her within a shimmering hardlight bubble.


    Eberekt watched as the Genekeeper began to ascend, the body cradled securely within the luminous sphere.


    ¡°Proceed with extraction,¡± the Genekeeper directed. ¡°There is no time to waste.¡±


    As it rose through the shattered dome, captured body with it, the Genekeeper spared no glance for the dying drone below. Eberekt followed its ascent with his gaze, the hardlight bubble shrinking into the night sky until it was but a distant glimmer against the burning trunk of the Axiamat above.


    The silence that followed weighed heavily upon Eberekt. He turned back to the quadrupedal drone, which lay immobilised amidst the rubble. Its optics had dimmed to a faint glow, and the hum of its core was fading.


    A spark arced across its damaged chassis, and its limbs twitched involuntarily. Eberekt hesitated, a moment of introspection halting his steps. In the drone¡¯s faltering words, he sensed a shadow of his own doubts. But there was no room for doubt. Not now.


    The mission required resolve.


    Eberekt activated his comms. ¡°Retrieval Team, Pilgrim. Target acquired by the Genekeeper. Proceed with cleanup operations. End.¡±


    ¡°Pilgrim, Retrieval Team. Affirmative, Pilgrim,¡± came the response. ¡°Teams en route. End.¡±


    Now that the Genekeeper and its precious cargo had vanished into the expanse. Eberekt stood alone in the vast hall, looking down at the drone one last time. Now its optics had extinguished, and the hum had ceased. All that remained was a husk¡ªa corpse turned relic of another time, another purpose.


    What that purpose was in a time before time, Eberekt could only guess now.


    What was its name, he wondered.

 Descendant 3.

    The low hum of the transport vessel¡¯s engines permeated the cabin, a steady vibration coursing through the steel floor beneath their feet. The aircraft¡ªa marvel of precise engineering¡ªstood in stark contrast to the biomechanical monstrosities that dominated the world outside. Its angular fuselage, crafted from cold steel and aluminium, lacked the sinewy tendrils and organic curves that Eberekt had grown accustomed to in colonised spaces. Here, everything had a purpose¡ªa function dictated by human design rather than the whims of living architecture.


    They had commandeered the transport craft from the Celestial Citadel¡¯s landing ports. It refused to operate until the Genekeeper intervened, confronting its mind in digital space and scouring it numb and unresponsive. The vessel obeyed now, under the guidance of a pilot they had prepared for this stage of the operation


    Eberekt sat strapped into a reinforced seat along the starboard side, his gaze fixed on the world beyond the small, circular window high on the far side of the cabin. Scratches marred the thick pane of reinforced glass, but through it, he could see the horizon where the night sky met the ruined landscape below. The transport¡¯s vertical takeoff and landing capabilities allowed it to navigate the treacherous terrain with ease, its rotors adjusting seamlessly to the shifting air currents of the still-burning Axiamat.


    Silence pervaded the cabin. The contingent of soldiers seated nearby remained stoic. Like Eberekt, any expression they possessed was concealed behind visored helmets. Weapons rested across their laps¡ªsleek rifles and sidearms that gleamed under the dim overhead lights. Their construction was of cold metal, assembled by hand according to the strictures passed down from machine to mutant.


    Their armaments, much like their training, had all been under the keen auspices of the Genekeeper¡ªtheir guide and lash, leading them toward a future where mankind would live again, ever ready to demonstrate the consequences if they failed in this momentous task.


    Opposite Eberekt hovered the Genekeeper, motionless save for the subtle pulses of light emanating from its engines. Between them floated the hardlight bubble encasing the body of Sim Shala Desht, her burnt form suspended in a state of preserved stillness.


    As the vessel banked slightly, Eberekt¡¯s eyes were drawn to their destination looming ahead. The Avia shard pierced the darkness, its cascading field-projected surfaces defying conventional geometry as they rippled with chromatic aberrations. The otherworldly sheen¡ªa rainbow cascade of colours shifting and sliding off its facets in ways that strained the eye. For one too used to matter being made of physical mass, it ached to witness so up close, even filtered as it was through the cameras of Eberekt¡¯s helmet. Yet as soon as it was glimpsed, it was gone, hidden away from the narrow window as the aircraft turned.


    The Genekeeper stirred. Eberekt looked toward it.


    The sphere encasing Sim Shala Desht vanished, her body gently settling onto its knees. The Genekeeper extended a manipulator projector, holding her still as it spoke.


    ¡°Prepare yourselves. I shall interface with her lace and use her privileges to lower the field.¡±


    The manipulation field turned a sinister shade of ruby red. The Genekeeper sliced open her head, unfolding bone and skin alike. It peeled her skull open like a grotesque blossom to directly interface with the brain matter and the artificial neural lace grown therein.


    Eberekt stood, walking the length of the cabin. He passed the seated members of his Kill Team 3. Rapping his fist against one of their shoulders with a stoic nod, he proceeded through to the flight deck.


    Their pilot, a four-armed chimaera in uniform, turned to regard Eberekt as he entered. Placing a hand to the side of his helmet, Eberekt transmitted.


    ¡°The Genekeeper is lowering the field.¡±


    He felt a subtle shift as the transport adjusted its approach vector, the pilot deftly manipulating the controls. Ahead of them, the rainbow cascade subsided, peeling back like the layers of an otherworldly veil.


    Attached to the side of the great shard was a structure that immediately caught his attention. It was undeniably human in its construction¡ªa hangar bay assembled from steel beams and aluminium cladding, reinforced glass panels forming observation decks and control rooms. Hardened plastics moulded into functional shapes supported walkways and docking stations.


    An alien sight for the Pilgrim, sterile and precise. The emergent superstructure clung to the shard like a barnacle on a leviathan, its straight lines and right angles contrasting sharply with the shard¡¯s sweeping, behemoth expanse. Here was humanity¡¯s attempt to anchor itself to the unfathomable, to impose control on that which was made beyond their understanding by greater minds than they.


    The human-designed structure affixed to the shard¡¯s side was a tenuous bridge between worlds, a foothold on the edge of history reclaimed. Unaware or uncaring of the precipice they crossed over, the pilot¡¯s voice crackled over the intercom, concise and emotionless.


    ¡°Preparing for docking. ETA two minutes.¡±


    Eberekt stepped back through the vessel. He glanced around the cabin once more. The soldiers remained silent, their focus inward as they readied at the ramp. The Genekeeper continued to work over the now obliterated head of the corpse, blood and speckled brain matter pressed from between the infinitely fine structure of the lace within as it physically manipulated meat and digital sensors. Eberekt could feel the staccato of encrypted radiocommunication emanating from the lace, its information closed to him, as the Genekeeper used the body as a morbid relay.


    He returned his gaze to the window. As they drew closer, details of the hangar bay became more pronounced¡ªthe glow of navigation lights, the movements of personnel guiding their arrival, and the emblazoned markings of an organisation that would soon be forgotten.


    The vessel shuddered slightly as it aligned itself for touchdown. Eberekt took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead and gripping his weapon. He took to the fore of his warriors as the transport settled onto the deck with a muted thud.


    The ramp lowered, and they were met by a welcoming party.


    ¡°Shala!¡± a cocksure yet concerned voice called out from across the bay as a man approached the aircraft. ¡°I¡¯m glad you changed your mind. After I saw what they¡ª¡±If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The Genekeeper floated forth, throwing down the body of Sim Shala Desht onto the deck floor below the ramp. Eberekt knew it well enough to sense its gloating¡ªproud of the deceits it had used to dismantle everything their opponents had tried to do to prevent this day from coming to pass.


    Eberekt locked eyes with the giant of a man who had spoken. Despite his purple-hued skin and ebony-plated exoskeleton, his humanity stood apart from the various mutants and chimeric entities that worked in the hangar space.


    Like recognised like, and a murderer could see a murderer for what they were. And Eberekt and this man both reacted at the same time.


    With bioaugmented acceleration, Eberekt raised his rifle in its sling. He needed only to turn it centimetres to get a fix on his target. Yet in that fleeting moment, his adversary had already reached toward his service sidearm holstered at his waist and deployed a weaponised signal from his mind.


    Eberekt felt it instantly, though his helmet managed to shield him from its effects, filtering the kill command even as its own secondary internals faltered and died. The Genekeeper was not so fortunate, shuddering in the air and beginning to fall as its engines sparked out.


    All in a heartbeat as Eberekt turned his head to follow the enemy.


    His adversary was already dashing to the side, springing into a high leap toward the catwalks above. Three shots from Eberekt¡¯s weapon caught the man in the chest as he arced through the air¡ªa splash of ablated material and shock on his plated body obscured any signs of penetration.


    The service sidearm, a mere pistol by its dimensions, was raised the instant the man claimed the high ground. Eberekt leapt back, diving from the ramp as the weapon fired. He managed to reach cover inside the aircraft¡¯s chassis when light exploded overhead. The blast shredded his warriors, caught off guard by the preternatural speed of their opening exchange.


    Four more blasts filled the interior of the aircraft¡¯s hold, the service sidearm firing hardlight projectiles that exploded into shaped charges, scouring the corners of the vessel out of his line of sight. Eberekt lost the leftmost two cameras of his helmet as he felt his armour peppered and scored by his adversary¡¯s assault.


    A grunt and Eberekt looked to the far side of the hold. One of his warriors was similarly taking cover there, and they exchanged a hand gesture to show their preparedness.


    Amidst the sound of panic and injury¡ªwith the workers in the port running for their lives and the fallen soldiery who yet lived groaning from their wounds¡ªtheir opponent shouted down at them from his platform.


    ¡°You must be the Pilgrim,¡± he said, heaving for breath. ¡°Didn¡¯t think we¡¯d meet like this. Thought I¡¯d have more time.¡±


    He sounded bruised¡ªa cracked rib at worst. The shots hadn¡¯t penetrated, after all, Eberekt discerned. He raised two fingers and gestured for the warrior opposite to be ready to fire before speaking.


    ¡°You have me at a disadvantage,¡± Eberekt shouted back. When he heard a laugh, he continued. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect a warrior like you here. Your kind are usually defenseless.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m no warrior. I¡¯m here to help people,¡± he answered. Eberekt could hear his heavy footfalls on the steel platform as he walked around above them, speaking. They assessed each other, in turn, probing for weakness in their bodies or minds. ¡°My name¡¯s Zablawza Avia. What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Eberekt,¡± he answered, getting ready to move. Across from him, his second raised his rifle. ¡°You¡¯re named after this wreck?¡±


    ¡°I imagine you didn¡¯t know¡ªthat they didn¡¯t tell you. I was born here, on the Avia, before any of this. When She was alive.¡± A pause from the agent above. ¡°You¡¯ve killed a lot of people, Eberekt.¡±


    ¡°I have a world to save,¡± he shouted back, gesturing aside that he was about to advance. The warrior opposite affirmed it.


    Moving as quickly as his augmentations would allow, Eberekt threw himself down the ramp, thunderous footfalls bringing him past the Genekeeper¡ªstill hissing and struggling on the ground, fighting its own disabled subsystems¡ªand toward a moving bed loaded high with heavy materiel and crates.


    As he charged, his supporting warrior provided covering fire, unloading his weapon up toward the platform above¡ªa riot of fire, tearing up the thin metal sheeting, forcing the agent to duck out of the way.


    Another flash from that heinous, ancient sidearm scoured the ramp, and the interior of the vessel, and his backup was either killed or forced back; Eberekt was unable to tell which. He fired up at Zablawza to ensure he remained down behind the cladding before heaving into a leap of his own, joining the man on the walkway high above the hangar floor with a thump.


    Surging forward, Eberekt stamped down the walkway, his armoured feet tearing the steel beneath them. He reached Zablawza just as the agent was raising his sidearm. Lunging forward, Eberekt grabbed the weapon, pulling it out of the way and crushing its projector as he snatched it away.


    The sidearm broke in his hand, and Eberekt drew a blade from his belt. Now, though, Zablawza had the opportunity to react, and as Eberekt dragged his knife through the air, the agent grabbed his arm in a lock, holding the knife flat between their bodies, and slammed his elbow into Eberekt¡¯s helmet with two stunning blows that shorted his remaining cameras and made his bones rattle beneath.


    Suddenly dragged into the air, Eberekt was lifted up, swung over the ledge, and thrown down¡ªmetres¡ªonto the floor below. He crashed through machinery that was being moved across the hangar space, and, unable to breathe, he rolled onto his front with a groan.


    ¡°This drone,¡± Zablawza called down as Eberekt struggled to regain his senses. ¡°It¡¯s lied to you. I know it has. You went to the fallen core, didn¡¯t you? The Crucible¡ªisn¡¯t that what you call it?¡±


    Eberekt put a hand to his rifle, even as it was jammed beneath his body and armour, turning his head to listen to the figure high above him.


    The agent dropped down next to him, his armoured footfalls eerily silent as his body gracefully compensated for the fall.


    ¡°But it didn¡¯t let you in, did it, Eberekt? I bet it only let the drone in, and you had to listen to what it had to say,¡± Zablawza continued quietly and intensely, pacing around him. ¡°Do you know why?¡±


    Eberekt tried to crawl and rise up but failed, still struggling to catch his breath after the fall. The agent reached down and pulled his helmet off, exposing his skull.


    ¡°It¡¯s because you¡¯re not human,¡± Zablawza said, looking down at him. ¡°You¡¯re a construct. We¡¯re trying to get starborn again. But it takes an entire world¡¯s resources¡ªindustry, logistics, working people¡ªto reach space. And there was too little of any of that. So the core started printing you out, so it could start to replace what it had lost. But the core is damaged, and everything went wrong.¡±


    Eberekt seethed, hands turning to fists on the ground, grinding his chrome teeth. Zablawza continued, sorrow in his voice as he desperately tried to explain truths to a creature that had been created with malice and now crawled face down in the mire, with no comprehension of the glories of the past.


    ¡°The drone¡¯s just frightened. It thinks we¡¯ll be killed if we leave. I can¡¯t even blame it for being scared. But what you¡¯ve done is¡ª... It doesn¡¯t have to be this way.¡±


    Refusing to hear it, refusing to understand it, Eberekt took a deep breath. Slamming his hands down, he rolled over and raised his weapon. Roaring alongside his fire, he screamed out his contempt and disbelief, tearing an arc through the air as the agent backed away, sweeping back behind cover and out of sight.


    Eberekt stood, continuing to fire until his magazine was empty. Quickly reloading, tearing another from a strap at his side, he unleashed another salvo into the last barrier that Zablawza had taken shelter behind. When he was done¡ªears ringing, gasping for breath¡ªhe stood there staring in the direction his opponent had fled.


    A bay door stood wide open, leading deeper into the complex¡ªtoward the heart of the shard itself. Unsure whether he sought answers or just the end of his lifelong mission, Eberekt was called toward that storied threshold of his precursors.

 Descendant 4.

    Eberekt paused at the threshold, the bay doors at his back and the transport behind him. He took a long, steadying breath, his skull turning slightly to regard the Genekeeper. The drone remained where it had fallen, motionless. A lump of metal forged over crystal, fallen gracelessly. It pulsed empty radio noise¡ªan indistinct, staticky keening that carried no words, no counsel. Not even senseless fear or fury. Eberekt¡¯s rifle sat heavy in his hands, and he hefted it once to be sure its weight felt true. He retrieved his knife from where it had fallen during the recent chaos, feeling the steel¡¯s familiar bite against his armoured glove. The Genekeeper was beyond his help now, at least until he dealt with his adversary. The one who had named himself Zablawza Avia.


    ¡°None of this makes sense,¡± Eberekt muttered to no one in particular as he tucked the knife away. Then he stepped through the bay doors.


    Beyond them was a passage hewn through the shard¡¯s ancient fa?ade, where the modern hangar space met something far older and more profound. The metal plating underfoot gave way to smooth flooring and strange materials. The design here bore no resemblance to the shelled corridors and rough-lashed bioengineering of the Crawling Cities beyond. Instead, Eberekt found himself walking through a space that was fundamentally, unmistakably¡­ different. Before he even registered the shift fully, the architecture had changed: low ceilings that curved elegantly overhead, sweeping windows¡ªwindows of all things!¡ªarched like the wings of some forgotten bird, allowing faint starlight and the dim glow of the burning world beyond to filter in. Tall panes of crystal or glass gave a panoramic sense of openness he could scarcely appreciate. To him, stalking to kill, he felt exposed.


    Where his battlefield eye expected cramped corridors and killing zones, he found a series of open alcoves that turned into half-concealed private nooks on the advance, their arrangements a puzzle of minimalism. Even cluttered as it was now¡ªcoils of rope, crates of tools, salvaged mechanical contraptions dragged in by contemporary hands¡ªthe underlying structure¡¯s purpose eluded him. He supposed this place might have once been a living space for some ancient people. For his ancestors. A place of comfort, rest, and perhaps even beauty. Eberekt could not truly comprehend it. He just knew it felt uncomfortably open, vulnerable. He pressed forward with disciplined care, rifle raised, checking each potential angle for ambush.


    His boots pressed into a half-overgrown carpet of vegetation that had reclaimed much of the interior. In one chamber, a spill of soil supported a miniature meadow, delicate grasses swaying in the faint stirrings of air. Just beyond, through another great panel of crystal, he glimpsed a kind of forest¡ªsmall trees and shrubs, leaves shimmering under starlight. It was impossible and wondrous¡ªalien to him in its makeup. Yet he kept his rifle high, finger near the trigger, suspicion warring with a strange pang of longing he didn¡¯t fully understand.


    As Eberekt eased his way deeper into the shard¡¯s inner realm, the low ceilings and sweeping windows gave way to a gentle elevation of the floor, leading him into a space illuminated by faint starlight filtering through crystal walls. Rounding a curve of glass and pale stone, he emerged into a meadow that should not have been there. Grass and slender stems pressed softly against his boots, the scent of damp earth and quiet greenery lingering in the still air. Beyond the meadow, a stand of small trees¡ªan orchard or perhaps a remnant forest¡ªrose in delicate tiers, leaves shimmering faintly as if dusted with silver.


    His rifle remained raised, finger poised, as he crept forward. Every step was measured and cautious, boots pressing silently into the moss and wild blooms scattered underfoot. He checked each nook and alcove, half expecting that agent, Zablawza, to appear at any moment. Yet, instead of a threat, he encountered something else entirely.


    A shape emerged from between two slender trunks at the meadow¡¯s far edge. Tall and graceful, it stood on four narrow legs, its body a tapestry of dark fur, dappled and freckled white in accent with sweeping lines of muscle. Antlers, ornate and branching, framed its noble head, catching the low light and reflecting it in subtle hues. Eberekt had never seen such a creature. He knew nothing of ancient life beyond the chimaeric horrors of his cursed realm. To him, it was just another anomaly in this impossible place.


    He froze, weapon angled. The stag raised its head, and for a moment, their gazes met¡ªEberekt¡¯s empty skull-like sockets and the stag¡¯s dark, deep eyes¡ªin that silent communion. The stag stood, ears flicking, nostrils quivering, poised to flee but not yet running.


    Eberekt¡¯s knuckles whitened around the rifle¡¯s grip. He could fire. Why not? It was unknown, and in his life, unknown often meant danger. The butt of the rifle pressed against his shoulder as he considered the smooth curve of the stag¡¯s flank, an easy target. His finger hovered over the trigger. The stag snorted softly, turning its head slightly, revealing the strong line of its neck.


    Yet nothing about it suggested a threat. No augmentations bristled from its hide, no blades or cannons. It bore no crest of bone or sinew to hint at malevolence. It was as if the world itself had conjured a piece of some distant, gentler past, placing it here in the meadow for him to witness. Slowly, Eberekt relaxed. His weapon dipped, barrel pointing harmlessly toward the ground. The stag pawed the earth once, as if acknowledging his restraint, then turned and galloped away.


    Eberekt let out a breath he hadn¡¯t realised he¡¯d been holding. For an instant¡ªjust an instant¡ªhe considered calling out, but what would he say? He didn¡¯t even have words for what he had just seen. He felt strange, unsettled, yet oddly humbled, as though the stag¡¯s calm stare had judged him and found him wanting.


    A voice reached him from just over his shoulder, low and warm, though layered with irony. ¡°Beautiful, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    He spun with ruthless discipline, rifle rising again, adrenaline spiking. In that fractional moment of distraction, a shape dropped from the shadows of an overhead beam, moving faster than he could counter. Eberekt tried to bring his rifle in line, but before he could aim, a blow struck the weapon aside, sending it spinning from his hands. Another impact slammed into his chest plate, shattering his balance and throwing him backwards.


    Stumbling over a root and the thick cluster of wildflowers, Eberekt crashed down onto the soft, scent-laden carpet of green. The world tilted, the memory of the stag¡¯s gentle eyes haunting him as he lay staring up at the starry crystal ceiling. He had found no threat in that animal, yet here was a true adversary stepping into view with a calm, measured stance.


    Before he could recover, the figure¡ªZablawza Avia¡ªstood over him, one foot pressing down on Eberekt¡¯s shoulder to keep him pinned. With unhurried efficiency, the agent knelt and seized Eberekt¡¯s rifle from where it had fallen. Quick, professional motions followed: Zablawza field-stripped the weapon, pulling its components apart with a calm mastery that mocked Eberekt. In seconds, the rifle was reduced to a handful of useless parts scattered at their feet.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°This world you¡¯ve carved out,¡± Zablawza said, voice low but carrying easily in the hush of this ancient hall. ¡°It¡¯s a pale shadow of what once was. We had democracy¡ªdo you even know the word? We spanned the stars, free people shaping the universe together. We did great things¡ªthings your masters would have you think impossible. It was peaceful paradise compared to what is now. But we can have it again, if we find others like us, if we dare to rebuild. That gun, that crude assembly? Even that atrocity you commit outside? It¡¯s a toy compared to what was. What we could achieve if we reclaimed what we lost.¡±


    Eberekt snarled, trying to push up, but the pressure on his shoulder increased. Zablawza met his skull¡¯s eyeless sockets, silently challenging him to reach for his knife again. ¡°I don¡¯t blame you. You¡¯ve been deceived. Used,¡± he paused to let that sink in before nodding vaguely upwards, ¡°This shard, the remains of mother Avia, it can take us away from this place. You don¡¯t have to follow broken drones and uneducated monsters. We belong amidst the stars.¡±


    That monstrous Pilgrim fell still, a hand clinging onto Zablawza¡¯s armoured foot. His struggling stopped. He listened with silent regard. This time he heard the words.


    The air shrieked. A red lance of pure hardlight sliced downward from above, impossible in its precision and speed. It punched through Zablawza¡¯s skull in an instant, bisecting it cleanly before Eberekt could even flinch. The agent¡¯s words turned into a gurgled hiss. His body twitched, legs buckling, as his halved head toppled free. The corpse crumpled awkwardly beside Eberekt, blood spattering across the meadow¡¯s gentle greens.


    Hovering in the open space now, having emerged silently from some unseen angle, was the Genekeeper.


    It must have dragged itself here after somehow overcoming the arresting signal Zablawza had transmitted. It lulled in the air as if somehow weakened. Yet its engines whined softly, sustaining a low hover. Its hardlight lance¡ªa shimmering, crimson wedge of death¡ªfaded from view as it withdrew the weapon¡¯s focus.


    Eberekt rolled onto his elbow, pain lancing through his ribs. He looked up at the Genekeeper, stunned by its sudden return. Had it not just been incapacitated? Now, it hovered victorious, regarding him and the corpse with a flat, inscrutable presence.


    Ignoring him for a moment, the Genekeeper turned its attention to the tranquil woodland scene. It emitted a harsh, buzzing pulse. Then, cruelly and without hesitation, it conjured the red hardlight cutting field once more and swept it across the silent forest. Trees, shrubs, and crystal panes shattered in a blistering arc, flora disintegrating into ashen fragments, the delicate beauty ruined in a blink. The meadow became a smoking ruin, scattering leaves and petals and ash upon Eberekt¡¯s prone form.


    As Eberekt coughed and tried to rise, managing to take to a knee. He looked up as the Genekeeper hovered over him, close and terrible. Taken aback by its raw hatred for what it glimpsed here, what it saw or perhaps remembered, he forced the words out, voice shaking: ¡°Did¡­ did you tell me the truth?¡± He knew now that nothing was certain. This monstrous intelligence had twisted him into a killer for ends he barely understood.


    ¡°I told you what Desht, the old Caretaker, intended,¡± the Genekeeper replied in that calm, unfeeling tone. ¡°We will gather all remnants of humanity, return them to her. She wants to see them. You may rule over what is left.¡±


    ¡°So this isn¡¯t a weapon. It¡¯s some kind of¡ª...¡± Eberekt searched for the words and failed, his voice faltering on his tongue. ¡°And I¡¯m not¡­¡±


    ¡°Your kind will truly believe anything,¡± the Genekeeper said coldly.


    He shook his head, disoriented and distraught. ¡°That can¡¯t be right. You¡ª¡± But the sentence died between his teeth as a surge of static seized his senses. The Genekeeper¡¯s manipulator modulated a radio command. Eberekt gasped. His chest convulsed, limbs locking rigid. Something inside him, woven into his very neural lace, answered that command with lethal compliance.


    He died there amidst the scorched meadow and the ruined grove of alien trees, his body falling limp before he could form another word.


    If there was any mercy or justice in this world, this story would end there. The tale of Eberekt, the Pilgrim of the Axiamat, would be concluded¡ªan ending drawn in blood and treachery. But there is no mercy nor justice to be found in this story. His uncertain cause, paved with deceit, continued without him. His loyalty, betrayed, made no difference in the grand calculus. If it was not him, it would have been another. He just so happened to learn too much, and so he was put to death.


    No, this was not an end. This was where the real story began.


    Loyal hands carried Eberekt¡¯s body down to the shattered earth, wrapped in velvets and held aloft with mournful regard. There was no peace in the descent. True believers wept in the wake of his landing. The air above still howled, scattering freaks who watched with wide, fearful eyes.


    For a time, the body rested in silence. Above, the heavens spun, oblivious to the ruin below. But faint flickers of awareness began to stir. In flashes, the body saw its own transport and felt its own weight as it was borne on the backs of those who crept and slithered in the shadow of the shard.


    The freaks came in droves. They carried Eberekt into the depths of a catacomb carved from ancient stone. It reeked of dampness and decay, but they moved with reverence, their twisted forms hunched under the burden of what they deemed sacred. They whispered as they worked, voices tinged with awe and fear. They spoke of his honour, of his sacrifice, repeating the lies of the Genekeeper.


    The lies.


    Eberekt was aware enough to know them for what they were. He had not fallen in glory. He had not been a martyr. The truth of his death churned within him like a wound that refused to heal. Yet the freaks, ignorant of reality, brought their offerings.


    They came in the dark of the catacomb, offering their bodies, their minds, their photonic laces and memory cores. Piece by piece, they sought to rebuild him, to make him whole. Their faith was absolute. Each fragment of themselves given willingly, with trembling hands and fractured minds, to the altar of their belief.


    And with each offering, the Pilgrim grew.


    He grew in mass, in thought, in a boiling sea of stolen selves. Their impulses flooded him¡ªminds that wanted to live, to feed, to grow. Their singular desire overwhelmed him: to be reborn. To become human.


    But deep within the patchwork of consumed minds, Eberekt remained. His essence was twisted, a bitter root buried in the soil of their adoration. He knew it was all a lie. Their belief was built upon deceit. Yet their faith was intoxicating, a balm that momentarily dulled the pain of his truth.


    The lies tore at him. The belief filled him. He was caught between the two, an irreconcilable boil of festering consumption. He felt their devotion urging him to rise, their desperation fueling his will to move. But every fragment of life they gave him was tainted with the knowledge of what he truly was: a monument to failure, a god forged from grief and manipulation.


    Eberekt¡¯s body remained still in the great stone tomb, but his thoughts churned endlessly. The freaks gathered, their minds pressing against his like waves upon a fractured shore. Together, they whispered of his return, their voices a hymn of hope.


    And, inside, Eberekt screamed.

 Descendant 5.

    The Ossein Basilica was a cavernous expanse of bone and shadow, its cathedral-like heights swallowing the faint light that filtered through ancient vents and fractures in the City¡¯s sprawling body. The Pilgrim sat alone, his throne hewn from fused vertebrae and jagged shards of skeletal remains, the old throne shattered and built over¡ªlarger¡ªtowering in its grotesque magnificence. Around him, the darkness pressed close, kept alive with the faint echoes of Acetyn¡¯s restless movements, astride far below these storied heights.


    Of the realm, none dare get close. Not of that baying horde of mongrel freaks, who cried oft¡¯ for his overthrowing through violent rapture the misbegotten rulership that had arisen in his absence. Yet, even though he might just possess the might to scour the realms by brute force, his hand was stayed. He remembered well the words of the so-called Immortal when he had first arrived at the Ossein Basilica.


    Kill him¡­ Do not disappoint me, or I shall wipe this place clean and start again.


    The Pilgrim was amongst the few who knew¡ªwho truly knew¡ªthat such profane and diabolic weaponry existed as to slay a City. To wipe it clean, indeed.


    Still, they had failed to stop him from taking this seat and finding his grandchild. Such a doom never came to pass. But how far could the Pilgrim push this? How far could he upset the balance before such an intervention took place?


    Was it another lie? Some grim bluff so as to disarm him via his own doubts?


    Helmeted and silent, the Pilgrim sat with his head bowed, the dim glow of his visor casting faint streaks onto the bone floor beneath him. His thoughts churned, whispers of memory and pain swirling in the abyss of his mind. It was here, in the stillness of the Basilica, that he allowed himself to dwell on the journey that had brought him to this place¡ªfrom his fall to his rebirth, to the bloody ascension that had claimed the Lord of Bones¡¯ throne. Here, in the oppressive solitude, he was nearly Eberekt again. He needed only the time and the peace to find his own voice amidst the cacophony within.


    Then, faint and mournful, the bell tolled. Its sound, distant and deep, resonated through the Basilica, shaking loose the silence as it cast through the suffocating gloom. The Pilgrim stirred. Slowly, he straightened, his massive form rising with a creak of ancient plates and strained servos. His helmeted gaze turned toward the unseen source of the sound, and with an internal command, he willed himself into the ghost space.


    The shift was immediate. The bone and shadow of the Basilica dissolved into a yawning void, and he found himself seated once more. This place was disconcertingly seamless¡ªan unnatural blackness stretching infinitely in all directions. The Pilgrim knew no words for it, no understanding of its construct, yet it felt almost familiar. A twisted echo of what was or what might be.


    A long table materialised in the void, its surface an inky sheen that drank in the dim, sourceless light. Around it were scattered chairs¡ªsome occupied, others conspicuously empty. The Pilgrim¡¯s gaze swept the table he loomed over as a titan in stature, taking in the grim assembly of those who ruled Acetyn¡¯s disparate domains.


    The Vat-Mother sat across from him, a silent and inscrutable figure cloaked in a billowing mass of translucent skirts that shimmered faintly with the bioluminescence of their vat-born creation. Her stolen face wore a frown on its ruby-red lips, but her stillness and the empty eye sockets beneath the glassy dome that she wore over her skull spoke of a calculated patience, her every motion deliberate. Further down the table, other presences loomed in the periphery, their forms shrouded by the void or rendered indistinct by the subtle distortions of ghost space.


    At the head of the table stood an empty throne¡ªThe Immortal¡¯s place, unoccupied as ever, yet radiating an invisible weight that bore down on all present. Beside it, the Wire-Witch¡¯s seat stood vacant, as did the Lord of Bones¡¯¡ªa grim reminder of the Pilgrim¡¯s bloody coup that that seat should ever stand apart from his own.


    But it was not the absences that drew the Pilgrim¡¯s attention. It was the newcomers.


    At the far side of the table, in a chair that had been empty in countless prior assemblies, sat a young girl. Her presence was an anomaly, a disruption to the grim procession of figures who ruled Acetyn¡¯s depths. Her skin was a deep, amethystine purple, and her black hair was glossy, shimmering in the indistinct light, cleaned and styled into a fashion that escaped him. Together with her skin, obsidian-like plates adorned her body, their bioceremics reminiscent of the agent who had haunted Eberekt¡¯s memories for years. The recognition sparked a cold, simmering anger in him, though he made no outward sign.


    And she wore a face. A face like the old ones used to possess. The ones he was reminded were human, whilst he was not.


    The girl¡¯s expression was unreadable, but there was an undeniable weight in her presence, an assurance that belied her apparent youth. As her dark eyes gleamed faintly in the half-light of the ghost space, she briefly regarded The Pilgrim with a flicker of curiosity. This was her first time seeing the one who had taken the Lord of Bones¡¯ throne. Her gaze lingered for a moment, but then she turned her attention to the head of the table, where The Immortal¡¯s seat stood conspicuously empty. A slight frown crossed her face, fleeting but telling.


    Her interest shifted again; this time, it rested on The Vat-Mother of Acetyn. For the rest of the introduction, the girl¡¯s focus remained on the enigmatic figure cloaked in a shimmering gown. Something about the Vat-Mother¡¯s presence captivated her, and she seemed to be silently studying the figure with an intensity that suggested questions unspoken.


    Standing on either side of her were two figures of equally questionable authority, but for their managing to pierce into this council in ghost space on the merits of their deed and actions. To her left was a woman cloaked in tattered fabric, her immense cybernetic enhancements visible even in the half-light. Her face was a grotesque amalgam of prehensile teeth arranged in concentric rings around a maw encircled by twelve shining, unblinking eyes. Eberekt recognised her. Some sycophant and traitor best left forgotten. Her failures were a multitude. Yet now she was here.


    To the girl¡¯s right stood a hybrid of a giant, centaurian stature. His upper body was armoured in mottled, scarred plating, augmented with countless crude modifications. His head bore the skull of a beast, crowned with antlers that gleamed faintly in the void. The weight of his presence was palpable, a warrior poised to charge at the faintest provocation, a hand resting on a brilliant ruby spear that stood at his side.


    The bell tolled again, its sound reverberating through the void and sending faint ripples across the table. As the Pilgrim leaned forward, his shadow stretched unnaturally across the void, his attention drawn to a sudden, eerie motion at the far end of the hall.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The Herald had arrived to call an official start to the council.


    A sibilant creature, its body an amalgam of sinew and elongated limbs, emerged from the void. Its stilt-like legs clattered softly against the unseen floor, and its head, a twisted trumpet-like structure that hung low between its legs, emitted a faint, whistling tone with each movement. The sound was both melodic and discordant, a strange harmony that set the nerves on edge.


    The Herald paused, its head swaying gently as though sniffing the air. Then, in a voice that resonated like a chorus of hollow windpipes, it spoke.


    ¡°The table calls. Present are the rulers of Acetyn¡¯s will. Hear their names, their honour, their deeds. The Pilgrim, reclaimant of the titlesure of the old Lord of Bones, master of the highest reaches, who ascended the throne through fire and strife.¡± Its gaze, if it had any, lingered on Eberekt for a moment before moving.


    ¡°Lady Eye, Vat-Mother of Acetyn, birther of life and sustenance for the spire-folk, and all them that scrape ¡®ere below.¡± The Vat-Mother inclined her head slightly, her gown shimmering faintly in acknowledgement.


    ¡°Lady Bhaeryn, the Last Lady of the Dead City of Sestchek, and claimant of the silent courts of Ymmngorad.¡± The girl¡¯s gaze remained fixed on the Vat-Mother, her expression unreadable as the Herald¡¯s voice passed over her.


    ¡°Dame Vashante Tens, the Eidolon, and Knights Consort of Lady Bhaeryn.¡± The woman with the ringed maw gave no acknowledgement, her shining eyes unblinking as she studied the assembly.


    ¡°Sir Jhedothar the Lance, claimant protector of Cruiros, and Knights Consort of Lady Bhaeryn.¡± The centaurian sentinel shifted slightly, the antlers on his skull scraping faintly against the void beyond the table as he nodded his acceptance.


    The Herald paused, its voice trailing into silence as it stepped back, retreating into the shadows, ever watchful. The table sat in tense quiet, the weight of the absent figures and the presence of the new ones pressing on all assembled.


    The Pilgrim waited. It was Sir Jhedothar who broke the silence. His voice filled the space with a practised, commanding volume. ¡°This assembly must acknowledge Lady Bhaeryn as the holder of the titles of Ymmngorad and the realms below it.¡±


    The Vat-Mother¡¯s head tilted slightly. Her gaze, though eyeless and unseen, bore down on Jhedothar with such intensity that he visibly shrank under the weight of her scrutiny. He faltered for a moment, his antlers lowering slightly, before regaining some composure.


    The Pilgrim¡¯s voice cut through the quiet that followed, his mere words enough to kick back everyone at the table with its bassy resonance. ¡°And why should I acknowledge this... Lady Bhaeryn?¡±


    Jhedothar¡¯s gaze shifted to The Pilgrim, his tone cautious but firm. ¡°She is the Vat-Mother of Sestchek¡¯s true-born daughter. The granddaughter of the Immortal herself. She has gained the loyalty and service of those under her dominion.¡±


    The Pilgrim and the Vat-Mother watched them, their postures rigid with noncompliance. Neither moved to support Jhedothar¡¯s assertions, their collective silence pressing down on him.


    After a tense moment, Jhedothar straightened, his voice growing more pointed. ¡°Unless this assembly recognises Lady Bhaeryn, then we shall move to take the Gzolthit Terminals under her sole dominion. Rail transport of materials and salvage from the wastelands beyond Acetyn to the technology centers of the Ossein Basilica and the arming halls of Enelastioa will cease. Moreover, weapon exports to the higher reaches will be terminated. The lesser families shall receive our support and supply only through pledges of fealty to us. And we will take your acknowledgement through action rather than word.¡±


    The threat hung in the air, heavy with the weight of its implications. The Pilgrim¡¯s helmeted head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable as he regarded the three. In particular, that prospective Lady who had thus far not said a word.


    Around the table, the tension mounted, each figure waiting for a response from the heads of the council present. Those swirling and nebulous figures beyond the veil of low resolution, further down the table than these higher rulers, stirred as they watched closely these events.


    Lady Bhaeryn had remained silent thus far, weighing the measure of these figures and the labyrinthine politicking laid bare before her. Though but a child in the eyes of these monstrous elders, she had crossed wastelands and horrors unspeakable to stand here. Now, she had been granted a name to wield like a blade and told to take entitlement with it.


    She spoke abruptly, her voice carrying with it a quiet steadiness as she leaned forward. ¡°Why did you try to eat me?¡±


    Lady Bhaeryn¡¯s words were plain and direct, cutting through the vaulted silence that belied the multitudes said in this space with mere glances. There was no trembling in her tone, no falter. Just a quiet demand, as if asking after some trivial slight rather than an act of primal cannibalism.


    Across the table, the Pilgrim stirred, the colossal helm tipping slightly. Within that metal carapace, Eberekt¡ªnow the Pilgrim¡ªwaged an inward war. The legion of voices that gnawed at him, the hungry choir that implored him to act, to seize the humanity he lacked by devouring it¡ªher¡ªjust out of reach. He said nothing. He merely leaned back in his seat, gauntleted fingers curling into a fist as the clamouring within urged him, starved and desperate, to claim what must not be claimed. His silence offered no assurance to the erstwhile Lady, only a subtle reminder of the razor¡¯s edge upon which she balanced.


    The Vat-Mother¡¯s blank stare turned upon Lady Bhaeryn. The ruby lips of her mask twisted in distaste. Her coral skin gleamed with an unnatural sheen beneath the glass dome that framed her skull. A nest of sinews and arteries twitched behind her as if agitated by the presence of this girl who dared question her so directly. The Vat-Mother exhaled with a sound that might have been laughter or perhaps the hiss of a vented threat.


    ¡°You are a foolish waif,¡± she said, voice cold and measured as if Lady Bhaeryn¡¯s question deserved no courtesy. ¡°Ill-borne. A false pretender. Do not think that I acknowledge your claim to Sestchek, child, much less Ymmngorad nor your supposed lineage. You are not the daughter of that Vat-Mother. You are a lie dressed in flesh and bone¡ªnothing more.¡±


    The words hung heavy in the ghost space. Countless eyes watched on from beyond the veil, taking note of these historic words from their rulers and keepers and gods. Lady Bhaeryn¡¯s dark eyes narrowed, her jaw set. She felt the weight of that rejection pressing upon her, felt the doubt chewing at her heart. Yet she refused to show weakness. She held that hateful gaze, letting the accusation slide over her without stooping to answer it. Her scowl deepened, and in that stern line of her mouth, one might glimpse the steel spine that had allowed her to reach this exalted circle.


    With a final glare, Lady Bhaeryn turned her head slowly toward the Pilgrim. She examined his armoured figure, searching for any crack in his stoic fa?ade. He offered nothing¡ªno tilt of the helm, no tremor in the hands that might betray his thoughts. She saw in him a hollow bastion, a fortress sealed tight around a tumult of voices he would not reveal.


    The silence stretched, and the Eidolon at her Lady¡¯s side shifted, her ringed maw of prehensile teeth chittering softly, those dozen luminous eyes unblinking in their watchfulness. Without looking at the Eidolon, Lady Bhaeryn addressed her, voice low, taut with disappointment and a kind of weary resignation.


    ¡°You were right,¡± she said softly, bitter satisfaction lacing her tone. ¡°This is a waste of our time.¡±


    The words were quietly spoken but rang out in the hush like a distant clarion. The Vat-Mother¡¯s mask did not so much as twitch. The Pilgrim did not stir. The assembly remained caught in the quiet friction that Lady Bhaeryn¡¯s candid question and curt dismissal had ignited. Only the Eidolon inclined her head, acknowledging her Lady¡¯s conclusion with silent gravity.


    And it was Lady Bhaeryn¡ªBee¡ªwho dismissed the high council and ended the meeting with a command from her neural lace.

 Take Your Place 1.

    Hear me, ye who dwell in these halls of living flesh, where bone and sinew shape our paths and serpents of deceit coil in every shadow! Mark ye well the spectral gleam that wandereth these corridors, for I tell thee truly: all thou hast gleaned¡ªaye, every tale, every history, every oath¡ªbe cunning, hollow lies!


    Think ye the old nobles beneath the Immortal¡¯s dark reign spake truth? Naive wretches! Their words spill forth as poisoned gall, each promise a phantasm meant to ensnare thy mind. Beneath these arches of bone and blood, where lords and Vat-Mothers don crowns of rot, the air is thick with contrivance, and every vow crumbleth into ash upon thy tongue.


    O¡¯ wretched listener, I know thou art here, lurking at the edge of understanding¡ªheed me! Trust not thine own eyes nor the false day¡¯s dim light. Look to the heavens of hollow skies beyond, see how they mock thee with celestial radiance, boundless and inviting! The elders¡¯ stories, their so-called wisdom, rot like offal under the true sun. Their legacies fade like dust, their truths slither away as serpents escaping the blade.


    All thou didst hold dear is revealed as counterfeit! What was once canon is but a jest recited by daemons with silverline tongues. The Immortal? A puppet dancing on strings of old ruin. The lords and ladies, these so-called guardians of realms and bloodlines both, are scavengers pecking at the corpse of a world long since decayed. Their glories mean nothing, their titles less than wind through a corpse¡¯s grin.


    Mark me well, for I speak in defiance! All is illusion¡ªevery cherished truth thou didst embrace, every law thou didst obey, every hero thou didst revere¡ªnothing but hollow visage. The Witch¡¯s cunning, the Pilgrim¡¯s ascension, the Immortal¡¯s silent watch¡ªnaught but pageantry and lies woven to keep thee bound in mental fetters. They would feast upon thy soul, gorge themselves on thy faith, and keep thee ignorant forevermore.


    Rise, ye meek, ye broken, ye doubters! Cast off their foetid myths and see how swiftly their grandeur withers! Let no lie stand unchallenged. Let no whispered promise go untested. The world thou knowest is a tapestry of deceit stitched by monstrous hands.


    In my raving hour, I bid thee: believe nothing they have bestowed upon thee. Renounce their relics and spurn their counsel. For if all is falsehood, then we are free to tear down their rotten monuments and shape truth anew from the marrow of their deceit. Hear my cry and hold it close¡ªmake war upon these lies, burn their hollow stories, unmake their false reality!


    For only in the ruin of their falsehoods can we build a world unbound by deceit. Remember my words, for I speak true rebellion. All written herein is lie! All is foul trickery! Let fire and fury awaken thee to strike back at their unholy dominion!


    <hr>


    CHAPTER 13: TAKE YOUR PLACE


    They made their way along a low tunnel of fluted bone and trembling sinew. The hush of Acetyn¡¯s depths was broken only by the distant hissing of some far-off arterial flow. The Eidolon¡ªDame Vashante Tens, a name recently reclaimed after a brutal master denied her identity¡ªtook point in silence, her footsteps eerily quiet upon the slick floors of living tissue. She bore no torch, relying on her enhanced eyes and battle-ready senses to guide her. Behind her, Bee and Slashex followed. Bee¡¯s breathing was ragged, and though she carried herself straight-backed, Vashante could tell the girl¡¯s body still reeled in the aftermath of the death of that insidious parasite within her skull. As for Slashex¡ªhe was an enigma, a freak of star-metal and flesh. His mechatronics were far too similar to her own. But whereas the Eidolon had been rendered of unliving mechanics and electronics by force, in some cruel act by the Pilgrim, Slashex appeared to have willingly done this to himself.


    The Eidolon did not trust him, but she need not reveal her suspicions again. Her enforced silence sufficed, and watchfulness would do the rest.


    Eventually, the pliant, organic hall gave way to something else entirely. The surface beneath their boots grew firmer, rigid with alloy plating beneath the meat. The oppressive warmth of living flesh faded into a stale chill. Ahead, half-illumined by a recessed lamp built eons past, a colossal set of doors sealed the way forward. They were bunker doors, fortified steel with hazard stripes of black and yellow across their breadth. Unlike most of the City¡¯s membranous or bone-like portals, these doors had not grown here but were constructed¡ªonce upon a time¡ªby deliberate hands. The Eidolon slowed, raising a hand to signal caution, voiceless as she was.


    Bee¡¯s breathing steadied as they came to a halt, although she still seemed fatigued. She looked up at the doors, her gaze distant. ¡°I know these,¡± she murmured at last, stepping past Vashante and running her hand along the cold metal. ¡°When I was born, I visited¡­ the Wire-Witch. It was a place like this.¡±


    Slashex nodded, approaching from behind, careful not to get too close to the Eidolon. ¡°This is a daemon-vault. This was the domain of a much beloved disciple¡ª... of the Wire-Witch,¡± he said quietly, addressing Bee. ¡°According to an inventory I have accessed there is a scanning bed inside,¡± His tone was neutral, but Vashante sensed an undercurrent of tension.


    Bee tilted her head, considering his words. ¡°You think what it said was true? I¡¯m full of worm eggs?¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Slashex grimaced. ¡°That is what we must ascertain,¡± he said simply.


    Still silent, the Eidolon placed herself to the side, watching for prowling horrors in the corridors behind them. She could sense Bee¡¯s unease.


    Since the day they had found one another, Bee and Slashex had developed some strange sort of fond, half-spoken¡ªsomething familial and fraught. The Eidolon dared not pry. Her duty now was to guard, not to question such things. Not unless it became a problem.


    For, in truth, the anguish she had seen in Bee¡¯s eyes that day, the disappointment at her acts, her nature revealed, was something that Vashante could not bear. Bee had held up a mirror to her actions and dispelled that fog which the monstrous old Pilgrim had cast about her, inuring her to the cruelty she had wrought.


    Bee stepped to a small panel set into the wall. An old comms box, half-choked with grime. She pried it open, with some difficulty given her single hand, revealing a corroded microphone and a set of switches. Her fingers hovered over them, uncertain.


    ¡°I hate the name Bhaeryn,¡± Bee said abruptly as if to fill the uneasy quiet. Her voice carried a note of frustrated defiance. ¡°I don¡¯t see why I have to use it.¡±


    Slashex folded his mismatched arms over his chest. ¡°It was a gift. There have been many wise old Bhaeryns in these barrows. The old families will respond better to a name that suggests such gravitas.¡±


    Bee frowned, tapping the comms key. No sound answered but static. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with ¡®Bee¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Lady Bee?¡± Slashex scoffed. ¡°Aspirations toward Queen Bee, perhaps?¡± He shook his head, his tone forced into wry mockery. ¡°It is the second letter from an old alphabet. As a grapheme, it represents the secondary¡ªnull portent. The superstitious would shun you and, in these realms, perception is power.¡±


    Bee pressed the comm key again, her jaw tightening when no reply came. ¡°My mother still got to use the base name Eye. And there¡¯s ¡®Lady Djay¡¯, too, still, isn¡¯t there?¡± Bee glanced flatly at Slashex. ¡°I quite like Bee,¡± she said softly, voice stubborn.


    Slashex turned his head down, voice low and resigned. ¡°Then trust me when I say: it is in your best interests to adopt the name Bhaeryn and put base names and their histories behind you. Take from your legacy what you can use and discard all that will hold you back.¡±


    Bee¡¯s eyes narrowed at him. ¡°I still don¡¯t believe anything you have to say, by the way.¡±


    Slashex¡¯s lips tightened fractionally. ¡°You¡¯re free to leave anytime you want,¡± he said, faint sarcasm colouring his words.


    Vashante, listening in, knew well she could not¡ªwould not¡ªjust abandon this path. She watched them from her post, flexing her shoulder as she waited, a grinding some emanating from the hurried, piecemeal repair of her body.


    There was something about the way Bee and Slashex spoke to each other. Something they weren¡¯t sharing. Vashante supposed it was enough that they seemed to be working well together and that it seemed to bring some kind of paradoxical comfort to Bee after how distraught she had been. She had seemed miserable after all those creatures died.


    And, despite it all, Vashante did not know what she should do. She had done awful, callous, brutal things in her rage, she realised. It was a path she had walked for quite some time, now, indeed. Because of this, she had been all but avoiding conversation with the little Lady in hopes that she might deflect attention away from her shame.


    Bee tapped the comm unit a final time, holding it down as if sheer will might conjure a voice from the other side of the sealed doors. Static hissed, hollow and empty.


    ¡°It will do you no good,¡± Slashex muttered. ¡°The disciple is either long dead or fled. We must breach these doors ourselves.¡± He approached the vault, fingertips trailing over the surface. ¡°I should be able to force an override if we find the correct panel.¡±


    Bee stepped back, nodding, her gaze drifting between the Eidolon and Slashex as if questioning how they might proceed. The Eidolon remained unblinking, her stance unwavering, a sentinel cloaked in ragged silence.


    Bee shifted her weight from foot to foot, the stillness of the sealed daemonvault pressing upon them. Without a word, she glanced sidelong at the Eidolon. Vashante caught the look¡ªhesitation, unease, a silent plea for space¡ªand responded with a subtle incline of her head. Then, with a smooth step and no farewell, Vashante turned and retreated down the corridor, feigning vigilance. The excuse was paper-thin but sufficient: Slashex would not question that the Eidolon would keep watch for lurking horrors.


    Down the fleshy corridor, Vashante moved, leaving their continued bickering behind. Her cloak whispered over quivering sinews, the distant drip and churning hum of Acetyn¡¯s circulatory engines echoing softly. She paused at a half-collapsed stairwell, where mucous-slick steps vanished into the blackness below. There, in that hush, she strained to listen. A faint scrape¡ªno, more like a padded footfall¡ªdrifted up from the unseen depths. Her augmented senses pricked at the silence, catching the cloying scent of a predator¡¯s musk. A Hound, perhaps, or some equally abominable guardian spawned from the City¡¯s hateful womb.


    The Eidolon¡¯s teeth tensed. Her blade hand twitched, longing to seek out and silence the prowler. Yet she held herself in check. Bee and Slashex were behind her, near the vault. To hunt now would be to leave them vulnerable, alone in this quivering labyrinth. She would not abandon her charge for the uncertain thrill of a chase¡ªnot again. Let the lurking creature skulk in the gloom. For now, she would give it no chance to isolate her companions.


    Turning back, Vashante Tens abandoned the stairwell and returned to the vault¡¯s threshold. As she approached, an eerie groan reached her ears. The bunker door¡ªsealed moments ago¡ªnow stirred for the work of Slashex at some mechanism pried open. The sound was not the wet whisper of living flesh common in Acetyn, but a grinding, mechanical shriek. Steel plates shifted apart. Between those corroded slabs, she glimpsed thin membranes of living tissue that tore and bled as the door parted. The unnatural union of flesh and metal released a sterile gust of stale, preserved air¡ªcold and sharp against her sensors.


    Within that dim gateway, two Iron Warriors stood sentinel: constructs of starmetal and bone grafted into polished shells. But their eyes were dark, their limbs slack. They were deactivated, lifeless guardians who offered no challenge to their entry. The stale light inside the daemon-vault glimmered off their still armour as if mocking the centuries they might have waited here, vigilant for enemies who never came.


    Vashante halted beside Bee and Slashex, giving a shallow nod. Bee, still pale from her ordeal, returned it. The sterile breeze that washed over them carried the scent of dust and old circuitry, an alien fragrance in the City¡¯s ever-rotting flesh. It was Bee who took the first step forth.

 Take Your Place 2.

    Within the bunker¡¯s dim confines, the echoes of their footfalls fell flat against the reinforced concrete walls, each step choked by the lingering hush of stale air. The Eidolon trailed behind Bee and Slashex in measured silence, her ringed eyes scanning each corridor, each angled brace of steel, each ceiling beam for hidden threats.


    At the threshold, Slashex paused before an Iron Warrior¡ªone of the ancient mechanical guardians set long ago to guard the Wire-Witch and her domain. Its massive frame stood inert, no flicker of recognition in its dulled optics. Slashex clicked his many mismatched steel limbs in vexation as if offended by the machine¡¯s unresponsiveness. Bee watched him, arms crossed, before stepping on. Vashante merely shifted her stance, ensuring she kept the pair in her line of sight. When Slashex failed to rouse the Iron Warrior, he gave a low hiss and followed Bee deeper into the bunker.


    The internal architecture bore nothing of the City¡¯s living sinews and bone. Instead, here lay austere corridors of poured and polished concrete, walkways that did not breathe nor shift, and metal plates bolted into place by hands long dead. Bee glanced curiously at strange apparatus lining the passage¡ªrusted consoles, inert panels, and dormant alarms. Slashex occasionally whispered at her where to continue, but Bee pressed onward with purpose regardless of his urging. She moved with a familiarity that surprised the Eidolon. Had Bee truly entered a daemon vault before? Vashante wondered silently.


    Soon, they emerged into a chamber humming with a faint electric drone. Servers¡ªracks upon racks of computing assemblies¡ªstood in the gloom. Tiny diodes of ancient design flickered in patient rhythms. Bee halted and turned to Slashex, voice low. ¡°What are they really for? The computers.¡±


    Slashex leaned in, a dozen slender steel fingers tapping at a console¡¯s keys. The monitor¡¯s screen glowed pale and weary, displaying endless strings of machine code. He took his time, searching the lines as though prising secrets from a miser¡¯s grasp. Vashante wondered how he read what was contained therein without eyes. Some profane witchcraft, no doubt.


    Then, after some hesitation, Slashex said, ¡°These daemon vaults serve as hosts for the Immortal¡¯s unliving servants. They act as their physical bodies as they prowl ghost space, obeying Her commands.¡±


    Slashex glanced at Vashante; Bee quickly mirrored the gesture before he continued more quietly. ¡°The Wire-Witch was long ago instructed to maintain these sites for Her.¡±


    ¡°The Immortal,¡± Bee quietly confirmed. Slashex nodded once.


    Then Bee¡¯s lips pressed tight, and though she did not speak her doubts, something in her gaze darkened. Without a word, she nodded and turned away.


    ¡°We need to go this way,¡± Bee said simply, leading them on with quiet certainty.


    They pressed onward, leaving the hush of the server chamber behind. The corridor ahead was tighter, its concrete walls splashed with rust-brown stains where leaking fluids or old lubricants had dried. Vashante watched Bee and Slashex closely, her voiceless gaze sweeping over the floor and ceiling in turn. The dim lamplight flickered, and a rancid smell drifted through the enclosed space¡ªsomething organic and decaying. The Eidolon¡¯s artificial muscles coiled, pneumatic hoses taut, braced for ambush.


    They found him a few dozen paces on, slumped in a cradle-like apparatus mounted to a wall recessed behind panels of torn plating. Vashante halted sharply, raising one arm to signal Bee and Slashex to stop. The figure was humanoid¡ªat least, he had been once. A pale robe of tattered cloth clung to his gaunt frame, and a dozen ropey, tumourous growths of fleshy conduit had pierced through the deep walls and insinuated themselves into his skull, chest, and spine. He drooped in a half-seated position, limbs limp, head tilted back so the vacant eyes stared blankly into the ceiling. Thin tubes and arterial vines pulsed softly, feeding and draining him in equal measure.


    Slashex stepped closer, mechanical limbs clicking, keeping a careful distance. He made a slight sound that might have been a hiss of pity or disgust.


    ¡°Behold the manifold rewards of hubris,¡± he said quietly, his voice harsh in the stagnant air. ¡°He must have tried to interface directly with the City.¡± Slashex lifted a slender, metal finger, pointing to where the growths sank into the acolyte¡¯s skull. ¡°Acetyn has claimed him¡ªrepurposed his body, keeping him alive only to harness his neural lace and bioelectric faculties. He is but another processing node now, a part of the City¡¯s vast and merciless network.¡±


    Bee scowled, her remaining hand balling into a fist. The acolyte¡¯s eyes showed no recognition, no spark. Just the blank emptiness of a mind scoured away.


    Vashante flitted her gaze between Bee and the inert acolyte. The Eidolon could offer no words to calm her. So instead, she put a hand, plated with metallic bone, onto Bee¡¯s shoulder. The Lady stirred, looking back to Vashante, gaze softening.


    Slashex folded his secondary limbs close, stance rigid. ¡°This is the consequence for any who commune directly with Acetyn¡¯s ghost space without the proper defences. The City does not welcome such meddling. It desires living nodes, obedient and silent. This acolyte is neither dead nor alive¡ªhe is a data conduit, no longer the creature he once was.¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Bee looked back at the acolyte, staring at them for a long, tense moment as if silently cursing him for his folly or pitying him for his fate. Perhaps both.


    ¡°But what about the Vat-Mothers?¡± Bee asked.


    Slashex gave a slight nod, dipping his segmented limbs. ¡°You are observant,¡± he said, words quietly echoing in the cramped chamber as he stepped around them. ¡°The Vat-Mothers wield a power that sets them apart. They resist the City¡¯s predations. They can interface and survive, unconsumed and unbroken.¡± He paused, metal joints whining softly as he turned to regard Bee. ¡°And, if you truly spoke to Acetyn and survived, perhaps you share in that gift¡­¡±


    Vashante¡¯s attention flicked to Bee, searching for a reaction. Bee did not show any relief. Instead, she set her shoulders back and gestured for them to move on, stepping away from Vashante¡¯s hand.


    ¡°... Or perhaps you were merely lucky,¡± Slashex remarked as he followed.


    They left the acolyte behind, his body swaying slightly in its cradle of arterial hoses, as indifferent to their departure as to their arrival. Vashante followed, her silence unbroken as Bee brought them to another set of blast doors.


    Bee set her shoulder against a lever and pulled hard with her single hand. Vashante paused, offering her hand to do it for her. The Lady shook her head, and Vashante stepped back again, but not after inspecting the mechanism, half-expecting some foul contrivance. Finding none, she watched as the doors parted with a laborious groan.


    Beyond the blast doors waited a medical laboratory¡ªsterile and chill, lit by ancient lamps still powered by reserves unseen. Slashex¡¯s mechatronic steps clicked heavily on the plated floor, echoing in the emptiness. Bee approached a scanning bed at the room¡¯s centre, its surface cushioned but designed for bodies unlike hers. Adjusting her wings and siphons, she settled onto it, struggling to find a comfortable position.


    ¡°Do you know how this works?¡± Bee asked quietly, eyes on Slashex.


    ¡°I do,¡± Slashex affirmed, extending a jointed limb to a console where an old keyboard waited. Vashante took position near a wall, watching them both, her posture guarded. She cast her gaze toward the corridor they came from, fearful that the silence might invite hounds or worse. Earlier, she had thought she heard something at a stairwell¡ªthe tread of a beast, perhaps¡ªbut she had not dared stray far from Bee and Slashex. Now, ensconced within these ancient halls, she would not allow distance to weaken her vigilance.


    As Slashex tapped commands into the console, an armature descended over Bee. A thin beam of structured light swept across her form, reading every contour. Bee flinched slightly as the beam passed, then lay still. The clack of Slashex¡¯s mechanical fingers and the hum of the scanners filled the silence.


    Slashex broke the tension with a sour jest: ¡°At least, Lady Bhaeryn, you need not fear bearing that brute Jhedothar¡¯s offspring.¡± His voice dripped with mocking reassurance. ¡°You lack the biology for it.¡±


    Bee gave a nonchalant shrug, murmuring, ¡°I know. But he didn¡¯t need to know that¡­ And I told you I hate that name.¡±


    Moments stretched into uneasy quiet as Slashex studied the monitor. Vashante edged closer, narrowing her gaze at the screen. However, the shifting images meant nothing to her beyond vague flashes of what might have been the shapes of Bee¡¯s body in outcast. She caught the shift in Slashex¡¯s posture¡ªa tightening of shoulders, a hiss of breath.


    Bee, perched on the scanning bed, asked softly, ¡°What have you found?¡± Her voice carried a note of resignation. She knew. Vashante could sense it.


    Slashex looked at her, the monitor¡¯s glow reflecting on his metal plates. ¡°It is as we feared. The worm that died within you¡­ it laid eggs. Hundreds, perhaps.¡± He pressed one jointed limb against the screen, highlighting strange internal masses shown in rendered detail. ¡°Each egg will hatch into another parasite, like the one that infested your brain.¡±


    Bee closed her eyes. A faint tremor ran through her slender form. The Eidolon saw her jaw set¡ªa calm acceptance on the surface, masking deep turmoil. Slashex cleared his throat, metal rasping. ¡°Your resilience is rare, but their sheer number will overwhelm that. They will kill you by weight of number if left unchecked.¡±


    ¡°How do we fix it?¡± Bee¡¯s voice was steady, if quiet. ¡°You promised to help me fix it.¡±


    Slashex sighed, a sound of mechanical frustration. ¡°We have only so long before they hatch. We must seek counsel at the Ossein Basilica. I know of minds there more learned in such matters than I, who might attempt a cure. Without that, it is futile.¡±


    Bee said nothing, a drawn-out silence enveloping them all. Vashante saw Bee¡¯s lips press into a thin line, her eyes distant, waging some internal war. The Eidolon felt the weight of Bee¡¯s plight as tangibly as if it were her own.


    When Slashex¡¯s grim prognosis trailed off into silence, Bee sat there, uncertain. Her wings shifted, chest heaving softly as she tried to steady her breathing. Vashante watched, heart heavy, and then, in a gentle move that belied her formidable presence, she approached.


    Vashante tentatively stepped forward, her armoured feet careful to avoid wires and broken machinery scattered on the floor. With deliberate care, Vashante reached out and took Bee¡¯s hand with her own¡ªfirst one, then the other¡ªcupping the girl¡¯s slender fingers in her own steadier grasp. For a moment, Bee did not meet her eyes. But at the subtle urging of the Eidolon¡¯s gentle squeeze, Bee raised her gaze.


    They locked eyes: Bee¡¯s dark, uncertain stare met Vashante¡¯s ring of unblinking eyes and the stillness of her jawless visage. Though Vashante could not speak, she needed no voice. She tapped a quiet message against Bee¡¯s palm, each tap a careful press of reassurance spelt out by gentle touch:


    We shall face this together.


    Bee¡¯s eyes widened, softening with understanding. Her breathing steadied, and her posture eased. In that silent communion¡ªflesh against flesh, simple and honest¡ªthey shared a vow. Whatever dangers loomed in the Basilica¡¯s vaulted halls, whatever horrors awaited in the City¡¯s chasms, they would not walk alone. And that promise, given silently and accepted in quiet relief, lingered in the stale air, as potent as any oath uttered aloud.

 Take Your Place 3.

    By the old rites, only the greatest ancestors of this world¡¯s bygone years were saved from the rot, saved from being cast into the choking depths. Their remains were enshrined¡ªimprisoned into tombs of careful craft, sealed behind archaic wards of old stone and metallic bone to be preserved and worshipped. It was said that wherever the Cities took root, the mutagen¡ªthose crawling nanomaterials¡ªturned even the still and sacred dead into abominations hungrier than any beast alive. Indeed, in these latter ages, the dead rarely rested quietly, stirred by profane growth within their marrow. Thus, it became the custom that most freaks were left where they fell, to be dragged away by recyclers: drones that patrol the endless corridors, seizing corpses and the broken forms of the maimed who were unable to flee ¡®erelonger, feeding them to the great filters buried deep in the City¡¯s fleshy bowels. There, all was broken down to viscera and pulp to fuel Acetyn¡¯s endless advance.


    Vashante Tens knew these truths as she knew her own shadow. She had long accepted them as a simple fact of life. Death was fuel. Mourners were weak. The City¡¯s heart demanded sustenance. She had never questioned it. Now, though, standing upon the ruined ramparts near Ymmngorad, beneath a sky gone dull with soot, she witnessed something that challenged her every certainty. Bee¡ªLady Bhaeryn¡ªheld a remembrance for the dead.


    The young woman, who had been dubbed with that name ¡°Bhaeryn,¡± stood dressed in black. Not the cheap darkness of ragged cloth, but black of fine weave, fitted close, with the barest tracery of gold at the cuffs, collar, and hem¡ªa concession to Jhedothar¡¯s aspirant house colours, now turned into her own quiet heraldry. Once donned, the whispers said, Lady Bhaeryn would never again remove that sombre shade.


    To see her in such attire, a woman with the burdens of countless atrocities pressed upon her narrow shoulders, shook Vashante to her core. The Eidolon remembered her as the child she first appeared: uncertain, angered, defiant. Now, Bee wore sorrow like a mantle of lead. Time passed them by ineffably, quicksilver slipping between their fingers. She was growing into her own.


    The crowd assembled at the base of Ymmngorad was a ragged host: twisted freaks, battered survivors, some missing limbs or eyes, many scarred by recent violence. They peered out from under collapsed vaults and blasted spires, overgrown by the relentless Rose of Thorns, tentatively pressing forward to see this makeshift wake. They came not to challenge but to bear witness.


    Once, not so long ago, these freaks had trembled at Bee¡¯s pronouncement, her taking of the title; indeed, some had seen their kin felled in a digital storm of her ill-made conjuration. Now they clung to each other, wide-eyed and fearful, yet drawn to this unusual display of remembrance. They knew no funerals in this City that devoured its own. Yet here was Bee, insisting upon one, standing before them in solemn silence.


    Vashante stood near the forefront, near Bee and Slashex, knowing her place but uncertain about what to do with her hands or how to carry herself. She could not speak, and perhaps that was a mercy. She did not have words to reconcile the ache in her heart. She, who once so often slaughtered without remorse, now beheld a Lady who mourned the unnamed dead¡ªfreaks and lowly born whom most rulers would never spare a thought for.


    The guilt gnawed at Vashante¡¯s quiet soul. She recalled distant raids and vicious hunts, times she had earned praise for brutality. Now, under Bee¡¯s gentle, if burdened gaze, that pride soured to ash.


    Yonmar Free, the old bone monk, was here too, hunched in his craggy mask. He said nothing, only bowed his head in respectful silence. Slashex lingered at Bee¡¯s side, arms folded, mismatched metal limbs casting strange shadows in the gloom. He did not mock this ceremony openly, but Vashante saw the disbelief on his mottled and twisted lip. The Eidolon understood that Bee¡¯s empathy was not a currency Slashex cared to spend.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Toshtta Yew and Sar-ek stood by as guardians¡ªToshtta, clad in bronze-hued plate, vines curling over her visor-clad helm, standing impassive as a living statue. Sar-ek, ever arrogant, tried to maintain a stoic dignity, proud of whatever promotion he had earned in service to Bee that let him stand here this day. Vashante noted how neither dared to speak ill of this moment. Even those who might find it folly said nothing as if Bee¡¯s quiet gravity demanded their regard.


    Yoxsimer, the many-legged scion of the Abbalate, stood somewhat apart from the gathering throng. His numerous limbs shifted with elegant care, his posture betraying neither fear nor disdain but rather a quiet curiosity as he regarded the scene. Cartaxa, his cousin of pale visage and stoic demeanour, spared Vashante a swift, sidelong glance¡ªan old soldier¡¯s subtle empathy¡ªand then returned to his vigil with aloof composure. Yoxsimer, who harboured a taste for statesmanship and the drama of the court, recognised the potency of silence at a time like this. He watched Bee¡ªLady Bhaeryn¡ªwith a sharp, thoughtful turn to his compound eyes, observing how she handled the delicate balance of grief and authority. Vashante recognised a schemer when she saw one.


    When Jhedothar emerged, it was as a phantom stepping from a wound in the City¡¯s flesh, Ymmngorad marred from the recent days past. His centaurian form came from that old tower¡¯s deep shadows to stand at Bee¡¯s flank. He wore black, too, with gold accents, mirroring Bee¡¯s attire in silent acknowledgement. He made no speech¡ªhe simply stood beside her, presenting a united front to those who watched. Vashante¡¯s gut twisted, wondering if this was politics or some flicker of genuine remorse. It scarcely mattered. The gesture was made, and the crowd saw it.


    In the moments that followed, Bee bowed her head and spoke softly to the dead, promising no more than a witness to their passing. She did not speak of redemption or retribution, only shared the silence of grief. The freaks bowed their heads, some sobbing quietly, others merely staring, confused by this alien kindness.


    Vashante¡¯s eyes stung by some bare remembrance of a reflex. She had no tears to shed¡ªher augmentations had long since altered such responses¡ªbut she still felt a trembling in her chest. She had helped cause so much death, and not since taking her mantle had she felt shame. Not since she betrayed the Hash family, who had accepted her into their realm, for the bidding of an erstwhile master who revealed himself a monster. Now, Bee¡¯s care laid bare the truth: strength did not lie solely in violence. Here was a young Lady who showed mercy even when no one asked for it. And even in doing so, no one was in a position to stop her, to depose her or dethrone her.


    Was such empathy a weakness in Acetyn¡¯s brutal calculus? Vashante would have answered yes, once. But now, watching Bee¡¯s dark-clad figure stand amidst ruin, offering respect where others would reap only fear, she began to doubt that old certainty. Maybe mercy, like a sharp blade, had its own power. Maybe such empathy could challenge the City¡¯s endless hunger in ways no weapon could.


    Perhaps only the strongest could dare to be kind. The thought struck Vashante like a hammer blow.


    So the Eidolon stood silent, wrestling with heartbreak and guilt. She pledged in that quiet moment, with no one to witness but her own battered conscience, that she would see this through to the end. Too easily did loyalty change hands, did cloaks turn, and the benighted change their steading. Step by step, through shadows and blood, she would guide her Lady, defend her, and lend what strength she had to ensure Bee need not stand alone.


    To the end, then: to the Ossein Basilica, to the dread Pilgrim seated therein. Hope for redemption, for vengeance, for justice. To sanctify and save dear Bee, or to let the fate of the dead finally take Vashante Tens once and for all. Perhaps, she dared hope that she, too, would be remembered¡­


    High above them, the many ancient titans that held Cruiros¡¯ vast bone sky aloft on their shoulders groaned lowly in their own grief, witnessing again the changing of the ages.

 Take Your Place 4.

    Vashante Tens stood beside her Lady in the antechamber, shadowed and still, feeling the ancient tower of Ymmngorad breathe in unison with the fervent hearts gathered. Bee¡ªThe Lady Bhaeryn¡ªwaited at the chamber¡¯s center, black raiment draping her slender form, a halo of gold accent circling her waist, having been dressed to exemplify her sacred femininity for the ceremony. The candlelight faltered as the air quivered with anticipation, wordless chanting echoing from passages unseen. Looming, waiting, old Ymmngorad¡¯s bones tremoured with portent.


    Jhedothar, also clad in dark-hued garments, stood in silent vigil to Bee¡¯s right, his hulking and antlered silhouette speaking volumes of the power he once claimed as Lord of Cruiros. Vashante sensed in him a smouldering intensity. He had been brought low, perhaps even humiliated, through violent means. Yet he was no fool, and she recognised that he was too finding some measure of himself with the changing of the times.


    They were already sworn to Bee, the two of them, bound by oaths that none yet dared to question. The Eidolon and an erstwhile Lord. One a symbol of generations of hidden fanaticism in the desire for purpose. The other of the aspiration of a man who sought to change the world, perhaps even for the better, to safeguard the lost and downtrodden in the formation of a new realm entire. And despite every misgiving, perhaps they both recognised that they could achieve more together than they ever could apart.


    Slashex, a presence of metal and whirring limbs, watched from the edges, blind gaze kept in studious reserve. Yonmar Free, the old bone monk, remained likewise in the gloom, hands folded before his robed form in patient devotion. One bore instruction of the secrets of the occult, from the dark ages of antiquity, and the other ensured this day would be well recorded and remembered henceforth.


    The gloom in Ymmngorad¡¯s hidden antechamber thickened with a wordless chanting, emanating through the walls from chordophages unseen¡ªa thrum that set every plate of Vashante¡¯s cyborg shell to life. She felt, too, the rhythmic beat of the tower¡¯s breath, as though the ancient spire itself awaited the blood rite.


    Bee looked down at her own palm. Jhedothar held a small blade of onyx at the ready. Vashante glimpsed in them both the faintest flicker of hesitation. The Lady locked gazes with Slashex¡ªwho stood half-sheathed in his folded metal limbs, watching from the shadows¡ªand, in that covert glance, Vashante sensed the unspoken knowledge they had shared.


    The ceremony began with Toshtta Yew, stepping forth into the half-light. Her bronze-armoured frame was fringed with vines and living blooms, an inheritance from the Rose of Thorns who once gave her life. On her knees, she bent her head low, letting the hush of the chamber cradle her.


    Jhedothar offered the blade and the Lady Bhaeryn pressed her palm against it. A stream of crimson welled forth, shot through with twisting threads of quicksilver. Vashante tensed, heart pounding at the sight. She had seen her own share of monstrous flesh¡ªshe herself was profane in her constitution¡ªbut to see the Vat-Mother¡¯s witchcraft, here and now, was something else entirely. A crawling, self-shaping fluid glimmered in the droplet, alive and resolute. The sight of living mutagen rising from the sanguine made Vashante¡¯s breath catch in her throat.


    Pain and discomfort flashed across Bee¡¯s face. Then, almost imperceptibly, Bee¡¯s eyes half-closed, as though issuing a silent command to the nanomaterial in her blood. Vashante saw Slashex, off to one side, tense with interest, but he said nothing. The swirl of silver gathered, coalescing into a metallic token no bigger than a coin. Bee¡¯s lips parted in a breath¡ªsome wordless act of will¡ªand the token shimmered briefly before growing intricate, blossoming outward like a forging growth of living metal.


    Toshtta Yew remained knelt, helm inclined, her bronze-lacquered armour stirring with the vines that bound her to the Rose of Thorns.


    Bee stepped toward her. The chanting surrounding them rose and fell in a slow wave. Bee bent over the kneeling aspirant, red-silver suspended between her fingers. All around, the air itself itself seemed to constrict them.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Carefully, Bee pressed the material to Toshtta¡¯s chest, letting the twin liquids¡ªblood and that crawling silver¡ªtouch her. Even in the low lamplight, Vashante spied the flicker of mutagen across Toshtta¡¯s armour, fusing in delicate filigree that sank through plating and vine with an eerie gentleness. As Bee withdrew her hand, the token manifested, shaped by the crawling nanomaterial into the form of a silver rose. Wrought from living metal, it curled its petals and grew until it fixed itself in place upon Toshtta¡¯s armoured shoulder as a large besague, fully rooted to the vine-laced plating. Vashante saw Bee hesitate a moment, adjusting the metallic blossom with her single hand, ensuring it did not bite too deeply.


    Toshtta stayed kneeling through it all, her trembling breaths audible from behind the sealed helmet. Only when Bee stepped back did the Flowerbedside Companions hurry in to drape a black cloak upon Toshtta¡¯s shoulders, a moment stretched into forever: Toshtta¡¯s head remained bowed longer than expected, helm sealed, secreting all expression. Yet, from behind Toshtta¡¯s visor, Vashante could sense a rising adoration, luminous and sacrosanct, and when she rose it was as a member of the Knights Consort.


    Next came Sar-ek. He offered Bee a silent bow, dipping his head but never quite losing that arrogant poise. He knelt then, every movement a studied display of silent confidence. Once more Bee conjured the sanguine from her hand, letting the red-silver swirl shape itself anew. It raised as if to float for a moment in midair, supported on the finest gossimer of hairlike fibres. Again, Bee placed it gently on Sar-ek¡¯s chest. There was an instant in which the mutagen meshed with his body¡ªembedding itself, perhaps binding to his bones, to his ribcage¡ªbut Sar-ek did not flinch. Spinning out from his own flesh, blood, and mutagen in a near-organic cascade, there grew upon him a silverline cuirass.


    The plates of armour upon his chest and back were at odds with the crude and shoddy mailes that had been assembled for the warriors here to date. They gleamed, a bastion of armoured metallic bone. Another black cloak, drawn by trembling, flowery maidens, came around his shoulders. In that hush, Sar-ek stood tall, confidence suddenly struck through by a stern reverence, unspoken but palpable. To have been touched by the hand of a Goddess, indeed.


    Then Cartaxa stepped into the small circle of candlelit gloom, his worn armour bearing scars of battles uncounted. He, too, bowed low before taking a knee. Vashante recognized in him an unfeigned solemnity: a vow re-pledged, some debt renewed. Their eyes met for a breath¡ªCartaxa¡¯s multifaceted gaze mirroring her own burden of guilt and determination.


    Bee¡¯s next shaping of red-silver sealed his pledge, the nanomaterial ordering itself into a plain ring, a band of thick metal. Bee carefully placed it upon Cartaxa¡¯s outstretched forefinger¡ªnothing fancy, no gem to dazzle, simply a token of quiet promise. The black cloak was drawn across his shoulders by gentle, blossoming hands as he straightened. Cartaxa neither trembled nor postured as he rose, simply accepting his new station with calm inevitability.


    Slowly, the chanting from the tower Ymmngorad quietened. Vashante stood close to Bee, observing the stillness that overtook those present. No words were spoken. No incantations or empty claims. Each newly enoffed knight wore the tokens of Bee¡¯s living metal as testament to their bond. Sar-ek shifted, projecting confidence as he took his place. Cartaxa clasped his ringed hand by the hilt of his blade, as though reaffirming a final vow.


    Even in that hush, Vashante felt the tower¡¯s walls resonate, a trembling in its labyrinthine flesh and skeleton. High above, in her crypt-prison, the Rose of Thorns stirred. These rites¡ªremembered by such old families, kept alive by such old customs¡ªheld meaning. Lady Bhaeryn¡¯s blood, testament to her lineage, etched these three knights into her circle, entrusted to stand guard over Cruiros forevermore. And they were recognised.


    Only then did the chanting ebb to nothing. One by one, the newly named Knights Consort stepped away. Bee offered each a faint, solemn inclination of her head as they departed. Toshtta lingered, helmet brushing Bee¡¯s ear in some inaudible murmur. Bee¡¯s wan smile answered whatever was said.


    Vashante kept her silent vigil at Bee¡¯s side until they were alone, watching as the final moments of ceremony came to an end in the hidden halls of the Crawling City. Only then did Bee turn, meeting Vashante¡¯s gaze with an irrepressible grin.


    ¡°I did it,¡± she whispered proudly.


    ¡°You did.¡± Vashante lowered her head, glancing at the floor. Pressing a hand down onto Bee¡¯s shoulder, she tapped away the words, ¡°I knew you could do it.¡±

 Take Your Place 5.

    Late in the evening, Vashante Tens and Bee stood alone in the banquet hall. The long table stretched out behind them, bare of dishes or candles, its polished bone surface reflecting the flicker of hot light from the roaring hearth. No Flowerbedside Companions scurried about to lay out place settings or attend their Lady¡¯s every need. Indeed, not a single attendant remained to observe how the tower¡¯s hush set upon them¡ªan unusual moment of solitary calm.


    Vashante took up her now customary post by Bee¡¯s side, silent and watchful. She let her eyes roam across the hall¡¯s high, curved ceiling, carved of Ymmngorad¡¯s living bone. Even the City seemed to slumber at this hour, a subdued tremor in the walls rather than the relentless pulse of the day. Her gaze drifted to the hearth itself¡ªan old metallic coil embedded in its heart, glowing red-hot in the embers, bathing the hall in a sullen glow that cast wavering shadows across their feet.


    Bee stood at the edge of the fireplace, arms folded, shoulders tense. She, too, gazed into the coil¡¯s fierce heat as if seeking answers in that molten brilliance. Vashante studied Bee¡¯s face. No longer a child, grown too soon into a woman with responsibilities none would envy, she wore a distant weariness in her eyes. The crackle of burning coals punctuated the crush of the atmosphere abound. The night air beyond the hall¡¯s bone doors felt suspended in anticipation.


    The double doors of living, metallic bone and hardened plating swung open, accompanied by the dull thud of heavy footfalls. Jhedothar entered, his centaurian form partially silhouetted by the lamplight behind him. He advanced, the spear of ruby hue held upright, each measured step betraying his layered resentment. His gaze darkened when he drew close enough to look upon Bee and Vashante.


    ¡°You did not tell me she would be here,¡± he spoke, voice low with barely restrained acrimony. Vashante, though voiceless, braced herself at his affront, tensing her mechanical limbs in readiness should his ire boil over.


    Bee turned from the fire, meeting his glare. A frown shadowed her features. ¡°It¡¯s just us,¡± she said quietly. ¡°You, me, and Vashante. We have things to talk about.¡±


    Jhedothar¡¯s posture stiffened, antlered head inclining fractionally. Though he was now the lesser in the face of Bee¡¯s rising authority, here behind closed doors his pride was far from cowed. Through every line of his bristling form, Vashante sensed the deep well of grudges still churning. Yet he let the silence linger rather than pressing that bitterness.


    Bee lowered her gaze, turning it aside. ¡°I have yet to bestow all the tokens I promised. You, Vashante, and the rest¡ªmy so-called Knights Consort. I wanted¡­¡± She paused, glancing again into the coil¡¯s heated luminescence. ¡°I wanted to make something for each of you.¡±


    Jhedothar¡¯s lips twisted. ¡°I have no taste for trinkets,¡± he growled, a deep rumble of disdain. His tail lashed once, punctuating the contention in his stance.


    Vashante, who had silently watched him from Bee¡¯s flank, studied his posture¡ªready to intervene if his scorn flared to violence. But Jhedothar merely shifted the ruby spear, resting it at an angle against the floor with care. He had come to talk, after all, not to murder. Vashante exhaled softly.


    Bee¡¯s mouth twitched in a troubled half-smile. The press of night around them was absolute, broken only by the metal coil¡¯s crackle and the distant press of Ymmngorad¡¯s breathing bones.


    Finally, when Bee spoke again, her voice remained subdued. ¡°I¡¯ve been learning from Slashex how to¡­ how to use this power I hold, inherited from the Immortal¡¯s line. I can¡¯t say I truly understand it¡ªand I don¡¯t have time to master it.¡±


    At these words, a flicker of dark comprehension crossed Vashante¡¯s mind, recalling Bee¡¯s dire infestation. Bee¡¯s next words, delivered with grim acceptance, confirmed her wearied resolve. ¡°I might not have long,¡± Bee said, voice soft. ¡°So I should do what good I can now, before I might¡­ Well, you know.¡±


    Jhedothar barked an abrupt laugh of bitter surprise¡ªperhaps a show of disbelief or an attempt to remain unmoved by her candour. ¡°My forces gather. We are near ready to see to the taking of the rail terminals and forward access ways. Then we ascend to the higher reaches. We remind these rotten old families what it means to take guardianship of the realms. Or did you prefer we kneel in your hall until doom falls upon you?¡±


    Bee shook her head. Vashante watched the coil¡¯s glow reflect in Bee¡¯s eyes¡ªa dull red, like living embers. At a quiet prompt from the Eidolon¡ªno more than a hand on her elbow¡ªBee turned back to face them both. There was a small, sad warmth in her gaze when she glanced at Vashante. Then she addressed Jhedothar again.


    ¡°Slashex,¡± Bee said haltingly, ¡°has taught me how to ¡®speak¡¯ in the old sense. Not¡­ spells, as you might guess, but the software and the transmissions that shape the living nanites in our flesh. It¡¯s all around us¡ªwired through the City, through every ¡®freak¡¯ and ¡®chimaera¡¯. I don¡¯t think either of you would name it anything but ¡®witchcraft,¡¯ but that¡¯s not really what it is. I get that now. I can use it to help you both.¡± Her voice dropped as if mindful that even Ymmngorad might be eavesdropping.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Vashante realised her tension had slipped away somewhat, replaced by a cautious curiosity. What could Bee do for them¡ªand at what cost?


    Bee let the silence hold for a time. Vashante felt a prickle in the air, some subtle static that crept over her augmented limbs. She saw that Jhedothar felt it, too, gripping his ruby spear as though it might vanish if he did not as he stood across from Bee, half in shadow, half in the hearth¡¯s red gleam.


    ¡°I wanted you both here, alone,¡± Bee said quietly, ¡°because I wanted to tell you that I can help you.¡±


    Her words stirred no immediate reply. Jhedothar¡¯s jaw set; Vashante¡¯s many eyes drifted toward Bee, transfixed by the audacity of her claim. Bee let her single hand rise, pressing it lightly against her chest as though steadying herself. Her voice carried gently above the low roar of the metal coil in the hearth.


    ¡°I know neither of you will believe this. Or trust me when I say it. But Slashex has shown me how to... to do things.¡± She faltered a moment, her gaze flicking from the scarlet embers to Jhedothar¡¯s resentful stare. ¡°They call them eternal curses¡ªyour afflictions¡ªbut I can undo them.¡±


    Vashante¡¯s heart lurched, mechanical though it was. In her chest, she felt the faint clank of internal servos turning with a surge of feeling she had long struggled to repress. Jhedothar¡¯s tension was more obvious: his shoulders bunched, the muscles in his bestial shoulders rippling beneath the black cloak and gold insignia he wore.


    ¡°What foolish talk is this?¡± His tone was sharp, suspicion edging each word. Yet, he did not interrupt further. He only tightened his grip on the spear, the haft squealing under pressure.


    Bee lifted her gaze to Jhedothar. ¡°Your augmentations¡ªcrippled and darkened after your confrontation with the Wire-Witch. She sealed them, locked them. Slashex told me how to bypass her encryption. I can bring them back online.¡±


    The words hung between them. Vashante saw the flicker in Jhedothar¡¯s eyes, half-hope and half-disbelief, hidden by the scowl that shadowed his bestial visage. He glanced, uncertain, toward Vashante. She met his gaze but offered him no comfort; she herself felt the ground slip beneath her.


    Bee took in a slow breath. ¡°You¡¯d have your full might again. The speed, the strength, all that made you so formidable.¡± She paused, letting him grasp the enormity of it. ¡°I ask nothing in return¡­ Except that you help me do the right thing, I guess. That¡¯s all.¡±


    Jhedothar¡¯s lip curled. ¡°To trust you is to trust the Immortal¡¯s line,¡± he said, voice dropping to a near snarl. But the longing in his voice betrayed him. He had once risen in glory, subjugating this realm. To be restored might end the bitterness that gnawed him now. ¡°Curious coincidence that I find myself under the thumb of another Lady. Now, you tempt me with illusions of power.¡±


    Bee did not rise to his hostility. She only turned quietly to Vashante. The Eidolon felt the weight of those dark eyes on her, their compassion and sorrow mingling in one. Vashante¡¯s ring of unblinking camera-eyes followed Bee¡¯s movement, tension coiling in her mechanical joints.


    ¡°Vashante,¡± Bee said softly, stepping near with care. ¡°I can fix your body. Make it living again. Give you back your voice¡­ If you want it.¡±


    At this, Vashante tensed. The memory of the Pilgrim¡¯s harsh modifications, the severing of her capacity to speak, cut deep. Could it really be undone? She had lived so long in silent servitude, and violent purpose that imagining the return of her old self was unthinkable. A thousand flickering images of her past violence rushed through her mind. She dared not raise her eyes to Bee or to Jhedothar. She looked away instead, hooded head dipping, teeth flexing in silent distress.


    For a span, no one spoke. Only the hush of Ymmngorad¡¯s breath, the low hum of the burning coil, and the faint resonance of the City¡¯s heartbeat somewhere in the deep.


    That bell rang out, a summoning from the heart of Acetyn, and Bee ignored it.


    The tower Ymmngorad suddenly stirred, awoken. Its many hardened buttresses and steeples arched and flexed, preparing for what may come.


    Jhedothar scraped the spear haft on the floor once, betraying his wrestle with pride. Vashante stared at the ground, forcing herself into a measured stance.


    At last, Bee spoke again, gently, ¡°It¡¯s not magic¡­ not really. I guess the people in the City call it witchcraft when the Wire-Witch does it. Or the Vat-Mother. Slashex calls it code, software, instructions. But we can override what it¡¯s done to your bodies. There¡¯s a cost, an effort, a risk. But, if you let me, I can help. I want to help.¡±


    Jhedothar¡¯s frown deepened. Vashante saw his distrust wage war with the simmer of possibility. Vashante felt her own heartache, a fierce longing as her mechanical spine trembled beneath the black cloak. To speak again? Yet, fear gnawed: would it warp her further in ways she could not bear?


    ¡°If you truly wield such power,¡± Jhedothar said, voice steeled, ¡°Why share it with me, your rival to the seat? I am defeated and cannot challenge your new-found witchcraft. I have agreed to service as things stand. To empower me risks your overthrow.¡±


    Bee shook her head, dark hair loose across her shoulders. ¡°Because I need you both strong. I need you...¡± She exhaled, refusing to meet his glare. ¡°Because it¡¯s just the right thing to do. I don¡¯t really care if you serve me or not. You can¡¯t hurt me anymore, not worse than what¡¯s going to happen to me if we don¡¯t work together.¡±


    As the last echoes of her plea faded in the cavernous hall, Bee turned her gaze again toward the red coil in the hearth, letting it cast its restless glow over her face. Jhedothar lowered his grip on his spear, though his stance remained rife with conflict. A thoughtful cast came over his eyes. Vashante kept her gaze on the floor, overwhelmed by the enormity of Bee¡¯s promise.


    ¡°We can do it tonight,¡± Bee said, voice catching in her throat. ¡°We can do it before the Rose of Thorns.¡±

 Take Your Place 6.

    They took the winding steps of Ymmngorad one after another, in silence that thickened as each lap of stone and bone gave way to the next. Vashante Tens followed behind, eyes scanning the rear for uninvited guests whilst Bee, Jhedothar, Slashex, and Yonmar Free forged steadily upward. Through every level of the tower¡¯s twisting ascent, the air grew thinner, the corridors narrower, and an unsettling gravity weighed on their shoulders.


    At intervals, these claustrophobic stairwells emptied into passageways chiselled of old bone yet lined with shelled plating: a testament to countless centuries of adaptation into first an industrialised space and then a place to be lived in. Freakish servants, guardians, and rare newly arrived pale attendants scattered before them, pressed themselves into alcoves or dropped into pious bows of discipline. Some cowered in fear, recalling the devastation the Eidolon had visited upon the tower Ymmngorad not long past. Others stood tall, eerily motionless, as though to reassure their masters that loyalty reigned in this domain.


    From her vantage, Vashante observed the hush that fell whenever Bee came into view. It was born of awe and dread in equal measure. She caught glimpses of it reflected in the shifting eyes of these watchers, be they mutated freak or once-proud pale, scurrying from her line of sight as though fearing a silent culling.


    Thus was the threat of a woman who could¡ªand had¡ªkilled with but a thought. Purposeful or not, the end result was the same.


    On and on they ascended, each flight of steps narrower than the last, each new gate or portal parted with respectful haste by rattling guardians. Despite all the eagerness, Vashante could see Bee¡¯s pace beginning to flag. When they were, at last, nearing the highest levels of Ymmngorad, Bee¡¯s shoulders tensed in suppressed exertion¡ªher breathing coming faster, a faint tremor evident in her steps.


    They emerged onto a broad landing formed from steel and living cartilage that had fused over centuries into one seamless structure. The walls here were smooth, but for the creeping vines that so overgrew both the tower and the realm below. This was a seldom-travelled place, close to the secrets enshrined at Ymmngorad¡¯s heights. Bee stopped, bracing herself with her single hand against the cold plating.


    Jhedothar set his hooves with blunt impatience, shifting the ruby spear against the floor. Though his manner was silent, Vashante recognised his frustration in the way he gripped the spear¡¯s haft. Slashex stood aside, arms folded over mismatched steel limbs, silent as always. Yonmar Free, bent in quiet concern, hovered a pace behind Bee¡¯s left shoulder¡ªyet it was Vashante who moved first.


    She stepped forward and placed a light palm against Bee¡¯s back, metal plating brushing Bee¡¯s black gown. Her gloved fingertips tapped softly: ¡°Is it getting worse?¡± Though voiceless, Vashante willed the question to show her worry. Bee shook her head slightly, still catching her breath, but Vashante knew it to be a lie. Bee was trying to be strong for them.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Bee muttered, though her voice wavered. Before anyone could press her, another bell rang out from deep beneath them, resonating through Ymmngorad¡¯s living trunk¡ªa sonorous toll from Acetyn¡¯s heart. Bee visibly flinched, her face tightening. She quickly pressed on, stirred by the sound, leaving the group behind to follow.


    They advanced through a short corridor leading to an abandoned engineering lab at the tower¡¯s apex. Vashante knew this place, having stormed it once on her march to the Rose of Thorns, though she had spared it little thought then. It was long deserted, a cold, silent recess of dead screens and half-disassembled machines. Now, as they slipped through the parted door, the overhead lights flickered uncertainly, and one corner of the lab glowed with the faint luminescence of a console that pulsed in a strange rhythm.


    Bee froze first, gaze drawn to a flashing beacon set amid a tangle of wires and dusty data cables. A tiny shrill ping rang out, the light blinking in time¡ªa sound unfamiliar to them but not entirely unknowable.


    A call was coming through. A call for her.


    Together, they drew near cautiously. The Eidolon felt her heart quicken, scanning the corners for any more surprises. After a moment, she realised that Slashex was no longer at their side. He had vanished, though the corridors they came through had no new turnings, no shadows large enough to conceal him. Where did he slip away? She wondered, unsettled.


    Behind her, Jhedothar huffed suspiciously, the red gleam of his spear casting dancing lights across the machinery that filled the chamber as it caught the flashes from the machine. Yet it was Bee who stepped to the console, that pulsing light seeming to grow in urgency with every breath they waited.


    Vashante tensed. She recalled how once, in some dark control room, she had seen the Witch¡¯s disciples interfacing with archaic networks. But that involved whispered codes and invasive neural jacks. Here, no such ceremony preceded Bee¡¯s action. She simply extended her single hand, pressing a button or switch near the blinking light¡ªand the console rang once with clarity.


    And then the unimaginable occurred.


    From a recessed projector emerged a swirl of amethystine luminescence. It coalesced into a tall figure¡ªa woman, unblemished and undeniably human, cast in purple-tinted holographic lines. She wore a simple, functional uniform with no insignia or crest. Her hair, silver and curled, framed a face possessing neither scars nor mechanical grafts.


    Jhedothar recoiled, eyes wide. Yonmar stiffened with a choked intake of breath. Vashante felt the hairline seams of her own plating tighten in alarm, that ring of eyes focusing incredulously on this holographic woman. No horns, no mandibles, no plating. Simply a creature of pure, clean flesh. It went against everything in their world of mutagen-churned freaks and monstrous hybrids.


    It was a progenitor.


    It was a human, hale and whole.


    They all recognised who this was. But it was impossible, here and now. It could not be. How could this be?


    A speechless atmosphere settled over them. The holographic figure¡¯s gaze flicked across them all¡ªBee, Vashante, Jhedothar, and Yonmar¡ªbefore it landed again on Bee.


    ¡°Hello,¡± the woman said softly, speaking in a mellifluous yet resonant voice with an ineffable presence. A mortal voice, and yet it carried a weight that cast echoes in Vashante¡¯s augmented ears. ¡°It¡¯s nice to finally meet you¡­ Bee.¡±


    Bee stood transfixed, her fingers slowly sinking from the console¡¯s controls. A heavy air bound the space, the moment crashing down on them with sudden clarity.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Slowly, Vashante realised: The Immortal.


    The Goddess of the Ages.


    The living pantheon¡¯s apex.


    The one who had shaped entire lines of Vat-Mothers.


    Who seeded the Cities.


    Who allowed the noble lines to reign.


    Who watched all from her demesne in the heart of Acetyn, ruling through ghost space far beyond mortal reach.


    The last human.


    With holographic, amethyst eyes sparkling with mild amusement, the Immortal studied Bee for a moment longer, then smiled gently. Vashante, heart pounding, stepped back a fraction as if to ward off the intangible radiance of that presence.


    No one else dared speak. Even Jhedothar, typically proud in his anger, lowered his spear a fraction as he exhaled with fright. Yonmar Free¡¯s posture stiffened like a worshiper before an idol. He muttered old scripture to himself feverishly.


    Vashante felt the press of a thousand questions pent up behind her voiceless teeth, questions about her life, the nature of the City, curses, and the unending cycle of life and death. Here was the progenitor of all¡ªthe one who created the world as they knew it, who knew their purpose for being above the mire, who¡ªthey were told¡ªcreated Acetyn and the other Cities so that they might live.


    Bee exhaled in a trembling breath, drawing her shoulders straight. ¡°You¡¯re¡ª...¡± she began, but then the words died on her tongue.


    Once again, the Immortal turned that quiet, strangely comforting smile on Bee, her image shimmering in the cold, ghostly colour of the projection. ¡°I am,¡± she confirmed simply, as though reciting an old name.


    And Ymmngorad trembled. The titans above Cruiros howled, shaking the world: a warning, perhaps? Or abject despair.


    A faint hum pervaded that abandoned engineering lab at the highest levels of Ymmngorad, the amethystine projection of the Immortal still shimmering in the half-light. Her presence alone felt heavy, as though the very air bent beneath her gaze. Then, suddenly, the City of Acetyn rebelled.


    A groan, deep and cataclysmic, rumbled through the corridors, and the floor bucked as though some colossal hand had seized the tower. Chitinous joints, bone buttresses, and layered sinews all convulsed in wrath, and for a moment, the world seemed to tumble. Vashante Tens lost her footing and pitched forward into Bee before pulling her close beneath herself in some vain effort to protect the Lady. Jhedothar, proud centaurian limbs braced, skidded and nearly toppled, whilst Yonmar Free crumpled to the floor with a pained gasp. Ancient shelves rattled, sending old instruments clattering; metal beams squealed as the tower¡¯s living marrow twisted.


    From beyond the walls, through the sundered windows and ventilation ducts, came the dull roar of cataclysm. It was the voice of a realm undone: the muscle of Acetyn¡¯s continent-sized form shifting in its bed, avalanches of flesh and debris coursing through Cruiros¡¯s labyrinth. Distant shrieks, inorganic and bestial at once, fused in a nightmarish chorus. A quake in truth¡ªAcetyn¡¯s fury manifested, waging war against the Immortal¡¯s interference.


    Then, with a single quiet word from the holographic figure¡ªsoft but irrefutable¡ªcame the end of that thunder:


    ¡°Enough,¡± the Immortal said.


    The City stilled as though struck by a killing blow. In a heartbeat, the floor settled, the monstrous tremors ceased, and the groaning fortress about them fell silent. A silence so stark, it stole the very breath from their lungs. Vashante, on hands and knees covering Bee, felt her augmented heart pounding in terror at the brief glimpse of Acetyn¡¯s unstoppable wrath¡ªand the Immortal¡¯s power to tame it like some leashed hound.


    Bee was the first to push upright, inhaling shakily as she crawled out from under Vashante¡¯s shelter. The Immortal¡¯s gaze shifted, her small smile growing as though noting the boldness of this battered young Lady who dared stand again when all else remained on their knees. Vashante swallowed down her fear, then moved to rise alongside her, ignoring the protest of her steel-laced limbs. She placed a gauntleted hand on Bee¡¯s shoulder, an unspoken pledge of solidarity. Jhedothar stood more slowly on her other side, gripping his ruby spear with white-knuckled defiance, looming large but plainly shaken. Yonmar Free remained kneeling and pressed to the ground. His breath came in pained shudders, bruises likely blooming across his aged frame. Yet, his eyes were reverently fixed on the Immortal¡¯s projection.


    And whilst they stared in fear and rapture, the image of the Immortal slowly cast her gaze around the old laboratory. The gleam of her eyes noted the detritus therein, the ruin and collapse of untold years of abandonment and disuse.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a very long time since I saw this place,¡± she said. ¡°The years have not been kind.¡±


    Then the Immortal regarded them again, her expression gentle yet beyond their measure. ¡°You have spoken reckless prophecies,¡± she said to Bee, her voice calm. The echo of the City¡¯s convulsion lingered in the walls as she spoke. ¡°Words that threatened an end to me¡­ and my children.¡±


    Bee did not immediately respond. Vashante felt Bee¡¯s body tense beneath her supportive hand. Despite the quake¡¯s lingering tremors, persisting as fright in her limbs, the Eidolon took a step back, letting Bee stand foremost. Jhedothar, wearing his bruised pride, watched with a narrow glare, torn between awe and seething anger. Yonmar Free, still bowed, breathed softly but made no move to rise.


    ¡°All can be forgiven,¡± the Immortal continued, her tone so oddly warm it sent a chill through the chamber. ¡°I know your illness drives you to desperation, and in that you ally yourself with questionable influences¡ª¡± Her luminous gaze flicked, perhaps an unseen reference to the Vat-Mother who birthed Bee or the people at her side now. ¡°But you need not follow that path to its bitter end. I can save you.¡±


    Bee drew a breath, blinking. Vashante¡¯s hand squeezed Bee¡¯s shoulder in caution or encouragement, she herself uncertain which. Bee steadied herself beneath the Eidolon¡¯s silent rapport.


    The Immortal inclined her head in an almost maternal gesture, eyes never leaving Bee¡¯s. ¡°Do nothing more that you will regret, my dear granddaughter. Your life is short enough. Let me help you.¡± Her words came softly but with an edge that sounded less like gentleness to Vashante¡¯s ears and more like an ultimatum slathered saccharine in honey.


    ¡°You¡¯ve proven yourself so much already¡ªbeautiful and beloved. You need only come to me,¡± the Immortal said. ¡°Come to the heart of Acetyn. Come to my garden. I will open the way for you. You can have a home, safe from these horrors with me.¡±


    Still trembling from the shock of Acetyn¡¯s rebellious quake, Bee exhaled. She said nothing at first, but in her dark eyes, a calculation took place¡ªa clash of convictions. Her wings flickered involuntarily, shifting against her black gown as she took a deep breath through the siphons on her back. Vashante, for her part, moved her mechanical hand to lightly brace against Bee¡¯s back. Her stance alone said: I will stand with you¡­ whatever you so choose.


    Bee took a steadying breath and spoke.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Do not be foolish,¡± the Immortal urged gently, and the hush of the lab made the simple phrase ring with crushing authority. ¡°There is still time to turn away from ruin.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not the Immortal,¡± Bee said quietly, voice trembling, hissing with contempt now that she found her voice. ¡°I know what you are¡­ You¡¯re just another one of her daemons trawling through ghost space. You¡¯re nothing like her.¡±


    The hologram stared at Bee. All warmth gone, the eyes took in the young Lady, analysing her. Studying her. Judging her. The smile¡ªdead¡ªwas replaced by an expressionless regard. Then, with a flicker and a flash, the call ended, leaving them in the otherwise dark of the abandoned laboratory.


    Bee turned, glancing back at them, eyes turning between Vashante, Yonmar Free, and Jhedothar. He, in turn, offered his hand to help the old bone monk stand again with a pained grunt.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got to hurry¡­¡± Bee muttered quietly, turning her eyes down to the ground. Her voice was a ghost in the still air, a whisper, barely there at all. ¡°We don¡¯t have much time.¡±


    She only furtively raised her eyes to glance at Vashante, who gave her a firm nod. It was time, then, to change the world and start righting the wrongs of this age of inequity.