The slave caravan rests in the darkness of the wilderness. Among the wallets and war vehicles, the Crocodile rises. In the cabin of the heavy armor, Ashura sleeps with his helmet on. It is an attitude that any engineer or pilot would reproach, but Ashura is beyond such warnings. She doesn't want to dream, doesn't want to remember, doesn't want to regret, and maintaining the nexus with the Crocodile is an optimal way to fill his head with hate and empty it of everything else. A ruthless machine made for ruthless people.

Around the campfires the slaver chat, enjoying rum and snacks brought in cabins designed to keep the interior regulated without wasting resources. In general the chatter is lively, but every so often a comment is made about Achú's death and the future.

"The Lancasterian killed him" says a slaver with a matted beard and deep shadows under his eyes, with which he gazed intently into the fire. "He stuck his penis through his left eye and pulverized his brain"

"I heard that a natural redhead stabbed him" commented a younger and inexperienced slaver, who instead of rum drank a can of pluto cola.

"Don't be an idiot! Natural redheads are a myth!" A very old, skinny, and curmudgeonly truhan gives him a slap in the face.

The young slaver apologizes.

"Actually..." intercedes a sensual woman, whose seat was formed by the contorted bodies of three massive slaves, two of them holding with their palms up the gigantic bust, the result of the most outlandish surgery. "I am more concerned about what happened next. The Lancasterian escaped from his cell without help, killed Achu, freed all the slaves, killed dozens of armed guards, and destroyed a wall with a sword? How can that be possible?"

"Bullshit" said an obese and toothless chain-maker, lying on the ground, with an underage slave girl next to him, whose chain he held in his hand. "It's inhuman, nonsense, pure tall tales. I thought we were in the age of reason, by all the saints"

"Surely he used his sword?" A jovial beginner slaver, with a tomboyish appearance and mannerisms, who had just come from doing the deuce, enters the conversation. "I heard that he destroyed the workshop with laser beams shot from his eyes, and that he burned the city with his atomic breath!"

"If it were atomic flatulence, I'd believe it" says the obese man.

"You mistake the Lancasterian for you!" the old man mocks.

A cruel laughter blooms among those present. The obese man grunts.

"What if it's a mutant?" commented the haggard man, who did not join in the comedy. "An experiment of the Principality, for example. The Divine War has taken technology to unsuspected levels. We don't know what the Muskites are building in orbit"

"A secret experiment, that would explain the laser beams!" Defends the tomboy, thrilled that such a legend exists.

"Yes, I think so too!" says the inexperienced one without really believing it, wishing to get into the pants of the aforementioned.

"Whether it's true or false, I don't know if I want to face such a dangerous enemy" says the exuberant woman. "To be honest, what good would it do us? Thunderdome is already history. Ashura needs to build a settlement from scratch, but without her brother's influence it is as if one half is missing. Can she accomplish such a feat being incomplete?"

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Those present are silent for a while. They recognize such words as problematic, but almost everyone is uncertain about Ashura's mandate.

"Ashura possesses the Crocodile," the obese one points out. "With that beast it will be no problem to wrest domains from weaker rulers. Consequently the spoils of such plunder will be divided among his loyal retainers, that is to say us"

"That he does keep it under his power?" The woman murmurs so that only they can hear.

They all bow, tacitly asking: What do you mean?

"You didn't hear it from me, but Lord Enslaver is very interested in the Crocodile. Now that Achu is dead, don't you think he will take advantage of this turbulent time to finally get it?"

More than one swallows saliva at the thought of facing the Lord Enslaver's death squads. The old man sanctifies himself, as if speaking of an evil from higher planes.

"It may not be necessary to go so far into the future. Maybe in a few days this will all be over" says the bearded man with an enigmatic air. The others listen, and although they suspect where things will go, none of them dares to open their mouths. "Or do they take it for granted that the Crocodile's victory is absolute?"

The obese man snorts.

"I saw the damn Lancasterian get beaten up! It was recorded! Of course he doesn't stand a chance against heavy armor!"

"But he won in the end, didn't he?" The young wanted to sound manly, but his voice trembled as he imagined himself in Ricote's place. "He got up and..."

He couldn't get the words out, so the skinny old man completes the sentence while throwing a brown spit into the dust.

"He killed his adversary with a single blow!"

"And then he had the strength to escape and murder many of us" the giant-breasted woman recalls.

"Perhaps before the fight he was a normal person, but being on the verge of death he awakened a hidden power inside?" The tomboy, who was very fond of anime, was excited by her own hypothesis.

A tense silence grows between them. The bearded, haggard man stands up.

"You have the right to believe whatever you like. But I will give you one piece of advice" His heavy countenance sweeps each of their eyes. "When confronting the Lancastrian, remember to wear very thick glasses"

Comments like these spread through the camp, and as the night deepened, many slavers, frightened by the stories, decided to flee unseen.

"Quickly, gather everything" the obese man ordered his slaves to leave in his truck. The underage girls work as fast and quietly as they can, loading the luxuries and goods in the back section. "And you, stop fidgeting or I'll bust you, you jerk"

He bows to El Poste, who is still tied up like a bumper whose steel is in the shape of an orgy of women.

"Let me go! I want to be with my daughter!" exclaims the wretch.

The obese man grunts and brings a hand to the laser whip holster at his waist, but his fingers contract before he grasps the handle. He notices a stabbing pain in his spine, and as he turns around, he discovers his favorite vagina thrusting a machete into his back. Reflexively tries to reach out and grab the blade, but his strength fails him.

The obese man falls to the ground, and the girl climbs on top of him to continue cutting him, now his chest and face. The others help El Poste down.

"Thank you, little girls"

Since the girls don't know how to use the truck, they gather all the supplies they can carry, ready to head out into the wilderness. El Poste warns them that the night is full of dangers, but they already know that and decide to take the risk anyway.

"We prefer to die free than to continue living in chains" the one wielding the bloody machete answers with a sharp voice. In her childish eyes there is a fire, placing it in the place previously occupied by a hollow resignation. That fire is the spirit to rise up against tyrants, fanned by the birth of a symbol, by the destiny marked by the sword of a hero. The girl disappears with her peers.

Many, of all classes, join the furtive escape. The number increases when an unexpected event breaks the sky.

Ashura opens her eyes. For a moment she thinks the glow that assaults her senses is dawn. But no, night is still present, only fractured by a long pillar made of an amethyst light, as beautiful as it is sickly, rising from the horizon to where the caravan plans to go. The spectators are torn between attraction and repulsion, but the first feeling ends up winning. They stare at the pillar, dumbfounded, some interpreting it as a terrible omen.