The door slid to the side, and Wohali entered the prisoner’s cell, producing a clacking sound each time his clawed legs touched the floor. The room was relatively small, allowing a single bed to be placed in its width, with no windows, a single toilet, and a sink. To Wohali’s greatest infuriation, his prisoner drank exclusively from the toilet, ignoring the sink altogether.

The wolfkin, or doggie, as the low ranks called them, sat on the bed, glaring at him with amber eyes. The being clearly had no love for him, but at the very least it no longer had to be sedated in order to have an interrogation session. Using drugs, hypnosis, and occasional flattery, Wohali learned all that the doggie knew about the military potential of her tribe, all about the differences between the shamans, warlords, and the lower ranks of her people. Wohali eventually concluded that this being was a female after examining her body while the subject was under the influence of sedatives.

The cell was too small for her, even sitting on the bed, her shoulders were pressed against the steel walls, forcing the creature to huddle into a tight ball during sleep. Wohali wanted to construct a bigger prison cell for the guest, but because of the war, the elder denied his request.

The prisoner lifted her arms, knowing the procedure by now. Wohali's tendrils slither forward, emerging from the seams around his body and pressing against her chest. She no longer shuddered while he listened to her heartbeat and checked to see if her enlarged liver and spleen had finally returned to normal. At first, he assumed this to be a side effect of the drugs, reducing the dosage, but upon further interrogation, he learned that the creature had been drinking far too much in the past. It was of little concern, Wohali put the prisoner on a healthy diet, and her enhanced body had already started healing itself.

It was really amazing. This being right here was a shaman, one of the highest-ranking members of the Wolf Tribe. Yet, just by looking at her, it was easy to mistake her for a mere thrall. Beneath the advanced power armor, she wore rags instead of proper clothes like the rest of her kin. Her lesser kin would often try to lie and obfuscate facts, while the shaman simply kept her silence, unwilling to say a word of lie or what she perceived as a lie.

The fur coverage was uneven due to the shaman's lack of proper medical care, and the pattern was further damaged due to the extensive amount of scars. Some of her bones healed improperly, limiting the amazing agility of this beautiful biological mechanism. Wohali had to break these bones, performing a surgical operation to return the shaman back to her prime. It was a good practice, if nothing else.

With satisfaction, he noticed that the shaman’s steel ears were still on her head. She threatened to tear them away, and Wohali warned her that if she did it, he would put her on a diet made from vegetables. A hollow threat, for such a large organism like hers needed a well-balanced food. But his bluff worked.

"I apologize for the wait," Wohali greeted her, retracting his tendrils. They formed a steel chair behind him, allowing the flesh carver to sit. He found out that it was easier to communicate with the fleshbags by mimicking some of their habits. "Now, where were we. Ah, yes. You told me that the Wolf Tribe also has baby teeth. Can you tell me what age they usually fall off at?"

"I haven't a clue," The shaman scratched behind her new ear. The creature was surprisingly honest when it was coming to small talk, "Got mine kicked down my throat by my bestie."

"Was it the same person who tore your ears off?"

"Nah, it was Lacerated One who tore them for my disobedience."

"Disobedience?"

"I refused to cull the defective cubs," Earless One, as she called herself, ran along the edge of her new ear with a claw and complained: "This is blasphemous. Remove them."

"I assure you, these augments look just like the natural ears of your kin. I can show you the calculations," He mimicked a disappointed sigh, twisting his steel face in a genuine disappointment. "Fine, let us agree to disagree. The ears stay. Earlier, you asked about your comrade. She was exchanged for two of our own prisoners, members of the heavy assault team."

"Cheap," The shaman commented with a smile, still touching her ears. "She is worth at least three."

Wohali was inclined to agree with her assessment. With the elder’s permission, he staged a "friendly" spar between the newest member of the heavy assault team and Earless One. She dismantled the poor man, taking the brain case to Wohali and apologizing for going too rough against a greenhorn. In the next round, they used paint rounds to imitate machine gun fire. It took the teamwork of several heavy assault members to take the shaman down, earning her a begrudging respect from the cyborgs.

To Earless One, these were enrichment sessions, meant to keep the shaman’s spirit up. For Wohali and the Bento Tribe, it was training in order to learn how to better take down creatures like her, although he would never reveal this part to his guest. She was a marvel of biology, truly. It was a blessing that the shamans refused to use ranged weapons out of some misplaced religious value.

In truth, Wohali was fascinated by her faith. He was a believer in the Sun God, he lost his eyes to the cruel sun and replaced them with optics. But his faith never bound him. Hers did.

In hindsight, it was good that Huntsman was dead, otherwise, Wohali would have killed him himself. To lose such a treasure trove of knowledge, a living warlord no less! The thought of missed knowledge was unbearable. Huntsman even denied him the option of examining the deceased husk of the warlord, not allowing the flesh carver to gather any information that might advance one of his many projects. The other flesh carvers complained about the lack of death shamans to investigate, some even suggested vivisection of a living one. Thankfully, these delusions were rightfully laughed at by their superiors. Never will the Bento Tribe lower themselves to such indignity.

Wohali resolved to pay a visit to the Wolf Tribe once the war was over. No doubt these savage beings would appreciate his medical expertise. Should this approach fail, he will open a store to sell treats in their village. One way or another, he will worm himself into their society and expand his knowledge.

Bentos perfected themselves through technology. Something, not necessarily a natural force, made these people strong enough to compete with them. What if the elder was right? What if there was another way for humanity to evolve?

"Why do you serve the Dynast?" Wohali asked. He already learned pretty much everything he needed, it was high time to start another prisoner exchange and bring another citizen or a few back. But the flesh carver was driven by academic curiosity now. For now, he was allowed to keep the shaman in custody.

"Because he provides us with food, water, and protection," The shaman bent one finger. "Because he is the only reason for humanity to bring about a stable and happy future for everyone and to rebuild the world. And because the Blessed Mother served him."

"But you are culling cubs. Your own children. Don’t you view this as a contradiction? What benevolent ruler will do such a horrible thing to his people? What happiness can be achieved on children’s bones?"

"We do it, not he! Each and every member of the Wolf Tribe is meant for sacrifice, just like our Blessed Mother decreed at the dawn of our people. The ones who want to escape this fate are free to leave the tribe at any time, we will never hurt the cubs of outsiders," She looked at him fiercely before calming down. "You don’t believe me. Fine, tell me, where were you when Mincemeat was controlling over half a million people with his mind?"

"Mincemeat? He is real?" Wohali leaned forward, curious. He heard about this overpowered telepath, of course, but dismissed the stories about him as rumors.

"He was alive. The Blessed Mother ended him on the Dynast's orders. His slaves are rehabilitated and…" The shaman came to a halt, speaking further words with disgust, "Now they spread our faith, the fools"

"Fools?"

"We are cruel. Cruelty makes us strong. This mascaraed wishy-washy abomination that they turned our faith into, no matter what Lacyone says, was not supposed to exist. Anyway, the Dynast saved us, through his guidance, we stopped the Gilded Horde that threatened to rape and ravage their way across the lands. Be happy that you never had to see the times when true new breeds, gods in their own right, walked this earth. His excellence, Wyrm Lord, with all my respect for him, is but a pale shadow of these times. The Dynast lived through these times. He built a paradise in spite of such obstacles and through our sacrifices. Our pain is a small price to pay to ensure that others are safe."

"No place where children suffer can be called a paradise," Wohali's lenses met her calm gaze, "I truly understand your misguided and warped perception of things. Don't dismiss me as stupid or ignorant; our informants asked around in the Wastes, and your kind is regarded as heroes there. You view yourself as one of the backbones of your nation, reveling in unleashing cruelty upon your offspring to perpetuate this wicked cycle, to feel needed. Upon consideration, I have come to the conclusion that instead of humoring this pointless self-sacrifice, your Dynast should have broken this backbone, absorbing the Wolf Tribe into his country, fully and completely."

"We are not blind to the future," Earless One kept her calm, grasping her paws together, "Time will come when shamans fade into nothing. And our traditions will follow suit, liberating our people to find their own way. But cruel times call for monsters to protect those who can’t protect themselves. With our blood, we pave the way for untold generations to prosper," Ыhe frowned. "Please, do not call us heroes. The locals can be insufferable sometimes, we are simply another military unit."

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Interesting," Wohali pressed a steel finger to his limbs, "I expected you to retort by pointing out flaws in my own society."

"You never claimed that your nation is a paradise. The fault was mine for choosing a poor word. We are talking about my people right now. Shifting the topic is a coward’s way out of a discussion."

Wohali wanted to keep on debating with this strange being and learn more of her ways when a minor sound signal distracted him, a message came to him from his student. He made no face, opening the message and looking at the video feed. Seeing who had come to him, Wohali stood up immediately, allowing his tendrils to move back inside his body.

"My apologies, we will have to end the today’s session early," He turned around, stopping near door. "For what it is worth, I do not view you as a monster, Earless One. Misguided, yes. Hopefully we can talk more after the war."

****

They met in the recreation zone. This place was named so because of the countless greenhouses installed in the walls of a long corridor. Everything, from palm trees to fir trees, was present here, separated in different greenhouses that adjusted the temperature to meet the needs of the plants. Green vines wrapped around the main walkway, Wohali’s receptors transmitted into his brain the pleasant smell of the roses that bloomed just a few days ago.

The outsiders always thought that the Bento tribe was obsessed with metal. They were not exactly wrong, the founders believed in metal and in metal only. As the years went by, the flesh carvers found out that for the stable development of a nation, all its citizens must be well educated. The experience of what was lost with the Old World was a vital part of this education. Cold logic was good, but no human brain could ever become one with a machine. Instead of pretending to be something that they were not, the educational facilities of the Bento Tribe embraced the emotions, inspiring their students with both the arts and living beings such as animals and plants, prompting the new generation of bentos to keep a spark of creativity in them despite the loss of a biological body.

The air here was natural, coming directly from the trees, plants, and flowers instead of being recycled by the machines. It took years of hard work to find a few facilities where seeds still existed, and later it took decades to ensure that proper domes were built to artificially sustain the fragile life no longer suited for this cruel world. But to learn is to experience, to ideate, and to create, as the founders said. The Bento tribe had a challenge before them, and they solved it just like they solved any other problem: with discussions, planning, and hard work. Even this vanity project, as some flesh carvers called it, advanced the Bento Tribe’s mastery over the technology even further.

Now, with the war raging, there were no more kids running around, asking their parents and guides about various plants and trees, looking with amazed eyes at the mighty oaks standing proud behind the glass. No one in their right mind would allow children anywhere near the front lines or the prisoners. Even now, massive convoys were moving toward the border with Iterna, bringing the young generation to safety.

There were no more tourists from Iterna or Pearl. Nothing but the sound of metal steps accompanied Wohali as he walked toward his most cherished student.

He discovered her standing in front of the screen with dandelions, looking exactly the same as before, with not a single scratch on her metal form. This dome right here was her own handiwork, others helped, sure, but it was she who put her soul and effort into growing these flowers.

His students refuse to elaborate further, simply leading her here in secret, and this surprised Wohali. Yes, she and they often competed with each other, forming and breaking alliances. However, each time someone fell, the others attempted to assist the slacking student in getting back up, mocking and joking nonstop.

Now, his students acted weird. He could sense no animosity in their message, instead, they felt… lost and curious, acting like children that stomped upon their first artifact from the Old World. Even now, his students were looking through the cameras in the recreation zone, fishing for his reaction. With a smile, Wohali cut off all video feeds. In Wohali’s humble opinion, to learn is to make decisions and learn from mistakes and consequences. Wohali will not set an example for them on how to act here, let them stew in their uncertainty and ponder a little before coming up with their own solutions.

"Chochmingwu," He said, allowing a genuine warmth to come into his voice while he spread his arms wide, "Welcome home, my dear."

"Teacher," She shuddered, and he instantly noticed the change in her posture. The perfect precision of the machine was gone, replaced by something else. Something... unaccustomed to movement. His lenses moved, noticing a change in her body. The metal that covered her was no longer a skin, although it fully resembled her previous body in every last detail, keeping even the poem that he inscribed himself on her left lens, celebrating her birthday. No, the change was subtle, but it was there. A bit heavier than it used to be in some places. Almost like… "I brought great shame upon you."

Lines appeared on the armor, starting from the temple and running down all the way to the waist. Like a flower, the armor opened, showing flesh hidden within, the metal plates of the armor’s upper part sliding down on the legs. Wohali’s lenses widened, capturing every second of this unusual sight.

Chochmingwu was just as his prediction systems envisioned her, down to a birthmark on her pale neck. Her black eyes and slightly larger nose revealed her Pearl ancestry, and her bald head began to fill in with tiny patches of brown hair. When she came to Wohali, her melted skin was highly tanned instead of being milky white as it is right now, but this was to be expected based on this miraculous restoration.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Wohali unleashed his tendrils, and Chochmingwu looked down, expecting his wrath. Foolish girl. What father would hate his child? Wohali never experienced the pleasure of flesh. Female, male, everything unusual—nothing ever caught his attention. After ascending into the realm of steel, Wohali started treating his students like his children, feeling happy at their success and helping them overcome their obstacles.

The tendrils slid across her body, checking her blood pressure, hearing a healthy heart inside her chest. Wohali was overcome with joy and happiness; every initial test revealed that his beloved Chochmingwu was completely healthy. Her eyes were bright, not a single vessel popped up. Noticing a strain in her eyes, the flesh carver hastily let her go, allowing his daughter to blink. She was a normie. This fundamental was unaffected by whatever happened in her back. And this is fine. Wohali decided. All the more reason to ideate and create new marvels to keep Chochmingwu safe.

Wohali saw that her body was connected to a steel, around the waist. Her legs were still made of a steel. Wohali deduced from further investigation that his daughter now had a stomach, a rumbling one at that, but every organ below that was artificial.

"Magnificent," He whispered. Steel to flesh, what magnificent technology do the reclaimers possessed! "Daughter, you have been restored! For modesty’s sake, please close your armor and put on some clothes later on."

"I allowed your work to be desecrated, teacher." Chochmingwu's voice spoke from her gauntlets, causing the flesh carver to experience sorrow. Her vocal cords were fully fine, the teeth were excellent, and a new tongue was ready to go. She still used a text-to-speech device to express herself.

"Desecrated? Daughter, I am neither a priest nor a god to care about such trifles! If someone returned to you the years that you were so cruelly robbed of, then I can only thank this person and bow to his or her knowledge," Wohali waited for the armor to encase her and took Chochmingwu by the shoulders, forcing himself to remember everything he knew about sociology. Calming a distressed person was never his forte, he always used sedatives instead. He knew that he should have spent more time studying the relationships between individuals instead of focusing on institutions! "You are not at fault, and I will hear no more self-pity. You long for the clarity of steel? We will restore it, there is no problem. Or maybe you like your new flesh? You have the right to maintain any form you desire. Come now, Chochmingwu, my daughter, your fellow brothers and sisters are no doubt waiting for you. You've got stories to tell and food to eat. This body of yours needs sustenance."

"A moment, teacher," His daughter tried to bow, and he had to stop her with his tendrils. "My captors released me with a message."

"Let’s hear it then."

His daughter put her hands behind her back and looked up. A light came from the helmet’s lenses, forming an ethereal figure on the ceiling. First came mighty legs, then gigantic wings, covering nearly the entire hall with their span. Finally, a mighty torso appeared, followed by an elegant neck and a head. Without a mistake, the black-scaled head found Wohali with its purple eyes.

"Scorpio." He greeted the intruder. A wyrm. Here, so close to him! Wyrms were another reason why Wohali needed to visit the Reclamation Army. They claimed to be humans despite looking so animal like. To broaden his knowledge, he must inspect one.

"I see you know my name, flesh carver Wohali." The head gave him a gracious nod. Despite looking smaller because of its projection, Scorpio was still massive.

"Your reputation precedes you, captain."

“All good, I hope?” The purple eyes blinked, and the disembodied body stopped in place for a moment. Then it chuckled, and Wohali realized that he never spoke with the wyrm in real time. It was a prerecorded message all along. Scorpio deduced the way Wohali would act and staged a play to imitate a discussion. Slightly perplexed, Wohali wondered just how far this being had predicted his actions. Was it counting on him cutting the video feed? "Please forgive my prank. I could have pushed my mental faculties to their utmost, faking a proper discussion with you, dear Wohali, but in my opinion, this is no way to treat future friends. I will speak plainly. The Moon City will fall, and whether the elders of the Bento Tribe survive or not, there is bound to be a change among your people. A change that might spare your entire nation."

The hologram moved closer to Wohali, guessing his position perfectly. It hovered just far enough away from him to not intimidate him, but close enough to demonstrate its power.

“We have sent you an example of what we can provide for your people. Yes, I know of your leader’s desire, and I admire his dedication. Why should evolution be a one-way road when several can be pursued? Alas, like with everything, some individuals refuse… to, let’s say, evolve beyond their stubbornness. You and I are not barbarians, in any other circumstance no harm would have been done to these… bumps on the road. Sadly, one particular individual threatens to drag your entire nation to ruin. It would be unwise to let him do so,” The wyrm smiled. “You are a wise man, and you have noticed that the war is not ending in your favor, as well as some... strange decisions made by this unwise individual. If you feel bound by the chains of loyalty, ask Chochmingwu some questions, I demonstrated Huntsman and King's direct involvement in the arena to her. Ask her what really happened in Belaz, it might help you come to the correct conclusion. What I have seen, she has seen as well. Surely you have studied my kind and will be able to find any tampering with the evidence or with the mind of your daughter. Wohali, Chochmingwu, I do hope to speak with both of you soon as friends rather than adversaries. I do not expect an answer immediately. But do watch the news and make the right choice for your people. I bid you adieu.”

Huh. An answer. Wohali smiled with his steel lips, leading his daughter away, unbothered by the black wyrm’s words. First, he will report to the elder about a potential attack on the Moon City. It was only right. If the city falls… Actions will speak louder than words.