“I am still against this.” Galaro said stubbornly when the abbot, a man whose arms were almost as big as those of Aranea, walked outside of the commune.

“The decision is not yours,” The abbot replied tiredly. He turned toward the wolfkins and bowed, “Abbot Valsh, currently in charge of his humble abode. Please forgive the zeal of our brave defenders.”

Aranea made a step forward, extending her paw for a handshake. The man blinked once, then smiled widely, shaking the paw. His hand was strong, even age hasn’t dulled the wit in the abbot’s eye. And there was something else. The guards looked at them with suspicion and barely held rage, meanwhile the abbot had genuine warmth in his look.

“Please, let us go inside.” The man wiped the sweat from his brow, leading the group to the open gates. Aranea expected another gate and a corridor leading to them behind the first gates—something to halt the attackers should they breach the outer gates. Instead, they came straight to a busy street filled with people going on about their lives. Some people were busy repairing the roofs of the houses standing dangerously close to the wall, and the other people were busy bringing crates with food and supplies to the wall’s foundation.

“Question: who are these pals?” Virginia asked, tapping with a finger on Galaro’s shoulder. Veins bulged at the man’s temple at this touch, but he said nothing.

“Breathtakers,” Said another voice. A copy of the abbot came into sight, albeit somewhat younger and with an even better physique. The man was carrying a two-handed axe behind his back, a large machine gun that looked small compared to his bulk was resting in the holster at his side. The man was eyeing the group warily, “The guardians of this commune.”

“Pardon my words,” Virginia pressed a paw to her chest mockingly, “But none of you look breathtaking to me.”

“Maybe not, but try to cause trouble, and you will find yourself breathle…” Galaro jumped in place at the sound of a falling crate. The man reached for his pistol, crazily looking around.

“Peace, my son,” The abbot came to him, taking the man by the shoulders, “War is behind you.”

The one-eyed man nodded with guilt, removing his hand from the gun: “I am fine.” He said to the abbot, storming out to help the woman who dropped the crate. The woman had a tentacle instead of an arm, and scales covered the left side of her body. Galaro briefly asked her if she was fine, took a flash from his belt, and gave it to her before picking up the crate, ignoring her offers to help.

“We do get that a lot,” The man with the axe chuckled at Virginia’s joke, easing the tension, “Name’s Malfiro. I am the one who injured the trader.”

“Sir, but…”

“Thinner, go and help Galaro, will you? The crates won’t move themselves.” Malfiro patted the smaller man on his shoulder, silencing whatever he wanted to say.

“You have Malformed living here?” Svetlana asked, nodding at the woman with the tentacle.

“Everyone is welcome to the commune,” Valsh started to explain the situation to the medic, “We try to provide a safe haven for all people. And not all Malformed are hideous monsters. They suffer from the horrible oppression of their leaders and know little else safe for fighting in life.”

“For fighting and killing,” Malfiro nodded, “Make no mistakes, miss, the ones in the mountains are dangerous. They will kill and eat you on the spot. But the ones who have chosen to run away from their cruel tribes are not the enemy and deserve to have a proper life like everyone else. And we will protect them with our lives just like we protect any other member of the commune.” He said, looking at Virginia, who just shrugged innocently, burrowing Thinner’s back with her eyes.

“This is very merciful of you.” Svetlana smiled.

“Just doing what any other human would do in our place,” The abbot said, gesturing with his hand, “Come, then. You will be able to speak with the trader, and then we will try to find some… compensation for our crime.” The man’s shoulders sank.

Aranea understood what he meant. The commune, based on the rough map that she looked at before the mission, had six paved roads leading to the main buildings in the center of this small two. There was no ceiling above the commune, forcing Valsh to skulk in the shadow of buildings, hiding from the sun above.

The locals did not look malnourished, the commune had entire underground farms, where the people grew mushrooms and lizards for food. But their homes resembled more shacks, single-story buildings made of various materials, with the generators standing on the streets outside, supplying several houses at once with energy. There were no cars, save for the guards, barely anyone had a proper anti-heat suit, and a few of their power armors looked more scavenged than assembled.

Large pipes were placed above the houses and streets, held by stone posts. They were seemingly coming from the town’s center and had smaller pipes coming from them, connecting to metal spheres standing between houses. From these spheres, more pipes were coming, connecting to special openings in the walls of the surrounding houses.

The abbot warmly smiled and greeted every person they meet, while he led the group to the center of the commune, to the place where the main entrances to the mines and underground tunnels were, along with a bazaar and a small, surprisingly well-maintained hospital. The locals looked at the wolfkins not with hatred but rather with fear, and it took a second for Aranea to understand what this fear meant. They were not worried about their fangs and claws, but rather about losing their friends and precious resources.

The only cars they saw were the ones belonging to the traders. These were armored cars and vans, standing by the bazaar, the guards looked at the locals with suspicion, although several people from the trader’s caravan went to help change tires on some weird machines that were meant to be used in underground mining, along with helping repair a single old and frail buggy that the commune had. Aranea also saw the answer to the weird pipes that were running above the city—they were coming from a tower meant to house the machinery to produce water. Several water tanks were visible at the outer sides of the round tower, the pipes were connected to them. The commune lacked sewers and underground pipes, for some reason, they ran above the small town.

"You have no need to worry too much," Aranea said, trying to cheer up the abbot, "The Reclamation Army fully understands the troubles that people at the edge of civilization face each day. Trust me, the state has no intention of bleeding you dry."

"Wow," Virginia whistled, seeing the pristine walls of the hospital. They were white, with a painted red cross on the walls, the whole building was made of stone, and instead of windows, it had tiny slits. At a moment’s notice, this building could easily be turned into a proper defensive position. At the group’s approach, the doors opened, allowing three bodyguards of the trader to come in, "Okay," Virginia decided, "The mission will proceed as such. Sveta, you and Aranea take a walk around the commune, see how people are living out here. I’ll have a chit chat with Somelhaen."

"But what if my expertise is needed? What if they have other wounded…"

"Sveta, you are on mission," Virginia said with a hint of steel in her tone, "I’ll call you if you are needed."

The rust-colored wolfkin spread her arms wide, greeting the guards with a smile, and walked inside, accompanied by Malfiro and Valsh. Sveta and Aranea briefly glanced at each other and went on to the bazaar to check things out.

****

Thornclaw heard wailings and curses even before he entered the prisoners’ den. He hated this place, it smelled of despair, pain, and horror. Dirt was everywhere, in the spacious room, he could see several dozen women standing or sitting behind the rusted gates. There were no guards in sight, both of them lied face down outside of the prison, knocked down by his mighty fists.

"Murderer! Let us go! Please, I have family! We can pay you…" Thornclaw grabbed his head, frowning in pain. His scaled hands covered his beady eyes for a moment, and the large malformed understood that he was about to hide in a corner and whine.

His head always hurt. Ever since his dad smashed him against the pillar and took his claws away, Thornclaw’s head has been in a lot of pain. It was almost like an unseen seed of pain was planted in his brain, blooming into a full tree each time someone screamed. When his mom was alive, he sang him a soothing song that helped with pain, but after dad devoured her, the pain increased tenfold.

Thornclaw pushed his hands aside, forcing himself to step forward. One chance. One chance to make mom proud. His tail wagged behind him, the broken stinger at the end of it pointed nervously at the ceiling.

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"Friend. Me." He whispered to the woman, his lips covered by bones spoke the mangled words. He could see the women. All of them were naked, and some of them had already been tasted by either his dad or his minions. Against his will, Thornclaw felt an animalistic desire in himself and thanked the cruel fate for the first time. An ugly scar marked his body from the groin all the way to his chest, barely hidden by his natural bone plates. His dad made sure that Thornclaw will never have offspring, "Me. Help. Silence." He pressed a finger to his lips.

The women backed down when Thornclaw reached with his four fingered hand, grabbing the rusty bars and crumbling them, making an opening for the women to exit. One chance. A chance that was never given to his mom.

"Where… where can we go?" Asked one of the women, a tall blonde, covered by bruises and cuts.

"Here," Thornclaw pointed at the hatch in the wall, "Bones. There. Tunnels. Run. Commune." He pressed a crudely made map into the woman’s hands and walked toward a gigantic hatch.

Thornclaw buried his fingers into the metal, pressing his muscles to the limit. His tail hit the ground in frustration, causing the women to jump away in fear, as the malformed became afraid that his strength was insufficient for the task. Panic, like a jolt of lightning, forced him to redouble his efforts, and with a groan of pain, he tore away the hatch, allowing it to fall on the ground with enough force to make the entire room shake.

Now everyone know. Thornclaw thought, hearing shouts at the other side of the door. Dents appeared on the door, and the malformed gestured to the women to grab a bag with clothes and food that he brought into the cell and jump down. He waited for the last one to jump before showering the hatch into the opening, keeping it stuck.

The doors behind him fell, and snarling, mewing, and hissing angry faces poured into the room. Clawed hands reached to grab him, scratching against his outer bone shell. Thornclaw met his kin head-on, sending them flying with casual backhands, kicking them in the stomach, and headbutting the most annoying one. The malformed swarmed him, trying to pull him down, and Thornclaw used his tail to send the ones who climbed on top of him flying.

Mist came from the pores in his skin, activating his power. His wasn’t as strong as his father’s, but the malformed within the mist slowed, moving like in a dream. Stinking, acidic, purple, and a simple crimson blood colored his fists, and, for a second, Thornclaw believed that he could simply walk through this biting and clawing crowd like a demigod from the legends that his mom was telling him. That he can actually escape after doing a good deed.

A dizziness fell onto Thornclaw’s eyes, almost as if someone threw a veil over his head. The malformed shook his head, trying to see. His own movements slowed, and he saw a lean figure coming into the door. The other malformed was covered in spotted fur from head to toe, the newcomer’s face had feline features, and two pitch-black eyes looked at Thornclaw in anticipation, while whiskers nervously twitched at being in proximity to such a giant.

Thornclaw made one more step and fell asleep. The last thing he felt were kicks and scratches against his bone armor.

****

"…Do this and prove your superiority once and for all, oh mighty one." Thornclaw’s green eyes flashed open, and he found himself tied and bound in the chief’s room.

The utter silence was present in the room, safe for a cracking of fire in the middle of the room, every single malformed was silent, trying desperately to even breathe as rarely as possible. Raghr's temper was well known. He tolerated no dissent and viewed the advice of others as attempts to usurp his authority. Few fools who tried to argue with him soon found themselves in Rraghr’s belly.

Rraghr sat on the throne made from scraps and bones, resting his alligator-like head on his fist. If Thornclaw was big, then his father was massive. Bone ridges covered the space from the top of his head all the way to the foundation of his scorpion tail. His four-fingered arms could liquidate a person with ease. The bones on his father’s body were far thicker and sturdier, capable of withstanding even explosions. In the few places on his body where skin was visible, Thornclaw could see countless sores and pores that were exhaling bleakly mist.

"Women and meat aplenty, all waits for you within the commune." Thornclaw heard the same whispering voice and saw a receiver standing next to the throne.

"Fool," Rraghr spoke in a surprisingly calm tone, his eyes still closed shut, "The prey is tasty, true. But they have the bubble that does not allow us to enter."

"I will take care of this, oh lord of lords," The voice hushed back, "In a few hours, the shield will be no more."

"Do so, and I will remove the problem that bothers you," Rraghr opened his eyes, looking at Thornclaw with a sea of pure green, without any pupils, "Betray me and I will feast on your bones."

"Of course, my lord," The speaker hushed back, "Before the night’s end, you will feast."

"One way or the other." Rraghr responded, crushing the receiver with his fist.

His father stood, walking down from the throne. On the dirty wall behind him, Thornclaw saw a half-dozen bodies, some still moving, all still bleeding. Most were traders, but one of them was malformed, a poor soul who attracted the foul temper of his father. And all of them were now just a snack for Rraghr.

Rraghr came to his son with thundering footsteps, grabbing Thornclaw by the throat, and looking at his body. The young malformed allowed himself a smile, his father always took a fang or a claw from him for disobedience. But this time, there was no longer anything left to take.

"He let females go," Nightfall, the feline-like malformed, said, licking the fur on his arm.

"And you let him?!" Rraghr threw his son into the wall, causing rubble to fall from the ceiling. Nightfall covered, trying to look small as possible, "He is just a pathetic cur and you allowed him to outsmart you? Because of your incompetence, I am denied new warriors and the pleasures of flesh?!"

"Not for long," Nightfall fell on his knees before his overlord, trembling with all his body, "I send my best soldiers, the women will be back in no time…" The purring stopped, and Nightfall gasped for air, feeling how Rraghr’s fingers were about to snap his neck.

"Your soldiers?" Rraghr asked him, jerking the malformed violently, "I am the one who rules around here, got it, Nightfall?" The cat-like head nodded desperately, and Rraghr let go of him, "You are in luck. Raise my legions. We are going to war."

"And the traitor?"

Rraghr’s eyes found Thornclaw once more, and the young malformed felt dread. His father’s tail moved, the stinger pierced his belly and injected pure pain into his veins. Thornclaw screamed against his will, feeling piss coming from a hole between his legs. His body twisted backwards, almost to the point of snapping, while he tried to do anything, anything at all, to shake off the searing pain that took hold over his body, which commanded every inch of his attention.

"I will feast on his insides once the commune fall." Rraghr walked out of the room, allowing his son to wallow in pain and his own shit.

****

"Alright, what did you learn?" Virginia asked, seating herself at the table in the spacious kitchen.

The group assembled at the feast, the traditional dinner party of the commune, before going to sleep. Not all locals chose to be present at this event, but the abbot tried to encourage as many people to come as possible to build bridges between families and talk away any grievances.

"The turrets are well maintained, and the armory is filled with supplies," Aranea shared her own observation, "The generator of the locals is indeed damaged. According to the people, they blame insectoids for this. A body of one was found next to it."

"The goods at the bazaar are coming from both Pearl and the state," Sveta added, frowning her nose, "The trader takes money even for the medicine. Naturally, the locals have no tokens, so instead he makes them pay with other items."

"Heh," Virginia picked up a piece of mushroom with a bread loaf on her plate, sending it behind her fangs, "You seem to be very angry at poor Somelhaen."

"Because I know the type," Svetlana looked into Virginia’s eyes, "You think me young and sheltered. All true, maybe. But I have seen people die because they had to ration their insulin, I have seen people die from thirst and hunger…" Sveta shook her head, stopping herself, "I hate the ones who have the means to help and yet leave people to die. He should have given up the generator."

"Izzat so?" Virginia asked with a full mouth of cusack’s milk. She gestured around the hall with a claw, "And leave the other village without water? Aranea, do you think people here are starving?"

"No. They don’t have much variety in food, but the cold storages are filled."

"So not only do they have food, but milk as well. And how much are the costs of medicaments?" Virginia asked Sveta.

"About the same as in Belaz’s pharmacies. Even a bit cheaper." Sveta replied, tilting her head in confusion.

It finally hit Aranea, where Virginia was leading them: "The costs…"

"Bingo!" The wolf hag pointed with her claw, "See, Svet, why would the costs here be so low, hmm? I mean, Belaz is a large city, filled with easy routes in and out, while the commune of St. Jeremia is… well, not," Virginia smiled to a woman who refilled her cup with more milk, "Sorry, no offenses implied, almost all of you are awesome people."

"But why would the trader work at a loss?"

"He is not," Virginia drank the entire cup again, desperately gesturing for the maid to come back, "Somelhaen is a member of the trade union in Pearl, and he is quite a famous figure there. You think a person like him can’t make a profit? He just doesn’t earn all of the money. Cal is an incredibly valuable thing in Pearl, even though they found other sources to supply their needs. In fact, I would go as far as to say that the trader doesn’t have to come here at all. Combine this with the fact that he asked us not to arrest anyone, and…"

"He feels a responsibility before the people here." Aranea finished for her, scratching her ear. It made some sense. Somelhaen and his trading caravan were the only stable way for the people here to receive supplies from the outside world.

Aranea saw how Thinner walked toward them, with a plate filled with food and several cups of milk. He stopped, trembling at the happy grin of Virginia, his cheeks turned white from fear. Galaro stood from his table and walked before Thinner, standing with his back to the group. Two men exchanged words, and it was the Regulator who ended up bringing food to the group.

"Here," He spat, slamming the iron plate before the group, "I hope you choke on this, mutts."

"A moment," Virginia smiled to him and sniffed the air, picking up a piece of mushroom with her claw, "Won’t you share a meal with us, at least, friend?"

The wolf hag held the sizeable mushroom with her claw, dangling the food before the former regulator. The man hissed angrily, reaching out with his hand, and Virginia jerked back the food, throwing it into her jaws.

"Too late, sorry, friend." Virginia hiccupped and then belched. Galaro looked at her with pure hatred, veins appeared on his thin neck. Finally, the man slapped his hands together and turned around. Svetlana reached for her portions, but Virginia took the plate into her paws and poured all food into her mouth, belching and hiccupping equally.

"The mission is over then?" Aranea asked, taking a cup of milk, "The trader asks us not to press charges, the state also advises us not to overly punish the developing societies, this does seem like an accident…"

"Nah, not yet," Virginia wiped the remains of the food from her cheeks, licking her paws, "Do me a solid, Ari. Go and check the damaged generator. Just be careful. Rodents are scary."