“Gimme’ another bottle, barkeep,” Fino slurred his words as he dangled the empty bottle by its neck between his dark fingers. His face splattered onto the wet bar counter soaked with puddles of wine, soiling his black hair and seeping into his golden eyes. The purple lights emanated from the coloured lanterns hanging throughout the brothel were far too dazzling for his drunken mind. His nose had been numbed from the foul stench of sweat and other fluids mixed together in this steamy den of lust.

It was still early in the day, at least as early as it would be for the City of Colour, yet the Love Machines was already packed with clients at all of their booths and bars. From nobly ecliants hiding behind their beastly masks, to unscrupulous steelborns wasting their hard-earned arks, to cheapskate humans who preferred coddling bottles than bodies – the Love Machines accommodated all, or more so, all accommodated the Love Machines.

“Another one? Perhaps you should give your liver some rest and allow for other parts of yourself to seek pleasures instead.” Cladded in his dark violet suit, ZZ offered words of advice – no matter how unneeded it was. Despite being the owner of the Love Machines, he still attended the bar at some of his establishments from time to time. It’d seem Old Hick still had yet to return to his bartending role – a shame, as that old steelborn was Fino’s favourite bartender.

“What good is there a bar if it can’t even give its patron a bottle?” Fino hiccupped. “If you’re gonna’ play barkeeper, then act like one too.” He glared back at ZZ, unsure which of the bastard’s eyes to focus on, the golden one on the right or the purple one on the left.

“We run a brothel here, not a tavern. If I sense you’d cause any trouble for other customers or myself – I’d have to regrettably request you to leave then, willingly or otherwise.” With his gilded cane tied to his waist as if it were a thin rapier, the dastard owner warned Fino.

Fino usually wouldn’t be so frightened by the threats of a mere steelborn – if not for the couple of bodyguards he had stationed throughout his keep.

“I won’t let him do nothing. So just toss ‘em one, pretty boy.” Desmi said while guzzling down an ale goblet. Fino and he have stayed in Dreamcity for some time now, and the old man still has yet to warm up any closer to ZZ – not as though Fino could blame him. If ZZ wasn’t the Master of the Love Machines, Fino would have never befriended a steelborn or a human of all things.

ZZ did not try to argue with the old ecliant. Desmi may look like a tanned, wrinkly prune with silver strands, but he was a fierce one nonetheless – the long scar stretching from his right eye to his left cheek certainly helped to make his ugly mug look more menacing. ZZ reached beneath the counter and unveiled a bottle of wine with dust slathered over it. He effortlessly unplugged the cork and slid the bottle across the counter and into Fino’s palm without spilling even a single drop.

Thanks, Fino would have said it aloud if his mouth was not so occupied with a gush of bitter wine. The precious violet liquid trickled down the edge of his lips and soiled his already-soiled shirt and dark skin. If no one was around, Fino may have even ducked his head down and licked the counter clean of any drops.

“After you finish with that bottle, I suggest you make plans for your return.” ZZ proposed while cleaning a goblet with a cloth.

“It’s still morning, ya’ twat. Besides, just lemme’ crash at one of yer’ cubicles for the day. Why bother going back to my inn if I’m just gonna’ return the next day anyway,” Fino coughed and tapped his own chest, nearly choking on the wine.

“I do not mean return to your inn, but back to the capital.” ZZ rested the cleaned goblet back into the cupboard.

“Are ya’ out of yer’ damn mind? I ain’t leaving until I make back the arks I’ve lost on yer’ swindling games!” cursed Fino. “Those slaves ya’ told me to bet on didn’t get me nowhere. Pathetic whelps couldn’t even win a single round they were in!” He dug his hands into his pockets, yet he could not find even a single one of those nonagonal coins left. For the past few days, Fino had spent all his time and arks on whoring and betting on slave fights throughout Dreamcity, though he had not found much success in the latter.

“My other patrons whom confided in me seem to be yielding great results. Please refrain from throwing around outlandish accusations just because of your own bad choices.”

Please refrain from throwing around outlandish accusations– Man, shut the fuck up! Fino puckered his lips and imitated ZZ’s pompous words as a toddler would.

The Master of the Love Machines didn’t look terribly impressed with Fino’s childish attempt at provocation. “Lord Desmi, perhaps you would have a better chance at convincing him than me.”

Hearing that, the old man stood up from his seat and put his straw hat back over his silver head. “Ya’ heard the big man. Ready to get yer’ arse up before they haul it out for ya’,” Desmi spoke as if Fino was the one who had to serve him instead.

Fino could hardly even hear the old bastard’s words amidst the sounds of whimsical singing, lustful moaning, bottles crushing, and bone shattering that were all too common for the Love Machines. “Not you too, old man. I’m paying you arks to be here, not to go home.” Fino pointed out.

“The longer we stay here, the more of those same arks ya’ supposed to pay me would be gambled away.” Desmi glared with his red eyes.

“You old heads are no fun,” Fino whinged, even though he was by far the oldest person in the entire brothel.

“I’m more surprised you could even find any fun at all during these times.” ZZ, at last, took a break from bartending and sat down on a stool. With a towel, he wiped the sweat off his combed dark hair before facing Fino from the other side of the bar counter. “Before long, the Sentinels would ransack the city in search of rebels. Endless headaches are heading my way. So do both of us a favour and skip town before they come.” ZZ advised as he lit up a pipe using a nearby hanging torch.

Why would I ever run away from the Sentinels? Fino thought while his mouth was still full of wine.

“You’ve mentioned nothing good of your brother, not even when you’re drunk out of your mind. So ‘lest you want to run into the Prime Sentinel with your pants down and shitfaced, then you best leave by the time he and his minions arrive.” ZZ whiffed in the sweet fume released from his pipe.

Fair enough, Fino mumbled, sobering up ever so slightly. Six’s grim face would be the last thing he wished to see in the city for joy – just the mere thought of it soured his drink.

“Your childish family feud aside, when the Sentinels and rebel pit heads in these streets – all manners of hidden depravity left in this city would seep out in full. Nobles of your kind stand the highest chance to be at the brunt of their daggers and ropes.” ZZ lectured Fino while leisurely tending his bar at the same time.

“The steelborn speaks truth,” Desmi struck Fino’s back. “A man like you will stick out like a sore thumb when this whole city comes crashing down.”

Was that a compliment or an insult? Fino shrugged the old man’s palm off his back. “I sincerely doubt so.” The bottle was empty, yet he still kept on sipping it, trying to gulp in any droplets left.

“After ya’ got beat halfway into the grave in that hamlet in the middle of nowhere? Have ya’ learned nothing about keeping yer’ mouth shut and face buried?” scoffed Desmi like a grumpy old teacher.

“You’re giving me and my family far too many credits.” Fino laughed through his nose. “What happened that day was as rare as rare comes. Besides Nine and Six, I doubt most ordinary people even know who we are anymore, let alone what an Archetype even is,” he said while rolling the empty wine bottle back and forth on the bar counter as if it were a toy.

“Pity yourself all you’d like, but to also bring down your brothers and sister is rather pathetic even for you,” Desmi grabbed a flask of water and poured it into a goblet before sliding it to Fino’s arm.

“Never thought I’d see you get that angry for us Archetypes. So you just hate me alone, is that right?” Fino feebly sipped onto the goblet of water as if it were poison.

“I don’t hate you. Men like you, I’ve seen everywhere. You don’t deserve any of my ire, just pity.”

“You must’ve also led a pitiful life to some degree as well then.”

“I wouldn’t deny that either.” Desmi scratched the scar that was marked over half of his face.

“Ya’ can’t just say that and stop it there. My interest has been peaked, old man,” Fino slammed his hand on the counter. “ZZ, grab us both another bottle. One for yourself as well.” He ordered the Master of the Love Machines.

“Aren’t you supposed to leave?” queried ZZ while tiredly rubbing his eyelids.

“After this, I promise. Chances to hear fascinating tales not from crooked and senile officials are hard to come by in that snooty city they call the capital.” Fino swore to the uptight brothel owner.

“Just humour him this one time. We’ll leave after.” Desmi vouched on Fino’s behalf, to the surprise of both ZZ and Fino.

“You think I enjoy turning away customers?” sighed ZZ. “Fine, just don’t blame me when it all happens.” He knelt down to the counter’s cabinet, and when he rose back up, three bottles of wine were dangling between the gaps of his fingers. The glass bottles, painted like gold, were lathered in dust despite being sheltered away under the counter. “One round on the house – wouldn’t want to give you any more petty reason to stay.” He smoothly uncorked each bottle and passed them to Fino and Desmi, with one reserved for himself, the king of his own castle had to pour himself a drink with no servants at his disposal. “Enjoy yourself, gentlemen.” The Love Machines founder raised a toast and sat back down next to the two drinkers from the other side of the bar counter.

All three clinked their bottles together – the sound of colliding glass and bubbling wine was loud, yet amidst the rowdy brothel where countless strangers dwelt, their loudness meant not much to anyone at all.

“That’s some good wine ya’ serving,” Fino wiped the trail of trickling wine off his lips. “Did you port this from Eden, maybe?” questioned Fino while he admired the golden bottle in his hand, even though it was only golden by paint.

“No, just cheap wine.” ZZ corrected Fino while classily sipping the bottle, ensuring he did not stain his expensive purple suit with wine stains.

“Oh…” Fino muttered. Years of sampling wines from all over Nix, from the farthest west of Xearth to the farthest east of the Wasteland, all of those experiences have failed Fino.

“Unlike you Centum Lords, my humble establishments unfortunately do not carry such fancy boozes that could only be brewed in Sentry.” Desmi chimed in, he, too, seemed to be enjoying the wine.

“Trust me, there’s nothing fancy about them.” Fino mocked. With Sentry being the capital of Xearth and it being the home of the Arkeep and the Prophet, all manners of worldly pleasures paled there when compared to Dreamcity.

“What about the ones hundreds of years ago? No doubt, the Iron War must’ve had some ancient beverages that could no longer be found today, right? I’ve heard food and wine taste best in times of strife and triumph.” ZZ asked, outwardly seeming interested in the history of the Iron War.

“Times of death and war – you mean,” Fino added, his mind ached at just the thought, unsure whether it was due to the question or the wine. “I’m sure there were finer wines at one point. My own recollection of them, however, have rather faded away for the most part.” He ruffled his brain to remember what ensued during the Iron War, but only small and trivial memories resurfaced – a sign for him to tone down on drinking, perhaps. Good riddance, honestly. If only I could forget more things… Fino groused to himself.

“A war hero who could not even remember his own war. You’re certainly a peculiar one.” Desmi jeered while chugging down his fancy-looking booze.

“What is there to even remember? With Ark at their guidance – the ecliants fought, the humans fell, and the Centum Order rose. Story over. The history books ended and began there.” Fino took another gulp of wine. His head was burning, and his back was sweating, but it felt rather pleasant, like a hot bath.

“Don’t ya’ have any shame? I pity the Prophet for having ya’ as a brother,” Desmi sneered at Fino’s meagre answer.

“Fuck you,” Fino muffled with the bottlehead to his lips. “Big talk for a mere grumpy carter. What gives ya’ the right to speak of me like that?”

“Aye, I’m a carter now. But I, too, once served my nation as a Hunt Sentinel,” Desmi revealed, with his face and scar having reddened from the booze. “Though, I suppose, I’m still serving it now.”

“You were a Sentinel?” asked Fino, everything about this old man began to make more sense to him.

“Yes. A Squad Captain, no less. And I’ve never forgotten a single battle I’ve been in.”

“Why did you leave then? Did old age catch up to you at last?” ZZ jested.

“As if,” Desmi snorted, spitting out some of his wine.” If I wanted to, I could have just poured the savings that I’ve accumulated throughout all my years of service into a few ReSamra surgeries and rid myself of this wrinkly shell.” He wiped the spilt wine off with his sleeve.

A ReSamra surgery is capable of rejuvenating an ecliant and steelborn back to their younger self, though not at a hefty cost, and it does have its limitations on how far back into a person’s youth they could go. Even Fino has only had a handful of them throughout his two centuries of life. A Cycle of Reconstruct is even more expensive, capable of prolonging an ecliant’s lifespan – only the noblest of Xearthers had ever undergone the operation.

Is the lout richer than I thought? Fino felt slightly irritated, knowing he had wasted so much ark on gambling while his own carter was stashing away heaps of them.

“My age has not much to do with my resignation. I left because I no longer wanted to be there. Simple as that.” Desmi finished his bottle and rested back on the counter.

“So you’re telling me being a Sentinel Captain was not enough for you, and instead, you found your true calling as a coachman? I don’t know why you’re so nasty to Fino when you’re just as strange as he is,” ZZ sniggered.

“Don’t lump me in with this snivelling coward. I’ve done my duty, and now I move on to the next one.” The old carter taunted Fino, being drunk had turned him even harsher than usual.

“And you have no regrets?” ZZ probed, too, having finished his drink.

“None.” With his wine bottle empty, Desmi then sipped on a cup of water instead. “Men like us do not have the luxury to wallow in regrets. Wouldn’t you agree, pretty boy?” His red eyes looked at ZZ’s gold and purple orbs. “Steeborn, to brothel owner, to the richest man in Dreamcity – I’m sure you have your fair share of fascinating tales to regale as well.”

The Master of the Love Machines clutched onto the gilded cane by his waist, fondling the statuette of the lady sculpted around the tip of its handle. “My life is as boring as they come. I grew up a steelborn in Dreamcity, and by a stroke of fortune, I struck it big with the Love Machines. End of story.” ZZ reignited his smoke pipe. “Though I suppose I did learn a lot from my pa.” He coolly huffed in the aromatic smoke.

“Lucky you. I don’t remember shit about my dad.” Fino yawned. The God Ark was the father and creator of the Archetypes, but Fino could not even remember what he looked like, nor could he feel even a trace of divinity in his blood.

“I suppose I was rather lucky, considering it all,” ZZ tittered, somewhat melancholically, for a man dressed in such flashy attire. “My pa was a street bum, and my ma was a common harlot, but they were fine enough parents. To have the guts to proudly play house and sire a steelborn boy in Xearth – strange human and ecliant they were. My pa and his old folks, in particular, were the strangest. Them folks were not humans of this land, I tell ya’.” ZZ burst into fleeting mirth; Fino could not tell if he had just told a jest or not.

“To keep a steelborn brat like yourself… Not bad for a human, I guess,” Desmi scratched his stubbly chin. Fino could see from his grimace how hard it was for him to even compliment a human. “Where are they now? Dead?” he asked, showing more interest in ZZ than usual.

“Yeah.” ZZ whiffed in another smoke, a long and slow huff.

“Peacefully?”

“With the life they led and the son they raised? Probably not. My family died a dog’s death.” The smoke puffed out of ZZ’s mouth and clouded away his face like fog dyed by purple light. “Our ilk aside, I’m sure that’s one thing we could relate to, right Lord Fino? You’ve sired your fair share of steelborns as well, or lack of siring, dare I say – all save for that one.” His one eye of gold tilted right and met Fino’s own golden orbs.

“Don’t go there, man. I’m not in the mood for that.” Fino lay down his bottle, still unfinished, with only a few drops left lingering in the bottom.

“How was your visit? I have been doing my best to keep their places safe from street ruffians and crooks.” ZZ did not hold his tongue – he went there. Only one bottle of wine was enough for his face to turn redder and redder with each word.

“It was the same as usual.” Fino plummeted his face down towards the stone floor and shut his eyes.

“That’s good to hear. However, I would recommend you change the site if possible. Even if they both share the same one, having any grave at all by a brothel’s side is terribly crude, I must say.”

“This is the only place they could go to.” Fino groaned. His head felt as if it was spinning and would twist off his neck at any moment.

“Is that right? You couldn’t have just bought out a patch of land in a fair prairie in Sentry and dedicated it to them?” ZZ kept on teasing Fino, hiccupping and stuttering with each word.

“Ya’ think the Centum Order would have given me the arks for that?”

“They sure seem to have given you enough arks for boozing, whoring, and gambling then. Are those frivolous pleasures more important to you than your own loves?”

What has gotten’ into him? Fino thought as he lifted his head back up. “You know that’s not true.”

The Master of the Love Machines’ face was the reddest it had been, redder than a tomato, and his eyes were barely hanging themselves open. “I’m not so sure of that now. To you ecliants with your high seats, a mere whore and babe really are nothing to–”

“That’s enough out of ya’.” Desmi slammed the bar counter, nearly cracking its wooden surface with his fist.

Old man? Fino murmured. Desmi was the last person he expected to defend him here.

“Speak of the pitiful fool all you like – but leave a man’s family out of this.”

The slammed table appeared to have awoken ZZ from his drunken stupor. “My apologies, Lord Desmi, Lord Fino.” He gently bowed his head to hide away his flushed face. “Despite my position, I’ve never been one to handle my liquor well, so I do hope you both could excuse my unbecoming behaviour.”

“Yeah, it’s fine…” Fino sipped back onto his bottle, yet its taste no longer sweetened his tongue but soured instead.

“Ya’ all right, boy?” asked Desmi, still acting like Fino’s senior despite being younger in all but appearance.

Fino nodded his head before gulping down the last drop of wine, no matter how bitter it was. The Love Machines brothel was supposed to be a haven for Fino to escape to, but even its lilac lights and decadent pleasures have been tasting dull as of late.

The counter where they sat was becoming silent, far too silent for a brothel of all places – until a shrill voice spoke out from the side where ZZ sat.

“Lord ZZ. May I request some of your time?” a young girl with jade eyes approached ZZ, a steelborn perhaps. Her ginger head was dishevelled, and her body was dressed in no more than a thin robe, revealing the contour of her nude self beneath the fabric. She has an air of sultriness yet also innocence she exuded. Such a beauty that Fino did not believe he had had the pleasure to taste before.

ZZ stood up from his stool. “Good timing, Aleah. Be a darling and bring me a glass of water, in fact, get me a whole flask.” He ordered the girl. The water flask that was on their counter had already been emptied by Desmi.

“Oh, of course,” the lassie didn’t question her master’s request and tended to his will first before addressing her own matter. She brought forth a flask of water and poured it into three cups, one for each of the drunken men. “Here you go, My Lords.” The comely girl bowed her head as she served them the goblets, having fine enough propriety for a Love Machines’ doxy. “And take this as well, Lord ZZ. It should help a little.” She plucked out a banana from a resting fruit bowl and offered it to ZZ, acting less like a child and more so his mother.

Fino held the wooden goblet in his palm. His face reflected upon the clear water surface, tousled and tired – his golden eyes were the sole saving grace for this pitiful front. He downed the entire cup in one swig. It was cold and tasted like nothing, all it did was cleanse his gorge and mind of what little pleasures remained from hours of drinking himself away.

ZZ rid himself of his usual poise and too chugged the goblet down in one swig before peeling and munching on the banana. “You’re my shining jewel, Aleah. Now, what do you need?” asked ZZ with his mouth full.

The small lass ambled to her master’s side, having to stand on her tippy toes before she could whisper into his ear.

“Wanna’ bet some arks on what they’re speaking of?” Desmi, too, whispered to Fino.

“Sure. What’s your wager?” Fino posed. If there was anything that would cheer him up, that would be gambling.

Desmi reached into his pocket and unveiled a coin, flipping it up and down with his fingers. “A silver on her noticing ZZ was being rattled, and is just pretending to intervene so she may save her master some face.” The old carter betted.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“An oddly specific choice,” Fino raised his eyebrows.

“Trust me. Men of his fancy cloaks have all sorts of tricks up their sleeves for these kinds of situations. Few matters more to them than their reputation.” Desmi took a swig from his water cup. “Your turn.”

“Five bronze on a swooned youngster being violent with her in bed. Now she’s crying ‘bout it to daddy dearest.” Fino wagered the last bit of arks he had left on him on this trip. I’m gonna’ need to beg Nine for some more allowance next month, Fino dreaded to think of what excuses he’d need to use next time.

The crude carter merely scowled at Fino’s jest. “That’s yer’ bet? Ya’ a sick-minded man, Fino.” He scolded Fino, him of all people.

We’ll see who’s sick, Fino smirked as he set the small pouch of coins onto the counter.

“That is all.” The green-eyed girl murmured and then retreated back a step.

ZZ didn’t seem shocked, scared, or pleased – his face was stony, as if time had stopped for him. The Master of the Love Machines merely readjusted his crumpled vest and cleaned his sweaty, pale face with a wet towel, appearing as if nothing had happened at all.

Fino and Desmi both sat upright, with bated breath like a pair of hounds – awaiting to see who would be declared the victor.

“Mind sharing with us what it was about?” Fino probed ZZ as repayment for the steelborn’s inebriated manner.

“Of course. Though I suppose you’d all know of it soon,” ZZ leisurely sat back down on his stool and faced both Fino and Desmi, his golden eye at the Archetype and his purple eye at the carter. “It’d seem the Sentinels have arrived at Dreamcity.” He revealed casually, and though he only whispered, it felt as if the entirety of the brothel had heard him. The music dwindled, the lights faded, and the dwellers silenced – it was less of a brothel and more so a graveyard at that point, with the once merry patrons now having their mouths agape and their eyeballs nearly popped out of their sockets.

Another draw, another loss… Ark, when will it be my turn to win? Fino lamented at least he would get to keep his measly five bronze arks.

*

“This way, boy!” shouted Desmi as he swam through the horde of fleeing folks crowding every street and alley – even a man as tough as he was left flailing like a goldfish amidst the sea of people.

“Slow down, old man.” Fino was right behind the carter’s heels, stuck between masses of bodies. His own frail body felt as if it was being grinded into a paste – at least, the whole commotion had alleviated him from his drunken daze. How did it even come to this? Fino grunted, with his hand holding tight onto his cherished dagger, ensuring no one could snatch it from him amidst the unrest. Fino was told that the Sentinels were expected to arrive in at least another week, but it’d seem ZZ’s informant had fed him the wrong information. Fuck, I should’ve listened to ZZ… Fino sighed, wishing he had left earlier.

The Hunt has already commenced throughout the City of Colours. Banners of the golden hexagram covered the sky by the hundreds, carried by thousands of ecliants with that very same golden star embroidered onto their steel chestplate. Like a swarm of locusts, they buzzed to every corner of Dreamcity, either battling with rebels and rioters, detaining potential suspects, or helping ecliant residents to evacuate.

Peddlers and merchants have disbanded their stalls. Humans and steelborns were either running back to their homes or were being detained and chained by the Sentinels – even a few ecliants weren’t able to escape from their seizure. Shops, taverns, and brothels, even the Love Machines, have closed off for the day – leaving their customers, including Fino and Desmi, having to fend for themselves out in the open street.

“Be careful! Ahead of you!” Fino shouted to Desmi, though perhaps Fino did not need to warn a past Sentinel Captain of all people.

With seemingly little effort, Desmi parried a knife blow aimed at him from the front – snatching the reckless foe's weapon from his grasp before gouging it into the bloke’s throat. The man was no Sentinel nor Firstkind rebel; he was a mere human boy. The fountain of blood bubbling out of the boy’s neck scared the crowd away from Desmi and Fino ever so slightly, leaving them enough space to flee.

This is fucking insane, Fino panted as he ran, the boy’s blood, too, has splattered and stained his dark skin with red.

Many riots have sparked amongst ecliants, humans, and steelborns alike, unsure whether they’re rebels or not. Few took the opportunity to finally fight back against the Sentinels, but with little success. Few took the advantage to rob, kidnap, and murder folks to their heart’s content. Most fought because others were.

“We’re almost there.” For somehow, who looked so old, Desmi dashed and slithered swiftly onward. He was trying to reach where he stationed his wagon, at least, if it wasn’t already stolen amidst this chaos. “There it is!” he called out and pointed forward.

The small and cramp wagon that Fino so detested – he never thought the day would come when he’d be so happy to see it. The wagon and horse were hitched before an empty church with the Hall of Ark, one of the few that could be found in this sinful city. The carriage was untouched and unspoiled by any straying arrows or thieves – Fino was unsure whether it was due to divine intervention or because no self-respecting robbers would ever bother stealing such a drab cart.

Desmi reached the wagon first, and he wasted no time to unhitch it and reined in the horses. “Easy, girls,” he patted their manes and calmed the two riling horses, an impressive feat despite the brash noise of clashing metals and raining arrows surrounding them. One of those arrows had lodged itself into Desmi’s thigh without Fino knowing when, yet the old man’s pace hadn’t seemed to wane just yet. “Hurry up, city boy!” he waved his arm at Fino. The wagon’s door was opened and now only awaiting its hosts.

Fino sped up his pace, no matter how drained he was due to years of no physical training. “Yeah, comin–” Before he could finish his words, from beyond his view and even beyond Desmi, he spotted a few shadows slowly emerging from behind the wagon, gradually becoming larger and larger until they escaped wholly from the dark. “Watch out behind you!”

Desmi wasted no time spinning his body back, but by then, the wagon was already tilting. Its two rightward wheels were raised into the air while its leftward wheels collapsed against the ground where Desmi stood. The carriage was falling to its side. The speed of its fall should be no trouble for a man as skilled as Desmi to escape, but Fino noticed the old man was not budging – the arrow in his left thigh stopped him.

“Desmi!” Fino shouted as he rushed forward faster with the little strength he had left.

Fino was too late. It sounded like a battering ram that Fino would hear often used back in the Second Iron Rebellion, but it did not last as long. The carriage toppled over on its side – and with its fall, Desmi’s whole body was buried underneath it, surrounded by a cloud of dust. No matter how small the wagon was and how strong Desmi was, he could not stop it from crumbling upon him. The wagon was destroyed, with its wagon bed crushed on the left side. The left wheels were torn to pieces, the left windows shattered to shards, the cover ripped and covered with arrows. Before Desmi was caught under it, he managed to unchain his horses, allowing them to gallop away unscathed.

No… Fino muttered as he clenched his fists. Sweats trickled down his forehead, and his limbs were shivering while halting in place. The strength to flee was no longer housed in him, not as though there was a means for him to escape anymore. He was fearing for his own life, or perhaps not – he had not felt such feeling for decades.

The dust was scattering, and the hail of arrows had subsided, at least for now. From behind the remnants of the wagon, nine figures appeared. Humans, most likely. Small ones, fat ones, lanky ones – yet their faces were all the same, grinning from ear to ear, with their eyes seeing red. Their casual attires were untattered despite the ensuing commotion, and in their hands were swords, daggers, chains, and ropes. Slavers… Fino was sure of it; he remembered being warned by the watchers of many incidents of kidnappings lately – just never expected them to be in front of a church, of all places. Humans, steelborns, and even ecliants were reported to be kidnapped – it did not seem like there was any limit to the depravity the kidnappers would sink to.

“Hey there, friend. Yer’ an ecliant?” a human walked forward from the bunch. The leader, perhaps. His eyes of blue and his head of gold. He wore a brown jacket over his dark body. He was the tallest and the only one with any sort of muscle on his body.

So these punks pushed the wagon… Fino grumbled. “Nah, I’m a steelborn.” He shook his head while slowly taking a few steps back.

“I don’t know if I believe ya’, friend. Care to prove it?” His grin was ever smug for a mere human.

One of his lackeys, perhaps the fat one, wobbled towards him. “Ya’ don’t need to, Glad. His mug is popular ‘round all of Dreamcity. That’s Five, an Ace and a Lord of the Centum Order.”

The one time where my unpopularity would have helped… Fino cursed his own bad fortune.

“That true, friend?” the slaver named Glad asked.

“Of course not. Never heard of him. If I were a Lord, wouldn’t I be wearing an animal mask over my face?” Fino nervously shook his head from side to side.

“Is that your best excuse?” the fat bloke stared at him dully.

I’m trying over here… Fino screamed internally.

“Lord or not. Ecliant or steelborn. As long as yer’ a steelman, our eastern friends would love to have their hands on exotic goods like ya’.” The blonde bastard grinned, a slave merchant on steelmen was almost unheard of – Fino could not believe the watchdroids hadn’t arrested these scoundrels already. “Well, go get ‘em, boys.” With a whistle, he commanded five of his doglike lackeys to march forward in their hands armed with long ropes and daggers.

Not yet… “Wait!” Fino shouted desperately, stopping them in their tracks for a slight instant. Luckily, the rains of arrows have waned momentarily; otherwise, Fino doubted his words would have been heard from that far.

“Yes?” the human asked, strangely kind enough for the leader of a band of kidnappers.

Not yet… “I may be no lord, but I do have some money. Ya’ can have it if ya’ just let me go.”

“How much ya’ got?”

Not yet… “Five bronze arks…” Fino dangled his coin pouch with his left hand while his right hand remained behind his hind.

“Oh, ya’ don’t need to sell yourself so short. I’m sure you’d be bought for much more than that.” A strange attempt to console Fino was made before the leader of the band ordered his men to continue walking forward.

Not yet… “Wait!” Fino shouted desperately once more, stopping them in their tracks for a slight instant once again. The rains of arrows have yet to return, still allowing for Fino’s words to be received.

“What now?” the blue-eyed man grunted, outwardly abandoning his placid mask.

Not yet… ‘C’mon, man. Please just let me go. There are so many other people around here that are prettier and better than me,” Fino pleaded while pointing at other fleeing folks around him.

“Ya’ don’t need to worry about them. You’ll have their company soon. Trust me on that.” The human made his promise and once more commanded the five flunkeys to resume their march.

The five humans were merely a few steps away from Fino. Close enough where Fino could see the pores and dirt on their faces and hear the foul mutterings beneath their breath. About now… “Understandable. Have a great day.” His parting words, before he darted back and ran, it was due time – a master plan.

“After him, boys.” Fino could still hear the leader nonchalantly commanding his men despite the rushing wind and his pounding heart deafening his ears.

C’mon… C’mon… Fino huffed and puffed. He had only run for a few steps, yet his legs already felt as if they were about to be torn off his hips. Throbbing and burning, as if he had swallowed a hot iron rod whole, tangling it between his innards. His breath was shallow, and his lungs felt stuffy – he really ought to ease on the drinking and smoking after this whole ordeal is over. Yet, no matter how excruciating it was – he could not stop yet.

“I got ya’ now!” one of his pursuers grumbled from behind, Fino could feel the air from his missed grabbing attempts and rope tosses.

Now! “Hunt! Closing Order Two-Seven!” Fino shouted at the top of his lungs, to the point he could feel his voice breaking. Hope this works… With no care about how close the humans were to his heels, Fino lunged forward, as far as he could, to the ground and curled himself into a ball, covering his neck and head with his hands.

It was silence, perhaps due to him covering his ears and eyes as well, yet he could still feel the ground trembling from where he cowered. It first felt as if rains fleetingly descended from the sky, and as the water ceased, it seemed as though sacks of potatoes then rained down to the ground instead.

The two rains ended, and true silence came – to the sky and soil.

Is it over? Fino slowly lowered his hands and opened his eyes. The sky has cleared from the rain he summoned. He quickly jumped back onto his feet, almost spraining himself from doing so. Terrible sight… The scene before him was his once pursuers. Four of them lay flat on the dirt, soiled by a pool of blood, their bodies filled with arrows from head to toe like a porcupine. Their fingers and eyes were still twitching slightly, yet no clear sound could be heard from them except faint whimpers.

One of them still stood, though barely and not for long – half of his body was too ridden with arrows, with one piercing through one of his cheeks and out the other. With his sword hanging between his tearing fingers, the brave fool with one foot in the grave still dared to limp himself towards Fino.

I’m weak, but not that weak… Fino knew not whether to feel honoured or affronted – it had been long since he had been in battles, but he had been in battles. With the human standing before him, his golden eyes stared straight into the dying man’s brown orbs – murky and soiled, befitting for such vile humans. The walking corpse could not even lift his sword any longer. Fino reached behind his hind and unsheathed Maria. How long has this been? A swift slash was all it was needed to slit the human’s throat – Maria’s first in many years, yet her sharpness had never dulled. The human’s body fell towards Fino. It was heavy, nearly felling Fino alongside it. It took all of his strength to push the corpse off of him, staining himself entirely in blood from it.

“What have ya’ done?” the leader of the slavers stood in shock alongside his three remaining minions.

Guess hearing Six and Eight’s lectures paid off… Fino panted as he frantically tried to calm his heart from beating so wildly – after all, it was mere luck that his body did not receive any holes from the rain of arrows that he summoned. It was normally reserved for when a Sentinel would like to conduct a suicide attack by using a special command and alert nearby allies to rain arrows down on their location, but Fino had no intention of entirely following through with such a morbid plan. “Dunno’. Ark just loves me, I guess.” Fino shrugged his shoulders, no matter how much they were quivering.

“If only He is just as loving to all of us and not just ya’ ecliants,” the head of the slave merchant rubbed his scruffy golden hair. “Well, then. You’ve killed my men. But I’d be the better man and allow you to live. Even if it’s just about.” He unsheathed the sword by his waist before waving at his fat gofer from before. “Go ‘round up the others. Just in case, he pulls ‘nother of his tricks.” He ordered the fattest and probably slowest person of his crew.

“Stay safe, boss.” The pig nodded his head before waddling away, panting heavily with each stomp.

If it’s him, then I should still have some time left before their reinforcements arrive… Fino thought while turning his pupils to every opening he could spot. The plot before this church was large and emptying. Aside from Fino and the slavers, the numbers of fleeing residents and combatants have begun to wane. He had more than enough paths to escape to, yet his legs were feeling stiff, and his arms were shivering too much. The ground he stood on was too hindered and slippery for him to stand straight – lathered in broken arrows he summoned and dowsed in the blood of the human he slew. Could I even outrun them? Running was always what Fino did best, but it has also been decades since he needed to run for himself and others.

The gold-headed human began to leisurely amble toward Fino, dangling his sword back and forth as if it were a toy, while his two remaining underlings with ropes in their hands always remained a step behind him. “Please do not resist any further. Wouldn’t want to hurt the merchandise–”

A rumbustious noise burst forth and besotted the attention of all who were present. It came beyond Fino and behind the humans. It sounded like that of a crumbling house, but perhaps, in reverse. What was that? Fino glanced through the gaps between the humans blocking his view. Those same humans, too, have twisted their heads back, and though Fino could not see their faces from behind, their quaking limbs akin to Fino’s were telling.

The same storm of dust that once dispersed and heralded one’s demise returned at the very same spot – coating the same pile of rubbles and the same supposed corpse.

“How? Ya’ damned steelman…” The human leader squirmed for the first time Fino had seen him, quaking in his boots and holding tightly onto his sword to not let it slip off his sweaty palms.

You crazy son of a bitch… Fino chuckled twitchily, he could not even believe he’d be laughing in such a situation – but this was hardly a normal sight one would see often, especially not for those arrogant humans so confident that their murder ploy had succeeded.

As the dust settled, it revealed the crashed wagon rising once more, despite its collapsing body, it was still being lifted back to its standing wheels. A crumbling figure, wrinkly as ever, with more gashes and bruises than he had before, rose from below the carriage – resting the vehicle’s body on his back and shoulder. His eyes had not lost their colour, if anything, they were redder than ever. His entire body was maimed and tattered, his garments barely hanging onto them. The sound of his bones snapping could be heard from the slightest movement. The arrow once lodged in his leg had snapped, and its head was nowhere to be seen, perhaps already shoved deep into his thigh – though that ought to be the least of his worries right now and for the humans.

“Damn humans… Damn my age…” The old carter coughed out dust, with blood dripping out of his mouth and scar. The broken wagon still rested on his back and right arm despite it being five times as large as him. The might of a hardened ecliant. No mere humans and steelborns, or even regular ecliants, would be able to commit such a feat of might. Fino had never been able to hone his strength to such a degree, even after two centuries of living. As if he was shrugging dust off his shoulder, Desmi pushed his legs up and lifted his right arm, tossing the whole carriage off of his body. The wagon crashed back onto the ground and willed up more dust from the impact. Stumbling and rocking back and forth before finally returning onto its four wheels – or at least however many wheels it had left.

“What did I say? If only Ark is as loving to us humans as much as he is to you ecliants.” It did not take the human leader long to regain his composure. “Well, what are ya’ lot waiting for? Go get ‘em. A strong old bone like him oughta’ bag a fine enough sum,” he commanded his three henchmen, still quaking in their boots – even though he himself dared not to attack even Fino.

“Be careful, old man!” Fino shouted he could not believe he would ever say that to Desmi, of all folks.

The three humans surrounded Desmi – one at the front, one to the left, one to the right – none were behind him, for the broken carriage had already stolen that spot. Hunters armed with ropes and blades against a clawless cornered beast – yet none of them dared to take the first step in facing him, and yet remained many steps afar from Desmi.

“Well, c’mon, ya’ spineless brats. Have at it.” Desmi stood tall, even as he was breathing shallowly and his eyes barely hanging open.

A crumbling old man goaded the three spry young men, yet the latter dared not to pay him back for his insult.

“Ya’ boys are terrible hosts,” Desmi rubbed his wrinkly forehead and slicked his dusty white mane back after a minute of no reaction from his foes. “Making a frail old man do all the work. Is there no low that you humans would not stoop to?” Desmi flicked his wrist upward. His movement was fast, as fast as that of someone like Eight. The sharp gust of wind released from his palm was far faster – and the item coated by that very same wind swung out of his hand like an arrow was the fastest.

The first human, standing before Desmi – fell. Falling freely backwards like a puppet whose strings have been cut before tumbling his skull to the hard ground. A puddle of blood dripped out where his head landed, yet it did not seep out from the back of his skull but from the front.

So that’s where it went… Fino had to squint his eyes to spot it, but its sharpness and design were instantly recognisable to him after a lifetime of being surrounded by them. The arrowhead that Fino had thought to be embedded in Desmi’s thigh was now lodged deep into the corpse’s skull instead.

The two other humans surrounding him stood in abject fright. Their faces paled further than they already were, and so too were their limbs. They could hardly even hold onto their weapons steadily.

“Ya’ damned bastard!” The foe on Desmi’s right was the first to break free of his fear. With a sword in hand, he mindlessly charged towards Desmi at last. “Fucking move, Bob!” His war cry delivered as he ran, or perhaps, just a desperate cry to his frozen friend.

“Ye– Yeah…” The man on the left broke free from his stunned stupor. He began to spin his rope in the air like a lasso – before releasing it towards Desmi. Whether by skills or a stroke of luck, the rope wrapped itself around the tired old man, binding his body and arms as if he were a captured wild animal.

Desmi did not struggle, nor did he even attempt to dodge the rope. He merely stood still with his head hung low. His breathing accelerated, and blood dripped ever faster.

Both of the leaders stood by the sideline, so close to each other, yet neither even attempted to confront the other, unlike their underlings.

“Don’t give up now, Desmi!” Fino shouted.

“Finish this already, Bob, Ivan!” the leader of the slaver too shouted.

The human on the right, named Ivan perhaps, encroached nearer and nearer to the unmoving Desmi until his foe was at last in the range of his sword. “I got ya’ now–”

All happened in a fleeting moment – too fast for the humans to react, but just slow enough for Fino to.

Desmi moved. His heavy breathing ceased entirely. Beneath the tattered garment, his muscles pulsed, and his veins popped. Despite being bound, with his arms confined down to his waist, it did not stop him. Like a bird soaring its wings for the first time, he stretched his arms outward with all his might until the ring wrapped around him was torn to pieces. He did not stop. At that moment, he gripped onto the end of the rope, where the ring was once attached to – with the human named Bob grabbing tightly onto the other end. Bob was a big lad, fatter and taller than Desmi – yet as if he weighed no more than a small critter, Desmi pulled the rope towards himself with one arm, snatching alongside the human who refused to release the rope. As if it was a giant flail made of flesh instead of steel, Desmi planted his feet into the ground before throwing his entire arm and swinging this makeshift flail straight into the charging human to his right.

As if they were lovers, Bob and Ivan’s bodies collided against each other and left them rolling and tussling across the dusty ground – with Ivan’s sword penetrating deeply into Bob’s guts from the sudden impact.

“Bob? No…” With his friend lying flat on top of him and pinning him to the ground, bleeding out of his stomach and choking on his own puke – Ivan cried out, ignoring his own bruises and cuts. Grunting and writhing across the dirt like a helpless baby, he pushed his friend’s corpse off of him before lifting his head up with seemingly what little strength he had left. “Fuck you–”

Like crushing an egg, a heavy stomp ended the human’s wrath – and splattered blood and brain matter onto the soil to feed the insects that dwelled on it.

“That’s enough, trooper.” With Ivan’s shirt as a doormat, Desmi wiped the blood stain and pieces of skin off of his boot.

Mad old man… Fino still stood motionless while witnessing this spectacle of violence. Such brutality, he had only seen in the older generations of Sentinels, not the greener ones of today.

The leader of the slavers, too, stood still in silence and alone.

“We’re done here? Don’t make me waste any more breath on this.” Desmi spat onto the corpses lying by his feet before limping past them and encroaching towards where Fino and the human stood.

“You took care of my boys, but you’re not going after me as well? How hurtful.” The human ceased his silence and scoffed.

“Just get out of here.” Fino regained his footing, standing tall and straight – it was easy when he was no longer outnumbered by the enemies. “There are hundreds of other ecliants ya’ could prey after. It doesn’t have to be us.”

“No, maybe not. But I want to now.” The lone slaver crossed his arms. “Quite an ecliant you are. I’ve never quite had this much trouble with a steelman before. Never thought that men like ya’ still roam this rock.” Still firmly planting his feet on the same spot, the human had the guts to chat with Desmi as if they were old friends.

“Praise from a human isn’t exactly something I’d relish – but I’ll take it. Will ya’ fuck off now?” Desmi panted as he dragged his tattered body closer and closer to his last foe.

“No can do, old man. Pitiful runts they were, but they were still my boys. To let ya’ both go after all of this – would haunt me for the rest of my days.” The human at last raised his sword – grey and chipped, that long hunk of steel had no doubt seen many battles.

“You wouldn’t have any days ahead of you if you choose to stay.” Standing behind, Fino warned the bold human.

“I’ll take my chances,” the human smirked, not a hint of doubt nor fear in his bright blue eyes. Those very same eyes soon looked upward, to his left – a blurry sight, like a horde of bulls, were charging closer and closer to where they were. “Or perhaps I’d not need to after all,” he grinned from ear to ear – those were no raging bulls, but they were raging all the same.

He actually did it… Fino couldn’t believe what his golden eyes were seeing – he really should stop making bets.

The fat lackey from earlier had returned, tumbling his stubby legs down the hill – with the reinforcements he had promised. There were dozens of them, far too many for just Desmi and Fino to handle.

How did they even make it past the Sentinel? Get your shit together, Six! Fino cursed and stomped his foot – at least, he finally had the chance and reason to admonish Six when they next met.

“Fine work. I didn’t think you’d actually make it here with all those Sentinels out and about. That man did stay true to his words, after all.” The leader slapped the back of his returned lackey. “Now, we ought to stay true to ours as well.” His azure eyes glared at Desmi’s reds. A mere glance of his commanded his dozens of new henchmen to surround Desmi once more – this time, the broken wagon was not there to cover his back, leaving him with not a single space to breathe or escape.

Damn cowards… Fino gnawed his teeth. He was never one to play by the rules, yet even he could not stand this sight – tens of able men trapping a wrinkly man barely standing firmly on his feet.

“Run, Fino!” Desmi shouted, even when surrounded and cornered. “Get ya’ arse out of here. Even a pitiful ecliant like ya’ still ought to outrun all of these vermin.” His once brash voice had dwindled severely, his breath overshadowing each word.

“Shut the fuck up, Desmi!” Fino shouted back. “I paid you to protect me, here and back. And I intend for you to do just that, or else, return me my arks!”

“It’s nice to still see fervours housed in ya’ both. Wouldn’t want ya’ to be mute and dull when yer’ up for auction.” The slaver jested, and his cronies laughed.

Through the gaps between the circling humans, Desmi stared down at Fino, yet his eyes did not look as condemning and irritating as usual. “I suppose he was right about one thing on ya’, Fino.” Desmi chuckled gently, a gentleness that Fino had never seen from a brute like him before. Yet it was only for a fleeting moment. Despite his body crumbling, his limbs lathered with gashes, and blood seeping out of every orifice – Desmi yet held up his fists, tempered and firm, like steel.

Even when they outnumbered him; still not one of them dared to take the first step in attacking Desmi once more.

“Stop gawking around. Come at me, ya’ cowards!” A valiant war cry with his arms tossed into the air – yet that was all they were, and nothing followed. The prideful old man fell yet stood. His head tumbled, and his chin touched his chest – yet his legs still stood to hold his body straight, even when his soul was no longer there to guide him through this battle.

Desmi succumbed to slumber – still standing, nonetheless. The sun yet shone over his head and casted the shadow of his fainted figure to the ground – far larger than the shadows of any other men present.

His enemies knew not what to do. Like a bunch of apes, they scratched their heads and mumbled amongst themselves while observing a fainted old man who was no longer a threat to them – still unwilling to approach him.

No way… Fino lunged himself forward. His untrained legs were already at their limits – he should not be wasting his fleeting energy left on such a futile endeavour and instead focus on running as he always had, yet his body would not listen to his mind. “Damn you, old man! Wake up–”

Bashed and blanked. Body fell and face planted to the dirt. Fino felt something. It was thin and hard, like gold. The bludgeoning weapon smelled the scent of sweet perfume that only the richest of Dreamcity’s dwellers would possess. His brain rattled inside his skull. His vision slowly became blurry – Desmi and the humans before him seemed to be disappearing.

It could not be… Fino muttered with dirt in his mouth as it all turned dark and cold. Damned conman… His last thought before the cheers of the humans faded away, alongside the deceiving scent of the sweet ambuscade.