Anji floated across a sea of utter void. She blinked, trying to focus her eyes on any source of light but failing to find any. Turning her head left and right has made thick and disgusting liquid come into her ears, but not a single splash has accompanied it. The control of her body below her neck was robbed from her, leaving her unable to move even a finger and afraid of what will happen when the water soaked the fur enough to pull her to the bottom.
“Anyone!” She tried to scream, but no sound left her dried-up lips. Not a groan, not a whisper, not even a breath.
Stillness. A perfect silence engulfed her. Am I in the Abyss? Anji wondered. Abyss, the place where all sinners of the Wolf Tribe go after their demise. Oathbreakers, cub-slayers, incompetents, and faithless were all going straight to the Abyss to experience punishment unimaginable and endure centuries of torment before the Spirits allowed them to be reborn, tempered, and wiser than before.
It felt… unfair to be here. Anji was only thirty years old; she had just said her farewells to Mom recently, but she was sure that she had done nothing to deserve to be here. Dad always taught her to treat others the way you want to be treated yourself, and Anji lived up to this rule, never harming a male in her life. Maybe the Spirits punish her for not stopping the dominations in her pack? But they were the ones who set this rule!
No, it had to be something else. She always tried to befriend and help everyone, like Mom and Dad taught her. Big or small, no one in need of help has ever met a refusal from Anji. Be it bandits holding someone hostage or a need for tokens, she gave it her all, normie or kin. It felt a bit bothersome at times and left her with hundreds of scars marring her once-beautiful body, but the reward was well worth it. Happiness of mothers being reunited with their cubs. A look of hope in downtrodden eyes. Well, and the friends. Tons and tons of them, all over the Outer Lands.
Maybe this is it! Vanity! She always prided herself on being excellent to others and never allowing herself to mop in darkness. That, and she dyed her hair. The Spirits probably got angry at her for changing her natural look. Yes, this is it. Anji decided, looking around. Shamans told the stories that the Abyss was a place of brimstone and rage, where guilty are strung against iron frames, their limbs being stretched ad infinitum, cruel rusted blades piercing the regrowing skin and organs, never once allowing a guilty to escape into madness.
Instead, the Abyss ended up being far scarier. A threat of being drowned, accompanied by utter silence. Anji enjoyed laughter and being with the others. Never since her very birth, since her dear brother died, had she been alone. There was always someone by her side, someone to keep her company. Could this be her sin? Could it be that she helped others not out of the goodness of her heart, not as a proper person, but as a scared hypocrite, a coward unable to handle the thought of being all alone? Is this it? Was this all she was?
Well, the shamans spoke true about one thing. Helplessness. The true nature of the Abyss, a torture like no other. No matter what you are doing. Here and for years to come, you are helpless, with only your thoughts to keep you company, and even they will vanish in time, leaving only stillness…
“No!” Anji screamed, opening her eyes to the white light on the ceiling.
“She is awake!” Anji blinked, seeing several Wolfkins before her. Eighteen soldiers from her own pack, including her second in command, Kalaisa, Bogdan, and Marco, who was standing on a chair.
A smell of antiseptic and medications assaulted her nostrils, forcing Anji to frown. She blinked twice, focusing her eyes on the group. Weariness came over her, threatening to drag the Wolf Hag back into sleep, but she forced herself to stay awake.
“How…” She found her lips dried up, and Kalaisa, Kalaisa of all people, has come closer with a bottle of water, allowing Anji to drink. “How long?” Anji asked again.
“Relax, loser,” Kalaisa said smugly. She closed her eyes, ignoring the growls behind her, and corrected herself. “Sorry. Just a few hours. I was worried.”
“We are in the Hall of Charity, Wolf Hag,” the scout added. Noticing a confusing look, the woman quickly explained. “It is a place to provide basic medical help to the less fortunate in the city. The mayor requisitioned the place for the soldiers with non-life-threatening wounds in need of recovery. All others are either back on the base or helping clean the rubble. At least this was the original idea.” Hearing a moan, the scout looked aside, a shadow passing on her snout. “Civilians are also being treated here instead of in a proper hospital.”
“Kalaisa stood by your side all this time!” Marco added eagerly. “She called us when you had started to stir! Doctor! Mister Diego! Anji has woken up!”
She tried to stand up, only to find out that her wounded leg and arm were still numb. Needles pierced her body, carrying some liquid through rubber tubes, and sensors littered her chest, sending data to a nearby terminal. Her cheeks flashed red at the sight of two tubes being connected to some of her… most private parts of her body.
A doctor, dressed in the stylish robe of a private medical clinic, came closer, checking her eyes and body, before announcing the worst part was over and her immune system had overcome the toxin. The man asked her to move the fingers of her wounded limbs, and through some difficulty, Anji did it, to the cheering of everyone else in the room.
“Good.” The doctor smiled, carefully removing the bandages from her wounds and allowing a whistle to leave his lips. Looking over her body, Anji saw that blood had already dried up at the wounds’ edges. “The bleeding has stopped. My, your kind truly is a marvel. It is an honor to work on such a gorgeous body.” His fingers touched her damaged limbs, causing a tiny spark of pain. “My apologies, lady. Your muscles are still partially compressed because of the poison that the attackers used. Although we could not identify the poison, I am assured that the effect will last for at least a day. Worry not; the worst has already passed, and your heart and lungs are safe. I’ll schedule you for the scars’ removal procedure once your body finally flushes out this filth.”
“No need,” Anji said quickly, feeling her skin turning red from the sight of Kalaisa’s shit-eating grin.
“All women are goddesses,” the doctor said cheerfully, changing her bandages. “No matter their origin, all females must be treated with reverence and care. Since the mayor has enlisted the help of our private clinic and entrusted you in my care, you will abide by my recommendations, Miss Anji. We can’t allow ugliness to…”
“Doctor Diego! A patient just suffered a stroke!” A nurse called, and the stylishly dressed doctor leaped away to help treat the violently twisting civilian.
Anji could feel an annoying itch as her body repaired itself, along with a rumbling hunger in her stomach. Looking to the sides, she saw other Wolfkins, both from the Order and Tribe, all put into a healing coma with oxygen tubes in their mouths. Many lacked limbs.
So many wounded. And how many more died? A pain shot through her heart at the sight of a doctor shaking her head and covering a civilian’s face with a sheet. Two nurses moved the bed with the deceased away from the room. We failed you. I am so sorry. The doctor who treated her before was busy saving another life, and all around her in this spacious hall, which contained over a hundred stretchers with injured patients, other medics were doing the same. Anji banished the sorrow and smiled, forcing herself to look confident before her friends and subordinates.
“That’s the Bootlicker I know!” Kalaisa grinned. “Ain’t no paper cuts going to keep you down. No way, no how.”
“Kalaisa, would it kill you to be… you know what? Fuck it. Thank you and Anji for saving me and Marco back there,” Bogdan said, extending his paw to Kalaisa, who only spat on it. Bogdan shrugged and wiped his paw before offering it to Anji, who eagerly shook it.
“Rot in Abyss, male, stupid, idiot, piss-head!” Kalaisa gave a careful pat on Marco’s head. “I wasn’t trying to save you; it was my duty!”
“And Marco?” Anji asked innocently. She blinked the sleep away. Not now.
“The pipsqueak? Well, that’s personal. He gifted me a sweater.”
“Thank you for saving us, sister!” Kalaisa cringed at the sight of a beaming Marco and took a step back. “Uhm, why were you two nearby, anyway? Do you like comics too?”
“No! I have nothing to do with this degeneracy! It… was pure luck. I was going to… I planned to…” Kalaisa mumbled, taking another step back.
“Kalaisa was looking for Bogdan to apologize,” Anji said, smirking at the rage in her friend’s eyes. Nope, not letting you off the hook.
Kalaisa growled once more, pacing back and forth before Anji’s bed like a cornered animal. Her fingers twitched, releasing the claws’ tips, and Anji’s pack jumped before the hospital bed, only to be asked to move aside by Anji herself. She didn’t enjoy it. But Kalaisa has to make a first step. Mom always taught young Anji that when you have done something bad, you must apologize.
“Male… Bogdan,” Kalaisa corrected herself. “That little talk you and I had… you were right. I am sorry for being angry at you.”
“Beat it.” Bogdan lifted his paw. “I was over the line.”
“No. I was… is a shit leader.” Kalaisa rocketed her shoulders and straightened herself, pointing a finger at Bogdan. “No more. I will grow to be a proper leader for my pack… But you are still just a stupid, stinking male!”
“Love you too.” Bogdan grinned. “Keep it up, and I just may call one of my future daughters after you.”
“Just try it, and I will tear up your heart!”
“Can you please be quiet?” Diego came back, looking Kalaisa and Bogdan over. “If you are staging some weird mating ritual, take it outside. I respect all traditions, but I will not tolerate all of them in a place of healing.”
“We are just comrades!” Bogdan and Kalaisa snapped in unison, and this time it was Anji who allowed herself a shit-eating grin, giggling like a young girl straight out of the pit.
She had little doubt that Bogdan would find a way to get back at her and Kalaisa would tease her into oblivion during their next spar, but by the Spirits, seeing them slowly turn crimson was so worth it right now! Anji stopped giggling, allowing a booming laughter to leave her lips, and her pack joined her. A moment later, Marco’s relieved laughter joined the party. Bogdan just shrugged and joined everyone in laughter, sitting his brother on his shoulder.
Kalaisa looked around, sniffing and nervous, before allowing a chuckle to leave her lips. Anji could have sworn that the woman’s posture became a bit relieved at no longer being excluded from the fun, but she had a sneaking suspicion that Kalaisa would sooner kill than admit this weakness of hers. Oh well, work in progress.
A buzzing noise stopped the laughter, and Kalaisa, along with the scout from Anji’s pack, grabbed their terminals. Their eyes narrowed, and both women looked at each other, with the scout baring her neck in submission.
“We have a job to do,” Kalaisa said, putting the terminal back. “All of you, back to the base immediately.”
“Give me a second,” Anji asked, trying to stand up.
Kalaisa rolled her eyes and came closer, clicking against Anji’s nose with a finger.
“You stay here and recover, B… Anji,” she said in a softer voice. “Seriously, we... care for you. Besides, your Warlord came back; your pack should be safe.”
“We will be, Wolf Hag,” the scout confirmed and made a bow. “Wolf Hag Kalaisa, the orders were urgent.”
“You keep her here until she is fully recovered, even if you need to tranquilize her for this, you heard me?” Kalaisa said to the doctor.
“Naturally,” Diego replied.
Anji looked at them leaving, utterly ignoring the relief when the doctor pulled the tubes out of her body. She allowed herself to fall back on the pillows, crudely making a prayer with one paw, begging the Spirits to keep them safe. She wasn’t stupid. There could be only one reason for a sudden call.
She snapped out of worry when the doctor’s terminal received a call. Anji strained her ears, surprised at her inability to pick up even a single word, but Diego’s expression startled her. The once smiling and pleasant doctor has changed; an ugly leer of pure anger has twisted his face, and his black eyes have started changing color to yellow. Anji wanted to ask what was going on when fatigue washed over her, dragging the woman back into dreamlands.
This time, the dream brought another well-known nightmare. It was always the same with her; if there was one thing Anji hated in her life, it was sleeping. This was the time when she could not control her memories and could not think of anything else, always ending up being sucked into the same memory. She was in the womb again, feeling the tiny heart of her brother beating nearby. Tic. Tic. Tic.
No. Anji begged, trying to wake up. I don’t want to remember.
She told no one about this. Every moment of her life, every second of her being awake, Anji remembered everything. The woman asked, very carefully, other Wolfkins about it, earning herself surprised glances at the mere suggestion of remembering their time in a mother’s womb. A few even whispered behind her back, thinking that she was mocking them.
But she didn’t! Anji remembered it; the conscience came to her very early, leaving her alone in the darkness of her mother’s belly. Floating in silence, unable to speak, and barely able to wave her paws. She felt her brothers and sisters die. Now she knew it was to be expected. The first litter was almost the hardest for all females of the Wolf Tribe. Almost no cubs endure it. But through their deaths, change comes to the grieving parent, and during the next lifegiving healthy cubs are born.
Anji and her brother were the lucky ones. His faint heartbeat kept her sane and kept her company. Tic. Tic. Tic. A faint sound, but a sound nonetheless. And then, one day, it stopped, leaving Anji all alone in the darkness, floating amidst the corpses of her family. For weeks.
“I don’t want to be alone!” When Anji roared, Diego’s worried face welcomed her back into the reality that she had broken through the dream curtain.
“You are not alone, Miss Anji. Please calm down. Nothing bad will happen to you in my care; this I swear,” the doctor said cheerfully, grabbing her by the wrist. How… How could she have thought he had yellow eyes? The man has perfectly regular black ones.
After checking her pulse, Diego gave her something to calm down the heartbeat and called over a nurse, ordering the woman to help Anji with eating. She half-expected the usual medical nutrient paste, but to her surprise, the food that the nurse brought to her was straight up something divine. Actual crabs, with mashed potatoes, a fat cusack’s steak, and finally enough juice to drown a person. The smell coming from her unusual dinner made her stomach roar, and Anji helped herself, unbothered by how she might look, feeling the crab’s shell breaking upon her fangs. This was her first time eating actual sea food, and she found the food to be simply superb.
After thanking the nurse for her help, Anji heard a typing to her left and saw an ice fang lying on a stretcher, furiously tinkering with a terminal in her paws. The woman’s wounded knee was heavily bandaged; she wore black shorts and a black t-shirt with the golden trimming of Ironwill Household on her chest.
“Hey,” Anji said, and the woman turned to her. “Name’s Anji. You have any idea what is happening outside?”
“Greetings, Lady Anji. I am Elisa Ironwill, a knight in the service of the late Tancred Ironwill. Alas, I have little idea; the medical personnel chose to limit the patients’ ability to view the Net, and my fellow comrades abide by this rule.” The woman extended her paw, and Anji shook it before realization hit her.
“The late? Does it mean?” She asked in shock. Sword Saints were equal to Warlords. Surely, she must’ve misheard…
“Forgive me, lady; I forgot you were in a coma.” Elisa bowed her head. “My liege has been killed today, and his killers are still at large.”
“You have my deepest condolences,” Anji said, meaning every word and grasping the woman’s paw. Truth be told, she had no idea how ice boys view their Sword Saints, but to Wolfkins, a Warlord was another mother, an eternal mountain in whose shadow you can weather a storm, and a trusted friend ready to listen and help. This was part of her problem with Onyxia. When the Warlord was around, she always listened. The problem was that she was barely ever around. “If there is anything I can do…”
“Thank you, Lady Anji. Your kind words are already enough.” The knight put aside the terminal, sighing at her inability to access the Net. “Staying in here, unable to know of the situation outside, irks me.”
“No point in mopping about it. Say, how about a little game to pass the time? Let’s ask each other questions. The rules are simply, only truth is allowed,” Anji proposed. Seeing the woman’s uncertain face, she pressed on. “Come on, what else are we supposed to do here? The first question is yours. Hit me with anything.”
Elisa looked Anji all over, pressing a finger to her lips before asking, “A hundred apologies for asking, but why is your hair white? From my limited interaction with the Wolf Tribe, I have learned that your kind always bears either predominantly black, brown, or sometimes reddish fur. Do you have some of our blood coursing in your veins by chance, Lady Anji?”
“None to my knowledge!” Anji laughed, picking up one of her braids. “Call me Anji, by the way. My Mom once brought a dusty old comic for me to read. One hero from the story was a woman with pristine white hair. I liked the idea so much that the next time we went to help a settlement, I bought myself a hair dye, turning my black hair white. Cousin, if you had only seen the look on my Mom’s face the next morning! She thought I got cursed!” Anji let out a happy sigh at the memories. “My turn. Is it true that your kind needs cold in order to mate, and therefore you always mating in refrigerators?”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“What? No! Why did you even think of it? What sort of degraded and wicked mind would commit an act of love in a refrigerator of all places!?”
“Well, I saw none of your kind jumping at the boys during the heat season, so I thought that, you know, you can’t do the stuff without cold.” Anji pressed a finger to her lips, unsure if she could reveal the second part. Oh, well, she promised the truth, right? “And there was that one time, a few years ago. I messed up and was assigned cooking duty. So here I was, opening the refrigerator, and there were two of my cold-blooded cousins, busy making new life…”
“I need not hear more, truly, Lady Anji.” The knight raised her paws. “On behalf of my order, I am offering a thousand apologies for the sight you were forced to endure. It is disgusting in more ways than one. But… what is this heat you spoke of?”
Surprised at the fact that Elisa didn’t know, Anji started enthusiastically explaining the concept to the woman, growing curious as to why the knight’s face seemingly became horrified upon hearing the explanations.
****
Traitor slammed the door behind them, angrily throwing the coat away. So close, dammit! They stormed across the corridor, going straight into the kitchen. Years of planning, years of waiting for an opportunity! They can’t allow all of it to go down the drain. Not now, not ever.
With trembling fingers, they flung the fridge open, taking out a cold can of beer. It did little to calm their nerves, but stronger alcohol might ruin their concentration. And they need to be composed!
Traitor had never expected the Wolf Tribe to have this much success, or the Gilded Horde to be this stupid. Damned Wolfkins swarmed the overextended forces of their allies, leaving behind just dead bodies and sending in rescued people. In a sense, Traitor felt relief at seeing the civilians arrive safely. For all the burning hatred in Traitor’s chest, they were protecting people here for a long while. Some… familiarity was to be expected.
Traitor steeled themselves. Ashbringer captured prisoners? No matter; they know nothing. Losses? Irrelevant. The horde was too big, and the ones who got annihilated were just greenhorn fools. True veterans were kept in reserve; all the deaths so far didn’t thin their new allies even one bit. Everything is proceeding exactly as planned.
Brood Lord thought of them as ф simple opportunist, a power-hungry maniac. In a sense, he was right. Traitor was a maniac, but power? They couldn't care less about it; power and authority were only a means to an end. And what a sad end they aim for…
Traitor picked up an old photo from a table in the living room, sitting all alone in a spacious apartment. Alone. Year after year after year after year… All because of the Reclamation Army. They took from them something no one had the right to take, and Traitor will see them burn for this, their works corrupted, their dreams shattered, and their lands ravaged. Traitor was happy once. But their happiness was taken away cruelly and without mercy. Now it is their turn to do the same.
The photo depicted sixteen people. Five were Traitor’s family; others were close friends. When Devourer came, all of them perished, leaving just Traitor behind, scared and all alone in this cruel world, and the one who caused all of this towered above them, indestructible, incomprehensible, immune to any and all weapons.
Traitor refused to give in. They were a gnat compared to Devourer’s body, but over the years they have found others, the ones who suffered like Traitor has suffered. The ones who lost everything, leaving just hatred burning in their soul. And with their newfound comrades, Traitor poured their all into a plan to find a way and make Devourer suffer, to give the bastard a taste of what he has done to them.
“Bravo!” Traitor jumped at the sound of voice, hand reaching for a pistol.
A man sat in the opposite chair, clapping his hands. Dressed in a white lab coat, a good-natured smile on his face, with a heap of black hair on his head. But one thing attracted Traitor’s attention immediately. Eyes. The man’s sclera were two small pools of darkness, with twin green stars floating in them. A new breed!
He pointed a weapon at the man, only for it to be beaten aside by a blindingly fast mechanical tendril coming from behind the intruder’s back. Traitor tried to retreat when more tendrils came from behind the man’s back, taking Traitor into a cocoon made of artificial limbs.
“No need for panic!” The intruder flashed a smile, showing perfect teeth. “I am a big fan of yours. That slaughter you are cooking is just up my alley!”
“Who… I have no idea what you are talking about.” Traitor licked their suddenly dry lips. How did he get in here? No! Not after they got so close!
“Call me Academician, my dear new friend. And there is no need to be coy.” One of the mechanical tendrils moved, grabbing Traitor by the throat. They gasped for air, feeling their legs leave the floor. “I am not without eyes. The way the Gilded Horde struck at the various objects in the city, plus strange communications leaving your apartment a few weeks ago, along with the fact that these brutes seemed to know which buttons to push to rile up Tancred enough. One of these events could be a coincidence, but all together? Nah. This was enough for me to investigate your past and connect the dots.”
Traitor calmed themselves. If the man wanted to kill them, he would’ve done so already. No, there was another reason for this visit. Most importantly, the man did not know…
“That you are responsible for the murder of the police chief?” Academician asked, loosening his hold and allowing Traitor to breathe in air. The man tilted his head, smiling at the shock in Traitor’s eyes. “As I was saying, worry not. I am really a fan. In fact, I added a small touch of mine to the wonderful tapestry of death you are weaving.”
“It was you!” Traitor grabbed the edges of the metallic vise, using them as a foothold to kick Academician into the stomach. The blasted man simply grabbed their leg, throwing it aside with a smile. “You are the one who messed up with the communication system!”
“Guilty as charged! How did you like my gift? And I have plenty more to give!” Academician laughed, throwing Traitor back into a chair. He snatched the nearly empty can of beer from the floor and gulped down the remains, frowning. “What a piss. You do understand that the horde is bound to fail? Mad Hatter, strong as she is, will die at the end.”
“She’ll do her part.” Traitor had no delusion about Academician’s words. But that woman was only a cog in their vengeance. “And I will scar the Reclamation Army forever.”
Academician stepped closer, holding himself by the jaw. Traitor calmed themselves, wondering what this man wanted. It mattered little in the end. Be it tokens, favor, or servitude, Traitor will do all. They just needed a little more time. The Gilded Horde will arrive in Houstad. Devourer and Outsider will never make it here in time, and mad bitch Ravager will hopefully fall before Mad Hatter’s blades. Or not. Irrelevant at the end. They just need a distraction, and then Devourer will curse the day he brought ruin to their home!
Academician’s lips moved, saying the words, and Traitor’s heart nearly jumped from the chest. No! How could he know!? Traitor never told anyone; no one could know his…
A cold tendril slithered across his face before putting an orange vial on a table before him.
“Another gift,” Academician explained. “When the chips fall down and your plan meets ruin, inject yourself with it and ascend, my friend. This power is a…”
“I have no need for your power,” Traitor said cautiously.
Academician sighed, and a sickly green mist left his lips, coming to them. In panic, Traitor stumbled back, taking a single breath, and felt how every muscle and vein in their body became hot. The legs gave in, and Traitor found themselves on their knees, vomiting a thick yellow substance on the floor. Blusterous pimples and gangrenous growths bulged beneath their clothes, tearing the fabric. A sudden lump of dried-up bile in the lungs made it almost impossible to breathe. Fingers became oversized sausages, bones screamed in pain, threatening to be crushed by the swelling flesh.
They were rotting alive. Their jowls swelled to the point of touching the chest; their eyes could barely see; and the tongue became large enough to fill the entire mouth. Nails came off their fingers, and veins pushed against the surface, looking like writhing black worms.
“Never interrupt me ever again,” Academician said coldly, and Traitor nodded desperately, clawing at the neck in an attempt to breathe. A needle struck their body, and Traitor felt relief. The swelling disappeared from their neck, and liquid moved away from the lungs, allowing them to take one desperate whizzing breath. “What you experienced a moment before is mortality. I know this feeling well. When I was a bit older than you, I too thought myself invincible. In my deluded mind, I believed myself to be a person who calculated everything… Right before claws opened my belly and fangs liquidated my skull. In a snap, in a breath, all my dreams and hopes were dashed. I died.” Academician came to the fridge, pillaging it for drinks. “But I came back. Through my craft and my skills, my older self had unknowingly beaten death itself. This is my power, far stronger than anything granted by the glow.
“You, my friend, have no power, and your skills are mediocre at best. You think that you have planned out every single detail and countered every outcome, but look at you now, trembling in fear when a single thing goes out of place. This planning method of yours is nothing but shortsightedness. They will find out. A single tap can snap your neck, ensuring the demise of all your dreams. When you are planning something, you must incorporate all extra elements into a plan and be prepared to retreat when needed. For what is a defeat if not an opportunity to learn after all? You want to get back at Devourer and you have a right to that. So let me help you get us both what we want.”
Traitor only whimpered their agreement, too afraid to do anything else. Just a few more days. Just a few more days, and the endgame will be upon them. They need to endure. Devourer will pay, if not with his life, then with his dreams.
****
Humming a tune, Academician stepped out of a portal, finding himself in what looked like a ruined mall. Curious, his tendrils plucked a bag of chips from the floor. He tasted one. Stepping past the counter, Academician threw a few tokens at the register, ignoring the dead cashier’s body behind it.
They even forgot how to make good chips. He thought sourly, treating himself to food. So much has been lost in the Extinction. He could never forget the sheer horror of seeing towering cities fall and the utter humiliation of receiving messages about orbital platforms containing his precious laboratories being smashed into the side of the Moon and falling into the sun.
Academician was never a good person in the common sense of this world. He had long since lost count of the number of lives he had ruined. Young, old, frail, strong… All broke upon his operation table, either to be rebuilt stronger or, more often than not, to be thrown into an incinerator once he had his fun. But he loved humanity as a whole. Seeing billions perish touched something even in him. And worst of all, he lost his colleagues.
Oh, he never cared about any of those losers personally. All of them did nothing but bitch about the ‘cruelty’ of his experiments and try to stop him from disassembling ‘sentient beings’. At the end, Academician had to move to a private lab to continue. How can one be cruel to a scalpel or a gun? His creations were just that, tools and nothing more. Just because they gained sentience hardly made them humans. And only humans mattered.
But being one of the few surviving scientists was no fun. This means he won their theoretical debate by default. Rather than seeing his creations crush their so-called properly raised ‘sons and daughters’ of humanity and seeing others bow to his genius, Academician was left all alone, without competition. And… it saddened him. For true miracles are born through struggle.
Touching a small earbud nestled in his ear, he said, “Purple Valkyrie, report. How is our ‘pain in the ass’ doing?” Academician came on the second floor of this mall, looking down.
What barbarian people these mutants were. Clad in fake gold and real steel, a few remaining marauders had dragged some strugglers out of their underground covers. Mad Hatter and her Horde have moved on, but Academician could almost feel the woman’s presence even without the many biological devices currently observing her from the orbit. Beings like Mad Hatter had their own way of leaving an imprint of their passing upon the world. They were sort of like a storm front looming over the horizon; just by seeing a being like this once, you instinctively know when this dread is nearby.
He adored her, getting increasingly annoyed at Secretary’s refusal to aid him in capturing the woman. What marvels Academician could pry from her vivisected body! He could test his strongest viruses, keeping her barely alive and perfecting his deadly craft. Learning the secret behind her bones would let him create truly impregnable armor, coating his bioweapons in shells tougher than most power armor. Sensory organs, brain matter, reflexes... A mere thought of losing this trove of knowledge has made his heart rush. But alas, the Organization’s resources were spread dangerously thin, partially because of all the setbacks they had suffered trying to obtain apocalypse-classes.
Mad Hatter’s servants, well, they were another matter. Ugly, fat, boring, and mostly cruel, failed copies shaped in the image of their mistress. Academician passionless eyes have found a group of three below, all drunk on the stolen booze. Doubtlessly, their khan or whoever was in charge of this rabble would hang them later for leaving the army. They aimed their weapons at the trembling civilians, clearly planning to cull them.
Why? What was the point of it? A quick death is not even funny; slaves are useful, and dead are pointless. No wonder Secretary wants to scour this world clean of mutation. Even Mad Hatter was only fun thanks to her unique biology rather than any quirk of a character.
But he! He was fun. Academician’s lips spread in a smile, and his tendrils unleashed a host of small biological fleas. Little creatures skittered across the floor, slipping through the cracks. On their own, these creatures were useless. But when unique transmutation liquids stored within their bodies start to mix… The insects followed his will, jumping down from the building and landing on the civilians.
“He is raging. Literally.” Purple said over the communications, her voice stranded. “You remember Site Number Six-O-Five? The one in the ice ocean?”
“A test ground for bio-soldiers?” Academician scratched his chin. “Dull place. What about it?”
“We no longer have it. There is a crater twenty kilometers wide in the frozen ocean, with the water still boiling. Elder, you really pissed off Spaniad this time, sir. He has already requested the right to eliminate you with Pharaoh’s support. Other elders also ask Secretary to reign you in. And we just lost another one of our facilities; the storage units at the border with the Desolation just went the way of the Old War, sir,” she said with distress.
“They’ll come around. And stop worrying; it’s not like we lost anything valuable.” He had half forgotten he even owned these places.
“Aside from agents,” Purple Valkyries responded dryly.
“Oh, please, I will make you new minions. Relax, Purple; a loss is a natural part of life; learn from it rather than worry about it. Retrieve the video feed. I am curious what we might learn of Spaniad’s power this time.” Academician waved his hand. “I trust Spaniad has left the Core Lands, then?”
“No, sir.” This answer made Academician’s eyebrows rise. “He is still playing his role.”
“Well, shit.” He quickly activated cloaking devices stored in his biomechanical harness, ensuring that he will stay hidden from any spy satellites or attempts to locate him through mental scrying. Being in the same country as the angry Spaniad meant toying with doom. Creatures like Ravager were bad enough. A walking apocalypse was so much worse.
The fleas have bitten into the necks of four scrawny people, filling their veins with a wondrous concoction developed in the laboratories. Unbeknownst to the scared people, their DNA has started changing, slightly and temporarily, and new organs have sprouted within their bodies, gathering mass from the very air around them. And no one noticed a thing.
When the shots came, the people failed to give even a single scream. An upper part of a child’s head splattered against a wall behind him, and two more shots liquidated his lungs. Another burst has sliced the legs of a woman, throwing her face down into more bullets. Two more bursts almost fully bisected an elderly man; his viscera and guts fell to the ground.
Academician pressed the tips of his fingers together, trembling in anticipation. What he was using right now was costly, even for him. But he had to use it if he was ever going to solve the puzzle of creating a weapon capable of downing Ravager. The blood debt to his rowdy daughter was long overdue.
The dead bodies shuddered, and the raiders stopped laughing. The ruined brain came down from the wall, flowing back to the dead body; and the exposed guts and viscera pushed themselves back into the body’s halves; even lost limbs grew anew. Academician giggled like that girl he dated back in the university at the sight of dead people coming back to life, their memories preserved, their emotions undamped. And this marvelous result was not a ‘gift’ granted by glow, but a result of a carefully carried out marvel of biotechnology! Success! Not just in carefully prepared laboratory conditions, but here in the open field!
Ravager was a puzzle, and one annoying to solve. The demise of his older self left… empty places in Academician’s head. For one, he could no longer remember his parents. He resurrected them, of course, but seeing two clones with no memories was no fun at all, nor did it stir anything in his soul. Well, at least he now knew what they looked like.
These holes in his memory hindered Academician greatly. Ravager, by all accounts, was his greatest project to date. Yet he didn’t remember how he made her! He stole some Wolfkins’ cubs, opened some of them up, and admired the handiwork of his older self. Others he molded into monsters, breaking them mentally and trying to evolve them to become like Ravager. No luck. Only a certain few Wolfkins could grow to become Ravager. In his anger, Academician eliminated his toys completely before cloning them and starting to explore other ventures. For over fifty years, he has been breaking, killing, and cloning these cubs, still finding something new in their bodies. His older self was truly a master.
He even captured a skinwalker, bringing the creatures to his lab. It... backfired. There was a reason his older self had deemed them failures. All of them possessed genius minds, eclipsing even his own, without a hint of purpose or morality, doing stuff on a whim. The specimen had found a way to hack into the mainframe and escaped, blowing up a few precious experiments in the process. To this day, the woman is hiding in the network of tunnels beneath his primary base, simply refusing to leave and daring Academician to try and end her. He refused to oblige out of spite, leaving them at an impasse. The skinwalker can’t harm him, and he used her to test some of the failed experiments.
This left Academician with a problem. How to take his revenge? He can’t just let a mutant walk over him. In the past years, he has tried everything, from assassins to viruses, but the insipid bitch has walked everything off. Even a nuclear explosion failed to kill her. Problem: He can read thoughts, but Ravager had decades of combat experience and her own prediction power. Solution: Combat regeneration fast enough to overcome incoming damage. Problem: He is far weaker physically than Ravager. Solution…
Academician shook his head, returning his attention to the scene below.
Fools that they were, the brutes stopped laughing and kept firing, trying to end the people. Academician has almost decided to do nothing and look at how the people die, recording the number of times the regeneration and mass gathering out of the air could offset the incoming damage. The regeneration was only temporary after all; in a matter of hours, newly made organs will shrink and wither, leaving just human bodies behind. But!
These were the mutants, a useless deviation from the magnificence that was a human form. And no mutant, no matter how arrogant, should ever raise a hand toward their betters. So fine, he’ll be a good little Samaritan today. His tendrils struck, breaking the glass, and Academician leaped out.
“Have no fear; a dashing hero is here!” Academician shouted, gliding through the air with pieces of glass shining in the sunlight all around him. “On my word, none shall die here!” He giggled slightly, enjoying the role a bit too much.
The raiders’ thoughts, crude as they were, were laid bare for his superior mind, enchanted by the glow. Academician extended his tendrils, allowing them to bite into the ground. His body weaved in the air, carried by the impulse of his additional limbs, evading bullets before they could even be fired.
Academician boots landed on a foot, breaking the pavement beneath, but surprisingly, he heard neither a crack nor a shot of pain arouse in the brain of his opponent. Jumping aside and coming vis-à-vis with another fool, Academician made a feint with his fist, only to plant his elbow straight into the Adam’s apple. Once again, he heard no satisfying crunch of a broken bone and found himself in need of retreat when the man made a slice with a cruel, hooked knife.
Amusing as this empirical fact was, Academician found himself unable to smile, dodging two machinegun bursts that riddled the civilians behind him to shreds. He wasn’t averse to a good old-fashioned brawl, and finding means of taking foes impervious to normal punches apart with bare hands was a worthwhile pastime. But poor decision it could be; Academician came here to save the useless lives behind him, and their regeneration had finally started to run out. This will be their last resurrection. A shame, but let no one say that Academician does not keep his word.
He brought the tendrils to bear, rising them up like a forest and wrapping the slithering tools around the struggling fools. They never had the chance; his metal limbs extended from the harness on his back, throwing rubble and broken cars up. Hooks grasped machineguns, tearing them away from the mutants’ hands. Next came their armor, piece by piece, leaving naked fools helpless in the air.
Turning around to make a gracious bow to his audience, Academician saw that they had all darted away, grabbing the kid along. His shoulders hung in disappointment. Poopie. And here I was, planning to give them a ride to Houstad. He meant it. A ride in a stolen car across enemy lines, sneaking into a city to be besieged, evading meeting with either Spaniad or Pharaoh. What a wonderful adventure it could’ve been! Almost as if he was once again just a minor field agent.
Disappointed, Academician moved one of his tendrils lower, smiling in the angry face.
“You are going to tell me everything you know about God.” He patted the large face. “And then you, I, and your friends will go on a wondrous journey of discovery. Agent Purple! Open a portal, please.”
As a spatial anomaly cracked the very fabric of reality before him, Academician felt elated. For years, the Organization’s agents had been clashing not only with the three major powers but also with some unknown abnormals, mutated humans of a rare power. If this God is who Secretary thinks he is, then they might just get one step closer to ridding the world of the bastard who caused the Extinction.
When all is said and done, Academician will see all those who seek to manipulate or threaten humanity cast down. All shackles and all lies will be exposed, the mutants will be eradicated, and liberty will once again reign supreme in this world. And most importantly. Ravager’s spine will be broken against his knee.