“And when evil rears its ugly head…” Mirko Jović roared as he jumped bare-chested onto a table and raised a bottle.
“We’ll ram a saber straight through its ass!” the gathering erupted.
“Damn right we will! Happy winter, you bastards, and live long!” Mirko poured the vodka down his throat, not caring about a snack.
Miners, workers, citizens, off-duty soldiers, and even several policemen joined their voices to his and raised their toasts, hugging each other in a half-drunken stupor. Their numbers cramped the spacious bar; streams of smoke gathered in a small cloud above their heads, hiding the ceiling; and pleasant country music surged from the dynamics, shaking the windows. Mirko spotted sergeant Šime Štefančić and Kit dancing on a pool table next to more couples and raised his bottle to them, both lads and lassies alike. Let there be more kids next year!
Winter! Who didn’t love this season in the Wastes? It was the time when living mountains moved underneath the sea of sand, hundred-meter-long insects known as long sand reapers. They migrated to the Ravaged Lands to mate. These titanic creatures showed little concern for humans; even if they happened upon a random group of scavengers in a desert, a sand reaper rarely attacked, as it could not replenish the nutrients it would lose during movement to consume even a hundred humans.
But their passing created amazing scenery! Rolling walls of sand, like waters in dried-up oceans, passed toward the horizon, bringing to the surface the wonders hidden in the depths. Cadavers of lesser predators whose armor was as tough as a battle suit and whose blades could sever a limb at a touch. Submerged laboratories and excavated bunkers. Bodies of ancient soldiers, some still perfectly preserved by their life systems.
But none of it mattered to Mirko. He loved winter for its tranquility, for it was a time when people didn’t worry about hiding sugar in bunkers, and sweet treats and drinks were commonplace on the streets. He enjoyed filming the swimming titans and sending these videos to his wide-eyed pearl in the Core Lands.
“Sarge,” Šime’s voice snapped him from the blissful enjoyment, and Mirko noticed Lieutenant Veronika Eenpalu and a group of soldiers waiting outside the entrance. The woman wore a black officer’s coat over a standard exoskeleton suit, and a bronze triangle marking her rank was clear of any dust. Despite the tapestry of scars covering much of her head, Mirko considered her pretty. The cowl of her coat left her eyes and upper part of the face exposed, and she frowned her nose in disgust at the debauchery and beckoned him.
“Yes, sir!” Mirko saluted to Šime’s groan. Veronika technically outranked them both, but the silver stars marking them as New Breeds made the situation a bit more complicated. Šime kissed Kit one last time and followed the older New Breed, pulling on the heat-protection suit. Kit hurried after him, changing into her cheaper citizen’s model, as Mirko stepped outside and breathed in the hot air.
By the Planet, he enjoyed his home! Their settlement had grown over the past decade, eventually becoming a proper small town. During the day, citizens worked in the mines to the west or inside factories, rarely poking their noses outside to avoid the risk of heat stroke. The youngest children, infants and such, slept the day in the communal schools, while the older ones studied. The heat here was disgusting—not the kind that dried out your body from the excess water, but the kind that kept you wet all the time unless you wore a special suit. Two, three hours outdoors, and even an adult would find himself dehydrated and stumble and fall to his death.
At night, when the miners returned from work, the town came alive. Families walked their children along freshly repaired paved roads. These roads were as much a sign of luxury as they were a necessity. Subterranean predators would often try to snatch an unsuspecting victim, and a solid layer of stone provided ample warning. Every single person, including children, knew how to fire basic firearms, but only the army and police had enough firepower to take down a creature.
Children played in the playground or raced up and down the road, and Mirko chuckled, evading a kid driving a scooter. His hand moved as fast as an insectoid warrior’s blade, pulling the girl’s hood over her head. Running around in a hood sucks and water was no longer a problem, but there was no reason not to let the suit’s system work. Its fabric soaked up any sweat or urine and recycled it into drinkable water, which was later stored for emergencies. At least they hadn’t had to drink it in a decade, and used it to water the greenery.
Ecological Habitat 647, as Captain Ivar Murzaliev named it, or Just Peachy, as everyone else called it, had a single greenhouse producing fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, cabbages, and potatoes to meet the population’s needs. In-between every square living apartments, edging the playground, stood tall cactuses, specially genetically tailored plants that could thrive in this dry land and provide fresh oxygen to the setters.
Kids took a liking to them, using their sharp needles for the initiation ritual of trying to get a bright color off the green shapes, and soldiers had to drag the rascals home so they could taste a parental belt and shake these foolish delusions from their minds. Their parents didn’t work their asses off to build this little sanctuary in a cruel world so that their offspring would be covered in scars, and if they had to beat that wisdom into them, then by the Planet they did so.
Most of the population worked in the mines, and this is where Mirko spent his youth. Trucks hauled precious ore excavated by miners, and at night, a second shift used a special anti-radiation solution to decontaminate the opened tunnels so the workers could work safely in the morning. The youngster dropped this job at the first opportunity. Sure, only four people got radiation poisoning and went bald last year, but no hazmat suit provided complete protection, especially when human factors were involved. An accident involving a suit tearing itself against a rusty spike or a clumsy coworker could result in receiving an unhealthy dose of radiation.
Such was the life in Just Peachy, and the green-eyed, pale-skinned, and well-built Mirko loved every second of it, even when he had to keep immigrants like Šime and Kit out of trouble with the law. The dumb dumbs still couldn’t get it into their heads that the Reclamation Army had a set age of consent, and it wasn’t ten like the uncontrollable part of the Wastes. Is it really that hard to wait until you turn nineteen? The rules are written in the town’s hall, for the Planet’s sake, and the newly opened TV station did its best to keep the citizens informed.
“You reek of alcohol,” Veronika stated.
“Apologies, ma’am! Off duty, ma’am!” Mirko and Šime saluted, swaying on their feet.
They were the regulars, a part of the military created by Wyrm Lord to take the burden off the Third Army. Although they lacked the necessary equipment to participate in the war, their training and numbers enabled them to assist the police in keeping the peace in the regions. Under the leadership of Captain Murzaliev, the infamous Blue Wyrm, their organized forces served in every major settlement. In Just Peachy, they were responsible for maintaining the minefield around the town, manning the walls and four towers, keeping the mines operating, and protecting the citizens. The law was rough here, and Mirko had to end more than one life of some psycho who tried to stir problems. In cases of a full-scale raid, a communication tower positioned on the south side of the settlement was used to call upon Warlord Fatima and her pack for help.
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“A patrol unit took a detour.” Veronika’s pale eyes locked with his. “They claimed a sudden avalanche, but the video feed showed them filming the Third Army.”
“Sorry, ma’am!” Mirko rubbed the back of his head. “Not every day an entire army passes us by, and I thought it’d lift the people’s spirits if they saw our heroes coming home.”
“And no doubt your girl would like the footage too, and if some reporters pay for it, then it is even sweeter,” Veronika said. “Mirko, I have nothing against you earning tokens on the side. But the inspection is to arrive overmorrow. All of us need to be in top shape.”
“We’ll be sober; I swear, lieutenant!” Šime stood at attention.
“It’s not a question of sobriety, sergeant,” the lieutenant sighed and wiped the sweat from her tanned nose. “Warlord Fatima and her pack are no longer in charge of protecting this area.”
“Then it is true?” Mirko’s shoulders slumped. “The girls are leaving?”
“Already left. Fatima expressed her concern for our well-being two hours ago, and the entire pack is en route to their villages.”
All regulars, regardless of their stationing, shared a common game. The Wolfkins, the fierce but trusted and heroic guardians of peace in the Wastes, rarely visited the humans during peacetime, and each such visit was an exquisite curiosity. Mirko, along with many others, attempted to steal a kiss from one of their female scouts or wolf hags. Males didn’t count, much to the seething disappointment of the female regulars. It was too easy; what man would turn down an invitation to kiss a lassie for free? The reverse was harder, and the prize money accumulated over the years reached an impressive sum.
No one had claimed it yet, and Mirko loathed missing out on a chance. That, and he slept better when howls pierced the night.
“So we’ll be protected by the Second Army now?” Kit asked, and the lieutenant nodded, not deeming it worthwhile to speak to the girl. “Great! Anyone know if they have snake boys among their ranks? You know, the hairy Ravager has wolf girls, and the serpentine Devourer must have snake boys, right? It, like, makes sense,” she teased the twitching Šime.
“Kit, speak about the champions with proper respect,” Veronika said in a strained voice. “This is no laughing matter, soldiers,” she told the grinning men. “We are alone for two days. Get it into your heads. Yes, yes, there is zero chance of anyone attacking from the east, where the convoy is moving now. But it is our responsibility, our sacred duty, to be on high alert. We owe that much to Just Peachy and its citizens, unless you want to have your eyes torn out and be hanged on Captain Murzaliev’s orders.”
“What is required of us?” Mirko asked, sobering up.
Dammit, he hadn’t considered it! Yeah, the Blue Wyrm won’t touch him or Šime. The wyrm hoarded over his New Breeds and those he deemed smart among the Normies, punishing only serious crimes. But if even half of the rumors that spoke about the captain were true, he may very well dispose of the patrol group, and Mirko would rather die than let this happen. The Blue Wyrm’s legendary ability to achieve results paled compared to his ruthless vindictiveness. If he decides the troopers had made the Third Army look bad in the eyes of the Second… This is why the lieutenant came here—to beat the danger to her people into his stupid head.
“Remain vigilant until the transition of defenders is completed.” The lieutenant glared at his casual dress. “I have no doubt that the Second have their own champions just as worthy as the Third, but I prefer not to take any chances until they arrive. I plan to remove the off-duty time for both officers and soldiers and would like your support, sir.”
“You have it, ma’am.” Mirko nodded eagerly, zipping up his jacket and concentrating on flushing the alcohol from his veins. Ripples ran through Šime’s skin and his black eyes focused, banishing the drunken haze. He kissed Kit and put on his cap, saluting in readiness to accept any assignment.
“Good. Thirty hours of community service in the sewers for your stunt with the patrol, sergeant. Oversee it after the ceremony of transition, corporal,” Veronika told her second-in-command, and the officer nervously added this to her terminal. “Now, get your people sorted out and…”
An explosion of sand stopped her words as a row of mines outside of the settlement exploded almost simultaneously. The billowing dust hit the faces of the soldiers on the wall. The officers had already barked orders to activate searchlights and fire mortars into the area, but it was too late.
Something pierced a cloud in the sky, tearing it in two and impaling the communication tower. Mirko failed to spot who fired at them; the projectile’s supersonic speed exceeded that of any bullet, and a tearing scream of torn space followed in its wake as the tower built of solid reinforced concrete fell to the side. This strange shot took out several relay arrays and left a gaping hole, completely destroying the structural integrity and causing the entire structure to collapse under its own weight. The three soldiers inside never had a chance.
“Danger!” Mirko shouted at the top of his lungs as the wall shook and crimson explosions blossomed on top of it, knocking soldiers to the ground along with chunks of stone. He grabbed a portable visor from his pocket and placed it over his left eye, activating the HUD to see through the soldiers’ cameras. “Get the citizens into the bunker! Call for the Third’s aid!” He pushed Veronika’s second-in-command over to Kit so they could attempt a swift evacuation, while Veronika calmly shouted orders, directing the regulars to their defensive positions and demanding any visual contact with the enemy.
“Rapidly moving eng...” A fist-sized hole appeared in a parapet next to the speaking soldier, and he died, half his head missing.
His comrade, a terrified woman who had been filming this murder, gasped as she peeked over the parapet wall, no longer worried about her safety. Her lenses transmitted the rapidly approaching engines, and then a flash from one of them struck her in the chest, piercing armor and bone alike, and her broken body stumbled off the wall. Less than a second later, this entire part of the parapet disappeared, broken into pieces by the sudden starlight. The attackers fired madly, not conserving their ammunition; their projectiles were strange energy that traveled in the form of pulsating, bright orbs.
Šime clapped his hands together, and his muscles ballooned, tearing through his clothes. His hair disappeared, giving way to throbbing, fat tentacles ending in sharp talons. The skin at the base of the back of his neck erupted, releasing even more murderous appendages. The man reached three meters; his tanned skin took on a dark blue hue, growing thick with muscle; a rough hide replaced the skin; and the genitals were sucked into his body. Šime screamed once, when his knees shattered into countless pieces and reassembled themselves into reverse-jointed legs. His skull stretched forward, bones snapping, breaking, and reassembling as the sergeant closed and then opened his new jaws, testing the mobility of his three-fingered palms. The transformed human lunged at a building, reaching the top of a six-story apartment building in a single leap, and charged forward, sticking to the rooftops so as not to crush into a civilian.
Air gathered around Mirko, creating a cocoon, and he stepped up to a frightened child, grabbing him by the shoulder just in time to spread the effect on him as a shell landed at them from above. This projectile Mirko saw, and he closed the air currents around it, creating an impregnable wall of pure molecules of air in its path. The air wall endured, and the projectile exploded inside the contained pocket created by his power. The sealed shockwave died, sparing the lives of those nearby.
Artillery and an unknown number of attackers. Mirko tossed the boy to Kit and hovered in the air, flying to the burning section of the wall and hearing more explosions hitting the other towers. The organization of this attack was extremely well planned, executed with exceptional skill, and coincided with the very moment Just Peachy found itself without protection. A betrayal? Had someone sold information to the slavers? No, it couldn’t be, no idiot would do that. Even ignoring Captain Murzaliev’s vengeful spite, no one in their right mind would collaborate with the barbarians, and madmen aren’t a threat because they’re incapable of strategizing...
The explosion, which killed a family as they attempted to charge into a building, interrupted his thoughts. A random shell flattened the family of five as they entered the doorway. He’ll think about who, why, and the rest later.
Mirko’s limbs burst, shredding flesh that vanished from sight, merging with the surrounding oxygen. His jacket and pants slipped off, his hair turned into a shroud of mist, and his eyes flashed blue, two pieces of ephemeral ice trapped in the eye sockets of the misty skeleton. His belt also hit the ground, but it was okay; his intangible, ghostly arms wielded far greater weapons than any pistol or knife. He no longer needed to breathe; he was the air itself, and his translucent, naked body darkened, trying to create lightning in vain. That, too, was fine; his power provided limited control over the element, and it had taken Mirko years to learn how to see colors and hear in this state.
It was time to slaughter until there was no one left standing but his side.