It pushed itself through the veil with a grinding cacophony of a town crushed underneath its weight. A behemoth of steel that could easily tower even over a crawler, it carried itself on the great caterpillar tracks, so huge and vast that its immense bulk could not physically fit through the gate of the Wall. Silvery patches occasionally marked its hull, but its new owners had adorned it with precious metals, jewels, and gold so that it would shine like a multicolored diamond in the sun. Flags fluttered proudly in the wind, and cathedrals of weaponry were activated, almost lazily taking aim at the fortress. Laser cannons, missile launchers, artillery, plasma casters—this beast had all the murder tools conceivable.
But that wasn’t what filled Craven’s heart with dread. A main cannon stretched out in front of it, an enormous spire of metal, ready to deliver its devastating payload wherever its masters wished. And from this cannon, bodies hung from the chains that wrapped around the barrel. The distance was too great, but Craven now knew the fate of the missing scouts.
He wasn’t going to let his charges fall into such hands.
“Scum,” Peggy hissed. A spherical force field flashed into existence around the war machine, blocking incoming artillery fire coming from the Wall.
“For little price, do you surrender your lives, Reclaimers,” stated the synthetic voice. The calm words were screamed out by the speech-enhancing dynamics, but this time the fortress’s system did not repeat them.
Streaks speared the clouds, parting them just long enough for Craven to see an army following in the war machine’s wake, clinging to its shelter like Insectone larvae to their mother’s carapace. Artillery shells and energy arcs fired from the army’s mobile weapons landed directly on the bunkers. The reinforced roof endured—once, twice—and then collapsed in on itself, and fire pyres billowed skyward, forming a series of torches to welcome the invaders.
“Those guys…” Jay choked on his words, wrapping his arms around the trembling Halina and another girl.
“Don’t worry,” Craven hurried to calm the child. His voice never rose, and the ambassador thanked this unique quirk of his biology for an opportunity to be a pillar for the children. “No one died. A series of tunnels connected the bunkers to the bastions, and our forces retreated successfully.” He nodded on a display that a soldier was showing Lugal-marada. On it, hundreds of dots scurried, collapsing the passageways behind.
“But why did Marada order mortar guys to cover the soldiers outside, then?” T asked, biting his finger to stop shaking.
“Their job was to keep baddies away from the bunkers,” Peggy explained, patting the boy encouragingly. “Also, it is Lugal-marada, kiddo. Simply Marada means a male gender, while Lugal is a name, unless I am mistaken.”
“Can you not educate us in the middle of a war?” T’s teeth drummed.
“Why miss an opportunity?”
“Well, maybe because people are about to die!” Jay snapped.
“Eh, happens all the time. You’ll get used to it,” Peggy assured him.
“Hopefully not!” Craven interjected. “Children, don’t listen to the holy sister. Wars are getting rarer and rarer…”
“And for proof, look at the horizon,” Peggy added.
Of their group, Peggy alone was unafraid. Her eyes beamed with excitement, tracing everything; one hand was already wielding her elegant armor-piercing rifle, encircled by prayer beads; and she pulled a helmet over her head, helping passing soldiers to secure regular helmets and put body armor on the kids. An Orais led them into the dubious cover of a reinforced concrete roof hanging above them, and another soldier tried to call for a lift, cursing under his breath about the virus that was crippling the bastion.
The holy sister didn’t reprimand the ambassador for addressing the Reclaimers as their own. Craven assumed that some cordiality was in order. Whoever was coming, he’d rather see the children stick to more reasonable characters, even if he wished they’d see the light and agree to immigrate to the Land of the Oath. Raids and techno-horrors of the past were nonexistent there.
“Such precision,” Peggy noted. “Nearly every shell is landing straight into cusack’s eye.”
“I bet your monthly salary that it isn’t simply skill,” cracked Sagit. “They knew the coordinates.”
Craven opened his mouth and closed it, as the implication sank in. Traitors are the same everywhere, huh? Explosions spread across the wall’s shield, brightly illuminating faces. The force shield wasn’t bulging, and more and more impacts fought in vain to overcome it. Something had to give, and the explosions bounced back, splashing the ground in front of them. The ground was torn apart, creepers and vines caught fire, and a hellish sea came to life on the plains. Minefields—disrupted by the shockwaves, overheated by napalm, or touched by molten stone—detonated prematurely, spewing burning earth into the air.
And into this madness, the enemy advanced. Warriors clad in power armor marched, protected by mobile force shield stations. The first machine carved a wide gap through the mountain range, and the troops surged around the ancient beast. Tall and somewhat chubby, the invaders bore little resemblance in their equipment. Plain steel-clad soldiers with mounted cannons on their shoulders rode gigantic beasts alongside warriors outfitted in pieces of various exosuits, crudely stitched together and incrusted with gold. Ahead of them bravely rode riders on hoverbikes, ignoring tongues of flames licking their feet and steeds, and their laughter reached the defenders, accompanied by the hail of energy projectiles hissing against the shield.
“Has the scout team departed?” Lugal-marada inquired, facing the fire of countless cannons, hands clasped behind his back. The ambassador couldn’t decide whether the man was brave or foolish for exposing himself like that.
“Negative! ETD thirty seconds!” reported a soldier.
“Simpletons,” said the lieutenant. The flesh on his shoulders bulged, his fingers swollen. “Once the situation is resolved, issue them ten lashes for tardiness.”
“You seem to be eagerly optimistic about the situation.” Craven swallowed nervously.
“Have faith, ambassador!” Peggy cheered him on. “Our cause is just, and God is with us! A righteous fire burns in our hearts and strengthens our arms! Let the madmen come; we’ll strike them down, one by one! If we fall, it’ll be for a noble cause, and our ancestors will rejoice in heaven!”
“Personally, I prefer to keep them at bay and blow them to bits,” Lugal-marada replied calmly, raising his hand as if timing something, while keeping his eyes on the map display. “Main cannons, maintain pressure on the primary target. Its generator can’t sustain the energy drain of moving, supplying its shield, firing auxiliary weapons, and using the main cannon, so they are sacrificing one function in favor of the rest.”
“How do you know it?” blurted out Craven.
“Elementary, Ambassador. It hasn’t fired yet, and judging by the caliber, the ensuing explosion would have vaporized their own troops. Barbarians they may be, but why send important equipment to a senseless end? No, their leader rightly understood that our own shield could gobble up a shot or two of their ammunition, thus alerting us in advance, and so he tried a different approach,” Lugal-Marada explained without haste. “As for your question, the moment the Commander learns of our difficulties, it will be over for these fools.”
But Ravager is not in Houstad. Craven was about to say and bit his tongue. No doubt Lugal-marada knew. His words were meant to inspire and reassure his troops after an unexpected interference had disrupted their communications.
“Rabble, emboldened by idiocy, dares to intrude on our land,” Lugal-marada continued, his loud voice heard over the vast length of the wall, despite the bombardment. “What do we say to them?”
“Go to hell!” roared soldiers. The combined shout of mutants, Orais, and Normies briefly silenced the riders’ jeering.
“Repel them.” Lugal-marada’s hand dropped.
Small-caliber artillery, snipers, and mortars answered the command, unleashing a hail of destruction on the approaching hordes. Grenade explosions sent hoverbikes flying; snipers finished the wounded; shell after shell was lobbed into the individual islands of safety represented by the mobile shield generators. No ripples appeared on their surfaces, but several spheres curved outward and soon burst, exposing those inside to the steel raining down upon them. Still, the Gilded Horde advanced, their larger vehicles closing in, protected by the projected field. For every soldier killed, ten more took their place. Enemies didn’t throw their lives away needlessly; the wounded were helped into cover, and their tanks and artillery returned fire, piercing the Reclaimers’ shield in several places.
Force shields, to Craven’s limited knowledge, worked on a dispersal basis. A hit would come in, and the brunt of the impact would be smoothly smeared over the surface, like walnut cream on a slice of bread. In the case of a single attack, the automatic systems running the complex calculations for the shield reinforced the damaged area, easily stopping even a potentially penetrating blow, while rapid fire from multiple sources limited such luxury. By pouring a lake-sized amount of energy and metal capable of leveling a settlement in seconds upon the defenders, the Gilded Horde had achieved the desired effect of overloading the defenses, and bodies were thrown up, losing limbs, bleeding, and dying as they were struck by shells and energy projectiles.
Halina screamed, and one of the teachers accompanying the group pressed the girl’s face to his chest as Craven stepped forward, frowning in annoyance as a shard of rock cut his cheek to the teeth. He waved away a field medic as his natural regeneration began working, quickly dragging damaged meat together.
“What about elevators?” Lugal-marada demanded.
“Still offline, sir!” reported an Orais, dragging a wailing, legless soldier away. A lucky shell that passed through the returning shield was about to hit them when a forked lightning bolt shot out of Sagit’s neck, exploding the projectile in the air.
“Stairwells, then. Get the children out of here…”
“Sir!” Sagit alerted, pointing to the horizon.
Dark shapes flew above the slow behemoth, and as they left the clouds, the light reflected from their diamond coating. Airships, so many that Craven forgot the pain in his cheek or his fear. Their noses resembled arrowheads, small force shields bubbled around them, and each bore the same heraldry: hungry teeth closing in on a world. The Reclamation Army and the Oathtakers had small and compact air forces, used primarily for the rapid delivery of supplies or men. Several of their air units had impressive firepower, but these were rare. Only Iterna had a fully operational fleet of bombers, interceptors, and transports.
Until today. The air hunters rapidly closed in on the shield; black fumes steamed from their engines. Once there, they slowed down to bypass the shield unopposed while the defenders fired at them. But it wasn’t enough; most of their weapons were aimed at ground targets, and the ships’ shields held long enough for them to enter and unleash hell with their own gunfire. One, two—went down and spiraled into the battlements, crashing and bursting into flames. Figures broke from the wreckage, stumbling under fire and returning it. The rest hovered in the air, the compartments in their centers opening.
Unleashing breachers.
“Let’s make some widows!” An armored woman laughed as she spun in her jump and fired her SMG blindly. She landed amidst the soldiers, holding a two-handed black blade as if it were a feather, and it blurred in her hand, shearing through necks and torsos.
“Widowmaker! Widowmaker!” More soldiers jumped off the woman’s ship, cheering in Common. They landed heavily, their legs trampling craters in the ground, and the group formed ranks, bringing fire to the defenders.
Chaos erupted at the top of the wall. The Gilded Horde didn’t send just ordinary Blessed or troops. These were the cream of the crop, or so Craven thought, as soldiers forcibly carried him and the children toward an open door.
He saw a pulsating mass of toxic sludge slump from the open door of a ship and vaguely take human form on the ground. With a slurping sound, the newcomer’s body swallowed bullets, disintegrating them and grenades in seconds and spewing appendages that closed in on the nearest soldiers, burning them on contact and dragging the screaming victims to be devoured. Beasts of bone and chitin shattered bones with their blows; water-wielders drowned their opponents; flying harpy Blessed screamed so loudly that armor and bodies inside cracked.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
The Provincial Army responded in kind. Orais wrestled in the melee with the Horde’s Blessed, crumpling their helmets; soldiers formed new lines of fire, supporting their comrades; Exotics stepped in. A man transformed into a pillar of light, shedding his clothes. Those of the hordemen touched by his light screamed in desperation, as layer after layer their armor disappeared and soon their flesh followed.
An Orais gathered himself into a ball and rolled, air gathering around him. A bubble of air soon burst, piercing the enemies like daggers as the soldier laughed bombastically, even as an eight-meter tall bone monster closed its hands against the brave man. Suddenly, the hands exploded and a line of air touched the bone-covered Blessed’s neck, cutting short his scream as it severed his head. The Orais’ mockery was short-lived. Widowmaker closed in on the man, thrusting the edge of her blade through the air shield and plunging it into the Orais’ heart, piercing his armor.
“Get lost from my Wall,” Lugal-marada said in-between giving the commands to the troops.
His right arm grew, gaining a dark blue color; each finger parted from its siblings as the arm untied itself into five separate tentacles. The lieutenant swung, brushing aside a hovering aircraft as if it were little more than an annoying mosquito. Lugal-marada grew; his breastplate popped and fell to pieces; legs and arms turned into knots of slapping tentacles; his head merged with his torso to form a tall column of flesh. Wide, wet orbs of his eyes opened, and blue rays left them, overheating metal and burning four hordemen to the bone.
A burst of automated fire from a ship above forced Peggy to shove Craven ahead and jump back, saving herself. She spun and fired at an approaching hordeman and broke his leg by landing two shots into the joint of his knee when another one crashed into her from above.
“Зогсоох, боолууд!” Craven turned in time to receive a heavy slam in his face with the butt of a machine gun from an approaching hordeman.
The blow immediately broke Craven’s nose and sent the ambassador rolling through the fortress door, nearly slamming Jay against a wall. Craven stood up on wobbly legs, unaccustomed to the violence, and had no idea what to do. An eye poke? As if! His opponent’s oriental eyes stared at him through the visor. Peggy was busy killing a hordeman who tried to pin her against a wall with his sword and hadn’t yet entered inside, while the soldier escorting the teachers and children was backhanded away.
At least they are taking prisoners. Craven raised his hands to the barrel of the gun leveled at his face. He’ll find a way to get the children to safety. Whoever these freaks were, even they couldn’t be crazy enough to challenge two Great Nations at once. He’d lie about the children being part of the Oathtakers and…
Light appeared at the hordeman's back, and in the next split second, he flew up and landed heavily against a wall. His helmet cracked like an eggshell, and rivulets of blood splashed against the faces of the terrified children. A hissing thunderbolt hung in the air above the dead body, and a very human leg, which had kicked the enemy to death, protruded from it. Sagit regained her human form, standing fully naked, and waved to the appeared Peggy. Electric currents coursed beneath the sergeant’s milky-white skin, serving as her veins. She had no eyeballs, and electricity danced in the empty sockets.
“Get everyone down,” Sagit ordered. “Ground level, then get the civilians into any vehicle and off to Houstad,” she told the bleeding soldier.
“I can stay and fight,” Peggy offered.
“Sow death to save the kids, holy sister,” Sagit said. “If that God of yours is truly benevolent, it’s what he would’ve wanted.”
“Thank you!” Craven said.
Sagit said nothing and fell onto her back, shifting smoothly into her energy form. She darted outside, burrowing a hole through the chest of an unsuspecting hordeman and connecting two other enemies with electricity. Their bodies thrashed as the thunder rocked them, and the ambassador heard the crack of their limbs even through all the chaos.
It was then when the outside darkened. Craven thought it was incoming artillery, but instead a dark cloud of smoke, lined with red flashes, descended upon Sagit, quickly compressing into a multi-armed human form. Crimson arms of raging fire seized the living lightning, pinning Sagit to the stone floor. She expanded her form, and her demonic opponent responded in kind, sprouting more limbs to hold her steady. The hordeman’s head jerked as a blow struck his grinning, smoking skull. A humanoid arm of flame arched from his back, rapidly growing claws.
The two fought on, melting the reinforced stone. The Exotic Blessed, who had become a pillar of light, tried to help, but the flesh motes that had been thrown off his opponent suddenly changed direction. They flew back to the naked man with avian features, restoring his body, and he shrieked and laughed cruelly.
“Perish heretic!” the hordeman said, and the pillar of light dimmed, nearly collapsed on itself.
Craven didn’t linger any more. He helped the bleeding soldier to his feet and grabbed Halina’s hand, leading the girl as he hurried after their guide. T and Jay helped the teachers to move the rest of the children, and their group descended a flight of stairs.
The Wall was shaking; its gray walls no longer inspired safety and confidence. Dust swirled in the air, and soldiers ran past them to reinforce their comrades above. Sirens blared incessantly as operators calmly relayed information about fallen sections and coordinated retreats. At one point, the group lost its footing as a cataclysmic tremor swept over the fortification.
“Wh-what was that?” whispered the pale-faced T.
They found the answer below. Part of an entire level was missing, exposing everyone to the sight of the raging battle approaching the bastion. The Horde was still advancing, the shield reformed, and Craven had no idea what or who could have created this perfect line of destruction that wiped out everything for at least a hundred meters horizontally. He had a more important problem to solve, as the stairs now had a gaping hole in them.
Craven and the soldier jumped across the ruins and faced the teachers, who unceremoniously began tossing kids to them. The ambassador had his share of fears in life. That time when he had blatantly lied to his mother about attending a university for two whole years. The terror he experienced during an ambush on his office by opponents of reunification. But never had his arms been so close to defying his biology as they were now. He feared not for himself but for the death of his charges.
In the ruins behind him, the battle raged. Scaling the walls, several hordemen appeared in the opening. The Reclaimers gunned most of them, but one invader shot two soldiers before an Orais rammed a bayonet through a crack in his chest plate. Craven didn’t bother to turn any longer. He had a more important task, and when the scared children were safe, the group resumed their retreat.
“It irks me to run, abandoning allies,” Peggy admitted quietly, firing twice to drop a hordeman trying to break a soldier’s neck.
“Adhere to the tents of your order, holy sister,” Craven advised her. “Yours is the sacred task of protecting the helpless. Our allies are far from such.”
“True that.” The soldier wiped the blood from his bruised face. A single slap had left a gash in his chin, but the man walked lightly. “Don’t worry, Dynast’s willing, we’ll beat them back.”
“The Dynast is not a god, young man,” Peggy corrected him.
“Might as well be, considering who serves him.” The soldier shrugged and punched in a code, opening the door into the hangar.
They rushed into the orderly chaos of the retreating army. To Craven’s surprise, the lieutenant had ordered the super-heavy tanks to charge the enemy while the medium and light armored vehicles were to retreat from the battlefield. Trucks filled with soldiers, mechanics, and doctors roared to take up defensive positions in the smaller settlements. Scouts had already left, hurrying to deliver news so the citizens could escape.
They walked to the nearest truck, where troops and mechanics were waiting for them, when another tremor shook the fortress. Cracks appeared in the ceiling, showering down debris and covering the hangar in a dusty mist.
“No! Watch out!” Halina screamed and pushed another girl. It saved the kid’s life, but the sizeable chunk of rock that fell from above hit Halina’s shoulder, breaking it and landing on the fallen girl’s legs. The wounded child shrieked in pain, the tips of her white, gleaming bones tore through her skin. “I am so sorry!” Halina gasped, forgetting about her own pain. “I didn’t mean to… I never wanted…”
“It’s okay, kiddo!” their guide said, taking the girl with the broken legs into his arms as Peggy threw the stone aside. “She’ll live…”
“I will be the one deciding that.”
A hand broke through the dust, grabbed Halina’s throat, and lifted the choking girl up. Craven hesitated, unsure where the bastard had come from, and Peggy refrained from firing, worried about hitting the child. The newcomer had crept up on them silently, defying the imagination. Thick armor incrusted with jade plates stained by red covered the man from neck to toes. He was bareheaded, his ears resembling those of a dog, his nose flattened by an ancient trauma, and his large eyes sunk deep into his skull. Hideous robes of flayed skin cascaded from the man’s shoulders, and Craven nearly vomited when he saw a stretched child’s face on the leather. Cuts and lacerations covered the bald head, but the intruder paid no attention to the bleeding, examining the girl in his hand.
Two soldiers, an Orais and a Normie, charged to flank him, and the three-meter-tall man moved with incredible agility. The butcher’s cleaver in his hand blurred, chopping off the Orais’ head, and the return blow skewered the Normie. The dust cleared, and the ambassador saw a large hole in the wall, with more hordemen pouring in.
“Broken scapula, broken…” Halina screamed as a large finger touched her swollen shoulder. “… correction, cracked clavicle, several slashes, young, healthy…” the broken nose sniffed. “Unripe. Forty мөнгө as it is. Six hundred мөнгө upon being healed.”
“Let… let me go, please.” Tears appeared in Halina’s eyes. “Dad… help me!”
“Flesh does not speak. Cry, moan, scream in response to animalistic instincts, but do not dare to speak. I do not wish to mar your skin with a whip and diminish your value.” The grip tightened, silencing the girl. “Docility or skin.”
“You…” Craven stepped in front of the angry Peggy. Now was not the time for shooting. That bastard could easily snap the girl’s neck. “You spoke of мөнгө. Am I correct in my assumption that this is your currency?”
The pale eyes wandered to him, and the fat lips pursed. “Absolutely,” said the big hordeman. He spoke in a mundane tone during the appraisal, completely ignoring the soldiers in the hangar.
“Let me purchase our lives,” Craven offered. “Name your price.”
“Outlanders are allowed at auctions, but the flesh is mistaken.” The ambassador clenched his fists nervously, hearing gunshots and the clanking of metal in the hangar. “Whatever you have on yourself is already ours. But perhaps your khaganate is willing to buy you out?”
“Not just me.” Craven eagerly latched on to this proposition. He can work with it. “Show mercy to everyone here; treat them kindly, and they’ll be bought out. At your price, noble sir.” He put his palms together and bowed in submission, praying to God to spare the children’s lives.
Let the bastard gloat if he wanted to. Craven would endure any torture for the sake of his allies. Peggy would understand, he hoped. There was no victory here. But the Oathtakers never abandoned their own, or those who helped them. The day will come when this slave trader will wake up to the black eyes of General Crawler hovering over him. And when the chelicerae close around his body, he will learn the price paid by those who violated those under the Oath’s protection. A month of slavery was nothing.
“How quaint,” the man said in a perfect Common. “It is a rare sight to meet a reasonable flesh. You are not lying to me by any chance, graydy?”
“Perish the thought, kind master,” Craven assured him.
“Master. Flattery.” The slaver smiled. “I’ll perish you and these whelps in the most horrible way possible if you have lied to me, graydy. Until then, you are my bondsmen. Food, water, and medical care will be provided. The price of your freedom is two hundred gold bars. Eleven inches in length. The weight and price of the whelps and your whore will be determined later. But the soldiers and your feeble helpers…” He narrowed his eyes. “Their value is not that high to waste water.”
“Reasonable people can surely come to an agreement…”
“No. Gatherers! Exterminate…”
“Exterminate this, jackass!” T yelled.
“No!” Craven when the boy appeared over the hordeman’s shoulder.
He did not know how the fat boy had sneaked up and climbed the monster in silence, but there was a glint of steel in T’s hand. The boy buried it in the slaver’s neck, bleeding the man, but not a hint of panic or anger touched the pale eyes. The man dropped Halina, and Craven caught her. Then his hand moved back, fingers pointing at T’s eyes…
The boy disappeared with a bang, and this time there was a surprised look on the madman’s face. He was turning as Peggy opened fire on him. A bullet ricocheted off his forehead, and a piece of bloody skin dangled, covering one of his eyes as the man raised his hand to shield his face. More bullets rattled his armor, denting it and sending large pieces of metal flying.
“Where is he?!” the giant roared.
“Suck on my balls, dumb motherfucker!” T laughed from the truck, sitting next to the other kids, holding a pristine, clean knife.
Craven had no time to solve this riddle. He hurried to the track and handed Halina to the teachers just in time to hear.
“I see you,” said a voice full of cold fury. The slaver stepped forward and landed his cleaver on Peggy. The blade bit deep into her wrist, shattering the armor and nearly taking away the arm. “None escapes Slavetaker.” Peggy dropped her machinegun, reached her knife, and stabbed Slavetaker into the crack in his armor before his hand touched her.
Slavetaker broke through her helmet, blinding the holy sister when his fingers ripped open her eyes. He grabbed her by the mouth and eye sockets and pulled, tearing off a large portion of Peggy’s face. Teeth and bones smashed against the floor, blood dripped from the lump of meat in the cruel hand, and Peggy’s body slumped to the ground.
The bloodshot eyes focused on the truck, and Slavetaker’s legs became blurred pistons as he hurried to his prey, roaring and clenching and unclenching his hand in anticipation. Craven had no time to think. The engine was already roaring, but there was no time. The hordeman would reach them first, and the surrounding soldiers were still fighting for survival.
So he tackled the man. It was a weak, powerless shove, but it bought the precious moments for the truck to leave, and Craven Wickedbreed coughed through the pain as the cleaver landed on him, slicing down from his right shoulder to his chest.
Faith. Faith that his sacrifice would give these children a chance at life. It sustained his conscience as the cleaver twisted and destroyed his lung.
“You failed,” Craven said through the bubbling blood, gasping for air. He wished for a more heroic or at least snide remark to irritate the bastard, but nothing came to mind.
“I saw them.” The hand grasped the skin on the side of the ambassador’s head, peeling it away. “They can run to the end of the world if they want. It won’t save them. We are connected. Every night while they sleep, I step closer. Every time they are out of breath, I draw nearer. Their skins are mine for disobedience, their carcasses are food for the vultures. No slave or bondsman escapes Slavetaker. As for you, flesh. Let’s see how much of your hide you can lose before your heart grows still.”
Screw that. Craven decided and bit into the capsule hidden in his tooth.
The Trolls were famous for their regeneration, and it was both a blessing and a curse. The ability to regrow organs or lost limbs was invaluable in most cases, aside from the times when a Troll ended up captured by cannibals or sadists. Then a Troll often suffered months of long torture before expiring. Such a fate always frightened Craven, and he opted for the program designed to prevent it.
His body could withstand many wounds and poisons and still heal. But a lethal dose of hallucinogenic poison that affected his brain was fatal, even for him. Ambassador Craven died, blissfully thinking of home.
And the war still raged on.