Yura struggled to understand why she still stood. Her body hurt. A toe-sized chunk of meat got torn out of her ‘column’ leg, short of reaching the artery, and the wound bled profusely. The leg itself trembled, straining from a crack in her bone. Her crown, a proud horn encircling her head, cracked and fell apart; in its place grew a tangible bulge, and one of her eyes could barely see through a polychrome stain on a cornea. An elbow had shattered three of her ribs; their sharp edges caressed her poor lung even now. Worst of all were the consequences of two straight punches into her abdomen. These punches tore through her favorite vest and delivered such impact that it reverberated all the way to her kidneys, heart, and lung, creating a nightmarish pain that threatened to cause a stroke.

Her friends fared little better. Olaf lost an eye, an elbow’s touch shattered his eye socket, and a trickle of blood ran from a nostril to his mouth. A fist had broken his left arm, leaving it dangling. Ihor lost the subdermal armor on his cheek to a grab and stood undaunted, his hands raised for block and attack, despite a bloody gaping hole.

And he, the cause of all this chaos, stood before them, holding Natasha by her neck like a toy. The fucker who had almost killed Instructor Akebia, who had ruined their training and spent the last half-hour hunting them down in the underground factory. If they… Fuck that. When they survive this, Yura won’t let Akebia or Olaf live this one down, and it’ll be her turn to tease them. Her mines saved the trainees’ lives, giving everyone enough time to run underground as the enemies tried to break through the barracks.

Number Six. A single digit and high in rank at that. He had either stolen the body of an exceptionally tall Abnormal human or performed some inhumane modification on the poor soul, enlarging the muscles and strengthening bones to create a bulky build. The man grew tall, standing around three meters tall, his black eyes lifeless, no expression on his perfect face, and sleek black hair. Patches of tanned skin dotted the fair skin.

His goons used various powers, manipulating the very exterior, merging and molding it like clay, and creating entire sections covered by impenetrable ice in an attempt to split the group. The Numbers separated Akebia from the trainees and fell upon her in a swarm of armored bodies. Their battle raged even now; it’s tremors reverberating through the factory’s floors, dropping dust off the walls, and the discharges from the sonic weapons leveling the walls. Yura believed in the instructor. Akebia could bench press even her mom and dad together with one hand behind her back, but she needed help, and the trainees rushed to the source of the interference that kept jamming communications.

Natasha found it inside the ruined generator chamber, a wide, round-shaped dusty hall. Rust hadn’t yet touched its walls; in the middle of it stood a long-dead generator meant to be powered up with antimatter. A sole terminal remained, a single piece of equipment that the scavengers had failed to extract years ago. Dim lights shone from the ceiling, illuminating the abandoning chamber that had witnessed the tragedy of the past firsthand.

Howe’s citizens left it be after Iterna’s officials admitted that this technology had become outdated. They used it for tourism, bringing in rich people from Pearl City, the Ravaged Lands, and even visitors from the distant Ravaged Lands. The guides made quite a show in portraying how the ancients worked and lived in the supposed inhuman conditions, toiling to their very last breath and being replaced by clones from the growing vats. Olaf later called the group aside and told them all these stories were full of shit.

The man certainly earned his reputation, dealing a beating to them with ease. Six lost his power armor to Akebia’s sonic, standing covered by the shredded remains of a bodyglove, and it made him even more dangerous. The man fought more carefully, dodging the hits and no longer bothering with making them suffer. He wanted the trainees dead, and his every punch, his every kick, threatened to sever an artery or inflict fatal damage.

And not only that. Yura expanded the space between herself, her two friends, and Six, still coughing out pieces of chewing gum. Six has a power, recorded in Iterna’s annals. The Number wrapped his hands in dimensional distortions that cut through the toughest alloys. But the owner of a stolen body also has a power, one that allows him to manipulate chewing gum. As innocent as it might sound, this power was a terror to face. If not for Ihor’s warning, she’d be dead already.

Chewing gum. Such a simple thing. Good thing. Yura adored it for its great aid in plucking up pieces of stuck scales, meat, and bones from her mouth. She felt pride in her great teeth, even if their positioning turned brushing them into a nightmare stretching for tens of minutes. Chewing gum helped. It could be banana flavored, her favorite, unpleasant mint, sweet strawberry, or even orange. But when this stuff splintered and floated in the air, ready to enter the windpipe, it forced her to use the power to keep it at bay. Then it turned scary.

“You made a mistake,” Six said. His fingers entered Natasha’s neck and pitched a vein. His voice came from the sides; Yura’s spatial manipulation had put a kilometer between them. “Rather than trying to disable the device, you should have run. But that is fine; that is to be expected from a mutant, a clone, and an Iternian who mutilated his noble body with no respect to his proud ancestry. To throw away lives for the sake of a cyborg…”

“Don’t tell us what to do, and I won’t tell you where to go,” Olaf said. “Give Natasha back. Now.”

“Won’t happen.” Six replied. “I arrived here on my Creator’s orders and struck gold. Your energy powers and the spatial manipulation of your mutant pet are interesting, but little more. She…” He lifted Natasha, and the teen bit her lips in pain. “…is another thing altogether. Her power gives her an intrinsic understanding of how to break into even the most complicated systems. The potential use of such a body in the hands of a single digit is hard to overstate. I thank you, truly, for such a gift.” Six pressed a free hand to his chest. “Believe it or not, but I harbor no harsh feelings toward your kin. It is why I left you an out during the hunt. I reiterate my offer. Turn around. Live. Leave the wretch to me.”

“Never.” Ihor spat, and the split hovered in the air.

“Why do you care for this wretch?” Six raised a brow. “Do you know what she did? This used whore diverted a convoy to sell it on a black market, depriving desperate souls of medicine. All to pay for her thirsty pappy’s and mommy’s needs.”

“How did you know it?” Yura’s fur rose on her nape. Natasha told no one but them the full story. Could an instructor or someone in rehab sell the information on the side? No, this guess couldn’t be correct, moral or not. Think logically. If someone had been foolish enough to sell information to the Numbers, then they’d know about Natasha’s power by now. About all their powers! If such was the case, why were Six and his goons surprised by the group’s abilities?

Snap out of it. Yura felt a warm sensation on her back. It grew warmer and colder at uneven intervals, mimicking a silent code Akebia had taught them through the heat rather than touch or tap. Olaf spoke to her and Ihor; the teen has created tiny orbs of energy under their clothes. At my signal, slash at the bastard. It’ll hurt. Once we get Natasha, send him into a wall.

“We learn many things at a glance,” Six said. “As I speak with you, my dear sister Two watches; her soothing whispers bring succor and information to my ear. Think about it, kids. Why risk your life? You are a cannibalistic filth.” He nodded at Yura. “None will accept you, no matter how hard you try. Run off and chew on something; give in to your instincts. You are a genetic mess.” He shifted his eyes to Olaf. “Body tainted with the Glow at birth, making the rejuvenation impossible. How long will you live—forty, fifty years—before your organs start to give in? And you, an Iternian from an ordinary family, a fool so ordinary you had to resort to shaping your body to attract even a modicum of individuality.” Six smiled at Ihor. “Your insecurity is plain to see, but there is no heroic act for you to achieve here; there is nothing to gain aside from pain, humiliation, and death. And yet here you stand, genetic rejects. Why? Why risk your life for a degenerate such as she?”

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“Because it is right,” Igor said.

“Right.” Six sighed. “Humans with their righteousness. Right compared to what? Is it right to leave her without a proper punishment? Was it right for the fools of the Old to ravage our Creator’s world? So many rights in the world, all different. Don’t pretend like you know a thing about what is right and...”

“Shut your trap already!” Yura roared, sensing a few burned strands on her back.

She slashed at once, dispersing the enlarged space. They still stood some distance from each other, but Yura used her power again, shortening the distance to proximity. Based on its length, her sword should’ve hit the ground at the Number’s feet. With her power, the bone sword reached way longer, coming down to the man’s shoulder. He leaned back, hitting with a backhand at the weapon.

“Predictable,” Six said.

Pain. Pain flooded Yura’s world as the man’s fist shattered the bone sword at its foundation. The space writhing around Six’s fist had cut through her veins, and blood gushed from the stump. Thanks to her power, Yura could see spatial anomalies, and she knew of a ‘boxer glover’ around the man’s hand, more deadly than even a shot of a railgun. A durable enough alloy could stop a bomb, but it’ll be absolutely helpless against having a piece of space being ripped out of it and its contents moved away. And the nerves in her missing limb screamed in agony, wailing at the missing limb.

Ihor’s spit ended Six’s gloating. For all the supposed precognition talent, Two hadn’t seen this coming. Once Yura dissolved the enlarged space, the spit moved on, landing in the man’s eye as he dodged. Six got distracted, and the three charged at him. Immediately, the gum started growing in her throat, trying to clog the windpipes. The torn particles that the Number had spread reached them, slipping into their noses and mouths and growing larger.

“Predict this!” Olaf roared, engulfing his head in an aura of heat to shield himself.

A ball of energy appeared underneath Six’s arm that held Natasha. He let go of her, jerking the hand back and evading a searing hot beam that melted a hole in the ceiling. The Number retreated, cautious in the absence of his armor. His ‘gloves’ of space fully engulfed his hands to the wrists. More orbs flickered into reality; beams flew, aiming at the device at the terminal. Space bent them, sending the heat rays away, and one of them sliced through Olaf’s ear, vaporizing it. The teen grimaced but kept firing, and Yura warped the space again, sending Six straight into the far wall when the Number took a single step back, deflecting the incoming beams. Even displaced through the room, he still didn’t waver and shield himself from the following beams.

“We won!” Olaf laughed, forming a sphere in his hand.

They didn’t bet on beating Six. Well, Yura wanted to, but she was honest enough to admit to herself that he’d kill her in a flash. Olaf didn’t share the plan after she sent Six away, but the gist of it was simple enough. Ihor helped Natasha stand. Olaf will destroy the jamming device, and then she will use the spatial manipulation, and they will leg it, gaining distance for as long as it takes for help to arrive.

Yura gasped in pain, dropping on a knee. A line linked her to Six, a line coming out of his fist, a line that severed her leg at the knee. The ‘glove’ on his hand disappeared, protruding to her in a line. And the second ‘glove’ disappeared as Six leapt away, evading the beams. It hit Olaf in the chest, and he trembled, spewing out blood, his flames dying. The white-haired teen made a step, trying to stand. Six retracted his beam, and the trainee fell.

“Olaf!” Yura shouted, charging on three limbs and leaving a blood trail on the floor.

Ihor and Natasha were already there; she saw a dark shape lunging from the ceiling and understood with horror that they weren’t the only ones who tried to buy time by talking. The Numbers stepped inside, crawling out of vents and from below the generator. Ihor took a bone drill on his forearm, stopping a hit from a child, no older than ten by the look of it, who turned his legs and arms into weapons. The child tried to slice across Ihor’s neck with a blade, and a kick to the head sent him sprawling to the floor. Natasha cried out, receiving a shot in her shoulder, and kicked a piece of metal, wounding the shooter in her knee.

“Is your offer still in place?” Natasha pressed a hand to the wound. “Let my friends go, and I’ll be all yours, body and soul.”

Olaf, Olaf, Olaf… Yura turned the boy onto his back. Amid the ambush, they had left their armors behind, along with medical kits and everything else. Instructor Akebia can save him, but she isn’t here! Six aimed at the boy’s heart, missing because of the beams aimed at him. The shot cut through the aorta, damaging the left coronary artery. Unless they can get him to a doctor, he’ll bleed to death!

I… I won’t let it happen. Yura caught a leg aimed at Ihor’s knee and dragged the Number closer, opening her jaws. An urge to feed almost overwhelmed her. She is bleeding; she must feed! She is scared; bite, tear, gulp, and run! Survive, eat, breed, and conquer!

The memory of Akebia introducing her to the group, the memory of Elina and Eliza cheering and congratulating her on joining the club, and the precious memory of her friends working at the construction site laughing and joking. People at the construction site freaked out at her at first, but in the end, they all sat together one night, telling stories and even drinking bear while Akebia wasn’t looking. The flood of memories stopped her from biting off the man’s face. She isn’t a cannibal. She is a Malformed and pork is tastier than human flesh!

Yura rammed the Number with the remains of her horns, crumpling his face and spilling brains on the floor. Olaf won’t die. She put a hand on his wound and concentrated, crying a bloody tear as a blade slipped past Ihor and Natasha and cut her under the rib. The pain is temporary. I am a knight. A knight of Iterna. And as long as I live, my friend won’t die.

Olaf’s bleeding stopped; the edges of the aorta and the artery remained cut, but the blood circulated through them, carried over through a channel of the shortened space. Never had Yura attempted such a feat. Her power didn’t work when it came to tearing a person apart; she tried, but the power refused to harm a part of the body. She kept her eyes on the wound and didn’t dare break concentration, even for a moment. Death encroached on them. The instincts cried to run, and she quenched them, realizing the futility of this course of action. There is no escape, not with her wounds, and Ihor and Natasha won’t leave them, the stubborn, best friends in the world.

“Offer retracted.” Six came to stand before the terminal, holding his hands behind his back. “Why should I negotiate when I hold all the cards? Struggle if you must, but…” The generator behind him hummed, and Six turned around. He softened his features, smiling warmly and basking in the light of an ancient engine coming to life. It turned dark, stopping its hum as soon as it started, and Six exhaled. “Ah. It is done. My best wishes, Two, Eight. The countdown to humanity’s extinction has begun, and none the wiser.” He turned to them. “Fitting that it will be baptized with the blood and tears of its children. Slaughter the rejects, but spare the scrawny bitch,” he commanded. “She may yet play a part in what is to come. And no need to be gentle; we only need her torso and head intact.”

“Guys,” Yura bleated, ready to wet herself from fear. They wanted to drop into a club after the training, roam the darkest alleys in search of interesting shops, or maybe find trouble and show off. Olaf had promised to teach her how to swim. The ocean is lovely at this time of year. “Thanks for everything.”

“Don’t mention it; I had fun,” Ihor admitted.

“Save it for when we’ll get out, ‘kay?” Natasha asked. “Ihor, you take fifty guys on the left; I’ll take twenty guys on the right.”

“Hey! This isn’t fair!”

“It’s okay, I am a girl; it’s allowed to us!”

Yura prepared to wrap a space around her and hurl Natasha, Olaf, and Ihor to the exit to give them one last chance at running away. Her head hurt when she used the power in two different directions, but she’ll endure. Not all can escape. Not all can survive. She started lifting a hand off Olaf’s wound when the ceiling shook, sending dust down.

“What the bloody hell is this?” Six raised his head. The ceiling trembled, the metal beams supporting it bent, and a bulge, like a volcanic pimple, grew on it.

It is Mo… Instructor Akebia! It has to be! Yura blinked water off her eyes, ignoring the contradiction and the chaos of battle heard even from here. Akebia could not be there. She still fought fiercely without giving ground somewhere behind them. A heavy kick came again, shattering the metal, and a leg emerged from the hole, covered by the exquisite fabric of a rich, silken crimson skirt. The skirt covered a very large, muscular, and hairy leg that released claws and sliced through the remains of a smashed black shoe.