It took them hours, even with Hive’s help and the supplies provided by the Northern Army. Instructor Augustus had permitted this selfish desire of Ratcatcher, stopping her long enough to get her wounds treated by a field medic. And the Trolls had offered their help, but she rejected the offer, limiting their assistance to advice. This was something she wanted to do herself because they were the ones who started this whole mess. And when, to her surprise, Carlos and the others showed up, she gladly accepted their help, knowing that they, too, deserved some closure.

The Oathtakers entered the tower and carefully evacuated the swollen and sickly wounded. Their teams made a sweep of every level, collecting documents and evidence for the future investigation. Hive insects’ hordes scoured every inch of the tower and went about checking the city, locating every oracle and Condemned who tried to hide. Of Hustler, there was no sight.

And in the meantime, Hive’s dragonfly darted up and down, taking the trainees to various critical points in the tower, where they planted explosives. Augustus and the countymeister have both checked in with them occasionally, pointing out the correct spots to place an explosive for a better effect and coordinating the team.

Rowen, Esmeralda, and Edward weren’t present; all three were suffering from exhaustion, and Edward even got a massive nosebleed and had to be examined by the ship’s medic on the subject of possible brain damage. And in spite of being outnumbered four to one, Jumail almost outdid the other team, scaling up and down the tower’s walls without any help from Hive. His broken leg was covered in an elastic sleeve and was held in a sling. Elina had a similar contraption, a round elastic sphere, around her ruined hand, and Ratcatcher herself was covered in medical patches from head to toe under her armor. The wound Hustler had inflicted on her had become a mixture of hardened nanomachines and flesh, and it would take a medical procedure to remove and clean it.

But none of that mattered. The group gathered at the edge of the airfield, with the sand reaper’s body behind them.

“Eat shit!” Ratcatcher shouted and pressed the button, imagining that Hustler was still hiding somewhere in the tower.

Explosions blossomed on the outer side of the tower, ruining the support beams and burning away the withered flesh cover. Cracks, like gaping, hungry maws, opened all over the structure, growing larger and larger and revealing the hideous interior for all to see. Incendiary charges went off, releasing heat potent enough to melt through the toughest steel. Flames spewed from the open cracks, melting the edges of the tower, and a small eruption, made by the joint efforts of Carlos and Vasily, spilled out of the tower’s top, akin to an erupting volcano. The trainees cheered, jumping and shouting at the sight.

“Fall down, ye filthy arch of sin!” Carlos intoned dramatically, standing on his toes, pressing a hand to his heart, and outstretching another toward the destruction. “Be smitten by the righteous cleansing fire, disappear beneath the earth into the unholy abyss ye belong to, and never again dare to bother good people of… Wait, what…” He stuttered.

As if in response to his words, the tower folded. It didn’t topple over to the north, nor did it come apart. It folded in on itself, chunk by chunk, onto itself, collapsing toward the center. And as thousands of tons of metal and rock cascaded down, they lifted a vast cloud, first upward, and then it started expanding. A black storm front came toward the trainees, threatening to engulf them.

“Tactical retreat!” Ratcatcher shrieked, pushing the chuckling Elina and Vasily ahead of herself. A gust of wind lifted pebbles from the ground in the wake of Carlos’ brave ‘ditching of the others’ escape. Jumail went last, walking backwards and filming the destruction with a satisfied glee.

The raised body of the sand reaper saved them. It arched up a bit, letting the trainees pass under the horrible forest of twitching clawed legs, and slammed its bulk behind them, cutting off the cloud. Ratcatcher wasn’t sure who exactly aided them—Hive or the sand reaper itself—but she still looked up at the terrifying head and waved her hand in thanks, feeling herself like an insect under those pitch-black eyes.

Birchshell underwent massive changes in the passing hours. In place of dirty tents and ruined buildings, a new base came into being, its sections delivered by heavy transporters that drove over the ruins of the bastion. The sick and wounded had been moved into sterile sections of this temporary base, and new medical teams arrived, carrying special medical capsules provided by Iterna. These marvels of engineering could save a person’s life, even from the most grievous wounds, provided the brain was still alive and if the capsule itself contained enough materials to restore or replace damaged organs and limbs.

The only problem was that the Oathtakers had three such capsules, plus five more donated by the army. And there were hundreds of still-living people in need of urgent help. Whether they liked it, the medics had to start triaging, putting aside the seriously wounded Condemned and the Trolls. No one really cared about the former, and the latter had a slight chance of recovering on their own despite sickness. Augustus also offered his own help and commanded two more capsules to be taken out of their own ship and delivered to the medics, along with letting the on-board medical personnel join their fellow medics. Of course, the Iternian lives took priority for the Iternian doctors, but the medics were grateful for the extra hands, nonetheless.

New units and vehicles arrived by the minute, adding to the security of the site. Hundreds of soldiers ventured underground and conducted reconnaissance of the surrounding area, disabling mines and taking prisoners. Civilian corpses were brought out into the open with all due respect. Teams of flamethrowers set to work cleaning up the unholy mess created by Chosen Prince’s power. Three defensive perimeters now encircled Birchshell, and army transports took in most of the prisoners. Hive’s dragonfly body flew overhead, assisting and directing the operation while Crawler had his wounds treated. Where before the place was dimly lit and the groans of shamblers could be heard all around, now a bright light shone on all, and Templars sang religious hymns, lifting the soldiers’ spirits. A command center rose in the place of the ruined armory.

“Have you done being a bunch of vandalizing gremlins?” Augustus was already waiting for them on the other side. Out of solidarity with his students, he too had refused medical aid, and the slice in his armor had become a paper cut by now. He wore no helmet and breathed in the poisoned air without concern. They saluted, and the man nodded. “Good. Off to the medics we go.”

The sand reaper moved its head, and Augustus followed its gaze, appearing beside the trainees with a hand on a saber’s hilt. A cloud above the collapsing tower shifted, and something passed through it, leaving a hole in both the cloud and a massive slab of falling stone. The ground shook, and a needle of pure bone appeared next to Ratcatcher, causing her and the others to leap into the air a little from the impact.

She blinked, looking at the three-meter-tall bone spike sticking out of the concrete, unsure what to make of it. Veins appeared on the solid bone structure, and then bubbling flesh. Ligaments and muscles formed from the depths of the bone and spread across the surface. The bone shard itself shattered, reforming itself, and a brain appeared. In a few seconds, a naked, black-haired man stood before the shocked trainees. He winced, and a set of clothes—a black leather jacket with silver zippers and cargo pants—grew out of his fair skin. He tugged at his collar and stepped closer.

“Greetings, my Iternian friends,” the man said with warmth in his voice. His body came apart, separating into four equal-sized copies connected by a fleshy cord. They shook hands with the trainees and gave Jumail a thumbs up. “On behalf of the Children of the Oath, I welcome you in our lands and thank you for your aid from the bottom of my hearts.”

“LS!” Hive swooped down from the sky and hovered in place. The man became a single being again and greeted the champion with a hug. Several soldiers approached, bringing the newcomer up to speed.

“Lord Steward.” Augustus bowed. “I’ve been told you are staying at Stonehelm.”

“I go where the Oath needs me.” Lord Steward, one of the three people who ruled the Oathtakers, accepted a terminal from a soldier and scrolled through reports. The president-elect and de facto ruler of the nation has reigned for over two hundred and forty years, never failing to gather less than seventy percent of votes at each election. Many suspected a foul play, but even observers from both Iterna and the Reclamation Army failed to detect any fraud. This man of unremarkable appearance was simply that popular. “And its call has brought me here. The lives of my people are of the utmost paramount to me.”

“Then why did you refuse the offer of help?” Ratcatcher asked and felt Augustus’ hand on her shoulder. Lord Steward glanced at her and gestured for her to continue. “The Reclaimers stood ready to smash Chosen Prince. They sent you a call after a call, and you refused it! Look around!” She pointed at the ruins, feeling anger rising in her. “The people who waited for your aid, the dead and dying in the infirmary… Not all, but most of it could’ve been prevented through cooperation. And yet you hid in the capital, stepping in at the very last moment, unlike Mister Hive, who fought at the forefront from the beginning.”

“Much good it did to us.” Hive stepped on the ground and scratched the words. “In my recklessness, I had deprived our army of valuable assets and prolonged the war.”

“I bring my apologies for the words of my student…”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Why should you? The innocence of youth should be treasured. They often see what we no longer can. Was it not through the ideals of an innocent person that the Malformed were understood?” Lord Steward stopped Augustus with a gesture, growing a third arm from the smooth surface of his jacket and a new set of eyes to look at both the terminal and the girl. He placed a hand on Ratcatcher’s shoulder. “Your words ring true, child. But you simply don’t know the full truth of the situation. By inviting a serpent into your house, you also invite the poisonous consequences.”

“But Lord Devourer has the reputation of being a noble person.” Ratcatcher blinked, and Lord Steward smiled with sadness in his eyes and gave her a pat. She kept on going, unwilling to let Lord Steward confuse her. “And if you hate snakes, you could’ve always let Outsider in and kept Wyrm Lord and Devourer away!”

“I don’t think he is referring to their appearance, Eliza,” Vasily hushed and stood at attention when Lord Steward turned to him.

“A remedy must never be worse than poison. You’ll learn with age that no offers are as benign as they appear to be.” Lord Steward resumed his normal human appearance and walked toward the infirmary, inviting the group to follow. On their way, they encountered a group of Trolls escorting several Condemned to prison. “Faithful.” The president’s fingers snapped. “A moment.”

The soldiers obeyed, some kneeling and pressing a hand to their hearts in divine reverence. Others, including trolls in regular army uniforms, saluted while keeping an eye on their prisoners. Ratcatcher noticed two familiar faces among the captives. These were the Condemned whom she had captured at the approach to the tower.

“Doctor.” Lord Steward greeted a field medic with a nod and pointed at the shambling Condemned. “What’s the situation with this one?”

“About to die, sir. Gangrene has taken hold of all his limbs around the elbow joints; a shard of bone pierced a liver; the immune system is no longer…”

“Why the questions?” the female Condemned interrupted the medic in a hoarse voice. Most of her armor was removed, leaving just the chest plate and her cape. “Afraid we won’t live long enough for you to torture us?”

“Shut it, filth.” Lord Steward replied, continuing to listen to the medic.

“Dislike the results of your work, freak?” The woman coughed out a knot of pus and saliva. “Think you are better than us? Didn’t stop you from selling me and my little brother to the slavers, did it?”

“Is that it?” Lord Steward turned to her faster than Ratcatcher could see. “Someone hurt a little you, and the poor baby is now taking it out on the innocents?”

“No one is innocent!” The Condemned snarled.

“Including you and your brother when you were sold?” Ratcatcher asked, earning herself a look of pure hatred. She refused to back down. “I don’t know what happened to you…”

“I just told you, bitch,” the woman interrupted her. “A bunch of freaks broke into our house, dragged me and my family out into the open, beat us, mocked us, and sold us into slavery. There, I lost my family and everything of worth. There, I learned true hatred. And there the Condemned gained the power to carry out our vengeance.”

“That’s no reason to hurt other innocents!” Ratcatcher roared, and Carlos grabbed her hand before she could smash the woman’s face in. “You stupid, ugly whore, you just told me that you learned to hate! Meaning you didn’t know it before! Guess what? Kids and infants who lived here—none of them knew it either! You did to them the same injustice; the same pain what was done to you!”

“Are we supposed to forgive and forget what was done to us?” The Condemned bared her broken teeth. “Hold hands and sing merry songs? Screw that. The world owes us! The people who died here? They were just in the way. Call it sad, but it is the will of the world!”

“The Oathtakers had nothing to do with selling you into slavery,” Lord Steward said.

“Of course, you just conveniently took over the people who sold us a few weeks later. And didn’t bother to stop the deal while we were still in your territory.” The woman clicked her tongue. “An accident. Sure, fucker. At least we’re upfront about who we are, liar.”

“You rationalize the actions committed, thinking that the harm done to you gives you a free pass to commit any atrocity in return. Hurt and hurt until justice is done.” Hive approached, making the woman try to take a step back in fear. “Don’t be afraid. You, the true you, are still alive; otherwise, you would not have sought excuses for your actions. Deep down, you know that what you have done is wrong. There is no justice to be found across the field of corpses, only an eternity of damnation.” He folded two of his legs in prayer. “There will be a trial. And you will probably all be imprisoned for life. But please try to rekindle the flame of your life. Let go of the hatred. Ask yourself: Is this the path your family would want to see you walk? You can’t change your past, but you can accept it—both pain and crime—and honor the victims’ memory with at least an attempt to be better.”

“Enough of your sermons, bug.” The woman straightened. The shambling Condemned beside her groaned something that barely resembled words, and her face grimaced. She nodded. “But I will say this. The Oracles had meddled with some strange individuals. Some of them, we know. Raiders from the north, always interested in a pound of flesh. Praetorian was always sour about having to deal with them. Others were even more queer. Of them, we kept our distance away. To get the materials to complete their superweapon, the Oracles had sold several thousand prisoners to the raiders. I know not who bought this many slaves after we destroyed the Pit. All I know is that the raiders had plans to take their slaves to the far east, past the lands of some freaks who call themselves Soultakers. Now do your worst, bastards.”

“I don’t care what you think, maniac. Know this. We learned about the committed crime only recently, and an investigation is ongoing. There will be justice.” The Condemned—most of them—laughed at Lord Steward’s words.

He swung, and Ratcatcher saw his arm come apart, the sleeve of his jacket fusing with his flesh to form several appendages. The Condemned kept laughing, but their voices soon turned to muffled cries of pain as the tendrils wrapped around their bodies, jerking them in the air. Armors splintered, the tendrils pushed into mouths and nostrils, cutting off access to oxygen, and Ratcatcher made a step, planning to leap at Lord Steward. It was Augustus who stopped her and made the trainees stand still.

The tendrils ventured beneath the people’s skin, not piercing it but merging with it. Amber skin and patches of darkness started dissipating, and pink, black, noble bronze, and yellow colors came back. Bloodshot eyes changed back to normal, and pus and sickly waste poured out of the Condemned’s orifices. Necrosis, boils, wounds, traces of cancer, and other damage got swallowed by nearby flesh. Swollen limbs returned to their original shape. Missing eyes reappeared in their sockets. Broken bones straightened with loud snaps. Lord Steward raised his arm and whipped the naked people off his hand, casting them to the ground, gasping for air and completely healed.

“This,” he said, “here is over, murderers. There will be no further slaughter and no more vengeance. You will stand trial, and a lawyer will protect you, but the verdict is clear. You will remain in prison until it is safe to release you. If such a day ever comes. The families of your people who surrendered to us at Stonehelm are accepted in the Oath. Perhaps some of them will even visit you. Those guilty of selling your people into slavery will face judgement. Our war is over, and you have lost. Take them away.” He turned to the trainees. “Anyone up to healing? It’s not painful, honest.”

“No!” they shouted and hid behind Augustus’ back. Even Jumail tried to position himself so that the instructor would be between him and the Oathtaker.

“I didn’t expect you’d let them live. Not after what they had done, sir.” Augustus’ eyes followed the group. “They deserve to die.”

“Agreed.” Lord Steward shrugged. “I would be lying if I said that I don’t feel hatred. I have an obligation to uphold the laws accepted by my citizens. And as the Founder always said, mercy is never misplaced, but often wasted. If you heal a murderer and let him walk away, you are making a mistake. But here we have an entire group of people. Slaughter part of them without a trial, and seeds of hatred and resentment will find fertile soil. We have the means to ensure these wastes of breaths won’t hurt anyone ever again. They will be kept in humane conditions, and,” he laughed, “maybe Hive even ends up being right! Miracles do happen. There are plenty of people alive who deserve to perish. And some of them have turned their lives around.”

“I do not share your enthusiasm.” Augustus hesitated and tilted his head. “What is that sound?”

Ratcatcher heard it too. A faint cry, no, a desperate shout of someone emptying their lungs. It came from afar, barely audible even to her ear, but the source was undeniable. Pain. Someone was wailing in pain, and it made the girl look around, ready to dart for aid. Perhaps a soldier had fallen into a crack? Or worse, maybe Hustler had reappeared and was attacking!

Lord Steward checked the terminal in his hands and smiled coldly.

“General Crawler is conducting a thorough interrogation of the criminal elements captured with the Condemned,” he started explaining. “The raiders the murderer was talking about. Some of them hid during the attack, and the Condemned sold them out by not allowing them to pose as civilians. First, we learn about the gangs involved. Then the General will pay them a visit, and we shall see what comes next when we come to it. Our lost flock will be found and rescued, no matter the distance and no matter who we have to end.”

“I don’t like it.” Hive beat the words on the stone. “I don’t like it one bit.”

“Torture.” Augustus put hands behind his back. “I thought better of the Oathtakers. Not only is it illegal, but it is also ineffective. Use drugs for a quicker effect.”

“Whatever do you mean by such baseless accusations, my friend?” Lord Steward smiled kindly. “Torture? Do not say such harsh words. I assure you, when the good general is finished, there will be no sign of physical trauma among the prisoners. You may even check them later. We honor the international laws, after all.”

“And if I were to check them now?” Augustus asked plainly.

“Then our soldiers would have to restrain you and the gentle ones.” Lord Steward pressed a hand to his chest. “I am eternally grateful for your aid, but speaking of illegal actions, using child soldiers is a big no-no between Iterna and the Oathtakers. And looking at your students…” He pressed his lips together. “I’d say they’re seventeen at best. And the big girl is... ten?”

“I am a man!” Jumail tensed.

“Apologies, my mistake,” Lord Steward said.

Ratcatcher wasn’t sure what to do. Lord Steward was lying. He planned to visit the captured criminals and heal them with his power, thus erasing all traces of this crime. Carlos, Elina, Jumail, and even Vasily stood unbothered by it. And she didn’t feel the urge to go and help a slaver, torture or not. The fewer of them are in the world, the better. But deep inside, something told her to do the right thing; she wanted to rush and try to stop the pain, to stop these screams. She suppressed those feelings, content that at least the bastards would live.

Would she act any differently if they stole Liam? Every second counts. If the general can make them spill the beans, then it would mean the captives might be rescued faster. Maybe if the slavers experienced a portion of what their victims felt, it would change them. Surely it wasn’t evil to make them realize the evil of their ways?

An Oathguard landed before them, Lord Steward’s immediate presence in the infirmary, and Ratcatcher pushed all dark thoughts from her mind. She can’t save everyone. Better to concentrate on what she can do and live.

“Of course, brother.” Lord Steward cracked his knuckles. “Lead on. It is time to use God’s gift to conduct miracles.”