The remaining houses close to the armory shook from violence. Their windows had long since lost their glass, but now a series of cracks appeared on their walls, and not all of them resulted from the furious explosion that had leveled much of the armory. Four forms had been fighting against each other amidst the ruins, splitting the night with a shockwave resulting from the crashes of their weapons. One of the combatants was Jumail. The teenager weaved around the incoming blows, dodging the gaping portal holes that opened beneath his legs and blocking the crushing blows of the oracles. Two oracles were human and slender, their abnormal physiology enhanced by the power armor grafted onto them, and they matched his speed, dancing on the edge of his thrusts and counterattacking with the help of their powers. The last was a pure monster, his body mangled beyond recognition and fused with a towering hunk of clanking metal. The ferocity of their combat blew an entire cloud of stone dust into the air.
He had made a mistake. Jumail knew it. In setting off the bomb, he had inadvertently triggered a security system, allowing his whereabouts to be pinpointed, and the oracles, those altered Abnormals, came after him, intending to make him pay for what he had done. It was a childish mistake; Augustus had warned him over and over about the tripwire system. But he succumbed to it, his nerves frayed from all the killing he had done tonight and the desire to satisfy his urge to feast on the corpses.
Any lesser man would be dead by now. Jumail retreated, breaking through a former apartment as a portal opened to his left and a hooked pincer tried to claw at his head. He met the great arm with three of his legs, and it still threw him aside. Its claws left only the barest scratches on the sturdy plates of armor. The teleporter oracle disappeared once more, opening a portal over his head. Before a long scythe could slash at his round body, Jumail kicked at the ceiling with his hind legs, burying the bastard in the rubble. His attempt to capitalize on the opening was in vain as the third oracle closed the distance, spewing a green mist out of an iron grating hole, serving her for a mouth. Jumail broke through the back of the apartment, avoiding the mist like a plague. A few minutes earlier, it had corroded his weapons to nothing, leaving a twitching sensation on his leg where the armor had yielded to the poisonous fumes.
The danse macabre resumed anew. Mobile harnesses, these wicked corpses strapped to four-legged mobile torture devices, scurried across the rooftops, firing at him from mounted shoulder cannons. The teleporter kept opening gates behind him, scything at the Malformed. And the largest oracle, the creature taller than Jumail himself, moving on heavy armored caterpillar tracks, drove through a building. His four piston-driven arms ended in sharp digging shovels that had tried to close in on his legs, trying to pin him down and break his limbs. It was a blurred chaos of attacks, feints, desperate defenses, and retreats. One-on-one Jumail would’ve been hard-pressed to end the towering metal monster chasing after him, and the teleporter wasn’t easy either. When they ganged at him together, Jumail traded pieces of his armor for another minute of survival.
All his life, he had to hold back. The trainee knew he was stronger than Instructor Augustus and possibly stronger than Instructor Torosian. He even came up with a plan to take down Yura, although he would never humiliate his kin so. He was at the top of a totem pole when it came to strength. It wasn’t hubris; unlike most abnormals, Jumail had to actively try not to hurt people with his mere presence. His stride could explode a sidewalk, sending rocks everywhere. A careless twitch of his leg could leave a bystander with a broken rib, or worse. Yura had difficulties accepting why the Iternians regarded her as an animal and a dangerous beast, but Jumail knew damn well that they had a right to.
He craved human flesh. His therapist told him it was normal to have a desire, as long as Jumail never acted on it. But people saw him for who he was. That was why he was often alone. Even now, everyone worked in teams. And he was all alone, with no one to watch his back. Because they couldn’t rely on him, no one could trust a wicked cannibal who looked at others as if they were pieces of meat to be devoured. He knew his parole officer and personal therapist much better than his teammates.
This was fine. Rowen, Esmeralda, Eliza, Carlos, the always scared Elina, the weird Vasily… He was so grateful for the happiness and conversation they gave him. If he’d had more time... But there was no point in thinking about it. Not anymore. He will perish here in this stinking excuse for a town.
Jumail blocked the scythe aimed at his belly and tried to crush the teleporter with a joint thrust of four of his legs, but the oracle simply opened a portal beneath him and slipped out of existence to safety, leaving Jumail stuck in the concrete. The poisonous oracle jumped off the massive one and spat a cloud at Jumail. The Malformed bounced off the trap, leaving a hole in the road, and clicked his mandibles in irritation. Two armor-piercing rounds had torn through his back armor, wounding him between chitin plates. Everything turned into blur again; the digging buckets coming at him and the mere act of blocking them made his legs ache. The scythe flew around him, its blade glittering green, promising some disease ready to be injected into his veins. This was his last hour, and he would stand to the end to keep this trio from hurting his comrades. His friends.
A sadness washed over him. This feeling came to his mind despite the rush of adrenaline that was pumping through his system. He wanted to see Lee and Scytha, the two members of his family who had chosen names, and the other little ones, along with his Mum and Dad, all living ordinary, happy lives. Their progress was slow, but the therapist assured Jumail that his family would be rehabilitated. Not could be, would be. The ward even invited a specialist from the Oathtakers, a woman who worked closely with the Malformed and helped them integrate into society. And there was progress, too. Scytha learned some words, even if the little bastard adored profanities because they irked the guards, and he enjoyed being a center of attention.
Lee had to be separated from the rest of the family after the girl started playing soccer with the guards. She hadn’t learned to speak, but Jumail saw in her rainbow eyes that the girl understood enough; her bone whips no longer spasmed at a desire to bisect a human, and she stuffed herself with regular food, growing vast by the day. Lee respected guards because they could fight back and never put up with her shit, and doctors since they read to her at night. But she was still a danger to children, seeing them as potential food. No matter. Baby steps are good. Jumail was proud of her and read books to his two siblings.
His family caught this change and the unfamiliar scent on Lee, and the guards intervened before Mum could’ve taken the ‘defective’ girl apart. The rest of his family also showed various signs of progress. Dad had learned how to communicate with the guards through signs, asking for additional water and food. It will take years, maybe decades, but his family will come around. And he will never be with them again to hold Lee in his legs or to show her another truck he helped assemble.
The oracles hounded him like expert hunters. None of these attacks were in vain. By controlling the shamblers with their minds, the oracles drove Jumail by the nose into the opening near the tent city to the west of the armory. It made sense; he used the ruins to his advantage, shifting his position freely by climbing up and down to dodge the massive thrusts of his largest opponent and making the two smaller to pursue him. He and his foes were on the clock here, that with the sudden arrival of the unexpected allies, but Jumail’s luck had run out at last.
He broke through the ceiling of a ruined house, thrusting one of his legs into a space between the car-sized armored vambraces and the digging bucket. It barely stopped the moving hand, and the Malformed struck with two other legs, slowing the mechanical arm. The largest oracle had discarded his human form; what was left of its body was covered in layers of steel mounted on a moving platform, with four arms sprouting from massive shoulders. The oracle’s head was stylized in the form of a roaring demon, with teeth made of sharpened metal spikes, and the only thing left of the man’s humanity was a biological eye furiously looking at the Malformed. Wires and energy chords encircled each massive limb, and Jumail was about to sever some of them when a hail of rounds thudded at the back of his armor, blasting out small craters of steel out of him.
The harnesses had assembled outside the building, their fire piercing the wall. Jumail was still raising his fourth leg, aiming to take out at least one of the enemy’s limbs, when the teleporter appeared to his left, delivering a quick slash to his helmet. The lenses cracked, and the steel bulged; the blade passed within a millimeter of his round black eyes. I am going to die. Jumail thought, trying to keep his composure. To die. Here. The poisonous oracle jumped and spat out the green fumes. They made the remains of the stone wall bubble, along with his armor, eroding the foundation and throwing Jumail off balance. And the two bucket hands came next, punching Jumail square in the face.
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I don’t want to die. Such a simple thought, and it came to him at this desperate moment. The force behind the blow sent him all across the street, through two ruined buildings, and finally landed the Malformed among the empty tents. Alone. Always alone. His foes gathered, the harnesses clanked, encircling him, and the two humanoid oracles walked with arrogant confidence, one carrying the scythe on a shoulder and another rubbing his hands in anticipation. The third showed after them, opening and closing his digging buckets, and Jumail struggled to stand.
Jumail’s vision blurred, and he understood that a trickle of ichor was running down his head. Rowen was the first to greet him normally, though he wrapped himself in a telekinetic shield during the introduction. Esmi and Eddie invited him to their next birthday party, and with any luck the PO would agree to escort him. He wanted to learn how to cook from Vasily; he wanted to know what Elina’s problem with him was; he wanted to face Yura for real; he enjoyed working with guys and gals at the club. Oh, and that Wolfkin who restricted him—he needed to beat her up for the humiliation one day. He wanted to live!
A torn mandible fell from his face, along with part of his bubbling helmet. The force of the blow clicked something in him, making the boy rethink some of his dark thoughts. He had heard of it: at the last moment, people would see their whole lives flash before their eyes, and whether because of adrenaline or some realization, a weight fell off his shoulders.
His life wasn’t perfect. So what? He assembled a truck! How many people in the world have ever done that? The doctors restored his limbs, and his entire family was alive and well-fed! He wasn’t the starved wreck he was in the caves; he was a strong, proud, and somewhat intelligent human being. What’s there to cry about? He wasn’t sent here because the others distrusted him; he went here because Instructor Augustus trusted him, and he was the only one strong enough to complete the mission.
He once heard Instructor Torosian say to a trainee: “When you jump off a bridge to escape your problems, you suddenly understand that all your problems have a solution. All but one. You, jumping off the bridge.” At that time, the instructor spoke softly, without the usual severity, making sure that each student understood his meaning.
“Enough with the sorrow.” Jumail stood on his seven legs, his eighth leg a numb appendage. “Face me, if you dare!” Screw the inevitability and screw the odds, and his depression can see itself to hell and apologize before the devil on his behalf for the inconvenience. He will last, damn it! He will hold on until help comes!
“Riddle me this, mutie. What looks like a spider and is full of holes?” the scythe-wielding oracle asked, and the shamblers’ weapons activated and locked on Jumail. “You are!”
Jumail let the oracle run his mouth, surveying the situation. Enemies are all around him; how annoying! As soon as they come blow to blow, he will lose here in the open. What are the options? The oracles gather in front of him, covering each other. Solution: Break through the enemy defenses to the left or right and keep to the ruins. Or... He remembered the details Eliza had shared. Underground! That's it, the big bastard would never fit in there! The teleporter had to gesture with his hand to create a portal; this made him somewhat predictable, and so far the man could only create two portals at a time. If he could...
Suddenly, fear came over him. It wasn’t the fear of death or the despair of never seeing his loved ones or friends again. Nor was it the fear of never reaching his goal. This was the fear of inevitability—the fear of something grand swooping down at him, reducing all his effort to naught. A fear of an absolute predator. And the enemies felt it; the oracles’ laughter stopped, and the defiled corpses shifted their weight from leg to leg, turning around. Their rotating autocannons began to move.
A shadow fell on Jumail, and a massive weight landed on top of him, pushing the boy toward the ground and causing Jumail to fold all his legs under his body in an almost forgotten gesture of utter submission. He even tried to bare his neck, ignoring the warning cries of his armor. Six legs landed around him, six thick, curved columns with chitin bridges covering the outer and inner parts with an almost indestructible armor. The thrust of the six limbs had sent ripples across the stone floor, lifting slabs of rock and creating a wall around the predators and their prey.
“You are no Shadow, pretender,” a voice screeched above him, making the boy cringe at the horrible sound.
Jumail had heard many voices in his short life. His mother’s sucking sounds. Guttural, brutal demands from his father. Deafening sonic bursts of Scytha. But this voice was different. Massive chelicerae produced the words through friction. Eight sunken eyes, eight great orbs of darkness examined the Malformed’s body. “Iternian. Show some dignity. Sit,” the creature finally said, and the boy dared to stand.
He recognized this person. Despite his appearance, deep inside, Jumail still had much in common with humans. He had human hearts, multiple spinal columns, and a unique mixture of ichor and dark venous blood coursing through his veins. His ancestors and his body had been altered by the glow and mutations caused by radiation, and who knew what else? But the fact remained. Jumail was human. Merely changed.
The one above him was not. They looked similar; two large, almost circular balloons of flesh formed their torsos. Legs splayed out from the front flesh sack, and their heads had similar-looking mandibles. But where Jumail’s eyes were disorderly, and where he had human arms extending beneath his lower jaw, the creature above him boasted perfect symmetry in both chitin plates and eye placement. The grand general of the Oathtakers, Crawler, had lost two of his eight legs in the defense of Stonehelm, and large gashes and scars adorned his body. His flesh pulsed through small cracks in his not-quite-healed chitin plates, and his hair covering caught every movement in the vibrations of the air.
An inhuman, an insect of the Old World, a test subject altered in an attempt to create a perfect bio-weapon, who had chosen to join the Oathtakers after being here. The Butcher of the Wolf Tribe and the Ice Fang Order stood guard over Jumail.
“Crawler! What luck! Your death will please Chosen Prince!” The scythe-wielding oracle shouted and lunged forward. The man swung his weapon and disappeared into a portal, reappearing behind the Oathtaker. His swing was blocked by a single hind leg that stopped the man in midair, and the tip of the leg sliced through both the scythe’s haft and the oracle’s body.
“Predictable,” Crawler said, and the leg went back into stone. Along with the man. The oracle never even managed to give out a scream; his body got bisected in two in a blur. The brutal impaling’s impact caused a line of destruction to streak across the stone in the direction of the harnesses. With a grinding of gears, the four industrial digging buckets were thrust at Crawler, each arm pierced by a raised leg. “Pathetic,” the general continued, ripping his legs free and leaving the oracle with shattered limbs.
Jumail could not believe his eyes. Against all the wishes of therapists and the Instructor, he agreed to a request to face off against Iternian bioweapons, VIs officers, and Problemsolvers. Most of the time, he won because the opposition was not fast enough. And here and now, he was unable to track Crawler’s movements. The General stood on two hind legs for a fraction of a second, and in that span the oracle was toppled, no less than sixteen holes shattering his body. The last oracle appeared on the crest of the risen slabs and released the poison mist at Crawler.
The chelicerae spread, and the spider inhaled the fumes. His body jolted, and a spasm of pure pleasure washed over each chitin plate and below. “Exquisite,” he said with a quick rub of his jaws. And bit. Crawler’s body turned into a blur. He crossed the distance to the oracle, his mandibles crushing the man to a paste with a crunch, and he returned to stand guard. All before a single bullet reached Jumail.
“You…” Jumail blurted out, feeling his heart about to stop. Droplets and streaks of blood dripped onto his armor. “You are eating human flesh!”
“Hm?” Crawler’s leg sliced through the top of a stone slab, and he sent the stone into the zombies, breaking several of them. His other legs almost lazily parried the incoming bullets. “That’s my snack, faker. Hunt your own damn food.”
“But… but it’s cannibalism!” The boy stumbled. The general wasn’t a human, so… Perhaps it was allowed for him? Wait, these are crazy thoughts! No one can eat humans!
A long visor moved from a circular mechanical collar behind Crawler’s ‘head’ and covered two of his eyes. The mighty chelicerae clicked in irritation. “Avengers! Is this how you honor Brogard’s legacy? Fall back and maintain cohesion with the other units. The enemy is opening a clear path to the Factory; they are luring you in. Advance as a united front and prepare for a trap.” An operator asked something about making a contact, and Crawler responded. “Yes, I made contact. There are no Shadows here. Just their armor. Something fishy is in the air. No, not sickness. Proceed to the tower with caution. Rearguard! There are Iternians behind our front line. Find and secure.”
“Where do you want me, sir…” Jumail tried to stand up, ready to face the shamblers. A leg tapped at his back, then at his legs, and finally touched his face. What does Crawler mean by the Shadows not being here? Ah, that must be Eliza’s lie… Shit! Double shit! Please don’t eat me, please don’t eat me!
“Your armor cracked, pseudo-Shadow.” Crawler closed in, and Jumail heard a host of communication chatter. “Fall back to the Templar’s forces. I will send you a vector for retreat.”
“But, sir, this will leave you all alone…” Jumail tried to reason with him.
“The night’s still young, imitator. And only righteous retribution may satisfy my hunger,” Crawler said. A kick, more like a lover’s thump, had flung Jumail across the ranks of the assembled shamblers. The Grand General of the Oathtakers was left alone against two dozen mechanical monsters. And the carnage had begun in earnest.