Mendal muttered a small curse and felt her anger rising as the sharp edges of a trap wrapped around her ankle and scratched helplessly against her armor. Trying to wrestle her leg free, she tore the metal trap out of the sand, and the night became filled with the dangling of metal as a simple alarm system that was connected to the trap sprung to life.

“Dear mother, please next time announce our coming with something a bit more dignified. A shout, perhaps,” Reben chuckled in his feminine voice, walking unbothered across the sand toward the village.

She felt an urge to slaughter him, right here and now. Just reach for her shamshirs and bury them, first in his shoulders, next in his neck, to see the blood pouring out from a stump and to bite away his vile tongue.

But this would only spell her doom. Not that she was afraid to die or anything. Naturalborns lived for twenty or thirty years maximum before being cut down by their rivals or children, as was proper. She herself ended her father’s life in a ritual combat, inheriting these lands and his weapons. This begged the question. Why are she and her other children alive? Why had Reben chosen to act in this dishonorable manner, forcing his kin to experience pointless pleasure instead of the sweet release of death? What sort of wicked satisfaction does he get by forcing her to act as a ruler?

Irrelevant. Allowing her bile to drive her, Mendal charged forth, leaving footprints in the overheated sand. Like an arrow, she sprinted all the way to the village wall before jumping on its top, Reben landing slightly faster than her. They landed amidst the scared cattle, all of whom moved far too slowly to present them with any danger.

Her purple eyes narrowed at this sight. The cattle pointed their pathetic weapons at their rulers, refusing to fall on their knees and bask in their glory. Their trembling shouts sent warnings to the people below the wall, and soon panic spread across the village. Still, none greeted them properly.

Angered, Mendal struck with her shamshir, aiming to open a guard’s body from neck to chisel and adore herself in his crimson blood, before feasting on the steel’s warm insides. If a leg goes limp, it must be cut off. If cattle forget their place, they must be reminded of this. She should have never agreed to show mercy to these peasants when the desert devil blessed them with his violence. The time has come to remind them whom they should fear.

Her blade bounced from the lash wrapped around Reben’s arm, and the ridiculous-looking Naturalborn stepped forward, hands spread in greetings. Purple, crimson, blue, green, and yellow coloration adorned his armor, creating a crazed pattern that flickered in the torches’ light. His cape billowed with each burst of movement like a pair of wings.

“Now, now, dear mother, we merely came here to obtain information, are we not? You there, servant girl!” Turning into a blur, Reben appeared before one of the guards, grasping the frightened woman by the hand and kissing her fingers. “Ah… Sweat and hardships, when it should be perfume and milk. So rough, but there is a certain flavor to such a hardy girl.” His multicolored eyes locked on her belly. “So sad, someone already filled you with his seed. Tell me, is old Izzaddeen still in charge around here?”

“Y-yes.” The guard gulped.

“Yes, what?” Mendal’s sword came down on the wooden planks with enough force to send a net of cracks around her, forcing the nearby guards to jump away in order not to fall down. Reben only rolled his eyes.

“Yes, my masters,” the pale-looking guard whispered, not daring to break her hand free.

“Superbly! I do love seeing the familiar faces. Do bring him to us pronto, honey.” Reben pushed the guard toward the stairs.

“What do you want with him?! We already paid the tithe!” Both Naturalborns turned like a whirlwind, Mendal’s rough and heavy pale cloak struck one guard off his feet.

A woman came from the streets below, accompanied by a man who looked like her brother, both armed with bows. Mendal did not distinguish one livestock from another, but she could have sworn that there was something familiar about these two. She had seen them before, this much was certain.

Rebel leaped from the wall, and his mother joined him, both landing with enough force to send a small cloud of sand upward. Reben straightened himself up, acting way slower than usual, jerking and twisting with every fiber of his body. Wet and soft popping sounds filled the night as his joints moved.

“Why, hello there, Mardiyya, Raaji.” With the sound of a breaking table, the Geld Duke bowed to the two youths. “Ah, how times fly, Mardiyya. Last time I saw you, you could barely reach my knee. And you Raaji…”

“You haven’t told us the reason for your coming,” Raaji said in a strained voice, gripping his bow with white fingers.

“And you haven’t called me master.” Reben's head tilted to the side. “You do know that only my closest servants and party guests are allowed such familiarity? Should I whisk you away and show both of you a host of unforgettable experiences that would set your mind and nerves alight with pleasure and pain in equal measure? Worry not, I am a careful host, and only a few hearts have ever given up in my presence. No?” Seeing frightened faces, the Geld Duke sighed sorrowfully. “A shame, but what can one do?”

The Geld Duke circled around the pair, never once closing on them. Cracking his fingers, Reben pressed a finger to his bright lips and returned to his mother’s side.

“Where were we… Ah, yes, the reason for our coming. You see, Raaji dearest, a few hours ago, an attack most foul ended the lives of my soldiers. In her unrivalled bravery, my dear mother.” Mendal shuddered, feeling his touch on her shoulder. Now maybe? Maybe now he’ll act like an adult and eat her? His hand merely gave her a loud pat across her armor. “Upon arriving, my dear mother swiftly disposed of the accursed critters who were feasting on the corpses… And then I found something strange,” his feminine voice disappeared, replaced by an insinuating male tone. “As you know, each Naturalborn has a special power, me included. For some reason, my hearing and sense of smell are truly spectacular. So, here I was, feasting on the corpses of my soldiers, when I tasted steel and bone. Now, bone is nothing in itself, but I have tasted every living creature in my lands and never tasted this specific bone.” The Geld Duke sniffed, leaning back and smiling like an idiot, before snapping at the pair. “And to top it all off, your smells were on my soldiers. I don’t think I’ll need to meet the elder anymore.” He finished in a soft tone.

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“I think you should leave,” Mardiyya snapped, taking her bow in her arms.

“At last!” Mendal laughed, stepping forward and placing her shamshir back in the sheath behind her back. Looking at the arrow’s tip aimed at her face, she allowed a wicked smile to come onto her face. “Make it count, cattle.”

Something exploded at her feet, sending a gust of sand into Mendal’s surprised face. She forced her eyes to stay open, enduring the caustic feeling. The sound of the released bowstring was silenced by a sudden explosion, but to dodge this arrow for Mendal was a mere child’s play, anyway. She saw the arrow moving toward her, slowing down as her perception sped up. Arrogantly, the Naturalborn crossed the distance between two opponents, taking out her shamshir and resting it against the woman’s shoulder. Mardiyya blinked, seeing how her arrow pierced the Mendal’s afterimage and got stuck in a wall.

“No!” Raaji pushed Mardiyya aside, throwing a sack into Mendal’s face. A flick of her wrist sent the sack into a nearby wall, where it exploded harmlessly. The stupid boy thrust a knife into her face and screamed in pain when her fingers closed around his fist, bulging his flesh and threatening to snap his bones. But it would be too easy. There is a certain art to torturing. When one pushes the flesh deep enough, blocking veins, it explodes, showering everything with crimson, while the bone remains intact.

“Powder?” She hardened her grip, enjoying his strained face, and brought him closer to having his fingers popped. “Nasty boy, that’s not allowed here…”

“Dearest mother,” Reben murmured, “show some awareness next time.”

Mendal saw a strand of his lash above, moving right back with a quicksilver speed and filling the air with infernal screams. A small metal thing fell to the ground. What? She leaned back and saw a man’s form on a building, pointing a machine gun right into her face. The man’s form was encased in a strange-looking armor, one that covered him like a second skin. The damn bastard used an explosion to time up his shot!

“Reben,” she hissed, throwing Raaji aside. “Is this the scum who killed our troops?”

“No, mother,” her wicked son replied, after inhaling air. “This is a new one…”

“A new corpse, then!” She cut him off, leaping forward.

No doubt, the fool expected her to jump straight at him. In the air, she’d be easy prey for his weapon. Twice before, she had joined raids. On her first raid, an outlander caught her with a shotgun shot to the chest. The pain that she’d experienced on that day was nothing compared to the sheer humiliation of being injured by a lesser being. To remedy this, Mendal studied the way outlanders use their deadly machines, forcing fresh slaves, armed with trophy weapons, to hunt her down. The ones who’d managed to even scratch her had earned their freedom, and she’d learned the way these wicked things work, performing excellently on her next raid.

Her legs carried her to the left, evading a shot aimed at her collarbone. With a corner of her eye, Mendal spied just how deep this bullet went. Armor-piercing. Worse, if she remembered right, the machine guns could unleash a hail of bullets fast enough to overcome any block.

No matter. Mendal jumped closer to the building before leaping on a building to the right and propelling herself off its wall, aiming to take away the hands of the bastard who dared to attack them in their domain. The man stumbled back, trying to gain distance rather than aim his weapon. Fast. Even discounting his armor, which supposedly increased his speed and strength, the man was too fast to be a normal human. A blessed, like her, but of lesser stock. Her lips twisted in a cruel smile. Finding a foothold on the roof, she flashed her blades and chased after the retreating foe. Good choice of action, he recognized…

Mendal’s instincts kept her from being humiliated again when the building’s roof blew up. A person in carapace armor broke free and aimed two sabers at her neck. Without a moment’s hesitation, she blocked the left saber with her right hand and leaned to the right, hearing how the right saber scratched across her chest plate and tore through her coat. Jumping off the building, she saw how the man followed her. She met the unknown attacker head on, using both her shamshirs this time and weaving a net made of slashes in the air. Impossibly, her foe deflected all of them. Mendal found herself in need of retreating when a large staff, with what looked like an open collar at the end, nearly collapsed her right shoulder. The moment she took a step back, a painful kick came across her legs, drawing blood, and the staff’s bladed end was thrust into her face, tearing off part of her coat and armor. She jumped back to Reben, her ankle, chin, and right shoulder bleeding.

With sheer hatred, she looked at the three figures before her. The man, armed with sabers and clad in carapace armor, has a head that looks like that of an insect. Fast, clearly the most dangerous one. To his left was a woman, armed with this idiotic, unwieldy weapon, unsuited for a street fight. Her power armor shifted, gaining the colors of a building behind her. Wide open, a prey. And finally, to his right stood a large, hunching Changed, her armor looked oversized and unwieldy compared to the others, and her eyes, no, lenses, glowed with red. Should be an easy win, but Mendal remembered how easily this ridiculous creature has sneaked up on her, using the heat of battle to try to damage a tendon in her leg. A killer, one in need to stay wary of.

“Timed so well, and in the end, it didn’t even matter! Bravo, dearest mother! For a second there, I feared that I would have to save you once more.” Clapping, Reben stepped forward, his voice shifting to the feminine. “Welcome, welcome in the Desolation, my friends. My name is Reben, and this is my dearest mother, Mendal, the ruler of this humble abode and all lands in between, granted to us by the illustrious Ahya. Now, all introductions aside,” His voice changed again. “How dare Iternians kill my soldiers? I was led to believe that our two countries are at an uneasy truce. We don’t bother you, and your rabble doesn’t bother us.”

“Iternians?” Mendal gasped, grasping her sheaths tighter. “Are you sure?”

“Mother, I admire questions.” His eyes shifted on her, and Mendal shuddered at the sheer threat glittering in them. “But I hate doubts. Of course, these are Iternians, or at least most of them. The location, weapons, and armor—everything points to them, down to the smell!” Reben looked at the Changed. “You, my lovely, I do not know.”

“And you will never will,” the Changed grinned.

“You judge too hastily, dear lady.” Reben gracefully bowed, spreading the side of his cape with a hand. “Back to my question.”

“Your soldiers interfered with Iterna’s official business and were disposed of for it,” the man said. “You have a chance. Surrender and agree to spend some time in the hospitality of this place. Do so, and your life will be spared, Reben. In time, you may even regain your freedom.”

“Thank you, thank you for the kind offer!” Reben clasped his palms together, singing sweetly with his feminine voice. “Mother. We need some of them alive.”

Then take them yourself. Mendal thought angrily, striking out with her curved sword, and feeling an electric jolt run down her spine and across her right arm. She hated it. The mere thought she has to use her power here, against mere cattle, was hardly bearable. In the Dominion, Naturalborns who had to use their power to suppress lesser beings were ostracized and mocked repeatedly, unless they were strong enough to make everyone shut up, like that cripple Reza. It could even lead to several local leaders teaming up to wipe out a ‘weakling’. Rage and fear for her existence fluctuated in Mendal’s mind, hastening her heart and bringing her perception to its maximum. She can’t die. Not until Reben is dead, not until she corrects her one and only mistake!

A line ran across the sand, created by a ghostly arc of transparent space sent forth by the Naturalborn. At the last moment, the man blocked the fast-moving arc with the crisscross position of his weapons, but the impact behind it sent him straight into a wall. She leaped after him, eager to bisect the fool who dared damage her skin.

The woman and the strange Changed leaped at her from both sides, only to be thrown aside by Reben. He took the Changed’s claws on his right hand, blocking them with his lash, before landing a cruel elbow strike against the lower jaw of his opponent. The Geld Duke grunted once upon receiving a hit with the weird staff’s heel against his side. Beating the weapon aside, Reben landed a straight punch into the woman’s face, shattering her visor.

“Game’s on!” Reben laughed.