The one attack pod landed in the middle of the enemy forces. It looked like a helpless orphan in a sea of cruel predators. The Changed attacked it from all sides, using their biological cannons to destroy the attack pod’s turrets and their claws to scratch at the steel. Some of them even roll up into balls and use them as battle rams, leaving dents in the large attack pod. In their view, Bentos insides made a fatal mistake.
The upper part of the assault pod shot up, allowing the being within to jump out and land on the assault pod with enough force to make it tremble. The Changed never managed to even see its initial attack, so great was the speed of this being. At one moment, four Changed tried to climb on top of this vehicle, and in the next, they fell into the cheering crowd of their fellows, their skulls cleaved in two.
The shouts died out, deafened by the sound of a roaring engine, produced by the Bento now standing proudly atop the assault pad. Its steel frame perfectly resembled a humanoid being in solid and simply looking knightly armor, with no gauntlets or helmet. The metal hands, stylized after human hands, were the size of a human torso. In one arm, the being carried a cruel-looking sword, made of countless fangs, giving the weapon a resemblance to a one-bladed saw. The roaring of the engine soon became a softened murmur, when the Bento spread his arms wide, leaning back, oblivious to the foes murmuring in his shadow. Laser beams shot out from his gorget and the foundation of his neck, forming an intricate pattern in the air above his missing neck, a pattern that became the smiling face of a human being, perfectly parodying the human features.
The man’s nose looked like a potato and was twisted to the left, a likely result of being broken and healed anew countless times. White laser beams, woven among the crimson beams, marked the reddish skin with scars and served to create lips, speared in a wide grin, and eyes, shining like stars at night. Paler-looking beams formed the short-cut hair of the newcomer, and several whiter laser beams created the image of a feather stuck in his hair.
“Sun God!” He shouted, while the systems of his armor injected drugs to amplify his perception directly into his brain, allowing his thoughts to race at an even greater height, allowing him to stretch this magnificent moment into eternity, engraving the sudden fear and uncertainty on the enemies’ faces on both the flesh of his brain and the memory banks of his body. He had no heart, but the constant pulsating of the radar mimicked his ecstasy perfectly, instead of blood, energy flows increased across the wires of his body, ensuring that his might was ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice. The beeping of systems, confirming that everything was online, felt to him like blood pounding against his temples, reminding him of times when he was just a wide-eyed youth in a flesh body. “I thank you for this day!” The words came like a storm from the dynamics installed in his torso. Even though they were produced by the soulless mechanisms of his body, they still perfectly conveyed the undying cheerfulness and charisma of this man.
“My soldiers, the foes are converging upon us, gifting us with another good battle, and our allies are hard pressed. What say you?” The man roared, and the dynamics in his body amplified the already loud shout tenfold.
Hearing his shout, the Bentos on the wall cheered: “We answer the call, of course!” and charged right back at the Changed, redoubling their efforts, fighting with almost full obliviousness to death, laughing and cheering while they cleaved and shot at their foes.
The Changed fired at the strange Bento. There was no unifying command, for all their officers were busy storming the wall. But every soldier felt uneasy at the sight of this Bento. Even aside from his towering presence, the instincts of the soldiers screamed to them: Strike now! While they thought of themselves as predators, a far more dangerous beast suddenly appeared among them, spreading fear and anxiety with his mere presence.
Dozens of bio-shots were aimed at the steel bulk, while the stupid Bento still gazed at the sun with his eyes made of energy. His body looked like a statue, only the humming of the laser beams that formed his head and the twitching of the countless black dots, sensors that bore an uncanny resemblance to human eyes, betrayed the fact that this cyborg was fully active.
The acid closed on the machine frame, and he jumped backwards, allowing the shots to pass through the air, missing the steel body, while the steel frame was making a graceful somersault in the air. The Bento landed among the Changed, crushing three foes at the same time beneath his legs.
"I thank you for granting us a bloody battle!" The sword in his arm moved, collecting its cruel toll before the enemies could turn to face him, cleaving through the chitinous plates on their backs with ease. "For slaughter!" His torso spun around while he laughed, feeling happiness. His free steel arm pointed at the foes, the elegantly made fingers bent backward, sliding into the vambrace, and a flamethrower appeared from his palm, showering the foes in the searing flame. His leg kicked, sending a Changed who tried to leap at his back into the side of the assault pad, turning the unfortunate soul into a blood smear. The flamethrower disappeared back into the palm, and the figure took his sword in two hands.
The torso turned again, and Chicapalli Bento, one of the elders of the Bento Tribe, started moving toward the wall, painting the ground with the red blood of his enemies as he danced around them, dodging claws and shots and laughing from exultation and genuine joy. His joints produced no sound, and the fluidity of his mechanical frame allowed him to weave like a ghost around the hordes of enemies, leaving dead bodies in the wake of his onslaught while he was making his advance toward the wall, spreading chaos in the enemy’s rear.
Several gigantic shapes came into his path, on their backs were mounted huge bone cannons that would look more fitting on the walls of his city rather than in the open field. Chicapalli saw how one of the creatures aimed the massive cannon at him, using five mighty limbs to secure itself. He planned to sidestep the shot when his sensors picked up a low rumble, barely audible to the human ear. A normal human could hear a sound around 20 Hz well enough, but this sound could hardly be picked up by his far more advanced sensors.
Echolocation. Chicapalli allowed a smile to come onto his holographic face and activated the energy shield within his shoulders. A trembling bubble of energy shield came around his body, enduring the incoming shot and allowing the acid to be harmlessly washed away onto the ground.
Chicapalli turned off the shield and leaped forward, covering the distance between him and the foe faster than a human eye can see. He struck horizontally with his blade, piercing both flesh and bones of the skull, before burying his sword all the way to the handle in the body before him. After that, the elder twisted the sword in the wound, placing it vertically, and made a cut all the way to the ground, jumping away from the deceased bulk that spit out its acrid insides on the stone ground with a hissing sound. After a moment, the body trembled, slumping helplessly.
The deaths of this soldier and dozens of other Changed finally broke the mutants' morale. Small and large, all soldiers ran from the elder, trying to get away back to the Desolation, and Chicapalli allowed this panicked retreat. Never leave your opponent with no way out, because no one is more terrible in a fight for his life than a coward.
Chicapalli laughed, making the dynamics augment the force of his laughter while he turned to the wall. War. The Sun God brought him war anew. And a target worthy of his attention. What else could a man want from life?
****
Kriegshaw felt the advance of the strange new foe. He jumped away from the wall, allowing his own soldiers to fend for themselves, and came crushing down on the rocky plains in front of the wall, making new hills rise under the weight of his body.
His bone sword moved down in an arc, facing against the unusual-looking sword of a tin can with a cracking flame that served as its head. Kriegshaw fired his bio cannon, planning to bathe the newcomer in dissolving acid, placing the shot at a spot where the enemy should have retreated.
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He missed. The foe was still standing, matching Kriegshaw’s strength with his own. The commander did not need to feel the nervous glances of his soldiers, with so many unexpected factors that came into play, only his personal martial prowess held the front line and morale together. If he faltered, all was lost.
“You are standing between me and my fate,” Kriegshaw told the cyborg, moving his head to the side to swallow the fool. “It is a very dangerous place to be.”
“But your fate is right here, beneath my sword!” His opponent laughed, and Kriegshaw charged.
The flesh of his jaws closed around the enemy, aiming to bite through his body and… Kriegshaw recoiled in pain when a searing pain shot through his upper palate, a beam of impossible heat pierced through his head, leaving his maws sliced at their top. The flame, the cursed flame at the enemy’s head, extended in a beam for a brief second.
The Changed roared, pressing his bone sword down and feeling parts of his fangs fall from his ruined maw. The ground cracked beneath the legs of his opponent, the sheer, massive weight of Kriegshaw was burying him. Grabbing the sword with both arms, the cyborg pushed his blade aside, almost flying past the commander and cutting tendons on his forward leg, making it go limp. Rasping from this show of force, Kriegshaw kicked with his middle leg, cratering his foe into one of the newly made hills. The force behind the blow speared this stupid moron through the hill, and he charged after him, smashing the remaining rock formation. His bone sword got deflected once more, leading both foes into a standstill duel with both of them wielding their swords in a blurring motion. Had this been one of his soldiers, Kriegshaw would’ve promoted him on a spot for his excellent knowledge of feints and the flow of battle. The cyborg wielded his weapon with both hands, never once taking the full brunt of his attack, retreating and allowing his bone sword to create new fissures in the ground. They fought for minutes, and Kriegshaw caught himself feeling that he enjoyed this little spar.
Their fight sent out shockwaves that sounded like artillery fire and hit the area with enough force to turn nearby rubble into dust. Slowly, step by step, he was getting to know this foe. Kriegshaw stopped with the wild slashes and thrust the bone sword forward, taking away a steel cauldron from his foe. The large cyborg dodged toward the wall, and Kriegshaw followed his attack after him, leaving a deep cut in the wall but failing to land a hit this time. Once more the Bento advanced on his legs, and this time it was Kriegshaw who jumped back with agility unbefitting his towering body. Calmly, calmly. If he could only...
A shot distracted him, earning him a cut across his hide. With another grunt, Kriegshaw brought his bio cannon to bear. It’s time to end this before the defenders bleed him to death. The cyborg said something, but Kriegshaw only heard the word: "Devo…" before all sounds disappeared from his mind.
He thrashed in panic, sensing how his enemy had pushed aside the blade arm. Kriegshaw was blind and deaf at the same time, and his entire body hurt—almost like that time when Mother peeled off his entire skin when he was still a normal human. Safe for pain and touch, all of his senses were taken away from him, disappearing along with the hair covering that served him as his eyes and ears. He screamed in both fear and anger, raging against the indignity that this war put him through, slashing madly all around himself and firing his bio cannon in all directions, hoping to hit at least something. Kriegshaw spit curse after curse at the fate that stole away his destiny, leaving him to be crippled anew.
He was almost glad when the blade pierced his hide, reaching for the brain deep within his bulk.
****
If Camaxtli still had his head, he would have shaken it in desperation right now. According to the video feed from the monitors, Chicapalli and the Warthorn built a gigantic funeral pyre in front of the fortress and have now started a ritual dance, slowly circling around it, clapping their arms, kissing their axes and blades, and singing a farewell song to the deceased. Among the flesh remains of the Bentos who perished in this fight also lay the remains of several soldiers who had close ties to the Bento tribe. The rest of the deceased soldiers would be sent home for the funeral. It was a custom of the tribe to burn the deceased at night to hide them from the Sun God’s eyes.
To the greatest embarrassment of Camaxtli, he saw how several soldiers joined the ritual dance, and the flame-faced Chicapalli smiled at this, welcoming them.
Perhaps I will install a head specifically to shake it in a situation like this one. Camaxtli thought grimly, working on the wounded soldier. Unlike other medics, his body was of far superior quality. Others took care of the less severe injuries. Right now, Camaxtli was busy sewing the leg of the woman back together, reconnecting veins, sinews, and muscles. It took quite an effort to clean both ends of the woman’s horribly damaged leg, but he was genuinely happy to see how the result was coming together. A few months, and she should be off any medication. A half year at most, and she will walk without limping.
“I sometimes forget why I hate being home,” Camaxtli grumbled, seething with disgust, while Chicapalli picked up Eloxotla and put her and one other soldier on his shoulder, taking them on a victory lap. Useless superstitions. “Thank you for reminding me, elder.” He walked to the next patient.
You are becoming just as reckless as the ones who destroyed the Old World. Camaxtli’s mechanical tendrils trembled slightly at this memory, but he made no mistake while he was removing the destroyed lung of the soldier, preparing to replace it with augmetics. Wohali chastised him, rightly, after the debacle that Camaxtli helped create in the refugee camp. From this day on, the flesh carver gave up on his foolish ambitions and worked to perfect his craft instead. The Resistance, the death of Yasen, King, the death of Blaguna, the ceasefire... He cared little for politics nowadays. The flesh carver traveled around the city, using his tendrils and knowledge of medicine to help both citizens and refugees. And one day, Chicapalli came to him, making him a new member of the Warthorns.
Camaxtli had no idea why it happened, he tried for years to get this position, this was why he went to King in the first place. But, quite frankly, he no longer cared. There are always more wounded in this stupid war.
The comparison with the people who caused the Extinction was the most horrible insult among the tribe, one that he richly deserved. Camaxtli installed the lung, allowing doctors to close the wounds while he moved on to work on the next patient. The next one was a scaly monstrosity, its long tail hanging from the edge of the examination slab because no medical bed here could support this patient’s weight of nearly 500 kilos. According to the markings, this man or woman—Camaxtli was honestly not sure—was one of the abnormals who served as guard here. Before, the flesh carver would mock the mutant, causing them as much pain as possible while saving his or her life. Now he simply shut up, working on saving the life of this soldier and mending the damage to the soldier's heart that had suffered an acid burn.
“Not liking being home, eh, flesh carver?” the elder asked behind his back, and Camaxtli cursed out loud, keeping on working. He forgot how sensitive the sound sensors of his leader were. According to the rumors, the elder could hear every whisper within the Sky’s Nest. “Why is that?” Chicapalli demanded to know in a strict tone, towering over the flesh carver. The flame head disappeared, and somehow the fool managed to clean and fix his frame before squeezing in through the doors of the medical bay.
“Because my people are idiots!” Camaxtli snapped, carefully working with his tendrils to save the heart. It was hard, but possible, he just needed to remember all his lessons and work slowly and steadily. “We have wounded in here, and you are dancing and singing like a bunch of savage kids, honoring a deity that doesn’t even exist instead of tending to the liv… The hell are you doing?” He demanded to know, noticing how his master went to another patient.
Instead of answering, Chicapalli extended his left arm, and countless medical instruments and mechanical tendrils, not so unlike the ones that the flesh carver used, came from his fingers and his vambraces. Slithering like snakes, they slid on the patient’s arm, working to stop arterial bleeding.
"Just doing proper work like an adult," the elder responded in a capricious tone. A good-natured chuckle followed next. "I am just messing with you! Camaxtli, I understand that your coming of age stretched for decades, from the looks of it, but if you ever feel overwhelmed or overworked, come to us straight away. We are all from the same tribe, good, bad, weird, or asshole, and believe me, we care about each other. Anyway, scars, or no?"
“Scars. We have too many wounded, perfection will have to wait for another time,” Camaxtli answered, noticing through the video feed the arrival of other Warthorns. The other knew little about medicine but could help by holding the wounded for doctors or cleaning up the place.
"Oh, and once we finish up with the wounded, you will be dancing the dance of joy with others, Camaxtli." The flesh carver groaned from embarrassment, but his leader was merciless. "We only have one life, no need to spend it overly seriously. And there is a reason for everything, my dear friend." Camaxtli froze in place, only his tendrils kept working. Never, ever, had the elder called him like this. He only ever called kids, other elders, or warthorns like that. "Don't look dumbfounded, I do like your new self very much. The rituals exist for a reason: they inspire morale in our ranks. Camaxtli, I feel it is time to begin your education."