A short man walked alone in the woods. Some would call him fat, but, while true, he was never one to worry about his appearance. Strength was everything, and he had some of the best gifts nature had to offer. Why would he try to look like someone he wasn’t? He was perfect the way he was. The man whistled, completely oblivious to his surroundings, almost hoping that some beast or hidden enemy soldier would attack him. He left a trail of dead animals behind him and was getting bored by now. No one else attacked him; no predator tried to surprise him or sneak up on him. A scent of danger—a scent of death—was too thick around him.

Their fear of him made his skin tingle, bringing him an unmatched euphoria. In the service of his master, he had never experienced a shortcoming of fear, but that fear was usually directed at the great Outsider and not him. But this? This fear belonged to him and him alone, and the man drank deeply of the terror in the air, letting it invigorate him.

Four long chains were wrapped tightly around his shoulders and wrists, ending with the sharp hooks, polished to a pristine sheen. He wore the simple field uniform of a Reclamation Army soldier, a camouflage suit, and light body armor. Confident in his near invincibility in the native lands, the man chose not to wear a battle plate.

After all, the natives were nothing more than savages. Uneducated, superstitious, prejudicious mold. It will take a proper whipping to shape them into something worthwhile. And such a process can take years, even decades.

Torturer smiled with his frog-like face as he checked a pocket radar. He was almost at his destination…

An annoying buzzing in his ear pulled him out of his bliss and forced him to turn on the radio.

“What is it now, Yuria?” Torturer snapped, not bothering to hide his distaste for the woman.

“Our crawlers are moving far too far ahead. They claim it was on your orders,” the colonel general replied in an icy voice.

“Well, yeah, I do distinctly remember giving the order.” Torturer scratched his head. “What’s in it for you?”

“Sir, we have almost reached Heaven Peak. If we allow the crawlers to be damaged or, Spirits forbid, lose any of them, we will have to halt our advance for another week. I recommend they pull back and wait for…”

“Booring…” Torturer cut her off. “You have your orders. Follow them to the letter and leave me to plan this invasion.”

“Sir, our forces are moving too fast; our reconnaissance groups do not have enough time to scout the area properly,” Yuria pleaded, dropping her cold tone. “Please consider slowing down the advance of our main force. If we advance in single a united front, we may need more time, but at the same time, we will crush the enemy more efficiently...”

“Colonel General, this is your final warning.” He grimaced. “Stop pestering me with these insignificant concerns. We will crush the Sapon Duchy swiftly without losing our momentum. Our enemies, nay, our opponents, are spear-wielding savages. And our soldiers have the best equipment and weapons the state can afford. If anyone is incompetent enough to die at the hands of the locals, it’s their own damn fault. And if you allow the natives to so much as scratch the paint on my crawlers, then you are even less qualified for the rank than I expected. See that it not happen, Colonel General.”

Torturer turned off the radio. What an annoying bitch! Ever since Antoniado and Lucretia had botched his plan at Ospon, Yuria had been second-guessing him. She claimed that the army had lost too many troops on his missions. Moron. Speed was essential in war, and thanks to his plans, Outsider now knew how to counter the Duke’s annoying power. Torturer half hoped that the Duke of Sapon would blindly charge at them like the late Duke of Angor, but the current situation was not unfavorable either.

His master was a walking calamity, and one must wield such power with care. Restrain it, even. Sure, it would be easy for Outsider to crush the resistance on his own, but what would he leave behind him? Ruins produce nothing. Corpses are worthless. Torturer knew how to get results, and how to conquer lands with minimal bloodshed, leaving enough of a population to feed the ever-growing state and prosper beneath its orderly rule.

Still, he had to admit that his work here was somewhat flawed. He had hoped to sow a proper seed of fear in Sapon’s girl, one that would bloom at the appropriate time. In this, he had failed, and as a proud craftsman, it annoyed him greatly. A minor underestimation, a slight mistake in reading the characters of everyone involved... To admit that he was wrong irritated him. And irritation doesn’t solve problems. He needs to turn the situation around, for the savages’ own sake. If the chick won’t serve, maybe the puppy will do? Decisions, decisions. He just needed a figurehead to keep the masses calm while he finished off the Sapon bloodline.

Torturer maintained his smile as he approached a platoon of the Reclamation Army. This was but one of many advance groups tasked with bleeding the enemy army dry. The Sapon soldiers believed they were the best of the best, the cream of the crop, when it came to fighting in the forest. True, the Reclamation Army was not used to fighting in such kid-friendly environments as lush forests, and this led to some embarrassment. The Duke’s annoying power had also made the work of a state’s soldiers more difficult. But night vision goggles, heat vision goggles, radars, mines, and long-range weaponry were a great equalizer. The Knights of Sapon could be hot shit, but a few holes in the head could take them down pretty easily. Soldiers of the state were numerous, and any losses were easily replaced. The knights were not.

And this was still just the tip of the army. When the elite troops of the Outsider’s army will arrive, when the other members of the Dreaded Five, the elite group of new breeds to whose ranks Torturer belonged, will arrive, when the super-powered new breeds flood the area in large enough numbers... Then they will make the natives understand the full futility of their actions. But it would be a brutish, inelegant solution best reserved for facing the Queen’s forces. If the whore is truly equal to Outsider, the entire region might suffer. No, he had to delay their meeting as long as possible. The duchy could be taken without causing a massacre, and without a massacre, it would fall.

This platoon had seen better days. Most of their number had perished in battles, according to reports. It was of no concern to the commander; he came here because of something else. Fourteen prisoners, to be exact, those who had either surrendered or been captured.

The soldiers of the Reclamation Army started a fire and set up some tents in their current camp. Their prisoners were kept out in the open, with their hands and legs tied and their wounds treated by a platoon’s medic. Torturer had an idea to sneak into the camp but decided that he had no time for such childish games and came out into the open.

“Who is the officer in charge here?” he snapped at this rabble, not bothering to introduce himself.

A sizable Orais brute followed the soldier in green camouflage armor with crimson markings on his helmet as they both moved quickly forward to meet the commander.

“Diho Darkheart, currently in charge of this group.” The soldier saluted Torturer. “The commanding officer was killed in action a day and a half ago. We are currently awaiting...”

“Your wait is over. Pack up things and move to village Onsto.” Torturer sent the coordinates to the terminal built into the soldier’s armor. “Report to the commanding captain upon arrival; she will promote you and fill your group with new recruits. Now be on your way, Captain.”

“Sir, thank you, sir.” The soldier stood at attention. “What about the prisoners? Are troops coming to pick them up? Should we take them or should we let them go?”

“Neither.” Torturer said. “You will leave them here. I will keep an eye on them.”

“Sir. With your permission, there are fourteen prisoners here. With no facilities to hold them, one person is simply...” The soldier looked at him, puzzled.

“Simply enough. Your astute observation is absolutely correct, especially when this person can kill you all in a blink of an eye,” Torturer chuckled. “Pack up your troops, Sergeant, before I feel the need to discipline you. No need to report to the captain anymore; I will fill her in on the details myself.”

“We will still get our bo…” The Orais wanted to ask something, but stopped as one of the hooks slashed across his face, tearing his cheek in half. The weapon moved faster than any of the soldiers could react; it was a blur to them. The Orais grabbed his ruined face with both hands, trying to stop the bleeding, while the soldier struggled not to grab a weapon. Torturer noted this act of implicit insubordination. No promotion for this fool.

“You have your orders. Leave before I feel the further urge to demonstrate my skills,” Torturer quietly said.

The soldier saluted and helped the foolish Orais go back to camp. In a few minutes, the troops gathered their things and took off. Torturer made a note to himself to check if one of them would send a report. If they didn’t, he was inclined to let them be. If they did, he knew who to send to the next meat grinder.

The commander smirked and moved to stand over the bound prisoners. They were gagged, but their wounds were cleaned and treated with care. And to think that a mere hundred and fifty years ago, people, he included, were murdering the Malformed on the spot. In many ways, it was good sport and a simpler, more honest time, but the needless slaughter of potential recruits angered Torturer.

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“Do any of you rabble know what an opera is?” Torturer asked. He smiled and removed the belt from a captured knight’s mouth. “You look like you belong to high society. Ever been at an opera?”

“No,” the knight replied, coldly looking at the commander. He looked youngish; the gray had yet to settle into the short, black hair, but a hint of wisdom in his keen green eyes betrayed the New Breed’s age.

“Meh.” Torturer shrugged. “And you call yourselves a civilized people. Savages to the end.”

“I refuse to give you any information,” the knight said. “And everyone with me…”

“Oh, for the Planet’s sake,” Torturer said, feigning desperation. “How will I live on without having imparted the wisdom of some local superstition?” He closed the distance between the two in a blink, bringing his face to the knight’s, moving so fast that even the captive New Breed couldn’t track his speed. “I already know everything I need, boy. As we speak, the convoy carrying quite a few supplies for us is currently somewhere between two and three klicks away from us…” Torturer noticed a glint in the prisoner’s eye. “Ah, it seems you also know about it. Thank you kindly for your cooperation. Let me return the favor and paint you a picture of what is to come.

“The rabble you call an army will try to attack it. They will fail, of course. But your nameless cur of a commander thinks himself clever. He wants to send a unit along our flank for a surprise attack. Yes, do not be shocked, we are not stupid.” A leer appeared on his lips. “Yours truly will be the one to cut down this unneeded distraction. Don’t look so sad! You will play a part, a vital part, of my plan to stop this unit.”

“Deluded fool.” The knight tried to spit in his face. The drool hit his afterimage; Torturer himself had jumped over the knight and stood looming, carrying the same smile. “You truly are a jester if you think that any single one of us will help you.”

“A fair notion. But here is the best part. You will help me whether you want to or not.” The commander sized up the prisoner. “Back to my question, though. Since you have no idea what opera is, I will try to explain and even show to you what it is. For example, based on videos I have seen from the pre-Extinction era, it was all about fat, somewhat like me, people singing at the top of their lungs. Their songs were rather pleasurable, if you want my opinion.”

“What are you trying to say…” The prisoner began talking and screamed when the hook sliced across his back, all the way to his leg, stopping just short of tearing the belt that held the knight’s legs together. The slash left a deep, lacerated wound, exposing muscles and meat to the air. Blood gushed out of the wound.

“Something like that, only louder, my friend,” Torturer said, making another cut and moving his hand with the same blinding speed.

“You are a fool…” the knight groaned, biting down on his scream. “If you think the pain will make me submit.”

“Submit? Planet no, I am going to make your entire rabble sing for me all!” A surge of energy rushed through his blood, hastening his heart. Yeeeeessss… It was a sick feeling, an ecstasy unmatched even by a glass of cold water after spending a week in a desert, and he denied an urge for pleasure control of his mind. The feeling persisted, increasing in intensity at the horrified looks of the other prisoners as his power started collecting the emotions. “You just have the honor of being the first,” the commander said, making a third cut, causing the man to scream, “Ain’t ya feeling yourself honored, eh savages?”

“Do with me what you want…”

“Thank you kindly for the permission; I will do exactly that.” Another cut, followed by a louder scream as the hook ran across the already open wounds. This time, the Commander did not move with his usual blinding speed, but took his time, dragging the hook across the flesh, soaking the blade in red to produce the brighter emotions.

“…Just leave the rest out of this. I will promise, I will swear to aid you however you want, if you spare the others. I will serve you as a slave…” The knight barely managed to say the words through the pain.

“A most interesting offer, but unfortunately for you, filth, I am no slaver like you, savage.” Torturer patted him on the head, feeling the sweat on his brow. Soooonnnnn…. “I am the one who will equalize your offspring with that of the commoners, making all of them work together and even praise me. I am a Reclaimer, the one who shatters chains of oppression, a soldier who brings prosperity and education to the unwashed masses, dragging them kicking and screaming into a brighter future. Your culture will be gone, your cities will change, your people will forget your existence, but I! I will live on in their hearts as a liberator. Maybe your kiddies even build a statue in my honor.” Torturer’s leer widened as he drank on the man’s despair.

“Monster,” the knight whispered.

“Do you think I enjoy sitting here and carving you up? No, I don’t even get a kick out of it anymore,” Torturer said and caught himself at a thought that he spoke true. A brothel would’ve brought him greater pleasure. “I am more into verbal and mental torture lately.”

“Then why?” The knight gasped before screaming as the hook tore a large chunk of flesh from his side.

“Why indeed. Every act of cruelty must have a specific goal in mind; otherwise, you are a degenerate. And the point of this time-wasting is…” Torturer said these words in a strange voice, his voice mirrored by a copy.

Torturer lost the powers’ lottery. He couldn’t conjure a flame out of thin air, nor could he regenerate the most severe wounds. In fact, he couldn’t use his powers at all without first replenishing his reserves. He had little idea how long he had it, but there was always something—a faint feeling of longing at the back of his head—when he spent his days toiling in the slave camp, doing his best to keep other kids alive. Day after day of unending helplessness and depression, of watching friends taken away, sold to cannibals, or forced to fight to the death in arenas. Until dawn came, and Outsider graced the camp with his presence, freeing him and the others.

On its own, without reserves, his power was useless. But when he gathered the necessary energy…

The Commander stood up; his image became a blur; two exact copies of him struggled to occupy the same space, as if one copy moved right and left while the other moved left and right. His mind split in two and he briefly saw the world through the two sets of eyes, one above the other. A hand pushed out of his own arm, and a second followed, dragging another Torturer, his perfect copy in body and beliefs, out of him.

“Ta-dam!” exclaimed two identical Torturers in unison. “Such is my power, meager as it is. By causing pain and negative emotions in living beings, I can store them inside of me. I can use this supply for various little things, but most importantly…” Another copy of Torturer appeared from his right side. “I can use it to be in different places at the same time. The pain and fear I gathered from you from now on was enough to make two of ‘me’.”

The knight wanted to say something, but Torturer put his leg on the prisoner’s head, sticking his face into the ground. The commander bent the man’s skull almost to its breaking point, savoring the fear seeping out of the man, allowing the whirlwinds of purple and red emotions, visible only to him, to slither into his pores.

“Naturally, now that you know this, your fate and that of your merry band of dimwits are sealed. Rejoice, savages!” Torturer continued, ignoring the prisoner’s struggle for a breath of air. “For you will, albeit indirectly, contribute to turning the Living Lands into the lands of united humanity! You will suffer, yes, but through your suffering a new, better world will be born—a world where such sufferings are unnecessary! Lofty enough a goal to give your life for, is it not?”

The prisoner muffled something beneath his leg, and, with a laugh, Torturer stepped away, leaving his victim gasping for air. His copies were mere extensions of his will. Pain, fear and despair. It did not matter whether he or his copies caused all those wonderful feelings; the result was the same. The reserves grew.

He freely admitted that, when compared to other new breeds with powers, he lost the roulette of powers his own ability relied on a source outside of his control and was simply too situational. On top of that, his power tried to mess with his mind, teasing the Commander to sink into mindless debauchery in exchange for eternal pleasure. But only a poor craftsman curses his tools.

“Good enough.” He turned around, clicking with his fingers. “Harvest the pain, boys. I will need quite a supply in the days ahead. Better start building up a surplus now.” He charged forward, covering a vast distance at great speed. Two of his copies let out a mocking laugh; their chains and hooks fell to the ground, and Torturers took the weapons in their arms.

“Now then, let us hear some opera,” the two copies of Torturer said in perfect unison. One hook slid behind the knight’s shoulder blade. Another hook peeled off skin along the hand of the prisoner.

As screams filled the forest, more and more insects gathered near the torture site. The smell of blood attracted most of them. But there was something else. The strange living carpet of various insects slowly grew larger when different creatures joined it, moving in strange, unnatural cohesion. Ant-like creatures, their natural predators, centipedes, and a variety of other insect species all moved their legs at the same time. Slowly, they all crawled towards the clearing.

***

“Fucking bastard,” Shag growled, letting the medic patch up his wounded jaw. The soldiers left the clearing and took a short rest, giving the medic time to fix Shag as much as possible before the blood attracted predators. Orais generally cared little for their appearance, but Shag was seething with humiliation and anger. Diho was glad that his companion had enough composure not to try to attack the commander.

“The further away from him, the better.” Darkheart found a cigarette in his pocket, but decided against removing his helmet after seeing an insect watching him. “When I signed up, I was hoping to serve under anyone but him. Freaks me the fuck out. Instead of being in the command center, along with all the other officers, this… creature stalks all around the battlefield, pulling his schemes.”

“But he provides the results, right?” the young medic asked. Diho forgot her name again and was too ashamed to ask. “Thanks to his plan, the state saved thousands of children from being slaughtered by the cultists.” Before he could answer, a loud scream broke the silence of the forest.

“Well, here is the answer about what will happen to the prisoners.” Diho decided to screw it all up and took off his helmet, grabbing the cigarette with trembling fingers. He half wanted to go back and put a bullet in the bastard’s head... But that would only spell doom for his group. Torturer had killed hundreds of people like him and would kill hundreds more. The bastard had walked the earth before any of them were even born. Better men than Diho had failed to kill the commander. What could he hope to do? “What if our enemies learn about this… madness? We got you free when these bastards in Angor ambushed your group, right?” He asked one of his soldiers, and the man nodded. Diho looked at the Malformed. “Imagine what they would have done to him if they had known what Torturer do to their comrades. Fuck him. I will send a report to the command. Outsider should know that one of his precious five is fucking insane.”

“I am stopping this right now,” the medic said, hearing the second scream. Diho nodded to one of the Orais to block the woman’s path. She cursed and went back to treating Shag’s wound, shaking slightly each time a new scream sliced through the air.

“He probably already knows,” Shag added. “You can’t hide shit from Outsider.” The way Orais spoke these words sounded almost reverent. To his kind, the champion was a living god.

“Yes, but I’ll sleep better knowing I at least tried to do something.” Diho inhaled smoke. He could have sworn the damned bug was looking right at him. He clenched his hand into a fist, wanting to smite the insect, but the creature jumped away, hiding from sight.

“Aren’t you afraid that Torturer will hold a grudge?” The medic asked, finishing cleaning and stitching Shag’s torn cheek.

“What do you care? It’s my life; I will spend it as I wish,” Diho responded, throwing away the cigarette and putting the helmet back on.

“I care because I will add my words to your report, sir,” the medic said, and the other soldiers nodded silently, making Diho smile at this show of unity.

“Move, people. I want to be as far away from here as possible. This place stinks.” Diho looked back one last time, cursing to himself. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Outsider must know.