Eggy took aim at the soldier below and began pulling on the bowstring. The scouts found this group and spent a quarter of the day sneaking after the bastards to their makeshift camp in the woods. The soldiers of the Reclamation Army were no longer as careless as they were just a few days ago, when Eggy, along with other hunters, was sent to harass the enemy. Now, the enemy no longer went on patrols without full armor, nor did they send only two people on patrols. It was somewhat of a miracle—what a difference just three days made. Three days ago, Ospon was still standing, and Eggy and his buddies were just simple hunters. And now they were hunting new prey. Well armored prey.

But this was fine. The capital provided them with tools and means to skewer the invaders. His new arrows had elemental powers imbued into their tips by the elementalists. When he closely examined one of these arrows, he noticed a flash of lightning dancing within the metal, making it crucial to cover the tips to prevent the weak light from shining through. Eggy tried one of these arrows, and it pierced three tall trees before finally splintering against the fourth. Another type of arrow was able to open wide cracks in the ground and might be useful in escaping from an enemy. There were also knives that could cut through solid steel like butter. The knights in charge of the raids distributed these weapons with little pleasure, apparently believing that commoners were unworthy of wielding them.

This too was good. Eggy learned to respect the natural order of things. The knights were both stronger, faster, and downright smarter than most serfs, him including. That put them at the top of the food chain. But for all their arrogance and dismissal of their servants, when times got tough, it was the knights who stood side by side with the commoners. Clad in gleaming plates and riding their hawks, these men and women hunted the disgusting Malformed, liberating the taken women and sometimes even returned the stolen children. They accompanied alchemists, stepping into the pox-ridden villages with no hesitation or fear, immune to all but the deadliest diseases. Where healers could not reach, where faith could not keep priests safe, the knights came, bringing aid and food to the sick people.

What he was not used to were enemies coming to his lands, forcing him to flee his home. Sitting in the tree, using his belt to fasten himself to a bough and gain a foothold, he could not wait to loosen the arrow. The knight in charge of their party made it clear that no one was to fire until everyone was in position. According to the knight, this enemy group had captured two knights and some hunters yesterday. Eggy and the others were to end the invaders and free the captives.

A hunter crept closer to the enemy camp and hid in the bushes, ready to rush in and cut off the head of a human soldier. Eggy aimed his bow at one of the monster creatures, beings that called themselves Orais or something. He was not sure where the rest of his group was, but so far, there had been no signal from the knight. The tall man with the long spear was supposed to start the attack the attack by unleashing a lightning bolt at the foes.

A drop of sweat fell from Eggy’s brow. He was used to killing animals, but killing people was something else. Even these beasts, who walked on two legs and communicated with the others in the camp in low, guttural voices. Despite their appearance, they were clearly as intelligent as humans. Something bothered him at the thought of killing others in such a casual manner. He reminded himself that it was they who chose to come to these lands, not the other way around.

Suddenly, an arrow shot from a tree. It was not a signal; this arrow struck an Orais in the chest, bouncing uselessly off its armor and falling to the ground in front of the beast, opening a gap large enough for the creature to fall into a hole with a scream. Eggy cursed as he saw the hunter charge forward from the bushes, foolishly assuming the attack had begun. The hunter aimed for the soldier’s neck, but the enemy grabbed the hunter’s wrist, stopping the movement of the knife just inches from the neck. He threw the hunter over himself, twisting the hunter’s hand with casual ease, breaking bones and causing the man to scream. Eggy patiently adjusted his aim at his chosen target, who was now running to the left, but before he could release the arrow, the bough he was sitting on and part of the tree to which he was strapped disappeared under a torrent of enemy fire, causing him to fall. He caught a branch beneath him with his free hand; the arrow fell from his bow, and a smaller branch pierced his palm.

He saw two enemies, two bastards clad in iron armor dyed green and camouflaged with a net of leaves. They rose from bulges in the ground, firing their ‘guns’ into the forest. Each of the soldiers had crimson lights shining from their eyes, and the searing heat from their weapons pierced through the tall trees, knocking them over. One of them spotted a hidden hunter and fired, leaving the woman with a gaping hole in her chest.

They can see us! Eggy thought in disbelief. The hunters knew how to hide; just a few days ago, they had ambushed and dealt with one of the enemy camps similarly. More and more enemies came out of the camp, and one of them, with crimson markings on his helmet, began to turn toward Eggy. Eggy cursed again and pulled his hand from the branch, feeling the wood tear his palm in half. The movement freed him, and he fell to the ground as bright rays of heat tore through the space where Eggy was just seconds ago.

Eggy stood up, realizing that he must have broken at least several toes on his left leg, for the pain stabbed him as he tried to run. Must get to safety. Must treat the wound before an infection can take hold. The thoughts raced through his mind as he retreated, limping deeper into the forest as screams and energy discharges filled the surrounding space. He heard heavy footsteps behind him and turned to face his pursuer, one of the special knives in his good hand.

“Drop the weapon, old man,” the soldier in green armor said, pointing his rifle at Eggy. “First and only warning.”

Before Eggy could do anything, a bolt of lightning struck the enemy soldier, leaving a fist-sized hole in his abdomen and melting through steel and flesh. The burst of energy exploded behind the enemy soldier. The soldier’s cough was cut short when a strange backpack on his back exploded, sending his limbs flying around and leaving a deep cut on Eggy’s chin with a torn piece of metal.

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“Eggy, do you still live?” The knight in charge of their group hurried to help the hunter.

Eggy wanted to thank him for saving him, but the knight took a few steps and something exploded under his feet. The impact of the explosion tore off the lower half of the knight’s body. The impact sent Eggy back into the tree, causing him to groan in pain as he heard a “pop” sound in his back. Cursing, he stood and even took a step forward when something grabbed him by the throat and slammed him back into the tree. He saw a wide maw with fangs opening in front of his face.

****

“Shag, that’s enough,” Diho Darkheart said, stopping the soldier from biting off the wounded man’s face.

“The bastards killed our people,” Shag growled back. His mighty body tensed beneath the armor, fingers twitching, preparing to break the neck. Then Orais released his grip, letting the hunter fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Cannibalism was forbidden in the Reclamation Army, much to the great grief of several New Breeds. Malformed, Wolfkins, Orais, and even some Wyrms lamented the days when it was permitted to eat the defeated enemy, foolishly believing in the superstition that by eating an enemy, you bound his spirit to yours forever. Personally, Diho always considered people who talked such nonsense to be full of shit. They were cannibals, plain and simple, and loved the taste of human flesh.

But even with that rule out of the way, fangs, claws, and other sharp parts of the New Breeds’ bodies were able to kill or maim an opponent with contemptuous ease, crushing metal as easily as flesh. For this reason, the Orais’ power armors were designed to leave their mouths open. When not fighting in a dangerous area, an Orais could remove the rebreather and work wonders with natural weapons.

“True,” Diho admitted. “And we killed their people. In a battle. Am I understood, Shag?”

“Crystal, sir.” The Orais nodded, reassuring himself. “What about him?”

They were lucky that a sound catcher had spotted the locals, and the sentries had spooked the enemy’s ambush, causing the attack to begin early. Diho saw how those strange arrows of the enemy had killed several good men and women yesterday. Not even a heavy suit of power armor could protect a person from such an attack. Diho had no intention of trying such an arrow on himself or the soldiers under his command.

Diho was in charge of one of many forward groups, tasked with locating enemy forces and mapping the area. This proved to be a more troublesome task than it was in Angor; the locals here were somewhat more deadly. So far, he has lost three soldiers today. One was pierced by an arrow, one was killed by the enemy’s lightning weapon, and the third had her throat slit when the enemy attacked her, apparently from underground. Three days ago, he had forty men under his command; now he has only twenty-eight. When his unit had just arrived, four of his soldiers, including an Orais, were chatting about how they were going to build farms to rival those of the Oaksters here. Now Darkheart found himself thinking that he hated these lands and never wanted to see another tree in his life. Maybe he would transfer to the Third after the war. Yes, a desert sounds nice.

The natives were skilled fighters. He had expected to see rows of knights coming toward his position, ready to die in a well-placed ambush. Instead, he was faced with partisan warfare, where a series of dug tunnels allowed the enemy to move underground and attack the exposed fighters. Thick foliage muffled most sounds, and hunters were adept at masking themselves and sneaking up on even veterans.

Power armor was designed to withstand gunfire. Diho and his unit were used to breaking through enemy lines, frowning at the occasional sting of pain when armor-piercing bullets cracked a plate. Even explosions were not enough to stop them; the soldiers would fall from the force of a shockwave, only to get back up and push on a moment later.

What they weren’t used to were the locals’ weapons, which bypassed durability. Too many had fallen, unable to adapt to the vulnerability in time.

“Disarm this asshole, tie him up and stop his bleeding. In that order,” Diho ordered Shag. If the bastard decides to struggle and bleeds out, it is not his problem. “The convoy is to arrive during the day to pick up the prisoners.”

Once a day, the command sends soldiers to retrieve prisoners from forward groups. Prisoners were then exchanged for the Reclamation Army soldiers. In the past, Diho was once rescued this way himself when his old group fell into an ambush. Or they prisoners could be used for forced labor or as sources of information.

Diho raised a hand to his helmet, listening to the reports and reading the map flashing on the wrist of his armor. The sentries had confirmed that the enemy resistance, brief as it was, had finally collapsed. Only a few had managed to escape; the dead enemies were still being counted, but the group had gained five new prisoners. It was a good result; the command had increased the rations to encourage the lower ranks to take enemies alive and accept surrenders. Diho assumed that it made sense, that duty and all that was one thing, but in the end people were just people, with all their flaws. If only these savages would understand that they were bringing a better life to all of them.

The company’s medic, a Malformed shaped like a ball with twenty-seven tentacles for arms, hurried to help the wounded hunter, ignoring the man’s horrified screams. The Malformed had no mandated power armor; it was impossible to create a single standard that would fit them all, unless you wanted to over-engineer the damn thing to the last inch of its life and make it as expensive as a palace. The medic wore several pieces of modular body armor and a tight bodysuit to protect her from the stings of the local wildlife. An armband marking her as a non-combatant adorned the woman’s shoulder, though Darkheart doubted the local savages would care.

Like their wild kin, most of the civilized Malformed stood taller than even Shag. The Orais was busy tying up the scared man, laughing at the screams of the terrified hunter as the pulsating ball of flesh treated his torn hand, stopping the bleeding, cleaning the wound, stitching its edges, and applying bandages. Diho also smiled under his helmet, imagining the shock the locals would experience at the sheer range of people beneath the state’s banner. No matter. Once his excellency arrives, nothing and no one will be able to stand up against them.

Diho noticed a large insect, bigger than the palm of his hand, sitting on a bush to his left. The long tail with the pincer was raised in anticipation. It could not pierce his armor, but the soldier still swung forward and crushed the insect. A day earlier, in the morning, a similar bug had stung an Orais under his command. It was only a small wound; the stupid brute did not understand the danger and failed to report it. By evening, the flesh around the wound was swollen and pus was oozing from it. Despite the painkillers, the Orais groaned in pain all night, and the next morning she let out her last breath as life left her body, causing the medic to leave a small crater in the ground Diho despised the local insects. He turned around, gathering his people.

Behind him, another bug hovered on a bush, watching the soldiers’ movements.