Chapter 7 - Terrifying Human Transformation
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Henryk
“The fuck have you been?” Ed questioned, lifting his head off the counter at Bea and Adaline’s store. His eyes were barely open, heavy with sleep, and his academy jacket hung loose over his shoulders. His backpack slumped beside him.
“I went out. Didn’t feel like going to class today,” Henryk replied, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand before stuffing both hands into his hoodie pockets. “I got your texts and calls after everything was over and raced over here...”
Ed gave him a scrutinizing look, eyes narrowing. “Your eyes are bloodshot, and you reek of alcohol,” he chuckled. “No way—you actually went out? Thought you were too straight-laced for that.”
Henryk chuckled, shrugging. “Last night was pretty wild.”
“They go to school here?” Ed asked.
Henryk hesitated, which drew a sigh from Ed as he looked around the nearly empty store. “Listen, Henryk, other houses may have rules about mixing with other members, but in House Mars, all I ask is you keep up with the training. Do that and keep your grades up, and I don’t care what else you do.”
Henryk rolled his eyes. “Seems like school doesn’t mean much here,” he muttered.
Ed raised an eyebrow but then sighed. “We’ve got certain liberties because we’re trained and sent on missions. Some of these missions are vital. You saw how important that was in Oceana...”
Henryk let out a dark chuckle that made Ed’s eyes widen. “Importance? It was life or death. Act or die. There were kids out there, Ed—kids the age of Jennie and Diana. I…,” he hesitated, his hands trembling slightly. “I couldn’t save them all... I couldn’t...”
A heavy silence fell between them, and Ed’s gaze softened as he remembered something crucial: Henryk wasn’t like the rest of them. He wasn’t raised for this life. He came from a semi-colonized world and had only joined to make a name for himself, to bring some kind of improvement to his people back home.
Henryk was just a regular kid once, going to a normal high school, riding his bike, celebrating Christmases. He’d seen hardship on his home world, sure, but nothing like what some of the Sons of Mars had endured.
Joseph's nomadic tribal life, Isaac's MilWorld training, Vinnie's rigorous academic background, and Axel and Arthur’s feudal pride—all of them had their unique worlds to ground them. Axel, despite his Venusian privileges, had been raised in a feudal setting without electricity, trained as a warrior by his uncles. The closest to Henryk was Fleeboy, but even he had distinct differences, like the spikes—a small but significant divide.
“Henryk, you know if you ever need to talk about anything, I’m here,” Ed said.
Henryk raised his gaze, meeting Ed’s eyes briefly before looking away, a simmering anger directed at the floor. “Fine,” he muttered, but Ed felt a pang of guilt.
Joseph’s words echoed in his mind—of Ed’s “great sin”—and he knew he could only try to protect Henryk, to make up for the disruption he’d caused in his life.
Ed placed a hand on Henryk’s shoulder. “Tell you what, let’s grab a bite before my next shift tonight.”
Henryk’s eyes widened. “Huh? You want to hang out?”
With a thumbs up and a grin, Ed replied, “Of course. Don’t forget, you were the first guy I ran into at the academy.” He gave Henryk a hearty smack on the back.
“Ow!” Henryk winced. “What was that f—”
“You’re alright, Henryk. And remember, we’re here together. It’s rough, I know, and scary too,” Ed said, his tone turning serious. “But you give me your loyalty, your dedication, and in exchange, you’ll be part of a reborn Neo Mars. I’ll help you become a king in your own right. Your sisters, your mother—they’ll be princesses, or whatever you want. The world will be yours.”
Henryk’s eyes lit up, the allure and wonder of those words resonating deeply. He wasn’t naive; he knew the legends, understood the significance of Mars.
“But we’ve got to keep our heads on straight and get through this,” Ed added, his voice firm. “So, let’s grab that meal later. I’ll swing back by here after class when it’s Joseph’s shift.”
Henryk smirked, nodding. “Sounds like a plan.”
Ed yawned, stretching as he turned to leave.
“You dipping out already?” Henryk asked.
Ed nodded, rubbing his tired eyes. “Hell yeah, I've been up for hours… Listen, Kieren made it through the worst of it, but Arthur's still here, and he’ll show you the ropes until one of us gets back.”
“Bet,” Henryk said, nodding.
Ed's hand hovered over the door as he paused, glancing back at Henryk. “Stay vigilant, alright?” he said. “Arthur will explain, but… what Kieren is now—what he’s becoming—the in-between is… rough.”
Henryk’s eyes widened. “W-what are you talking about?”
Ed sighed, giving him a long look. “You’re smart, Henryk. You’ve become someone the others trust. You’ve learned our ways, taken the training seriously, and you’re getting better—both in skill and in battle.”
Henryk frowned slightly. “Is it wrong to want to succeed?”
Ed chuckled. “No, you’re doing well.” He gave Henryk a wave as he stepped outside, the early October breeze ruffling his blond hair.
Henryk squinted after him, running a hand through his own hair. “Weirdest, most cryptic, honorable guy I know…” he muttered with an annoyed grin. Then, from his side, he heard the faint sound of an elevator. Turning, his eyes widened as the nearby bookshelf creaked open like a door, revealing Arthur.
“Henryk,” Arthur greeted with a smirk. “Bright morning, isn’t it? What’s got you holed up in a place like this?”
Henryk shrugged. “Ed’s busting my balls, got me missing class… but he wrote me an exemption,” he said with a grin. “Honestly, though, screw class. Lately, I can barely drag myself out of bed.”
Arthur hesitated, then let out a loud laugh.
Henryk chuckled awkwardly, unsure of the joke but reminded that Arthur came from a feudal world where humor had its quirks.
“Looks like we’re on guard duty today,” Arthur remarked.
“For a few hours,” Henryk replied.
Arthur crossed his arms and gave him a serious look. “Do you know the full extent of what happened?”
Henryk shrugged. “I heard Kieren and the others got into some rough stuff last night, but that’s all I know…” He hesitated. “Ed mentioned Kieren was hurt, but—”
Arthur plopped down in the chair behind the front desk, rolling back and forth with a mischievous smile. “Well, settle in. There’s a lot to tell.”
Henryk paused, then wordlessly sat across from him, ready to hear it all.
Piper
Piper swung her backpack over her shoulder, exhausted from the day, craving a hot shower and some peace. But right as she stepped out of class, she found herself staring as Marcus tore into Atticus.
“Like I said, stay the hell away from me,” Marcus snapped, voice sharp enough to cut glass.
“Marcus, please, just let me explain,” Atticus’s voice was low, almost pleading.
“Explain what?” Marcus shot back. “While me and the others were getting our asses handed to us by those pirates, you were nowhere to be found. Then I come back, and I find out my best friend got murdered while I was gone—and here you are, lookin’ fresh as a damn daisy.”
Atticus started to respond, but his words died on his lips, his hands falling to his sides.
Marcus shook his head, eyes blazing. “That whole mission… it reeked. The cargo that was lost, the fact that the employer needed a Mercurian-level battalion to haul it, the handler from Earth breathing down our necks, and that cargo… ”
Atticus’s eyes widened. “You know what it was?” he asked quietly, oblivious to Piper, who was storming straight toward them.
Atticus sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Look, Marcus, I know as much as you do.” He paused, glancing around. “My sister runs Earth House. She’s got no clue I take on private missions, and frankly, she doesn’t give a damn as long as I don’t bring trouble to her door… or dishonor the house.”
He attempted an awkward chuckle, but it fell flat as Marcus’s gaze hardened, suspicion flickering across his face.
“Look, I don’t know what was in that cargo…” Atticus hesitated, his voice dropping. “But I do know it’s trouble. The fact that it crash-landed on Oceana II and then, what, weeks later? The worst GrimGore infestation in history…”
Both men fell silent, each lost in the dark weight of that revelation.
Atticus’s eyes flickered with something close to empathy. “Listen, Marcus, I can't imagine the kind of hell you went through.” He paused, letting the silence stretch. “The Academy... it likes to keep the darker sides of things under wraps. A lot of families ignore the fine print, pretend it doesn’t exist. But I didn't abandon you guys. They were after me, too. I barely made it out with my life. By the time I could get back, they’d already taken you.”
Marcus’s expression hardened, his grip tightening on the strap of his bag. “I don’t believe you.”
Atticus looked down, a shadow crossing his face. “Marcus, I know we’re from different houses, but—”
“This isn’t about house loyalties,” Marcus cut in, his voice sharp. “How long were you in that area?”
Atticus let out a tired sigh. “Maybe two days. Three, max…”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “The hell were you doing for two, three days?”
Atticus let out a dry laugh. “When you’ve got a mission, you see it through. I was hunting down any intel I could get my hands on to hand over to the authorities. But those pirates were efficient. I got to Oceana II, did a bit of recon, but it didn’t pan out. So, I turned back.”
Marcus let out a bitter chuckle. “Looks like you’ve got skills…”
Atticus smirked. “More than you know. I’ve got a knack for this stuff. But I couldn’t find you guys. It was a bloodbath, and I’m sorry for that. I did everything I could. Even bypassed the guild and took it straight to Mercury’s higher-ups. My sister nearly took my head off for it.”
Marcus studied him, doubt shadowing his gaze. “Atticus,” he began, and Atticus met his eyes, a flicker of curiosity there.
“When we got taken,” Marcus said, a dark edge to his tone as he kicked a rock in frustration, “we were with those pirates for a day, maybe two—no more.”
Atticus’s face drained of color. “…But you guys were gone nearly a full month. Last I heard, only you and two others made it back.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened at the memory, a darkness settling over him. “Yeah,” he said quietly. Then his gaze sharpened. “The Knights of Mars... they’re the ones who finally got us. Did you detect anything from them while you were out there?”
Atticus’s eyes widened. “The Knights of Mars?” he echoed, disbelief coloring his voice. “You serious? Why the hell are you bringing them up to me?”
Marcus exhaled, his tone grim as he spoke, just loud enough for Piper to catch as she came up behind them. “The pirates were talking about selling us off. I mean, they were dreaming up hellholes to dump us all into—guys, girls, didn’t matter. A fate worse than death.” He paused, his voice tightening. “But the Knights of Mars… yeah, they were rough, brutal even. But without them, we’d all be dead.”
“Marcus…” Atticus started, but then Piper’s fiery curls came into view as she rounded the corner, arms crossed and that sharklike grin firmly in place.
“What’re you up to, Atticus?” Piper’s voice dripped with mock surprise, though her eyes were anything but friendly. “You think you can hassle one of our best pilots in some back alley, and we’re just gonna let that slide?”
Atticus kept his cool, though he knew full well that he wasn’t exactly Piper’s favorite person. He shot a look at Marcus—a silent plea. But Marcus just stared back, eyes steady, sending a clear message: You’re on your own, buddy.
Atticus sighed. He’d take his lumps. After all, he’d messed up out there, and he knew it.
Trying to keep it light, he rolled his eyes and let out a dry laugh. “Just checking in on your pilot, Piper. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Marcus in action. Thought maybe the battle’d finally turned him into a man.”
Marcus chuckled, catching the humor in the jab.
Piper… not so much.
Her smile twisted, all teeth, her gaze turning predatory. “You really think you’re hot shit, huh, Atticus?” Her voice was smooth, but her eyes held that familiar, dangerous glint. “Remember last time? That duel, right after I lost to Logan? Maybe it’s time we settle that score.”
Atticus smirked, but there was a bead of sweat betraying his nerves as he glanced at Marcus, hoping for backup. Marcus, wide-eyed and torn, looked ready to jump in but held his tongue.
“Pi…” Marcus started, voice tense, as if he was about to defuse the situation.
“So, how about it?” Piper taunted, her smile edged with challenge. “We duel. Settle this in the ring.” Her grin widened, but Marcus couldn’t help but wonder—was this about defending him, or was Piper just itching for a rematch to settle her own score?
Atticus let out a half-hearted sneer, then sighed. “Fine. You’re on.” He glanced at Marcus, who could only shake his head, a mix of pity and frustration tugging at him.
As Atticus turned to leave, he paused, shooting one last look over his shoulder at Piper. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Red Rocket.”
Piper smirked, arms crossed, her white skirt swaying as her orange tie caught in the breeze. But it was her eyes—one green, the other a glinting grey prosthetic—that locked on Atticus with unshaken confidence.
“Logan was a while back,” Atticus continued. “I’ve also heard about House Mercury’s little hero act—wiping out GrimGar, taking down pirates, saving civilians on Oceana.” He looked away, hesitating just a beat before he added, “Last time was a fluke, sure. But next time?” His eyes held a cold glint. “No holding back. No punches pulled.”
He strode off, leaving Piper with her smirk intact, while Marcus rounded on her immediately.
“The hell was that, Pipes?” he demanded.
Piper shrugged, casual as ever. “He looked like he was giving you shit, so I gave it right back.” She lifted her arms in a shrug, grinning, but Marcus wasn’t smiling.
“Piper, that was really none of your business. Atticus—the last thing we need right now is a duel,” Marcus said, exasperated.
Piper waved him off, rolling her eyes. “Oh, come on. Like this is some huge deal. Hell, Zephyr and Olivia’ll probably turn it into a spectacle, make a whole day out of watching the aces throw down. You know how they eat that up around here.”
Marcus sighed, shaking his head. “It’s a fight that doesn’t need to happen. And a lot of people remember how things went down last time with him.”
“I’ll kick his ass,” Piper said, matter-of-fact, as if it were a foregone conclusion.
Marcus raised his hands, conceding but still unconvinced. “Like he said, first time was a fluke. This time… it’s the real deal. You’ve got way more to lose than he does, Pipes.”
Piper let out a snicker, her eyes narrowing with a fierce confidence. “You missed a lot while you were gone, Marcus.” She tapped her prosthetic eye, the steely glint flashing in the sun. “I’ve got my own tricks now. Atticus won’t see it coming.”
"You're acting Lieutenant now, after Lucas’s death,” Marcus sighed, his tone a mix of disappointment and caution. Silence hung between them. “The freshies, they're gonna follow you no matter what, Pipes. I know you're the ace, but...this? Hell, your reputation still hasn't recovered from your losses and getting...well, after Henryk…”
“Jesus Christ, Marcus,” Piper snapped, her temper flaring like her fiery hair. “I was just trying to help you out! I didn't think you'd come down on me like this.” She whipped her hair back and started walking away, muttering, “Should’ve known better than to try and be nice, do someone a favor.”
Marcus watched her, frustration in his eyes, and she glanced back, catching his expression. In that instant, Piper felt a pang of shame, something deep and hard to ignore. She knew, deep down, that he had a point, that maybe she was wrong. But she was too far in now, pride pushing her forward.
No matter what, she thought, steeling herself as her grip tightened around her backpack. All she had to do was win. Simple enough.
Henryk
Henryk had his hands jammed in his hoodie pockets as he and Arthur made their way down, the silence between them thick with tension. The elevator’s ding echoed as they reached the ground floor, and Henryk's eyes glinted under the harsh fluorescent lights, catching sight of the weaponry lining the walls ahead.
“Shit, they’ve got stub-makers here?” he muttered, eyeing the ominous arsenal.
Arthur shot him a sideways glance. “You familiar with these?”
Henryk’s face tightened. “Some guys from my colony got messed up real bad from weapons like these. Didn’t stop the colony administrators from sending more of us to end up the same way, just like our fathers,” he added bitterly.
Arthur grimaced. “Disgusting. This… this is tech heresy.”
Henryk’s gaze lingered on the weapons—sleek, deadly instruments, glowing faintly blue even in standby. Pistols, rifles, even Warcasket-patterned monstrosities. They radiated a sinister energy.
“How many men died… so they could turn these into ‘boons’ in the hands of the ‘worthy,’” Arthur said, almost spitting on the ground. “This is stuff that should be kept far from any serf’s reach. The serf should have a pick in hand, tending his field, not wielding these... abominations.”
Henryk absorbed Arthur’s words, eyes still fixed on the gleaming metal, then turned to Arthur. “But those same guys? They suffered, Arthur. Disease, injuries from brutal labor... I mean, what about tractors? You ever hear of one?” He tried a smile, but Arthur’s stare was cold, his eyes burning with contempt for the metal in front of them.
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“No, Squire Henryk,” Arthur replied flatly, “I haven’t.”
They fell back into silence, stepping into the darker, deeper parts of the garage. Shadows clung to the walls, and Henryk half-expected he’d need a flashlight just to navigate.
Arthur strode a few steps ahead, his figure occasionally swallowed by patches of darkness. “This guy, he’s got two daughters, right?” Henryk asked, trying to cut the tension.
Arthur nodded. “Two.”
“Did he get machines down here to build all this? I mean, it’s a whole city. Couldn’t have done it solo…” Henryk's voice trailed off, casting a skeptical look around.
Arthur interrupted, “Doubt it. He likely did it the old-fashioned way. Pick in hand, sweat and bone.”
Henryk nearly laughed. “You’re telling me this guy dug all this out by himself, with a damn pickaxe?”
Arthur chuckled softly. “Less has been done by ordinary men. And like I said, a Knight of Mars is far from ordinary.”
They stopped at a lone door, illuminated by a single, flickering light. It hung ajar, and Arthur frowned as he stepped closer. “This door… it should not be open.”
“What?” Henryk’s voice barely escaped his throat, his reply drowned out as the sound of a blood-curdling scream filled the air—a woman’s scream, desperate and raw.
Before he knew it, they were sprinting. Henryk’s heart pounded in his ears as they reached the door and threw it open.
It wasn’t the girl's strange red skin that hit him first—it was Kieren. Shirtless, crouched, pinning her down, his face twisted with an animalistic hunger. She thrashed, screaming, as Kieren’s mouth parted, revealing fangs slick with saliva.
Henryk’s shock turned to fury, his body moving before his mind could catch up. “Get the hell off her!” he roared, stomping toward Kieren, the smell of his rancid breath mixing with the girl's cries.
“Henryk!” Arthur shouted, hand outstretched as he glanced desperately to the side of the door. “Don’t go in alone!”
But Henryk was already in motion, barreling toward Kieren. He grabbed Kieren around the waist, and they wrestled, limbs thrashing as Adaline shrieked, squirming free beneath them. She scrambled up, bolting out of the room, her terrified screams echoing down the hall.
Then, Henryk drove his knee hard into Kieren’s stomach. He felt the impact shudder through his own leg as Kieren doubled over, a grimace twisting his face. Henryk smirked, delivering a brutal kick that made Kieren stumble, his grip loosening.
“What’s the matter, Kieren?” Henryk taunted, fists clenched, breathing hard. “Gotta pick on someone your own size for once?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Henryk's fist connected squarely with Kieren’s face, but the victory was fleeting. In a flash, Kieren seized him with unnatural strength, and before Henryk could process it, he was airborne. His stomach dropped as he was thrown, landing with a sickening thud against the cold, unyielding metal wall.
The impact rattled his bones, forcing the air from his lungs. Henryk clawed at the floor, gasping for breath, eyes watering. He tried to rise, but—
“You’ve always been a little cocksucker, haven’t you, Henryk?” Kieren’s voice was a low, grating sneer. Henryk looked up, heart pounding, to see Kieren’s eyes gleaming, bloodshot, a twisted, feral grin spreading across his face.
Kieren crouched, almost animalistic, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Henryk. Henryk pressed his back against the wall, struggling to push himself up, but Kieren was on him in a heartbeat. His hand wrapped around Henryk's throat, pinning him against the wall. Henryk choked, barely able to draw a breath, his vision blurring.
“W-what the hell are you?” Henryk gasped, voice strained as he tried to pry Kieren’s fingers off his neck. But Kieren’s grip tightened, ironclad, relentless.
Henryk’s fists hammered against Kieren’s arm, but it was like punching stone. Then, Kieren’s other hand rose, fingers curling ominously, and Henryk’s heart pounded as he realized Kieren was lifting him higher, as if savoring every moment of his struggle.
Henryk’s voice was raw, desperate. “H-how the fuck are you so damn strong!” he shouted, slamming his fist into Kieren’s face, feeling his strength drain with each hit. His vision blurred, narrowing as Kieren laughed, the sound rolling out like something twisted and dark. Henryk’s eyes widened as Kieren’s other hand came around, pressing the other side of his head hard against the wall.
“I wonder what kind of sound your head’s gonna make when I crack it open, countryman,” Kieren taunted, chuckling darkly at his own words. “Always hated hearing your name in these halls, the way the Sons of Mars favored you. What, just ‘cause you got to Edward first? You’re nothing but some mutant freak. I’m doing the galaxy a favor here.”
Henryk’s face contorted with rage, eyes blazing as he flung wild punches, finding strength he didn’t know he had. But Kieren’s laugh just deepened, a sick enjoyment in every blow. Henryk’s gaze caught on something—a jet-black spike protruding from the base of Kieren’s collarbone, just above his spine. The dark metal jutted out, mangled and twisted, with black vein-like strands spreading from it, almost like an infection.
“P-please…” Henryk choked out, his vision swimming, the pressure crushing his windpipe and pressing on his skull. Fear spiked through him—was he about to lose his eyes, feel them burst under Kieren’s grip?
A sudden, heavy crack echoed through the hall as Arthur came down with an electrical mace, smashing it hard into Kieren’s right arm. The force snapped the bone, and Kieren let out a guttural howl, releasing Henryk as he stumbled back, clutching his broken arm.
Henryk collapsed to the floor, gasping, his vision clearing as he gulped down breaths. He looked up, eyes drawn to Arthur, who now squared off against Kieren, shield raised, mace buzzing with electricity.
“You should’ve waited, frontiersman,” Arthur said, his voice laced with a cold disdain. His figure was imposing, clad in crude riot gear, and his shield glinted under the lights as he advanced on Kieren.
Kieren sneered, his voice dripping with venom. “You always were quite the prude, Arthur,” he mocked, leering. “Liked touching us up during training, huh? I’m gonna enjoy wearing your skin like a hat…”
Henryk’s stomach twisted. “What the hell…” he muttered, barely able to process the twisted words coming from Kieren’s mouth.
Arthur’s face hardened, his sneer unyielding. “This is part of the process,” he said, voice steady but cold. “But I never imagined the spike would bring out the darkness in Kieren like this.”
Henryk, steadying himself, massaged his bruised throat as he staggered to his feet. “The darkness?” he echoed, voice hoarse. “What the hell are you talking about?”
But Henryk didn’t get his answer. Kieren let out a guttural roar, dropping to all fours, fingers curled like talons. Then, like a cannonball, he launched himself at Arthur. Arthur raised his shield just in time, but Kieren’s hands tore through the armor, rending it like paper.
Arthur staggered back, his armor barely keeping him from serious harm, but Kieren was on him in a heartbeat. Slashes came in rapid, brutal succession, but Arthur blocked, parried, feinted a cleave—and then jabbed his electric prong into Kieren’s stomach. The jolt sent Kieren flying backward, crashing into the wall with a bone-rattling thud.
“Henryk, there’s more weapons behind the door! If you hadn’t run in here like a—” Arthur’s words cut off as Kieren lunged at him again, relentless, only barely held back by the shield.
“Henryk! Now’s the time—I need you!” Arthur shouted, his voice strained.
Henryk stood frozen, staring at the monstrous form that was once Kieren. His mind reeled, eyes locking onto the black spike embedded in Kieren’s back. Was that it? Was that the thing controlling him?
Desperation gave Henryk a moment of grim clarity. If he could just destroy that spike, maybe he could break whatever hold it had over Kieren. But as he took a step forward, his gaze drifted to Arthur—and then to his mind's eye, flashing back to the others: Edward, August, Axel, Joseph, Isaac... all of them had identical black spikes embedded along their spines.
Kieren had crossed the line, passed some terrifying point of no return. He had become a true Son of Mars.
Edward
“You come here too?” Ed asked Bea, glancing over with a smirk.
They were the only ones in the deli, save for the early-morning workers chopping veggies and cracking eggs, the smell of pepper and sizzling bacon filling the air. It was just past dawn, first classes letting out, and Ed’s priority was a sandwich—preferably a bacon, egg, and cheese. He didn’t expect to see Bea stroll through that same door, looking just as surprised to find him here.
Bea shot him a look. “I’ve lived on this rock since the fall of Mars. I’m on a first-name basis with these guys.”
Ed chuckled, leaning back. “I don’t know why, but you’re just so damn easy to rile up.”
She rolled her eyes. “Maybe you could try being less of a pain.”
“Hey, I pay well and promise good results,” he said, flashing that cocky grin and a thumbs-up.
Bea sighed, closing her eyes briefly. “More like you bring trouble. You forget that me and my sister didn’t ask to be a part of this mess. We were perfectly content selling sandwiches and stocking shelves…”
“And now, you’re right back serving your old loyalties to House Mars,” Ed interrupted, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Peachy, ain’t it?”
Bea sneered, crossing her arms. The smell of cooking meat and bread filled the silence between them.
“You’re angry,” she finally said, her voice quiet but sharp.
Ed’s face hardened. “I’m fine, Bea. You’re a business associate. That’s all that matters.”
Bea’s eyes narrowed. “…You really don’t get why I’m angry, do you?”
Ed turned toward her, his gaze suddenly cold, his eyes narrowed to slits. “I told you, Bea. I understand.” His usual smile returned, but it felt pasted on, like a mask.
The silence settled heavy between them, thick as fog, and Bea half-expected him to break it. When he didn’t, she let out a sharp breath, balling her fists.
“Excuse me,” she said, voice low, “for not jumping at the chance to resurrect my father’s empire.”
Ed’s eyes glinted, a dangerous spark flashing through his usual exhaustion. He rubbed his fingers together slowly, like he was smoothing out the wrinkles in his tone. “Your father’s empire, huh?” he murmured. “Yeah, Mars had some…traditional ideas.”
“Traditional?” Bea scoffed, hugging her arms around herself. “They were marrying off girls as young as thirteen to men twice their age. Don’t get me started on those so-called ‘battle maidens,’ trained to be obedient little soldiers with no say in their own lives.”
Ed winced, his gaze dropping as if the word “obedient” had stirred something uncomfortable within him.
“Yeah, Mars was messed up. I get that.” He paused, his voice softening. “But look at Oceana II.”
Bea’s eyes widened, caught off guard.
Ed tightened his grip, folding his arms across his chest. “Mars had its flaws—harsh policies for a harsh world. But that kind of environment bred resilience, forged warriors,” he said, his gaze hardening as it met Bea’s. “I know you’ve got issues with the Knights of Mars. I get it—you hated your dad. I won’t hold that against you. To me, he was a great war hero.”
Bea’s expression twisted, bitterness flashing in her eyes. “A killer, that’s what he was. And a lousy excuse for a father.”
Ed’s jaw clenched as he stared her down. “What do you want from me, Bea? You want me to just let House Mars, our history—all those lives sacrificed, the millions lost—fade into nothing?” His voice tightened, barely restrained. “We’ve been bleeding for this galaxy since we first stepped into space.”
Bea shook her head, her tone cool and unyielding. “Everything has its time, Ed. Things come and go. I’m not denying some knights had valor, but look around you. Take Vinnie, for example. He’s a damn good medic.”
Ed nodded, unsure of her angle, but listened as she pressed on.
“Think about it,” she continued. “You think the old Knight Hospitalers could’ve given him that level of training? Hell, he’s told me about the others too. That poor kid you guys call ‘Fleeboy’—” She shot Ed a pointed glare.
Ed shrugged dismissively. “He’s been rolling with it for a while now.”
“It’s demeaning, Ed. The purple-eyed jerk who came up with that name ought to piss blood for it,” she snapped. “That kid’s dealing with enough, but look at him—look at all of them. They’re soft. They didn’t grow up on Mars. Different backgrounds, different worlds. It’s a miracle they survived Oceana, and—”
“A miracle?” Ed’s voice thundered, and the cooks behind the counter flinched, casting wary glances as the tension radiated from his towering figure. “It’s no miracle that the Knights of Mars survived that hellhole. We endure.” His voice carried an unshakeable pride, a raw force that hung heavy in the air. The cooks returned to their work, unwilling to cross that line.
Ed turned back to Bea, his voice low but intense. “You’re right—they aren’t traditional knights. We’ve got Offworlders, irregulars, informal Executors even. But they’ll make damn good soldiers. Some of them, like Kieren—Knights.”
Bea let out a scornful laugh, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve got it all mapped out then, don’t you?”
Ed rolled his eyes as the bell dinged, signaling his sandwich was ready on the counter. “Thanks!” he called, grabbing a green soda bottle off the shelf and giving it a quick toss before catching it smoothly. His emerald eyes gleamed as he turned to Bea, the weight of his words clear. “Look, you’re not wrong. Mars was practically in the dark ages, maybe worse.” He paused, as if the admission was a stone he'd been carrying too long. “Hell, maybe you're right. Maybe it's a blessing Mars was destroyed. There's a million theories out there about how we wanted to seize control of the galaxy, and yeah, we’ve got secrets. Even as House President, I can’t claim to know them all. But that’s exactly why they’re powerful.”
Bea raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious. “What are you getting at?”
Ed looked at her steadily. “You were writing them off, thinking these guys coming from different worlds was a weakness. It’s not. It’s a strength.” He gave a faint smile. “Take Henryk—he’s got two younger sisters. August still has his mother, same with Axel. And they’ve got real lives outside this mess. Friends, girlfriends, family. And I know…,” he hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck.
Bea’s eyes narrowed. “Some of them… what?”
He waved it off. “…like I was saying, they’ve got perspectives. When we carve out our place in this galaxy, they—and their kids—are going to inherit those worlds.”
Her eyes widened, realization dawning on her. “That’s your endgame?”
Ed nodded, his face breaking into a smirk that made his eyes glint like polished emeralds. “Old Martian society was bogged down with relics and dead ideas. Those old thinkers? They’re gone.” Bea couldn’t deny the pull in his gaze, the fire there. “Why don’t we make a change?”
She looked at him, her expression guarded, but something in his words seemed to get to her. She sighed, rubbing a hand across her face. “What’s going to be different?”
Ed took a deep breath. “First off, the sexism? Gone. That’s over. And yeah, I’ve got plans for more modern forge worlds, places that actually work for everyone. But feudal worlds?” He hesitated, watching her reaction as horror crept across her face. “They have to stay.”
“Stay?” She repeated, eyes wide. He could see her starting to back away, disbelief etched into her features.
“Bea, listen,” he said, raising his hands like he was trying to calm a spooked animal. “These worlds will be supervised, held to standards. No more abuse from liege lords on serfs, no more Knights of Mars running around raiding villages and enslaving people. That part of our history is dead.” He looked her straight in the eye. “But I need people like you to work with me on this. To make sure it’s different.”
"Why?” Bea asked, her eyes narrowing. “Why do you believe Mars has to come back? Why are you dedicating yourself, risking your life and everyone else’s? You were there on Oceana II—I read the reports and saw it all over social media. It was hell, Ed. And you want to throw yourself back into that? For what?”
“We got the mechs from that,” Ed replied, like it justified everything.
Bea’s eyes widened. “…You almost died, Ed.”
“Worth it,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing. “We needed machines and something to call our own. Yeah, we lost an ally, and yeah, it was ugly. But those machines? They’ll keep us alive. With your expertise, we’ll make it.”
The bell above the door rang again, and Ed glanced to the side. “Listen, it’s been a hell of a night. I need food, and I need sleep.” He let out a long yawn, waving his hand dismissively. “Still, I gotta say, Bea—I love arguing with you. Don’t ever change.”
“Hey,” Bea called after him as he turned to leave, her tone catching him mid-stride. Her eyes softened, almost skeptical. “Do you really believe all that you say…?”
He stopped, sandwich and drink in hand, and looked back at her, his lone emerald eye glinting through his blond bangs.
“The Knights of Mars…” He took a breath, his voice steady. “They’re the only ones who can face the horrors out there. Without them, we’re lost. As messed up as they are… they’re a curse worth carrying. Humanity needs that, to carve a path in this universe.”
With those words, he turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind him.
“By any means necessary…” he murmured under his breath, the phrase a quiet vow. He made his way to a nearby bench, feeling the crisp morning air on his face. He cracked open the soda, taking a long sip that left a chill of caffeine and fizz running through him. Then he took a bite of his bacon, egg, and cheese.
“Damn, that is some good food,” he muttered with a grin, watching the people around him—kids rushing to school, folks in suits heading to work, and a few, like him, just catching a rare moment of peace.
Ed leaned back on the bench, hands resting over his full stomach as he tossed the empty wrapper and bottle into the bin. “Damn,” he said, smirking to himself, “that really hit the spot.”
Henryk
Arthur dodged Kieren’s wild slash. “Come and get slaughtered like a hog!” Kieren snarled, flinging a bare foot toward him. Arthur threw himself to the wall just in time.
Another blow missed by inches, but Kieren was relentless. He launched himself at Arthur with terrifying speed.
“The f-fuck!” Arthur shouted, swinging his mace down. But he was a hair too far. Kieren’s kick connected, slamming Arthur against the wall. The impact forced the air from his lungs, but he held tight to his weapon, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he extended his arms.
“Come forth, beast…” he spat, the blood dribbling over his lips.
“You’re a real annoying fuck, Arthur,” Kieren growled. “I’m gonna rip out your damn voice box!” He lunged again, his broken arm flailing behind him like some grotesque dead weight.
Henryk watched, wide-eyed, his instincts screaming at him to retreat. This wasn’t human. The way Kieren fought—the words he spewed—they were unnatural. Henryk felt the familiar chill, that suffocating grip of fear. Fight or flight, and right now he had no idea which way to lean.
Then he saw it—another shield and mace by the door. “Damn it,” he muttered, his eyes darting back to the brawl.
The room sparked with the clash of weapons. Every hit Arthur landed, Kieren seemed to return with thrice the fury. But then—
“What the f-fuck!” Henryk yelled, his gaze glued to Kieren’s twisted arm.
The skin moved, bulging as if something writhed beneath it. Bone splintered, creaking and cracking. Henryk watched in horrified fascination as Kieren flexed his once-broken arm, a sick smile spreading across his face. He raised a fist and drove it hard into Arthur’s face.
Arthur’s helmet flew off, his body slumping to the ground. The door was open. Henryk’s eyes flicked toward it; he could close it, trap Kieren inside. But his gaze shifted back to Arthur, unconscious, vulnerable, sprawled beneath that monster’s shadow. Could he leave him there? Could he make himself believe it was for the girl’s sake, or was he just too scared to stand his ground?
Henryk’s hands shook.
Henryk’s eyes widened as he noticed the girl clutching the deactivated mace to her chest. Her lips curled in a snarl, teeth bared, and though her eyes were filled with tears, her expression was fierce.
“Y-you’re like my father, right? A K-knight?” Adaline asked, her voice shaking as she looked up at Henryk. “H-he’s a monster… he tried to hurt me and…”
For a moment, despite Adaline’s red skin and the fact he’d never seen her before, Henryk’s mind flashed to his own sisters. His expression hardened as he approached, wordlessly snatching the mace from her grip.
As he moved forward, he reached for a shield. “Girl, what’s your name?” he asked, his tone steady as he closed the gap between him and the creature that used to be Kieren, now hunched in a feral crouch, emitting strange, guttural sounds.
“Adaline,” she replied, barely audible.
“Adaline,” Henryk repeated, glancing over his shoulder. “Shut the door and lock it behind me. I’ll deal with this… thing.”
He took a steadying breath, the fluorescent light casting him in an eerie glow as shadows danced around them.
Henryk clenched his jaw. “You sick bastard…” He clicked the mace’s power button, watching as it flared to life with an electric charge, then slammed it into Kieren’s side with a force that resonated through the room. He heard, felt, the satisfying crunch of ribs shattering under the blow.
He shot a glance toward the bleeding Arthur. “Oh my god…” Henryk dropped to one knee, his gaze lingering on Arthur’s battered face. Then a low, rasping laugh made his blood run cold. He looked up to see Kieren, bits of flesh—Arthur’s left ear, he realized in horror—hanging from Kieren’s bloody mouth. The creature was chewing, swallowing, his lips smeared with blood, smiling in a grotesque grin.
“I wonder how you taste, Henryk,” Kieren said, rising slowly. “I just wanted to know what human tastes like. I’m gonna savor you… to the fullest.” His eyes narrowed, blood dripping from them like crimson tears. Henryk’s gaze flickered to the puddle of blood spreading beneath Arthur.
“What you’ve done is unforgivable!” Henryk roared, charging forward, his anger giving him strength.
Kieren let out a twisted cackle, swinging wildly, but Henryk sidestepped him, slamming his shield into Kieren with a force that sent him crashing into the wall. Arthur, groaning, pressed his hand to the blood-slick floor, struggling to sit up, his gaze locking onto the crackling voltage of Henryk’s mace.
…and Arthur reclaimed his mace with a fierce grip, springing back into action just as Henryk was thrown against the wall. But before Kieren could pounce on him, Arthur surged forward, smashing Kieren into the metal wall with bone-crunching force. Kieren’s body bounced off the wall, collapsing onto the floor, momentarily still—but Arthur and Henryk both knew better.
“Stay on that bastard! Don’t give him a second to breathe!” Henryk yelled, his voice raw and edged with fury. Arthur threw his head back, letting out a battle-crazed laugh as he swung his mace, landing another heavy blow.
“Give him a beating he’ll remember in hell!” Arthur shouted, slamming the electrified mace into Kieren’s back, each strike drawing an agonized howl from him. Henryk, barely seeing through the red haze clouding his vision, swung his own weapon, the screams filling his ears, feeding the rage burning inside him.
Memories of the academy flooded his mind, the taunts, the jeers, the endless days dealing with Kieren’s cruelty. He wasn’t just fighting Kieren; he was fighting every insult, every sneer, every time he’d been dismissed as a “mutant.”
“Fuck you, Kieren! You’ve made my life a living hell!” Henryk’s voice cracked, his face streaked with tears and fury. Arthur, in his own battle trance, was equally relentless.
“He’s one tough son of a bitch! Keep at him, Henryk! When he’s out cold, we’ll tie him down and make sure he doesn’t get up!” Arthur bellowed, his blows relentless—but even as they struck, Kieren’s resilience was unnerving. Wounds that would bring any normal man to his knees barely fazed him, the cuts and bruises nothing more than minor irritations.
“Die! Just die already!” Henryk screamed, his voice trembling with exhaustion and desperation. “I’m done! Done with all this twisted shit!”
“Squire Brown!” Arthur’s tone turned sharp, authoritative. But Henryk didn’t hear him, lost in the spiraling vortex of his own rage, blinded by the memories that clawed at him.
“Henryk!” Arthur’s shout was desperate now, his voice cutting through the fury, but he could see that Henryk wasn’t listening, wasn’t even there. He was lost to the anger, the hate—and the memories.
“Control yourself!” Arthur’s eyes widened as he threw his baton aside, thrusting out his hand as Henryk delivered one final, thunderous blow to Kieren’s back. Sparks crackled, surging through Kieren’s body, illuminating every muscle and nerve in agonizing clarity. Without the spikes to shield him, he’d have been dead ten times over.
It was funny—that was the thought running through Henryk's mind. In the momentum of his backswing, he adjusted his grip, sliding his hand up the mace handle, tightening, then flipping it downward. He aimed the head of the mace right at the freshly installed spike incubating in Kieren's back. He knew that could be enough to finally end this nightmare.
But just as a cold chill settled over him, Arthur’s hand—strong, metal, Martian-reinforced—gripped his, stopping the mace's electric prongs dangerously close to the spikes on Kieren’s spine.
“What are you doing, countryman?” Arthur rasped, his voice strained, blood trickling down his head. He grimaced, fighting through the pain, his blood-slick fingers pressing down to stop Henryk from lowering the mace.
“What am I doing?” Henryk’s voice shook with anger. “What’s this madness, Arthur? I’m doing what you won’t!” His gaze darted between Arthur and Kieren. “He bit a piece of your ear off, Arthur! He was ranting, saying…vile things. Imagine if we’d left him alone with Adaline just one second longer!”
Arthur tightened his grip, the anger bleeding into his voice. “I know, Henryk! But Kieren’s just begun the incubation process for the spikes. My spikes haven’t been fully tested either.” He hesitated, his face hardening. “Not all spikes are made the same, Henryk. I…fear the errors of the past may have come back…”
Henryk’s eyes narrowed, suspicion dawning. “You knew this could happen, didn’t you?”
Arthur’s silence was answer enough. Henryk’s hand froze. “Different Knight Legions have unique traits. Our spikes mutate, yes, but there are benefits to keeping the mutations rather than culling them…” Arthur glanced at Kieren’s unconscious body, then back to Henryk. “Now, help me strap him down. And pay attention—we’re about to do a battle lesson.”
“Right here?” Henryk asked, eyes wide.
Arthur nodded. “What did you see out there?”
Henryk exhaled, rubbing his temples. “More shit than I’ll be able to sleep off in a lifetime, I’ll tell you that.”
“Henryk, focus. This isn’t for fun. Knowing these things could save your life someday. You need to understand what’s going on in the field.”
Grumbling, Henryk helped Arthur secure Kieren to the bed, wrapping the straps tightly around his limbs. “…Ignoring the insane crap he was spouting…” Henryk trailed off, glancing at Arthur. “That thing he was doing with his bones—that was regeneration, wasn’t it?” He said it like he couldn’t believe it, almost smiling in disbelief.
Arthur nodded slowly. “Yes. My Knight Legion—my father’s and brothers’ as well—have a unique trait. We’re quick healers. Very quick.” Arthur turned, catching Henryk’s stare as his own wound began to clot and close. “I can’t fully regenerate a lost limb, but it beats bleeding out on some battlefield,” Arthur added with a faint smile. “Kieren…well, he’s part of that legacy, for better or worse.”
Both of them glanced at Kieren’s unconscious form, bound tightly to the bed.
“Arthur…” Henryk began, voice shaking. “What Kieren was saying, what he was doing…even for a mutation, that wasn’t normal.”
Arthur took a deep breath, pushing open the door. “No, it wasn’t,” he said, turning back with a level look, his wound now dried. “But you’ve proven yourself, Henryk. It’s time you started learning the real history behind the Knights of Mars. And how we plan to save this galaxy.”