Angelos Odyssey: Volume Two

By J.B.M. Patrick

"The Uesugi Clan has fled into the darkest corners of the Lower-City.

We’re to find them, to put them out of their misery.

Tavon, Abul, it’s time for the two of you to prove yourselves.

Be ruthless…"

 

After he’d survived to reach the age of eighteen, Tavon entered the criminal underworld proper. For most of his life, he’d trained to be a powerhouse as well as an intimidating presence; he therefore used his past experiences to mold himself into a thug capable of holding his own.

While relaying his memories to an apprentice, the rest of the Citadel comes under threat from a madman’s schemes. At the same time, both a terrorist organization and a notorious mercenary group close in to wreak havoc upon one of the last human civilizations.

 

This is the account of Tavon’s first challenge, Aaliyah’s discovery of zol, and a record of the events that unfolded prior to a terrible catastrophe…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shingen Blue Publishing
• Release date: Nov 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9780578506722

Book preview

Afterword

PART ONE

A New Melody

-

My name is Janelle, and there’s someone else who knows me as you do.

1

The Resurrection

-

Tallah

-

My sister doesn’t know that I died. There’s no way to tell Aaliyah without her believing I’m insane, although I know I’m not. I’ve seen Her; I’ve seen Death for myself.

A man once kidnapped me, made me perform certain actions against my will. He used me up, threatened my life while I was his, and then left me in a dumpster. I remember him weeping as he walked away, but the damage was already done.

Soon, we would both succumb to a disease he’d spread to me. I didn’t cry; instead, I waited there for a time. I waited for my life to fade, but I was discovered the next morning. I was driven to a local hospital by those who found me and sealed my fate with what they believed was mercy.

I don’t remember how they looked. I never was very good at remembering faces, and I’ve always been too shy to stare at anyone directly. Still, I was forced to stare as dozens of strange faces peered down at me in concern as I laid in a hospital bed.

Nurses said I’d caught the Drem, an infectious disease that would guarantee the shutdown of my immune system. I don’t know what happened to the kidnapper who’d given it to me, but I assume he didn’t survive for very much longer.

The next morning, I saw Aaliyah’s face. She was crying, looking down on me like everyone else, and I hated it. I hated that I’d assigned her this role yet again, as she’d always been the one to anchor our family. Aaliyah never expressed weakness. She was much stronger. In a way, I despised myself for not having that type of strength. I wanted to be bold and to stand tall above all others; I thought I deserved just as much respect.

Aaliyah wouldn’t leave my side. Though she was to take the Bureau Exams and needed to study, Aaliyah stayed.

She repeated: It’s going to be okay, Tallah. and, You look so beautiful. I can’t believe how amazing you are.

He’d taken my legs. From below both knees, nothing remained except listless stumps. I could only partially see out of one eye, as the kidnapper had thought it comical to hear my screams while he drenched sections of me in acid.

That night, I fell into a coma.

Then… I passed on.

No one could understand, but I’d lost to the disease. I died there on that hospital bed. Hospital personnel surrounded the me before I rose above myself; I was formless now, I was grateful.

To lead such a confined existence when I’d been mocked for so long would be unbearable, and my spirit needed so much more. I watched nurses frantically try to revive me, but my body refused to respond. It was a peaceful end to my torment.

I heard music.

Sounds congregated to produce a quiet rhythm that issued out from the caverns of my soul. I didn’t possess the hands to do so, but I reached toward my center. It was warm. It gave off subtle, comforting vibrations that worked into tremors which flowed along the ground. They were loud in their own way, but I didn’t mind.

Death was standing there. An image never to be described, never to be seen, really, but Death was before me.

Hello, Tallah, she said.

I didn’t know how to respond. I hung my head, feeling very sad on the inside. Because of my weakness, I was leaving my sister behind when she needed me more than ever. Would Saint Avva forgive me?

It’s okay. Death spoke, and her voice was beautiful:

Her vocal texture sounded like sweet notes hanging in the air, ringing eternally with unsaid promises.

You don’t have to cry anymore, she said. My name is Janelle.

I… I started to speak; my voice paled in comparison to hers. I don’t want to go.

Janelle seemed shocked, but her features—terrifying as they were—softened.

Not all deserve to leave so early, but the End does not discriminate. Everyone is chosen, and everyone departs.

But I’m not ready to sleep just yet.

Oh?

I fortified my resolve—if this was my last chance to be strong, I would stand against Death itself.

Don’t take me from Aaliyah. I have to be around for her!

Janelle was quiet. When she spoke, it was as a mother to one of her own:

Dear child, she said, what’s been done to you is unforgivable. Were I to weep, I would weep all my days in memory of was stolen and what you will never get back. My child, why would you choose to exist anew in such a state? Go with me and pass from this life; those here are of no concern to you.

I refuse.

Janelle said nothing, so I spoke louder: NO. I can’t let go of everything we’ve built after… after how much my sister suffered.

She was silent.

I could feel new music growing from within as I raised my voice, My family is worth living for—just a little while longer! Please, allow me to remain until she’s ready to let go, Janelle. Please.

Oh, my child… Death drew closer, and I staggered away from her.

Do not be afraid. Tell me: what would you do if you could live from without? Live in nowhere and yet… everywhere at once?

Death touched me.

-

Janelle

-

I am Death, and I have betrayed my purpose. Against my better wisdom, I’ve broken something sacred in order to preserve a life well beyond its expiration.

I touched Tallah, and I made her in the image of the Solace, in the image of Death.

Music produces energy. Music begets life; therefore, I restored in this child a new type of song written for a dying Earth. She is no longer human and not quite a messenger of Death, either. No. Instead, Tallah has become a divine servant. She is the composer of something new.

Tallah resurrected on that hospital bed, to everyone’s surprise. Tallah’s sister had been contacted, but she was already awake, and Tallah gazed at the personnel around her, eyes alight with radiance. Although she would require more time to fully recover, Tallah had become a Child of the Solace, reaching past the normal potential of an Awakened human.

-

Years later, I appeared unto her again.

The disease was at last departing from her new body. However, renowned medical professionals, as well as the administrative team in the hospital, had adamantly insisted that she stay far longer than she’d ever needed to. On the day that I came to see my child, Tallah had little time left before she would be discharged and sent back into the real world to be rehabilitated, with the help of her sister.

Her room was quiet. I observed her sleeping, entombed in sheets which were a soft shade of sapphire. Tallah rested near a wooden drawer, beside a white curtain that obscured anyone from seeing her from behind an open door, and across from a holographic television that was powered by a remote having been set next to an empty food tray.

Aaliyah had braided her hair into short, brown twists, and they overlaid neatly-trimmed eyebrows made tiny by her hazel eyes.

I peered out the window to her left to notice a busy subsection of the city containing a sprawling marketplace within Zone A. In the distance, I spotted the tower of the Angelos Association climbing toward the heavens and in the likeness of a slender, stark white pillar.

Tallah, I spoke.

Her eyes opened.

We looked at each other for a long moment, as no one else could see me. I’d been alone as one of the Solace for centuries, but Tallah’s presence provided a slight comfort. I viewed her as my own daughter. She wasn’t afraid of me.

Hello, Janelle.

She smiled. A molar on the right side of her front row of teeth was still cracked from abuse. Nearly all scarred tissue had been reinvigorated with a special serum prepared for victims of acid attacks in the Citadel.

Do you think you’re ready? I asked her.

Tallah breathed in and out: Ready for what?

To see what it’s like in the world now that you’ve been absent for so long. My child, did you miss it?

Tallah sighed. I’m sure it’s the same as it ever was, you know? As long as people don’t change, society’s always showing the same face to you. Aaliyah’s a real detective now… she said, And here I am, Tallah, just a vegetable.

My Messenger.

Whatever that means.

What if I showed you, dear?

Her expression revealed both disappointment and curiosity; she still didn’t understand what it all meant. Showed me what?

Poor dear. I stepped closer and placed my reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Can’t you hear it? There’s a symphony being played in the city. It’s a horrible symphony, one conducted by a madman who’s been consumed by hatred—listen closely, my child.

She struggled to comprehend what had just been said. I could sense her frustration, but I didn’t prod her to focus any harder.

I knew it would come.

I think… Tallah started.

Yes?

Tallah’s face changed. Her features darkened. I think I can hear it.

And what does it sound like, dear? What can you hear?

She shook as tears rolled from her eyes. Tallah looked to me.

It’s awful, she said, it’s… not stopping. Growing closer.

Would you like to see what’s about to happen in this city?

No— she exclaimed at first and then stared at the ground in fear.

I knew she was stronger, however. Tallah met my eyes again after regaining her composure. Okay.

Steel yourself, my child, for we shall gaze into the depths of madness…

2

A Symphony

-

Janelle

-

Frederick Nuvogorad, an Enrec intelligence officer, shopped with his family at a marketplace forty hyper rails below the hospital. I’d given Tallah Sight, Sight that only I was meant to possess, and temporarily allowed her to watch the events soon to take place.

-

As Frederick hefted a grocery bag full of what he’d arbitrarily grabbed on his regular path through the district, his son tugged on his sleeve, exclaiming, "Dad! Dad! Can we get a mititrone?"

A mititrone was a miniature android with a limited ability to communicate with its owner and was a popular children’s toy in the Citadel.

Frederick exhaled, No. Not this time, so—

C’mon! Why can’t I get a mititrone? I can use it in my virtual classes! It h-helps with learning!

The father said nothing, ignoring him as he steered them toward automated vendors selling produce. His son, on the contrary, refused to be ignored. He pulled on his sleeve again—

Please, dad! Everyone else has one, and Juni’s been making fun of me!

Then tell him to stop, Frederick responded flatly.

Honey! his wife couldn’t resist chiming in, I know you can afford it! What, with those very nice government check—

We’re on a budget.

"You’re on a budget." Mrs. Nuvogorad stopped to look at him sternly.

Fine. Frederick felt bitter; he handed her both grocery bags—Make sure you pick up some Eko milk then.

Mrs. Nuvogorad stomped off in a huff, and Frederick allowed his shoulders to slump before he rested his hand on the back of his son’s neck.

Right, then. Let’s go get a mititrone.

Both father and son turned on the next corner and exposed themselves to grand neon signs, each of which advertised a different consumer product and hung aloft over stocky automatons.

On his left, Frederick passed a fiberglass display showcasing a female android. Her synthetic skin had been enhanced to add a realistic quality to her overall appearance; moreover, someone heavily powdered her face to complement dark lipstick and silvered eyes which gawked at particular customers in a seductive manner.

She enclosed her metallic digits over the gold watch around Frederick’s wrist, then she lightly pulled him close.

He jerked himself loose but was awestruck upon viewing a series of diamonds and onyx gemstones. Frederick looked up at the automaton, who peered from behind her cage with a pitiable expression.

C’mon, dad!

His son urged him toward a bright green and horizontal sign suspended above two shelves taller than himself. These shelves were lit up as well and stretched far into a divided corridor built to house hundreds upon hundreds of various toys as well as juvenile gadgets.

Frederick admired the jewelry once more and momentarily thought of his wife.

He sneered at the clerk, then he followed his son’s lead down the left side; Frederick was then surrounded by amenities he’d never had the chance to own as a child:

To his right, he noticed board games known for projecting map overlays coupled with holographic pieces. Frederick recognized role-playing titles that some of his colleagues enjoyed, but he shrugged off such thoughts while proceeding to inspect action figures made in the likenesses of Citadel celebrities.

A small, robotic President Derek began pacing back and forth on the edge of the metallic middle row and sported a plated suit of armor which shined with an aquatic tint. Its armor clanked; the toy intonated: For our future, we march. Ever forward, ever graceful.

Dad—look—it’s so cool!

His son held up the stoic figurine of Ishida. Ishida’s manufacturers had accurately designed the robe overlaying his Armor of a Thousand Faces.

The bloodlust present within the tiny warlord’s eyes bothered Frederick.

Put that down. Frederick gently guided his son’s arm away. Show me to the mititrones. He smiled. Remember, this is a tool for your education, all right?

Ugh. His son sighed. All right, dad. I think it’s farther this way…

Ample lighting turned sparser as they progressed toward the back of the aisle. Frederick passed another father-and-son pair, who acknowledged the two of them and nodded in recognition. Frederick was an important figure to the Dawn Federation. He’d remained deployed for most of his tenure as an officer serving in the vassal country of Gaspul, and thus he was met with respect wherever he traveled in the upper districts of the Citadel.

The next two overhead bars of fluorescent light flickered then weakened. Presently, Frederick was squinting and searching with increased effort. Electronic dance music faded behind them, and Frederick felt a cold chill abruptly pierce the air.

He took off his coat before wrapping it around his son’s shoulders, who responded by shrugging it off initially.

I’m fine, dad. he said.

It’s not optional. You’ll wear it. Frederick easily stared his son down before the two of them continued.

It should be just around the corner! the child’s voice echoed.

Why is there… fog? Fog in this part of the city?

Frederick halted to briefly check his surroundings once more.

We should be close to the Upper-City, so why isn’t atmosphere control working here?

He shook his head and thought, in disgust, Lazy technicians aren’t maintaining it in this trash heap. Figures.

PLEASE ALLOW ME TO HELP YOU, an automated voice rang out from the end of the corridor.

The son gasped, It’s a mititrone, dad, they’re down here!

Wait— Frederick reached out to grab him, but his son escaped, sprinting off toward a fully-stocked shelf marking the termination of an aisle parallel to their own.

That kid…

Frederick exhaled wearily; his footsteps were heavier as he tromped forward.

Robot butlers. What a stupid idea for a kid’s toy. He should be learning how to take care of himself, but the Federation insists on coddling our children for us.

His son picked up a small, humanoid figurine encased in flexible steel. Its azure eyes gazed at him as he moved closer, and Frederick scowled.

He doesn’t need a mititrone. He needs discipline, more than anything else.

On his left, he realized that a section of the brick wall gave way to reveal a narrow corridor which lacked illumination.

Incredible. They’ve—

Dad!

Wait, son.

But dad!

Frederick’s eyes widened when he discovered rows of old, familiar comic books having been, to his thinking, poorly crammed into a spot hidden from the rest of society. He grabbed a copy of Ayer Kei, an entry in a series which began when he was but a child himself and that he’d believed long forgotten.

Ayer Kei was a hero, but he’d also been accused of practicing sorcery to meet his needs. Profound stories inspired Kei’s comic book run, stories about a real man who’d gone insane long before he was able to enjoy his status as a hero. The real Kei was said to have participated in a murdering spree before either disappearing or otherwise having been privately executed by the Dawn Knights.

I wonder how much this is worth…

One vision flashed through his mind:

A face.

A horrible, putrid visage.

Frederick fell to one knee, grimacing in pain as what felt like a powerful headache assaulted him.

It-it’s like a flame. Shit!

He blinked hard and gritted his teeth. His forehead beaded with sweat.

Frederick heard a voice accompanying his thoughts, chanting that resounded endlessly:

Izunao Mi’fu.

Uzelikitze ghuj-oean.

STOP! Frederick screamed. STOP—STOP!

Frederick clawed at the sides of his head.

Dad?

His son glanced over but couldn’t see what was happening; he was far more too preoccupied with his selected mititrone.

Frederick inspected his hands in bewilderment and saw that they’d been stained red, that he’d been ferociously burrowing through his scalp.

What the…?

Frederick.

Frederick looked back, toward his son. Michael?

Did you hear it?

He froze. He knew someone else was speaking to him, but Frederick didn’t want to turn his head in the direction of that dark hole for fear that, this time, it might devour him. He wanted to pretend it didn’t exist, as that voice was shrill in tone and shook with the intonations of someone who trembled ferociously.

D-did you hear it, too, Frederick? I know you must have! Look at me!

I’m a soldier, Frederick thought, I can’t back down from this.

He gazed into the darkness to see only a wide grin.

Teeth glinted back at Frederick, teeth marred with splotches of red as blood oozed from the onlooker’s mouth. The stranger drooled while his eyelids opened completely in utter fascination.

W-who the hell are you?

Frederick moved to grip the butt of his sidearm but hesitated, wondering if the hovering face merely belonged to a vagabond.

His terrible grin parted when he cackled, his laughter growing to fill the world and just penetrating Frederick’s sanity.

Ugh. I can hear him inside my head!

Frederick drew his weapon, shaking as he lost full control of his nerves.

Don’t you FUCKING move, creep! I’ll end you right here—right on the fucking pavement, you hear!—he glanced back and gasped…

Micha—what…

His son no longer moved. Rather, he appeared trapped in time, along with Frederick. All available light steadily vanished from the vicinity.

All light except for a blood-drunk smile.

Frederick witnessed tears rolling down the other man’s face, but he began laughing.

STOP! Frederick ensured his grip was firm and tried to tighten his index finger on the trigger.

The stranger stopped again and looked to Frederick curiously.

What, Officer? What, indeed… why should I ‘stop’ when we’re friends? We’ve known each other for so… so very long.

His pupils dilated into black spheres; their outlines broke and formed abyssal splatters which flowed forth as dark tears.

Y-you don’t remember me. He coughed and then sighed in dismay. Well then…

Zun an’ugola’anao.

Frederick dropped his gun.

Oh… The stranger shuddered with dreadful sorrow. Perhaps you’ll remember its dead, loving voice. Oh, dear Frederick, how we have fallen together.

Frederick crouched in order to pick up his firearm but found himself looking up once again.

He did know him after all.

Petrus?

Frederick stood at the ready and with his gun in hand. What is the meaning of this?

The meaning! THE MEANING?

Joel Petrus’ face shifted into a solemn expression.

He glared at Frederick, then he said, Look up.

Tznlulh.

—The growl echoed from far above the two of them. Something resembling a thick cloud came into view overhead and shadowed everything below it.

Look up, Frederick.

He looked up.

The colossal body of a dreadful creature steadily sailed through the atmosphere while taking up the full breadth of the sky itself.

Fredrick screamed.

It was the face of something far greater than him. An entity with features vast and all-encompassing to complement its boundless appetite.

A Face with yellowed eyes opened above a fanged maw that threatened to devour the Earth. Frederick couldn’t tear his eyes away from It. The sight of such a thing drew his attention so fully that he remained rigid in place, with an unbreakable gaze.

Frederick’s vision sunk into the depths of his subconscious; he was compelled to watch his family burn alive on a plain consisting of that same Face. He watched them scream while tied to stakes above great eyes observing his own movements and actions. They traced Frederick as he rushed to save them—

Don’t stop looking, Frederick! Don’t stop! Oh, it won’t be long now!

Petrus! Frederick cried and sprinted toward a dark figure standing before him and laughing wildly.

PETRUS!

He clutched at frail shoulders, spinning him around to see:

The bloodied pulp of what was once a face. Mere veined flesh stared back at him, and an opening grew within the mass. Blood streamed from one orifice as it spoke, DON’T STOP LOOKING.

Augh! Frederick shoved the creature.

He rushed toward the outside ring of fire to save his family—but they’d already begun to change.

He could but observe in terror as two horns creeped from small depressions in their skulls and expanded upward to dwarf their twitching bodies. Each face became charred beyond recognition; pairs of scarlet eyes darted to meet Frederick’s and render judgment.

DON’T STOP LOOKING, they said in unison.

Kzntl. Etun.

Executive Joel Petrus charged forward, brandishing a long knife, and slashed the exposed throat of Frederick Nuvogorad.

He never ceased looking, even in death.

--

PART TWO

Uesugi

--

1

A New Life

--

Janelle

--

What was Mendo like?

Tavon smiled. Tch. Not the easiest guy to please. Driven kind of mad by his own actions… but…

But?

Why do you care, kid?

Because I know it bothers you.

Tavon crossed his arms and scowled. After I turned eighteen, my world kept changing. Some things are too disturbing to talk about.

You’re a killer.

So are you.

Which is why you should tell me. He stared defiantly into Tavon’s eyes. I wanna know who I’m ridin’ with.

Tavon chuckled.

Hmph. Okay, kid, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you start having nightmares, he said, I’ll send you back.

2

Mendo

--

Tavon

--

Mendo piloted a cruiser with just me and Abul as passengers. I’d stuck by the demon’s side, as he had mine, following the aftermath of the Nagao Clan’s fall.

I was seated behind the two of them when Mendo looked over to Abul and said, You’ve been doing quite well, Ab.—his eyes flickered back to me—Much better than the useless one who hasn’t Awakened in the back. Are you sure you saw him battle an army?

Mendo took his eyes off the road completely to study me. Because he hasn’t done anything impressive lately.

It’s because I don’t need use swords, like you. I tried to make a comeback.

Mendo! The road!

Mendo grunted before slowly turning back around and throwing his hands up, "What, exactly, do they expect me to do with someone who can’t shoot, swing a sword, or use his own powers?

What manner of joke is this—and to assign such a person to me!

Abul snickered, He’s more than he looks. I, for one, thought the same thing.

Oh? Then what makes Tavon so special that he’d be assigned to a patrol? Shouldn’t he be with the regular footsoldiers?

Mendo, Abul sounded as if he were scolding him, everyone Awakens in their own time. You know these things can’t be rushed.

My ass. Mendo exhaled.

"What, do you wish for him to become like you then?"

He didn’t reply.

Our cruiser veered off a hyper rail running through the northeastern section of the Fourth Quadrant. According to the vessel’s navigation system, we’d traveled exactly a hundred miles from the Meiziki Estates, my new home.

Lower-ranking Meiziki members were ordered to begin sweeping through the entirety of the Quadrant in one last show of force. My new masters wanted to vanquish any remaining opposition before looking toward other Quadrants for further conquests.

Our path took us through a poorly-lit street, which stretched onward past tall landmarks built to resemble smaller versions of skyscrapers that could be described as hundreds of ivory pikes. Each building had these windows that were all aglow with an electrically-powered light. Instead of streetlights, the path was made clear by virtue of the sheer number of private dens we glided by. The road below had been formed out of plain, shining steel. It stood in stark contrast to dirtied, metallic sidewalks beginning and ending as we came nearer to a group of bare alleys big enough to accommodate more than one cruiser.

Minutes passed, and our course opened on the left to steel plains populated with several finished and unfinished Quonset huts. On the outsides of those that were finished, we spotted a decent number of men and women clothed either in red leather or plated armor, which stood out with its polished crimson sheen. Crowds of them suddenly appeared, bearing automatic rifles, swords of varying lengths, and iron pipes probably looted from a local sewage plant.

They all marched toward us as Mendo eased up on the acceleration and brought our vehicle cruiser to a full stop before dozens of Meiziki footsoldiers. He rolled his window away and to the left side to speak with a woman whose face was obscured by a kabuto that had been smelted and molded to resemble an eyeless leopard.

Every soldier bowed in sync.

Mendo spoke first, Salām-Iga.

Wa’laouzi Iga.

For a second, Mendo appeared respectful. He’d cared more for his own people than most of the guys I’d worked for in the past.

Mendo said to her, Another shipment’s coming this way, and your cell will be given rations in preparation for taking the water plant in the Northeast. Have you anything to report?

She straightened her posture, replying firmly, We’re almost black on ammo.

You’re not serious…

Mendo’s more careless demeanor returned. BLACK? Black on ammo—are you sure?

Yes, milord.

Mendo made eye contact with Abul, then he shook his head.

Black on ammo. Black on FUCKING ammo. Why?

M-milord, we—

I’m not angry with you. Mendo cut her off. Don’t be nervous. You’ll be fine as long as you’re not wholly responsible, okay?

She got more confident and nodded vigorously. Yes, milord. The Uesugi wish to keep us rooted here; they attack with abandon and at all hours.

What have you been doing with the bodies? Just curious, you don’t really have—

Enforcer Samael and I set aside a hut for burning the dead. The enemy provokes us frequently but with an inferior arsenal at their disposal.

What’s the status on our people then? Do you have enough medics?

She hung her head in embarrassment. Milord, they’ve continued to specifically target all available medics. We can save the wounded, but we don’t have the staff we need to stop infections from spreading throughout the camp.

Damn. Mendo brought his fist down on the wheel. "Those bastards still won’t surrender—nevermind. Good work."

But Milord?

Yeah.

What would you have us do from here?

Eh… Mendo scratched the top of his head, showing some vexation.

Okay. He collected himself and started to lecture:

Wait, and I mean that: wait. You will wait for the next shipment of supplies, consolidate everyone who can still shoot, and YOU, Enforcer Joku, you will be in charge of leading the upcoming assault—don’t let these other dickheads tell you otherwise. Have I made myself clear?

Yes, milord. But…

What is it?

Should we leave this base unattended then?

Absolutely.

But—

Joku, Mendo spoke patiently, "the Meiziki already sent a capable contingent ahead of me. If you’re just dealing with guerrilla forces, then I’d suggest leaving behind a few of your best guys with ammo you can’t reasonably risk transporting.

The water filtration plant contains the last of the Shimazu Clan; once they’re eliminated, the Uesugi Clan will have no other outside resources. Joku, they’re on the run now.

Yes, milord. Joku bowed.

Mendo rolled his window back to the right before resuming his route. Abul smiled at him with a measure of admiration.

Why haven’t they given up? I asked.

Mendo took my question seriously. He breathed out in annoyance at the truth of the matter, I don’t quite understand myself.

Stupidity. Abul replied.

Maybe. Mendo tightened his grip on the wheel. Their former leader was powerful enough to keep a hold on his presence in both the Northeast and Northwest; although he started with little, Ridha Uesugi knew more about managing an army than operating a gang.

I see. He was the opposite of the Father.

Mendo snickered, Psh. Don’t talk too much about the Father, Ab. The Meiziki take their leader more seriously than any other syndicate in the Citadel.

And you don’t? I asked incredulously.

You two should know, better than anyone, how I feel about fathers in general.

Mendo had betrayed his father and later killed his own son in order to further his ambitions. To his credit, though, both Ovo and Elder Nagao had turned out to be fairly despicable characters who didn’t really appeal to Mendo’s personal philosophy. Mendo was kinder than them but just as brutal in his methodology.

Do you think the contingent’s already crushed them? Abul relaxed in his seat as he spoke.

I’m unsure. We haven’t heard from them yet, but we should’ve some time ago—which reminds me,—Mendo retrieved his Kom Cell—I have to let headquarters know about the ammo situation. Resupply was two days ago; how did they run through it so fast?

As Mendo called back to central Meiziki command, we drove into an area of the Fourth Quadrant decorated in clusters of neon beams arbitrarily placed by the district’s former gang runners. We pulled up to a building of stone with a sign that read: Kovav’s Warehouse.

It wasn’t anything like a warehouse. Actually, it was structured more or so in the image of jewelry shop that might’ve been found on a Mid-City boulevard. While we waited for Mendo to finish his report to one of the five Meiziki Seneschals (a rank designated above a Lieutenant and right below the Father himself), a shadow appeared behind a wide but opaque window that displayed the silhouettes of mannequins and item stands from within. He was watching us intently, which seemed to annoy Mendo and Abul a lot.

After Mendo ended his call, Abul asked, Is this one of our own?

No. Mendo looked back at me and ordered, Bring it out.

At my feet, there was a long handle affixed to a thick blade at a length three times its own. It had to be propped diagonally to fit within the cruiser, and I awkwardly managed to remove it as all three of us stepped out.

I handed Mendo his ōdachi.

Thank you. He nodded respectfully before we started toward the entrance of the store.

I thought we’d claimed every business in the Fourth Quadrant, Abul muttered.

Not quite. But we will. The Uesugi is running out of allies, so I know we will.

We stepped through wooden double doors and into a checkered, tiled shop brightened by a series of silver chandeliers. Directly before us was a glass counter showcasing an odd mixture of pendants, wide knives with decorated hilts, and bullets painted in every color. The back of the room was blocked off by the counter, but it extended past blocks of marble and beyond entrances into a bunch of private bedrooms. At the far end of the long hallway to our left, I saw a golden bodhisattva statue gazing our way with a wizened demeanor.

Lovely tastes, Mendo said.

May I help you sirs? The man, formerly at the window, was now cautiously eyeing us from behind the counter.

I’m assuming you must be ‘Kovav?’ Mendo got serious; he glared at the speaker.

N… no. Kovav shuddered nervously. His reddish beard took up the majority of his acne-ridden face, and one of his eyes seemed to bulge from its socket without truly seeing. He was shorter than all of us but quite stocky, and his fattened fingers drew sweat across the top of the counter.

Abul noticed this before any of us.

No? he spoke this time instead of Mendo. Then who are you? What is this place?

W-we… Kovav struggled to keep himself from shaking. I know of no ‘Kovav.’ We sell trinkets—j-just trinkets, you see!

He gestured around the shop, but none of us looked. He tried to move his right hand out of sight, but Mendo held up his own while gripping his weapon more fiercely.

Stop. Mendo said.

I-I don’t want any trouble.

The man was sweating harder now while his face flushed scarlet.

"You are Kovav. Mendo stated. Who else would act like the owner of this place."

He stepped forward and shouted, Who do you serve?

Kovav flinched and backed away, instantly forgetting whatever was under the counter. The U-Uesugi! I’ve already made my payments—m-made your weapons—

We are NOT the Uesugi! Mendo growled.

He placed his freehand on the counter with authority.

Rather, we are part of a new era, Kovav. Why are you supplying the enemy? Do you realize that they’re killing our people! Do you?

I-I’m just a lowly worker, sirs—

SHUT UP! Mendo hammered his fist on the counter and leaned forward. Tell me who’s in the back, Kovav.

Wha—?

Who’s in the back, Kovav? Tell me.

Sir, this is a mis—

Without hesitating, Mendo spun and slashed his ōdachi through the air in a wide arc! His blade soared with incredible speed—

The edge of it halted right before slicing through Kovav’s neck. A drop of blood flowed from a small cut produced from how sharp the blade was.

Mendo grinned. Go ahead then. Tell me everything.

Kovav staggered and fell against the wall.

His skin grew abnormally tight against his face, pressing against bone itself. Clusters of veins showed as his cheeks turned a sickly pallor. Kovav grasped at his throat, trying to speak, and he abruptly reached out toward Mendo in desperation.

I looked and saw that the Lieutenant’s eyes were glowing with a cold, grey light; Mendo refused to break his gaze.

You can only speak the truth now, he said.

Kovav’s shook as he kept himself from falling over. He began coughing uncontrollably.

Kovav…

I-I sold her!

What? Mendo raised an eyebrow. Sold who?

I watched as a tear escaped from Kovav’s right eye.

For the startup—augh, he coughed once more and then finished with, they wanted more for the Hive. The Uesugi needed more… ‘drones,’ they said—I swear it!

Who did you sell to the Uesugi and why? Abul spoke up.

Kovav looked away, proceeding to shudder. I sold… her. My daughter.

Mendo said nothing.

They promised me a partnership. The color returned to his face, but blood still trickled from the small incision.

Mendo could use his zol to compel others to speak the truth once he’d spilled their blood.

The Uesugi promised me an establishment. I could run a business and divide the profits with them—

By selling bullshit? Mendo lowered his weapon.

Abul scowled. What a despicable human.

Despicable, indeed. Mendo turned his gaze toward the ground and simply asked again, Where are they, Kovav?

Kovav stared at us almost apologetically. When he spoke, it was almost in a whisper:

There’s three of them. Two on the left and one—

Members of the Uesugi sprang from their hiding places immediately.

Mendo grunted, then he whirled through the air; he brought his ōdachi around and cleaved through Kovav’s neck, sending his head rolling across the counter. Mendo hefted it by its hair.

At the same time, Abul concentrated intensely:

The Uesugi footsoldier on the right side, who was garbed in lightweight, bulletproof armor, let loose a feral growl. He turned his sawn-off shotgun toward his own allies. The two plate-armored soldiers barely noticed the attack in time and ducked to avoid the incoming blast! The sound of green metal tearing rang out across the room.

One soldier leapt back to his feet. He’d taken shrapnel across his chest and face, and, still, he charged toward the soldier with the shotgun.

Before his target could collect his scrambled thoughts and fire again, his cheekbone was smashed open by the force of a spiked bat.

The other soldier who’d thrown himself to the grown clutched at an abdominal wound. He used the wall behind him as leverage to position himself on his knee, then he retrieved a sidearm and aimed—

Mendo hurled Kovav’s decapitated head with incredible speed! It bashed in the shooter’s helmet, knocking him unconscious.

Abul shifted his focus to the last member, who was wielding the bat. We watched as he looked to us with an empty expression and convulsed while he stayed standing. The hand armed with the spiked bat rose in the air…

And Mendo stopped whatever his following plans were. He placed his hand on Abul’s shoulder, No.

Milord?

It was one of the few times I’d heard the demon address another human as such. Abul’s admiration for Mendo might’ve outweighed his respect for me.

Mendo glanced in my direction without making eye contact. It’s Tavon’s turn.

He grabbed a snub-nosed revolver tucked into the waistband at his back and tossed it to me. I inspected it for a moment, realizing that there wasn’t a safety switch.

Mendo wouldn’t look at me. Go on, he said.

I hurdled over the counter in a show of confidence but stopped when seeing the possessed Uesugi trembling. His body couldn’t move, but his eyes trailed me. I stood before him, spread my feet, and leaned into a proper stance.

I was nervous.

Abul scoffed, C’mon, Tavon! I can’t hold him in place forever—this one’s fighting!

Mendo was carefree, as if he expected me to fail regardless of the situation. He said to me, Finish anyone you think might still be alive. We can’t risk followers.

Do it, Tavon! It’s not like you haven’t before!

I hated him for saying that, but…

It was true.

I looked into the Uesugi soldier’s eyes, and—for a moment—they changed. His eyebrows curled to meet in the middle, he bared his teeth, and he broke free of Abul’s control for only a brief time to say:

Bleed out, inbred scum.

I pulled the trigger.

It was a clean shot. The bullet drove through his forehead; the Uesugi collapsed lifelessly.

Goddammit, Tavon! Abul shouted, "What was the holdup, warrior?" I noticed he’d been sweating profusely from his efforts.

The one on your left now. His throat’s exposed.

The other member’s face had been reduced to a disfigured, gory mess after being struck with Kovav’s head—which itself had broken open to spill its contents across the tiled flooring.

But, I said, he doesn’t look—

What did I say, Tavon?

I fired the revolver, missing the first time, but the round lodged itself into his breastplate. I shook my head and refocused; I aimed, slowing my breathing. The revolver thundered, and my next round pierced my target’s jugular. Blood spurted. I turned away.

Abul sighed in disappointment and then asked our Lieutenant, What now?

Mendo wiped down his ōdachi with Kovav’s wool shirt and replied calmly, "The Hive’s on the way…

Before meeting up with contingency forces, we’ll free his daughter from the Uesugi.

3

Zola Bali

--

Zola

--

I LOVE MY HUSBAND.

Not against my will, not because I’m afraid of what he can do… no.

I love him because I choose to do so. He may be a monster to some, but he is my monster. When he’s away on business, I often write. In fact, he’s negotiating a merger right now as I finally write down everything that’s happened to me. Like him, I make art; it’s what Awakened me.

This is the story of how we met and how I became more powerful than he could ever hope to be…

--

Twelve years ago, at eleven years old, my home was invaded.

I was a Gaspul native, living in the Northwest and far from the reaches of the Citadel. My city, Ruzumbhad, was situated among a subtropical desert. Its shining sands spanned hundreds of miles, often shadowed by great, rock-laden outcroppings concentrated in the West and preceding a long canyon. The arid draw beginning before the canyon’s start was barely seeable from a watchtower formed from mudbrick.

My father helped man the watchtower as part of the city’s militia. We were independent from the rest of the world. Ruzumbhad housed a population of millions—enough to hold back small threats as well as larger groups of disgusting creatures. On the day that Ruzumbhad was finally overrun, I sat on the edge of the watchtower as my father looked out across his city with pride.

--

We were on the path to modernization. Half the city had been rebuilt using brick and mortar imported from southern settlements and then painted to mirror the mudbrick constructions and huts littering the other side. We had a decent understanding of medicine; viral infections had decreased, frequent trade had brought prosperity due to us having significant reserves of minerals such as bentonite, gypsum, and kaolinite, and Ruzumbhad was hailed a center of religious freedom.

I enjoyed my childhood there. I was one of the few in my age group who still enjoyed the city’s rigorous schoolwork.

I admired my beautiful home and breathed in fresh air as my dad strode near with figs in hand and politely nudged me.

Shukemetz, baba, but I already ate.

He was aghast. You’ve broken bread four times today, Zola! If you’re not careful, he said with a smile, you’ll bloat. We’ll have no daughter to call our own—Alas, what would God think of us if we allowed you to bloat, to bloat and die, Zola!

Shush. I grinned.

He was a silly man and more talkative than me or my mom, but his heart was kind. Kind and unbreakable.

Ah. He backed away a little. I see that you’re deep in prayer. One must always please God fi—

Shut UP, baba! I stood so that I could push him while I kept my attitude playful. He didn’t always understand social cues.

But my father gasped, his hand opened, and figs began to rain down!

I darted forward and tried my best to sweep them up, but he tackled me to the ground, rubbed my head, and jeered, Look what you’ve gone and made me do, Zola!

Baba! I shouted, Not right now!

His laughing failed to cease until he stood to shake the dust from his robe. I propped my back up with my hands and shook my head. Baba, you fool…

I grumbled while wiping the dirt off my hands and then noticed that his expression had suddenly changed.

He was… scared.

Baba?

I stood up and looked to see what appeared to be an immense black sphere drifting through the skies. It was a shape that diminished the image of the Sun itself, its body moving with a dreadful march toward the Great Light’s noon position. Below it, a shadow began to swallow our city.

Has God granted us darkness? father murmured to himself.

Baba! I held onto him for comfort. I’m scared.

It’s okay, my dear. He clenched his jaw after speaking, ran his left hand reassuringly through my hair, and balled his other into a fist.

From the northeast corner of the Ruzumbhad, a siren sounded. From the southeast, the bell tower—standing at half our tower’s height—rang out across the city. We heard frantic commotion below us as the dark sphere came to the peak of its ascent.

Look away, ibna!

I didn’t look away.

I screamed when black dots dominated my sight. I sank to the ground and shielded my eyes as blood poured from them.

Ibna!

My father embraced me, protecting me with his body. It shall be fine, ibna. God, as always, shall protect us. This, my dear, is merely a small test of our faith.

Below us, the collective voices of people increased in tone. Ruzumbhad had been blanketed in an early night. Torches were lit all around; I could just barely see. I pushed my father away and pressed my eyelids together over burning retinas. At first, he moved toward me again but found himself awestruck upon looking toward the skies.

Within the dark form obscuring all below it, two slits emerged. They steadily peeled open to reveal clear, white orbs looking down on us.

There was an explosion at the Northern Gate, and this was followed by several more, each of which detonated at separate times beneath the city streets and dirt pathways. Citizens cried in agony as unknown ordnances went on to implode around the watchtower, and my father rushed to sound an alarm built into the tower before lifting me up and placing me on his shoulders.

With considerable effort, he sprinted down a flight of woodened steps and insisted, We have to get your mama now! Ruzumbhad is under attack!

While on the steps, something impacted the building, which knocked my father off balance. He grabbed my elbow and hefted me in front of him as we both fell toward the bottom center.

Baba! I screamed helplessly, but his hands remained firm.

I collided with his abdomen as he hit the ground and sprung to my feet.

Hurry, baba! I shouted and turned to help him climb back up…

His knee had shattered. Bone protruded from an opening below it and in splintered fragments. Father was trembling as he reached toward me with tears in his eyes.

Go! he said to me. God shall see to my preservation, ibna, as God always has.

I rushed to his side without truly understanding. I tried to lift him, but—for the first and only time in his life—he struck me across the cheek.

I backed away and caressed my face. Baba…

Leave me, ibna! he spat, Find your mother before it’s too late!

The blue-painted, wooden entrance to the building shook from a strong force applied from without.

No, baba.

The double doors were kicked open, and men garbed in tan and tattered hide armor appeared wielding guns as well as scimitars as they charged into the room.

Their lead man, a figure whose face was covered with a black scarf, shouted something at me that I couldn’t understand. When I didn’t respond immediately, he grunted and brought the end of his rifle against my jaw, fracturing it, and sent me to the floor. I looked up, then burning pain ensued. I spit fragments of white into my open palm.

I started to cry despite the misery the wound had caused me, but the soldier screamed, SHUT UP!

He moved the end of the barrel near my face, glaring at me with a hatred I’d never experienced.

My father weakly looked my way before pleading, Please don’t hurt her. She knows not of—

Another of the armed men leveled his rifle at my father. He shot him through the skull at least five times…

A cripple, he said. Gozad has no use for the disabled.

He pulled down his scarf to bare his rotted teeth at me in a grin. His hand, unwashed, missing a finger, and layered in a film of dirt and sand, grabbed my arm with almost enough strength to break it. I couldn’t move my jaw any longer without sending a jolt of pain throughout, and so I simply obeyed as he ushered me outside to witness the horrors occurring in my homeland.

--

Gunfire sounded all around me as organized units sprinted through the city in waves. A group of similarly-dressed fighters, directly in front of us and before a series of carpeted vendor stalls, loaded their assault rifles and gunned down fleeing citizens with abandon. The leftmost shooter kicked over several stalls, laughing as he did so. Like him, others had gotten drunk prior to the raid.

Toward the East, their army evoked fires and spread them in abundance. Another wave of men arriving in my immediate area looked in the direction of the flames and exclaimed in unison, FOR GOZAD!

One of them, garbed in only a brown kimono and waving around, on a chain, what looked to be a deformed mass that barely resembled a face, took a barrel of oil from his companion and dumped it along a large grouping of huts partially built with wood.

Fire for Gozad, he chuckled.

My captor shoved me, ordering, MOVE!

He and his team moved me along to the left and past several square, mudbrick buildings standing just above their heads. A sandstorm had formed in the chaos and hurled grey wisps through the shadowy landscape.

Ahead of us, a soldier held his scimitar at the throat of an armed villager, smiling wickedly. The villager abruptly moved his pistol to fire at him, but—

Black appendages sprang from the soldiers back! The bottom of his mouth ripped from its hinges to form a mandible that displayed rows upon rows of teeth. His eyes erupted in a white liquid, which splattered across his prey’s face, burning the villager as he screamed in agony and dropped his weapon. The appendages behind him formed a second, furred, and slender body, tall enough to hoist his human form into the air. The top extremities themselves, mere pointed spines, aimed down and ejected from their original points to impale their victim!

Bright blood spurted from his writhing figure until the man’s head sank low, and then his spirit left his body. The monster brought the corpse toward its open mouth—

From a corner formed from a dense cluster of buildings, more villagers appeared with small, automatic weapons and fired on the monster’s location. Immediately, its appendages reared themselves forward and deflected a wave of bullets soaring toward its head! The beast shrieked before it proceeded to eat the corpse within a self-made shield.

I was forced to the ground as my captors sprinted forward and took cover behind the beast. They waited until the first flurry of bullets stopped; from there, they responded in sync and began shooting at the villagers without ever taking cover. I cried more as I felt someone push me down into the sand.

It’s for His glory, he said.

My body heaved as tears continued to flow, and… he enjoyed it. He was laughing at my suffering.

I decided I wouldn’t cry any more after that day.

My captor moved me forward again. He made me confront the beast, who eyed me with a ravenous hunger as gore and bits of bone leaked from its deformed mouth.

"Oh?" it whispered more than it spoke and in a tone that pervaded the air around me.

She is not for you, my captor said.

"Bother…"

The creature shifted so that it could feast on the multitude of bodies having been produced by the firefight.

One of the wounded villagers, his lower limbs littered with bullet holes, attempted to crawl away from the scene while moaning.

My captor walked up to him and put a round in his head. More fodder for our men, he said.

Naqib Elka’b!

My captor turned to address another of the soldiers, Speak, Mulazim Shebu.

My Naqib, very respectfully I ask thee: where shall we take her?

Elka’b looked forward and waved them all along.

Further reinforcements are due to arrive with mortars. They’ll bombard areas the Fariq High Lord identifies as the most defended.

From there, my Naqib?

The surrounding buildings were now populated with more of their soldiers on standby. Each straightened and rendered an unusual salute; they placed two fingers at the centers of their foreheads.

Carry on, Servants! Elka’b beckoned, Capture the young. Kill all above fourteen. Take Ruzumbhad for yourselves!

Ay! I heard them echo collectively before they dispersed and scattered throughout the rest of the city.

Mulazim Shebu.

Yes, my Naqib?

My captor nodded at a building made from limestone and elevated so that it increasingly collapsed inward on itself before rounding out into an enclosed chamber at the top, which had been painted lavender. It was one of the four mosques of Ruzumbhad; all of them were erected in faith to the same God but separated to ensure convenience of travel for everyone.

We’ll shelter ourselves in the temples of the nonbelievers. Elka’b laughed. Our Fariq’s grand plan is to use their faith against them, you see! The Dawn Federation will not attack religious institutions, and the other Gaspulans will not go out of their way to disrespect their God.

Ah…

You understand now, Mulazim Shebu?

Indeed, my Naqib. Shebu responded, We’ll position our mortars around the enemy’s blasphemy.

And Gozad shall see to our victory.

We arrived before a long flight of stone steps ascending toward the entrance to the mosque my family had frequently attended and had often compelled me to go to even when I’d refused. The majority of Ruzumbhad defenders had gathered here to make a final stand against their oppressors.

They spotted us, armed with everything from heavy machine guns to handguns to snipers, and they shifted their aims from a young man covered in a grey robe. He seemed to be mocking them and laughed when they turned toward us; their leader, Imam Cazardak of the mosque, demanded: "HALT! We will shoot!"

Naqib Elka’b snickered.

You fools, he said, overlooking the true danger…

Elka’b pushed me in front of him and concentrated his aim at the back of my head. If you make any other moves, he exclaimed, we’ll kill another nonbeliever!

My Imam looked to me with sorrow clearly contained in his eyes. He’d taught me so much about what my faith meant during my childhood. So much, and I can hardly remember it all now; it’s a memory distant from terrors I faced which altered me forever.

The young man in the center of the scene, Fariq High Lord Atanase, cackled above all the frantic yelling and drew everyone’s attention. A faint light shone from his pupils, and he widened his stance as he bellowed:

What fools! How could you cling to something you already know you’ll lose?

His hair reddened and rose above his temples.

We will not surrender our faith to savage killers! the Imam declared.

Ah…

Crimson static cracked the air around Atanase; he was but a teenager, but his power was astounding.

Atanase clenched his fists, bringing them to his sides, and then he emitted a roar that struck through the surrounding area, a roar that resonated above any sound they could make in resistance. An aura outlined in red expanded around him.

Atanase looked down.

He said, So. Be. It.

A great beast formed from the flames that spiraled out from his body; it increased to a size much greater than the mosque itself.

It reared its head, which revealed scales armoring an extended snout that was lined with black teeth. Its beady eyes were as fierce embers illuminated more intensely than the rest of its body, and Atanase’s ending transformation became something resembling a wyvern summoned by the fire of his soul. At its bottom, standing at the center, was the Fariq’s silhouette. Atanase straightened his posture with hands raised.

The Imam and his men focused their fire on Atanase himself, but his new form lurched upward and then down to embrace them!

A storm of fire engulfed the Ruzumbhad villagers, promptly charring their bodies beyond recognition. Within seconds, they ceased existing as the mosque was left to burn in what could’ve been an unending flame.

The fire had left Atanase, who fell to a knee and gasped for air. His figure was weak, frail from having gone past his limits.

Naqib Elka’b picked me up by the collar of my shirt, then he threw me at his master.

A gift, my Fariq!

He humbled himself and kissed the ground at Atanase’s feet.

Atanase, utterly exhausted from his efforts, suddenly became enraged once more. His eyes shifted to a hue of blood red. He gritted his teeth.

Have I erred, my Fariq?

Atanase ignored me. Instead, he strided toward his subordinate.

Atanase reached his hand back, and he slapped Elka’b!

The strike was weak, but the Naqib faked the impact of the blow and pretended to collapse onto the ground out of respect.

He uttered, Oh, my Fariq, how have I failed thee? I am deserving of a thousand lashes, I am a disgrace, I—

Be quiet. Atanase knew he was faking and looked angrier at himself than anyone else. He breathed out and looked off into the distance. The girl…

Yes, my Fariq?

Atanase snorted, Do with her what you will, as I have no interest in sheltering weaklings. If she’s later blessed by Gozad, then perhaps we may have a use for her.

Impossible. Elka’b snickered. "A woman blessed by Gozad?"

Do you doubt your Deliverer’s Guidance, Naqib Elka’b?

Elka’b shuddered in fear. No, my Fariq.

Atanase smirked. Good. Bring her with us into the mosque to the South. From there, we may establish our offense once we’ve disposed of the nonbelievers.

--

They strapped my hands and feet in cuffs which were linked together by two separate chains. They gagged me with a scarf covered in blood and soot. I was blindfolded, made to huddle with a group of other girls my age.

The soldiers separated us from a group of boys, a handful of those wounded from prior gunfights, and the elderly. While I was lying on the ground and near to a younger girl, who was weeping for us all, I heard some of the older Ruzumbhad natives pleading with them. Shouting from the soldiers ensued; gunshots followed. I heard people scramble to escape, then I heard gasps as rounds pierced flesh and sent the bodies of villagers thudding onto the marble flooring.

The girl next to me continued to cry and so caught the attention of another of the soldiers. A gruff man pulled her to her feet and ordered, Cease this emotional outburst, for now you reside in the Hands of Gozad!

She was too young to gather herself and could only say in response, Mama! I want ma—

He shot her.

Those around me quivered in terror as her blood covered us. I hid my head from him and remained quiet; I’d already decided not to cry anymore. I wouldn’t cry for Gozad; I wouldn’t surrender to His tyranny. I wanted my mother, too, but I had to be strong for my family.

Yet another girl started to weep.

I heard the soldier move toward her until he was stopped by someone—

Enough! It was Elka’b’s voice.

My Naqib, I only—

How can you expect them to rebirth as Gozad’s Harem by demonstrating such cruelty, eh? Do you believe this is a proper reflection of our God’s Way?

No, my Naqib—

Then depart and help extinguish the survivors!

Elka’b shoved him, then he strode nearer to stand over us.