Only Human Saga: Beyond Human

By TK Shideler

The Flight of the Descendants shattered Mankind and left them cold, dark, and afraid. The surviving refugees of the various fortress-cities of Ironhelm found themselves at the gates of EDN: the last bastion of Mankind. But now the ifri faction known as the Cauldron Born wage a genocidal war against the Remnants. On the other side of the galaxy, the Descendants struggle to resurrect their ancestral deities: the Saints. When the two worlds collide, one woman may hold the key to unlock the salvation of Mankind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781329813878

Book preview

Only Human Saga: Beyond Human

Only Human Saga: Beyond Human

Copyright 2016 by TK Shideler

All rights Reserved. Published in 2016.

Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN: 978-1-329-81387-8

Cover Photo taken by Hannah Shideler, edited by Hannah Foss.

Copyright 2016.

Try to praise the mutilated world.

Remember June’s long days,

and wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine.

The nettles that methodically overgrow

the abandoned homesteads of exiles.

You must praise the mutilated world.

You watched the stylish yachts and ships;

one of them had a long trip ahead of it,

while salty oblivion awaited others.

You’ve seen the refugees going nowhere,

you’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully.

You should praise the mutilated world.

Remember the moments when we were together

in a white room and the curtain fluttered.

Return in thought to the concert where music flared.

You gathered acorns in the park in autumn

and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars.

Praise the mutilated world

and the gray feather a thrush lost,

and the gentle light that strays and vanishes

and returns.

--Try to Praise the Mutilated World, by Adam Zagajewski

Beyond Human

Part I

Unsung Heroes

I am become death, the Shatterer of Worlds. –Bhagavad-Gita

Prologue

Matthew used his Ring to manipulate the metal of his sword. Instantly the blade shifted from its straight harsh angles to a curved and bladed hook. He spun around the inferi as it lunged for him, caught the curve of the blade around its neck, and pulled. The inferi’s shriek became a harsh gurgle as his blade removed its head from its shoulders. The haircut didn’t go unnoticed; three more of the inferi moved in on him. He dodged past them and leapt high into the air. His Ring straightened the blade as he twisted, placing his feet against the arch of a ruined pillar. With an explosive shove that ripped the arch apart he shot forward. His blade cut all three of the inferi’s skulls off at the top of their slit noses, and he landed and skidded to a stop facing them. The corpses wobbled, as if unsure if they were dead. Then they crumpled to the earth, blood leaking from them.

Matthew swung his blade wide, leveling the blood from it. He sheathed it and stood as the repetitive bone-jarring blast of Vengeance rifle gunfire met his ears. Allyson and Jayme, rifles pressed to their shoulders, were clearing the other side of the square. Behind them, towering over all of them, was a crumbling statue of Erik and Marlene. Matthew wiped his gauntlet across his face, removing grime, blood, and inferi serum from his forehead. He had always wanted to visit Christendom.

He took a moment to look around them and confirm the last of the hostiles had been cleared. As the gunfire died, his eyes scanned over the buildings surrounding the square, all in various stages of disrepair and destruction. For a moment he imagined Christendom in all its glory: towering buttresses, shining chrome edges, brilliant white stones. He sighed as his gaze fell to the floor of the square, where blood and inferi serum filled the cracks between stones. He wished he could’ve seen it in its prime. But he had been little more than an Initiate then. Still, he wished his daughters Samyra and McKenzie could see this.

He looked up as Allyson and Jayme approached. Each of them, like him, was covered in fresh blood and grime. Jayme rolled her shoulders. She was still adjusting to her augmented body; her armor was stretched tight across her, struggling to stay in place above her bulging curves and muscles, fashioned by the serum introduced to her blood. Matthew nodded to them.

All clear?

Allyson nodded once. Jayme’s yellow eyes flashed, the pupils little more than slits.

I’ve already instigated Directive Two, she said. We must keep pressing.

If we push too hard you will exhaust yourself before Directive Three, Allyson told Jayme. Stay yourself, m’lady. Let the Legionnaires handle the rest of this Directive. Your body may have energy but even it can become exhausted.

Jayme growled, nodding reluctantly. I respect your counsel, the both of you. Very well. As if to prove her point she bent over, putting her hands on her knees, breathing deep. She chuckled. I see what you mean.

Matthew laughed once, and then turned as the distant explosions of artillery sounded deeper in the city.

The Deathwall is coming down, he observed. He glanced to Allyson. Stay, or go?

Move ahead. Jayme waved them on from her bent-double position. I’ll catch up with you.

Allyson looked nervous. Jayme…

What? Jayme straightened. Think I can’t handle anything that comes my way? Besides…

Her voice trailed off, and Matthew noticed her eyes focus on something across the square, behind him. He turned. A figure was approaching. Hooded robes moved in the wind, revealing the blade of an incredibly massive sword. Aside from the sword and a flicker of blonde hair beneath the hooded robes, the figure was completely encased within its robes. But the grace and lightness of the movements revealed their feminine origin. Matthew turned, about to greet the figure. He halted as an echo of incredible power rang in his psionic mind: black roses, a jagged blade, blood dripping across a face with dead eyes. He slowly reached up, drawing his sword. Jayme and Allyson followed his lead.

Assassin? Allyson hissed. Matthew shook his head.

Something else.

The figure came to a stop before the three of them. Only the wind moved. They stood, all of them, for so long that Matthew almost considered lowering his sword. Had he mistaken this being’s intent? Was it even there?

Name yourself, stranger. Lest you be struck.

The figure’s face tilted, enough to reveal full and feminine lips curved up in a smile. Then she drew her sword. Matthew almost laughed. The weapon was huge, as tall as the woman and as wide as his full-spread hand. It was more like a sharpened piece of weighted metal than a weapon, its hilt thickened, a chunk off the blade missing just along the blade as if something had been removed from it. Something about the weapon—and its wielder—made him uneasy.

Then the woman raised the blade and charged forward.

Matthew spread his stance, preparing himself for the first blow. It came down and he had a flash of premonition: rocks being shattered by the blade. He leapt away at the last minute. The woman’s blade crashed down, the weight of the weapon splitting the rocks beneath it. Without hesitation the woman hefted the blade again, setting it with ease. Matthew felt panic surge suddenly in her heart. How could she lift such a weapon?

The woman came at him again. This time he dodged aside, spun, and swung his weapon. Her sword was instantly up, knocking his weapon aside almost casually before she lashed out. Her blow shattered his Deathwatch Cuirass and sent him flying. The wind exploded from his lungs with such force that blood fell from his mouth. He landed and skidded, his sword falling from his hands. His vision wavered, the sudden shock of the attack making him reel. What the hell had she done to him? He looked up as the woman rushed him, blade held high.

And then a figure with bright red hair tackled the woman. It was like listening to a vehicle striking a boulder. Allyson shouldered the woman, knocking her aside and causing her to roll back. Allyson raised her blade, holding it above her in a defensive stance.

You will not touch him again!

Matthew groaned, pushing himself up with his sword. In his chest his ribs ached, and running a quick diagnostic revealed that his Cuirass was destroyed. He reached up and popped the seals on the armor. The two halves crashed to the ground as the figure that had attacked him brought herself to her feet. Two points blacker than black shone within the shadow of that hooded face. Matthew’s heart was pounding, and he could tell he wouldn’t last long. Whatever that woman had done to him, it had destroyed his capacity to fight. How did she manage that with one strike?

Hey!

Matthew and Allyson both turned to see Jayme, sword drawn, face set in defiance. Come and take what you are here for, coward assassin! she roared. Matthew’s heart leapt into his throat.

Jayme, stop! he coughed, blood spattering onto the rocks. His vision fell on the stranger. Her hood was turned toward Jayme, her sword still gripped tightly. Then, with a panic that filled Matthew’s very bones, that hooded face turned back to him and Allyson.

He didn’t have a chance to cry a warning. The figure was instantly upon them, sword raised high. Matthew did the only thing he could. He dived, pushed Allyson out of the way, and raised his sword flat above him in both hands. The woman’s blade struck his sword like a meteor, forcing his arms down. Even pushing with all his might he couldn’t stop the blade from coming down. His shoulder screamed at him as the blade sank down, severing the muscles and tendons of his left arm. He cried out, his will the only thing stopping the blade from carving down and into his heart.

There was a fearsome cry. Through the agony clouding his vision he saw Allyson, her eyes bright with fury. She charged the woman blade-first. The sword was pulled from Matthew’s body and he collapsed to the stones, heat draining from him. He saw a flash of a swinging blade, a shower of sparks. He blinked and Allyson was dodging left and right, desperate to avoid the mysterious woman as her blade cut lethal arcs in the air. Another blink and Allyson was pressing against the woman, their blades crossed, Allyson’s face like an avatar of fury. And then a third blink, darkness encroaching, and Allyson was spitted upon the point of the stranger’s blade.

No!

Matthew heard Jayme’s scream and saw her charging the stranger. He struggled to fight off the darkness as the woman lowered the point of her blade, Allyson’s body sliding limply from it. His heart thundered as his most basic instincts urged him to rise, to fight, to kill. But he couldn’t do it. His vision clouded and then focused again to see Jayme, clutched by the throat in the fingers of a clawed, armored gauntlet. From the depths of the shroud came a voice: powerful, ancient, and full of hate.

Let this be a lesson, it said. "Let this lesson be thus: you cannot fight monsters. For the monsters are within you."

The blackness forced itself over his vision. The last thing he saw were Allyson’s bright green eyes, alongside the faces of his daughters. As his breath left him, he mentally reached out to them.

I am always with you…

Chapter One: The Forgotten One

+++ADVANCE FORTRESS WARDENHAMMER/ 16 YEARS LATER+++

For an instant she saw the robed woman with the giant blade and she was afraid. Then she saw the faces of her dead friends, lives lost that would never be recovered. Then she saw the gaping maw of an inferi, its black eyes hungering for her soul, before she snapped back into reality.

McKenzie sat up in her bunk, her darkvision instantly illuminating the room. Her hand went for her sidearm and it snapped up as she searched the room; every shadow the squatting form of an inferi, or a talon reaching for her, or a split jaw ready to consume her. Before she had even had a moment to realize she was in the dark of her quarters the attack came. Her chest seized, her lungs laboring for air as if they were being compressed by a giant fist. She gripped her chest in her free hand, her entire body trembling. From between her breasts, a dozen bodytags chattered like discarded bones. Gripping them only made the attack worse, but she jammed her eyes shut, gripping them even more tightly. She had vowed to never forget them, never let them become dust. Mentally, she began to recite them:

Kyro, Reyn. 118655.

Her heartbeat continued to run rampant in a chest that barely contained it. Agony surged through her but she let it pass through her, focusing.

Bjorn, Twytch. 119670.

The beat lessened, the pain diminished.

Fnurl, Waik, 121908.

She kept them going this way, alive in her memories. With each of the names, she let herself see their faces again. Achingly slow, the panic racing through her began to sink away. She kept reciting until the attack was done and she was able to fall back onto her pillows. For a few moments she just lay there, focusing only on her steady breathing and normalizing pulse. Then the tears came. They surged from her in a wave, her chest now wracked by thick sobs that tore from her throat and echoed like gunshots in her empty room. She gripped the sheets, sobbing through her teeth. Then she shoved the barrel of her sidearm against her skull, striking herself three times with it.

Get out, she thought. Please, just get the hell out.

Finally the sadness slipped away from her. Even though part of her reached for it, grasped with everything it had, everything else was horribly numb. She stared at the ceiling in muted silence. Like the attack, she let the emotions pass through her, leaving only her. When she felt whole again she glanced to the chronometer on her wrist. 0500. She had the briefing in an hour. Might as well wake up now. Not that she counted four hours of nightmares sleep.

She sighed, swinging her legs out from the sheets and over the bed. She was just about to get up when a knock sounded at the door. She smiled. Just in time.

She got up, tucking the pistol out of sight under her pillow. She approached the door and palm-slid it open. She was greeted by the daunting, pale, muscular form of Matthew. Each of his fists clutched coffee cups, so small compared to him that he could only fit his index finger in the handle of each.

Morning Sarge.

Her good mood vanished. She reached out, taking one of the cups from him and smelling the fuel-ridden but welcoming stench of FOB coffee. I’m not a Sergeant anymore Matthew. Not after what happened. Without realizing she was doing it, her free hand strayed to the cool, triangular plate of metal that was part of the metal graft holding her lower spine together. An inferi back scratch. She shivered, and spoke hollowly: Please don’t call me that.

Matthew’s face fell. I’m sorry Kenzie. Truly.

Kenzie sighed. Want to come in?

Matthew hefted his ruck and moved inside. People may talk.

Kenzie waved a hand absentmindedly. Let them. Better I’m doing you then some Templar I met in a trench somewhere.

Oh come on, Matthew said as he took a seat on her bed: the only furniture in her quarters. I’m way prettier than a scalehead.

Not by much. Kenzie stripped off her undergarments and moved into her wet shower. She did a quick rinse, letting the water wash away the attack that she was forcing into memory. As she did she did a mental checklist of her gear, more of a reflexive action than anything. Her kit had been packed since last night.

The wet shower cut off and she stepped out, drying herself. Matthew was usually quiet, but she noted the weight of his presence in the air. Finally, she said: What is it?

She heard him stand and then heard heavy boot steps. He came to the open door, leaning against the doorframe. In his civvies he looked like one of the near-comical recruitment posters for Lady Aryel’s War Hounds: all muscle and scars, his clothes so tight that all he had to do was flex and he’d rip them. Any humor she had left disappeared as he raised his hand, hefting her pistol. He raised an eyebrow.

Nightmares still?

She dropped her towel, using his averted eyes to snatch the pistol from him.

It’s nothing.

Thirteen rounds say otherwise.

You don’t carry your weapons hot?

I’m not expecting inferi to attack me at night.

She rounded on him. His eyes didn’t turn away from her anger even though she was naked.

I said it was nothing.

He held her gaze for a long minute. I can’t help you if you won’t let me. You don’t talk to me.

She pushed past him, moving to her closet. She withdrew one of a dozen sets of civvies. I don’t talk to anyone anymore.

Exactly. Not even those who want to help you.

She pulled her lowers on, buckling them and tucking the sidearm into the built-in holster. She decided to change the subject. Have you reviewed the roster?

Silence for a few seconds, in which she felt his eyes boring into the back of her skull. Then: Yeah, I checked it out.

Thoughts?

Not your average asset.

She paused as she pulled her top over a tank and kissed the pendant that, supposedly, belonged to her mother. She’d never met her, and thus never had the chance to ask. They never are.

This one’s different.

She turned, an eyebrow raised. Matthew Lambert, you aren’t getting attached are you?

Matthew gave her a look. I’m serious, McKenzie. She knew he was serious then. He never used her full name otherwise. "They’ve been through some heavy theatres. They’re the single most decorated non-Mechanican unit, and the only jarlandah spec-ops asset."

I know. I read the file too.

Did you?

Now it was her turn to get serious. Hallyn, Tyler. Captain. Hand picks each member of Asset Angel. Lost over 100 men in a botched assault on a Cauldron Born war den. Has each of their names tattooed on his back. She moved to her storage trunk and unlocked it.

Reaper, Catherynn. Tagged ‘Grim’. Grew up in Old Ironhold and only left after taking a dozen Cauldron Born with her. Lost an eye in the process. The Cauldron Born, ifri determined to destroy humanity, were the Legion’s current enemy of choice. The bastards had been hanging at the edge of EDN’s Protectorate, content with the territory they had. But it was only a matter of time before they decided what they had wasn’t enough.

Glad to see your memory is still good, Matthew began. Kenzie glared at him.

"Armatis, Jayk. Been in the unit longer than anyone but Reaper. Tagged ‘Forge’. Takes his job a bit too seriously. Likes his sleep.

Next is Alvyrez, Frederyk. Tagged ‘Suicide’ because he’s the only Legion Remnant soldier willing to go toe-to-toe with inferi.

We went toe to toe with inferi, Matthew said. He was clearly enjoying the show, but Kenzie didn’t care. She was too angry to quit now.

Not willingly we didn’t. She paused only long enough to drop her ruck pointedly in front of Matthew’s. "Napylski, Elyas. Tag ‘Preacher’. Still believes in the Saints’ Cult even though it’s the bane of humanity’s survival for all I drauk’n care. But he’s got an ear for those mouth-farts that passes as Cauldron Born language.

"Brookes, Irys. Tag ‘Mama Bear’, squad medic. Lives life as a medicad even though she could easily be a medexp because she doesn’t want to leave her squad. Or her brothers, Clynt and Markys. Markys is the youngest and goes by ‘Baby Bear’. An expert with Cauldron Born technology, even though he’s had no formal training. Clynt, ‘Papa Bear’. Heavy weapons. Known to be a bit harsher toward the Cauldron Born since they killed his wife.

Did I leave anyone out?

Matthew shook his head. His face was downcast, and Kenzie immediately regretted her outburst. She sighed.

Let’s get to the briefing.

Matthew watched her for a moment longer. Then he exhaled, pushing himself up by his knees. He hefted his ruck and effortlessly tossed Kenzie hers. They left her apartment, and Kenzie hand-locked the door with a swipe of her hand. Then they were headed toward their Armamentarium and the briefing. As they walked, Kenzie noticed the slight shifts in the way Matthew moved that said he was deep in thought. She sipped on the coffee, still steaming in its mug. They had been fighting side by side for years, ever since she had been paired with him in a freak coincidence on a battlefield. Her first battlefield, in fact; where the two of them had been united by a simultaneous annihilation of their squads. They had been together ever since. She knew the little things that no one else did. She quickened her pace to catch up with him and nudged him with her ruck. He didn’t look at her.

Come on, she said. What’s wrong?

Matthew waited until a trio of operations personnel passed, identified by white and grey robes. I just hope your operational efficiency isn’t compromised. If it is I’ll be wormfood.

It won’t, she assured him. She tossed her mug into a reclaimance bin. Matthew glanced to her.

I’m sure many corpses thought the same thing.

She didn’t get a chance to answer. They turned a corner and entered their assigned Armamentarium. It wasn’t large, just sizeable enough to fit a full squad around a holotable the size of a child’s coffin. As they entered the room the lights dimmed and the holotable winked to life. Kenzie set her bags down, preparing herself for the pay-attention-while-gearing-up ceremony that followed. As she moved to one of the nearest lockers, a hologram snapped to life on the holotable: a woman, perhaps a meter tall, naked except for a concealing patch of leaves between her legs. Kenzie nodded to the woman.

Evening EVE.

EVE gave her a look. Honestly Angel-09, it’s barely morning. Kenzie chuckled, stripping down and then disconnecting the thin shell of her carapace armor from her ruck. Without ceremony, EVE began. As you are aware, you will be joining Asset Angel on a relic hunt in the abandoned city of Ironhold. We have chosen this city because it is relatively free of inferi infestation and has had only recent Cauldron Born activity.

How recent? Matthew asked. Like Kenzie he had withdrawn his armor. As he spoke he took the armor and held it against his chest. Sensing his movements the armor opened up, conforming to his chest. It hung there for a moment, whirring and chittering, before it locked onto him like metal to a magnet. With a series of mechanical clicks octagonal pads the size of Kenzie’s palm constructed themselves from the armor and then locked onto Matthew’s body, stopping at his neck. It whirred for a moment and then identifier lights appeared: dark red, spaced across his chest, arms, and legs. His callsign, ‘Deathwatch’, appeared in stencil across his chest just beneath his collar bone. Kenzie followed his example, pressing the front panel against her skin. Upon contacting her undersuit the armor reacted, unwinding itself and weaving around her. The armor was cold for only an instant before it adhered to her and matched her body temperature, making a tingling start from her fingers and progress up to her neck. The identifier light tabs glowed on, along with her nameplate, ‘Spine’ stenciled across it. EVE’s brow furrowed, as if in concern, although Kenzie knew the AI processed data far faster than they did: including everything from their pulses and hormone outputs to see if they were frightened.

Fairly recent, she said. She stepped aside as a two dimensional image appeared, taken by an EDN recon drone: a shattered wall five kilometers long, black towers on grav-pillars stretching into the sky, and a city below that looked more like ruins than the once-great city it had been. Kenzie gulped.

Ironhold, she thought. She nervously reached back to the plates on her spine, hidden beneath her armor. Everyone in the Legion—and beyond—knew Ironhold was an inferi hotspot. After the Flight of the Descendants some 40 years ago, the inferi had followed the refugees fleeing to the only place that was safe: EDN. After the Legion’s commander, Jayme, had pushed them out, the inferi had returned to the spot of their last and greatest slaughter.

The image magnified, clicking once, twice, three times. As it kept magnifying further, Kenzie began to notice shapes: a massive cylindrical body, mechanical legs locking it in place, cables as thick as her forearm, and the familiar flesh-growth of Cauldron Born. Involuntarily, she sneered. The image finally halted, freezing a blurred pic in its place. Kenzie narrowed her eyes as she saw the massive hole directly ahead of the cylinder.

Is that… a mine? Matthew asked. EVE shook her head.

Not quite. Two more guesses.

Kenzie straightened as she finished affixing her gear belt around her waist, magnifying it to her armor. A drilling rig?

You use a drill to mine, Matthew muttered as EVE pointed to Kenzie.

Ten points, she told Kenzie. Kenzie smirked at Matthew as he handed her a Vengeance rifle. EVE continued. "It is indeed a drilling rig. But there are two important aspects to this equation. The first being that this drilling rig is looking for something."

How do we know that? Kenzie asked as she ran over the weapon in her hands. The Vengeance rifle was a Standard pattern, only modified with an optic capable of triple magnification. She had used the weapon thousands of times and locked back the receiver with a satisfying clack.

"They’re drilling down into the relic Vault at Unity, the primary devis of Ironhold, EVE said. Not only that, but they’re trying to hide it."

Cauldron Born don’t hide things, Matthew growled. He glanced to Kenzie, his hand halfway through prepping his Longshot pattern rifle. They’re balls-out, murder everything kind of thing.

Not only that, EVE continued, "but this drilling rig has been out of production for hundreds of years."

That drew Kenzie’s attention. She looked up as she maglocked the rifle across her back. Where are the Cauldron Born digging?

"They’re located just above one of the local devis’ relic vaults."

So they’re looking for something.

EVE nodded. Something specific. Which you and Asset Angel are going to find first.

Are they being briefed the same we are?

My dear I haven’t changed a single syllable.

Right. Kenzie shifted her body as she put the last of her load vest over her shoulders and locked it in place. The weight felt familiar and comfortable. She glanced to Matthew as he pulled his characteristic newsboy hat in place. When he looked up, his face looked different, like a man carved from stone. The paternal glint in his eyes was gone, replaced by the cold efficiency of a born killer. His sword handle poked out over his shoulder, its jeweled pommel and spiked handguard matching his obsidian-black armor that hugged his body. He nodded to her.

We will handle it.

I’m sure. EVE flickered for a moment, as if she was no longer truly there. Are there any questions you have for me?

Kenzie and Matthew both shook their heads.

Then I take my leave.

EVE and the holographic data vanished in a sudden and final blink. Kenzie turned to Matthew. She could tell by the look in his eyes, reflecting her own, that she was ready. Let’s link up with Angel. They may be waiting for us.

They left the Armamentarium. As they did, Kenzie reached into one of the pockets of her belt. She felt the familiar circular band of metal, the ring that had been looped around the pendant chain when she had been found as naught but a babe on the steps of an EDN orphanage. It calmed the anxiety building in her chest. She and Matthew moved through the series of halls, passing the dozens of personnel now filling the halls. Wardenhammer was waking up. Kenzie could hear the sound like the down draft of a bellows: men and women speaking into headsets or comms, the buzz of operations, the hum of war. She had been a part of the Legion for six years, and had never once regretted joining.

Best job she’d ever had.

They turned a corner and found themselves facing the loading bulkhead leading to one of the hundreds of hangars dotting the outer layer of the Edenshield: the metallic cocoon of living metal that protected the fortress-city from the outside world. Waiting just beside the doors, their gear scattered as they lounged on waiting benches, were the men and women of Asset Angel. They had been waiting for some time, some of them reclined on the benches, some reading, others toying with gear. One of them, a tall woman with blonde hair, was whetting the edge of a wicked looking curjat, a thin one-edged blade with a uniquely geometric blade pattern. Like she and Matthew they were suited in the beetle-black multi-faceted carapace armor over their undersuits, although some of them had removed the sleeves. Kenzie hesitated.

You okay? Matthew asked her. She nodded.

Yeah. This just came sooner than I expected.

Matthew raised an eyebrow. The mission?

Kenzie shook her head as they kept approaching Asset Angel. Meeting new people.

One of the nearest soldiers was manipulating the mech-drives of a portable splinter cannon. His head was shaved clean and his sleeveless armor revealed a tribal tattoo curving around his left bicep. Kenzie recognized him as Clynt, the oldest of the Brookes siblings. His weapon was propped up on his ammunition pack, which was easily as big as she was. He looked up as the two newcomers approached. He tapped the shoulder of a smaller and younger man next to him with unkempt brown hair. By the gleam in his blue eyes and the grin on his face, Kenzie guessed he must be Baby Bear. As the two of them stood, Asset Angel became aware of their approach. They each got to their feet. She and Matthew came to a stop a few feet from Asset Angel as the young man smiled.

So you’re the new guys! I read your profiles, couldn’t wait to meet you guys! Cool sword, dude!

Kenzie glanced to Matthew, who shrugged. I guess we’re famous.

Are you kidding? Markys grinned. You guys were part of the asset that sent that Cauldron Born tucking tail in Drendjal!

Kenzie shifted uncomfortably. Yeah. I guess.

Markys’ face fell. Oh, right. I’m sorry. You lost your unit there, right?

Emotion tugged at Kenzie’s throat. She swallowed and nodded. Make it a joke. Keep the darkness back. Got an inferi back scratch to go with it. Sawbones were able to patch me up, so now I’ve got a plate of metal holding my spine together. The rest, she glanced to Matthew, whose face appeared dark, didn’t end up so lucky.

I’m sure they were good men. The gigantic figure of Clynt stepped forward, gently brushing aside his brother. He held out a fist. Clynt Brookes, but they call me Papa Bear. Good to have you aboard.

Kenzie knocked her fist against Clynt’s. Good to be a part of the legendary Asset Angel.

Markys stepped forward again and held out his fist too. By the look on his face she could tell he felt bad about what he had said. As he did Kenzie saw that the index and middle fingers of his right hand were bionic. She bumped his fist with hers and then rapped her knuckles on his.

A little worse for wear?

Markys glanced down at his hand and gave a light chuckle, rubbing the prosthetics with his other hand. Messing around with some Cauldron Born biotech.

You’re lucky you just lost those fingers, Matthew said. Markys gave him a look that made his young face and eyes suddenly reveal the age of his spirit.

Yeah, well… the other two weren’t nearly as lucky. Nerve-worms. Nasty stuff.

We need to work on your social skills little brother. A soft voice preceded a woman, a few inches taller than Kenzie. She was broad shouldered, her gentle face home to a pair of blue eyes that were always learning and observing. You have beautiful eyes, she said. Kenzie blushed and held down the rush of panic that surged through her as Irys asked her: Why are they like that? She knew Irys was talking about her vertical pupils and her iris’ that were so green they put the purest emeralds to shame. She cleared her throat.

I had some kind of accident when I was a kid, she lied. Had to get my eyes micro-botted.

I truth, Kenzie didn’t know why her eyes were that way. She had never complained though: aside from the awkward questions that she’d gotten good at answering, her eyes gave her excellent darkvision. They were like Matthew’s, whose electric blue eyes had the same vertical slit. His had been the result of augmentation, and weren’t natural. She hoped, one day, to find out who her parents were and why they had abandoned her. Irys accepted Kenzie’s answer with a smile. Above her significantly sized chest was the red triangle of a medicad and the callsign ‘Mama Bear’. Her blonde hair would have fallen to mid-shoulder if she didn’t have it in a bun behind her head. The woman reached out, tapping Kenzie’s callsign plate. Why the tag? Spine is pretty unique.

"Not as unique as Deathwatch." Another woman stepped up, the one that had been sharpening the curjat. Its handle poked up over her right shoulder, brushing through short blonde hair. She was almost a head taller than Kenzie, her gentle features broken by a scar that ran across one eye and split down along her face. That eye was covered by a stimpatch, the other a bright blue. It looked Matthew up and down as the woman crossed her arms over her chest, beneath ‘Grim’ glowing beneath a circle-and-cross symbol Kenzie didn’t recognize.

Long before any of you were kicking, Matthew nodded to Grim. Bit of a fan?

You could say that, Mama Bear said. Reaper has a bit of an obsession.

It’s not obsession, Grim corrected. It’s respect.

The first step is admitting you have a problem Grim, said a mocha-skinned man from the back. He rubbed absentmindedly at the scar on the bottom right side of his jaw. You’re almost as bad as Preacher.

I’ll take that as a compliment, Preacher chuckled. He was an older man with dark hair and a peppered beard. He smiled to Kenzie. And what about you two? Do you follow the Saints’ words?

Only the ones that keep me alive, Kenzie told him. He nodded.

I can respect that, he told her. He shouldered the man standing next to him: shorter, with buzzed hair and hard, angular features. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, as if he hated meeting new people as much as Kenzie did. Come on Sarge, Preacher said. Don’t be a sourpuss. Say hello.

"Drauk off, he grumbled. He pointed to his nameplate, ‘Forge’. Too early for this crap," he mumbled as he went back to sitting on the nearby bench. Preacher shrugged.

Only one we’re missing is the Captain, Clynt muttered as he went back to manipulating his weapon. This isn’t like him. He’s usually early.

Kenzie set her kit down, twisting her body as her lower back reminded her of the injury. She remembered it like it was yesterday: ash falling like snow, a result of the energy from the Saints’ Hammer vaporizing flesh. It had been everywhere, choking her throat, clogging the intakes on her armor’s energy dampeners. She closed her eyes as the rending-metal scream of the inferi as its talons came down across echoed through her head. If Matthew hadn’t been there…

You okay?

She opened her eyes to see Irys, one of her eyebrows raised. Kenzie swallowed and nodded.

Yeah. I just want to get back out there.

Pre-mission jitters, huh? Irys smiled, her fingers dancing over a floating holoscreen projected from a wrist console.

Well don’t worry too much, a deep voice rumbled. We’ll be on the ground soon enough.

Kenzie turned. She saw a man approaching, kitted in full armor. Above his callsign, Hallyn, was the star of a Captain. Behind him were four figures, all of them towering above him. They were easily as tall as Matthew, perhaps even taller. Each of them was encased in matte black armor, similar to the carapace armor she and Asset Angel wore, but fully encompassing. The helmets were visorless, a simple curve with three lenses in a vertical row on the right side, each the size of a small coin. None of them had Vengeance rifles; in fact, aside from swords similar to Matthew’s, none of them had any kind of weapon. Kenzie noticed more than a few of Asset Angel’s Legionnaires exchange glances.

Swords? she heard Suicide mutter. They know the tusk-faces have guns, right?

What’s wrong with swords? Grim asked. I have a sword.

Nah man, that’s a fire poker, it doesn’t count.

"I’ll poke you in the heart Suicide."

Don’t tease me.

Kenzie snorted as a few of Asset Angel’s Legionnaires chuckled. Guess she knew why they called him Suicide. Hallyn came to a stop before all of them, taking his ruck from Clynt as the man handed it to him. Clynt jerked his head toward the towering soldiers who stood behind the Captain like statues.

Who’re the newcomers Cap?

Hallyn sighed. Baby Bear, you aren’t gonna like this. He sidestepped, gesturing to the newcomers. Asset Angel, meet Team Excalibur. Members of the Nephilim, Highborn Jayme’s personal strike force. They will be accompanying us and assisting us with analyzing what we find.

Whoa, whoa, Cap, what does Ms. Jayme think we need another tech analyzer for? Markys asked. Hallyn held up a hand.

Those are our orders, he said. More than a few groans came from Asset Angel, but Hallyn’s stern gaze silenced them. Now, ladies, without further ado, we’ve got some hunting to do. Let’s go get underpaid.

Kenzie hefted her ruck, and as she did she received a sudden rush of adrenaline. Energy surged through her, and she danced on her toes as Asset Angel gathered at the circular hangar door. Hallyn moved to the front, putting a hand on her shoulder in greeting as he passed. The Nephilim behind them didn’t so much as twitch as Hallyn pass-coded the door and Asset Angel stepped through. They moved into a single hangar space, a walkway leading to the open rear-ramp of a Mechanican Chariot dropship. The VTOL jetcraft hung from a launch rail above them. As they moved into the rear and took their seats, Hallyn tapped the side of his head.

Sync up, he called as the dropship began to hum to life beneath them. Kenzie thought-activated her suit’s communication system. It responded by ejecting a small ear bud, which she looped around and then pressed into her ear. As the engines began to warm and the autopilot ran through its pre-flight checks, Kenzie’s head filled with Asset Angel’s chatter.

Suicide’s got his barf bag this time, right?

You ever going to let me live that down?

Oh man, I’d forgotten about that. My armor still stinks.

Everyone in? Hallyn asked, tapping his neck.

Nope, mine’s broke, Markys grinned.

How many new ears you going to get today Jayk? Hallyn asked Forge as the men closed the exit ramp with a whir of hydraulics.

I’m counting three so far Captain.

Cauldron Born don’t have ears, Sarge, Markys said, looking to Forge. Forge looked back at him, pointedly.

I know.

Excalibur is on your channel, sir.

Kenzie turned to look back at the four Nephilim as a woman’s voice came through the channel. Suicide wolf whistled and Markys said:

Was that a girl? That sounded like a girl. I wonder if she’s my age.

No one else is your age Markys, Irys said offhandedly as she locked her ruck in the locker above her seat. Literally. You’re the youngest Legionnaire by about three years.

I can dream, Mama Bear.

Launch preparation cycle complete. The dropship’s autopilot function growled over the open channel. All passengers, prepare for launch. OPCOM take note: Asset Angel and Team Excalibur exiting launch bay Zule-5586.

Kenzie took her seat, hearing the groan of the ship as her seat locked her carapace armor securely in place. There was a lurch and a scraping sound from above them and the dropship began to roll forward. They picked up speed before another harder lurch and a sound like a metal lock snapping. The dropship dipped and the engines flared, and Kenzie felt the tilting in her stomach and ribs as the dropship accelerated and arced up. For several seconds the dropship kept going. Then the acceleration and ascension leveled out, and the pressure was relieved. There was a chime over the comm, followed by the mechanical thud of the lock-system releasing them from their seats. Kenzie got up, moving around to rid herself of the creeping claustrophobia. She hated when her armor locked her in like that.

She turned and almost jumped. One of the Nephilim was standing before her, looking down as it towered over her. Kenzie blinked.

Can I… help you?

You’re McKenzie Reed.

She glanced to Matthew again. Why was she so famous? All she did was blow up some fuel. Matthew was staring at the noble, almost as if ready to spring up and defend Kenzie. Why was he so nervous? Kenzie turned back to the noble as a series of mechanical clicks drew her attention. The helmet on the matte-black armor pulled back, disassembling and sinking into the collar. The face beneath was young, yet hardened. Rust colored hair pulled into the collar, a pair of scars along the jaw line. Her ears, like all Mechanican-born, were slightly elongated and pointed. But what drew Kenzie’s attention more were her eyes: large, bright electrified green, with vertical slit pupils. Kenzie had to force herself to close her mouth. The woman smiled and held out her fist.

I’m Hannah, she said. Kenzie swallowed and knuckled the woman, noticing for the first time the number ‘3’ glowing in red on the left shoulder.

You really are a girl! Markys interjected, grinning. Hannah gave him a look.

90% of Mechanican Highborns and Nobles are, she said. But the Nephilim aren’t all exclusive. Then, teasingly: What did you expect? Mechanica figured out long ago which sex should be in charge.

You wanna run this Asset of toddlers? Hallyn gestured to Suicide and Preacher, who were striking one another in a half-hearted fistfight. They paused in the limelight, and Hallyn shook his head. Be my guest lady.

Thanks, but I prefer my job.

Which is? Reaper asked. Hannah shrugged.

Whatever My Lady asks of me.

My lady? Suicide snorted. That’s some Dark Ages lingo lady.

So what do we call you? Irys asked as she procured a book from her ruck. Hannah shrugged again.

My name would be nice, she said. Markys snickered.

Not dipshit?

That’s only you Baby Bear.

What about a last name? Suicide asked. He winked at Hannah. I’ve always wanted to get to know another inferi-killer.

We don’t have last names, Hannah said bluntly. We were made the same way all Mechanicans are, by the GEMINI.

The hooda-wudda? Markys asked.

Artificial insemination, Grim told him. Mechanicans have been doing it for centuries, trying to maximize the profitable characteristics of their offspring.

Well that doesn’t sound nearly as fun as fu—

Language, Irys said, not looking up from her book. As Markys apologized and the conversation sank into the background, Kenzie noticed Hannah turn toward one of the other soldiers, as if they were communicating on a private channel. Then Hannah noticed Kenzie watching her. With a disarming smile the woman’s helmet regrew and closed around her head. Kenzie turned away, wondering what conversation could be so important that the soldiers wouldn’t include Asset Angel. Finally she sighed and shrugged, and withdrew her ruck. She began to withdraw magazines for her Vengeance rifle, locking them to her armor’s hardpoints. She locked her sidearm to her right hip, glancing to Matthew as he began to do the same.

Don’t take it personally, he told her, glancing toward Team Excalibur as they continued their exclusive conversation. The Nephilim do everything together from birth. I’m amazed Hannah came and talked to you in the first place.

How do you know all this? she asked him. He shrugged.

I worked closely with Jayme for a long time, he said. But she was raised within the complex political system, whereas I was not. I have not the taste for it.

Kenzie sighed. Why can’t we just fight our war?

We can, Matthew said. Just pray it’s not with ourselves.

Chapter Two: Twin Sisters

Jayme made her way down the corridor leading to the complex housing her sister’s War Council. As she walked her fingers worked to close the last clasp of the collar of her robes. Her long legs, ending in obsidian black four-inchers, clicked along the floor as she approached the first set of double doors: towering, golden, imbedded with carvings of the Saints battling inferi. She scoffed at the ostentatiousness of it. Mother would have hated it. As she placed her hand on the door scanner, she sighed. She had to remember their mother, the previous Sovereign, was gone: passed on of natural causes while Jayme was on her Reclamation Crusade.

The doors opened with a groan, and she stepped inside a grandiose hallway. A carpet the color of a dried scab lay on the floor, the edges a burnished gold. The same colors were everywhere: on the decorative banners hanging above, spaced intermittently down the corridor; on the decorative armor suits spaced between the supportive pillars; on the holoimages lining the walls. The further Jayme walked the more she hated the grandiose theatrics. By the Saints she hated her sister’s taste. That’s why Aryel decorated the Presidential Fortress in such a manner: to rub the victory into Jayme’s face. When their mother had died, Jayme had been forced to return to the fortress-city to contest her sister’s rule. She had returned to find the support she had gained during the Crusade gone; the Houses either dead by mysterious circumstances, extorted, or threatened into supporting her sister instead. After renaming the city EDN, Aryel had taken the throne. Without Jayme on the frontlines to lead the Crusade, they had stalled.

As if to emphasize the failure of her Reclamation Crusades, Jayme turned a corner to see the massive tapestry splayed out across one wall,