《Bioweapon's Sin - PRIDE》


 HOME

    ARCHE


    [English]


    <h2> </h2>


    <h2></a>Home¡­</h2>


    "Give me a break. Yeah, like I¡¯m going to fall for that.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You saw a rainbow on the return trip?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­ why? You don¡¯t believe me?¡±


    ¡°Oh sure I believe ya¡ªnow where¡¯s me pot o¡¯ gold?!¡± Demarcus spouted.


    ¡°Worst Irish accent ever.¡±


    ¡°But you did know it was Irish.¡±


    Fania rolled her eyes, ¡°A lucky guess.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just trying to pull a fast one on me. As if you could beat me at my game!¡±


    ¡°Ahhh¡­ so you don¡¯t trust me.¡±


    He nudged her with his shoulder from where he lay beside her, ¡°Not on your Shard! Need I remind you of the ¡®coffee table incident¡¯?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d be a first if you didn¡¯t,¡± she muttered under her breath loud enough for him to catch.


    ¡°Five stitches and a scar.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ yes¡­ You know, in the Lawless Heart of Asia, a scar is a badge of honor.¡±


    ¡°Really?! Well then, if that¡¯s the case, I¡¯m off to the Heart of Asia¡ªabout time I¡¯m shown some respect.¡±


    She nudged him back, ¡°A twenty-two-year-old who doesn¡¯t believe in rainbows isn¡¯t going to get much respect anywhere.¡±


    ¡°Well, I haven¡¯t seen one. As far as I¡¯m concerned, they¡¯re just for fairy tales and gullible little girls,¡± said Demarcus, strands of grass brushing against Fania¡¯s bare side as he folded his arms theatrically.


    ¡°Ha. Ha. You¡¯ve never seen anything!¡±


    ¡°Objection! Immaterial!¡±


    ¡°Overruled.¡±


    ¡°Damn! Alright miss smartass, and how do you know they¡¯re real? Hmm? Maybe those bioweapon eyes of yours are just playing tricks on you.¡±


    ¡°Impossible. My eyesight, like the rest of me, is superior,¡± she said, fluttering her silver lashes in his oblivious face.


    ¡°Perhaps¡­¡± he reached out, finding and then booping her nose with his finger. ¡°But seeing and perceiving are two different things. How could any of us, even those ¡®superior¡¯, know if anything is truly real? You, me, the¡ª¡±


    ¡°Whoa whoa whoa! Haven¡¯t we agreed to never bring up Simulation Theory again?¡± Fania protested as she shot up from where she lay.


    ¡°Objection! Hearsay!¡± Demarcus countered.


    ¡°Overruled!¡±


    ¡°Damn.¡±


    ¡­


    ¡°You know what I think?¡±


    ¡°What? You ran into Santa in the mess hall?¡± he scoffed, earning him a playful slap to the thigh.


    Fania threw up a brow, the sass of her excellent gesture unfortunately missed by her sole audience, ¡°Funny. No¡­ I think somebody is jealous.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s your fault if I am,¡± Demarcus grumbled.


    ¡°Huh?!¡±


    ¡°Can you blame me, Fania? I¡¯m stuck here day after day twiddling my thumbs while you¡¯re off on adventures¡ª¡±


    ¡°Assignments.¡±


    ¡°¡ªhaving lunch with Santa and chasing rainbows!¡±


    ¡°Just rainbows.¡±


    The playful banter was turning irksome. With the top brass¡¯s growing confidence in the bioweapon program, Fania¡¯s sorties to the Lawless Zones were becoming more frequent, further limiting the few moments she and her mate had to themselves. The last thing she wanted was to have their precious time together spoiled by meaningless debate. Nevertheless, as she attempted to remove her hand from Demarcus¡¯s grasp, a gentle, reassuring squeeze stopped her before pulling her back towards their bed of grass.


    So, she remained.


    A few minutes passed in silence. The young couple lay on their backs within their secret mountain meadow, soothed by the summer breeze as it rose towards the snowy peaks far above.


    ¡°Well¡­ I¡¯ll tell you something I do know,¡± Demarcus resumed.


    She felt his hand slip from hers, his fingertips gliding along her forearm.  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Caught off guard by the unexpected gesture of affection, Fania turned to face him. It was somewhat annoying how the sly punk knew how to play her so well. Then again, that was also a part of his charm, and she would have it no other way.


    ¡°Oh pray tell, Great Demarcus, what do you know?¡± she retorted as his touch sent a shiver up her spine. There had been more anticipation in her voice than she¡¯d intended.


    Demarcus rolled onto his side¡ªarm tucked under his head as a pillow, the warmth of his body radiating towards her as it moved closer. Tangled graying hair waved with the gusts of wind. His milky unfocused eyes stared towards some far-off place, seeing nothing, seeing everything. His free hand continued exploring her arm before arriving at the top of her neck and under her ear.


    ¡°There are many things whose existence may be unprovable, but the pleasure we derive from them? That¡­ is very, very real,¡± Demarcus said as he caressed her cheek with his thumb.


    It was an invitation that couldn¡¯t be ignored. Both her heart and instinct demanded it. But she would delay it.


    Their game was not over yet.


    She was a hunter, a predator, apex. The pinnacle of life. She would not allow herself to succumb to entreaties so easily¡ªnot even his.


    ¡°Was that supposed to be smooth?¡± she responded, her slightly wavering voice a little breathless.


    Demarcus grinned from ear to ear in that annoyingly irresistible way. ¡°Aren¡¯t I?¡± he swooned.


    Another prickle ran up Fania¡¯s spine.?Time to put her darling back in his place.


    In the way all true hunters?knew,?she masked her movements within the gusts of wind as she quickly pulled away before he could protest, lifting herself out of their flattened bed of grass. Even if she was disguised as a mere human, in the end,?there?was little he could?do to stop her.


    He¡¯d brought this upon himself.


    As the silence pressed on, Demarcus¡¯s attitude changed. He swiveled in his spot, his playful grin slowly fading. His tangled hair tossed this way then that as he blindly listened for her. When he called Fania¡¯s name with no response, Demarcus¡¯s grin slipped into a scowl as he rose to his knees, eyes shut, open palms ready to intercept.


    ¡°And here I thought we were being civil today,¡±?she?heard?him whine under his breath.


    ¡°How illogical,¡± Fania playfully cooed back, already moving from her position as Demarcus spun in the direction of her voice. ¡°If it¡¯s civility you¡¯re looking for, you should have fraternized with the humans.¡±


    His scowl deepened, ¡°You say that like I¡¯m not one of them.¡±


    She giggled. It was nice to see him on the backfoot for a change. ¡°But you aren¡¯t, darling. You are prey.¡±


    Demarcus swiveled again towards the new direction of her voice, still failing to grasp her true location as she silently circled him. ¡°I fail to see the distinction. Aren¡¯t all humans prey?¡±


    A ping of frustration. There he went again speaking those misconceived notions of his humanity. It was true. He was not like her, or the other bioweapons. But he wasn¡¯t human either. The shared existence of their Cores defined him so.


    ¡°Perhaps, but not all prey are human, darling,¡± Fania answered once completely behind him, causing Demarcus to flinch as he was forced to reposition yet again.


    Demarcus rolled his milky eyes. ¡°Right¡­ because the Great Hyperfania doesn¡¯t stoop so low as to ¡®fraternize¡¯ with the likes of us.¡±


    She kicked a nearby pebble in his direction. ¡°Not us. Them. And I get along perfectly fine with humans when they¡¯re sensible. Just take my mother for example,¡± Fania said as she continued to circle.


    ¡°We both know she is the only other exemption aside from me,¡± he said, adjusting in his kneed stance. ¡°Not that I particularly blame you.¡±


    But his concession of her ill will towards the apes wasn¡¯t good enough. How could he still see himself as one of them? He was better, so much better! Her affection and admiration for him alone proved as much.


    It seemed some tough love was in order.


    Letting her hand slip between the blades of grass, Fania reached for a nearby stick. Nothing too big or cumbersome, but large enough to serve its purpose. Passing it to her off-hand, she held it by its end as she propped herself on the balls of her prosthetic feet. Never breaking focus from her target, she made her final adjustments.


    Then, she was ready.


    Fania tossed the stick low to the ground and Demarcus spun to face the rustling grass, his flank vulnerable to her oncoming assault. The second the opening showed itself, she reached for his closest arm, and once caught, spun him around and underneath her as she mounted him. A startled yelp left the man, and in an instant, Demarcus lay pinned beneath her.


    ¡°I swear¡­¡±?he said between rapid heaves,?¡°You''re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.¡±


    ¡°As if you¡¯d die so easily,¡± she riposted, releasing one of his hands to brush aside a tendril of hair covering his face.


    He chuckled, gathering her into his embrace. At the edge of her mind, the warm and familiar presence of his Core asked for permission to enter. It spoke no words and wanted nothing in return but to intertwine its existence with her own.


    Fania gladly accepted.


    Demarcus¡¯s being spilled into hers, and she, in kind, into his. ?His relief, his remorse, his joy¡­ she?knew?it all in an instant. She?knew?the person holding her?saw?her as she did him despite their differences. No. Because of their differences. Wrapping her arms under his shoulders, she squeezed her mate back, doing her best to return the love she¡¯d been given to the only life form that?knew?her for her, and nothing else.


    ¡°¡¯There are many things whose existence may be unprovable, but the pleasure we derive from them is real¡¯, was that it?¡± she repeated his words inside the conjoined consciousness of their Cores. ¡°So, you¡¯re a philosopher now?¡±


    She felt the rumble of his laugh through her chest as he spoke. ¡°Well, I really can¡¯t take credit for that one. I got it from your mother, actually. Remember when I was taken to Reykjav¨ªk for those tests?¡±


    ¡°How could I not?! Whole thing stressed me to my Core! Fucking Chairs!¡±


    He laughed again. How wonderful it was to be in his arms once more.


    ¡°Chairs?! That¡¯s a new one! Care to enlighten?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what me and Mother have started calling those bastard generals ordering us around. I swear all they are good for is keeping things quiet.¡±


    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll have to thank them for my peaceful confinement then¡­¡±


    ¡°Silence,¡± she teased. ¡°They are nothing more than a decrepit, conniving gang of apes, that would just a soon dissect you as protect you.¡±


    ¡°Brilliant¡­¡± her mate grumbled back as she kissed him tenderly, desire and annoyance emanating from his Core.


    It was her turn to laugh, ¡°Anyways, what was this about Reykjavik?¡±


    ¡°Ah yes! Reykjavik. Your mother told me that idiom during one of the days between the tests¡ªthe fifth, if I remember correctly. We were on a balcony enjoying the weather after a thunderstorm passed through, and this wonderful rainbow appeared and¡ª¡±


    ¡°You little shit! I¡¯m gonna kill y¡ª¡±


    ACHOO

 SNOWFALL (Part 1)

    ARCHE


    [English]


    <h2>Snowfall</h2>


    10-11-103 P.I. 11:56 PM


    The sudden sneeze pulled Hyperfania¡¯s thoughts from times long past, sorrowful memory dissipating along with the mist of her breath.


    ACHOO


    She turned her attention towards the source of the distracting noise.


    Huddling on the leeward side of Hyperfania¡¯s towering weaponized form, her mother braced against the winds of early winter. Scarf and gloved hands deeply tucked within her heavy fur lined coat, the elderly woman adamantly stood sentry beside her monstrous daughter along Fafnir Base¡¯s outskirts. Still, her many warm layers weren¡¯t enough to stave off the cold, and the consequences of prolonged exposure to the harsh Himalayan weather had already begun to show the cracks in both her mother¡¯s age and biology.


    ACHOO


    She was now sneezing at regular intervals.


    ¡°You should be inside,¡± Hyperfania muttered from her mind to her mother¡¯s.


    ¡°Tell me about it.¡± Her mother used her scarf to rub at her sniffling nose. ¡°But since I¡¯m your Temp for the time being, I¡¯ll just have to make do.¡±


    ¡°A Handler¡¯s help is worthless to me now. Even yours, Mother.¡±


    ¡°I know. Just think of it as a formality to keep the Chairs on the other side of the planet from losing their shit, my Skyfire.¡±


    Hyperfania let out a guttural hum, acknowledging the joke.


    ¡°Do you really plan on staying out in this storm? My Core can¡¯t keep us both warm. This weather will break you, and then I¡¯ll have no Temp at all.¡±


    ¡°E-even still.¡± Her mother shivered and crossed her arms. ¡°Considering our circumstances, I don¡¯t see how I have much of a choice.¡±


    ACHOO


    ¡°Listen to yourself!¡± Hyperfania protested. ¡°Are you trying to freeze to death? Plus, your sneezing is distracting me, which neither of us needs right now. Go back inside. If it starts coming back for another attack, I¡¯ll call.¡±


    Her mother scoffed through the connection, ¡°Not likely! You¡¯ll go charging after Model F the moment I leave your sight! And for what, I wonder, hmm? Not like you can see a damn thing out there in this dreadful night. No, no I think I will stay right where I am.¡±


    And there it was!


    ¡°You take me for a child!¡± Hyperfania snorted, the first hints of descending snow melting in her Core¡¯s expelled heat.


    ¡°No¡­¡± her mother responded, ¡°¡­ but my intuition is seldom wrong.¡±


    Snorting again, Hyperfania let the conversation end and returned her focus beyond the inky blackness that loomed along Fafnir Bases¡¯s border of light. She had more pressing matters to deal with than stubborn mothers, and there was only so much her grieving heart was capable of enduring. Proper reconciliation would just have to wait.


    Soon, large clumps of white filled the air, and the ground began to shift in color, leaving Hyperfania to dust off the ice amassing on her ivory fur-like feathers. Lifting her long, winged forelimb off the ground to better reach her shoulder, she used the tip of her hooked, scaly beak to carefully separate the clumps of matted strands. Her neck being too short to reach her back or hindlimbs¡ªand the scales of her underside not being of current importance¡ªHyperfania devoted her efforts to methodically preening shoulder to wing-wrist.


    First down one limb.


    Then, the other.


    Then both again for good measure.


    It was critical she was ready to fly at a moment¡¯s notice.


    ACHOO


    Huffing in frustration, instinct compelled Hyperfania to break from her third cleaning and address the mother issue. ¡°You¡¯re impossible. Permission to leave post¡­ Handler?¡± she said mockingly.


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ACHOO


    Her mother didn¡¯t reproach her, answering nonetheless in her stuffy way, "Depends. What for?" she said aloud as was dictated by bioweapon field operation procedure.


    ¡°There¡¯s been enough needless death here for one day,¡± Hyperfania responded dryly, and without waiting for an answer, did as she pleased. The approaching rogue bioweapon¡¯s time would come soon enough, but first came the safety of her last remaining family. Their current arrangement as Temp and Bioweapon was just a formality after all.


    Behind them, the feeble glow of military outpost Fafnir of the Atlantic Trade Union¡¯s Bioweapon division barely held its own as the mountain storm furthered its assault. Among the sparse barracks and hangers crowning the vast expanse of the underground base, few of the surviving and still present personnel dared venture out against the elements. A wise choice by human standards.


    On the other hand, however, the apes¡¯ lack of thermal protection did sow the seeds of their resourcefulness.


    With a quick scan, Hyperfania found what she was looking for along the wall of the base¡¯s outermost RTD building not ten meters away. Cut firewood poked out from the inside of a storage bin partially covered by a blue tarp, its free corner flapping in the wind.


    Straightening her azhdarchoid form, Hyperfania propelled her quadrupedal winged frame towards the firewood, the membranes of her massive, folded wings billowing like sails. In only a few long strides, she ambled over to the bin. Spreading her forelimbs to lower her stance, she pulled back the rest of the tarp with the hook of her robust, short beak.


    Hyperfania looked to her mother who¡¯d quickly shuffled alongside in tandem with her movements, doing as needed to maintain her opposition to the wind. Annoying as she was, the tiny human was lucky her bioweapon creations held her in such high regards.


    Or at least¡­ they had.


    Using her jaws, Hyperfania picked five small logs from the top of the pile, their brittle, cold bark chipping on her fangs and filling her mouth with irksome splitters. As she did so, her mother¡¯s figure moved to open a small box beside the bin.


    ¡°I suppose¡­ y-you¡¯ll need kind-dling?¡± her mother gestured as she lifted the small box¡¯s contents into the open.


    Hyperfania gave an acknowledging hum as she shook her head free of collecting snow.


    Returning to their post, Hyperfania slowed her strides to allow her succumbing mother to keep pace. Once there, she reared back, balancing on her slender hindlimbs as she stretched out her wings. With a single forceful flap, snow and debris were cast from the space before her. In the center of the new clearing, the campfire was set.


    ¡°Stand back,¡± she ordered.


    Behind the furred hood and scarf, her shivering mother peered back through the small gap between the fabrics. Then came a sneeze. Then another and another. At last, Leto Botha, oldest of her kind, mother of terror, creator of bioweapons and quite possibly one of the smartest humans alive¡­ fucking listened.


    Proceeding to take shelter between the trunks of Hyperfania¡¯s forelimbs, her mother was careful never to touch her weaponized daughter¡¯s form directly. The cautious habit was one developed over their many years together out of necessity. A lesson many Temporary Handlers learned too late as their carelessness condemned them to death by electrocution upon coming in contact¡ªdeliberately or otherwise¡ªwith their assigned bioweapon. By Leto Botha¡¯s very design, bioweapons were, in fact, quite literally, lethal to the touch.


    Calling on her Core¡¯s stored power, Hyperfania let the energy flow through her as she aimed for the pile of wood and kindling, serrated jaws open. In an instant, a blinding beam of electricity, perfect and straight, struck the logs and ignited them. Quickly attending to the newborn flame, she folded in her wings and nestled down to make her bulk a barrier against the wind as she gently stoked the fire with deep, slow breaths.


    ¡°I¡¯ve turned off my epidermis conduction,¡± she grumbled as the fire took on a life of its own. ¡°You can lay against me now.¡±


    Without speaking, her mother shuffled over and sat, resting her back against Hyperfania¡¯s wing as if it were a giant hammock. While she offered no gratitude for the slightly less miserable sentry arrangement, neither did she display any of her inherent nitpickiness. It was a ¡°Thank you,¡± loud and clear to be sure¡­ in her mother¡¯s own conceited way.


    Off in the distance, the beating blades of a tiltrotor echoed off the walls of the hidden mountain valley, sounding its imminent arrival. It was the fifth one within the hour to approach the nearby landing zone. Clouds of dust and snow scattered in its wake as the machine wobbled dangerously in its hover. Landing gear extended, it braced the ground as spinning blades slowed but never ceased in their motion, remaining ready to lift at a moment¡¯s notice.


    As soon as it reached a standstill, personnel and soldiers alike of Fafnir Base stormed the landing zone, some carrying large containers and cases, others aiding those who could not support themselves on their own. Among them, a man tightly wrapped in blankets was suspended between a pair of medics on a handheld stretcher. Within minutes, the boarding was complete, and another plume of dust signified the tiltrotor¡¯s departure as it rose and faded into the night, the blinking of its navigation lights the last to be seen before vanishing entirely.


    By this point, Leto Botha had lowered her scarf as she held her still gloved hands to the crackling campfire. Despite her refined age of one hundred and twenty-eight, the semblances of youth still clung to her, as did the sun¡¯s warmth during the final days of summer. Wise, emerald eyes reflected the fire¡¯s light like a forest aflame, shining brilliantly against the many wrinkles and cracks of her rich, ebony skin. A few gray curls hung past the rim of her hood as her chin stayed tucked within her well-worn scarf, which, once red, had now faded to a soft burgundy-pink.


    Even with her knees pulled up against her chest, her posture was immaculate, back straight, shoulders relaxed as the fire¡¯s embrace eased the chill. As far as Hyperfania knew, her mother was not one for the outdoors. In fact, she seemed to actively avoid such things in preference of the sanitized and controlled spaces of her many laboratories. But¡­ here she sat, on a mat of dirt and snowmelt, perfectly content as if she had spent all her life doing so.


    It was a peculiar sight. The regal woman¡¯s appearance was more that of a Lawless wanderer huddled over her pitiful fire than the head of Bioweapon Research and Technological Development. And yet, without size or strength, fangs, talons, or the power of a Core, she could disarm the bravest of soldiers, intimidate the most egotistical of leaders, and sway the harshest of skeptics with mere words.


    When Hyperfania had asked how she¡¯d managed such accomplishments, all she received was: ¡°The possibility of an idea, no matter how absurd, holds the power to become as potent¡ªand frightful¡ªas any truth.¡± In time, Hyperfania came to understand the meaning of her mother¡¯s words. And furthermore, that all intelligent things, no matter their level of consciousness, were susceptible to it.


    Her mother being no exception.


    Like a fouled anchor at the bottom of the sea floor, once set, there was no moving her, even when all she held dear was at risk of being sunk along with her.


    For a while longer, she watched over her mother within the peace of their fiery microcosm, doing her best to ignore the grief corroding her soul. In that quiet little place that was theirs alone, bathed in flickering light and battered by both wind and snow, away from all else who remained upon the isolated mountain base, Hyperfania allowed herself to rest.


    In due time, as the beating blades of yet another tiltrotor emerged from the night and the process of the evacuation resumed, Leto Botha¡¯s sneezing had¡ª


    ACHOO


    ¡­ mostly subsided.


    ____________________________________


    P.I: For those who are potentially unaware, this stands for Post Impact and notates the new cataloging of years following the Apophis B asteroid strike that occurred at the tail end of the Evolutus Mass Mortality Event (or E.M.M.E.). The precise year defined as the first of our era is considered to be the same as the one that saw the establishment of the Atlantic Trade Union (or at least the micronation that would become it) in Iceland, as well as the re-establishment of international trade between the Han Republic and Nihon, which is believed to be the first between any Sovereign nations after the collapse at the end of the A.D. era.


    Temp: Shorthand for Temporary Handler.


    Azhdarchoid: A form in resemblance of the azhdarchids, the largest and greatest of the pterosaurs, and the last of the true dragons.

 SNOWFALL (Part 2)

    ARCHE


    [English]


    <h2>Snowfall (cont.)</h2>


    10-11-103 P.I. 11:56 PM


    ¡°I can''t remember the last time we sat like this,¡± her mother spoke out across their minds with an inkling of sadness in her voice. ¡°Gah¡­¡± she then sighed out loud. ¡°What a mess.¡±


    It¡¯d been three hundred and eighty-three days and a quarter to be exact. Even while important, such a distinct piece of information was beyond human capability to keep track of with memory alone. It was simply their biology, as the apes¡¯ chronological ineptitude blurred their recollection of time. Even for the smart ones¡ªsuch as her mother¡ªit was inevitable for them to conflate the past.


    And yet, despite knowing this, Hyperfania couldn¡¯t help but feel bitterness at her parent¡¯s words.


    ¡°And whose fault is that? Or should I be the one apologizing for not being as worthy of your time as your precious research?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d say that¡¯s unlikely, dear child. The fault is mine to be sure,¡± admitted her mother, her lips pursing as she stared into the fire, her weight never fully leaning into the supporting wing behind her. ¡°But let¡¯s not pretend you haven¡¯t been avoiding me either.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t¡ª¡±


    Her mother cut her off, ¡°Darling, of the last three times you have visited me, it was barely an hour the first, a conversation the second, and the third? Well! You came and left without a word! This old woman couldn¡¯t help but wonder what had happened to that wide eyed girl who followed me everywhere. You¡¯ve always made your intentions quite obvious, even considering Demarcus.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say his name!¡± Hyperfania''s voice filled the connection as it rose with her anger. ¡°Don¡¯t even try. You don¡¯t get to play dumb, and you definitely don¡¯t get to pretend you care! Not after I begged and begged for you to do something¡ªanything¡ªto help him while you sat by and twiddled your thumbs!¡± A gentle hand caressed the surface of her wing, but Hyperfania shook it off. ¡°Stop it!¡± she demanded as the pain from mourning came crashing back in as if the snowstorm itself were striking her heart. ¡°I can¡¯t handle the caring parent routine and that¡­ that thing¡­ at the same time! Please. I¡¯m begging you, Mother. Let me focus on killing it. We¡¯ll talk after.¡±


    The gentle hand returned, undeterred. ¡°You say that like he¡¯s already dead.¡±


    ¡°ISN¡¯T HE?!¡± Hyperfania bellowed, her shrill shriek cutting through the night, only to be answered in return by the frightened cries of those boarding on the distant landing pad. Curving her neck around to face her properly, Hyperfania looked down at her small, human mother, her words accompanied by a low growl. ¡°It may be alive, and it may have his Core, but it does NOT have his soul.¡±


    The features of her mother¡¯s face darkened. ¡°Fania.¡±


    It was sickening.


    The sadness in her voice.


    The way her eyes glistened.


    The tremble in her hands as she stroked the fur-like-feathers of Hyperfania¡¯s wing-arm.


    What right did her mother have to feel such a way?! After what she¡¯d done? After breathing life into that malformed atrocity?


    The presence of her mother¡¯s mind, faint and cautious, reached out to hers, but Hyperfania cut off the connection. She didn¡¯t want to know. Not yet. Talking to her was hard enough as it was, and this wasn¡¯t the time to argue.


    Quickly reverting to her resting position, Hyperfania shut her eyes and erased any images of her distraught mother. At the edges of her mind, she continued to ignore her mother¡¯s entreaties to enter. She didn¡¯t care if she was too harsh, or if her mother¡¯s actions were justified. It had to end. All of it. Now and forever.


    She returned her attention to what truly mattered.


    It.


    The abomination on the horizon of her perceptions.


    The false creation.


    The murderer.


    Kilometers away, she tracked its location by the static of its broken Core as it stalked the snowfields amidst the storm. Slowly but surely, it was drifting back to resume the slaughter, compulsively seeking the source of its bloodlust. And once it returned from the vale of darkness, bioweapon Fovos would find it. It would find her. For it felt her presence, as she felt its. And with their accursed bond came the inevitable. For all bioweapons, no matter their genome, were doomed to obey the primal law for those who sat at the pinnacle of their realms¡ªevolved or created.


    There could only be one.


    The small weight resting against her wing lifted, followed by the crunch of snow underfoot. The exasperated sigh announced her mother¡¯s presence just shy of her face. Yet as the words she did not wish to hear came regardless, Hyperfania upheld her facade of apathy.


    ¡°I¡­¡± spoke her mother aloud, pausing as the single word was left to fade into the past. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to say. Everything¡¯s gone terribly, my hand playing no small role in that. For that much, I am certain. If you hate me for what I did, or what I¡¯ve condemned you to, I am sorry, my Skyfire. I really am. But I need you to know that I tried, and that I know of his loss. The weight of my failure will forever be engraved upon my soul. Truly. But this¡­ this madness?! This grief?! It must end with us, or we will have nothing! Not even each other. So please¡­ I am begging you, talk to me.¡±


    ¡°You should have told me!¡± Hyperfania snapped as she re-opened the link just enough for her thoughts to be heard.


    ¡°You¡¯re right," her mother conceded, relief evident in her words. "And I considered it. Longer than you know. But... Demarcus thought it best to keep it a secret. And even after everything that has and has yet to happen, I¡¯m afraid I still concur with his course of judgment.¡±


    ¡°DON¡¯T YOU DARE LIE! Demarcus would''ve never hidden something like that from me!"


    But it seemed her outburst would do nothing to sway her parent''s conviction.


    ¡°Come now, you don¡¯t really believe this was all my idea, do you?¡± her mother sighed. ¡°I talked to him the day before you last saw him. He was¡­ struggling. When the topic of telling you came up, he made the decision on his own, and I quote, ¡®I don¡¯t want her last memories to be of me dying as I¡¯m connected to machines and my body is slowly ripped apart.¡¯¡±


    For a brief moment, Hyperfania felt her mother¡¯s sorrow as the barrier isolating her mind faltered. From it came a single truth. One she¡¯d so desperately wanted to have been wrong.


    There was no culprit to point to for this disaster. No enemy whom she could punish for her tragedy. Her mother, despite her shortcomings, had loved Demarcus dearly, each having been the other¡¯s only family aside from Hyperfania herself. And that pain? That grief? One too akin to Hyperfania¡¯s own? There was no faking such things. Not when her very Core could bear witness and feel its sincerity for herself.


    So why?


    Why had it come to this?


    A million questions swirled inside her Core as Hyperfania gave in. Unlike her human form, her true body shed no tears. Nurture overruled nature as a new layer of grief was added to the stack¡ªa slow, uncontrolled rumble taking her as it wavered to the rhythm of her aching heart. She would have given anything to be with him again, if for no other reason than to smack the moron across his stupid face.


    The embrace came without words, only tears, as the softness of her mother¡¯s plush coat shielded the bridge of Hyperfania¡¯s scaly beak from the cold. Trembling gloved fingers, gripping but never pulling, entangled themselves in her feathers as the old woman¡¯s slender arms failed to wrap themselves all the way around the circumference of her muscular head.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I can¡¯t lose you too! I¡¯m sorry!¡± her mother wailed in croaked whispers, ¡°Not you¡­ not you, my Skyfire¡­ I¡¯m sorry¡­ I¡¯m sorry¡­¡±


    Under the echoes of lifting blades beating against the wind and the calls to those whose jobs had been left unfinished, Hyperfania bent under the weight of the familiar touch and lifted a single hesitant eyelid.


    Her mother wore a solemn expression, her watery emerald eyes reflecting the waning light of their mountain home. From their proximity, Hyperfania could make out the individual wrinkles, some from age, some from cold, some from grief, guiding each rolling tear as it fell from warm, quivering cheeks and onto smooth keratin scale.


    The presence at the edge of Hyperfania¡¯s mind grew, spiraling in on itself over and over, shifting in color as it did form, simply waiting. Waiting for what lay on the other side to open. Waiting to comfort. Waiting to love.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Sparing a moment, Hyperfania turned her attention back towards the approaching bioweapon in the storm. There wasn¡¯t much time left before it arrived.


    Suddenly, a harsh gust pushed from the north, battering without remorse. Throwing her mother off balance, it sent her dangerously stumbling away. And there, on the brink of winter, atop the crown of the world, forgiveness was found. Abandoning the fire without a second thought, Hyperfania shifted to reform the barrier against the wind as a winged forelimb unfolded just enough to catch her falling mother. In the darkness of the smothered campsite, she reembraced her only remaining family with all her heart.


    ¡°You won¡¯t lose me,¡± said daughter unto mother, the walls of her mind crumbling away.


    Within a bond only they knew, their final moments were not of agony and strife, but kinship and understanding. Leaning back to properly face her, the mother held her giant bioweapon¡¯s face as if it were a small child¡¯s. Tears streaming, hearts sharing in the pain of the other, her lips quivered as if about to speak, yet the words came from somewhere far deeper.


    ¡°You need to save him¡ª¡±


    ¡°Mother¡­¡±


    The hug tightened. ¡°No protesting. Listen, my Skyfire.¡±


    ¡°Mother! I saw the bodies, too. That level of needless carnage, no amount of feral instinct can excuse what happened to those Frumsvalinn. Hell, even now I can feel it, wherever it is out there. There is no drive, no end goal, just code looping in endless execution inside its broken Core. Demarcus¡­¡± even saying his name hurt ¡°¡­is gone, and now, I must kill what¡¯s left.¡±


    A flash of anger spread through the connection from her mother as they embraced once more. ¡°Don¡¯t you even think like that! You hear me? I understand you believe all is lost, but I am the one who built him. I am the one who built you. And I am saying there is no way of knowing what is about to happen, as it has never happened. Cores are fickle things that even I, after a century of study, do not fully understand. Do not presume to know that which you cannot. You simply must save him.¡±


    ¡°And how do you suppose I do that?¡± Hyperfania responded, her words more plea than contradiction.


    ¡°With patience and acceptance. What you find in that creature¡¯s broken mind, whether it be jumbled code, Demarcus, or something else entirely, I believe it will show itself to you if you give it the space to do so.¡±


    ¡°And if it isn¡¯t him?¡±


    Her mother¡¯s expression stiffened. ¡°Kill it. For both our sakes.¡± And with those words, she slowly began to withdraw from Hyperfania¡¯s mind, saying, ¡°I think we¡¯ve kept our guests waiting long enough,¡± before her presence vanished entirely.


    Guests?


    Returning her attention to the visual realm, Hyperfania looked back towards Fafnir Base.


    Between the relative safety of the buildings, nine Frumsvalinn stood at the ready. Their polished plates of steel and carbon fiber shining under the buzzing spotlights, not a single inch of their armored forms was left uncovered. Even their faces were obscured, with a bulbous strip of black lens the only feature of their angled faceplates. They wore military gear above their armor, the various vests and straps adding to their impressive bulk.


    But it would do little to protect them.


    Standing in three groups of two, one partner held a massive rectangular carbon fiber shield, a pavise atlanticus, the other a portable flamethrower with the reservoir strapped to their back. There was also a final group of three Frumsvalinn, two holding pavises, the third a BOCS, the cylindrical container carefully secured within his armored gauntlets.


    Two more Frumsvalinn, armor protecting only their heads, chests, and shins with white padded tactical gear left to cover the rest, stood closer to the mother and daughter¡¯s now extinguished campfire. Norpas billowed behind them as they stood at attention on either side of a single man, hands resting on their pistols, ready to intercept.


    Ezekiel Fridman, head of all bioweapon operations, Master Handler, and Colonel in the grand military of the Atlantic Trade Union, stood a head shorter at the forefront of his Frumsvalinn entourage. Hands held behind his back, his navy-blue uniform was pressed to one side against his slim stature by the winter storm. His black-peppered beard was clean cut and short, nestled below a flushed red nose and pair of protective goggles. Aside from his heavy-duty boots¡ªpant legs tucked in their cuffs and covered in mud and snow¡ªhis presentation was as proper as ever.


    It was time.


    Her mother was already leaving her side and heading towards the gathered soldiers. Giving her coat of feathers a quick shake, Hyperfania rose back to all fours and followed suit. As she approached, some of the Frumsvalinn raised their shields, and one the Col¡¯s bodyguards pulled his pistol, which was only to be steadied by his commanding officer''s halting hand.


    It was pathetic.


    The civilized world¡¯s greatest warriors left shaking in their boots, but at least there was comfort in knowing that even with all their clever gadgets, the little humans knew their place.


    In a few strides she stood before the Colonel, whom she gave only the briefest of acknowledging glances as she waited for her mother.


    ¡°Doctor Botha,¡± spoke Colonel Fridman as she joined them. ¡°Model F is in route and I¡¯m afraid the next transport won¡¯t be reaching us in time. Effective immediately, I will be resuming duty as Temporary Handler to Model H. Fimgur Eosin McNealy,¡± he gestured to his half-armored Frumsvalinn bodyguard on his right, ¡°will escort you to the nearest bunker.¡±


    Hyperfania¡¯s mother gave a slight nod to both the Colonel and the Frumsvalinn, ¡°That is appreciated,¡± she said in the performative manner she always assumed when addressing her superiors. Reaching into the inner pocket of her coat, she pulled out what looked to be a small earpiece, Hyperfania¡¯s very own tether, and handed it over to the commanding officer. ¡°Stay strong, my Skyfire¡­ and save him,¡± echoed her final words before speaking again out loud, ¡°Fower, Eight, Romeo, Kilo, Niner, Fower, Zulu, Unifrom, Model H Temporary Handler Leto Botha recognizes transfer of authority to Master Handler Colonel Ezekiel Fridman.¡±


    And so, too, in an instant, did Hyperfania¡¯s Core.


    With that, the Frumsvalinn to the right of the Colonel moved from one side to the other, and placing his free hand across her mother¡¯s back, quickly guided her to the entrance of the nearest building, and then¡­ they vanished.


    The Colonel turned his sights back to Hyperfania, his expression blank as he inserted the tether he had been handed into his ear. ¡°Fower, Eight, Sierra, November, Niner, Fower, Kilo, Lima, Master Handler Colonel Ezekiel Fridman; pending authority?¡±


    ¡°Authority; Recognized,¡± Hyperfania immediately and plainly responded directly to the earpiece, through no volition of her own.


    Satisfied, the Colonel turned halfway, casually exposing his back to her as he looked in the direction of the Frumsvalinn in the group of three holding the BOCS. ¡°Model H; Thrigur Neutro Gartenberg and his men will be accompanying you. They¡¯ve been instructed to stay out of your way until you dispose of Model F. You will be leaving clean up to them.¡± The Colonel looked back to Hyperfania, his upturned gaze unflinching even when dwarfed by a full three bodies in height. ¡°If they die, they die,¡± he said, paying no mind to the fidget of his remaining bodyguard. ¡°But I want it alive.¡±


    His words became her law as Hyperfania¡¯s Core ingrained them into her very being.


    ¡°Orders; Recognized.¡±


    A new problem, but one she would deal with later as she opted instead to ask, ¡°And the other models?¡±


    At first, it didn¡¯t seem the man would answer, his usual cold demeanor on full display as he pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose.


    ¡°Gone,¡± he spoke blandly, his voice rising with the howling winds.


    Without another word, Colonel Fridman left with his remaining bodyguard through the same pair of doors Hyperfania¡¯s mother had.


    The squad of Frumsvalinn left behind took cover along the edges of the buildings, pavise wielding protectors standing guard over their armed brethren. The gales of winter were now in full swing as the harsh weather shifted in their direction, further oppressing those doomed to remain in its midst.


    The rogue bioweapon was now less than a few hundred meters away, the link between its Core and Hyperfania¡¯s growing with every second. Her instincts flared in response, wanting nothing more than to find the intruder and destroy it.


    ¡°Patience,¡± her mother¡¯s words reminded.


    Against her desires, Hyperfania moved back towards the light, positioning herself in front of the squad. To her right and behind her, the many buildings of Fafnir Base offered protection, and to her left, the cliff face of the bordering mountain peaks shielded her.


    Hyperfania readied her Core.


    Sirens rang out, warning of the impending threat.


    Then, all fell silent.


    Surrounded by storm and night, instinct was strung tight like a fine wire, as both bioweapon and Frumsvalinn waited for the slightest indication that they were no longer alone.


    It began with the unmistakable scent of a bioweapon being carried on the currents. The toxic fragrance burned like that of vinegar and Hyperfania dug her talons into the earth as she braced against the calling. Steadying herself as she adapted to the new sensation, Hyperfania emitted a low rumble to inform all those present it had arrived.


    And oh, did it call to her.


    To hunt.


    To kill.


    But also, to breed, and to join.


    It was a strange concoction like no other bioweapon¡¯s before it, tempting her most feral needs.


    And it grew closer still.


    Muscles twitched. Adrenaline heightened. Her Core wavered on the precipice of self-control. Then¡­ the scent vanished as the storm changed directions once more.


    Her body calmed.


    She held her breath.


    Azure lights emerged from the distant black. Like fallen stars, they glowed in slow patterns as they approached from afar. And they grew¡­ and grew¡­ and grew until their centers fell dim and the spaces within swelled as their true nature revealed itself. Rings. Luminous blue rings. Strange and haunting like the remnants of some unknown leviathan pulled from the deepest reaches of the abyss. Then the rings shifted form, falling in one behind the other as the light of the closest shone like a beacon, rhythmically swaying in its vertical motion.


    The strange scent returned, now more potent than ever, and Hyperfania¡¯s leg took a step before she realized it. Two steps back and restraining her instincts yet again, she cleared her head with a shake, relocking onto the lights nearly upon them. Then, over the howls of the gale came the crunching of snow, steady and heavy, playing in sequence to the movements of the floating rings.


    ____________________________________


    Pavise Atlanticus: A giant rectangular shield made of carbon nanotubing, steel, and poly-para-phenylene terephthalamide. Its original design and implementation reside with the Order of Fumsvalinn during the first half of the first century P.I.


    BOCS: Acronym standing for Bioweapon Operation Containment System. This device was a means to isolate a bioweapon¡¯s Core and prevent further weaponization, come worst case scenario.


    Norpa: A three-quarter knee length skirt worn above a Frumsvalinn¡¯s armor that signified the rank of the individual within the order, usually of the fourth ring or higher.


    Fimgur Eosin: When addressing a Frumsvalinn formally, it was customary to always specify their ring and branch within the Order before their last names. First names were seldom if ever used even in private as Frumsvalinn culture placed high value on that which was earned rather than inherited.

 SNOWFALL (Part 3)

    ARCHE


    [English]


    <h2>Snowfall (cont.)</h2>


    10-11-103 P.I. 11:56 PM


    Like a giant eel gliding from the depths of its lair, it emerged from the shadows. Darker than night itself, the bioweapon seemed to suck in all light that was cast upon it. A scaly face with tall, pointed ears led its smooth and slender frame, blending seamlessly into the snaking neck that followed. Shoulder to hip it appeared almost canine but stripped of fur. Muscles and fat lay bare under a covering of the same black, light draining scales. Instead of soft cushioned paws, armored digitigrade fingers and toes, tipped with robust claws, scraped the frozen ground. A continuous, short, ghostly white fin ran from the back of its head, down its spine, only to fan out into a paddle as it reached the end of its long tapering tail. Embedded within its scales, a row of large azure rings flashed down both sides of its body. Their hypnotic patterns now on full display, they cast faint halos of blue along the length of the prowling creature¡¯s form.


    Standing half as tall and twice as long as she, the bioweapon stepped back into the light by the guidance of a sinuous forked tongue, head held low as it prodded the ground with each delicate tip. Paying no mind to its onlookers, it paused before the abandoned campfire, charcoal and ash gathering on its tongue with every flick. Then, it snorted, sending puffs of ash, dust and snow to the wind.


    Tall, pointed ears swiveled as it raised its head and directly faced both Hyperfania and the Frumsvalinn. Cast in the light of Fafnir Base, the true nature of its otherworldly face became apparent. The scales of its face were larger and smooth to an almost glossy finish. Along with the light absorbing scales of its body, they formed a strange illusion of contrast at the base of the creature¡¯s skull, one that made it seem there was no real connection between them to begin with. But most striking of all, resting under thick ridges and behind a compact pointed snout, deep eyeless sockets sat as if the bare openings of the skull were fully exposed.


    Then, came the clicking.


    Low and sharp, one long then four rapid. Over and over, it repeated the strange call, neck craning as it rose higher in its posture, busy ears never ceasing in their advertency.


    It took a step.


    Then another.


    And another.


    Tracing the outskirts of the facility, the bioweapon paced in and out of the darkness, the eerie glow of the azure rings its only constant.


    A harsh rumbling growl leaked from Hyperfania¡¯s chest just before a beam of electricity shot from her. Striking the creature in the shoulder, the sudden attack caused it to momentarily pause mid-step before continuing at a slower pace.


    The shot hadn¡¯t been meant to kill, merely test. Any lesser being would''ve died with the amount of voltage it had just received, yet it stood unfazed. It seemed her mother''s procedure had been a success after all. Whatever else it would end up revealing to be, at the very least, it was a bioweapon fully fledged, and fully capable.


    In the quiet of the standoff, as one beast of terror followed the movements of the other, a battle raged inside Hyperfania. Something was off. With any other bioweapon, ripped throats and spilt blood would have occurred on sight. A part of her still wanted nothing more than to pull the creature limb from limb and tear out its innards.


    But another was cautious¡­ curious even. Not for Demarcus, the bioweapon¡¯s Core was as brain dead as it had been kilometers ago.


    No.


    This was something else. Something familiar. Her? But how was that even possible?


    She had to understand.


    Lowering her head to see it better, she took a step towards it. The bioweapon froze on the spot, both ears snapping in her direction. She took another step forward, and one more. The flashing of the rings increased, their light blurring together with the one adjacent until merging into a single wave of traveling light.


    She had to get closer.


    Step. Hyperfania relaxed her jaws as she readied her Core to fire. Step. The bioweapon¡¯s paddle-finned tail twitched. Step. She was so close now she could almost taste its near maddening presence.


    Then, Hyperfania halted her approach. The rings now flashed at a dizzying speed as the bioweapon¡¯s neck raised into a tall S-curve as it ¡®stared¡¯ up at her, monstrous face to monstrous face. She could hear her mother¡¯s words amongst the chaos of her mind. Composure was paramount.


    Opening the barrier so that another could enter, she reached out with her consciousness to the unknown.


    ¡°Demarcus?¡±


    No response.


    Undaunted, she expanded out further, searching for any traces of her mate''s broken mind, but all Hyperfania found was an ocean of cellular noise.


    ¡°I¡¯m here, Demarcus. Can you hear me? Can you come to me?¡±The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    But there was no response.


    Not Demarcus¡¯s.


    Nor anyone else''s.


    Nothing.


    It was an empty husk. A shredded consciousness of disjointed fragments and residual memory, messy and blurred. A whole life, her beloved, ripped apart cell from cell by the very flesh that had once protected him. There wasn¡¯t even a body left to bury, as the horrid thing had made sure to deny her that peace as well.


    If she hadn¡¯t¡­ if she¡¯d just¡­ if things were different... maybe Demarcus would''ve still been alive.


    ¡°Not again¡­¡± she cried out in the void of the bioweapon¡¯s shattered mind ¡°¡­ no¡­ no, no no no. Like this? After everything?! You can¡¯t be. PLEASE¡­ please¡­ not like this¡­¡±


    She wished for a miracle, calling to the human divines and all their gods and saviors, praying that one would take pity on her. Yet no aid was given. Not a single word of remorse. Was she undeserving? Her life so filled with violence and cruelty that the innocent lives intertwined with her own were just as condemned? Would they not even listen to that which had been created outside their Grand Design? Or was there nothing? In the end, it didn¡¯t matter, as Hyperfania¡¯s pleas fell upon the uncaring universe.


    Her heart constricted tighter with every beat. ¡°Demarcus, don¡¯t make me do this¡­ please¡­¡± her soul cried out to his, but there was no response, and with his silence came a strange calm. ¡°Why couldn¡¯t you have just stayed dead?¡± she asked the void.


    And with that, Hyperfania¡¯s heart shattered.


    ¡°DAMN IT! DAMN IT! DAMN IT! DAAAAAAAAAMN IIIIIIIITTT!¡±


    The empty husk flinched in response to her outburst and a low, growling hiss escaped it as it coiled its neck further back. She didn¡¯t care how much she frightened the machine. She would have it bear witness to what its existence wrought before ending it.


    Her sorrow was a pain unlike any she¡¯d felt before. Not the maddening burn of fire. Not the sudden sting of bullets piercing hide. Such trifles as physical deaths were far too quaint to be compared to the eternal scar now forming at the very center of her Core.


    This was an infinite pressure.


    Omnipresent, constant, crushing her in all directions as the limitlessness of its cruelty pushed her further into despair.


    And yet, despite that hell of loneliness, there was glee to be found in it as well.


    Now, she had no reason to hold back.


    She would kill this broken husk¡ªelectrify it, stab it, claw it, tear and rip its profane flesh until she was bathed in gore and guts. Until she made it break under the suffering it had brought unto her.


    The Colonel¡¯s commands pushed through her Core¡¯s code, dictating against her will.


    But it was a moot order.


    ¡°Orders; nullified.¡±


    How could she kill something that wasn¡¯t even alive?


    A push came from beyond the static of the husk¡¯s Core, responding to her murderous intentions. Swelling like a hurricane, it crashed into her in its attempt to eject Hyperfania¡¯s consciousness back into her own body. The response of a vacuous system desperate to sustain its perpetuity.


    Like a viper the husk struck out, lunging towards Hyperfania¡¯s exposed neck, fanged jaws grazing the soft scales of her underside.


    But it wouldn¡¯t reach her.


    With the push of her great wings Hyperfania launched her one tonne mass into the air, only to then tuck her wings back in and allow her body to be pulled to earth like a stone. Using the wrist of her left wing as a battering ram, she aimed for the husk¡¯s right shoulder.


    Underlying bones shifted as ligaments tore. The husk wailed in pain, its strained clicks and hisses bouncing off the surrounding walls and cliffs as it crumpled to the side of its dislocated arm.


    Open jaws snapped back as Hyperfania maneuvered out of the way only to grab the husk by the back of its skull, the hook of her beak digging deep into thick muscle as its fresh blood flooded her gums. Twisting her body, she mounted it, placing her talons into its exposed flank, pinning it under her weight. It kicked and struggled and tore at the membrane of her wings, but it was too late. Then, forearms on either side, she firmly planted herself to the ground with the husk¡¯s still screaming head caught within her beak.


    She would break it.


    Hyperfania pushed with her wings, forcing her upper body higher and higher. She gripped with her talons, keeping them steadfast in their hold as she rotated more and more upright. She pulled on the body of the husk, bending it like a board caught between two clamps as she stretched it to the absolute limits of its form. And then, with a violent thrash of her neck, she twisted.


    Between her teeth, a pop was felt, and the husk instantly fell silent. As Hyperfania twisted further, the head began to give way as gravity won over the lifeless body. All at once, muscle, bone, and blood separated from one another and a jolt of force overcame Hyperfania, staggering her backwards off the husk¡¯s corpse.


    The Frumsvalinn rushed in, flamethrowers pointed at the bioweapon¡¯s headless body and setting it aflame as soon as they were in range. Streams of cleansing fire lit the night, and Hyperfania took a moment to watch as the remnants burned to a crisp in the crackling flames. She dropped the husk¡¯s decapitated head and let it fall to the ground with a squelching thud, suddenly feeling too weak for bloodlust.


    She moved aside as another group of Frumsvalinn aimed for the disembodied head, Thrigur Neutro Gartenberg and his two shield bearers waiting eagerly to secure the Core hidden inside before it had the chance to reweaponize.


    She would play along until the rest of the current body was destroyed, and when nothing was left and the Core was contained inside the BOCS¡ªand only then¡ªwould she destroy it as well, faulty orders be damned.


    ¡°Goodbye, Demarcus,¡± she spoke out one last time to the emptiness inside the broken Core.


    But to Hyperfania¡¯s horror, the hurricane of static from the mindless system struck out, invading her mind with a sudden fury. Even without its body, it seemed the husk had no intention of giving up the fight.


    A new sensation took hold.


    She went numb, as if having been cut off from all tactile sensation simultaneously. Next went her senses of motion and balance in quick succession. The world tilted and bounced as Hyperfania hit the ground hard, collapsing under her own weight.


    She couldn¡¯t move.


    She couldn¡¯t breathe.


    The air scalded as she watched the dark amorphous mass of bios aevum gather around the husk¡¯s still yet to be contained Core. Sight went next, leaving the screaming of men the last thing bioweapon Hyperfania remembered before she slipped again into death¡¯s embrace.

 VETALA (Part 1)

    PROLOGUE - SUYIN


    [Komuna]


    Vetala


    4-4-107 P.I. 4:33 PM


    Even with her hands cupped over her ears, the screeching alarm pierced Suyin to the bone. The bang of gunshots and the wails of the dying from outside the main office only compounded her torment. She flinched as another bullet fired, shutting her eyes to the carnage, praying the robbers did not find her unprotected corner.


    The little voice in the back of her head warned otherwise.


    You are going to die.


    Across the lavish space of the office, with its tall windows and many cluttered bookshelves, Suyin could hear the Bankmaster franticly deriding his last remaining bodyguard as they reloaded their exhausted magazines.


    ¡°Faster!¡± he spat as his would-be protector dropped the box of reserve ammunition with a thud.


    Spilling across the oak desk before being frantically inserted into mags, fresh bullets clinked then clicked.


    But the pair of fools would die alongside Suyin¡ªwhatever their names were.


    She had never bothered remembering her clients¡¯ names. But she did their faces and had learned to read them quickly in her early days of service. It was a skill born of necessity, as a well-timed compliment or gesture often meant the difference between an extra handful of kuoho and being found dead the next morning.


    You are going to die, reminded the little voice.


    Another succession of gunshots and the men rushed to the door, their heavy stomping informing Suyin of their position. Then came the creak of a chair, as the impromptu barricade was removed from underneath the door handle.


    Suyin¡¯s eyes shot open in horror as the men prepared to storm the hallways. They were going to get themselves killed! They were going to get her killed!


    The balding Bankmaster was a spindly middle-aged fellow wrapped in a gray three-piece suit. Oily hands, the same that had been creeping over Suyin''s body not half an hour prior, now trembled in terror. In his offhand he held a mirror polished revolver. It was obvious he¡¯d never been in a fight¡ªnot a real one. He was the talkative type. The type who floated through the Lawless from one town to the next, always scheming without ever a proper scar to show for it. A netushita coward.


    His bodyguard, on the other hand, was muscled and properly weathered, a few notable scars decorating his physique in a pleasing way. Not so many to be deforming, but not so few to be repulsive, as was the case with his master. A line down the cheek. An indent on the left forearm. A bullet wound on his inner thigh. The bodyguard was the spitting image of a proper Lawless man through and through. Unfortunately, he was also as thick as Bactrian dung¡ªand just as putrid. Every time Suyin had flirted with the man, given him any semblance of charm or wit, he had looked back at her with the vacancy of a lost child. He¡¯d even gone as far as asking her to repeat herself on more than one occasion. Now that same dull oaf stood blankly at the door, mindlessly taking orders from a scarless man who knew nothing of what he spoke.


    You are going to die.


    Her legs went weak, her pulse pounding in every corner of her body, but damn the voice. She wanted to live! She needed to!


    Slim lavender dress hanging off one shoulder and satin slippers abandoned who knew where, Suyin crawled to the only space within the open office she could hide: to the same large oak desk sitting in its center. Bare legs chafed against the coarse fur rug as she scrambled over, all manner of curses swirling in her head for the heavens and Madam Burcu.


    Had the Madam planned this as well?


    You are going to die.


    BANG BANG


    Deafening gunshots rattled Suyin¡¯s ears as she managed to reach the corner of the desk before the office door was kicked open. The Bankmaster and his bodyguard¡ªwho were on the verge of rushing the halls¡ªtoppled as the door slammed into them.


    They didn¡¯t even have a chance to utter a final word.


    The Bankmaster¡¯s brain blew out the back of his head, as did his bodyguard¡¯s midsection. Blood splattered the walls and floor as the shock waves of yet even more gunshots were felt from beyond the room.


    New, soul chilling footsteps soon followed. Tucking herself underneath the desk, and too shocked to scream, Suyin pulled her legs close as she curled up as far back as she could possibly go. She wished she were a braver woman, wished she had the courage to face her death with the dignity of a true Lawless, but something far more basal, ancient¡­ shameful¡­ compelled her to live.


    You are going to die.


    The robber¡¯s boots thumped against the rug, slow and methodical, each foreboding step cautious yet smoothly leading to the next.


    Thump


    Thump


    Thump


    They were walking straight toward her.


    Suyin pulled her legs closer still as the robber rounded the desk, weathered jeans with cuffs stuffed into thick mud-encrusted boots stepping into view. Heart in throat, she watched helplessly from the shadows as he lowered himself down to her level.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    A haunting form-fitting mask covered his entire face. Its oculars were made of large, tinted pieces of glass, diagonally separated from each other down the middle¡ªone side black, one white. Pill shaped filters on each cheek hissed with steady breaths that were exhaled through a larger third, situated in the mask¡¯s center.


    Suyin instinctively kicked at her attacker, pushing further against the backside of the desk. Too frightened to speak, her screams were left to echo in perpetuity inside her mind. Like a mouse caught in its den, her whole body broke into trembles, awaiting its end, every second an agonizing eternity. Stories returned to her from her childhood, warnings of the wanderers wearing strange masks, born in blood. Ones that sought the accursed things for the sake of glory, only to eventually be driven mad by them. For whoever crouched before her with their revolver in hand wasn¡¯t just a mere robber.


    He was vetala.


    Shaking his head, he stood to look at something else before crouching back down. Once¡­ then twice, his hidden gaze flipped between Suyin and whatever remained beyond the desk. His plain clothes hung loosely over his masculine form, the only flash of saturated color on him a pink beanie tucked into the top rim of his mask. The woolen fabric ruffled as the vetala scratched his head, cocking it as he holstered his revolver, focus now fully returned to the woman under the desk. Then, with both hands on either side, the mask was lifted.


    The man crouching before Suyin was young, with features somewhat resembling those of her own and the peoples of the far east. Then again, maybe not. A widow¡¯s peak of silver-white hair jutted out from beneath the beanie, his eyes abyssal orbs, so dark and big their pupils became indistinguishable within the shadows. If not for the glint of light and reflection from the windows to his side, one might have thought he had no eyes at all. Stranger still, the presumed gunman¡¯s skin was pristine¡ªeven more so than the Bankmaster¡¯s¡ªand while dirtied with dust and grime, showed no sign of scarring, injury, or strife. None. Like a porcelain doll, unnatural, fake.


    He was utterly repulsive.


    But it was more than his appearance. Something about the man with his perplexed expression seemed off, overwhelming even, as if the very human Suyin saw before her was but an illusion waiting to be dropped. The same basal urge joined in with the foreboding alarms, mind and instinct insisting that whatever stood before her was more beast than man¡­ and she, his prey.


    ¡°Of course...¡± the netushita vetala sighed with a soft smile, his Komuna perfect without a trace of an accent. ¡°Not like Father Fate to go easy on me... then again, I doubt your day is going much better, eh?¡±


    Suyin sat there frozen, only finding herself able to further cover the parts left exposed by her revealing dress. Why hadn¡¯t he killed her? A shiver ran up her spine at the implication, her gaze unable to detach from his.


    The vetala sighed again, raising his hand only to retract it slightly as Suyin flinched away. ¡°You¡¯re going to need to move aside.¡±


    Easier said than done, and her inaction only further spurred his frustration.


    ¡°I¡­¡± He cautiously paused, his gaze darting to his removed mask in hand. ¡°You can call me West. What is your name?¡± he asked, rolling an open hand in her direction.


    He was a strange vetala.


    Whether out of a need for self-preservation, or compulsion from the way he spoke, she didn¡¯t know; nevertheless, Suyin found herself compelled to answer. ¡°Suyin,¡± she hastily replied as she readjusted the skimpy fabric barely managing to cover her breasts.


    West gave an acknowledging nod, his focus never settling on anything below her face. ¡°Okay, Suyin, I¡­ uh¡­ you weren¡¯t supposed to be here. If you stay hidden like this, my partner, East, will find you and she will kill you, just like the two guys at the door. So, you can stay here¡­ or you can come with me.¡± When Suyin just continued staring, the vetala¡¯s offering hand fell limp to his side. ¡°Please don¡¯t make me,¡± he said with a pained look¡ªalmost as if he cared.


    A very strange vetala indeed!


    Heart still racing, Suyin grasped at the smallest thread of survival and obeyed with a nod. As she rose from her spot and back into the office¡ªnow stained with bodies and blood. West had donned his mask again and was now fumbling through the desk¡¯s bottom drawer. A sudden bump came from inside, and West¡¯s mask hissed as a quick, deep inhale of air was taken in through the filters. Turning just in time, Suyin caught a glimpse of the vetala shaking his bare hand.


    A noticeable burn, flaky and black, was now present on both palm and backhand. The vetala gave it a flip, shaking his electrocuted appendage as if nothing more than a nuisance. Then, the injured hand vanished back inside the drawer.


    Silence followed. True silence. The type only recognized after the cacophony of the world was forced to still.


    The alarms, after having blared on repeat for so long, had gone quiet.


    It was suffocating. Her every move now betrayed her, the sniffles of her muted panic, her shaking knees, the pit-a-pat of her feet against the stone floor struggling to find confident footing.


    West squared up to Suyin¡¯s side, the black eyepieces of his mask holding dark reflections of herself and the room. Injured hand gripping his revolver, he ignored her panicked flinch as he shifted his mask and allowed his voice to be heard.


    He jerked his head in the direction of the open doorway. ¡°Play along,¡± he said without a modicum of sympathy, revolver pushing deeper into Suyin¡¯s side.


    So, she did. What other choice was there?


    Suyin held in a scream as the vetala took her by the shoulder, gun still firmly planted as he guided her out the room.


    Perhaps it was the chill in his words that kept her from struggling, or the steady hiss that came from the filters of his frightening mask, or perhaps the simple fact his rangy form surpassed her own by a full head. Through just the contact with his fingers, she could feel his lean muscles on the verge of crushing her in their trembling grip.


    She knew the touch of a murderer; she¡¯d bedded more than a few. Perhaps they numbered even more than those who weren¡¯t. No matter their face or kindness, no matter the fa?ade, few men or women could hide such darkness in the secluded privacy of a brothel. But Suyin wasn¡¯t within the confines of such a place, nor under the protection of her Madam¡¯s watchful eye. She was alone, her clients dead, her life held in the arms of a vetalan man who showed no desire of hiding his bloodlust.


    And yet, he had spared her.


    Suyin whimpered as his nails dug into her shoulder, forcing her to stop halfway through the doorway. The blood pooling around her bare feet was still warm, the scent of coagulating ichor laying heavy in the air. Gaze glued to the tiled floor and acutely aware of the revolver pressing against her back, she was too frightened to do anything that might add her body to the surrounding corpses. Still, when the wheezing cough came from right outside her field of vision, morbid curiosity drew her to its source despite her better judgment.


    The Bankmaster¡¯s bodyguard lay propped up beside the doorway, his hands slathered in the dark blood that oozed from his side and stained his clothes. The wrinkled skin of his pained face was no longer vibrant, eyelids drooping in tandem with each exerted breath. He didn¡¯t look to Suyin, his attention transfixed on the vetala standing above him. His grizzled square jaw moved up and down, as if he spoke an inaudible language known only to him.


    When in the presence of the undead themselves, even men of stature succumbed to their mercy. So what hope did Suyin have?


    A moment later, the vetala named West pushed Suyin through the office doorway, closing it behind them and leaving the bodyguard to slowly bleed out from his wound.


    Unfortunately, the gruesome scene only worsened as they stepped into the bank¡¯s halls.


    West¡¯s grasping hand held her steady as Suyin¡¯s knees faltered dangerously to folding in. The horrifying world of the halls spun as a burning sensation rose to the back of her throat and the remnants of her last meal splattered her blood-soaked feet. Death was a part of the Lawless. Sooner or later, you were bound to come across a body, maybe even see one drop. But this? She heaved again, the sour taste of vomit so strong she could smell it in her mouth as her guts emptied themselves once more.


    Bodies. Over a dozen of them.


    ____________________________________


    Komuna: The native and proper name for the common language of Lawless Asia.


    Kuoho: A once prevalent self-imposed currency of the interconnected Lawless Zones of Asia. Based on the value of an unuopa, a small battery and the most common form of energy found in the Lawless, the currency itself was simple plastic casings of ordinary pens. Each casing, or marko, was valued at half a kuoho. A unuopa was worth 15 kuoho (thirty marko), while a marko itself usually was only enough for a liter of water.


    Netushita: Komuna slur meaning ¡°untouched¡±, used to demean someone who is lacking substantial scaring, and by extension, proof that they are true Lawless.


    Vetala: Mercenaries originating from the Taklamakan Lawless and its sister regions. Signified by their high-quality masks, a great deal of superstition surrounded these outlaws, particularly that their masks themselves were cursed. Historian Marcus McNamara once noted the similarities between the vetala and another subculture of mercenaries for West Asia roughly translated from Komuna as ¡°The Living Undead¡±, hypothesizing a shared origin of influence between them.

 VETALA (Part 2)

    PROLOGUE - SUYIN


    [Komuna]


    Vetala (cont.)


    4-4-107 P.I. 4:33 PM


    The speckled plains of the bank hall¡¯s granite tiles had been transformed into a crimson swamp, the taste of iron and viscera wafting thick above the chunky streams of blood yet to reach and defile the remaining islands of untouched floor. Piercing uniform and flesh, small black holes, some still dripping steady with blood, littered the corpses. There seemed to be no more than two or three per body, although in their slumped heaps, it was impossible to tell for sure. Where bullets had struck bone, flecks of stained white scattered beyond the exit wounds. One guard in particular had a deep cavernous space where the back of his head had been blown out. Spongy gray matter and shards of skull were smeared across the forever shocked face of a second guard, he himself the victim of a bloody hole boring through his jugular.


    From next to her, there was the distinct cracking of joints, and Suyin looked to see West flexing his neck one way, then the other.


    BANG


    Suyin screamed as she flinched away from the gunshot¡¯s direction, colliding into the wall as the boom of the weapon was no longer obstructed by the office door. The hand on her shoulder squeezed tight, but West kept his focus on the bodies before them, his shoulders hunched, the tremble of his hand now a painful, nail-digging twitch. Coinciding with the heavy rise and fall of his chest, his black and white mask now emanated a constant, hair-raising hiss.


    Suyin stole a worried glance of the vetala holding her hostage. Had the madness of his cursed mask already taken him?


    Then, to her horror, down the hallway leading further into the bank and towards the source of the gunshot, a second vetala approached.


    She was smaller, feminine in her proportions, her mask a bright ivy green and displaying the painted face of a horned demon. Two small duffle bags hung from her shoulders, the contents clattering inside as she hurried towards them with a brisk step. In her right hand¡ªalong with the strap of the bag she was carrying on that side¡ªshe held a pistol, with another holstered to her opposite hip. From head to toe, she was stained with the blood of the very bodies she skipped over.


    The vetala-demon craned her neck as she approached, her unyielding fanged smile leaning in as she reached her compatriot. She was shorter than West, by about half a head, her dark hair visible beyond her mask tied up into a messy bun, its surface slick with grease and blood. With her arm angled awkwardly because of the bag, she pointed at Suyin with her pistol, the muzzle callously bouncing in the air as she threw her weight to one hip.


    The ragged polyester of West¡¯s shirt quickly blocked Suyin¡¯s view, sandwiching her between the wall and his broad back. From under his arm, Suyin saw the demon¡¯s head cock in response.


    West abandoned his revolver in its holster as he pointed back to the door leading from the bank manager¡¯s office.


    Suyin¡¯s gaze darted to his unsupervised weapon well within her reach.


    Could I? the little voice wondered.


    Suyin''s heart jumped and she quietly thanked her ancestors for her temperance as the bloodied, green mask of the vetala-demon peered around West¡¯s shoulder. Expression frozen, the female vetala stared Suyin down, her free hand twitching in the direction of her second pistol.


    But it seemed that whatever West had told his counterpart had sufficed, and yet again, Suyin¡¯s life would be spared¡­ for now.


    The demon-vetala shrugged, letting the strap of the bag on her right shoulder slip free before recatching it in her pistoled hand. The light, hollow rattle inside the bag made its contents abundantly clear.


    Marko¡ªthousands upon thousands of kuoho¡¯s worth of marko. Easily enough to sustain a small group for over a month or buy whatever scraps the Lawless had to offer. The contents became even more apparent when the bag was tossed Suyin¡¯s way. The many small, cylindrical pieces shifted with her touch beneath duffle bag¡¯s fabric.


    The demon-vetala didn¡¯t give a second glance as she shoved her other bag into West¡¯s arms before continuing through the massacred hallway and back towards the main entrance, head shaking as it hung from her shoulders.


    The bag was troublesome to hold. The nature of the smooth round currency inside made it akin to a half empty sack of flour. The marko rolled around under her grasp as they did their best to free themselves as she fumbled.


    Sweat dripping in her eye, Suyin¡¯s attention flickered to West, then to his forgotten revolver hanging in its holster.


    His bag was bulkier, its mysterious contents heavy and metallic in their rattle as if stuffed to the brim with loose gravel and lead pipe. Whether the bag was substantially heavier or not was impossible to tell as the vetala hoisted it over his shoulder as easily as one would an unneeded coat on a spring afternoon. Then, his hand returned to his firearm, letting it loosely rest on the exposed grip. His trembling had ceased for the time being, and he now stood tall with his shoulders rolled back. His mask¡¯s corrupting madness seemed to have passed.


    But for how long?


    A sudden force took hold of Suyin¡¯s ankle. Screaming, she tried to pull away from its grip, the sensation of fingers brushing her skin unmistakable as her fright bounced off the surrounding walls. A chilling gurgle travelled up from her feet, the pain of strained speech accompanying its persistent vice-like hold. Reaching for whatever was nearest, Suyin pulled with all her might as if trying to free herself from quicksand.


    BANG


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    The force relaxed, but the phantom touch remained.


    Without wasting a moment, West continued guiding her down the blood-soaked hallway as his waiting partner re-holstered her smoking gun. As they rounded the corner, Suyin caught a glimpse of a dead security guard where she¡¯d been standing, his slumped outstretched hand left limp within the swamp of blood.


    The main hall was a vast two-story room, its glass windows tall rectangular portals to the outside world lining either side of a revolving door. Marble lined the lower walls and pillars, with polished walnut boarding supplementing the gaps where sections of the ornate stone had been lost. The rest of the space was of similar patchwork design. Walls of concrete mended with stone. Rows of steel customer desks integrated with simple wooden legs, counters, and shelves. A quilt of old and new, the space was certainly of Lawless make, but one clothed in the highest level of prestige.


    In the center of the bank¡¯s hall stood a single man¡ªanother vetala.


    He was shorter than West, but not by much, and despite his equally disheveled clothing he appeared to be well kept. Or at least better so by comparison. Shirt tucked within his trousers, brown shoes spared from mud and blood, his hair was of the same color as that of the demon-vetala¡¯s, if only slightly curlier. Short in length, although greasy, it lay combed and pulled back, allowing for his owl-like mask to be seen without obstruction.


    Those who had been smart enough to follow the vetala¡¯s demands now laid belly flat against the floor, hands held behind their backs. Intermixed between the hostages, the bodies of the remaining guards, or those foolish enough to resist, lay wide-eyed and colorless amongst the whimpering living.


    As soon as the owl-man looked their way, he began angrily waving his arm in Suyin¡¯s direction. The demon-vetala gestured in turn, pointing back over her shoulder with her thumb to West, all the while sidestepping to allow those carrying bags to pass through the hostage-packed hall.


    West¡¯s hand remained fixed on Suyin¡¯s shoulder as they made their way over the field of frightened stares. Once standing before the shorter owl-man, a swift but light backhand tapped the forehead of West¡¯s mask.


    The owl-man¡¯s head tilted as his subordinate nodded in agreement.


    For a while longer, none of them moved as the owl-man began to pace. He looked out the front windows of the bank to the people cowering beneath him. He looked down the hallway and to its bloody corpses. He looked to the demon-vetala, who he also lightly hit on the back of her head as he passed by. Then, finally, his attention returned to West and Suyin as his brief jaunt around the room brought him back to where he¡¯d started.


    Once before them, he stood motionless as he looked down at her, only checking his watch twice with the slightest of movements to his head and wrist.


    Then, a prolonged hiss escaped his mask as his shoulders rose then fell. Lifting a hand to his face, he gripped and removed the beak-like lower portion that popped off with the sound of escaping air. The beard of a dark-skinned man, the same color of his hair, greeted Suyin with a smile, white teeth crooked yet oddly clean¡ªat least by Lawless standards.


    Then, a performative authoritative voice spoke.


    ¡°Greetings, dear beviri,¡± the owl-man bowed, both hands placed over the center of his chest. ¡°My name is North, and I happen to be the one in charge of this little operation. It is unfortunate we meet this way as I had not been informed that someone such as yourself would be working here today. As things stand, however, I am afraid my fravivi and I simply cannot allow someone as valuable as yourself to be left here with the other hostages. Wouldn¡¯t do for good business, you see. So, for the time being, I shall be promoting you to honorary member of our little group here.¡±


    The owl-man tilted his head, first to West, then to the demon-vetala, as his shoulders rose and fell once more with a sigh.


    ¡°You¡¯ve already become acquainted with West and East. They, as now will you, Miss Suyin, go by my rule. I tell you to walk, you walk. I tell you to shit, you squat, there and then. I don¡¯t care who you are, what you want, or what you believe in. Your life is mine now and making sure I still have use for it by the end of this mess shall now be your only concern. Understand? Do that, and maybe¡ª¡±


    KABOOM


    Mists of red shot from North¡¯s shoulder as the ear ringing boom erupted throughout the hall and buck shot sprayed the wall beside him. Immediately, the vetala crumpled to the floor, grasping his arm with West rushing after him. At the same time, the hostages broke out into screams amidst the chaos, Suyin among them, as she had felt the splatter of North¡¯s warm blood on her face.


    BANG BANG BANG


    In quick succession after the first, three more gunshots rang out. They were closer and of smaller caliber, but equally terrifying.


    In an instant, the perpetrator laying against the conjoined counters¡ªshotgun still in hand¡ªcollapsed to the floor. His brain scattered behind him, squirts of blood spurting out from his jugular with the last agonal pulse.


    It was the bodyguard.


    Bloody footprints trailed away from where he had stood, back into the hallways and leading to the dead Bankmaster¡¯s office. The side of his shirt was soaked in his own innards, what was left of his squat face now a limp mess.


    West attended to North, his hands nimble as he stripped the downed man¡¯s coat. Using wads of loose cloth pulled from his pockets, he hastily bandaged the wounded arm. The demon-vetala walked over to the fallen bodyguard¡¯s corpse, both pistols now drawn as she erratically pointed them toward the hostages who had dared to move.


    To Suyin¡¯s surprise, the sight of the oaf of a bodyguard had given her hope. Not an hour prior, she had loathed his company. Now, her eyes darted from his remains to the chaos of the stirring hostages, then to the vetala, bags forsaken on the floor, their attentions divided and elsewhere.


    There had to be something she could do!


    West¡¯s revolver poked from its holster, its handle stretching out in Suyin¡¯s direction, unguarded and free for the taking. He may have been a strange vetala, but he was a vetala nonetheless, and he would suffer the same fate as all those who had worn his mask before him.


    And Suyin was Lawless.


    She¡¯d taken a life before.


    She could do it again.


    Suyin dove for the revolver. What difference did it make if she were to be shot now or later? What honor was there in dying like a dog that had lost its bite? She was Hu Suyin! She was Lawless! And if destined to do so, she¡¯d die like one.


    The gun¡¯s handle met her fingertips.


    Suyin ripped the revolver from its holster as its rough surface met the smoothness of her palm.


    There wasn¡¯t time to think.


    She aimed for the nearest vetala.


    She aimed for West.


    Click


    The revolver was empty.


    You are going to die.


    ____________________________________


    Marko: The smallest denomination of the kuoho currency, equating to half a kuoho in value.


    Beviri: Komuna for a beautiful woman.


    Fravivi: Common slag, deriving from the combination of words for brother and survive. The term was used to show recognition of the strife all Lawless inhabitants endured as well as that which united them through their shared perseverance.