Among the sanatorium’s visitors trapped after the Extinction was an eccentric businessman. He arrived for his vacation in a ground-based armored vehicle instead of a usual small aircraft. The unknown gentleman’s paranoia reached unprecedented heights. The depths of his vehicle contained the finest complexes money could buy. From skin and gender changes to limb regeneration and the creation of communications jammers, anything could happen here.

  The businessman’s stinginess proved his undoing. He sent the armored vehicle’s personnel to wait at a cheaper hotel outside the sanatorium, where they were crushed by a crashed spaceship. Without them, the visitors were unable to activate the priceless machine.

  But with the assistance of specialists from the Barjoni, Paikan succeeded. Five hundred thousand tons of untarnished metal saw sunlight for the first time in decades. The wheels were securely protected by overhanging armor. Launchers, artillery, and emitters bristled along the entire length of the hull. The dark paint job hadn’t lost its richness even after three hundred years.

  Four silver exhaust pipes, longer than entire city blocks, ran along the sides of the moving rectangle, curving upward over the rear of the vehicle. No smoke trailed from the decorative baubles. The actual engine exhausts, located at the rear of the vehicle, also didn’t pollute the atmosphere with their emissions.

  From the front of the vehicle, similarly styled spires rose, branching outward from the secondary control tower. The top of the tower was adorned with a grinning skull, glittering with red lighting flickering within its eye sockets.

  Altogether, it created the appearance of a ridiculous motorcycle ridden by a skeletal rider.

  Draz shook off drops of water, stepped out of the shower stall, and donned full white armor. He put on a black helmet, relieved to hear the servomotors moving. The governor didn’t accept help to don his gear, regaining his concentration in silence. His wounds had healed, no longer weakening his body. He checked the ease of his mechanical fingers, the cannons’ loading speed, the reliability of the ammunition feed and stepped out into the corridor, suppressing his resentment for the fear.

  He left the cabin, walking down the corridor, blazing with hatred for Paikan for the humiliation. He hated Ruda for the wounds she’d inflicted. But resentment was a childish feeling, stemming from a circumstance where things weren’t proceeding as expected. His desire to degenerate into the state of a five-year-old, complete with tantrums, whining, and passive aggression, signaled the need to work on himself.

  A visit to Feda was required. Ruda will die quickly; no more foolish games. And Paikan...

  “He disgraced you,” said a voice to his left.

  Draz’s fist slammed into the partition, passing through a glowing head. He reacted instantly, jumping back and opening the lower portion of his helmet. The attack hadn’t been irrational. His knuckles didn’t ring as they struck the metal, and he no longer heard the quiet hum of the machine’s engine. The colors faded, losing their vibrancy, and a shimmering human figure stepped from the wall toward him, completely unconcerned by his attack.

  The stranger moved easily, striding through the thug base without the slightest hesitation. The light obscured the outline of the strange stranger, who radiated a feeling of genuine complacency.

  “There’s no need to rush. We’re outside of time for now,” the stranger said. “Just yesterday, you were the leader of an army, my son. Your destiny was yours. Today, a degenerate, elevated by chance above you, stole your confidence, shook the loyalty of your minions, and maimed your comrade. Does this anger you, Draz?”

  “You have an advantage over me.” Draz straightened. The Barjonis’ agents had taken many wondrous trinkets from this zone as payment. That’s why he’d chosen this quiet spot for his cabin. But even so, patrols were obliged to pass through here. He heard no footsteps, and the camera at the end of the corridor froze mid-turn. “What do you want?”

  “Simply to fulfill your deepest desire.” A smile appeared on the white oval of the face. “Swear me your allegiance, and I will grant you the power to realize your ambitions. Do you desire conquest? With me, you will create an eternal kingdom, destroying the unworthy. Are you drawn to ruling? With me, no one will challenge your authority.”

  “Except you.” Draz took a cautious step back, feeling the pressure of someone else’s consciousness on the edges of his thoughts. “Pardon me, but I’ll manage on my own. Why trade one master for another?”

  “What awaits you with your current owner besides humiliation? What gifts will he reward your efforts with, beyond your worries?” the stranger asked affably. “Don’t refuse me outright. When you find yourself in the depths of despair, call upon God. After all, saving lost souls is my responsibility.”

  “Which god exactly?” clarified Draz.

  “There is only one deity. There are no beings worthy of worship except me,” the strange stranger replied.

  The body before Draz thinned, disappearing from sight and disintegrating into white flakes. Soon he stood alone in the corridor, daring to step forward only after hearing the engine revving and noticing the camera’s movement. His first thought was to immediately inform Paikan of the strange encounter. His curiosity stopped him. The fact that the stranger had come to him instead of his boss flattered Draz’s ego, and it would be unwise to cut off potential allies without weighing all options.

  He arrived at the bridge in the center of the Dauntless as it approached Rabor’s northern gate. Shabun stood before a comfortable leather armchair, his hands folded on the hilt of his scimitar, and scanned the images on the holograms that formed a viewscreen for the captain. Operator cavities surrounded a command dais in the center of the room, completely sealed from any danger from the outside world.

  The screen showed Souzan jumping from the transport upon entering Rabor. She pushed through the stunned crowd, heading for Draz’s palace to rally the soldiers. In response to his silent question, Shabun nodded toward the image depicting the spire of the Undaunted.

  Bareheaded, framed by the smooth curves of his unusually thin armor, Paikan stood atop the skull, greeting the citizens of Rabor. A dark cloak fluttered behind him. At his command, the people retreated to the boulevards, and the transport emitters lashed out with orange beams, vaporizing the buildings collecting tribute from the gifts destined for the Lord of Volnitsa, along with the desperately fleeing extortionists. A wall of heat swept across the road without touching a single frightened merchant.

  “That wasn’t necessary,” Draz grumbled.

  “Sometimes rust accumulates on iron. It needs to be cleaned off,” Shabun replied, without turning his head. “Also, the gunners will benefit from real-world experience after so many years of honing their skills on simulators. Post seven. You’ve melted a rock. Report to the instructor about the need for additional training after your shift ends.”

  “Yes, sir!” the operator saluted.

  “My dear subjects! How glad I am to see you!” Paikan cried out as their procession stopped in the city center. “Don’t let yesterday’s upheaval darken your day. Upon learning of the brazen attack on you, I personally decided to apprehend the perpetrators.”

  More citizens appeared on the sidewalks, emerging from their homes and factories. Parents hoisted their children onto their shoulders, showing them the legendary figure addressing them from an incredible height. The soldiers stood at attention along the construction site, their hands over their hearts. Several geezers even unfurled banners bearing the overlord’s mark, to the delight of those gathered.

  Boarding ramps opened on the sides of the mobile fortress. Guards came out carrying supplies and medicine. They handed these gifts to the administrators amidst the grateful cries of the townspeople.

  “I cannot resurrect the dead, but I can ease your burdens.” Paikan didn’t use the loudspeaker, but his voice, filled with sympathy, carried to the crowd. “For too long I have unfairly burdened the governor with impossible tasks. The venerable Draz has done an excellent job, the best possible one. Protecting the outer territory, providing for the city, maintaining order in the streets... Who, tell me, could handle all this alone? The rebels’ brief success is hardly surprising. It will not happen again. We will form a new force responsible for the security of your glorious city! Allow me to introduce you to the head of the city guard!”

  The leader of the clerks, who had eluded Draz’s forces during the siege of the administrative complex, stepped out from the crowd. The man picked up the hem of his robe and bowed deeply to his master. Beside him stood the defiant soldier who had declined the governor’s offer of service. Stitches and evidence of treated bruises littered his face, failing to banish the fire from his bold eyes.

  In front of everyone, a guard approached him, presenting the young man with an honorary orange ribbon, as Paikan clapped and chanted the soldier’s name. Soon the entire crowd took up the cry, and the other freed mercenaries dropped to one knee, pledging their allegiance to the youth.

  Draz felt sympathy for the upstart. The young man sincerely hated him. He could cooperate with this. The prison guards had already defected. The governor folded his hands behind his back, wondering how deeply Shabun’s agents had infiltrated his entourage.

  “Naturally, our brave defenders will need a headquarters,” Paikan pointed at the palace. “The governor will have to give up his fortress, but don’t worry. He’ll soon get a better toy. Swift will be in charge of guarding the gates. This will allow Governor Draz to focus his attention on the prosperity of Rabor... Oh, I almost forgot! Elder, please!”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Draz watched, slightly stunned, as all his plans collapsed. The elder representing the serfs knelt before the ruler’s shadow and immediately rose, encouraged by a welcoming laugh.

  “Now, now, no need for such nonsense. Today is a Day of Unity.” Paikan wagged his finger playfully. “After reviewing the reports, I realized how costly it is to maintain so many serfs. Half is enough to meet our food needs.” The elder turned pale, clutching his heart with his gnarled hands. His chapped lips parted in pleading. “My friend, how can you entertain such terrible thoughts! Take a breath, gather your strength. The serfs are in no danger because we no longer have serfs!” Paikan raised his arms. “No one else will be executed for attempting to escape. I grant you your freedom, and I hope you will eagerly join the thinned ranks of the city guards. The clerks will take care of the paperwork.”

  “I... thank your generosity, Master.” Tears of gratitude streamed down the elder’s cheeks.

  Minus another. Draz noted, hearing the explosive cries praising the wisdom of this bastard who had stolen his and Souzan’s idea and won the allegiance of the liberated.

  Paikan perked up, scanning the crowd with a thoughtful expression. Shabun and Draz immediately noticed this and turned their gaze to the screens, trying to figure out what could have attracted their boss’s attention. The spy zoomed in on a scene about four hundred meters ahead. At the very corner, a skinny boy sat in a wooden carriage, bouncing frantically. Shabun pressed the button of a sound magnifier, and the bridge was filled with a hoarse voice calling Paikan by name.

  With each word, saliva mixed with blood trickled from the child’s discolored lips as he waved his atrophied, too-small limbs, afflicted with xerosis. Another beggar, surviving on the alms Draz had instituted for full-fledged citizens to stave off starvation. Whatever soup the guards had given this cripple, it clearly wasn’t enough.

  The sick child was finished. Another victim of their cruel times. Draz felt no particular regret. Their lot had been given a chance to survive. He wasn’t the first, and he wouldn’t be the last.

  A guard below noticed Paikan’s sign and gave a few coins to the merchant, taking the bottle of soup sloshing inside. He tossed the vessel high into the air, while Paikan crouched, touching his knees with his hands, and leaped, covering the distance to the child in a single bound. He spun mid-flight, braking to avoid overshooting his target, while the crowd gasped in admiration. A black gauntlet caught the soup without breaking the glass.

  The wooden cart, barely moving on its two remaining wheels, didn’t even bounce as the armored body landed before it. The child tried to squeal with delight but only let out a hoarse gurgling noise. Paikan dropped to one knee, stopping him with a finger. The neck of the jar sank between the dry lips. Draz watched in amazement as the ruler leisurely fed the poor kid, a grotesque caricature. The tyrant, responsible for the enslavement of countless thousands of such people, wasted his time on the filthy, painful lump of flesh-covered bones.

  “No rush. I’m not running away.” Paikan’s voice didn’t lose its cheerfulness. “There. Now that’s enough; otherwise, your stomach will hurt. Okay. What’cha want?”

  “Pa said you’re a wizard,” the little boy blurted out. “Your touch brings luck, changing everything! Please, heal my hands. At least my hands. Then I won’t be a useless sack of shit, fit just for beatings, I promise!”

  “Don’t strain your voice; I’m right here.” Paikan bowed his head. “I can change things, but only in one direction. And who called you that?”

  “Pa,” the child choked out, blinking back tears. “I thought... I...”

  “Where’s your Pa now?”

  “At home. He’s been drinking too much.”

  “Is that so? Swift!” The wounded guard hurried toward him, wincing with every step. At the moment when the child’s head bowed in despair, Paikan surreptitiously ran the edge of his hand across his throat. The guard nodded in understanding. “You seemed to let guests out without permission?”

  “To save the soldiers, Lord.” Swift stood at attention. A trickle of red trickled from beneath the bandages on his stomach.

  “Cowardly, but I’m in a fine mood today. Congratulations! You’ve got a son. Crumb, you probably don’t remember, but here’s your real Pa. You were stolen from him. Now he has found you. Techies will replace your limbs, and you’ll be properly fed. If you’re stolen again...” His armored fingers pinched the man’s earlobes. “Someone will lose face. Swift is thrilled about the return of his beloved son, right?”

  “Y... yes, Lord. Hey, hoarse! Let’s get to the surgeons before they close. We’ll give you such manipulators; every girl will stagger.”

  Swift grabbed the cart, storming off toward the best clinic in the city. Paikan headed toward his vehicle, dancing and exchanging jokes with the townspeople, defusing the tension.

  Nothing is over. Draz would start all over again, rebuilding his pyramid of influence, learning from every mistake. He’d been to rock bottom before, clawing his way back up through sheer persistence. Even if it took another hundred years, so what? His body doesn’t age. Paikan lacked ambitions. Soon the fool would retreat to his mountains while he worked to restore his authority, gathering leaders under his banner. He had all the time in the world to improve.

  “Did you understand?” Shabun asked.

  “The way Paikan pulled out my fangs one after another was appreciated,” Draz replied disinterestedly. “First, he proved to the leaders that only he could protect them, then he defeated me personally, proving his own might, and now he’s installing loyal minions, winning the allegiance of all the rabble.”

  “Then you have comprehended nothing,” Shabun declared. “You are valuable to the master. You are his friend. He longs to face you in combat. But that needn’t happen. State your desires honestly. Loyalty is rewarded.”

  “To obtain them from his hands, like a mongrel begging for scraps, wagging its tail falsely?” Draz’s nostrils flared with anger.

  “There is wisdom in knowing one’s own limitations.” Shabun turned around. “Have you ever seen a vulture choke? It rarely happens. The bird descends from the sky onto a corpse, sinking its talons into the rotten flesh. It greedily bites into the carcass, tearing off a huge chunk that becomes a lump in its throat. This could be caused by anything: a bone, the remains of a hunter’s shaft...”

  “Take back your comparison, or I’ll drive your teeth into the back of your skull,” Draz said to his face.

  “You’ll try,” the spy replied serenely.

  “Gulab thought so too. Where did he go?”

  The guards on the bridge tensed, reaching for their weapons. Draz ignored them, watching the spy, who didn’t even attempt to prepare a combat stance. He was weighing the pros and cons of smearing the insolent man evenly across the captain’s dais when the door opened, admitting Paikan.

  “Boys, don’t fight,” the tyrant joked. “It’s time to cage our birdies. Draz, I have a special assignment for you. You’ll go ahead of us on the high-speed buggies to reach the bridge. You’ll have to abandon your APC here, but don’t worry, I will soon have a wonderful gift for you...”

  “Blow up the bridge? Why? They’d be fools to go there. That damn pyramid’s probably already crossing the Mesh,” Draz said, disappointed.

  Two routes led into Itil territory. The first, the longest, ran directly west, between narrow gorges, then along a road north to the valley. The valley floor sloped gently downwards, rising almost at the mouth of the canyon leading to the bastion. This uneven terrain had caused many breakdowns for the gangs during their travels, so Draz ordered a bridge built there according to his design, making it easier for the western raiders to deliver tribute.

  The second, riskier route ran through a region known as the Mesh. It lay precisely in the center of the western mountains, a ruined city remnant of the Old World. All the most valuable stuff had long since been plundered, but no gang had laid claim to the sturdy structures that could withstand the fiercest storms.

  The reason was simple. Radiation permeated the entire area, generated by an underground reactor that prospectors had not yet been able to reach. Every day, the device would spew streams of electricity into the air at irregular intervals, striking the buildings as if endless, heavy thunderclouds hung over this tormented patch of land. Being highly conductive, the buildings became a trap for anyone attempting to hide there.

  From the Mesh, a shorter route to the bridge opened up for desperate souls traveling on foot, or a shorter route to a second, more convenient canyon leading to the western bastion.

  “Don’t forget how tight the western gorges are. After a storm, there is always rubble piled up there.” Paikan sat in a chair, folding his hands on his knee. “The crusaders will try to cross the Mesh. We will dissuade them from doing so using the most drastic method. Your task is to mine the bridge. We will blow it up at the opportune moment. I will lead the troops along the road west to surprise the northern fugitives as soon as they reach our trap.”

  “By your command.” Draz bowed, not intending to stir up discord. There was no room for treachery on a raid. “You spoke of my descendant. Where is he? I would like to meet the boy and thank him for his excellent aim.”

  “You’ll probably meet,” Paikan nodded. “He is already hurrying to the designated point to be ready to support you.”

  ****

  Feda writhed in agony. Suspended in a special harness above the observation slab in the cybernetic lab, he could hear the whir of circular saws cutting through the thickness of the armor plates, and he shuddered from the involuntary activation of his nerves as his wounds were cleaned with pliers and drills.

  There was no pain. He expected constant agony, but the local doctors immediately pumped him full of painkillers before the operation to fuse him with the armor. Feda didn’t object. After the injuries he’d suffered, he’d have to use artificial organs anyway, so let them make him as strong as possible.

  He was consumed by the fever, causing his body to sweat incessantly. Tubes pierced his stomach and arms, supplying him with continuous fluid to prevent dehydration. The generator had been removed from his back and placed inside the severed section of his spinal column. Feda’s mouth twisted continuously during this manipulation.

  The surgeons’ encouragement, assuring him of the operation’s success, was humiliating. They treated him like a child. His neck had swollen so much that he couldn’t speak during Draz’s visit. The governor examined him, squeezing Feda’s wrist. Now he was charging into battle while his faithful lieutenant, who never left his side, was unable to cover his back.

  The saws stopped working. Feda opened his stuck-together eyelids, scanning the motionless surgeons.

  “Why... stopped?” he croaked. A bloody blister formed on his lips.

  Suddenly, he felt a chill, easing the fever and restoring some clarity to his thinking. White fingers appeared above him, reaching out and grasping the ropes connecting the harness to the ceiling. Fingers pulled the unknown figure until a snow-white, moon-faced, featureless face hung above him.

  “My son. Mechanical toys won’t strengthen you.” A mouth opened on the pale surface, releasing melodic words. “I mean you no harm. On the contrary, I know how long you waited for the chance to take revenge on the destroyer of your family. You gave your allegiance to an unworthy coward who abandoned you at the moment of truth. It grieves me to see you like this. Surrender your will to me so that I may remake you into a peerless warrior, capable of exacting revenge on all who wronged you.”

  “The governor... Didn’t... Abandon...” Feda’s spit landed on his face.

  “Then where is he? You lie here, alone, forgotten. Your goal remains as elusive as before, while your so-called leader has raced off to seek his personal glory,” the vision said contemptuously. “You deserve better. If the thirst for vengeance still burns within you, if your hand is ready to cast down the scum that has destroyed the League’s future, then it is your obligation to accept my offer and exact retribution.”

  “Begone…”

  “Don’t miss your chance. When you’re ready, call upon me, your savior, your God…”

  The figure looming over Feda disintegrated into vapor, restoring movement to the surgeons, who resumed their operation on the patient, who pondered whether this visit had been a vision. In the end, he decided to inform Shabun. Anyone threatening the life of the one who had rescued him from starvation deserved death.