The buggy soared up the slope, lifting off the ground. Bullets and lasers grazed the hull, failing to penetrate the cockpit. Tracers cut through the air on either side of Ruda, while her armor obligingly expanded, accommodating her swelling limbs, filling with muscles.

  As soon as the vehicle’s nose dropped, she pulled the turret lever, covering the defensive positions near the bridge entrance with bursts of gunfire. Bullets pierced the fixed gun carriages, and heavy machine guns knocked the raiders straight into deadly bursts. A brave scum rose from behind the barricades ahead, holding a grenade. Rounds from Ruda’s wrist cannon broke the man’s arm. The limb fell at his feet, and bright flashes of explosion engulfed the barricade.

  The enemy did not roll out, trusting their armor. A piece of shrapnel grazed Ruda’s helmet.

  “Veil,” El Satanini commanded. The launchers behind the buggy spat shells into the air, leaving blue-green, smoky trails.

  After the unknowns had ended their hopes of crossing the Mesh safely, Magister Szarel sent a reinforced force to secure the nearest crossing into their ally’s territory, not intending to permit even the slightest chance of being forced to make another detour. El Satanini and Carde led their infantry-reinforced forces west, intent on crushing any resistance.

  They were expected. As soon as the bridge’s outline appeared on the horizon, the first sniper shot ricocheted off the first buggy’s hull, after which followed APCs full of infantry.

  The crossing over the low valley floor looked bleak. Four supporting pillars loomed like brown towers, the road itself paved with welded steel sheets sealed with cement. The sun, partially obscured by swirling dust, cast an orange hue over the structure. Heavy use had pockmarked the road full of cracks, debris blocked the passages, and two suspension cables needed maintenance after the recent storm. Overall, however, this architectural feat pleasantly surprised the crusaders, confirming the claims of being able to bear the weight of the Shroud of Darkness.

  A sizeable gang formed a semicircle in front of the road entrance, hastily constructing fortifications from whatever came to hand. Ropes hung from the left side of the bridge, and figures were clambering down them. The bandits were only a short time ahead of the crusaders.

  The grenades landed, blanketing the enemy positions in thick cubes of smoke. The gas penetrated cracked armor plates or entered through disintegrating breathing filters, bringing a calming euphoria to brains. Several raiders lay sprawled on the ground, drooling and oblivious to the raging battle.

  A powerful bang tore through the smoke. The gigantic figure, now truly titanic in its armor, unleashed a sonic boom. From its black helmet, a painted skull, belching flames, glared malevolently at the approaching Oathtakers.

  Draz.

  Then the engines of the vehicles near the bridge rumbled, unleashing mighty blasts of air that swept away the remnants of the dope. They rushed forward, driving over unconscious allies, stirring them into a soup of burst organs. Draz, aiming at Ruda, got distracted and pushed aside two prostrate bandits muttering incoherently. Rotary cannons spun on the roofs and doors of disparate vehicles, emitting their deadly shrieks; small-caliber artillery roared, sending shells ripping holes in the road. One shot struck an APC, knocking it off course for a second, but the armor held.

  The Order’s buggies and the Volnitsa’s junk raced into battle. Normally, Ney, as the most experienced marksman, would have been at the turret, but her recent mastery of the power gave her an undeniable advantage. Ruda didn’t even flinch from the burst to her chest, not even noticing the sparks. She saw the shells full of liquid inside the vehicles; she saw the gasoline sloshing in the tanks, so ineffective compared to the power cells. Resisting the temptation to rely solely on her altered vision, the knight trusted the display, which had detected vulnerabilities in the ammunition feeds.

  And she pressed the lever, generously spraying the enemy ammunition. Her precision fire detonated a missile launcher on the side of a rumbling truck, sending it spinning left. With a massive crash, its entire mass slammed into the cobblestone, standing upright, and the driver was dragged through the armored glass, his shoulder blades crunching as they broke. A second later, the smoking wreck crushed the man shrieking in pain.

  Commander Eloise’s sariant on the nearby buggy was thrown back against the turret seat. Ruda heard the man’s irritated hiss and fired her wrist cannon, detonating an artillery shell right in the roof-mounted barrel of the quadrant transport aimed at her fighting brother. Despite the column of flame, the car picked up speed, trying to ram the buggy Ruda was riding in with the sharp spikes of its radiator grille.

  The Order’s driver calmly awaited the almost inevitable collision and veered right. The spikes were still ripping furrows across the hull when the buggy’s door slid open, and a hissing stream of flamethrower fire erupted from within, melting its way into the raiders’ cabin. Those inside barely had time to scream before the monstrous flames, designed to combat tanks, boiled the unfortunate men alive.

  “Bloodlust blinds the eyes, luring sinners into the fiery Gehenna,” Ney chuckled, closing the door. “Or whatever Yeshua would have said.”

  “Lust,” Ruda corrected him.

  “Closer,” El Satanini said to the driver, ignoring the scripture’s mangling. “Take us right to the bridge.”

  “We’ll find ourselves between a hammer and an anvil, sir.” A video feed from the armored vehicle drivers appeared on Ruda’s display. A squad of bandits poured out of the burning transport.

  “Acceptable. Others will handle the cleanup,” the commander replied.

  A wave of heat rolled over the attackers, melting the rocks. Liquid, scorching puddles formed in the ground. Crusader Aguro, a knight from Carde’s squad, lost everything from the waist up. Streams of metal poured into the cabin; his tabard and cloak turned to ash, carried away along with shreds of burnt flesh. The vehicle’s clamps snapped, no longer finding the body, and Troll’s legs fell inside. The seasoned veteran vanished faster than Ruda could blink.

  The blurry wave continued, striking an APC but failing to reach the people inside. The armored wall crumpled like clay, and the driver desperately tried to maintain direction with several wheels missing on one side.

  Bastard! Ruda took aim at Draz, firing her turret and personal cannon. The giant moved to the side, holding his hand over the open part of his helmet. His armor nicked, his hand rose, and the weapon mounted above his wrist fired. A cloud of shells struck Chernogor’s knight in the chest and helmet, slamming his back into the vehicle’s hatch.

  But it didn’t kill him. The crusaders’ armor was far superior to the trash they wore in Rabor.

  “He’s leading me away from the small fry,” Ruda gritted her teeth, realizing Draz’s plan.

  “Let it be so,” El Satanini responded from below. “Trust your kin, sister.”

  “Tenderize him properly,” Ney growled. “You’ll soften his shell, and we’ll pour out the yolk when we get close.”

  Ruda complied, continuing to fire at Draz. Had he intended to draw some of the fire onto himself? Let the vile slaver regret it three times over when the crusaders reached melee range, smearing his rabble across this bridge…

  A bright flash illuminated their group from the north. An ominous, familiar light singled out an APC, focusing on it, and a sudden stream of energy pierced the vehicle. Through the shared video feed, Ruda saw the heads and chests of two infantrymen vanish, and the soldier sitting next to them scream. Her harness disintegrated, damaged by the laser blast, and she rolled across the floor, clutching her hand to the caked, clumped mass that had once been her elbow.

  Draz’s mocking laughter carried through the din of battle. El Satanini had judged correctly in insisting on an immediate approach. Only amidst the swarming bodies, allied and enemy, would they have a chance to escape the unseen sniper’s exceptional precision.

  But she hated it. She hated losing comrades in battle. Today, Ruda embraced this rage, not rushing headlong into the attack from the buggy, hoping to absorb any harm while preserving the lives of those dear to her. She maintained her discipline.

  And the monster waiting within her snorted contentedly, like a flushing toilet. There were no words, but it conveyed the meaning to her. She only had to ask.

  A heartbeat thudded in her chest. Loud, strong, prompting approach. Ruda reached out to a raider leaning out from behind the barricade. Not physically—her hands continued firing at Draz. But something reached the bandit, faster than a moving car and swifter than any bullet. He was still raising the multi-shot rocket launcher when the blood flow in his body reversed, rushing to his heart. He clutched his chest with a rasp, but there was no mercy. Blood rushed into an organ it had no right to, overflowing its chambers, and finally, his heart burst.

  The buggy rocketed up a small bump, flying straight at Draz’s face. The child-killer stopped, veered left, and delivered a monstrous right punch that ripped off the front wheel. But he had put too much speed into the attack, failing to dampen the vehicle’s momentum. Ruda released the turret and grabbed the mace. The crackling spikes clanged as they struck the raised fist of his left hand, protecting the grinning skull emblem upon his helmet.

  “Strong swing,” Draz said. She was sure he recognized her despite the situation. “Why do you have a strong swing, puny mutie?”

  Their vehicle crashed, carving furrows across the bridge’s metal sheets. Immediately, a crowd of bandits surrounded them, firing relentlessly, taking out explosives to breach doors, and even climbing onto the roof. Another buggy crashed behind the first, then another, while the remaining one skidded to a halt, stopped by a powerful Abnormal grabbing it by the front wheel.

  Experienced raiders, the slavers grew accustomed to raiding vulnerable targets. They were conditioned by the durability of their armor plates, deflecting bullets from desperate defenders unable to resist the clutches of greedy fingers. Close combat or ranged, most of those gathered here had never seen true combat. Equal or dangerous rivals were either trapped or outnumbered, and the few who died in battle against stronger opponents could no longer share their experiences. The very lifestyle of the local tyrants had fostered in them a self-confidence that Draz could not easily efface.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  El Satanini put this theory forward before the operation. The buggies stopped, defenseless, offering no resistance. The bandits did not wait for orders; they pressed forward, seeking revenge for the pain and fear, to quench their thirst for cruelty, and to bring humiliation to the brave men who dared not surrender immediately.

  Surrounded by vultures, the predators burst out, simultaneously opening all the entrances. Ney rammed his flamethrower into the nearest bandit, breaking his faceplate and knocking him to the ground before releasing a stream of flame. El Satanini decapitated two, finishing the swing with a blow to the knee joint. His foot came down, crushing the head of the crippled woman, silencing the pleas. Ruda leaped from the hatch, slamming her hooves into the nearest opponents. Punching through shoulder pads and the bones beneath them, she charged into battle, firing and swinging her mace, easily tearing her way through bodies.

  The crusaders reached the optimal range. Forming a united front, they kept pushing the enemy away from the bridge, drawing the brunt of their shots. The APCs stopped, releasing soldiers who fired into the backs of the fighting bandits as they turned involuntarily to face the greater danger. Without breaking formation, Ruda killed mechanically, taking advantage of any gap created by El Satanini or Ney, and when there wasn’t one, she created opportunities for them by crippling the enemy. Not an individual. A cog in the justice system.

  Draz didn’t hesitate, instantly assessing the change in the battle. He leaped sideways toward the approaching infantrymen, crushing several under his weight. Laser rays reflected off his armor plates; bullets failed to penetrate them as his metal fists struck, ending lives. A light touch broke a sergeant’s spine, a lunging finger crushed a soldier’s face, a knee strike sent a broken body tumbling off the bridge. Wherever Draz passed, death reigned. Men, the comrades she knew, perished in an insurmountable combat.

  He didn’t do it for nothing. In the past, Ruda wouldn’t have understood this. Each kill was measured with brutality, each fallen ally fueled the crusaders’ rage, and finally, the first of them—the sariant from Chernogor’s squad, fighting at the entrance to the bridge—couldn’t take it anymore. His mace almost touched the slaver’s back, but he spun around, kicking the sariant off his feet, and pierced the suspended body with his fist, pinning the Oathtaker to the bridge with a downward blow and leaving a deep hole.

  Blood and organ debris from the dead man splashed onto the helmet of Sunny, a Troll from El Satanini’s squad. The knight, busy helping his comrade finish the Abnormal, turned, unable to contain his anger. In two steps, he closed the distance between himself and the killer, while the second knight was forced to take a deep defensive position, fending off the advancing enemy.

  The remaining raiders immediately took advantage of the gap, heading toward the fanned-out infantry. Disciplined and without panic, the order’s troops responded with grenade explosions, keeping Abnormals at bay and cutting down Normies with well-aimed shots. Sergeants formed firing zones, but figures in power armor pierced the curtains of explosions, plunging axes into the infantrymen’s skulls and forcing them into close combat.

  “Ney. Open the way,” El Satanini said.

  A stream of fire tore through the bandit ranks, and Ruda rushed forward, shoulder to shoulder with the commander. They tore protective-cased vials from their belts, hurling nerve gas into the enemy’s faceplates. The Reclaimers, the Iterna, and the core of the Oathtakers’ army were hysterical about the use of chemical weapons, but the crusaders adhered to more ancient traditions, refusing to restrain death when the innocent were not in danger. The orders rooted out evil; it mattered not whether it died by bullet, mace, or writhing in convulsive agony, unable to breathe.

  Sunny fired at Draz’s helmet, failing to penetrate it. The giant instantly closed the distance to the crusader, unleashing a flurry of blows on the knight. More experienced, Sunny kept his balance, retreating as the fists that grazed him crushed plates, tore metal and flesh apart, and mercilessly struck his joints. The disparity in strength between the two was colossal, and Draz stomped on the Troll’s knee, breaking his kneecap. The next lunge severed Sunny’s left arm, leaving it dangling. Without stopping, the slaver grabbed the limb, yanking it out, flesh and all, and slapped the crusader’s helmet using the torn limb.

  Draz’s left elbow almost reached Sunny’s head when the mace intervened in the path of the fatal swing. With a strained whine of servos, El Satanini pushed the murderer’s arm aside. Two infantrymen rushed to Sunny’s aid.

  “You came to my house under a false name.” Draz pushed the commander aside, delivering a swift right strike. Ruda blocked the attack with her weapon. Before she could counterattack, Draz shot her in the helmet, and she backed away. Ney rushed past, striking his opponent. “Killed my men. Caused this mess. For what purpose?”

  “To rescue our prisoners,” El Satanini replied. The commander’s mace appeared in the path of the metal fist, buying Ney time to dodge. Not seeking to win the contest of strength, the commander fired a shell at Draz’s neck, receiving a cloud of projectiles in return. His tabard shattered, but his breastplate held.

  The slaver’s fists were powerful enough to breach city walls. He pursued the crusaders, first shaking the rocky ground with his mighty stance, then causing the bridge to tremble under his mass.

  Often, a great height posed problems comparable to an advantage for Abnormals. Besides the usual difficulty of fitting their bulk into narrow passages, tall humans were unaccustomed to fighting at very close range. The length of their arms became a hindrance. Draz was an exception. Not once did he lose sight of the crusader flanking him; his barrage of fists was directed in all directions at once, and the smooth movements of his elbows stopped the shells and mace thrusts that slid toward his torso. The expected clumsiness was absent from him; the tyrant moved with perfect agility.

  “Nonsense. No one does business like that. Not for the sake of pathetic nothings playing no role in history. Was your honor offended? Had you come with respect, offering friendship and generous gifts, I would have released your weaklings, initiating a mutually beneficial partnership. Don’t try to claim you don’t need to secretly dispose of the recalcitrant,” Draz hissed. “Now an oblivion worthy of fools awaits you for involving me in needless affairs.”

  “Fools?” Ruda laughed in his face. She took the mace in both hands, striking his forearms, noticing the marks of his bracers bending, along with the occasional droplets of blood spurting from the cracks left by the shots. “You declared me victorious. Gave us everything we desired. Then you cowardly fled, tail between your legs, at the first sign of trouble.”

  “Worry not; today you richly earned my complete attention,” Draz said.

  Two fists struck her simultaneously, and if not for the commander and Ney, they would have broken her arms.

  “Liar,” Ney shouted. “Then why aren’t you spitting heat? Your attempt to lead us off the bridge...”

  “...Failed,” El Satanini finished, taking a step back. “Your minions’ plan to do something beneath us is obvious. As is your inability to control your frustration at defeat.”

  “Die,” Ruda said.

  She reached for Draz, seizing a brief respite as El Satanini and Ney attacked together. She felt the slaver’s heart, large, altered beyond measure, and contained within a strong bone cage. His blood was unusual, denser than human blood, and resisted manipulation.

  “What... what were you trying to pull?” Draz held his hands out in front of him, taking the shots, the flamethrower stream, and the mace blows. Then he surged forward, lashing out at El Satanini and Ney with such force that they were thrown a dozen steps out of his way. “Power? Did you try to use the power? All you had to do was ask, freak.”

  His fists struck from both sides. Without thinking, Ruda raised her arms, taking both blows on her wrists. For a second, a whirlwind erupted around them, followed by a deafening explosion that took away every sound. Draz struck with full force, intending to rid himself of her. Ruda’s arms trembled, and beneath her armor, the skin burst where he struck. She felt blood flowing to her elbows.

  Nevertheless, she endured, unable to comprehend how she had survived this monster. But there was no room for hesitation in combat. The very existence of this slaver, this murderer of innocents, insulted her, and she kicked in tandem with Draz.

  She didn’t end this exchange in a draw. A savage pain gripped her guts, like thousands of red-hot needles suddenly scattered from her stomach and now coursing through her body. She rolled back, straightening with difficulty.

  Not enough, not enough. You’re not even close to using the full extent of your gift. The beast inside her roared. It was a pure, unified roar, its meaning registered in Ruda’s mind. Locate a source. Liquid. Any. Blood will do. Immerse yourself. Hunt. Prevail. The demands throbbed in her temples, pressing on her psyche, but Ruda didn’t dare. She knew that if she accepted the transformation completely, there would be no turning back. Perhaps her body would return to its normal form, but there would certainly be a price.

  Survival rarely comes for free. Our scars—medals confirming superiority. The beast calmed, slowing her perception of time. You were losing consciousness not only from disgust. A subconscious defense mechanism was triggered. Only you can decide whether to pay the ultimate price. Ruda hesitated. Her thoughts returned to the breaking of her will in that terrible place, to the death of her acquaintances by the Glow... What if, by sacrificing, she would become the very commodity the kidnappers desired? Then they are more foolish than you thought. The beast growled. This gift is yours. Without it, the challenger will win. Time returned to normal, and Draz moved.

  He shot from close range, too quickly for her to even hope to block anything. Suddenly, a haze appeared in the air around his hands, detonating each bullet. A myriad of liquid fragments struck Ruda’s helmet, briefly blinding her. The monstrous heat set her clothes on fire. Ruda turned to her water vision, spotting the uppercut in time and blocking it with her mace. But the next blow from above brought her to her knees, piercing her spine and shoulder blades with an incredibly sharp agony. Her head crashed through the bridge’s metal, bending the rebar that failed to penetrate her faceplate. Draz grabbed her by the top of her head and lifted her into the air, beginning to crush her helmet.

  “Your circus tricks won’t work. Look at yourself.” The armor creaked in protest, losing to the closing grip. “Your legs are too thin; your torso and arms are bloated.” Ruda tried to strike with her mace, but a fist slammed into her ribs, sending a surge of pain through her body. The numbness caused her to accidentally drop the weapon. “Relax. Any minute now you’ll hear the crunch of your skull, and darkness will come. Don’t be afraid. It’s over. Your face has surely changed into a hideous scowl. So what? Did it help you? Did knowing my intentions help you? The result remains the same. This bridge will fall anyway, and you along with it...” The hiss of the flamethrower made him laugh. “A fool to the end. I can withstand my own heat, idiot.”

  With a curse, he released his grip on Ruda and retreated, clutching the cracks in his forearms. Ney switched his flamethrower from fire to acid, and though most of the jet evaporated in the haze around Draz’s fists, a sufficient amount hit the damaged segments. El Satanini immediately struck the slaver in the knee and shot him in the chin, hoping to find one of the suit’s common vulnerabilities.

  Rising on shaky legs, Ruda hurried toward them.

  “Pestering vermin. Your interference distracts me from my daily affairs.” Draz evaporated the acid released by Ney.

  “Don’t raiders bring the same thing to others?” Ruda croaked. “Consider it karma.”

  “Enough! I’ve heard enough of your annoying squealing. Eradicate them... Souzan?” Draz struck the maces but made no move to take advantage of the outcome. “Who? How did he miss them?”

  “You didn’t even notice the obvious. Your sniper is busy,” El Satanini said. “The situation has changed, Governor. It would be wise for you to retreat.”

  Ruda rubbed the hardening metal off her faceplate, daring to glance north. There, not far from the rising dust on the horizon, thin streaks of laser beams and bursts of machine-gun fire were visible, flying out of a passage in the mountain.

  Trust in your brother, knight. Chernogor repaid an ambush with an ambush! Butcher him, Commander. For Yeshua. And return to us. I’d even agree to see that bandit again. Just survive.

  And from below came the sounds of motorcycle engines and gunfire. Commander Carde, who had secretly descended to the valley floor, finally arrived with his anti-sabotage squad, surprising the demolitionists.

  The sinners weren’t the only ones who knew how to attack from multiple angles.