(Hey Author Here!! Life got busy so i didn't post for a while and then Royalroad put me on hiatus whaaattt?????? Anyway, it forced me to whip the next two chapters into shape! Now please let me know what you think via comments, ratings or reveiws!! If you read this far it would mean the world!!!! Also be careful of changes, this area is rough so as always it may change over time but the general idea will always be the same!!)

  Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be designed?

  To live your entire life with one purpose, be born, bred and created for a single purpose. Many wish this to be true and find the lost, sloshing sea of life to be a drudgery.

  For the vast majority, evolution serves as this purpose but outside of animals, individuals are given the extraordinary and magnificent concept of freedom to chart their own paths and enjoy their lives in the intersectionality of both an evolutionary past and a sentient future. For the creature which flew above the colloseums' proud walls, a being the foreman Tyusa had truthfully remarked as beautiful, the outside world was beautifully terrifying.

  It’s brain clawed at the sights of a mid-summer day. It’s wingspan marvelled entire buildings. Jennle Street spanned an entire block. For a splinter as the servant flew above the street relished the cold of artificial shade. The creature’s eyes stuck wide in terror and awe at the faces, so many faces lining the streets. So many places, so many purposes, aspirations, dreams, that it could not have for it’s own. It screamed and glimmered in the sunlight, a humanoid body dressed in mail, surrounded by flanking wings that shrouded it’s body in comfort like a royal robe. It’s skin was pastety and red, signs from where acid had brewed it’s skeleton a near day ago with blisters and rough patches like a red-quilt. It had a crown on it’s head. A grown crown from horns in it’s skull and a soft unknowing face that swept around desperate to catch anything and everything in it’s gaze.

  It fluttered like a butterfly in a field of endless flowers, stretching it’s crisp wings to bask in the lick of sun-light, careless and without worry. It enjoyed the feeling of the wind against it’s back, the beauty of the wind-swept clouds and the freedom of the open air. However while the butterfly could flutter to it’s hearts content, it was bound by the needs of food, limited by the will of the wind but unlimited in the depths of it’s dreams.

  The butterfly was free.

  What fluttered here was not.

  It was an abomination. A half-sentient, half-life, filled to brim with the idea of agency but shaved like some discarded potato in a pot, originating for one purpose but hijacked and transformed into a tool for something else. It was a life that had been discarded. It was a tool.

  The creature had always wanted to meet it’s half-brother. In all twelve hours of it’s walking life that had been it’s one true desire, it’s purpose, it’s goal. The same blood that flowed through it’s day old veins had once swirled somewhere in Jan. The master had told him the two were inseparable but that Jan had been corrupted and that the blessing of the master had been expelled and needed to be rectified. The servant had always held the blessing of the master. In-fact the servant knew he was better because of a single reason.

  He was the blessing of the master.

  It was better, stronger, faster, no need for decisions, dreams, only purpose, only a marionette on the stage. While Jan was originally an offworlder, blessed with the touch of the master’s designs, the servant was a homebrew. He was a true defender of this world, a creature that would curry the ability to smite entire worlds, to squash and smother entire ships. The master had made promises, for some reason Tyusa the foreman had been hesitant to tell the servant how long it would last, but the servant knew it would be a long life. That one day, the servant would have an army of brothers and sister who weren’t tainted by the past like the defect Jan and could rise up to bring the master’s will and the master’s peace to the stars. The servant didn’t see the need for Jan but the master’s will was to be obeyed. The master’s thoughts were better than it’s thoughts, any thoughts. The master’s dreams we’re it’s dreams.

  The peace of a single dream was so beautiful in the creature’s eyes. It was designed, with the sole purpose of bringing the defect Jan in, once it had finished it would scour the remnants of the capital and do what the defect Jan was mean’t to do. It would learn to lead. The master had promised it a fine place among their ranks. More acetcycholine and norepinpehrine pulsed, it’s sympathetic nervous system kicked into control. Half of it’s brain was dedicated to receiving signals from the master. The master could even take direct control over the servant. It was nice being able to back-seat drive your own brain, took away from the stress of decisions. Soon with the master's blessing the entire world would be like that, free from decisions, free from hate, free from worry, united in purpose. Their pitiful little dreams would be replaced by something greater. The master’s dreams.

  The servant was a representation of everything the master stood for, down to the last interweaving thimble of it’s finger to the bumps which laced the back of it’s knobby spine. It marveled at the beauty of it’s form, at the brilliance of the master who designed such elegant life. Then it turned to face the defect Jan.

  The defect was to be brought in alive.

  It smiled. The others in the city. All those faces. Those we’re fair game.

  Then it flapped with the beauty of an unseen world and began to channel.

  It saw it’s brother Jan in the room below.

  The master lead the way.

  —-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

  “%$%$ that thing is ugly as hell” Aloat breathed.

  “Do you think we can keep him alive?” Jan gestured backward.

  “What that? You want to keep that alive? No offence but we’re 100% killing that! No way you’re not going to break your no-killing rule to keep THAT alive?”

  “No no I mean the imposter Laundre, and We? We? There is no we here?”

  A fireball split towards the tied up hostage’s location. Jan quickly defended him.

  “I’m going to summon lightning and you’re going to like summon the equivalent of like a wet-match!” Jan interjected.

  “I’m sorry but I am super talented for my age it’s not my fault your all throwing out like heavyweight boxing level magic that makes any normal person look like peubescant groundsprout?” She said quickly.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The two surveyed at the creature above which was now lashing out towards a crowd of mages. The soldiers on the ground fought back-but the destruction it would wrought would be insatiable.

  “Do you think you can take both?”

  “Both? You want me to fight both Irwain and this like? Pasty waffle-face?”

  “No,” Jan breathed.

  “We’ll. In that case, we’re going to need some help no?”

  She pointed downwards to a figure on the ground. A person who starred back in awe.

  It was like pointing to a stick on the forest floor. A solitary statue who singlehandly stood-out like a sore thumb from the crowd of weak battle-mages and spear-pushers. Jan instantly understood what she meant. Aloat always had a plan. She understood what had to be done.

  [Strike 3000]

  A bolt streaked across the sky from pasty-faced waffle-child.

  The scribe turned to Irwain who was standing next to Imposter Laundre like a praying mantis. The two had been too late. The servant had channelled a pike of rock to pry into the man’s chest. The lifeless imposter-form sagged with the servant’s arrival acting as a sufficient enough of a distraction for the scribe to loose his grip on the situation. He spoke before he died quickly, hastily and spat in Irwain’s face. Jan attempted to use [Heal 300] but it was too late.

  Then nothing happened.

  Jan pried at the clothes of the malformed shape of the imposter only to find nothing. It was just empty tufts of scorched fabric. It was like the man had completely vanished infront of his eyes.

  Imposter Laundre had disappeared.

  Irwain too looked around in shock. The archmage cursed before casting more magic infront. He was about to do [Stealth Disreveal 30–] when Jan slammed him back into the wall with [Push 500]. Behind the two of them a chair moved on it’s own in the distance. Foot-prints splattered in a faint pitter-patter behind in the blood and dusty grime. More than two pairs of feet were walking unseen throughout the room behind them.

  In a room where only five individuals were visible. Twenty-five hearts beat.

  An entire CORE task force stood next to a now shivering Imposter Laundre. They were completely ray-shielded by a thin web of plasma.

  All twenty stayed silent behind their stealth-paks as they watched the battle infront. Hardric stood a mere two meters from Jan with his knife still bleeding from when they had to pry the worms from Aikin’s skull.

  P28 plasma rifles, Semtex grenades, electric pistols, re-enforced armour, quasi-drones and personal tact-units were clipped to a familiar green futuristic armour. There was a low-flying quasi-drone aimed directly at the building. It was the kind that used to pierce the master’s tanks during the siege of Quail. Compact, cheap and destructive. They were armed to the teeth. A sniper rifle was aimed at Irwain’s head the entire time. It was technology leaps and bounds above the pseudo-Renaissance Kag.

  They watched. They observed from a mere two meters away as their “Commander” struggled to his feet and faced the horrors of the outside world. A few edged fingers on the triggers of the plasma-guns when Irwain leaned forward and glanced vigorously at the holo-displays on their smooth-steel helmets. This kind of cowardice was uncanny; it was almost illegal. It felt strange to be in the presence of a Model-7A. It was like being in the presence of commanding generals or standing with celebrities. The entire idea of Jan was an enigma, a variable outside the calculus of the last ten-thousand years that screamed the echo of a new age. It was terrifying. The Lieutenant recognized Jan's face, or at least the surgical grafts that must have been done on top of his implant. From the small, nit-picky and near-innoticable scars on the back of the scribe's neck, it looked like he had the works.

  Hardric and the Lieutenant didn’t say anything.

  It wasn’t worth the risk. They watched, like hidden statues and if Jan or Aloat had been any less distracted, they would haven noticed, the footprints, the dissuaded shadows, even the westerling guard Jan incapacitated who had been quietened by a silent bullet.

  Hardric didn’t know what to feel as he watched from the shadows “Commander” Jan Therric stand in pure defiance against the master’s final creation. His fingers twitched and tensed into a curl. The Luitenant felt her hair starting to raise. None of them could even grace magic’s potential in an infantry assault. Even with the P28’s eight hundred projectiles a minute, it would take an orbital strike to so much as graze the abomination's left arm. Hardric had seen mages cull down entire platoons before something as simple as an attack drone slammed into their heads.

  They were left with an impossible choice. Intervene and break the separation of two worlds.

  Save Jan from the world he loved.

  Or watch.

  In a room where twenty-five hearts beat, only three stared defiantly at the creature which fluttered like a “butterfly above”. Then, in one quick flick, Jan turned to Aloat.

  “Free Longsa, she should have the codes, you know where they go.”

  She nodded. They were completely oblivious to what surrounded them. Oblivious to the fact that they were on a stage, the group stood tall. Aloat cut Longsa free and the two headed downstairs unattested by their invisible-observors.

  “What are you going to do?” Longsa finally asked. It was the first time she had spoken.

  “Jan, where are you going?”

  [Pull 1000]

  The scribe used his might against the archmage. In one swift movement, he catapulted both the servant and Irwain directly onto the colosseum. He grabbed them both, demon and archmage and let them tumble to the ground fifty feet below.

  The entire arena watched them fall. Every occupant who hadn’t been fast enough to flee towards the colloseum’s locked gates watched.

  One demon

  One mage

  One hero

  Only when the two had flapped off him and stood on opposing sides of the arena did he stand tall to see the Jaen’s recovering figure light up in interest. Ilen was still reeling back from his fight with Jan. He looked puzzled, confused but like he was starting to make out more from the situation than he previously thought. Jan looked up at a familiar face.

  It was the face of a man who had just kicked his ass twenty minutes later.

  “Wanna help?” Jan breathed slowly.

  It was a strange situation, but the awkwardness of the moment disappeared pretty quickly thanks to the appearance of waffle-boy.

  “So we have a city to save?” the older soldier coughed.

  The Jaen nodded. Ilen squinted before steadying his sword. His armour was still cut-in two from the time he had faced Jan. Six westerlings jumped into the pit, they ran forward to protect Irwain, brandishing the same mass-industrialized metal swords from earlier.

  Ilen only needed one [Electrocute 600] to silence them all.

  “Is that Irwain?”

  “He’s a traitor,” Jan responded simply.

  “Oh…I see” Ilen coughed back.

  He paused for a moment.

  “And what is that? Ugly with the wings?”

  The two stood back to back as the abomination and it’s ally braced themselves to dart forward. The creature’s wings swept a murky black shadow over the group infront.

  “It’s a long story.”

  Above the entire crowd of the colosseum watched in horror as the two sides began to battle. Light paraded in a terrifying mirage of colours, spells that only graced cities once a month were spat like uncooth swear-words at the local dock. The ground shook, mimicking earthquakes. Outside Paxter’s army of ten-thousand began to ready the defences and Laura’s cure began spouting from fountain-tips.

  The siege of Kag had begun.

  —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Deep in the sewer.

  “Uh, Commander Laura” the rock roared slowly.

  Merle looked utterly disgusted as the small contingent of researchers strutted along the quiet and surprisingly peaceful alcove along a steady stream of volatile water. They had just dumped a ridiculous amount of Lanu’s elixir to taint the liquid a mysterious purple but Sill had stated the colour was disappear with enough time. It had been a peaceful walk. They had been whistling and telling stories about time above. Only fix or six infected guards had tried to stop them, but were quickly halted by the some-hundred who backed Laura’s beck and call. She put her foot forward and dipped her finger in the water as she tasted the consistency.

  It tasted salty.

  Perfect.

  With the help of wind-magic in less than ten-minutes the entire-water system would be tainted with the cure and already letters had been sent to Paxter’s forces.

  “Yes Sill?”

  Treadwell was behind her and nearly jumped at the size of a common sewer rat. Laura practically had to stop herself from laughing at the thought of the professor encountering an actual ratling. Merle too laughed but a little more weakly than Laura.

  “We need to go through that pipe there! Above us right now!”

  The rock beckoned towards a thin rung ladder than lead to the surface above.

  “Why?” She responded half-paying attention.

  “Commander Jan is in a hell of alot of trouble.”