Martell flexed his arms and neck still getting used to the oddness of his body. His frame a bit larger than he remembered and he was certain he was a few centimetres taller. The Second could see a similar expression to his own on the face of every single one of the Slayers. Referring to their band as Godslayers was going to take some time getting used to.

As impressive as the changes were in Big Uhr and Inney, they were nothing compared to those that had occurred in Lilly, Os the Faceless and Till. Martell shook his head. No one would ever be able to use that name for Os anymore.

He was a completely different man altogether. Tears streamed down the torturer’s pinkish cheeks as the tip of his fingers explored every skin covered nook and cranny. He was an almost handsome man. Sharp cheekbones, square jaw and a softly curved delicate nose. Thin short black hair covered his scalp like moss, and there was no sign of his rasping voice as he mumbled to himself. Os was the picture of happiness, and Martell couldn’t blame him. The Second could hardly imagine what torment had the Faceless been living into this day.

On the opposite emotional spectrum was Lilly. The woman had screamed and clawed out her eye, the moment her bindings were undone. The same one that she had lost before joining with the mercenaries. They all knew the story of how she was forced to fight a Grun. Of how the two-meter-tall lizard had gouged her eye, while she fought to free her children, only for the Followers of Telek to burn them in front of her while she bled on the arena floor. Lilly liked to claim that it was this scar that made her move forward every single day. Though, just as much as they hindered her, Martell believed it was more due to the scars inflicted on her mind that she chose not to end her life. After all, the thirst for revenge was and always will be the best motivator for anyone to live their life.

He watched as Lilly had to be restrained by Big Uhr and Asmund, when the wound healed a minute later, the eye reforming in the horrendous wound on her face, as she made an attempt to gauge it out again. Her already fragile state of mind had completely broken and Lilly screamed like a wounded animal.

Martell couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. It was a look mimicked by most of the Slayers. Even Till was unable to comprehend or accept what was happening to them. His face was frozen between happiness and sadness. The Second didn’t envy the old man’s task as he tried to calm down the hysteric woman.

However, what amazed him even more, was that the ageing apothecary had had a decade shaved off of his age. From an old, bald man with a growing gut, counting the last few years he had left on this world, he had become the spitting image of a recently retired soldier. Till’s body was as much honed to perfection as theirs were, albeit with just a little hint of fat on it. A hint of steel-grey hair covered his smooth scalp and a row of pearly white teeth reflected the light each time he spoke.

“There is nothing I can do…” Till boomed in a strong baritone.

“Think of something,” Regis snarled back at him. “We need to move.” The urgency in his voice was unmistakable.

Martell gave the strange cavern another look, hoping to make sense of what he was seeing, and what his mind was telling him. It was a strange place, large and clad in metal. But it was no metal the Second had ever seen. It was both polished and matt, cold to the touch, yet he could feel warmth through it. On the walls, there were arcane contraptions, which glowed in different colours and mystic sigils flashed every so often. Martell understood that those were mechanical apparatus, but he had no idea what that was. And then there was the cone of light which dropped only on top of the tables the Slayers had been bound to. It was like no torch he had ever seen, nor was it the warming light of the sun. It was something cold and emotionless. Thinking about it only made his head hurt.

“Mar!” Regis growled at him. “Snap back to reality. I need you coherent if we are getting out of here.” The captain was having problems controlling his anger as evident from the sternness of his voice.

Martell spared a glance at Cylin. The girl was quiet, observing the strange items as if she could glimpse their secrets, by staring at them. Her bronze skin had become a shade lighter and glistened in the light. The short dark hair had grown and now flowed down her shoulders, giving her the appearance of a woman. But the Second could see the girl was still there, in her eyes, in the small half-hidden smile. In the way she moved the fingers on her arms and in the way, she played with the powers she had. Small lightnings danced on her palms, growing larger and stronger with every passing moment.

They would have continued to grow if Nadene hadn’t come from behind the girl and placed a hand over her shoulder. The mage was the one who had changed the least. She was slim and did not radiate the strength the others did. Yet she stood out, not so much because of the changes, but because of the power of her gifts that radiated from her. There were also Nadine’s eyes, nearly the same as those of the other Slayers, but instead of the ice-white irises, hers were the colour of fresh ripe cherries.

“It’s just…” Martell could not find the proper words to express what he was feeling.

“I’ll make it simple for you.” His commander grabbed him by the throat and glared into his eyes. “Weapons. Find. Now!”

“Did you actually kill a God?!” Dominique half spoke, half-whispered.

The youth was almost the same, like the others, and with his grown body and sharper features, it was hard to see him as a boy anymore. However, he was still lean and there was a hint of his youthfulness buried in the stranger Martell was seeing. Dominique had used to be a charming fellow, if a bit naïve, now, however, there was a new charisma to him. Something that made one want to be his friend. The greenhorn had adapted to what was going on, almost as quickly as Regis.

“Gods do not bleed… At least not because of mortal men.” Sarduk said and scratched his chin.

It was hard to recognise the shaman without his ritualistic scars and tattoos. He dipped his fingers in the blackish goo gathered around what remained of the creature’s skull. Expertly he traced the gone markings on his skin, trying to replicate the missing source of his gifts.

“Focus! Damn you all!” Regis boomed at the top of his voice. “Do not think of anything else but how to kill the other Hollow Gods!”

What followed was the complete devastation of the cavern. Everything that even remotely could pass for a weapon was ripped from its original place. The one who inspired such pillaging was Os. The torturer grabbed the mask on the creature’s face and pulled it away along with several of the red tubes. After testing their strength, he fashioned those into something between a mace and a whip.

The gruesome spectacle did not end there. Soon after the body was torn apart. Bones and sinew were fashioned into spears and shives. The carapace of the item on the Hollow God’s back became a shield. The God’s skin felt odd and spongy in Martell’s hand, wrapped around a piece of jagged metal ripped from one of the arcane instruments. And as he tested his improvised armaments, he observed the efficiency with which the Slayers took to the task. It was both inspiring and terrifying.

Through it all, Regis and Till had managed to calm Lilly down by bandaging over her eye. Armed with a metal tube in one arm and the broken bindings, placed like knuckle dusters around her fingers, she paced like a caged animal by the exit of the cavern. There was just one problem. A thick slab of steel barred the Slayers’ only way out.

“Big Uhr,” Martell said as he walked to the slab. “Give me a hand.”

The giant stood behind the Second and both men pushed at the thing with all their might. After a minute, there was not the slightest indication that it would move. The first hints of panic could be seen on the faces of the others. Martell knew, that the longer they delay, the harder it would be for each and every one of them to keep their humour in check. In all honesty, he was surprised that they had managed to do so for this long.

“Foolish animals.” A cold voice boomed through the cavern. “Did you think you can do as you please? Do you think your insignificant act of defiance will go unpunished?”

They all recognised the voice. It was one of the Hollow Gods, but the creature was nowhere to be seen. The mercenaries gathered in a circle, covering every direction for an ambush.

Regis laughed and shook his head, unfazed by the voice. “We are your punishment, brought forth by your arrogance!”

“So much potential wasted… It matters not. You will submit.” The emotionless voice trailed off before roaring with anger. “You will be ours!”

With a hiss the door opened. Beyond it was a long bright-lit corridor covered in the purest white marble any of them had ever seen. It was wide enough for four people to stand shoulder by shoulder and ended at a T-shaped junction a few hundred meters ahead.

“Be ready for an ambush,” Regis spoke low. “Move forward, breach formation.”

Martell and Asmund took point with Lilly and Calder a step behind them on each side. As soon as they stepped on the marble floor, Kurt, Dominique, Seth and Mekset filed behind them. Their spears, shaped from metal tubes, were kept ready to fortify the improvised shield wall. The others followed close by, with the two mages and the shaman in the middle of the group. The rear was left to Sonya and Little Uhr.

They had reached the middle of the corridor when Martell heard the sound of heavy feet drumming towards them from the junction up ahead. There were a lot of them if his ears were not lying to him. And whatever they were, they were large and angry, indicated by the almost inaudible snarling.

“Incoming enemies.” The Second spoke in the tone the Slayers knew very well from countless battlefields. “Shields up. Spears ready. We take the charge.”

It was the best solution. The only solution the group had. The corridor would restrict the number of foes they needed to face, giving the mercenaries the advantage, they so desperately needed. Sure, enough there were a lot of foes for them to kill. From both sides, a tidal wave of orcs spilt.

Over three dozen beasts fuelled by rage and hunger for human flesh rushed at the Slayers. They were far larger than the ones who eked an existence out in the desert. Each one of them was well over two hundred kilograms in weight and just over two meters tall. Without any doubt, Martell knew that their green skin had become grey because of the Hollow Gods. The signs were obvious, the red tubes running from their wide shoulders, the strange blue glow of their eyes. The way their muscles had bulged beyond what could be considered normal. But most of all, it was the weapons they carried.

Solid bar maces crackling with the power of lightning around the edges of the crossed steel plates. Such weapons were very easy to use and were one of the favoured by the orcs. They relied on brute strength. Each blow meant that neither sword nor armour nor bones were safe. With them, the beast could decimate the Slayers, as they were before. Now, however, Martell’s instincts told him there was a chance that the orcs were in for a fight.

Martell tightened the grip on the improvised sword in his hand. Taking the orcs as they would any other charging enemy was foolish. They would have better chances of stopping a cavalry charge than taking stopping the orcs. The Second was about the order a counter-charge when Regis boomed a commend from the back.

“Bend the knee!”

The words broke the spell that had taken over Martell. The orcs no longer moved in slow motion. Time had not slowed down; his perceptions had heightened. The orcs would be upon them in just a couple of seconds. He had to act, but he also trusted Regis. The movement was faster than he was used to and the Second felt pain spread through his right knee as he dropped to the ground.

Ice shards, thick as a man’s arm flew above his head, and if he had been a second late in following the command, they would have impaled his head. The orcs were not spared that fate. The projectiles went clean through the first rank and pierced the second raw. This caused the beasts to stumble and for those behind them to collide with corpses of their comrade. Such devastation was caused by a single skilled mage, everyone recognised Nadene’s signature in that spell, and the Slayers also had Sarduk and Cylin in their ranks.

The bodies of the dead orcs had barely hit the cold marble floor when a trio of ball lightning, the size of a human head flew at them. The ensuing explosion wreaked havoc. The stench of burned flesh and the guttural screams of the beasts reigned supreme. Over a dozen of the orcs were dead and half of the ones who drew breath were wounded.

“Death to the Hollow Gods!” The war cry came from Regis as he jumped over the Second and charged at the confused orcs.

As much as Martell wanted to argue the sanity of his commander, he knew this was the best chance they had. He scrambled to his feet and ran after the madman. Using his momentum, he plunged the blade in his hand inside the mouth of the closest beast. The orc was nearly done for, but the monstrous stamina and endurance his kind possessed had been magnified by the Gods of Scoria. Even with a shard of ice, lodged inside its head, the orc was preparing to fight.

The piece of metal pierced the soft pallet inside the creature’s mouth and reached its brain, bypassing the two layers of bone plates protecting its head. However, the action had proven too much for the weapon and the blade bend at angle, making it impossible to retrieve. It left Martell open for the coming strike of another beast. Without any other option, the warrior used his left forearm as a shield against the bar mace.

The crossed steel plates nearly tore his arm in half, twisting the limb like a young vine. Martell bit through the pain, the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground - the rush of battle. He used his other arm to yank the weapon away. As soon as he touched it, he felt a painful numbness spread from his palm and shoot up his arm and shoulder. He did not have the luxury to scream or recall his limb.

Using the new strength his body possessed he managed to pull the weapon away from the orc, surprising both himself and his enemy. The world around Martell slowed down again. His mind was processing what was happening around him, looking for a way to survive. The Slayers were engaged in a terrifying close-quarter fight and nearly half of them were wounded and bleeding from various cuts and splintered bones could be seen on almost every limb.

He could see Inney stride atop the shoulders of an orc, her teeth trying to rip his throat. Close to her was Regis, who was beating one of the beasts with his bare hands. The physical superiority of the commander, putting him on par if not above the orc. Martell could see Dominique twitching on the floor, the side of his skull caved in. The greenhorn was unlucky to have the blow leave him alive, but there was nothing the Second could do for him.

As he darted his eyes to the side, Martell saw the exact moment Little Uhr took a hit from a mace in the chest. The strike sent the small man flying back into the cavern the mercenaries had come from. Things were going very bad, very fast. They had underestimated the orc… No, Martell corrected himself, they had overestimated themselves. On top of it all, they had lost the advantage of their mages, because Regis had been too quick to spill blood. As the realisation dawned on him, time resumed its normal progress. The orc’s meaty fist rammed into his jaw, breaking it and forcing the warrior to the ground. 

The orc loomed over Martell and its grotesque face twisted into a mockery of a smile. It lifted its foot, ready to crush the man’s skull, when its head disappeared, accompanied by the smell of burned meat. Sigismund stepped from behind the beast and threw the mace he was holding at Martell’s feet.

“Are you insane, Second?” The knight hissed. “Fighting an orc without a weapon, when they were so kind to give us so many.” He picked up one of the fallen maces and ignited the steel with his fire spell.

“Thank you,” Martell managed as his jaw was healing. He twisted his left arm back into the correct position and watched in astonishment as the limb regenerated.

“There is going to be time for questions and answers.” It was odd to see that the others were adjusting faster than him to their new bodies, but before he could say anything Sigismund pointed with his mace at the back of the corridor. “Right now, we have bigger problems, Mar.”

There at the back of the orcs stood a large man. He was massive, as big as Big Uhr and as much as muscled. A strange armour covered his chest. It was all-metal, tubes and glass canisters filled with red, green and black liquids. His cleanly shaved scalp was covered in scars and open wounds, and a mask similar to that of the Hollow Gods covered most of his face.

Heavy metal gloves covered his fists and had two axes attached to them by thick black ropes. The axes themselves were glistening like silver, but where the blade should have been, there was only a strip of purple light. The man lifted one of his weapons and pointed it at Martell. The voice that came from him was guttural and broken by heavy breathing.

“All bark, no bite! Time to die little man!”

Regis could claim all he wanted that the Hollow Gods were no true Gods, and as far as the Second was concerned, that was the right thing to do. It clearly boosted the morale of the Slayers and pushed back the terror each one of them carried in their hearts. However, it was becoming painfully obvious that the Gods of Scoria were not to be underestimated, for who else but true Gods could bring back the dead?

Martell tightened his grip on the mace and stared with burning hatred directed at the man. A single word, dripping with disgust escaped his lips.

“Vor.”