King, encased in the meters-thick armor plates of his power armor and protected by the energy bubble of his shield generator, felt fear at the presence of this uninvited guest. He had just about finished his hectic day when the doors to his throne chamber were pushed open, and a slender figure of a short-haired woman clad in the black cloak of a soultaker strode inside. King has kept his cool as she walked toward him across the crimson carpet. It took all his composure not to sound the alarm or activate one of the many defensive turrets hidden in the walls.

His guest looked objectively normal, with the usual tanned skin and brown hair, with a few streaks of gray among them. She carried no weapons and looked like a small morsel compared to his body. Just extend your hand and break the intruder… And this is where the genuine horror lied. King saw it in her eyes through the lenses of his helmet. A barely visible ghost behind her wide open fishlike eyes, a barely slowed down blinking—nothing out of the ordinary—but all together, along with the reading that came from her bodies and her sudden appearance, they pointed only to one thing.

“To what do I owe the displeasure, Number?” King’s voice boomed through the room, strengthened and distorted by the dynamics of his armor to the point of a bombastic roar. His nostrils caught an acrid smell coming from the nuclear generator at the back of his armor as the inner systems activated, sending a surge of power through the armor and bringing him up to his peak.

The woman ran her finger across a suit of armor placed in his hall before walking toward a black orb of plasma bomb, a trophy that Tlaltzin brought to him from the ruins. Ignoring him, she took off her gloves, showing the scarred flesh and forcing his other self to whimper in fear before trying to jump at her.

Calm yourself, Grug. King had to wrestle control over the body from the other one, surprised at the sudden surge of rage. This was just the shell, no matter what buttons this Number presses, it won’t explode.

“Apologies for the interruption, King.” Without haste, the woman toyed with the buttons before looking at him, a cheeky smile on her lips. “Or should I say…”

“King is fine,” he told her in a steely voice, not making any attempt to call for help. The wound on his side, where this puppet Aranea had injured him, hurt like crazy from this simple movement. This damned Wolfkin hit an artery, no doubt. He took a breath, using Chort’s power to shift the flesh around the wound, closing its edges, and ignoring the ensuring pain and itching that were coming as a result of the regeneration process. Against his will, his fingers twitched. “How should I call you?”

“You may address me as Four, oh king of dirt and ruins.” The thing that controlled the woman’s body made her make a gracious bow, touching the empty bomb shell with a finger. Beneath her touch, the metal trembled, almost like a liquid. For a few brief seconds, vibrations showed up around a solid sphere of steel before the hull came apart in a shower of dust.

King froze, keeping an eye on the woman. To his great shame, he rarely had to deal with the Numbers. There were some rumors about them having a headquarters in Belaz, but the police unit sent to investigate never returned, and soon after, the city came under the Reclaimers’ siege. He knew that these body snatchers originated in Iterna, created by a mad cretin named Maximillian Rho. The delusional bastard planned to exterminate the human race before being killed by his brother.

Numbers survived and spread all around the world. As their names suggest, each of them addressed themselves as a number: four digits were as weak as a normal human, triple digits were stronger, and double digits could make a strong abnormal sweat a little in combat and have powers on top of it. And finally, single digits. These Numbers were given some of the most dangerous powers, and when they happened to obtain a proper body, it was a pain to deal with them.

“Rejoice! My master had learned about your efforts to free Twister and of the fact that you tasked your minions with catching some Iternians, but apparently they are having trouble locating them. How sad.”

“How did you…” King forced himself to be calm. No, not now. He wasn’t ready.

King took a picture of the woman’s face with his lenses, and then he called up a database to find a match. A minor technician from the base’s lower level showed nothing out of the ordinary and, by all reports, was a loyal follower. This eased him a bit.

“Several of us have clairvoyance powers. And just like you, we too have allies everywhere.” She came closer to the iron staircase leading to his stone throne. “There are but few things that my glorious Master is unaware of. Abandon your worries, genetic reject, for I have brought you just a gift to aid in this noble task.”

“A gift, you say?” He laughed at this idiocy. “Far too late, my dear. Iterna had already sent two expeditions into the Desolation. And one of them got decimated. If you want to put me against them, you are out of luck.”

“And this is exactly why you are an inferior being. Look at our gift, my new friend.”

A noise came from the installed terminal inside his vambrace, announcing an incoming message. King took his time, sending the message on another secure terminal next to his throne and opening it there, partly worried about any virus that may leave him entombed in his armor and partly enjoying making this… creature wait. King’s lips twisted into a smile, and he stood up, turning off the shield generator.

Grug stirred inside him, demanding that he not trust Four, and King calmed him down, promising that he has a plan to deal with the situation.

“If true, this is a valuable gift, indeed. How accurate is this information?” King asked, thundering down the staircase toward Four.

“The location is merely approximate, true, but the second expedition will come, and they will be in the region,” Four smiled, and he could have sworn that he saw someone else behind her eyes. When she spoke, a hint of a male voice appeared amidst her words: “This is my Creator’s gift to you. But it doesn’t have to be the only gift. Let us discuss how we may…”

In anticipation of King being enamored with her offer, Four let her guard down and became busy coming up with new justifications to persuade him to accept the deal. King moved closer to her and gave her a friendly nod, barely paying attention to what Four said until a certain moment. She blinked. A mere fraction of a second, nothing to really fret about. And in this moment, he had thrown his arm up, taken aim, and fired all four lasers within his vambrace.

Four’s head just disappeared under the hot beams that slashed all the way down to her breast. She never even had the chance to react or defend herself, this moment of distraction had cost the Number her life. Unwilling to stop at this, King switched to a flamethrower and unleashed a searing stream of blue flame, turning the woman’s body into nothing more than ash and setting the carpet on fire. The flame quickly spread across the room, engulfing him and licking the banners off the stone walls. At a snap of his metal fingers, fire extinguishers showed up from the ceiling, ending a small fiery hell.

“Yoliyamanitzin! Guards!” King roared, angry at a fear nestled in his soul. And this time, this fear belonged to him.

Numbers. In his palace. He knew that in the coming days the place wouldn’t be safe anymore. Either Reclaimers or someone from within the Resistance will try to end his life. All within the primary plan, the war left no place for anyone to be overly relaxed about their safety. This intrusion, however, brought dismay to his plans. If the Numbers get their hands on him, he and Grug will…

No, no matter. Everything is proceeding exactly as he planned. So what if Numbers knew about his origin? Whom are they going to tell? Very few are willing to parley with these creatures, and since his plans were already in motion, they would hardly need his direct involvement for much longer. In the worst-case scenario, he and his brothers can just turn tail and run.

Clinking and clanking on the dozens of needle legs, Yoliyamanitzin strode into the chamber, looking at the burning carpet. The sensors and cameras on her long body came online, sending sound signals to detect any intruders. In a moment, the flesh carver’s coils closed around the Resistance’s leader, ready to protect him from all harm.

“Too late,” King told her in a dry voice, “I have already dealt with the intruder. Numbers had infiltrated our ranks, Yoliyamanitzin. If one has shown up, no doubt others are hiding nearby. Look through the video feeds, find out where she came from, with whom she interacted, and cull anyone suspicious.”

You can’t! Grug said in his mind. She’ll kill without a moment’s hesitation, King!

The sacrifices must be made. King waved away his bodyguards, annoyed at this slip of security.

He stormed to his private chambers, hands and legs twitching from the inner struggle. Grug, this loveable, soft, foolish, weak, dear buffoon, has launched yet another assault, trying to wrestle control of the body. King’s breath increased, sweat came from his brow when he took off the helmet and stumbled to the bed, nearly falling. The original really tried his best today.

Grug, please, enough. King told him tiredly. Any more of these feeble attempts, and he will have to use force to shut his brother down. I am acting in your best interests.

You goaded Chort into killing himself! Made Blaguna go mad! Abandon Yasen to die! And now you are planning to attack Iternians! Grug’s voice came like a roaring fire in their shared mind, each word felt like a fresh burn. King felt pride at such fierce resistance. How is any of this in our interests? King, for the love of Planet, look at what you are doing! The Resistance is our people, our friends, and I will not stand for…

Enough of this! King hated himself for pushing back, for hurting Grug, and for throwing him further into the darkest corners of his mind. But the fool must learn.

King reached to a bedside table and took out a picture, lifting it and allowing Grug to see through one of their eyes. This was a picture of a smiling nameless girl, the one who befriended them back in the research center, just another test subject. She had milky white skin, and her fangs could barely be seen behind reddish lips. Small claws adorned her elegant fingers. King tried his best to recreate her image based on their memories, missing only the light in her eyes. A sorrow real enough for him to taste it washed over Grug, threatening to drown both of them.

You won’t stand it? Like when you did not stand when she was killed? King twisted the knife, feeling his brother recoil in pain and fear. He kept on speaking, allowing warmth and care to come from his thoughts. Grug, Grug, my poor brother. It hurts to lose friends, I understand it. But you can’t change anything by being weak. Hate me all you want, but I am merely forging a world where you can be safe and happy, and where no one else of your friends will have to die like this one did. Yes, I made some sacrifices, but none of them were needless. We need strength. Strength to be free, to protect the ones for whom we care! As for Iternians, one of them is from the Rho family, if my sources are correct. Just imagine what we can achieve with their wealth! Maybe we can even save our friends!

“I am sorry,” Grug spoke through King’s lips, their eyes went murky with tears. Their body fell on the knees, and Grug cradled the picture like the most precious treasure in the entire world. “I am so sorry for failing you. I am sorry for being such a coward and weakling.”

Listen to me Grug and endure. King whispered to him. And soon, you will never lose anyone ever again. Soon, we will be free and strong enough to choose our destinies. Trust me, your brother knows best.

Feeling how his brother went to sleep, King stood up, putting a helmet on. His body once more followed his every command like a well-oiled machine. King called Chicapalli, preparing to share with him this new information. Numbers or no, the map that Four has given him might just prove invaluable in capturing the Iternian party. He did not lie, Augustus’s worth as a prisoner can hardly be overestimated. As for the rest? Iterna should pay for foiling his plans.

Sacrifices, after all, must be made.