Crouching on the castle wall like a gargoyle, Fromir wondered why in the world Mother called the meeting today. He quickly threw away his initial suggestion about the death of his dear brother, Kriegshaw. There is simply no way she could know what Kriegshaw had planned, and Fromir sure as hell won’t be telling her. So what has this left him with? Perhaps she is worried about a potential civil war over Kriegshaw’s lands? Also too late for it, some Naturalborns already died, and Ahya, along with her rival, Gaexus, grew fatter out of it.

His crimson eyes looked at the arena below the royal balcony. The sands of the arena’s floor became thick with the crimson blood of the slaves who were released to warm Mother’s heart before the game could begin. A hundred people split into two teams, armed with makeshift weapons, and set about killing each other. This wasn’t a fair sport or anything. Mother picked members for both teams on a whim, uncaring for their age or ailments. The ensuring slaughter was just as violent as it was boring and unnecessary. Sixty-eight lives were lost, and their remains were thrown into the toxic sludge that encircled the arena like the coils of a great snake. After eradicating potential workers, Mother set about eliminating potential soldiers.

Sixteen Changed stepped to the arena, brandishing their forever fused with weapons limbs. Fools, eager for momentary glory, or someone who annoyed Mother. It really mattered not. They came at each other, hacking and slashing in a mindless orgasm of violence, dying and becoming crippled, with the crowd’s cheering being their only reward. Here and only here were the humans allowed to sit side by side with their masters, basking in the glory of their better and chanting for death and misery. At first, Fromir struggled to understand why cattle would come here. Had they not seen enough death in their pits?

Lazarus was the one who explained the reason. Humans are coming here and sitting on the stone slabs surrounding the arena, exactly because they have endured unspeakable suffering and loss. They want to see someone, anyone, suffering more than they are at the moment. Unity in misery—this is what linked so many viewers and prevented Changed and Naturalborns from slaughtering livestock sitting next to them.

The smartest of fighters kept to the arena’s edges, only fighting to repel attacks and ignoring the booing of the crowd. Glory meant nothing if you were dead. One by one, the fighters fell, alliances were made and broken, betrayal and berserker fury reigned on the arena’s floor. Seeing how a Changed, armed with a bone katana sticking out of his right wrist, has bisected another fighter who just saved her, filled Fromir with a desire to jump down and eat her. No one would care, but then he’ll have to stick it out to the end. Maybe he’ll do it after the fight. Some justice must exist in this world. For this reason, Fromir always culled those with unrestrained ambition from his ranks, despite Kriegshaw’s admonishments. Yes, they were talented. No, he wasn’t smart enough to manage people like that, and he wanted to live.

Two fighters were left standing in the arena. One, a Changed with a body of a centaur, his torso had four arms and was covered in chitinous plates. Crossbows replaced two of his hands, new arrows were coming into them from the man’s wrists. The other one, the almost impossible-looking thin Changed from before, was armed with the bone katana. A smile danced on her lips as she walked toward her opponent, easily parrying the incoming bolts. The other Changed screamed and charged forward, aiming to break his opponent under his mighty hooves. Far faster than any arrow, the woman sprinted to him, slicing all four of his legs with a single cut, and spread her arms wide, drinking in the crowd’s cheers, a mix of adoration and hatred.

“Idiot,” Fromir chuckled, seeing how two arrows struck across the neck, casting the woman to the ground. Her opponent has sacrificed his legs on purpose, using the momentum of his fall to take aim and quickly fire.

It isn’t over until it’s over. Fromir remembered Gaexus’ words, noticing how his champion wriggled in the sand, unable to find strength to stand, while the crippled Changed crawled closer. It seems like Gaexus did a poor job instilling his wisdom into his own soldiers.

Losing all interest, Fromir’s eyes found the main balcony, noticing a dark figure sitting on a throne of scrap, wreathed in thick smog from screaming slaves being burned alive beneath the balcony. Once made of white marble, the ruler’s seat was now just as black as the darkness within his private room. Mother’s figure loomed over the figure, her fingers cracked the seat’s edge, and the pink, fat tongue licked her lips non-stop. Aroused by the sufferings. And this figure wasn’t Brother, just an empty suit of armor representing him in spirit. To Fromir’s knowledge, Brother had never left the Requiem Mansion.

Swinging off the wall, Fromir looked at the capital. In many ways, it was a place of wonders. Built from the remains of the old world, this place had many broken-in-half skyscrapers, maintained and cleaned by the slaves. Once vast streets were remade into rat tunnels, creating an unhealthy maze of roads with no reason or planning behind it. Slaves’ huts cluttered whatever free space was left. To reach a few markets has become almost an impossible task, unless you can run above the huts. Statues of Mother’s children, he among them, adorned many turns and forks, their forms made from white marble and decorated with various minerals. Smithies and workshops worked non-stop, clotting the air with thick streams of black smoke, their workers busy producing new armaments and equipment for both Changed and Naturalborn.

The capital was a soulless, despised place, utterly uncaring to the myriad lives dying year by year within its walls. Fromir hated it with passion, his own palace looked nothing like this oversized piece of garbage.

On his four legs, he walked toward the dungeon, rolling his eyes at the missing guards. Everyone went to see the game. Had Kriegshaw seen it, he would have foamed at the mouth in anger. No matter, the situation was perfectly suited to his needs. Reaching the slave pens, Fromir tore open the gates and beckoned the people out.

“You are scheduled for burning,” he told them flatly, ignoring the wailing of desperate mothers clutching their children closer and the begging of fathers. “Out. I give you one chance to escape. If you can leave the city, find my people, two kilometers to the north, next to a tall, rocky hill. They’ll take you to a safer place.”

He did not lie to him. Fromir’s lands were located at the very edge of the Desolation, far to the north. Starved of access to the slaves and lacking in natural resources, he had to first enforce the strict rationing of cattle and then ban the practice of eating human flesh outright. Hundreds of Naturalborns living under his rule accepted his command. A few dissenters lost their heads to his claws. All in all, the majority of his population understood his reasoning. They can either toil themselves, cleaning, building, doing repairs, and monitoring cusacks, all with no knowledge of how to do any of these things properly. Or they can allow their slaves a modicum of a better life and enjoy a luxurious existence.

Fromir saw fear in the slaves’ eyes. Unsurprising. He stood on four legs, his body is a mix of six humans, two Changed and one Naturalborn, all grafted upon each other. The regal black skin of a male Naturalborn looked like veins across his body, each of his limbs ended up with three-fingered hands. The joints in his body could bend at almost impossible angles, but the most horrifying thing about him was his visage.

Mother took her victims and wrapped them into one another, folding them like pieces of cloth, before merging all of that with her power. His fingers looked like a host of entangled worms, but they were whole, with a single bone and claw within. Fromir wasn’t even sure if he was a Naturalborn, a Changed, or a human.

“What are you waiting for…” he snapped, feeling a cold breath on his neck.

“Tsk, tsk, dear brother,” a honeyed voice whispered behind him, and Fromir cringed, feeling how her fingers ran down his spine, massaging it rather than leaving gashes with elegant claws. “Freeing the slaves without saying a word to our dear Mother? Naughty, naughty little boy.”

He made a swing with his leg, hitting only empty air and hearing ringing laughter. The tall and lean form landed on the cages, a slice of her flesh, like a cape, covered the grating above frightened people, while Ahya herself sat, dangling her legs like a girl and pressing one hand to her mouth.

Fromir felt disgusted to admit it, but his sister looked like an angel. Her legs looked like those of a human, and the soft green shade covering her skin only added to the pristine white robes caught with golden threads. Ahya’s long, silken black hair, carried on the right shoulder, had a single strand dyed in crimson.

“Maybe I am. What is it to you?” He asked with defiance, looking at the children. No less than seventy. Maybe he was going soft, but he won’t let them burn to amuse the old hag. “Look aside, sister. Or I will ruin you for interfering with my designs.”

“Is that any way to talk to your older sister? I hope you’re only joking because you’d be insane to challenge me.” Ahya smiled pleasantly, jumping off the cell.

He bit his tongue, knowing this to be true. Ahya and he sparred soon after his… birth. What Ahya might have lacked in physical prowess or skills, she more than made up for with her power. His sister walked toward the entrance, the flesh dangling from her exposed shoulders, hands on her hips. Coming inside, she stepped closer to a child, standing on her toes to avoid the fetid mass of excrement on the floor. With an unnaturally long arm, she raised the kid’s head up. When the mother tried to stop Ahya, both she and her kid gained the same glassy and mindless expression.

“What a nice pup you have, lady,” Ahya said, caressing the child across his chin. “Ah, I do agree, it’ll be such a waste to burn all these pretties. Well now, my brother seems to have the means of saving you, and I, as his superior, can’t really fall behind.” Her beautiful fingers snapped, the claws, colored gold, caught a light from a torch. At a snap of her fingers, the far wall in the room cracked, revealing a tunnel. “This will lead you straight outside of the city safe and sound, the rest is on your shoulders. Ciao, my pretties! Name some of your pups after me if you would be so kind. Now, off you go, shoo, shoo.” Something in her eyes motivated the slaves, and hundreds rushed toward the tunnel, leaving in an orderly fashion, supporting the weak and young.

“Y-you planned this,” Fromir accused her, following Ahya when she waltzed out of the room.

“Whatever do you mean, dear brother?” She arched her brow. “Truly, your jests are adorable, but far beyond my intellect. No matter, my congratulations on your birthday. Forgive me for being so rudely late with the gift, but that nasty Gaexus made my head hurt recently. Our can be such a bother sometimes…” Ahya pouted.

War it is. Fromir closed his eyes, following her. He heard Ahya planned to make a land grab, getting both the title and influence of the late Kriegshaw. Her troops already had scrambles with Gaexus’ thugs in the local taverns, leaving dead on both sides. And with Tirezi missing, things get heated even further. Part of him believed Ahya would back down, undaring to face her brother in combat. Gaexus killed five other siblings who thought to usurp him, and now wore their faces as part of his cape. Judging by Ahya’s words, she just offhandedly offered him an alliance.

Join me, and your slave problem will be solved. Fromir will have to ponder on this. He sure had more in common with Ahya than with Gaexus. But what stops her from taking him out once Gaexus is out of the picture?

Once outside, they were greeted by a crowd of Ahya’s guards and servants, confirming his suspicions. His sister never left anything to chance. Ahya lifted one leg, allowing two men to clean her sandals, then another, utterly ignoring his looks.

“We are going to be late!” Fromir fired finally, hearing a toll announcing the start of the council meeting.

“Dear brother, please trust me. I can’t show up in Brother’s presence like a peasant, and neither should you.” Ahya leaned forward, allowing her servants to put rings on her fingers and adorn her figure with diamonds and rubies.

Fromir obeyed, deciding to stay by her side out of obligation. He endured when servants wrapped a cloth around his body, buttoning his newly made jerkin. A servant gently rubbed in some pleasant-smelling ointment below Ahya’s body, before two more servants rolled a rug before her. With a dignity befitting a queen, Ahya moved on, Fromir by her side. Two other servants rolled up another purple rug before them, while servants behind them gathered the first and rushed to roll it once more, never once allowing their mistress to touch the stone floors covered in dried-up blood.

At the massive steel doors of the Requiem Mansion, the elite guards stopped them. Created by Mother, these unrivaled warriors came from the ranks of humans. Each year, a certain number of young children are taken away from their parents. Only the most healthy and fit were chosen. These kids then endure grueling trainings that weed out the chaff, leaving only stone-cold murderers. At the age of sixteen, these kids are given actual weapons and sent upon Changed. Those who survive this last test are taken into underground laboratories, where their bodies are dissolved in acid, before Mother changes them into Brother’s personal guards. Their arm is forever merged with a spear, and a suit of bone armor covered their bulging muscles.

Unlike Fromir, all of them remembered their past lives and the torture that it was. He observed their training several times, noticing how carefully instructors were leading them to the conclusion that their parents rejected them. After all, kids are taken peacefully. What parent would allow his kid to endure pain day after day with barely any hope of succeeding? No, only Mother cared for them. Isolated from the outside world, children break down at some point.

The massive guards sniffed them, evading Ahya’s suggestive moves with a grace unbecoming for such tall beings. Opening the steel doors, they let the pair go within the palace of white stone and steel. Unlike his palace, there were no suitors or servants in sight, he and Ahya had to walk on the third floor by themselves, her entourage left at the gates. Mother cared little for how the capital operated, as long as it stayed populated and obedient.

On the second floor, they heard faint classical music, a harper was playing, accompanied by violins and a piano. The music grew ever louder as they reached the throne room in silence, Ahya folding her arms in fake modesty. A freak and a goodness, the two stepped inside the throne room.

A row of stone columns led to the white platform on the opposite side of the room. Soft light was coming from the simple windows above, banishing the darkness within the room. A group of musicians stood next to the throne dais, playing their soft tunes to Brother’s delight. Mother stood to his left, just next to the platform, dressed in a purple gown, her elephantine legs allowing the portly woman to stand taller than anyone in the room.

Gaexus was present as well, dressed in his ridiculous torture armor. He sat on the chair, carousing on the remains of a human being. Directly opposing him stood a Changed, one of former Kriegshaw’s soldiers, although Fromir did not know about the man’s name. Between them hung a one-armed woman with short brown hair, dressed in the remains of steel armor and rags. Steel chains were coming from the columns, keeping the woman suspended in the air.

“Finally.” Gaexus turned his face toward Fromir and Ahya, spitting out a bone. It disappeared before it could reach the woman, and a gust of wind hit the newcomers. “I was starting to fear you are avoiding us on purpose, sister and brother dearest.”

A booming sound of a bell rang a second after his words, and Ahya’s smile grew ever wider.

“I believe we have arrived just in time, dear brother, and not a second too late or early. My lord. Mother. It is so good to see you in such good health.” She bowed.

“My sentiment exactly,” Fromir said, prostrating before the most terrifying of all Naturalborns.

“Enough with the pleasantries,” Lazarus, a tall Naturalborn dressed in a simple black jacket and pants, stepped from behind a column. “If you must drag me out of my laboratory, my lord, let us conclude this business as fast as possible. I have patients waiting for me.”

“A moment, sweet Lazarus,” Gaexus said and wiped his mouth, raising himself to his full height. The simple motion caused a trickle of blood to appear from under one of his screws. “Why is it here?” He pointed at the Changed.

“I came here to deliver the update on General Kriegshaw’s lands,” the Changed responded quickly.

“Yes, and there aren’t much of them left unaccounted for, right? My sister and I have already taken the most of them, and, all offense intended, your mere presence disgusts me, just like that of useless Fromir…” A bone left his hand, aimed at the suspend woman.

“Enough,” an icy voice cut him off, and everyone within the throne room fell silent. The bone disappeared, swept away by an arc of wind propelled by Brother’s tail. “Order in our court. Gaexus. Dare to try to harm our prisoner again, and your limb is ours. Fromir. Ahya. We greet you.”

Trembling from horror, Fromir looked at his lord and master. And at the one with whom he shared Mother’s womb.

Brother sat on a simple throne made of gray stone. His lidless, sunken eyes burned like twin green suns wreathed in the darkness of his eye sockets. Brother’s body was not exactly covered by a carapace or chitin, he looked more like a knight, encased in elongated, plated bone armor of dark color that served him as a skin. His hands and legs ended up with long fingers, tapering into straight claws. Mandibles covered his mouth, sometimes spreading and showing a row of dozens of perfect white teeth within. A long, ridged tail with a sharp hook at the end rested on the right rail of his throne, nearly touching a small table with food on it. Sensing Fromir’s attention, Brother’s eyes looked at him.

And looked at the ground beside him. There, in the care, sat Reza, breathing heavily in horror. Their sister was once a proud warrior. A killer with few equals, she had a cheeky tongue and burning ambitions to lead her in life. The problem was that Brother had no equals, as Reza learned when she challenged him. On the very night of his birth, without standing from his throne, Brother took away Reza’s tail and limbs. Reza’s power has allowed her to regenerate even the most grievous wounds, but Brother took even this away from her. His power allowed her to heal the wounds but not regrow limbs. Now she stood by him, sitting upright in a small cart, forever next to the throne that she had longed for so long.

“Please don’t eat me,” Reza whimpered in an utterly broken voice, her once-crimson hair turning white after two years of being near Brother.

“Your belly’s rumbling,” Brother leaned closer, presenting Reza with a chocolate bar in his hand. “Our mistake. Eat. We will feed you the best dishes in under an hour, sister.” She quickly swallowed, and he gave her water and a piece of meat next. Brother looked at the musicians, stopping his gaze on a child around ten years old. “Your hand is trembling, creating a dissonance in the beautiful ambience. Why?”

The music stopped, and the youth gulped down. Fromir begged all gods that the idiot would be smart enough to tell the truth. He himself found no flaw in their music, but if Brother said something, it must have been true.

“I… Sir, I have not felt well since morning.” The musician replied, and Lazarus was on him at the moment, pressing a hand to his forehead before making the young man open his mouth.

“Amusing. A simple cold in this place,” Lazarus smirked happily. “What do you know? The trip wasn’t a waste of time! Brother, do you mind if I take the kid? I haven’t got a chance to cure something this trivial in half a year at least.”

“Why bother?” The Changed showed his fangs. “If he can’t play, he is useless. Just give him to me, and…”

“Did you dare to threaten our musician?”

The Changed shuddered under the unblinking gaze of his ruler. He dropped to his feet, prostrating, not unlike Fromir and whimpering in fear. Brother kept looking, unmoving, unbreathing, only his eyes betrayed the life burning in his body.

“I… wouldn’t dare…” The Changed started saying, and Brother’s tail struck, cracking like a wind. A mere, casual movement of his gruesome tail had sent the very air racing at such a speed that it bisected the stone column behind the frightened man.

“Truth or limb.” Brother’s mandibles clanged against each other.

“For the love of all, just say the truth, you idiot!” Fromir roared and felt air rushing above him.

“I… yes,” the Changed stood up on one knee, trembling like cloth against wind. “My master, in my arrogance, I have threatened your craftsman of music. Please make it quick, sire.”

“You insulted us. From this day onward, you are the one to watch over our musicians. They are to be well fed and protected.” Forgetting all about the relieved man, Brother turned to look at the prisoner. “Ungag her, Gaexus. Iternian. Intruder. Are you suffering right now?”

“I am mostly fine,” the woman replied easily, her voice carrying no hint of fear. She turned her head, observing the stump of her wrist. “My muscles are a little strained after being suspended for so long, but I can function, Brother.”

“How dare you show familiarity!” Mother roared, stepping forward and raising a hand.

“Mother. You will stop this outburst at once.” Brother waited until Mother returned to his side. “Answer our questions truthfully, and you will face no further pain or discomfort. Tell us, are you the leader of that group that invaded our lands? What was your mission here? Are you aware of any other groups slipping into our lands?”

“No.” She shook her head, looking at Gaexus with a casual smile. The woman’s features darkened when she spotted something on his cape. “The sergeant was in charge of our operation. And now he is dead. I and the others were tasked with guarding the sergeant. No, I am not aware of any other groups.” She closed her eyes, taking a breath. “I have a request. Please, give the remains of my comrades a proper burial. Even a simple hole in the ground would suffice. Don’t parade them like that.” The Iternian nodded at the faces woven into the leather cape.

“You speak truth.” Brother shifted, tapping his chin with a finger. “You have piqued our interest, Iternian. Are all your people bold like that in the face of impending danger?”

“Perhaps some, but not all.” Impossible, but the woman laughed. They had strung her up like a pig, deep within their stronghold. The strongest of all Naturalborns were here, and Gaexus, for example, looked hungrily at the woman. Her friends and comrades were dead, and she still treated this as a casual conversation. “I am a problemsolver. Once, I was just a normal woman, until I volunteered for a special operation. I can’t disclose the specifics, but in exchange for becoming stronger, faster, and more stable mentally, I had to give up the ability to harm my fellow citizens and no longer be a slave to negative emotions.”

“Lunacy.” Lazarus said. “Fear is an integral part of being human. It alerts you to the potential danger and the repercussions of your actions.” Fromir didn’t like the look Lazarus threw at Brother.

“And how do you even define negative emotions?” Ahya supported him, leaning on Fromir and pressing a finger to her lips. “Can obsession truly be…” She looked at Gaexus. “Oh. Right.”

“Something to say, dear sister?” He smiled at her, scratching his hand until it was red.

Out of them all, Gaexus was the eldest child. He and Ahya were born just like any other Naturalborns, accompanied by fury and death as they ended their other siblings. Fromir’s came from a cauldron, where the tortured remains that Mother had used in his creation came to life. It was Ahya and Gaexus who helped Fromir leave the acrid mess, and back then Gaexus was a little more stable.

All of them butted heads with each other, plotted, sparred, and tried to devise any situation possible to humiliate each other before Mother and Kriegshaw, all too eager to prove themselves a worthy successor to rule the Dominion. Lazarus was all too distant and uncaring for the political life, their other siblings got killed or died naturally, and thus the three of them enjoyed a relative safety from dangers.

Until one day Mother soon took Gaexus away, and for long, torturous weeks, his screams filled the Requiem Mansion. When he came back, he looked more like a corpse because of the peeled skin and metal spikes stuck in his body. After this event, Gaexus became obsessed with suffering, inflicting it both on himself and others.

Pain brought him succor, and everywhere he looked, he wanted to spread more pain in turn. Not death, no. Gaexus’ wickedness demanded that he turn every single slave, every single Naturalborn or Changed, into a creature that mirrored his own torturous image. Soon after, their shaky alliance shattered.

“No point in wasting words on a madman.” Ahya waved him away.

“We are not incapable of feeling fear or anger,” the Iternian continued. “But at the same time, problemsolvers are incapable of becoming drug addicts or killing someone on a whim. Our service is both an honor and a sacrifice that we give to the state.”

“Interesting.” Brother’s tail moved, and the restraints fell off, cut by the wind. “We can’t let you go, intruder. Not after you killed some of my people. We claim you for ourselves, to learn more of this Iterna. Guards. Take her to my chambers.” At a snap of his fingers, two guards rushed closer to lead the Iternian away.

Brother waited until the doors were closed, looking into the guards’ backs coldly. The moment the doors closed, he nodded to Mother.

“She wasn’t lying. Not a word. Lead on, Mother.”

“Of course, my perfect son.” Mother smiled and called a figure wrapped in a dark cloak to her side. Coming into the center of the room, she spread her arms. “Another Iternian party dared to come to our lands.”

“Really?” Gaexus laughed, slapping himself at the sides. “Boy, they really are worse than critters. With your permission, I’ll hunt them down.”

“How do we know about their coming?” Fromir asked and felt all eyes on him. Ahya’s look was curious and approving, just like him, she wanted to know how Mother knew about the invaders. Gaexus looked at him like a hungry dog. Brother’s look was unreadable. And Mother only smiled.

“I am not without servants, son.” With a slap of her hand, she threw the black-cloaked figure on the ground. Mother looked at the struggling man and continued speaking, her voice filled with venom. “My augur here has some friends in Iterna, and he really, really wants to live. I am inclined to allow this passion of his because of all the benefits that come with it. Is this satisfactory?”

“I bow to your wisdom.” Fromir prostrated once more, not daring to do anything that might incur his mother’s wrath.

Two years ago, on the night Reza lost her limbs, Mother officially abdicated in Brother’s favor. But ever since then, their brother has always stayed in the capital, and Mother has ruled just as before, only no longer worried about any betrayal and no longer playing the political games. With the perfect Naturalborn at her side, she became above them.

“As well you should, son. Your decisiveness is noted, Gaexus, but this time we accompany you. Not to harp on your accomplishments,” Mother smile turned into a scowl, “but you are a bit too eager to leave us with worthless grunts.”

“We?” Ahya extended her arm, admiring her claws. “Mom, must we really?” I was born to enjoy silk and bodies, not to run amok across dunes like some half-naked wildling…"

“You will enjoy what I tell you, or you won’t be long for this world, daughter.” The massive woman leaned forward, casting a shadow at the innocent-looking Ahya, who shrugged and nodded. “Good. Now, everyone prepare for the journey.”

“I am staying,” Lazarus declared, walking past Mother. “Someone must oversee the creation of the next generation.”

“We allow it,” Brother said ahead of Mother and looked at Fromir. “Ahya. Fromir. Stay with us awhile.”

****

“You have allowed slaves to escape.” Brother tapped on his throne, and Fromir felt cold fear coursing through his vein.

Ahya clenched her fists, becoming stiff like a statue. Reza yelped, trying to look as small as possible in the wake of the possible wrath of her tormentor. And Fromir made himself keep looking into Brother’s inhuman eyes. There wasn’t any accusation or rage in them—just a tiny burning light. His stone-faced impression made it almost impossible to guess his mood.

Brother made all the guards and servants leave this place, staying alone with Ahya, Reza, and Fromir. And Fromir understood that this was the closest he had been to his brother in their entire lives. The ruler never took them for a drink, he never called them to have a quick dinner, like other Naturalborns. He gave no thought to socializing, bullying others into submission, or earning respect. Brother simply commanded. And those who refused to obey ended up being afterthoughts.

“Yes. We let them go,” Fromir said. Gulping down, he asked, “How did you learn about this?”

“We hear everything.” Brother turned his head to the side, showing a hole where an ear was supposed to be. “Mother won’t be happy about it.”

“If she learns of it.” Ahya made a gracious bow.

“If, sister?”

“That’s the crux of the problem, brother,” Ahya started speaking quickly, shrinking down underneath his eyes. “If Mother learns about the escape too soon, the slaves will be caught and set aflame. Will this make you feel any better? Will this bring any profit to the Dominion? She doesn’t have to know.”

Brother’s finger tapped at his stone throne. A new flame burned in his eyes, and he stood up. For the first time in his life, Fromir saw Brother at full height. His brother could hardly be called tall—only a bit taller than he and Ahya. His limbs looked thinner than Fromir’s limbs. But he knew, based on some animal instinct, that should he anger Brother, their entire existence would be wiped off the face of this world.

And Ahya knew it too, hence her bluntness. In his two years of life, Brother had forgiven many insults, save for a few. He despised lies, turning into merciless monsters each time someone persisted in lying to him.

“Your words sound treasonous, sister. We suggest you rephrase your words. Carefully.”

“Why is that?” Fromir met his look, forcing himself to address his brother as another living being rather than an almost mythical deity that could ruin him in a flash. “You have said you can hear everything. You must hear the slaves’ screams as they are dragged to the poles and set aflame. What good does this serve, Brother? There are children among them. What imaginable crime could they have committed to earn this cruelty? Mother’s wasteful rule will see our nation…”

“Enough.” A claw appeared before his eye. Brother stood still for a second before giving him and Ahya pats on the head. Brother’s hands felt like nothing like flesh and bone. They were neither cold nor hot, just dry pieces of stone. “Your words ring true to our own worries. Their deaths won’t make us feel any better. Nor will they benefit the country. This transgression is forgiven and is to be ignored. Once we assume our rightful mantle, everything will change. But make no mistake. Mother rules, and all are to bow to her. Now excuse us. Reza and We have stories to listen to.”

Brother stepped off his throne, picking Reza’s cart underneath his arm, and left through the main doors, shutting them behind himself with his tail. Fromir and Ahya looked at each other, barely daring to breathe. Soon the fear clutching their hearts retreated, and brother and sister hugged each other, laughing at the unexpected luck.

****

Before leaving the palace, Fromir walked all the way down to the basement, to the place where Lazarus had placed his study. Torches lit the room’s chilly, dark walls, and many doors in the basement concealed the breeding pits of Changed, where once-normal people transform into something stronger and faster. His ears caught the animal roars behind some cells, and out of curiosity, Fromir came closer, looking inside.

Lazarus’ assistants, Changed and Naturalborns in leather robes, were busy chaining a freshly Changed to a wall, not allowing her to point an acid cannon at another Changed, who was lying unconscious on the floor. The newborn moved sluggishly; sedatives were filling her system, canceling the surge of adrenaline that came along with the rebirth. In a few minutes, she’ll calm down and regain her senses.

Unlike Mother, Lazarus did not believe in the survival of the fittest. His underground laboratory was cleared of any filth, and ventilation worked in full, bringing in fresh surges of air. A death here was not a tragedy or accident, it was a fault, one that Lazarus meticulously investigated, punishing even Naturalborns for losing Changed in their care.

Two assistants rushed to Fromir, leading him away from the chamber toward a sole metal door at the end of the tunnel. With a bow, they opened the door, allowing him to step inside the living room.

Everything, from the floor to the ceiling, was covered in twitching, moving green life. Roots moved on their own, shifting positions seemingly on purpose. Bark covered the walls, allowing only shelves with surgical instruments to be visible. Some pollen from the flowers on the ceiling filled the air with a gentle smell that made Fromir’s head dizzy.

And Lazarus stood in the middle of this chaos, working on the centaur Changed from the arena. The man’s eyes were closed, plants reached for the operational slabs, keeping his arms pinned and preventing any twitching. Lazarus had already stopped bleeding and was now busily placing a simple prosthetic on the ruined limb.

Coming closer, Fromir saw other Changed suspended in cocoons on a wall. Some had their stomachs cut open, revealing their insides. Others had grievous bites on their necks. One even lacked a part of her head. All of them were asleep as they waited for their turn, their bleeding stopped.

“No, this won’t do, his body shape won’t let him walk with normal wooden prosthetics…” Lazarus stepped away from the patient, and one of the plants raised up a van with disinfection solution. The Naturalborn put his hands into it, noticing Fromir. “Greetings brother. In need of a doctor?”

“Sadly no. Where is the kid?”

“In one of the normal cells, resting and drinking hot tea along with soup. Some of you might think me strange, but I don’t work here all the time, you know?” Lazarus took off his gloves and shook hands with Fromir. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Speak freely.”

“Can I really? Brother’s hearing…”

“Is useless here.” Lazarus cut him off, pointing at the surrounding green. “Sound is but the vibrations of the air, and no air is leaving this chamber.”

“I saw how you were looking at Brother and Mother,” Fromir walked around the chamber, admiring the sets of surgical tools. Not all of Lazarus’ patients were living under his care in their prime, but all of them were leaving this place alive and with the means of working for food, at least. “What are you planning? Truthfully.”

“The same that I was planning all this time. Mother’s death,” Lazarus laughed. “Don’t look so shocked, brother! Yes, I am well aware of those who gave their lives in futile attempts to stop her. But you have to agree, we can’t go on like this. The Desolation is slowly being left in the past, in no small part because of Mother’s foolishness.” Lazarus walked to the patient, pointing at the missing legs. “Crippled forever, and for what? No, brother, just as Mother had been busy crafting her perfect son, so too was I busy investigating her power and planning my move. And now, with her gone, her best weapon will fall, and she will follow suit.”

“He is our brother, Lazarus!”

“Not the first whom we lost over the years,” The Naturalborn replied. “And not the last, if we allow Mother to continue. Don’t look at me like that! You yourself ended the lives of our kin, throttling them in the vain pursuit of prestige. We have no alternative, Fromir. This cancer must be cut out, and, as a doctor, I’ll see to it.”

“Lazarus,” Fromir tried to come up with arguments to convince his brother. He and Lazarus were of the same mind. Mother has to go. But killing Brother? Blood of their blood? True, he had sinned in the past, but this was before he saw what happened with Gaexus, before he saw how Mother changed others. He had grown! “Lazarus, you were there when he dealt with Reza. He can’t be stopped…”

“He will be stopped the way other tyrants are toppled.” Lazarus hugged his brother. “And with Reza restored and at the helm of the new and improved Desolation, we all will rise again and take our rightful place in the world.”

****

A group of Changed in charge of watching over the Wall woke up to the boredom as usual. Day after day, they were tasked with observing who came to this accursed mega-structure and warning their allies in the fort. Today, as usual, they moved behind the stones to their usual observation place.

All six of them got frozen in fear upon hearing a roaring sound coming from the Wall. A massive front gate slid to the side, and a hill of steel charged forth, moving on titanic threads across the field and reducing any stone in its path to dust. This vehicle was the size of the entire gate—a literal castle moving at the speed of a running man, with rows of weapons pointing in all directions.

Panicked, the Changed rushed back to report about the coming of the steel devil. Streams of energy flowed above their heads, slamming into a makeshift fort on the horizon. The Changed stopped in despair. Their home was on fire, walls melted on the ground, and the buildings behind it caught fire. A single rocket hit the command tower, exploding it along with everyone within it.

And the behemoth moved past them, no longer firing. The mere sound of its moving tracks caused one soldier to press his hands against his ears. The tremors that accompanied the thundering beast made the Changed jump up and down lightly for a while. In a single, abrupt motion, the machine came to a halt. They saw how several of its lesser guns took aim at them before a door opened between steel plates and a female figure stepped out.

“Hey there, fleshies! Name’s Eloxotla. Say, you want to see us leveling the rest of your base and you along with it?” The Changed shook their heads and threw themselves on the sand in submission. “Perfect! We don’t want to waste bullets either. Be good boys and girls, and tell us in which direction lie the lands of the Geld Duke?”