The blade stopped a centimeter from the lens on Augustus’ eye. He ignored the posturing and kept observing Jumail. Enrico was not to be trifled with, not under normal circumstances. They had met in battle once, over fifty years ago, when the Barjonis raided a Rho’s research compound, and that encounter had left scars on Augustus’ body. Had Enrico wanted to, he would have struck already.

“Hurt Carlos once more, and it’ll be you on the chopping block next time.” Enrico dropped the saber, caught it, pointed the tip down, and rammed it into the sheath. Then he gave him a pat. “Got it, friend?”

“Break one more bone in Carlos’ body and I’ll break you.” Augustus met the coiled serpents in Enrico’s eyes. “Yes, Barjoni. I know. Drop this phony fatherly concern, filth. Had you ever cared about your son, you’d never lay a hand on him.”

“Bah.” Enrico leaned back in his seat. “How many children have you raised, Rho?”

“None.” How many children have you outlived? He wanted to ask, but this was low, even for him. “Yet even I know not to lay a hand on a helpless child.”

“You speak like a commoner,” Enrico said. He lifted a hand, stopping Augustus. “Don’t have anything against them. But our lives are fundamentally different, Rho. Don’t argue! How many times have your limbs been shattered? Are they even your original limbs, or are they cloned parts like mine? Be it peace or war, death awaits people of our status at every corner. It is irresponsible not to teach our younger generation about the world’s nature and to expect unhardened birds to fly safely. Perhaps if…” he stopped talking. “Who are you spying on, anyway?”

“None of your business,” Augustus snapped.

“I don’t think so, plebeian.” Enrico reached for the helmet and picked out the second lens, placing it over his eye. “You are in my house now…”

The image of the two Malformed projected itself onto his retina. The moon shone in the sky, illuminating a small square platform where Jumail lay on his stomach, listening to the words of a round, tentacle-covered female Malformed about his age. Her pulsating bulk was marred by thick scar coverage, and she had her head nestled between two jagged bones that formed crude shoulders. Lifting herself up, she read a novel in a clear, cheerful voice.

“Their eyes met, and a jolt of electricity raced through their very souls, lighting up the spark of desire in blue and brown eyes.” The beak clicked, and a tentacle turned a page. “John felt an urge like never before; his jeans were suddenly too tight, and he could have sworn the fabric was about to burst and release his great spear! Unwilling to wait any longer, they…”

Below their platform was a circular row of seats surrounding a water-filled moat encircling a podium. Whatever this place was used for before the war, it now served as a training ground, and Ludwig tried his best to withstand an onslaught of cuts and stabs from a war chief of a Malformed tribe that had joined the Oathtakers. The man was supposedly wounded during the Chosen Prince’s resurrection, but he had not plagued the clinic for long, breaking free at the first opportunity and rejoining the training sessions. He lacked hands; two long, serrated blades served him for arms; and a fat bone tail kicked up dust in the air, half shrouding both fighters from the eyes of cheering Malformed and curious younger initiates of the Avengers.

Ludwig wore a new type of battle armor, colored in crimson and black; its frame made him almost as bulky as his opponent, while maintaining his agility. He took a cruel stab at his shield and turned to the left, trying to circle his opponent, but the tail pushed him back into the Malformed’s chopping line. What the man lacked in technique, he more than made up for in instinct, honed by years of fighting for survival and supremacy within his tribe.

It did not surprise anyone that the Malformed applied to the work in the army en masse. While their ferocity and obedience were unquestioned, their cohesiveness and need for individualized, custom-made gear had caused concern. The crusaders used this opportunity to test the prototype of the latest battle armor, and Ludwig had been accepting challengers all day.

The past war highlighted flaws in the Oathtakers’ elite forces. Vulnerability to corrosive poisons and the fact that shamblers had managed to tackle the elite forces in melee created growing concerns. The Trolls were never the physical powerhouses; they endured onslaughts thanks to innate regeneration, and more than once in the past wars between the Reclamation Army and the Oathtakers, the Wolfkins left a trail of mutilated bodies in their wake as soon as they reached the crusaders’ front lines. The infamous Battle of Ragged Hill was one such reminder. Warlord Alpha, on her own, had faced an entire rearguard of the Oathtakers’ forces left to delay the enemy, and a thousand shattered suits of armor littered the slope of the hill before the night’s end. A single foe, moving impossibly fast, had decimated an elite force. Not all of them died. Alpha sought prisoners to take to exchange them for a captured sister, but the shame of this grievous defeat has lived ever since.

Ludwig’s armor was designed to address the critical flaws in Trolls biology, quickening the reactions three times instead of the usual one point eight times. Extensive bundles of servo-muscles served both as a cushion and as a means to further increase physical strength, letting even the feeblest of crusaders easily wield two-handed claymores in one hand. Thick armor plates proved adequate protection, yet Augustus spotted scarred marks left by the shardguns. The prototype was a top-of-the-line model; every other model will be made cheaper, and no doubt the viewers from the Reclaimers ranks have already reported this vulnerability to armor-piercing ammunition. Iternian observers no doubt deemed the armor obsolete, and Augustus agreed with them. Oversized hunks of metal served well for combat robots. The regulars used suits of a superior alloy or nanobot plates to keep themselves smaller targets and more durable units.

Both fighters’ weapons rang, sparks flew, and their armor, one of bone and one of superior alloy, held. A knee knocked Ludwig off the podium, and a jetpack at his back came to life, lifting the crusader off the ground. The bone head of his opponent slammed into him, but the crusader wrapped his legs around the thick neck, sending exhaust flames into his chest and dragging the war chief into the water after him.

“At last! I thought they’d never leave the place.” The sphere-shaped girl carefully put the book in a backpack and glanced at the Malformed sitting below. “Anything happens with my book, I’ll eat whoever’s responsible before the librarian can eat me!” The angry clacking of her beak made them stop the cheering and stand up, letting out a long whining note. “Psh. Cowards. Hop into the arena, Jumail; time to put those puny arms of yours to the test and complete the initiation,” she said, almost shyly. “I want to see what a city slicker can do. Show me all your best moves; make my blood boil and spill.”

“At last!” Enrico clapped his hands. “Someone normal! Not my cup of tea, but you do you, kiddo. This is Carlos’ friend, right? What’s his name, the spider-boy, something exotic… Jimail?”

“Jumail,” Augustus corrected him, growing more concerned and remembering some of the Malformed traditions. These were more guidelines than anything carved in stone; these wildlings of the wastes often did as they deemed fit. Explorators shot them on sight or avoided them altogether, for the risk of being captured, injured, and then eaten was rather high.

“Initiation.” Enrico grabbed his chin. “When two Malformed tribes fall on hard times and neither can win the other’s hunting grounds outright, they meet and force their children into a blood union to ensure the sincerity of the peaceful intentions, and the tribes exchange the kits born of that union, thus keeping themselves from getting too inbred. How well can the boy resist his natural urges? He won’t be eating the girl after…”

“Jumail, no.” Augustus tried to stand.

“Jumail, yes.” Enrico’s hand slapped Augustus across the chest.

“Why do you want to be beaten?” Jumail asked, standing up and towering over the girl.

“Thinking you stand a chance, Juma-kit? The blood of one of us will touch these sands, and it won’t be mine, if you catch my drift.” Suction cups covering the girl’s tentacles attached to a railing, and she rose herself, upside down. The girl chirped an ear-piercing chuckle and catapulted herself at the arena, raising an explosion of white sand as the larger Malformed and Ludwig raged in the moat, beating chunks of stone out of the walls at each violent crash. “Come in. Or are you Flesh?”

“Can’t say no to a lady.” Jumail’s head twitched to left and right, his black eyes scanning the flower of tentacles.

“Am not, city slicker!”

“You will be once I pulverize the savagery out of ya!” Jumail leaped and turned into the blur, his four upper legs facing the raised tentacles and pushing them back. The two rolled on the ground at the collision, kicking and trying to end up on top of each other.

“Jumail, no,” Enrico said in a dead voice, letting go of Augustus.

“Jumail, yes.” Augustus relaxed.

“Why? Why is this the way you chose to bond?” Enrico tossed the lens back to Augustus. “What’s wrong with today’s youth? In my day it was proper; we made love, not turned a pretty girl into a steak. The trainees should be a horny mess, making problems, breeding offspring, doing drugs, and causing their parents to grow gray streaks. We lived in every moment. Instead of this. I don’t understand the younger generation at all. They are all too serious.”

Ignoring him, Augustus turned to the elevator doors as they opened and let the group of people out. Carlos, dressed in a white suit, sat in a wheelchair, seething with humiliation at his crippling disability. He still lacked both legs and an arm, refusing to even consider taking mechanical augmentation. A stunningly beautiful woman pushed him out of the elevator, turning off the wheelchair’s automatic controls and adding to the boy’s imaginary humiliation.

Lady Logen Barjoni had a slender build, and the biological augmentation further enhanced her height, keeping the woman eternally young. She maintained a healthy balance between slimness and starvation, often changing the color of her hair and the amount of muscle visible on her body. Today, the Lady of the Barjoni House had a long, curly mane of brown hair flowing freely to her waist and adorned by golden ribbons. The edges of her long dress rustled on the floor, and she gifted a warm smile to Enrico.

The lady’s reflection walked by her side; a girl younger than ten wore an elegant, long purple dress; a red belt around her waist kept the long skirts from touching the ground, and emerald pins held back her dark hair. The little Barjoni had a more mischievous smile than her mother, and she was tossing and catching a sizeable ancient polaroid camera held by a crude leather string around her neck.

“Augustus Rho,” Logen greeted him. Logen performed ceremonial duties within the Family, attending various gatherings across the country and beyond, dressed as modestly or opulently as local customs demanded. “My, it’s been a while since a member of your proud family paid us a visit! It is a pleasure to meet you, and a thousand apologies for not attending you earlier. I’ve made a poor host, but my heart is heavy with concern for my sweet tooth.”

“It is of no concern.” Augustus left his sabers on the seat and approached, dropping to one knee. Instead of kissing the outstretched hand and risking earning a knife in the back from Enrico, he pressed Logen’s hand to his forehead and bowed to Carlos’ sister. “Noble ladies of the Barjoni family. Thank you for gracing me with your divine presence. May the Planet’s blessing never cease brighten your days.”

“Well spoken, lovely, and still single?” Logen made a half-curtsy, keeping one hand on Carlos’ seat. “Dearest Augustus, were it not for the urgency of helping Carlos restore his body, I would pull you aside and marry you to one of my cousins. It is a sin to deprive even our rivals of such handsome offspring!”

“Do it! Find a mate for the instructor, because I refuse to participate in this show!” Carlos slammed his arm against the armrest. “Look at my skin! It is of noble bronze; I didn’t spend months on tanning beds to get the best coloration possible to have sickly pale, yellowish, and black limbs! I am not a freak show to serve as amusement so the lowborn masses can feel some unity!”

“The cloned limbs are in short supply right now, sweetie.” Logen scratched behind Carlos’ ear, making the boy squirm and blush. Ever since he was delivered to the hospital, his mother and sister have dotted over him, never leaving his side. “And we need one of our brave young heroes to stand at tomorrow’s ceremony. Please be satisfied with what we have. It will only be a few weeks at most, I promise.”

“Take Elina! Take Jumail; it’s going to be great for diversity! Or, even better, take Edward and Esmeralda; that way you’ll have a man and a woman in one bottle, ha!” Carlos pushed the stop button on his wheelchair in vain.

“If we needed that, you’d be a perfect fit,” the girl muttered.

“What was it, Claudette? Speak up; I seem to go deaf in one ear.” The trainee tried to pin her to the floor with a glare.

The little girl shrugged, put her hands to her mouth to form a crude megaphone, stood on her toes, and shouted at the top of her lungs into her brother’s ear: “I insinuate that you whine like a girl and scream as loudly as a boy, meaning you can fit both roles perfectly and, as a bonus, your would-be freakish appearance can pass for a Skinwalker just peachy! Three in one! Is that loud enough?!”

She dodged her brother’s grab and found herself in Enrico’s arms, who seated the young girl on his shoulder and kissed his wife.

“Carlos, there will be Malformed on the ceremony; Elina refused, and the twins want to spend time with their brother. And Jumail… is occupied.” Logen patted her son. “I know, I know, it is inconvenient, but I promise we are already growing the best limbs possible for you! Be a good boy and bear it for a single day.”

“Do a good deed for your mother, Carlos.” Enrico placed his daughter on the floor and knelt beside his son. His nails turned yellow. “Just throw on a bodysuit and no one will see anything.”

“I don’t have any choice, do I?” Carlos looked at his parents’ faces and sighed. “Typical. Fine, I’ll pass this trial with the perfection befitting my noble status. But should a single soul learn of my ghoulish appearance…”

“Of course they’ll know, dearest brother. I’ll take a picture of you, melanin-deficient,” Claudette teased.

“I’ll pull out all your hair if you dare, sister!” Carlos flailed in his wheelchair, trying to tip it over and reach her. The girl laughed and snapped a photo, blowing at the image coming out of the polaroid camera.

“I promise to treasure this image eternally. And will send a copy to that Academy of yours, Carli. You know, brother, I’d be more worried about your threat if you hadn’t been such a stunty,” she giggled. “Puny, shorty, crippled mess. Girls won’t like you, so go fix yourself.”

“And how do you know what girls like?” Carlos asked innocently.

“I am one!”

“Wow. With a language like yours, I mistook you for a drunken sailor, sis. The kind lying in a pool of his own vomit… Oh, but why am I painting you the picture? I am sure a lady of your language has had such an experience firsthand.”

“Bastard!” This time, Logen had to stop her daughter from lunging at her brother as Carlos laughed and let his mother drive him away. “Lemme go, Mom! I don’t get up at four in the morning to do my hair, read books on etiquette, maintain my appearance, and train to be a lady for some runaway pissant to dare call me a drunken sailor! He wants a sailor? I’ll show him a sailor!”

“You do well proving my point, sis.” Carlos nodded wisely.

“Mom, please, just one kick, please! The thick-skinned oaf won’t even feel it, honest!”

“Mother, I beseech you, please restrain this maddened barbarian!” Carlos gasped in feigned horror.

“Good family,” Augustus said honestly to Enrico as the group left. “The girl didn’t mean any harm. She is coping with worry over her brother’s condition that way.”

“None of your business, Rho,” Enrico spat. “Listen, take a nap, okay? I heard you getting grumpy with that insectoid kid. I appreciate you staying awake for my son’s sake; I really do.” He stopped Augustus from arguing. “But PBB is here. We’ll keep your trainees safe, far better than any pathetic Rho ever could. Knock yourself out; I’ll promise to give you a kick should the wounded wake up.”

“Thanks,” Augustus said in a dry voice. “You said you owed me. Want to get even?”

“Don’t push it, boy,” the Barjoni growled. “The mere fact of your prolonged existence in our territory should suffice as payment. The family always pays its debts, and I have paid mine to you.”

“You’ll benefit from it,” Augustus said, and Enrico slammed his bulk next to him. “A trainee had asked me for a favor…”