A luxurious hover car bearing the crimson and gold heraldry of the Barjoni family raced across the desolate wastes, stretching all the way to the horizon from Stonehelm’s pristine white outer walls. Its engine hummed, struggling to maintain a speed of three hundred and one kilometers per hour on terrain it wasn’t meant to be driven on.

Not even an echo of the titanic clash between Lord Steward and the Chosen Prince had reached the city, yet the resurrected horde scarred the ground, opening new rifts and cracks. The orbital bombardment didn’t add to the land’s wellbeing either, and now the jagged rocks littered the plains, their exteriors and the ground itself turned to glass. What little plant life had survived the first localized apocalypse perished in the second.

“But you are okay, right, Yur?” Enrico scowled, hearing his son’s woman’s voice.

“Close your visor, trainee,” he snapped as she reached to open the tinted window. The girl grimaced but obeyed, opening the window to let in some fresh air.

He didn’t dislike the girl, even with the matriarch’s warnings about her poor upbringing and the need to educate her on etiquette before letting her into the family. These were problems for the future. Right now, Enrico was disgusted by the need to play the role of caretaker when the young pup could’ve shielded herself.

She sat to his left, clad in the nanobots armor, chatting with someone on the terminal, her mechanical arm slightly larger than the natural one. Enrico decided against telling her to shut up; a professional he had hired to help smooth the edges over his rough parenting advised showing some tolerance and patience.

So Enrico inspected the outside, driving with closed eyes. He wore the modular Barjoni Assault Armor MK. 4. In its assembled form, it would’ve encased him in meters-thick armor plates and protected him with layers of energy shields, transforming him into a mobile siege platform carrying heavy ordinance to level entire districts and yet bounce around akin to a Problemsolver. As of now, he wore the ‘pilot’ part of this armor, a suit weighting over two tons.

Its core processed the incoming visual and audio data gathered by the car’s sensors and fed it directly into Enrico’s brain, giving him an omnidirectional view. Although his helmet had two lenses shaped like snake eyes to match the stylized design of his crimson and black suit, the elder Barjoni rarely used his own eyes in combat, relying instead on the far superior cameras of the armor.

Despite the devastation and the early hour, restoration efforts were in full swing. Voidrunners’ all-terrain vehicles nimbly traversed the treacherous terrain, ferrying refugees in and out of Stonehelm. Ugly box-shaped construction vehicles belonging to the Mountaintop household had set about creating rudimentary bridges to ease the logistics of keeping Stonehelm supplied and well-stocked. Hulking shapes paced at the canyon’s edges, sniffing out potential dangers. These were bioweapons released by the Rho’s handlers, not rescue beasts, though Enrico had seen them perform that task in the past, but of the search-and-destroy variety. Argus had somehow grifted himself the gig of decontaminating the area where the Chosen Prince had faced his second demise and got onto the nationwide manhunt.

Following the Numbers reveal, the Oathtakers had enlisted help, paying rather lucratively to the Iternian specialists, and already the military bio beasts crept at the edges of remote hamlets, sniffing out any body snatcher and snatching the things in turn, knocking them out, pumping paralyzing and sedative venom into their veins, and delivering them to the mainland.

The situation enraged Enrico, and he took a deep breath, meditating his twin hearts back into calmness. It should have been them! The Private Burial Brigade stood ready, contracted for the pathetic task of retrieving the stolen holy relics and keeping the remote towers of the Insectoid Commune safe. Roads, the manhunt after the Numbers, and vehicle provisions were snatched from them. Worse, Ingo Development showed up and took over the restoration of civilian communication.

None of them had sacrificed like the Barjoni! Ingo Development and the Ice Fangs served as government corporations of the Reclamation Army, operating with varying degrees of freedom. Rho hasn’t sacrificed a single credit for the right to operate pure Iternian technology here. But the Barjoni…

They sacrificed. For the privilege of first dibs on the pie, they had to make concessions that allowed the Iternian government to increase its stake in the company from a meager six percent to a dangerous nine, giving them a potential stick with which to whip the family into misbehaving and losing potential levers of control. The matriarch approved of this; they had played this game over and over again, sometimes losing and always buying back the autonomy.

Enrico wasn’t sure they had won this round. Profits were up, and they had won the contracts to restore the grand cathedral destroyed in the war, thus having the chance of gaining the priesthood’s trust.

On the face of it, it was good. Abnormals and religion ran everyday life in the Lands of the Oath. While each city and town had its own elected mayor, all of them were subservient to the city’s high priest, unless the political leaders swore an Oath and became Oathsworn. Lord Steward, Hive, and Dominator ruled the country as a triumvirate. Below them were the Army Command, the Keepers, the intelligence agency of the Oathtakers, and the Priesthood, represented by the Worthy Ones, a group of forty-eight religious leaders who proposed changes in domestic policy to the government and oversaw civilian life.

In turn, the Worthy Ones ruled by relying on the Elected Parliament, a group of politicians representing their sector and being voted in by the mayors, who were voted in by the general population, thus ensuring that even a single sector often had several political parties competing to elect a member of a parliament. Trolls and Insectones rarely agreed on immigration policy, and Normies often voted in favor of loosening the dogma of not allowing non-Abnormals to hold higher office. And their campaign bore fruit; for the first time in centuries, a non-powerful Abnormal was admitted to the Worthy Ones, and now advocated a change to allow Normies in, arguing that God loves everyone.

The Worthy Ones preferred to let their citizens govern themselves, vetoing the Elected Parliament’s proposals or requests in less than ten recorded instances over the course of the entire Oathtakers’ history. Still, their word carried great influence, and the family won a jackpot in the construction of an entire cathedral for one of its members. The Intelligence paid them well for planting listening devices, and the Worthy One seemed grateful. And as a cherry on top of it, the Worthy One of Stonehelm was a member of the Church of the Planet.

Only he wasn’t stupid. The man knew he wasn’t a shrewd politician and directed the Barjonis to Acting Governor Abel for future contracts. He’d turned down an offer to build him an opulent, four level tall cathedral, where the outer parts of each level would’ve served as glorious hanging gardens, with flowing water forming waterfalls over the mighty walls. The man asked for a modest and sturdy box-shaped cathedral, nearly half a kilometer long, a place to preach and keep administrative records.

This slashed the costs significantly and, thus, the profits. And the attempt to curry favor with Governor Abel was in vain. The man was an unimaginative, incorruptible, unintelligent, and dull piece of a human being who insisted on being called an acting governor and didn’t trust the family not to establish a monopoly. With the parliament’s guidance and the Worthy Ones’ backing, Abel had proposed a plan to Lord Steward. They invited other sharks in, making them compete, keeping themselves from being reliant upon and eventually ending in the Barjoni pocket.

Who plays who, in the end? Enrico wondered. The Family earned obscene profits, and once their private healthcare spread, they could focus on curbing the government’s influence. And yet they can’t discard it entirely, for they do not hold the Oathtakers by the balls. Their plans of getting contracts for terraforming all the land up to Birchshell and rebuild every lost city have gone up in smoke. Gehenna Infinity was hired to rebuild the Birchshell airport! What could military contractors possibly know about civilian infrastructure?

“If by okay you mean being treated as if I am a newborn kit, being confined to a bed, and being screamed at each time I try to walk on my three good limbs to a restroom, then yeah, I am okay,” a voice bleated out of Carlos’ woman terminal. “Livid, but lucid. They don’t even serve live fish here, claiming it’s wrong to eat it raw. And they made me eat vegetables, threatening to tell the PO if I didn’t behave.” The voice complained.

“If you need to, I can speak to Akebia…”

“Eh, no need; the instructor and the PO already had a talk and told me not to worry,” the bleating voice interrupted the trainee. “But I am worried. Why can Olaf leave his room and I can’t? I have three limbs, I can walk on them! Elina, do they think I am an animal or something?”

Enrico turned the wheel, smashing the car through a glassed pillar, and Carlos’ woman cried out in surprise, leaning away from the window as a shard of glass hit her visor. The trainee still had her terminal in her hand, so there was something. Enrico sank the accelerator, speeding up to their destination.

There was… an oddity. He ignored the trainee’s complaints and focused on the field. There. Roughly forty kilometers away from the car. A glass surface cracked. Could it be an accident? Perhaps a pebble from the fallen pillar hit the spot?

Another crack. Closer to the car this time.

Have you dropped a hook to get the kid? Enrico typed to Carlos, keeping an eye on the strange occurrence. Crack. Crack. It was as if a frog was leaping after the car. If so, why haven’t the sensors found anything?

Nope, just spooked the Elite away. Carlos replied.

Asshole. You are denying us an asset. Enrico let his foul mood break. He sucked the air through the nostrils, remembered the lessons of the specialist and typed, leading the car over a small rift in the ground, circling around several raised stones that glistened in the morning sun after the ship had basked them in the overheated flame. Sorry for the insult. Too much on my mind.

The glass near a stone pillar shattered, exposing a hole in the ground, and his eyes spotted pieces of glass falling off the pillar. Fingerprints.

Father, Rowen wants to be a doctor. Hardly an asset we can’t find. Carlos added a laughing emoji, and Enrico tried to smile as his nails turned yellow.

It was the result of extensive biological surgery and a side effect of his troubled youth. Exposure to a lethal toxin injection from a Rho’s whelp when he was around eighteen had altered the chemical balance of his brain, numbing his emotions. Enrico could still feel pain, discomfort, anger, and everything else on the spectrum, but as he underwent one biological sculpture after another to mold himself into a perfect body, he lost the ability to express it.

Enrico admitted it bothered him only to Logen, not daring to show weakness to the matriarch. She removed better men from the field for less, and he felt alive on the battlefield. Logen, his light, his beloved, has suggested an elegant decision after he rejected her first offer of asking Argus for help.

The nails helped. It reminded him that he, too, was human, even if he had to hide them at official meetings.

He plans to do so now, Carlos. Enrico decided against adding an emotion to the message. Iterna is no longer bound by time. Imagine being stuck in the same job for fifty, sixty years. You’d go crazy. People change careers all the time. And when the Barjoni family unveils a new S-Class to the nation, it may open new venues for expansion. No matter. Nothing is lost yet.

Leave my friend alone. Carlos tried to call him. Good. The boy is growing, no longer afraid.

We will merely present him with a lucrative job opportunity at the end of his education. Carlos, you saw his power firsthand. We are not letting it go off the radar. No one will even hint to the kid about changing career. The Family can play the long game. Go on, good luck at the ceremony, wyrm.

Enrico replied briefly to the rest of his children, and then took the car into a spin, making his son’s girlfriend almost drop the terminal when they raced up the wall of a small hill, and then continued to drive upside down across a small stone ledge, forcing the girl to use one arm to keep from hitting the ceiling.

“I take it you share being a reckless idiot with Carlos,” she said. “Yura, I’ll call you back! My driver is trying to end us both!”

“Hardly,” Enrico replied. “This car can survive a direct missile hit, and this little ride is nowhere near brinkmanship.”

The sensor’s wave spread wider thanks to the elevation, creating a surface map in Enrico’s mind. He saw it now: the ground being pushed, pebbles breaking, and a faint sound of gravel shifting. Someone has been keeping up with them ever since they left Stonehelm.

And who could it be? Could Argus send an assassin to finish what his daddy started? Doubtful; he was a soft-hearted fool. Gehenna, perhaps? They specialized in robotics, and their private assassins could cloak themselves from observation. No, these machines would have attacked by now, and they weren’t stupid to exposing themselves so much.

Enrico Barjoni, requesting assistance. An unknown guest is following us. Possibly a hunter after the trainee. He sent a message via the terminal.

Acknowledge, sir. Problemsolvers are heading your way; ETA: fifteen minutes.

Too long. He pursed his lips while driving with no obvious goal. Their pursuer has started gaining on them, annoyed at their long journey. No, whoever it was, they won’t get fifteen minutes. And he did promise Augustus to look after his kiddies.

Enrico stopped the car near the wide canyon, stepped out, and approached the edge. The lenses of his helmet flashed, and a beam of light illuminated the darkness, highlighting a bottom roughly five to six hundred meters below. Perfect.

“We drive all that way for this?” Carlos’ woman asked. She looked down and whistled. “Why didn’t we go to the factory, sir?”

“It’s off limits,” he told her. “These Rhos bastards have set up a small laboratory there and are checking for any sight of the Chosen Prince’s survival.” She trembled. Afraid. It surprised him. He had survived his first assassination attempt at the age of five, when a dagger had pierced his eye and reached his brain. Enrico laid a hand on her shoulder. “He is dead. I swear, no one will hurt you here. Take a breath and calm down.”

“Thanks.” She smiled from behind the translucent helmet. “Truth be told, I am afraid of heights. Well, these rocks should be here. Let me get my climbing gear and…”

“Too long.” He pushed the girl off the edge.

“What?” Her face changed. Disbelief, confusion at finding no footing under her legs, and finally pure anger at the fact that he had pushed her so far that the trainee would not be able to grab the walls. “You son of the bittttt…”

Enrico shrugged and turned his back on the canyon. He surveyed the empty field and demonstratively tapped at his wrist.

“Come out already. I don’t have all day.”

The air trembled, and a chuckle sliced through sounds of broken glass and shattered stone. A lithe humanoid shape popped into reality, dressed in a ridiculously assembled battle suit of various models. The newcomer wore boots belonging to a metal scavenger, a vambrace taken off a crusader, the helmet belonged to a member of a Stonehelm guard, and his chest was protected by a brown carapace armor taken off from a bounty hunter. Cables connected this silly power armor, hissing sparks from the gorget where the mundane armor couldn’t handle the flow of electricity coming from a templar’s energy generator mounted on the person’s back and giving him the appearance of a hunchback.

A long gladius was hammered into the vambrace, its hilt broken and the tip looking at Enrico. Traces of torn flesh and dried blood covered the man’s armor; one lens was completely red, and Enrico turned off the olfactory sensors, unwilling to sniff the putrid odor.

“Maxmilian sends his regards, Barjoni,” the Number giggled, taking a creaking step forward. Not only did his armor resist this movement, but the leg itself seemed on the verge of breaking. He spoke in a human voice; the dynamics of his armor were off. “I’ve come for the girl. Stand aside and live another day.”

“This?” Enrico spread his arms. “This is what I called help for? Where is a sniper to shoot me in the head while you distract me with your theatrics? Where is your support? What kind of ambush is this? Don’t tell me you came alone,” he asked, both with disappointment and to prompt his failed killer to reveal a bit more. “Where is the one called Eight? I am a Barjoni. I deserve at least a Single Digit to face me.”

“Stupid as ever,” the thing sneered. “I am Nineteen. And…”

“You can’t possibly hope to take me on alone. Summon your maker. Now. I want a proper challenge.”

“Creator is busy, and Eight is away,” Nineteen said. “I alone am enough to end you, reject.” He aimed the tip of his weapon at Enrico’s faceplate. “The owner of this body has the power to turn himself invisible to the naked eye. He and I complement each other quite well, I think. And do you know why? Because I can erase all traces of my presence, noise, heat, and everything else. Fool, I let you spot me so you would stop. Now prepare to die, waiting for a strike you can’t possibly anticipate.”

“Can’t possibly…” Enrico whispered. “Idiot. Retard. You, the weakling who let his body be stolen. You are in luck. I am walking my son’s girl, so you may yet survive. If you do, you owe the family your life.”

Nineteen’s laughter was cut off as his body flicked off Enrico’s field of vision as if the man had teleported somewhere. Enrico kept his position and let his armor release a long-range scan, checking everything. What came out of his armor wasn’t the pathetic echolocation used by Rho; it was an omnidirectional wave capable of checking a person’s heartbeat or temperature. It washed over everything and sent the data back, where the automatic core of his armor would remove all irrelevant factors and paint an enemy picture to Enrico, pinpointing potential cuts on the foe’s skin, increased breathing, a strained limb, or anything else out of the ordinary.

The wave returned, and the core made a buzzing sound, unable to find the opponent. The rudimentary mechanical intelligence knew of the foe. It had the capabilities to detect spatial or dimensional anomalies in the air, yet its sensors failed, and the core urged Enrico to retreat. He calmed it, summoned every ounce of data received in his brain and found a spot. A simple spot that reported nothing. The only place where the wave disappeared.

The absence of something often causes ripples, like a rock thrown into water, and thus helps to gauge its rough whereabouts. The empty spot shifted, encircling him to the left, and Enrico advanced.

Time to work.

****

I will murder him! Her fist slammed into the wall, and the stone gave in to her fingers. Round-eyed and scared to the bone, Elina climbed back, choking the fear of height through the sheer rage she experienced.

The bastard threw her off the cliff! Her armor cushioned the fall, and as the panic receded, she found herself in a small crater left by her body. As she stood up, something oily and green slipped on the ground. It turned out that she had landed on an insect, splattering the thing and scaring everything else down there. The sight of countless legs scurrying in the dark and dark eyes sizing her up made Elina bellow in rage and horror, and she climbed up, stopping to pick up the stones that Ratcatcher liked.

Never. Never. I will never set foot in an underground again! She almost teared when a scythed creature emerged from a crack, trying to swipe at her fingers. In her rage, she caved the poor thing’s head in and moved up, covering the distance by lunging thanks to the strength given to her by the armor.

Elina saw the light above, and it has helped her move faster. Pieces of stone and glass rained down, drumming against her armor. Is this asshole doing this on purpose? She decided not to find out and clutched the cylinder of glowing stones to her chest, almost running upwards.

Maybe she should have been at the ceremony, having fun… Fuck it, she should have been there! But the thought of Eliza and Vasily floating in their capsules, unmoving and unthinking, gnawed at her. They aren’t dead! Just injured. All is well, so why is she crying her eyes out at night? Elina had to do something, and do something she did.

First, she came to the Avengers’ temporary headquarters and explained the situation to them, receiving a data slate with the locations of the underground cities from them. Wivin and another Troll warned her it was a fool’s errand, but she didn’t care. Vasily had a hobby, and he wanted to get access to their databases, so she did what she could. Next, Eliza.

This was harder. Ratcatcher had one true passion in life, and this was eating, specifically ice cream. Elina envied her ability to stuff her face and not get fatter, but how do you make a welcome gift out of this? Stonehelm was a wonderful city, but its ice cream sucked ass! Elina took one bite and left the rest to the street kids, disgusted by what passed for a treat around here.

Then it hit her. Stones! She asked Augustus for permission to leave, and he promised to find someone to escort her. What a great escort he found; hopefully the next one will simply mercy kill her outright!

“B-a-s-t-a-r-d…” Elina said slowly, rising from the edge of the cliff and pressing the cylinder to her chest. No way, no how will she come back down to those insects.

“Took you long enough.” Enrico slammed the trunk of his car shut.

“You dropped me down half a kilometer, you son of a whore!” The voice returned to her, and Elina kicked the bastard in the knee. His armor gave off a ringing sound, but he refused to budge. “I could’ve died!”

“That would prove the inadequacy of the armor issued by the Academy. And no woman of my son would ever be hurt by something as simple as that,” Enrico told her.

Elina’s cheeks turned red. “I am not his woman! Carlos and I are friends…”

“No?” Enrico sat in the car. “Do you date that girl for whom you collected the pebbles, then?”

“Nothing of sorts! I am not into girls!” Elina didn’t bother to open her door and slipped through the window into the cabin, enjoying the ease of movement of her mechanical arm. The doctors had warned her that she might feel it as an extra weight, but the heaviness of it calmed her It gave off a pleasant whirring sound as it moved, and she felt a slight tension in her muscles, as if someone were trying to pull a joint out of her. These sensations resulted from her muscles and brain struggling to accept the alien limb, the doctors explained to her.

Would his helmet crack if I rammed it into his helmet? She wondered, sizing up Enrico. No wonder Carlos panicked after hearing his father would accompany her. The man was an ass! Can’t drive, rude, and also doesn’t care about her safety whatsoever!

They drove in silence for several minutes, Elina still seething with anger and Enrico ignoring her, steering the car with one hand and typing on his terminal with the other. She reached for her own terminal to call Yura when a rumbling sound distracted her. Something was rolling in the car's trunk, hitting the walls, and from the sound of it, it was a pile of metal or something.

“Was it always like this?” Elina asked. There was something wrong with the heavy object, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“If you hadn’t spent the whole trip chatting about nonsensical gibberish, you might have heard this junk before,” Enrico told her. “Speaking of nonsensical, what is this?”

Elina turned to look ahead and found herself agreeing with the asshole. An armored van stood in the middle of the ruined plain, and a Problemsolver, a tall person in a blue power suit of armor whose face was hidden behind a dark visor, raised a hand, while four other soldiers stood at attention. Enrico slowed down and opened the window on his side.

“Speeding over the limit, sir?” The visor slid aside to reveal the face of a smiling woman. She nodded to Elina and addressed Enrico. “We may be in another country, but we have to obey the traffic laws on the roads, Mr. Enrico.”

“What roads?” He and Elina asked in unison.

“Be that as it may, sir, I must insist on inspecting your vehicle,” said the Problemsolver.

“Anything to get out of here sooner.” Enrico waved a hand, silencing Elina’s protest.

“Is there anything illegal in your car?” the woman asked.

“Nothing. Just some junk in the trunk; feel free to take it and dump it anywhere.” Enrico pressed a button, and the trunk’s lid opened. “Knock on the window when you’re done.” He said and lifted the window back up, turning it dark.

Elina thought she heard a groan and then a hissing noise, followed by the piercing of something soft. The Problemsolvers rummaged through the trunk, emptying it and dragging something — a bag filled with metal from the sound of it — out of the car.

Enrico took off his helmet. He picked up a cigar and offered one to Elina. After a moment’s hesitation, she accepted the offer, lighting it herself and inhaling the smoke fumes. “Are you with Carlos because of money? If yes, just say how much; I’ll write you a check and we’ll all go our separate ways.”

“No.” Elina blew a circle of smoke. “He and I… He sort of saved my life.”

“And you helped save his,” Enrico stated bluntly. “How much do you want for it?”

“From you? Nothing. I’d rather you piss off,” Elina snapped at him. “Listen, Carlos and I are friends.”

“You went to nightclubs together.”

“Fucking stalker!”

“Hardly.” Enrico blew a puff of smoke into the ceiling, and the ventilation system immediately sucked it in. He adjusted his seat and leaned back. “I am the one who paid the fine for the damage to that club.”

“That…” Elina’s face turned red. “That was one time! We got a bit drunk; there was this bitch who opened her mouth about how the Academy shouldn’t accept animals, as she called the non-human looking trainees, and…” She looked aside and pushed the cigar into the ashtray. “It was my fault, sir. I shouldn’t have broken her nose.”

“Wise,” Enrico said. “The commoners never appreciate others, so why bother ripping out their tongues?”

“Anyway, I’m sorry I got your son in trouble,” Elina said. “He wouldn’t have kicked those guys if it wasn’t for me… Back then, I was going through a dark phase in my life. Lashing out at everyone. Hurt my friend.” She looked at the collected stones. “But Carlos never gave up on me. No idea why.”

“Friends don’t leave each other hanging.” Enrico tossed a used cigar into the ashtray and picked another. “Your name is Elina, right? So you’re not planning on breaking my boy’s heart?

“Sir, I am not sure we are even dating. Yet.” Elina regretted the words the moment they left her mouth, but something has changed in Enrico’s eyes. They turned warmer, and the man started asking her about Carlos’ everyday life, inquiring as to why he isn’t the best in the class, with whom he has beef, and what sort of things he enjoys.

She answered some of his questions, trying not to expose too much about Carlos, breathed a sigh of relief when the Problemsolvers tapped on the window, telling them it was okay to leave. Enrico, however, continued his questioning, and when Yura called, a red-faced Elina grabbed the terminal and thanked the heavens for this small mercy.

Dating… It was a bit too early to think about it. Yet.