Dusk had settled over the Nest, quelling the blazing heat of the day. Timid specks of emerging stars bloomed in the heavens, and the roars of the Malformed faded to nothing. Families locked themselves in their lairs; guards poured outside, their revelries in the dungeons concluded. Reluctantly, they dispersed across the territory, cuffing any elders who lingered too long, venting the anger bred by their inability to sleep after heavy drinking. But none dared challenge the chieftain's command, and a force of fifty-five soldiers ascended to the city's summit, taking up their watch duty.
Exactly as Dad had predicted.
Draa kicked the door open, slamming it into the lair wall, and stomped outside, ignoring the guards, irritated by the noise. Behind him, Dad's shadow loomed in the doorway, and further back in the darkness lurked Eshtu, Vyfka, and Akrn.
“I’m sick of your damn rules!” Draa spat on the ground. “Don’t do this, you can’t do that, be polite... What’s the point of your lessons?! You think anyone will appreciate them?! We don’t eat Softskins,” he mimicked Dad’s voice. “Shove those rules up your ass! I like their taste!”
"You will return this instant and apologize for your tone," said William, not stepping over the threshold. "Or you will be a stranger to our home."
“Lair! I'm done with your Softskin words!" Draa shrieked, hearing the pack of guards cheering on his outburst. "I've outgrown you, old man! I won't let your cowardice shackle me any longer! Today I’ll get my own piece of this juicy delicacy!”
“Draa!”
He turned his back on his father and ran toward Paarfu's shop, smiling with his lips. The scene of their quarrel had been loud enough for the neighbors and the chieftain's henchmen. In the worst outcome, their ruler's vengeance would fall on him alone, just as he had intended.
When he had announced his intention to save the children to his family, William had called him an idiot, refusing to even listen. Draa had panicked, realizing Dad was ready to break him to keep his son alive. But the mention of Artificer had calmed his parent's anxiety. William questioned his son about everything, tapping his fingers on the table, then shared a bottle of mushroom wine with Mom. They conferred at length in their room, and afterward, William had gone out, returning with Vyfka, her friends, two adult Malformed, and Eshtu with his sister.
No one could find Tigfy. It was as if she had never existed in the Nest at all.
William assumed the role of leader, informing those present of his son's discovery. The parents of Vyfka's friend—Draa was surprised to learn that the violet-eyed boy was not an orphan and that his father was the guard Dad had crippled, dismissed from service for weakness—agreed on the necessity of flight. The chieftain's merciless murder of the Malformed and his impending visit to the former guard's wife had been decisive factors.
Vyfka readily agreed to take the risk. Eshtu had finally made the right choice as well. The fugitives intended to leave the Nest in two groups. The first group would consist of Nuergh, Akrn, Euka, the two boys, and the adult Malformed. Night hunts were not uncommon. Mom solved the difficulty of transporting Euka by tucking the little one into her suit's pocket. Draa had pulled Dad aside then, confessing his doubts about the former guard's loyalty. William patted his head, assuring him that Nuergh was more than capable of defending herself.
William would spend time 'searching' for his wayward son and then leave with Eshtu and Vyfka, who would claim to have seen Draa beyond the gates. There they would meet the others at the platform, and everything would be fine. William had initially wanted to stay behind and mislead the guards, but Draa, falling to his knees, had made him swear not to.
No one must suffer because of him.
Draa entered the passage separating the rear entrance of Paarfu's shop from his larder. The old trader shot him a glance through the window, clicking his tongue at the sound of stone slabs grinding. The tunnels branching deep underground pierced the entire region, but Draa knew this particular passage far better, having memorized every turn while carrying out tasks to eliminate scavengers preying on Paarfu's supplies.
Strangely, Draa felt no fear as he gazed into the dark tunnel, bearing dents from his previous visits. One step, and that's it. He would never return home; the chieftain would be ready to tear him apart, slowly squeezing the life from him. He would never be able to stop him. So why wasn't Draa afraid? The boy took several deep breaths, plunged downward, set his feet on the ladder rungs, and slid the stones back into place, barricading the entrance.
The last sliver of moonlight thinned and vanished, taking his former life with it.
The crash of his landing sent scurrying bugs scattering in all directions. A couple of larger creatures leaped, misjudging his capabilities. Draa caught them in his maw, clamped his jaws, and drank the thick, pale blood, rich with sour and sweet undertones. The passages leading in various directions echoed with the crack of joints as the boy dropped to all fours. Sniffing the air, he caught a scent-mark and turned left, crushing darting gnats under his palms.
The tunnels led to every part of the Nest. Metallic, plastered with refuse and overgrown with insect cocoons, they stretched both downward and upward, an integral part of the city. Here, an ecosystem of its own reigned and thrived; bursts of searingly hot fumes diluted the stale air. Passing beneath the gates, Draa pressed his face against a mossy surface.
The passage trembled, unknown mechanisms wheezed, and a whistle swept over Draa, replaced by a greenish stream of air mixed with acidic droplets. The boy's fingers cut several centimeters into the biological mass. Deep within this place, the devices of the Ancients continued to function, indifferent to the disappearance of their creators. Finally, the emission ceased, and Draa scrambled onward. If he wished, he could spend hours here and find a way home, but tonight, a far more important path awaited him.
He proceeded straight through the tunnel leading to the garbage zone where they had defeated the arachnid and stopped at the fourth turn. The accumulated material here had narrowed the passage to the size of a pea and squelched, expelling watery slime as Draa tore away the vile covering, struggling not to breathe through his nose at the revolting stench that made his head spin. He worked in bursts, retreating for gulps of cleaner air and then continuing to clear the wall.
As Dad had said, he finally reached three hatches. Between them, curious symbols were painted on a yellow background: four black circles. But only the central circle was closed, while three larger rings superimposed upon it remained open to the left, right, and above. Draa tensed his muscles, opened the third hatch, and peered inside, discovering a spacious hall piled with debris.
A long cavity in the floor divided the hall in two. To the right, partially inserted into this recess, stood a mechanical device the size of a hill, its long tube aimed at an armored wall. Canisters glowing yellow lay scattered across the floor. Draa picked one up, smiling at the electric current that ran up his arm from the yellow substance within. His instincts did not scream of danger, and the Malformed spent a few minutes enjoying the pleasant tingling that worked every muscle in his body, restoring his flexibility.
What a shame he couldn't take a couple of these canisters with him. Draa wondered if Akrn had stumbled upon them during his explorations. He wiped dust from an inscription with his finger and tried to read it, but the words refused to coalesce into anything comprehensible. ‘Anti,’ ‘Matter,’ and ‘Shell.’ He knew the word ‘shell’; Softskins fired them. But how could matter be anti? Matter either existed or it didn't, and since he was touching the canister, this thing was real.
He tossed the toy over his shoulder and climbed the stairs to the left of the long tubed device. Behind him was a separate room, partially enclosed by glass. Within it were long, rectangular objects, covered in screens and buttons, slumped over which were the skeletons of Softskins. Most of the dead had long since collapsed into themselves, becoming little more than outlines of dust on the floor and heaps of blue clothing with tarnished buttons and silver ornaments. But one thing startled the boy, and he dropped to his knees, hiding, peering into the room with one eye.
A steel man stood inside. It could not be called a Softskin, as metal served as its unknown hide. Half a head shorter than Draa, very thin, with no visible mouth or eyes on its flat facial surface, this being was bent over a rectangle. Not breathing, not moving. The screen before it still glowed, displaying words: "Orbital…" Then a word starting with 'B', blurred by a crack in the screen, followed by distinct letters: "Emergency shutdown overridden… Mission… Destroy all."
Draa moved on, assured the sculpture would not stir. He slid his fingers into the gap alongside the door, pulled it aside, and discovered a corridor utterly devoid of any trace of organic buildup on the walls—and a deep hole. Just as Father had described. Draa longed to go further, to see if he might find a way into the room or encounter another motionless figure, but he could not waste time.
The chieftain sometimes woke early.
Gulping, he stepped into the hole, spread his arms, and pressed his palms against the tunnel walls, sliding downward. Darkness surrounded him, in which he could faintly scent Dad's scent-marks and those of the guards, almost faded after so many years. He sensed no parasites or other living things. As if, drawing closer to the chieftain's personal domain, all animals fled, hiding as far as possible from the insatiable maw and untamable cruelty that dwelt here.
But more likely, the glow from the great hall simply scared them off.
Draa slid down more than fifty meters and felt a grating beneath his feet. Faint green light emanated from below. Stepping to the edge of the grating, Draa shifted it aside and dropped down, landing in a passage lined on both sides with prison cells. Once, ordinary doors—like the one he had slid aside above—had sealed these chambers. But they had been ripped out by the roots, damaging the frames, and replaced with bars and crude imitation gates set within them.
The chieftain's prison.
Hopelessness and the countless deaths that had occurred here pressed down on his psyche. There were no corpses in sight, but inside each cell and outside them dark stains lingered, and the tiniest fragments of bone crunched beneath his feet. In some places, congealed blood had caked in enormous layers, resembling growing tumors. Every choice morsel that caught the chieftain's fancy was brought here to be conditioned properly. Draa grimaced in disgust, grasping the vile ritual's purpose.
The bastard reveled in despair and fear.
“Madad aa gaee hai,” Draa said the phrase he’d learned from Dad. It roughly meant, ‘Help has arrived.’
Draa repeated the words several times, moving deeper into the prison, leaving the spiral staircase leading upward behind him. He thought he heard a faint cry ahead and quickened his pace, walking straight into a fist that struck him in the chest. Recoiling, Draa expected the worst and calmed slightly upon seeing Gaur emerging from a cell.
“Gaur! I...”
“Came to rescue breakfast.” Gaur swung, his fist slamming into Draa's raised arms. The boy was thrown back two steps. “I saw the way you looked at them, weakling.”
The square-shaped Malformed looked bad. Half his beard was gone, bruises swelled on his body, and ragged wounds reddened his sides. Nevertheless, he grinned broadly, advancing on Draa instead of fleeing or calling for help.
"I always knew your guts were too thin for a herd member. Causing pain to prey makes you cry. Tell me, did you weep when you saw the little fleas? Wipe your snot?"
"Eat shit and die, Gaur," Draa hissed. "If you don't get out of my way, I'll hurt you."
"Shit?" Gaur tilted his head. "Yes, I will eat it. But first I’ll have to kill it. Your debts will be paid.”
Gaur lunged at Draa, seizing the boy's right wrist with his left hand. In one pull, he broke the youth's block and stabbed his outstretched arm into Draa's neck. The guard's writhing fingers wormed between the bony plates, tearing skin with leech mouths. Draa wrenched free of the grip and grabbed Gaur's left arm, bending it with all his strength. With a pop, the adult Malformed's elbow protruded on the inner side of his joint.
A right elbow strike hurled Draa from the passage, through the cell bars, straight into the wall. He winced in pain, not falling to his knees, and dodged left as a three-toed foot dented the metal. With a crushing overhand strike, Draa drove his right elbow into the exposed knee.
"Ah, motherfucker…" Gaur swore, taking a punch to the chest.
Draa pushed him back. He would not let the Malformed corner him and exploit the weight difference for victory. His head snapped to the side, and the world swam before his eyes. Gaur lashed him across the jaw with his dislocated arm, snapping his own bone back into place. A knee strike followed, slamming into Draa's pelvis, and Draa found himself in the corner. The dizziness persisted. He grasped at air instead of the fists that drove him face-down to the floor.
The Malformed stomped on his back, kicked him in the face when Draa tried to slip between his legs, and blood flowed from the boy's twisted mouth.
"Keep groveling at my feet, Draa!" the guard laughed, dropping his full weight onto him. "Finally, you've taken your rightful position." His long arm coiled around the boy's head, flexible fingers creeping toward his eyes. "You have a nosebleed? Excellent. First I'll blind you, then tear out your nose, then gnaw out your eardrums. Deprived of your senses, you'll be devoured alive, not even realizing from which side I'll bite next. Helpless and useless until the end…"
Gaur roared, recoiling. Draa seized the moment to get to his feet, finding Tigfy mercilessly raking her claws across the guard's neck. The girl cried out, arching backward as Gaur crashed into the wall, shielding himself with his arm. Twice he slammed her into the metal before Draa lunged at him.
Everything blurred for Draa. The room's dimensions pulsed, narrowed and expanded, his head still spinning, but he snarled, scenting blood. He sank his teeth into Gaur's chest, tearing out a chunk of hairy flesh, and swallowed it immediately. The guard's fingers clawed at the joints of his bony armor, finding vulnerable skin, but Draa did not flinch from the pain. The Malformed's arms intertwined in two holds. Heavier, Gaur dragged Draa toward the wall, wheezing and spitting saliva in fury. His carnivorous fingers suddenly hardened, trapping Draa's fingers in living vises, threatening to break them.
"You wanted to kill me. Is that really such a difficult task?" Draa rasped.
"I'll break both of you," Gaur promised, putting all his strength into the pull.
Draa did not resist. Instead, he stepped back as far as he could, maintaining the grip. Leaping, he drove both feet into the guard's face, breaking his nose and knocking out his front teeth with the wet slap of soles against flesh. Gaur staggered back, giving Draa time to regain his balance, and his bony fist landed on the ragged wound in the Malformed's side. Howling in pain, the man clutched his ribs. In panic, he kicked out, but Draa punched the injured leg, preventing Gaur from winding up.
He pursued the retreating Malformed, striking twice in the center of his chest and doubling him over. Immediately, both fists hammered his face, bending the man backward. Draa leaped, clasping his hands together, and brought them down on the bleeding face. Unable to withstand the assault, Gaur fell onto his back. Landing his knees on the bastard's stomach, Draa drove the air from his lungs, seized the wound his bite had made with his left hand, and brutally pummeled Gaur's face.
Heavy breathing and the thud of the back of a skull against the floor intermingled with the rising and falling of his arm and the growl climbing Draa's throat. Eat. He wanted to feed. Red flooded his vision. Sticky mass, torn from Gaur's face, caked his fist. The skull gave way beneath his assault. A little more and…
Draa stopped, realizing Gaur had lost consciousness. A pool of blood spread beneath his head; his face was caved inward, and his fangs gleamed yellow from the boy's fist, but for Malformed, such wounds were not fatal. Irritating, requiring weeks of recovery, yes, but not fatal. Draa understood that he did not wish to kill a sentient being. Softskin, Malformed, not counting the chieftain, he hated or feared no one enough to take a life. But he had nearly torn into the guard's throat.
Slapping Gaur's head to the side to prevent the guard from drowning in his vomit, Draa returned to the cell, nursing his hand with two dislocated fingers.
"Tigfy…" he called.
A dull red flashed to his left, and claws touched his neck. The girl examined his face and nodded, retracting her claws.
“Draa? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Wanted to find you,” Draa said sincerely into the girl’s surprised face. “You know, I thought you couldn't talk properly.”
“Dizzy?” Tigfy asked sympathetically. She took his hand, resetting his fingers. "Playing dumb is my style. Won’t cheat, won’t survive.”
“Regarding survival!” Clarity returned to Draa's mind. "I have an idea. Where are the Softskins?"
"What are you going to do with them?"
"Save them, of course! And you too," Draa replied. "I have a plan. A smart one."
"In two of our last three encounters, I had to bail you out. 'Smart' and 'you' are concepts unworthy of being used in the same sentence.” Tigfy shook her head.
“Thank you! The plan is smart because it’s well-planned,” Draa promised, producing a sheet of paper from beneath the plate on his chest. "I've thought through every detail," he lied.
It was best not to tell anyone about Dad’s involvement in the escape just yet.