Draa expected the inevitable claw to his heart, imagining the paw hoisting him up as jaws closed around his neck. But Raoul lowered his head, leaning forward, and stared into the boy’s eyes.
“You made a mistake. There’s no shame in that—youth plays cruel tricks on everyone. I bear some responsibility here too. I placed an unbearable burden on poor William, choosing the wrong method of punishment.”
Dad’s middle fingers rubbed against his thumbs.
Raoul turned his head, and Draa followed his gaze to the girls crawling out from under the sand. “Treat yourself.”
“Wh-what?” Draa stammered.
A paw patted his shoulder.
“You heard me. You deserve a prize for how cleverly you outwitted my fools. It’ll teach them a lesson. Your training begins now. Pick any one—take two if you want. Eat them, break them, but first become a man—and all our past disagreements will be forgotten. We’ll start fresh.” Fangs clicked near the shocked boy’s ear.
Tigfy backed away, hiccupping in terror as the chieftain approached.
“Don’t touch me!” the girl shrieked hysterically. Her paw jerked toward her own neck.
“Please, spare me the melodrama.” Raoul brushed aside the claws nearing her carotid artery, slammed the girl onto the sand, and lowered himself onto her, pinning her wrists and ankles. “I value you greatly, Tigfy.” A long tongue slid between scaly lips, tracing her furry cheek. “Your gift will serve me well in the future. But like a blacksmith shaping raw material, your loyalty needs tempering.”
“I’ll never be loyal to you! Choke on your own bile and die!” Tigfy spat in his serpentine face.
“Of course you will,” Raoul purred.
“You killed my family!”
“Not all of it. The most important member will always be with you, Tigfy. You and Draa make such a lovely couple.” White vapor billowed from his mouth. “But since Draa is to become a man, it wouldn’t do for him to receive a girl instead of a woman.”
Draa was stunned. He didn’t know what to do, momentarily detached from reality, oblivious to the guards’ encouraging jeers advising him to choose one Softskin or another. All his dreams turned to poison; within minutes, the chieftain had dragged him back into the Nest’s merciless world, stripping away any hope of an existence like the one described in books. Cruelty had proven stronger than his resolve. For a second, he wavered. Perhaps… this way he could save one…
His father approached the cliff edge, neither shouting nor advising. He waited, ready to accept whatever choice his son made. A wave of excitement rippled through the chieftain’s clinking scales, and something broke inside Draa. Why doesn’t anyone protect the weak? Why doesn’t Tigfy have a loving family? Where is justice? Naive questions raced through his mind; he faced the four girls.
Pointing toward the platform and jabbing his finger for emphasis, he turned his back on them, instantly dismissing them from his thoughts. Their fate was in their hands.
His belonged to him. If there’s no justice… then at least I refuse to grovel before scum. Swinging with all his might, he struck the chieftain’s right cheek as he amused himself.
The bony fist slammed into an upraised right palm, never reaching its target. Raoul glared at him sternly, rose, and delivered a left-handed slap. Draa spun through the air, flying faster than a bullet straight into a dune. Sand poured down, burying him completely, but he ignored it, smiling through the pain and his twitching eye.
He’d done it. Even if it meant nothing, he’d kept the most precious thing: his soul.
“Get up, you fool,” Raoul sighed. “If you refuse mercy, then accept a merciless beating.”
Draa burst free, clenching his fists stubbornly. His shadow stretched to the right, far shorter than the chieftain’s. A predatory gaze followed the fleeing girls.
“Much better. Heroes should die standing—that’s their purpose.” The chieftain halted the Malformed with a wave of his paw. “The girls won’t escape. Why rush? Come on. You have five minutes. Impress me.”
Draa roared and charged, leaving gouged footprints in the sand. He abandoned thoughts of feints and tricks—his opponent vastly outmatched him. Instead, he tried to wrap his arms around the scaly torso while simultaneously striking at Raoul’s groin. His hand grasped empty air; he stumbled, falling clumsily forward.
“Let me help.”
An uppercut slammed into Draa’s jaw. Bone growths cracked, and he tumbled upward. Sun, desert, sun, desert. He never knew someone could be thrown so high! A dark speck streaked across the bright disk, heading toward the platform. Below, Raoul clasped his paws together, playfully ready to bat the falling boy with his forearms.
The sand beside him erupted in a small fountain as Tigfy leaped up, slashing at the chieftain’s face. Her claws didn’t reach. With unimaginable speed, he moved behind her and shoved Tigfy. A second later, Draa landed on her, his heavy weight crushing her down.
“Well, what did you accomplish?” Raoul laughed.
“Who… who…” Draa rasped, climbing off Tigfy.
“Lost your mind already?”
“Who I came into this world as was beyond my control.” Draa breathed heavily.
“True enough. I allowed you to be born…”
“But who I become—that’s the sum of my choices.”
“Don’t you dare interrupt me.” Raoul’s face twisted. His tongue flicked before Draa’s nose, tasting the air.
“And we’ve chosen, you hear me, you son of a bitch!” Tigfy spat blood and stood beside Draa. She clenched and unclenched her paws, testing her fingers. “I don’t care what you do to me—I will never, ever serve you!”
“Fine bravado, but the deeds are petty,” Raoul yawned, drawing thunderous laughter from the Malformed.
Together they attacked. Draa’s fist shot through a fleeting shadow, meeting no resistance. Tigfy scrambled up his back and leaped at the dodging chieftain. She rolled across the sand, missing her target. Enraged, she grabbed a handful of sand and threw it at his mocking eyes, immediately receiving a slap that sent her spinning like a top. Raoul hip-checked the girl aside and reached out, letting Draa’s swing pass by.
A kick to the back of his knee shattered Draa’s balance. He crumpled from a finger flick to his neck, rolling across the ground, desperately gasping for air. Another chunk of bone growth fell away. From a mere touch! Gods! Draa rose to all fours, wheezing, sucking in air. He stood, staggering from his spinning head, and groped for support behind him.
“Poor thing. Legs giving out?”
Draa spun, throwing a punch into emptiness. A heavy slap struck his head, driving him waist-deep into the sand. Raoul stood over him, having returned precisely to his original position, even fitting his feet back into their prints. Tigfy screamed as she charged, desperately trying to reach the veins in his arm. Raoul swatted her aside and flinched. Draa had grabbed his knee.
“Got you,” the boy whispered through split lips. “You’re not perfect.” He raised his fist.
A rush of air whipped across his face.
“Progress,” Raoul encouraged from behind. “You touched me. Maybe now…”
A grinding sound interrupted him. Draa crawled out of the hole and turned just in time to see Tigfy’s claws slide harmlessly over the toughest scales. Raoul pursed his lips and jabbed her with his fist. The girl slammed into the boy’s chest; they both fell. Tigfy groaned, climbing off Draa. Three shattered claws slipped out from her fingers, dangling briefly on wet threads of veins before finally tearing off and plopping onto the ground.
The guards howled with laughter, cheering their chieftain, but Raoul no longer mocked them. He paced back and forth before the children, delivering heavy slaps whenever they rose. The merciless onslaught shattered fangs and cracked claws; together, they ended up at the base of the stone ridge. Spittle rained from above, and one guard spat a yellow stream onto Draa’s shoulder.
“Flesh will be returned,” said Raoul. “Tonight, I’ll amuse myself with all four at once, and your pieces will be served at the feast table. Was it worth it?”
Above, his father leaned down, holding his breath. The guard beside him slapped William’s shoulder in a fit of excitement and jerked back his two-fingered paw, licking a ragged cut on his palm.
“What’s the point?” Draa exhaled, crawling away from Tigfy on all fours. “Why do you rule with such cruelty?”
“The point?” Raoul kicked him, sending him tumbling several steps to land on a dune. He approached, leaving Tigfy behind. “Where is this ‘point’ of yours? In Softskins burning children under the open sun? Perhaps in us thoughtlessly trampling our young? In shackling any outsider not of your tribe? In breeding people to exist as portable blood bags? Or in your family being exterminated by allies after overthrowing tyrants?” He pointed at the fleeing girls. “You think they’ll be grateful if they escape? That they’ll stop seeing you as a beast? Like hell they will—to them, you’re less than dirt under their nails. There’s no need for mercy when others don’t appreciate it. No reason to be tolerant when others only exploit such weakness.”
Catching a brief respite between beatings, Draa pushed himself up. Thick blood flowed from his mouth and nose; every breath came with a wheeze. Raoul blurred before his eyes. Draa let out an incoherent roar and lunged at him, but only grasped emptiness. A powerful blow cracked against the boy's bony growth, shooting blinding pain through his head.
"Pathetic. Even with all the handicaps, you can't give me the slightest sport. Perhaps I should amuse myself by hunting the little mice…"
"Such strength," Draa coughed. Come what may, he would buy the girls as much time as possible. How to keep the maniac's attention? Humiliate him. "And yet you can't handle me."
A foot stomped, carving through the dune with the boy's body. "You want a point? I'll give you a sharp one."
Raoul raised his paw, extending a long claw into the light. On the cliff, the guards reveled, anticipating inevitable victory; Tigfy recoiled from a heavily landing body. The chieftain drew back his arm, aiming for Draa’s kidney, moving deliberately slowly. The red-green glow of his eyes intensified, blinding the boy.
Suddenly, the glow shifted direction. Dad had appeared behind the chieftain, wrapping his sharp arms around Raoul’s neck. Raoul ducked, whistled, and began to turn, aiming his claw at the exposed belly. Draa saw it. He didn’t know why, but every movement slowed in proportion to his growing fear for his parent. All attempts to rise were futile; the claw moved too fast—death was inevitable…
A normal knee slammed into the serpentine face with force. Raoul roared, recoiling—and silence fell upon the cliffs. Draa’s mouth gaped in disbelief; he even forgot his swelling bruises and broken bones. Tigfy rose, staggering, and popped her dislocated shoulder back into place. Never. This had never happened. Someone had landed a blow on the chieftain.
Raoul nearly fell onto the sand. A drop of blood escaped his nose, immediately licked away by his tongue. He balanced on his ankles alone and, like a pendulum, swung upright, closing the distance to William. A paw seized the Malformed’s wrist, whose hide was covered in razored skin, pulling the arm aside; a knee struck William in the groin. Father sharply exhaled, raising his right arm and blocking the claw thrust with the back of his hand.
Calmly and deliberately, Father drove his right elbow into the base of Raoul’s neck and immediately followed with a punch as the chieftain staggered. A mighty straight left knocked the dust from Raoul’s solar plexus, pushing him back. Blood sprayed between his scales.
“Exquisite,” the chieftain wheezed, licking his lips.
“What are you waiting for?” Dad barked.
Tigfy and Draa exchanged glances. He nodded toward the platform, and she bounded away in long leaps after the Softskins. In the distance, on the blue horizon, two specks swelled. No matter. Draa ran after her for a short distance, then turned back. He needed to see this. Father wouldn’t remain alone. Not this time.
A roar tore from Raoul’s throat. It looked so strange—even though Draa had grown up in the Nest amidst such cacophony. The chieftain had never behaved like this, preferring his mocking veneer of solicitude. He charged at Dad like an animal, striking in fury. Their fists met, producing a deafening sonic boom that sent sand rippling outward from the epicenter. Both abandoned all pretense; dozens of bone-crushing blows were exchanged per second, interspersed with moments of silence as the giants’ strength squeezed the very air from the space around them.
Neither retreated. Their fight devolved into a simple brawl, stripped of any elegance. Raoul’s fist ricocheted off the tensed William’s abdomen; Father’s ensuing swing caught the chieftain’s neck, making the bastard cough and create distance. Dad immediately lunged at him, scooped him from the ground, and carried him to the base of the stone ridge.
Their impact triggered an avalanche. Several Malformed nearly fell, desperately scrambling up the crumbling rocks; enormous cracks split the stone hill. In the resulting depression, William pummeled the pinned Raoul, landing blow after blow on the serpentine face. Suddenly, the chieftain twisted and kicked upward, throwing William off. A respite shorter than a single breath was enough for Raoul. He delivered a vicious uppercut to Dad’s face and unleashed a storm of blows upon him, driving the mutant back to the exact spot where their fight had begun.
Was he still playing? Even now? Draa’s blood ran cold. Blood seeped from cuts on the chieftain’s body; bruises swelled on him. He had to be fighting seriously. Then why this theatricality? Physically, both combatants were equal, but Father’s greater height offered an advantage, and not only in reach. To bear greater weight, a body either adapted or broke. Father should have had the edge in endurance, and his extra limb joints provided superior flexibility.
“Before we bring this scuffle to its appointed end, indulge my personal curiosity.” Raoul stopped, staring up at William. “Why throw away a not-so-bad life for the sake of a cockroach? You weren’t this obstinate when it came to your wife.”
“He’s my son,” William replied.
“Are you sure?” Raoul leaned left, eyeing Draa from head to toe. “I think I see a scale…”
A swift slap caught his cheek, hurling the chieftain into the rock.
“He’s my son,” Father repeated.
“He’s meat. Same as you,” the voice growled from the newly formed cavity.
Raoul burst out, hurtling toward William. Claws scraped above the mutant’s knees, but then William caught the chieftain, locking him in a bear hug. A timid smile touched Draa’s face as he heard the crack of rending hide and the wheeze of that vile throat. Raoul thrashed in the grip; his face drew close to William’s, jaws gaping wide, fangs fully bared. A headbutt slammed into his snout, shattering a fang and cutting his tongue. A clawed paw seized the sharp side of William’s body, digging fingers into flesh; father released his opponent, clutching the freely bleeding wound.
“Chieftain!” a voice cried from above. “Company!”
Draa turned, eyes widening. A storm front had suddenly materialized in the clear desert. A sandstorm roared atop the dune shielding the platform, stretching for kilometers north and south. At the storm’s very tip, calm weather reigned. Fearlessly, the Softskin girls ran straight into the heart of nature’s fury; a Softskin emerged to meet them. He wore a leather jacket leaving his arms and chest bare, a light hat with an upturned brim on his head, and pants full of holes. He pressed two fingers to his temple in greeting.
On either side of him, moving metal boxes bristling with armed Softskins burst through the brown curtain. Hundreds of outsiders had arrived at the Nest. A figure wreathed in crackling blue lightning joined the Softskin in the hat; beside them stood a stocky man, bare-chested, fearlessly facing the heat. The three parted, and an unknown figure stepped forward—nearly as tall as the third Softskin. Clad in steel hide, holding a strange long object connected to his back by some sort of tendril and ending in spinning tubes, he knelt, greeting the fugitives, and four joyful voices reached Draa despite the growling emanating from the moving boxes.
“Playtime’s over,” said Raoul. “Scouts, prepare. Today, we’ll thin out these impertinent folk.”
Raoul lunged at William, and Draa’s heart stopped. The chieftain had lost his usual colors; blood no longer dripped from him; his eyes had gone dark; it seemed only an outline remained in the world. Father’s hand passed through the approaching head, meeting no resistance. A white claw swept out, slicing reality itself. William remained standing even as Raoul regained his colors behind him. He turned his head, and the upper half of his body slid from his waist, along with the severed fist of his arm. Moist organs spilled out, rivers of blood flowing free.
“No!” Draa screamed.
Because of him. Because of his choice. Dad… he…
“Run,” William rasped. “It’s not your fault.”
“Of course it’s his fault—why else would you be taken apart?” Raoul mocked. “Never mind; karmic punishment will soon reach the disobedient little shit. Oh, here’s more proof!”
A sharp crack sounded. Tigfy collapsed at the dune’s slope, tumbling down, clutching a hole in her side with her paw. Above her stood the Softskin in the hat, blowing smoke from the tool in his hand. He pointed, and a tendril of the sandstorm moved toward the girl.
“So much for your mercy helping you! There’s your answer, Draa!” Raoul laughed.
Draa could only stare blankly. Shock gripped him, tearing him between the urge to rush to Tigfy and to Dad. Betrayal. Did this mean…? No, no… Mom! He wept, sniffling, to the chieftain’s greater amusement. Suddenly, the tall Softskin girl leaped in front of the man in the hat. She shouted unfamiliar words at him; he nodded, gesturing with his hand to disperse the storm’s flow, and slid down the slope toward the writhing Tigfy, putting away the smoking tube and raising his hands.
The large, half-naked Softskin squared his shoulders. Rocks pierced the sandy surface, adhering to his body. The accumulating mass lifted the man upward; a boulder the size of him rolled over his exposed torso, completely concealing him. Facial features emerged on the boulder, and then pillars of limbs extended from the mass. With a thunderous rumble and grinding roar, a fourteen-meter giant thrust his hand into the sand, lifting an entire hill of solid stone.
And hurled it at Raoul.
The scouts’ cries pierced the battlefield like spears, punching holes in the approaching boulder. Finally, the mass cracked, raining down boulders that thudded onto Draa’s back. A blue sun flared behind the destroyed object; branching lightning bolts stretched in all directions, and a face woven of blue electricity gazed down from the air. The lightning arced, heading for the chieftain, melting stone.
Raoul lazily waved his hand—a pale arc shot upward. It passed through the face, and the vision vanished. The lightning crackled and died, and a rain of blood fell upon Draa. Two halves of a vertically bisected Softskin body landed nearby. The eyes of the woman in the gray coat still twitched in their sockets.
“No matter how many Abnormals you have, you’ll all become our postponed breakfast!” Raoul shouted. “I am invincible! To you, I’m as good as a god!”
“You…” Draa took a step toward him. His fingers tingled. “You wounded Dad.”
“Now, now, I did more than just wound him,” Raoul chided. His face contorted; the maw opened, releasing a puff of white tinged with red. “And now I’ll devour you, you wicked, impertinent little rat!”
The chieftain charged straight at him, and Draa thrust his hands forward, wishing only to grab that serpentine face and strike it one last time. Just once. Father deserved at least that. His fingers touched Raoul’s cheeks and sank in, cutting through previously invulnerable scales. Raoul stopped and leaped back, eyeing Draa warily as a trembling hand touched his cheeks, now slashed to the cheekbones.
A white glow, exactly like the one that had enveloped the chieftain’s claws when he attacked Dad, crackled on Draa’s fingers, breaking reality. It flickered and vanished. Draa didn’t know how to bring it back, but he laughed through the pain.
“You retreated! You, claiming invincibility, got scared! I cut you—that means your reign is ending! Your downfall is near, Raoul…”
“Shut up.”
Draa’s feet left the sand; he choked, struggling to stay conscious as a claw sank full-length into his body, piercing his kidney. A second swipe sheared skin from his knuckles and traveled upward, hacking at his right arm until it severed his elbow. Unimaginable pain engulfed Draa; he roared, sniffling. Torn veins and muscles spilled from the gaping wound, suffering under gusts of wind and heat.
“There we go…”
Someone yanked Draa backward—mercilessly yet precisely, anticipating Raoul’s attempt to twist his hand and preventing the claw from reaching other organs. He found himself in the grip of an unknown figure clad in metal hide. The savior stood about the same height as the Malformed; a dark faceplate hid his features, smoothly merging into a sleek helmet. The helmet, in turn, flowed directly into a greenish carapace, devoid of the slightest seam and seemingly a single piece of protection. Three gold stars adorned his right shoulder; a sprawling blue tree, its roots descending to the knees, was painted on his chest. The only moving parts Draa could see were black gloves with individually articulated fingers and very human-like metal boots.
“The Elite of Iterna has arrived to cease hostilities. Do not resist; you are being rescued. Resistance is futile,” the helmet spoke in Artificer’s voice. A green spark flashed on the faceplate.
He set Draa on the sand. Before the boy could fall, three strange objects flew toward him: a snake-like strip of metal with numerous movable tubes, and two spheres. The spheres immediately attached themselves to the entry and exit wounds left by the claw, sealing the gashes and gently drawing the surrounding skin together. The strip wrapped around the ragged arm wound, gathering muscles and veins beneath it, filling the limb with icy relief.
Artificer closed the distance to Raoul, appearing tiny against the giant. The Elite didn’t walk; he glided over the ground. He thrust left; green lights flared behind his limb, accelerating it to unimaginable speed. Raoul smirked, losing his colors. Draa expected to see the familiar sight—the all-destroying claw slashing through—and tried to hobble closer.
His legs refused to move. He couldn’t even fall.
A red aura ignited on the Elite’s fist. Colors returned to the stunned chieftain’s body; the blow struck his abdomen, doubling Raoul over. A kick followed, bending the bastard backward. The seamless carapace moved like skin, in no way restricting the Softskin.
Come on, come on! Draa urged silently. Dad! His mind cleared; he desperately tried to shake off his paralysis, moaning in helplessness as Dad raised his upper half on one arm, watching the battle.
The chieftain’s claws struck, catching Artificer in a net of space-rending arcs. They sliced through the metal hide, revealing sparking wires, snapping rods, and a multitude of strange, alien components. Without spilling a single drop of blood, the Elite collapsed into a heap of scrap metal—and hope died in Draa’s soul.
They couldn’t win. The elders had spoken the truth.
“Well…” Raoul snickered, nervously, cautiously not approaching the corpse. He raised his hand, and a white glow flickered between his fingers. “Since that’s dealt with… I think it’s time to end this quickly.”
The heap of metal rose into the air, dissolving into mist. Thick cables entangled Raoul’s limbs, bending and breaking a finger on his right hand. Snow-white bone tore through scales, protruding outward. Artificer’s remains spun, losing cohesion. Every particle of his body moved independently, defying gravity. His chest split open, releasing a long tube that blasted a shockwave, tearing Raoul from the tenacious grip and hurling him high into the sky.
Artificer rose, reassembled, no longer of small stature. His shoulders broadened into rectangles; his feet became thick, toeless plates; the faceplate vanished, replaced by green metal. Emerald flashes lifted the Elite into flight, instantly overtaking his opponent.
Draa could hardly believe his eyes. The collision resembled a tornado, somehow concentrated into a single point and striking inward rather than leveling everything outside. Fists, now hammers, worked over Raoul’s limbs; cables bent his arms and legs, snapping crackling claws; countless tubes emitted strange energies that made the chieftain convulse. The onslaught didn’t relent for a single breath; blows drove Raoul higher and higher until the Elite halted above his broken body.
He said something. Raoul responded with a feeble wave, and green light blazed again from Artificer’s back as he reverted to his original form. A heel pressed against Raoul’s head; together they plummeted like a falling meteor, spinning in an emerald vortex. The impact shook the desert, throwing a column of sand dozens of meters high, which rained down upon the battlefield.
Strangely, not a single grain touched Draa. He couldn’t explain it. The strip on his arm hummed, and a transparent sphere materialized around him, visible only by the sand trickling down its surface.
In the resulting crater, Artificer drove a long needle into the prostrate Raoul’s neck. The chieftain’s limbs resembled crumpled ribbons; his pelvis was half its original size; his face was deeply sunken and bleeding, his jaw twisted sideways. The Elite turned his back on his opponent, flew up, and landed beside the dismembered William. He extended his arms. Metal flaked from his armor, pelting the wet wounds like peas. More and more particles left Artificer, connecting the scattered body parts with an elongated tube.
“Dad!” Draa screamed. “What are you doing to him?!”
“Preserving vital signs for subsequent reconstructive surgery, naturally.” Sparks danced on Artificer’s faceplate. He turned his helmet toward the Malformed on the ridge. “Further resistance is unproductive. I accept your surrender.”
A loud noise behind him made Draa crane his neck and look back. A shadow fell over him—not from the stone giant, not from the dying storm. Two oblong objects, unimaginably long, resembling junk in the ruins of the Ancients, moved over the terrified Softskins toward the Nest.