Twenty-three had made a terrible mistake.
They had found the skyfaller.
He was even more magnificent than Twenty-three had imagined. With a single conversation, the skyfaller had redeemed a lost soul. In that moment, despite Six’s warnings, Twenty-three had called for Mercy.
It was his duty. And he was a diligent child.
His shared memories said she was the appropriate archangel. Those memories had been terribly wrong.
Twenty-three stood clutching Six’s hand at the edge of the park as the arch-angel cut through Imperial Marshals, proclaiming them free of their sins.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.
There was… there was only one way to fix this. He needed to… fool an archangel.
It was such a simple and arrogant idea.
The thought was caught by Six, who started pulling him immediately. It was easy to follow her. Much easier than back in the village, using his weak flesh instead of their metal limbs. She had convinced him that their cowl and mask were preventing them from following the skyfaller efficiently.
She had been correct. Without their cowls, people had been… friendly. They couldn’t tell he was a ‘Sniffer’. Strange, yes, but many were who walked the ring, as the saying went. And their youthful appearance seemed to further endear them to most.
There! Twenty-three thought when he saw the man.
Six nodded, and together, they approached him. Six did the talking. Twenty-three found himself too conscious of the shapes his mouth made without the mask.
“You have been blessed, have you not? There is an archangel here, ready to see the worth of your redeemed soul,” Six said, every word the truth.
Every word meant to sacrifice the man for another.
Her words worked, and the man moved quickly towards the street where the mad archangel waited. The first step had succeeded.
They had to be careful.
Following just close enough to keep him in sight, Twenty-three and Six kept building layers upon the man, the feelings in the warp they’d absorbed from the skyfaller upon their way across the hex, as they followed in his footsteps, reliving his adventures.
A bit of a snack here, a smidge of quiet pride there, and, of course, far more affection than either he or Six had ever felt before.
The collective didn’t allow for affection, not as the skyfaller felt it.
It was so strange to realize that such a vital emotion had been denied them for so long. Twenty-three and Six had realized it must have been stripped away, along with their memories.
Neither knew why they could feel it now. But they did know it was important.
And so, they created the best sacrifice they could, giving up all they’d gathered of the skyfaller unto the man.
When the man stepped forward, his aura was nearly identical to the skyfaller’s.
And they felt lighter than they had since… well, since ever.
As they’d hoped, the archangel of Mercy took their sacrifice.
Neither of them were prepared for her to take him into the sky, flying him…
“She will not?” Twenty-three found himself asking, his mouth moving on its own. It did that sometimes he found. It was much easier that way.
“I think she will, my friend,” Six said, squeezing his hand as the archangel carried their ‘sacrifice’ back towards the capital. They had been anticipating torture, or perhaps an instant death. Instead, she had taken him upwards as if he was the most important man to ever grace her presence.
“Why?” His lips asked for him.
“She believes that she has found the solution,” Six said, her voice as sad as the thoughts he could feel from her.
“The solution to what?” Twenty-three asked, turning towards his friend.
Six’s eyes were wide, her mouth turned upwards in a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The Empress.”
…Isekai-eh…
With a tug of cloth and the smooth snip of scissors, the former chief surgeon of the most luxurious skin clinic in hex zero-zero-one finished changing the bindings on old George’s wound, grateful the gash along his side wasn’t showing signs of festering. What Teliya wouldn’t have given to have access to a proper clean room. A place where she could operate on people without filth threatening to creep in.
Preferably one that could move with her, and had a bar built into the back.
And while she was wishing, it might as well have a nice bunk that played Whiskermellow lullabies and worn linen sheets.
Pushing to her feet, she bid him farewell, moving out into the main room, pulling her bottle out and filling her glass. Only a third. She was trying to cut back.
At least she had that bar. For now.
Her gaze moved around the room, glad to see empty beds. Even injured as they were, the miners were getting back to work.
The miners weren’t bad sorts, for the most part. Better than the Imperials she’d grown up alongside. Honest men, forced to do an honest day’s labor, only to have it stolen away in exchange for a promise of freedom or some simple luxury.
Or, prior to her arrival, simple medical care.
None of which surprised her anymore. Always someone trying to take advantage of someone else. True as the turning of the ring.
Teliya moved through the room, checking temperatures and completing quick visual inspections, and having short conversations where the miners were cogent enough. Something a nurse would take care of back home. Not something Teliya wanted to delegate. Talking to patients, treating them like people, was important.
It kept her from becoming like… well, like she’d been before she’d left the capital, that glorious metropolis that stretched across a dozen hexes.
She was nearly done when a cry from the back room had her running.
Old George had twisted, muttering in his sleep.
Terrors.
A setback he didn’t need. Even with her help, the miners were looking at an extra year of service after the demon attack. At minimum. Old George, who’d been there longer than most, was looking at an extra three years, since he’d been the one to report the warp-demons.
An entirely unfair penalty.
No surprise there.
Teliya checked his feed, confirming he hadn’t knocked anything loose, then stepped back. There wasn’t much she could do for him. Or for the rest of the miners. Honestly, if they hadn’t had the attack, she would’ve moved on already.
George tugged at his gray collar, still mumbling.
The skyfaller had mentioned trying to get rid of them.
Teliya knew better than to expect anything from people like that. Or from people in general. Doing the right thing was something everyone loved to talk about, but following through? No. Teliya wasn’t expecting anything. Not when the task was nigh impossible.
More likely, they’d bring some medicine, maybe give some sort of donation to assuage their guilt. Maybe even buy out all the slaves.
Hunters were a little more prone to random acts of generosity, even if some were… not so trustworthy.
“Those two are still better than most,” Teliya said, getting a mumbled response from old George.
She shook her head, going back and pouring another third. The bottle was getting low. Then again, she’d had guests.
After downing her glass, she got back to work. Before she could finish her round, she was once again interrupted. A noise from above, a rumbling that set her bottle, and even the table holding it, shaking.
Teliya raced out into the street, looking into the sky.
There, above them, was an imperial dropship, thin boxy black shape unfolding like a spider from its web, the landing gear spearing into stone structures without a care.
“Out, get everyone out,” Teliya said, grabbing a confused Kelem who’d stopped just outside the makeshift clinic.
“Teliya, what’s going-”
“Now, Kelem,” Teliya snapped, pushing the boy inside. It was so close. What were the Imperial Guard doing in Granite Hills of all places?
Her eyes snapped to the mine.
The skyfaller he’d done something. It was-
“Teliya, the collars,” Kelem said, stumbling out of the building. “The collars are-”
“Not now, Kelem,” Teliya said as she pushed past him into the room, trying to get the miners moving. Except they were all talking about the damnable collars. It wasn’t until she saw one of them remove the collar, setting it in his lap without so much as a single twitch, that Teliya understood.
“Of course. Of course he had to actually come through. Seven bleeding archangels,” Teliya cursed, taking a deep breath before yelling. “Yes. You’re free. Now move your asses or you’re going to have that freedom cut short by an Imperial Guard’s boot!”
That, at last, got some of them moving. Though none of them simply ran. Those with that sort of temperament hadn’t been injured in the first place. Instead they helped each other, making their way into the street.
Teliya moved to old George’s bed, prepping an old minecart they’d converted into a sort of mobile patient transfer system by strapping a hard wooden board to it. Not the best, but Teliya worked with what she had.
“Miss Teliya,” Kelem said as he came in. “The Hunters are trying to draw them off. Said we need to get out while we can.”
“Empress above,” Teliya said, fighting to keep from freezing up with disbelief. The Hunters. They’d stopped in for fuel and once they’d realized Teliya was there, for a friendly visit. And now they were fighting the Imperial Guard.
Maybe… maybe Teliya was wrong. Maybe there were actual Empress-damned heroes.
Was a little late to matter.
“Help me with old George,” Teliya said, gesturing Kelem closer. “Careful with his arm. Won’t last a minute without-”
“Without his feed, I know, I know,” Kelem said, moving with smooth efficiency, even remembering to slide the top off the stand so it could be wedged into the corner of the cart.
He was picking up more than she’d expected. And he was free of the collar. She’d been trying to avoid getting attached, but maybe she could take an apprentice. That was something these backwater hexes did, right? To pass on knowledge?
By the time they’d gotten old George into the ore hauler, she’d made up her mind. If they got out of this alive, she’d apprentice Kelem.
Getting old George out the front door took some creative maneuvering of the cart in order to avoid bumping anything vital.
“Okay, good,” Teliya said glancing over at where the Imperial Guard were pouring out of the ship, black carapace armor shining as they swept outward from their landing platform. “Shit, move, mo-”
“Miss Teliya!” Kelem cried out, his voice stricken.
She didn’t know why. The sun was so glorious. It framed his face so perfectly.
He was standing over her.
That was… that was wrong. He needed to…
Oh. She was in shock. That didn’t make sense you needed to be injured to… ah. She’d been shot, hadn’t she?
As Kelem slid down, pulling her to the side, cradling her, a small smile slipped onto her face.
She might not have freed slaves from ancient archeotech, but in the end, she had done the impossible. She’d done it every day since she’d left the capital city and her useless skin modification corporation behind.
One hex, one patient at a time, she’d proven that one woman could make a difference.
Now if only she could get Kelem to stop crying.
…Isekai-eh…
“This is not what I signed up for,” Metsa said as she ducked back inside one of the stone buildings. “We were here to get fuel. That’s it. No songs, no dresses, no demons. Just a little fuel.”
“Such is life,” Sotas said, stepping out, warp-grenade launching from the tube on his shoulder. “Sometimes it gives tasty red fruit, sometimes it gives Imperial Guard.”
“You know, Vaskerville I get. We restored an entire damn district. But- incoming right,” Metsa called, already dashing towards the still in place window on the other side of the building, covering her eyes and ears before crashing through it.
“But what hides beneath our feet, to draw them so?” Sotas finished for her as he emerged from an entirely different, smaller window.
“Show off,” Metsa grumbled affectionately as she tossed her last grenade into the building behind them. It exploded, blowing out the windows they hadn’t, along with whatever guards had been inside. “What I want to know is why they came in shooting without demanding surrender? They didn’t do that in Vaskerville.”
“Perhaps they have heard your singing and decided it cannot be risked,” Sotas said as he fired the tube once more. Then they came around the corner. With a heave, he slung the launcher forward like a javelin, impaling one of the guards. The guard who’d been standing beside him, looked down at their dead companion, as if disbelieving the event.
It was their last moment of disbelief as Metsa drove one of her daggers into their skull. “Everyone’s a critic. That’s how those songs are supposed to be sung.”
“Sweeter songs have come from Screechers exploding,” Sotas said as he scooted down and picked up both guards’ weapons. Pulling the trigger activated the overload cycle, conveniently marked on the sides with a glowing orange circle that had one sliver disappear at a time. Without looking Sotas hurled both rifles up and over the building to their left.
There were yells from the foot of the dropship, though they cut off when the weapons exploded.
Metsa chuckled. “You know, it does sound pretty sweet when a Screecher explodes just right.”
“It is fortunate you know how to fight, for we would starve, were we to depend on your voice.”
“You know- Hold that thought,” Metsa said, sliding to a stop. Just in front of them were seven Imperial Guard, rifles raised in their direction. However, that wasn’t what caught Metsa’s attention. “What did you do to my buggy?!”
“Uh oh,” Sotas said, ducking inside a nearby stone building.
Cella was sitting there, one wheel laying to the side, the buggy’s internals spread across the street, RDR leaking like blood.
And blood is what Metsa saw as she dashed forward. Triggers were pulled, energy arced through the air, and Metsa’s voice blocked it all, warp cushioning the air in front of her.
The first blow was little more than Metsa backhanding a guard hard enough to knock his helmet into his neighbor, causing helmets and Guards both to crumple like paper.
Using the spin she’d gained from that blow, Metsa grabbed the next guard’s leg. It proved too weak to withstand the force she was exerting, pulling free like tissue paper.
With one hand, she shoved the now one legged Imperial Guard into his brethren, black armor cracking as she turned to the only one of the seven still on their feet.
They’d hardly raised their rifle in her direction when the boot of the leg came down on their helmet, crushing it like a hammer crushing a grape.
With the squad dead, Metsa felt herself coming back. “Whew. Been a while.”
“You are yourself,” Sotas said as he joined her. “Strangely destructive of these ones.”
“They don’t want witnesses. That I get,” Metsa said, grabbing one of their rifles, pulling the trigger and tossing it over a nearby building where she thought she heard more Guards. “But busting up Cella. Why would they be…”
“What is… oh,” Sotis said, stopping beside her.
Kelem was hunched over just outside the little clinic. In his arms, missing parts of her body, parts she needed to keep on living, was Teliya. Neither were breathing.
“Sotas. Find the survivors. Get them out,” Metsa said, voice flat.
“My love, please, do not do this thing,” Sotas said, voice heavy.
“Better than none,” Metsa said, meeting his gaze, not flinching from the sadness she saw there.
“Better than none,” Sotas answered no matter how much it pained him, pulling her close for one glorious second. “I will do this thing.”
“So will I,” Metsa said, gaze shifting towards the glowing barriers of the dropship and the Imperial Guard cowering behind them.
She’d seen them gun down kids as they were landing. Teliya… Teliya had just been the last straw. Metsa would fight them until she had nothing left or they were all dead.
Until the streets were silent.
It was not a pretty thing, Metsa knew, when the Huntress Carnaga came out.
Carnage in the streets, a melody of blood whistling in her warp-enhanced ears.
A burst of speed had her up the side of the building, towards one of the landing struts. A weak point. One the Guard knew about, having already erected a barricade and turret. One they were reinforcing even as Metsa charged towards them.
Scavenged from one of their dead and repurposed, a rifle exploded in their midst, scattering them. She heard them crying out for mercy, but even had she not found Teliya and Kelem, she wouldn’t have had much to spare. Not for these monsters.
And when she was the Huntress, even the wisps she had couldn’t worm their way in.
A broken mask, a crushed windpipe, a hollowed heart. One by one, she completed her wishlist of slaughter, every blow costing her warp, every dodge drawing heavier on decades of reserves, her song at her side, guiding her.
Then she was through and inside their shields. In the most critical part of their operation, where the weak but important support staff worked.
They were not spared.
The barrier came down, the dropship’s blast door went up, and the Huntress Carniga continued her hunt until not a single Imperial Guard remained.
Until the streets were silent.
Metsa felt it leave her then, the rage passing as swiftly as it came. The energy keeping her conscious, keeping her alive, abandoned her.
Her heart beat once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Until…
The streets…
Were silent.