The den of cannibals was up to par with Greenblatt’s expectations. He squinted against the torch carried by one of the hive guardians as it beat back the shadows so that they formed thickly at the edge of the light. Noises like skittering spiders the size of sedans echoed off the crumbling dirt walls, causing the shadows to curl and laugh. The cold was striking in contrast to the desert heat outside, but it was a deep and foreboding cold, like the chill of the grave. And the smell… that smell couldn’t be replicated in any karmic hell.

  A few incense, some light fixtures, and the removal of whatever things crawled here might make this place welcoming enough to create a settlement out of. It was much more spacious than he could have imagined just looking at it from the outside, but he felt his feet angle downwards as they wandered the corridor. He had been right, the Bone Eaters didn’t ascend the spire and make that their home. They were deep in the earth like the insects they rightly were.

  Indeed, if anyone could turn this place into an outstanding structure, some hope for the future, it would be Albert Ibram Ao Dominus-Greenblatt. But there was something else here. Something metaphysical he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since he had been to the airy peaks of Mount Skard to bury his once trusted advisor. Before that, he hadn’t known it since the unnamed battlefield where he and his retinue battled alongside the White Tail clan and drove a forgotten kingdom of raiders into extinction. Before then, even, it was at his mother’s death bed, where no one besides Sinestra Mode was allowed to see him in his misery and grief.

  The Bone Eaters had done something worse than consumption of human flesh. Down here, in the bones of a once prosperous quarry, deep in the cold where spiders the size of sedans ruled the shadows and only a single torch birthed any hope, the stain of death had soiled the earth like a phantom come to possess it. Indeed, Greenblatt could turn this place around, but Lady Morte had claimed this place long ago. And he was careful not to step on the toes of deities.

  His suspicions were confirmed when they began to incline and were finally led to the only chamber with any light in it. He saw the glint of a bone staff, and it was confirmation enough that the people here were too far gone. Greenblatt allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim light of their fire as the torch made its way back to the entrance. He could see the fiendish eyes of some elderly men and women watching him, gleaming from their sunken faces as if they were wax statues with iridescent pearls for eyes. At the head of the circular chamber, a face with no eyes smiled. Ember light glinted from his ghastly teeth and a rattle of bone was sounded when he used his staff to rise. The stink was far more putrid here.

  One hive guardian stayed with the trio of Greenblatt, Ulrich, and 001. Once his companion left the chamber, he cleared his throat. “Lord Voll! This man secured one of the escapees from Kiva Noon and requests shelter in exchange.”

  None of the faces moved in the ember light. They were silent, watching. The one addressed as Voll expelled a wheezing laugh akin to a dying old man who had gone days without water. He was the only one to move, but every motion he made had an effect on the others, as if they were little puppets tied to him. A step into the fire pulled their faces into smiles. The rattle of the bone staff turned their eyes. His voice alone made them giggle and salivate. “What a turn of luck. You must have seen my men as they left? Isn’t it fortunate that an envoy of unknown origin comes to offer me a slave he claims is from a battle lost mere days ago? All this on the morning that my guards report an attack from the east. What kind of fool do you take me for, merchant?”

  Greenblatt’s bodyguard made no move to defend him, which was good. The augmentations made to him were well crafted to ensure he was an effective guardian. 001 was grafted from the living body of one of Kiva Noon’s most dangerous criminal masterminds, and as such, the intact brain still had the residuals of that man within. Greenblatt had specially selected him for just such an ability. A criminal mastermind, as it turns out, can read a room better than even a warlord. Where Greenblatt struggled to think of the next words that might spare his life, 001 had already determined that there was no threat within the chamber. The lobotomite stood at attention, but it stared off into a section of the chamber that had not been well lit. There, something big sat in waiting.

  001’s demeanor put Greenblatt at ease. “No fool at all. It would seem my arrival is at an inopportune time. I found this man deep in the valley. After he told a tale of being an escapee, my bodyguard and I captured him. I am a trader of all things, and this man seems to be quite the bargaining chip. I would ask that you give me shelter so I may return him to Kiva Noon. I understand you’re allies with the settlement.”

  Voll laughed again, and the chorus of giggles erupted from the manic council. As he stepped closer to the embers, his retinue slunk deeper into the shadows. “I have a better idea. You’ve delivered yourselves to the belly of the beast, and we have not yet had any breakfast. Garth! Seize them!”

  The thing 001 had been eyeing rose, and the lobotomite shifted its feet to a defensive stance. Garth, champion of the Bone Eaters, rose and strode forward like a toddler being caught with contraband candy. Something had him twisted into a mix of morose and fury. Two emotions that 001 sniffed out of the air and determined were enough of a threat.

  “You really were stupid to come here,” Garth said. He watched the lobotomite as he moved. 001 was the only one with a visible weapon in the room, so it made sense that he'd be more inquisitive of him. When he finally did look at Greenblatt, a faint look of recognition played on his face. It flickered, then died in his apathy, "Cages are this way."

  001 still didn’t react to his approach. Something about the energy he was emanating wasn’t enough to register him as an immediate threat. It wasn’t until Garth grabbed the bag on Ulrich’s head and tossed it aside that anything happened at all.

  As soon as the two saw each other, it was as if a dam had broken. Rising anger and hatred outweighed the dejection he had held just the moment before. Now, the embers in the center of the room weren’t the only source of heat. Fire in either warrior’s eyes was blooming, raging, and turning from a spark to an inferno.

  “Ulrich of the fucking Pit Lords.”

  “Garth of the Bone Eaters.”

  “You two know each other?” Voll asked. His sudden surprise was enough to twist the faces of the council again, this time their smiles dropped into a drooling, slack-jawed confusion.

  “He was the one I fought at Kiva Noon. The one who the guys had to step in and help me with.” His eyes hesitated to leave Ulrich, but he managed to turn them from the warrior to glare at Greenblatt. “Remove your mask, merchant.”

  "I apologize, but the smell in here is quite-”

  “Take off your fucking mask.”

  The arc of the poleaxe came gleaming through the dark, slashing upwards. It was ready to connect with Garth’s groin, where it would have carved upwards from his belly and into his chest. Greenblatt had seen the attack used many times, but not in such close quarters. It was an oversight to design a weapon with so much reach that it was its own folly when in a confined space. There was just enough room for the axe to make its swing if the blade dragged across the floor, and the grinding noise of steel and stone alerted the Bone Eater champion. He stopped it with a heavy kick, then countered by snatching 001 by both arms. With a roar, he pulled the lobotomite apart until one arm gave. The metal augmentation hissed and sprayed sparks into the chamber. Garth tossed him to the floor and raised one foot to stomp out the disabled cyborg.

  “No!” Greenblatt cried. He tried to jump in the way of the attack. Meanwhile, Ulrich struggled with his bindings.

  “We did battle with them as well! All three of them were at Kiva Noon! We’re under attack!”

  The guard who had been so kind as to lead them inside was now snatching at Greenblatt. The council giggled at their newly installed theater and watched as their warriors made quick work of them. Greenblatt was too preoccupied with the defense of his creation to protest when the guard grabbed his ankles and dragged him away shrieking. The boot was raised high and ready to slam down when the snap of Ulrich’s bindings demanded the Bone Eater’s attention. They faced each other, savagely trading blows over the firelight.

  Greenblatt watched them as he disappeared into the dark. 001 wasn’t moving, not even trying to move. The lobotomite was lying on its back, head cocked against the stone walls. Augmented eyes stared at the conflict unfolding before them. Greenblatt screamed for his machine before being pulled out of view and deeper into the dark cavern. The things that crawled there were making their way into the council chamber.

  The warlord was so distraught with the possible death of his bodyguard, he forgot about his original plan entirely. Then the earth shook.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Deeper in the caves, Krav’s lips were raw and bloodied. The explosion outside had gone off a moment ago, but this deep down it was barely a rumble. He could taste the broken bits of teeth as they stabbed at his cheeks and gums. In the dark, the taste of his own blood was the only thing he could focus on. Every snap and crunch could have been either the binding wooden cage or another tooth that failed to retain its shape during the desperate breakout. Below him, he could feel Mac gnawing.

  Their escape attempts had drawn the attention of the other prisoners. Some offered their aid but surrendered at the first crack of their jaw. Others whose desperation matched that of Krav and Mac began to claw and chew as well. When their labor began to bear fruit, the distinct sound of one of the wooden bars clattering to the floor drove the prisoners into a frenzy. Suddenly, everyone in the cage was alight with new life. They snatched at the bars, pulling with the might of a thousand slaves on the brink of freedom. The cage became a cramped mosh pit of elbows, fingernails, and cries of hope.

  “Kraff!” Mac called through chipped teeth. She was trying to turn and stand, but his body was pressed up against her, forcing her head through the opening she had made. Suddenly, she realized she could fit her body through. Mac squirmed, the splintered bars poking at her, demanding for one last time that she stay confined. They dragged along her clothes, tugged on her legs, and gently scratched at her heels, defeated. She had overcome this obstacle like any other member of the Gordo clan, sacrificing her own flesh and blood for a chance at freedom. It felt invigorating. So much so that she didn’t realize she was smiling.

  Blood was pumping faster than ever now. The metallic taste in her mouth was sweeter. Her heart raced as she stood and began to pull at the cage. One more bar fell, then another. Soon, they were snapping away with ease as the entire structure lost strength and collapsed beneath all their weight. One more great push, and the cage crumbled away, and every prisoner from that cage was free. They filled the frightful darkness with cheers of celebration as they charged out of the holding chamber and into the unknowns of the tunnels, hooting like excited birds all the way out.

  “Kraff?” Mac called again. She was feeling her way through the darkness, her hands grazing the bare skin of strangers as they pushed past her. Krav was wearing his robes, she remembered, and they had a scratchy, uncomfortable itchiness like a burlap sack. She hated those robes, but now she wished with all of her heart that she would feel them in the dark. The prisoners were running screaming into their doom, and it was the perfect cover for both of them to escape under. But they had to hurry.

  Suddenly a light was tearing down the corridor leading towards them. Mac could see the shadows of prisoners as they were thrashed aside by whatever was making its way towards them. Soon, it was close enough that she could see the top of a skullcap gleaming in torchlight. The ogre of a man who wore it was whipping the torch in front of himself to keep the wiry shadows at bay. She could hear him down there, bellowing demands as he fought them off.

  “Get back in the cages!” he cried. He swung the flame, and now he was so close that she could hear the growls coming off the torch as it arced. Then she realized he was carrying someone behind him like he might carry a heavy sack. Dragging along the floor behind him… she could barely make out…

  “I said back!” The Bone Eater connected the torch’s flaming end with a prisoner who was running past him. The flame gushed and sparks of embers flew into the air like a wish made on a dandelion. The shadowy prisoner fell to the floor, but he took the torch with him, and the bone eater went into a frenzy. He punched one prisoner, backhanded another, then launched whoever he was carrying. The mystery person turned in the air like a bolo, sailing over the rest of the prisoners and crashing right into Mac.

  They both fell to the ground with a thud that knocked the wind out them. The Bone Eater’s torch was smoldering on the floor, but the flames were still able to catch and build. As Mac pulled herself up to her feet, she saw the rest of the prisoners attack the guard like a wild pack of dogs. She was enthralled for a moment, watching them tear him apart with their bare hands. It was just like watching a mega vulture pick apart a dead body. Their hands were like talons, rending flesh and pulling it apart with a hungry struggle. An ignoble death for an ignoble raider, she thought.

  “Mac?” Greenblatt said from the floor. He coughed into his mask and reached a hand towards her. “Help me up?”

  She smiled with her broken teeth and pulled him up. Before he could even get his footing, she snatched him up into a hug that could have been the beginning of a suplex. She had spent days with the Bone Eaters as a potential meal, and she hadn’t even realized how hopeless she had felt. It wasn’t Krav or the breaking of the cage that solidified her freedom, it was the warlord who had taken her in after her clan left her behind. She lifted him up off of his feet, squeezed him tight, then dropped him.

  “Don’t do that again,” he said with another cough. He held his chest with one hand and rested the other on his knee. Heavy breaths crashed against the leather mask with a hiss as he tried to calm himself.

  “You hurt?” Mac asked. She reached for him, but he waved her away.

  “Not physically. Where’s Krav?”

  “I can’t find him,” she said. She was careful to only use words she could pronounce, but her teeth still managed to prevent much. The F sound in particular forced her teeth to poke into her lips and sound more like an airy hiss.

  Greenblatt looked back up the hall towards the torch. He pointed towards it and the carnage beyond. “Grab that torch, quickly before someone else does.”

  She did as he said, running up the hall and over the bodies of those who had fallen to the Bone Eater. She paused for a moment to look at a few, checking to see if Krav was among them. It wouldn’t be too hard to believe, she thought. But he wasn’t any of the few she saw.

  He wasn’t a part of the crowd of prisoners thrashing at the Bone Eater’s corpse, either. There were only three or four barely lit bodies on top of him. They were pounding his already mushed face in, stomping bones that had already splintered, and ripping out dark red clumps of burst internal organs. There was real rage there. Real hatred. It wasn’t the senseless violence she was used to from raider gangs among the Valley. It was a primordial sense of crazed madness that she could feel coming off of them like heat from a flame.

  Suddenly, the chaos grew ten-fold when one of the crawling things in the cave skittered down the tunnel and leapt from the wall. In the dying firelight, Mac saw a spindly limbed man slam into the rioting prisoners and slashed at them with a pair of sickles. The blades took arms and heads as the Bone Eater danced between the prisoners with grace and finesse. They slashed bellies and spilled intestines before they even knew what hit them. By the time the prisoners knew that they were under attack, they were already cut to ribbons. Then the wiry creature turned its attention to the girl holding the torch.

  To call it a man would be to insult god’s creative process. This was the product of inbreeding devils. Dark circles rimmed lidless eyes, and a cleft lip left a split that ran into its nose. The bandages that hid the rest of its features were a mercy, though it was apparent by their lack of shape at the sides it was missing ears. It wore a dark poncho made of leather with a collar made of matted fur that hung off of its shoulders. Pale legs shifted, and mac realized it was making a move on her. The creature swung both sickles, one aimed at her stomach, the other her neck.

  Ask any member of the Gordo clan, the Great Macaw preferred a shootout to fist fight any day. It was hard not to default to such an awe-inspiring weapon. But that didn’t stop her from learning to fight the old-fashioned way. Much of the interclan turmoil was settled with a brawl, and you don’t live long enough to become grand apothecary with a weak right hook.

  Mac ducked the sickled coming for her neck and stopped the one aimed for her guts with the torch. There was a loud crash as the blade failed to chop through the wood. She considered herself lucky to have pulled such a move off, but the Bone Eater wasn’t impressed. Mid celebration, it tugged the lodged blade and forced Mac to take a step closer. Then it readied a backswing with the free sickle. She surrendered the torch and escaped the arc with only a cut across her jaw, just barely missing the meat of her neck.

  The creature quickly removed the torch and pressed the attack. Its slashing blades glittered in the dark just before they hit their mark, and each time Mac dodged just in time. She was retreating, her eyes keen for any opening to get her own attacks in, but the thing moved with practiced agility. Long arms prevented her from closing any gaps she could find. She could hear it breathing heavier, its breath hissing from its blooming lips. It sounded like a train engine picking up speed as it chugged up a track. The blades came faster and faster, and trickles of pain began to open in Mac’s arms, shoulders, and face. It was still missing for the most part, but its killing blows were closing in on her.

  They danced in the dark. Mac ducked and spun like a ballerina pirouetting through streams of silver. The creature’s blinding speed was becoming a clumsy blitz that left gashes in the cave walls and floor. Further and further it pushed, and Mac felt her own heart begin to fail as the breath in her chest thinned and burned.

  It’s too fast, she thought. It’s going to kill me!

  A blade caught her in the hand and she whipped the appendage back. Searing hot pain stole her attention for the smallest moment, and she knew she was done for. Mac looked back up and saw the twin sickles wind back and launch for her. They were coming from either direction, aimed again for her stomach and neck. Funny, it only ever had a few moves. She wished she knew that before she died. She weighed her options. She couldn’t duck, couldn’t block, couldn’t escape its range now. She was dead.

  A final flash of primordial preservation forced her hands up to her face. She cowered, elbows out and arms tucked in like a boxer preparing to be struck. Then she heard a gushing noise. A noise like a water-pump whose piping had a hole in it. Her momentary defensive stance waned, then she fell. When she opened her eyes, there was a toothy axe lodged in the back of the scything Bone Eater.

  Krav, finally making an appearance, put one boot on the back of the cannibal and pulled. Steam rose from the bloodied weapon in curling knots. The boy used the dry leather poncho to clean his prized axe, then tried to speak to Mac.

  “What?” she said, her own teeth grazing the inside of her mouth like small knives.

  He tried again, and this time his speech was a bit more understandable. He spoke slowly, trying to form the words around his mottled mouth. Annoyed, Mac retrieved the smoldering torch and blew it a few times to get the fire going again. When it was lit, she returned to Krav and saw what was wrong. Blood cascaded down his chin and dried under his jaw. His lips bristled with tiny wooden splinters. The boy’s teeth were whittled down to painful stubs like a baby’s first teeth sprouting.

  Krav licked the shattered bone shards and winced. Then, focusing on every word to not mispronounce it, he asked, “Wath that Greenblatt?”