Sixty-eight rolled like a boneless cloth doll as she hit the ground, which was fortunate because it helped put out the fire before it really burned her.

  Hooting mixed with snarls as a small syaruman charged, baring his or her impressive canines.

  Fast and vicious, the size of a human child, but with greater strength than a strong human adult. Add Skills or magic to that and even Sixty-eight’s God-given strength might find a match.

  The syaruman leapt over her at the last second.

  She reached for her bag of holding and the short gun she had taken from that shop, but her hand jerked to her neck instinctively as something thin, hairy and strong suddenly wrapped around her neck.

  The black crept quickly from the edges of her vision as she clawed and pulled.

  Up and over she went, slamming face first into the ground.

  Her nose sent fire radiating across her face and she felt wriggling in her gums.

  The pot boiled over, bringing down red-gold over her vision like a transparent curtain.

  A roar tore itself from her throat as she pounced on the syaruman and began hitting armor and tearing clumps of dark hair.

  “Get off me, abomination!” The syaruman used a Skill, sending her into an iron-barred door, knocking the entire thing off its hinges and shooting her into the dark home. “And you call us animals. It is you who is rabid. I’m doing you and the worlds a favor. It isn’t right to live only to cause pain and suffering to feed your rage. Fire Fingers.” The deep voice sounded with something almost like sympathy.

  The syaruman’s digits, even the ones on his feet blazed.

  He hooted and bounded to her, leaving tiny, glowing orange afterimages in the darkness.

  She reached out on instinct, grabbing something solid and heavy, swinging it across his arc.

  The crash thundered in the small space.

  The sound of shattering wood woke the inhabitants of the small, dungeon-like home, drawing them from the cells to peek tremulously into the darkness.

  Grail Beach humans.

  She struggled to see them as such in the red-gold haze.

  Everything and everyone around her was a threat and a target.

  To explode on and to siphon from.

  The syaruman burst from the crater in the wall, lunging for her face.

  Powerful fingers despite their child-like size tore ragged trenches in her cheek and forehead, the flames cauterized before the red-gold blood could flow.

  They continued to dig around her left eye.

  The heat blinded her as she began to hear sizzling sounds.

  Pain was a distant thing when in the throes of her God father’s gift.

  “Monster! Get off her!”

  “She is the monster, hairless one!” the syaruman snarled. “Return to your rooms, hide and cower lest you become collateral as your leaders wish.”

  Pressure entered her eye socket as she clawed at the syaruman’s face.

  Longer arms gave him the advantage.

  She bucked against his mount, but his powerful tail around her leg kept him in place.

  The sizzling grew louder and she felt an inexorable pull in her eye socket.

  “You must suffer for what your kind has done to my people!” he snarled before pulling violently.

  Blurry vision in her left eye suddenly went black.

  He crushed her orb in front of her as she roared.

  He raised his flaming fingers to her face.

  “I should be able to reach your brain. Blood of the Gods or not, I doubt you can survive that. Demigod child, curse your forebearers in whatever afterlife you belong to.”

  A loud thud swept the syaruman off her for a moment. Only a moment thanks to his tail, but it was enough for Sixty-eight.

  She leapt up, ripping and tearing as snarls and screams filled the dungeon-like home.

  She felt soft, hairless flesh give way to her powerful hands. Felt dense, hairy flesh resist.

  The syaruman bounded around her, only his flaming digits giving her the slightest hint to his location in the dark.

  She struck and reached even as he ripped burned trenches in the parts of her exposed outside the substandard armor she had taken from that shop.

  All thoughts of using the weapons in her bags had fled her.

  The rage boiled, slowly healing her burned gouges, though one half of her vision remained black.

  The syaruman hooted, snarling as he leapt to the ceiling, grabbing a light fixture and using it to swing a burning, two-footed kick into her face, knocking her like a bullet into something soft that screamed and made loud cracking and snapping sounds before falling silent.

  The scent of iron filled the air, briefly overpowering the acrid tang of burned meat.

  She pushed off the floor, hands slipping in warm, sticky liquid.

  The syaruman swung off the fixture, leaping with flaming hands and feet out like a diving raptor with its talons.

  She met him in midair.

  Fiery fingers gouged for her remaining eye, while fiery toes grasped her thighs, burning through cloth and the flesh beneath.

  She returned the favor, jamming a thumb in his eye and hooking fingers in the side of his cheek.

  Gouge and rip in opposite directions.

  She saw everything in red-gold, but her combat thoughts were still her own.

  Every dirty trick every combat tutor had taught her since she was old enough to walk came out.

  The syaruman’s rage-filled snarls, turned into a strangled yelp as she burst his eye like a grape with superhuman strength pushed past her previous highs by the quantity and quality of the rage around her.

  He strengthened her and there was nothing he could do about it even though he knew.

  She stoked him like the flames on his fingers and toes.

  Inflame and siphon.

  They had been taught that in their lessons.

  He twisted his head, choking her once again with his tail.

  Deadly canines flashed in the light of his fingers as he held her head in place for a devastating bite aimed at her nose and upper lip.

  She twisted at the last moment, losing a chunk of her partially-burned cheek instead.

  He pulled back and spat, diving in for another attempt, but she beat him to it.

  She slapped his hands away and bit deep into the side of his hair-covered neck.

  Iron and salt filled her mouth, but that only spurred her own to clamp down even harder.

  The syaruman gurgled, striking at her head and squeezing his tail around her neck.

  Her vision dimmed, but the rage flowing to and from her was like unto a river suddenly freed from its dam.

  Eventually, his strikes weakened, his tail loosened.

  Sixty-eight ripped, tearing a chunk out of the side of his small neck, sending crimson gushing out on the cold gray floor.

  She roared in triumph before stomping on the syaruman’s head until it was a pulped smear in a crater.

  Suiteonem Prime, Malali, Dumakule, 213919

  Ragay’s toe claws scratched the ceiling in his desperate attempts to find leverage against the turning of the hatch wheel.

  “Please close it so I can engage the manual lock.”

  “It’s closed, Gossamare! It’s closed!”

  The wheel was turning against him, but slowly.

  How were they overpowering him?

  Those, like Gossamare and the Malalians, adapted to constant life in the depths relied on bodies that equalized the pressure. They weren’t supposed to be even close to as physically strong as he was.

  It had to be those wriggling sucker fish-things burrowing into them.

  “I could use some aid,” he said through clenched jaws.

  Abygale swam up to him and with minimal smirking helped him reverse the turning of the wheel until it thudded into place.

  The hatch thumped a split-second later as Gossamare engaged the manual lock.

  Ragay swam down with Abygale to join the others.

  “I have a plan. It will require us to move fast.”

  Gossamare showed them the live views in the three access tunnels they had just locked down.

  “As you can see they are empty. Clearly, they are not.”

  “Why are they only hiding some of them from us?” Tagge gestured at the largest live image showing the other side of the main doors where many of the Malalians floated motionless in the water with wriggling sucker fish-things all over their bodies.

  “Dumb trap,” Justavi growled. “Thought we’d try one of the other ways out of here. Gave up on that quickly though. Doesn’t this place have an emergency eject function. I researched deep cities like this. I thought you could lock down sections and separate them from the rest. Figured that’d be a given for the central control chamber.”

  “Not all places have that capability. There are life pods, but I do not trust the information displayed that says they are empty and operable.” Gossamare gestured down at the control console.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “Yup. If I was whatever those things are I’d definitely dump as many parasite eel-things in the pods. Now that’s a perfect trap,” Tagge said.

  Gossamare cleared her throat.

  “I can drain the tunnels. At least in the sections where there are… people. The sudden loss of water will kill them within minutes their… our bodies collapse without it.”

  “Normally, but the parasites might’ve changed things.” Ragay remembered the strength on the other side of the hatch. “They’re a lot stronger now.”

  Justavi and Abygale echoed him.

  “We are safe in here for now,” Sings Too Loud said. “We must contact Miss Karagatan. Perhaps she will have a way to save the people of Malali from the parasites? And if you drain the tunnels, Gossamare, you and this child will be unable to leave.” He pointed at the red-fleshed boy in his hard water bubble.

  “Or we put them inside bubbles as you have the child and carry them,” Keisho said.

  “Yeah, but how long can they last without new water?” Tagge poked him in the sheathed blade attached to his elbow stump.

  Gossamare slashed with her arm.

  “No. Our priority must be containing this infestation to Malali. To that end we must alert Miss Karagatan. While we are safe inside here I shall attempt to reach her.”

  …

  It started with faint tapping on the other side of the main doors and each sealed hatch.

  It had steadily grown louder.

  Universal emergency code for all of Sinaya’s people across the world.

  It said the same thing. The only thing.

  From the many, there is one.

  Join. Us. Now.

  Ragay floated underneath the hatch he had grown to hate over the last half hour.

  He extend his hooked staff at it, willing a dome of hard water over it.

  The tapping sent faint ripples through the water.

  They pulsed in time with the beating in his chest.

  Or was his heart pulsing in time with it?

  The warmth in his muscles grew as if he had been exercising rather than floating in place to conserve energy.

  The ripples distorted the water, creating a blur wherever he looked.

  “Is anyone else feeling strange?” he muttered into his speaking gem.

  He really wished he had more levels in junior reef defender, but he hadn’t leveled in it ever since he started training with Miss Karagatan. It was a worthwhile trade off in that the Heart of Sinaya gave him a power level that a class would’ve taken decades of leveling to equal.

  Then again a Skill would’ve been useful to counter whatever it was the parasites were attempting to do.

  When faced with such a seemingly powerful threat, counter-leveling at a lower level would’ve helped.

  He was sure of it just as much as he was sure that something bad was happening.

  His training had been clear. Physiological and psychological changes in the absence of rational explanations mustn’t be dismissed.

  Each of the other potentials sounded off with similar experiences.

  Physical discomfort to psychological agitation and everything in between.

  “How long are we going to wait, Gossamare!” Justavi snarled. “We train to stand with the Karagatan! Not cower behind her like hatchlings!”

  “Yeah! We’re warriors! Let’s fight!” Tagge chittered.

  Sings Too Loud whistled.

  “The people—”

  Justavi cut him off with a growl.

  “You see the parasites in them, don’t you? I can see their tendrils spreading in their bodies. We don’t even know if we can save them. And if we get taken or killed here then who’s going to save them anyways? Imagine what’ll happen if they get out to spread to the other deep cities nearby?”

  The argument would’ve continued if the control chamber didn’t suddenly rumble, creating swirling eddies that sent the once calm waters into turbulence.

  A sound like the groaning a great beast tossing and turning in the throes of terrible nightmare assaulted the potentials.

  “What is happening!” Keisho’s voice rose several octaves.

  The sound of rushing water pushed past Ragay.

  He followed it and saw an intake had opened.

  “The water’s being sucked out!” Abygale said.

  Open space appeared at the ceiling as the water level began to drop rapidly.

  “They have overridden the controls.” Gossamare’s voice was calm. “But not all of it. I shall trigger the emergency drain for as many of the main tunnel sections as I can before I am completely locked out.”

  “How are they doing this?” Justavi snarled.

  “There are always auxiliary control stations in multiple locations that can be used with the right knowledge and expertise. I apologize for not understanding that these parasites are intelligent.”

  “Eh, not really your fault, Goss.” Tagge shrugged. “It’s not like any of us thought to mention that. I wasn’t even thinking it.”

  Gossamare sighed.

  “Thank you, but I have failed you all with my poor leadership. Please, prepare for battle. We must move with haste to the nearest exit. Maybe we will be able to reach Miss Karagatan outside. Sings, please give the boy to Keisho. You, Justavi and Tagge have oceansuits, which grant you an extra layer of protection from the parasites, so you shall be our vanguard. Ragay, I shall bubble myself, please bring me with you. We shall stay close behind. I will attempt to keep the tunnels dry, but I do not know how long that will last.”

  Suiteonem Prime, Empire of Man, A Train, April, 2058

  Zinna hated trains.

  It was her first time riding one.

  The air was stale with the scents of sweat and farts.

  Always with the farts.

  She supposed it was cause of the standard soldier diet.

  Lots of beans and bean-adjacent foods.

  Sure, good for protein and fiber, probably, plus it was cheap and easy to cook.

  She glared balefully at the closed windows.

  The damn things were actually locked.

  What did the officers think?

  That the conscripts would try jumping out?

  And the damn vents weren’t doing even a terrible job at cycling out the old air with the new.

  Maybe they kept the windows closed on account of the cold.

  This far south, this close to the mountains, even in the breaking boundary between winter and spring the cold could smack an imperial used to the warm temps in the core around the Inner Sea.

  She certainly wasn’t used to the cold.

  Idle thoughts turned to her mother and brother.

  Wherever they were was really cold.

  She hoped that they were staying warm.

  At least their home had a nice-looking wood stove to heat it up.

  Then again, her mother and brother did tend to be bundled up most of the times she had spoken with them.

  She replayed those conversations, treasuring them like the precious gifts that they were.

  Whatever price she had to pay was worth it.

  Nothing could change her mind on that.

  Even dying in an undead monster’s teeth up at the Imperial Shield.

  She eyed the lock on the window.

  Perhaps, if she accidentally put her elbow through the glass they wouldn’t dock her pay.

  Punishment she could take.

  What would they do? Send her back to the City of the Sun?

  Ha!

  …

  The train gave way to automaton-pulled wagons.

  Up a winding mountain road she went, crammed shoulder to shoulder like fish preserved in oil.

  The cold, crisp mountain air blew in through the tiny openings that she wouldn’t call windows.

  It still smelled like sweat and farts like the train, but not nearly as bad thanks to the cold.

  She did appreciate the relatively smooth ride.

  If the empire was great at one thing she’d have to say it was the roads.

  Even down here far away from proper civilization.

  The other soldiers whispered in hushed tones to avoid the ire of the snappish sergeants.

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  “How you figure that?”

  “They’re taking us up the road.”

  “Is there another way to get up to the shield?”

  “Yup. Straight up. There’s an old tunnel cutting straight through the mountains. A great tunnel big enough for a dozen trihorns to stampede shoulder to shoulder all the way up to the fortress.”

  “Now you’re just yanking my cock.”

  “Swear on the God. It’s ancient though. Built thousands of years ago by whoever ruled this land back then. Legends says that the tunnel road moves itself. You could just stand or sit and it’d take you right up.”

  “Now you’re definitely tugging on my thick and long cock!”

  “Why ain’t we on this legendary tunnel road of yours? Sounds like it’d save a lot of time.”

  “You in a hurry to get there so we can sit around and wait even more?”

  Hushed laughter trickled through the wagon.

  “So, why ain’t we using the road?”

  “I dunno. Stories say it’s broken or we don’t know the right spells or there’s not enough mana.”

  …

  Zinna had been imagining what the Imperial Shield looked like on the entire journey from the capital.

  Days of wondering at what the awe-inspiring grandeur would look like in person when all she had to go on were pictures and paintings.

  She had recently allowed herself to remember the book in her father’s library that had paintings and pictures of famous fortresses and castles from history now that her mother and brother were safe and the evil lord that murder her father and ruined all their lives was dead.

  She was still imagining it since the wagon went right into the fortress city for a long while before disgorging the soldiers right outside a stone-walled building.

  The walk allowed her a brief look at gray buildings rising as high as those in the City of the Sun and snow.

  “Lots of snow.”

  Long lines in a large space that was somehow still crowded.

  Hot breath behind her and a big ass in front.

  Sweat and farts.

  Time drone on until she finally got to the end of her line.

  “Name.”

  “Zinna Orologiaio.”

  Fingers tapped on light, bringing up her file on an orb projection.

  The clerk turned the orb to her.

  “Is this you?”

  She stared at her face.

  “Yeah.”

  He tapped a bit more and a whirring sound emanated from below his desk.

  “This is your posting.” He handed her a slip of paper with a blue line and a series of letters and numbers. “Follow the blue arrows. Keep that on you. It’s your map. If you get lost… don’t. Next.”

  He dismissed her with a wave.

  She moved past his station.

  A single step and glowing blue arrows appeared above her eye line.

  …

  Trains.

  She hated trains now.

  Although this one was a lot smaller, which meant she and her fellow soldiers where packed in even tighter.

  There were soldiers physically shoving them in to cram a few more above capacity.

  Standing room only.

  Sweating pits and farting asses all the way to her posting.

  …

  “Fresh meat, boys!” A big soldier with a scarred face that reminded her of a dog’s asshole greeted her as soon as she stepped into her barracks. “We ain’t gonna have to be cold at night!”

  Laughter.

  Zinna scanned the space.

  Not everyone was a thug like this one.

  There were even a few soft-looking boys and girls younger than her.

  Standard conscript wear.

  Name tags on the right breast and a single brass dot in the left collar.

  Everyone was equal in rank.

  “Where’s our sergeant?”

  He leered.

  “Aww, girlie gonna cry to momma? She ain’t around right now.”

  “Rape is against regulations. Punishable by incarceration. In times of war? Punishable by lashes and incarceration.”

  “So?”

  “Brawling has less punishment.”

  There was nothing she hated more than rapists.

  She rocketed a knee into his foul, soft weapon.

  Hot and foul breath washed over her face as he folded at the waist.

  She grabbed the back of his head in both hands and pulled him into another knee.

  The crunch, as always, was satisfying.

  His fat knee looked appealing, so she stomped it the wrong way.

  The big soldier toppled.

  She kicked and stomped a few more times until his fellow thugs finally woke up and jumped in swinging.

  Zinna grinned.

  Brawling was bad, but the not-demon in her dreams had said he would back her on anything and after everything he had done for her she’d pit him against the sergeant, the officers and even the Gods damned general.