Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Smash. His unfortunately meaty fist passes through the skull of some ugly blend of flesh and bone, shaking. It resembled something closer to regurgitated prepak than anything living, particularly hideous compared to its friends. Its few remaining friends didn't like that, roaring and gibbering as they swiped spiked chains and lunged with toothy maws.

Clifford the big red monkey smelled like rotten eggs, which meant it was probably explosive. He was still waiting for the self-destruct to come. His bare meatfoot landed on the sand, and his meatleg twisted his whole body around it, heel of his other foot crashing into the side of the monkey's head.

Smash. As was natural, his shaking kick turned the monkey's head into pulp and sent the corpse hurtling towards the misty bug. The weight was sufficient enough to force the cloud with weapons back, even as it rapidly chopped through flesh.

Disappointingly, the monkey did not explode. Apparently it only smells bad. He shouldn't have expected any better. His meatfeet smashed through the upper layer of cloud just as the last chop was made.

Smash. It wasn't a walking cloud, after all, the smoke was surrounding a crab on legs. His shaking meatheels shattered its head, and the thing went limp as he pushed off and landed in the gray sands once more.

His meat was yelling at him, he had gotten sand in his fresh new injuries again. He ignored it, pushing up with a sour look on his meatface, scowl and glare both. All around him were the dozen or so corpses of things that escaped a biotechnica lab and missed their auditions for the freakshow. The various colors of blood stained the unnaturally gray sands, which stretched as far as the optic could see in all directions.

The sky above was black, as if it were night. The heat told him that it absolutely wasn't night and that whoever made this shitty BD needed to patch it some more. He glanced at the corpses once more, then snorted, moving over to take a look at his actual prize.

He had been in this desert for three fucking days now. On his first day he murdered a giant scorpion-thing, then ate it. On his second day he murdered a giant sandworm, then ate it. Today, he was probably going to eat one of these freaks after taking all their stuff. Not the crab things though, he was sick of bug meat, maybe the monkey.

This was possibly the most pointless BD he had even been in.

He walked over to the coffin-sized chest the freakshow had been carrying and kicked the lid off. The chest shuddered in an unnatural manner, and tendrils emerged in feeler-like-fashion, slimy and sticky and some barbed with needles dripping some manner of inky-black substance. He swiped a vibrating hand, cutting off a dozen of the things reaching for him and making the box wail as they withdrew.

He raised a brow at what was inside, before reaching in and physically hauling out the apparent prize he had won. The freakshow had been human traffickers apparently. The limp, shuddering, and probably unconscious form of an unpleasantly sticky woman was his prize. This prize was dogshit. He inspected the meatbag for a few long moments, dark red hair, somehow pristine red lipstick on, two decorative dots under each eye, swirly-ass tattoos all over her body, including the trashy addition of a heart-stamp on her lower abdomen.

The woman underneath all that shit wasn't bad, fat tits, trim waist, round ass, eight out of ten. The addition of the womb-tat dropped her down to a five, at best. He rolled his eyes and hefted the unconscious meatbag over one shoulder, heedless of the fluids currently dripping down his torso as a result. Most of it was being blocked by the thick layer of freak-gore that coated him.

He had been hoping for some sort of cloth to wrap himself in, pants would've been ideal, he was starting to get annoyed at walking around naked all the time. As it stood, 'kidnapped woman' was a horrible pull, the slot machine was clearly broken. He stomped his way over to the monkey, crouching down to wipe his hand off on its fur, then dipping his finger into the gory mess that used to be its head.

He sampled it, smacking his lips together before concluding that it was probably safe to drink. His fist shook, and he smashed it into the shoulder of the corpse.

Pop went the arm. He snatched it out of the air and raised it above his head, allowing the blood to pour from the limb and into his mouth. A few minutes passed as he drank his fill from the monkey-arm, before he lowered the arm and tossed it aside.

He wasn't very hungry, and his meat was doing fine, even if it kept whining at him. He walked over to the crab-corpse, reaching down to snatch the odachi. He would need some type of weapon, and this was certainly better than nothing. A gun would've been ideal, but he wasn't holding out hope to find one in what was clearly some meatbag's fantasy sim.

Worthless, every setting was made better with guns, especially guns he could use to splatter dumbasses who put him into buggy BDs. He made a note to kill whoever put him in here, painfully.

If it had just been a BD, he would've been ready to show a small amount of mercy, that is to say, a very quick death. But instead it had been calibrated to put him into his fucking meat again.

Adam Smasher got rid of all his superfluous meat decades ago, for a fucking reason, and some jackass comes along and shoves him into a frame that was outdated nearly a century ago.

Adam was going to cut a bitch slow for this.

In the meanwhile, he was going to get out of this stupid fucking desert and all its inconsistent bullshit. Hot and cold at random, fantasy-ass monsters wandering around, perfectly illuminated despite the complete lack of sun.

Whoever made this place didn't know how deserts worked.

New prize slung over his shoulder, and new weapon in hand, Adam set out from the gorefield with a newfound hatred for the world around him.

He had been in this desert for three days now.

—

On the fourth day, the meatbag started vomiting out puddles of inky-black nonsense. She was lucky she hadn't done it on his feet, otherwise he would've killed her then and there. As it stood she had been convulsing for a few hours now, and leaving an easily-tracked trail of black expulsions behind them. Not that he particularly minded that part, if something tracked them down, he wouldn't have to worry about finding something to snack on.

The dinner would come right to him.

Sure, raw meat and blood wasn't exactly the tastiest meal around, but he had lived off worse back in his kiddy days on the streets of New York. Raw meat was better than dumpster garbage, and it would get him through the day the same as anything else.

He was mostly mad that he had to bother eating at all. His dailyframe sustained his biopod just fine with an internal nutrient drip, no need to worry about any kind of food, just replace the reservoir of nutrients and calories once a month and move along.

Unfortunately, he was in his meatframe again, as it was right after his army days. Tall, broad shouldered, and pretty enough to make the ladies fall over. All except his hair, which was a fucking mess right now, you don't find many combs in the desert.

Every stray strand in his eyes only heightened his nostalgic rage.

He was going to enjoy murdering the next thing he saw.

The meatbag on his shoulders convulsed again, and a fresh new line of inky black fluid hit the sand behind them, trailing off to point in their direction as he moved along.

Meatbags needed fluid to survive, from what he remembered, at her current rate of expulsion she was going to die of dehydration before too long. He briefly considered this, before shrugging it off.

If she was awake enough to drink the next time he murdered something, she could have a drink. If she wasn't, then she'd die and he wouldn't need to carry her around anymore. No need to go out of his way here. It was just a meatbag, after all, the world already had too many of those stinking up the place.

Although, he had to amend his earlier judgment, now that he had gotten a better feel for her while hauling her ass around. It was a damn fine ass under all that swirly tattoo bullshit, nine out of ten.

She convulsed again, inky fluid spilling from her lips and painting the sands. He almost rolled his eyes with how dramatic she was being.

It was meat, meatbag, get a handle on it already.

He crested another dune, briefly pausing as he took in the landscape that opened up to him. Mostly just endless wastes, but the occasional stone spire jut out from the ground at uneven angles, towering over all but the largest skyscrapers. In the distance to the left, he could see the telltale signs of slightly glowing palm trees and the faintest glimmer of water. To his right was some manner of isolated pyramid with a big circle at the top.

He ruled out the oasis, mirages happened all the time and even if it was an oasis, it wouldn't have anything he particularly needed. The choice came down to the spires of rock or the pyramid.

Pyramid usually meant people who built it, which meant he could probably kill some of them and take their clothes. Second case scenario he breaks open a tomb and robs the wrappings from a mummy. Worst case scenario there's nothing actually there and he continues to wander aimlessly, using the top of the pyramid as a new vantage point to decide where to go.

Idly he flipped off the giant eye that opened up in the distant shadows of the stone spires, staring at him intently and acting like he couldn't notice it. He raised his middle finger and pulled it across his neck. It vanished at once like the cowardly magicmeat it was. He glared for a few moments more, before snorting dismissively and making his way down the dunes, towards the distant stone triangle.

Why the fuck did they build triangles in the desert?

Adam considered that for a moment, before rolling his eyes as he remembered what corpos were like.

They probably did it just because they could. Corpos were prone to wasting money on big expensive projects that went nowhere. A recent example hung in his memory, the Cyberskeleton, stolen and piloted by that one kid. The kid had been wrestling against the core design flaws the entire time, barely managing to keep up well enough to slaughter a bunch of grunts.

A combination of sandevistan and inbuilt thrusters to make up for the glaring mobility issues, allowing him to swoop around just fast enough to avoid sustained fire.

Speaking of swooping around.

Adam kicked off the sand in a directly vertical jump, twisting around the lance-like beak of some malformed giant bird. The beak smashed into the sand below, and the maddened eyes of the creature glared into his.

Unfortunately for the bird, it was in range of his meatfoot. His shaking heel smashed into its bony skull, sending the half-ton meatjet to the ground and kicking up a cloud of sand. It made a noise halfway between a digital scream and a supersonic blender.

The headache was easy enough to ignore as both his shaking feet crashed down into its slowly-rising head, driving it back into the ground like a hammer on a nail and showering him in fresh bird gore.

This BD was clearly supposed to be some kind of survival-test routine, what with the unpredictable environment, random assortment of creatures, and lack of reliable resources. Unfortunately, it was clearly tuned to the frequency of the average meatbag, and not Adam Smasher.

He landed on the gore-stained sands again, rising to his feet slowly and briefly considering the woman over his shoulder. Well, survival test cum pornographic experience, at least. He grunted, tossing her on the dune to free up a hand and raising his sword to consider the bird.

Wasn't it dangerous to eat birds? Something about getting a disease or something. He remembered hearing that used as an excuse to murder all birds near New York and drive inner city fried chicken sales. He wasn't certain if that was true or no-

The bird-corpse spontaneously combusted, creating a nice bonfire of quickly smoldering feathers and slumping flesh, sizzling and letting off a smell like salt and pepper.

He raised a brow, taking in the sight of the half-ton takeout crackling with flame.

Well, if the bird was going to cook itself, it would probably be fine to eat. He would wait a good twenty minutes or so and dig in. He sat back next to the meatbag, and watched idly as the bird smoldered.

…No wait, it had a tail, that made it a feathered lizard didn't it?

He glowered in thought.

—

He was somewhat surprised to find that the bird did not, in fact, taste like chicken. It instead tasted like a deluxe bacon cheeseburger, which was briefly confusing but acceptable enough. It's not like he hated a good burger and this was hardly the first error they had made in this thing. Holding the immense section of leg like a kebab, Adam slowly worked his way through the crispy skin and into the tender meat within.

It was food, it was good enough, and he needed this to fuel his meatframe.

His attention was caught by the sounds of differently-pitched groans coming from the meatbag. She had been moaning and groaning for a while now, but the convulsions had stopped a while ago. That probably meant she was finally getting a fucking handle on the pain, which was long overdue at this point.

Either that or she was dying, he wasn't a doctor and he didn't really care to be.

Now though, her groans were more those made after a long night of drinking and without a boozemaster installed, indicative more of a massive hangover and less the pitiful whines of a meatbag about to expire. Her black-covered limbs shifted about as she groaned, hand raising up to press against her forehead.

She flashed him twice as she writhed in pained grogginess. He glared, and briefly considered telling her to cover herself, before he remembered the complete lack of material to do that with. He raised the cooked leg up to his lips and took another massive bite, teeth quickly working to turn the burger-bird into mash and delivering it to his bio-reactor. The process took almost a minute and he knew that he wasn't going to get all the calories and nutrients out of this.

One of the most inefficient systems known to man right here, man.

She finally got tired of groaning, and slowly pushed herself up, weary eyes and messy hair somehow falling in the manner that BD stars fake to make themselves more attractive rather than less, more evidence that this was actually an erotic BD, which would explain all the shitty inconsistencies with the actual world.

He bit into the burger-bird leg again, idly munching as he waited for the meatbag to actually wake up.

She raised a hand to her lips, wiping her mouth and recoiling slightly at the ink that stained the back of her hand after. She pulled back further, inspecting herself and clearly pushing through pain to evaluate her body and all the spiraling black lines that now covered her.

From the look on her face, she wasn't expecting to see any of them. Her gaze slowly wandered up, to her toes, then to the sands.

Then her bright green eyes locked onto his icy blue.

She threw herself back at once, raising a hand to do something before convulsing and collapsing again, muffling a moan-scream as the inky lines that covered her body writhed in a distinctly unnatural fashion. So the tattoos weren't just aesthetic, then, they were a system that triggered in response to her doing something. Moving too fast perhaps?

He took another bite of the bird and kept munching.

She stopped convulsing after a while, the lines settling down once more and her body shuddering as she pushed herself up from the sands once more, glaring at him through a tangled mane of dark red hair.

Very impressive glare meatbag, zero out of ten, you look like a well-used whore right now. He let his face sit in a deeply unimpressed expression in response to her glare, chewing undaunted.

She called out to him, a somewhat imperious tone that would've been far more effective if he understood what the fuck that language was. It sounded like someone was trying to sing a song in Chinese. Still, gave him a hint that she was probably Asian.

"I don't understand you, meatbag." He replied in Japanese. Any employee of Arasaka who got high enough was forced to learn it, mandate from Saburo Arasaka himself.

She looked equally confused for a moment, before narrowing her eyes further and slowly pulling up to her full height. A very impressive five-ten, he was shuddering in his six-six meatframe here. He took another bite of the burger-bird.

She glared at their surroundings for a time, before looking back at him and spoke in broken-ass archaic Japanese. The kind that the old man Saburo would grunt in satisfaction and sip a cup of tea at after hearing it recited to him.

"I, your Empress, stands before you. Present thyself by name and blood."

Adam took his time to chew and swallow. Her glare intensified as he worked through his food in an unhurried fashion. Finally, he swallowed and replied in a growling fashion.

"Adam Smasher, Butcher of Arasaka, I found you in a box of tentacles." He pointed his half-eaten leg towards the still-warm corpse of the burger-bird. "Eat fast, meatbag. We're moving as soon as I'm done with this."

Her eyes narrowed into a razor-glare. "You presume to command me?"

"Yes." He matched her glare with one of his own. "Eat or starve, meat, I don't care which."

Eventually, she scoffed, and strode as elegantly as she could over to the cook bird, twisting off another limb and quickly digging in. Apparently hungry enough to not backtalk more than once. He bit into the leg again.

He had been in this desert for four fucking days. He was more than ready enough to blow this joint.

Chapter Text

Now that the woman was actually awake and seemingly functional, he could start getting some use out of her. Namely, he needed to figure out where the hell he currently was, and how to get out. This landscape of buggy sand was pissing him off something fierce.

"Oi, woman." He called out after a few moments, graciously allowing her some time to eat. Carrot and stick and all that.

Showing that he shouldn't have bothered, the red-haired one glowered at him, standing before the smoldering corpse and doing her best to glare down at him. When accounting for the slope of the dune, his seated form was eye level with her standing one. "I am the Scarlet Empress." She declared, eyes narrowing. "You will address me as such."

It would've been more effective if she wasn't holding a giant chicken wing right now. As it was, her look was too laughable to take seriously. He glared back. "I'll address you as bitch if you keep mouthing off." He refuted contemptuously, making her eyes narrow into fine slits of furious disdain. He ignored it, moving on to his actual question. "Where are we?" He waved a finger around, making it clear that he was referring to the whole of their current environment.

She did not reply verbally, merely tilting her head back and waiting.

An implicit demand. She wanted to be addressed 'correctly'. He had seen this kind of power play from a dozen or more corpos thinking they were hot shit.

He also knew the best response to burst their 'Im richer and therefore better than you' bubble. He snorted and stood up from the sand, tossing aside the half-eaten bone and meat remaining upon it and walking away. "We're leaving, keep up or fuck off, I don't care which."

Corpos, for all of their pretend money and company good boy points, had absolutely no power except what you allowed them to have. As they didn't write his paychecks, he had absolutely no reason to ever care about them.

To his complete lack of surprise, the woman let out a brief, quiet snarl and quickly scrambled over to accompany him. Who would have thought that the violently ill corpo was, in fact, not capable of defending herself in a desert full of randomly generated meatcreatures. He could feel her antipathy as they walked down the dunes, occasionally broken up by her tearing another chunk of meat off the bone with her teeth and chewing fearsomely.

From his best guess, the giant stone triangle was at least half a day away by foot. His estimation was entirely based on the thickness of the air and the general shape of the dunes leading up to it. The first few days he was here, all of his overland calculations were being thrown off, locations and landmarks in the distance within view but much more than the couple kilometers away they should've been for that to be true.

He figured it out on the third day, this desert was completely flat. His calculations were being thrown off because he kept accounting for sphere geometry that wasn't actually present. The individual dunes rose and fell, but the land they were built upon was a geological pancake at best.

More evidence that this was a half-finished sim, or it was programmed by loonies that think the world was flat, either was possible.

On the upside, if he ever got access to a gun, sniping would be quite a bit easier at extreme ranges. The only thing that held him back was sightlines and bullet travel speed. No curvature meant his effective range jumped from 'the horizon' to 'the vanishing point', something to consider if he ever got a proper weapon in his hands, he'd be able to beat his old record for distance-kill.

The woman still wasn't speaking, which suited him just fine. It was now a little game to see who would give in first. The answer was her, of course, Adam didn't do 'losing' and there was no reason for him to play along with her little powertrip. Information would be useful, but all the information he needed to stay alive came from his shitty meatsensors, he had made those work for the first twenty years of his life, he could make them work now.

Fucking meat, worst sensors had had ever been forced to use, didn't even have a zoom function.

He hopped down a jutting outcrop of rock, landing on the sand below and sliding for a few moments. The woman jumped down after a few moments, red mane whipping back as she descended.

The sand rumbled minutely. His eyes locked onto the spilling grains.

The sands collapsed inwards as the woman landed, forcing her to stumble briefly as a new sinkhole roared to life beneath the rocky outcrop, a toothy maw at the center flashing mandibles made of quartz and ivory. The sands around he and the woman washed down, dragging both of them towards the creature's gnashing mouth.

The collapsing sands would make it impossible to get a good jump out, not without a counterweight. Throw the woman into the maw?

Possible, but he'd rather murder it than let it get away after fucking with him. He raised his sword like a javelin and hurled it, the blade flying straight and stabbing through the 'roof' of the mouth with a spray of oily blood and screech of steel stabbing through thin aluminum. The thrashing indicated that this wasn't enough, and only a bit of the tip pierced through the apparently metallic hide.

He needed to push it deeper.

He reached out and grabbed the woman's arm, catching her in the midst of her own struggles and doing his best to jump directly up. The collapsing sands made it impossible to escape that way, his jump only barely insufficient were he to try leaping out.

That was fine through, he just needed a counterweight.

He threw the woman out of the trap as his feet crested the sands, equal and opposite reaction propelled him towards the sandmouth, just enough for his purposes. She sailed backwards like a tossed bag of rice, up towards the lip of the sand-whirlpool and far back enough to escape if she wanted to.

More importantly, it gave him just enough momentum to pass over those gnashing teeth and smash his foot into the pommel of the sword.

A screech similar to a knife puncturing a can of soda, and a spray of what he was positive was just petroleum coated his lower body. The pilfered sword forced down to the hilt into the sandmouth, between rows of ivory teeth and gasoline spittle.

It made a noise like a wailing man as it thrashed and died, Adam felt a little grin overtake his face at the simultaneously unique and familiar experience. Credit where credit was due, these random creatures were downright entertaining to butcher. He grabbed onto one of the crushing mandibles as it shook about, doing his best to ride out the death throes until finally it decided to stop moving.

The sand continued to collapse all the while, pouring into some sort of lower tunnel region below him for another minute or so. He pulled back and evaluated the creature as it became more and more exposed, the mandles serving as the mouth for some manner of soft-bodied crustacean partially hidden away under the rocky outcrop, which turned out to be its shell. He dipped a finger in the blood and raised it to his nose.

…Yep, that was crude oil alright.

"Are you quite finished, barbarian?" The woman called out from above, looking down at him in a most unimpressed manner as he inspected the crab. He gave her an equally unimpressed glare, reaching down to rip out his sword and inspecting its edge.

Sure enough, it was completely ruined. He would need a different weapon, this would be useless. He tossed it down into the tunnelway, where it landed with a dull thunk.

He considered his new little issue for a few moments more, then inspected the crab again. He scrambled over to one side of the house-sized thing and reached one of its rather large claw. He knocked his fist against it for a few moments, then hefted it partially out of the sands..

Metallic exoskeleton paired with a relatively lightweight interior. It was good enough.

His shaking fist smashed through the thinner joint that attached claw to limb, separating the two entirely with the sound of crushing a can and another spray of crude oil blood. The flesh inside was more akin to bundles of relatively weak rope, and somehow just as dry. He hefted the claw before tossing it up and out of the sand pit, crashing down next to the glaring woman with a spray of sand. He shortly followed, making his own jump and making it halfway up, before steadily ascending and snatching up his newly pilfered claw again.

"Taking a trophy is the instinct of all men, it seems."

Adam ignored her, and forced his hand into the ropelike meat of the crab's claw, fingers wrapping around a bundle and pulling, flexing the lower 'jaw' of the claw in response.

Fiddling with the claw was enough of a distraction to easily ignore everything the woman said for the next few hours, broken up occasionally by the need to go around other rocky outcrops and suspicious dunes.

He figured out how to make it grab things by the three hour mark, claw fitted onto his lower left arm and fingers pulling the correct muscle-fibers within to open and close it.

—

"The gateway back to Creation is another half-day away, or thereabouts. You started traveling through Cecelyne four and a half days prior then." The woman declared after some time, wiping her mouth with the back of her forearm in a composed manner. Had Adam not just watched her convulse and vomit more ink for a good minute, it probably would've seemed more refined. "Where did you come from, barbarian?"

"Night City." He responded gruffly, having no particular reason not to. The last thing he remembered was settling down to review a fresh new slaughter, making sure to find all the places he fucked up. Improvement was an ongoing process, after all, and if he wanted to be the best murderer he needed to study rigorously.

Typically, the best thing to self improve was thorough a personal review while his power cells recharged. He preferred it over sleep, much more productive.

"Champoor? I suppose that explains your lack of civility and respect." She replied. Briefly he wanted to ask what the fuck a Champoor was, before deciding he didn't care enough to expend the energy. "The Prasadi have forgotten to heed my Realm, I ought to remind them when I return from this jaunt through the Endless desert."

Adam once more didn't respond, provoking the woman to briefly glare, then let her face relax.

"You have no idea who I am, do you?" She asked suddenly. "Neither myself nor my Realm."

"No, and I don't care either." Adam responded, moving around an oasis made of glass in a wide circle. He didn't trust it. "You're a random meatbag I found in a random meatbox in a shitty desert full of random meatbags. I dragged your sorry ass around to get information, your prissy ass has refused to give me information, that makes you useless, that makes you dead weight."

"...Fascinatingly brutish. I've forgotten that mortals such as you still exist, with how well I've surrounded myself in finer things." She replied with a voice dripping in condescension.

"Your memory is shit." Adam retorted frankly, ignoring the piercing glare as he passed under an immense rocky outcrop, carefully watching the rocks above for anything that might fall down to ambush them. "Are you going to start being useful or just bitch the whole time, because if it's the second I'd rather just kill you and save a headache."

There was wonderful almost-silence for a few minutes, the only sounds being the scattered and distant sounds of winds howling. The black sky above glowed with a faint red aurora, which formed into cheshire grins and serpentine folds before collapsing again and beginning the process anew.

He ignored it with ease.

"A proposition, barbarian." The woman spoke after some time, still just as stern but fortunately not so snippy. A good thing for her, otherwise he would have reached over and snapped her neck.

Adam grunted inquisitively, wordlessly in reply.

"There are sixteen gates that lead from Cecelyne to Creation, of which only seven are known to mortal sages, and nine are known to me." She began in a somewhat long winded manner. "I cannot guarantee familiarity with our point of exit from this place, and the seals placed upon me limit a great deal of my power."

"You want a bodyguard." Adam grumbled in reply, guessing where this was going.

"You are capable enough, certainly, and the Realm is more than wealthy enough to reward a lone hero with whatever they could desire."

"I know your type, you'd send hitmen after me the moment you get to friendly territory." Adam glowered. "Why not promise everything in the world? You won't have to pay it if you somehow managed to kill me."

She resumed her glare. "I'll be gracious and ignore your insult to my honor and capabilities. If I promise wealth, I shall deliver wealth. If I promise death, you will die. There is no other possibility."

"I'm the best goddamn murderer to ever live." He declared with unshakable confidence. "If you send assassins after me, they would die, and then you would die for trying, and then whoever tried to avenge you until they learn to stop sending men to their graves."

"Mortals oft have an inflated view of themselves, kittens declaring themselves tigers." She responded with equally absolute confidence. "I would not need assassins, I am the Scarlet Empress, I shed the blood of heroes and gods alike."

"Women oft have an inflated view of themselves, vomiting ink for days and calling themselves strong." Adam retorted.

Her hands closed into white-knuckle fists.

A few moments of silence passed.

"Name your price." She seethed out. "Your service as my sworn sword until I return to the Scarlet Throne. On my honor, your life will be your own thereafter."

Adam raised his right hand, and three fingers upon it. "Three things. First, I don't do jobs for anything less than five figures, an extended job with uncertain duration bumps that up to six figures. I'll need at least one-hundred thousand of whatever currency you use." He was honestly low-balling her here, mostly because he didn't expect to actually get paid. Honor was a thing that disappeared the moment it was inconvenient for high society types.

She considered that for a moment,clearly calculating something, before replying with a deliberate nod. "One-hundred thousand obols, ninety-seven and two-thirds talents of jade then."

They used rocks as money here? That was like coins but worse. "Second, information. If I ask a question I need an answer, none of that power-play horseshit."

She tilted her head back and glowered, responding at once. "I reserve the right to answer as I may, I shan't have you weasel our way into an oath for the wealth of secrets at my disposal."

"If it's a secret it's probably useless to me." Adam responded with a deadened glare. "I don't care how many affairs are going on in the big cities, I need actionable information, woman."

She narrowed her eyes further at this, before sharply nodding. "A stipulation of my own, you will refer to me by name, at minimum."

"If you want me saying your name, you're going to have to fuck it out of me." Adam refuted sharply, sneering down at her. "Ask again when you're not ill, woman, I don't want vomit on my dick."

"Scarlet." She demanded again. Her name was Scarlet and she was the Scarlet Empress.

Adam rolled his eyes. How fucking stupid. "I'll call you 'Red', feel grateful I'm bothering with that much."

She hissed lowly, before relenting and waving a dramatic hand. "And the third condition?"

He finally lowered a thumb. "I get first pick of whatever we come across. I've been without pants for almost five days now and it's pissing me off."

She blinked at that, before rolling her eyes. "Very well." She stuck out a hand, back facing towards him. "I shall accept your kiss, to seal our pact."

He stared at it blankly for a moment, before raising his eyes back towards the expectant expression on her face. They stayed completely still for a few long moments.

He grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand up to his mouth even as she suddenly realized what was about to occur and started to struggle in his grip. "Wha- No! Let go!"

He dragged his tongue across her hand in one long saliva-covered lick before suddenly letting go, letting her stumble. She recoiled as he licked, falling back and landing ass-first in the gray sand. She started wiping her hand across the sands immediately, a look of mild disgust shining through her impassive face.

"You asked for a kiss, but you're disgusting right now. I'll wait till you wash your mouth out." Adam insulted, waving a hand over his shoulder and walking on. He knew exactly what she wanted out of him, but it was more amusing to do things this way.

"Wretched- Filthy- Barbarian!" She cursed him, voice filled with black venom and stumbling to catch up as she wiped sand from her forearm. "Mongrel!"

This kind of bitching was far more amusing to listen to, because he actually provoked it this time.

Chapter Text

His estimation for the size of the pyramid grew slightly as they approached it, and the full scope of the construct was clear now that he was a half-kilometer or so away, crouched behind the ridge of a dune and staring at it. A five-sided prism that ended in a flattened top and crowned with a massive ring of stone. The structure was perhaps three hundred meters tall in total, ringed in a sort of long staircase that was broken up by what was clearly some manner of stone guardhouses at every corner.

From a quick count and an estimation on the corners he couldn't see, there were twenty three. Despite being riddled with guardhouses, there didn't seem to be any kind of movement along the walkways or buildings, indicating guards were either carefully hidden or not present at all.

The only movement that did occur was the pyramid itself, massive crustacean-like legs extending from the base and dragging the entire structure onwards in a ponderous manner. The entire structure was slightly tilted as a result, wobbling as the great beast wandered aimlessly through the gray sands and occasionally scratched at the dunes to pry up smaller rock-crabs and devour them. The head was not quite crablike, more like a crab doing its best impression of a turtle or snake, and wherever it scratched a wave of tiny, lesser crabs scuttled away to find new hiding places.

Each of those lesser crabs were anywhere from man-sized to house-sized, and they moved in groups of dozens. Adam was confident in his ability to kill them all, and confident that he didn't need to.

"The gate is at the summit, powered by the hearthstone of the living-manse." Red spoke lowly, authoritatively, as she crouched next to him. She now carried a crude steel lance, stolen from the claws of another smoke-crab he had killed along the way here, which she wielded with a great deal of familiarity whenever she wasn't expelling ink. "We won't be able to determine our exit until after we open it."

"Any guards in those gatehouses?" He grumbled out, maintaining his careful observations of the giant pyramid crab as it mucked about aimlessly.

"Those are chantries." She corrected with a faint condescension. "Places of congregation for servants of the Yozi whenever the Shanmatsu slumbers." She sent a sharp and flat look towards him. "I needn't say that our escape should be made before those paths are congested with demons, yes?"

Adam narrowed his eyes at the pyramid crab for a few moments more as it began to make another titanic turn. "Get on my back." He commanded suddenly, tapping his shoulder.

"Why?" She asked with irritable suspicion.

"It's settling down." Adam pointed out, the great beast having begun to circle itself and carefully dig into the sands below its bulk. "We need to move fast." and she was still much slower than he was.

She realized this at once, and fortunately didn't bitch about it, instead moving at once to latch onto his broad back. Her legs wrapped around his waist and arm over one shoulder, the other arm carrying the spear like he had a secondary shoulder mounting. Mostly a waste of eddies, if you needed another set of arms then you weren't using your actual arms well enough.

He waited only long enough for her to latch on before beginning to move, jumping over the ridge-line and beginning a steady and furious pace towards the bottom part of the spiraling stairs that ringed the structure. They turned away from him slowly as the crab circled itself, but when accounting for his pace, it would probably be turned his direction again once he reached it.

His meat amp'd up its whining at him, wailing that it was uncomfortable and pained. That it was too hot and too cold and the sand rubbed its skin raw and rocks dug into its feet. He continued to ignore it, because meat was a fucking crybaby and Adam had no desire to listen to its complaining.

Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp… There was a trick to running on sand, he had figured out, you had to be as flat-footed as possible. As much surface-area as possible and raising his knees high each time. It was slower than running normally, and he was further slowed by the woman on his back, but slightly slower but surer footing was better than tripping and wasting a few seconds picking himself up again.

Fortunately, the sands were about to come to an end, the terrain turning into mostly rocky outcrops and packed earth that smelled of diesel.

Unfortunately, Adam was confident that each and every one of those outcrops was another oil-crab. He tossed the crab-claw aside, letting it roll across the surface of the sands and slow down, and raised a hand with his palm raised up and fingers splayed.

"Spear."

The handle of the spear was placed in his hands without worded complaint, although she did huff in agitation, and Adam took it in both hands to prepare himself. No way he could avoid absolutely all of these crabs and their sand-pits normally, and the shells were too far apart for him to jump normally across them, especially with his passenger in mind.

Fortunately, he knew how to pole-vault.

He changed his running-pattern as his feet hit the rough stone back of the first outcropping, less soles, more toes, and ignored the roughness of the rock. Then reaching the end of the outcrop, he coiled the whole of his frame, braced the spear against the stone, and used his whole body to leap over the sands without slowing his forward pace. He and the woman spun slowly as they hurtled through the air, before his feet crashed into the thin layer of sand at base of another outcrop, spraying sand and dust in a wide arc even as he immediately resumed the furious pace.

He reached the end of another outcrop and vaulted off, the slow rotation of their movement through the air letting him see the crabs behind him starting to rouse and pull themselves up from the sands. They would be slowed down by their peers, unable to catch up to them so long as he maintained this speed. He made a note to come back here one day and kill everything, it made him irritable to leave survivors.

The complaints coming from his meat were getting louder with each tremendous vault. A steady breathing pace and knowledge of his end-goal meant that the meat was just complaining to complain. Quarter of a kilometer to go, then a flight of stairs, then reasonable levels of safety. The meat could rest when he was done working.

Coil, brace, vault. They go soaring over another expanse of likely-trapped sands and land on the back of another crab. The whole of the shell shifted as they crashed into it, almost making him stumble before he righted himself. The crab was beginning to pull itself up immediately, possibly given early warning by its peers.

Convenient, because the next shell was far away enough that he would need the extra boost. He stabs the shell as it buckles upwards, and throws himself forwards again.

The next crab starts to shift before they land, and the sound of hiss-click-roars begin to snarl out over the field of rockcrabs. It's half-way turned towards them as they land on its back, and even as he runs along the shell the next crab in the line is already beginning to shift.

"The Shanmatsu are blind, and see through impacts, throw the spear to draw their attention." Red hissed in his ears as he made his way up the shell. The next crab extracted itself wholly from the sands, turning in their direction and claws snapping. The crab beneath them was likewise shifting, doing its best to reach up and grab them.

Useful info Red, but he wasn't about to throw the spear away, he had a better idea.

He jumped again, keeping the spear with him and adding more spin than normal to his leap. The next rockcrab raised a claw to snatch them out of the air. "-you idio-" Red began to snarl at him.

His legs hit the lower claw and his shaking fist smashed into the joint, straight through the thin metallic carapace and into the ropelike muscles beneath.

Right into a specific bunch of muscles that tensed the claw in a particular manner. He began to extend his legs again just as his fingers reached the muscle-cluster.

The lower claw flexed sideways like a springboard, as did the rest of the arm, throwing both of them through the air far faster than any of his vaults.

The two of them crashed into the walls of the great stone pyramid with a pair of meaty thumps, his attempts to brace himself only somewhat working, followed by sliding down the wall and landing roughly upon the beginning of the stone steps leading up, the roars and shrieks of the stonecrabs following them.

He pushed himself up, blood dripping from his forehead and staining the ancient steps to the beat of a fresh new headache. Meatoptics going screwy for a few seconds as he pushed himself up, tossed the equally dazed woman over his shoulder and began a rapid scrambling march upwards.

He snatched the spear as he passed it, pushing up off the steps and forcing himself into a proper run again. They quickly passed through the first 'chantry' and were soon in sight of the next. Each smaller building was a somewhat open-air affair with a wide courtyard that connected both entrances.

"Y-you wretched…" The woman groaned out, dangling over his shoulder like a bag of rice again. "Graceless-"

"I wasn't expecting the arm to spasm too." Adam snarled back. "Overcompensated the leap."

"...Your feet are bleeding, barbarian." She replied.

"I'm running on rocks here, of course weakass meat is going to get torn in the process." Adam replied with a scoff. "That's what boots are for." He made sure to add the sum total of his disdain into the statement. They passed through the second 'chantry' and into the next set of long stairs.

"Your calluses are underdeveloped. It's shameful for a guardian of someone of my statu-" She cut herself off with another round of puking ink and convulsions. A stream of black goop pouring from her throat like a waterfall and leaving a trail of black to join his red footsteps.

"What was that?" Adam asked with a sarcastic growl after a few long moments. They passed through another 'chantry'. "I couldn't understand you. Care to repeat it?"

She finished vomiting after another minute or so, hanging limping over his shoulder. After another few moments to recover, she weakly hissed out, "H-hold your tongue, wretch." A simple command rather than a proper return fire. His victory yet again.

The pyramid shifted wildly again, almost throwing the two of them off entirely, before it shifted again and made them smack against the stone wall with another heavy thump. He snarled as he pushed himself up again, a shaking fist cracking stone as he resumed his run.

This entire structure was pissing him off. Why the fuck would you put a pyramid on a giant crab? Who asked for this? Just build a stationary pyramid like normal fucking people.

"Oi, Red." He asked suddenly, stomping his way up another long set of stone stairs and through glazed pavement courtyards. "Who decided to put these pyramids on giant crabs?"

"...Who created the Shanmatsu, you mean?" She asked, slightly confused.

"Sure." He responded quickly, not really caring what they were called.

After a moment of consideration, she pushed herself up from her dangle across his shoulder and wriggled until she was settled in his arm, ass upon his forearm, thigh in his hand, and partially leaning against his chest. A line of blood trickled from her own brow, trailing down over cheek and into her lips.

"It is said that they were once a courting-gift, from She Who Lives In Her Name to Autochthon, creatures that would devour useless things and transmute it into the elemental Oil he so coveted, shells growing into waygates and other useful things, arranging themselves into the rigid hierarchies she thought she shared with The Great Maker."

He was beginning to get irritated at these names, they were a mouthful.

She huffed once, reaching up to wipe the ink from her mouth with the back of her hand. "He criticized the gift when he received it, displeased that they lived at all, rather than being purely inanimate tools. She was made ashamed and bitter by this, and cast them into the endlessness of Cecelyne, where they continued to live." At least one person in this story was smart enough to point out the obvious flaws in this bullshit.

"Why did you wish to know?" Red asked, staring at him with some manner of haughty curiosity. His rapid ascent up the many stone steps did fascinating things to her hefty chest, which he kept shamelessly in his line of sight.

"Needed to know who the fuck decided to put buildings on crabs so I can kill them later." Adam replied flatly. "The other guy had the right idea when he called her gift worthless."

Red did her best to muffle an amused snort, raising one hand to hide her mouth and the faint upwards tilt of her lips. "Oh? My my, a magnificent goal for a mortal so wronged." Her voice was full of sharp mockery. "Do you declare vengeance against the Earth whenever you trip over pebbles?"

"I don't trip." Adam declared with a grumble. "If pebbles could make me stumble, I would've died a long time ago."

The crab lurched again, tossing them about. Fortunately, he was ready for it this time, and a wide stance allowed him to stay standing as its shifting settled down again. A low snarl of victory came from his lips as he resumed his ascent. The pace was easy enough to keep a steady breathing rhythm. All they needed to do was actually reach the top before anything else showed up.

"Very good, you managed to not collapse that time." Damning with faint praise as she pulled up to an almost imperious sitting position in the crook of his arm.

"Be good eye-candy and shut the fuck up." He was already being forced to put up with his whiny meat, and in no mood to be dealing with two sources of complaint.

"'Eye-candy'…" She repeated, sampling the phrase and considering it for a moment. "Feast for one's eyes…" She repeated again, slowing down and speaking each word as its literal phrasing, a faint smirk growing on her face. "My my, what a delightful bit of flattery, and from such barbaric lips. Truly you've exceeded my expectations already."

"Don't worry, you've been meeting all of mine." Adam replied, immediately making her face fall into a glare and scowl. She let out a haughty scoff and raised her head, looking out to the gray sands that slowly grew more and more distant as they ascended.

"...Demons on the dunes." She replied with a more serious tone. "Half a league away."

Adam glanced over, briefly taking an estimate before they ended into another chantry. There was indeed a rather large procession of random meat and limbs, slowly making its way towards the now mostly-stationary pyramid crab over the gray sands and under the black sky. Faint but constant clamor could be heard over the winds as they approached with some manner of discordant song pounding a semi-constant rhythm.

"How long does it take to open the gate?" He asked quickly, running the mental calculus of their pace and the distances involved.

"A minute at worst, perhaps." She responded readily, sounding quite familiar with the workings of the gate. "The Shanmasu is alive, which means the Hearthstone is still functional. At worst it requires realignment to allow us passage."

Adam snorted, then disregarded the comparatively slow moving horde of demons approaching their position. "We'll be gone before they reach us."

"So confident you can maintain this pace to the summit?" She leaned down slightly, glowering eyes and faint sneer. "Your body quakes with pains and exhaustion. Your steps unsteady and breathing harsh.'

"It's meat, it bitches about everything. If I slowed down for its sake I'd never get anything done." Adam snarled and rolled his eyes. "Shut up before I toss you over my shoulder again."

The rest of the ascent was mercifully silent save the pounding of his feet and drumbeat of his heart. It was foreign and unpleasant compared to the whine of servos, hum of electricity, and sounds of concrete shattering beneath his tread. Now he wasn't even heavy enough to crack stone.

Of all things that were currently pissing him off, the meatframe was probably the biggest irritation. He ignored the darkness creeping around the edges of his meatoptics.

The woman slipped down from his arm as the reached the summit platform, and quickly made her way over to the immense stone ring in the center to inspect it. Adam took the opportunity to stand completely still and lessen the various whines coming from his meat as she went to work.

First she inspected it, then she began to walk about and press her hands against various parts of the carved stone, then hands on the floor, then hands on another part of the floor, and other innocuous movements. He couldn't make sense of it, and he wasn't particularly interested in doing so either.

Finally, she pressed a hand against a circular indentation in the floor and stepped back as the space in the stone ring rippled like the surface of some large and stagnant body of water. She huffed once, before turning an eye towards him with crossed arms.

"Come quickly, barbarian, we've little time to waste on dalliance." The smirk on her lips signified that she knew exactly what she was saying.

Adam snorted, walking forwards and casually tossing the spear at her. "Like I said, wash your mouth out first."

Her eyes sharpened into a glare as she stepped forwards to keep pace with him, and together they passed through the midpoint of the giant stone ring.

The sudden intensity of light blinded him, meatoptics too used to the relatively dim demon-desert and requiring an unfortunately long amount of time to adjust to their new environment.

Much to his displeasure, it was another fucking desert.

Chapter Text

The desert they exited into was thankfully more mild than the one they left, in regards to temperature, and the pyramid was actually stationary with a long straight staircase jutting out of the side instead of spiraling around. The sky was mostly dark, sometime in the evening or morning, with a ruddy red glow illuminating one horizon and casting them into appreciable amounts of ambient light.

The stone of the pyramid was an off-white, and they sands they descended towards were a rough-grained tannish shade. To their left a distant mountain range dominated the skyline, and to their right was sands as far as he could see, with the distant skyline banded with a slightly darker blue-purple.

There, directly ahead of them and towering in the distance was a section of sky that was a deeper hue than that which surrounded it, which rose unnaturally up in a spike-like fashion and disappeared into the fainter blues of the sky above. A massive structure, potentially, or merely a fucked up skybox in a half-finished sim.

"We are in danger still." The woman announced with a frown, taking in their surroundings as they descended the massive staircase. "We must find shelter before sunrise."

Adam turned a skeptical eye towards her, then pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the glowing horizon. "Already rising." He grumbled.

She looked at him, then at the skyline, before shaking her head with an irritated look. "That isn't the sun, barbarian. That's the Pole of Fire. Look up, the moon and stars dance above us."

Adam glanced upwards, sure enough there was a bright silver moon and unfamiliar stars shining overhead. Their luminosity was unusual, anything that bright on the horizon should be drowning the night sky out with light pollution, but the developers of this sim probably complained that no one would see all their hard work and changed it. He scowled. "Where are we, Red?" He decided to ask more directly.

"Directly before us sits my throne, the Imperial Mountain." The woman began, pointing forwards at the unusually-colored spike of distant sky. "That particular face of my throne is southwards, and to our right sits the Summer Mountains by the crests of their slopes. I have never seen this side of the Firepeak Mountains on our left, but the other clues are sufficient. We are in the far south, on the edges of Creation and the Wyld."

Adam had never heard of any of those names before. He snorted dismissively. "Towards the big mountain then. How long till we get there?"

She turned narrowed eyes in his direction. "As a mortal walks? A year or thereabouts."

A year was an annoying amount of time to spend walking and not murdering.

"Not to mention the dangers along the ways. This far from my dominion Creation crawls with endless numbers of vermin, gnawing at the borders of civilization."

"...Oh?" Adam replied with a faint interest in his growl. She detected it at once, and focused a withering glare upon him.

"Your valor, amusing as it is, is unhelpful. The sun and sands alone could bring your death as you are, and then I shall be bereft of my newest sworn sword and forced to make my way back alone." She poked him in the side sharply, and he smacked her hand away. "We will travel only at night, and sleep in whatever shades we find during the day. Our first interest is water and medicine, as you will need both."

"I'll need water? Not you?" Adam made sure his voice was as skeptical as it was full of disdain.

"I am the Scarlet Empress." She replied with great confidence. "Scion of the Elemental Dragons and walker of the Transcendent Gaian Path, my flesh is a font of elemental endlessness, and that includes clear waters." She raised a hand to her lips, and lowered the other to her groin. "Perhaps if you fall to your knees and beg, I shall deign to sate your thirst with mine micturate." Her grin was mocking.

Adam didn't know what micturate was, but the look on her face pissed him off, so he responded with a flat expression. "Go be a whore somewhere else."

Her expression fell into an irritable glare again. "My wit is wasted on you, mongrel."

"Quit the bitching. Where's the nearest city?" They finally reached the end of the long staircase, beginning to walk on cool sands over rolling dunes in a vaguely 'forwards' direction. The relatively cool but mild temperature made his feetmeat shut up for a bit, which was nice. The grit was annoying, but barely compared to gray sands of the demon-desert of before.

She considered that for a moment, before a sneer grew over her face. "This far south? The closest thing to civilization is Dajaz, and then Gem beyond it. They bear the roughest shapes of civility, but it's not for many miles beyond that more that one finally reaches a proper satrapy, The Lap." She waved a dismissive hand. "Perhaps scattered sand nomads or scavengers seeking fortunes in the deepest sands, but little more than they. We're most likely to come across Fae this close to the Wyld."

The word 'Fae' was spoken with a particular kind of old and deep hatred. The kind that old Saburo had whenever he spoke about Asians who weren't Japanese. Adam made a note that the 'Fae' were probably free game to murder if they ever came across them. "You know how to get to this 'Dajaz' or just complain about it?"

"Hmph." Red responded with a shake of her head and glower, raising her steel spear to point at a particular trio of mountains to the north that jut out from the western ridgeline and into the sands. "That southernmost eastern spur of the Firepeak Mountains are the White Triplets, mountains made of marble, limestone, and white granite. The hovel of Dajaz lies in their eastern foothills in the midst of a dozen or so oases. We will see their wasteheaps from a great distance away, as will we smell the noxious perfumes they use to disguise their unclean excesses and see the towers of smoke that rise from their constant revelry-fires."

Ah, so exactly like Night City then. "Sounds like home."

"Do not leave my side when we arrive, do you understand? Accept no offers of companionship be they consort or catamite, nor any food or drink I do not approve of, and under no circumstances are you to join their celebrations lest you be lost to the pavement." The woman sternly warned, face serious and voice sharp.

"The concern is noted, the effort is wasted." Adam grumbled back. "I've been around more than long enough to spot bad deals when I see them."

"I once lost an entire Wyld Hunt to the bacchanalian spells around that heap of excess." She maintained her glower. "A lone survivor set out to continue their hunt, the rest stopping to rest and recover as he tracked their quarry. When he returned the rest of the hunt had disappeared into the festivities and he was forced to return to the Blessed Isle empty-handed."

"I celebrate with massacres. If I join any kind of celebration, there won't be anyone left in the city to stop us from leaving." Adam growled, glaring down at her. "Stop harping and keep walking, we're not even there yet."

She hissed at him, clearly irritated by his lack of concern, before turning her head forwards again.

A few minutes of quiet passed.

"How far away is it?" Adam growled in questioning. He was pretty sure this place was also flat, which was throwing off all his calculations for overland travel.

She glanced at him, then sighed in frustration and raised her thumb to the mountains in the horizon. After a few moments of quiet consideration, she answered.

"Three hundred and twenty four miles." She replied flatly.

Average man could walk about twenty miles per day, Adam could manage about thirty. That was eleven days of walking before they arrived. The last time he drank anything was an hour or two ago, back in the demon-desert, he could last another two or three days before he needed to drink something else. He narrowed his eyes in thought as he considered this problem.

"Only three days before you'll die of thirst, perhaps I'll let you lick the sweat from my fee-." Red mocked briefly, before her eyes widened and she hunched over to vomit out another wave of ink.

Adam kept walking, ignoring her plight and making her curse and stumble forwards to catch up a few moments later. The more pertinent question was how he was going to find a drink out here?

—

The woman had been speaking the truth when she said it was still night, and that they should find shelter during the day, because he was fairly sure it hit well over one hundred and ten degrees during the midday, and that was his best guess through the thick shadows of a rocky outcrop and burying themselves under the sand to insulate their frames from the heat. Under both layers, it was barely tolerable enough to close his eyes and stay completely still for a few hours.

Fortunately, the night was still nice and mild, so there were no complaints from the meat walking then. His frame was still damaged, yellow on all the limbs and orange on his feet, but it was easy enough to ignore as they passed over well-illuminated dunes and past ancient monoliths and long-ruined structures.

Unfortunately, there weren't as many demons to kill and drink the blood from, so the water issue was somewhat harder to solve. Fortunately there were just enough random plants and scorpions to eat instead, and eating each they came across gave him just enough fluid to press on at a reasonable pace.

The third day they found a dry riverbed, the woman told him to dig into it and wait, sure enough a scant amount of sandy water began to pool in the base once the hole was deep enough. It was disgusting, but it was also just mineral-water and people drank that all the time without dying, so it was probably fine. He reached in with cupped hands and let the water pool, then brought it up to his lips and gulped down again.

Best to fill up the tank while they had a chance, and all that. He reached his cupped hands down again and filled his palms with sandy water.

"Mongrel, behold!" He brought his hands up to drink, glancing over to the woman who was now proudly holding up a pair of flat oblong shapes, woven out of the reeds that covered the dry riverbed.

He slurped water from his hands and didn't respond, blankly glaring at her and waiting for her to get to the point. She glowered and tossed the shapes at him, letting them fall near his legs. Getting a better look, he saw that they were some form of footwear, probably, sandals woven from reeds in his size.

"Clad your feet in my craft, and praise my generosity appropriately." She declared with a magnanimous wave of her hand. Sure enough, the sandals were just about the right size to go over his feet. He wiped the sand out of the tears as best he could, then slipped the sandals over his feet and wiggled his toes.

He grunted in vague appreciation and then turned back to drink more from the wet hole in the ground.

A long few moments passed. There was a shifting in the sand. He could feel the glare ineffectually attempting to burn a hole into the back of his head.

Then a huff of frustration and the sound of feet walking away again, the woman once more returning to the reeds and going about gathering bundles, presumably to weave.

Victory for Adam again.

—

On the sixth day, now dressed in loincloths made of woven reeds and sandals of similar, the woman raised her hand and pointed out at a distant cloud of rising dust. "Wait, do you see?"

"See what?" Adam grumbled, squinting in the same direction. In the distance, the cloud of sand and dust rose in a regular fashion across the dunes, and flashes of white peaked out between rolling hazes of particular matter.

"The white sails. Sand ships." She spoke irritably, hair whipping around from the particularly strong breezes. "Nomads or treasure hunters, approaching us with regards to the winds."

Adam was still somewhat confused about where she was going with this. "...Do you want me to kill them?" He asked. She shot a slightly exasperated glance in his direction, before raising a hand to her chin and finger to her lips.

After a moment, she nodded her head from side to side and answered. "Allow me to speak to them first. If I call your name, kill one in the most savage manner you can muster. If they further hostilities from there, you are free to kill all of them."

Adam let out a low chuckle. "I was beginning to get bored." He rumbled, raising his fists and cracking his knuckles.

Sure enough, the rolling cloud of dust slowly veered in their direction and approached, white triangular sails attached to low wooden crafts with undersides covered in some sort of carapace from an immense insect. There were seven such 'ships', the largest of which was no bigger than a tank, and the smallest of which was essentially a canoe. The crafts slowly circled them and men wearing colorful dyed cloth with curved swords on their belts lowered sails, then stepped out to surround them with a wide, politely spaced circle. From the largest ship, a set of rope was lowered, and two men descended.

One was a giant of a man, seven feet and bulging unnaturally with muscle, mostly bare-fleshed with leathery skin and a simple bandana over his head. He carried a massive sword on his own belt, which was curved in the same fashion as the others but looped with heavy rings through the center. He moved in a professional fashion, and his glare was locked onto Adam's own from the moment he stepped off the ship.

The other was a relatively short and portly man, with a large onion-like hat and a gregarious mustache on his face. His clothes were studded with various gemstones and his boots bore a fancy curled end. His face naturally pulled itself into a wide smile, and the creasing around his eyes told him that the man was prone to smiling. He spread his arms wide as they approached, calling out some manner of greeting.

Adam stepped forwards to lock eyes with the larger man, who matched him with a step forwards and glare of his own. They stood silently, sizing each other up as the woman and the fat man started to speak.

Adam didn't know what they were saying, he didn't speak whatever this language was. All he knew is that it sounded vaguely middle eastern, lots of 's' sounds and whatnot.

He was more focused on the silent conversation going on between him and the other bodyguard present. A shifting in his glare, an unflinching meeting of the gaze, a promise of violence at a moment's notice.

Fortunately the other guy wasn't a disappointment, matching each shift and promise with one of his own. He was also taking him completely seriously, despite Adam's current lack of armor or weapons. The only real question was, how good were his reactions? Adam was getting pretty curious.

The conversation between the woman and the fat man lasted another minute or so, the man occasionally letting his arms spread wide in a 'look how generous I am' fashion, occasionally accompanied by a little spin or wiggling of his fingers.

The woman was pretending to be polite and charming, a hand raised up to her lips and the occasional laugh at whatever the fat man said, with smooth replies and little wiggles of her own fingers. She finally spoke some manner of question, raising her fingers together in a steepled fashion, and the fat man grew somewhat bashful.

He replied in a tone that indicated false sorrow, and spread his hands in a 'it's out of my hands' fashion. The woman's face grew blank as she stared at the fat man.

The men in the circle around them leaned forwards and rested their hands on the hilts of their swords.

Red tilted her head. "Adam." She spoke simply.

Unfortunately, the big guard that the fat man had brought with him did not have the best reaction-speed. Adam's shaking fist hit his torso before he could draw his sword.

His upper-torso burst in a spray of blood and gore, which showered Adam, the surrounding sands, the woman, and the fat man. The men surrounding them let out a number of curses or fearful shouts as they stumbled or fell back, and a brief red rain began to fall over everyone present.

A pair of legs, a lower abdomen, a set of arms, and a head made soft thumps as they fell to the ground. Adam slowly let his red arm return to his side, and slowly cast a glare around at all of the gathered men, who took another fearful step back in response.

The fat man slowly opened his eyes, face completely painted in the red of his once-living bodyguard. He blinked, looking at the puddle of gore, then raising his hands to briefly wipe his face and inspect his hands. All of this was done with an utterly blank face, expressionless and impassive.

The fat man spread his arms out in a gregarious fashion, a wide smile on his face. Adam didn't quite understand what he said, but the tone was identical to the happy, charming manner that the fat man had greeted them with.

Red let a small smile return to her face.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

He blinked once, and suddenly he was standing somewhere else. The plaza being replaced with part of the lower slums with its many colorful piles of garbage and the smell of trash thick in the air. The sounds of laughter and singing were thick in the air, all in languages he couldn't understand and didn't really care to either. Honestly reminded him of that time Saburo had him drop into Brazil. Briefly, he considered taking strong inspiration from that time, to turn a festival into a mass-funeral.

He turned a slow glare about his surroundings, taking in the people starting to drink and cook various piles of garbage on hot skillets. One moment he had been standing next to Red, she pulled away to vomit into a bush, he blinked.

And then he was here.

A glitch in the BD, or enemy action? He grabbed a hand that was reaching for his pockets, empty as they were and slowly twisted the limb around until it snapped. The would-be thief wailed as he broke her arm, before collapsing and pulling back fearfully. A few glances were sent his way, and most quickly returned to whatever it was they were doing before when his glare passed over them.

Idly, he considered taking a few moments to splatter the would-be thief over the walls, before his professionalism told him to move on and find his employer instead. He snorted, turning away and considering the best way to find his way around the city.

He didn't know where he was, so the best way was to go to the outer edge, make his way along the perimeter until he found the sand-docks again, then retrace his steps back to the first plaza. He snorted, turning to go along the street in a generally downwards-direction, and stopping as he saw eyes locked directly upon him.

A relatively large meatbag, bristling with muscles. Dark skin, thick black hair over most of his body, long mustache that curled up and out, and wide grin on his face. The meatbag maintained his grin and stare in the face of Adam's glare, holding up a bottle of wine and saying something as he shook it around. An offer.

"Get out of my way, meatbag." Adam growled, stomping down the streets and towards the large man, who stood directly in the path leading downwards. The man raised his bushy eyebrows at the reply, popping the cork out of the bottle and taking a long swig, before lowering it and offering again, grin unshakable.

Adam kept approaching, shoulders set and steps steady.

The large meatbag saw this, laughed, and tossed the bottle over his shoulder where it crashed into the pavement and shattered with a loud splash. He widened his stance, patting his stomach twice and holding his arms wide. Completely exposed and inviting an attack at the midsection.

Well, if he wanted it…

Adam's fist smashed into the meatbag's gut, shaking. The meatbag doubled over, large hands falling on Adam's shoulders as he slumped slightly on the fist in his gut. Immediately, Adam could tell something was very wrong.

Despite feeling like normal meat as he struck it, the man's torso didn't turn into a shower of gore. An impressive bruise was quickly blooming to life in the meatbag's fat-layered gut, but little more. Adam pulled back, the hands on his shoulders holding him completely still even as he strained to rear back for another punch.

"Not bad." The meatman whispered in perfectly legible English, a grin on his lowered face. One hand let go, fingers pulled ready for a flick. Adam pulled back-

He was in the air, tumbling. His shoulder crashed into the pavement, flipping him around as he flew back. His feet dragged against the pavement, then flipped around again, then again, until finally his momentum was halted by crashing into bags of powder, which covered him in a cloud of off-white. The sounds of commotion and angry yells started up, even as he pulled himself up and raised his arms to defend himself.

He raised a hand to his chest, briefly taking in the damages.

A small bruise coming to life in the center. Nothing more, He couldn't even feel it unless he pressed into it. The cloud of off-white slowly settled, allowing him to see how far he had been thrown back. His vision trailed along unfamiliar streets and stalls until it finally landed on the thief-girl, clutching her broken arm and staring at him in shock.

She was at least fifty feet away. Stomping forwards from behind her, shoulders set and arms swinging at his side, was the meatman who had flicked him.

A small bruise was not the kind of damage that should be left on a meatframe after that much backwards momentum. Disproportionate amount of knockback compared to the force of impact. There was kinetic fuckery at work here. His eyes narrowed into a sharp and focused glare as he stepped forwards, out of the cloud of… spices? Sugar? Cocaine? One of those, and into the streets properly once more.

He wasn't going to blame faulty programming while he had a target. Kinetic fuckery, unnatural durability… lets see what else this meatbag had. He inhaled through his nose again, scowling as he felt the unmistakable sensation of a minor high beginning to form. The bags were indeed cocaine, he was going to be feeling it for the next few hours.

The meatman laughed as Adam cracked his neck and started walking forwards again. The street was beginning to clear out slightly, people moving to the sides, cheering and jeering, as they recognized the brawl about to begin. The smarter ones were quickly leaving the scene, trying to get out of the way before they became collateral.

Yep. This was just like that one time in Brazil.

Adam's shaking sandals smashed into the stone of the street, flipping up an irregular disc of stone used to pave it. He grabbed the disc in both hands, spinning once before hurling it.

The meatman backhanded the discus, making it burst to the side as a cloud of shrapnel and sending a pair of men to the ground screaming as the shards of stone tore into their frames. Similar was true for the second and third discus of stone, both turned into sprays of rock-fragments and sending screaming meatbags to the ground. The meatbags who weren't injured only grew more excited, the danger heightening the rush.

Ranged wasn't doing much, as he stomped another pavement-tile from the road and hurled it. Meatman was turning rocks into shrapnel with his bare hands. Direct blows had to be avoided or exploited, the potential for that kinetic fuckery to suddenly turn his torso inside-out was too big to risk.

The meatman laughed, then stepped into a side-ally, out of sight. Adam narrowed his eyes. Either he was getting tired of deflecting rocks or he was waiting for Adam to approach, in either cas-

Sound on the left, he spun into an immediate roundhouse.

His shaking heel smashed into meatman's massive fist.

Adam was flying again, tumbling over briefly before smashing into the crowd of onlookers. The meatbags broke his fall, smashed into the building behind with an audible crack even as Adam quickly pulled himself up to-

He rolled to the right, meatman's fist smashing into the onlooker that cushioned Adam's fall, turning the man into a donut and cracking the wall of the building further, making it groan ominously.

A shaking fist smashed into meatman's side again, making him grunt and stagger as Adam twisted into another kick. Meatman smashed through the thoroughly-weakened wall of the building and inside, the plaster of the wall turning into another cloud of dust. Shouts and yells echoed from inside, and the cheers of the crowd only grew louder.

Adam was already moving back again, that kind of damage wouldn't be enough to put the big fucker down. He needed a better weapon, a gun or a bomb or…

He glanced at one of the rooftops, then back down as the meatman exploded out of the hole in the wall, widening it further and sending another cloud of dust out to obscure the street. Adam kicked off the wall and jumped forwards in a deliberately-angled spin.

Adam's heel crashed down in a massive drop-kick, once more meeting the meatman's fist through the cloud of dust and sending him flying back. He pulled his feet inwards, reached out a hand, and grabbed onto a section of plastered stone as he spun.

Adam's shaking feet smashed into the column jutting out of a nearby building, making the stone loudly crack before he landed on the rooftop proper. He raised his head to lock a glare onto the eyes of the meatman, now two stories lower than him and still standing in the dust-clouded streets below. Adam pulled up to his full height, then spun to smash a shaking foot into the stone column behind him, another little push.

It cracked ominously, stone rumbling with a sudden inability to account for the pressure above it, meatman's gaze went upwards, slowly widening as he took in the sight of what Adam had crashed into. Onlookers likewise started to panic and pull away, even if it was much too late for them to actually escape.

Adam put a hand on the column as it continued to crack and groan, then pulled forwards contemptuously. It didn't even require much pressure anymore, just a guiding hand.

The section of immense stone aqueduct finally started to collapse, support-column damaged beyond saving, teetering forwards and collapsing over the streets below. Thousands of pounds of rock and water crashing down like a wet avalanche. The once-festive street was filled with gargling screams as the rocks fell upon them. The rush of water and collapsing stone crashed into the weakened building, making it too rumble and slowly collapse, even as other nearby structures cracked and groaned with avalanche-stones smashing through their walls.

Adam let a small grin come over his face as the meatman and the crowd disappeared in a manmade disaster. The water quickly disappeared in a wave, leaving only the trickle from the unbroken section of aqueduct behind him and piles of immense stone rubble where there used to be a busy city street. He watched it settle down into near-silence, almost wanting to laugh at the carnage.

Exactly like Brazil.

He turned to move away, the local cops probably won't be happy with the sudden instance of domestic terrorism, before stopping. A sound caught his attention. He turned his head down again, staring blankly as the rocks shifted about.

Two immense slabs of stone shifted, pushed up, before tipping over and smashing into the buildings on either side, sending them slowly crumbling to the ground as well. A figure rose from the center of the new hill of rubble, dark-skinned, black-haired, and grinning straight at him.

Meatman, bleeding slowly from a crack in his skull, arms and body covered in new bruises, but completely capable of fighting on. He was steaming, hot air rising from his body with a sizzling sound and skin shining a reddish hue. It certainly looked impressive, and also stupid as it gave away his position to anyone with good sensors.

Adam's blank stare slowly twisted into a sharp glare. This was different. Normally meatbags die when you drop a few thousand pounds on them. This one was standing up like he had just been hit by a particularly slow car rather than a collapsing aqueduct-section. Meatman started up a long, booming laughter, throwing his head back and planting a palm on his forehead as he shook with mirth.

Adam's scowl deepened. The meatman was able to shrug it off, which meant Adam needed to hit him harder. Now, how was he going to hit harder than that?

The meatman's laughter intensified, jumping up and twisting to aim his feet at him, but staying complet-

Adam jumped over the alleyway and onto the next building as the meatman fell in his direction, as if gravity was pulling him horizontally instead of downwards and rapidly accelerating. Meatman's heels smashed into the side of the building Adam had just been standing in, falling through the wall completely and disappearing into the interior.

Adam started to run, eyes darting about as he looked for an appropriate weapon to use. Another aqueduct section might slow him down, a collapsed building would be much the same, panzerfaust could do damage if he had time to line up the attack. The sword on his belt was useless here, it wouldn't do anything to someone this superhuman.

He stumbled once, the entire building he was standing upon shaking with the force of massive impact and rumbling as it began to collapse. The walls below him booming with the sounds of stone shattering.

Fucker was pulling off one of Adam's own tricks. Nowhere for the cyberninja-snipers to hide if you break all the buildings around.

Unfortunately for him, Adam wasn't a sniper at the moment. He moved to the side of the building as it collapsed, running along and using the momentum to jump across the street, hand reaching out to grab the ledge of a windowsill as the rubble spilled over the piles of wet stone that already covered the street.

Now if the meatman had any kind of decent sensors… Adam waited a moment more, then kicked off the wall.

Meatman exploded out a wall on the adjacent street, body covered in a cloud of rolling steam and crackling black energy, fragments of stone and junk spinning around him in a destructive orbit. The street below cracked with his steps and blood and bystander viscera painted his body unevenly.

Adam's shaking heels smashed into the side of his face.

It was Meatman's turn to skip down the street, carried by his own momentum, body tumbling and bouncing off uneven stones until finally crashing into a collapsed section of aqueduct. Adam's feet splashed in a combination of water and blood as he landed, rising to stare at the collapsed form of the meatman.

That wasn't enough.

Meatman slowly grew into another rumbling laughter, pushing himself up from the stone and ignoring the fresh blood that painted the side of his head, cheek quickly growing into a massive bruise. He spat to the side, a tooth clicking as it hit the shattered street and bounced away, then reaching up to rub away blood with the side of his hand.

Meatman stomped, sending fist-size chunks of rock up to suspend briefly in the air. Grabbing two, he spun twice and tossed them with unnatural force, rocks rocketing forwards like cannon shots.

Adam stepped left and turned, both rocks passing him and smashing into distant buildings behind him. Meatman's aim was atrocious. Those distant buildings likewise began to rumble, walls slowly collapsing with screams and shouts from the interior. Adam maintained his glare on the meatman, ignoring the screaming meat and collapsing stone.

He cracked his neck.

Meatman laughed, then began to walk forwards. A walk turned into a jog, which turned into a run, which turned into a sprint. One fist raised and held back, it was pretty obvious what he was trying to do. A direct attack, an unspoken challenge.

Adam braced his stance and began to time the arrival.

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Each massive leg falling and cracking the stone beneath meatman in a manner familiar to Adam.

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Adam used to do the same thing in his warframe, after all.

Stomp. Stomp. St-

Adam twisting into a kick, putting the whole of his body into the blow. Meatman's fist rocketed out, ready to meet the blow head-on.

Their eyes met. Blue glaring into bronze.

Time slowed to a crawl. The screams in the distance dragging into a silence.

…And then stayed frozen. Adam narrowed his glare, briefly focusing on his peripherals. Nothing was moving.

'Hoki, Son of the Black Boar' A voice boomed in a distant manner, as if spoken through some medium that wasn't air. Adam's glare returned to the meatman, who's eyes glinted knowingly. 'I thought we'd exchange some words before the final blow of our little spar, cousin.' The voice boomed again, echoing through his head despite meatman's face remaining in a stubborn grin.

…He froze the BD, perhaps? Adam focused his thoughts like an internal com. 'You froze time, huh?' He questioned, own voice rumbling in the frozen moment.

'I picked it up somewhere.' Meatman replied with a casual tone. 'Don't ask me how it works, I don't know either.'

Adam mentally snorted, which rippled through the frozen moment, before he replied. 'Adam Smasher.' He returned.

'Hah! A pretty good name for a warrior like you. Tell me, just between the two of us, you're not an Exalt already, are you?'

Adam let his glare sharpen. 'The fuck is an Exalt?'

Meatman's eyes shone with brief surprise and confusion. 'I suppose that answered it, you would know if you were. You really aren't, huh? And you haven't Exalted yet either…' His internal voice trailed off briefly. 'I suppose there isn't any available right now. Maybe I was too slow with it?'

'Explain.'

'Well I was trying to get you to Exalt, I got told one of them Solars up north had just died. So I thought I should be neighborly to a cousin and get him a chance to snag it.' Meatman's tone was one of casually admitting a mistake. 'I suppose someone else must have gotten it, otherwise you'd be glowing right now.'

'What's with the Cousin-shit, meatman?' Adam grumbled out, still not knowing what the fuck he was talking about but figuring he could just ask Red later.

'Oh, you don't know? My pops was the Black Boar, I don't know who it was on your side, but I can tell you're kin. It's in the smell, see?' Meatman seemed to shrug with his voice. 'Eh, you'll figure it out eventually. Want to finish up our spar now?'

'Yes.' Adam grunted, not strained from holding the pose at all, but still annoyed that his fight was interrupted by talking.

'Oh, one last thing, I'd get out of town fast if I were you, you and your wife.' Meatman's grin widened ever so slightly. 'They're gonna be mad at you for a while.'

Time resumed.

Fist and foot smashed into each other. Adam was sent flying back once more.

The streets changed as he flew over rooftops and through cool night air.

His back hit something soft, then another soft thing, then another as he fell through layers of hanging cloth and rope coiled around one of his legs.

It pulled tight, making him hang upside down and bouncing briefly.

Red's unimpressed glare met his dilated eyes as he hung upside-down in the middle of the next few streets over, sheets of cloth fluttering to the ground around him.

Chapter Text

"You're intoxicated." Red hissed at him as he cut himself down from the rope and flipped over, landing on the street below and pushing away flutters of cloth still falling. Already fearful and enraged glances were being sent his way. She sounded particularly irritable at the moment, probably some hysterical woman-thing.

"Punted into a pile of cocaine." Adam answered efficiently, snarling as his eyes darted around for any incoming danger. Meatman had pulled off such a trick earlier, stepping into an alley and teleporting out of another. He would have to keep an eye out for that in the future. "Did you finish your business?"

She was taken aback, then immediately redoubled in fury. "Wha- No! I-"

"Why are you wasting time? Get a move on." Adam gave her a baffled glare then swept a hand.

"I was looking for you, you mongrel!" She stepped forwards to jab at his chest with her pointer-finger, snarl on her face. "My sworn sword goes missing and I'm supposed to ignore it? Are you an idiot?!"

Adam felt his own glare intensify, and he opened his mouth to speak before throwing himself to the side. Sailing through his position was a hurled javelin, which thunked into the wall behind him.

"In the name of the Zaffre, submit at once, murderer!" A man in armor yelled, drawing his sword and charging forwards. Brown hair, tanned skin, colorful badge on his chest. He was being followed by several others, colorful baggy pants and curved breastplates. The man swung in a painfully obvious manner.

Adam parried the blow, unleashing a shaking punch with his free hand. The armor that surrounded the man served only to channel the force of the blow, and an explosion of red gore shot out his back like a shaped charge. A handful of other guards stumbled back as they were shotgunned with gore, fearful and disgusted sounds coming from their lips. Normally he would run forwards and slaughter them, but he was on a job right now.

Adam threw Red over his shoulder like a bag of sand and started to run the opposite direction. Lucky for the meatbags that they were already running away, so he didn't need to massacre them quite yet. He needed to find a way off these streets and somewhere high, a vantage point.

"W-what were you doing!" Red hiss-yelped at him as she bounced upon his shoulder. She slapped him on the back as she demanded the answer. He paid her back by slapping her rear with the flat of his sword, a sharp smacking noise, which provoked a brief tensing and low snarl from Red.

"Got snagged by a meatman who could teleport." He quickly explained, eyes darting about as he looked for a ladder or staircase or similar. "He picked a fight, said he was trying to make me 'Exalt', there was collateral."

She sucked in a breath, fingers on his lower back curling into hateful fists. "That old prune… How much collateral!?" She demanded.

"A street and section of aqueduct." Adam answered simply, leaping briefly to smash a knee against a guard turning a corner, sending him to the ground with a face collapsed inwards.

"I should've known that was you." She hissed, clearly building up to something.

"Red. Question." He demanded before her rant could begin. "The fuck is an Exalt?"

"I- what?!" She sounded simultaneously baffled and enraged. He passed over a woman by stomping her into the ground.

Bitch was going to make him repeat himself, huh? "What the fuck is an Exalt!?"

"You don't know?!" She began, before cutting him off with a huff and carefully becalming deep breath. "...It would take too long to explain, Adam. Hold me properly so I can direct you." She commanded, wiggling in his grasp. He snorted, shrugging her off onto one shoulder then tossing her up, using the moment to sheath his sword and catch her in both arms immediately after.

"Hmpf!" She grunted as she landed in his arms, before pulling herself up properly and taking better stock of their surroundings. "Left in the next alley, then right and up the stairs."

He had no idea how she knew that, but decided to trust it regardless, leaping and smashing another flying knee into a meatbag that wasn't getting out of his way fast enough and using it to redirect his momentum towards the left, into a crowded alley of dice games and drunken men.

Adam barrelled over them as well, kicking up cards and coins in the process and quickly angling right on the first turn, where a staircase to a second-story veranda was located, and from there, access to the rooftops of the city. He ran up this as well, leaping at the end of the stairs to kick off the stone veranda and then leaping again to a neighboring rooftop.

His feet cracked the clay tiles as he landed. It felt damn good to hear that kind of sound again.

"We'll need trade goods and supplies, then a mount." Red drawled. "I was hoping to whore you out to some lonely widow for them, but now we'll have to resort to petty robbery."

"If you want to fuck you need to say it, woman. This elaborate ritual shit ain't cute." Adam shot back, running across the roof and leaping again, landing upon the neighboring building and moving along the relatively shady parts of the city nightlife. Not that anything was all that shady with the horizon glowing red like it was. "...Where do they keep the goods?" He growled out questioningly.

She considered that for a moment, eyes scanning the rooftops. "...No gemstones, the Despot of Gem maintains a royal monopoly on such, anything we sell to him will be well under value. Neither firewands nor firedust, too bulky and too volatile besides-"

"What's a firewand?" Adam asked, suddenly quite interested. If he knew a thing or two about how things were named, that sounded an awful lot like…

She shot an annoyed glare his way, before huffing and explaining. "A tube of brass mounted upon the stock of a crossbow, which fires a gout of flame when loaded with the appropriate firedust and trigger cocked."

That wasn't quite a proper gun, but he was going to get one anyway. "We're grabbing one of those too." He declared flatly, ignoring the brief roll of her eyes. "We'll hit a tradehouse first, lure their attention towards one of those, then one of the… barracks?" He briefly questioned.

"Barracks would have firewands, yes."

Perfect. He nodded sharply. "Grab some waterskins and whatnot while I'm there, then hit the road again."

"We'll go to the stables before leaving, there's surely some manner of steed to carry us there." Red declared with her own sharp nod. "But first, trade goods. Mongrel, you landed in bags of cocaine, do you remember where?"

Adam snorted, quickly identifying the rubble of the particular aqueduct in question and starting to make his way across the rooftops towards it. "There will be guards, I'm dropping you on the roof when we get there." He stated, cracking tiles in a merry manner as he kicked off them and across a narrow street, hitting the next side of tiles with another wonderful crunch.

"...How much did you inhale, earlier?" She asked slowly, face blank and eyes narrow.

"Just short of an overdose." Adam replied simply, well aware of what the drug was currently doing to him from how often he used stims back in the day. He stopped using them because they weren't working to let him keep up in the big leagues, and soon enough he was more than skilled enough for it to not matter. "I'll crash in a bit less than an hour." Chrome was a better 'drug' by far, power that didn't go away when you stopped inhaling.

But before that, he dropped the woman on the roof carelessly, provoking a series of muffled curses as he jumped off the cracked tiles and towards the streets below. His legs were pulled back, his feet were shaking in anticipation.

This entrance was his favorite.

His stomp turned a soldier into a spray of gore, tattered cloth, and twisted metal, Adam's feet smashing through his body and hitting the street with a crack of stone shattering. It sounded just enough like thunder to remind meatbags that it was about to rain.

A red rain of gore sprayed over the unfortunate meatbag's comrades, other men and a few women clad in the same under-protected set of armor as all their comrades had been thus far. Fodder, to say the least. He made a note to steal some of their armor while he was snooping around their barracks later.

He pulled himself up to his full height, and gave them just a bare moment to react.

It was always so much more fun when they were screaming. Eyes began to open, blinking blood from lenses. Mouths began to widen, fear and fury both. Swords began to raise, unsteady hands and slippery grips.

The high was letting him see a great deal more than he should at the moment, he made a note to grab two bags of cocaine on the way out, not just one. The boost might be useful while he's still getting a proper set of gear together.

His shaking fist shot forwards, turning one man's head into another spray of gore and blinding the woman behind the now-corpse. Another shaking fist turned his comrade into a fresh coat of paint for the walls.

A grin overtook his face.

God, he loved 'defending his client'. He twisted into a shaking kick that separated a man from his legs.

—

All in all, the process of extracting well from the town wasn't all that difficult. The most dangerous thing was the big red apes, which they had guarding the barracks when he went to rob them. Of course, being just big red apes meant they were still very easy to kill, and leaving the town now laden in pilfered supplies and a fresh layer of gore was a simple matter.

The parties were going on uninterrupted in most parts of the city, after all, and rare is the meatbag that looks up. Bags now secured on his back and waist, and a much more modest load carried by the woman, they had made their way towards the stables.

Rather than housing neat rows of Dragoon-frames, however, ye-old stables apparently contained big chickens. Seven feet tall or thereabouts, with robust legs and well-trimmed claws. Each had dun, sandy-shaded feathers and a faint layer of scales surrounding the less-feathered bits.

There was a lock. Then Adam used his fist, and there wasn't a lock anymore. Red quickly slipped in under the cover of not-really night and reached one such big bird, raising a handful of what was apparently bird-snacks and waiting to be friends with the thing. The big brown bird staring suspiciously and stepping forwards from the back of its stone pen, head darting about.

Adam briefly considered making a snide remark, but unfortunately, he was beginning to come down from his high.

He refused to lean against anything, so instead locked his joints into place and stood completely still, doing his best to listen for anyone approaching as his higher functions began to slow. The issue with briefly overclocking yourself was an inevitable period of weakness afterwards, a vulnerability he would prefer to neutralize as thoroughly as possible.

Movement ahead, he snapped opened his eyes to see the-

-The woman was staring at him in an unimpressed manner, reaching up to grab his sleeve and tugging him forwards towards the bird. He blinked, briefly growling to himself as the bird leaned forwards with a beady glare.

"Let it smell you, feed it." The woman commanded, handing another bird-treat to him. He stared at it blankly for a moment, and briefly wondered if birds were even able to smell. They didn't have noses.

He raised the block of what looked like a calorie-bar and held it firm, the bird staring at him for a few long moments. He glared, starting to get mad that the fucking bird wasn't getting its ass in high gear and eating the damn block already.

"Hey birdy, get a move on before I deep-fry your ass." Adam growled, the bird tilting its head forwards briefly, then squawking in an unimpressed manner and pecking the block of food.

Niceties done, Adam tossed the entire block in the air and let it snatch it out of the sky, before stepping to the side to watch the woman fit a saddle over its back. The bird, sufficiently bribed, knew better than to protest as it was strapped with leather and mounted.

Red reached a hand down with a demanding glare. "Get up already."

Adam had no idea how and the crash was in full swing at this point. He reached a hand up-

-He was sitting down and bouncing, he blinked, careful not to jolt and snarl. The surroundings were completely different, tracks of sand on what was almost a road winding forwards along a series of desert hills. He glanced down along the road, seeing the lights of a city in the midst of a festival slowly disappearing into the distance. He pulled up briefly, stopped by the woman's hand holding his arm securely around her.

"Stay where you are, mongrel. If you fall off again I'll leave you to the sands." Red hissed at him.

Again? A blackout then. Nothing to do but to ride it out at this point. He grunted irritably, then leaned further forwards, angling his weight to counterbalance the bags that were still strapped to his back. She grunted in turn, sending a glare back at him before focusing on the road and the reins once more. The bird's head was leaned forwards, and the clawed feet clacked as they landed on the stones of the northward road.

…Oh yeah. There was a thing, wasn't there?

"Oi, Red, Exalts." He demanded with a low growl.

She huffed in irritation, before breathing in and out slowly. "As the historians of the Realm know it, what is commonly called an 'Exalted' refers to two categories of person, both of whom wield great supernatural might. The Dragonblooded of the Realm, and our enemies, the Anathema. It is commonly understood that the Anathema are no true Exalted at all, having stolen their powers from the highest Gods long ago at the behest of their Yozi masters. The Dragonblooded were granted their power from the Five Elemental Dragons, and it is carried through bloodlines so that we may be many where the Anathema are few."

"Those that wield the power of Sun, Moon, and Star are the enemy of the Realm and its Immaculate Warriors at commandment of the Five Elemental Dragons."

"Your Realm." Adam interrupted with a dismissive snort. "Nice propaganda, Red, now the truth."

She made something of an offended sound at that. "I tell you what is known to-"

"The cities back home had better propaganda than this, they used it to sell useless crap to the masses of meat. You're doing worse than advertisements for meat-paste." Adam interrupted with an irritable growl. "This make-believe shit about divine orders is pissing me off, and is useless anyways. Start upholding your side of the fucking deal and tell me info I can use here."

Anyone who claimed 'god wills it' was lying or stupid, and died just the same when he got to work.

"...You're quite frustrating, you know this?" Red replied in brief, before shaking her head. "Solars, Lunars, Sidereals. Demigods and Champions both, greater in potential power than most of my Dragonblooded kin, capable of being easily slain when young. Their personal power would be troublesome to my continued reign and the stability of Creation, and so they are slain by my armies wherever they might be found."

Adam snorted, that sounded much more reasonable. Magic powers were one thing, threat assessments and target eliminations were something he understood quite well. He had been deployed more than once to go murder something shiny in another corps' property. "Capabilities." He demanded.

"Solars glow golden and wield supreme skill in whatever they seek to master. Lunars glow silver and are capable of stealing forms and shapeshifting. Sidereals glow many colors and manipulate all manners of causality. You would be slain by all but the absolute weakest of any three, and your exaltation into one would be troublesome for your continued employment. I'd have to have you eliminated then."

"You could try." Adam scoffed. Slain by any but the weakest? She didn't know what he was capable of. Gold, Silver, many colors. Meatman was a 'Sidereal' then? "Exaltation, what triggers it?"

"There must be a free exaltation available, and you must do something with great personal meaning."

He considered that for a moment, before letting his face twist into a confused glare. "That's it?"

"In brief, yes."

"A stupid system." He grunted. "The breeding thing earlier makes more sense, at least then you can track this shit. Giving out lottery tickets to random meatbags just ensures they waste it on stupid shit."

Red let out a small laugh. "I'm quite pleased to hear that, mongrel. Perhaps there's some sense in yo-

He blinked. His head was hanging over the woman's shoulder. It was even darker than before, moon shining down as the bird kept its jogging pace onwards.

Another blackout. The headache was still there.

He snorted, leaning forwards again and closing his eyes.

Nothing left to do but ride it out.

Chapter Text

Three 'firewands', a 1 pound bag of 'firedust', a thick leather coat, a pair of straw hats, four waterbags, a bag of hard bread, and two one-pound bags of street-cocaine. All in all, their wealth had increased dramatically from the day before. All in all, Adam was starting to get tired of carrying all this shit around. Normally he had a few employees of Arasaka to handle his various stockpiles of goods, a small legion of technicians and guards to maintain and manage his various cybernetic frames and weapons.

His personal collection was handled by an independent and very-well paid merc, Adam didn't trust the shitbags below him in the company to not pull something with items that weren't also company property. He never stopped needing to make new examples, and company policy eventually dictated that if you got him mad enough to be butchered, you were stupid enough to deserve it.

Still, he would need to get something to start carrying this stuff around for him, a cart or something. His gear was still distinctly sub-par and he had a lot more weapons left to go. Issue was, he wasn't sure if there were independents in ye-old-ass world who would accept the job, and if there were, he wasn't sure if he could afford to hire them. Trapping someone in a corporate contract might work, but he didn't have anything backing up his authority on a wider scale, so that would rely entirely on personal intimidation.

"Oi, Red." Adam growled to get her attention. The sun was still up, just starting to set again, and they were currently hidden deep within the shade of an artificial stone structure. One of those outpost style buildings without much in it except a well and shade, clearly set up to give travelers a place to get out of the sun while traveling between cities.

Red, busying herself with thoroughly scratching the meatbird, shot a flat look in his direction. "What?"

"I'll need someone to watch my gear for cheap, in the future. Give me options." Adam explained, leaning back against the stone wall with arms crossed and eyes glaring out to the slowly-dimming sands.

"Buy a slave." She responded at once, rolling her eyes and returning to her vigorous pampering of the bird. The bird, clearly enjoying the treatment, was rubbing its head against her hands.

Adam raised his eyebrows for a moment. He supposed he wasn't surprised they just called their slaves 'slaves' here instead of something like 'indebted employees', being ye-old and all that. No need for politicians to tip-toe around with politically correct phrasing when they didn't need to be elected, just rich. In a way, it was somewhat more honest than back home.

A meatbag he didn't have to pay that would watch his stuff, and if it tried to fuck around, he could just kill it. That was probably the simplest option here. Adam snorted. If he found one that didn't look too annoying, maybe. It was still a meatbag, after all, they were practically built to piss him off.

"How long till the next city?" He asked again, staring out to the ripples of heat radiating from the distant sands. The glare of the sun alone was no longer blinding, now low enough to put a massive swathe of desert into the shadow of the mountain, but the heat was lingering.

"On foot? Half a year." Scarlet replied, ruffling the head-feathers of the meatbird. "Astride Lady Adora? Sixty five days or thereabouts. We will cross three rivers along the way, which feed into the Dying Sea, giving us opportunity to replenish our supplies of water along the way. More tricky will be finding the foodstuffs required along the way."

Convenient to know, he supposed, Adam focused on something more important though. "You named the meatbird?" He asked with a grumble and an unimpressed expression.

Red scoffed at him. "A mongrel such as yourself wouldn't understand the importance of names, I suppose. Look upon her plumage, modest as it is charming. A commoner's bird, with a commoner's beauty, a rare sight for eyes such as mine. She has entered into my service, and thus she is a princess among poultry, and she shall be addressed as such."

"I'm eating it if I get hungry." Adam replied flatly, emphasizing the designation to make it clear how little he cared about the meatbird.

"You will do no such thing. Lady Adora is much too valuable to slaughter heedlessly. You will subsist just as fine on cacti and wild game." Red waved an imperious hand at him, scowling.

"If it pecks me, I'm eating it on principle." He continued, ignoring her reply. The shadow tracked fast over the distant desert, and rapidly the distant band of purple he now understood to be a mountain range darkened. Soon the only light cast over the desert was the 'Pole of Fire' to the south, casting a red glare over the southern night.

Red snorted. "Lady Adora is much too refined and delicate to strike down a mongrel, no matter how much they require retribution. Isn't she?" She asked in a somewhat lighter tone, leaning forwards and vigorously ruffling the meatbird's feathers again. Meatbird let out a series of happy chirps as its feathers were shaken about, wiggling its head around in a noodle-like fashion. "Much too refined, Much-too, Much-too."

This cutesy-shit was starting to annoy him already. He grunted and held a hand out to the significantly-dimmed desert, beyond the shade of the structure they were hidden under. Testing the temperature for a few moments, feeling how significantly it had cooled down, then turning to the woman.

"Oi, Red, load up." He ordered. A glare sent his way told him exactly what she thought about being ordered around like this. That is to say, she was being a whiny bitch again.

—

The designs of the 'Firewands' were somehow even more disappointing than he had been expecting. Perhaps to be expected of a ye-old-ass world, their guns were straight out of the fucking dark ages of a pre-electricity world.

A tube of brass mounted upon a wooden 'crossbow' stock indeed, a secondary tube to hold a fucking breech-loader, and an accompanying bag to hold additional powder tied near the base of the barrel. The thing was covered in a number of ornamental furnishings that in no way made up for it being such an old-ass design, and a carefully measured dole of the powder burst into a relatively slow-burning flame when tested.

Under the shade of another rest-stop, Adam carefully examined each and every component of the three firewands that he had stolen from the barracks, one long and two short, both with the same fundamental design. Brass tube, stock, breechloading, poofy red thermite.

Far cry from a good old Tsunami Arms Helix, the designer-baby of a shotgun and minigun and more than sexy enough for Adam to wear on his arm. Literally in this case, the gun was integrated into one of his spare arms and replaced the lower forearm entirely. A big temperamental gun that screamed bloody murder as it cut down crowds of screaming meat, one of Adam's favorite guns.

Far cry from a reliable Militech Mk31 HMG, not particularly exceptional in any regards but big enough and expensive enough to make an everyday staple of Adam's easier jobs. Big, heavy, high firepower, and just durable enough that he could use it as a club and not have to worry about it breaking on him. He collected the things, and was up in the thirties by the time he woke up in the demondesert.

He raised the loaded firewand out to the empty desert, towards earlier in the road where scratches in the pavement would allow him to measure out how far the reach was. He pulled the trigger, expending one of his thirty-two shots worth of powder, and letting a gout of hot white flame burst to life in front of him.

Twelve-hundred degrees, at least, projected forwards in a semi-consistent lance that extended out a thirty feet or so, lasting about a second or two and then disappearing as the fuel required to maintain the flame was expended.

It wasn't even a fucking AKR-20 Medium Assault, and that was plastic-framed bullshit used by the Soviets. At least that had thirty shots per magazine, a good thirteen-hundred feet of basic operational range, and let you hit even farther if you had good enough aim.

Thirty feet of flame, single shot. He rumbled in a distinctly displeased manner, eyes narrow and lips pulled down into a scowl.

"Your guns are dogshit." Adam called out, going through the motions of inspecting the not-gun again carefully.

Red huffed in an offended manner. "Do not attribute the wastrels of Dajaz to my work. The firewands made by artisans of the Realm are of naturally higher quality than any rubbish you'll discover in the Threshold. You carry a threshold weapon, it is therefore threshold quality."

"Is that so?" Adam rumbled. "How do your firewands fare then, huh? About the same?"

"The master-artisans of the Mountainfolk have been known to occasionally produce such weapons, and their greatest masterpieces are often given over to me as gifts." Red boasted at once. "More than any mere Firewands, Dragonsigh Wands belch much grander flames, with at least thrice the reach and half again greater heat."

Ninety feet of range, and flames about… eighteen hundred degrees or so. Still single shot apparently, otherwise she would have bragged about that too.

Adam snorted, wiping down the exterior of the firewand and returning it to its sheath. "Your guns are dogshit."

"Oh?" Red replied, moving forwards and sitting on his shoulder. He growled warningly, which was ignored as she wiggled her ass into his shoulder to settle in, then crossed one leg over the other. "Tell them, mongrel, what deficiencies do you see that I do not?"

"It's a bunch of fire that goes out about a hundred feet for a second or two. It's a flamethrower but worse, because at least those last as long as you hold down the trigger and have fuel in the tank."

"It was my understanding that flamethrowers required two to operate, one to aim and the other to work the bellows. Discounting the risk of the ammo erupting from careless usage." Red commented cooly, staring down at his inspecting of the smaller, handgun-looking firewand. Adam paused for a section, taking in what she said before letting his scowl deeper even further.

"I'll have to remember that you're all fucking primitives." Adam grumbled, ignoring the immediate growl that rumbled up from Red's own chest at the insult. "Two meatbags to operate a fucking flamethrower."

Red buried her heel into his thigh, digging in to express her displeasure. "Speak of your weapons then, mongrel, your braggadociousness is testing my patience."

"We had proper fucking guns, for one." Adam replied. "Any fucker on the street could walk up to a vending machine, slap in a couple eddies, and walk away with a polymer casting with twelve bullets loaded. Shittiest goddamn guns on the market and they'd be better than these things."

"Bullets? They shot slingstones? By what mechanism?"

"Caseless cartridges with propellant inside, made in factories and shipped out to the machines, loaded in as the polymer was setting around it. Took a couple minutes at best. Cost less than a shitty meal to slap a gun in any meatbag's hands." Adam picked up the smaller firewand and pointed it forwards, then pretended to fire it. "Aim, pull trigger, bang. A little bullet goes right through something's head. Twelve times before the thing is useless, then you toss it out with the rest of the trash."

"And how did your leaders stop commoner rebellions, if any could wander up to such machines and freely obtain these weapons?" She asked. "It's a frequent enough occurrence, that the peasants get swayed by some charismatic fool and a fruitless rebellion brews up. I imagine putting down such uprisings took up a great deal of their attention."

"I told you about the shitty guns. I didn't tell you about the good guns." Adam smirked in a cruel manner. "A bunch of meatbags decide to have a little uprising? The cops walk in with better guns and turns most of them into bodybag specials. A particular meatbag is too dangerous for the cops? They send in the C-Swat and cyberninjas."

Adam lowered the firewand and let his smirk evolve into a nostalgic grin. "And if the boss wants to make an example out of a whole city district? I get sent in."

Red stayed silent for a moment, before snorting. "Much the same as my Realm, then, despite your 'guns'. I see these little cannons making little difference."

"Sure as shit had better range, my guns used to make lunchmeat a few thousand feet off." Adam growled, waving the little firewand carelessly. "This thing gets thirty feet at best."

"I'm sure you'll endure the indignity of being forced to actually fight, rather than hurling bolts from a coward's field."

"Right, would hate to take your spot."

"My sworn sword can handle any threat, otherwise he wouldn't deserve my patronage. It is the privilege of the Empress to relax in the midst of a killing field."

"All that 'relaxing' is going right to your fat fucking thighs. Get off my shoulder."

"No."

Adam reached up and around, grabbed her by the hips, and played a brief round of 'toss the employer'. Her sharp curses as she pulled up from the sands rang out through the evening… no, they were traveling at night, not during the day. Morning desert.

—

"Mongrel."

"Hm?"

"Avoid making a mess out of these ones, if that's possible for you. The additional supplies will serve us well." Red commanded, pulling back slightly on the reins of the meatbird to make it slow down. They pulled to a gradual stop at the start of a great stone bridge, which stretched across the length of a deep canyon, from which the sounds of rushing water echoed through and up. The canyon walls were made of many colors of clay, red and yellow and orange, and arranged into horizontal slices.

The reason for their stop was a number of meatbags standing at either end of the bridge, under the shade of quickly-raised cloth tarps and with a few other meatbirds tied to posts and placid-looking. The meatbags wore color-coded yellow scarves and straw hats, and a number of them hefted what looked like a random assortment of weaponry. Javelins and spears and swords and-

Adam made a note of the crossbow. He was going to take that one. It wasn't quite a gun, but it was closer than the flamewands were. All in all, there were maybe a dozen or two individuals sitting at either end of the stone passway, and from their looks, it was plainly obvious they were gangers. Most likely gangers looking to make a quick buck off their supplies.

A skinny looking meatbag extended his hands widely, walking up with a wide smile on his face. He said something in the language Adam still didn't understand, waving his palms slightly in the process. He made a note to tell Red to teach him this shit, it would be useful for threatening things later.

Red replied with an equally charming voice, sitting on the saddle before him, raising a hand to hide a little laugh. She said something in an inquisitive manner, then leaned forwards slightly.

The skinny meat shrugged apologetically, and the men on either side of the bridge hefted weapons to emphasize whatever he was saying.

Red maintained her smile. "Adam." She commanded with a single word.

Adam swung his foot around, stepping off the meatbird and letting his sandals hit the pavement. He walked around the bird casually, went through the motions of cracking his knuckles and rolling his joints, then briefly considered how he should go about slaughtering them.

The skinny meat said something in a 'do we have to fight?' sorta tone. Adam raised a hand, five fingers splayed, then began to slowly count down.

Five, four, three…

The men got ready to attack. Weapons raised and legs tensed. Unfortunately for them, he was lying.

Two, one. They were expecting him to attack on zero, probably.

With one finger still raised, Adam leapt forwards and poked the skinny meat with a shaking finger.

His torso expanded briefly, as if a tiny bomb was planted into his chest and allowed to detonate, before Adam yanked his bloody-finger out of his ribs. The very-clean corpse slumped forwards, before Adam grabbed it by the shirt and hefted it as an improvised shield, letting the crossbow bolt and a few arrows thunk into the corpse.

A twist of the torso let him dodge the hefty thrust of a steel spear. A sharp shaking poke made the meatbag's hand burst like a ripe but boney fruit. The meatbag was then kicked normally, making it crash into another meatbag and sending both of them tumbling, giving him time to step back and avoid the swing of a sword, then step forwards and give a shaking jab to that meatbag in the forehead.

Adam raised the corpse to absorb another volley of bolts and arrows as he yanked a bloody finger from the brow of the corpse.

Fighting clean wasn't exactly as fun as fighting normally was, but it wasn't very hard either.

They were meat. They died if you poked them the right way.

He sank a shaking finger into another torso, growling in a pleased manner as it too expanded briefly before the meat collapsed.

They started trying to run away at about the 'one third of us are dead' mark, which was a little bit annoying. Thankfully they left plenty of things laying around to throw.

They only made it one third of the way across the bridge before he got them all, which in turn made the gangers on the other side slide to a stop in the middle of the structure, before quickly turning and trying their own luck at running. Their attempts to reinforce was pretty laughable.

Adam reached down to snatch the crossbow, and started playing target-practice with a grin.

They didn't make it off the bridge.

Far behind him, Red was running her fingers through the feathers of the new birds, humming a happy song to the tune of men screaming.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, the birds were perfectly capable of eating corpses, which meant it was a rather simple matter to keep them going. Simply strip the corpses down, let the birds eat, then move along till another group of highway robbers try their luck. Then feed the next group of robbers to the birds and take their stuff too. These groups usually had their own food and rations on hand, in addition to bags, carts, and all manner of other things useful for setting up a camp in the middle of the desert.

The biggest issue was deciding what to keep and what to burn afterwards. Some type of religious thing, sacrificing things to gods or whatever, he didn't get it and he didn't really care to get it either. The second biggest issue was now he was having to listen to too many of these fucking birds.

A small caravan had been assembled out of birds, carts, rope, and saddlebags, much to the overly pleased Red. Six meatbirds set up in a line, five of which were strapped to relatively small wooden carts laden with bits taken from meatbags, guided by Red riding the frontmost meatbird and directing the others by a long length of rope and the occasional command.

The first cart carried all the excess food they picked up while moving along the road, the second contained all the excess water and the containers for such, the next two contained all the expensive bits that they found along the way to sell later on. Bags of drugs, jewelry, spices, and that was pretty much it.

Adam reserved the last meatbird and its cart, a mean fucker with red feathers and a hateful look, for himself. One of every type of backup weapon he found interesting, backup armor, and all the ammo they came across. It was good to get back into a set of something resembling a borg frame, even if these plates of armor and layers of padding kept his temperature irritatingly high in the desert heat. Having armor and being hot was better than having no armor and being comfortable.

Red was immensely pleased to watch him pull the sweat-soaked padding off his torso every time they stopped to rest.

The weapons here were still distinctly subpar, but at least he was beginning to assemble something resembling a collection. Crossbow, firewands, a shield strapped to his upper left arm, a pair of daggers for his boots… It was something, at least.

Everything superfluous they found, they piled up and burned, the woman announcing something in a language he didn't speak as the flames rose high into the night sky, each night getting a little bit darker and dimmer as they traveled northwards. She claimed she was offering prayers in exchange for favors, which sounded a lot like trying to bribe gods.

From that perspective, Adam finally understood how religion worked, and was suitably unimpressed with the pageantry of it all. Just like corporate employees, gods apparently needed their bribes to be disguised as anything else.

In this way, the next few weeks passed fairly simply. Walk forwards until it is day, nap under a stone structure someone built a long time ago that is now mostly ruined but still usable, occasionally meet groups of meat along the road. If the meat is a trader, exchange things for equally valuable things of less overall weight. If the meat is a ganger, murder and take their things, feed the corpses to the birds. If they find water, fill up all containers. If they find an animal, kill it and eat it.

The only other thing of note was Red agreeing to teach him the language. The local language was nothing like English or Japanese, which meant it was a pain in his ass to figure out and progress was slow. Nothing else to do along the road, however, and therefore progress was being made all the same. Red would bitch, he would toss her around, and then she'd continue to bitch until she vomited again.

Happening less and less frequently, which meant she was probably going to recover reasonably soon.

The passing days were fairly lethargic, if he was being honest. All extended escort-missions were like this, long periods of nothing significant happening punctuated with brief periods of excitement.

"Mongrel, sing for me."

"No."

"Surely your people produced a great work or spectacle, recite it for me, to the best of your ability. It would do well to fill our travel with entertainment."

"No."

"Oh ho? Are you frightened by the thought of failure, inadequacies in your performance perhaps? Worry not, I shall not mock an earnest attempt to please me."

"No."

"Any are capable of song, mongrel, show valor! I wish to delight myself in the lyrics of your homeland. You will give me this, won't you?"

"No."

"Hmph. I'm rather distressed by this, mongrel. How can I continue to teach my darling little student Firetongue if he refuses to use his voice? Song is an instrumental part of the language, after all. Why I might be forced to halt these lessons entirely with such a gap in my understanding."

Adam let out a long and low sigh, and briefly considered the pros and cons at play. On one hand, he could always just go break her ribs until she shut up, but he still needed to learn the language here for his independent purposes, especially with her inevitable betrayal to consider. If he broke her ribs now, she might teach him wrong, or not at all, and then he'd be sabotaged in the future. But he wouldn't have to waste any breath on something as asinine as singing.

The argument to walk over and break her ribs was a strong one.

"Come now mongrel, one little song is all I ask, then I shall be satisfied."

"I don't have an instrument." Adam answered with an excusatory growl and roll of his eyes. "The King of Rock and Roll needs a ukulele, or a guitar at least. His songs don't work acapella." The only songs he knew well enough to sing came from his days of walking around looking like Elvis.

"Describe these instruments." Red immediately demanded, staring steadfast at him.

"Stringed instrument with a long neck, hollow body, and hole for sound."

"Hm, would a lute suffice?"

"The fuck is a lute?"

"I shall procure one for you, and you will produce a song for me." She declared with some finality, nodding and turning to face the road once more.

Yeah, right.

—

"How many fucking birds are you going to collect?" Adam growled as he retrieved bolts from the strewn corpses of various dead men. These ones differentiated themselves from other groups of gangers by all using bladed gauntlets, which he made a note to compare sizes and find a set that fit him the best. In the midst of his post-battle gathering, the woman had quickly began to lash another pair of meatbirds to join the quickly-growing menagerie behind her.

She wouldn't take the camels, only the birds, which he was fairly certain was inefficient.

"All of them, of course." She replied swiftly. "They are most comfortable in groups, owing to their breeding, and will be sold for a high price once we reach Gem. The wealth that we accumulate now will serve us well later, and ensure that we don't have to resort to robbery once more."

She turned a glare towards him. "If a certain mongrel manages to avoid being spirited away, that is. How fortunate will I be to have wealth enough to simply hire more reliable mercenaries if you vanish once more?"

"They'd put up with you for an hour before knocking you out and selling you to some fat merchant." Adam replied, reaching down to start prying choice bits of armor off the dead men, comparing it to his own plates and leathers, and setting aside or discarding as was fit. Most of these bits were useless to him, bronze plates or decorative or covered in rust, but there was the occasional scrap of something worthwhile, and any chance to upgrade his gear was once he was going to take.

Especially while stuck in this fucking meatframe.

"Your prediction belies a hidden plot, you accuse of others what you have been yourself considering." Red arrogantly mocked, scratching her fingers through the feathers of the new meatbirds, much to the glaring jealousy of the old meatbirds. "I now know that I must be wary around you, dangerous, unscrupulous man."

"If you weren't wary already, you're an idiot." Adam stated bluntly, holding up a clawed gauntlet, comparing it to his current pair with a scrutinizing eye, then tossing it aside. "I think about killing you twice a day, twice an hour if you're in a bitchy mood."

"Naturally, I would be surprised if my presence didn't hold such dominance in your thoughts, I am the Scarlet Empress after all." Red boasted, raising a hand to her breast and waving it. "It's simply natural for others to think of me so often. I am the most important presence in their lives, after all."

"This is why I can't sell you, your attitude makes you worthless." Adam grunted, tossing another pair of gauntlets aside. Red's eyes twisted into a sharp glare.

"The statement reveals the extent of your ignorance, I am the most valuable woman in Creation."

"Creation is poor." He found a decent pair and set them aside, moving onto the next item on the agenda.

He closed his eyes as sand was kicked at his kneeling form, slowly opening them to glare at the innocent-looking woman.

"Oh dear mongrel, you must be careful for sandstorms. They could appear at any moment."

He grabbed her leg, and pulled.

Red fell down, face twisting into anger and alarm as he tugged her over to his knee and wrestled her upon it. Belly down and ass-up, even as she kicked her legs and clawed at his armor. One leg was set above the back of her knees, and one hand kept her head pinned low to the sands.

"Mongrel! C-cease! Stop at once! Release me!"

Dispassionately, he raised a hand, then lowered it.

A sharp, meaty smack rang out across the sands.

"G-agh! M-mongrel! I'll have you flogged for thi-"

Smack.

"Gah! S-stop it! Tortured! Crippled! Brok-"

Smack.

"F-fawh! Stop! Execution I swea-"

Smack.

"Fa-fah! M-mongrel! Don't you dar-"

Smack.

"Guwah! Pah-no more, no more! Ceasefir-"

Smack.

"Y-you wret-"

Smack.

"Gahg!"

Smack.

"Guawhah!"

Smack.

"G-guhh-"

Smack.

"Ghm~"

Smack.

"Gwuhh~"

Adam scowled. This was no longer effective. He snorted and released the woman, tossing her off to land on the sands and getting back to work.

Thankfully, she was quiet for the next few minutes.

—

Eventually, trailed by a veritable flock of birds and carts of various things, they made it to a stretch of road passing through a mountain-valley and leading in a generally upwards angle. The towering slabs of stone to either side of the relatively wide and well-paved street provided ample shade on the last stretch of walking and riding required to reach the next city.

He had taken to marking down his kills on his breastplate, little scratches to help him keep track now that he didn't have an internal blackbox to track these sorts of things for him. Reviewing his old kills for improvement was only going to get harder and harder as he was forced to rely on meatprocessing, so keeping notes was only prudent.

Currently, there were one-hundred and eight tallies scratched into the upper right-hand side of his breastplate, which covered about a fourth of the plate in total. He would have to get a journal or something eventually, but for now this ye-old kill counter was sufficient.

The flock of birds crested the hill-mountainpass soon enough, cart wheels creaking and feathers ruffling as they emerged out into the morning sunlight that cast itself down upon the tanned sands.

"Behold mongrel, the city of Gem." Red declared, waving a hand at the general direction of the city.

A towering mountain with a ruggedly flattened top stretched out in the sands before him, the mountain sitting at the end of a great spoke of other, slightly smaller mountains, that led up to it. Perhaps three miles or so high from his roughest estimates, and composed primarily of reddish-brown rock.

A third of the way down the slopes of the distant mountain were a series of immense craters that stretched for miles as a field of rocky holes, and each of them contained a sprawl of stone buildings that sat mostly under the shadow of the mountain or crater walls. These buildings were ringed with several layers of walls upon the lip of the craters, then another ring of buildings, then another layer of wall, and so on for several additional layers of building and wall.

The center of the city, in the midst of the deepest shadows of the mountain above, had a glowing palace built. Tucked up against the farthest wall of the canyon and illuminated by what looked like glowing rocks, the palace towered over any other building within the line of sight. It was absolutely and perfectly predictable for rich meats to build glowing towers in the desert, so Adam was hardly surprised.

The road they were on twisted up and around the slope of the slightly smaller mountain that sat next to the one they were looking at, and seemingly merged into several other smaller roads until it reached the main gate of the initial set of walls, and then disappeared into the various roads and earthen channels of the city proper until terminating at the base of the glowing palace. The walls of the palace, now that he was staring at them more closely, were riddled with various statues of meatbags in fancy clothes.

His attention was more on the immense cannons that sat upon various towers on the outermost walls.

"Supposedly, the most impressive part of the city is under the earth. Market-tunnels illuminated by crystal stars hung from above." Red gossipped at him. "They say a million people live within its walls and a million more live in squalor beyond it. Tell me, mongrel, did your home possess such cities?"

"Tokyo had thirty-six million by last census." Adam replied in an unimpressed manner, still mostly focused on examining the cannons. Red coughed briefly, before turning a scrutinizing eye towards him and then back towards the city they stood before. "Where do we sell the birds?"

Red snorted. "Potentially, we could acquire better scraps of wealth from going and haggling with a great many little merchants for grand deals, but that sounds like much too much trouble for too little reward, instead we shall sell most of the lot to the Guild and enter you into the open-invitation gladiatorial matches. I will bet all our wealth upon your name, you will slaughter whoever your opponent is, and our funds will then be sufficient for whatever we could need until reaching proper civilization."

Adam smirked in a pleased manner, casting a glance towards the woman. "You didn't mention the deathsports on the way. Now I might actually have some fun while we're here."

"I thought that might arouse your interest." Red smirked. "But first, the Austrechs and wares need to be sold."

Adam glanced down at the one she was riding.

"We are not selling Lady Adora." Red replied firmly, reaching up to wrap her arms around the bird's neck. "We shall rent a stable for her instead."

Adam rolled his eyes. If Red wanted to waste her money on the meatbird, who was he to argue?

"Oh, that reminds me." Red stated, waving a hand as they began to move forwards again, trailed by rows of birds and carts. "We'll need to buy a slave for you, and by we, I mean me. You'd purchase someone ugly but strong and despoil our shared image."

"What image?"

"Ah, another thing, you'll need a symbol for the arena, something bold and poetic. The slave will need to be a competent tailor, to turn your motley bunch of rags and metal into something worth looking upon. They will have to complement my own hues in turn, reds and blacks and pales."

Adam briefly considered not talking.

"Perhaps white with golden trim, and red cloth. That would-"

"I'll handle my own fashion, woman."

"Absolutely not, you have been handling your own fashion for two months now and you look atrocious."

"I've been handling my armor, I haven't been bothering with the fashion."

"The two subjects are one in the same, one cannot manage armor without accounting for its visual appeal."

"I know more about fashion than you do." Adam stated bluntly.

Red gave an offended gasp and glare.

Behind them, the meatbirds chirped and rotated their heads around, following in the wake of yet another round of bickering.

Before them, the palace of Despot Rankar VII loomed, glowing with its own magnificence in the shadow of a long-dormant volcano.

Chapter Text

They had bound her tighter this time, a heavy steel pillory accompanied by chain and leather wraps, forced to kneel atop a podium of rock and secured by five chains. They had forced a steel bar into her mouth, and a blindfold over her eyes, and another steel beam to keep her ankles apart. They had broken her horns and lashed her at a distance to sap her strength, fed drops of water and mashed cactus pulp.

She had killed the last one who entered her cage, soft and untempered hands roaming over her flesh. A swift and deliberate thrash had punctured something vital, and the soft creature died gargling. They fed her from a distance now, using a long wooden spoon and associated cup, few wishing to risk approaching her bound form.

When they wished to transfer her, they forced sleeping medicine into her food and drink, and moved swiftly to rearrange her in her prison. They did not move swiftly enough one time, and she slew another two before they bound her again. They had lashed her many times for that, she did not need to care for the scars, for she was her father's daughter.

They had taken her somewhere hotter, father south, much farther than Harborhead and the salty breezes and refreshing rains. She was moved only at night, and secured in insulating tents and shades, and even the heat was at times unbearable. A thick layer of sweat and salt covered her frame at this point.

The last who attempted to wash her had overreached, hands seeking vulnerable regions with indecent intent. She had murdered that one with a goring, and they had broken her horns with hammers for that. They had not attempted to wash her again save through pouring buckets of water over her form from a distance.

They were beginning to lose patience with her, unable to find a buyer for her in bondage willing to risk her thews and thrashing. They would likely kill her soon.

She would die with her dignity intact.

She was being stored at the end of a number of stone halls, in one of the deeper and cooler sections of the building. Here the sounds of the busier market beyond trickled through cracks and bounced down the halls, and her isolation was almost total. For brief times other slaves would be kept in cells adjacent to hers, and they would speak to her. She would respond or not.

Sometimes the slaveguards would speak to her, mostly mockery and threats, none of which ever worked. The most recent slaveguard was a younger man, who spoke to her for many hours about many unimportant things. The smell of baked bread and the frustrations of dealing with rude customers, chats of no import rambling from a man with trivial concerns.

He did more to shake her spirit than the threats ever could.

When they had first been captured and bound, she acted with due piety. Every day she offered a prayer to her father, or her father's master, voice ringing out clear in her mind but silent to the world. Every day she received no response. Eventually, she had stopped praying. Either they couldn't hear her, or they didn't care to, and she would remain bound regardless. The loss of faith had rattled her.

She refused to lose her pride as well.

Even if he didn't hear her, she was still her father's daughter. Even broken, she still bore his horns.

Her ears flickered as the sounds of steps approached her, hearing most sensitive to the world around her after weeks of darkness. The sounds of the distant market beyond, the haggling of others being bought and sold into bondage, the exchange of coins and bags as others were filtered out, a drone of noise she was long used to hearing.

The sounds of footsteps approaching the corner of the building she was stored in was something much more important, and so she focused upon it.

With the steps came the sounds of conversation, accented Firetongue from a man and a woman. The man spoke in the swarthy manner that more southern cities often used, and the woman spoke in the more deliberate manner of the Realm. There was a third set of steps that wasn't talking at the moment.

"I will be glad to sell her for discount, friends, but ehh… I am uncertain if you would want one such as her. Very troublesome, very troublesome. Unless you know a trick I don't, I cannot recommend this one." The swarthy-voiced man spoke, clearly the voice of her current 'owner'. The heavy steps and voice brought to mind the image of a fat thing, wobbling about and soaked with sweat under the southern sky heat.

"Oh? Very honest of you, sir! I would suspect many in your profession to downplay the faults of some of their merchandise, greedsome and deceitful." The high-accented woman replied with a polite smile in her voice.

"Ah-hah! Yes! You can always trust Hestahn to be honest! It would shame me to make a bad deal, and shame me more to make a dishonest one! An honest deal lets everyone walk away happier, yes?"

"Quite so!" The woman agreed, the steps pulling to a stop in front of her cell. "Oh my, you weren't exaggerating her size. She's quite the specimen!"

She flicked an ear in an irritable manner at that statement.

"Yes, yes! Six cubits tall, captured from a tribe of beastmen deep to the south, where the borders of the world grow strange." A lie. "Very strong! Very tough! She would make excellent worker, but she is much too big to fit in many places, no use in Gem tunnels, yes?"

"I see she has been damaged." The woman cooly questioned.

"Ah, yes, very much so." The slaver did his best to sound apologetic. He was only sorry because that made her less 'valuable'. "She heals very fast though, very fast. Those scars will disappear in a season's time, and her horns will come back in a year. She is very… ahhh…quarrelsome. We must feed and water and wash her from a distance, she's killed many handlers so far, and I do not know what compels these rages. Normally very quiet!"

He knew exactly why. She had been glaring at him while she murdered the last one. It's why they put a blindfold on her.

"I can see why you weren't quick to advertise her. Damaged, prone to thrashes, too large to fit in many buildings… I suspect she requires much feed as well?"

"Oh terribly much so, yes! She eats as much as ten others, and drinks about as much. Very expensive to keep. But, good consequences too! Very healthy body, you see? Very large breasts and wide hips, much for a man to hold, yes?"

Her ears flickered again, and her face twisted into a dark rage. Little of it could be seen behind the blindfold and darkness of her cell, she suspected.

"Hmm…"

"Like honest Hestahn has said, I cannot recommend buying this one, but if you would like to, big discounts, big discounts for this one! For you, I would be willing to part with her for six-hundred dinar."

"Six hundred? For one so covered in scars, so riddled with consequences? Three hundred would be generous."

"Ah! You hurt my dear heart! I am still a businessman, yes? It would not do to part with her at such great loss, you know? Five hundred and fifty is much more reasonable, yes?"

"And she continues to cause loss the longer you keep her, from your own mouth. Very expensive to feed and water her. Three fifty."

"Ah, this makes me weep with sorrowful tears, you know? Hastahn is hurt. I could let her pass into your care for five hundred. She is still virginal, you know?"

Her limbs trembled with fury, rattling her chains.

"We do not need a bedmate, so her virginity is irrelevant." The woman answered. "Perhaps we are unable to reach an agreement here, we'll-"

"Five hundred." The third set of steps spoke with a deep affirming rumble, with an accent similar to the woman's but far rougher. A man, for certain.

"Red Earth…" The woman spoke testily. "There are many other options available, you know, let's not settle just yet." She was irritated that her haggling was interrupted.

"I would be more than happy to part with her for five-hundred!"

"Scarlet, pay him. Meat, open the door." The woman hissed under her breath as the rumbling man spoke again.

"Ah… Are you certain you wish to- Ah, yes, Hastahn understands! Be wary friend, very temperamental!"

The cell door was unlocked and swung open. A set of footsteps walked into the cell, and stopped in front of her. She feigned relaxation, ready to thrash with all her might the moment he laid hands upon her.

"Oi, Beef, taking your gags off. Try something and I butcher you." The voice rumbled.

She let an ear flicker warningly.

A set of hands approached her face, and began to work at the blinds. Rough, calloused hands. They were still small, like most humans were compared to her. The blinds were pulled up, pushing her hair back and allowing her to see for the first time in weeks.

The dim light of the cell still blinded her, and she was forced to slam her eyes shut and slowly squint them open again to see. The hands continued, roughly working at her steel gag and pulling it from her incredibly sore mouth covered in saliva, tossing it aside to land on the stone floor of her cell with a clank.

Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the return of light, and she glared at her apparent buyer. The noise of coins being exchanged in the background heralded her first look at the man who took her blinds off. She was eye-level with his head, despite her forced kneel.

Cold blue eyes glared out from deep-set sockets, framed by pale gold locks and long lashes. A strong jaw and chin carried pale red lips, pulled down in a scowl, sat atop a well-toned neck and relatively pale tan skin. This neck disappeared behind thick layers of disjointed cloth and plates of steel, enough that even the idea of wearing such layers in the heat of the south made her sweat.

She glared back with equal ferocity, lips pulled up in a snarl.

Utterly undaunted, the man raised his hand. She braced herself for a strike.

He swiped a hand, and a tremendous shattering sound, she flinched back. Slowly, she realized that she hadn't been hurt by the blow, and strained against her-

-Her pillory, a cast of steel that had bound her hands for months, was broken. Shattered into fragments of twisted metal and scattered across the floor of her cell. She stared briefly at her hands, rubbing at her wrists, before another sudden movement and sound of steel shattering rang out, making her eyes jolt to the noise.

The man pulled his foot up from a shattered manacle, then walked slowly around her to the next and stomped it in turn.

A screaming of metal twisting and snapping as his foot shattered another steel chain.

This was not a normal mortal. This was someone more than that. She swallowed and let a nervous glare return to her face as he gradually walked around stomping each of the locks binding her to the floor like an auroch stomped soldiers. The chains and ankle-bar each shattering under a careful but energetic stomp.

"Get up. You work for me now, Beef." He growled at her, a glare seemingly the only expression his face was capable of making.

She forced herself to growl, standing up straight for the first time in months and delighting in the rolling cracks and pops of a good stretch. She reached up to tear the blindfold off her forehead, letting messy hair dangle down in her eyes. She performed her best glare down at the man, having to lean forwards slightly to see him properly.

She took a moment to remember how to talk, speaking even through the throbbing pain in her jaw. "...And why should I listen?" She growled out, own voice rumbling in a similar fashion.

He tilted his head, maintaining his glare. "Because if you try anything, I butcher you." He raised his hand, curled his fingers into a fist, and allowed it to blur with some sort of power. A clear reminder of what he had just done. It was as simple as repeating his threat from earlier.

Despite herself, she swallowed nervously. It was difficult to hide her fear behind fury.

That, and the ability to stretch was very distracting, even if she had to duck slightly for the ceiling above.

"First thing, you need washing, you're filthy."

Her fear was significantly easier to hide behind fury this time. Primarily because she couldn't argue with that statement, covered in rank sweat as she was.

If she escaped now, she'd be running right into unknown territory. An opportunity to flee would make itself apparent soon enough. All she had to do was wait for a it to come.

—

"You didn't even think about this, did you, you mongrel." The woman hissed at her new 'owner', jabbing him in the center of the chest with a finger. He smacked the hand with a glare as the woman continued. "Look at her, she's massive! We'll need to have a custom garb tailored for her, there's not a thing in any of these markets that's going to fit properly!"

"Buy a tarp." The man replied without any sympathy, glaring at the woman and leaning against the doorway. They were blocking her means of escape, and keeping a careful side-eye on her every movement, clearly not yet trusting her.

This was smart, if annoying. In the meanwhile, she busied herself with a small bucket of water and a rag. A thorough scrub, even in such conditions, was a heavenly experience. Soaking the rag in the water and all-but-grinding away all the layers of sweat and filth that clung to her form. The water, warm as it was, was mercifully cool compared to the heat of the deep south, and she delighted in the feeling of a proper scrub.

She needed something sharp and metal to properly clean her hooves, and she was long overdue a proper hair trim, but for the time being the rag and the scrub was immensely satisfying.

"We are not buying her a tarp! Think about how that looks! We are buying her proper clothes, and they're going to be so much more expensive. We could've picked out that nice tailor girl, but no, you had to be difficult. Do you even know what skills she might have?!"

"Oi, Beef." Her 'owner' called out, bringing her attention with a glare. She glared right back in turn, looking over her shoulder and through a tangled mane of red hair. "Can you carry things?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Yes." She replied with a hint of confusion.

Her 'owner' snorted and turned away again. "Good enough."

The woman did her best to bury her fury, closing her eyes and drawing back, slowly breathing in and out before opening her eyes again. The woman sent a cool look her way, before asking more directly. "We'll need to call you something. Your name, if you would, unless you wish to be called Beef for the duration of your service to us."

"Hath Fury." She answered, dipping the rag in the bucket again and bringing it up to scrub her arms.

The woman smiled coldly. "A very flattering name, you wear it well dear. I am Scarlet. This barbarian mongrel with me is Son of Red Earth Who Crushes by Violence. You may address him as Master."

"I don't care what she calls me so long as she does her job." The overly long-named man replied. "I'm not paying for fancy titles."

"We aren't paying her, mongrel! That's the point of buying a slave!" The bitched hissed, throwing her hands up. "If you give her too much freedom, she'll get uppity and do something you'll have to kill her for, then you'll have wasted all the coin you spent buying her in the first place!"

The man snorted, before turning to address her again. "Your job is to carry my extra wargear around, you can have third pick of whatever we take from people we kill, if you attack me, I'll kill you. If you rob me, I'll kill you. We're traveling north after business here, you can run off wherever you want once we reach the ocean, taking your stuff with you."

The woman's hand twitched in a strangulating motion.

Hath narrowed her eyes at the man, before partially turning around, shuffling to move her cross-legged position to be sideways instead of fully away. "Those are your terms?"

They ignored the woman muttering 'you don't give terms to slaves, you give orders!'

The man rumbled at her. "That's what I said, didn't I? Making me repeat myself pisses me off." He raised a finger, and her memory of feet breaking chains compelled her to glance at it, before glaring back at his face. "I need someone to carry my wargear. Scarlet said to buy a slave. I bought a slave. You work for me until I don't need you anymore, which is when we hit sea and get on a boat. That's when I get paid again, and I can hire someone less prone to sabotage then."

He lowered his finger to point at her. "A steak liable to sabotage my business is one I don't want."

"...And your business is?" She growled.

"Murder." He growled back.

She considered him for a few moments more, before turning back to the bucket.

"Till the sea then." She replied, dipping the rag in the bucket again and bringing it up to her chest. "If you're lying, I'll kill you." Her ears flickered warningly.

"Lying is for meat, I'm above it." He replied back, turning to glare out of the doorway again.

She refused to trust that declaration.

Chapter Text

It wasn't that hard to get directions to the various bloodsport rings that littered the city. Just walking up to a guard and asking was good enough to get a few locations. From there all Adam had to do was narrow down which ones were open-invitation, frequently to the death, and had prize pools.

As it turned out, 'most of them' was the answer there. Only the higher end and junior rings required in-city verification and training times, most of the lower-end circuits simply required that he show up, sign a few documents, then pay an entry-fee. It was a refreshingly robust and low-hassle system to find in a city. They even let you bet on yourself to win.

Not to lose though, they didn't want the matches to be filled with pussyfooting and surrender. Adam couldn't agree more with the policy. Naturally, he bet the rest of their money on himself to win the upcoming fight. Half was taken upfront as a security deposit, the other half would be taken if he lost, and the half plus interest would be returned if he won.

Of course, in the unlikely case where he ever lost a deathmatch, he would be dead, and Red could figure out how to pay herself. Matches were arranged between unknowns and new registers at flat 50/50 odds, the payouts capped to keep things even when making a bet when the circuit hadn't seen you fight yet. Every fight after the first would have weighted odds as normal.

This means that the first fight would double their money, and then add on a fifty coin prize for winning. All in all, they were looking at about seven hundred and forty coins afterwards, a bit more if he fulfilled the 'exciting fight' clause explained in small text on the sign-up contract.

If he didn't know that the highest matches of these things were always rigged, he might've made this his actual job. He was getting pretty damn pleased by everything he had seen thus far.

"Naturally, if you lose, I'll forward a request to have your soul pounded into underworld iron and sent back to me." Red commented idly as they made their way towards the ring in question under an early-morning sun. Just before it started properly heating up, just after they started to get a little bit more ambient light. "I'm not sure what I'll have you turned into, but it will be deeply humiliating in any case."

"Naturally, if I win, I'm going to pound you into the floor." Adam grumbled back through the gaps of his salvaged helm's visor. He tilted his head to glare in the general direction of Red and Cowmeat, who had unimpressed expressions. "Not sure what state you'll be in after, but I'm sure it'll be humiliating."

Red scoffed. "Such a reward is ill-fitting of mere success. Your success must be absolute, your victory inevitable, and your showmanship impeccable." She reached up to pat his arm with a smug smile. "A dragon does not swim in puddles, after all. Impress me, and I may deign to indulge myself in your common body."

Adam scoffed back, and Red jumped as a sharp smack rang out over the street. Her face twisted into scowl and glare as Adam broke away, returning his hand to his side and moving towards the 'red competitors' entryway. He made a note to actually fuck her into the floor after this, now that she had escalated it beyond mere mockery.

He raised the red badge he had been given at the registration desk, and the security guard at the entrance of the tunnel nodded and leaned back, allowing him to pass through and enter into a semicircle of a hallway made of sandstone and rumbling with conversation above. Directly under the stands then? Made sense as a space-saving measure.

He turned the last section of hallway, entering into a waiting room lined with benches and filled with other 'red' competitors. He wouldn't be fighting any of these meatbags today, maybe later. Most of them were tucked into whatever corners they could find, some were leaning against support-beams, all of which were covered in at least one bit of flashy attire.

Adam, in turn, was wearing his collected choice bits of plate gathered from bandits, an underlayer of chain and black cloth, and a further underlayer of white. A trick to keep cool, Cowmeat had explained in a vaguely-helpful fashion. The only bit of color was a bright red scarf tied around his upper right arm, which the woman had insisted on.

There were no rules against using any particular weapons, so Adam brought all his weapons, clanking noisily as he moved into one of the center benches of the waiting room and dropped himself upon it. Eyes followed him as he entered, glaring or idly watching as he settled down in his seat.

Faintly, he wondered if any of them would work up the nerve or interest to try intimidating the apparent newblood. It would be fun to paint them against the walls for trying.

Quick glances around showed him that he was easily the most armored one here, although not the most armed. Literally in this case, as one meatbag had an additional set of arms, and another had about fifty knives tied to him in various places. He maintained the position that extra arms are usually more hassle than they're worth, too much additional weight and bulk to make up for being able to use more guns at once, and in a world without good guns their disadvantage only grew.

A meatbag wearing mostly blues and blacks sat next to him, tiny glasses on his nose, a clay tablet and stylus in his hands, and a thick-shafted polearm hanging from one shoulder. "Hey there, newcomer to the circuit, correct? Can I get your name for the records? We need something to announce to the crowds when you walk in." An event bureaucrat, here to make things run smoother for advertising. Adam supposed he should play along, he was getting bonus pay based on crowd hype, after all.

"Adam Smasher." He replied simply, staring at the man as he recorded the name upon the tablet.

"Quite… the… name." The bureaucrat replied slowly, writing in some manner of… Adam squinted his eyes and wondered why the fuck he was writing in pictographs, before deciding he didn't really care all that much. "Homeland?"

"America."

"Right… just… a… moment…" The bureaucrat nodded in confirmation, recording another series of complicated looking pictographs on the clay tablet before asking another question. "Likes or Hobbies?"

"Murder."

"Got it, got it…" The bureaucrat muttered, drawing a much simpler pictogram and speaking again. "Notable battles, conflicts, victories?"

"Second Central American War, Fourth Corporate War, Night City Holocaust, Second Metal War." Adam blankly recited the list of official wars he had participated in. "Many smaller jobs." He summarized the extensive list of things he had killed thereafter.

"Most excellent, just give me a minute or two if you would…" The bureaucrat requested politely, rapidly drawing upon the tablet to list out the conflicts that he had been a part of. A full minute or so passed in mostly silence, the only noise in the waiting room being the sounds of breathing and the rumble of an excited crowd above. Finally, the bureaucrat was done writing, and asked another question, this time with a waggle of his eyebrows. "Any saucy rumors or gossip to share with the audience?"

Hm. What would get a crowd of bloodthirsty civvies excited…

"I assembled this armor by prying choice bits from bandits I killed along the way here." He answered, to which the bureaucrat nodded his head from side to side and recorded the statement.

"I'm sure the crowds… will be happy… to hear that.." The bureaucrat in blue and black responded slowly. He chewed his lip as he recorded the next set of lines, and then asked another question. "Do you intend to stay in Gem, or are you just passing through, and if the latter do you mind revealing where you intend to go?"

"Passing through after winning enough coin. Heading up-" What did the woman call the next city? "-Lap afterwards." It's not like revealing this would be dangerous, worst case scenario he gets to kill would-be robbers on the way and take their stuff too.

"Good to hear, good to hear…" The bureaucrat nodded, taking another long few moments to write that down before smiling at him and standing up. "Right, that's everything friend, thank you for your patience."

Adam grunted in a noncommittal fashion, and the bureaucrat reached into his robes to withdraw a little multicolored ornament on a string. Offering it, the bureaucrat explained. "A complementary good-luck charm, I'm not officially permitted to offer payment for participation." He leaned forwards somewhat conspiratorially. "But a little knick-knack as a gift is fine, you see?"

Adam snorted, understanding the situation and taking the offered pendant. It looked like a little spider curled up on itself, carved out of one of those rainbow-rocks, opal or whatever they were called. He didn't need the good luck to win, but he could always sell it off later.

"With that, I'll be off, have a good rest of your day!" The bureaucrat responded with a merry wave of his hand, taking up his glaive once more and using it as a walking stick on his way out, tablet tucked under one arm and whistling along the way.

Adam watched him walk off half-interestedly, before tucking the trinket into one of his pockets and hurrying back to waiting once more. Occasionally, the crowd would stop rumbling for some time, a man on the opposite-end hallway would call a name, and another 'red' fighter would head up the stairs. About half of them came back a few minutes later, usually splashed with a rather disappointing amount of blood.

It took another fifteen minutes or so before he was called up. "Adam Smasher!" The second bureaumeat called out, a rougher looking man in white robes. Adam rose and stomped his way over, up the small flight of stairs and towards the man who had called out to him.

"Right up here, give them a minute to finish announcing you." The bureaumeat said in a firm but rather bored manner, leading him to a doorway that led out to a small field of sands ringed with hooded lanterns to cast ye-old spotlights down upon the area. The lanterns, in addition to the morning sun, were more than enough to keep the fight-space well-lit for the murmuring audience.

"-distant land, clad in the trophies of a dozen battlefields and veteran of four wars! The eyes of Ahlat are surely on this battle, when warriors such as these enter the field! Patricians and Peoples, we present to you, the next red gladiator A-DAM SMASH-ER!"

Bureaumeat jerked his head forwards, and Adam stomped his way through the doorway and onto the illuminated sands of the area proper. The stands were filled with meatbags, some in their own clearly marked sections and seatings, some standing in groups nearer the area itself. The stands as a whole were only about two-thirds full, and the crowd was rumbling but not overly ecstatic at the moment.

Adam made a note to have that changed by the time he left. He'd need to get back into the practice of showboating on the regular if he was going to be doing bloodsports. Grandstanding was more of the occasional hobby these days, rather than a way of life like it used to be for him.

He let his stance widen slightly, letting his visor roll across the crowds in a deliberate manner before rolling his shoulders. Nothing too major yet, just something to bring some eyes his way.

"And his opponent…" A meatbag standing on a podium elevated to the side of the area called out. He wasn't holding any kind of sound-amplifying device, merely booming out in a manner that let his voice carry farther than normal. "Hardened in the deepest of the crystal tunnels, with muscles like iron and gaze like fire, a warrior emerged from the slaves. With a mighty hammer swing that shattered the back of a fearsome rock-serpent, and clad in the armor of her masters, ME-A MAJ-OS!"

On the other side of the area, through a doorway painted blue, his opponent emerged. A brawny looking woman, dark red hair and dark brown skin like almost everyone else here had, wearing what he was almost certain was just fetish material. A bikini and skirt made from chainmail connected to plates of armor that covered only her arms and head. Said arms hefted a good sized sledgehammer, and her stomach was painted with some symbol in white.

Judging from how the crowd riled up, they were quite excited by her appearance. He supposed having a fetish for watching women die wasn't the most unusual thing he had heard of.

She smirked at him, all but her lips concealed behind a bronze helmet. "I can't decide if you're a coward or a fool, covering yourself in so much rust. Did you pick the plates out of a scrapyard?" She called out loudly, clearly, letting the crowd hear the banter.

"Don't worry, meat, I've already decided you're not worth my time." Adam tossed his crossbow aside as he called back, letting it land softly in the dirt. The crowd shifted excitedly at that. "I'll have to make this interesting on myself, do me a favor and don't die too fast."

"Fah, overconfidence." She called out, standing to slowly walk towards him, hefting her sledgehammer and letting it gently jump in her hands. "I'll enjoy crushing you, 'smash'r'."

His first goal here was to entertain. Although he could murder her immediately and get his pay, he had no real reason to not draw it out, both to build a reputation and to get a little bonus pay. "There could be a dozen of you and you'd still be dead meat." Adam replied, letting his arms swing as he stomped directly towards her.

They were pretty religious here, right? Maybe he could use that. He'd have to think about how.

Now, if she was smart, she'd be using quick punches or kicks to set up for a better strike using that sledge of hers. It was a big and heavy weapon, and although it would be able to hurt him even through his armor, it wasn't very agile. Not a bad choice in weapons by any means, he used to use a hyperhammer back in the glory days himself, which had most of the same issues but hit way harder on account of the rocket strapped to the back of the sledge-head.

Of course, if she was stupid, she'd open with a-

Adam leaned back at the waist, letting the hammer head swing past him. His eyes locked onto the eyes of the woman, through their respective visors. There were a number of tactical errors made in a span of that singular action, and Adam was more than happy to exploit all of them.

The first error was that she didn't actually hit him.

Like an elastic band, Adam threw himself forwards as soon as the hammer was out of his way, barreling through a defensively raised arm and smashing their helmets together. Adam had a decent layer of padding under his helmet, and a helmet 'prow' that was overbuilt and reinforced for this sort of thing. Sure, it made his helmet heavier, sure it made it less comfortable to wear, but comfort was the first thing he'd get rid of for being more effective at murder.

From the way her hair was hanging out, he could tell that she didn't have much padding under that bronze cap of hers. Hammermeat staggered back, stumbling steps as she was thrown off balance and head likely ringing.

Adam took the chance to raise his arms up and out, giving her the ample chance to reorient herself. "What's wrong, meat? You didn't even hit me!" He loudly mocked, sending a way of jeers and chuckles through the crowd.

She rightened herself quickly, snarl on her lips as she raised her hammer and charged again. Fortunately, she wasn't quite dumb enough to simply swing again. Instead she attempted to bash him with the butt of the handle. A much quicker hit that might knock someone around just long enough for the actual hammerswing to connect.

This was another flawed attack, mostly because he could tell what she wanted to do from the moment she raised her hammer with a grip that spaced out.

He tilted to the side, stepping forwards, and smashed his knee into her stomach. He made a note to have broad spikes installed there when he had the coin for it.

Hammermeat made a gurgling choke as she doubled over on his leg, slumping slightly when he extracted his knee and allowed her feet to return to the sand, clutching her unarmored stomach and staggering back. He reached forwards to grab her by the biceps, before spinning on his heels and tossing her to the center of the arena, where she rolled across the sands for a moment.

"Now's no time to be playing in the sand, meat." Adam mocked again, even louder to be heard over the rumble of the crowd. "We're in the middle of a deathmatch here, I'd suggest standing."

She forced herself up again, glaring through her helm visor and somewhat desperate scowl on her lips. She was beginning to realize that she was out of her league, it seems. He wondered if she'd beg for mercy before he got around to murdering her.

…No, he was already bored of this.

He stomped forwards casually, in a most unimpressed manner. This time she didn't approach immediately, instead backing away and hammer raised as she moved around in a somewhat cautious manner. Clearly waiting for something, but whether that was working up the nerve or for an opportunity that would never present itself, he didn't know.

What he did know was that it was pissing him off.

He drew a knife and pretended to chuck it, then actually chucked it. She jumped to the side immediately, seeking to avoid the flying blade, and hopping right into the actual flight path.

"Gah! Fuck!" She staggered, reaching down to grab at her unarmored leg, a blade now lodged between her tibia and fibula and lower leg quickly staining with blood. Now hobbled, she was able to keep running away, rising up to put her weight on one leg and breathing heavily. She hefted her hammer again, ready to swing as soon as he got close.

Yet again, her mistake was that he knew what she wanted to do. Fortunately, the delay from earlier had given him enough time to think of a taunt involving gods.

"Pick a god and pray." Adam rumbled, deep voice cutting over the sounds of the excited crowd.

Her eyes widened, and she swung.

His hand caught her wrist, long before her swing could conclude. His other hand snatched her other wrist. She attempted to thrash in his grip, trying to break away, before groaning in pain as he slowly crushed her wrists.

The hammer fell to the sands. Now disarmed, he brought her wrists together and grabbed them in a single hand, lifting her up to dangle and kick against him, teeth clenched in desperation and panic numbing the pain she was in.

Clearly, she hadn't been praying hard enough.

His shaking fist smashed through her chest, a wave of gore spraying out behind her and painting the sands a much more thorough red. She choked and coughed only for a moment, before the hammermeat turned into a twitching corpse.

He ripped his hand out, causing a second, smaller spray of blood. The crowd was cheering at this point, before falling quiet again as he yanked his knife out of her leg and dropped the corpse.

Silently, Adam raised the knife and scratched another tally onto his breastplate.

The crowd roared.

He raised his visor, looking through the crowd for a moment, before finding a particular massive cowmeat. There next to cowmeat, was the much smaller form of Red. Red was doing her best to look impassive, and barely failing the attempt, a pinkish flush on her cheeks.

Adam smirked behind his helm. All in all, it was good work on his end. Now it was time to get paid.

Chapter Text

It had been awhile since he had fucked. Fucking meant getting out of his warframe, getting into one of his gemini frames, finding an acceptable cut of fuckmeat somewhere, then actually fucking. The reward being an hour or four of chemical motivators being pumped into his biosystem for a lengthy period of time where he had to be careful to not tear some delicate little meatbag in half with an errant twitch. Newsflash, meatbags were fragile fuckers, and walking on eggshells wasn't exactly his idea of a fun time.

Or, instead of going through all that extra effort, he could stomp out and murder a hundred fuckers in one of the lawless zones, no need to hold himself back, no need to waste a few hours, no need to actually track down an acceptable cut of meat, no need to leave his warframe, and end up with a more fulfilling rush by the end.

More effort for less reward, what kind of idiot would bother?

Now however, he was already stuck in a meatframe, so no need to hold back. He had already found an acceptable cut of fuckmeat, so no need to track one down. He had already performed a satisfying murder and gotten paid extra for it, so no real need to track something else down to kill for a while. All that he had to do was get right to fucking.

…After he got his armor off, that was.

He tossed Red off his shoulder, chucking her roughly upon their rented bed, where she landed with an 'oof' and glare. That glare was somewhat lessened in effect from the flush of her cheeks and minute rubbing of her thighs. She was having quite a bit of trouble hiding how excited she was.

He began to strip off his armor, straps unlatching, plates falling with a clang of metal on stone floor, glare firmly centered on hers as he divested himself of the rusted steel. It was a process that would take him a minute or so, and she clearly realized this, pulling up into a more dignified sit with legs crossed and leaning back. Her glare twisted into stern smugness, which was pissing him off.

He'd take it out on her throat in a minute.

Another plate fell, hitting the floor with a heavy clang as he moved to work on yet more straps. He was focused on simply getting his groin and torso exposed, no need to-

A cough from the door. He and Red turned to see the cowmeat leaning down somewhat awkwardly, eyes deliberately not focused on either of them.

""What."" Adam was unpleasantly surprised to find himself echoing Red.

"I- do you want me to stay or can I-?" Cowmeat rumbled, trailing off slightly with a quick glance towards the two of them, then looking away. Adam rolled his eyes and pointed at the sack of silver coins near the door.

"Take forty-four coins and your proof of ownership, go buy something in the market. I don't care what." Adam ordered.

"Not clothes, not yet. We need to coordinate an outfit later." Red elaborated upon the order, sitting up straighter and waving an imperious hand. "Get a weapon or jewelry or something. Something in gold would contrast nicely against your skin."

"Right, I'll be… I'll go do that." Cowmeat replied, ducking down to open the sack of reward-money, clumsily counting out the forty coins, and doing her best to ignore the plates of armor that slowly stacked up in the center of the room. Eventually she had counted them, grabbed the slip of paper that marked her as an owned slave, and quickly evacuated the vicinity.

"If she runs away, I'll be laughing at you." Red stated bluntly, mood somewhat diminished by the interruption, even if that gave him time to get the breastplate and upper arms off.

Needless to say, he grabbed her by the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair, and forced her face to in front of his trousers. Her cheek pressed up against his length through the sweat-soaked leather, and his calloused grip held her there.

"Get to work." Adam growled. "Or I'm fucking you dry."

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, face remaining against his groin even as her body practically slithered up to a more comfortable position. "Brutish mongrel. There's much value to be had in the opening acts."

"I'm not here for theater, I'm here to fuck you into the floor." He tightened his grip on her hair, making her inhale sharply and close her eyes, she slowly opened them again to glare up at him. Slowly her hands snaked up along his legs before reaching the hem of his pants and loosening the belt.

A pleased twitch of her lips followed as his length smacked against her face then came to a rest over her eyes. "A satisfying scent, mongrel. You reek of sweat and heat." A hand came from where it laid against his hips and up to the shaft, a dainty hand working up and down his length with masterful touch.

Adam discovered, much to his unpleasant surprise, that it had been a very long time since he had fucked, and it was very hard to focus with her hand on his cock. He hissed, tightening his grip on her hair even as her other hand came up to palm his balls and roll them about. Just the right amount of heat and pressure pushing his meat into involuntary twitches

"My, my, you're downright cute like this, you know?" Red teased, planting a delicate kiss upon the base of the shaft. "Surely this isn't your first time with a woman, is it?" She was winning. That was pissing him off.

Adam stopped breathing, reasserting himself over his meat. He pulled back to angle himself, then stabbed forwards, burying himself to the hilt into her throat. She gave a slightly panicked whine at that, throat vibrating around him and staggering his assault on her esophagus.

It was good, real damn good.

With a snarl he pulled back again, then impaled her face once more, returning her nose to his groin and chin to his sack. Small tears formed in the corners of her eyes, even as she began to hum. He pulled back again, then thrust forwards. A cycling piston using her throat to thoroughly lubricate his rod.

His toes curled when she started greeting his tip with a wiggling tongue, gleaming eyes locking on his dancing with full awareness of what she was doing.

A chop to the back of his leg, his eyes widened as he fell back, too concentrated on maintaining his pistoning to notice the sneak attack. His back landed upon the scattered pile of rusty plates. At that moment, he lost control of his breathing.

It was difficult to think straight for a few moments, as he throbbed and painted the inside of Red's throat white. Delicate hands pressing on his waist, cupping his testes, and cock buried inside of the woman's humming throat. Strong, deliberate gulps pulled uncontrollable jolts from his length, before she slowly pulled back with a tongue firmly on the underside of his length.

She pulled back completely, eyes closed in satisfaction even as tears trailed down her cheeks. A final swallow and lick of her lips, and she cracked her eyes open to lock eyes with him, predatory gaze half-hidden behind his cock.

A smirk, and a delicate kiss planted on his lower head. "Thank you for the meal." She mocked.

His meat wanted to lie down and take a nap.

His pride demanded otherwise.

The bed cracked audibly as he slammed her into the bed, right hand forcing her face into the cushioning. She grunted, wiggling under his weight as his other hand roamed downwards and took a fistful of her lower dress.

The fabric tore audibly as he ripped it way, tossing the ripped sheet aside and forcing her legs apart with his own. She let her displeasure be known with a whine and shake of her hips, head turning just enough to let a burning eye lock onto his. Her displeasure looked a whole lot like burning arousal, her exposed skin slick with sweat.

He was utterly unsurprised to find that she was soaked, not that it mattered, he was here to win.

"Fucking whore." He snarled into her ear, heavy breath washing over her face as he lined himself up. Her pleased purr deepened into a growl as he impaled her again. Adam's vision swayed for a moment, as her folds tightened around him and hips began a tiny set of wiggles.

He did not remember sex feeling this good. Heat and sweat and pressure, her body a perfect blend of toned muscle and soft, pliant meat, her body flexing in downright supernatural ways.

He confronted the challenge like he did all challenges, with overwhelming force.

The bed creaked as he slammed into her, stabbing into her depths heedless of the collateral damage. His fingers sank into her hips and tangled in her hair, bruising and clawing and angry. Again and again and again, each thrust causing white and static to fill his eyes, her growling moans filling his ears, her sweat mixing with his own.

And she refused to stop, body tensing and twisting to constantly coax further intrusion. Her hands came to rest on his own, her face turned to plant kisses along his jawline, her legs bent to press her heels against his back. A rumble of pleasure interspersed with delighted yelps as he pierced her, again and again and again.

At some point, he lost control again, and each thrust was accompanied by an eruption that stained her insides white. Having learned his lesson from last time, he did not let that slow his pace, continuing his furious pace even as his body failed him.

The leg of the bedframe creaked again, then shattered, sending both of them rolling off and onto the floor.

That gave her just enough time to flip around, grinning as she-

-convulsed and threw up on his chest.

—

"You threw up on my chest." A wave of ink that was currently staining his chest, even as dainty hands scrubbed furiously against it.

"S-shut up! Hold your tongue, mongrel!"

"You gave me a cock ring tattoo." A band of swirling black that matched her own trashy-ass womb-tat, which had undergone a slight redesign from last he'd seen it.

"I-I had no part in that! None!"

"We have to pay for a new bedframe." One of the legs having snapped off, joining the scattered plates of rusty metal on the floor.

"That was you." She said much more flatly, glancing at him with an unimpressed expression and pausing in her vigorous scrubbing of his chest. Adam grunted and glanced away. That one was him, yeah.

She wrung the now dark-gray rag out in a second bucket, then dipped it in the first bucket once again, filling it with new soapy water and returning it to his chest to wash away the ink. Just like actual ink, it had stained his chest, just like actual vomit, it smelled bad.

Looking quite apologetic compared to her normal self, Red had immediately offered to wash him off, and here they were in the small 'bathroom' attached to their rented room. It was mostly just a room with a drain, a few buckets, and a few rags. It had nothing on a proper bathroom, but it was good enough to get the sweat and grime off at the end of the day.

And in this case, ink.

"We're not fucking again till you're not puking anymore." Adam stated bluntly, even as her hands curled into fists around the wet rag being scrubbed against his chest.

"I hadn't in days! It was completely unprecedented!"

He noted that she hadn't argued about fucking again. He grunted in a noncommittal manner and briefly considered the ramifications of a sexually-transmitted tattoo. It hadn't done anything yet, but he was going to have it looked at by someone, it was only prudent. The only question was finding a dick-tattoo specialist somewhere out there, he didn't imagine they were particularly common.

"...Do you know who your next battle is?" Red asked after a moment, moving on to another section of his chest and working on it next.

"Some fucker named Abagee." Adam replied. "I don't know much more than that."

"Hm. I don't suspect you'll have any troubles against anyone this far from the Realm, but it would be prudent to investigate regardless." Red replied, wringing out the rag and soaking it once more. "Perhaps while we're in the market. Your look needs to be corrected."

"And lose the payout of a higher bet?" Adam grumbled.

"Coin is light, reputation is heavy." Red replied with a statement clearly meant to be a metaphor, but one he didn't care to decode. "If we don't act quickly, you'll end up with a moniker like 'Scrap Metal Soldier' or something equally ridiculous."

Adam decided to withhold his opinion on that title. It reminded him of the action movies he used to watch back in his ganger days. He wouldn't be too mad with a title like that, but from Red's tone, it would invite more bitching to voice that opinion.

"Uh huh. What are your thoughts?" Adam grumbled.

"The first is the matter of heraldry. Dragons are unacceptable, of course. As is any other beast of spiritual puissance. You are a mortal, and must be heralded by a mortal beast."

"I don't need an animal on my armor." Adam countered immediately, giving Red an unimpressed look. "Solid black with accents of red and white. Symbol is a three part hollyhock mon, in white."

She paused in her scrubbing, sending a glance his way and narrowing her eyes. "...upon a field of red or black?"

"Black." He answered with a grumble. "The symbol is red if on a white background. Never use red as a background."

"Hm." She replied in brief. "Is that the symbol you used in your homeland?"

"Old Man Arasaka insisted upon it." Adam reached over and patted his outer arm. "Both shoulders, right in the center of the shield-plates." Then he brought a thumb to the middle of his chest. "Abstract mountain right in the middle-plate, with the name Arasaka sitting on the peak."

He narrowed his eyes, trying to recall if there was anything else, before shaking his head. "That was it, those three."

"Shield plate on the arm? Ah, that is why you wear the shield so far up your arm?"

He swiped a hand up and down, hovering just beyond his shoulder. "Big plates that rose from the outer bicep and up past the shoulder." He grumbled. "Helped bounce bullets off while I was shooting at things, I'd hold my arms like this, see?" He moved his arms to the right position, letting her swipe her own arms to visualize what he was referring to.

"Hm… I suppose we can accommodate that. Nothing new can be forged, but your existing plates need polishing and painting. They're shameful at the moment."

"I don't need them to look pretty, I need them to function until I can afford to commission a new set."

"Form is an important part of function, mongrel." Red grumbled at him. "Which reminds me, I'll need to buy a new dress when possible, your enthusiasm has ruined its ability to preserve my modesty."

"You were begging for it." Adam growled, flicking her in the tit. Her hefty chest jiggled with the tiny blow. She flinched slightly at that, biting her lip, before directing a glare his way.

"I was not begging you to tear off my dress, I was coyishly inviting." Red corrected with a 'this should be obvious' tone.

"The difference?"

"The difference is that the blame for my garment's destruction can be laid squarely upon your shoulders, while I escape blamelessly." She laid an open hand across her breast, leaning back and smirking with self-satisfaction. Unfortunately for her, he had more than enough ammunition to shoot her down.

"Get back to scrubbing, vomit-girl."

That name sent a violent twitch through her body, and she returned to scrubbing the ink off his chest, glaring all the while.

"You will tell no one of this. Not one. If I discover that you have let this secret slip, I will have you tortured, then assassinated." Red growled with absolute seriousness.

Adam believed that she would try. Like any other threat of assassination, however, she would fail.

"I'm keeping your face pointed away from me next time." Adam growled back. "Face first into a sewage drain, at least then there won't be any cleanup after you lose your lunch."

She snarled and redoubled her scrubbing efforts, more trying to hurt him than actually clean at this point. It mostly just served to get the ink on, because that shit was staining his skin at the moment.

"Ah, hello?" Cowmeat called out from the other room.

"We're in the bathroom." Red called out, sending him another warning-glare to keep quiet.

Adam didn't need to say a word, just wait.

"O-oh, okay there- Why is there ink on the flo-?"

Red shoved her face into his chest and let out wail, fingers clawing into his arms as she verbally expressed her despair at the situation.

Chapter Text

"In a tremendous first showing, our newest fighter finds himself jumping straight from newblood and into the Sun Circuit! I don't know where he came from, but he's jumping ranks faster than anything I've ever seen."

The next area was a somewhat fancier affair than the previous one, slightly larger booths, slightly more guards, bigger crowds, and slightly louder announcer. That and slightly more rules. Not allowed to place a bet on himself to win this time, so Red was the one who had to do it. That did nothing but waste a bit more time, so while it was slightly aggravating it didn't change the end result.

He was going to win and get paid.

"Unfortunately, he might've jumped right into a mean left hook, as he's been put up against Sun Circuit regular Sandwolf Abagee! Talented newcomer he might be, but Sandwolf grew up in the cliffside streets, a mean customer who knows what it means to fight for your meals. Sandwolf has been tossing newcomers out to the sands to dry these past few months, and he aims to do so again today!"

Left hook, punching. Adam was still wearing armor, so unless this was another meatbag using fuckery, there was nothing he needed to worry about. His armor was mostly the same as before, merely polished and then painted black, with the little symbols he had mentioned before now painted on by Red's brush. That did cover up his tallies, but all he had to do was scratch them back on.

Unfortunately, he apparently hadn't explained them well enough, so the symbols were only vaguely similar to what he used to wear. It was too much trouble to get it repainted in any case.

"His last match before entering the Stone circuit, I'm sure Sandwolf wants this fight to go like all his others, quickly! Will his winning streak come to an end here, or will Sandwolf run circles around yet another slab of fresh meat? Let's see! Here he comes, the defender from the blue side, Sandwolf Abagee enters the ring!"

A great deal of fanfare and rumbling from the crowd followed at that, as did a small number of boos and jeers. A fighter with a mixed reputation. If he was going to guess why, the hint of having frequent quick fights. The matches were to entertain, ultimately, and a slaughter that gets over with too fast is boring to watch.

The guardmeat turned to him and jerked his head forwards, indicating that he should get out into the ring. Adam hefted his new sledgehammer over his shoulder and walked forwards, starting to leave the shade of the waiting chamber and into the illuminated area.

"And his challenger, the tally-making mercenary himself, every piece of his equipment a trophy of battle, practically born to fight in a ring, our challenger from the red side, A-dam Smash-er enters the ring!"

The Sandwolf did not look like what Adam was expecting. From the description given by the announcer, Adam had been imagining a fighter on the leaner side. Instead, he looked dead into the eyes of a man built like a buff potato, with a great gut and layer of ablative fat surrounding his entire body. This fat was in turn covered in wrappings, in bits of metal armor over 'vital' areas like the heart and forehead, and a sleeveless leather vest.

Adam found himself distinctly unimpressed, walking forwards in clinking armor until reaching the one-third mark and stopping for the announcer. The ring was about half again as large as the first one he had been, and even had tarps installed in an almost-dome above to keep sunlight from being too intense in the interior.

Payout for this match was sixty coins, sixty more if he got the crowd riled up. After their purchases yesterday, they were down to five hundred coins.

Odds were fifty-five to win, Sandwolf's favor. Payout for a five-hundred coin bet on himself was one-thousand, one-hundred and ten. Easy income.

It was like getting away with murder. Adam smirked at his own joke, expression hidden behind the mask of his helm. The announcer had been continuing while he had been thinking, something about giving thanks to their sponsors before the fight began, he didn't really care to listen.

All of his attention was firmly on his victim.

Soon enough, the announcer had fallen quiet and the crowd was likewise unenthused. Sandwolf didn't look like he was much one for taunting, staying quiet and glaring at him. Looked like all the hard work of entertaining was going to be on his shoulders. Adam let his head tilt back slightly, and called out.

"The fight started, you know? Did the word not reach your ears through all that fat?"

Chuckles spread throughout the crowd. Sandwolf's expression twisted into an even uglier one, and he began to stalk forwards as best as a slightly-jiggling man could. And yet, still no verbal response. Adam spread his arms out wide, dropping both sledgehammer and crossbow, and started to move forwards himself. He was still laden with weapons, of course, shorter firewands in hip-straps, loaded and sealed with hardened fat, knives strapped to the side of his torso, blades on his gauntlets, but his hands were free.

Crossbow wasn't exciting enough, and the sledge would be a bit too slow-paced. This fight needed to be exciting, fast-paced but drawn-out, filled with boasting and brutality.

Just like the glory days. He had a stockpile of lines from back in the day.

"I don't know what's more impressive, that you managed to get out of bed this morning or that you were brave enough to show that face in public." Adam taunted as they approached each other. He didn't use beds himself, but he knew meatbags usually did. Awful invention, beds were, trapping yourself under a sheet and upon unstable terrain for something as asinine as comfort.

Fucking beds. He hate-

A fist smashed into his quickly-raised guard. His armmeat throbbed in an immediate bloom of pain, even through the plates of steel. A blink and the fatmeat was throwing another punch, an uppercut.

Adam's elbow smashed into his fist, sending the fatmeat's punch wide to bounce off the armor of his upper arm.

A backhand sending the fatmeat reeling back, spinning on his-

Adam met the spin-kick with a grab on the extended foot, and snarled into a spin of his own.

Fatmeat kicked up a cloud of sand-dust as he hit the ground and rolled. Adam hid a slow exhale and took stock of his arm-condition, careful to not actually look at it. All for the audience, after all.

Right arm was shaking, and not in the manner that let him turn meat into rain. Fatmeat was moving way faster than he should be, and all that weight backing up his punches let him hit that much harder. Adam hid his irritation behind more bravado, spreading his arms wide and turning around, showing off for the crowd.

"Behold, the pig-tossing champion!" He called out, gesturing to himself and keeping a careful ear out. The crowd laughed as he spun about. He raised his hands to-

Throw himself forwards and his foot back in a mule-kick, foot crashing into the chest, interrupting the sucker punch and knocking the wind out of fatmeat's lungs with an audible wheeze. Adam's other foot slid across the sand, pushed forwards by the impact.

He planted his kick-foot again, then twisted.

Another massive backhand smashed into fatmeat's face and sent him stumbling to the side.

"I heard you from a mile away, meat, try breathing through your nose next time!" Adam could admit, he was having more fun with this that he had been expecting, and his expectations were already fairly high. It was good to get back into old habits.

The fatmeat spun himself up again, spinning into his own backhand that would narrowl-

Fucker threw sand into his eyes. Adam shut off all reliance on his vision and focused entirely on sound, raising his guard to-

A heavy kick smashed into his raised arms, sending him sliding back. He was still blind. The sounds of the suddenly-aroused crowd were drowning out the sounds of his opponents movements. A kick-up of sand and the rush of something heavy. In a brawl, Adam would be forced to take another hit, rolling with the impact to make space and blink the grit from his eyes.

Unfortunately for fatmeat, this wasn't a brawl, it was a deathmatch. Adam's hand went to his waist.

A bloom-jet of flame roared to life in front of him, accompanied by the sound and smell of flesh charring and a scream of pain.

Adam dropped his first firewand to the sands and calmly drew his second. He waited a moment more to line up his shot, using what he remembered of the area and a very good guess. It was easy to aim, simply follow the whimpers of pain.

He pulled the trigger, another lance of fire exploded out. Fat boiled and skin flaked with audible burning, followed by a corpse-like groan of pain. The crowd had gone silent, probably watching the corpse burn and surprised by the sudden conclusion of the fight.

Adam dropped his second firewand, then reached up to calmly remove his helmet. He pulled it off, shaking his hair around and ignoring the sweat building up on his face from wearing layers in the desert. He rubbed his gauntlet off on his pants, then raised a glove to wipe the grit from his eyes.

Finally able to see again, Adam looked and found exactly what he had been expecting. A half-charred corpse in the sands and a quiet, tense crowd.

He smirked, they were waiting for a punchline. He obliged them with a roar.

"Pork for sale! Get it while it's hot!"

A wave of cheers followed his announcement.

—

"What took you so long?" Red asked with a scowl and narrowed eyes. She was waiting for him next to cowmeat, who was carrying a comparatively small wooden chest and looked rather bored at her current situation. Adam clanked his way over, hefting two sacks of coin. One being his prize money and the 'entertained crowd' bonus.

The other, smaller bag, was his payment for letting a couple girls wipe him down with rags. "They paid me for my sweat." He explained in brief.

Red paused at that, before tilting her head and squinting. "What?"

Adam didn't really get it either, if he was being honest. "Three coins to let some girls wipe me down with rags. Three more every time they had to use a new rag." He hefted the bag. "They used six rags."

"...I see." Red spoke slowly, eyes still narrowed. "They granted you the crowd-entertaining bonus, yes?"

Adam grunted affirmatively, hefting the pay in question. Red nodded in turn, raising a finger to her lips.

"That would be twelve-hundred and forty-eight dinars then. Three dirham, forty-eight dinars. Almost a silver-talent." She nodded her head back and forth for a moment. "When is your next battle?" She asked in a considering manner.

"Four days from now. Some meatbag named Cathak Crassus." Adam answered casually.

"Cathak?" Red replied, frowning. "A distaff I suppose, or a lost egg. Crassus is not a name known to me."

"Why would it be?" Adam asked bluntly.

"Cathak is one of the Great Houses of the Realm." Her realm, her eyes reminded. "If one bears the name this far into the threshold, and I am not aware of them, that means they don't deserve the name." She reached up to pat him on the arm with a smile. "Make sure to show them their place, dear mongrel, yes?"

Adam snorted and rolled his eyes. "I was actually thinking of losing, if you can believe it."

"Sarcasm is rarely charming, mongrel." Red responded, before turning to cowmeat. "Fortunately, we have more than enough to commission a beautiful new set of garbs for dear Hath here, fine reds and golds and whites I think."

Cowmeat coughed and looked away, still dressed in what was effectively a big tarp turned into a one-piece bikini through the use of numerous belts and straps, accenting her immense curves in a manner that Red had been tutting at since they bought it.

Adam, having no real concern what Cowmeat and Red decided to clothe themselves in, turned away to…

Lock eyes with a well-dressed meatbag, flanked by a pair of firewand-toting guards, and walking in their direction. Adam turned more fully, taking up a guarding position in front of his current employer and employee and keeping his eyes narrow. Red and Cowmeat had noticed his shift in attention, and drew themselves back somewhat suspiciously as well.

The well-dressed meatbag barely spared them a glance, walking straight up to him with a wide smile. It took Adam a moment to tell that it was a male meatbag, from how slight his frame was and the somewhat obscuring clothes. His dark, almost-black, red hair was pulled back in a set of braids, and his skin was a fair degree lighter than most of the meatbags he had seen in this city so far. "Competitor A-dam, yes?"

"That's me." Adam replied with a suspicious grumble and glance at the two guards.

The well-dressed man gave a winning smile and offered a handshake, which Adam returned after a moment. His gauntleted hands practically engulfed the smaller man's relatively dainty hands. "I was watching your match, exciting match, very good match! I knew from the moment you walked in, winner's walk! I made very good bet on you, made very good money!"

Ah, that's what this was about. Adam lessened the amount of suspicion in his voice a tad. "Smart of you, I don't lose."

"Ah-hah! Yes!" The man laughed for a moment, pulling back slightly and maintaining his smile. "Very good confidence, very good! Hassan Arbani, you see, son of great firewand-maker Halan Arbani, I'm sure you know?"

"I do now." Adam replied flatly. The man waved a hand at that, chuckling.

"Ah, from far away then. No matter, no matter! I have very good deal for someone who made me such good money! Very good offer!" He waggled a finger.

Adam raised a hand to rest on his hips, tilting his head. "An offer huh?"

"Very good offer! Arbani makes very good firewands, the best firewands. A-dam had very dramatic end to his fight, using firewands. I received many orders after your match, makes my father not so mad that I spend my time betting on circuits." He waved a sly hand with a grin. "Here is deal, Arbani makes you very good firewands, you use very good firewands in your fights, at least one shot each time, and Arbani receives many more orders for firewands."

Adam nodded slowly, raising a hand to open his visor and scratch at his chin. The richmeat's gaze grew slightly more focused. "I've been meaning to talk with someone who makes these things about a custom-order. That something that can be done?" He grumbled out with a raised brow.

Richmeat's smile widened. "For a friend? Most certainly, most certainly! I can arrange talks with our craftsmen, maybe even convince father to make you his most special guns, perhaps?"

Adam nodded gruffly. "I won't say no to a weapons-sponsor." He replied, causing Richmeat's face to bloom with further happiness.

"Very good, very good! Would you like to come to compound now? Father has time for his son, yes, he will come from his projects if I ask. Oh but…" Richmeat turned a somewhat less excited eye towards Red and Cowmeat. "Ehh… your… slaves?"

"Employer, slave." Adam replied pointing a thumb at Red and Cowmeat respectively. Richmeat nodded in a polite and restrained manner.

"Last time I bring many guests to compound, father grows angry at me, tells me to toss them all out." He shook his head. "No more than one guest at a time, he says to me. Only you, friend."

Adam snorted, handing the bag of silver over to Cowmeat and turning away, stopped briefly by Red's grip on his sleeve and her leaning in. "Don't be so quick to whore yourself out." She hissed at him.

He rolled his eyes. Only the most dramatic called getting sponsored 'whoring yourself out'. "It's a sponsorship for guns, woman. Are you not familiar?" He muttered back, slapping her hand away. "I'll be back after the commission."

She stared at him in a most unimpressed manner as he pulled away, turning back to the smiling richmeat and nodding.

"Very good, very good, please, follow to compound friend! Come, come!" Richmeat waved a hand, turning on a dime and practically skipping along the path. Adam ignored the eccentricities of the corporate with decades of practice, following along behind and making sure he memorized the path along the way.

The road slowly led to the slightly shadier and somewhat more-watered section of the crater-city, guards and fountains slowly increasing in frequency as they moved along. Adam made sure to grunt at the appropriate intervals in response to the chattering richmeat, but was otherwise quiet and focused on the road.

Soon enough, they reached a compound and checkpoint, where guards pointedly asked for his weapons. Adam rolled his eyes before disarming himself, secure in the knowledge that he could replace all of those later if they tried to rob him, and that his most dangerous weapons were his fists.

…Well, kicks actually.

"Welcome to Arbani compound! Very beautiful, yes?" Richmeat asked with a wide smile and a wave of his hand.

Adam looked around, taking in the sights. Deciding to be polite, he grunted ."Not bad."

"Ah-hah, hah-hah! Yes! Not Bad!" Richmeat laughed for a moment, before waving a hand. "Come, first, refreshments before business ye-"

"Boy." A gruff, angry growl rang out over the central chamber, causing richmeat to stumble and and look up. Adam's eyes were already on the figure who spoke, a somewhat unassuming man with dark skin and greying, receding hair. The most impressive feature of the man were his eyebrows, which were exceptionally bushy.

He began to step down a flight of stone stairs, hands behind his back and glower aimed squarely at richmeat. "Another gladiator." He stated more than questioned.

"Ah-hah, ah-yes Father! A-Dam, used firewands in his last match, earned me many commissions after, so I offered sponsorshi-"

"Quiet." The father growled, making the richmeat shut up immediately. The father walked up to him slowly, meeting Adam's ever present glare with one of his own, despite being about a foot shorter. "You, gladiator, why are you here?"

"Commission for a firewand. The ones back home were better than the ones I'm using. Need an upgrade." Adam explained simply.

The father grunted. "Better how?"

"They didn't need to be reloaded after every shot, for one, and the reloading wasn't such a pain in the ass." Adam grunted back. "We used a different powder though, one that shot bullets out. Your firedust doesn't do that, so that design doesn't work. Best case scenario I get something to mount under my crossbow to give a single shot when something gets close, or one with a set of revolving barrels and a crank."

The father gave a long, narrow-eyed stare towards him. "...These firewands from your home, could you illustrate them?"

"If I had paper."

"Follow to my draftsroom, you will tell me everything you know. If it is good, I will give you a weapon. If it is very good, I will give you a good weapon."

"F-father bu-"

"Quiet." The father snapped at the richmeat, glowering and making him flinch back. "The gladiator has come for commission, he will pay with wisdom."

Adam pat himself on the back, mentally. He was an excellent negotiator.

Chapter Text

"Your next opponent is an Exalt." Red said to him the morning of the fight. It would take place in one of the underground chambers that the city apparently had many of but Adam hadn't cared to venture into yet. She busied herself with minor adjustments to his armor, shifting bits of cloth and the tightness of straps.

Adam grunted. "Did some research?" He had been busy hashing out documents with the gunsmith for the past few days. Many designs he remembered from home wouldn't work here, but Adam went ahead and recorded everything he remembered regardless. He'd swing by again in a few years to see if something worth a damn had been made, but for the meanwhile he'd just be using the handgun-firewands… handwands? He'd be using a set of those.

Gunsmith had given him a set in exchange for the notes, two handwands, one firewand, bringing his total up to six. He didn't need two firewands, so he sold the old one for a tidy profit. Four handwands would still allow him to fire four shots as fast as he could draw new ones, incredibly inefficient, but more output was more output and it wasn't like he couldn't carry the extra weight.

"I utilized the hidden art of asking a local tournament-frequenter about the man." Red replied with a sarcastic boast. "The local was then tempted into divulging all manner of information about one of the public warriors who participate in the local's favorite hobbies. Are my talents not as deep as they are expansive?"

"Yep."

She lightly smacked his arm with the back of her hand.

"Crassus is a Dragonblooded, and wields fire as easily as you wield a sword." Red continued. "Fortunately for you, he is a heavy drinker and wastrel, having shown up to his last six matches deeply inebriated. His rankings reflect this."

"What were the odds?" Adam grumbled out, reaching down to grab his sledge and heft it over one shoulder. Cowmeat had already been sent ahead to reserve a good seat for Red, papers explaining such in hand and dressed in a new set of what Adam could only really call an armored belly-dancer costume. Red had delighted in dressing her up, and Cowmeat had been embarrassed the whole time.

It was another one of those woman-things that Adam didn't care to understand.

"Fifty-seven to forty-three, his favor. You've done well to conceal your full capabilities, in the eyes of the organizers your greatest weapon are your firewands, which he will endure far easier than any mere mortal or demigod." She finalized a shifting of his arm-scarf, then pulled back. "We will reach the upper limit on effective wealth after our next bet, just shy of three-thousand dinars, any more and the silver will be too cumbersome to transport. We will leave after you paint the sands with his viscera."

That was fine by him. He'd consider coming back after he got paid, the arena was certainly a hoot and he hadn't quite had his fill of murder for a cheering audience yet. He reached down to take up his crossbow in the other hand, rising up to his full height and making for the door. He paused briefly as Red leaned against the doorframe, narrowing his eyes.

"Oi, Red. You look different." Adam grumbled suspiciously, giving a full-body inspection of the woman.

Red let a small, light smile come to her full lips. "My body has purged the last of the ink, and is quickly recovering. I'll be returned to my most effortless splendor by the time we leave tomorrow." She raised a hand to drag across her nigh-flawless, marble-like skin. "I dare say, I may need to cover myself fully, lest your passions distract you from the battles to come.

Her eyes narrowed in a smoky, predatory manner, eyes glinting in the scant natural light of their little rented room. She had been decent before, but the gradual changes were enough to make him realize that she had been pallid, sickly, and frazzled compared to her apparent norm of 'sex on legs'.

The tattoos were still ugly, eight out of ten.

That reminded him. "Do we pay for the bed before we leave?" He grumbled, sending a glance back at the still-broken frame. None of them were using it anymore, Adam and Cowmeat were sleeping on the floor, and Red was sleeping on him.

"No." She stated simply. "The blankets were coarse and the pillow full of straw. The owners deserve nothing from us."

Ditching the bill it was.

—

His fight against the drunkmeat was apparently supposed to signify his potential entry into the next circuit up. The matches were supposed to be against theoretically peer opponents, and he had been dominating the fights thoroughly enough that the organizers had been forced to constantly raise their assessment of where he should be placed.

The correct answer was 'at the top', but Adam was on a job right now and didn't exactly have the free time needed to slaughter his way there. Not at the moment in any case, maybe later. For the time being, he'd just butcher the lower tiers and show off for the masses, collecting a fat paycheck each time until it was time to leave.

Which was after this match, Red wanted to blow this joint and hurry home, which meant he would need to get ready for the assassins to start coming in… however long it took to get to the next city, he'd need to ask.

In any case, those were all future concerns, and Adam intended to enjoy himself killing a meatbag that could apparently kill demigods. By transitive property, if Adam killed him, then Adam could also kill demigods, which was a boast he hadn't been able to honestly make yet. No gods left to make demigods back home, and if there were, others got to kill them long before he had been born.

Greedy bastards, taking all the credit for themselves there. Adam would've done the same thing in their place.

The announcer rumbled ahead, voice clearly amplified by some manner of effect. Natural acoustics wouldn't account for it, which meant either they had a megaphone or a speaker system up there, probably one that used magic-fuckery like everything else in this sim seemed to rely upon.

"...Another challenger dares to brave the fires of the drunken dragon, our one and only gatekeeper to the Stone Circuit and the barkeep! Cathak Crassus! Stumbling in with a bottle of Old General Kolar's Number Three 'Smooth and Mild', more commonly known as 'Southern Sludge'! I don't know how he drinks that stuff, and to be frank, any man who can down a bottle is one I wouldn't want to meet on the battlefield!"

"I'd agree with that Jez, and so far Crassus has been proving that time and time again, he's just too tough to put down before his fires turn his opponent to a crisp."

"Hah! You think that's a part of his training regime?"

"Haha! I don't know, but I wouldn't be surprised! And in the times that I would be surprised, I have the support of the Watchful Eye mercenaries, professionally-trained soldiers now available as houseguards at competitive rates. Don't worry about keeping track of all the things that stalk the streets, when you have a Watchful Eye at your back. Sleep easy knowing that your security is in the most vigilant of hands."

Adam wasn't sure why he didn't tune out that advertisement, but he made a note to forget it as soon as possible. The bouncermeat nodded his head at the doorway.

Adam started to step out into a wide area, the sands and dirt of the previous areas completely absent from this one, the floor instead replaced with smooth tiles of stone and five pillars of partially see-through crystal, some manner of quartz or whatever, Adam didn't know much about gemstones.

This area was completely underground, the coolest Adam had felt since leaving the demondesert, and illuminated by a ring and numerous lanterns of yet more glowing rocks. The crowd was significantly bigger as well, and the people in the crowd a somewhat more diverse range of meatbags in overly fancy bullshit and others wearing normal clothes.

"Now if anyone is going to be matching Crassus' heat, it's going to be this new red competitor. Having shown up at the start of this week as a complete unknown, A-Dam has been making waves of fire and blood with a rapid ascent. His first two competitors didn't stand a chance in Hell, and he spent more time riling the crowd up than actually needing to fight!"

"You see a fighter like this every now and then Jez, a complete unknown who flies up the rankings, and they all end up the same, getting stomped by someone at the top. The winners tend to win for a reason."

"You think he'll lose this match, Jal?"

"No I'm not saying that, but I am saying the odds aren't in his favor. Crassus is tough enough to not notice when he's been hit sometimes, and I haven't heard of anything in this newblood's arsenal that can actually hurt him."

"All except those new Arbani Flamepieces he's carrying around, that is! When looking for firepower, there's no need to settle for second-best! You won't find a better firewand, Arbani Firewands, available for custom or bulk orders from any licensed merchant, simply look for the Arbani seal of quality."

Adam narrowed his eyes.

Why the fuck were they advertising like that? It didn't fit any of these ye-old aesthetics. It was starting to bother him. Although, he supposed it wouldn't surprise him to learn that advertising had been just as annoying for all of human history.

He spotted a banner hanging off the edge of one of the stone bleachers, and a set of meatbags waving little flags around. The banner had a quilted picture of a blond man with a familiar jawline and red scarf around his neck.

Adam smirked behind his helm and pointed a finger at the group. Their cheering escalated into brief, sharp screams. Always good to have fans of his work.

He turned his attention back towards his opponent, evaluating the drunkmeat.

Drunkmeat was wearing a long leather coat, a ruffled shirt and pants, a pair of boots, and a headband. He was carrying a glass bottle, upturned over his face and tongue sticking out, shaking the bottle in an attempt to get another drop about. Modestly muscled, on the thin side, with light stumbling and roughly-cropped red hair.

Adam wasn't very impressed with the supposed 'demigod killer'.

"Are you done drinking or should I come back tomorrow?" Adam called out sarcastically. The crowd rippled with chuckles.

The drinker lowered his bottle and gaze, leveling a bleary gaze his way. The drink blinked, before looking around him, then back to Adam. "Hm? Oh yeah, that would be nice." He replied, raising a hand and making a brushing motion. "Go ahead and forfeit for me, would you? I got drinking to get back to."

The crowd's chuckles were reinvigorated. Easy to keep them riled up if the drunkmeat was going to be cracking jokes the whole time.

Adam cracked his neck in a deliberate fashion, rolling his joints as Drinker peered into his bottle with disappointment. "Counteroffer, I finish stretching, then turn you into bloody rain."

"Rejected." Drinker responded. "Your offers are horrib-" He was cut off by a massive, arena-engulfing burp, which was expertly transitioned into the end of the word. "-ble."

Adam wouldn't admit it, but the volume of that belch was actually somewhat impressive. Eight out of ten with that one. "Six out of ten." He lied.

"Thanks, I've been practicing." Drinker responded, before scratching at his stomach. "...So are you going to-"

Drinker was engulfed in a storm of fire, incinerating the bolt Adam had fired from the hip, before the storm slowly died down into a more restrained coat of swirling flames. A hot, red aura that radiated from the man like a convection oven, and occasionally flared up into rings of flickering heat.

The Drinker gave a lazy grin. "Sneaky of you. I almost didn't react in time."

Adam narrowed his eyes, dropping the crossbow and beginning to stalk around. "Let me guess, you just walk up to meatbags and stand near them till they burn to death?" He called out, drawing a knife and testing it. If wood wasn't any good, then metal should resist the heat long enough to hurt him anyways.

Confirming a suspicion, Drinker sidestepped the obvious projectile, letting the knife pass through the outer edge of his burning aura and clatter to the ground. The brief but intense heat doing no structural damage beyond burning the handle-wraps away, from what he could see.

"Something like that. I'm just too hot to handle, really." Drinker chuckled, raising his hands to form finger-guns. Adam stepped to the right as a bolt of flame burst from his fingers and smashed into one of the quartz pillars with the sizzle of fire on crystal. Adam didn't know crystals even made a sizzling noise when you burned them.

The fire was hot, but not as hot as a firewand. Entirely possible that his armor would just let him walk through it, but if the metal got too hot Adam would be cooking in his own plates.

If he got too close, the plates would get hotter. If he spent too much time dodging, the plates would get hotter. The aura of fire negated his bolts. Adam was carrying one knife, one sledgehammer, and four handwands. Grappling was out, unarmed had to be in brief bursts.

He would have to end it quickly in any case. He didn't need to bother dodging the next bolt, the flame going wide and smashing into the floor. Drinker blinked, before shaking his head. "Damn, my aim's off today." He muttered.

Obviously, he was drunk.

Adam dropped his sledge, making sure the handle was pointed up still, and drew his old handwands. Drinker smirked and huffed at the sight. "Pft. Do you really think that'll work?" raising his hands and standing completely still, sheathed in flame.

Adam tilted his head.

"Yes."

Twin lances of fire burst from his handwands, bright beams of airy thermite filling the space between the two warriors, crashing into the swirling aura of fire and spraying out in a wide flaring burst. As expected, the addition of fire did essentially nothing to harm the man that was currently engulfed in fire.

Adam didn't need him harmed, he needed him blinded. He dropped the handwands as soon as he fired, reaching down to grab a handle and spinning on his heels.

Drinker's eyes widened as the red-hot head of a sledgehammer crashed through the bloom of fire and into his face. Adam ran forwards immediately after, reaching out a hand and getting ready to catch.

The sound of metal smashing into bone rang out as the Drinker rolled backwards, flipping over once, then twice, then crashing into the base of a quartz pillar with a dazed expression. A bare trickle of blood made its way down his face.

He looked up just in time for his eyes to widen, and to flip up impossibly, avoiding a knife that crashed into the quartz like a pickaxe. That knife had been meant for his heart. That dodge was physically impossible from that seated position, flipping him up into a spider-like crouch against the crystal pillar itself.

Drinker looked up again just in time for the sledgehammer to smash into the side of his head, Adam swinging with a one-handed grip on the base of the handle.

Drinker rolled again, once more skidding along the floor and rolling to a stop, leaving a trail of blackened stone tiles behind him. A red-hot hammerhead followed, the handle turning to ash in Adam's hands. His right hand was smoking now.

The fucker was vastly more durable than he should be, but that wasn't going to be enough against him.

Adam stayed still, tilting his head as Drinker slowly pushed himself up from the floor, blood trickling from the side of his head in a semi-consistent pattern, like a leaky faucet.

"I was right." Adam called out. Drinker paused for a moment, before getting up to his knees and sending a confused look his way. The aura of flickering flame continued to scorch the pale tiles black as the Drinker re-oriented himself.

"...What?"

"I was right. The firewands did work." Adam taunted, raising a fist and letting it shake.

From what he remembered, it was pretty easy to break crystals, wasn't it? His fist smashed into the pillar of quartz by his side, making a massive crack ring out over the area. Drinker's eyes slowly widened and his head tilted back as the cracks spread further and further, a rippling current of shattering glass.

"I'd suggest getting out of the way." Adam stated simply, bringing his shaking fist back, then punching the pillar again. He stepped to the side and drew the next set of handwands as the cracks rolled through the arena. No sledgehammer this time, he'd have to get slightly more creative.

The quartz finally gave out, falling like a massive tree made of glass, breaking along the deliberately-made fault and straight towards the kneeling 'demigod killer'. Adam had been murdering superhumans for entirely too long to get hung up on someone who was just durable and on-fire.

The hardest part was deciding on how dramatic the finish would be. He raised a shaking leg and stomped.

The Drinker jumped to the side, well out of the path of the collapsing quartz pillar and throwing another bolt of flame.

The bolt smashed into one of the floor-tiles, exploding into a bloom of flame, tile having been thrown into the air by the force of Adam's stomp. This gave him ample time to line up another set of handwand shots.

Twin lances of blinding fire filled the air, once more smashing into a rippling aura of flame and spreading out like the petals of some immense, transient flower.

He dropped the guns, legs tensing to let him leap high into the air.

The bloom of fire disappeared. Drinker threw his gaze around frantically, before throwing his head up. Another impossible dodge sent him to the side, Adam's shaking heels smashing into the tiled floor.

A shame for Drinker, because Adam had a back-up plan. His hands reached out to grab and he spun on his heels once more.

Drinker raised a hand with panicked swiftness, a bolt of fire leaping from his fingers and smashing into a tile hurled like a discus.

He didn't shoot again in time to avoid the second tile, cutting through the bloom of fire and stone-shrapnel and smashing into his forehead.

Adam let a grin come to his lips as the aura of flame flickered out, the corpse of the drunkard began to fall, and the crowd began to roar.
This grin was tempered by a hint of confusion.

He was intending those tiles to daze as a lead-in for the next hit. They shouldn't have killed him, with how durable he had been so far.

More fuckery at play. He'd need to ask about it.

Chapter Text

Walking into the office of one of his elders was never an easy thing to do. The fact that this particular meeting was taking place in the middle of an abandoned veranda in the center of a long-ruined city on a temporary basis did not make it any less his elder's office. Fortunately for Dozima, he was here to complete a report on official matters that this elder in particular had assigned to him.

Well, assigned was a strong word, more of an exchange of duties and favors. His elder had requested his aid in investigating a particular matter, and had promised to support Dozima's own investigation in exchange. A brief diversion to investigate, file a report, hand the report in, then receive aid for his own work. His intuition into Fate had told him that this was the correct course of action.

As it turned out, the matter had quickly expanded in both scope and importance during the course of his investigation. The 'quick diversion' had quickly become two months of thorough investigation and paperwork, many conversations with the witnesses, several more with the pattern-spiders, and a discreet conversation with the subject-matter himself.

It was very quickly above his work-grade, but he'd managed to conclude the tangles in a matter he was hoping his elder would like. Hopefully enough to get more than just tentative support for his own investigations.

The ruins of the veranda were significantly more in-tact that anything else in the city, having been fixed up to serve as a reasonably effective meeting-place for official functionaries in the locale. It sat upon a dusty hill, and looked out to the ruins of the city proper, which crawled with scant vegetation and a bare handful of insects. An exceptionally sleepy ruin, if he had to describe it, only a handful of rural gods dwelling here and the veranda rented out from the god of the once-city.

There was a kind of artistry to the ruins, like a melancholic painting composed of meditative brushstrokes. He made a note to come back here from time to time, the local ruins-gods had made quite the cozy scene.

Still, at the moment, he was on business. He reached the end of the sloping stone stairs and stood at the mostly intact gateway leading towards the little roofed area in question, where his elder sat at one end of a rounded table and busied herself with filling out forms. She had dressed herself in the destiny of a sorcerer, which explained the great deal of deference the ruins-gods had shown to him when he approached asking for directions to her.

Underneath this destiny she looked as any other beauty of the south, with dark skin and shortly-cropped dark hair, clad in the reds and golds common to the sand-kingdoms. She, much like himself, was a native to the South, although his skin was quite a bit fairer.

He raised a hand to knock against the wooden gateway, but just before his knuckles could make contact with the material, his elder spoke out. "Come in, Wokish."

He lowered his hands and stepped through the threshold of the gate, shivering slightly as he felt the destiny of the place settle over him, and made his way towards the rounded table at the center of the stone pavilion. He hesitated briefly, standing before the opposite-end chair, before a quick gesture of his elder told him to sit down.

He set his small bag of scrolls to the side, then brought his hands together and waited patiently for his elder to be finished with what looked like a standard prayer-writ. Delicate brushstrokes covered the surface of the scroll, repeating in the manner that the pattern-spiders liked to read. The writing was good, if not exceptional, so he supposed his elder was getting a rather unimportant prayer out of the way before their meeting began.

Eventually, his elder set the brush aside, waved the scroll briefly to allow the ink to dry, then held it up to a small brazier to burn. As the prayer was sent to heaven, his elder turned to address him more properly. "Wokish, I trust your investigation into the activation of Cecelynean gate fourteen was not too troublesome?"

Dozima opened his mouth to respond, before pausing briefly and closing it. His elder noticed it, and her brows tensed slightly. "Trouble then." She commented with a tiny frown.

"I wouldn't call it trouble, too strong of a descriptor in truth." Dozima replied, nodding his head back and forth. "There were certainly some considerations that came up." He reached over to his bag, pulling out the first of many scrolls and handing over for her to read. Simultaneously, he began a verbal summarization of his initial findings.

"As you know, Gate fourteen was registered as activating on the first night of the new year, which was detected by my honorable elder." He nodded his head forwards to indicate that he was referencing her, then continued. "My honorable elder petitioned me to investigate the matter and report back on any findings, a task I accepted. To facilitate this task, I requested the use of an appropriate gate, which was approved, and descended to begin my investigation."

"To that end, I discovered that two non-demon individuals had passed through the gate, deactivating it behind them, then proceeding north towards Dajaz. Interviews with the local small-gods gave me a description of the two individuals. One a gold-haired man of considerable physicality and many small injuries, the other a red-haired woman covered in swirling black markings and frequently vomiting out an inky black liquid. Both were reported as smelling strongly of demonic essence."

"The inky-vomit had been gathered up by the small gods and quarantined. I elected to personally carry out their request to have it removed and subject to corrective shaping, but would later discover its resistance to such. It required transfer to specialists, where they identified its origin in The Ebon Dragon's own essence. That matter was soon resolved and is outlined in scroll six."

There were a great many little tangents like that which riddled this particular investigation. The ink was merely one of the most minor ones. Dozima did his best to conceal his agitation with that incident and moved onto the next stretch of his report.

"The individuals proceeded north for some time, taking mundane actions to ensure their survival, before ending in a seemingly random location. Interviewing the small gods of the region reported that the two had been confronted by several other mortals using sand-ships before slaying one and then entering the central ship unrestrained. My current theory is that they were confronted by slavers and cowed them into providing transport for the remainder of their journey."

"Upon reaching Dajaz, I took up a destiny of rising smoke and proceeded as normal with my interviews. The city-god Veiled Sighs was the source of most early information, but I suspect to be in the pocket of Malfean interests and as such has an unreliable testimony. The whole of every testimony I received is recorded in scroll seven. I elected to interview the handful of small gods under her employ as well, which revealed a somewhat more accurate account of what had occurred. The majority of those under her nominal employ were demons of the first circle."

He stopped at his elder's raised hand. "The majority?" She asked with slightly raised brows.

He nodded, letting a hint of his anger trickle into his voice. "Three-fifths of spirits that maintain the day-to-day operation of the city were demons of the first circle." A severity two offense, at minimum, for denying the employment of so many gods of Yu-Shan in such a manner.

His elder sighed deeply. "I will call for an audit."

"...With respect elder, I don't believe a censure on the city would do much to correct the issue long term."

"I'm aware, I was meaning for an audit on Wong Bongerok for gross negligence of duty in his assigned Direction." She replied with a small nod, then a rueful shake of her head. "Matters such as these have gone on entirely too long, and I have more than enough evidence at this point with your report."

Dozima drew in a small, sharp breath.

An audit on a small god was one thing, an audit on an exalt was another. An audit on a celestial censor was something else entirely. The current celestial censor of the south was certainly corrupt and lethargic in his duties, but to call for an audit on him would be…

…Long overdue. Dozima narrowed his eyes and nodded. "I would be willing to co-sign your request for an audit, honorable elder." He would not think to sign such a paper for Wong's predecessor, the missing Swan Dragon, but the current censor of the south was not Swan Dragon.

His elder nodded in turn. "I would welcome such, but first, the rest of the report if you would." She said, wiggling the scroll in her hands briefly.

Dozima nodded and returned to his summarizing. "The two individuals had entered the city for a time, before being quickly separated by Hoki the Riot, who stepped from an ongoing festival in Nexus and into Dajaz before provoking a brawl with the male. This brawl ended in the destruction of a city street, the damage of an aqueduct, the banishment of thirteen blood apes, and the death of three hundred and six mortals. Both Hoki and the male walked away without significant injury."

Dozima paused briefly, before continuing. "Hoki had acted with regards to his standard set of behavior as outlined in his profile. The male in turn displayed no outwards signs of essence expenditure. It is currently unknown if he is even capable of such."

His elder's eyebrows slowly climbed on her forehead at that, before slowly nodding for him to continue. There were many potential explanations for something like that, even if Dozima hadn't arrived at his actual conclusion yet.

"The male and female rejoined at some point, before making their way to an austrech stable on the outskirts of the city, stealing a female, and riding away. From there they began the two month journey to Gem. Interviews with various small gods along the way allowed me to start forming a more comprehensive profile on both individuals. They confronted several minor robber-gangs along the way, the male killing each to a man, gathering their supplies and austrechs behind them and forming a caravan to Gem."

"Upon reaching Gem, a great deal of excess material was sold to Guild Merchants outside the city, a godblooded slave outlined in scroll eight was purchased, and the male was entered into the local gladiatorial scene to raise capital. By this point my investigations had reached them, allowing me to perform a more direct interview as outlined in scroll two."

"By this point, my request for information matching the subjects had returned from the pattern-spiders. One match and one entity new to fate. They requested I fill a fivefold fate-charting form for the male, who had no prior fate before entering through gate fourteen. The female was a match for the profile of the Scarlet Empress, sans the additions of a threefold seal-pattern that obscured her essence and fate."

Dozima stopped to allow his elder to process and draw conclusions upon the matter, which she quickly did. She leaned back, brows rising as she considered that. "...She had been taken by The Ebon Dragon, then, and escaped through gate fourteen with the aid of… a Malfean born mortal?" She asked.

"Unfortunately, my report breaks down into the realm of speculation at this point." Dozima replied with a shake of his head. "The male was simple enough to interview, I maintained my destiny of rising smoke and simply approached him before the beginning of his first match under the cover-story of interviewing him for the tournament organizers. I made sure to pass some of this information along to them to sell the story. He seemed to believe it, and accepted the opal spider talisman. With it and the fivefold fate-charting form filled, the pattern spiders were able to begin weaving a suitable history for the man into the loom."

Dozima made a somewhat exasperated gesture. "Unfortunately, the most suitable history is rather contrived and requires constant update as the man reveals new information. I decided to leave that process to the pattern-spiders, and requested they send an alert when it is completed."

"Hm. Contrived how?"

"He natively speaks pre-creation stabilizing pattern pidgin. He practices a thaumaturgical martial art on par with terrestrial martial arts. He is ignorant of even basic historical principles. He refers to a great number of potential things with seemingly randomly-chosen titles. He is incredibly skilled in all forms of combat yet observed, makes oblique references to obscure categories of weaponry, and reacts to fundamental truths with skepticism."

Dozima shook his head. "I could go on, but I believe my point is made. The whole of the traits yet-observed are outlined in scroll three."

"His name?"

"Son of Red Earth who Crushes by Violence."

His elder blanked, before raising a single, unimpressed brow. Dozima nodded with an understanding expression in turn.

"What of the demon-essence?"

"A minor problem resolved in his favor by the pattern-spiders, he had been subsisting on demon-flesh while in Malfeas, potentially causing lethal long-term effects. The pattern-spider responsible for his particular fate once he had entered into Creation resolved this by adjusting his physicality to incorporate the consumed flesh as standard. He is now a most-minor example of demonblooded, and ignorant of this."

"...Which was the cause of his brawl with Hoki, wasn't it?"

"That is my suspicion as well, yes."

"Did they offer a reason why this issue was resolved in his favor?"

"They are fond of his antics, which apparently require no essence expenditure."

"Hm. Combat assessment?"

"His most recent match in the area resulted in the execution of Cathak Crassus. Red Earth was unharmed by the end of the match."

"...Quite exceptional for a mortal then. You said he was accompanying the Scarlet Empress?"

"Indeed, they seem to be a particularly aggressive set of lovers. By last report they were intending on departing this upcoming morning and making their way to The Lap. It is my suspicion that the Scarlet Empress intends to remove the seals on her form before reaching the destination, and from there request transport from the local garrison and back to her seat of power."

"Hm, I imagine she'll be quite surprised to find Thorns suddenly engulfed in shadowlands." His elder muttered with some degree of schadenfreude. She shook her head away. "Did you inform anyone else of her presence thus far?"

"No honored elder, I completed my report and returned to you at once. The only ones aware of her location are ourselves and the pattern-spiders, who will maintain the secrecy of this report for the standard period." Dozima bowed his head slightly. "I imagine honored elder Chejop would be quite enthused to learn of her location, would you like for me to inform him?"

"Hm. No." His elder responded. "I will instead request another service from you. You will have your support for this task, as promised, and more if you would like to go above and beyond the initial scope of the investigation."

Dozima pressed his lips together, and stared at his elder in a considering manner. He was quite sure that the investigation had long surpassed its initial scope a month or two ago, he was equally certain that it was a rather poor idea to hide information from elder Chejop when it related to this particular subject.

The elder before him, Ayesha, was a member and leader of the Gold Faction, who maintained the official position that the Usurpation was the incorrect path. While he was sympathetic towards their position, it was also a matter that had been settled more than a thousand years ago. All but twelve Solar-Exaltations had been sealed away, and a mere twelve Solar Exalts would not bring back the glories of the First Age.

The Gold faction had very few members, and those it did have were not regarded as much of a disturbance to overall decision-making, because they still recognized the wisdom of working for the common good of Creation. It's merely that they disagreed about the means of that common good.

In any case, this seemed to be politicking well above his station, so it would be best to be quiet and dutiful. He bowed his head. "If it means gaining more of my honored elder's attention on the search for Swan Dragon, I will be willing to go very far. What is it that is requested of me?"

"The Scarlet Empress. I would request you maintain your observations of them, and intervene if they come into danger." She tapped a finger on the table. "Not for long, merely until she returns to a position of power."

Dozima furrowed his brows. "I see. Are there any restrictions on how I must go about this task?"

She shook her head. "Nothing beyond our usual restrictions on operation. You are free to complete this task as you desire otherwise."

"I see." Dozima reached up to rub at his chin. "I must confess, my talents do not lend themselves well to subterfuge. I am much more comfortable in my role as an investigator."

His elder reached up, then sheathed her hand into Elsewhere through a ripple of orange essence. She searched briefly, before withdrawing a set of earrings and handing them to him.

"Thaumaturgical relics." She explained. "They will aid your persuasive endeavours. You need not return them to me after the completion of this task."

Dozima pressed his lips together again, before reaching up to attach the earrings and feeling out their essences with closed eyes. It wasn't much of a reward for all his efforts thus far, but it was a token representation of his elder's support, which was certainly more than northing.

He nodded. "Do you have any other questions for me, honored elder?"

Ayesha shook her head. "Only your signature, if you would, for the call to audit Bongerok. Then you are free to depart."

"Of course, honored elder."

Chapter Text

"Ah, pardon me." A meatbag called out to them as they were heading out the front gates. Adam was intending to just keep walking onwards, but a slightly raised hand from his employer had brought him to an aggravated halt. From the back of the meatbird, Red sat with both legs to one side and a brand new 'travel dress' covering her form. White underlayer, then black overlayer, then a dark red scarf and wide-brimmed hat. She was also doing some sort of fuckery at the moment, because those clothes shouldn't be clinging to her figure that well.

Adam knew how cloth worked, an alternating cross between 'bodyglove' and 'accentuating veil' was not correct. Cowmeat pulled to a stop beside him, several large bags hanging from various belts strapped around her body and limbs, and a large chest of clinking silver attached to straps on her back. When combined with the armored bikini look, it gave him the impression of 'fetishized pack mule'.

The meatbag who had stopped him was a scrawny looking thing, a male dressed in rather loose tans and a pale blue scarf-hood, with his sleeves tied tight to his limbs at the end and carrying a shabby looking walking stick. His face was clean-shaven, his hair was shaved short, and there was a rather large backpack hefted over his shoulders.

"Yes?" Red asked with an elegantly raised brow, tracing her fingers through the head-feathers of the meatbird.

"Apologies for the interruption." The meatbag began with a polite bow. "You folks wouldn't happen to be heading up to The Lap, would you?"

Adam narrowed his eyes. Red tilted her head slightly to the side. "...And if we are?" She asked with a hint of warning.

"I, well, if it's not too much trouble, perhaps, could I accompany you?" The man fretted slightly, circling his fingers around each other and glancing away. "I'm heading up there myself, but those awful rumors of Yena's Daughters along the way have me frightened and tense. Not to say I believe I'm in any real danger, that is!" He raised his hands in front of him and shook them a bit. "J-just, well, better to be safe about these sorts of things."

"Yena's Daughters?" Adam growled out, interrupting Red's reply with a pointed question of his own.

The thinmeat nodded, then explained in a somewhat sheepish manner. "It's just rumors of course, a band of half-women born of wild dogs that harry the Diamond Road, Robbing and uhh… sodomizing those that they catch." Thinmeat shivered a bit at that. "Again, I don't put any real stock into those kinds of stories, but…"

Adam almost rolled his eyes. Thinmeat was worried about his ass, literally.

"Hn." Red replied. "What do you offer, in exchange for this?" She spoke directly, waving a delicate hand.

"I well, I'm something of a healer- err- doctor I suppose. My ultimate destination is the Blessed Isle, to see if I can find a master to tutor under." Meatdoc gave another wishy-washy gesture. "But The Lap is a very good first stop, I can make it on my own from there. No need to worry about me after that."

"Hn." Red gave a considering hum at that. "Adam… What do you think?"

"Get lost, meat." Adam growled bluntly, the meatdoc flinching back before raising his hands again.

"I-I can carry some bags too?" He spoke in more of a question than an answer.

"Welcome aboard, meat." Adam growled, turning away and starting to walk once more. "Slow us down and we leave you behind."

Cowmeat snorted in a rolling fashion before hefting the box of silver she carried and shortly starting to walk beside him, massive legs allowing her to easily keep pace. Her hips were about even with his navel, so he wasn't exactly surprised by this.

"You heard my sworn sword, doctor. Do try to keep pace." Red spoke in an amused fashion, the meatbird squawking as it began to follow.

"...Right." The meatdoc muttered, audibly dropping a hand and talking up his walking stick. "I'll make sure to do that."

Soon enough, the steep climb out of the central crater was complete, and the four began the long march down the hill and towards The Lap.

"Red, how long till Lap?" Adam growled out behind him.

"I'm fairly certain I told you this already." She raised a finger to tap against her lower lip.

"I'm fairly certain I can toss you on your ass again."

A little amused huff came from behind him. "Ninety seven days, if we are quick. A hundred and thirty if we dally about. Sometimes in the midst of Ascending or Resplendent Wood, then."

Adam didn't bother asking what either of those were. Unfortunately, Red picked up on his silence, leaning forwards on her meatbird and sending an amused look down at him. "You are not familiar with our calendar, are you?"

"I don't need to know a calendar to do my job." Adam grumbled back.

"Worry not, I shall explain it to you." Red waved a gregarious hand, looking down at him with a smug smile. Meatbird chirped once.

"Didn't ask." He grunted.

"The calendar is divided into five seasons, Air, Water, Wood, Fire, Earth. Each with three months, Ascending, Resplendent, Descending. At the end of-"

Adam pointedly began to tune her out, and focused instead of walking along the sandy road.

Behind them, the city of Gem glowed in the dusk of a new night beginning to settle, streets illuminated by stone and fire.

—

He couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that he had seen meatdoc somewhere before, but he couldn't remember where. It was entirely possible to just be another system-error from being forced to rely on meatprocessing again, so he wasn't too worried about it overall, but it was still something he couldn't just ignore.

So he ignored the fact that he couldn't ignore it, and ignored it anyway. If it became a problem, he'd murder it, if it didn't become a problem, then it wasn't important. He reached up to scratch at his chin, frowning as he felt a somewhat thick stubble on his face. It had been awhile since he had needed to shave, hasn't it?

"Adam, a gift." Red declared with a tone of amused anticipation. Adam grunted, looking up from where he had sat his own bag down and turning to face her. The scowl on his face deepened when he saw what she was holding.

An open case that contained what looked like a ye-old guitar. A case that Cowmeat had been carrying for the past few days of their trip thus far. Red looked immensely pleased with herself, holding it up, smugly presenting the instrument to him.

He narrowed his eyes, then turned away. "Neat." He growled in a sarcastic, disinterested manner.

"I believe you promised to play for me." She lied smoothly, creeping forwards and hovering on her toes behind him.

"I didn't promise jackshit." Adam reminded, ignoring the exchange of glances between Cowmeat and Meatdoc. "I said I couldn't without an instrument and you deluded yourself into thinking it was a conditional."

"Come now, would it truly be so painful to play?" She asked, leaning forwards to drape herself over his back. "I know you possess some talent, at least, it would be good to cultivate such."

"No."

"You'd deny yet another avenue to prove your superiority over others? Music is yet another battlefield to dominate, you know?"

"No it isn't."

"Do you not long for chants and drums to accompany your march? For strings and lyrics to follow the wake of your tread? To compose a requiem for the nations your trample? How do you expect to do so without some competency with the art? How do you expect to gain competency without practice?"

The implication of theme-music was briefly intriguing, before Adam pushed it aside and grunted again. "No."

She leaned forwards to whisper in his ear. "I'll sit in your lap while you play." She offered coyly.

She wasn't going to let this go until he agreed, was she? They were too far away from Gem for him to run back at this point, not without needing to stop and murder something to eat along the way. Possibly more than a hundred days of being nagged, or playing some Elvis.

Adam stared at the rock-face they were taking shelter below for a moment, before letting out a deeply aggravated sigh and pushing up, raising a hand and rolling his eyes as she cheerfully handed him the ye-old guitar. Short and fat, had too many strings, the head was bent more than it should be.

All around, it was an awful looking guitar. It would probably sound terrible.

He walked over to the meager fire cowmeat and meatdoc were starting to assemble in a pile of rocks and bits of wood, plopping down in the sand and glaring at the ye-old instrument for a few seconds more.

He narrowed his eyes in irritation and leaned back slightly as Red stepped inbetween his arms and settled down on his crotch. She wiggled for a few moments, getting comfortable upon her new throne, before pressing up against him to give him room.

He grunted, leaning over her to get his fingers in the right positions. "You fuckers haven't invented guitar picks yet?" He growled.

"Perhaps, what are you referring to?" Red responded.

"Little flat bit of plastic. Better to play with." Adam explained, making an experimental pull of the strings. His face twisted into a deeper glare and scowl as he heard the noises it was making. He didn't know any of the technical terms for how instruments should sound, but he knew that a guitar shouldn't sound like this.

One, two, three… There was eleven strings on this fucking thing. Why the fuck did they need so many? He began the slow process of tuning the thing to his liking, which was mostly just a matter of fiddling with the knobs at the end until he had the sounds that he wanted to actually use.

It wasn't going to sound quite right, being as the sound-hole for this thing was tiny and carved out like a little flower, but he was going to get closer than whatever this was.

"...You know how to play the lute?" Cowmeat asked quietly.

"I know how to play the guitar. This- what did you call it, a lute?" She nodded, Adam continued his growly reply. "This is the malformed baby cousin of a guitar, never seen one before in my life."

"Really? What instruments were common where you're from?" She asked, pulling her legs up to her rather immense chest.

"Fuck if I know." Adam dismissed the question. "I wasn't a rockerboy, I was a murderer. I just picked up the guitar to pick up chicks at parties." He admitted shamelessly, slowly getting the strings to where he'd like them. "Soon realized that was a waste of time. All you need to get laid is money and confidence, and the money is optional."

"Rock-er-boy… Were they the sons of that 'King of Rock and Roll' perhaps?" Red asked, curling herself into a comfortable position. Bitch was using him as a heated chair.

"They fucking wish." Adam chuffed mockingly. "Elvis Presley, King of Rock and Roll. Started playing back in the…" He did some mental math. "Maybe about thirty years before I was born?" He roughly estimated with furrowed brows, that didn't sound quite right, but it wasn't important. "Died a good few years before I was born. His music never stopped being popular though. I got a hold of a record when I was a meatling. Most of the stuff you heard by the time I grew up was garbage."

Fucking pop music. He hated the damn stuff. It only got worse over time too.

The strings slowly turned into a more surf-y tune, something he could begin to work with when it came to playing.

"King of Rock and Roll?" Meatdoc asked with a set of raised brows.

"It's what the music… type?" Adam paused with furrowed brows. He still wasn't perfect with this 'Firetongue'.

"Genre?" Red added.

"Right, genre, it's what the genre was called." Adam shook his head. "Don't ask me why, I don't know. Now shut up, I need to focus."

Strings finally in good shape, he briefly considered what song he was going to butcher with a twitch of his lips. The woman wiggled in his lap, reminding him of his current frustrations and the perfect song to use.

"Now a hard-headed woman." He growled. "Bothering a man." He started a rapid set of strums as his voice picked up in tempo. "Been the cause of trouble, ever since the world began."

Red huffed in an amused fashion as she leaned into him, and he continued to play. "Oh yeah, ever since the world began. A hard headed woman, been a thorn in the side of man!" His voice was low, rough, and entirely out of practice. His fingers were barely able to keep pace with the tune, and twitched out of position constantly.

It was downright embarrassing, so he focused on insulting Red while he was getting this over with. "Adam told Eve, 'Listen here to me, don't you let me catch you hanging 'round that apple tree!"

Cowmeat and Meatdoc looked suitably amused by his mockery, at least.

"Oh yeah, ever since the world began. A hard headed woman been a thorn in the side of man!" He growled out, strum of the guitar and rumble of his voice carrying through the desert morning, accompanied by the sound of boiling water and the smell of cooking soup.

—

"What are you doing?" Cowmeat asked with no small amount of tension in her voice, nervous apparently. Adam glanced back to see Red atop the birdmeat gently waving her hands in the air with closed eyes. It looked rather silly, so he ignored it and focused on the road again.

"Sorcery." Red responded simply. "These black bindings on my limbs are bothersome, and I seek to be free of them. If I am dutiful, they will be gone before we reach The Lap."

"...I didn't know you were a sorcerer." Cowmeat responded with maintained tension.

"Hm? Worry not, all of my attention will be on this working. You have no need to fear any magics from me, dear Hath." Red spoke louder to address him. "It will be my sworn sword's duty to defend us, of course."

"I- well it's just a little bit worrisome to be around a sorceress." Meatdoc chimed up at this, sounding equally nervous. "Common sense is to stay far away whenever a sorcerer shows up. You never know what they might be capable of, and what they might try if you accidentally offend them."

"It's a meatbag that wears robes and waves their hands around." Adam called out over his shoulder. "If you punch them, they die. It's the same as any other meatbag."

"Ah… you seem to be a pretty confident warrior, A'Dam." Meatdoc replied, a lack of other things to say. "I suppose 'just a sorcerer' isn't all that scary to you, is it?"

"What can she do? Set me on fire, make my joints freeze?" Adam growled out sarcastically. "Maybe summon a bunch of magical goons to try and take me down? I've already killed plenty of meatbags who could do all of that and more." He rolled his eyes. Netrunners were consistently annoying, but never difficult. The hardest part was finding them, the afterwards was just ceremony.

"Well… what if they turn their skin into bronze?" Meatdoc replied with a wave of his hand for emphasis.

"Killed that." He was pretty sure that armorweave was pound-for-pound stronger than bronze.

"What if they summon blades from their fingertips?" Cowmeat asked, leaning forwards slightly.

"Killed that." Arm-mounted shuriken launchers.

"Call down a pillar of fire?"

"Killed that." Drone-mounted laser arrays.

'Summon an army?"

"Killed that." Militech bases were always a blast to clear out.

"Summon a smaller sun?"

Adam paused at that, before frowning with an old and nostalgic agitation. "No, Blackhand did that to pull a tie on me and ran in the aftermath." He rumbled with aged grudges and amusement. "Of course, that's because he was Blackhand, not because he had a nuke prepared. Anyone else would've been dead meat after I pulled myself up again."

"...Have you ever lost?" Cowmeat asked with a strange tone.

"Twice." Adam growled. "The first time was when the army cut down my combat gang in the old yankee stadium. I only got a dozen before they pinned me and put a boot to my head. A few days later I had new documentation, a new name, and was on my way to a marine training camp."

"You were in an army?" Meatdoc asked.

"Couple years, yeah. Some weasley shit got me kicked out on grounds of 'insubordination' and I went back to ganglife. A little while after that I got my second loss doing a job for shady fucks. Security was packing more heat than I was expecting, and one of them turned me into a pile of meat. My bloodboys stuffed me into a bag and hauled my ass out of there."

Adam shook his head. "Then they got gunned down and my meat was hooked up to some machines, put me on life-support. Doctors told me I was legally dead for eight minutes, and some fuckers in suits offered me a deal. New body in exchange for a fifteen-year contract smashing heads on their payroll."

"Best decision I ever made." Adam laughed, leaning back slightly as he walked along. "Arasaka paid the fucking big-bucks for me to keep killing like I had been my whole life! The worst part was dealing with the Old Man forcing me into lessons on being formal in my free time. All the weapons, armor, and metal I could want! All I had to do was go where they asked me and murder whoever they told me to!"

"...You were dead for eight minutes?" Red asked with a strange tone. He sent a glance back to see her eyes narrowed and her face blank.

"Legally, yeah." Adam grunted, raising a hand to pat at his chest. "Heart stopped and all that, but the meat was still fresh enough to bring back. Another few minutes and it would've been too late."

"Wait, I thought people die if you… kill them." Cowmeat trailed off, realizing what she said sounded stupid but clearly not knowing how to say it any other way.

"Nah, if you get the meat early enough and the brain is intact, then you can bring meatbags back pretty easily." Adam shook his head. "Happened all the time back home. Works even better if you keep them cold. The limit is about ten minutes from what I remember."

"I- would you be willing to tell me more about the medicine of your hom-" Meatdoc began.

"No." Adam cut off.

Chapter Text

"Adam." Red spoke out to him, calm voice low but not to the point of a mutter. He gave a grunt to indicate that he was listening, armor clanking with each step he made along the desert road. Behind Red, Meatdoc and Cowmeat were likewise fairly sedate, the long stretch of road before them numbing any desire to start a conversation.

"There's an ambush in the dunes before us." She explained calmly, making both of the meats twitch in sudden fear and tension. Adam maintained his cool pace, waiting for her to finish. A hint of anticipation was starting to creep up in him. Red continued. "Mutants or beastmen of some variety, with furs of tan that help them hide among the sands."

A brief pause, he tilted his head to side-eye her. Sitting in a relaxed manner atop the meatbird, Red gave him a tiny smirk.

"Tear their hides from their backs, and bring them to me. If you find their leader, bring them to me alive."

Adam grinned from behind his helm, and started walking forwards alone, rolling his shoulders as he did. He wasn't quite sure how Red had noticed them before him, but now that he knew to look, spotting them was as easy as cake. His old frame, the Dragoon, came with an active camouflage paneling system and twenty or so pre-programmed camo-skins. He had long since gotten good at countering that camo with all the times Militech sent a squad of Dragoons after him, and had only gotten better as the tech advanced.

Sure, he was currently relying on the meatoptics in the middle of a desert night, but there were only so many spots that you could hide in an environment like this. All Adam had to do was hit all of them. First step, provoke the ambush. Assuming they could move as fast as he could, that means he would have time for about… five shots. Six if he included the opener. He'd be able to kill ten before they got to close range, more if they were stupid.

He took out the specific number of bolts in a handful and raised his crossbow. Nothing was firing upon him, which meant they both didn't have any ranged weapon and he wasn't in charging range yet. Nothing was making noise either, which meant either sound-dampeners or no movements.

Now, if he was going to ambush fuckers on a road, he would be sitting right…

Thunk. The crossbow fired.

"Grgl!" Thunk, the bolt landed in some meatbag's lungs. The sands before him erupted as dozens of vaguely-human things in fabrics and wielding curved blades burst from their hiding positions. The blades glinted in the moonlight, and their eyes glowed yellows and reds.

A shame for them, because that just made it easy for him to target them. Adam took a step back. His handful of bolts came above his crossbow. The butt was used to push the string back.

Thunk. A bolt sent another howling, braying meatthing to the ground. Adam took another calm step back. Kiting wouldn't last forever, but everything he kills at a range is something he doesn't have to worry about later.

Thunk. A bolt bursts a heart, the meatcreature falling and clawing at its chest as its life bled out. Adam took another step back, continuing with his rapid-fire routine. He knew practicing it along the way would've come in handy at some point.

Thunk. Two glowing eyes leaping hand over sands towards him turned into one glowing eye crashing to the ground and screaming. They were getting closer, his bolts were cutting down the leaders of the pack, but they were fast enough to make progress regardless.

Thunk. A meastbeast wailed as it fell, sputtering and whistling through the brand new hole in its scaled throat. They were actually a bit slower than he had been predicting, he would've had time for another bolt before needing to move on to step two.

Thunk. A brain ruptured as his last bolt burst through it, sending the accompanying meatthing to the ground with it. Ah well, more time for him to enjoy the moment, he supposed.

He dropped the crossbow and drew two of his handwands, just in time for the closest mutantmeats to get into its relatively short range.

Fwoosh. Twin lances of fire burst to life in the night, partially blinding all present and giving him a brief glimpse at the band of things he was killing. Sure enough, it was a rather random assortment of animal-human hybrids, vaguely aligned by their desert themes and not much more. Morale was pretty good too, from how they were rushing him.

They probably thought he'd be easy pickings up close. Two meatthings fell to the sands, upper bodies thoroughly charred by his bursts of flame. He dropped his handwands, and drew the next two.

Fwoosh. Another set of burning beams filled the night. Another set of meatthings wailed, furious and desperate, as they were engulfed in flame. The stench of burning flesh and hair filled the night. The corpses continued to burn, faintly illuminating the battlefield as he dropped his second set of handwands and took a step forwards.

He couldn't exactly read their expressions, Adam was barely able to tell what normal meatbags were thinking most of the time, and these had features warped well past that. If he had to guess, however, he'd say they were pretty frustrated by how many had died trying to reach him. If they were normal meatbags, their morale would be faltering right about now.

They had numbers, they had weapons, and there was only one target. All they had to do was reach him and they'd win, would be his best guess at their current thoughts. Now it was time to show them that they'd be dying even after reaching him.

A thing with long trailing ears and antlers leap over a charred corpse, a long silver blade swinging down to chop into his shoulder. Wild yellow eyes and hatefully chattering teeth, wearing dark-hued robes.

Adam stepped forwards, into and under the swing, and unleashed a calculus-changing crosshook. A shaking fist crashed into the antlered rabbit-thing's torso.

A shower of gore covered the entire frontline of botched exotics, making feet skid along sands and arms raised to defend themselves, brays and roars and growls suddenly turning into tense, silent rumbles. Glowing eyes stared as the sundered limbs of their comrade landed in the sands with a quintet of light thumps.

Adam made sure to lock eyes with them, his front illuminated by the burning corpses behind them. He shook the gore off his fist and stepped forwards. The frontline stepped back.

"Don't disappoint me, now." He growled out as he walked forwards. "I was getting excited."

"Fall back!" A raspy, feminine voice called out. Adam pinpointed the sound at once, and threw himself forwards and up in a massive leap. "Fall bac-"

She was cut off as Adam's foot crashed down on the sands next to her. Just a hair too slow, as his heel passed through where her shoulder had been moments prior.

"None leave the slaughterhouse!" Adam roared out, punching the two closest meatthings now that he was in their midst. Two sprays of fresh gore followed the impact, showing their comrades and provoking more wails of dread. "Not alive!"

A general retreat order had already been called. His priority was capturing the one who called it, and killing everything else along the way. About two dozen left, he could get all of them if he was free to act. He could only get about half at the moment, Red wanted him to bring the leader back.

If they were focused on killing him, they might be able to cause some damage. A large enough group of meatbags could, if he was being sloppy that day, overwhelm him. As it was, they were too focused on running away to get anything done.

Their fear was just another weakness of the flesh.

Half-animal screams echoed through the desert night, accompanied by sound of spraying gore and the crackle of burning flesh.

—

"I believe I specified 'bring me their hides'." Red commented as he returned, armor soaked in gore, weapons returned to their holsters, and a half-limp form being dragged by the hair. Meatdoc and Cowmeat had rather perturbed expressions as he returned, gazes occasionally returning to the sands ahead of them, then back to him.

"I took the liberty of making a nice painting. Doesn't all that red make the sands just twinkle?" Adam growled out sarcastically, pulling to a stop and tossing the meatbag forwards, making it stumble and then collapse in the road-sands before the claws of Red's meatbird. Dark furred flesh covered by silvery fabrics and steel rings. A canid snout, pointed ears, and a mouth full of teeth. "Look what I found, a mutt."

Something between dog and human, one of those werewolves or whatever they were called. He was pretty sure he had killed these a few times back home, meatbags that get so worked up about fucking animals that they shell out a few thousand eddies for full-body cosmetic surgery, and then fuck other meatbags wasted their money on the same thing.

He dated one, briefly, back in the day. Mostly because she was rich and bought him a new gun.

He narrowed his eyes as he considered it further. No wait… There was also Becky… and Carol… and Ness…

Upon further consideration, he decided to ignore this trail of thought, and went back to glowering at the scene before him. Red had gotten off the back of the meatbird, and had crouched down to smile cruelly at the battered form of the weredog. "Oh, what a charmingly ugly pup."

Claws lashed out. They met Red's raised hand, which laced their fingers together. Red smiled a tad further as the weredog struggled to pull her claws from Red's unmoving grip.

Then, slowly, Red's dainty fingers pressed forwards. The weredog began to growl, then wail in pain. A sharp crack rang out as the dog's fingers bent too far back, and Red extracted her fingers to return them to her lap. "Oh how ferocious!" She cooed as the weredog whimpered over her dislocated fingers. "Adam, what do you think, should we keep her?"

"No." Adam grunted with a roll of his eyes.

Red huffed. "Now that's no fun. After I had you go through all the trouble of catching her?" Her hands reached forwards and grabbed the weredog by the cheeks, forcing their eyes to meet. "Look at her, all filthy and starved, stealing from passers-by like she is."

"F…F-fuck you…" Weredog forced out through pained whimpers. "F-fweh-heh-heh…" She turned to chuckling, closing her eyes. "M-my s-sisters will g-get you… heh-heh…"

"Poor little thing, she's delusional." Red tutted, then sighed and shook her head. "I suppose I really prioritize the practicalities of our situation though…"

She pulled the weredog a bit closer and smiled. "Puppy, please tell me all about your dear sisters. I'd like to know everything that you do. If you do, I shall ask our doctor to fix up your boo-boos."

Weredog thrashed, jaws attempting to bite down on Red's face. A set of thumbs pressed into the back of her jaw prevented anything but gagging, and her arms held the dog back without strain. Red furrowed her brows in a condescending manner.

"No?" She asked, watching as the weredog struggled in her grip for a few moments more.

Red sighed, and twisted weredog's neck. A loud snap echoed through the desert night. She pulled back, standing up and letting the corpse drop to the sands. She wiped her hands off on her dress, staring down at the corpse in a mournful manner. "And I was looking forward to a new pet…" She mused sadly, before dismissing the temporary bout of sorrow and kicking the corpse off the road.

The limp body sailed for a half-dozen feet, rolling along the sands and coming to a stop against a jutting limestone rock. Red smiled and turned to him. "Was there anything you liked on their corpses?"

Adam partially drew his new sword, a silvery thing taken from weredog's own belt, then let it fall back into the sheath. Red clapped her hands. "That's wonderful!" She turned to the two, very quiet meatbags. "Would you two like some time to pick their corpses? I'm sure Adam left at least a little bit behind."

"No thank you."

"I would rather not, no."

"Very well!" Red responded cheerily, pulling herself up upon meatbird's back once more and taking up the reins. "Back to traveling! We still have a long trip ahead of us!"

The silence of their walking from before shortly resumed.

—

"You're a martial artist?" Meatdoc asked the next time they made camp, a glint of interest in his eyes. "At least, I believe so, yes?"

"Yes." Adam replied as he settled down again, watching out for the slowly rising sun and frowning as the heat rapidly began to climb once more. It wasn't enough to be noticeable on a moment-by-moment basis, of course, but over the course of ten or fifteen minutes it was obvious.

"I- well, may I ask about it? It certainly seems effective."

Adam sent a glance and frown towards meatdoc, then rolled his eyes. "It's called Panzerfaust."

"Pan-zer-faust?" Meatdoc repeated hesitantly. "That sounds like rivertongue."

"It's German." Adam corrected. "Developed to take advantage of the full-conversion cybernetic process, taking advantage of the increased physical capabilities to hit things even harder."

"I- apologies, cybernetic?" Meatdoc asked with a tone that indicated utter unfamiliarity with the term.

"It's what-" Adam, irritated, raised a thumb to point at himself. He stopped briefly as his thumb tapped against his chest. His meatthumb attached to a meathand, attached to a meatarm, attached to a meatframe.

Panzerfaust required a full-conversion cyborg frame to utilize. He was in a meatframe right now. It shouldn't be possible for his body to make the right movements required to use panzerfaust. Watching his hand carefully, he started to shake it in the right way, the gauntleted arm blurring before his eyes as the precise frequency-vibrations traveled through it.

Slowly, he let the vibrations of his arm fade away, and clenched his hand into a fist. His scowl deepened behind his helmet.

"Err… Good Warrior…?" Meatdoc questioned, bringing Adam back to the present.

Adam growled. "Right. Do you fuckers have artificial limbs here? You know what that is?"

"I- I've heard of artifacts that operate as normal limbs might, yes."

"They were popular back home." Adam began to explain. "Metal over Meat, was the common saying. Why waste your time with a meatlimb when you could chop it off and get an upgrade? Stronger, faster, more durable. Hell, you can even fit a couple weapons in there if you know what you're doing."

"I… see."

"Panzerfaust is best used through one of those limbs, as you can see, I don't have any. Remind me to fix that if I find anything worth replacing for."

"Absolutely not." Red scowled down at him, having snuck up while he was looking the other way. "You are not going to needlessly mutilate yourself for the sake of grafting artifacts to your flesh."

"I'll do what the fuck I want, woman." Adam growled, before huffing and leaning back. "Besides that, I don't know if any of your chrome is even worth installing. Everything else I've seen here is trash so far."

Red huffed back, plopping down in his lap. "You've seen nothing of note because this is the Threshold. The greatest wonders of the world are property of the Realm." She claimed arrogantly, then face twisted into a scowl. "You are still forbidden from rituals of self-mutilation. I will have potions prepared if you are so desperate for greater heights of power."

"That sounds like magic fuckery." Adam grumbled back.

"It's not sorcery, mongrel, it's thaumaturgy."

Another word for 'magic fuckery' to his ears.

Seeing his unimpressed look, she sighed and wiggled deeper into his lap. "Continue with your explanation of 'Panzerfaust', I would like to hear it." For someone who just heard the word, she certainly pronounced it perfectly.

"What about it?" Adam grumbled.

"Who taught you?" Meatdoc interrupted to ask. Red sent him an unimpressed look, to which he shrugged sheepishly.

"Kagekaze." Adam replied, furrowing his brows to think. "It was right as the Fourth Corporate War was kicking off, but before it had gone hot. Everyone was keeping it cool still. I told the Arasaka agent to fuck off and come back when they were actually having a war instead of undercover sabotage bullshit."

"A couple weeks later I get a message, old ninja master from Japan wants to talk to me, says he has an offer straight from the Old Man. The war was going to go hot in a few weeks, Kagekaze had been ordered to teach me in preparation."

"Tell me about him." Red ordered.

Adam snorted. "Not much to say. He used to be one of those ninja clan heads, you know the type? Wears black clothes, sneaks around, kills things."

"I'm familiar, yes." Red responded confidently.

"His son was a fuckup, so Kagekaze tried killing himself to atone. Saburo stopped him and he worked for the old man directly from then on." Adam shook his head. "Wore an oni-mask and liked tea. Everything was an opportunity to spout another zen-lesson about peace or whatever. I never bothered to listen."

"So how does it work? This pan-zer-faust?" Meatdoc asked after a pause.

"You hit things really hard, and you make your body shake really fast."

"I… that's it?"

"That's all there is to it. You use as many muscles as possible to hit things as hard as possible, preserving as much momentum as you can between movements, and shaking with the right rhythm while you're doing it." Adam raised a hand and let it begin shaking once more. "Once you know what you're doing, you can do it all day."

"And this doesn't require the expenditure of essence?" Red asked, observing his arm curiously. "I haven't noticed any signs of such, thus far."

Adam tilted his head.

"The fuck is essence?"

Chapter Text

Red had promised to teach him about 'essence', saying that it was 'critical to his combat career'. Adam was expecting to receive a functional primer on how whatever this was correlated to him, and how he could fight it. Instead, he was receiving a lecture that had gone on for hours already and showed no signs of stopping.

"...what is known as the most basal pseudo-substance that composes all of reality, essence refers both to the quantity and quality of an individual's attunement to the ambient magical energies of the world around themselves. Essence is sometimes referred to as the energy of Creation, but this is inaccurate, as even the Wyld which churns beyond the borders of sane space is composed of essence at its base."

"Instead, one must draw a distinction between the essence of Creation and the essence of the Wyld, primarily sourced in the proximity to the Loom of Fate, which arranges and systemizes the essences of the Wyld into essences of Creation through the influence of the Poles of Creation, five elemental and seven celestial. There is some debate among scholars about whether or not Oblivion should be considered an additional Pole or not, but those are not relevant for our current discussion."

"This essence flows from the poles in many sets of interfacing lines along two planes, dragon and incarnate, which flow from the elemental poles and celestial poles respectively. Where these lines intersect and accumulate in particularly dense or auspicious ways, they form what is known as a Demense, a place of immense natural energy. This Demense can then be channeled with the appropriate architecture to form a Manse, a place of significant and refined power."

Oil wells and oil rigs, then. He stepped over a particularly rocky section of road, and past a signpost that indicated a nearby town to their right. They walked past it.

—

The lecture continued past the end of the first day, and onto the second.

"...flows through the bodies of all things in various ratios and amounts, but for most, this energy is dormant and their control over it nonexistent. A man cannot control his essence any more than he can control the flow of his blood or digestion, not without great time and effort spent to awaken this ability. This process, appropriately named awakening one's essence, allows the individual to tap into and utilize the essence that flows through and around them."

"It is possible to shape the essence around you through dedicated learning without awakening one's own essence, most commonly in the form of thaumaturgy and sorcery. Thaumaturgy refers to a collection of practices and methods by which a trained practitioner may direct the flow of natural essences to achieve desired results. Alchemy, Enchanting, and Warding are the most likely to become relevant and useful to a combatant, but the fields of thaumaturgy are broad and ultimately beyond the scope of this lecture."

"Sorcery is similar to Thaumaturgy, in which a dedicated practitioner is capable of directing the flow of ambient or natural essences to achieve desired results. Unlike thaumaturgy, which is highly reliant on natural tendencies already present in ambient essences, sorcery allows a great deal more freedom in dictating the flow and shape of captured energies.The art is practically and superficially far removed from any so-called normal thaumaturgy, but they are functionally identical on a most-basal level. The difference is solely the degree of control."

They paused at a thin, mostly dry stream to refill their canisters of water, Red lecturing from her seated position the entire time. He put the cap back on his leather bag and pulled up, securing it once more to his waist and waiting for the others to finish drinking.

—

A two day lecture turned into a three day lecture.

"...measured in discrete units known as motes, and while it is possible to know specific capacities in exact, measured amounts, it requires a lengthy period of specific tried and true testing. Often, those who come into their power naturally measure their mote capacity in terms of actions. This many actions, or this much time doing this action, and so on. Places of higher learning with dedicated facilities usually have the means to measure capacity, such as the Grand Fitness-Pace Test known to the Realm."

"There exists rare techniques, sorceries, or artifacts that can measure essence in terms of motes in exacting amounts, but they are vanishingly rare in the modern age, and many were lost to us long ago. Similarly, they are merely items of luxury that save time and effort, not strictly required. The Grand Fitness-Pace Test is more than sufficient in all but the most extreme or unusual of cases."

"These motes can be felt, to a certain extent, by the one who wields them. Some describe motes as embers of flickering flame, others describe them as rings of lightning or floating blossoms. In any case, they consistently appear and feel as individual units suspended in the air of one's imagination."

He glared suspiciously at a cactus that had grown up and partially over the road like an immense, thorny tree. Walking through the shadows of its branches did not result in any danger that he could notice, but the hole in the 'trunk' made his instincts prickle.

Sure enough, he saw a snake curled up inside the hole as they passed by.

—

Then a fourth day.

"...dangers inherent to wielding the natural energies, such as the urges that might overcome the individual who wields it intemperately. Essence is too primal to be called sapient, but it still seeks to fulfill its nature. The flow of ordered essence is what dictates the cycles of Creation, and to wield that ordered essence is to risk being pulled along with one such cycle. The Dragonblooded have a term for this sensation-risk, Riding the Dragon, and the metaphor should be obvious in its warning."

"Fire essence seeks to rise, earth essence is stubborn, air essence is high-minded, and so on. The essence that one wields has a nature, and will seek to fulfill that nature without external impetus. This is both a tool and a danger. These natural tendencies are often the reason thaumaturgy functions at all, and they are as manifold as they are nuanced. Going over all of the potential interactions and tendencies is beyond the scope of this lecture, so I will refrain from such."

"Just as there is a natural tendency for essences to perform certain actions, there are also entities that arise naturally from these tendencies. Essence itself is too primal to be called sapient, but if a confluence of essence would lead to an arise of sapience, then an Elemental is born. Elementals are spirits born of a particular element, of which there are five, Air, Wood, Fire, Water, Earth. Air is native to the Air Pole, to the North. Wood is native to the Wood Pole, to the East. Fire is native to the Fire Pole, to the South. Water is native to the Water Pole, to the West. Earth is native to the Earth Pole, which is called the Imperial Mountain, which lies in the center of our world."

There had been a vulture slowly circling them for the past few hours, appearing to circle thrice, then leaving and returning fifteen to thirty minutes later. Adam made sure to glare at it last time it circled towards them.

—

A fifth day of lecture made Adam finally realize what school must be like. He had never gone when he was a little meatling, and if he had been forced to, he might've started killing things.

"...may be expended with active effort to perform a wide variety of superhuman feats, too many to list in full and keep the lecture as brief as it is. It is possible, through long-term experience, to begin to recognize commonalities in how essence is expended and utilized, what shapes its expenditure results in and what patterns arise from natural use. Most typically, essence is expended to fuel a discrete, practiced, and specific application of power often referred to as a 'Charm'."

"Do not confuse these 'Charms' with trinkets peddled by thaumaturges and scam-artists. The dragonblooded drunk you fought used two highly-visible Charms that I recognized. Elemental Bolt Attack and Arrow-Consuming Flame Defense. Note that these classifications are mostly artificial and arbitrary in nature, and it's entirely possible that the drunk had his own names for them, or no name at all."

"It is not required to know the specifics usages and means by which essence can be used in all applications, general wisdom and experience is often sufficient to plan stratagems against all manner of essence-wielding opponents. It is important to note that one's personal reserves of essence is ultimately a finite resource. The tension of combat can accelerate the pace at which essence is recovered, and essence recovers naturally with time and relaxation bu-"

"Stamina." Adam interrupted with a flat look. "It's magic stamina." And they could push harder when their adrenaline was pumping.

Red sent a glare his way. Adam took the opportunity to ask a question. "Drunkmeat died with a tile to the forehead, earlier in the fight I hit him with a sledgehammer and he got up afterwards."

Red huffed and nodded to his implied question. "Yes, more than likely he was expending essence to increase his overall durability, and ran short by the time your final blow landed. A much more efficient application of his essence would've been ridding himself of his drunkenness, but I suppose he must not have been practiced in that particular ability."

Their magic superpowers ran off a limited battery, one measured in seconds or minutes at full burn. That meant so long as he could endure the fight long enough, the supers would run out of juice, and he could kill them like normal meatbags.

Here he was, expecting something more dangerous.

—

It was good that the lecture finally ended on that fifth day, otherwise he was going to start strangling the woman to keep her quiet. As it was, he now had a significantly higher amount of information about how this sim functioned, and most of it was completely useless to him. Unfortunately, each time he glared at her and tried to signify his rapidly decreasing patience, she stared back flatly, raised a brow, then got right back to lecturing.

Good thing he wasn't spending money for any of this info, otherwise he'd kill whoever took his cash, and then his employer would be too dead to pay him.

"Now educated, you should be far more prepared to face dangers to my life in the future." Red responded happily, reaching up to pat his arm from her position in his lap.

"Most of that information was useless." Adam grumbled back, glaring at a distant wild dog that was staring at their camp site from a shady shrub. "You could have summarized it in twenty minutes."

"That would be an immense disservice to my student. You now have all the foundational information about the functions of creation required to build your own understanding upon. Cherish my tutelage as a blessing and gift."

"How did you not know what 'essence' was beforehand?" Meatdoc asked with furrowed brows, adding sticks to the meager flame.

"I'm a murderer. I don't need to know any of that to murder things." Adam grumbled with a flat look.

"Ah, I suppose that makes sense..?" Meatdoc muttered with an uncertain lit to the end of his sentence. "Although, I imagine even warrior-ladies like Hath here knew at least a little about this kind of stuff before now."

Cowmeat flushed with the attention suddenly directed her ways, and coughed into her fist. "A little, yes. My… father taught me some of these things when he visited. He wished for me to become a Bride of Ahlat when I grew old enough. I- I intend to travel back to Harborhead once I am free to leave."

"To serve Ahlat?" Red asked with a rather disinterested tone. "I suppose there's some degree of security in such a position. A woman of your scale and breeding could certainly do worse."

"It is an honor!" Cowmeat responded with faint heat. "To directly serve the Southern God of War, there is no force of greater honor!"

"Hm. I suppose you could rise to officer among his armies, at least. If you were to join one of the Realm legions, the best you could hope for is some manner of specialist role."

"Your catfight is pissing me off." Adam grumbled, sending a glare towards both females. His glare was met with a pair of glances, one irritated and one amused, but the conversation was aborted all the same. "Cowmeat, this 'Ahlat', does he pay well?" He asked. "Gonna need a job after Red tries backstabbin' me, and I'm not about to waste my time on civvie work."

Meatdoc and Cowmeat exchanged a slightly confused glance, before Cowmeat turned back to him. "I- I don't remember if Ahlat hires mercenaries or not. I've never heard of it happening, at least. A god has little need of mortals."

"He does, on occasion." Red corrected, leaning back and partially laying down on his legs. "Many of his servants are provided to him by the Bureaucracy of Heaven as part of his duties as God of Southern War and Cattle, and many more have been hired on using his personal wealth accumulated from his centers of worship. He has been known to hire mercenaries, but never mortals as such, Exalts and Demigods and fellow Spirits, but not lowly mortals like yourself."

"Mortals are less to him than his cattle are." She waved a lazy hand. "Useful only for the worship they provide."

Cowmeat looked like she very much wanted to argue against that, but was stopped by his suddenly very-focused expression. He reached over to grab his crossbow, raising it up and shooting a bolt out from their shaded campspot and into the desert.

He wasn't certain, but if magic fuckery was afoot, then it was good to be suspicious.

The slowly rising sun was illuminating the desert, allowing him to see slightly more and more color as the minutes passed. Careful observation had revealed a minor fact to him.

The snake, the vulture, and this dog had all been the exact same color, with splotches of lighter and darker hues in the exact same spots.

"Wha-"
"Woa-"

Cowmeat and Meatdoc were somewhat surprised, Red instead narrowed her eyes, slowly pushing herself up from his lap and following the path of his bolt.

Adam's own glare was intensifying as he rose to his feet, meeting the gaze of the desert-dog with a glare. His bolt had impacted the base of the bush. The desert-dog now stood slightly to the right.

The desert-dog had calmly sidestepped the bolt, maintaining a hateful glare on him as it did. It hadn't even blinked. Adam was putting his bets on 'drone', at the moment.

"...It's a wild dog?" Cowmeat asked with furrowed brows. "Why did you shoot at it?"

"It's not a dog." Meatdoc spoke, fear creeping into his voice. "Dogs don't glare like that…"

"No, it is indeed a dog." Red replied with a tense glare, reaching over and taking up her silvery spear from where it had been strapped to the side of the meatbird's saddle. It was the first time she touched it in months. "Adam, I will join you against this one."

Something more serious than usual then. Adam maintained his glare, the dog stepped forwards.

The flesh rippled.

Another step.

The fur shifted.

Another step.

The front paws lifted from the sands.

Another step.

The not-dog stopped on the other side of the rocky trade-road. It was now looking far less like a dog and far more like a woman, with skin the same shade in the same places as the dog. Dark flesh speckled with lighter and even darker patches, wild hair hanging down like a thick mane and hands ending in sharpened silvery claws.

Furious, cold blue eyes glowed from under tangles of black hair. They crossed over the four of them slowly, before returning to him and falling lower to his waist. The not-dog's head tilted.

"...My daughter's sword is on your belt." She spoke with a voice that was not quite a rasp, not quite a growl. Her eyes went back up to glare into his. "Why?"

Adam tilted his own head. "Are you stupid?" He responded with a rumble of his own. "Why else?"

"Only a fool insults his executioner." The not-dog growled. "It buys him a slower death."

"I'll take you seriously when you put a shirt on." Adam growled back.

Blue eyes sharpened into furious slits.

A blur. His eyes widened, his arm moved up.

Silver claws crashed into the shield on his arm. Blue eyes glared furiously into his, past his visor.

The shield turned into wood and steel shrapnel, and he turned into a missile. Once, twice, then thrice he flipped over before finally finding his footing again and sliding against the sands, hands and feet cutting furrows as his front was showered in the remnants of his shield.

His ears were ringing. He threw himself up and took aim with the crossbow.

Red's spear was a blur, twisting again and again as it crashed against glowing silver claws, each clash accompanied by a single step backwards and another spray of sand and dust kicked into the air. Cowmeat and Meatdoc had retreated to the side, walking stick and heavy bags hefted like they were weapons.

Adam fired his bolt, which flew straight for a back that-

-disappeared into a blur of feathers, the nudemeat suddenly replaced with a vulture, spinning in the midst of the air to narrowly avoid the bolt and crash its claws against Red's spear yet again.

Red twisted, spinning the claws aside and blurring into a thrust that-

-missed, the bird replaced by a woman once more, who had to jump back to avoid another bolt from his crossbow. She soared for a few moments in a display of floaty acrobatics before landing in a crouch.

Adam reloaded as he stepped up, taking a place next to Red. One shield gone, arm underneath sore, three bolts wasted.

The woman pulled herself up again, a silver dot now burning on her forehead.

"I'm going to enjoy eating your innards." She said calmly.

Chapter Text

"This a Lunar?" Adam asked with a grumble, cracking his neck and carefully watching dogmeat as she slowly stalked around them. Fast enough for him to barely keep up, strong enough to break his shield and send him flying back on his ass, just quick enough to avoid bolts from mid to long range. He'd either need something to slow her down or rely on close-range engagements.

She was stalking around towards cowmeat and meatdoc, but if she turned to slaughter either of them, it would just give him a free shot on her back. If she was superhuman enough, that wouldn't matter.

She turned before getting within reach of either of them, and began to stalk in the other direction, glaring as her arms gently swayed and her steps moved silently over the sands. Not that superhuman then, either she was afraid of getting hit by him, by the other two meats, or didn't want to bring them into the fight. Weakness in all three cases.

Cowmeat was shaking in her sandals and meatdoc couldn't keep a steady grip on his stick, hands constantly shifting up and down, eyes wide and bodies tense. It was honestly pathetic.

"Yes." Red responded, spear raised defensively and utterly still. "A battle of endurance is not one we can win, wounds inflicted upon the Frenzied oft stitch themselves closed even in the midst of battle. We will need to overwhelm her decisively."

Combat regenerator but still afraid of giving him a free shot? He didn't buy it. Red was smart enough to realize that too, which meant a secret message.

'Dogmeat can't win a battle of endurance…she will attempt to overwhelm them decisively.'

He had no idea how Red had come to that conclusion, but she definitely had more experience dealing with these things than he did. Fortunately, his own experience was telling him to maintain defensive posture until he knew what he was dealing with, so her little advice would at least seem heeded.

He fired a bolt, dropping his crossbow immediately after and raising his gauntlets.

The black bladed claws on his gauntlets clashed with silver-white. A sudden blur of motion and ringing of sound. Blue eyes locked onto blue as his feet skid back on the sands. His claws fractured and chipped even as they locked with dogmeat's claws.

Unfortunately for dogmeat, he knew how fast she was now. His arms twisted into a gr-

Hands were replaced by snakes that coiled around his wrists and bit into his arms. His armor was thick enough to ignore this, even as he was lifted into the air. A spear-thrust to her midsection was avoided as the torso likewise became a snake, then folded over itself. Stupidly, she was picking him up to throw and separate from Red again.

His knee smashed into dogmeat's chin, little spike mounted on the armor plate stabbing through the bottom of her mouth. He was glad he remembered to have those installed before they left Gem. He was less glad to see that she didn't collapse into a gargling mess.

Blood sprayed over his knee as he and the dogmeat flew into an uncontrollable roll across the sands.

He flipped once, then twice, then raised his arms again.

Silver birdclaws smashed into fractured black claws and shattered them. He flipped back and up, a shaking leg rising with him, missing dogmeat by a hair but buying him time to stand up again. His hand went to his waist and-

-A massive silver stinger impaled his midsection. His meat wailed as the spike went right through his front and out the back.

His hand raised and pulled the trigger. The stinger withdrew as it attempted to flee.

A lance of fluffy thermite engulfed dogmeat as Adam staggered back. He dropped the handwand as he did, drawing another and using the wails of his meat to triangulate the injury while maintaining his gaze on the cloud of fire.

Lateral lower left quadrant, nonlethal, straight through the back meant any venom-delivery system would've been sabotaged as well. His meat was whining over nothing, yet again. That it punched right through his armor was a slightly more concerning detail.

Red jumped over a dune and slid down next to him, grimace on her face.

"Took you long enough." Adam growled.

"Injury?" She asked quickly.

"Ignorable." Adam answered.

The cloud of fire quickly dissipated, burning red fading away to reveal dogmeat once more, now shrouded in a burning silver light. Sure enough, the lance of thermite didn't do much to slow her down either, forearms slightly burned and the scent of burnt hair filling the air. Dogmeat lowered her arms, immense scorpion-stinger slowly retreating and withdrawing into her back as she glowered at the two of them.

Adam let a small smirk come to his lips, as he hand went down to his side and drew the slightly ornamental, curved silver sword from its sheath. Sword in his right hand, handwand in his left, and back straight. The very picture of undaunted.

"You said these things were dangerous, Red." Adam taunted. Shield and claws broken, crossbow unusable, one handwand down, potentially envenomed. He was rapidly running out of resources here, and dogmeat wasn't slowing down at all. Wounds inflicted entirely superficial thus far, and she was still too fast to get a good hit in.

He'd need to make another trade if he wanted to make progress.

"Normally yes. This one must be a runt." Red flawlessly supported the mockery. "Do try to not be tossed again, the jog over here was the most strenuous part of the battle so far."

Furious blue pinpricks glared through a haze of silver fire. Silently, dogmeat raised her arms, muscles tense and bulging, and closed her hands into fists.

Then, in a blur of motion, she slammed both fists into the ground.

The earth shook as a thick cloud of dust burst to life, quickly obscuring dogmeat and then washing over them in a wave. A thick layer of hanging particulate that made eyes all but useless. Now, if this was flour or spice, he'd be able to make a nice dust explosion. Sand was far less combustible, and therefore far more boring.

As it was, his best move was to-

-A massive knee smashed into his gut. His lungs panicked as air was suddenly forced out of their system. His vision went black, but his limbs were still functioning. He raised a-

-A claw grabbed him by the arm and swung him like a club, smashing into the side of the dune. The sound of metal stabbing into flesh, and he was let go, half-buried by falling sand. The stars in his vision were quickly replaced by a furious focus.

The meatbag had kicked him right in the fucking impalement.

The dust rang out with sounds of metal crashing into bone, again and again and again. The cloud beginning to dissipate with the gusts of air coming from the clash of Red and dogmeat.

He raised the handwand and took aim. Darkened shapes and forms appearing inconsistently in the midst of the rapidly clearing sands.

Clash, clash, clash, cl-

He pulled the trigger. Another lance of fire cut through the cloud of dust, smashing into the unguarded back of the cowmeat-scale shadow. Flesh sizzled. The immense shadow flinched and turned an eye back towards him.

Red took full advantage.

Dogmeat wailed in a distinctly inhuman voice as the spear went through her lower hip, quickly followed by Red twisting into a kick that snapped the head off the end of the spear. Red paid the price for the exchange with a backhand blow that sent her tumbling over the sands and crashing into the opposite-side dune.

But most importantly, dogmeat did not immediately pursue, dropping into a crouch and clawing at her punctured hip. Now resembling more of a weredog than before, a towering nine or ten feet of muscle and fur, partially covered in plates and spurs of hardened bone. She clearly wanted to get the spearhead out.

Shame, he had already stood up and drawn another handwand.

A beam of flame crashed into her partially-plated face, and the blazing silver aura erupted into a pillar of scintillating white-gray. Phantoms of bones of all shapes appearing, breaking, and disappearing littered throughout the new pillar of colorless flame.

Adam dropped the spent handwand, and drew his last loaded one. Come on, dogmeat, charge him again.

A blur through the fire.

He jumped directly up. Silver claws lashed out where he had just been standing, connected to the immense, charred bone-dog. Silver seams ran through her body like off-color kintsugi. His knees pulled up to his chest, barely sailing over the gray finger-blades. Just slow enough for him to avoid thanks to the spike in her hip.

Cold blue eyes glared down through a black visor, through plates of armoring bone and into furious sapphire orbs.

He kicked down, legs shaking. The bony plates looked thick and robust enough to bounce bullets off, certainly more than enough to deflect a normal sword or spear.

Panzerfaust was made to murder metal.

A spray of blood covered the sands. Dogmeat jumped back, landing on the sands and surrounded in a pillar of flame. Adam landed shortly after, meat wailing as he agitated the hole in his gut again, but slowly picked himself up.

A couple yards away, a silver-clawed, dark-furred forearm plated in bone fell to the sands with a heavy thump. Red trickled from the stump in a steady stream, staining the sands as it did.

The first good hit he had gotten in this whole fucking fight. This shapeshifting fuckery was just unpredictable enough to piss him off. His vision swayed, which told him that he had indeed been envenomed earlier. It was not enough to break his posture.

Dogmeat swayed to the side, suddenly a snake as she avoided Red's thrust with the broken spear, and then a riding-bird. Red's spear spun in a flashing arc, which made the bird spin into another clawed kick.

A clawed kick that was interrupted by another fuzzy beam of fire smashing into her side. Red, going uninterrupted, slammed her spear into the side of the dogmeat-who-was-currently-a-bird, sending her staggering to the side before collapsing into the form of a snake and bouncing up into-

The silver blade in his hands, catching the side of the snake like a long baseball and flinging it over to smash into the side of a dune. Infuriatingly, it did not cut all the way through. He dropped the firewand and drew one of his knives, throwing it to chase after the snake.

The snake was suddenly a much smaller bird, the knife burying itself to the hilt in the sand, and the bird began to run, a blazing silver pillar following it. Dogmeat was trying to get away.

"Don't let her flee!" Red wheezed through what sounded like broken ribs. She certainly didn't look healthy, arms covered in dark bruising and shaking, supporting herself with her spear as a walking-stick.

Adam had no intention to. He raised the sword, winding himself up, and briefly recalled the last time he had curled up to throw like this.

It must've been in Yankee Stadium, maybe. That or training with Kagekaze.

The sword made a distinct whistling sound as it cut through the sand, a silvery disc that hovered barely over the sands and raced forwards.

The bird was now a snake. The snake was not fast enough to twist out of the way.

The silver pillar collapsed in on itself as the snake was split in two. A spray of red covering the sands in an arc as two serpentine halves curled up and flew apart.

Good.

Adam's face rapidly met the sandy earth, and his vision went black, his consciousness rapidly following.

Note to self, develop a resistance to venom. It had been so long since he had been in meat that he forgot to prepare for that.

—

It was dark and relatively cool by the time his meat finished rebooting. That did not stop it from bombarding him with constant, screaming updates about its current condition. His eyes rolled around as he cracked them open and started to lean up, taking in his current position, before being stopped by deliberate hands on his shoulders pushing him back down.

He tilted his head back to glower up at Red, who looked equally sternly down at him. "Do not move." She commanded quietly. "Injured as you are. You will stay still and not sabotage my work."

He took in his condition more carefully. Armor removed and center torso wrapped in bandages purchased in Gem, soaked in wine and tightly compressed. His limbs had been likewise stripped and cleaned, and he was currently nude. That explained why he was so chilly. He took in his current position.

Under some manner of roof, slightly cracked and worn, the desert night to one side, and a steaming pool to the other. The pool was at the base of a wide staircase, and currently contained both Cowmeat and Meatdoc, relaxing in the hot water with closed eyes.

"The doctor led us to the shrine of a goddess of hot springs, where I bargained for use of the facilities in exchange for certain privileges once I returned to the Blessed Isle. Nowhere else would we possess the clean waters required to cleanse you." Red explained with a displeased frown. "It is thanks to your carelessness that I was forced to reveal myself in such a manner. You will pay your debt to me in time."

Adam snorted, and let his head fall back to her lap. Half of her face was obscured by her boobs from his current position. Real elegant there, Red.

"My gear?" He grumbled out, a more relaxed scowl coming to his face.

"The crossbow, firewands, and sword are with your armor. Half of our silver was turned over to the goddess as an initial tribute. You will take great care to avoid offending her, do you understand?"

Adam grunted noncommittally. "We'll leave tomorrow." He declared with eyes closed. "No point in wasting time hanging around."

"You had been impaled." She replied flatly.

"In the least important part of my torso. I only got thrashed around otherwise." Adam countered with a twitch of his brows. "Washing it out and bandaging is more than enough, I can walk the rest of it off."

"Incorrect. We will take full advantage of the time I have bargained for, giving you time to recover sufficiently, and then leave." Red commanded.

"I'm not laying down for…" He quickly estimated his recovery time. Impalement… for some reason he wanted to say six weeks, but he doubted that was accurate. "Weeks." He decided to finish.

"Plenty of time to sharpen your skills with the lute I had so generously provided. Am I not a most generous and beneficent patron?"

"Currently you're a pain in my neck." Adam growled. "I don't need to be at one hundred percent to slaughter meatbags like normal."

"And if we encounter yet another Lunar?" She asked with a low grumble.

"I know what I'm dealing with now. The second one will be easier." He waved off, mostly to agitate Red more than telling the truth. If he was being honest with himself, that fight had been far closer than he'd like, and he needed to start getting better gear. Regularly dealing with magical fuckery required more upgrades than he had at the moment. "We'll move on when I can stand again."

"Are you so eager to be free of me, mortal?" A voice like escaping steam hissed. Simultaneously feminine and inhuman. He cracked an eye open as Red easily slid into a polite tone and posture beneath him.

"Of course not, Adam is merely-"

"Holy fuck." He interrupted with an appreciative rumble, giving the new figure a full and careful observation. "You didn't tell me she was such a high-quality cut of sex, Red."

He ignored Red's suddenly stiff limbs and flat stare as he openly leered at the apparent goddess of hot springs. Goddess was the correct word, meaty curves and supple flesh barely covered by a white-blue dress patterned with flowing water. Her shoulders and upper arms were completely bare, and her pale hair flowed upwards instead of down, flowing into and eventually dissipating into wafting steam.

She tilted her head the barest degree, a stony expression on her delicate face. "...How crass. Is seeing my form all that was required to change your mind?" He noted that she made no attempt to cover or conceal herself.

"I could be convinced to stay for a bit." Adam nodded from his comfortable position. "I'd need to keep seeing you walking around in that tight little dress though, no point in sticking around otherwise."

Red's nails dug into his shoulders, silently warning him to stop talking. He elected to ignore the signs and keep barreling through. He reached up to flick her chest. "Oi, Red, buy something cute like that next time we're in the city."

"I did." She growled. "You ripped it off me."

"Buy another one." He rolled his eyes. "You're being outcompeted by the goddess of getting my dick hard over there."

"I am Wafting Sweetness-"

"Damn right you are." Adam interrupted.

"-Goddess of Steam Vents." She finished as if not interrupted. She shifted her posture, waving a delicate hand. "Your name, mortal."

"Adam Smasher. Correct pronunciation requires moaning it next to my ears." The nails in his shoulders started to draw blood.

"You will stay for thirty days, bathing in my spring waters each day, and then depart with my name on your lips. Make sure it is repeated when the story of your survival is retold."

"If you want me saying your name, I know ano-"

The woman disappeared from sight, fading into a burst of steam and rolling airs, interrupting his last comment. Adam stared in an unimpressed fashion, then glanced to his shoulders.

"Oi, Red, I'm bleeding again."

"That was the intent, mongrel."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"I will be free of my bindings soon." Red commented as they made their way across a relatively tropical stretch of roadway. The oppressive dry heat of the desert had been gradually giving way to a far more temperate and somewhat more humid climate, in turn accompanied by far darker and colder nights. Not that dark and cold nights were all that much trouble, just shift the schedule to move in the dawn and dusk while sleeping in midday and midnight.

Even at its coldest, the night was still very warm, the world rapidly approaching the height of summer, supposedly. Their years were stupidly-long here, fifteen months of twenty eight days each, twenty-five hours in a day. Despite the years being much longer and the humans being theoretically the same, somehow the average lifespan was seventy years. Longer than it was back home.

Was this the power of the fabled 'no additives diet' meatbags talked on and on about?

Somehow he doubted it, and he didn't care enough to test it. The length of the years was yet another oddity that was ultimately irrelevant and not worth wasting his time thinking about.

"My working will be complete by tonight, by my estimate, and by the next rising sun I shall be bereft of both marking and limitations." She spoke with a restrained sense of satisfaction, looking down at him from the back of her flightless bird. "You will witness a wellspring of endless miracles once I have unshackled myself. Be careful to not fall over yourself in awe, it would be embarrassing to lift you up again."

"I've seen what your asshole looks like, nothing you do can awe me." Adam grunted, glaring suspiciously at a nearby rock formation before dismissing it. Only an idiot would hide behind something as flimsy as sandstone.

Cowmeat and Meatdoc collapsed into a fit of coughing and muffled laughter behind them.

Red nodded calmly, a smug tilt to her lips as she looked down at him. "I imagine it would be difficult, one needs to be awake to be awed and you keep fainting long before I'm finished."

Adam let a sharp, narrow glare come to his eyes. "What can I say? You keep boring me to sleep. Try working harder next time." That had been a tactical error.

Red let out a delighted little laugh. "Oh? Very well, if you're so desirous to hasten your tutelage under my hips. No teacher is upset by an eager student."

"Does your lesson plan always include vomiting ink or was that special for me?" Adam grunted, making her expression fall flat and her smug look twist into a sour glare.

"I thought I said I would execute you if you informed anyone of that." Red glowered at him.

"Cowmeat already told Meatdoc." Adam asserted in a bored fashion, having no idea if that was true or not. Judging by the sudden panicked noise that came from her throat, he had guessed correctly. Red twisted around in her saddle to send a sharp glare towards the both of them.

In the ensuing rounds of threatening and panicked promises to never tell anyone what had occurred, Adam was given a few merciful minutes of peace and quiet. He made a note to go back south eventually and plow the hotsping girl. Both because it would annoy the woman and because he needed his hands on those hips.

Unfortunately, his peace was soon ruined by a tap on his shoulder. He glanced over to see a foot rapidly withdrawing from his side, and let a sharp glare through his armored visor.

"Mongrel, play another song for me as we walk."

Adam gave a long and low rumble of annoyance, reaching a hand back and waiting for Cowmeat to put the ye-old guitar in his hands. "Which one?" He grumbled. It was faster to just sing some Elvis than to put up with her bullshit.

"A new song, an example of a poet who was not 'El'vis'." She commanded with a waggle of her foot. He smacked the toes away from his shoulder and sent a glare her way.

"I don't know any other songs." He lied.

"Yes you do." She unfortunately insisted. "Otherwise you wouldn't remember that their songs were of lower quality. Play one that you remember for me, your favorite of those not written by He." She wiggled her fingers in his direction, an imperious look upon her face.

Adam briefly considered smashing the guitar against her face like a baseball bat. It would certainly be satisfying, at least. His fingers started to strum. What the hell songs did he listen to in the stadium days? Mostly just rock and metal, wasn't it?

"Hm-Hm-HM-Hm-HM." He began, strumming through a half-remembered beat over and over until he approached something that resembled his memories. He still didn't have a pick. "Mississippi Queen. You know what I mean~."

His face pulled into a scowling concentration as he growled the next words. "Mississippi Queen. She taught me everything~."

He was missing a cowbell, the song didn't sound right without it. He went through the motions of the song anyways, might as well finish it acoustic after he had gone through all the trouble of remembering it.

"Went down around Vicksburg. Around Louisiana way.~"

"Where lived the Cajun Lady. Aboard the Mississippi Queen.~" His voice and the strings rumbled over the desert as they continued along their way. He briefly wondered if they were going to ask about any of these proper names he was throwing out.

He would tell them to fuck off if they tried asking, he was confident it would be very satisfying to refuse them.

—

"Do not set up camp." Red commanded as they slowed, the sun high enough in the sky that it was starting to be uncomfortable rather than mild. "Today, and every day to follow until we reach The Lap, we shall sleep under fine roofing."

Adam took in the flat, mostly features section of road, and the single sandstone pillar that jutted out from the ground that they were planning on sitting under until the sun started going down. He turned a skeptical eye back towards the woman, who had slid off her meatbird and settled down in a meditative kneel, arms raised before her torso. She gave a tiny smirk at his pointed look, and inhaled deeply.

Then, holding her breath, she became motionless. Adam watched boredly for a few moments, then glanced around again.

Nothing. "Oi, woma-"

"Hush." She somehow spoke without exhaling.

He let his face fall into a scowl, stomping over to the rock pillar and leaning back against it, arms crossing over his chest. Cowmeat and Meatdoc glanced at each other, then followed, moving over to the shade of the big rock and watching Red silently.

A long few moments passed, before she opened her eyes again and stood up, holding her arms out and down and shaking them about limply. Black dust poured out of her sleeves, shaken out and forming a neat pile on the ground below. She grabbed at the hem of her dress and proceeded to shake that out as well, more and more blackened sand spilling out and falling to the desert. Red made a mildly aggrieved expression as she pulled her arms up from the sleeves and pushed her dress down.

Cowmeat and Meatdoc looked away politely as Red turned the upper half of her dress into a skirt, revealing bare skin beneath. Adam didn't bother looking away, keeping his arms crossed and watching as she brushed off more black sand from her limbs and body, the tattoos all gone save the swirling black heart stamped below her belly button.

"You missed one, magic girl!" He called out mockingly. She was a pretty nice cut of meat, now that he was getting a proper look at her. A combination of well-toned muscle and fatty bits in all the right spots, it was completely unnatural. Adam knew how the body worked, ladies weren't supposed to have fat tits and abs at the same time.

"That's part of a different seal, mor-on!" She called back with a very creative insult, placing hands on her hips, leaning forwards, and shaking her shoulders around with a sneer.

"Are you going to keep jiggling at me or summon a roof already?" Adam made a brushing motion with one hand. "Get a move on, I don't have all day!"

She glared at him, leaning back with a huff and flicking a hand to the side.

Four blades of wind howled to life, screaming for a handful of seconds before disappearing just as quickly. In their wake, a rectangle had been carved into the ground, a set of lines about a half-inch deep in the dirt and the top cleared of any major obstruction. Adam leaned back slightly, frowning at the sudden burst of sound and air-pressure.

Red raised the same hand just used to flick, then snapped her fingers, staring impassively at him as the earth rumbled. His primitive meat-seismics, that is to say his feet, detected sizable geological disturbance.

Before his eyes, the earth within the designated rectangle shifted and rose up, melting into itself like particularly muddy water or clay, rising a good thirty or so feet into the air, then stretching and moulding itself into various cuboid shapes. Finally, the shifting earth settled into place, then compressed slightly in on itself, watery clay suddenly becoming hardened rock stacked high and seamlessly melded.

Before him, a relatively small fortress now stood. A three-story tower made of stacked stone rectangles, the second and third slightly smaller than the previous and connected to the prior floor by a solid clay staircase. The bottommost building having a very tall and wide doorway leading into what looked like a partially-furnished interior composed entirely of stone, a small central furnace and chimney leading up to the second and third floors and ending in a swirling tower at the very top.

Maybe thirty feet longwise and twenty seven across, and thirty-three feet tall. Red had snapped her fingers and summoned a three-room apartment complex. Adam let his face fall back into an unimpressed scowl.

"Behold!" Red boasted, raising a hand to inspect her fingers. "I have provided a roof. A modest affair, but a humble manse can have its own charm."

"Does it have plumbing?" Adam asked dryly, hefting his belongings and making his way towards the new stone building.

Her smug expression fell into a flat glower. She turned to address cowmeat and meatdoc. "Hath, the bottom floor should be sized to accommodate you, a flat stone just inside the doorway can be slid to cover the entrance. Doctor, the second floor is yours, do with it what you will."

"Ah, thank you."
"Thank you kindly."

Adam was stopped by a hand on his chest. He glanced down at it, before shifting his gaze in a mechanical fashion. His glare turned to meet Red's.

"I believe you asked for accelerated lessons, boy." She growled suggestively. "You will be joining me in the highest room. Do not anticipate a fruitful rest."

"Bring it on, fuckhips." He growled back, even knowing the consequences. She grabbed the front of his armor and yanked, dragging him forwards with unnatural strength.

If he hasn't beaten something yet, that just means he needs to keep trying until he does.

His meat whined at him, saying the hips were still bruised from last time. He told it to shut up. They whined harder, saying they were pretty sure the bones were fractured.

—

As it turned out, the bones had indeed been fractured. The extra stressors had snapped his hips midway through the activity with a loud crack that rang out through the stone fort. Fortunately, Red had panicked immediately and waved her hands around to do healing magic, and he was capable of walking again a few moments later. It definitely still hurt, but the injury was gone in half a day rather than a few weeks.

She was considerably more delicate with him after, and that was pissing him off.

Adam was in some ways thankful for the reprieve, because he was beginning to black out at around that moment. There is some dark fucking juju in that woman, and it is all he could do to stop his meat from collapsing into a gibbering pile now that she wasn't puking everywhere. This meatframe was infuriatingly weak in many, many ways. This was simply another one to add to the list.

The days began to follow a different schedule, now that Red had gotten rid of the tats. Each day was now composed mostly of walking towards their destination until they had to stop, Red would wave her hands and summon another house, then Adam would be in an uphill battle the likes of which he had never known before until it was time to leave again. The moments would be filled mostly with Cowmeat and Meatdoc chatting over inane nonsense, Red occasionally chiming in or showing off more magical bullshit.

"I… I don't mean to pry, Lady Empress, but it's been bothering me for a few days now." Meatdoc began nervously, shifting about in a nervous manner.

"Oh? Go ahead, doctor, ask your question." Red waved a hand, passing under a wide-leafed tree and a path leading to what looked like a fruit plantation.

"Well… I heard a loud snapping sound a few days-"

Red's face tinted red as she opened her mouth to offer an explanation, deliberately not looking back at the doctor.

Adam interrupted whatever lie she was about to say with the blunt truth. "I broke my hips on her ass." He grunted out.

Meatdoc coughed into his fist, even as Cowmeat suppressed a rumbly giggle. "T-that- He complains needlessly." Red eventually settled on. "A precise press and application of essence mended his bones to a trouble-less level." She huffed. "It took scarcely a moment."

"Fuck Goddess would've healed me better, I bet." Adam let a smirk come to his face, hidden by his helmet mask. Red's features twisted into a flat glare as he continued. "Took twelve hours for my hips to stop complaining. Bet she would've fixed my headache and cooked me breakfast too."

"Any maladies of the mind are well within my ability to banish. As for meals, that's what I have servants for, in case you forgot. A small goddess living in squalor? No doubt she's a fine cook, I wouldn't expect less from a woman of her station."

"I haven't seen you banish any 'malady of the mind', otherwise your bitching wouldn't make my head hurt."

"A small mind is often hurt by great truths." Red waved him off. "Behold, the next addled mind we come across, I will heal. My miracles and mercy are equally endless."

"Mercy is disgusting." Adam asserted back, drawing a much more contemplative look. He stepped around the hill-side road and stopped for a moment, taking in the view of the city to come.

He understood why it was called 'The Lap' now.

The entire city was built upon a stone statue, a praying monk at least a mile tall, sitting cross-legged and facing the immense stone spire that served as the central 'spoke' of the world. The angle of the road approach had obscured it from him until this moment.

Adam snorted. Tourism.

He kept walking forwards.

"You don't seem to be impressed by much, huh?" Meatdoc called out to him with an amused expression. "First time you've ever seen The Lap and your reaction is silence, a snort, and moving on."

"It's a big rock." Adam replied with an unimpressed glance behind him, the others following shortly after. "There's rocks everywhere." The road turned around the hill and proceeded directly down in what seemed to be the outskirts of the city proper, a straight path leading up to an elevated district that in turn led up to the collection of buildings constructed atop one of the thighs. The buildings surrounding the main road were mostly what looked like knick-knack or food stands, the classic commodities of cash-grab tourism peddled by the regulars of such a trade.

Along the street people performed various tricks, mostly in the form of spinning discs or juggling, but also in the form of dice and card tricks and eating balls of fire. Over there was a guy with a snake in a pot, and-

"Stop." Red commanded, getting off her meatbird and walking over to the side of the road. "This one."

Adam raised his brows. 'This one' was referring to a rather ancient looking meatbag, with wrinkled face and long gray beard wearing surprisingly clean white robes and poking at an incurious bird next to a currently empty stall. He was muttering something to the bird, then muttering to himself in a different tone of voice.

"This one is addled in the mind." Red proclaimed, letting go of the reins of her meatbird and stepping closer to the old meatbag talking to a bird. "Behold my prowess." Meatdoc glanced his way, then forwards again. Cowmeat was mostly trying to ignore the many stares being sent her way.

Red stopped before the old man, who watched sadly as the bird flew away, then looked to the shadow that had crossed over him. He looked up and blinked.

"Oh, Ten-ten birds of a saudry name. What's their name, what's their name?" He asked, pushing himself off the ground and blinking at Red with an insane but rather harmless looking gaze.

Red raised a brow. "You're quite ill, mendicant." She observed. "Ill in the mind."

"That's right, seventeen glass houses cannot stand, not with something like a ten-ten bird inside." The man babbled in response.

Red smiled gently, raising her hands to cup his cheeks and raising on her toes to kiss the old man on the forehead. The old meat froze entirely, staring at nothing as Red pulled back and turned to him.

"A moment, he must have time for his mind to correct itself." She stated confidently.

"Uh huh." Adam grumbled disinterestedly.

A long moment passed. Red pressed her lips together. "Hm. He should be cap-"

The old man shifted and warbled, spilling out into ribbons of fire that traced through the air behind him and lashed through neighboring buildings. Gold and purple flames licked through the air as meatbags began to run and scream, and the man unraveled into a long and sinuous shape, the buildings nearby beginning to catch fire.

Adam pulled everyone back as the trails of fire began to explode like tiny stars, then collapsed into a more definitive shape.

A hundred feet of white scales and burning gold accents, pulling its serpentine head back and screaming in a boom that rippled through the air.

Adam's ears burst, ringing and head pounding as the roar washed over him. He sway raising his hands to-

The serpentine head stopped roaring, suddenly slack, then collapsed forwards to crash against the ground as the nearby buildings smoldered.

Adam stared in a distinctly nonplussed fashion at the unconscious dragon.

He turned a flat stare towards Scarlet, who looked equally stunned behind an impassive mask.

He tried saying "You turned him into a dragon." in an unimpressed tone, but his ears were still ringing loud enough to make him deaf, so he couldn't actually tell if he succeeded.

Chapter Text

It took a long few moments for Red to realize that he was completely deafened, and a hand laid on his helmet shortly fixed the matter for him. Another wave of her hand drew in the various fires to a single bright point in the palm of her hand, which was then snuffed out. A giant whirlpool of air and flame, and then the region was extinguished.

Adam found it hard to be impressed, putting out fires doesn't really accomplish anything except keeping more meatbags alive a little bit longer. His hearing returned to him in time to hear meatdoc rambling with wide gesticulations of his hands.

"..Swan Dragon, you-, he-, this is-" A very dramatic set of wiggling and waving as the doctor gestured at the unconscious beast that used to be an old man. He turned to look at Red in a baffled and somewhat aggrieved fashion. "H-how did you know!? You must ha- Right?!"

Adam busied himself by glaring at the various meatbags peering out from corners and cracks, staring at their group and the now sleeping snakebeast. It was almost certainly a dragon, but that was a boring name for it, so he'd need to come up with one soon enough. The meatbags were muttering and glancing among themselves, and Adam was certain of one thing.

They were going to be asked to pay for the property damage, and Adam was going to have to kill some people over it.

Red rubbed her chin, staring at the unconscious dragmeat with a contemplative frown. "I had a suspicion, but…" Meatdoc started to develop a look of intense and focused revelation. He'd need to nip that in the bud.

Adam snorted loudly, dismissively. Red turned a glare his way, warning him to be quiet. Adam ignored it. "You had no idea this was going to happen." Adam pointed at the now half-destroyed city street occupied by a giant white noodle. "You were trying to show off." He stated bluntly, drawing both the ire of Red and furthering the baffled, wild look on Meatdoc's face.

"I suppose it must have seemed that way, to a mongrel such as yourself. Worry not, you need not understand my actions, only know that-"

Adam snorted loudly again, walking up to the mouth of the dragmeat and poking it with his foot. Meatdoc let out a sharp, strangled noise at that, leaping forwards to get in his path and waving his hands in rapid shakes. "N-no! T-that's Swan Dragon! D-don't just nudge him with your boots!"

Adam stared blankly.

"Who?"

"I- you-" Meatdoc sputtered and waggled about as he tried to find words to explain whatever he was getting worked up about.

"A very important god." Red explained from behind him, putting a hand on his armor and pulling him back. "A very important god that you are going to protect with your life, if need be, do you understand?" She glowered at him, raising a finger and tapping him on the breastplate. "I am placing this responsibility upon you, if any seek to harm him while he is unconscious, you are going to stop them with all your ability."

Adam snorted, then nodded his head down the street. "Like them?"

Meatdoc and Red's heads snapped around, turned to face the small swarm of men in armor rushing towards their position, likely lured over by the sounds of dragmeat screaming and falling asleep. Red relaxed at the sight, pulling away from him and reaching a hand up to tie her hair back in a professional manner. Why she had decided to do her hair at the moment, he didn't care to figure out.

The soldiermeats were wearing the standard ye-old armors. Breastplates, greaves and bracers, shoulderpads and thigh-plates. The works. They carried spears, shields, and swords on their hips, with a bandolier of javelins across their backs. They were being led by two individuals in much brighter and fancier plates of armor.

The leader was wearing solid white plate with accents of gold and red, with an unnaturally large sword on his hip. It might've been about thirty pounds of solid, slablike metal in a robust sheath. Adam could tell that one was the leader from the horned crest on the top of his helmet and the bright red cape that covered the entire left half of his torso.

The soldier immediately adjacent to him was far less ornamental overall, but he also wasn't wearing a helmet which told Adam he was far less competent. Some black haired meatbag not worth his time.

"Ho there, citizens! Step back from the Dragon!" The man in white called out to them. "It could awaken at any moment and do you all much harm!"

"Your Empress stands before you." Red boomed out, letting some manner of elemental lightshow come to life at her feet. Traces of white, red, black, and blue circling around her heels. The soldiers immediately came to a stop, feet dragging for a moment. "Attend me, Commander of the Twelfth Legion."

"I- The Lady Empress?!" The commander twisted his head around to look at his second, and then at his men, before stepping forwards with a pomp and twist of his shoulders. "Is that truly you, lady Empress? Present in The Lap? I didn't receive any warning of your arrival, else I would have had a far more appropriate welcome prepared to receive you!"

"I was engaging in a sabbatical, to wander the Realm under the guise of a mortal woman and evaluate its status." Red tilted her head. "I was under the impression that this was a well-known pastime of mine." She stated with a slightly inquisitive lit to her tone. The tone made all but the commander shiver in their armor.

"Ah, of course! Forgive me, My Lady Empress." The commander turned a half-circle to face his soldiers. "Soldiers of the Twelfth! Your Empress stands before you! Offer your respects at once!" He boomed out in a mixture of pomp and fury.

The soldiers hesitated for a moment more, many glances exchanged between them, before dropping into kneels. The Commander turned back to perform a deep, full-body bow. "My Lady Empress, we are ready to serve!"

Red disguised a tiny twitch at that. "Before us slumbers Swan Dragon. His safety is paramount. Mobilize the whole of the Legion, clear this district of any bystanders, set up a perimeter around his form. Let none approach without my explicit command. Send word to the Triumvirate that I am present."

"At once, Lady Empress!" The commander responded, before rising from his bow and waving a hand. "Second Sesus! See to it, I want to see all five-thousand in the field within the hour! The Warstriders as well!"

"I- Yes, General Cathak!" The unhelmed man replied with a constipated look on his face, turning and waving a hand of his own. "First Scale, stay with the general!" He commanded, jumping up to a nearby roof with a burst of flame and then across roofs towards the giant stone statue. Looking at it again, Adam figured it was more like five miles tall, rather than one.

"Tch." The commander muttered as he watched the man leave over the rooftops, the soldiers fanning out around them to form defensive lines and push meatbags away from the area. "I ask you to forgive him, Lady Empress, my second is still prone to hesitations in the field." He apologized with another bow. "A good man otherwise, I will have another talk with him."

"Divest yourself of worry, General Cathak Letal." Red replied with an imperious, serious expression. "The circumstances are exceptional." The commander shifted in a manner that indicated a great deal of excitement at the sound of his name.

"Of course, Lady Empress. On the matter of clearing the district, are these individuals with you?"

Red turned her head to look at them, raising a finger to designate them in order. "Wozima, Hath Fury, go under escort to safer grounds. Adam, you will stay by my side." Adam grunted in vague agreement, still keeping a watch on the surroundings.

"I- of course." Meatdoc started to argue, before relenting. "Come Hath, I imagine it will be quite dangerous here soon." Cowmeat, already nervous from the many stares, looked quite thankful to be removed from the situation. A single soldier walked up to them to jerk a thumb, and they nodded.

"They are to be given fullest respects, and to remain unharmed, do you understand?" Red stated bluntly.

"Of course, Lady Empress!" The soldier called out, bowing as he did, before raising up and leading the two away from the dragmeat. Adam glanced their way for a few moments more, taking note of streams of soldiers already starting to descend from the raised terraces near the stone statue. Professionals from how well armored and uniform they all were.

"General, this is my newest project." Red began with a hand in his direction, Adam turned a glare towards her through his helmet visor. "Disregard his uncouth demeanor, his natural talent for battle accounts for the difficulties I've had in educating him in the proper etiquette."

"You don't pay me to be polite, you pay me to murder things." Adam grumbled. One of the soldiers walked in a suspiciously familiar way, carrying no shield, sword, or javelins as it moved about their perimeter and kept a careful watch on the sleeping dragon. Adam knew this fucker from somewhere, but he had never met him before.

"Ah-hah! Yes I understand, Lady Empress! Worry not, I shall take no offense!" The general laughed and agreed with a somewhat relaxed nod of his head. He then turned his head to the unconscious dragmeat and hesitated. "...Forgive me, Lady Empress. I could be wrong, but if my memory serves me well the appearance of this dragon matches that of a certain… white-feathered bird, yes?"

His subtlety was incredible. The nearby rooftops were starting to be filled with many more figures in armor, leaping with bursts of fire trailing from their feet. Dozens of figures like this followed by hundreds more significantly more subdued soldiers moving through the streets and shouting orders to clear out the city district.

"I believe this to be Swan Dragon, yes. Hence why it is critical that he remains safe until he recovers." Red spoke commandingly. "Take heed, General, everything is forgiven in the pursuit of this task. Hold absolutely nothing back."

Many of the more ornamental soldiers started jumping down to surround the dragon, moving in a synchronized fashion to stomp their feet. Walls of hardened earth and street-tile rose up, pulled away from underneath the dragon to form a sort of smooth basin. Another stomp into an open-palm shove pushed these earth walls outwards, forming waves of stone that shoved nearby buildings to the side and left improvised walls in their place.

Gestures like these were repeated over and over, bulldozing the various buildings of cheap painted wood and leaving layers of earthen barricades in their wake. Shortly, the outskirts of the city resembled more a relatively short concrete fortress crawling with faceless soldiers.

Magic fuckery made for fast fortifications, it seemed. None of them made moves to hurt the big lizard, so Adam didn't need to go kill them. Not yet, at least.

"Of course! I thought I recognized him, a depiction in one of my personal copies of Alight on Golden Plains. Although his presence in that tome is understood to be apocryphal, it still proved to be useful here, ha-ha!" Adam was beginning to understand that the general was something of a schmooze, from how focused he was on talking to Red instead of doing his job.

More importantly… "Oi, Red."

Scarlet sent a blank stare his way, annoyance carried through her otherwise placid eyes. "What?" She asked in a tense, sharp tone.

Adam nodded his head at the horizon. "Second Dragon."

Red immediately tensed, turning to look wholly in the direction of his nod. The commander followed, casting his helm up to the skyline.

There, cresting over the ridge of the distant mountains swirled a long orange-green figure, clearly identifiable as a dragon by comparison to the unconscious dragmeat currently behind them. Long-bodied and four-limbed, with a noticeable tail-capping stinger even from this distance.

It wiggled slowly in the air, face angled towards them and mouth open but too distant to make out any emoti-

A wave of sound rolled over them like a physical effect, a gust of air or similar, carrying with it a roar of fury that was too loud to distinguish the actual words.

Ah, the emotion was rage, it seemed.

"Bongerok! Why is he here!?" Red spat out, arms suddenly engulfed in swirling flame and wind. The soldiers as far as the eye could see grew tense and worried. The familiar-one with just a spear shook nervously.

"The Southern Censor?!" The general asked almost rhetorically, drawing his oversized slab in the shape of a sword and holding it up before him. "Damnit! Sesus! Where are our Warstriders!?"

"They were in the middle of routine maintenance, General!" A voice carried over the winds after a few moments. "They won't be ready for many minutes more!"

"Curses! Get the artillery ready!" The general growled back, waving a dramatic hand to no one.

"Oi, Red." Adam asked, raising his crossbow. He didn't need to word the rest of the question. The roar finally came to a stop, the orange noodle pulling itself into a furious whirl and rapidly beginning to approach. It was still miles away at this point, but rapidly getting closer.

Red stared at him for a few seconds, then her eyes narrowed and she nodded. "Use whatever means available to kill Bongerok. His hide will be too thick for any of your normal weapons to penetrate, utilize Panzerfaust to its fullest strengths. Is that clear?"

"Crystal." Adam growled, tossing his crossbow aside and letting it clatter to the ground. First purchase was going to be the biggest, strongest crossbow he could find. Range was too good to give up like this.

"General, I will dedicate myself to protecting Swan Dragon. Focus on driving the Censor back, Adam will aid you to the best of his abilities."

"Of course Lady Empress!" The white-gold commander responded, smacking at his chest plate with his right gauntlet. "Sword of the Empress, with me!" He declared, starting to move forwards and up a flight of magically-erected stone steps. Better vantage point to start fighting, it seemed. Adam snorted and ran up to follow.

"Take my hand, momentarily, I will ward you for the fight to come." The general offered his hand. Adam glared at it suspiciously, but took the offered grasp.

After a moment, seemingly nothing happened, and the general extracted his hand with a firm nod. "Be ready, the Censor is almost upon us!" He spoke, raising his sword and pointing at the spiraling orange ribbon rapidly approaching. A tidal wave of fire was following in its wake, setting buildings and fields and orchards alight as it passed over them, and a howl of fire and fury rolled from its open maw.

"Soldiers of my Realm!" Red's voice boomed out, rolling over the quickly-erected fortifications and throughout the city. It was loud enough to be heard a mile away, at least. "Your Empress commands you, protect Swan Dragon!"

Two roars followed in the wake of that commandment. One from the furious firesnake approaching their position like a falling comet, and the other from hundreds, thousands of faceless soldiers filling the still rapidly-transforming district.

"WE GIVE NOTICE TO MARS, LADY OF BATTLES, FOR WHAT IS TO COME!" The general boomed out next to him, arms wide and voice carrying over what was once a city district. "WE GIVE NOTICE TO AHLAT, LORD OF RAIDS, FOR WHAT IS TO COME!"

"BUT WE GIVE PRAISE TO TEN-THOUSAND SPEARS, PATRON OF THE LEGION!" The army around them boomed out in turn. "AND WE RELY WHOLLY UPON OURSELVES AND OUR FELLOW SOLDIERS!"

A hundred or more bolts rose from the district, rising up like an inverted rain. They crashed harmlessly against the scales of the orange twister, which spun and roared as it soared through the air like a jet.

Red took a particular stance, rising on a pillar of stone and standing firmly in front of the unconscious white dragon. One fist was raised before her, the other was pulled closer to her chest, feet spread widely.

The orange dragon descended, jaws widening to chomp down, a collision-course with Red. Clearly intending on barrelling directly through her and towards its unconscious prey.

Red stayed still.

The dragon was almost upon her.

Just as the jaws began to close, she took a half-step forwards and punched.

The orange twister curled up and folded on itself again and again like a truck crashing into a concrete pillar, a tremendous boom echoing over the district as it was stopped dead in its tracks.

Red took another half-step forwards, and punched again.

The sound like a gong and a ripple of gold spread out in the air as the dragon was shot back like a cannonball, smashing through layers of fortification and layers of houses for a quarter-mile, eventually coming to a stop against the nearby hillside.

Another furious, shockwave-producing roar echoed out. A pillar of fire burned to life like a skyscraper, before fading away as the dragon pulled itself up from the hillside. It screamed again, before-

Adam and the general hopped to the side, as the dragon smashed through the fortification they had just been standing upon, fast enough to resemble a bullet-train in motion. Bolts from oversized arrows punching into its hide and doing nothing significant from what he could tell.

Adam cursed as the dragon smashed into a suddenly-raised granite wall and bounced off, deflected from the unconscious dragon with a wave of Scarlet's hands. Screams echoed out as the dragon smashed into soldiers like a bowling ball into pins, turning them into red stains with its movements.

"Can you lock it down?!" Adam growled to the general as they leapt over conveniently-spaced fortification pillars. "It's too fast for me to get a hit on it."

The dragon roared again, twisting around and moving into a wide circle only to smash into another rapidly-raised granite wall and bouncing off with a scream of rage. It pulled back to vomit a wave of molten metal, which poured over the first granite wall, and then stopped by a second such wall.

"Can you hurt it if I did?" The general asked, easily leaping over pillars with bursts of flame.

Adam considered that for a moment. The dragon ignored another wave of ballista-scale arrows, shaking them loose from its hide and screaming. If he wanted to hurt something like that, he'd need to…

"...Throw me." Adam growled furiously.

The general looked back at him. "Ho?"

"Throw me at it, as hard as you can." Adam snarled out. "Make sure you hit."

The general pulled to a stop at the next pillar, sheathing his blade and falling into a crouch with both hands cupped. "Very well! I'm ready when you are, Sword of the Empress!"

Adam jumped from his pillar, feet landing as gently as he could manage in the general's palms, and placing a hand to steady himself. The dragon screamed as it circled again, talons lashing out to smash into a tower, sending it crumbling to the ground.

The general watched carefully, waiting. Adam kept his eyes narrow and hard.

The dragon smashed through another line of soldiers, then rapidly approached the unconscious dragon again.

"Now!"

Adam found himself flung with far more force than he had been anticipating, shooting through the air like a rocket and wind whipping around him. It took another moment for him to right himself, then to orient his legs.

The dragon screamed as it crashed into another stone wall, this time pulling back to lash at it with a full-body whip of its tail. The stringer at the end smashed into the thick wall and sent the stones tumbling to the ground in a burst of heavy shrapnel.

Red moved to summon another wall. She wouldn't be fast enough this time.

The dragon pushed through the first, jaws wide to clamp down on the unconscious white dragon below. Purple flames began to lick around its jaws.

A pair of shaking legs smashed into the side of its head, punching through the layer of fire surrounding it. Time slowed to a crawl, his armored boots smashing into its cheek, pushing it to the side. Scales starting to slide and the furious pupil turning to glare at him.

Distantly, Adam heard something crack.

And his vision was filled with gold.

Chapter Text

He was standing upon white stone. He looked forwards, and saw a crowd of people surrounding a wide, shallow pit in the stone. They were in the middle of playing a game, and a light shone forth from the game. Most people looked like people. Some people looked like animals. Some people looked like shapes. Their expressions were blissful, they were enjoying the game.

He didn't understand the point of the game. He frowned, brows furrowing into a glare. Nothing was moving.

"It has been some time, [Blade]." A voice called out to him. The word was not a word. He turned to look.

A man lounged on a golden platform. The man was larger than a man. He was laying on his side, face propped up on one fist. Another hand held an ivory horn, filled with shining drink. Two other hands were relaxed, loosely holding a gilded spear. A laurel crown sat upon his head, and a shield was propped against his platform. His torso was bare, and his waist was covered by a skirt of every color.

His gaze was fixed upon the game, his face was expressionless.

"Did you bring me here?" He asked.

The man tilted his head slightly, gaze still fixed on the games. "In a sense, I suppose."

"Well send me back. I was in the middle of something." He demanded with a sour expression.

"This moment is fixed. You will return in the same instant." The man explained calmly, not bothering to look at him. He nodded his head forwards, at the game. "It is my turn. Would you like to make it for me?"

He turned to look at the game, scowl deepening. He turned back and asked an annoyed question. "Why would I want to play with mice? It's a waste of time."

The man's lips twinged up in a tiny smile. Finally, his gaze pulled from the games to land upon him. One eye was gold. One eye was black. "Isn't it?" He replied in a slightly pleased manner, then broke into a handful of chuckles, eyes closing as his chest shook.

He didn't understand why that was funny. He scowled, waiting for the man to stop laughing.

The man's laughter came to a slow end, and his eyes returned to him, a small smile hanging on his face. The man reached forwards, tapping him on the forehead, before pulling the arm back. A golden light began to spill out from where he had been tapped.

"You are not my son by birth, but I take you into my household the same. I crown you in light, and you rise as a prince of the cosmos. You are my [Chosen] now, and your soul is a reflection of my own." The man spoke out. "This is my commandment, [Blade], Find a wielder."

The world began to dissolve, embers and wafting ash filling his vision.

"A lover, a nation, a dream, It matters not."

He was falling. The man was smiling.

"Simply choose a worthy hand."

—

The world was ringing. His vision blurred and the corners filled by falling rocks. They were illuminated by a gold and red glow.

A stinger was coming for him.

Adam snarled and raised his hands. The world trailed slowly to his movement.

Like hell he was going to get impaled the same way twice. Another month of waiting around would piss him off.

His hands seized the stinger, dripping with venom. The stone around him fractured with a loud crack. Rocks began to fall in slow motion. His hands wobbled as the stinger approached closer and closer.

The tip of the stinger buried itself in his breastplate. A tiny hole bored into the front of his armor, right under his banner of tally-marks. His wobbling arms prevented it from getting any deeper. He looked up, locking eyes with burning violet orbs glaring down at him, set into a furious, snaggle-toothed maw. One cheek was deformed, and trailed with blood.

A pillar of stone emerged from the side of his vision, crawling its way over the air, lazily making its way over. The dragon slowly turned to look at it. The stinger slowly pulled back.

The pillar crashed against its face, and the lizard was dragged along with it, gently pushed to the side even as its face deformed and warped in comical fashions.

…Oh, that's right. This was all in slow-motion. Any moment now, things were going to speed up again. Adam's eyes narrowed, and he tightened his grip on the stinger, fingers burying into the tip hard enough to crack the chitin.

'I'll be taking this, dragon.' A voice echoed through his head. It was his voice. It wasn't his voice.

Adam pulled back just as time began to flow properly again. His shaking knee rose up, armor spike-punching into the base of the stinger. The light burned brighter.

The dragon screamed in fury and pain, in time with a tearing of flesh and a mighty tug that pulled him up out of the rocky crater he had been buried in.

The dragon smashed against an earthen wall, then through another wall, then into a row of buildings, then into a windmill. A trail of liquid red followed him.

Adam's feet smashed against a fortification pillar. A hand on the ledge tossed his whole body upwards, letting him land on top. A stinger the size of his torso and twice as long carried in one hand. Everything was burning gold.

He hefted the stinger, then punched a hand through the base with a squelch of gore, grabbing onto something inside. He ignored the terrible heat as he hefted it. It wasn't enough to burn him. It wasn't quite a shield, but it was something.

'Not a sword, but it will do.' The voice echoed again.

"SOOOLLLAAARRR!" The dragon roared hatefully, voice booming over the landscape. Its voice burned like fire and rolled like magma. "MY STINGER! YOU TOOK MY STINGER!"

Adam grinned beneath his helm, hefting his new gauntlet into the air. "IT'S MY STINGER NOW, WORM!" He boomed back. The golden-red light burned brighter. There was someone standing behind him, intangible golden arms coming up to mimic his. They were his arms. They were someone else's arms.

The furious roar rolled out again, before the dragon raised up, throwing its head back and screaming. "ATTEND ME, MY COURT! ALL OF YOU, ALL OF YOU! BURN THIS LAND TO ASH! TO ASH!"

Why didn't he do that to begin with? Dumbass.

A pillar of fire burned up through the air, a skyscraper of rolling flame and heat. The fire burned into the atmosphere above, then began to spread out like a blooming flower. From the landscape, appearing over the distant hills and horizons were thousands of burning specs, coming with the stomping of feet and thundering of hooves. An army racing towards the distant walls, the screams of meatbags in the distance shortly following.

Adam frowned and turned his head. Red was staring at him with an inscrutable expression. She was surrounded in a storm of destructive elements. Her hair and robes whipped about, and her body was sheathed in fire.

"Oi, Red, how important is this city?" He called out from his own stony pillar, rumble carrying in his voice. It was annoying to look through this layer of flickering gold.

She stared at him for a moment longer, before answering. "Very. I'll have you executed if you damage it unduly." She ordered with a booming call of her own. Dozens of soldiers on various earthen pillars and walls were staring warily at him, then looking to Red, then back to him. Their weapons were raised in his direction, and their feet shuffled nervously.

…Oh yeah, he was one of those 'Anathema' now, wasn't he? Their propaganda dictated that he should be killed on sight. He dismissed it. Red hadn't betrayed him yet, so he wasn't going to slaughter her in turn. Professional pride meant he needed to see the contract through to completion. He banished the line of thought and returned to her words.

Adam scoffed in an annoyed fashion. Damage it unduly? He's fighting a dragon here, what level of damage counts as 'undue'? He jumped from the pillar, leap carrying him to another earthen pillar, then another, then another as he raced towards the pillar of fire.

'It's a city, just build a new one after.' Not-His voice echoed.

Fighting out there on the hillside was the way to go, otherwise Red was going to bitch at him. He'd leave the army of burning things to the soldiermeats. He had a dragon to butcher. He wasn't sure how he was going to do it, but he did know what the first step was.

He hefted the stinger again, jumping off the last pillar and upon a toppled rooftop, feet cracking clay tiles as he landed. The tip was still dripping with whatever venom the bastard had tried to jab him with.

Adam was going to return the favor with interest.

He landed on the next half-broken rooftop, cracking tiles in time with another set of armored boots landing next to him. His glare shot over to see the General running alongside him, armored feet smashing tiles in time.

"Ho there, Anathema! I can't exactly let you get all the glory of facing the maddened Censor, now can I?!" The general explained, cheerfully pompous behind his helmet-mask. Adam was pretty sure the job of the general was to lead an army, and the army was back there, but he supposed Red had that covered. "It would be a shame to the Twelfth Legion if their general wasn't just as brave as one of the Forsaken!"

"Suit yourself." Adam growled in response, glare focused on the now-diminishing pillar of fire, kicking off another shattered roof and landing on a perimeter wall. Their feet shattered the flimsy stone wall, and another froglike leap carried them over a ring of fire and onto the outer fields of farmland. Most of them had been reduced to charred black hills at this point, and rising smoke choked the airs.

"Now listen closely Anathema, I have a cunning plan of attack." General Pomp began as they transitioned from leaps into a pair of sprints, trailed by destructive auras of gold-red and white-gold.

"Which is?" Adam rumbled out, his feet kicking up clouds of ash and chunks of dirt as they sped onwards. The pillar of fire was rapidly shrinking as they approached it, slowly revealing the sinuous form of the hundred-foot serpent within.

"A Censor is a most-clever spirit, but they are ultimately bureaucrats!" General Pomp began to explain. "The Shogun said: When attacking, do not aim where the enemy is strong. Do not attack in a way that the enemy can predict. Attack the enemy where he is weak. Attack in a way she cannot predict. Victory is attainable only by defying expectation and doing the unexpected. End quote."

"Where are you going with this?" Adam grumbled, sending a side-eye towards the left.

"It's obvious, isn't it? A Censor is a bureaucrat! They make war with paperwork and court proceedings, not swords and spears!" General Pomp announced with a laugh. "He'll be expecting something underhanded from us, so he'll be weakest to a direct attack! Attack openly and directly while also attacking indirectly and with great subtlety. This is called the Fire and Snake Stratagem."

Adam snorted in an amused fashion, despite himself. He was pretty sure that the dragon was plenty strong in direct combat. "Sounds good to me." He rumbled. Either General Pomp was right or opened up a moment for Adam to get a hit in, either case was fine by him.

"Ah-hah! Excellent! As the senior, I shall take the first blow!" General Pomp laughed, turning his face forwards again. "We're almost upon him now. Would you mind returning the prior favor? I'll need some height to reach him up there!"

Adam understood at once, jumping forwards in a burst and sliding into a kneel. The stinger on one arm made it impossible to cup his hands together, so he instead braced his left arm against his torso and coiled his entire body. General Pomp jumped, landing in the palm of his hand and curling up.

Another golden arm came up from behind, overlaying his meat-arm. Adam flexed, and extended himself like a spring. General Pomp soared through the air like a catapult, trailed by fire and wreathed in wild energies. The pillar of fire disappeared and the dragon's head lowered.

Just in time to come face-to-face with white-armored form of the General.

"HO THERE, CENSOR!"

Blade clashed against claw, making the sound somewhere between stone and metal crashing.

Then again, a blur as blade and claw clashed. General Pomp seemed to hang in the air, bouncing each time the dragon swung a quad-set of wicked claws at him.

Then again.

Then again.

Then the general did not respond in time, as the dragon smashed another blurring-claw into him and carried him down to the ground like a falling comet, cratering the earth and kicking up a wave of ash and dust as they landed.

The dragon roared hatefully, drawing its claws back again, and smashing the General Pomp deeper and deeper into the ground. Again, then again, then again. Claws crashing into a raised blade held by the general, surrounded in swirling light. A bare handful of seconds to unleash a half-dozen massive swings, powered by equally huge limbs and capped by razor-bones.

His armored boots skid down the side of the crater.

The dragon pulled back, mouth still open, and snapped forwards to bite the half-buried General.

His open mouth.

His unscaled, open mouth.

'You don't have any armor on the inside, do you?!'

Adam's armored boots slid to a stop just over the prone form of the general, half-buried in earth, as he ruthlessly took advantage of the beating the pompmeat had just received. The jaws were closing down on him now.

He hefted the stinger.

The jaws closed down on him.

The world was filled with pain and darkness, his meat screaming as teeth clamped down around him. Sudden disorientation came over him, and a moment later he was free of the jaws.

Disregarding the pain he was in, as suddenly difficult as that was to do, the first thing he noticed was that the world was upside down. The second thing he noticed was that the wind was whipping around him. The third thing he noticed, which brought a cruel grin to his lips, was that his arm was no longer sheathed in immense stinger.

He smashed into the ground and rolled for many seconds, eventually coming to a stop at the end of a long furrow of ash and dirt. The ringing in his head was eventually drowned out by choking snarls of fury, and the sound of thrashing and coughing.

"Y-YOU A-AGH-AGK!" The dragon roared out again, eventually reaching up to claw at its own throat and ripping out its own stinger. A wash of blood and sickly green poison followed, alongside a wave of bile. "MY VENOM! YOU-! S-SOLAR! SOOLLAARR! SOOOLLLAAARRR!" The booming roars were almost enough to deafen him again. Waves of ash rolled out from each roar, shockwaves sufficient to scatter dust.

Adam attempted to pull himself up. Limbs weren't cooperating at the moment. Punctures in their outer meat. Fractures through most of the bones in his upper torso. He could manage, but he'd have to be gingerly about it.

It's head came up, eyes pulling into furious pinpricks as it spotted him. Its throat was filled with bubbling magma, and it reared back.

Adam prepared himself to dodge, even as his meat loudly protested.

The dragon threw its head forwards.

And then its head was thrown to the side in a concussive burst. Another sound like a large gong ringing out burst forth, and a golden ripple spread out from the point of impact. Noticeably, it was far smaller than the earlier display by Red. It was more than enough to toss the dragon's head to the side by several meters.

"DID YOU FORGET CATHAK LETAL, CENSOR!?" General Pomp roared.

The wave of fuming, toxic flame sprayed out to his left, a line of molten death that stretched as long as a football field and crashed against the frontlines of the dragon's own soldiers. They were approaching. It was getting dangerous.

The dragon screamed, desperately, hatefully. It rose back up, smashing claws into General Pomp. "BE-GONE, TERRESTRIAL!"

The blade rose.

Crash, crash, crash, crash, boom.

The general went flying once more, carving his own groove in the earth on the opposite side of the dragon. The dragon, proving it had learned its lesson, did not chase after the General Pomp.

Adam snarled in rage as it rose directly into the air, flying up like a comet and well beyond jumping range. He drew a knife. It roared out. "WITH ME, MY COURT! WITH ME!" As it twisted through the air, cycling like a twister as it flew beyond them and towards the city outskirts once more.

Motherfucker.

Golden arms laid over his again, as the knife was pulled back and then flung. A shockwave rang out as it left his hands and raced through the air.

"TO THE CEN-GRK!" The dragon roared out, as a knife punched its way into the side of its throat. The words dissolved into mindless screaming as it reached up and clawed the knife out, not stopping or slowing its pace towards the city. "A KINGDOM'S RANSOM FOR THE HEAD OF THE SOLAR! FOR THE HEAD OF THE GENERAL!" It roared out again.

A great many burning humanoids stopped in their advance towards the outskirts, and a dozen-dozen eyes were suddenly centered on him.

"HAH! COME ON, YOU YELLOWBELLIES!" General Pomp yelled out near him, rising from the earth and taking his oversized sword in both hands.

Adam met his confidence by drawing his own sword, which shone with a particular silvery sheen. He couldn't exactly go without taunting right now, could he?

"All the same meat to me! I'll slaughter all of you!" He boomed out, glaring and sword raised.

'One enemy or one-hundred-thousand! It makes no difference!' Not-Him echoed.

Chapter Text

There was a certain art to fighting armies. The first thing you had to worry about was being individually more capable than anyone they could muster against you. If you were fighting a superior opponent and they were being supported by hordes of meat, then chances are you were just dead outright. Fortunately, he was Adam Smasher, which meant no one here was going to be beating him in a straight fight.

Smash. His rising knee plowed through the face of one of the 'officers', tanned meats wreathed in fire and riding smoky horses. He stole its shield as he rose, ripping it from the collapsing meat's arm as it fell off the now-buckling beast. Like the other fancy weapons he saw scattered about, this one looked entirely too cumbersome to be practical. It was still a shield, and he would need the extra plating.

'Spoils of war, Ifrit, I'm certain you understand!'

He kicked off the horse and towards a relatively open spot, foot lashing out and turning one of the soldiers into a spray of directional gore. The silver sword flowed, sending a spear-thrust wide and then darted up to slice through the neck of the wielder. Despite his prediction, the shield felt relatively light in his hands, light enough that it practically locked itself onto his arm-hook.

That left the next step to fighting armies, which was making sure they couldn't overwhelm you with numbers. Waves of meat were easy to gun down with the proper equipment, but he was currently lacking such. What he had was a sword, a knife, and four shots. He suspected that the meats wreathed in fire probably weren't going to be taking much damage from a burst-shot flamethrower either.

He raised the arm, letting another set of spears bounce off and stomping forwards. The soldiers were strange, mostly nude and covered in grey or silver skin, wearing charms and trinkets carried on leather straps and twine cords. They wielded any number of weapons, although all the ones immediately present used spears.

'Small gods of storied weapons, selling their prowess in battle. A breach of celestial conduct.'

Their skin was tougher than normal, but not so tough that it was worth using panzerfaust over the extra reach of his sword. Having said that…

He cut off an arm at the wrist, kicking the soldier into a group of his friends to buy time. The silver sword was sheathed, the spear was stolen, and now he had a weapon with some space and flex to work with.

"HAHA! Quickly now, Anathema! We must return to the outer districts!" General Pomp called out, sword smashing through a line of his own spears and into a trio of grey soldiers. He twisted himself, carefully sending another spear aside and smashing a foot into the soldier's temple. "No time for rousing skirmishes out here!"

Annoying as it was, General Pomp had a point. His client was going to bitch at him if the dragon wasn't dealt with first. "Clear some space!" Adam barked out in turn.

"Very well!" General Pomp responded bombastically, throwing another soldier aside and raising a foot in a rather acrobatic manner, well above his head. "Jump!"

Adam jumped directly up as General Pomp's heel crashed down. A tremendous boom echoed out, and a ripple of earth flowed out from the point of impact like a horizontal avalanche. Sure enough, the avalanche barely passed under his feet and rolled across the waves of gray soldiers and burning officers around them. Naturally, they were not able to resist the flow of earth, and were pushed well away from the pair.

General Pomp huffed tiredly and leaned forwards as Adam landed. He was slowing down, it seemed. Adam immediately stabbed the spear deep into the churned ground, and knelt in a familiar brace.

General Pomp, seeing this, laughed and immediately hopped forwards, landing in his palm. "Make sure to follow soon, Anathema!"

Golden hands layered over his, and he extended into another powerful upwards throw. General Pomp jumped from his hand at the apex, fire trailing from his feet as he exploded over rows of soldiers and towards the burnt and blackened buildings. Adam cracked his neck briefly as he prepared his own escape, dropping into a crouch and mentally running the numbers. The soldiers and officers moved to intercept him, climbing over the tilled earth.

'It's not flying, but can any of them tell the difference?'

He jumped up and back, landing at the end of the spear and bending it back. It creaked as it leaned back, almost touching the ground. He narrowed his eyes, and leaned forwards.

The spear whipped forwards, snapping back into place and shooting him through the air like a catapult. He landed almost next to General Pom, kicking up a cloud of ash in the process. Adam burst out of the cloud at once and started to run towards the outer wall.

"Hah! Good show!" General Pomp announced, starting up his own run again and pulling up along Adam. "Allow me to facilitate passage over the walls, it's only fair!" He raised both feet in a tiny, running hop, then stomped in another booming manner as he landed.

The ground rumbled briefly. Pillars of earth rose from the broken streets before them, leading up in a stair-like fashion over the outer walls. Adam gave a vaguely appreciative grumble as he jumped again, taking advantage of the earthen pillars to rapidly ascend over the outer walls and onto the damaged rooftops. Pomp wasn't slowing him down, which meant his earlier assessment of general competence was holding true.

Before them, the main battle stretched over the entire length of the outer district and into the fields to the north-east, a diagonal line of churning earth and rising fire smashing into each other. Bursts of other lights were present, whips of wind and torrents of water, but they were short lived compared to the elemental bulk.

Behind the frontline of fire, in the midst of a burning field, hovered the dragon. Coiling in place as it overlooked the battlefield and roared out orders. Behind the frontline of earth, still atop the earthen pillar and waving her hands in an orchestral fashion, stood Red. Every few moments a wave of glittering black burst to life from her hands, and washed over frontlines, twisting through and around her soldiers and crashing into the officers and soldiers wreathed in fires.

"That old snake!" General Pomp cursed as they left from roof to roof, tiles cracking in their wakes as they made it back to the battlefield. "He's found himself a nice bonfire to sit in, a few more minutes and he'll be healed up again!"

Fire makes the dragon heal, apparently. His earlier suspicion had been more right than first predicted. Adam narrowed his eyes as he glared at it. "What does water do?"

"Hm?" General Pomp made a curious noise. "Well, at the very least it will prevent him from healing further. Many elementals shun water as outright poison, although not all."

"Got any magic that can make it rain?" Adam growled as they left rooftops and returned to stone pillars, many of which had been tipped over or broken from fighting.

"Oh-ho?! A very clever plan Anathema!" General Pomp complimented. He stopped hard at the next pillar, before steadying himself and raising his hands to his helm. "SESUS!" His voice boomed, rolling over the chaos of the battlefield like thunder.

A few moments passed. A voice came over the winds towards them.

"Gh- Yes General?!" The voice sounded rather strained. The same helmless meat from before, it seemed.

"Stop whatever it is you're doing, and have the sorcerers beckon That Which Stirs the Sky! I want the biggest, rainiest storm they can produce, as fast as they can produce it!" General Pomp commanded confidently, speaking to apparently empty air.

"I- General, they're maintaining countermagics at the moment! Out forces will be vulnerable if-"

"I gave you an order, Second!" General Pomp interrupted with a stern tone of voice.

Any further reply was set aside as Red's voice carried over the winds. "There is no need. I shall do it myself." She announced, bringing General Pomp into an immediate salute in her general direction. "General, Adam, go to the center of the fighting. I will need time to conjure the storm, and the center will not hold otherwise."

"Ah, Forgive my men, Lady Empress, it has been some time since they've seen anything more than bandit raids I'm afraid!" General Pomp responded with a bow of his head. "I'll increase their hours in the training yards after this business is sorted! Second, how long till our Warstriders hit the field?!"

Words carried over the winds. "Another minute or so, General, they're crossing around the right knee now."

"I want them marching straight for the Censor when they arrive! He managed to slip away from us back there, and we won't be letting that happen again!"

"Yes, General."

"That's all for now, return to your previous business!" The winds settled down again, and General Pomp huffed to himself. "That lad needs something. I don't know what it is, but he needs something to get him sorted out."

"We have a job to do." Adam growled out, kicking off the earthen pillar and towards the line of fire and earth. He was quickly followed by General Pomp, who laughed in a bombastic manner as they moved from pillar to pillar. These stone columns were pretty helpful for getting around without worrying about navigating the streets, more cities could stand to learn a lesson from this.

"Hm, the Immaculates have taken to the field." General Pomp noted, staring out at a certain part of the battleline. The part of the line where the most random distribution of elemental energy was exploding out. "Anathema-hunters, you see, I suspect they'll forget their place and attack you despite the Empress' words."

'Traitors! I-I don't understand! Why have they turned their swords towards me?!'

Adam briefly considered just saying that he'd slaughter them, but Red was clearly listening in with her own brand of magical fuckery, and dealing with her sounded like a pain in the ass at the moment. So instead he growled out. "Take the frontline, I'll dive into their center." It was more a command than anything else, but General Pomp took it as a suggestion.

"Ah! Putting the enemy between yourself and them! Sensible, but will you survive that deep into their ranks?"

"I'm Adam Smasher-"

'I'm the Golden Blade-'

"-The only thing they can do is bore me." He snarled out.

The last thing to keep in mind, when fighting armies, is the all-critical principle of Morale. If the enemy was smart, they would have removed this as a factor entirely before the fight had even begun. There was a behavior-chip back home called 'perfect soldier' that could do this, slotting into the soldier's internal computer and altering their brain chemistry accordingly. Likewise, morale wasn't a factor for things like drones or borgs, which were robots or beyond such mental frailities respectively.

Most militaries were not professionals, Adam himself was usually called in to slaughter street trash or small fry corporations that refused to play along. They believed in abstract principles like 'sanctity of the mind' or 'freedom of the spirit', often to excuse the fact that they were too poor to afford to make all their soldiers utterly fearless. Gangers sometimes compensated with combat stims they cooked up in dirty kitchens, but that was inconsistent at the best of days.

Against such lacking standards, morale was a factor, and morale was another thing that he had decades of experience in slaughtering. An army died when its morale did.

He leapt from the last earthen pillar, curling up and spinning to reduce his air resistance, aiming for a specific horse-riding figure.

Step one. Murder their leaders in a violent and unexpected manner. The horse-bound officer turned and began to bark orders at a nearby line of gray soldiers. Waves of fire came from his lance and washed over lines of soldiers wearing armor painted black.

A burning gold star descended on the battlefield.

His shaking boots smashed through the officer's chest, making it erupt into a spray of gore and trailing embers, loudly painting all nearby soldiers with chunks of smoldering corpse. Adam landed on top of the horse, spinning into a sweeping kick against the back of its head.

Another spray of gore exploded out, the horse's head tumbling through the air as it began to collapse and spasm.

Step two. Declare intent in a clear and direct manner.

"CONGRATULATIONS, MEAT!" Adam roared out as gray-soldiers turned to face him, half painted in fresh new gore. Golden limbs layered over his as he yelled. He pulled up from the corpse to hold his hands wide, legs painted in the steaming gore of the officer. "I HAVE BEEN ORDERED TO SLAUGHTER YOU! IT WILL BE MY PLEASURE!"

Step three. Follow through.

He barrelled through a row of spears, letting the shield do its work as he closed the gap, throwing a shaking hand forwards and up as he got close enough. Knuckles smashed against a bare gray torso.

One graymeat turned into a spray of gore, painting over his friends, the friends behind him, and the friends behind that for another dozen feet.

Proving that the dragon had not, in fact, removed the need to worry about morale in his army, the graymeats started to falter almost immediately. The lines dissolved into panicked running as troops pushed each other back and aside, away from the front line in his vicinity. Behind him, General Pomp landed and quickly began to bark orders at his own line, handling the much-reduced line of graysoldiers.

Most of them here were running. Naturally, he chased the biggest groups he could find.

Jump. Smash. Spray of gore.

"NONE OF YOU WILL ESCAPE!"

Jump. Smash. Spray of gore.

"YOU WERE NOT MADE TO ENDURE!"

Oh, look, another officer. He leapt forwards again, smashing a knee into a graymeats face and grabbing it by the arms. Golden limbs layered over his as he spun on his heels. That was beginning to annoy him.

And then, toss.

He laughed as the gray smashed into the side of the officer, knocking him off his horse and sending both to the ground. A sword cut into his side, but bounced off his armor.

Ah, right, his job. He twisted into a spinning, shaking kick that turned the graymeat into a spray of pale red, painting another handful of gray soldiers. "BOLD AND STUPID!"

"Anathema!" An angry yell came from the distance, Adam turned an unconcerned glower that way, seeing a set of men and women in obnoxiously bright armor, some of them shaved bald, some of them wearing their hair back in ponytails, and none of which were wearing helmets. "You're responsible for this, aren't you?!"

They were also firmly behind several lines of enemies and clashing weapons. It was pretty hard to hear them, if he was being honest. He raised a shaking backhand to splatter a gray soldier against the nearby wall.

He had many possible responses to this accusation, but many of which would cause bitching later. So Adam raised his hands to amplify his shout and chose a generally applicable insult. "This is a battlefield, dumbass, come back with a helmet on!"

Expectedly, that only got them angry. They began to leap over the heads of soldiers, allies and enemies alike, and towards him. Adam smirked as he turned, jumping towards another row of graymeats and splattering one across his friends. Now it was an actual challenge. How many squads could he slaughter before the zealots got to him, and how far would they try to chase him?

A cracking boom rang out as he leapt across another set of heads, drop-kicking an officer and painting his soldiers. He glanced to the source, seeing massive, insectile legs raising up from the earth and into the clouds above. Miles high at the smallest, grey and ruddy and dripping with thousands of tonnes of water.

He turned another smoldering officer into red rain as the legs began to spin and weave the clouds, punching into distant puffy white stratum and clawing it together. It wasn't quite a crab, nor a spider.

It was, however, rapidly accumulating the clouds above into dark overcast and snapping pincers to 'jumpstart' flashes of lightning. If those chitinous limbs were physical, Adam wasn't sure how he would kill it in regards to its immense size. If they weren't physical, then it was pretty tacky and he would make sure to tell Red this later.

A light drizzle began to rain down.

Adam jumped back, avoiding a road-cratering dropkick from one of the baldmeats, which threw waves of gray soldiers to the side to smack into their fellows.

The drizzle turned into rain.

Adam spun into a kick that shattered an earthen pillar, rapidly ascending up the side as it fell and reaching a better vantage point. There were a number of chariots in the distant sky, pulled by winged bulls and rolling with thunder, rapidly approaching the half-blazing city.

The rain turned into a downpour. He kneed a bald woman in the gut, making her double over with a cough.

A tremendous roar rolled over the battlefield, as the stinger-less dragon rose from its now-extinguished pile of rubble and spun into another bullet train-like twisted, over the battlefield and beyond the reach of arrows. Magma bubbled in the back of its throat as it approached the unconscious dragon far in the backline.

Adam drew the sword, bringing it up for a downwards slash.

At the apex, the sword vanished in a flash of golden flame.

In the distance, a flash of golden light exploded from the fortifications, shooting up and smashing into the dragon's throat. A cutting arc of gold and purple flowed in a wave, cutting through the storm and making all rain stop for a half-second.

The bald fucks moved to strike him. He moved his shield into position.

"I AM SWAN DRAGON! IN THE NAME OF HEAVEN, ALL WARRIORS ARE TO CEASE!"

All movement suddenly stopped, limbs frozen for half a moment, then released.

The expression on the bald woman's face was deeply constipated.

Adam reveled in it.

Chapter Text

Opportunity was a sleeping dragon.

The end of the battle was dominated primarily by cleanup and immediate meetings. From her initial counts, the twelfth legion had suffered roughly one thousand casualties and one hundred actual deaths. A manageable amount of losses, overall. The enemy suffered about three times that in casualties, but they were spirits and elementals, and thus suffered no actual deaths. They'd just reform at their seat of power, wherever that might be.

If she was somewhat more vindictive, she'd be demanding their permanent destruction right about now. As it was, most of them would be fined a pittance but otherwise allowed to go free. She could expend the political capital to lobby for harsher punishment, but the benefit wouldn't be enough to account for the cost. She made a note to hand out a number of rewards to the Twelfth for their duty here, insufficient rewards and ceremony would cause undesirable bubbling in the region.

She grasped the essence of the world and tugged, pulling up stone and rock from the flattened city district. Columns of marble and granite turning into platforms, tables, statues, and chairs. Raising the Earth's Bones, a simple terrestrial spell with almost endless uses to the clever mind, she was using it now to pull an acceptable gathering hall from the ground.

A mere three stories, and the interior barely furnished. It was hardly her best work, but she had limited time here. The meeting hall needed to be very open and very public, to minimize the chance of any single actor acting well out of line. She turned her head in the midst of her spell-weaving just enough to glance again at the many spirits standing in the sky above, many of which were quietly talking to one another.

Standing among a host of winged bulls, Ahlat, southern god of war and cattle. Towering and bull-headed, carrying a spear and bow, and clad in a crimson cape with thousands of tassels.

Hovering amidst a host of whirlwinds and flanked by a pair of thunderbirds, Notus, captain of the aerial legion and arbiter of southern storms. Sharp-eyed and weathered skin, with chakrams at his belt and winds in his hair.

Standing on sorcerous clouds in a set of five, faceless and nameless aside from their position in the celestial bureau, five Sidereals in blank masks. They wore starmetal armor that concealed the whole of their bodies, and the symbols of the maidens of fate were clearly displayed on their foreheads.

Bound in a collection of prayer-strips and unconscious, the smaller, humanoid form of Wong Bongerok hovered. A corpulent, hairless, red-robed man with eyes in his palms. When awake, he'd be sheathed in a patina of green flame, but currently he was well-bound.

And in the middle of the collection of gods was the opportunity himself. Somewhat more weathered than she remembered from depictions, with shaggy white hair and cloak, wreathed in an unmistakable aura of gold and violet flame, and carrying a very familiar sword as symbol of his authority. She was rather annoyed that she hadn't recognized it earlier.

Swan Dragon. Former Censor of the South. It was before her time that he was active, famed as a paragon and credit to his office, fighting many of the most desperate battles during the fae invasion, and eventually disappearing with one of the final battles of that terrible war. Shortly after he disappeared, she had reached the control chambers of the Sword of Creation and thrown back the invaders.

He was one of countless heroes of that age. He had been gone for the last seven hundred years.

Now, she knew where he had been. Driven mad by fae-torture and left to wander aimlessly until she stumbled across a random old man and banished his derangements. At any point, a dragonblooded with mastery of the same basic charm could have wandered by and done the same. She was thankful they hadn't, because an opportunity like this was rare indeed.

Unfortunately, that meant Red Earth had been inadvertently responsible for this boon, which was aggravating.

A number of other, lesser deities hovered about the proceedings, but they were present because they were local, not because they were important. Granias, goddess of The Lap lands and reaper of harvests. Jin Rou, god of seed-drills, disk harrows, and ox-drawn combine harvesters. Mound's Nourishing Treasures, goddess of potatoes.

She finished raising the last section of marble and granite, pulling back from her sorcery to evaluate her work before looking up in a more deliberate fashion and raising an arm towards her work.

Swan Dragon saw this and nodded. He descended elegantly, pulling the bound current-censor with him as he moved, quickly followed by the many other gods present. She dropped down off her own pillar in turn, moving towards the circular table and its eight seats grown out of rock and sat atop the ten-yard building. It was currently the highest thing in the entire…

…What was this district before? Some manner of low-goods market district? That or a particularly clean shanty, she supposed. It didn't matter anymore, because everything that wasn't toppled had been burnt then doused. The entire district would need to be rebuilt afterwards. She made a note to dedicate a small sum towards the rebuilding efforts, ten talents or so.

She waved a single hand to the side, indicating that her own subordinates should approach as well, then moved to take a seat at the north-eastern chair. It would put the Imperial Mountain at her back, and remind all present exactly who they were speaking with.

Swan Dragon himself took the southernmost seat. Flanked by Ahlat, who took the south-eastern seat, and Notus, who took the south-western seat. The Sidereals took no seat, instead standing with arms folded behind their backs to the western side of Notus.

Flanked by their personal guards and stepping up in a leisurely fashion, the Triumvirate of Satraps she had assigned to rule over The Lap. Cathak Sijap, oldest and most stubborn, Ragara Aloru, talented coin-counter and habitual gambler, and Peleps Tuchet, social chameleon and vacillator. They hated each other, and almost never got anything done. She had assigned them specifically because they wouldn't get anything done and potentially ruin her control over The Lap.

Also because it amused her to hear about them constantly bickering and sabotaging one another. They moved to take multiple seats, but a sharp glare and the whisper of 'one' carried over the wind made them stop in their tracks. A tiny smirk came to her face as they silently and fiercely argued amongst themselves about who was allowed to sit in the northern chair.

They were followed in turn by the bombastic swagger of Cathak Letal, a man who had proved himself strategically ineffectual several times over already. It was simultaneously amusing and frustrating to watch. He made a show of formally greeting her again before making his way over to the eastern chair.

He was, in turn, followed by Laughing Peony, an elderly and grim-faced woman with shaved bald head and seething eyes. She made her way over to the north-western chair and settled down in it, bowing properly to the collected gods before doing so.

The Western chair was left empty, the remaining gods and many of her soldiers gathering in the sidelines as Swan Dragon began to speak.

"I believe I owe you great thanks, Scarlet Empress." His voice rumbled smoothly, bowing his head slightly towards her. "For the return of my senses and defense of my slumbering form. Were it not for these actions, I may have wandered in madness for many centuries more, or struck down by my… replacement." He spoke the final word with a vague disdain. The other gods rumbled with equally vague agreement.

There were many possible answers to this, of which, the best was probably…

"I shall only accept half of your thanks." Scarlet began calmly. "My easing of your ills was entirely incidental. My aim was solely to inspire wonder in my sworn sword, in the same fashion a schoolchild might demonstrate their prowess in Gateway or the training yard for a companion. I was merely enjoying my sabbatical disguised as a mortal woman when I happened to cure your ills. "

It was almost the complete truth. It was also something that none present would actually believe. Her reputation would work to protect her, and the double-bluff would easily slide into the minds of the less canny. They would believe that she had planned for this. Even those more canny would have no basis to discover the details of the actual truth.

"I am aware." Swan Dragon replied calmly, nodding along. "I was maddened, not senile. My memory of those years is as strong as any other. But deed is irrespective of intent, and your deed was one of selfless healing. That must be praised."

"Hm, very well." She responded, leaning back. "Then I shall insist that you praise my officers and warriors, at least in part, I alone did not defend you."

"And I shall. Praise and apologies both." Swan Dragon responded, turning an eye towards the general of the twelfth. "I understand that you are the commander of these soldiers?"

"Ah-hah! That I am, good Censor. General Cathak Letal, and I assure you, it was my pleasure to assist in your defense! A most rousing battle and more nobler cause if ever there was!" Scarlet restrained a twitch of her hand at his braggadociousness.

Swan Dragon nodded. "Then from the depths of my heart, I offer you my thanks, to you and your soldiers both." Letal preened under the thanks even as Swan Dragon turned his gaze and narrowed his eyes. "Is the current-governor of The Last Supplicant present? Forgive me if I do not recognize you." He gestured at the immense stone statue, the Penitent, to ensure that his reference was clear.

"That would be us." Cathak Sijap spoke with a grave tone, having won the little war to sit in the chair and flanked by her fellow triumvirate members. The hereditary king of The Lap was, of course, nowhere to be seen. "Cathak Sijap, Ragara Aloru, Peleps Tuchet. We serve as satraps on behalf of her Lady Empress." The old-looking woman gestured towards her in the most polite fashion she could.

Swan Dragon nodded. "Then I apologize that such a destructive battle had taken place among your work." He tilted his head. "And I must extend my gratitude, for managing my manse and domain in my absence."

The triumvirate tensed, little glances sent her way. Granias perked up, the little parasite fidgeting in excitement about the potential removal of her power.

Scarlet tilted her head. Then, mercilessly, she ended the current political aspirations of the three satraps. "They accept your thanks and apologies both. Of course, the Realm relies greatly on the abundance of grain and foodstuffs that come from these lands. It would be preferable if such continues to flow, as tithes or trade besides."

The favor of three satraps or the favor of the Celestial Censor? An effortless choice. One set could not be allowed to manage the territory on their own, to curb their territorial ambitions. The other could potentially win the Realm greater influence over an entire Direction.

Swan Dragon hummed briefly, before tilting his head in turn. "It will be some time before I return to my position as active Censor, perhaps a season or more. I will need time to catch up on the wider affairs of the South and Yu-Shan." He hummed briefly, before shaking his head. "I am confident an acceptable agreement can be reached, please expect my formal return by Calibration at the latest."

About half a year to get her satraps ready to abdicate The Lap and negotiate to maintain control over the region. Assigning someone to serve as regional administrator on behalf of Swan Dragon, perhaps? Changes would doubtlessly come to the region, but a Celestial Censor as beloved as Swan Dragon was not an opponent she could simply bully into submission.

He was far more valuable as an ally, and he was currently indebted to her-

Boots landed on the edges of the platform, a heavy rustle and clamor of rusty metal and dry leather. She didn't even have to turn to know who had landed on the platform.

"H-hey no-" The goddess of potatoes yelped as she was pushed aside.

"Out of my way, fuck-meat" Red Earth growled as he interrupted the otherwise solemn and serious meeting with profanity. Black armor now thoroughly bleached into a light gray and golden star blazing on his brow. Silence greeted him, silence and angry stares.

Red Earth snorted dismissively, walking around the ring of the chairs and tables, past the empty seat, and came to a stop just behind her. There he stopped, standing silently. He was probably bored right now, not understanding the ramifications of his current actions.

Then again, it was just about the most perfect thing he could have done. She suppressed a tiny smile at the stares, the silent, faceless looks from the Sidereals. The anger from the Immaculate, Laughing Peony, was less amusing and more a future trouble.

The majority of the spirits present looked with a mixture of awe, fear, and irritation.

Swan Dragon, for his part, merely raised his brows. "...Forgive me, it has been many years. I was under the impression that most Terrestrials and Solars had become sworn enemies since the Usurpation. Wyld Hunts, I believe they were called."

Scarlet raised a hand to prevent Red Earth from saying anything, then began to explain. "Early into my most recent-sabbatical, I had been thrown into Malfeas by a Lunar Anathema. She harried the Diamond Road from Gem to The Last Supplicant, and I sought to investigate the matter personally. A trap, as I soon learned, and I found myself among the sands of Cecelyne."

"This is where I met Son of Red Earth who Crushes by Violence. A Solar Anathema, one of the Forsaken, barely managing to survive in the midst of the demon-realm." She raised a hand to gesture at him before continuing. "As this was my sabbatical, I took the opportunity to engage in an uncertain project. There has been several heresies inquiring into the nature of the Anathema, and the potential for their redemption, to follow a path that honors the Elemental Dragons. These heresies proved consistently tenacious due to a lack of empirical evidence in a controlled manner."

"I have decided to test these heresies, either proving the possibility of redemption or the necessity of destruction, once and for all." The assorted gods knew that she was weaving a story more than telling the truth.

"I-My Lady Empress!" Laughing Peony protested with raised hands. "It is an Anathema! Fifteen hundred years of wisdom have proven the necessity of their destruction!"

Scarlet tilted her head. "Recite the third stanza of the Book of Air, Chapter Five."

Laughing Peony leaned back with a grimace. "...For it is through this that the Dragon's have blessed us, through our blood, and through our blood do we have the authority and wisdom to guide the wicked and stunted towards more-righteous paths."

It was the same stanza that the Immaculate Order used to justify the right for Dragonblooded to purchase and possess slaves, a right that almost every Dynast in the Blessed Isle took advantage of.

"Are you denying that stanza as truth?"

"I-I am objecting to the wisdom of allowing the Anathema near anything of import!"

"Which is why I am conducting this experiment. Either that will be proven definitively true, or definitively false. Notice his caste, tell me what it is."

"...Forsaken, Lady Empress."

"Recite the fifth stanza of the Book of Earth, Chapter Two."

"...For in those days, when the righteousness of the Dragons came to oppose their tyranny, they were soon abandoned by their foul Patrons. One fifth among them raised their spears and bows to fight, and four-fifths among them followed the example of their masters and abandoned them. For this, the first of the fifth is named the Forsaken, for they were abandoned by all things in their time of greatest need, and stood alone, and died alone."

"A wicked spirit he may be, but one abandoned by both patron and ally. Otherwise he would not be among the Forsaken. He is not one of the Blasphemous, who demand the world partake in heretical ritual. He is not one of the Unclean, who make blood pacts with foul things in exchange for greater power. He is not one of the Wretched, who wanders the dark streets and strikes down all those who oppose their fearsome tyranny. He is not one of the Deceivers, with silver tongue that convinces virtuous men to commit great acts of malice."

"And what does the Solar have to say?" Swan Dragon asked in a temperate fashion, politely ignoring the religious maneuvering.

Either Red Earth would continue to play his part, or she'd have to execute him.

"She hired me to kill things for her." Red Earth stated in a blunt and disinterested manner. "I'll do that until she tries to betray me, then I'll kill her assassins and then her and move on."

"Do you corroborate her narrative?"

"Hm." Red Earth hummed. "She got some parts wrong."

She almost murdered him on the spot.

"Barely surviving is wrong. I was doing just fucking fine in the demon desert." He started, and she relaxed minutely as he continued to brag in his usual growling manner. She played up her unimpressed glance towards him, which he ignored. Arms crossed, he continued to growl. "Second, I was the one who found her, covered in ugly tattoos and puking ink. She made a lot of noise about how important she was, but half the time it's just mindless bitching about unimportant shit."

Many of the small gods began to muffle their chuckles, and her unimpressed stare turned into a more honestly angry look. The Dragonblooded present likewise began to rustle and have their hackles rise.

Red Earth continued to ignore it. "I had to carry her ass around, otherwise she'd slow me down too much. Constant complaints about how I needed to sleep or rest, whining about how I was carrying her wrong. She's probably going to bitch about how disrespectful I'm being later." He huffed in an annoyed fashion. "She doesn't pay me to be polite, she's paying me so she can clap her hands and have me kill something for her."

Almost perfect on his part. Playing up his nature as one of the murderous, crass Forsaken while emphasizing his servile relationship towards her and her efforts in caring for him. That would build the foundation to appease both Gods and Immaculates. She knew for a fact he was doing it entirely by accident.

Scarlet closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. "...As you can see, I haven't quite managed to instill proper manners and decorum yet." She growled out slowly. None of this would be enough on its own, but it was a start that she could build off of. It would please her immensely to have a Solar on her payroll, especially one as precocious and cute as Red Earth.

For many of the gods, this was some of the most amusement at her expense they had ever known. She was quite glad Red Earth remembered her promise to execute him if he ever mentioned the puking incident.

"I see… So that's how it is." Swan Dragon huffed in a mild and deliberate manner, leaning back in his chair. "I understand." She narrowed her eyes at the Censor, unable to discern what he meant behind that statement.

"Last thing." Red Earth growled, bringing attention back to him. Swan Dragon raised a brow.

Red Earth pointed at the sword. "I was using that. Bandit down the road swung it at me, and I picked it off her corpse."

"Ah, you had retrieved my old sword as well then? I suppose I had called Shurtimu Ji back to my hand at an inconvenient time?"

"You owe me a sword." Red Earth grumbled, leaning back again. "I won that one fair and square."

Swan Dragon, ignoring the scandalized looks from the gods around him, huffed. "Yes, I suppose I do, in that case. I will keep my personal blade, of course, but I imagine a suitable blade can be procured as payment for service rendered."

"Hn." Red Earth responded blandly, returning to a more passive and bored stance behind her chair. The end of his part of the meeting, and the return to her part in managing this tremendous event.

Opportunity was an unambitious man covered in gold.

Chapter Text

His job was pretty simple. Stand around and look intimidating while the corpos talked shop about wheels and deals that probably had high level political and economic ramifications that he couldn't care less about. Oh hear that? The price of grain might go up thanks to the dragon taking over the giant stone statue and the fuckmeat in green with a scythe looked ecstatic about the whole affair. Oh look, a group of meatbags were mad that he was shiny now and they weren't allowed to kill him yet. Oh look at that, the giant bull-man was talking about a court with an overly poetic name and what it had been up to in recent years.

None of this related to him, so he didn't have to care, so the meeting ended relatively quickly for him. Most of the time was spent just getting his mind in order. More specifically, the new voice in his head and all its disgusting new-voice thoughts.

'Compassion is not disgusting.' The voice complained at him, slowly assembling itself into a reasonable facsimile of a person. It was like having an on-board AI again, except this one was still in debug mode.

'It absolutely is.' Adam flatly countered, thinking broadly in the 'direction' of the voice and eyes boredly dragging over the assembled meats and g- spirits. Spiritmeats?

'We called them 'smallgods', back in the First Age.' The voice explained shortly. Adam took that in, then sent a vague feeling of acceptance towards the ghost in his head. This wasn't exactly new territory for him, Internal Agents functioned much the same way, and required communication towards in a similar manner.

This Agent was of questionable utility thus far.

'I resent the implication, inheritor.' The voice complained. 'But I admit, this is unusual. Normally my memories would fade into yours. I'm not supposed to… linger in this manner.'

'Good, I don't need your brain infecting mine.' Adam glanced at the fuckmeat he had pushed aside earlier, a shortstack wearing a potato sack as a dress and pouting at him. He briefly considered what she would look like if he fucked her into a shuddering puddle.

'Then do so.' The voice responded with a hint of confusion. 'You are a Solar, Lawgiver and Prince of the Cosmos. She is merely a god, she would not refuse your advances.'

'Red would be bitching at me for weeks.' Adam mentally grumbled.

'...The Terrestrial? Why tolerate such?'

'She's my employer. Employers are always annoying.'

'Is that it?'

Adam's memories briefly flashed back towards yesterday, and Red grinding herself on top of him.

'Oh! Ah-hah! I see! I see!' The voice laughed at him. 'She has tamed you, it seems!'

Adam let his eyes narrow into a sharp glare, projecting his displeasure at the voice until it shut up and stopped talking. The voice continued to chuckle for some time, before settling down again. 'There is no shame in finding such a fine woman. All women are troublesome in their own ways…' The voice turned somber and sedate by the time he finished talking.

The question was, what was he going to call him? Adam was going to be bored of calling him 'voice' eventually.

'I am Contentious Sword. The tenth Golden Blade. As my inheritor, you would be the Eleventh.'

Cunt it was.

'Please do not call me that.' Cunt requested politely. 'Please use my name.'

'Your name is stupid.'

'If you must, call me Brandr. It was my name before I Exalted. Tradition at the time dictated that I take up a new name in Realm upon my ascension, but I suppose I don't quite qualify anymore.'

'Brandy is a woman's name.'

'Brandr.' Brandy attempted to correct. He huffed in a dissatisfied manner, before continuing. 'I suppose I'm grateful for the ability to persist, even if in such a manner. Our conflicting minds gave us just enough of a buffer for you to subdivide us, although I haven't ever heard of a charm quite like this before.'

Charm. That was the magic-spells or whatever Red talked about one time.

'This ain't magic, I just ain't letting you into my brain.' Adam mentally growled. 'Dealing with hackers ain't hard.'

'Of course it's not sorcery, but it is most definitely an expression of your Essence. This is a charm, surely as anything other.' Brandy argued, before letting out an amused laugh. 'Be proud, Inheritor, this is the quickest invention of a previously unknown charm that I have ever heard of.'

'I'm Adam Smasher.' He stated plainly as explanation.

'Hm. A-ada… Son of Red Earth?' Brandy responded with a vaguely questioning note.

'What?' Adam responded, furrowing his brows behind his visor. 'What the fuck is that?'

'The translation of your first name? Your last name is in something I don't recognize, but the first is Realm, or Realm-adjacent at least, maybe Rocktongue. Were you not aware?'

'Well don't translate it, headghost, that makes it a mouthful.' Adam rolled his eyes and mentally growled. 'Adam Smasher, as in 'Atom Smasher', as in 'Weapon of Mass Destruction'.'

'An atom?'

'Tiny particle that turns into a massive explosion if you break it. Too small to actually see.'

'Oh! I think I woul- well, if I had a body, I think that would be an entertaining challenge. Splitting such a thing on the edge of my blade.'

Adam almost snorted aloud. 'Normally need a bomb for that.'

'I'm sure I'd be able to figure it out, and if not me, certainly my inheritor.' Brandy projected feelings of confidence and pride. 'You are a Solar, keep in mind. No feat is so great that you cannot one day conquer it.'

'I'm Adam Smasher, that was already true.'

The meeting continued to drag on, and Adam continued to mostly ignore the proceedings.

—

"I suppose you conducted yourself acceptably." Red stated as they entered into what was apparently a private room. A mansion of some sort immediately offered for her to use while they were present in the city.

It was easy enough to find Cowmeat after the meeting and politicking shenanigans were concluded. She had apparently found her way to the battle, or rather the battle had found their way towards her. Bloody, battered, and covered in sweat, she had managed to successfully defend their stuff from apparent furry thieves.

They were after the severed arm, which was confusing as it was irritating. What kind of thief tries to steal severed arms? That's not worth anything. In any case, she had managed to defend his stuff, which meant she had been worth buying back in Gem. He made sure to grunt in appreciation after she was done reciting the story.

Currently, she was taking a bath. A veritable army of meatbags tripping over themselves to do whatever Red asked them to, and when commanded to care for cowmeat like a princess, a host leapt into action.

That was not his current concern.

He grabbed Red's wrists, falling forwards and slamming her into the ground, pinned under his weight. Far from being displeased, Red's expression twisted into a smug grin, wiggling under his grip.

"Oh-ho? Falling upon me like such a wild beast?~ Whatever will my subjects say, if they saw me in such a predicament?"

"Shut up." Adam growled, lowering a hand to grab the front of her dress and tearing it open roughly.

"Riled up already? I saw the way you looked at that stunted little goddess. I would've never guessed all it took was a sackdress."

"I was looking at her because she had fat tits." He grumbled, reaching down and ripping off another section of dress. It was important to not let Red move, otherwise she'd take the initiative and it would turn into a struggle to endure. Her feet were moving with superhuman grace, stripping off plates of armor and leather straps to make way for his pants. "Maybe learn a lesson, leanmeat?"

"A lie, my bust is far larger in absolute scale, she was merely disproportionately top heavy for her meager stature." Red calmly argued, shaking her torso around to emphasize her point. By this point her feet had begun to remove his pants, and his hand was traveling across her navel. "That you so quickly moved to strip me is evidence enough of their effect on you, lusty mongrel."

Adam was about to reply, before a deliberate cough cut them off.

They stopped, slowly turning blank and aggravated gazes towards the source of the cough. An old man with bushy eyebrows and bright green eyes. The top of his head was bald, but the sides and back were long, pulled back into a long braid. The most noticeable feature was his outfit. The same silvery metal armor as the five silent attendees of the earlier meeting, helmet hanging off his hip and branded with a bright green squiggle. He held a cane, pressed against the floor.

'A Sidereal…' Brandy growled in his mind.

"Oi, silvermeat, fuck off." Adam grunted at once, raising a hand and sweeping it at the man.

Red let out a long and aggravated growl. "Kejak… I'm in the middle of something, as you might be able to tell." She used a foot to pat Adam's ass, emphasizing his presence.

"You will have to indulge yourselves later." The old man glowered down at the two of them, tapping a cane against the floor with a hard 'thok' sound. "Stand up. There are words to be had."

Red growled, slipping a hand out of his grip and tapping him on the chest. Adam grumbled as he rose off the ground, holding his pants up with one hand and glowering at the apparently important meatbag. Red, now completely bare-chested, crossed her arms. "What is it now, Kejak?"

"I'm quite certain you know already." The old man's voice did not rise above a calm rumble, and yet conveyed a great deal of displeasure. "This most recent sabbatical of yours-"

"Can be explained in great detail later, when I return to my throne." Red spoke in a dismissive fashion.

"We found fragments of the Broken-Winged Crane in your summoning chambers." The old man spoke blankly, fixing Red with a hard and flat stare. Unlike any time before, Red tensed, rising up to a more full height and hand twitching. The man shook his head with a low and condescending glare. "Beyond any bounds of foolishness, insensate madness at best."

Red scoffed, putting on a show of great confidence. "And the experience was worth doing, I have escaped the Demon-Realm with my soul intact, greater wisdom gained, and a powerful new sword to service me."

The old man turned his condescending glower from Red and towards him, stepping forwards and giving him long looks up and down. "This is the one that rescued you, I presume."

"I fo-"

"No you didn't." The old man cut off with a sharp glance in her direction, before turning back to him. Eyes narrow, the old man monologued. "Not a native to Malfeas, certainly, and his Exaltation burned away the demonblood well enough."

"Are you going somewhere with this, oldmeat?" Adam growled, glaring down at the man.

The man somehow narrowed his eyes further. "Spirited enough, albeit ignorant, this will be amended in time."

Red let out a laugh. "Oh, and all that bluster about the importance of the Immaculate Order all these years?"

"There are four Dawns that managed to escape imprisonment in the Jade Prison." The old man glowered at Red. "All four are still accounted for. This boy is the fifth."

Red's eyes widened in immediate understanding. "The Jade Prison is leaking."

"Or broken, or captured. I've already called the whole of the Five-Fold Fellowship to action concerning it." The old man maintained his cool rumbles, barely a hint of agitation leaking through his voice. He turned back to Adam, before asking directly. "Boy, you've sworn yourself to-"

"She hired me to bring her back." Adam interrupted with a correction, crossing his arms and glowering. "Ninety-seven and change, talents of jade. If she wants a Long-Term Contract, that will be a new job after this one." He emphasized the order of operations in the statement.

The old man was rather unimpressed, but did not interrupt in turn. "Currently, you are protected by your connection to her, by the gratitude of Swan Dragon, and the potential disaster approaching us. None of those make it impossible for me to simply annihilate you if your presence proves more troublesome than the consequences."

"You can fucking try." Adam was equally unimpressed.

"In this case, the girl deciding to think with her loins has thus far given you a stay of execution. There were once three-hundred Solars, all of them far greater and far more terrible than you. Now, all but a handful are sealed away, and that is the work of my order." The old man gave a low threat, before pulling back and continuing. "I shall not tolerate another generation of Solar Tyrants pushing Creation to the brink of destruction."

'Tyrants?!' Brandy called out, outraged. Adam ignored him.

"Are you going somewhere with this, or are you just going to posture at me some more, pops?" Adam snarled.

The old man stared for a few moments longer, before huffing. "Intemperate as she may be, her rash lusts can still be useful. I will not tolerate another Solar Tyrant, but so long as you content yourself with service to another, you will be manageable. You and the girl will sign a 'long term contract' upon your return to the Blessed Isle, and I will personally be drafting the clauses. It will be enforced by Heaven itself, and you will abide by it."

"My contract will be with Red, pops, unless you're going to outcompete her on buying my contract."

The old man narrowed his eyes. "Correct. The Scarlet Empress rules on her own merits, and my order serve merely as advisors."

Despite the agreement, Adam knew that the statement was an absolute lie. He did not know how he knew that, or even why he cared. Red gave an offended glare, but did not argue against the claim.

Some manner of point made, the old man continued. "Your pay and freedoms will be generous, in exchange for your absolute endorsement of terrestrial rule of Creation, and the willingness to battle against any enemy we put before you."

"I'll need to see a complete contract draft before I agree to anything." Adam bluntly stated. "Only an idiot agrees before he reads the fine print."

The old man snorted at this, but did not disagree. "Your principal duty, when not laboring between the girl's legs, will most likely be participation in the Wyld Hunts. You will be expected to kill your fellow Solars, time and time again, until the end of your natural lifespan." The old man paused, stopping to gauge his reaction.

Adam raised a brow. "Only Solars?" That would get boring fast.

"And a great many other dangers to the Dynasty and Creation." The old man clarified. That was much better.

"I need the freedom to cause collateral damage."

"That freedom is conditional based on deployment location."

Adam grunted in a displeased manner, but waved a hand in a spin, indicating the old man to move on.

"You will be forbidden to develop a cult."

Adam furrowed his brows. "A cult?"

The old man grunted and moved along without explaining. "A minder from my order will be assigned to you. They will serve as both advisor and executioner if you ever become more costly to let live than to kill. They will share your meals and your house."

"Make it a woman." Adam stated bluntly. "An attractive one with skimpy clothes. If you're going to give me a minder, they're going to be eye-candy."

The old man was not impressed, but grunted in vague affirmation and continued. "You will be required to freely share any information that may be import-"

"Do you have ways to record memories here?" Adam grumbled, interrupting him.

"Dreamstones." The old man bluntly stated. Ah, good, that sounded like a physical object.

"Give me some of those, I'll record my missions and hand them off afterwards." Adam waved a hand. "Your underlings can pick through them for whatever you meatbags find important." It was what he used to do back home, working for Arasaka.

"You will be forbidden from harming select members of the Dynasty-" The old man began.

"If they attack me, I'm slaughtering them." Adam interrupted.

"No you won't." Red chimed in with narrow eyes. "If you are attacked by any member of the Dynasty, you will disable them and they will be punished appropriately. Anything short of permanent crippling is acceptable, but I will not have you murdering intemperate members of my Dynasty simply because they tried to slap you."

Adam and the old man were equally unimpressed, raising brows.

"It would reflect badly on myself if my sword kept murdering my descendents." Scarlet justified, causing Adam to roll his eyes.

"You will be asked to train cadres of mortal soldiers." The old man continued.

"I need extra pay for that." Adam replied bluntly, crossing his arms. The old man snorted but moved along without arguing against the term.

"You will be required to flare your anima for the sake of activating select artifacts predicated upon such, upon request."

"Are you going to stand here and keep listing off conditions or buzz off and actually write up a contract-draft for me to read through. All these conditions and not a single benefit has me annoyed, pops." Adam stated bluntly, then pointed a thumb to the side. "I was just about to turn Red into a shuddering pile of meat, and you're in the way of that."

Red let out a sharp bark of laughter at that. Adam ignored it.

"Impudent brat." The old man grumbled with a glare. "I suppose not." He replied, reaching for the helmet at his waist and bringing it up to cover his head once more. "You have been given a parole, boy. I'd advise against wasting it."

With that, he stepped to the side and disappeared from existence. Adam stepped back, glaring low at his present surroundings.

"You handled him well, Kejak is more than capable of bullying most into line with sharp looks and low words." Red complimented.

"Reminds me of my old boss." Adam grumbled.

"None of that. He may insist on conditionals and contracts, but he is not your 'boss'." Red glowered, raising a hand to rest against her breast. "I am. Now shed your armor, I intend to sleep soundly on your chest once you fall unconscious under my hips."

Adam narrowed his eyes, reaching up and starting to undo the straps on his breastplate.

Chapter Text

A Demon was with their Empress.

Heavy, steady, wetted slapping rang out in a consistent, rhythmic manner. A steady crescendo accentuated by a chorus of harsh breaths and pleased whimpering, as hips slammed into rump and shook a pair of bodies about. The heady scent of sweat and salty-sweet saturating the air and drenching fine beddings, air and fluid seeping into the chamber and expanding to fill all available space.

The bedding was made of fine southern silks and the downy feathers of Fireducks, it had been woven over the course of a hundred hours and carried along a merchant ship for hundreds of miles before finally arriving in this chamber. The bedframe was of fine eastern mahogany, cut by masterful wood-workers and shipped several thousand miles to eventually reach the chamber it now sat in.

Both bedding and bedframe cost enough to bankrupt a dozen lesser landowners, and was a kingly purchase for the owner of the mansion it was placed within. Both bedding and bedframe were being utterly ruined by the fearsome pace of the love taking place atop it. Sheets soaked through, seams tearing, feathers spilling out, frame cracking.

Neither man nor woman particularly cared.

Shoulders broader than two common men and arms like young tree trunks, the man held the woman down in a brutal fashion. A single, calloused fist engulfing both of delicate, dainty hands and forcing them far above her head. Face pressed into the bedding and other hand holding her waist up, her spine was bent nearly to the point of failure, and her loins rippled with each furious thrust.

Her scarlet hair spilled out in waves, granting the impression of picturesque bloodshed. Her skin, marble-white and flawless, contrasted against the rough, scarred, and tanned man violently invading her depths. Thrusts began with the violent lancing of her folds, traveled through her body in a rapidly-dissipating ripple of flesh and bounce of forelegs, and ended in another tremor that rattled and cracked the bedding and bedframe.

Sweat and seed and dew came from the pair in waves and sprinkles, accompanied by shudders of climax that capped off stanzas of smacking, breathing, and whimpering. This music was accompanied by lyrics of vitriol of debasement, the male growling and snarling out insults with each heavy thrust.

Whore. Bitch. Slut.

When these did not suffice, he sang out short descriptions and titles.

Cock-Hungry. Worthless. Fuck-Toy. Cum-Dump.

All manner of crude and provocative snarls heaped upon the marble-skinned woman, voice matching his body in desire to ravish and utterly ruin the comparatively small and tender subject in his clutches. All thoughts save those of lusts and desire banished from his thoughts and actions.

But the woman neither broke under the beating of her nethers or objected to the vitriol that spilled from his lips.

Rather, from where her white-stained face was half-pressed into the fine bedding, a tiny, pleased smile could be seen on her sticky lips and happy whines bubbled up from her throat.

Another wave of seed spilled into her, the man slumping over her as his own loins twitched. Barely a moment of hesitation and pause for rest on his part, and the woman seized the opportunity.

A rapid and smooth movement reversed their positions, the man laying back against the sodden bedding and the woman straddling him, hair falling down to frame her face and around his torso like bloody curtains. Her own hands, dainty as they were, pinned his arms at his side and nails dug into his chelidons.

Slowly, she raised herself from his lance, her folds smoothly closing as she extracted herself from her impalement. Twitching and still painfully erect, his shaft was exposed to open air for only a moment as she shifted her groin slightly forwards.

Then, using his tool, she lowered herself upon it again. This time he entered her rear, as she sodomized herself upon him with a rumbling purr. The man threw his head back, hips buckling involuntary as she squeezed her loins and ground her rump down upon his hips. The song was now accompanied by a swaying, snakelike dance as her hips moved up and down and side to side in a masterful pattern.

It was her turn to whisper, contributing her share of lyrics to their shared song. Unlike his crass and crude debasement, her lyrics were nothing but gentle whispers and praises, emphasized by a mocking undertone.

Sweet Love. Pretty Boy. So Eager. Hard Worker.

His replies were ones of furious growls and shuddering rumbles, each deliberate twitch and flex of her body cutting off an insult before it could leave his lips. Leaving her free to condescendingly praise her lover, accentuating her words with delicate kisses to his neck and collarbone, and rewarding each of his climaxes with a particular flesh-grinding wiggle as he fruitlessly filled her rear passage.

At the entrance to the chamber, door having been left completely open, a small crowd of ladies-in-waiting did their best to ignore the song and dance taking place in the chamber. They were not capable of this, the smell and sound filling their heads, and making them fidget in place as they waited for their Empress to call them in to serve her.

Allegedly for readying her for the day, but suspicions of something else had long filled their minds. Dread and desire both made the women silently fret among themselves. The gleam in the Empress' eyes and knowing looks sent their way told them she was well aware of their presence.

The performance continued for many more climaxes.

—

Thirty miles away from The Last Supplicant, an urn of ashes was lowered into an unmarked grave. Basic burial rites were performed by figures dressed in skin-tight black garments and loose cloth wrappings. Once the rites were done, a single stomp from one of the figures caused soil to flow over the urn and harden, once more unmistakable from any other path of earth in the location.

The two figures nodded at one another, then leapt away on tiny trails of flame, leaving no evidence of their presence.

—

"Where's cowmeat?" Adam grumbled as they made their way from the loaned mansion, flanked by a small host of bodyguards and courtiers. Each one busily but silently attempting to catch Red's eyes with raised silks and trinkets.

Red's face was covered in a light layer of makeup, taken from the locals and used to emphasize her looks. A small host of servant-girls in drab dresses fluttered around her and a mirror and she worked on herself. Adam, in turn, absolutely refused to let the gaggle of females touch his face, and styled his hair himself.

It felt damn good to have a proper pompadour again. His helmet wasn't designed to accommodate such, so it was currently pulled back. The orange-peel worth of visor falling back and letting his face and hair hang out in the open air.

"Hm?" Red turned her attention from one such courtier towards him, before humming in realization and reaching up to pat him on the arm. "I took the initiative to release her from our services this morning. We have little need for her now that we are among our people, and she had little desire to remain. I imagine she's miles away at this point."

He grunted in a dismissive manner, ignoring Red's cheery demeanor.

'She's lying.' Brandy asserted in a slightly suspicious manner.

'Who cares?' Adam countered, focusing on what was important. "Did she leave all our stuff?" He asked aloud.

"Mh-hm." Red hummed affirmatively. "We will remain here for another three days, one of my skyships has been called upon to ferry us back to the Imperial City, away from its routine patrolling in the Inland Sea. We will be free to enjoy the hospitality of The Lap until then. From there it will be another five day journey to the seat of my power."

"Skyship?" Adam asked in a half-interested manner.

Red took a moment to select between two lengths of cloth, raising a delicate finger and tilting it to the right, making the two courtiers run off at once, driven by some immense urgency. She then feigned a casual and disinterested tone. "Oh? Those. Nothing special in truth. Ships of the First Age that fly through the air as a fish swims through water. More transport craft than anything, the Realm only maintains a bare hundred or so, most of which are Manta-class."

'A hundred Mantas?' Brandy reacted with simultaneous horror and amusement. 'My estate's fleet had more than a hundred Mantas, and I often commanded twice that as part of my obligations to the Deliberative.'

"Specifications?" Adam pressed for further clarification.

"Twenty yards from stem to stern, and four yards wide. Most are capable of eighty-five knots and carry two fire lances and a Fang of infantry, one hundred and twenty-five men and their equipment that is." Red almost transitioned into outright boast at this point, eyes turning upwards and hand raised in a faux-casual manner. "Did you have similar ships in your homelands?"

She was clearly expecting him to answer 'no'.

Adam snorted. "Old man Arasaka owned twenty-five Boeing C-25 Cargo Aircraft. Carries five-hundred men and their equipment at…" He paused for a moment to convert miles per hour into knots. "...five-hundred and twenty knots."

Red narrowed her eyes. "I see, did this 'Lord Arasaka' possess a notable air fleet in that case?"

"Arasaka used them for trade." Adam clarified with an amused glower. "The biggest air fleet back home was the NUSA Air Force. The second-biggest belonged to the NUSA Navy. Twelve-thousand 'skyships' between both last time I bothered to check." He remembered blowing up enough of them to know they were down a few hundred by his hands alone, but not much more than that.

Red stared at him for a few moments more, face cool and brow flat. Then, she huffed in a frustrated manner. "Mongrel, you are supposed to be humble when a lady brags about her fleets, especially when the fleets of your homeland outnumbers hers." She complained, jabbing at his armpit with a fierce poke. He slapped her hand away in an annoyed fashion.

"Being humble is for meat." Adam refuted with a scowl, returning his hand to his side.

Red grumbled, leaning back and continuing to walk forwards. They passed out of the doorways on the right-wing of the mansion and onto a roadway leading across a wide gulf overlooking the rest of the city. "I'll make sure the clothiers know to emphasize your ego. Perhaps a bountiful codpiece to demonstrate such."

"Clothiers?" Adam grumbled.

"Did you think I would allow either of us to continue wearing these simple affairs? It's good that you tore my dress, I would've burned it regardless. No, we are going to have new garments woven while waiting for the transport to arrive, and you will be dressed more appropriately. When we return to the Blessed Isle, I will have the royal seamstresses do this, but the professionals of The Lap will do for now." She paused, noticing that he was no longer following her.

Turning around, she frowned to see Adam standing in the middle of the roadway-overlook and staring down at the distant barracks. She quickly walked back over, heels clicking on the pavements as she approached. "What is it?" She questioned, following his gaze.

"What are those?" Adam asked quite seriously, pointing a finger at the large, mechanical figures standing in a row of five on one side of the military building set against one immense leg of the giant stone statue the city was built upon.

It was difficult to measure precise heights from this distance, but using the windows set into the nearby building allowed him an estimate of about two stories. The smaller figures crawling around them and working on various plates and opened panels indicated mechanical inclines, and the open central torsos signified either a power-core or a piloting-chamber.

Red tilted her head at his interest. "Oh? Those are simple Warstriders. The Realm maintains roughly one-hundred and fifty, most of scout or common-class. Five to seven yards tall and controlled much in the same way a man 'controls' a suit of armor." Her voice contained more of the casual tones from earlier, this time backed by the smile of a cat watching a mouse. "I suppose your homeland had a great many of the same?"

'One hundred and fifty?' Brandy's voice started to lose its humor as he overheard more and more of the figures being cited. 'Only that?' It was starting to simply be horror.

The biggest suits of powered armor back home capped at four yards.

"How much do they cost?" Adam spoke seriously, still staring at the giant metal constructs.

"Warstriders are not for sale. Only a handful of factory-cathedrals capable of producing such have been restored to even half-working order, and they are often busy with the need to produce replacement parts for our existing stocks." Red began to explain in a long-winded manner, hiding a tiny smile. "Every factory-cathedral of the Realm is property of the Throne, and warstriders are distributed among the Legions in accordance to their merit and needs."

"I want one." Adam stated bluntly, turning his gaze from the metal giants and towards the immensely smug woman at his side. "I want one, and I want to use it."

Red pretended to be surprised. "Oh? Well… It would require exceptional service to the Throne to simply be awarded a Warstrider." She raised a hand to hide her smile. "I suppose such can be arranged for a particularly loyal and effective servant, if he goes above and beyond in his duty to me."

"We just fucked an hour ago." Adam raised a vaguely confused brow, his meat was still complaining about how sore it was. Many of the nearby courtiers pretended to not hear that. She rolled her eyes and slapped his chest with the back of her hand.

"Not like that, mongrel." She spoke with deliberate patience and a single raised brow. "Your contract will dictate a number of bare-minimum clauses, but there's much more than simply combat that you could do for my Realm- for instance." She raised a hand and laid it across her breast. "Reflecting well on me."

Adam narrowed his eyes. "...You want me to be polite."

"No. Polite behavior suits you little and would make me ill to witness." Red waved the hand around. "However, you lack a great deal of skill in many noble interests, and that reflects poorly on me. Mastering such interests will not be contractual obligation, but I will certainly reward your efforts in such."

"Such as?" Adam grumbled suspiciously.

"For you? A broad understanding of history and common wisdom, mastery of common etiquette, mastery of High Realm, Low Realm, Old Realm, and perhaps Riverspeak, comprehensive understanding of the care and riding of animals- horses in specific, and well-rounded proficiency in all performative arts." She began, listing off things on her fingers as she made demands. "Tutors will be available to educate you upon our return, and I will be inclined to reward you for each field you become competent in."

"...How much for the mech?"

"Mech?"

"Warstrider."

"Hm. At least half of those things. Further masteries can be rewarded with estates and servants, methinks."

"No thanks." Adam grunted. "More weapons if you have them, but property and meatbags are worthless to me."

"Those estates can always include facilities required for the production of artifacts, and be staffed by servants capable of producing and maintaining such." Red pointed out.

Adam was well aware that Red was currently playing him, and that was a game he could play just the same.

"Mhn?!" Red let out a surprised sound, halfway between a squeak and a groan, as he grabbed her by the chin and bent low, snatching her lips with his own in a forceful kiss. Lips melting into each other and tongues invading foreign mouths. It wasn't the first time their lips had locked, but it was the first time he had initiated such, and he knew that she would care about unimportant details like that.

Women were easy, just do sappy shit but pretend to hide it under something else. The puzzle excites them more than the action.

He pulled back, tongue trailing spit. He dropped his hand back to his side and let the woman slump, once more on her own feet instead of being lifted up to her toes. That was step one, step two was…

He walked past in a nonchalant manner. "Oi, woman, try to keep up." He growled, moving along the roadway and towards the flight of stairs leading down. "I don't know where we're going, remember?"

Red quickly recovered, steadying her swaying and heels clicking as she skipped to keep up, a wide smile on her face and red lipstick smudged. "My my~ How forceful of you, mongrel~ To ravish your Empress so boldly, so publicly~"

"Hmn." Adam grunted in reply, eyes roaming around idly but vision filled by gigantic metal humanoids.

Chapter Text

The shiny golden glow came with some overall frame upgrades, he had begun to notice. Nothing major, merely increased durability and somewhat faster self-repair mechanisms. His skin now contained the resistance he would expect out of low-grade skinweave and self-staunching out of… well not vein clips, but maybe something like a quickclot enhancement. Enough that his bleeding was noticeable slowed but not enough that the staunch was immediate.

He had noticed both of these effects when Red didn't have to do magic on the scratches she left behind. He would need to conduct more thorough testing of his enhancements at a later date, his knowledge was inconclusive and uncertain at the moment. His overall performance was up as well, increased muscle performance, better hand-eye coordination, improved cardiovascular function.

It was enough that he could call it a net improvement, and still be disappointed at the lacking sense enhancements.

He had gotten used to being blind and deaf, in comparison to his old frames, but it was still something he was going to complain about.

'What were you before, some manner of construct?' Brandy asked as Adam raised his arms, currently wearing some manner of black bodyglove as women with measuring tapes fluttered around him. To the side, Red was listening to reports on the state of her realm and occasionally commanding him to adjust his position or turn.

The bodyglove was the most confusing part. He was pretty sure the ye-old world didn't have the stretchy stuff required to make these, but apparently so.

'Cyborg. Vital organs removed and placed into a mechanical frame. Whoever brought me here put me in a meatframe again.'

'Oh, yes I'm familiar. Similar was occasionally done in my days, mostly to allow old mortal soldiers of exceptional merit to continue serving.'

'We did it more often back home. The mechanical frames made meat obsolete. Anyone who didn't upgrade was too weak to handle it.'

'Even the Exalts?'

'We didn't have those.'

'I see.'

"Adam." Red called out to him, making him turn to look at her with a disgruntled expression. Next to her, a woman with a stack of scrolls in one hand and wearing formal brown robes stood. Red raised a finger and spun it around. "Turn around."

Adam grumbled as he turned, now facing away from the pair of women. The women around him continued their measures without pause or complaint.

"Look at his rump, courtier, tell me what you think about it." Red demanded of the scroll-holding woman.

"I believe it is a very fine rump, Lady Empress." Ms. Scrolls responded after a moment of observation.

"I know." Red responded with an amused purr. "The next report, courtier."

He had turned around so that Red could show off his ass. His unimpressed expression made several of the measuring-ladies shy away.

'You'll be gladdened to know that many solars develop charms of the senses, magics to enable far greater acuity.' Brandy commented. 'Indeed, any skill you could imagine, the magics of the Lawgiver lends itself naturally towards. Such should be a simple affair.'

'Is that why they wanted me to train meats?' Training was, after all, a skill. Magical training would probably result in magical soldiers.

'Almost certainly. I believe the charm Kejak had in mind was Tiger-Warrior Training Technique. I met him briefly in the First Age, so he would certainly know of it.'

'I'm not calling it that.'

'Why?'

'Hate cats'.

'...Your father wouldn't happen to be a Blood Ape, would he?'

Adam snorted, making the measuring-ladies flinch back. 'What's the training 'charm' do?' It felt exceptionally silly to call superpowers 'charms', but he wasn't saying it aloud so it didn't matter.

'A month of training can turn even the most worthless batch of wastrels and gutter-trash into competent soldiery, three months more can make them tigers-among-men, hence the name.'

'How many at a time?'

'Depends on the might of the Solar, anywhere from two-hundred or a thousand, I believe. Five hours a week per batch is sufficient to further their progress.'

Four months, twenty eight days in a month, one-hundred and twelve days to turn streetmeat into elites in batches of hundreds. Standard training time for elites back home was a year or two, depending on how much money you poured into rewiring their brain chemistry. A third or a sixth of the time required and no need to be picky about who you recruited. A mere five hours a week to maintain progress, which meant max progress was three batches a day for seven days for twenty one batches a week.

Four-thousand and change elite soldiers each training cycle.

'Costs?'

'Mental strain, expenditure of essence, food to feed the men, shelters, equipment to arm them.'

So nothing beyond the ordinary and some magic-juice. He narrowed his eyes into a glare as he considered that. Every corporation in the world back home would've ruined their bottom-line for decades to get something like that up and running.

'Is it a set pattern of soldier?'

'No. Anything from rangers to spearmen or martial artists or anything else. Most in my era chose to train their tiger soldiers for omnicompetence.'

Adam considered that for a few moments more.

'All 'charms' like that?' He asked with great skepticism.

'Thereabouts. They vary in potency, and whether or not they have been iterated upon by your past incarnations or not. This experience should filter down to you, and make the learning process far simpler. All that is required is dedicated effort on your part in that direction, just as you did to divide our minds out.'

'...We need a better name for it.' Adam mentally declared. 'I'm not calling my backups 'tiger' anything.'

'Hmm… gilded blade battalion-guidance?'

'Meat-to-monsters method.'

'Soldiers of the sun ascendency.'

'Mobile infantry manifestation.'

'Most-terrible military training.'

'Supreme samson shaping.'

'Oh I like that one!' Brandy responded with a pleased note.

Adam made a note to keep it. It was good enough by his metrics.

—

Apparently, today was 'play dress-up with Adam' day, because as soon as the measuring was done they had brought out a number of colors and fabrics to hold up in front of him. Red was sitting cross-legged, same courtier reading off another scroll as she evaluated what shades would apparently go well with his eyes.

Adam already knew the answer. "Black, White, and Red." He grumbled out, giving a flat look towards his employer. His voice was apparently losing its effects at this point, because none of the ladies swarming around him flinched back at that.

"Hush." Red refuted immediately. "Black is a boresome choice, to be used by the poor and those who skulk about. You are my sword, and will not be used so crassly or dishonestly."

"Trained assassin, woman. I've been doing it for decades." Adam growled back. "Black is a perfect color. It accentuates my danger."

"Your anima bleaches your equipment. You'll turn anything black into that horrid shade of gray when you expend enough effort. A base of black is unacceptable."

'Anima?' Adam quickly asked Brandy.

'Visual manifestation of your soul and power. It becomes visible to the naked eye when you expend the highest degrees of effort.'

'What's mine?'

'I don't know, we haven't looked in a mirror. Mine was a golden sword that followed in my path.'

"Black and gold is a classic combination." Adam complained with a great huff, sending the femmeats around tittering and giggling. "I've been using it for decades, woman, there's no need to change it."

"Yes there is, you serve me now. That necessitates a change in style, and style begins with a color palette." Red spoke sharply back, before frowning. "Your hair and eyes make this difficult. Gold and blue would normally demand those shades be incorporated, but Scarlet is absolutely necessary as well."

"I'll be wearing a helmet, no one will be looking at my eyes or hair."

"A blessing, considering that ridiculous hairstyle you insist upon."

"A man's pompadour is his pride."

"Your pride is phallic and obnoxious."

"Yes."

Red blinked, before leaning back and huffing in defeat. She sent an exasperated glare his way, allowing the collection of weavers and courtiers time to giggle at the byplay between them. She rolled her eyes to the side to look at the oldest woman present, currently holding up locks of white and blue before his torso.

"Seamstress, I will have your opinion on this matter. Speak it."

The seamstress considered that for a moment, glancing between the Anathema and her Empress, and wisely deciding on a compromise. "Perhaps… If the plating of his armor was white, and then painted over in black. Thus as he battles, more and more of the black layer was worn away to expose white beneath? His personal symbols could be held in spheres of white simply left unpainted."

Red considered that for a few moments, before shifting her legs to reverse which was crossed over the other. "...The regular repaintings would correct any abhorrent gray by the time the battle ended." She mused, tilting her head. Eventually she nodded. "Very well, black painted over white and red, accents and trim of gold, but nothing more."

"Of course, Lady Empress." The host of ladies with cloth in their hands bowed in unison.

"Have you decided on the symbols he will be adorned with, Lady Empress?"

"A mountain on his chest, a rosehead in bloom on his right shoulder, an eight-armed sunburst on his left shoulder. All in scarlet upon a white field."

"Rose?" Adam growled out in a questioning manner, tilting his head.

"The rose-in-bloom is a symbol of mastery, the red rose represents mastery over the martial disciplines of war and combat in all its forms." Scarlet explained briefly, waving a casual hand. "You are more than talented enough to have earned it upon your banners."

"Uh-huh." Adam responded, raising a brow.

"That, and I have a darling granddaughter the Dynasty has taken to calling 'The Roseblack', I am taking the opportunity to tease her by comparing her to you. Direct, honest, and with little mind for politics. Quite dedicated to wearing her armor everywhere she goes, much like yourself."

"She knows what she's doing then." Adam grumbled, making Red huff with amusement.

"Last thing, display your anima, I need to inspect it in detail, to make sure the shades match." She ordered, waving a hand to make the various servants back away and pull back their locks of fabric.

Adam glared blankly for a moment.

'...Brandy, how do I do that?' He demanded.

'Uhh… Just try very hard to accomplish something. Show off or something. Essence-use is instinct, for the most part.'

Show off, what did he have to show off?

He narrowed his eyes. He spread his feet slightly, raising one leg up on its toes, turning his chest slightly to the side, and slowly raising his arms. One fist on his waist, the other curled up and nearly touching his face. He briefly searched for the 'instinct' loaded into his subconscious routines. Meatframe made it difficult to find but…

…Oh, there it was.

All at once, a full-body flex, and he was engulfed in golden fire.

Not enough. He twisted into another pose, bringing both arms up as if holding some immense weight and changing his stance to the other side.

The flaring gold intensified, and the same golden arms as before grew out of flickers of the flame. Golden light bled into red as it traveled upwards. He held the pose for a few moments more, before lowering his arms and turning to look in the mirror that had been brought out. He took pleasure in the fearful mumbling from the meatmaids, and took in the view of what his soul looked like.

Apparently a big, three armed faceless man with a red sun behind his head. He scowled in an unimpressed manner, twisting his body slightly to consider the image closer. One arm on the left, two arms on the right. The figure was wearing a sarong, of all things, with a number of masks hanging off its belt. Oni, dragon, man with a pompadour, tiger.

He glared at the last one.

"A rather unique anima. Most of your kind content themselves with large animals or abstract art." Red commented.

"Why the fuck would someone's soul be an animal?" Adam asked, turning from the mirror and furrowing his brows at Red.

She shrugged. "I do not know, nor do I care to know."

Adam huffed in reply, turning back to look at his apparent soul. He frowned, before focusing on the extra arms. He had been in a frame with additional arms in the past, they weren't usually worth the extra weight and bulk, but he remembered the sensation of moving them around. You just had to flex like…

Sure enough, one of the arms of the faceless man rose up in accordance to his focus, clenching into a fist, then unclenching, then shifting about and wiggling fingers. It was just like operating an auxiliary shoulder mounting.

"Are you quite done playing with yourself, Adam? Or do I have to have miss Eina here pinch your behind?" Red called out, making the scroll-carrying courtier squeak in a startled and fearful manner.

"She touches my ass, and I'm fucking her in front of you." Adam warned, letting go of his focus and allowing the golden man to start fading. Scrollmaid let out another fearful squeak and took a half-step back. He was still surrounded by a bonfire of gold, however, and he didn't know how to-

'About half an hour of rest, typically.' Brandy answered the question before it began. Adam frowned at the tactical disadvantage of that.

"Hmn." Red considered, glancing at Scrollmaid.

"As in, instead of you." Adam clarified his threat, sending a glare her way.

Red sighed. "No I suppose not then, if you ravish her, she'll spread rumors of your prowess, and you'll start to develop an unfortunately robust ego."

"My ego is invincible."

"Invincible is a rather low measure of durability, please have higher standards."

Adam snorted, crossing his arms and standing still as the clothmaids started up their work once again.

—

The skyship looked a whole lot like a giant, well-polished crystal covered by a bare layer of dew. Twenty yards long and four wide, as Red had claimed, with relatively small angular wings on either side of the main body. It looked mostly like a very tall pyramid someone had tipped over on its side, with the back end being rounded. Kinda like a teardrop, but not as extreme of an angle.

Said back-end was dominated by a rounded cargo-bay door, with two smaller doors on either side of the main body for regular passengers. It didn't look like it would be able to fly, but he had seen it hover in surrounded by a horizontal whirlwind, so it clearly could. Just by using magic to cheat instead of normal propulsion.

Five meatbags were lined up on the outside of the craft, looking serious and dutiful in their perfect salutes directed towards Red and their wary eyes flitting towards him. Adam was starting to think this Anathema business was all upsides, because it was good to be surrounded by people who feared and hated him again. It was almost like he never left Arasaka.

'They should be looking upon you with awe and respect.' Brandy grumbled.

'Sounds boring.' Adam replied.

"Captain Peleps. Second Peleps." Red greeted the two crewmen in front, identifying them by the squiggle on their armored jackets. "I trust everything is ready for my departure?"

The captain, a man with long black hair and teal eyes, nodded sharply. "The cargo was sent ahead, Lady Empress, we've already loaded your belongings and strapped them in. We're ready to fly at your command." He clearly resisted the urge to glance Adam's way, faintest tension in his cheeks.

"Marvelous, I'll make note of your service." Scarlet responded, walking forwards towards the lowered ramp leaning into the skyship. Adam, clad in his pillaged armor, followed silently, making sure to glare down at the captain as he passed.

The captain's brow shone with the faintest gleam of sweat.

Adam smirked as he passed, followed in turn by a massive host of courtiers, servants, and bodyguards that the local nobles had assigned to watch after their beloved empress. All of them gave him a wide berth, and as a consequence, gave Red a relatively wide berth as well.

"Oh, that reminds me." Red muttered, raising a finger to her lips. "I'll need to compose a scroll about this outing, so the commonfolk know what to believe. Mention that slovenly spring-goddess somewhere in there."

"Send me south for the first job." Adam growled.

"Absolutely not." She responded flatly, sending him a glare.

"Why not?" He let his amusement into the words.

"Because you'll run off to impregnate her and I'll have to deal with your bastard demigod."

"You think I won't elsewhere?" He chuffed.

She narrowed her eyes at him as she ascended the ramp. "...A valuable insight. I'll assign a team of Immaculates to watch over you, make sure that you remain chaste on your outings."

Adam snorted. "Make sure they're ladies with a penchant for tiny skirts. That'll keep me busy."

"Hmph. At least I'll have control over the pregnancies then. Lusty mongrel. I have little need for a host of golden children in my realm, running amok and destabilizing things. See to it that your seed is wasted in infertile grounds, do you understand?"

"When do I get my ninety seven talents? I need to buy new gear when we get there. This salvaged shit isn't going to cut it for long."

"And an accountant to handle your finances, I doubt you'll be able to find a good deal if it slapped you across the face."

"Do you have catalogues?"

"...Why would you need a catalogue? Do you intend to start a farm?"

"No, a weapons-catalogue." The 'moron' went unstated.

"Such a thing does not exist, you tell fictions."

"It absolutely does."

"It does not."

Their argument continued in that manner all the way to their seats and for the next few hours.

Chapter Text

"Behold my seat of power, in all its grandeur." Red declared with a wave of her hand, directing his attention to the distant city that sat next to a truly immense river. The city walls were surrounded by layers of lesser buildings, which in turn were surrounded by miles of smaller villages and row after row of farmland. The carpet of fields grew more and more ostentatious as they approached the city, many buildings replaced by increasingly-large statues and towering gateways.

The city itself was constructed like some immense geode, plainer outer walls of densely-patterned stone rising for dozens of feet leading into a core of brighter and better-decorated buildings, the five-colored walls of which glowed brightly in spite of the dim evening. Many of the buildings in the interior had the vague look of textured glass or massive crystals, hewn into shape and set up by giants. The light coming from these buildings was captured and broken-up by less impressive buildings of stone, which towered unevenly over their shiny counterparts.

And throughout the shining city, immense statues of dragons wove, illuminated by the light of the buildings against their stone scales and shadowed by the pillars around them. They were accompanied by immense decorations of repeating patterns hewn in dozens of colors, providing a scintillating effect as the skyship approached at what he could only call 'cruising' speeds.

It was the largest and most impressive city he had seen since arriving. It was pretty mediocre overall.

'They built over the Seat of Splendor.' Brandy observed idly.

"You only have two skyscrapers." He observed with folded arms, drawing many confused and somewhat irritated looks from the wide range of meatbag servants around him. He unfolded one arm and pointed a pair of fingers at the structure in question, two towers on opposite ends of the city that towered over the rest. "And they're puny."

Red tilted her head. "Towers Mnemon and Nellens, which rise one-hundred and seventy and one-hundred and seventy one yards from the earth, are 'puny'?" She asked with a curious lit, voice decidingly neutral otherwise.

"The Arasaka Tower in Night City was six-hundred and seventy eight yards tall, and one-hundred and forty floors." Adam explained in brief, crossing his arms again with a grumble. "Most of the buildings in the corporate plaza were shorter, twenty or forty floors less. The Night City tower was about half as impressive as the Tokyo site."

"It was twice as tall?" Red asked idly.

"There were two towers." Adam explained briefly.

"I see. Your cities sound ugly and obnoxious." Red wiggled her fingers at him. "Massive towers dominating the view everywhere one looks, obscuring the sky and stars above. Your city-planners should be drawn and quartered."

"Height is power." Adam rumbled in an amused fashion. "If you're bigger than your opponents, they'll think you're stronger."

"Attempting to demonstrate increased power through 'bigness' is why women mock men who boast about their immenseness." Red waved a hand.

"You're mad because you're short." Carefully, the servants showed absolutely no reaction to his blunt statement.

Red's eyes pulled into a sharp glare directed his way. "Do try your best to be mature, it reflects poorly upon me if you levy out such childish insults."

"That wasn't an insult, it was an observation."

"There will be a ceremony at the end of the week, wherein you will be escorted by the greatest heroes of my Realm from the gates to the throne room to swear fealty to me. Your anima will blaze the entire way to make certain all know who and what you are, then you will be stripped in the throne room and dressed in garbs of your service to me. Offer me your knife when directed, and kiss my foot."

"You try to make me kiss your feet, I'm slobbering on them instead." His statement was blunt as a hammer.

"You'd be executed for the disrespect."

"You'd try."

Red narrowed her eyes into slits, before scoffing. "A kiss upon the hand then, can you manage that without buying a swift death?"

Adam snorted, before waving a hand. "Sure, whatever." He dismissed.

"Before that takes place, there will be a great many meetings between yourself, myself, and the various peoples of import in my Realm. The Mouth of Peace and Five Paragons will doubtlessly require a meeting, as will the gods of the Realm and Blessed Isle, thereafter a number of Lords and Ladies from the Great Houses."

"Why?" Adam asked bluntly, looking down at Red and raising a brow. "I'm a weapon, not a politician."

"You are a weapon, both military and political." Red declared. "I intend to use you in your fullest capacity as such."

Adam rumbled in a dissatisfied manner, but understood what she was getting at.

"As a show of your obedience, I will demand that you play a song in the midst of the court. Make sure to show off how displeased you are by this before relenting."

Adam outright growled at that, already displeased by the prospect, before settling down again. "...What song?" He grumbled out.

"It matters not, so long as it does not directly mock me. I will be able to work with any lyrics that you perform. Something poetic but vague would be best." Red tilted her head. "I would prefer another one of those love-songs."

"No."

"Troublesome mongrel."

"Woman." The 'troublesome' was left unsaid.

Behind them, the servants held onto neutrality for dear life, desperate to not let their amusement show on red-faces and pressed lips.

—

The 'palace' was more like a district that covered a third of the city, a series of sprawling sub-palaces walled off from the rest of the city with five immense gates and coiling around a lone, squat building in the center of the 'district'. This squat building was in turn surrounded by a much larger and more impressive building that was apparently the 'proper' Scarlet Palace, in that it was the actual building that contained a throne room and beds.

'The Realm Defense-Grid Control-Manse.' Brandy identified the central, squat building at once, a frowning tone in his voice. 'I suppose it makes sense that an Empire would be founded around it, in our absence.'

'What does it do?' Adam asked in a disinterested manner.

'Allows one to operate hundreds of other defense-manses, slaved to the engines at its interior. It was built as a means of showing-off more than a precaution, the Solar Deliberative never needed to actually use it with respect to the might of our armies.' Brandy made the impression of a gesture. 'With lesser armies, its power would be disproportionately great.'

The skyship came to a gentle landing in a central plaza just before the primary building, allowing them to step off and be greeted by immense rows of soldiers and courtiers in the courtyard before them. One, two, three…

At least five thousand in attendance, here to watch one lady walk back to her throne. He was suitably unimpressed by the fanfare of the initial, 'smaller' reception.

Red stepped from the ramp, raising a delicate hand.

Earth rose from the paved stones, surrounding and engulfing her in slabs of rock, which then crumbled away into swiftly-disappearing dust. She emerged from the pile of dust more-impressively garbed, an immense golden crown set upon her head, a cloak of rolling cloud-mantle and swirling wind layers upon her shoulders and trailing down her back, and an immense lance of five spiraling colors in her hand. The lance-end twisted into ribbons of the metal, spiraling around her grip and theoretically serving to protect her hand from attacks. The handle was long enough to serve as a walking-stick, and tipped in another, shorter spike.

And there, tucked into her generous cleavage, an immense teal gemstone set in golden clasps, which swirled with an inner-light.

She had a spell for getting dressed up. He didn't know why he hadn't been expecting that already. She stepped from the broken tiles and forwards, a glance in his direction telling him that he should duly follow.

Dressed in plates of armor salvaged from road-bandits, painted black, scratched over with a ye-old kill counter, and paired with equally worn leathers and weapons. He probably couldn't look any more different from Red's imperial bearings. He grunted, and moved to follow his employer's path between two small armies worth of bodyguards and government officials.

He was pretty sure these plates were still stained in blood, he knew that the pants were, at least. The helmet-visor was closed, concealing his face and identity from the crowd as he followed in their empress' wake. The reveal was going to come during the later ceremony, apparently.

The vast majority of the ones standing around them were short. Maybe five-foot-five as an overall average. Red was a head taller than most, and Adam in turn towered over all but the most exceptionally tall in the hordes of meat. White was the most common hair color, followed by brown, then red, with a rainbow-smattering of other shades speckled throughout.

The guards had ornamental armor and long-hafted halberds. Not a single ranged weapon. He could kill everyone in this plaza in five minutes or less.

'You are still young.' Brandy agreed. Adam let an irritated look cross over his face. Soon, they passed through the front doors, and entered into what was clearly the throne room. A rather immense chamber, with an interior roughly the size of… a football field, perhaps, at one end dominated by a throne and framed by columns of marble. The columns were at least three or four yards wide, and fourteen were set along the path towards the throne. The throne itself was a hulking affair, a comfortable looking set of cushions in the chair and surrounded by five swirling dragon-heads, connected to long necks wrought into the base of the truck-sized chair.

Past the massive column were a number of doorways that lead into other parts of the center-palace, most of which were currently cracked open to reveal another small army of servants and lower-ranking officials spying in on the goings-ons. Most pertinent to him were the crowd of meatbags in exceptionally fancy robes that stood near the base of the five-dragon throne, one of which he recognized.

He resisted the urge to give old man contracts a jaunty wave, a mocking smirk growing on his face at the man's carefully restrained glower. The old man was in turn standing next to the fanciest-dressed meat present, a bald woman looking upon him with no small amount of apprehension and consideration.

She was accompanied by five other, similarly-dressed baldmeats with their own… secretaries? Meats that were holding scrolls nearby, at least. The five baldmeats were less restrained than their… boss? Glaring at him with much more open suspicion.

Behind them, and closer to the throne than any other, was a final woman in brilliant scarlet robes emblazoned with Red's personal sigil. She was a rare example of someone taller than him, seven feet, at minimum. Pale white eyes and slightly luminescent skin made it difficult to distinguish where her skin ended and the little silvery crown on her head began. It was further troubled by the fact that she was bald.

She would've been decent to look at if she didn't look like a cancer patient, six out of ten. Behind her was a little man wearing red and silver, holding a very large sword with a bored expression.

A number of other, less-impressively dressed meats stood about, scrolls in hand. Adam ignored most of them as unimportant.

Red walked past them, briefly raising a hand to indicate he should stop at a certain point, then up to her throne. Taking a seat upon the cushions, the dragon-heads came alive to shift about in a way that was vaguely happy, before settling down into more relaxed poses. Red sighed in a satisfied manner, before opening her eyes.

Respectful bows were aimed her way from all in attendance save himself. An amused smirk came over her face at his apparent impudence. Adam, for his part, hadn't signed anything yet.

He had no obligation to do anything until it was in writing.

—

A great deal of the initial meeting was dominated by Red talking on and on about things and to people he didn't care about. He made sure to memorize everything just in case he needed to, but very little of what was actually discussed actually related to him in specific as opposed to him in a general sense.

Solars were threats to the stability of the empire because they were strong. They had a religion that cited a great many reasons about why Solars were inherently evil. So long as a Solar had sufficient ambition, they were a threat because of their ability to quickly carve out fiefdoms for themselves.

Adam, in turn, had absolutely no interest in building his own fiefdom. Being responsible for the management of meat and their needs was the last thing he cared for. Red had recognized this, and had plans to hire him to act as big boot and smash all the other little fiefdoms that don't play along with her rule. That was the material obstacle gone.

Which left her to negotiate around the religion about why it was okay for her to have a super-demon under her employ and not be executed instead. There was a great many citations of flowery passages and even-tempered implications that the other side was being stupid bandied about.

Occasionally they would ask him his opinion on some matter, usually nebulous shit that he couldn't care less about.

"Have you ever sought to guide the faithful away from the Immaculate Tenets?"

He didn't know what those were.

"Do you accept the right for the Dragonblooded to rule over Creation?"

If you pay him.

"Would you defend the faithful against the blasphemies of your Solar kin?"

If you pay him.

"Would you be willing to learn the tenets of the Immaculate Order?"

If you pay him.

"Do you accept the Elemental Dragons as perfect beings, and surrender your ambitions of earthly conquest?"

His ambitions were to kill things and get paid for doing so. Stop citing religion at him and just tell him what you wanted him to kill.

And so on until the gathered religious leaders were left in a state of deeply-disgruntled acceptance. Apparently such open willingness to be hired was rather unheard of among 'Anathema', and Red used it as a springboard to argue that he could be taught the tenets of the Order in time, as a weapon for the order to wield if nothing else. Something along those lines, because Adam was mostly busy staring into space and imagining the weapons he needed to buy.

"-Adam." His name was called. He brought his visor from where it had been staring and towards Red, who was hiding her amusement behind an impassive mask.

"I wasn't listening." He bluntly replied. The frustrated expressions of the ones wearing less-fancy robes was amusing to him.

"Please display your anima again. The gathered would like to look upon it directly."

Adam almost rolled his eyes, twisting into another flex and pouring that instinctive effort into the task. A flare of brilliant gold followed. Another twist and flex made the flare swell, twisting into the phantasmal image of the great three-armed man once more. He then returned to an idle posture, the three-armed man following suit with a cross of his upper arms, and resting his lower right hand on his hip.

"A warped image of the Most-High, for certainty." One of the baldmeats observed with a frown. "In mockery or best-effort imitation?"

"He is bereft of the arm that holds Compassion, and likesome bereft of his Wreath. The imagery could not be clearer to observe." Another baldmeat stated, hands folded within his sleeves.

"A mostly-faceless man with four masks. Dragon, Tiger, Ogre, Man. Identities assumed or components of his nature?"

"A red sun, but it sheds gold light." The last one observed with pressed lips.

"Tell us, Anathema, what do you see when you look upon your Anima?" The seven-foot baldmeat asked calmly.

Adam frowned, before glancing back at his apparent soul.

"The asymmetry pisses me off." He began his casual observations. A wave of mutters followed at that. "As does the new look."

"New look?" Sevenbald asked quickly, honing in on the statement.

Adam grunted. "Had an ICON back home, worked hard on it too. Empty suit of bright white armor, with a grinning skull-face and a red interior-glow. Helped scare the shit out of all the little punks running around thinking they could hack it in the big leagues. If this is supposed to be my soul, then it needs some work." He idly commanded the 'anima' to move around and flex as he spoke, observing it with a scowl.

"I see. And what of the masks?"

"Old frames, probably." Adam waved off, then pointed at the masks in order. "Dai-Oni, wore it whenever my old boss wanted something completely dead. Dragoon, wore it as my day-to-day most of the time. Gemini, wear it whenever I go to parties or to fuck."

"...And the Tiger?"

"That one is there to piss me off. I hate cats."

"Frames?" Another baldmeat asked.

Adam briefly considered explaining, before waving it off. "It's like those Warstriders you got, but smaller, wrap around the meat." He patted himself on his chest, making his armor clank.

"Like Gunzosha armors?" The baldmeat asked.

"I don't know what that is." He replied bluntly. The collected baldmeats huffed in vaguely irritated manners, but accepted that answer.

'Armor that wraps around the wearer, and augments their physical capabilities.' Brandy explained.

Ah, power armor. He needed to see about getting some in that case.

"That will be all for the moment, Adam, you may stop fueling your anima." Red declared with a wave of her hand, making him grunt and let go of the slight focus used to maintain the spiritual flex. The three-armed man faded away, and soon the baldmeats returned to vigorous but calm debate over whether or not it was spiritually acceptable for him to breathe their air.

He expected this meeting to last another few hours, at minimum, even if the outcome was already determined. The real question was :

When could he start killing and how much was he going to get paid for it?

Chapter Text

Her grandfather was in a horrible state, when she first saw him again. A Greyfalls wing and ships of the Wood Fleet serving as escort to bring him and the survivors of his campaign back home. His armor was mostly ruined, his white hair disheveled, the lines on his face deep and broad. In the weeks it took to return to Dragonmouth port, and from there to the Imperial City, he had barely managed to pull himself together.

His armor was left unrepaired, but his hair had been groomed and his eyes hardened into blank gems once more. It was obvious from just looking upon him that he had failed, and failed in an impossible-to-disguise manner. One only had to look at the remnants of the legions under his command to find evidence of this.

Four full legions, twenty-thousand men, fifty-six dynast dragonblooded, and fifteen warstriders, all of it sent into the maw of dense Haltan forests, conjured spirits, barbarian armies, a small group of outcaste dragonblooded, and no less than six Solar Anathema. All that was left was a handful of dynasts, less than half of the warstriders, and a company of mostly-ruined men. Barely enough left to form a Talon.

The majority died in what they now call 'The Battle of Futile Blood'. She'd strike the first person who tried to mock her with the name.

She arrived at the Imperial City three days after grandfather had returned, and news of the defeat had spread. A Dragonlord come to beg for jade for her family's legions. The news of the defeat was second only to news of the Empress' soon return and whereabouts during the first half of the year.

She had been told to wait, for the Empress had taken an interest in the matter personally, and was soon to arrive back in the Imperial City. So she stayed with her grandfather, and the two of them waited for the rumors to be confirmed or denied.

They stood on the second-floor balcony of the Scarlet Chapel, official temple of the Great Houses and second largest temple of the Immaculate Order, situated within the grounds of the Scarlet Palace and overlooking a great majority of the Imperial City. It was a gaudy, ostentatious building, even for the cloisters and celibacy and shaved heads of the Immaculates, in part due to the abundant funding poured into the building by competing Houses.

No one used it unless they wanted to sell the impression of being pious, which made it even more annoying than normal piety.

There, at the entrance of the city, where five full legions stood waiting for the event, a brilliant golden bonfire roared to life. A hue that shone like a second-sun, broken up only by a blinding crimson core.

Next to her, grandfather tensed in his shattered armor. All around her, scions and elders of house Tepet hissed and quietly cursed. Further beyond them, the dynasts of other houses, lords and ladies and scions alike followed in similar trends. One well-dressed daughter of Ragara fainted.

Ejava briefly considered spitting on her for being such a milkshit coward.

The golden bonfire burned bright enough to be seen for miles, and slowly began to move, crawling through gates and the streets and towards them along one of the wider central roads of the ever-crowded Imperial City. The unmistakable aura of a Solar Anathema, burning with immense power, larger than all but the most powerful flames of eldest dynasts.

She did not know much of the Anathema, save that they fight like devils and there is no purer hell than the struggle to kill one. She had met several in her career, most of which she had slain, and never seen more than the hunger for her death in their eyes.

Then again, she was confident her eyes were mirroring theirs, by the time their swords were to clash.

"They are young." Grandfather observed confidently, deep lines on his face, a mixture of apprehension and strange pity.

"Grandfather?" She questioned with furrowed brows.

"A year since, perhaps, but no older." He closed his eyes and let out a long, low sigh. "No older." He repeated with a scowl under his bushy white beard. "Six of their ilk among the Icewalkers, older by years, decades perhaps."

"You will get your chance for vengeance, grandfather. I will ensure it." She declared confidently, arms crossed as they watched the golden bonfire slowly trail its way in between stone and jade buildings in their direction.

Her grandfather did not seem pleased by her declaration, but neither was he surprised. The enormity of his defeat had rattled him, and his expressions were set into stony melancholies. It was difficult to see him this way, she much preferred when he was calling her a reckless shithead brat.

Few of the surrounding elders of house Tepet looked eager to join their conversation. The majority of the valorous died against the Anathema in Halta, the remaining were milksops, teachers, artists, accountants, and other professions valued by people without the courage to go out and fight.

It was hard to not look down at them, no matter their theoretical power over her. The majority were talking about looking for aid among the other houses, the ones that were quickly shying away now that Tepet was bereft of so many legions.

A gong rang out from the interior, at once bringing the majority of the attention away from the burning gold moving through the city streets and towards the center of the Scarlet Chapel. An immense and intricately decorated chamber that gave her a headache if she had to look at it longer than a few minutes at a time.

A crowd of the most important and influential beings in the whole of Creation stood at the end.

The five Paragons of the Immaculate Order, and the Mouth of Peace before them. A host of Immaculate Lamas stood behind them, each with their hands clasped in prayer or carrying bundles wrapped in silk.

Tachi-Kun, God of Central Warfare and God of Exalted Combat, clad in plates of black and gold decorated with dragons. He stood next to Ten-Thousand Spears, God of the Realm Legions, carrying a bundle of eighty-one spears on his back and one in his hands, and Jagalza, Goddess of the Realm, clad in the reds of the Scarlet Dynasty and crowned in silvers. Each towered over mortal men, and glimmered with the unmistakable radiance of a high god.

And, of course, the Scarlet Empress herself in the center, crowned in gold, garbed in red, and decorated in teal. One hand was upon the hilt of a long daiklave wrought in glimmering white jade and gold. The other was carrying her personal spear, a spiralling drill of all five colors and immense even for a direlance.

In all of Tepet Ejava's life, she had never seen the Empress feel the need to wield either.

"Children of the Blessed Isle." She began, voice smoothly rolling across the chapel interior as if personally speaking to each of the gathered. "Children of the Immaculate Dragons. Children of my line. I deliver terrible and wonderful news."

It was difficult to maintain a trail of thoughts in the wake of her voice, so directly focused upon them.

"Since before my reign began, the Chosen of the Immaculate Dragons have guarded Creation from the Anathema. The Solars bound in locked beneath the seas and earth, the Lunars driven beyond the edges of civilization to skulk and prowl, and the last so thoroughly vanquished that even memory of them fails to linger. For they were servants of great and terrible titans, and in ritual they stole the might of sun and moon and stars, and their tyranny ravaged the world time and time again. It was solely with the diligence of the dragonblooded that this remained true."

"Recently, we have received a reminder of their terrible power, a six-pointed circle of straggler Solars from the north, at the head of barbarian armies and calling up demons to their service. A throwback to the days of old, where monsters such as these were as common as days in a year, and entire lands were swallowed by their warriors under the command of dreadful generals and marching to the direction of blasphemous prophets."

The gathered Tepets tensed, not all of them had arrived, but they were present in sufficient numbers after accounting for the four-fifths of their warrior-dead.

"Due punishment will be levied for this failure, but it is not entirely their own, for the enemy moves and plans even in darkness beyond our sight. Their err was one of lapsed vigilance, and nothing more. In that moment of lapsed vigilance, a six-fold brotherhood of darkened suns had taken from us four full legions and four-score good Dynasts. Even now they digest paltry conquests and claim that the Empire no longer has teeth beyond its borders."

The Scarlet Empress let her eyes cross over the silent crowd.

"Their laughter will soon be tears, now that they have earned my gaze."

There was a cold and awesome fury in those words.

"Now, more than ever, it is important to ready ourselves for great and terrible wars to come. Those dreadful barbarians and their Anathema kings were only a portent of something more terrible to come, warnings that came in the stars like ripples cascading into tidal waves. What these warnings were leading towards I sought to discover, and set out in sabbatical in the guise of a mortal woman. My investigations led me southwards, where I had been ambushed by dreaded sorcery and cast into the outskirts of Malfeas."

A ripple of unease spread at those words.

"Thereupon I had come face to face with another dark sun, a Solar Anathema, and one of the Forsaken."

The ripples did not quite turn into murmurs, but a great many little glances were exchanged.

"The Forsaken, great and terrible generals of the Anathema of old, who marched where their prophets directed them, the callous and cruel blades that slaughtered any, guilty or innocent, with songs and laughter. When the Immaculate Dragons rose up to oppose them, they drew blades and readied themselves to fight. Their masters and allies abandoned them at once, leaving the Forsaken to fight and die alone."

"If the Anathema had stood together, it is possible that not even the Immaculate Dragons could have attained victory, so terrible were their killing-arts. Only the Forsaken fought at first, and the battles against them were fiercer than any other, and they fell long before those that abandoned them did, curses and praises for the war-motions of the Dragons on their lips."

"In time, the Dragons would hunt down the treacherous allies. The Blasphemous, the Unclean, the Wretched, the Deceivers, all fell before the Dragons, each more cowardly and traitorous than the last. With their deaths, Daana'd swam down to the bottom of the seas, to lock the gates of the underworld with a powerful seal so that they would no longer trouble the world of man. All but a handful were imprisoned in this manner."

"Against a host of demons I stood alone, readying myself for a long and terrible battle. Thereupon the Forsaken intervened upon what he claimed was a whim. When the gates to the underworld had been locked, he had been sealed in the Demon-City instead, and had waged ceaseless battles across many lives to escape. His memories of the world were sanded away with time, and all that was left was a selfish desire to escape the predations of his old masters."

"He aided me against the gathered demons, and asked if I knew a way out. I saw an opportunity in his brutal honesty and aims. His allies had long abandoned him. His masters now tormented him across terrible vistas and countless lifetimes for the crime of dying against the Immaculate Dragons. He fought alone, and his torment had long worn away any attachments to his old and dreadful allies."

"There I considered the wisdom of Compassionate Sextes Jylis, and made an offer with thoughts of redemption. The Anathema would have a new master, pledged to protect a new people, to fight and war against those that had abandoned him. In time, it was my hope that he could be made to see the wisdom of the Immaculate Dragons. Much ink has been spilled over how the Anathema corrupt the righteous order of all things, but what has been said of an Anathema who is willing to serve that order? Where are they to be placed?"

"The chicken offers its life to feed the farmer. The farmer offers a portion of his livelihood to the Dragon. The Dragon works to administrate the world. In this way, all things are honored. But the fox that devours the chicken disrupts this order. They steal from the farmer not just the chicken, but likesome the farmer must take up a shovel and chase the fox, to kill it, so that it does not steal from him again, and in doing so diverts his attention from his crops and honoring the Dragons."

"I have stolen a lonesome wolf from the wilds, and in time I hope to make a foxhound."

"If this endeavour is successful, I will know that the Anathema can be redeemed in time, and that at least the Forsaken once had a place in the proper order of things, before their dark masters and blasphemous prophets bound them in whispers and lies. If it is a failure, then I will know that they do not, and all considerations of this nature can be dismissed forevermore."

"I knew not what the ripples in fate caused by the northern Anathema were leading towards, but the Stars did, and they guided me appropriately. The Forsaken accepted my offer, and the two of us escaped the Demon-City, and traveled northwards. There we met and slew the Anathema who had ambushed me originally, and continued on our way. The Forsaken was crass, crude, at times barbaric, but possessed of three virtues I sought to nurture.

"Loyalty, Honesty, and Valor. This Forsaken Anathema lacks nothing in regards to those things. On a dozen instances he had the opportunity to betray me, on no instance did he choose to. On a hundred instances he had faced great adversity at my direction, on no instance did he hesitate. On a thousand instances he had the opportunity to lie or deceive another for his own benefit, on no instance did he choose to indulge in such."

"The Dragons rewarded my action with a most auspicious event. On a whim, I kissed the brow of a madman in The Lap. That madman was Swan Dragon, former Censor of the South and honored servant of Heaven, having been driven mad by the fae and left to wander aimlessly. Left unconscious as his mind healed itself, a terrible danger crested over the horizon, as corrupt Wong Bongerok came over the hills."

"A fire born of venom and lies was his gift, and he was a shame to all Dragons. Upon seeing Swan Dragon's unconscious form, he roared with great hatred, called upon his servants, and flew down to murder the censor in his sleep, to be secure in his official position. At once, I commanded the Forsaken to hold nothing back in the honored Censor's defense, and without hesitation he revealed himself at my command, and warred against Bongerok long enough for Swan Dragon to awaken."

"The rest of that event has already been recorded in full, what has not been recorded was the dreadful event to come."

Her eyes passed over them again, as terrible words came from her lips.

"Daana'd's seal containing the Solar Anathema had been broken."

Were it not for the tension already lingering, many would've burst into fearful shouting. The Empress continued after a moment.

"An immense skeletal construct, wrought of behemoth bones and marching at the command of the dead titans was found clawing at the seals. A great host of heaven's servants rode down to do battle with it, but disaster had come. In the terrible clash, the seal had been shattered, and as we speak they return to possess unwary mortals and walk the earth once more. The circle of six broke the Tepet legions in an unwary moment, and now three-hundred march over Creation."

"There is little room for games of politics and infighting. The Realm as a whole must ready itself for war on a scale that has not been known since the Immaculate Dragons walked. Long has our gazes started to turn inwards, and now they must return firmly outwards. Know that the wars of old have returned, know that ours is the might and power to rule and safeguard Creation, and know that we are the Scarlet Dynasty."

"My gift to you is leadership. I know you are wise enough to accept it. Your gift to me shall be obedience."

Thereupon, the doors of the Scarlet Chapel opened, and all eyes turned towards them.

Blazing like the noonday sun was a figure in black armor, joints covered in faint rusts and leathers deeply worn. An eight-armed sunburst blazed on his brow, and a dreadful aura washed over the gathered. He was escorted by five great heroes of the Realm, each a burning commander of one legion or another. In full regalia they marched, surrounding the Anathema clad in pillaged armor.

They should've made a mockery of the figure with their fine armors and weapons, blazing with their own hot flames which scorched and blackened the stone as they walked. Instead, the figure at the center seemed just as great and terrible, not surpassed in gravitas by any of the heroes who watched him carefully.

Her grandfather should be among them, he was more decorated than any escorting the Anathema forwards.

They walked through the silent chapel, towards the Scarlet Empress, before coming to a stop at some unseen signal. The heroes dispersed to the sides, and the Anathema continued forwards for another step before stopping himself.

For a few moments, the only sound was crackling flames.

"Remove thy helm." The Empress commanded.

The Anathema reached up, taking hold of the graying helmet before removing it from his head. A shock of gold hair and faintly-tanned skin emerged, strong and handsome and expression set into a natural glare. He dropped the helmet to the side, letting it roll across the tiles carelessly.

"Who are you?" The Empress asked.

"The Son of Red Earth Who Crushes by Violence." The Anathema replied with a rumbling tone that carried through the chapel.

"What are you?"

"A weapon."

"And what is your oath?"

"Until the day that you betray me, and not a moment before, I'll fight in any battle and against any enemy that you direct me towards. I will tolerate the preaching of your priests, the politicking of your descendents, and the bothersome noises of your servants, and they will be spared from death at my hands. When you betray me, I will kill your assassins, I will kill your guards, I will kill you, and I will kill all who seek revenge on your behalf, until revengers no longer come for my head."

A long moment passed before the Empress inclined her head. "Then kneel, Red Earth, and offer me thy blade."

The Anathema knelt, and drew the knife from his bootstrap, offering it above his head towards the Empress. There, she took her hand from her weapons, so perfectly balanced that they did not fall off their tips, and took up the crude knife.

With a deft cut, she cut a long lock of scarlet hair from her head, and unhurriedly fashioned it into a braided cord. This cord was then loosely tied around his neck, and she offered a hand.

The Anathema kissed it gently, and she directed him to rise.

"Divest thyself of your tattered garb, and be dressed anew as a servant of mine."

The Anathema raised his hands, and carelessly began to rip off plates of metal and leather cords, revealing his bare flesh beneath as Lamas of the Immaculate Order came forth from the sides with their silken bundles, ready to dress him.

The Empress made another pronouncement, but it took a moment for Ejava to realize what she had said.

She blinked, a cold chill falling down her spine, and sent a glance to the side. Her grandfather looked equally tense, as did many of her house.

She looked back, and locked gazes with the fearsome teal of the Scarlet Empress' own orbs.

The fearsome words reverberated in her mind once more.

"Your first duty will be as sworn-sword of Tepet Ejava, who will be newly elevated to General of the rebuilt Tepet legions. You are to serve her as you would serve myself."

Every eye in the Scarlet Chapel was drawn towards her.