Hordedoom

Two days after the end of the war:

Her eyelids fluttered, opening to reveal a curtain swaying in a pleasant summer breeze. Green-tiled walls with a golden sword in a green circle marked the place as the private hospital of the Sunblade House. Nearby, a strange rubber tire kept gently shrinking and expanding. She tried to breathe, finding with surprise a tube in the corner of her mouth, drawing in a steady stream of air. Her toes and fingers twitched. Not paralyzed. Super!

A white-furred hand gripped hers, and Cordelia smiled, recognizing Dad's worried snout.

"You're awake." Dad kissed her forehead. "Praise be to the doctors, the Blessed Mother, and our kin. Don't make any rash movements."

"It's hard to breathe, Dad," Cordelia admitted, wheezing.

"Part of your lung is missing. One of the mongrels responsible for the war had shot you," he explained worriedly. "You can't remember?"

"The memory is hazy…"

"Good. Good." He nodded. "No need to recall. It is over; nothing threatens you. You are safe."

Cordelia rested her head on the pillows, hearing Dad calling for a nurse. A cheerful Normie, a retainer of their house, came in; her gentle fingers ran over the bandages as she asked the girl about any unpleasant sensations, then she shined a light in her eyes. More tests followed, but Cordelia drifted back to Dad's words.

He was the owner of several successful bakeries scattered throughout the Core Lands and had chosen to opt out of attaining knighthood or serving in the military. Dressed in a brown suit with heraldic symbols on his shoulders, his presence reassured her. But… the war?

"Mom!" Cordelia gasped. Both the nurse and Dad had placed their palms on her chest, holding the girl down on the bed.

"No jumping out!" Dad said. "Mary is in a room two floors above us. Broke her legs and more bones during the battle for Houstad, nothing serious." His look betrayed his concern. It was worse than he was letting her know. "Like mother, like daughter. She too wanted to wheel in here to check up on you, but the doctors said no. Fret not, I'll set up a monitor and let you chat via video later." Dad slapped his face. "Should have done it earlier, honestly. Sorry. Wasn't thinking straight lately."

"It's okay!" Cordelia tried to say in a non-wheezing tone, grasping his wrist. Mom served as a knight in a fabled unit. The thought of anything happening to her horrified the girl. "Sorry for worrying you."

"Eh, stop talking nonsense. It's your sole task as a kid," Dad joked. "Though I would appreciate it if you would refrain from any heroics in the future. I'd like to nanny my grandchildren one day."

"No promises," she joined him in laughter, happy to be alive. The shot. Then a piercing pain, worse than anything she had ever experienced before. Lesson learned. Learn how to parry bullets. "My throat is sore. Can I have water?"

"Can she…" The nurse approved, and Dad stormed out of the room like a hurricane, returning with glasses full of water, soda, and juice. "Your pick, Brave Initiate?"

She grinned, preparing to ask for the juice when she saw the straw. Dad's shadow colored it black, and it swirled in the liquid, almost as if calling to her about... She furrowed her brows, gasping at the realization.

"Marco! Dad, there was a boy who had rescued me; I told you we will be visiting…" Cordelia had to breathe several times before continuing. "He is of the Wolf Tribe. Is he here? Can you tell him I'm ok? Better yet, call him here. He must be so confused all alone among the Ice Fangs."

Dad didn't answer. But his darkening face had frightened her more than the memories of the shot.

****

Three days after the end of the war:

"Spaniad, I implore you! Let's enter normally!" Pharaoh's words fell on deaf ears.

Six meters of alloy, the same quality as the hull of a starship, melted, flowing in a river around his legs at the touch of an orange sphere. Force fields tried to overlap the breach, denying his intrusion, and a tremor passed through the surface as the hidden generators exploded, unable to withstand a sun. Next came the adamantine bunker door, renowned for its heat resistance. A chunk of it vaporized, and Spaniad entered, accompanied by his friend.

They walked inside, unbothered that the molten metal would damage their elegant shoes. No fire will ever harm those under his protection. A spacious corridor led deeper into the bowels of the bastard's lair. Pharaoh levitated in the air, using the gravity pin on his lapel as arcs of electricity rolled across the floor.

"Warning!" Red lights flashed. "Unauthorized intrusion! All personnel evacuate. Defense matrix is online!" Spaniad paid no attention to the synthesized voice, seething with rage.

A casual wave of his elegant, tanned hand sent an energy surge through the length of the corridor, reducing the appearing turrets to ashes and sparing the shocked scientists. Unharmed, beasts of all sizes and dimensions climbed into view. Some were invisible to the naked eye, as when they faced the duo, others immediately sprouted additional limbs, their bodies rapidly evolving in a futile attempt to halt them. It would be child's play to eradicate the pest, but there was no reason to weaken the Organization.

"Bow," he said simply. The front rows of the creatures knelt, accepting his authority as an elder.

Several refused. A mangled horror slithered on a flat foot, poison and pus oozing from its every pore. It slashed at a wall, and a gangrenous mass formed on it, rapidly streaking toward Spaniad. Some kind of unknown virus, capable of transforming alloys into organic mass. Curious, but irrelevant. A wave of energy shot out from him, scouring the infection clean to the shock of the creature. The rest got the hint and dropped low. He passed by the sick mess, casually patting it for loyalty.

The space to his left and right cracked open, releasing viruses capable of depopulating entire cities. The aura of fiery death around him expanded, swallowing them whole before anyone could be infected.

"Watch out!" Pharaoh shouted.

Spaniad eyes widened at the portal opening ahead of him, a weave of whitish dots floating in the sea of darkness, and the pull of a black hole gripped him, threatening to send the elder into the cold depths of the cosmos. Not even his light could escape it, and any further increase of his power could spell ruin to the planet.

Gilded symbols appeared around the gaping maw of the tunnel, sending it into a section of Pharaoh's Labyrinth alongside the shocked beast. Perhaps in a last-ditch effort to stop them, another portal opened, leading into a dimension where any matter traveled at the speed of light. Spaniad heard his hated rival boast of having rediscovered it at their last meeting. Its full potential hadn't been tapped yet, but by opening an entry and exit point in a linear path within that dimension, a person could fire a simple bullet with truly catastrophic results for the object standing in front of the exit point.

A cannonball tried to strike him, but before it reached the bright field of Spaniad, Pharaoh sealed it with his own power.

"I've had enough of it," Pharaoh snarled. "Grab on."

Spaniad obliged, wrapping an arm around his friend's shoulder. Pharaoh tensed, so he loosened the hold out of worry that it might've been too tight. A kinetic thrust, stored by the Labyrinth, propelled them both through the five kilometers of corridor, directly to the doors of the main laboratory. A tap of his fingers steamed it.

They came upon a site of torture, straight out of the ancient legends of hell. Slabs held strapped test subjects, some in various stages of vivisection, the rest writhing in agony as new limbs, organs, or entirely different pieces of flesh were grafted onto their bodies. Spaniad scowled in disgust as a young woman shivered; her firm, red, scaly skin turned liquid and pale, nearly slipping from her restraints before the researchers gathered the panicked person into a vat.

Children floated in capsules, VR helmets on their heads, and electrical discharges tormented their nervous systems if they failed to perform a desired action in the simulations. No amount of damage could spare them the pain, as the liquid healed them back, resuming the lesson. Mutants howled and shrieked, their agonized crescendos rising to the ceiling as callous researchers conducted their experiments, perfecting the combat modes.

Smells of pus, blood, and excrement assaulted his nostrils, driving Spaniad into further fury. He proceeded; the halo of the recreated sun over his head devoured every projectile, sucking in plasma and laser beams. Pharaoh's brown suit turned to golden armor, protecting him from the disgusting stench.

He had wanted to ask if Pharaoh was correct in bringing them here, but then he noticed. Bands of force field held a torn leg in suspension behind a row of screens, visible to everyone. The true treasure that the bastard was hoping to get out of this and the lack of personnel near the limb brought a wide, predatory grin to his face.

No killing, such was General Secretary's decree. Only he had the right to sentence an elder to death. Fine, okay. He knew how to hurt Academician where it would hurt the most. Taking another step, Spaniad sensed another bother.

The patients on the tables yelled louder than before, melting and drooling red. Flesh-eating viruses, nerve toxins, and sedative gases were released once again, sending the researchers scurrying for cover.

"I've had enough of these games!" Spaniad let the frustration be heard in his voice. He expanded his inner sun, basking everything in the yellow light.

He was an Apocalypse. He decided who lived and who died.

The heat washed over the patients, touching every pore, creeping into every cell, burning the viruses, stopping any spread of damage. The place shook; a rain of molten steel dripped from above. The floor overheated, yet not a single prisoner died or suffocated as the torture devices harvesting their organs, cameras, and databases blinked out of existence. Spaniad inhaled a clear, if a bit hot, oxygen, sterilized of any danger.

And there he was, the target of his wrath, entering the laboratory from the opposite side and wearing a white lab coat. Two women flanked him, one a stunning beauty whose hair barely touched the collar of her business suit. Her slender figure, milky white skin, and soft lavender eyes hidden behind glasses aroused a desire in him. Her colleague clearly had different opinions about conventional aesthetics. Muscular, with a mop of orange hair, dressed in a t-shirt and black pants, she pointed a long-barreled rifle at Spaniad's chest.

Concentrate, womanizer. He reminded himself, disappearing the tendrils appearing from Academician's rival in a flash of brilliant light.

"To what do I owe the irritation?" Undaunted, Academician asked. He smirked as fire engulfed his hair, balding him.

"Ah, friend! You are a troublesome man to find. Don't arrive at scheduled meetings; rarely show up at your holdings. I've taken umbrage at your attempts to elude me." He spat in his face, unable to hold the civilized facade. "How dare you mess with the Core Lands? It is mine and Pharaoh's turf. We are the ones overseeing the situation here!"

"Now, now, let's not use slang, Elder." Bowed the woman in the glasses. "You are no longer a street thug, honored Spaniad."

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"But of course!" He faced the women in a blur and returned the bow, spreading the side of his cape with a hand, his anger gone. "My deepest apologies for any undue rudeness, agents of the Organization." He knelt, kissed Purple's hand, and reduced the second's weapon to flakes of ash. Before Orange Valkyrie could speak, he kissed her hand. "Do forgive my manners and any unwarranted startling. The local atmosphere and certain elements have taken their toll on me, but I assure you, not a hair will fall from your heads in my presence!"

"Very kind of you," Purple said.

"You really did it this time, Academician." Pharaoh curtly bowed to the agents. "It took all my charm to keep Spaniad from vaporizing this place in one go. And I am still uncertain if my intervention was right."

"Not a hair, huh?" Orange raised her brow at Spaniad scratching the back of his head.

Academician shrugged as if nothing had happened, ignored furious looks, and came to the nearest mirror. He fetched a syringe from his pocket, examining his bald head. A single jab caused the black hair to grow back and the blisters to heal.

"General Secretary has given us clear directives," Academician mused. "The Reclamation Army is to continue its expansion. With the peace parties growing stronger and being supported by the independent trade companies, something that should have been taken care of decades ago, mind you, we risked the Dynast stopping altogether. Then what? The tensions between the three nations would lessen, risking our exposure. I have taken certain measures to prevent this scenario from unfolding. You should be thanking me for wiping your arse, Spaniad, not acting as an irrational brat."

"We had the situation under control. Who do you think baited the protesters into acting early?" Spaniad asked.

"Were you hoping that Ravager would snap?" Academician snorted. "Was that your plan? I called you a brat, but you are truly low-intelligence children."

"Admittedly, that was a calculated risk. Key word, calculated," Pharaoh chimed in. "We had studied Ravager and placed our hopes in her behaving in a controlled manner, thus ousting the protesters to appear idiotic, with the undertone of petty racism in the eyes of an ordinary citizen. Their actions harmed the points the peace party is trying to get across. Careful interviewing done by a selected few news outlets would've stroked fears and conditioned the public to accept the need to topple the tyrants." He glowered. "All without a single casualty or a single fired shot. Unnoticed, economical, our every deed stemming from the actions that could've occurred naturally, making it harder to trace anything back to us. That is how professionals handle things."

"And because of you, the protesters are considered heroes!" Spaniad exploded; ropes of energy lashed from him, scarring the hall. "The bastards helped during the terrorist attack, saved people, and the press recorded it! You ruined our work! We both know that you don't give a rat's ass that my lands are burning, that humans, real humans, are dying. With the damage to the border and the military, the Dynast will have no choice but to slow the military expansion to rebuild what has been lost."

"Irrelevant. The blow has been struck. Hatred toward the Horde will encourage thousands to flock to the armies in the vain hopes of revenge," Academician stated.

"Moron," hissed Pharaoh. "Spiteful, cretinous, sadistic, short-sighted, impulsive worm. You've lost. Your own creation has outsmarted you."

"Mind your tone, Pharaoh. My daughter lacks the mental faculties and experience to match a fraction of my deeds."

"Imbecile." The elder closed his fists. "She had bent the Horde to the Dynast's rule and assigned tens of thousands of them to aid with the restoration effort, expertly piling up the entire blame for the invasion upon Mad Hatter, Brood Lord, and Iron Lord, while parading the Brood and Iron Lord's children as champions, praising them for helping to win the war and painting them as unwilling victims. How's that for the public perception?"

"Impossible." Academician stared at him. "She is a beast. A fragile animal incapable of long-term planning."

"Takes one to know one," Pharaoh said. "I don't attribute the plan entirely to Ravager. We had caught a whiff of three-way communication between her, Wyrm Lord, and Devourer, but that was after she had implemented the most crucial initial steps. Years of carefully placing war hawks in key positions went down the drain since it's going to take decades for expansion to resume as the Reclamation Army digests and integrates the Gilded Horde. And every year, the war machine slumbers, trade flourishes, and the peace party toils." He looked aside. "Even our emergency plot had not borne fruit. Janine refused to murder."

"Janine?" Academician frowned. "Ah, a warlord of the Wolf Tribe. An insignificant pest. What of her?"

"Our agent among the Ice Fangs had distracted their sage and orchestrated a situation in which their brat eluded them and was exposed to danger," Pharaoh explained.

"I wasn't aware of any agents within the Order's ranks."

"It's not your privilege to be privy to our assets. She is our mole, not yours." Technically, it was a lie. Spaniad had hooked up with the girl years ago and had leased her to Pharaoh at his request. But what is property among friends?

The woman was a lowly clerk, with gorgeous white fur and an ambition for greatness, but she lacked the acumen or connections to achieve the rank she desired. Spaniad was only too happy to oblige her in achieving this lofty goal. He had his misgivings about Pharaoh's plan, but everything went smoothly.

Unlike most elders, Pharaoh rarely interacted directly with field agents or his pawns. He preferred to remain a distant figure, keeping a hand on the pulse of the larger picture, a habit he had no doubt picked up since his days as a ruler. On his instructions, their Ice Fang had dropped an innocuous sentence spoken to another in the presence of the puppy. Then she had performed the more dangerous task of tampering with the ship's terminal to confuse the sages as to the whereabouts of their charges. Two steps, and the desired result had been achieved.

"We had hoped to profit from your chaos by stroking Janine's paranoia. The unprovoked murder of a Sword Saint would have been a reward in itself, but it would also have provoked Ravager into a murderous rampage, forever tarnishing any future reconciliation between the groups, letting us plant seeds of the future manipulations. Even though luck was on our side and the whelp died at the exact moment we needed it, we lacked the time and means to emotionally manipulate Janine properly… Every element was in place, and I failed. Thwarted by the furred beasts." Pharaoh sighed, a glow of sadness covering his exquisite reddish skin, accentuated by the dark lines around his eyes and cheeks.

"Don't judge yourself too hard," Spaniad tried to cheer him up. "Take solace in the knowledge that our little mouse has compromised herself and proven her loyalty. She has no other path, except one that aligns with ours. Our fellow here is to blame for the quagmire."

"It was a beautiful sight, was it not?" Academician's smile didn't falter when Spaniad's fist smashed into his face, breaking the cartilage of his nose. He licked the trickle of blood. "Mutants killing mutants, fresh records of their prowess, theories confirmed and disproved, hard data gathered to improve our own models…"

His head slammed into the wall. Spaniad's palm grabbed the man's face and pushed him harder. He kicked Academician into the stomach, enjoying a burst of blood splashing over his hand. Hear me, filth? He thought. Read this, bitch. The Core Lands are ours. Every woman there, mutant or not, is a beautiful citizen of my domain, mine to caress and pleasure if that is to their satisfaction. You infringed upon my lawn for nothing!

"Not for nothing. I wanted to hurt Ravager." Academician tore his hand from his face, cursing at the burns on his fingers. "She and I have a shared history, so to speak. With the proper application of mental torture, my daughter can be broken and then molded into a tool suitable for humanity's purposes. This was merely a wedge in my plan to estrange her from the Reclaimers. Your behavior is unwarranted. Saurolich has reviewed my actions and accepted my reasonings. Mad Hatter was an exceedingly powerful mutant enslaving our kind…"

Spaniad slapped him, taking the man by the chin and enjoying a flash of anger in the green eyes. Don't like it? I am the living star! The walking apocalypse, capable of ending civilizations! Unbound and set on the same course as you out of loyalty to General Secretary. The only reason you are still alive is due to him. Mess with us again and no protection will save your rotten hide.

"I mean it, Academician," Spaniad added quietly, letting go of him and fixing several strands of hair. "I don't care about your grudge. Pharaoh's and my zones of operations are off-limits to you. The ladies are welcome, as honored guests, of course." He smiled to Purple and Orange. "Saurolich may value you, but I see you for what you really are. A mere sadist, a thorn pretending to aid the glorious liberation, and a burden for me to bear. I love the sight of a city at night, stars above, a glass of wine nearby, and beautiful arms wrapped around me! And you had ruined that for me. Worse, you had endangered my lovely assistants, and because of you, they had to assist as nurses. Humiliations leveled on me, I can endure, but this… requires satisfaction."

"I do not share your obsession with carnal pleasures." Academician tugged his coat. "Find another partner for the night. You are not in my taste."

Veins popped up in Spaniad's neck at the suggestion, but he smiled sweetly, patting the man on the cheek. A bright, yellow flash of light spurred Academician into panic, but the cry had left his lips far too late. A gaping, molten hole appeared in place of the protection screens. Hungry mouths of the dimensional portals opened a fraction of a second too late to save the precious trophy as it resisted the unfathomable heat concentrated in a single point and then vanished into nothingness.

"You!" Academician stuttered, his calm demeanor shattered, the white steam swirling around. He pulled a syringe out of a pocket, the stumps of his tendrils whizzing at his back in a helpless frenzy. Orange smiled out of the corner of her mouth. "You! Can your monkey brain even comprehend what you have done? We could've cloned Mad Hatter! The secrets of her body could have spelled Ravager's doom! And you took it from me!"

"Her death is contradictory to your stated goal of using Ravager to further our mission," Pharaoh noted, the golden symbols popping around the syringe, dragging it inside the Labyrinth. "Then again. I do not expect consistency from a lunatic."

"Planning to profit from my misery? Fat chance!" Spaniad laughed. "For every irritation you have caused us, we will make you pay us back tenfold."

He looked around, noticing a woman who had manifested long darts of pure darkness, and aimed them at herself and the nearby prisoners. Force fields caught these unusual projectiles, not allowing the prisoner to escape the torture of having her lower body slowly reshaped into the columns of white, protective chitin that were far too massive for her slender frame. In another part of the hall, a lizard creature broke free of its restraints and tried madly to beat its way to its smaller counterpart floating in the tube. Part-biological, part-mechanical tendrils formed themselves from the partially melted floor. Their ropes tightened around the escapee, trapping the desperate cry in his throat.

Another man came apart, becoming a lattice of bones loosely connected by nerves and blood vessels. He slipped to freedom, one arm rearranging itself into a drill aimed at a white-coated woman, as a bubble of energy closed around the subject, yanking him upward.

Pharaoh and he exchanged glances. Abnormals with powers. Academician had the luck of leeching potential candidates for his agents from the Ravaged Lands and the Wastes, places richly tainted by the Glow, and where disappearances surprised no one. For fifty years, General Secretary exempted them from providing a tithe of flesh to the Organization's training facilities as compensation for the situation. But their rank afforded them the opportunity to demand personal payment for the insult.

They just found a gold mine. Pharaoh was right; this humiliation was so much more fitting.

"We will be taking every prisoner, Vat-borns and naturals," Spaniad decided to the look of genuine hate from Academician.

"These are the test subjects! You can't do it to me!"

"Watch us," Pharaoh said, a golden symbol shining at his back.

"Emotional ignoramuses!" Academician exploded, crumpling a metal table in his grip. "I refuse! Half of them are inhumans; the rest we have bred in the vats for the incoming experiments! Designed lifeforms, ready for improvement, their powers selectively chosen and implanted into them over the course of two decades! Secrets hidden within the inhuman bodies! Their presence is crucial to the advancement of my research…"

"Not our problem. You screwed us; we are screwing you back harder, darling. Feel free to bring the matter to General Secretary." Spaniad's fingers drummed on his chin. "Also, we are taking every ready freak as well. Fresh fighters will never hurt." Pharaoh reached for his terminal, summoning their personal forces to rob Academician blind.

Spaniad beamed, pondering about the task. What will they need? Medics, that's a given. Linguists, no doubt, therapists, psychiatrists, neurologists, and trainers master powers. It was an apt opportunity to learn how good the Organization's personnel were at something other than loyalty indoctrination. Then they will need gear, but it was possible to procure that from the unsuspecting Barjonis…

And plastic surgeries. No woman or man was supposed to be ugly, but if changing the world for the better was out of his reach, he could at least sculpt his own personnel. It never mattered to Spaniad what sort of agent was assigned to him; both mutants and humans had been altered to reflect the beauty of their shared existence. He tolerated no shyness or timidity in his female servants, personally educating them to be dignified enough to honor their status as goddesses, ready to speak back to him.

Ah, to see a broken existence reforged. To have the privilege of watching confidence replace fear. It reminded him of his time as a doctor. If there was one thing Spaniad cherished, third only to his friendship with Pharaoh and a long, passionate night spent with lovers, it was to elevate someone to become strong. Wounds passed, scars faded, but a newfound loyalty belonged to him.

Perhaps this wasn't a total waste to leave Academician alive.

"Fine." Academician gritted his teeth, dragging Spaniad out of his dreams. "Take them. I'll just find new subjects."

Or not. Spaniad noticed the long, pensive look Agent Purple gave her master. Mayhap certain changes are in order. Yes, the Organization just might benefit from a new, more stable elder.

"Sixty-forty?" he hushed to Pharaoh.

"Fifty-fifty," his friend replied. "I've heard stories of a unique establishment in Stormfiend that treats its customers in zero gravity. Want to check it out?"

"Alas, I must visit the matriarch immediately and lie to that disgusting pile of fat before the creature suspects anything." Spaniad exhaled, dreading the obligation to support the deception. "In a few weeks. I'll bring girls…"

"I'd rather it be just the two of us. It's been a year since we had a quiet dinner together," Pharaoh suggested.

"Sure!" Spaniad beamed. They'll get drunk, meet beauties later, and wake up in a hotel. What an adventure! "Can I count on you not to let the bastard hide anything from us here?"

"Naturally."

"Wonderful! Ciao!" He hugged him. "Fifty-five to forty-five, and that beast you took is mine, right?"

"Fifty-fifty, but I'll give you the thing," Pharaoh said. "Love you, too. Have fun."