Day 76th, Year 8:

  Much to my dismay, the resources required to mass-produce the subversion circlets cannot be procured on proper schedules. The process of creating crystal diodes that interface with a subject’s mind is too arcane to be put into an exact science. Another matter beyond control is the Empire becoming much stricter on imported goods. At this rate, I can only hope to receive the tooling to make the circuitry before port officials are aware of what they are. The Empire’s hounds are not to be underestimated, and being exposed at this early stage will jeopardize further experiments. Such are the pains of transcontinental transactions. Given my predicament, the circlets are reserved only for the strongest specimens.

  The most practical approach left for me is to assist in Doctor Hollegrehenn’s constructs. The alloys are showing a steady progress in terms of making better-armored, lighter, and more maneuverable models. Their development and further improvements are the most cost-effective methods for long-term use.

  On the other hand, there is progress in creating charged crystals capable of carrying up to an eighth of the First Tier of Vis. These have enough magical energy to create small dimensional tears and can keep those open long enough for groups of lesser entities to come out. This breakthrough allows me to adapt ways and means to use portable versions of the machinery to disorient and overwhelm enemies. These 'rift creatures' do not distinguish friend from foe, apart from conspecifics, therefore making it necessary that none of my own operatives are present once the bridging devices are activated.

  My associates and I will experiment with how well these machines can deliver. Some will certainly be destroyed in the middle of action, but placing portals strategically, at least theoretically, can ensure more creatures come out of them before the crystals’ magical energy is depleted.

  ????

  Silhouettes of heads were exposed to the light; most kept grinning faces, some of them planted their eyes on the floor, while others just walked as the jailer in front tugged them to do so. Long lines of chains dangled and jangled as those who carried them trudged into a wide chamber. It was a round, almost bulb-shaped room that ran almost thirty meters long and around half as wide, with a ceiling of almost ten meters. The walls bore scratches and holes from picks; the tools used to leave these marks were set aside with rusty heads and rotting handles. The men were freed from their restraints, only to be pushed to a fall almost their height.

  The queue of men sweltered beneath large yellow-orange lamps; their masked watchers held on to spear-like implements that had crystal rods sandwiched between the pointed tips of the weapons. Small streaks of electricity running between the ends were seen on some of them: a warning their wielders wanted to relay to the bowed heads they were leading. Blood, grease, and soot stained these captives’ clothes; many of the faces were smeared with the filth of that night's violence. The prisoners stared above, looking for someone else apart from the two armed men flanking him left and right; he noticed that some of them stared into the galvanized detail of his arm exposed by the lamps.

  A large man was the last to fall into the pit. There was no need to push him, even when blindfolded. He dropped to the ground, standing tall. He grabbed the obstructive cloth, tearing it off his face, and seeing that he was with a small group of other men. Many of them were wearing tatters; a mild stink from their bodies crawled up his nose. Four weapon racks with an assortment of axes, cudgels, and spears were placed all around them.

  “Gentlemen, be honored that you will have the chance of assisting me in my endeavors.” A voice from wooden box speakers crackled and echoed inside the chamber.

  “Has the Gray Fox stooped so low to use bloodsport as entertainment?” The hulking man approached one of the weapon racks, holding a spear in one hand while inserting an ax on his belt.

  “This is more than simple entertainment, General of the Empire.” A pause of static buzzed; lights from something in the opposite area appeared. “This is a chance for all of you to claim your freedom, if you manage to stay intact. Depending on how you impress me, I can even invite you to join my ranks.”

  “I’ll join. I don’t want to be here.” A short and thin man, probably from the Eastern regions, spoke in a shaking voice.

  “Get these chains off me! I want to live,” exclaimed another.

  Cecil von Schild did not bother replying. He had tangled with one of the Gray Fox’s strange creatures. What freak of nature did this man have in store for them this time?

  At the other end of the circular room were two machines, nearly two meters tall. Each had L-shaped arms that held crystal spikes. They gave off a glow that grew in strength. The rest of the men hurriedly took up their weapons, staring in horror at the dark tear that had appeared before them.

  Clawed fingers that resembled sickles swiped in the air as they materialized; humanoid limbs stretched as their bearers raced to come out of the void. They were hunched, almost standing on fours, with beak-like mouths that snapped and snarled at this world they were thrust into. Violet and black creatures with emaciated frames, almost naked save for spiky, compacted hair that covered their bodies. They stared at the surprised humans; some of them pointed shaky speartips at them.

  One cry that was a cross of a howl and a shriek, and the void-cast creatures leapt into attack.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “W-w-w-w-w-hat?” Said the first of the men who fell. A ripped throat and a gurgling scream before his body fell lifeless.

  They were fast, slashing, and thrashing at the men in sight. Some of them fell immediately; bloody limbs torn, gore scattered across the ground.

  “Don’t be singled out! Huddle together with your spears.” Cecil skewered a creature by the neck and hurled it to a small group that gathered around the abyssal wound.

  More came out of the portal. They jolted into a frenzied attack after seeing more of their kind dismembered by these brown-skinned creatures who met them. One leaped atop Cecil, who grabbed its arm and threw it to the ground before an ax blade split its head.

  The room smelled of blood and gore. Corpses, both torn and intact, littered the ground. These entities were relentless, surging forward no matter how many of them fell. Though fatigued, pained, and disfigured, the humans were prevailing. The last of the wretched beings was destroyed by a cudgel to the head; its skull was disfigured while dark red remains of mushed entrails flowed from a cavity in its torso. There it was: the gaping darkness that brought out those creatures, with nothing coming forth to meet the few remaining humans.

  This was the chance to destroy those infernal machines, Cecil thought. He picked up a spear to aim at one of the devices. He heaved and prepared to throw the shaft until an arm grasped the ground.

  It was not a claw, but a hand thrice as large as any human’s. It pulled itself out of the portal; light coming from the crystals blinked, glimmered, and died. The tear disappeared, shimmering back into the space it once sat on.

  This new creature was a giant of a man, with a bull’s head that bellowed at this alien place where it stood. It craved for death like the ones before it. Quaking steps that gained speed, its advance gave the man-beast force to gore at two of the remaining fighters, slamming both to the wall before their bodies twitched and slumped.

  Cecil couldn’t believe it. Monsters from old tales coming to life before him. The wounds they inflicted and deaths they caused to most of the men were too real to ignore. He himself was bloody with slashes he received from the previous mob. Now, a human bull creature was sent to test him.

  There were four of them left. Groans from some wounded could be heard, but the general doubted they would stay for long. One of the warriors went near him. He was panting; both ax-wielding hands were slacking, but he pulled whatever strength he had left. His looks, a long but thin mustache, slanting eyes, and sharp angles, were of a man who did not hail from Kriemreich. The stranger said:

  “You… are the strongest man I’ve seen. It is… sad that our lives will end here.”

  “I’m sure that the Creator, or your god… may have another destiny for us.”

  “I am glad… may our fortitude guide us.”

  The ax-wielder leaped and struck the creature’s back. Both the monster's arms whipped and gripped the attacker, hurling him to an empty weapon rack. All the Imperial commander hoped was that the axman could get up after the impact shattered the wooden stand to splinters. It charged at Cecil, who grabbed the monster by the horns, using its own strength to slam it to the ground. Two other fighters tried to thrust spears into the creature, but the weapons were taken by their shafts, slamming their wielders onto each other.

  Cecil got from behind and strangled the monster with his arm. The creature, running out of breath, flailed and attempted to throw him off. His scream drew out the last of his strength as the monster, not knowing what was happening to it, was losing the ability to resist. His armlock tightened on the neck until, after much grunting, flailing, and kicking, the creature’s weight slacked. Cecil’s sore body sagged, and he knelt, panting in an attempt to catch his breath.

  The air whipped near him; something sharp struck his side, and another on his shoulder. There was a surge of energy that felt electric, gripping, and crawling all over his body. The general cried in pain and tried to gain hold of a spear on the ground. His attempt to retaliate failed, overwhelmed by the shock as he fell to the ruddy ground.

  Cecil's hands rested on the floor; his lips quivered in an attempt to speak. What was left of his thoughts only registered in short whimpers. The halls around him grew darker; he could barely see the patterns on the walls or even smell the blood rushing out of the wounds that tore his skin anew. Everything became muffled, as if the world around him was being compressed in a void.

  He will miss them for sure, not that the illusion of death coming for him was reaching out to a degree of his reality.

  Was this his fate? To die in the hands of a man who couldn’t fight his own battles? A flicker of hope flashed before him; the faces of his wife and daughter smiling upon his return. He wanted to feel the sea air of his native city caress his cheeks; the scents of heavy air, bread, meat, and ale riding along with it. No, this was not his time to die. Not until he got what he came for – he had gone too far to end up empty-handed.

  His eyes tried to retain focus on the structure above; his strength ebbing away due to what energy was contained in that hateful dart. What his sight last registered was a man with a glowing green eye slinging his rifle on his shoulders and looking at the carnage that took place below. His head bowed after all his vitality was taken out of him. Cecil von Schild was on his knees; only his massive arms stopped him from doubling over.

  ????

  “I expected nothing less from you, Hero of the Empire.”

  The Gray Fox descended into the testing grounds; behind him was a construct that was reeling back the shock harpoon used on the proud commander. Other men followed him; some were in white coats who rushed to check the bull-headed beast the now-battered Cecil von Schild had subdued. They were carrying pewter-colored crowns with dimly glowing red gems. They approached the remaining live bodies. Tending wounds was not their priority, but rather securing crowns on their heads and injecting syringes of scarlet fluid into their veins.

  “Five, including the monster. This is going to be the first and last batch of the rage serum subjects.”

  “What of the bodies, Doctor?” One of his subordinates approached the crime lord.

  “Let the constructs deal with them, Mister Krantz.”

  Stretchers were brought inside, mounting the four remaining humans who groaned as they were pulled out of the chamber. The familiar squeak of hydraulic legs was heard when the Gray Fox left; gouts of fire hissed and rose as the door closed behind him.