With the storm extinguishing all resistance, Draz led his troops through the complex, heading for the most precious component. True wonders of cybernetics and medicine lay in the halls he’d left behind. The sterile laboratories that developed vaccines and performed complex surgeries, including organ transplants, and the assembly shops that supplied artificial limbs and high-quality weapons stood empty, their personnel hastily evacuated. A group of mercenaries attempted to break into a warehouse, hoping to steal valuable items.

  A volley of rotary cannons’ fire split them in half.

  Another raider, overcome by a thirst for passion, attacked a male surgeon’s assistant forgotten in the rush. Draz personally tore her to pieces for insubordination, filling the corridors with wild shrieks as a lesson to the others. Giving the terrified medic a two-fingered salute, he stomped toward the data storage, leaving slippery footprints with his blood-soaked feet. Kindness costs nothing, and the man clearly had no useful information about the current situation; otherwise, he wouldn’t have been left behind.

  Databanks containing educational documents left over from the Old World, supplemented by the Volnitsa residents’ observations, were as invaluable as the already trained specialists. He had no intention of ruling over a pack of stinking, constantly squabbling savages dying from random leprosy. His heirs would inherit a modern, stable state.

  Hidden compartments opened in the ceilings, deploying turrets; mines lay in most of the complex’s passageways, awaiting their victims; and the walls themselves concealed deadly traps, ready to reap a bountiful harvest. Today, all these precautions proved inadequate.

  The front ranks of the raiders used echo-locators, projecting a precise map of the route onto their displays. Upon detecting the slightest rise ahead, the soldiers fired electro-whips, releasing arcs of electricity that crackled cheerfully among the rocks, heating up metal furniture, and detonating explosives.

  Feda and his team monitored temperature changes through their visors, immediately melting any activated turret into a liquid lake of steel, filled with flashes of detonating ammunition. Souzan moved alongside the leader, navigating the map and halting the group if she suspected the presence of mechanisms in the corridor capable of causing the walls to crush intruders. Five out of six times, her observations saved Draza’s subjects.

  At last they reached the mahogany doors with exquisite carvings leading into the court hall. Draz broke the lock, sparing the rare work of art, and burst into the crescent-shaped chamber. Seventeen bronze disks were positioned in front of a wide balcony for the judges. At the edges of the discs, ready-made shackles lay. When suspects proved stubborn or disrespected the law, the judges pressed switches that shocked the prisoners.

  The gray stone flowed smoothly from the floor to the walls and then to the ceiling, forming a single, impartial whole in which there was no room for mercy, only strict adherence to the rules. The visitors’ benches were removed, and Draz marched straight toward the waiting defenders positioned on and below the balcony. He paused on the central disk, his head raised, and met Gulab’s gaze.

  A steel overcoat covered the heavy armor of the tall executioner of administrators. Pale lines of scars entangled a strong face, its roughness more reminiscent of a sculpture carved from agate than of a human being. Green eyes peered out from the depths of a noseless head, assessing the bandits filling the hall. Unlike Draz, gray had consumed the seventy-year-old servant’s hair, and his cheeks had become fleshy and flabby, having lost the tautness of youth and acquired wrinkles. The administrators had gathered their best forces here, intending to engage in a decisive battle. Gigantic Abnormals, clad in metal, gathered to either side of Gulab; on the flanks of his troops, the Malformed waited, sharpening their bone blades against each other in anticipation of the slaughter.

  “What impudence,” Gulab said without raising his voice, pointing his long glaive at Draz. The light behind him cast a long shadow, cloaking the governor. The words echoed throughout the room. “How dare you wantonly attack our master’s servants?”

  “Gulab, you’re confused,” said Draz. “As Governor of Rabor, it is my duty to maintain order. Upon seeing the explosion, I immediately rushed to the administrators’ aid and, to my utter surprise, was attacked by unknown assailants. Now I strive to ensure the security of our databases and the Supreme Administrator himself. His absence here troubles me. Have you staged a coup?”

  “Your lies are more obvious than oil spills,” declared Gulab. “Your last chance. Submit. Retreat and return to your place, putting an end to this madness.”

  “If I lie, test me,” suggested Draz.

  The executioner’s hand touched the switch. Electric shocks shook Draz’s legs, spreading to his body. His hair stood on end, his teeth began to chatter, and his internal organs twitched, slamming against contracting muscles and bone cells as his insides trembled and his eyes struggled to adjust to the flashes of blue irritating his corneas. With an effort, ignoring the pain, Draz spread his arms, clenching his teeth in a predatory smile.

  “My testimony hasn’t changed. It appears I’m innocent,” he laughed. “You accuse me of ambition, assuming the role of a judge.”

  “The verdict has already been pronounced.” Gulab raised his hand, pointing at Draz. “Death.”

  The metal on Gulab’s glove bubbled, creating a bulge from which a muzzle protruded, and the gorget crept up his face, forming a mask. The administrator’s executioner possessed power. By infusing alloys with drops of his blood, cables, and other devices, he gained the ability to control it, molding materials like clay with his mind and even assembling functional weaponry. Draz took careful precautions, removing any gift of administrators from the equipment of his entourage.

  Draz lunged left, breaking free from the electrical trap, firing at the Administration soldiers. Simultaneously, Gulab unleashed a burst, tearing the disk apart. The bullets reached the front rows of the mercenaries, piercing plates and tearing off limbs. A bright flash, leaving the muzzle of Feda’s plasma cannon, slammed into Gulab’s mask, melting the metal but failing to reach flesh. Immediately, bubbles appeared on the destroyed sections, forming a renewed protective layer. The shrapnel fired by Draz staggered the soldiers but did not reach the bodies, becoming lodged in the reinforced plates, which began to repair the cracks.

  Souzan was correct in her suspicion.

  Both sides clashed, releasing all their fury. Rotor cannons tore vast chunks of armor from the massive loyalist mutants. In response, giant fists slammed into the raiders, crushing bones. Two of Feda’s bodyguards sank their axes halfway into the sealing cracks in the neck of the nearest giant, severing the carotid artery. The monster convulsed, took two steps, and then its knees buckled. Explosions ripped across the entire front line, scattering the weak and creating pockets where champions of both sides clashed in mortal combat.

  A knuckle-walking Malformed, slamming into the governor’s forces faster than a bullet. Its horned head lifted two strung-up, wheezing bodies, hurling them against the wall. Feda rushed toward him, slipping under the swing of the bone blade growing from the Loyalist’s elbow. Pressing his plasma cannon to the creature’s ribs, Feda melted a circular hole in its armor. With a crunch, the monster’s cast neck twisted, vomiting hissing gastric juices onto the raider.

  Feda staggered back, finding himself in the blade’s range, but the Malformed couldn’t capitalize on the opportunity. Draz slammed into him, laughing at the fool’s confidence. In height and shoulder span, he was inferior to the Malformed, but the difference between them lay in the hardness of their bones and the ability to apply greater force to a smaller area.

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  Draz’s fist met the enemy’s blow, breaking a little finger, then he drove both elbows into the loyalist’s chest, bending the armor and hearing the delicious sound of breaking bones. The Malformed’s tail wrapped around the governor’s ankle, tearing him off his feet. The giant stomped on him, squeezing the air from his lungs and dripping acidic saliva onto his forehead. Undeterred, Draz grabbed the foot and twisted it, wincing as the sword slashed through the leather shoulder. The Malformed’s leg trembled, finally breaking with the sound of falling wood, and two hands pointed scatter cannons at the bony face, splintering it with a single volley.

  Gulab leaped ten meters, landing on the hapless raider and crushing him. The side of his cloak thinned, forming a cutting edge, and the executioner swung it, shearing off four raiders at the pelvis. Stepping over the screaming fallen, he opened a path for his troops into the enemy’s center with a sweep of his glaive. Agile tendrils sprouted from the surface of his cloak, twisting and grasping at the nearest enemies, breaking their joints and choking the unfortunates. Gulab’s onslaught mirrored Draz’s: one reached the judge’s balcony, slaughtering all in its path, while the other smashed to the doors leading inside the room, cutting people apart.

  Feda met Gulab, shooting twice into his chest. With efficient movements, the executioner swept away both blobs of plasma that heated his weapon and swung, aiming for the officer’s legs. Flames erupted from under Feda’s knee joints, lifting him into the air enough to evade the blow. Heavy rotary cannons slid from his back, mounting on his arms and shoulders, and for the first time in a century, the League’s legacy clashed with Paikan’s servant. Draz wasn’t a superstitious man, but he imagined seeing Feda’s armor move of its own accord, exacting retribution for the monstrous defeat of long ago, bringing down a hail of fury on Gulab.

  The glaive in the executioner’s hands vanished, moving with monstrous speed and deflecting some shots. The rest were caught in the tendrils’ strikes, but several bullets found their mark, shattering the aged servant’s leg plates and bloodying him. Without panic, Gulab held on, firing his autocannon and knocking off one of Feda’s cannons. In that instant, their battle changed. Gulab closed the distance, his tendrils halting the cannons’ rotations, crumpling them, and the glaive’s blade sank into Feda’s chest, hurling him into a small group.

  “Worthless,” the executioner tossed.

  Draz abandoned his fight, rushing to his subordinate’s aid, leaving footprints on the floor. Without looking, Gulab slashed back with the back of his weapon, and the new blade scraped fragments from the governor’s gauntlet, while the former blade fused with the shaft. Draz beamed, feeling the force of the blow. A true opponent!

  “Short-sighted cretin,” came a voice from beneath Gulab’s mask. The cracks in his armor had already closed. Blade and fist met in midair, sparks flying and sending streams of air flying in opposite directions. They fired simultaneously, and one of Draz’s large-caliber shotguns vanished along with the cannon on the executioner’s wrist. “You are blind to the consequences of your actions.”

  The enemy’s firearm did not reappear, confirming Souzan’s report. There were limits to Gulab’s capabilities. He couldn’t repair the broken, complex components; he could only melt them down and use their materials for simple operations. Draz assumed a boxing stance, raising his hands slightly above his head. He quickly closed in on the executioner and delivered several punches, forcing him to use the shaft of his glaive to block. The tendrils reached for the governor’s legs, trying to buy their master an opportunity to retreat, but Draz’s footwork remained impeccable. He stepped on the shimmering piece, tearing a piece of the coat.

  Wisps of steam escaped from his nostrils. His body temperature rose, threatening to reduce Draz to a pile of ash. His power demanded an outlet. He rejected this infatuation, too caught up in the duel.

  “Within a day, I met the girl of my dreams and took my first step on the threshold of dominion.” Having trained Gulab to parry quick jabs with one hand, Draz struck with both at full force, creating dents in his opponent’s glaive and shoulder. “Really, you should worry about your own fate, brat!”

  “Old turds remain turds if they haven’t gained wisdom with age, in case they lack intelligence!” Gulab shoved him with his glaive, headbutting Draz’s nose, obscuring his vision long enough for him to jump back, and then slashed at the raised knuckles. “Overlord Paikan brought stability to the region. With him at the helm, everyone knew the futility of any disobedience.”

  “Then what would you call the current predicament?” Draz teased, kicking Gulab’s leg and hearing a pained sigh.

  “An elaborate method of suicide,” Gulab said, still attacking. “You had everything. Want a kingdom? Put on a jester’s crown, build your dream, just pay homage to the emperor.”

  “I’m not accustomed to kneeling,” Draz replied, taking the blow with his fist and slamming his other hand into the executioner’s chest, sending him reeling back. The tendrils lashed out at his face and throat, nearly cutting his eye and forcing Draz to pause, catching his breath. He felt the bruises on his throat swell.

  “That’s your problem. Greed and cowardice. You always strike from the shadows, without considering the consequences,” Gulab croaked. “Should the overlord fall, the other leaders will see the opportunity for change and devour you in the same way. You opened that door today, burying your guaranteed future and condemning Volnitsa to civil strife.”

  “Child, Paikan didn’t just appear out of nowhere. With his death, I will instill the same terror in the others.” Draz unleashed a whirlwind of blows on his opponent, driving him back with the ring of bending steel. “My kingdom will come!”

  In another part of the battle, Souzan burned a hole in the head of a Malformed slashing at the throat of a prone soldier. Pulling her ally to his feet, the officer sent him back, throwing a grenade at the loyalists on the balcony, just as glowing blue whips gripped her, yanking her back.

  A loyalist possessing a power pulled her toward him. A cluster of corpses had already gathered at his feet, their armor riddled with ragged holes. Whips extended from the bastard’s hand, seamlessly blending with the surface of the bracer. Souzan cried out in pain, thrashing in the net as smoke billowed upward from her body, ignited by the blue-hot lines on her armor.

  Draz abandoned the duel, rushing to help without a second thought. He smashed through the mutants’ skulls along the way, no longer able to contain his excitement. The Abnormal noticed him too late, unable to react, as the fist crushed him in the indentation forged by the impact.

  Flames engulfed his back, searing heat spreading around the deep cut, and Draz spun around, catching the glaive’s blow on his crossed arms.

  “And how do you plan to eliminate Lord Paikan?” Gulab asked, pushing the blade lower and scratching the center of Draz’s forehead.

  “Like this, for example,” the governor laughed as Feda and Souzan opened fire on Gulab’s back, eliciting a groan from him. Pieces of steel clanged as they flew off, and molten streams ran down the executioner’s legs. “Only fools refuse support. What you call cowardice is actually prudence!” He kicked the executioner in the gut. “Greed is the engine of progress, overthrowing calloused old farts unworthy of thrones!”

  The loyalists rushed at his officers, but their intervention bought Draz precious time, enough to heal his damaged muscles, at the cost of a few kilograms of weight. He deflected the glaive aside, intending to break Gulab. The executioner hooked his leg with the opposite end of the weapon, tripping Draz, and the governor fell backward as his opponent raised the glaive for a blow.

  “Gulab. Instead of pondering theories, you should have been practicing!” Draz fired.

  Gulab blocked the scattershot, and Draz kicked him in the ankle, jumping up and striking the staggering man in the mask. He knocked the executioner to the floor, tossing the glaive aside. The tendrils wrapped around Draz’s neck, biting into his skin and cutting off his airflow. It wasn’t a threat; his enhanced lungs allowed him to survive in the void of space for an hour. But those damned cables pulled his head back, squeezing his veins and threatening to break his bones.

  The glaive rose into the air, ready to pierce the governor’s heart. For a second, the room was illuminated by the brilliant light emanating from human skin. Opening his mouth, Draz spat a liquid gout of heat, hotter than any plasma, onto the weapon, evaporating it. The intense heat that coursed through his esophagus spilled outward, softening the tendrils’ grip for a few seconds. A sharp pain in his ribs made him tear at the corners of his mouth as the blade, sprouting from Gulab’s vambrace, penetrated the subcutaneous layer of armor between his ribs and stabbed at his lung. The sharp edges of the overcoat left gashes on Draz’s legs.

  The tendrils closed again, but Draz had already begun the attack. With the first blow, he gouged out a groove in the rough stone with Gulab’s head, and with the second, he stained the depression with the executioner’s blood. The bayonet twisted in his body, causing a panicked surge of adrenaline, and the governor continued to pummel his opponent to the loud screech of metal on metal, shaking the room and causing the switched-off lights to fall from the ceiling. He forgot everything, trying to find a way to escape and survive at any cost.