Through the cracks in the wooden walls, I watched Belmund stumble from his tent, still half-drunk from the previous night's revelry. He barked orders at two guards, who moved to unlock the slave pens.
My new mechanical body hummed with readiness. I'd spent the final hours of darkness making minute adjustments, ensuring every joint and gear moved in perfect silence. The asymmetrical helmet concealed my eyeless face while providing optimal awareness of my surroundings.
Last night had been tense. I'd sat motionless in my shed as Harke and Mallie made their careful rounds throughout the camp. They'd moved like shadows, passing weapons through the bars of the pens. Most of the adult slaves had accepted them eagerly, hiding their new arms under blankets and straw. Some had refused, too broken by fear to even consider fighting back. We couldn't force them, their terror would have given us away.
The children's pen had been the most difficult. We couldn't arm them all, most were too young, but the older ones like Mallie could fight. She'd distributed small knives among those she trusted most, showing them how to hold them properly.
Through it all, the guards remained oblivious. They'd grown lazy in their dominance, never imagining their captives could pose a real threat. Their patrols were predictable, their attention poor. They didn't notice the subtle changes in how the slaves carried themselves, the way they watched the guards' movements with new purpose.
Now, as morning painted the sky, I could sense the tension in the camp. Harke was in position near the main pen's gate, pretending to sort through his medical supplies. He had managed to convince Belmund to unlock the pen and let him inside as there were signs of sickness among the captives. The fat slaver had all but panicked, not wanting a plague to spread within Qordos's walls, so he eagerly believed the healer's lie.
Mallie had already climbed to her position on the storehouse roof, using the skills she'd learned at her home village of Weath. Her new bow was strung, arrows ready. She'd chosen her first target: the guard who watched the main tower.
The weapons I'd crafted weren't pretty. They were crude things of necessity: spears made from scavenged metal, knives shaped from broken tools. But they would kill just the same, and there were enough for every willing hand in the camp.
I flexed my mechanical arms, testing the weapons I'd integrated into this new form. Everything moved smoothly, silently. The time for preparation was over. Now we would see if our plan would grant these people their freedom, or if we'd all die in the attempt.
The camp erupted into chaos exactly as planned. When the pen's heavy gate swung open, I witnessed our careful preparation transform into violent action. The slaves burst forth like a wave of vengeance, their crude weapons glinting in the dawn light.
Two guards didn't even have time to draw their swords. The first took a sharpened metal rod through his throat, the second a rusty blade between his ribs. Their bodies crumpled to the dirt as more prisoners poured out.
Belmund's eyes went wide with terror. His bare chest heaved as he turned to flee, but the slaves surrounded him. I watched through the shed's cracks as they fell upon him with savage fury. Their weapons, my creations, plunged again and again into his flesh. His screams echoed across the yard, years of cruelty being repaid in moments of violence.
I saw Harke as he darted through the chaos, keeping low as he sprinted toward the other pens. The ring of iron keys jangled his quaking hands, snatched from Belmund's still-warm corpse.
A sharp twang cut through the morning air. Above, Mallie's arrow found its mark. The guard in the watch tower pitched forward, tumbling from his post before he could reach the alarm bell. His body hit the ground with a dull thud, and I felt a surge of pride at her precision. The bow I'd crafted had served her well.
From my vantage point, I observed the first phase of our rebellion unfold perfectly. The initial surge of violence had caught the slavers completely off guard, just as we'd hoped. Now the real battle would begin, as the rest of the camp's guards would surely respond to the commotion.
I burst through the shed door, my metal foot shattering the wooden planks. The two men guarding my shed spun around, hands fumbling for weapons. Too slow. My spear took the first through his chest, the crude point punching clean through his leather armor. The second managed to draw his sword, but my mechanical arms moved with fluid precision. One blade severed his sword hand, the other pierced his throat.
My new form worked better than I'd hoped. The backward-facing knees gave me explosive speed, letting me dash cross the yard in powerful bounds. The four arms moved in perfect coordination, each weapon becoming an extension of my will. I'd designed this body for efficient killing, and now it proved its worth.
A group of guards emerged from a large tent, shouting in confusion. I leaped into their midst, my blades whirling. The first died before he could raise his shield. The second managed to parry one sword but couldn't block the spear that pierced his gut. The third tried to flee but my blade caught him between the shoulders.
I dashed through the camp, my metal feet barely touching the ground. Near the cooking fires, four slavers had cornered some escaped prisoners. I fell upon them from behind, my weapons ending their lives in seconds. The freed slaves snatched up the dead men's weapons, joining the spreading rebellion.
By the main gate, a knot of guards had formed a defensive circle. I charged straight at them, my mechanical body moving faster than any human could match. Their arrows clattered harmlessly off my armored frame. I crashed into their formation like a battering ram, my four arms dealing death from all angles. Those who survived my initial assault were cut down by the waves of vengeful prisoners who followed in my wake.
I found more slavers trying to barricade themselves in the storehouse. My enhanced strength tore through their hasty defenses. They died cursing and pleading, their blood staining the grain sacks they'd hidden behind. The freed slaves showed no mercy, finishing those I left wounded.
Through it all, my new body performed flawlessly. Each movement was precise, each strike lethal. The gears and pulleys I'd crafted worked in perfect harmony, allowing me to shift from one target to the next with mechanical efficiency. This wasn't just combat; it was an extermination. These slavers had treated humans like animals. Now they learned what it meant to be hunted. Slaughtered.
I cut through the camp like a storm of blades, leaving death in my wake. The slaves followed behind, ensuring none of their tormentors survived. Those who tried to surrender received the same mercy they'd shown their captives. Those who fought died quickly. Those who ran died tired.
The camp erupted in shouts as Chanos burst from his tent, his massive battle axe already in his hands. His face twisted with rage as he took in the carnage around him. Six of his most trusted guards flanked him, their weapons drawn.
I turned my mechanical body to face him, activating my newly acquired Analyze ability. The blue text appeared in my vision:
Name: Chanos Vehger
Vehger. He had a surname, which meant a noble lineage. The revelation struck me: this butcher, this slaver chief, came from the aristocracy. What twist of fate had led a nobleman to become the leader of these dregs?
"Kill them all!" Chanos roared, charging forward with his men.
I met their charge, my four arms wielding blades in perfect synchronization. The first guard swung high, but I ducked under his blade and drove a spear through his chest. The second tried to flank me, but my backward-jointed legs let me pivot with unnatural speed. My sword opened his throat before he could react.
Chanos reached me then, his massive axe whistling through the air. "This time, monster," he sneered, "I'll finish what I started."
I ignored his taunt, focusing on the fight. My blades struck in a complex pattern, forcing him to defend. He was good, much like I remembered, but my new body moved with mechanical precision. When he tried to counter-attack, I was already gone, my enhanced speed carrying me just out of reach.
His axe crashed into the dirt where I'd been standing. I struck back instantly, my spear finding a gap in his defense. The tip scored a shallow cut along his left arm. Blood welled up, staining his sleeve.
Chanos snarled and backed away, reassessing me with narrowed eyes. The surprise was evident on his face; he hadn't expected this new speed, this fluid grace. Gone was the lumbering mechanical construct he'd defeated before.
He hefted his axe again and charged, roaring. But this time, I was ready.
I danced around Chanos's wild swings, my mechanical body moving with fluid precision. His axe cut through empty air as I ducked and weaved, each of my strikes finding gaps in his defense. The spear in one of my secondary arms darted in, puncturing his shoulder. He growled and swung again, but I was already gone.
My main sword stabbed across his thigh, drawing a thin line of red. The wound wasn't deep, this new body lacked the raw power of my previous construct, but it added to the growing collection of cuts across his flesh.
"Stand still and die, monster!" Chanos brought his axe down in an overhead strike. I sidestepped, letting the blade bite into dirt, then stabbed him rapidly, twice in the side, with my long blade.
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Blood soaked his leather armor now, dripping from a dozen shallow wounds. His legendary speed began to fade. Where before his axe had been a blur of motion, now I could track its arc easily. His strikes grew wider, sloppier.
"Coward!" He spat blood as he lurched forward. "Fight me properly!"
I pirouetted away from his attack, scoring another hit along his arm. His muscles still rippled with power, but exhaustion showed in his labored breathing, in the way his boots dragged through the dirt.
His rage mounted with each failed strike. The calm precision I remembered from our first encounter dissolved into bestial fury. He cursed with every swing, his face twisted into a mask of hatred.
"I'll tear you apart!" His axe whistled past my head. "Rip those metal limbs off one by one!"
But his threats were empty. More of my attacks slipped through his guard. My spear found his chest, my sword opened his back. None of the wounds were fatal, but they bled. They weakened. They slowed him down.
He stumbled after a particularly wild swing, and I landed three rapid strikes before dancing away. Blood ran freely down his legs now, forming small puddles where he stood. His mighty arms trembled as he raised his axe again.
I had Chanos exactly where I wanted him: bleeding, exhausted, his legendary speed reduced to clumsy swings. Victory was within my grasp when searing pain exploded through my face. An arrow had somehow pierced my helmet's armor, burying itself deep into the sensitive red flesh where my eyes once were.
The agony was indescribable. A shriek tore from my throat; not the controlled mind-speech I'd learned, but the raw, primal sound of a monster in pain. The sound rippled across the camp like a physical force. Everyone, slave and slaver alike, dropped their weapons to clutch their ears. Even Chanos staggered backward, his face contorted in agony.
My mechanical hands scrambled at the arrow, yanking it free from my ruined flesh. Before I could recover, another arrow punched through my chest armor with impossible ease. The metal that should have turned aside any normal arrow gave way like parchment.
How? I'd crafted this armor myself, knew its strength. Though lighter than my previous body, it was still thick enough to resist conventional weapons. These arrows shouldn't have been able to penetrate so easily.
Through the haze of pain, I spotted the archer: a slender elf perched atop one of the watchtowers. His bow moved in a blur, loosing another arrow before I could properly react. I threw myself sideways, the projectile whistling past where my head had been moments before.
The elf's movements were too quick, too precise. Each arrow flew with deadly accuracy, seeking the vulnerable spots in my mechanical form. This was no ordinary archer, his arrows carried power beyond mere physical force to pierce my carefully crafted defenses.
An arrow whistled past my head, then another thudded into my shoulder joint. The elf's aim was devastating, each shot finding weak points in my construction. Though none of his arrows managed to harm me, it was only a matter of time before he got lucky and struck at one of the ragged red patches on my body beneath the armor.
A different arrow streaked across the battlefield, forcing the elf to duck. Mallie stood atop the storage shed, her bow drawn. Pride swelled in my chest as the weapon I'd crafted for her sang true. She loosed another shot, but the elf was ready this time. He rolled aside with inhuman grace, the arrow splitting wood where he'd stood moments before.
The elf's bow snapped up, targeting Mallie. My heart seized. I screamed through mind-speech, unable to form words due to my fright, but she was already diving for cover as his arrow split the air where she'd been standing.
I coiled my legs, ready to sprint to her aid. The sound of rushing air was my only warning. Chanos's axe carved through my left secondary arm, metal and gears scattering across the dirt. The limb clattered uselessly onto the dirt as it fell.
"Not done with you yet, monster!" Blood ran down his arms, his chest heaving with exertion. But his eyes burned with renewed strength, seeing his chance to end me.
I spun to face him, my remaining arms bringing weapons to bear. Fury drove my strikes faster, harder. My blades wove patterns of death around him, seeking any opening. I had to finish this quickly; Mallie needed me.
Chanos matched my intensity, his massive axe flowing from defense to attack with practiced ease. Though wounded and slower than before, his experience showed. He'd fought countless battles, survived innumerable duels. Each swing of his axe carried killing force, and now I had one less arm to defend against them.
Metal shrieked against metal. Our weapons clashed again and again as we danced across the blood-soaked ground. But I couldn't focus fully on him, my attention split between our duel and tracking the elf's position. Every second we fought was another second Mallie remained in danger.
I pressed my attack, abandoning caution for speed. My remaining blades struck from multiple angles, forcing Chanos to give ground. He might have experience, but I had cold machine precision. I would end him, then deal with the archer.
For Mallie's sake, I had to win. Now.
I abandoned my calculated strategy, throwing myself at Chanos with reckless abandon. My blades carved into his flesh again and again, opening deep wounds across his chest and arms. Blood poured from the cuts, staining his leather armor crimson. Still, he fought on, his massive axe sweeping deadly arcs through the air.
Just. DIE.
The words burst through my mind-speech, my patience shattering like glass.
His axe whooshed toward my midsection, a blow that would have split me in two. I coiled my mechanical legs and leaped, the enhanced springs launching me over his strike. I twisted in mid-air, my remaining arms latching onto his broad back like iron hooks.
Chanos roared and tried to throw me off, but my grip held firm. My mechanical fingers dug into his flesh, anchoring me in place. Before he could react further, I struck. My jagged teeth found the back of his neck, biting down with savage force. The taste of copper filled my mouth as I tore through muscle and sinew.
His screams turned to wet gurgles as I ripped away a chunk of his throat. Blood sprayed in an arc as I spat out the flesh. Through the gore, I glimpsed white bone: his exposed spine. With another savage bite, I severed what remained.
Chanos's head toppled forward, detaching completely from his body. It rolled across the blood-soaked dirt, coming to rest face-up. His eyes stared sightlessly up at the morning sky, a look of equal parts disbelief and agony on his features.
I released my grip, letting his corpse collapse. Without pausing to savor the victory, I spun toward where I'd last seen Mallie. My mechanical legs propelled me forward, every gear and spring straining for maximum speed.
I raced across the camp, my mechanical legs propelling me with desperate motion. Relief flooded through me as I spotted Mallie, alive and unharmed. She knelt beside Harke, tears streaming down her freckled face. The healer sat propped against a wooden post, his robes stained crimson around a dagger lodged in his left shoulder.
At their feet lay the elf archer, one of Mallie's arrows protruding from his right eye socket. His delicate features were frozen in a mask of surprise, his deadly bow fallen beside his limp hand.
"Please don't die!" Mallie clutched at Harke's robes. "I can't lose you too!"
Harke's laugh turned into a pained cough. "It's not as bad as it looks, Mallie. The b-b-blade missed anything important."
I crouched beside them, my remaining arms hovering uncertainly. Through Mind Speech, I asked what happened.
"The elf was about to kill her," Harke explained, wincing. "I c-c-couldn't... I couldn't let that happen. So I cast Cure Poison on him."
"But that spell is for healing," Mallie interjected, wiping her eyes.
"Yes, but cast on someone who isn't poisoned?" Harke managed a weak smile. "Makes them terribly sick. Dizzy. Nauseous. Enough to throw off his aim."
"He tried to stab Harke in the heart," Mallie said. "But Harke moved just enough that it hit his shoulder instead. That's when I shot him." Her small hands balled into fists. "I didn't h-hesitate."
I examined the elf's corpse. His quiver still held several arrows that gleamed with an unnatural sheen: enchanted ammunition. That explained how they'd pierced my armor so easily. If not for Harke's quick thinking and Mallie's deadly aim, either of them might have died.
A healer. Weaponizing. Healing spells. I mentally said with a smile. Clever.
"S-sometimes the best medicine is preventing someone from needing it in the first place." Harke grimaced as he shifted position. "Though I must admit, being on this side of a blade is not my p-preferred situation."
The crowd of freed prisoners surged and writhed like an angry sea around the camp's main tent. Crossbow bolts kept them from rushing forward, forcing them to duck behind carts and barrels. The remaining slavers, just twelve of them, had barricaded themselves inside, firing through gaps in the canvas.
I strode through the crowd, my mechanical legs carrying me with fluid grace. The freed prisoners parted before me, their expressions a mix of fear and savage hope. Blood dripped from my three remaining weapons, two swords and a spear, leaving a crimson trail in my wake.
"Stay back!" One of the slavers shouted through the tent flap. "We'll kill every last one who comes close!"
My response was silence. What need was there for words? They would die, just as Chanos had died. Just as every other slaver in this cursed camp had died.
A crossbow bolt struck my chest plate, the impact sending vibrations through my mechanical frame. The projectile managed to punch through, but aside from a hole in the metal, the bolt did no damage. Another shot bounced off my helmet. Thankfully, that one had been deflected by the metal. Their weapons were mundane, unlike the elf's enchanted arrows.
"It's that monster!" Another slaver's voice cracked with panic. "The one Chanos captured!"
"Where's Chanos?" A third voice demanded.
I raised my right hand. Held up high for all to see was Chanos's severed head, dangling by the hair from my mechanical fingers. The crowd behind me roared as I dropped it, letting it roll toward the tent's entrance.
The slavers' screams were music to my ears.
I stormed forwards, my mechanical legs eating up the distance in long strides. The slavers had barricaded themselves within, using overturned tables and crates as cover. Their crossbow bolts whistled past me, but I didn't slow.
I burst through the tent's entrance, canvas and support poles shredding under my assault. My blades whirled in three deadly arcs: left, right, and center. The first slaver died before he could reload his crossbow. The second managed to draw a sword, but my reach was longer. The third tried to run.
None of them made it.
Blood sprayed across the tent's interior as I carved through their defensive line. Behind me, the freed prisoners poured in through the gap I'd created. They wielded their crude weapons with desperate fury, overwhelming the remaining slavers through sheer numbers.
"Kill them all!" Someone shouted. "Make them pay!"
"This is for my husband, you pigs!" Snarled a woman as she stabbed a slaver through the chest.
The sounds of combat filled the tent: steel on steel, screams of pain and rage, the wet impact of weapons finding flesh. I moved through the chaos like a machine of death, my blades ending any slaver who showed resistance.
One tried to surrender, dropping his weapon and raising his hands. A former slave gutted him before he could speak. Another attempted to flee out the back of the tent. An arrow, Mallie's, caught him in the spine.
The last slaver fell to his knees, blood pooling beneath him from multiple wounds. His eyes were wide with terror as the freed prisoners surrounded him. Someone kicked away his sword.
"P-please..." he begged.
A dozen makeshift weapons struck at once. When they stepped back, he wasn't begging anymore.
Silence fell over the tent. The morning sun filtered through tears in the canvas, illuminating the aftermath of our violence. The former slaves stood among the carnage, chests heaving, weapons dripping red.
Then someone let out a whoop of triumph. Another joined in. Soon the entire crowd was cheering, their voices rising in a thunderous celebration of newfound freedom. They hugged each other, laughed, cried; all the pent-up emotion of captivity finally breaking free.
"We did it!" Mallie's voice rang out. She stood in the tent's entrance, bow in hand, freckled face split by a fierce grin. "We're free!"
The crowd took up the cry: "Free! Free! FREE!"
I watched them celebrate, my mechanical body still and silent. These people had been property mere hours ago. Now they stood tall, their chains broken, their captors dead. They had taken back their freedom with blood and steel, their will unwavering in the face of evil.
This was the humanity I remembered. This was the humanity that, despite all differences, stood up and united against the Primordials. This was the humanity that would bring down-
My mind cleared, the risen memory quickly fading.
What… what did I just see?
As the freed people in Qordos cheered, I remained silent, lost in the past.