Oenomaus's fist tore through the air with a cannon-like whistle, and he roared at Caelan,
"Run!"
But it was too late.
Twelve honor guards surrounded them like ghosts. Silver mechanical tendrils coiled behind their skulls, weaving together midair into a prison of metal bars that sealed Caelan and his companions inside a cage of steel.
The slaves bellowed like cornered beasts, hurling themselves at the honor guards with flesh and fury, but none succeeded.
Oenomaus's punch, carrying the force of a thunderbolt, was caught midair by a serpent-like metal tendril. The silvery vine slithered around his arm, winding along his bulging muscles like a living creature. More tendrils lashed out from every direction, strangling his limbs like ropes on a gallows. A blade-cold tendril coiled tight around his throat, cutting off his roar in a choke.
Yet, the guards never truly saw the gladiator as a threat. Their contempt showed in every precise but lazy strike, every fractional slackness before a killing squeeze.
Oenomaus knew that arrogance well; it was the first lesson he had ever learned in the arena.
And when the cold metal tightened around his neck, and the young man's lips curved in a smirk of victory, Oenomaus struck.
Every muscle in his body tensed in an instant, veins bulging as he tore through the binding tendrils. Metal shards exploded in all directions. Before his foe could even gasp, a splinter from Oenomaus's shattered shackles shot like a viper and buried itself in the young man's throat.
Blood sprayed, staining the silver tendrils, and the corner of Oenomaus's cold smile.
He had won.
But the others hadn't.
Twelve slaves. Twelve honor guards.
The nobles above had turned their slaughter into a game, a parody of fairness.
Only Oenomaus managed a narrow victory. The others were subdued, bodies whipped raw by the lashing tendrils. Their screams mingled with the metallic hiss of their captors' vines.
The instant the young guard died, the tendrils binding Oenomaus suddenly went limp, like serpents drained of life. Their strangling strength melted away, sliding off his skin.
Freed, Oenomaus lunged at another guard, shouting to Caelan,
"Run!"
"Oh, you're loyal, Oenomaus. Seems you've found yourself a new master."
A hovering silver sphere descended beside him, its built-in speaker shrieking in a shrill feminine tone.
By then, two guards had caught Oenomaus again, tendrils coiling around him. He glared at the sphere, eyes blazing, fingers straining to reach it, but he couldn't move.
The sphere rotated lazily, its mirrored surface gleaming with cold mockery.
"And you, my dear, what's your name?"
The sphere floated toward Caelan, its voice dripping with amusement.
"Don't even think about doing anything stupid," it crooned. "Otherwise, your slaves might have to pay a little price for you. But don't worry, I won't kill them. They're quite the stars in the arena, you know. The crowds adore them."
Caelan wasn't listening. His eyes had shifted beyond the chattering sphere to the armored vehicles flanking them. Both steel beasts had enormous dish-like devices mounted on top, aimed directly at him.
Caelan and Angron stood unaffected, but Mira began trembling violently. Crimson threads spread across the whites of her eyes, blood dripping from her nose and mouth. Her body folded as if struck by an invisible hammer, and Caelan caught her before she hit the ground.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" The silver sphere zipped up to Caelan's face until their reflections merged. "You psykers are powerful, but this, this is our little secret weapon against your kind. Surprised you're still standing? You're quite resilient. I'm starting to like you. I hope you last this long in bed, too. So, will you surrender?"
Caelan ignored her words and calmly raised his right hand.
"It's useless," the sphere hissed. "No psyker can use power before them! Surrender! Submit to the High Knight, and I promise you and your slaves will live. I don't want to hurt you, "
The voice stopped.
Because she saw the ghostly blue light flaring in Caelan's palm.
In the next instant, dozens of silver spheres swarmed from all directions, shrieking in static panic.
"Impossible! The relics, why are they failing?!"
"Guards! Stop him!"
The honor guards obeyed instantly. Their tendrils lashed toward Caelan, trying to stop him, but what they thought they knew was wrong.
Snap.
A storm of blue psychic energy erupted outward.
The armored cars screamed under the pressure, their plating folding like tinfoil. Gears burst, sparks flew, and explosions bloomed into molten wreckage.
The guards' silver tendrils shattered with crystalline cracks, bursting into clouds of glittering dust.
Where the psychic wave passed, the air itself shimmered with drifting silver ash.
The guards dropped to their knees, screaming. Electric sparks burst from the neural ports at their necks as they clawed at their own skulls, nails tearing through skin to no avail.
Snap.
Caelan lazily flicked his fingers. One after another, the floating spheres exploded in brilliant bursts of light.
The last sphere remained. Its voice softened.
"Perhaps… we can talk? You didn't destroy me, which means you're open to negotiation… right?"
Caelan said calmly, "You're right. We can talk. Do I go to you, or will you come to me?"
The sphere spun in delight. "Oh, darling, you can come to me. See that tall tower? That's my home, it's quite big, and- "
"You talk too much."
Snap.
The sphere shattered like the others.
"Master," Oenomaus said gravely, "the words of that worm's eye are lies. They'll be waiting in ambush!"
Caelan shook his head. "I'm going to meet her. You can leave the city; no one will stop you now."
But the slaves surged forward, refusing.
"Master, we won't run again! This time, let us protect you!"
Their eyes shone with impossible faith, born of only days together, yet tempered by battle like a lifetime.
Angron's power had bound them fast.
Caelan turned to the boy. "What do you think?"
Angron's young voice carried firm resolve. "Let's meet her. I want to know why."
They advanced toward the tower.
Citizens scattered from their path; no new guards or knights appeared. Perhaps, as Oenomaus said, a trap awaited them.
The tower loomed like a spire from Nostramo, opulent, suffocating. Every inch of it flaunted wealth: golden pillars wrapped in glowing vines, air heavy with perfume.
Walls of liquid metal formed murals of past glory.
Caelan saw winged warriors battling beasts, hundreds of them, their victory hard-won.
Two female guards opened the gilded doors for him. When the slaves tried to follow, tendrils lashed out, barring their way.
Caelan handed Mira to a slave woman. "Oenomaus, wait here."
He nodded, glaring at the guards.
"Welcome to my kingdom, my dear."
The voice was familiar.
A silver-haired woman lounged upon a golden throne, wings of metallic feathers unfurled behind her, glowing like captured moonlight. A wolf-faced mask with a blood-red gem covered her face, golden neural filaments trailing into her temples.
"High Knights never show their true faces," she purred. "But if you tell me your name, I'll make an exception."
"Caelan."
"Pleasure, dear Caelan. I am Claudia Octavia."
She rose gracefully, her jeweled gown rippling like a river of stars. Her fingers brushed the mask's edge, click. The gold filaments detached.
When the mask fell, the light in the hall softened.
Her face could have shamed the stars. Porcelain skin dusted with diamonds. Rose lips parting to reveal small pearly fangs.
But her eyes, her left an amethyst, her right a sapphire, shone brightest of all.
"Am I beautiful, my dear?" she asked, smiling like a crescent moon.
"Have we met before?" Caelan asked.
"I'm sure this is our first meeting… but I'm even more sure we'll spend our lives together," Claudia answered.
Caelan studied her quietly. He'd wondered if she was someone from a future, or a past, he had yet to reach. But the way she looked at him was… wrong.
Then she lowered her gaze, lashes fanning across her cheeks. Her hands clasped to her chest, wings curling into a translucent heart.
"My love," she whispered, "you haven't told me your surname yet."
"I don't have one."
Claudia tilted her head. "Someone like you… without a name?"
"What made you so interested in me?"
Claudia smiled sweetly. "Genes, of course, my dear. We carry the sacred human sequence, pure, uncorrupted. Together, we could birth the purest of children!"
Her radiant face glowed with fanatic devotion.
Angron murmured, "She's not lying. She really wants to have your child."
Caelan's face twitched. Not in a smile, but in disbelief.
'You've got to be kidding me.'
He would've preferred it if Angron had said she was lying; it would've made killing her easier.
"Oh, he's a psyker too?" Claudia giggled. "His genes are impure, but far above those filthy mongrels. If you'll be mine, I'll even marry him to my sister."
A psychic blast hurled her back into her throne, scattering her wings in chaos.
"Oh, you like it rough?" she purred, voice still sweet. "You'll have to stop that, darling. I don't like men who can't control themselves."
"Start explaining. Or I'll blast your head open."
"You'd kill me? Why?" she cried. "You'll never find a purer human in this world!"
Caelan rubbed his temple. "Lady, I don't even know what you're talking about. Try explaining, or you'll end up like the last riddle-spewing idiot, rotting on a golden toilet!"
Claudia froze, eyes wide in realization. "You… came from another world? How did you cross the warp storm?"
"One question each."
She sighed. "Fine."
"Yes, I came from another world. Your turn. What happened to this one?"
"You're cunning," she muttered, reluctantly stepping down from her throne. "But fine. Come with me."
She replaced her mask, the golden threads reattaching.
Passing the wounded slaves, she ordered, "Clean them. Feed them. Give them proper clothes."
"Yes, my lady," the guards replied. Her tone, cold, disgusted, was nothing like before.
She stopped before a massive mural showing winged angels fighting beasts.
"See this?" she said softly. "This is what happened long ago."
"Your turn. I'm from Terra."
"Terra…?" She froze, stunned. "That explains your purity."
She whispered, "Has Terra never known war?"
"Terra was drowned in warlords' blood until recently," Caelan said. "Your turn."
Claudia sighed. "That's my ancestor, Gaius Julius Caesar Octavius Augustus. Five thousand years ago, he and the Knights won the Beast War and preserved Nuceria's flame of civilization. You get one more question."
"I said in detail."
She smiled. "Compared to your answer, that was detailed."
"Then what's the 'Purity Faction'?"
"You still don't understand? All of Nuceria's High Knights are descendants of the Purebloods; we bear the original sacred human gene sequence. Not as pure as you, but far beyond those beasts."
"Beasts?"
"Your slaves," she said gently. "They're all descendants of the beasts."
Caelan looked down.
Angron murmured, "She's not lying."
"My turn. Let's be honest with each other, shall we?"
"You're wasting your question." Caelan said.
"I want a clear answer, Caelan."
Caelan nodded. "Fine."
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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