"…You will become weapons.You will become instruments of divine retribution.You will yearn for purification.
But until that day, you are maggots.
The lowest life forms of the Borderlands.You cannot even be called fucking human.
You are nothing but a collection of worthless rabble."
The voice was like sandpaper scraping sheet metal—coarse, booming, saturated with undisguised contempt and an almost religious fervor.
"SIR, YES SIR!"
The response echoed through the vast, high-ceilinged hall,thick with the smells of sweat, dust, and something like corroding metal.
"My duty is to cull the incompetent.They are unfit to join the ranks of the Clerics I revere.Do you maggots understand?"
"SIR, YES SIR!"
Erika felt his vocal cords vibrate painfully from the shout,his lungs stinging as he inhaled the cold, dry air.The empty right sleeve of his uniform was roughly stuffed into his belt,forming a ridiculous, uneven lump.
"Bullshit!"
The man's face was suddenly inches from his own.
"I didn't hear a damn thing!"
Flecks of spittle flew.
A brief, dead silence.
Then—a hoarse, nearly tearing shout, raw enough to shred a throat:
"SIR, YES SIR!"
Erika could smell him—heavy tobacco, worn leather, and something else…something reminiscent of the energy residue from the Sanctum,but rougher, more acrid.
"What should I call you?"the man suddenly asked, his voice lower now. Dangerous.
"Sir! My name is—"
"I didn't ask what your god damn name is,"the man cut him off coldly."You are not worthy for me to remember your name."
"…Sir, yes sir."Erika rasped.
His mind went blank.
Not worthy to be remembered?Then who was he?Who was Erika?
"Now,"the man jabbed a finger just short of Erika's chest,"before I call you 'maggot,'think of one. Now."
Think of one?
A name?A designation?A label?
Panic spiraled under the pressure.Cold sweat beaded at his temples.
"Uh… uh… uh…"
The meaningless sounds echoed,uncomfortably loud in the surrounding dead silence.
"Princess."
"HAHAHAHAHA—!!!"
The silence shattered.
Deafening laughter exploded through the hall,crashing against the walls,forming a suffocating wall of sound.
The man in front of him grinned grotesquely,reaching out as if to clap a heavy hand on Erika's shoulder.
But Erika's body reacted before his mind.
Just before the hand could land—he flinched violently sideways,his shoulder jerking away from the contact.
The laughter died mid-roar,like a chicken having its neck wrung.
Countless eyes snapped toward him—shock, schadenfreude,and mostly cold, eager curiosity.
The man's hand hung in mid-air.
His frozen smile slowly melted into something deeper.Appraising.
Instead of anger,he laughed even louder.
"Hahaha! Don't mind it,"he said, withdrawing his hand and crossing his arms,his gaze roaming over Erika's pale face.
"We've all been through it."
He paused, then added, his tone strange:
"'Princess'… suits you, actually."
Erika looked down.
He tried to straighten the oversized, ill-fitting white tunic hanging off him.Tried to smooth the creases.Tried to tuck the empty sleeve more neatly into his belt.
It only made him look more ridiculous.
The man—Cole—scratched his head awkwardly.
"Hey, don't take it to heart.I'm Cole.You're Erika, right?"
Erika looked into Cole's ordinary brown eyes,barely visible in the dim light, and nodded.
A barely audible "Mm" escaped his throat.
He was Erika.
At least—for now—here, he was called Erika.
An Erika called "Princess,"missing a right arm,drowning in an ill-fitting uniform,standing among the "maggots."
"You'll get used to it," Cole said with a laugh.Deep lines creased his weather-beaten face.The smile looked genuine—and also like a well-worn mask.
"You will here.With me, at least."
The words eased a tiny fraction of the tension strangling Erika's nerves.
He glanced at Cole's tunic—same cut as his own,but stiff with heavy starch,edges frayed, stained with ground-in grime.
That weathered familiarity loosened something in his chest.
"Alright! Listen up, everyone!"
A shout—even raspier than the drill instructor's,yet carrying undeniable authority—cut through the hall from a raised platform.
The murmurs died instantly.
Erika followed Cole's gaze.
The speaker also wore white,but his fabric was stiffer.The cuffs, collar, and hem were edged with thin, cold silver trim.
He stood ramrod straight, hands clasped behind his back.
No overt brutality on his face—only a profound, almost exhausted seriousness.
His gaze swept slowly across the crowd.
Every person it touched straightened instinctively.
"It's not complicated,"the Silver-Trimmed man said.
His voice wasn't loud,yet carried clearly to every ear—flat, almost soothing,and somehow more unsettling for it.
"We've been attempting this together for five years now."
Five years?Attempting what?
Erika's stomach tightened.
"Oooh…"Cole let out an almost inaudible hiss.He leaned in, whispering rapidly:
"You lucky bastard.It's Darenz…That place is… wrong."
"Wrong?" Erika whispered back urgently.
Cole's eyes darted toward the platform.
"Shh! Hardly anyone knows the details.I just heard from—"
"Hey! Cole!"
A thunderous roar cut him off.
The Silver-Trimmed man's gaze locked onto them with surgical precision.
"Shut your damn mouth!"
Then his eyes shifted to Erika,sweeping him up and down—lingering on the empty sleeve.
"I've never seen a cripple stand here.When this is done,you go back where you came from.Now."
Each word struck Erika's heart like ice.
Cripple.Go back.
Shame and deeper panic surged.
Instinctively, he shrank sideways,half-hiding behind Cole's not-particularly-broad shoulder.
Cole's body stiffened for a heartbeat.
The Silver-Trimmed man didn't look surprised—only more contemptuous.
He turned back to the group.
"Mission brief. Listen up."
"Target zone, codename: 'Darenz.'You will secure it.It's tough.It's the order.It's why we exist."
Secure what?
An entity?A location?Something unfinished?
"And don't think you can grab some 'king' hiding in the ruins,pissing his pants, and call it done."
He jabbed a thumb upward—whether at the ceiling or something symbolic was unclear.
"A moron like that,I will personally launch into orbit.Understood?"
"SIR, YES SIR!!!"
The roar was stronger now—trying to drown fear with volume.
Erika opened his mouth with them.No sound came out.
Darenz.Five years.King.Launch into orbit.
Fragments jammed into his barely stabilized mind.
They were being sent into a wrong place,to finish a task abandoned for five years,with no clear objectiveand consequences worse than death.
And he—a "cripple,"a "Princess"—had already been marked for disposal.
Cole pressed his back subtly against Erika's shoulder.
Steady.
Erika finally understood:this place of sweat and rustmight lead more directly to death—or worse—than the pale, silent cell ever did.
And he might not even qualify as a maggot worth sending.
"Orders: Vacation."
The word sounded grotesque here.
"Whoever—including the cripple—wraps this up,gets my seat.Understood?"
This time, the roar carried something else—
greed.Heat.Madness.
Eyes lit up.
Cole's back went rigid.
"Get the hell out,"the Silver-Trimmed man snapped, suddenly bored."I don't want to see your faces."
Dismissed.
The crowd burst apart,surging toward exits.
Cole grabbed Erika's left arm, pulling him sideways.
"Don't get trampled," he said calmly."That lot would."
They slipped through a canvas-covered exit.
A wave of smells hit them—grease, cheap fuel, rotting organic matter,and the lukewarm stench of mass-cooked food.
The periphery.
Low ceiling.Pipes. Rust.Stained concrete.
The real underbelly.
"So… what now, Cole… boss?"Erika asked awkwardly.
Cole grinned in the half-light.
"Boss? Hah."
He pointed ahead.
"We eat first."
Then, with weary certainty:
"We eat until you never want to eat again."
Erika followed.
The hunger was real.
And he felt it—that meal might be the last fragile scrap of normalcybefore being shoved into something far darker.