Xord couldn't do anything but laugh. He burst into laughter at the absurdity of Egil's response, and continued to laugh uncomfortably as reality sank in. Egil meant every word he said. Vanea remained reticent, indicating that she was at least complicit. Xord forced himself to keep laughing, because if he stopped, he would start sobbing instead. He wanted to send Egil a message of ridicule, even though he knew he had no choice but to take him seriously.

Egil did not have the patience to humor him. He spoke, causing Xord to fall quiet. "Your body runs on ether—ether that constitutes the tissues and cells of all living beings. When those beings die, their ether returns to the Bionis. From this, new beings are born. It is through this cycle that life continues to exist on Bionis."

Xord stared at him. "What?"

"But something threatens to break the cycle. For the Bionis to reawaken, an unfathomable quantity of ether must be consumed. All life will be purged."

"So that's where I come in?"

"No," said Egil. "You are to prevent this."

Xord scratched his head. "I don't get it."

"When ether is burned as fuel, it dissipates into the atmosphere and pollutes the water and air. The ether byproducts cannot be drawn upon as energy, limiting the Bionis' power. To further forestall its reawakening, the vast reserves of liquid ether under the Bionis' surface must be drained. The cycle of destruction and recreation can continue no longer."

Egil spoke with such conviction that Xord felt like he understood what he was saying, even though he did not. The gears in his head weren't working properly and his capacity for critical thought had diminished. He no longer had the energy to be angry, so he lapsed into an almost serene state of unknowing. Giving in was easier than finding a reason to stay mad. If anything, playing along would get Xord farther than refusing to cooperate.

"I see," Xord said absently.

It took Egil a moment to speak, as if he hadn't been prepared for Xord's response. "Excellent. Heed my command, and I will lift some of your restraints."

For the first time since he had come back to life, Xord felt relieved—happy, even. Maybe there was a way out. Maybe he didn't need a way out? He wasn't anybody, anyway, so he didn't need to keep pretending to have his own thoughts. Having an identity forged for him was comforting, in a way. He was Bronze Face: Egil's weapon.

"Vanea. Fetch him his toy."

A second aerial Mechon was summoned, this one carrying a long-handled war hammer made of the same material as Xord's armor. Xord focused on the hammer as the Mechon set it before him, his ocular lenses zooming in to give him a better look. "F-for me?" he stuttered. Maybe Egil was a kind person, at least when Xord was on his good side. He reminded Xord of a strict father.

"Accept this. Wielding it should come naturally to you," Egil said. "M32 footage was collected of your death. You were seen working with Mechon parts. This led me to believe you would be a valuable asset, for you must have some knowledge of machines."

Xord pointed at the flying Mechon. "That's an M30, uh…" He couldn't identify its specific model, but he at least knew it was part of the M3X series based on its lightweight, aerial design.

"It is an M34 Hornet Unit."

He was close. Xord let his arm slump to his side. How was he able to recall specific information like that, but nothing about himself? Even Egil identifying him as a blacksmith didn't bring back any memories—that was, until he picked up the hammer.

It fit perfectly in his grip. Xord found himself reflexively raising it over his head. He slammed it into the ground, putting a dent in the metal floor. It felt so familiar, yet something was different. He raised the hammer again, the joint of his upper arm rotating cleanly in his socket. That was it: the motion was not impeded by pain.

In that moment, Xord remembered how it felt to have a body. He remembered the fat trapping in his body heat, the substance of muscles, the sweat moistening his skin, and the saliva coating his mouth. He remembered his weak knee joints, burdened by years of standing; and he remembered the shoulder he couldn't move without a jolt of pain. Having adjusted to feeling nothing, it was all uncomfortable and overwhelming. Xord realized that he didn't want to feel those things. He was above the constraints of flesh.

"Feels great!" Xord exclaimed, bringing the hammer down again. He had no muscles, yet his strength was beyond measure. He could move effortlessly. Xord was powerful in a way he never would have imagined before, and it was only then that he began to appreciate what he had become. He swung the hammer with gleeful abandon, smashing the M34 before it had the chance to leave the cell. Xord stopped to watch the broken machine fall to the ground.

"Your enthusiasm," Egil said through clenched teeth, "is commendable."

Xord was warming up to Egil, in part because he barely remembered why he had been upset with him in the first place. His memory had been damaged to the point that new memories were also failing to stick. He clung to certain details and discarded others, seemingly at random. His head was a ball of confusion and other turbulent emotions—usually anger, but in this case, gratitude. Having overlooked his handler's despotic tendencies, Xord thought only of the nice things Egil had given him.

"When will you let me go?" Xord asked buoyantly, smacking the hammer's handle against his palm. "I want out!"

"Further observation is necessary. I will leave that to Vanea." Egil faced his companion. "I must go. Another prisoner awaits." He then disappeared from sight.

Xord caught a glimpse of a wary smile on Vanea's face, which glinted in the light of the console. "Hello. It is good that you are doing well." Her voice was much kinder than Egil's and her words sounded sincere, which put Xord at ease. She glanced behind her, seemingly checking to make sure Egil was no longer there. Quietly, she said, "The things he has said to you are terrible, but I fear what he would do if you chose not to follow his orders."

Xord was choked up. After the way he'd been treated by Egil, Vanea's pity came as a shock. It made Xord remember that he had a reason to hate Egil. He wanted to beg and plead for Vanea to help him escape, but he could tell that she was afraid of Egil as well. Ultimately, Xord said nothing.

"I was able to assess many of your Face and Core Units' faculties whilst you were on life-support, but I was unable to determine the state of your central nervous system and your ability to survive without an external apparatus." She began reading off of the console. "Subject's ocular, auditory, and olfactory receptors respond to stimuli. Cognition appears mostly normal, but displays patterns of behavior associated with damage to the frontal lobe and…"

Xord understood very little of what Vanea was saying, but he could tell he was being spoken about as though he was a science experiment, or perhaps a patient. Vanea was like a friendly doctor; someone who would have no choice but to return him to his handler when the appointment was over.

When she had nothing left to read, Vanea's demeanor changed. Her body language became an admission of guilt: arms behind her back, fingers woven together; toes facing inward; eyes flitting about, never quite making contact with Xord's. "I was…" She lowered her gaze in shame. "I was tasked with configuring your memories. When I had them all laid out in front of me, I… looked through some of them. I wanted to see who you are as a person, because I knew my brother wanted that part of you erased. I thought I should let you know this. Please forgive me."

Xord, while still lost, became more engaged. How had she been able to access his memories? It was such an implausible concept that Xord didn't know what to say.

Vanea continued, "I cannot tell you the things I uncovered. Egil would find out. But know that your memories are not gone, even if you have forgotten them yourself. I will remember them for you," she said in a soft voice, "Xord."

Xord. His name. It seemed inconsequential, but it was proof of his identity; proof of the person he knew he had been before.

Vanea's expression stiffened. "I was told I have not collected sufficient data on your self-preservation system and ether metabolism. I must also perform additional behavioral analysis." She seemed perturbed. "I do not know what was meant by this."

Just then, the wall behind Xord opened like a garage door. When it was halfway up, a bipedal Mechon unit marched into the cell. In its arms was a rugged-looking Homs in Defence Force gear who made no attempt to put up a fight. He looked somewhat old for a soldier, but he still had plenty of years ahead of him. The Mechon shoved him to the ground, pivoted on its heel, and left. The wall came down again before Xord had a chance to even consider making a move.

Egil reappeared on the observation deck. "Bronze Face. This specimen regained consciousness upon its arrival and has rejected my offer to grant it a Mechon body. I bid you to open its eyes."

Vanea's expression turned to horror. "Brother!" she cried. "You cannot do this!"

"If you want not to witness this, leave. I will take over from here." Egil approached the console, his presence impelling Vanea to move away.

"Brother, I—"

"Do not act surprised, Vanea. You knew it would come to this."

Xord watched Vanea leave the observation deck, puzzled. He then turned his attention to the soldier, who had gotten onto his knees. Xord loomed over him like a bird standing over a worm. He rolled his torso forward and adjusted his field of vision, focusing on the soldier's contemptuous face.

"Just kill me and get it over with, Mechon," he spat. He looked from one monster's remains to the other's, disgusted.

"What?" Xord was taken aback. "But I've got no reason to kill you."

"You're not going to get me to change my mind. I'll never surrender myself to the enemy."

"Wait. You mean you got a choice?" Xord turned around and gave Egil a questioning look, but he received no answer.

"That… metal man, Egil, said it was part of an experiment. He told me he lobotomized a corpse and brought it back as a Mechon. I guess that was you. I was the control." To Egil, the soldier yelled, "See? This is your answer. No Homs would willingly join your cause!"

Egil still said nothing. In place of Vanea, he had assumed the role of a silent observer.

"He had a machine for me. A Face Unit, he called it. It looked just like yours. Maybe it was yours," the soldier said to Xord. "He tried to sell it to me like it was a fancy watch. I told him to go to hell."

Xord was having trouble thinking of what to say. He could barely keep up with what the soldier was telling him. "I just woke up like this," he mumbled.

"What if you had a choice?" the soldier queried. "Would you have chosen to become that thing?"

Xord floundered. It was hard for him to make a decision when he only knew one of the options. His past memories took the form of his first glimpse of Egil: the vague silhouette of a man. Now, Egil's face was lit by the console, revealing his cruel, sharp features—but Xord's remained a shadow.

"I don't know," he murmured.

"Well, I choose death."

Xord set his hammer down and slid it to the other side of the cell. "Listen. I ain't gonna hurt you."

"If I could," said the soldier, "I would kill you."

"What? Why? I did nothing!"

"You're a Mechon."

"But I was a Homs, just like you!"

"Then what do you remember?"

"… My name is Xord."

He was lying. It was something he knew, but not something he remembered. He didn't remember anything worth mentioning.

The soldier gave him a derisive smirk. "A name's just a label. Would it mean anything if I told you my name?" he questioned. "Do you remember your family? What about your home? The things that mattered most to you?"

"N-no." Xord shook his head, defeated.

"Then how can you call yourself a Homs, or even a person? There's nothing left of you; just a name you could've made up, for all I know."

"But I'm still in here," Xord said, tapping the top of his head. "And I"—he straightened his back and rotated his torso toward the observation deck—"am somebody! I'm a person, not a machine. I've got my own thoughts, and I can make my own choices. And you know what, Egil?" He paused to think over what Vanea had said. It didn't matter. "… I ain't gonna listen to you!"

Xord, despite his enthusiasm, didn't have any strongly held beliefs. Like an impressionable child, he meandered back and forth based on to whom he was listening.

Egil seemed to know this. He said nothing.

Xord's gaze returned to the soldier. "There's something I remember after all; something deep inside. That's why I'm not gonna hurt you."

The soldier showed a hint of a smile. "So you do have the soul of a Homs. I guess that's the one thing Egil couldn't take away from you." Flashing Egil a look, he remarked, "I don't think this played out the way you intended."

As Xord nodded, his head twitched. The lines on his Face Unit began to flash different colors; a warning. He could feel the hunger rising from his core and branching out to his brain. How was it happening already? Was his metabolism really that fast?

"Egil, I… I'm getting hungry."

No response.

"Mechon eat food?" The soldier froze. "Wait."

Xord stood with his mouth open like a cat scenting the air. The fragrance of ether was wafting through his armor; a bouquet of earthy scents too delicate for the nose of a Homs. Something about the smell whetted his appetite and lured him toward its source: the soldier.

"N-no." Holding his head, Xord cried out, "Run! Get away from here!"

The soldier was trying not to panic. "There's nowhere I can go."

Xord flicked his hand at the crate. "The box! Get in the box! You have to hide."

The soldier obliged. He got up and sprinted over to the crate, got back on the ground, and crawled inside. "Can't you control yourself?"

Xord crumpled to his knees. "I won't… kill you. I can't eat a Homs." It was getting harder and harder for him to resist. If he weren't a Mechon, he would have been drooling. He dragged his body across the floor, his knees grinding against the metal.

"I was wrong. You're not a person at all."

Xord could no longer speak. He could no longer think. He rose to his feet, picked up the crate, and brought it over his head.

The soldier pushed his shoulders against the walls, his feet dangling outside. It would be impossible for him to hold on. In his final moments, he was placid. "At least," he said, closing his eyes, "I will die a Homs."

Xord tipped the crate. The soldier tumbled into his eager jaws, which were rippling with threads of high voltage electricity. Xord then leaned back as if to swallow, forcing the body through his toothy grate and chewing until everything went down. The soldier was gone. There wasn't even a trace of blood to suggest that he had existed; just a memory that was bound to eventually fizzle out of Xord's head.

Xord felt better immediately. The endorphins tangled with his morality, easing both his appetite and his guilt. He might've had something in him now, yet he felt emptier than before. He dropped the crate, a delirious noise creeping out of him. "I did it, Egil," he crowed, sliding his hands down his chest. His armor was shaking. "I got him inside a Mechon, just like you wanted!" Xord broke into a wheezing laugh that quickly turned hysterical. His howls reverberated off of the cell walls, conveying an unknowable emotion.

At last, the stone-faced Egil spoke. "Tomorrow, we shall commence the test run."

Xord stood there, whimpering at the thought of what he had done. His mind was no longer addled with hunger, yet he still couldn't think straight. He had killed a Homs; a person. In the second it had taken for Xord's jaws to clamp shut, a unique perspective with its own body of experiences was erased from the world—and for what? So Xord's belly would stop rumbling for an hour?

What made it more disturbing was that, on a subconscious level, Xord had enjoyed it. Consuming ether was his sole source of pleasure, amplifying the chemicals produced in his brain. He was also desperate for some kind of control and an outlet for his violent hatred of his oppressor—and he found both of those things in his ability to overwhelm and devour his prey. It was bloodlust. Xord had to force himself to hold onto his humanity.

"Why didn't you do something, Egil?" he cried. "You left him to die!"

"Homs are no different from any other vermin. Do not concern yourself with the lives of fleas."

"But you're a Homs!"

"I am a Machina," said Egil. "One of the people of Mechonis."

Xord had never heard of the Machina. He'd been wondering why a Homs would have wanted to wage war with Bionis. Now more than ever before, he wanted to destroy Egil. He wouldn't even have to feel bad about it, seeing as he wasn't a Homs.

The door behind Xord opened a crack, and a crate resembling a dumpster was delivered by a large Mechon unit. "These should sustain you through the night," Egil said.

Xord inspected it, and was stricken by horror when he realized it was full of soldiers' corpses. Many of them had dented helmets; others looked as though their torsos had been crushed. On top of the pile was a headless, heavyset body that was unclothed from the waist up, revealing that its chest cavity was hollow.

"These have already been used, or are too badly damaged to be made into Faces. They must be disposed of."

Xord felt ill. "You want me to…"

"Yes. And you will." With that, Egil turned off the lights and left.

Xord heaved his shoulders, feigning gasping breaths. The air was thick with the suffocating stench of death. Xord could detect an undertone of ether, but, having recently eaten, he was able to resist it. It would only be a matter of time before he was forced to feed again, though. He told himself that the soldiers were already dead; that he hadn't been responsible for their slaughter. They were no different from the meat he'd put on the table as a Homs.

It didn't take long for Xord's hunger to manifest. He didn't bother fighting it; he knew it would beat him in the end, so there was no point in struggling. In a frenzy, Xord gorged himself until his tank overflowed. Bloody ether welled up from his chest and dripped onto the floor. Unlike a normal stomach that could stretch and contract, Xord's tank was always big and hollow. He could stop feeling hungry, but he never felt full.

He had become heavier—a drop in the bucket overall, but enough that it was noticeable—though he didn't feel lethargic. Instead, his mechanical body was invigorated to the point that Xord felt like he couldn't contain all of his energy. There was nothing for him to do, however, and nowhere for him to go. He spent the night bashing the wall with his hammer and screaming in a voice that never grew hoarse. He didn't know what was wrong with him, and it scared him.

"It is morning."

Xord found Egil standing in his usual place. He was relieved to see him, but only because he'd thought that hellish night would never end. Xord had never felt so much rage before. He was made even angrier by the fact that Egil was keeping safe behind the indestructible barrier. He was so close, Xord could almost taste him.

"You…" There weren't any words strong enough to convey Xord's ire. He threw himself at the wall like a starving zoo animal.

Egil didn't even flinch. "Today, you will be shown your body's capabilities. But for that to occur, I must allow you to leave this place."

Xord perked up. Was Egil really going to let him out of the cell? How did he think he'd be able to stop Xord if he decided to run away? Egil couldn't possibly have been so stupid.

Egil said, "When the door opens, you will wait."

The door through which the Mechon had delivered the bin of bodies began to rise. Seething, Xord made a run for it. At least, he tried. His bulky body wasn't equipped for moving quickly on the ground. He willed his legs to move faster, but they wouldn't cooperate. He was stuck lumbering at a leaden pace. Xord stopped to retrieve his hammer; then, he kept pushing until he was able to evacuate the cell. He was going to find Egil and kill him.

At the end of a corridor, Xord found a lift. He slammed his fist on the call button and got in as soon as it appeared. Egil had to be somewhere on the next floor. When the lift arrived at its destination, Xord was greeted by a towering gold Mechon with the tail of a dragon. It was at least three times the size of Xord—so tall that it would have to bend over to fit in the cell.

"So you think you can defy me," it said in Egil's voice, its tail slithering behind it. "I was expecting this outcome. Did you truly believe you could escape?"

"Egil?" Xord croaked. He'd meant to utter his name in condemnation, yet it had come out in the form of a question.

"This is Yaldabaoth, the ultimate Mechon."

Xord didn't care what the Mechon's name was. It spoke like Egil, which meant it needed to be destroyed. With a roar, he raised his hammer. Yaldabaoth waved its arm, and suddenly, Xord was unable to move.

"I am he who controls all Mechon. Any free will you believe yourself to possess is but an illusion," Egil said. "I now know that I erred in keeping so many of your faculties intact. Faces need not the ability to think."

Xord still couldn't move. He couldn't even spit out words of derision.

"You are of no use to me. I could end you where you stand, but I will extend you an ultimatum." Yaldabaoth stared down at him with its dark pitted eyes. "Bow to me, or die by my hand. The decision is yours."

Xord fell forward when Egil released him, the hammer slipping out of his grasp as he landed on his knees. He couldn't muster the resolve to get back up. With a haggard laugh, he said, "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Consider yourself lucky, worm. Had I not intervened, you would be dead. I have given you a chance to escape the fate of your pitiful species. Is that not worthy of gratitude?"

Xord's body was quaking. He couldn't commit to either answer. If he chose death—like the soldier—there would be no turning back. He would be gone. However, if he chose to submit to Egil, there was an infinitesimally small chance he'd be able to break free.

And—he thought, but tried not to—he'd be able to feel the satisfaction of eating once more.

"I'll do it," Xord said without lifting his head. "I'll listen. Sorry."

"Then you shall be spared." Yaldabaoth sent the lift back to the lower level and followed it down the shaft. It then activated a mechanism, causing part of the floor to swing down into a ramp. At the bottom of the ramp was a large, open-air platform. Egil said, "Come. You must become acquainted with the abilities of a Face."

Xord was unable to draw his first breath of freedom—his artificially-maintained lungs did that for him. He saw the clear sky through a red filter, making it indistinguishable from the blood he was meant to spill. He felt no sensation from the breeze, nor could he discern the ambient temperature. It was brighter outside, but otherwise, his new environment felt no different from the fortress's interior. The only thing that mattered was that there were no walls to contain him.

"Your Face Unit is capable of many actions that cannot be performed by Homs," Egil said. To himself, he muttered, "This is a fool's errand. Perhaps the brain stem can be wired to a Mechon's central processor. I have not the time for instruction."

Xord opened his pectoral jaws and let a jolt of electricity flicker across his teeth, showing Egil what he already knew. If his body hadn't done that on its own, he would've had no idea he was capable of such a thing. It was strange that he had an additional jaw on his face that moved when he spoke—it only made him look more like a person, which seemed antithetical to what Egil wished to achieve.

"Your maxillary panels can clamp shut in a fraction of a second. Inside, both mechanical and chemical digestion occur. The mechanism can break down any matter of things into a usable form of ether energy, including metal. Your tank can hold up to a kiloliter of fuel."

Xord thought back to the bin of corpses he had eaten, realizing that he'd had no trouble getting the soldiers' metal helmets and armor to go down. It was almost frightening how much power was contained within his chest.

"For us to continue, we must exit the fortress."

Xord peered over the edge of the platform and into the clouds below. "How are we supposed to—"

Egil held Yaldabaoth's open palm out toward Xord, strengthening the blue flames that emanated from his tail and the ridges on his arms. Xord couldn't feel the heat; just a vibration and a slight expense of energy. Yaldabaoth raised its arm, causing Xord to ascend.

Xord began to panic, but he again found himself without control. After he had risen several meters, Egil folded Xord's arms back and tucked in legs, turning him into something resembling a jet. He propelled Xord through the air at a high velocity, forcing him to circle the sky. Xord was unable to scream. Eventually, Egil repositioned Xord's limbs and brought him back to the platform.

"Now do it yourself."

Xord was taken aback. Was Egil really going to give him so much control? He saw himself blasting off into the horizon and flying so far away that Egil wouldn't be able to reach him. No: Egil wouldn't possibly allow that to happen. There had to be some way for him to prevent Xord's escape. Xord reluctantly deferred to him out of fear.

He tried to recreate the sensation of the fire, channeling the same kind of energy he used to electrify his chest. Getting himself to leave the ground was a mental hurdle—he had to pump his shoulders up and down to create a motion that his brain would associate with levitation. Xord tried to stay calm as he began to hover, wishing he could close his eyes.

Once he had gained enough height, he made his body more compact just like Egil had. Again, he had to visualize himself moving forward in order to change direction. Even though he was moving at an incredible speed, he found it easy to turn or change the angle at which he was flying.

"Follow me," Egil said as Yaldabaoth flew past Xord.

The gold Mechon led Xord to a rocky canyon littered with giant machine parts. It was strangely familiar. Why did Xord recognize this place? He wracked his brain to remember; then, the flashbacks hit him. A steel-framed shelter full of smoke. The warmth of a hearth. Clanging. A Mechon's snapping claws. Crunch. A searing pain; and then, nothing.

Xord made a choking noise. He had been so caught up in his memories that he almost didn't notice that Yaldabaoth had landed. Forcing those memories into the back of his mind, Xord popped out his limbs and descended. Sparks danced at his feet when he hit the rocky ground and slid to a stop in front of Yaldabaoth. It had gone much more smoothly than he'd expected. Xord expected praise from his handler, but Egil simply changed the subject.

"On your back is an ether-based cannon," he told him. Yaldabaoth pointed at the face of a cliff. "That way."

Xord, though disoriented, nodded. Was Egil going to give him another demonstration? He waited for a moment, but nothing happened. Xord heaved his shoulders, pretending to take a deep breath. Then, he got onto his hands and knees. He pretended to light up his tail again, but this time, he focused on his back. He could feel energy building under the horn-like extension of his shell. After charging it for a few seconds, he unleashed the energy. A ray of blue energy shot out of the cannon like a bazooka and struck the cliff, causing part of it to crumble.

"Lastly," said Egil, again refusing to acknowledge Xord's success, "you are capable of signaling to other Mechon." Yaldabaoth looked off into the distance. "Summon that Hunter Unit."

"How am I s'posed to…" Xord's heart skipped a beat when he zoomed in on his target, an M65. He saw the flash of claws and heard his ribs snap, the memories hitting him like a one-two punch. "No," he choked. Getting the Mechon's attention was the last thing he wanted to do.

Yaldabaoth turned its head, pressing its stare into Xord. Egil said, "Is there a problem?"

"N-no," Xord sputtered, feeling intimidated by both of the Mechon. He told himself that it'd be okay; that the M65 couldn't hurt him. He was still confused, though, so he just gazed absently into the horizon.

"Well?"

"I don't know what to do."

"Send it a message," said Egil. "Draw the Mechon toward you as though you are a magnet." In order to light his jets and charge his cannon, Xord needed to build energy—but his current objective required a different approach.

Xord focused on the M65 so intensely that his head began to shake. Come here! he called out in his mind, his eyes flashing rapidly.

The Mechon turned in his direction. It blinked, ? Xord was able to perceive that it didn't understand him, even though it hadn't communicated this through its body language. Apparently, Mechon couldn't comprehend words.

Xord was frustrated, but he did his best to relax. His eyes flashed as he pretended to draw a breath inside his mind. Come to me, he signaled through a series of slow flashes.

The M65's sensors repeated the pattern, and Xord tightened his grip on his hammer as it marched toward him. The unit barely came up to his knee. Xord laughed at himself for being so afraid, yet he still felt a little uneasy.

"Mechon can signal to you as well," Egil said. "For example, surveillance units can transmit live footage directly into your field of view."

The lines on Xord's Face Unit began to flash, and only then did he realize how hungry he had become. How many times would he have to eat in a day?

"I'm hungry," Xord said, eyeing the M65. Could he eat Mechon? He knew they ran on ether cylinders, but, even though he could break down metal, he doubted he'd be able to digest their armor. Perhaps he could pry them open and eat what was inside, as if they were shellfish… Xord shook his head. He couldn't believe he was hungry enough to think a machine looked appetizing.

"Then eat."

"What?"

Yaldabaoth crossed its arms. "I am done providing boons. If you wish to survive, make use of the skills you have learned." Something had changed. Egil now seemed indifferent as to whether or not Xord obeyed, or even if he survived. Xord was still afraid of leaving, though. Egil had said that he controlled all Mechon, meaning he had eyes all over. No matter where Xord went, he would feel like he was being watched.

"There are only Mechon around here," Xord remarked.

"You are permitted to leave Sword Valley," said Egil. "I suspect there will be a Homs outpost close to the border. If not, the Bionis' right arm is inhabited by monsters."

Xord was too hungry to say anything in response, or even comprehend that Egil had given him freedom. He took off, hovering so low to the ground that his undercarriage almost scraped against the earth. He was guided like a missile toward some unknown destination. His senses were flooded by the scent of ether, but it smelled stale and inert. He needed something fresh.

Xord made an abrupt landing when he reached the end of Sword Valley. Near the entrance to a tunnel was a wooden watchtower stocked with munitions. It was guarded by a pair of Defence Force soldiers, who immediately drew their weapons.

"I've never seen one like that before!" exclaimed one of the sentries. "It's huge!"

Xord made a ghastly noise as he approached them, stomping his feet.

The sentry's hands were shaking and he couldn't get a proper grip on his gun. "What do we do?"

"I don't know! We don't have time to call for reinforcements!"

Xord was beginning to feel woozy. "I'm out to lunch!" he hollered, his head twitching and flipping onto its side. "Care to join me?"

"Wh—" The sentry's voice was cut off as Xord pinned him to the wall with his hammer. Xord grabbed him and, without any consideration for whether he was dead or alive, crammed him into his maw. Xord made short work of the other sentry, not even going through the trouble of taking him out with his hammer first.

As the ether percolated his brain, Xord paused to meditate on what he had done. Having killed before, there was nothing particularly shocking about doing it again. It was just a series of motions: a blow, a snatch, the snap of metal jaws. It didn't need to be anything more than that.

Yet, he had seen the fear in the Homs' dying expressions, and his delirium twisted it into something tantalizing. Xord didn't cope by pretending his victims weren't people—quite the opposite. He knew they were alive to witness his fury, and it felt gratifying after having to suffer under Egil. When it came to murder, nothing was holding him back.

The ether gave Xord a pinch of energy, but he didn't have anything to do. He wondered how long he'd be able to wait by the watchtower before Egil went looking for him. Perhaps he never would. Cherishing the thought, Xord inspected the head of his hammer. It was sticky with blood, and it occurred to him that this was very wrong. Hammers were used to make things, not destroy them.

Xord thought back to the steel-framed shelter. It had to be somewhere in Sword Valley, so he decided to look for it in hopes that it would jog his memory. He changed into jet position and took to the sky, no longer commanded by hunger.

Sword Valley still very much resembled a battlefield, being littered with barriers and stockades. Xord identified a medic's tent and several other provisional buildings. Among them was the shelter. He came in for a landing, only to realize in dismay that he was far too large to fit inside. He lowered himself onto the ground and peeked in through the door. All of the weapons and scraps had been taken, along with his tools. All that remained was an anvil, a chair that had fallen over, a bare shelving unit, and a forge full of coals that had gone cool long ago. Then, Xord noticed a tiny object hidden away in the back of a shelf: a small clay figurine held together with glue.

Xord gasped as the memories hit him like a truck. He could see her clearly—blonde, smiling—and her voice echoed in his head.

"I love you, Dad. Stay safe."