Chapter Thirty-Six

"Thank you, Val," I whispered, his trust prickling my eyes with tears. I straightened up, lifting the bag and unzipping it. I looked inside, then snorted, shaking my head as I tossed the camera hard drive in, much gladder than I had been before that it was truly waterproof. I pulled a bundle of notes out, bound with elastic bands.

It had to be a few thousand euros at least, probably five or ten, and I tossed it to him, grinning as he caught it awkwardly, eyes popping wide at the sight.

"Looks like that should pay for their room and maybe help towards that dream of redecorating, eh?" I said with a wink as he nodded fervently.

"This . . . this is too much!"

"I took it from those who hurt her," I said, shaking my head. "They . . . they don't need it anymore."

He hesitated, then nodded firmly, putting the money in a small safe and patting me on the shoulder as I stepped around him.

"What will you do now?" he asked me.

"I was going for a drive when I met her husband. I'm going to try that again."

"And the bag?" he asked.

"I'm . . . damn," I said, shaking my head. "I was going to put it in my room, but I don't want to wake Ingrid."

"I can lock this room, and nobody but me has a key," he offered. "I can give it to her when she comes down?"

I paused, thinking. We both knew, or suspected what was in here, certainly enough to tie me to the multiple murders, as well as a fuckton of cash and something balled up and wrapped in plastic that I assumed by the look to be drugs.

But . . . well, it was trust time, I guessed. He'd shown he trusted me, giving me the hard drive, and even if I was basically just giving it right back to him, stored in the bag as it was, that wasn't the point.

I nodded and handed it over to him, grinning as he grunted a little at the unexpected weight.

"Keep it dry, will you? There's a laptop in there I need to work on later," I asked. He nodded, turning and rooting in a carrier bag for some recently

bought towels.
"I'll repack it for you," he said, pausing and looking me in the eye. "And

every euro that's there now will be there after, on my honor."
"I trust you," I said with a smile, patting his shoulder and heading out of the office. The woman sat in the corner, hands wrapped around a soft drink

can and head down, hair concealing her face from anyone passing by.
I nodded to her, damn sure that, after everything, she was watching through the concealing curtain of hair, and I plucked a coffee cup off the

bar, pouring myself one with a wink at Val and heading back out.
I jogged down the three steps to the pavement and paused, seeing a

familiar sight walking up the street.
A man in tattered and filthy clothes, his daughter by his side, holding his

hand, and the little one—a small boy with huge eyes—staring at the world as his father carried him with one tired arm.

I nodded to the man, who stuttered to a stop staring at me, obviously recognizing me as well.

I nodded again, then inclined my head to the hotel and restaurant behind me.

He stood motionless for a second, likely terrified of finding that his hope was misplaced, afraid of what he'd find. Then he was moving, the little one bouncing and clinging to him tight, wide-eyed, as the daughter ran as well, dragged along by his hand.

The father saw her first, freezing and gasping as she lifted her head, the hair falling away. She stared back in frozen shock. Then the daughter saw her, screaming "Mama!" in her own language and pulling free of her father. The mother stood, almost tipping the table over in her desperation to get free of it, and ran forwards. The father and toddler joined them as all four came together in an explosion of tears, reaching arms, and sobs, both parents collapsing to their knees, arms wrapped around the bawling kids.

I got into the car, clearing my throat awkwardly, blinking tears away and forcing out a cough. Starting the engine to back out, I glanced back at Val standing behind them.

He caught my eye and nodded, a brief smile quirking his lips and his own eyes red. Then he was greeting the family, guiding them into a corner and calling for his staff to bring drinks and food.

I pulled away, following the road and picking up speed, before glancing in the rearview mirror, and letting out a long sigh.

I was an asshole, generally. Hell, that was what I'd shown the world for so long that it'd become my armor, but . . .

But that, that had felt good.

The second attempt to reach Mochlos was far less interesting, taking nearly an hour this time, mainly because the damn police had closed a main road off thanks to somebody going all "murderhobo," according to a guy I asked when sitting in traffic.

Eventually, though, I made it there, and shortly after, I sat on a covered terrace, waiting with a cold drink, enjoying the pleasant sea breeze while I waited for the tiny fishing boat that did double duty as a ferry from the floating pier by the bar.

It was loading the handful of tourists onboard currently. The tiny island was only a hundred meters off the shore, and the three tourists who had been exploring simply rang the bell on the island when they were ready to be collected, and the boat ran across for them.

The island was a victim of the rising water levels, according to my research, meaning that there were even odds that if there were caverns here somewhere, then they may be long submerged.

That was fine, though, as I sat in the sun, relaxing, totally unknown by anyone nearby and enjoying the combination of the breeze . . . and the short, redheaded tourist's very small bikini top.

Two older men sat at the table next to me; apparently the subject of the tiny bikini had been a topic of conversation for the last half an hour. The small stack of coins was being added to steadily as they guessed when, not if, it would give up its fight.

I shook my head bemusedly as she waved excitedly at something one of her friends had said. The eldest of the betting pair, easily in his seventies put another coin down on the table.

They were picking times, such as between five to and the hour, and placing a bet on if it'd be then, if not, the coin went in the pile.

That pile was steadily growing as they waited, and I managed to hold a laugh down as she ran from the back of the small boat to the front and waved at the pair, who'd obviously talked to her earlier.

The eldest waved back, getting a reproach for cheating from the other for encouraging the strain on "that lucky cloth."

I couldn't help but grin, rising to my feet as the boat puttered closer, the small engine making the journey slow, but nobody here was in any rush.

I wandered down to the little pier, offering my hand and catching the first tourist's wrist as she hopped across, smiling as she thanked me. The man behind her ignored my offered hand, jumping clear and turning his back to me in an obvious claim on the redhead's attention.

I grinned; all four of them were barely twenty, and while the age gap wasn't that much between us, fuck, the mileage clearly was.

I stepped back, letting him catch her as she jumped, and I leaped past them onto the boat, nodding a greeting to the pilot. He nodded back, turning the boat and pushing the engine . . . as a cheer rose from behind me.

I looked back, grinning as I saw the girl covering herself, looking embarrassed but laughing... as the second girl, who'd been acting all sweet and innocent, slid the guy's wallet from his pocket, even as the older of the two men swept the coins to his side of the table.

I'd seen her up close as we passed, and while she had been nice enough, there was no way that material hadn't given way already several times that day. The fact she was still wearing it, with a top tied around her waist?

They were clearly a very experienced pair, the busty one acting as distraction, and the more non-descript as pickpocket.

I dismissed it. The guys were old enough that it was a valuable lesson for them. I moved back to the pilot, handing over the five euro note for the trip and nodding at his thanks before moving to the bow again, readying myself.

It seemed to take no time at all, then I was jumping free, landing on the ancient stones, and waving at the pilot, as he turned again, returning to the bar.

I paused, having no real idea what I was looking for, beyond a hidden passage. Suddenly, it seemed a bit bloody stupid, really.

The ruins on the island had been uncovered years ago, so surely someone would have found something if it was here to be found. But when I'd compared the size, the location, and more of the last two, this had been picked up as likely. Hell, it was the most likely on the entire greater island.

I wandered back and forth for half an hour or so, covering the entire island in that time before sitting on the top and staring out to sea. My back was to the vast majority of the ruins and the little village.

"It's underwater, isn't it?" I muttered to myself, shaking my head. "No shorts. Dammit." I resolved that next time I'd damn well wear my swimming shorts.

I stood, dusting myself off, and moved to the edge, then climbed down, reaching the small beach. Out of sight of the village, I stripped off and hid everything under a pile of rocks.

There were several nude beaches on the island. Hell, I'd been to one once; it was oddly freeing, as well as utterly non-arousing, which had surprised me.

There was one girl there that was reasonably attractive, and at least fifty older men spread out around her. I'd not gone there for that, but it had looked like mating season for walruses, all that grey hair and masses of blubber. I'd lasted maybe an hour before leaving.

I'd also, somehow, managed to sunburn my cock when I was there, so that was the end of my nudist tendencies.

I knew that the locals weren't really bothered about nudists, so that was a bit of a relief if a local came around the corner. Most likely, the worst I'd get is told to get dressed, as opposed to in the UK where I'd be dragged before a judge. But still, that didn't mean I really needed the hassle.

I waded out into the water, sighing at the pleasant coolness compared to the heat of midday, and dove in as soon as it was deep enough.

It felt glorious as I swam out. I reveled for a long minute in just the feeling of the waves on my body, not to mention I'd never actually been swimming naked. Well, I had, twice, but both times I was drunk, and with a young lady in the dark.

Neither of us had any interest in the swimming, and I'd found swimming with my rudder deployed a weirder experience anyway.

More recently as well I'd just escaped from a sunken death trap of a spaceship at the time, and was worried an extra from a shark movie was going to bite my cock off. I'd not really relaxed, at the time.

Just swimming comfortably now, naked, was an altogether different thing. I relaxed for a few minutes, glorying in the nanites' ability to process water and allow me to breathe without flooding my lungs.

I had no idea how it worked, just that I didn't feel a need to breathe for several minutes, and even then, it was more of a slight discomfort rather than "oh fuck, I'm dead."

I swam back up to the surface, surprised by how far I'd swum out, took a few deep breaths, then ducked back under, swimming down deeper and following the barely visible overgrown paths of stone that led out to the drop-off.

I flipped over, floating, and looked around. The level the original buildings were at had been much lower, nearly twenty meters, by the look of the depth I was floating at, and the sandy depression that fell away sharply from there.

I swam deeper, following a set of regular indentations, then shook myself and floated upwards. Nothing.

I spent the next hour slowly circling the outside of the island, returning to the surface every so often. As I was about to give up, I noticed a darker section, recessed in a smoother section. A mass of sponges covered it until I was at just the right level.

I rose to the surface and breathed slowly and deeply, waving to the boat. They waved back, having come looking for me, then returned to shore.

They must have been wondering what the hell I could find to entertain me for that long out of sight. I chuckled internally as I swam back down, knowing damn well what I was planning on doing out of sight with Ingrid when I brought her here.

I flipped over, gently pushing with both hands, feeling the greater effort required to keep me afloat since I began the change and, again, banished the itch from my mind, the spare nanites I'd absorbed having already been spent on the project.

I swam forwards, watching carefully, and before heading inside, finding a narrow passage filled with . . . choke points.

There were deliberately narrowed sections, walls built out on either side with a small space between them where a defender could face down superior numbers from in front or behind.

That was the detail that made me nod in satisfaction. I swam faster.

Even if the entire passage was submerged, this was a defensive point, and that meant . . .

A set of steps ahead were topped with a shimmer, and I picked up speed . . . then slowed, reaching out as I remembered the big fuckers. I breeched the surface, breathing out and tasting . . . stale air.

The air in this chamber was . . . fuck, it was old.

I blinked the water away that ran down out of my hair, and I slowly turned my head, searching for the source of the light that dimly illuminated everything.

I blinked again, realizing that it was . . . it was a crystal.

I slowly stepped up out of the water. The sound of it running down my body was loud in the enclosed space and I walked forwards, transfixed at the creature that hung before me.

It was a woman, or it had been, once. WARNING: CONTAMINATION DETECTED NANITE SYSTEMS UNSTABLE

I backed the hell away, feeling the sudden itch that had been growing the closer I came to the body die away again. I noted the clear rings carved into the floor around the suspended shape.

There were three rings—well, four, considering the room was circular— so I was in the outermost as soon as I stepped in, with her in the smallest and most central one.

The itching feeling had spiked as I approached the first line, the next ring in. I'd backed away at that point, not wanting to know what the hell was in there that made my damn nanites unstable.

The body . . .

I shook myself and focused, starting with the room, knowing that Ingrid and Lars would want to know about it, equally sure that there was no goddamn way I was letting them in here until we knew more about . . . about her.

The room was circular, with a whitish, powdery fungus coating the walls, climbing to the roof and covering it until it got to within three feet of the suspended body. There, the fungus stopped as well.

The walls looked to have been carved with markings, but what the hell they were under the powder, I had no idea. At the back . . . at the back of the room was an altar.

I moved to it slowly, watching it and the suspended body with equal wariness. Three tiers had been carved into the altar with a human skull at the top and a band of gold seemingly grown into the skull. I could only wince at the thought of the pain that the bearer must have been in before death.

On the tier below, there were two skulls, both inhuman but intact. There was what I assume had been an early form of vampire, considering the skull had pointed and long incisors.

It also had a crystal inside it, and I paused before reaching a finger out towards it, then pulling it back quickly as the itch began.

I moved to the other one, finding the skull appeared mainly human, if you ignored the horns.

In fact . . .

Without the horns, I would have said it was entirely human, but the two forwards-swept horns and the size . . . well, it was a demon or a humanoid- looking minotaur; that was my best bet, anyway.

Again, it held a sliver of crystal, but unlike the vampire, this one was much smaller, seemingly more a "just in case" or an afterthought, rather than one that was needed.

I moved onto the third tier, the lowest, easily identifying a lycanthrope skull, but the other two?

One had a beak, a nasty set of serrated teeth at the back of it, and a single horn that jutted from the middle of its forehead, making me nod at what had clearly been a flier . . . maybe the progenitor to the harpy legends?

The last had two much larger eyes, a hinged jaw that was filled with needle-sharp teeth, and a set of smaller holes all around the outside of the skull, as though for smaller eyes?

It was also smaller than a normal skull, maybe the size of a large child's head, and . . . and the jaw was small, the teeth missing at the back. Now that I looked closer, and again, each of them had a chunk of crystal inside.

I looked at the bottom of the altar, seeing the thin lines that ran up it, suggesting . . .

I slid my fingertips into the slight gap, digging at it, and when I couldn't quite get enough purchase, I tried forming a crowbar of sorts from my nanites.

They started to build, then crumbled to dust before my eyes as I extended them to the gap.

I yanked my hand back, then tried again, losing another few hundred in the test, but knowing then that it wasn't a mistake.

There was something inside there that was physically killing my nanites. I hesitated, building the courage and wondering if I was about to commit suicide, before punching the altar anyway.

It shook, then cracked slightly, and I felt a moment of shame. This had survived millennia, sitting here, silent for literally centuries, until I came and vandalized it, but . . . I tried again, but nothing. I fingered the crack

until I was seriously pissed, but I eventually had to give up. Maybe I'd return with proper tools at some point in the future.

I retreated, moving back to examine the body, finally giving myself the time to pay attention to just her.

She was a middle-aged woman. Cloth wound around her, as if they'd been halfway through the mummification process before changing their mind, but the flesh that was left exposed? Little of it was flesh.

She hung suspended in the middle of the room, attached to nothing, seemingly floating of her own volition, but . . . her left arm and sections of her leg, her left shoulder, and a patch on the right side of her neck, as well as sections of her skull, where she didn't already have gold plating and a band embedded in her skull, were replaced with what appeared to be a crystal growth.

She was literally growing a crystal garden that would have sent a high- street jeweler into fits. Directly from her skin. Hell, looking at just the right angle, it looked like . . .

Like I could see into her body!

I could see into the crystal and through it to the flesh on the far side! I looked at the wrappings again, seeing they'd come loose and were dangling free.

I had a moment of epiphany as I realized that she'd not been hung here like this.

I waited, watching. Just as I was about to give up, I saw it, what I'd not been sure if it'd been my imagination before.

A twitch of a muscle, a beat of the heart.

Not only had this woman been hung here millennia ago to undergo whatever transition she was enduring, but she was still alive!

Judging from the rest of the room, she was ancient, probably thousands of years old, and the crystals that were overtaking her?

They fucked with my nanites.

Judging from the crystals that were left in the skulls of the dead, they prevented the nanites from regrowing the bodies . . . or at least, that was what I was assuming.

I glanced from the body that hung there, and to the altar again, mind racing at a thousand miles an hour as I made the connections.

She was another like me, one whose nanites had gone active, and had changed her. That I had to assume, but instead of having access to them or

becoming a monster like the werewolves or others, the change had manifested in . . .

In this.

I glanced at the band wrapped around her skull, and the matching one that was around the skull on the highest tier of the altar.

They were venerating her.

They had her there, floating, and fuck only knew how that was happening, but they'd . . . I nodded, looking around the room.

"They worshipped you," I whispered, then I spotted a pair of tools on the floor by one leg, next to . . . next to a pattern of the fungus that was familiar. "They worshipped you, and they were mining you," I whispered in

horrified recognition.
That was a body that had either been destroyed, somehow, or, more

likely, that had been entirely consumed by the fungus that covered the walls.

I moved over, closer to what was left of the body, and crouched, examining it and picking out regular shapes buried in the mass.

I reached out, tapping one of them and feeling the hardness of metal. As gently as I could, I picked it up and out, eyeing the ring and the narrow cable of woven bronze that led to another and another.

I lifted it higher, covering my mouth and nose and quickly backing away before diving into the water as a cloud of spores lifted into the air from the disturbed fungus.

I swam quickly, the sudden panicking thought that I might have infected myself with whatever that crystal was making my heart beat faster.

Until I got outside, floating in the water, with the sun reflecting on the surface overhead, and I steeled myself for what I knew I had to do, just to make sure.

I didn't think I had been infected, but . . .

I swam back to the little rocky beach I'd entered the water by, and I clambered out, moving up until I was standing in only a foot of seawater. Then I lay face down and breathed the water in.

I went into a coughing fit immediately; even with my nanites, I wasn't built to breathe fluid, but when it was done, and I'd brought up the contents of my stomach?

I did it again, getting that seawater as deep into my lungs as I could.

I did it four times, until my chest was aching like I'd had the worst chest infection of my life, my stomach felt like it was broken from the repeated vomiting, and my throat was burning as if I'd rubbed it with sandpaper.

I dragged myself up the beach, only now realizing that, through it all, I'd kept ahold of the artifact, and thanks to its time in the sea, it was now clean.

It was a set of six rings, one large, meant to go around the wrist, five smaller to go around the fingers and thumb, and a large chunk of crystal carved into an open-eye design that must have sat on the back of the hand with a closed eye for the palm.

Hell, it might have been the other way around, but either way, it was stunning, considering that the cords that bound it together were twisted chains of bronze and gold, and the eyes were embedded in gold and surrounded by rubies on the open side and sapphires on the closed one.

I set it down carefully and sat atop a reasonably smooth rock, letting the sun dry me as best I could while I used my hands to strip the water away.

It took a little while, but I felt like shit from my seawater emetic so I didn't really care that much, eventually climbing to my feet and dressing. Ignoring the water that still clung to me as I climbed back up the hill and down the far side. I stood by the small church and rang the bell, glad that nobody had arrived while I was out of it.

The boat set off immediately, and all the way back, I got glares from the pilot.

When I'd been walking down to the water's edge, and the boat had been incoming, I'd decided I'd give him a big tip to make up for it.

Then he deliberately sat far enough out that I had to wade out to him, and I decided that he could go fuck himself for that dickish trick.

I'd taken my socks and shoes off, rolling my jeans up, but still.
There was no need.
Getting back to shore, I nodded to the old guys, one of whom cheered

when I stepped off the boat, the other cursed and started to argue about the time. I walked straight inside the bar, paying cash for a bottle of cold beer and a sandwich that was half melted inside a plastic wrapper, then told the barmaid that I had intended to leave a tip for the pilot of the boat as an apology for taking so long.

She nodded, then her eyes bugged out when I pulled a wedge of about a thousand euros out of my pocket. I explained that he'd deliberately sat a few meters out so that I had to wade.

"Next time, tell him not to be a dick, and he'll get the tip he earned," I said, pocketing the bundle, apart from a twenty.

I walked back outside, putting the twenty down on the table between the old guys and nodded my respect to them and wondered how long they'd argue over why I'd done that.

I climbed into the car, backed it around, then set off driving back up the hill and back to the town and my friends.

I managed two bites of the sandwich before throwing it out of the window, minus the packaging. I wasn't that much of an asshole.

It was sodding awful. Warm ham and melted cheese, warm mayo, which was an offence against the gods, and lettuce that was as limp as a politician without viagra.

It didn't take long for the return trip, the roads quieter now that it was late afternoon. I watched the whirling seabirds flying above the returning fishing boats, the lowering sun reflecting off the water. The windows were down and the breeze cooled what had been a stifling hot car.

I drank my beer, utterly uncaring about the risk of an imported American bottle on my driving ability, considering I could literally drink entire bottles of rum now without an effect. My nanites processed the alcohol as a particularly useful poison, breaking out usable components instead of any fun effects.

The sun had just dipped below the height of the surrounding buildings when I pulled up in front of the hotel. I stopped, staring in consternation at the packed place, the engine turned off and handbrake put on by a brain operating on autopilot. Val rushed from table to table, pouring drinks, even as a band started to play.

I sat in the car, stunned, slowly pulling my sunglasses down, disbelief roaring through me as I recognized a familiar figure sitting having a drink with Ingrid and Lars.

"Oh, fuck no," I whispered. "Hans."

Chapter Thirty-Seven

I got out of the car, moving woodenly as I stepped up onto the pavement. Val waved to me, nodding towards the office and giving me a wink as if to say, "It's all good—I locked the door."

I forced a smile, nodding, before walking across to where Hans sat with the others, pausing before him as he smiled up at me. Ingrid stood, reaching out for me, her smile faltering as she saw the look on my face.

"What's wrong?" she asked me, concern growing, before turning halfway back to Hans. "He . . . he said he was your friend."

"And I am, my dear," Hans said with a smile, pouring a drink for me and gesturing to the seat. "Come now, Steve, don't be like that. Didn't we part as friends?"

"We did," I agreed, but all around me, I could feel others closing in, their nanite concentrations through the roof as Ingrid and Lars looked confused.

"Then you know that this isn't personal. I told the others that I have officially extended an offer of sponsorship, and you have accepted it," Hans said, then took a deep breath, looking up at me. I saw the sadness there. "They know who you are now, Steve, and the Blessed are coming as well. I gave you the time I could, but . . ."

"How long?" I asked, my mind whirling.

"The most I can give you is a single hour to say goodbye, my friend, and that . . . that is because they believe you are joining us, and simply don't want to come yet. So please, come peacefully."

"I don't do peacefully," I whispered, looking around and seeing the others stepping into sight, six of them, and every single one of them far stronger than me.

I could feel their nanites, their potential; fuck, I could feel their corruption. Tens of billions of them. They should be incapable of movement, but their attuned were so strong that they were still capable of moving.

Hell, they were probably capable of surviving a direct nuclear strike, and if they lost their temper here, it might as well be a nuke.

"You don't, but you will," Hans whispered, shaking his head. "I warned you that they would demand an examination, and I came with the rest of them to try and help. They will kill all of these witnesses. Hell, they'll sink

the island into the depths, if that is what it takes. Please, don't take that path."

"It was the smugglers," I whispered, mind racing. "That's how you found me."

He just shook his head, smiling sadly.

"My dear boy, I never lost you. I obscured the traces you left behind and stopped the Blessed from finding you, but now? With this morning's foolishness, they are coming." He stood, knocking his drink back, then turned the glass over and straightened his shirt, pulling on his jacket.

"One hour. Then you come to the beach, and we leave."
"For how long?"
"Until I believe you're one of us, or at least you're strong enough that the

Blessed can't take you," a new voice called from behind me. A tall, dark- skinned woman stepped up onto the restaurant floor, strolling forwards.

I turned to face her, feeling my nanites going crazy at the proximity of her.

Variant 30312603122 Biological Weapon Variant

WARNING : Evolved intact Biological Weapon Variant #30312603122 detected. BWV is EPSILON Level Threat; recommend disengage!

Capabilities: ?: ? ?: ? ?: ?

HP ?/? EPSILON LEVEL THREAT

"Fuck, another one..." I muttered to myself.

She was very tall, her skin a deep black that reminded me of Amanda, her hair cut into a short bob that was woven with gold and beads that clacked gently as she walked forwards, every step graceful and full of threat.

I felt like a domestic chicken facing a fox, or more accurately, a fucking puma.

"I will not permit them to gain a new convert, and especially not one like you."

"Why me?" I asked.
She snorted, shaking her head as she came to a stop, the beads clicking. "You have grown stronger in mere weeks than you should in your first

century. You will explain that, and in exchange, we will teach you."
"And," Hans interrupted smoothly, "as you're going to come willingly,

your friends will be left to live in peace." "I—"

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Steve. You know what they'll do," he whispered, resting one hand on my shoulder and squeezing gently. "I'm sorry." With that, he turned and faced Ingrid and Lars, smiled, and bowed his head. Then as he straightened, he sighed.

"I apologize for the way we find ourselves meeting, but it was for the best." He forced a quick, sad smile, before nodding again and marching out, the other five turning and following him, leaving only the tall dark-skinned woman.

"One hour," she warned. "Run, and we will pull this town down atop them."

"You—" Ingrid started to say, glaring at her, before faltering as the new woman turned her gaze on the woman I loved.

"Speak again, cattle, and the truce is over. I will execute every one of you." Silence rang out, the words having been spoken with such assurance into the silence between songs, that none who heard it doubted her.

With that, she turned on her heel and strode off.

"What . . ." Ingrid whispered, shaking her head. "He said you called him to help with the smugglers."

"And I bet what he said sounded convincing," I agreed, nodding and reaching out, drawing her into my arms, holding her tight. "He's over four hundred years old. I bet he could claim to be a green dragon with a cock the size of Alaska, and it'd sound right. That he was here to help? Don't worry."

"Is he really . . ." Lars whispered. "I mean, I know you said that, but . . . and they . . ."

"Yes, he's an Arisen, and any one of them could snap me in half," I admitted with a grimace. "If there was just one, I might fight, or try, anyway. But six of them? You don't understand." I kissed the top of Ingrid's head as I held her close, speaking in a low voice that carried to her and Lars alone.

"They have lived centuries alone, died a thousand times, and they come back. They watched humanity drag itself out of the fucking trees, and they were there with us. Now? Tens of thousands of years later? They view you as—"

"As cattle," Ingrid whispered.
I nodded, the warm wetness of tears soaking through my top.
"As cattle," I agreed. "They might not want to kill a cow or a chicken,

but that doesn't mean they'll care either if they have to. For them to leave you here? Witnesses, and alive?" I shook my head, knowing that was Hans's work, and that I owed him more than I could express for that.

"I have to go," I said, feeling Ingrid's arms tightening around me as she clung on.

"No!"

"There's no choice." I opened my mouth to go on, when Lars coughed and nodded behind me.

I turned, seeing the small family of four, standing there waiting. As soon as they saw me turning, the father started to speak, his words a jumble, thanks, a prayer, assurance that he would never be able to repay the debt.

My mind was reeling, and the language was . . . it was there, just out of reach. I needed the will, I needed to want to understand. Without that, the nanites, the knowledge . . .

It was a meaningless jumble of words.
I reached out, laying one hand on his shoulders and stopping him.
"Make it worth the cost," I whispered.
He frowned, his lips moving as he repeated the words in a language he

didn't speak.
The mother and daughter looked at each other, then at Ingrid, seeing the

tears, the fear on Lars's face, the dead look in my eyes. They grabbed the father, dragging him back, moving away as quickly as possible as they spoke to him.

"Make it worth the cost," I repeated, turning and looking at Lars and Ingrid before waving Val over and taking them all into the small private office.

It'd been crowded with two of us in there. With four? We were crammed in cheek by jowl.

I pulled the laptop out, focusing on it. There was a gasp as Val saw what I could do, my right hand suddenly coated in liquid nanites. I poured them

into the laptop, focusing, filling them with my need.

Upgrade options available: Cyber Warfare Assimilation
Design

Cyber Warfare will rebuild the device, instilling a basic RI (Restricted Intelligence) loaded with enhanced learning vectors. RI focus will be on hacking and interaction with technological systems.

Cost: 1,000-10,000,000 Attuned Nanites

Assimilation RI (Restricted Intelligence) will be primarily dedicated to breaking into enemy command and control systems, enforcing complete obedience but assimilating them into the overall RI.

Cost: 1,000-10,000,000 Attuned Nanites

Design RI (Restricted Intelligence) will be focused on creative pathways, improvements, and overall levelling of technology.

CRAFTING: 10,000-10,000,000 Attuned Nanites COMBAT: 10,000-10,000,000 Attuned Nanites CYBER: 10,000-10,000,000 Attuned Nanites

I selected Cyber Warfare, and loaded it with ten thousand nanites, ordering the data on the hard drive be protected, then naming Ingrid, Lars, and Val as having control privileges.

The black mass poured over the laptop, hiding it from view. I stood, weakness making me shake, my attuned nanites store having been badly depleted.

I turned back to them, barely able to stand and dizzy, feeling weak as a kitten as I started to speak.

"This device will let you trace the smugglers. It'll hack just about any system you point it at, so be damn careful with it. Only you three have access to it." I paused, then nodded to the bag, the money in clear view now. "Use that. Use it to find and save people. Don't expose yourselves to risk, not ever. Find them, trace them, and hand the data to Interpol, or the FBI, or whatever."

I looked at Lars, then nodded to Val.

"Explain everything to him, tell him what you know, and let him help. Use your money for something that matters, Lars. Take this hotel. Hell, buy those around it and give these people a home and a second chance. Make the cost worth it."

He nodded, stepping forwards and hugging me. I couldn't help but smile sadly, knowing I'd made a friend for life, even if, like Dave, I'd probably never see him again. I hugged him back, slapping him on the back, then letting him go. Val stepped in, confused, but knowing that something had happened, and that this was goodbye.

"Why—what—" he started to ask. I shook my head, gripping his shoulders and looking him in the eyes.

"I don't have time, not to explain it properly. Just believe Lars, and remember this," I said gesturing to the flowing mass of nanites.

"It's all I can give you all, so damn well keep it safe and use it well. Now go on, go. I need to speak to Ingrid."

Val nodded, backing out the door as Lars took him. I turned to her, seeing the determination on her face.

"I don't know what—" I started to say, and she laid a hand over my mouth.

"I'm coming with you," she said.
"You can't."
"I can. They brought others with them. They can't all be . . . like you.

They have to, I don't know, drive a car or whatever."
"What's that got to do with—"
"I mean they'll need normal people to do work!" she snapped at me,

dashing tears away, and glaring at me. "I can cook, I can clean, I'm an archeologist!"

"And they lived that history," I whispered, taking her in my arms. "Look, I'll ask Hans to check on you from time to time, to get a message to you, but—"

"Don't you say anything else!" she snapped at me. "I'm not being left behind. I just found you, and it feels like we've had five goddamn minutes, then you're leaving me!"

"I'm not going anywhere by choice," I took her in my arms and put my lips to her ear, speaking softly. "Besides . . . there's a way you can help me."

I felt her stiffen in my arms, listening intently as I started to explain my plan and what I'd found back in that cavern.

Half an hour later, as the six on the beach grew more and more annoyed, I approached, leaving Ingrid on the path to watch me leave.

She wore the bracelet and finger rings that I'd found. As I walked away from her, she flexed her fingers, the cool crystal pressing against her skin as she glared at the seven powerful figures who waited for me.

When I reached them, the dark-skinned woman grunted, nodding to Hans in acceptance before turning and speaking to one of the others.

"Order them to fall back, provided the locals behave themselves. Don't try and alert the world to us, and they may live out their span." She looked at me, nodding her head in begrudged greeting.

"You made the right choice, boy," she said calmly. "I remember leaving those I loved when my master found me. It is hard, but for the best. Mortals are no longer your concern." She paused, looked up at Ingrid standing on the road, and snorted as if amused. "Such creatures are beneath you."

I glanced at Hans, who forced a sad smile and nodded.

"She's right, my boy. In a century, you won't even remember her name, let alone her face."

"Bullshit," I snapped.

"Well, perhaps you will return to her in time," Hans offered, a sad smile on his face as he turned to the sea. "We all planned to . . . once."

With that, he strode forwards, and I noticed finally the clothing they all wore, save Hans and me.

They wore easily removable wraps, all-over, full-body suits that looked like wetsuits crossed with leotards. Space-age, graceful attire, it was the kind of clothing that it didn't matter if it got wet.

They threw their wraps aside, a pair of smartly dressed humans moving to collect them, heads bowed.

"I'm too old for this shit." Hans sighed, walking forwards and into the surf, the woman following him as the others fell in around me. One—a man in his early thirties, I'd have guessed, but with enough nanites to power a ship, so fuck knew how old he was really—stared hard at me, pointing for me to go before him.

I looked up at Ingrid one last time, focusing in and deliberately burning that sight into my memory as she stood there, tears flooding down her cheeks, watching me go.

I lifted one hand, starting to wave to her, when Asshole One, who'd just pointed to the sea, stepped between us and shoved me, sending me staggering.

I caught myself, then straightened, fingers curling into a fist . . . as Hans's voice called out from behind me.

"Remember the consequences."
I snarled, then turned from Ingrid and my life and dove into the sea.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The sun had set, but that made little difference to any of us. We swam forwards, the swell of the sea lifting then dropping us as we went deeper, the shallow waters keeping the sand gently swirling as the fish dipped and dove, crabs clicking and scuttling across the rocks. I pulled and kicked, trying to keep up.

I watched the way the others ahead swam, so graceful, not a single wasted motion. For a second, just a single damn second, I nearly formed flippers, like scuba flippers, to make it easier.

Then I stopped myself, glaring ahead, and continued to thrash and pound the water.

They knew that I was Arisen and that I was powerful, but fuck all beyond that yet.

I noticed Hans looking back to check on me, along with the woman and another man who stayed close by her side at all times.

I swam on, my chest starting to hurt as I reached and passed the longest I'd stayed underwater so far.

And still we kept going.

I looked to the sides and behind, seeing the other four all around me, watching and waiting, with Asshole One staring balefully at me. I silently swore I'd fuck him up, and soon, and I swam on.

We passed over a reef of seaweed, sponges spreading across the sandy bottom, and nearby I saw a shark following us, curiosity in its dead black eyes, and then . . .

Where the shelf of the island fell away into the depths, the sandy, gently increasing slope dropped sharply. There was a sub waiting.

It was . . .
It was weird as fuck.
It looked like someone had taken an American attack sub, then chopped

it in half, deciding that it didn't really need all that length, and instead had fitted a . . . a spoiler on the back?

I had no frame of reference. Fuck, I knew nothing about engineering, especially undersea or water. But it looked like a hydrofoil had been stuck on the back, two actually, one upper and one lower, and . . .

I gave up.

It made as much sense to me as tits on a fish, and it was still a good distance ahead, with Hans and the woman entering an airlock.

By the time I reached it, I was close to asphyxiating, having discovered the hard way that the nanites didn't provide unlimited oxygen, or if they did, they at the very least didn't get rid of the waste CO2.

I was blacking out when the water level dropped, pumped out by the pressure of the air, and by then I was on my hands and knees, coughing and retching.

I felt hands grabbing me under the arms, lifting and dragging me through the airlock, and into . . . into a passage that looked like it should be in an exclusive hotel.

I blinked, unable to make sense of it. The corridor I half-stumbled and was half-dragged along was wide enough for three abreast to walk comfortably, and had . . . it had carpets?

There were what had to be screens mounted on the outer bulkhead, showing the sea as if they were glass. In place of the exposed pipes and conduits that you saw on actual submarines, the entire place was stunning.

There were fucking skirting boards on the walls for . . .

I shook myself, aware that I was clearly losing it, considering all that had happened, and I was wondering about a damn skirting board.

"What—" I started to say, trying to get to my feet under me properly, only to be deliberately dragged forwards or back just as I was about to stand.

I was taken into a small but ornate medical bay and shoved into a seat, glaring at the four pricks that had brought me here, as one of them stepped to a cabinet and pulled out some kind of injector that looked like it should be instantly banned under the Geneva Convention.

"Hold him," the prick snapped at the other two, before smirking at me. "Don't think that just because Hans is tolerated, you get the same kind of free pass. This is a tracker, and it means we'll always know where you are. You go somewhere you shouldn't? You try to run? Hell, you annoy me, and I detonate it. Until Athena declares you to be free? We own you."

I opened my mouth to tell him to get fucked, but before I could talk, he rammed the injector into the thick muscle of my neck and pulled the trigger. It was like I'd been shot. The pain, the pressure, and the damn tracker

and bomb combined? It felt massive, and I had to focus, stopping my nanites from forcing it back out.

Dickhead picked one out of the cabinet and showed it to me. It was the size of a damn cherry and spiked.

"You see this?" he asked, flicking the spikes. "These dig in and hold it in place."

I glared at him, then looked at it; it was basically a conker in its shell, covered in spikes.

"And how do you get it back out?" I asked.

"We don't," he said with a smirk. "Once you've earned your place, then you get the right to remove it yourself."

"So I get to cut it out," I repeated.

"You would, but you'll never make it," he growled. "Take him to the chair."

Two others grabbed me and dragged me back up, and we were off again, being led out of the back of the medical chamber and into a new room, one that was notably different.

Here, everything was easily washed down, and the room fairly reeked of strong bleach. The walls were cold steel, or metal anyway, considering that they had a slight rainbow shimmer and the chair in the middle of the room?

It looked like a cross between a dentist's chair and a torture device.
"I'm not—" I started to say, before being dragged forwards.
"Yes, you are," the one to my right snapped as they spun me around and

slammed me down into it, the third of their number stepping forward to pull the chains into place.

"What the fuck is this!" I shouted at them.

"Examination," Dickhead said with a smile. "After all, we can't have a baseline human get in here."

"What?" I asked, totally confused.

"What he means," said a new voice as a pale woman stepped in, walking across the floor to stop before me, "is that you must be tested." The click of her heels echoed as she walked around me, the others stepping back as she examined the restraints. "Sadly, in order to be able to fully assess you, to learn your capabilities, and to know when you improve truly, we must first test you."

"What kind of test—" I started to ask, and she smiled, cold, but not cruelly.

"As our kind can recover from anything, well, the only test that matters . . . is destruction."

"What?!" I whispered, seeing the smiles on the faces of Dickhead and his friends as they left the room, the woman following them.

I tried pulling at the restraints and did little more than make them jingle . . . slightly. I tried again, and again, getting nothing but more bruises as I futilely heaved at them, before taking a deep breath and forcing myself to calm.

I couldn't do it, I couldn't show them what I was capable of... not yet... there had to be another way!

A wall on the left shimmered, then resolved into a screen, one that showed the woman in a small room, taking a seat behind a computer desk and flicking switches.

"I'm sorry that this must be our first encounter, Steven," she said, her voice coming over hidden speakers clear and crisp. "Usually, aspirants have many months and years to get used to the necessity of this stage and the sheer fact that they have been deemed worthy of this test means they are on the path to ascension, meaning that they undertake this step willingly."

"Well, I'm fucking not willing!" I shouted, yanking at the restraints.

"I know, and for that I apologize. However, centuries have proven that this is, in fact, the best way, despite the regrettable losses and distress that are suffered along the way." As she spoke, she flicked switches and continued to work. "Please understand that I have nothing but hope for your future. We will begin momentarily."

The door to my right opened, and I looked over quickly. Desperate hope flared that all of this had been a sick joke, until I saw the look on Hans's face as he stepped in, walking over to me to rest a hand on my left shoulder and speaking to the woman.

"I invoke the right of privacy between myself and my Aspirant," he called to her, getting a growl of irritation before she started flicking other switches. Then she stood, apparently leaving the room, as Hans pulled a small box out of his pocket and pressed a trigger on it, emitting a high- pitched wail that filled the air, then leaned in and put his mouth next to my ear so that nobody could read his lips or over hear him.

"I'm genuinely sorry, Steve," he whispered. "I believe these methods to be barbaric, and I argued against them . . . but I've been overridden. The Blessed are in the town already, and while the island falls behind us . . ." He paused, then went on.

"I have told them that you accepted my offer of sponsorship. No, don't speak yet; there's no point. As a member of my family, you gain some small protection. It's not much, but it's all I can do. I left you to live free as long as I could, but your actions are what started this, Steve. As soon as you were identified by the Blessed, there was nothing else I could do. You have to make a choice."

"They can fuck off—" I started to say, and he slapped a hand over my lips.

"Listen and think, dammit! The Blessed are in the town already. They're watching Ingrid and your other friends—"

"They can't," I mumbled against his hand.

"LISTEN!" he snarled. "They haven't decided what to do with them. According to my spies, they might leave the others, but they want you, and you and Ingrid have been . . . intimate. They might choose to leave her be and walk away, or . . . they may take her for examination in an effort to recover biological material.

"At the very least, she will dislike the process intently. At worst? If they find partial traces and decide to do a full sweep? They will permanently maim or kill her. Remember they believe they are doing God's will. Think about the lengths that can drive someone to . . . especially when the only one that will be injured is—"

"Cattle," I whispered as he removed his hand. "You have to help her," I begged.

He nodded. "I can. I can go back and help her, but only my presence and the things I could report to the council offers you any protection at all. If I go—"

"GO!" I snarled.

"I'm sorry, my friend," he said quietly, patting my chest. Then he hesitated, leaning in even closer and whispering in my ear again. "Keep your . . . tricks . . . hidden. If they find how unique you really are . . ." He stopped, giving me a warning look. I nodded the fraction of an inch I could, showing him I understood.

"Good luck, and again, I'm sorry. I'll return when I can." With that, he turned off the device and left the room, banging on the wall before he left to alert the scientist woman that he was done.

She returned to her chair, looking at me and forcing a smile before starting again, the clicks of the switches and the tapping of her fingers

across the keyboard echoing around the room as I tried to think what I could do.

I had to trust Hans. Fuck, the only chance that they had was him. I couldn't break out of here; the grip the others had on me when they dragged me in here was like handcuffs on a regular human.

I could break free of the chair. I thought I could, anyway—the entire system was computer-guided, after all—but . . . but if I did that, I gave away my only trump cards. Even if I could get out of the chair, the doors had no handle on the inside.

If I could somehow get out? Get past the doors? The assholes who'd dragged me in here would tear me limb from fucking limb.

I could take one, maybe two, using my Harvest Blade and more, but . . . but they were insanely strong compared to me, and still, they'd not triggered the warnings that I'd gotten when I'd moved too close to that fucking Lord Shamal. He was an Epsilon-level threat, while the big fuckers . . . they'd been Beta level. The woman who ran the ship, Athena? She'd been the only one to trigger an alarm, not the others.

That meant that if I wanted to stand any chance against Shamal in the future, I needed to let them do what they were going to do. I needed to learn, and I needed to grow.

I needed to let them kill me.

The chair started to move, shifting to lie backwards, my arms extending out, legs the same, as blades slid down the outside, cutting my clothes away and making me hiss as they occasionally caught flesh, cutting into me.

"I apologize. Usually our Aspirants come willing and strip before sitting. The facility was added to permit examination of the unwilling, but it is rarely used."

Rarely, I mentally noted, not never.

They'd done this before, and considering how few of us there were, and that there'd been none in a long time? That had to mean it'd been used on captured Blessed . . . or humans.

"So. How bad is this going to be?" I asked her, as injectors like the gun that Dickhead had used on me slid up into view.

"Bad," she admitted. The injectors locked into place, needles extending and clicking, held there ready.

Ten. Ten on each arm, my brain insisted on counting.

Fifteen on each leg, one on either side of my neck, three on either side of my chest. Fuck's sake, there was one lifting into place over my crotch!

I saw movement on either side of my head as four more lifted up, and as close as these injectors were to my face, well, while they looked a lot like the other one, the tip was serrated . . . and hollow.

The tube that led out of the back of them . . .

I frantically started focusing, ordering all my attuned and usable nanites into the storage lacunas. Then I ordered the weaponized ones to stand down, and to stay in storage until I ordered their release.

Knowing the pain that was to come, I encoded an order into them, making them remain there until I ordered their release, using a combination of sounds, memories, and . . . and her name.

I had a split second in which I saw her face again, the laughter as she arched her back, slapping at my hands as I tickled her in bed. The feeling of her legs wrapped around me, her hair draped across me, and the heat of her body against my own . . . all of it. I used that, and I locked myself down, leaving only the corrupted nanites loose and small portion of the attuned that were needed to keep me functioning.

I felt the change in my body, in my mind. I felt suddenly colder, weaker . . . less.

Then she spoke.

"Phase one," she declared, and a pair of needles clicked, then drove forwards, punching through my skin and deep into my flesh, carving away and draining my blood.

I screamed, barely hearing her declaring that it was time for "phase two" as four more clicked into place then punched down into me.

They worked for a full minute; all the while my body was screaming at me to do something, to respond, to . . .

I saw the connections all around me; I sensed the computers' weaknesses and the potential of the nanites all around. I sensed the things I could do. We were in a fucking sub underwater, one controlled by computers! I could crash it. I could open doors to the sea, I could . . .

I could send the engine into an uncontrolled reaction.

I could sense the systems around me, and while I'd not dug into them, I could sense the connections that they held . . . and the possible traps.

They could be left there, tantalizingly within reach, to test for the capabilities I had. That could be the entire point of this, to make me believe

I was dying, so that I'd show them something really special.
I saw it all, the possibilities as my mind fractured under the pain, the digging needles, the drills that hit the metallic bones and burrowed into

them.
The vibrations alone were horrific and . . . and through it all, I held on.
I focused on overcoming the pain, on holding myself still, on staying as

unremarkable as possible.
I saw my blood being siphoned away, I felt the drills. Then the saw, a

circular thing with serrated teeth that cut down into my ankle, removing my foot, in a ridiculous imitation of the fight that morning.

I saw the foot being lifted away and was thankful for the fact that the changeover for my bones—from human to metal and then to impregnated with storage lacunas—was still in the early phases.

That meant they got a section of stronger bones reinforced with a metallic alloy to examine, but nothing more.

Hours passed as I grew steadily weaker.

I endured new fluids that burned being pumped into me, replacing my blood with who knew what. I felt my body being flushed entirely; everything from the liquid contents of my goddamn urethra to samples of my eyeballs was taken, before a final needle was lowered from overhead and locked into place over my heart.

"Phase thirty-two beginning," the bitch in the control room called out, distractedly, clearly examining something on her screen.

Then the needle slammed forwards into my heart, and electricity was pumped directly into it, overstimulating an organ that was already pumping a mix of caustic chemicals.

Blackness rolled over me as my body seemed to wink out of existence. My last thought: what if I'd been wrong all along, and their only intention had always been to simply kill me?

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The world was slow to return, and as always, sensations came first. A gentle breeze, flickering across skin, hairs moving.

Then came sounds, a bird, somewhere in the distance, the call of a cat, voices . . . murmuring, a beep of a machine, the sound of water lapping against stones, the gentle susurration of the sea, the tides, as they drained through a mass of pebbles.

"Steve . . ."

A voice close by. I blinked, the world suddenly coming into focus, and there I was . . . laid in a small, hospital-type bed.

I tried to move, finding my arms and legs were restrained, and a blonde- haired woman that looked familiar sat by my side.

"Shhhh, it's okay," she said, reaching out and laying a hand on my shoulder. "It's okay, you're okay. Just take a minute and let yourself wake up."

"Who—" I started to say, before pausing. My voice. "Who are you?" I rumbled, my voice both lower and very different to normal.

"It's me, honey. Your wife," she said slowly, the sadness in her eyes making me instantly sorry that I'd hurt her so.

I wanted to reassure her, to tell that that I remembered, even though it was a lie.

"It's okay, Steve. This happens sometimes. Your memories will come back, don't worry."

I frowned, about to tell her that I was fine, that I knew . . . I knew something. I felt it slipping away, even as I looked at her, seeing the bright blue eyes, the smile. My wife. I shook my head.

It just seemed so wrong . . .

"You had an accident. A few weeks ago, you fell from our yacht. You nearly drowned, and in the process, your brain was starved of oxygen. It causes fits, and when you have a fit . . ." She smiled sadly, reaching down and wrapping her fingers around mine, holding my hand tight as she spoke reassuringly.

"Sometimes you take a while to come back, and you can be violent, my love. I'm sorry, but we had to chain you to the bed."

I looked at my arms, my legs, the straps over my chest . . . then I saw the bruises on her arms, and black eye barely concealed by her makeup.

"I did that?" I asked, my voice still sounding like someone else's. "I hurt you?"

"You didn't mean to. It's okay," she said.
I felt terrible, awful. She was so sad, and . . .
"Where are we?" I asked her, trying to distract away from the terrible

things she must have had to deal with.
"At home, on the island," she said, a smile showing. "The children are

fine as well. I know you'd be asking about them next."
"Yes . . . the children?" I whispered, confused.
"We have two children, a boy and a girl. Alexander and Athena. I'm

sorry, my love, you must have had it worse than normal. Don't worry, I won't let them know their father forgot them."

The rebuke was clear, and I shook my head quickly.
"No, no, I remember," I lied quickly. "I just . . . it's coming back." "That's good!" she enthused. "Are you ready to be free?"
"Yes," I whispered, unsure what was going on, but . . . "And a drink?" I

asked. "I . . . it tastes like a cat shit in my mouth."
"Of course," she replied, her smile stuttering for a second, then back full

force. "It's been so long since you swore; it sounds strange to hear it," she said quickly. "Here, a drink."

She held it to my lips, and I tasted it, then coughed, shaking my head and pulling back as she tried to pour more into my mouth.

"No . . . water," I asked, and she nodded.
"It's water, my love. Your tastes, are they off? I can call a doctor—" "No," I answered, laying my head back. It was swimming already, the

entire room seeming to spin. A headache appeared from nowhere.
"Are you ready to get up?" she asked, reaching for the restraints.
"No," I whispered, closing my eyes as the spinning increased in speed,

and I started to feel sick. "I—I—" I started, then the world fell away again. *

Time passed in a blur, and when I opened my eyes this time, it was to a distant argument, harsh words, a male voice I recognized, and female ones that I didn't. Cruel laughter.

I sank away again, trying to flee back to unconsciousness, but before I could, I felt it rising.

I turned my head and vomited, unable to focus, seeing a room, windows, sunlight outside . . . then stars, a summer's garden. Cursing, a woman's disgusted voice. Someone grabbed the back of my head and released the catch over my chest, dragging me harshly to the edge of the bed and to a bucket.

I vomited again and again, feeling like it was never ending, as someone commented nearby that my body was fighting something.

I saw white shoes, and . . . black high heels with a red underside, hands with nails lacquered bright red that frantically wiped at the shoes, wanting to remove the contents of my stomach from them.

My stomach . . .

I tasted acids, bile, and blood. I saw clots, and . . . and I smelled something harsh, something that was almost, but not quite buried under the rest.

I saw hands moving swiftly to clean me, a voice that soothed, speaking words that I trusted instinctively, promising it would be okay . . . then they were snatched from me.

Then I was gone again, as the world spun away. *

My world was broken into a mess of awake and asleep, blurry figures talking at me, or around me, people in white coats and blue, people with those stupid pocket defender things from the nineties, and then . . . then people who shone lights in my eyes, and her.

My . . . wife? Sometimes she held my hand or stroked my brow. Sometimes she was gone and others were there, dealing with my needs, cleaning me, feeding me . . .

My wife was never there then, only appearing when I tried to speak. I was glad. I didn't know who they were that cleaned me, that fed me, and changed my sheets. I couldn't focus nor hear, sounds dopplering as I tried, but I'd not want my wife to do that, not my beautiful . . . Ing? No.

It was gone again.

I lay in bed, staring at the window, seeing the snow falling outside. The bare branches of an old oak tree stood blanketed in white. I stared up at the grey sky, not wanting what I knew was coming.

The door opened, and a young man entered, walking over to me, holding the tray.

I hated him. I hated him with a passion, the easy way he moved, the way he could control his limbs, how easily he fed me, lifting the tasteless mulch they fed me on the plastic spoon while I lay there, only dimly remembering the days when I could do such things.

"Come on. You know you need to eat," he cajoled me. I gritted my teeth, feeling the weakness filling me, knowing that I didn't need to eat, that it made me sick, it always did!

I'd be lucky to last ten minutes before I was vomiting it back up, and the shame . . .

I barely knew I'd been anyone else. The memories surfaced now and then, lifting from the recesses of my mind as though bubbles floating up from the depths.

I saw fragments of my old life in them, and then pop, they were gone.

I smelled things sometimes, food that . . . food that smelled like food, rather than the rotting slop they gave me. I heard distant sounds. I heard and I sensed things I knew were wrong, symptoms of whatever this malady was.

Strangest, and most frequent, was the breeze.

I felt it again, and I forced my eyes to stay as they were, facing the window as I tried to make sense of it. I could see the snow falling, steadily blanketing the garden before me, while the breeze . . .

It was warm, and somewhere in the distance I heard the faint scream of seabirds, but here . . .

I looked back out, expecting to see robins.

"Darling." It was my wife again, and I forced myself to smile as I looked up to her, seeing the smile on her face that never reached her eyes.

I'd seen it dozens of times now, and I guessed what it meant.

She'd loved me once; she must have, I assumed, to have put up with me this long. But she was young, pretty, and I was old before my time.

I was chained to this bed. Violent, apparently, though I couldn't remember it, not against her, or here . . .

I had a sudden memory, one of strength, glorious strength, as I fought in a pit, a blade in my—no, on my hand, attached to it. Then it was gone

again, and I was looking at her forced smile.
"My love, it's time to see the doctor," she said.
I groaned, shifting around, the bed sores making things worse.
"You know it's the best way for you to recover..." She reached out and

stroked my cheek. "You made real progress last time! The doctor said you almost had it. Do you think you can do it again? For me?"

I forced myself to smile, nodding as the doctor brought the table back, the whirring of the bed as I was lifted into place all that filled the room. The doctor entered, all smiles, and I felt a gentle puff of a breeze again.

Warm. The smell of the sea, of . . . the smell of the Greek islands, hot pine trees, salt, the weird, indefinable woody scents, and the

"Rosemary," I whispered unthinkingly.
"Yes dear?" my wife said.
I blinked. "Your name."
She gestured to the board. "We can talk later. The doctor, he needs you to

do this, remember?"
I blinked. Why the hell had she answered to Rosemary? I'd known a girl

growing up called that . . . hadn't I? Was it her?
I shot her a look out of the corner of my eye, and she smiled wider. "Perhaps you could see the children later, if you do well at this?" She

offered the bribe as if granting a great gift . . . but besides hearing them calling in the distance, they never came to see me, and . . .

The board was shifted around, even as I felt the cold liquid entering the injection port on the back of my right wrist. She'd pressed the button on the side of the bed, topping up my meds . . . again.

She thought she was so subtle doing it, but . . . I know she said it was better to keep ahead of the pain, that there was no need to experience it, but without the pain, I'd never know if I was getting better, would I?

As it was, I spent all day, every day, in a drug-induced state, brain baked, and . . .

The board was moved again, and I looked down at it.

The game was a strange one, a square board, three colors of squares that ran across it in lines, green, silver, and gold. Each of the game pieces were discs made of heavy and solid jade, silver, and gold that sat in the individual spaces at the far end.

The aim of the game was to draw the pieces towards you, using some form of magnetism or something that was never fully explained.

All I knew was that I was some form of grandmaster at the game, and apparently this was how I'd met my wife, playing this game before great crowds.

None of it made any sense to me, and I felt that there was no possible way I could move these pieces, but . . . but last time we'd played, just as I was about to give up, I'd done something, and all three had moved.

It'd been tiny; I'd not been entirely sure it wasn't a figment of my imagination, but . . .

The looks on their faces had made it clear it wasn't. They'd been elated and afraid.
I tried again, and again, and again.
Nothing.

I was about to give up as more food was brought in, my stomach quailing at the thought of trying to stuff more in. I was always full, yet they said hours had passed, or days, and I'd have to eat until I was sick, then eat again.

The foul pureed mass was set on the table, and I shook my head.

"No," I whispered, my wife starting to reassure me that I needed the meal, when I moved my finger, and the three discs moved.

"There!" the doctor exulted. "He did it!"

"How?!" she asked, stunned, before looking up at me and forcing a smile. "Darling, you need to show me what you did."

I shifted uncomfortably, seeing her hand slide down the side of the bed, and the tell-tale click of the button . . .

But this time, nothing.
No rush of cold and confusion.
I looked down, seeing the kink in the line leading to the back of my hand.

I froze for a second, then moved my hand ever so slightly, making damn sure that it stayed like that.

"Darling," my wife said slowly, shifting until she was sure I was paying attention to her. "Listen to me . . . I want you to move the pieces again."

"He needs to eat," the man who brought my food said, his voice sounding nervous. He stopped as she shot him a glare before looking back at me.

"Darling, the game." She tapped the board, and I focused, realizing that the metal felt slightly different from the wood, even now, through the board that lay atop my legs, I could sense something.

There was a beep from the machine, and she pressed the button again, then a third time as the doctor cautioned her, saying something about "too much."

"Don't question your betters!" she snarled.

The pressure on my arm increased as the machine tried to force more of whatever it was past the kink and into me.

I didn't know what else to do, but I knew I didn't want that shit in me. I did the only thing I could think of, and I clenched my gut, hunching over and forcing out a wet cough.

"I think I need to be sick." I wheezed, twisting the hand with the tube in it and gritting my teeth as the needle moved inside my hand. It sliced the vein, but the strips holding it in place came free, and then . . . then the liquid poured across the surface of my skin, along with the blood from my freshly cut-up vein.

I turned that hand over and pressed it to the side of the bed, before coughing up some spit and leaning back.

"I need to sleep," I whispered, pretending I didn't see the fury on her face.

"Feed him," she snapped at the man with the food, who paused, then whispered to her.

"But . . . if he's sick, he'll bring all of it up and lose what he's got inside already."

"And that's my fault?" she snapped, only to have the doctor speak quickly.

"It's the combination of the ability and the drugs. Nobody's fault . . . we just need to make him sleep, give him a solid three hours, double the dose, and leave him to it," the doctor said. "Give him the command now."

"Darling, you're tired. Very, very tired. Go to sleep."

That was all that she said, but . . . but I realized I was; I was really goddamn tired. I nodded, shifting and closing my eyes.

"That's ridiculous," a voice said from somewhere nearby.

"It's like dealing with a child," she said, the kind voice gone as she let out an exasperated sigh. "I thought we had it locked down, and that he could sense. The gods know that'd be a hell of a boon . . ."

"But he's shit at it, just like everything else?"

"Behave, Rufus. I remember your training! Thirty years before you managed to twitch the needle. He's done it in a month."

"We were at war!" the voice identified as Rufus replied sourly.

"You were sitting in daddy's mansion!" Another voice laughed, and my "wife" snapped at them.

"Shut it! He's not completely asleep. The goddamn forced feeds are interfering with his abilities enough without you giving him nightmares. Come on, we can come back in a few hours and give him a top-up before we wake him."

"You think you'll manage to get him broken before Hans returns, then?"

"You think it matters?" my "wife" responded. "Athena rules here. He can complain to the Council again, see how he likes the response he gets."

They kept talking as they moved away, but . . . but I lay there, on the verge of sleep, so tired but . . . but not.

I shifted, feeling the restraints and wondering. I couldn't remember a time I'd not worn them, but hadn't she said that it was because I'd attacked her recently, and that I didn't normally need them?

I couldn't remember.

I didn't actually feel tired, I realized. I felt like I should sleep, yes, but not that I needed to. More like it was late at night and I'd regret it tomorrow if I didn't, but . . .

The needle in the back of my hand shifted with my movement. It was caught on something, but it was free of my skin, and I felt another droplet of liquid hit me. Then another.

I turned my head to that side, as if I was just sleeping, and opened one eye, peeking at the cables.

I hadn't really paid attention to them before, but if I looked at the window, the reflection showed . . . it showed a tank behind me.

Usually these damn things were like, a bag, right? A liter? That looked like it'd hold hundreds of liters, and . . . and I remembered them refilling it, the sound of splashing from behind, and my darling wife assuring me that they were washing the floor or whatever.

I felt the fog that filled my mind rolling back by the second, and I started to remember.

I remembered pain, mostly.
Days, weeks . . . months of pain.
I remembered dying.
Blackness, cold, quiet, then the pain again.

I remembered . . . I remembered machines attached to me, breaking my limbs, a feeling like boulders being rolled over my legs, slowly.

I remembered dying by fire, and poison, decapitation, and . . . and being torn apart by animals.

No, not animals. Lycanthropes!

My mind seemed to be rolling back days and weeks of time, exposing memories of places I didn't even remember being.

I remembered running until my heart gave out, then starting again as soon as it repaired itself.

I remembered gunfire and stabbings, being dumped into a vat and drowned, then boiled. I was . . . I was suffocated . . . and it was her!

My darling fucking wife was the woman who'd grinned down at me as she packed my throat full of foam, betting on how long it'd take me to suffocate.

She'd cut it open and rooted around in there, packing the bits in as I begged her to stop.

I remembered it now, and I remembered more.
Being murdered a thousand times and more.
How long had I been here, living through all of this? It'd been a long-ass

time, and I was fucking done with it.
I was confused still most of my memories vague and disjointed. But I

knew that they weren't helping me here. They weren't healing me, and if that was my wife?

I needed a fucking divorce.

I rolled my right wrist, making sure to keep it buried in the covers while I rubbed the needle fully free, the material that kept it attached to the back of my wrist slowly coming off.

Once that was done, I started moving my hand up and down, inching the needle down to where I could get ahold of it.

That done, I twisted my fingers, forcing the needle as far out to the side as possible, feeling the tip scraping across the lock.

It was slow going, getting the needle into the lock, and even slower figuring out how the hell to pick it, but this wasn't a padlock, or even a handcuff-type lock.

These were massive chains, chains that were wrapped in leather, but still fucking chains. They didn't have a little pathetic complicated lock. This

thing looked like a blacksmith forged it using Mjölnir. It was difficult, but only because of the angle. The lock itself was laughably simplistic.

Eventually, it was done, and I sighed in relief as the damn thing clicked free.

I rolled my wrist back and forth, widening the gap, until I knew I could get my hand out. Then I froze, hearing the sound of returning feet.

"Fuck." I growled under my breath, lying back and staying still, the needle gripped in my palm.

"For the last time, no!" My darling wife growled. "He's hard enough to guide as it is. Introducing her would only confuse him more!"

"We swore to the Council that we would let her see him, provided she played by the rules. Besides, who knows, maybe it'll spur him to greater heights. If nothing else, you can always just erase his memory of the whole thing. Again."

"It's a pain in the ass!"

"Athena swore to Hans it would be done. It's been three weeks since the last time, and you know what she'll say if he hears and reports it the Council—"

"Fine!" she snapped. "Whatever, bring her in. We need to feed him anyway. He can puke on her instead of my goddamn shoes, maybe then she'll realize she's wasting her goddamn time and learn her place. It's ridiculous that she's pandered to like this."

"She'd hardly pandered to—let out of her cell to clean for eighteen hours then locked away again? She's in no doubt as to her place. Did you hear about her trying to speak to Athena?"

"No!" my wife hissed. "She dared to—"

"She was cleaning her floor and just started asking her questions! Howled like a dog when she was beaten," Rufus said, clearly enjoying the juicy gossip. "And—"

"And?"
"She's to be whipped. Tonight."
"And yet I have to put up with her in here?"
"The agreement with the Council . . ."
"Ridiculous. But fine, bring her. I'll have him ready." "What are you going to do?"
"Not sure, maybe have him beg me for sex again, or . . ."

"No, make him say something to her again, like when he called her a servant."

"I'll think of something," she promised. I lay there, silent and still as the door opened, the clicking of heels and the swish of her clothes the only sound of her passage as she moved to her seat.

"Darling, wake up," she called, and I heard the click-click-click of the injector's button being pressed, feeling the liquid seeping into my hand. "There's a servant coming. She will be here soon, and I want you to say these words when she comes in. Tell me that she's useless, and you don't want such a pathetic creature near you again. That she's only of use as a toy, that was all she was to you."

She went on, saying more, but I was too shocked to pay attention. Whoever was coming, this woman hated her, and everything she told me to say . . . was worse than the last.

I must have tensed as she paused, and I felt the shift in the room as she moved closer.

I shifted on the bed, moving my shoulders as if just starting to wake, and she fell silent, fingers gently stroking my cheek.

"Darling, time to wake up," she said again, her voice clearly annoyed. "Remember, nobody but me will ever love you. I am the center of your life, your one true love. You want to please me." As she spoke the words, they echoed in my mind, and I remembered hearing them before, again and again, and I felt anger rising.

Whatever was in the liquid, it clearly made me inclined to believe anything she said, and the shit that she came out with . . .

"Behave yourself, cattle," came Rufus's voice from further down the corridor, and the sound of two sets of feet on the stones, one clicking, smart shoes, formal, and the other?

The patter of bare feet.

"Remember your place. If you please me, maybe I'll put in a good word with Athena for you," Rufus promised, and I felt myself go cold for whoever was in such a shitty position with the "doctor."

The door opened, and they entered, my "wife" getting up and moving around the bed, before setting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing, hard.

"Darling, wake up, now," she ordered. I blinked as if just waking up, yawned, and looked around the room, planning on going along with as much as I could remember of the shit that she'd told me, until . . .

My eyes locked onto the bright green eyes of Ingrid.

She was here, she was afraid, she looked bone weary, and she was barely decent. Dressed in some tattered rags, barefoot, her hair was tousled, her hands wrinkled from being recently submerged in hot water, and her eyes were puffy from tears. Her cheek bruised, and lower lip swollen, and it all came back.

I saw her face. I saw her eyes, and a million memories I'd buried in my pain flashed before my own.

I saw her laughing so hard she snorted. I saw her coughing as a shot of Metaxa burned her throat. I saw her eyes unfocused in orgasm, her lips parted as she moaned, and her teeth flashing as she tore Lars a new asshole over his poor translation of a word that he should have known better.

I saw her wrapped in a dressing robe, no makeup on, and legs folded up under her, eating a late night snack and looking guilty when she realized that I was looking for the same packet of crisps.

I saw her determined face as she dragged the body close enough for me to feed on, and I saw the despair in her eyes as I was taken from her.

I saw all of it, and as it flooded through my mind, I felt the nanite capacity unfurling, the key filling the lock, awaiting only a single word.

I smiled. "Ingrid."
It was like the world shook.
The joy on her face as she saw me and knew that I'd seen her, that I'd

recognized her. The love in my voice, in my eyes . . .
I could give her no greater gift, I suddenly knew in that instant, that

months and more of pain and degradation had been wiped clear, but that wasn't all.

As the world came crashing back into my mind, I saw the looks on the faces of Rufus and that of "my wife." The anger and the fear.

Rufus grabbed Ingrid by the throat and started to drag her out of the room, even as Vitoria, the woman who'd claimed to be my wife, reached for me.

I felt the power in them both, the strength, the mass of nanites.

But the months of torture hadn't left me the same as I was. Where I'd been freshly changed before, and weak, now . . . now I was bloated with nanites in their hundreds of thousands. No, their millions . . . and they were almost all attuned.

They responded to my will, cleansing me of all poisons as they went active, burning the last of the confusion clear. I roared my fury at the sight of Rufus laying hands on Ingrid.

I felt the chains holding me, and I saw the sneer on Vitoria's face as I started to move, then I saw it pour off her face like fresh milk as I yanked my right arm free, slapped my palm over the lock on my left, and popped it free as well.

She dove forwards, hands extended, trying to stop me. I caught her by the throat, too furious to consider anything, my only thought that I was going to shred every fucker who stood between Ingrid and me.

"What do you think you're doing, 'dear'?" she hissed, her throat resisting my attempt to crush it as she planted her hands on the bed and glared at me. "You're weak, stupid, and—"

"Then consider this a fucking divorce!" I snarled and rammed my Harvest Blade into her heart.

Her eyes widened in shock, unable to understand how it'd happened, how anything could harm her. She gasped as I ripped the nanites from her, tearing them loose in their tens of thousands. They streamed through the blade and into me . . . before he was there.

Rufus released Ingrid, throwing her back, then leaped forwards and kicked me in the face. He flipped backwards, landed, and grabbed Vitoria by the arm, yanking her back, free of the blade, as a fountain of blood jetted out of her chest.

He dragged her from the room, catching Ingrid's arm as she tried to run to me and taking her as well. My mind reeled from the massive feed I'd just had.

He reached out and slapped a hand to the wall outside what I saw now was my prison cell, barking a command that dropped sheets of metal down over the door, trapping me inside. I sat there, my mind reeling as the last few days . . . months . . . no.

THREE FUCKING YEARS.

It all came flooding back. The first year and a half was almost constant torture. I twitched, memories flashing through my mind. Fire . . . earth . . . water . . . they'd gone through the elements one by one, using them to kill me.

They'd used me in their experiments, over and over again, trying to find out how I'd Arisen. When they couldn't find the key, they'd tried a million

possible combinations.
They'd tortured me to death a hundred times and more, and all the time

they'd been doing it, they'd had me connected to . . .
I looked at the bucket of slop next to the bed, sensing the massive nanite

content, and I knew instantly what it was.
They'd been rendering down people.
They didn't know that it was nanites, just that the strongest amongst them

had been the oldest. The few who had bucked that trend had been the insane, those animals who had practiced cannibalism.

A single Arisen had come from a tribe that followed that dark practice, and they'd used it in their experiments with me.

They'd been rendering down people and feeding them to me!

I snarled, my mind racing back and forth, over and over, trying to come to terms with what I'd become, what I'd been made into.

I was a cannibal.

I was a cannibal, and I'd consumed hundreds, possibly thousands of people!

I was worse than the lycanthropes had ever dreamed of being. I was more a vampire than all but the most ancient of their kind could lay claim to. I'd literally been fed liquified humans!

I vomited, and I did it everywhere.

It was spectacular, projectile vomiting, and my mind roiled along with my stomach. Worst of all, I could sense the container that was by the bedside.

It was filled with nanites, and I wanted them!

I told myself that the people were already dead. That I'd not killed them. I told myself that it was a waste, leaving the nanites to simply break down, an insult to their memory. I could . . . I could . . .

I vomited again.

I tore myself free of the chains, shearing them from the bed, and hurled the entire thing across the room before collapsing to the floor, my mind broken by everything. The years of pain that had been inflicted on me, then hundreds upon hundreds of deaths, and the . . . and the nanites I'd been filled with. My body had gone into panic mode, storing them over and over, working to cleanse the corruption, filling the lacunas, working to purify the mass that I'd been filled with.

I lifted my right hand and stared at it, sensing the potential.

I was full.

That was why I'd been vomiting all the time when they fed me. I was past capacity; without commands, the nanites had been unable to act, so they'd taken in the best of the nanites and had discarded the most damaged, degraded, and corrupted.

I had been artificially boosted all the way from a freshly Arisen to a hundred or more years of work, then I'd been forced to fight their pets, thrown drunk, drugged, and confused into a pit and left to fight for my life again and again.

The memories were confused, layered over and over, a mass of teeth, claws, and worse. I'd been literally eaten several times, I'd been shit out and left in a steaming pile for my body to rebuild itself as liquified people were poured over me.

As a member of neither faction, and without my benefactor to speak for me most of the time, I'd been considered fair game and used for every test they'd wanted to try. Every possible "what if" idea they'd come up with in their worst states, they'd tried, and they'd laughed about it.

When Hans had come back, he'd been horrified by what they were doing. But he'd been unable to free me, and by then, their efforts were bearing fruit.

I remembered the Council, six depraved old fucks that had examined me, watched me fighting, and had commented on me like a prize racehorse.

They'd laid down rules as to my "upkeep," and in a moment of sanity, I'd agreed to them, when the option put before me was to play their game or fight, and have Ingrid and the others, Hans included, pay the price.

I remembered him weeping in my cell, swearing that he would never have been a part of this, and that he'd make this right somehow. He'd never have believed "his people" were so lost.

He made deals that allowed the others to live; he made sure that Ingrid was kept "safe," but beyond that, he could do little.

I'd known that in exchange for my essentially selling my life to the Council for two years, they were all to be kept safe and granted concessions . . . but the comments about her being made to clean and serve for eighteen hours a day, only to see me occasionally . . .

I knew then what concession she'd been given, and I couldn't bear it.

It all came crashing down on me, a weight of failure, of disgust, and of borderline madness that had . . .

Two years.
I'd agreed to two years.
Two years in which they'd fed me.
They'd trained me.
They'd tortured me, examined me, and conducted every experiment they

could imagine, at first wanting to know what had made me special. Then they'd wanted to see what I could be forced to achieve. Then, they'd kept doing it, simply because they could.

The window crackled, and I looked over, seeing it for what it was at last: a screen. No wonder I'd been confused about the sight; the snowy goddamn garden flashed away to show Rufus in a medical cell, Vitoria lay behind him on a bed as the doctor that had been there at the start of all of this panicked and worked on her, screaming that the wound wouldn't close, and what the hell had I done.

"You . . . how . . ." He snarled, then he pointed at Ingrid who was half laid on the floor in one corner, looking bruised and battered, but triumphant as she saw me. "If she dies, then—"

I stood, all doubt dropping away. For the first time since the pit, I interfaced with my nanites fully, feeling my mind unfurl as clusters mimicked neurons, distributing and enhancing my mind.

"You'll do nothing." I lifted my arms to the sides, lifting both hands upwards, palms open. I began the change, summoning my armor.

It started as a pool of glistening blackness in the palm of each hand, and then they were everywhere, as thousands of nanite clusters flowed out of my skin and onto the surface.

My clothes simply collapsed to dust, floating away as each nanite cluster spread out a thousand spiderwebbing tendrils, flowing across my skin to form the base layer. Then they grew and grew.

I felt the hard stone underfoot vanish as I was lifted into my new boots, the bands of artificial muscle growing atop my own, the nanotube filaments spreading, weaving back and forth to cover me.

Their mass flowed up my neck, swarming around my face but leaving it exposed as I stared straight at the camera, knowing that I was giving much away, but past any concern now for secrecy.

I'd been given the chance to even the playing field, and to free my friends, and I was taking it.

"I'll kill her," Rufus warned, eyes wide.

"No, you won't," I told him as the black mass flowed over my face, closing by the second, sealing me away from the world. "Because then you will truly have nothing to stop me."

I felt the armor fully close, then go active. My temperature suddenly evened out, tubules providing the perfect balance of oxygen, nitrogen, and more that the body needed, and I turned from the screen, evaluating the wall and the door in it.

Screens popped up, quest notifications mainly. I glanced at them, seeing the rewards, and the challenge. Escape. Rescue. Kill.

I accepted them all, uninterested in anything beyond going to her.

I'd rescue her, I'd escape with her, and I'd kill them all. That was beyond any goddamn doubt now.

I stepped forwards, feeling the artificial muscles flow with me, enhancing my movement, doubling and tripling my strength. The nanite-distributed neuron clusters automatically worked to adjust and smooth out my movements as I reached for the door.

Iron, carbon, chromium, gold, vanadium—I assessed its makeup, then I pulled back a fist as Rufus screamed that he'd see me dead and that I'd never escape my tomb.

I punched it, once.
The dent that appeared shut the fucker up instantly.
Then I punched again, and again. I started to hammer on it, picking up

speed, the sound changing from a boom to something more akin to a drum solo, as the walls started to crack.

The screen crashed loose, falling to the floor and shattering. The hardened data connections in the room had already been severed beyond the camera feed. I cut that one then as I shifted my focus, stepping back from the bent, battered, but still-intact door.

I'd learned what I needed to, though; the entire room was a mantrap, the same steel alloy that was so impervious in my chains had been used to seal it.

It was impressive, very so, but it wasn't the end run that they thought it was.

I could dent it.

I could deform it, and the high-speed pounding I'd done on it had demonstrated something else.

It was vulnerable to vibrations and heat.

I could have used the Harvest Blade and eventually carve my way out. But my rage, my pain would never be satisfied with that, not something so prosaic.

I reached my hand to the right, and I pulled.

The vat of nanites shattered as they tore free, flowing through the air and forming before me as I gave their owners their chance for revenge from beyond the veil.

Heat was energy, vibration. As was sound, at its most basic level. Hell, almost everything could be broken down to that same state, and in my rage, I focused that.

My expanded mentality provided the answers to questions I had never known existed.

I felt the shape of what was needed, the interlocking concentric rings that would channel the force, the gravitational lens, the . . . I had no words for it, but I knew it, the Gravitational Invertor that was part of my armor giving me the final secrets I needed.

The weapon that flowed into being before me was known by many names across the ages, but the most popular in our world was a railgun.

A horrifically powerful weapon that, at its most basic creation, was simply a device to move a solid item from one place to another.

Bows and arrows used the same principle.

You move item A from point B to point C. When it arrives, there are many possible effects, ranging from people walking out of a tube amazed by the speed and pleasant trip, to a planet-shattering kaboom as the relativistic force was released.

I had no concept of the math needed, of the precision, the complexity, none of it.

All I had was a burning hatred, and a billion, billion individual helpers, all of which were essentially tiny chemical engines.

The first ring was an inch across, and trailed nanowires that, on exit, would flash up, spreading the force of impact out, ensuring that as large a section was hit as possible.

As that first ring fell into being, it started to spin, others assembling around it, even as my hands moved, pressure building as metals were formed across my fingers, forming tiny magnetic fields.

Each field interacted with the next, increasing the pull on space, doubling it, over and over again.

More rings flowed into place, doubling and redoubling the effect, as more formed, each flexing and building a unique charge.

I lifted both arms forwards, glaring at the doorway, hands turning inwards, palms mirroring each other as I pulled back towards myself slowly, feeling the resistance building, increasing as each millimeter was crossed, the air crackling with potential energy.

Then the rings fell into alignment, and it released as I shoved my hands forward.

The tiny ring at the center spun up, covering the distance between the first magnetic disc and the second in less than a fraction of millisecond. It hit the second and doubled in speed, then the third.

By the time it passed the seventh and final disc, it was already travelling at many times the speed of sound, and the impact, when it came, was converted almost entirely into heat, vaporizing the doorway.

And the wall.

And a third of the building that lay in that direction, before the heat and light roared into a rock formation on the far side of the bay, punching a hole deep into it.

It would later be recorded as a magnitude five earthquake.

Chapter Forty

I stepped out into the remnants of the hallway as the weapon I'd built collapsed into dust. The building shook as walls collapsed, and I stared down at one of the bodies in the hallway.

It was the dickhead from my capture.
The asshole that had taken such pleasure in telling me I was "theirs now." He was dead, very dead, really, considering that he only had a little over

a third of his chest and one arm, not to mention that his right eyeball had apparently liquified and run down his cheek like a cheap candle.

I also knew that was a temporary situation for our kind, and I took the time to stab my Harvest Blade into him, tearing fifteen thousand attuned nanites free and discarding another sixty thousand degraded ones that were beyond repair, leaving him dead, probably for good.

I didn't take the time to make sure, though, because I'd finally found an access point. I reached out, the Wi-Fi access point in the far corner of the passageway barely holding me up a second before I was in.

I searched for video files, compressed data transmissions, high-density packets, and the cameras were there, at my fingertips in seconds, as I pored through them, finding them connected to a recording device and a second, offsite backup.

I stood frozen for a few seconds as I hacked the remote site, gaining access and locking it down, preventing anyone else from getting in later.

Then I was back in the local network, erasing the recordings, wiping the computers of all their test data, making damn sure that everything was gone as I ordered the drives to overwrite with random strings of data a dozen times, running in completely nonsensical patterns.

It should make the drives about as irrecoverable as possible, but just in case, they were then to access all the data at once, again and again and again, over and over until the drives failed.

As near as I could figure, that should fuck them well and truly. I was already moving as the nanites assembled a mental map of the structure, charting the corridors, rooms, and more, using the cameras to build it, even as I strode ahead, searching for Ingrid.

I had almost a tenth of the complex mapped out when they pulled the plug, someone having panicked at the loss of their data and taken the entire system down.

I kept moving, knowing damn well that the next time any of those drives were accessed, it would begin again, and again; there was no way to prevent the orders I'd given them. Any power they applied would result in the overwriting and hammering of the drives.

I could feel my armor settling into place as I dismissed the computer access, and I reveled in the feeling of power as it shifted in response to my will.

I'd only done the basic systems on my armor, all those . . . well, those years ago, which meant the entire thing could still be heavily upgraded, but what I had made already?

I was clad in matte black armor that could stop Dirty Harry's cannon at close range. It augmented my strength and speed, had storage lacunas implanted, and as I strode forwards, more and more systems were coming online as the power cell closed in on primary booting.

I'd ordered its creation along with the rest, but I knew it'd take several days, if not weeks to finish.

That was fine, because it was constructed of a hundred smaller cells that worked in relay and the first five smaller cells were prioritized, with one online already.

That single cell was beginning the charge and boot of the entire basic system now, and I felt like a god among lesser beings as I marched forwards.

A door banged open ahead of me. Three men and a woman hurried out, assault rifles cradled in their arms, already lifting to aim and shoot.

I kept walking even as they barked orders, demanding that I stop, that I get on the ground.

"Your funeral, then!" A bearded man shouted at the back of the group, his body armor straining to cover his paunch. "Open fire!"

He matched words to action, squeezing off a quick burst of three rounds, his team doing the same, and all twelve bullets hit me in the chest.

It felt like hail, and I kept going, registering the shock on their faces as the pancaked bullets dropped to the ground. Their kinetic energy drained into my armor, powering it further.

"Full auto!" he screamed, flicking his selector from semi to full, as did his people.

Then they opened fire again, and I held up my right hand, the bullets slamming into me, my chest, my head, my legs . . .

One of them, a blond man in the front, dropped his empty mag from the rifle. He slotted a replacement in ahead of the others, racked it, then lowered his aim, opening fire and emptying the entire mag into my crotch.

I paused, as did they, the other three all stunned into disbelief that anyone was such an asshole. I grinned at him, my Harvest Blade sliding out and forming a sword jutting from my closed fist.

"Oh shit," the asshole whispered before trying to push his way back into the group, who scattered.

I leapt forwards, flying through the air and landed in the middle of the group, slashing the Harvest Blade horizontally and taking limbs and heads. I tore a pathetically small number of nanites free of the regular human guards and coated the hall in their hearts' blood.

The door they'd come through was locked, and I leaned back, kicking it hard. Sending it crashing to the floor, I found a small armory and breakroom behind it as well as a terrified man kneeling on the floor under the desk.

I leaned down and regarded him as he screwed his eyes shut and started whispering a prayer. The smell of fresh piss entered the air.

"Where!" I barked into his face. He pointed, one hand shaking, at a map on one wall, the wall of dead monitor screens above the desk making it clear he'd seen everything and knew exactly what I wanted.

My map flashed in my vision; a section of the missing areas filled in when overlaid with the handy map. The wall closest to me was highlighted as the nanites automatically took my capabilities and desires into consideration, providing the shortest path to my destination.

I turned and punched the wall, my left fist sinking into the cavity behind. Then I drove the right in as well, my blade carving through the wood, metal, and plasterboard. A second room lay on the far side, evidently a bathroom, judging from the three people huddling in stalls and staying as quiet as they could. I moved off again, picking up speed as the nanites used the same form of radar I'd been experimenting with so long ago in the hotel room to map out the rooms ahead of me.

A trio of heartbeats pulsed in the next room, and I took the door with my shoulder, sending it flying, even as the three inside opened fire. Two assault rifles and a single handgun boomed in the small room, punching into me and charging my armor even further.

I skidded to a halt, slashing left and right, grabbing one of them by the head and crushing it. Throwing the body aside, I snarled, my rage heightening as a voice rang out across a speaker system.

"You come any closer, and she's dead!" Rufus screamed.

I realigned as the radar populated the rooms around me. One wall showed as solid while the others were more plasterboard and crap. I set off running, following the marker that popped up, punching through wall after wall. The building crumbled behind me as I took out the last one.

And skidded to a halt in a larger open space.

There were a dozen people facing me, and three of them were vampires, their nanites making them pulse a bright blue in my vision. The rest pulsed green, more powerful than humans, but less than an Arisen by an order of magnitude. Lycanthropes, my system helpfully informed me.

I snarled and leaped forwards, and they did the same, the lycanthropes changing their forms. The vampires leaped, seemingly expecting to win easily.

I landed in the middle of the first rank. Five of the lycans, two on my left, one on my right, and two ahead lunged forwards, teeth snapping, claws reaching.

I slashed my blade out, taking the one on my right from low on the right side of his chest, to exit high on the left, literally cutting him in half as I grabbed the closest on my left by the snout.

His mouth snapped shut with an audible clop, then a crunch as I bent his muzzle back, literally tearing his jaw apart.

He collapsed, shock, pain, and more rendering him useless. Blood fountained out, and I punched the next in the temple, sending him reeling, neck broken. Then I dragged the blade across from right to left, spinning and dropping low, carving it through the three in the middle.

Blood fountained, bones broke, and screams filled the air as I stabbed and slashed. I stood up only to have the fastest of the vampires slam into me, grabbing me by the throat.

"Pathetic!" he hissed, teeth elongating. "Distracted so easily."

I reached up and grabbed him by the back of the throat. He squeezed, nails lengthening as he tried to tear at me, finding only now, to his shock, that my armor held easily against him.

His body, however, wasn't so strong. I snapped the scrawny fucker's neck, shrinking the Harvest Blade to a punch dagger and ramming it into his heart, and I tore nanites free to the sound of his screams.

I pulled it back, then rammed it in again and again, punching through his chest and shredding his internals. Cleaving the blade through his neck, I elongated it back into a short sword.

I gripped the head in my left hand then twisted it around to face the vamp incoming on that side. He gaped open-mouthed at it as a Lycan dove at me, expecting to take my legs out.

There was a crunch of bone as he impacted. I kicked out and he howled, sent flying back to take another of his kind down.

I drove the skull of the now-dead vamp into the incoming, gawking face of the second. The sound of their faces met like a melon impacting asphalt, and his legs came up as he did an unplanned backflip.

The third vamp was smarter than the others. Where they'd gone for a straightforward assault, he'd used his speed, strength, and the distraction of the others to get around behind me, leaping onto my back to sink his teeth into my neck.

Or that was his plan, anyway.

Instead, he bit down on an interwoven nanotube composite that broke his teeth. I extended the spikes on my back, driving them through him, impaling his chest and holding him in place until I stabbed up, taking the fucker in the left eye with my now-short-again punch dagger.

It was in a constant state of flux, lengthening and shortening, responding to my will as I fought and killed.

The lycans paused, the handful remaining seeing their much stronger masters shredded before their eyes. Fear registered as the fight or flight response went into overdrive, the nearest half turning in midair as he tried to change his mind.

I grabbed him by the leg and yanked, dragging him back, and pulling the dagger free of the vamp, its body still stuck to my back by the spikes. Stabbing down, I punched holes in the whimpering creature before finishing it off with a stab to the back of the head.

The last two made it through the far door before I could catch them, then panicked gunfire rang out. Their shredded corpses collapsed into rolling bags of blood and muscle.

I raced forwards, turning into the oncoming fire, only to stagger back as the .30 Cal machine gun roared, drowning out the barks of its smaller companions.

I lifted both hands, taking the concentrated fire of the .30 on my forearms. The bullets pelted into me and filled the suit reservoirs.

Bullets hammered into my arms while lesser fire hit my legs, shoulders, hands, and head.

I took the hits, seeing the indicator building higher and higher, passing the threshold and continuing, as I gritted my teeth and examined the building, making damn sure that the medical wing wasn't going to get caught in the blast.

They'd kept me on the far side of the building, presumably a science area, well away from the rest. I growled as I approved the energy transfer, locking it in and designating the overcharge on the armor.

The .30 Cal ran dry, and I launched myself forwards, the ground where I'd been cratered by the force, and I was damn thankful for high ceilings.

I landed in the middle of the gun emplacement and slammed both hands down into the ground, the stored kinetic energy releasing all in one go, shattering the marble floor and hitting them all with a shockwave that shredded those closest to the epicenter.

I straightened up, turning to the right and glaring at the security doors that stood at the end of the corridor between me and my aim. I stepped forward as blood dripped from the shattered walls and echoes rang in the air.

A section of marble sheared off and crashed to the floor behind me. The sound as it fell onto the shredded bodies was enough to make a brave man paint his trousers brown.

I continued forwards, the security doors flashing a red light over the keypad, displaying a "locked" symbol.

I reached out, finding the encryption laughably simplistic with my distributed awareness, and unlocked it, the catches releasing as the door hissed and slid open.

"What are you doing! Lock it!" Rufus's voice rang out, and a second answered him, explaining that it wasn't them.

I stepped into the room, finding it was square with four smaller rooms, cells really, leading off. Two were on a side, left and right, and the door behind them led presumably to the throne room.

The asshole started to back up, even as four figures flowed through from the throne room, more coming, until I sealed the door, leaving the others on the far side, pounding on the door in fury.

I looked at the four that stood there, clearly inhuman, and not in any way I'd encountered before now.

They were broad-chested, humanoid, and bald, with long bodies, short legs, and long arms, heavily muscled with pointed ears, a stubby nose, and pale, almost grey skin.

The underbite was noticeable, as were the pointed, but more normal- looking teeth, less insane than the vampires', but definitely predatory. They were dressed in thick armor, despite the obvious weight of it, solid slabs of metal, with two of them carrying massive shields and maces, the other two carrying a short sword staff each.

The weapons were five feet long, a curved claw at the base, the staff section wrapped in leather and hide and topped with a curved single-edged blade. A narrow red ribbon attached to a loop at the back of the blade and the base of the claw, making the damn things look almost festive.

The four stepped forwards, spreading out, the ones with a sword staff on either side, the shielded ones in the middle, stomping forwards.

Oracan Biological Weapon Variant

One of several successful BWVs that were granted further augmentations, the line designated as Oracan was later terminated due to overwhelming aggression within the pack resulting in heavy losses. Excellent as shock troops, but incapable of control outside of strict pack hierarchy.

Capabilities:

Pain: Oracans can bury pain and fear, increasing their strength and speed for short bursts, but will grow quickly exhausted if this ability is triggered frequently.

Rage: Oracans can use their pain response to drive them into a berserker rage. Once triggered, the Oracan will kill anything it can reach, losing all sense of friend or foe.

I nodded to the creatures in respect, finally finding a soldier class to face. They were clearly taking me seriously as well, spreading out to surround me.

Well, fuck that.

I took a quick step to the right, seeing them all shift to follow. Instead, I lunged to my left, grabbing the shield of the leftmost bearer, yanking it forwards and ramming my punch dagger into his eye, skewering his brain.

Before I could release and jump back, the second shield-bearer leaped forwards, slamming his shield into me, driving me back. The other two stabbed their sword staffs at me, the one behind glancing off my armor in a shower of sparks. But the other was far better aimed, the tip punching into a joint on the side of my right knee. The razor-sharp blade carved a thin furrow in the muscle before getting stuck fast.

I ripped my blade free, releasing the body to fall, only to be hit again by the shield. He then spun, smacking me in the side of the head with the mace. The one with the stuck weapon yanked hard on it, trying to free it. The other lifted his staff over my head, then pulled back, trying to pin me and crush my throat.

I growled, seeing Rufus trying to get the door open, Ingrid clutched in one hand, hitting him, desperately trying to get free.

He snarled and backhanded her, sending her sprawling, and I lost my shit.

I ignored the one clinging to my back; his armor was too thick for my spikes, and there was a vampire still dangling from one side of them, which I'd forgotten about in the excitement. Instead, I stabbed the punch dagger into the throat of the one hauling on my knee and tore it sideways, almost decapitating him.

As he fell, I blocked the next attack by the mace, slapping it aside, and set myself better. Taking the shield blow, I slid back a few inches. Instead of staggering, I grabbed the shield and yanked him forwards, nutting him. My armored helm crushed the front of his head in and sent him squealing to the floor.

I backhanded the one clinging to me, sending him flying, and tapped into the stored kinetic energy I'd gained from them since I entered the room.

HP 200/200 Oracan

Pulling my right fist back, I slammed it down into the center of the concussed one's armored chest.

The entire room rang with the blow, and the armor deformed inwards with the crunch of bones. A veritable fountain of blood erupted from its mouth.

I straightened and turned, glaring back at the one with the sword staff. He lunged forwards, and I blocked the attack with the weapon that had been stuck in my knee, the entrapping bands releasing instantly as I tugged on it.

My opponent grunted, spinning the weapon, showing his mastery and creating a confusing blur of red with the twin ribbons.

I tried stabbing him, but he slapped the blade aside, then slashed his own across my forearms. The blow sent a shower of sparks flying, but did fuck all else.

He stepped back, then lunged in again, feinting with a stab high at my face. When I tried to block, he dropped low, stabbing at the same knee his friend had injured, clearly searching for a weak spot.

I twisted and stepped back, slashing down and burying the blade in the ground. I had to yank it free as he slashed at my arms, then head, before stabbing at the base of my neck.

With a growl, I slapped that strike aside, then yanked the sword staff across my body, fully extended and with as much force as I could manage.

He tried to block it, but fully boosted, the impact was enough to snap both weapons' hafts. I triggered my time compression for the first time, wanting this over with.

The blade from my weapon was still spinning in the air when time seemed to slow for me. I reached out, catching the blade by the base, then slashed it forwards. Slicing through the muscle at the top of the creature's left arm, then the right, I cut down into the muscle above its left knee, severing that, and across to the right before he could fall.

Then I twisted around, glaring at Rufus as the oracan toppled forwards, eyes widening as I held the blade upright before him, letting the fucker's own weight impale him.

I extruded my Harvest Blade and punched it down into the dying warrior, tearing nanites free as I glared at the asshole who was again trying the door.

"Stop!" he screamed at me. "I'll kill her!" He lifted Ingrid warningly.
I froze at the state she was in.

She'd been battered, beaten, and worked to exhaustion. She was half- starved, barely dressed in rags, and . . . and her left shoulder had been tattooed with a symbol I realized I'd seen around the building. Athena's Mark.

She'd been marked as property.
"That's right, stand down, take that armor off, and—"
"Release her," I ordered, my voice deep and filled with fury, the helm

making it echo strangely. "Do it now, and I'll kill you quick."
"I—I'll kill her," he repeated.
"If you hurt her, so much as a fucking bruise, I'll kill you a thousand

times before carving your heart out and leaving you dead for all time. You're not immortal. None of you are. And now I know the most painful ways for you to die, each and every one of them. You harm her, and I'll show you them all, one by one."

"You killed Vitoria," he whispered. "She's not . . . she's not healing."

Tears flowed down his cheeks, and I realized that, as an immortal he didn't know how to deal with death, not anymore.

He'd spent hundreds of years not aging, and "knowing" that he'd live forever, and that while there were ways for them to die, in theory, his faction was so powerful that it'd never happen.

He'd let humans die, had killed them, and had laughed, feeling no more remorse than a man swatting a fly.

Now the woman he loved—as far as it was possible for him to love, at least—was dead, and she wasn't coming back.

She should have already begun to heal. Hell, she should have been back up and raising hell, furious that anyone had dared to injure her, to ruin her clothes.

Instead, she lay there, to his right and my left, in the closest cell, the doctor standing by her side, ashen-faced at the death of a full Arisen.

"No," I agreed. "She'd not going to heal, not now. Not ever. Let Ingrid go, kneel, and I'll kill you quickly. Once. When you recover, you can take my warning to Athena and the others. Refuse, and I'll torture you to death, then make sure you never rise again."

"You can't." He whimpered, shaking his head, letting go of Ingrid and backing up. He reached for his hip and pulled out a small device, holding it up in a shaking fist. "You let me go . . . or I'll use this."

I focused on it, getting a popup.

Gamma Grenade Explosive Weapon

An experimental grenade, the Gamma Grenade emits a powerful, if short-lived burst of gamma radiation, sterilizing all in a close radius of the explosion. Estimated damage radius, 5m, radiation drop off beyond this range significant.

Durability 100/100 Radioactive

"Impressive, but useless," I said, stepping forward and twisted my hand, the blade sliding out and reforming to become a whip. "Last chance."

"You can't," he whimpered.

I threw the weapon forwards, the bladed whip flexing independently to obey my will as it wrapped around his wrist, closing and locking, the blades burrowing into his arm and severing the nerves. His fingers flopped open and the grenade falling to the ground, bouncing harmlessly.

He stared at it, shock on his face, then screamed as I pulled, yanking him across the room, bouncing on the ground.

I stepped forward, slapping my left hand down on his back and extruded my claws, sinking them in deep before lifting him. At my command, the whip flowed back into a punch dagger, and I stabbed him in the forehead.

The blade sank deep as blood burst from his nostrils, his mouth dropping open, hanging limp. I twisted the blade, draining him as quickly as I could of nanites.

I grunted, the insane mass of them I could feel flowing into me filling my lacunas, making my heart thunder in my ears, even as a noise to my left made me glare that way.

It was the doctor. Instinctively, I growled in fury at her, before Ingrid spoke my name, drawing my attention.

"Steve?" she whispered.
I turned back to her, ignoring the doctor.
"Is that you?"
I straightened, the blade extending as I drove it deeper, unable to let the

massive feast go to waste. But I saw the wince, the flinch from her as the blade punched down, shattering his skull, tearing his jaw free and driving deep into his chest.

"Ingrid," I whispered as the drain dropped from a firehose to a stream. I released the body, retracting the blade. My foot came down on his right hand as I stepped, the bones crumbling under my weight, the strength torn free of them.

I moved closer, holding my arms out to her. She ran, sprinted to me, throwing herself into my arms, sobbing as she clung to me.

I held her close, the pair of us ignoring the blood, bile, and various . . . bits . . . that dangled from my armor as the spikes retracted, letting the now 'holy' vampire slide free to crumple onto the floor.

I felt dozens of power cells coming online, the massive feast they'd just absorbed enough to boost the speed of construction. I focused, activating and approving the final section of my armor, the mass of nanites on my back bubbling up and spreading out, forming the most basic shapes first, before . . .

"My god," came a stunned whisper from behind me. I turned, fury filling my heart as I saw the doctor. She stepped forwards, eyes wide, staring at me. "They're true . . . the legends."

I growled deep in my throat, but Ingrid clung to me, speaking quickly.

"Steve, no." I glanced down at her, and she stared up into the impassive faceplate of my helm. "She was the only one besides Hans who was ever kind to me. Don't." Ingrid shook her head, biting her lip.

I glared at the doctor, and remembered her being removed from the experiments and the harshness that had come afterwards.

I growled and pulled on the power cells, filling the kinetic energy capacitors and lifting my left arm upwards, the nanites I'd just harvested from Rufus pouring out and ringing my arm, forming a gravitational lens, the charge building and building.

I fired it, the pure force of gravity tearing the roof off this section of the building and letting the bright Mediterranean sun glare down.

"Tell them they're all on my shit list, and it's open season," I snarled at the doctor, clutching Ingrid tight. "They come near her or me, and I'll kill them all!"

With that, I unfurled my wings, flapping them experimentally as the last sections were finished. Then I triggered the main power cell, twisting gravity and thrust my wings down, sending the pair of us rocketing upwards into the bright blue skies and freedom.