It began with The Big Event. The Super Collider went off without a noticeable hitch for the first year. It showed us wonders of the universe we would not know the full impact of for decades in the future. It was a foot note in scientific history, the first time. The second time was a little bigger, and opened up a small fracture in reality, a small pin-hole in space-time that should not have had much of an effect.

Shouldn't.

They came from a different place, with different rules, through that hole. They came as a hive mind, many hives, many minds, and they took over the smaller creatures of our planet, and wrought war on us. Though a hundred of them could die to take down one of us, they had numbers on their size, if not diseases, and poisons, and stings.

The first years were the hardest, and the first half-decade saw the loss of all but a few hundred million humans. What use were our guns? Bombs would damage some, not all. Chemicals would just poison us as well as them. We tried, and though we fought yard, we had to seal ourselves under ground, and for a time, we had to let them take the surface as we fought for control of our own destinies and survival. Underground, we looked for help from the menace that had destroyed our civilizations, and we were running out of hope, when word came from the ruins of Europe. They were going to fire again - maybe they could close the hole, maybe they could find another dimensional crack and we could send some people through. Maybe.

We didn't expect someone to come through the fissure, and offer to help take care of our problem, for a price (to be named at a future date). A deal with the devil, and this man smelled heavily of brimstone, but he offered us a chance to survive.

We said yes.

He sent dinosaurs with god-damn gattling-guns to take care of the problem.

"Uplift, eh? The fuck did they pick a kangaroo for?"

Outback, winter. It was colder than a witches teat, and if it wasn't for the fur, I'd have goosebumps. I sat back on my tail, holding my rifle over my lap, and checked the magazine again. Gun was fucking heavy, some jackass had seen to put a scope on my saw. Probably a joke.

"Yeah, coulda put 'im as a boxer. Kinda looks like more of a bunny, y'know? Pests an' all."

I took a puff off my cigar. Cuban. Since trading was allowed between Costa del Cuba and the rest of the world, after 'Merca got its head out of its puckered asshole, these cigars made that country a little richer. Fuck if they didn't have the best taste in the world, made all the better for being on restriction for 'health concerns'. I shrugged, bit into the stogie, and adjusted my scarf. Fuck it was cold. Global-warming my ass.

"Some fucked up science if you ask me."

I ignored them behind me, and looked out into the field. There had been contacts within the outback, C-grade threats. Hardly something to get your testicles into a twist about, but always worth investigating, and who better than a squad equipped with the finest of Moreau-Person soldiers and a few human observers.

"So what are we looking for, anyway?" I asked, after finishing off my cigar. I held the burning end in my hand, watching it, ruining my night vision for the next few minutes. "Sir."


"Sat picked up a heavy burst of gamma in this sector. We think its a small portal, and need to investigate it, and make sure we aren't encountering another invasion of the Hivers."

Hivers. They had tried to get here. Apparently, the bugs were simply too bad-ass to be taken over by a group consciousness.

Well, except the jellyfish, but who the fuck swam in the ocean around this death continent, anyway?

"Cool. I'm ready." I replied, eyeing up the observer. "But insult me for being a moreau, and I'll kick you in the balls."

His brow lifted. I looked back, and rested my hand on top of my rifle. He gave me a long look, studying the heraldry on my shoulder, the tattoo on my forearm, then up to my ears.

"Friendly, aren't you?"

"Only to the sheilas, and your tits aren't big enough." I replied.

"Fair enough." He muttered. He gestured, and we set off.

Late night. The train whistled past as I stood under the flicking lights of the subway. It was past midnight, work had been hell, and all I wanted was to crawl into bed - bed that was at least an hours walk away, less if I wanted to spot for a cab.

I closed my eyes and stood in the warm underground, and tried to catch a few moments of rest, to meditate upon what had been learned before I started through the large cavernous way. No one was here - security was always elsewhere when I came through.

I walked slowly, my heels clicking off the well polished tile, and I looked over at the graffiti marking up one of the pillars that held the domed roof. Billdog had certainly made a statement. I bit back a roll of my eyes and made my way for the stairs. The escalator was out. My shoes echoed the way, as the lights flickered again, with a rumble of the train.

The wiring had always been spotty.

Looking up, I glanced at the gate, and frowned as I found it closed, the security screen down and locked. I grunted, calling out for someone outside, and rattled the cage like container. It didn't budge.

"Hello? I'm stuck in here!"

The lights went out, after I banged on cage again. I jumped, and turned, my back against the cage and my eyes looking down at the dark that seemed to creep forward. It was thick and heavy, and made my spine crawl.

And then I heard a low rumble, like a growl.

A growl.  It was almost canine, and it crept forward in the shadows and moved with a deadly alien sensuality.  It crept forward, before I could make proper sight of it, and the long snout bared fangs, while eyes, black on black, stared up at me with an intelligence more than human.  It was long, a black skin like tar crossing against a boney figure, and the hungry shape drew towards me.  Drooling, the drops of its spittle fell upon the white tile and dyed it black, which crept towards the stairs while it came closer to me.  The lights beyond the cage flickered as it came near.  It was as large as a horse, and yet it stalked as though weightless.  The muscles on its frame oozed.

It climbed the steps as I stared down, my mouth dry and all my senses telling me to flee through the bars, bars that did not budge, that did not let me through.  I felt my cheeks wet as it came towards me, up the stairs, up the broken length of an escalator.  It smelled horrid, and intoxicating, like some chemicals, or petrol.  It came near, more of its body oozing and leaving stains where it walked.  It strode closer, as I pushed back.  The great maw hung open, tongue lolling out as the blackness drew the light and made my breath cold.  Its legs hunched as I turned, grabbing the cages, and screamed.  It leaped!

"Miss, you alright?"

I jerked, staring at the face of the guard.  The lights were on and I was shivering, my stomach rolling, as I held onto the top railing of the escalator.  I turned, looked about, staring at the brightness all about me.

"Miss?  You okay?  Looks like you've had a panic attack."  The heavyset guard lifted a hand to wave in front of my face.  I startled, and bolted up the steps, away from him, and into the night, towards the safety that was not underground.

I did not stop running until I was home, and tried to calm.  Just a hallucination.  Just a momentary schizophrenic break, no doubt!  I gave a strained laugh, gurgling in my throat, and tried to shake it out.  I'd talk to a doctor.  I must have worked too hard and dreamed on my feet!

I tried to laugh about it, as I walked to the bathroom to take a hot, relaxing shower.

And as I looked up at the mirror, fogging with heat, I caught two eyes staring back at me, and heard a growl, as the lights went out.

It was to be a simple training run, really.  Pulling a twelve kilometer march through the snow and forest and along the side of a mountain was just another refreshing day in the Cold Training Division of the Rangers.

Twelve kilometers, and at a balmy -15 degrees Celsius, the squad of ten found themselves the rarest of pleasures - an old shelter that was taken up, with warning of a blizzard on the way.  Training was fun, and surviving a blizzard was a part of it - but even vets avoided getting into it if they had a choice.

So it was that ten bodies stayed in the comfortable wind-free shelter of an old, abandoned log house - and admittedly, while cramped, it was dry and only a fool would bitch about THAT!

"So there I was, pulling a third rotation on patrol, when this fine ass girl came walking up.  I mean, she had knockers out to here!"  The chance to unwind was a rare pleasure for any soldier, but it was a distinct method for training - and it was also a reward for making it this far.  "So anyway, she comes over, had her veil on and everything, and starts asking me if it's true about all American men."

"Oh, no you didn't..."  Alvorez rolled her eyes and resumed watch through the small glass less window - the shutters long ago having rusted off.  "You joto, cannot keep it in your pants."

"Lighten up, Alvorez, I'm sure yours is bigger."  Their teacher, who was honestly and respectfully called 'Sir!', said around a mouthful of the ever delicious (and Geneva-convention-breaking) spaghetti MRE.  "Anyway, everyone get some shut-eye, we have a long week in this environment, much less dealing with the blizzard!"

Alvorez, of course, took first watch, so she could get her beauty sleep and rest the full six hours until morning. The shadows played in the dark as she watched the snow and chewed on the last of her meal - her attention settling on the distant thoughts of a far away, pleasent place - home, in Arizona.

The wind howled, a most lonely sound, and she watched the wind swirl the flakes through the dark - the small heating fire in the middle of the camped-in log house making her see shapes that gnawed at the back of her mind.

And then a face appeared in the shadow, and she yelped, stumbling backwards and crashing over the old table and landing dangerously close to the fire.  Her shout drew the scorned look of her captain and the rest of her team.

"What the situation, Alvorez?"

"I saw someone in the snow, Sir!"  She shouted, then worked on relaxing her heart beat, to slow it down and return to being calm.    Her heart raced.

"Jackson, Paulson, check it."  She winced, feeling the heat, finally, against the side of her face.  She stood, pulling herself up and checking her weapon, left at the window.

"Nothing, Sir!  It seems that princess was seeing things."  Paulson stomped the snow off his boots after a good four minutes outside.  He squinted, and it gave his face a glare.  Of course, it was still colder than a witches tit outside.

"Alvorez."  Sir! sighed, and shook his head.  "Go get some sleep, your shift is up, Aurona."    The large Samoan gave a nod and smirked at the little Latina woman, before taking his post at the window.

So much for a good week.

"Alright! Now that we are out here in the cold, I can tell you what we are all out here for. Command has set up a mission for you - our objective is to scout out a town that's been found up here. You are to treat it like a live mission - your Ammo is Hot. It is ten kilometers north of here. This mission will five days before you are to extract."

Sir! sat with his back to the door, and unrolled the recon map, which depicted the half-buried village of Boulder.

"It had been uncovered with the raising global temperature." The map was well rendered and showed the old mining ruins. Of course, this far north of Alaska, not many people would be out to disturb it, either, so that gave his men plenty of room to enjoy the experience.

"Now, this village isn't fully mapped, but we've already put up objectives for you to find, you will be monitored. Take care in there."

With a nod, the squad assembled and made their way north, towards the ruins. Sir! leading the way.

"Live ammo for a training exercise?" Alvores asked of Aurona. The big dark skinned man shrugged and held his gun over his shoulder, his face hidden behind the well insulated mask. He patted her on the shoulder as he kept pace, and look out. The outline could be seen even through the swirling snow, but no one felt comforted, for some odd reason.

The buildings were old, and the snow had not been friendly to the wood and stone. Old, perhaps a hundred and fifty years, back before being buried with the small ice-age that had struck about those days, this might have once been prosperous, but time had not been kind to the ruins, burried under tons of snow. Some looked to have been clawed apart by great hands, others were pristine.

"Good ol' American engineering." Jackson laughed to himself, as he looked up at what might have once been a postal office, or a bank. What it was didn't matter now, of course. No windows remained, and a look inside showed rusted metal and sagging wood.

"What was our objective again, Sir! ?"

"Alright. Since you are impatient, our orders are to scout this township out. Intel is very interested in this place. Look for bodies, signs of struggle, anything strange. Intel wants to know what happened here."

"And so they send Rangers, Sir! ?" Alvorez piped up. "Shouldn't they send archaeologists or some shit?"

"I'll forgive that, Alvorez. Just scout it out, I don't like being out here any more than you." He grunted once and gestured, with a gloved hand, towards the church. "Go with Aurona and Kitt, scout the church out. Paulson, take those two, and you three, come with me, we need to check out here. Meet up in two hours."

The 'Church' still stood. Made of stone and twisted metal, the old place seemed almost defiant of the weather that had claimed most of the town, and it held no sign of being bothered by the chill. Inside was as cold as outside, even without the wind to drive in the daggers of frost, and the darkness was almost a living thing - an oppressing atmosphere that spoke to the lizard brain, whispering for it to flee. The great beam flash lights had trouble piercing the old dark, and mounted on the end of their rifles, they were like bayonets to stab at shadow.

Row after row of pews stood, facing a great alter. A few bodies were still sitting and clutching their bibles, mouths opened in quiet hymnals to the saints, even as frost coated their mouths and dead eyes. The frozen death had not come quickly, but each sat perfectly straight, facing forward, towards a barbwire wrapped cross of metal, rusted and pitted after all the years. Their eyes, long since dead, focused without deviation.

"Spooky." Aurona murmured from behind his mask, while creeping forward, slowly. Out of habit, he made a sign of the cross over his breast. "Almost like the old folks down at Quetzolta, they sit perfectly straight and don't seem to blink when they sing."

"Knew you were a wetback." Alvorez murmured with a cracked grin, while moving on. A glitter of gold caught her eye, a ring worn by a man in the front row. It looked quite identical to the rings of others in the congregation, a simple band with a strange star embedded on the top of it. An old leather tome was clutched in his other hand, of strange marking as well, and in neither French nor English, or even Spanish. Her skin crawled and a shudder passed through her spine.

"This doesn't feel right, guys."

"Relax" Kitt murmured, while making his way to the back. A small spiraled stair-case lead down into the dark, and the strange scent of turned earth burned his nostrils. "Come on, found a way down."

Down into the dark, the three continued. The stairs had held firm, and carved of stone, they were remarkably sturdy. Upon each step was carved the name of a saint, as well as the same strange crucifix as had been on the far wall of the church.

"Crypts. Careful, could be diseases in here." Aurona ducked the doorway and then stood tall in the crypt beneath the church. For a great long stretch the frozen-earth was hollowed out, for rows upon rows of marked graves to stand, buried under the cathedral proper. Row after row, it carried in into the dark, in perfectly ordered arrangements six to a row, separated by great columns beneath the church.

"1807-1867, 1806-1866, 1805-1865..." The dates were read off. "Tschovsky, Federov, Shelikov, Rezinov, Golikov. Five names, and it repeats back row to row."

"Russian. Makes sense why it seems a little off." Alorez murmured and shook off. She continued on, past the rows, towards the back, where an old door stood, sealed, and marked in Russian. The door handle refused to budge, until Aurona forced the door open, into a back chamber.

Five bodies lay, their heads touching together and hair braided into a single join, which lay dipped into a frozen bowl. They held hands together in the shape of a perverse star, their bodies wrapped in long red cloth. Webbing ran fingers, obvious genetic damage from there being only five families, or so Alorez presumed.

"Nasty. What were they doing down here?" Kitt asked, as he brought his light over the remarkably preserved figure of one of the cadavers. The face was strange, an odd mark of scales across the face and odd folds of flesh at his throat. His eyes were bulged and maw was longer than most, as though it had been growing with great tumors beneath it.

"Most foul." He said, while turning to look at his squad mates. He sat against the stone, and drew a cigarette from a hidden pouch in his jacket, then lit it. Smoke wafted up in small curls from his nostrils, as he exhaled the first refreshing puff in almost two weeks. "Seems the whole town was inbred, if this guy has anything to say about it."

He stubbed the cigarette out on the corpse and stood up, and bent down to retrieve his pack. He did not look back, nor see the glitter of eyes behind him, as they opened up in slow register of the pain of the cigarette. He didn't look back, and notice the others do the same.

"Looks like they were some odd Russian Orthodox, Sir!." The fire burned in the old town hall, which also served as a small bank, and postal office for these strange people, a few hundred years ago. The township was a little older than he'd have guessed, but Intel had not always been accurate. Sir! sat back in an old chair, liberated from a closet, and flipped through one of the hand printed tomes. The odd text made his head hurt, as did the designs printed along the inner labeling. The tomes were well put together.

"Odd. Alright, we can check the mines next, while I want three of you here at all times, in case one of the teams needs some assistance. The church bugs me." Sir! said, looking up from the book and towards the swirling blizzard, which had seen fit to trap them again, inside the town. Not that they didn't have a few days left to continue exploring, of course. "Should be something good there. Maybe it's gold."

"Maybe, Sir!." Paulson said, while finishing off his MRE and taking evening watch, while the others made bunk on the beds that had been found. Cold, but more comfortable than the floor, they served as good rests for soldiers used to cots.

"Can you read Russian, Kitt?" Sir! asked of the usually 'late to sleep' soldier. Two would be good look-out. "If so, care to do some translation?"

"Sure. Let me see." He flipped through the tome and sat back, feeling the fire warm him more than he cared to admit. It felt good, and relaxing, and made him want to close his eyes and fall to sleep. "Covenants and Oaths to They Who Guide, for better making of good peoples."

"Weird shit, Sir!" He said after a few minutes. "It looks like these people worshiped a, uh, something from the deep waters off the port. This town was founded in 1743, as a small mining and fishing township for return to Tsarists Russia. It was commissioned by Catherine II, and the five families here are descendants of the five who explored and found this frozen land." Two hours of reading, of deep, consuming reading, had taken Kitt, and he looked up at Sir! who, as was rumored, never seemed to sleep. "They ran into trouble for the first five years and nearly closed down, when this, uh, Voldru, came and offered them assistance, in return for five people a year, to... to join the Deep Water. They agreed, and..."


A scream ripped through the silence and dark, and guns were snapped up with a hurried grip. The scream drew blood to the nostril of Kitt and made heads throb - it was shrill, and sounded like glass scratching across chalkboard. It hurt to hear.

"The the fuck was that?"

"What I was afraid we'd find." Sir! murmured loud enough to be heard. Blood dripped from his left ear, while he held a rather disconcertingly large gun in his left hand, his personal revolver. He stood slowly and reached for his radio.

Bodies moved beyond the ring of fire light, and stood, old garments tattered upon their bodies. The wind howled a mournful dirge, as countless, neat rows watched and waited without saying a thing. There were far too many to count, and the smell of turned earth was pungent, even through the masks.

"Operation Lumina has made contact. Zone is Hot." Sir! spoke into his radio, pulled from his long survival jacket. The black radio beeped twice and static followed, piercing.

"Understood. Ghaitie is being dispatched. ETA 30 minutes."

"Thirty minutes. Might as well be a week." Sir! said under his breath, and softly shook his head. He took a breath and stretched his neck out, while trying to let free some of the aches that troubled his thoughts. Bad things stood in the dark and snow, and Sir! did not like it at all. Of course, crying about it didn't do a whole hell of a lot, either. He turned, gesturing them up stairs. Thirty minutes.

"Maintain points, we are to hold for Thirty!" He said, while taking point up stairs with the rest of his squad. Strange, concerned looks touched many faces, and he felt a moment of pity, for they knew not what they dealt with.

"What I'm about to reveal is classified. This is shit that Delta-Grou deals with, and you weren't supposed to be here, but were the only ones that were available for scouting of position. You are dealing with hostiles that are not human."

He looked up, and was met with stares that were as though he admitted to being a fairy godmother. He glowered, and gestured down the stairs. He was cold. They were sucking the heat out of the air.

"Think what you want. There are at least a township full of dead things that shouldn't be walking, and they are going to try to kill you. If you survive, I'll tell you everything."

"If, Sir?"

"Usual Delta-Grou faces casualties of 65%." Sir! replied. His gun was heavy. He was so damn tired. "If it helps, I'll nominate you all to become Delta-Grou. But for now, don't worry. Focus on surviving, and keeping your sanity. This is the real test, kids. This is the real thing you've been training for."

Thirty minutes can be a long time in battle, a longer time when out numbered, and facing horrors that drain your will to live. Thirty minutes can be forever. Thirty minutes later, five people remained, and were evacuated despite heavy fire and forces raising from the frozen earth, clawing their way out to be drawn to the middle of town.

Thirty five minutes later, a second sun was briefly upon the earth, and cleansed it in the warm bath of atomic fire. Five people survived the mission, including Delta-Grou Asset known only as Erchangi, or Sir! according to his recruits.

All in all, it was rated highly successful at 50% survival of un-tested recruits. Were it not classified, it would have been written in as one of the greatest stands of any Ranger force, against enemies of Overwhelming Superiority. The names of Kitt, Jackson, Crosov, Krakaow and Miller were reported missing, and after military investigation, were reported MIA.

As for Alvorez, Aurona, and Paulson, they were quietly removed from civilian databases,
and histories. They never existed, and were forgotten by family and friends over the years.

Of course, none of this was known, or admitted to, for no one admitted to the eternal wars of Unknown Armies.

"Miss 'Deusa."

A soft coating of mist fogged up my glasses as I entered into the private sanctum of my mistress, and I wiped it off, only for it to fog up again. A soft diffused light played through the steam and gave hints of shadow at the edge of the marbled pool, the steam coming from beneath glass, glass that reflected up into the ceiling, a fog showing long legs, crossed, and toes splaying comfortably.

"What is it, Agueno?" She asked, the skin a soft ophidian green, with scales running up the front of her shin, and down her long toes, to end in small, smart claws. I approached, eyes to the side, around the side of the comfortably heated pool, and knelt, offering the red wine.

Her smile was genuine, her teeth sharp, and the many snakes that slithered about her head hissing appreciatively. She took a long sip, and sighed.

"Guests await in your foyer, Mistress, they seem intent on talking to you, even at this hour." I said, while lifting up one of the drying towels and softly patted across the snakes, which made them writhe pleasently. They had always been kind to me, and flicked their tongues out in thanks.

"Hmm. Alright, I've warmed myself enough in the pool." She rose up through the water and stood, the small nub of her tail laying across the cleft of her rather tight buttocks, and she let me wrap her in the towels. She dried at herself with them, as I lifted up her wrap she wore within her manor, and waited for her to step into it, to affix.

"Veil today? Or the glasses?" I asked, her curvaceous figure shifting once to get the last trickle of water from her. I held both, one folded atop the other.

"Glasses. I'm still trying to adjust to modern practices. Do you have some for the snakes?"

"On order." I said, apologetically. "They will be ready soon enough."

"Excellent. Get the wine for them. I may have new statues."

"Of course, Miss 'Deusa."

"Gentlemen." Her claw tips rapped upon the hard stone of her staircase, Mistress 'Deusa moving with an effortless grace as I stepped beside, a glass of wine held for her, and my cane in the other. A brass snake, almost a requirement for employment at this place. I moved a few paces behind, observing the four ruffians who had seen to disturb at such a late hour.

Halfling, Human, Elf, and Dwarf. I wanted to sigh, at how typical such a grouping would be in these days. They had refused the wine, too, no class these days.

"What was it you wished to discuss?" She said, a hand lifted to rest against the edge of her black shades, and her other hand resting against her side, under her breasts, which lifted quite comfortably against the material. She did have pride in her body, and for good reason - she was beautiful beyond compare, and the serpentine features only added to it.

"Yeah, we been hearin' about some people getting turned t' stone." The big barbarian of a man said, his leather jacket hanging open, showing the handle of a switchblade.

"Yes, said attacks were found near the sewers." I shifted uncomfortably, and shifted my weight back, the cane pressed down and my grip tightening on the brass head of the snake. "A tragedy."

"Quite." Deusa replied, her snakes tensing up a hair. They did not like the situation. "But as the tragedy, I must ask why you felt it should bring you to my place of residence."

"Simple. Medusas turn things to stone. You are a medusa. Pretty simple math." The elf said next, while reaching into his back pocket. I twitched, my hand subtly twisting the head and disconnecting it from the main body.

"Yet fails on further examination. The days of the attack, I was in Rome." She smoothed her wrap down, getting the wrinkles away from slightly rounded tummy. "Visiting some old friends."

"Got proof?" The halfling asked, her fingers rolling as though to limber up.

"For four individuals who barged onto my property, and all but accused me of attacking people in a sewer?" Her voice was venom. "Leave my property, or I will call the police."

"No." The elf drew his gun out, and aimed it at her. He grunted in surprise when his hand fell off, then, with a quick stroke of a blade - adamantium wonderful for disarming ones foes. The cane fell, the hidden blade inside held high.

It did not take long after that, as she slid her glasses back up beyond her beautiful golden eyes, that she had four new statues.

"Please see to the blood, Agu. I am going to bed." She twirled the pistol, a sleek black 1911A1 and smiled. The snakes hissed approvingly at the weapon. "Please get me another glass of wine before joining me?"

"Of course, Miss 'Deusa."

"Honor the Dragons, for it is through their work that you can serve the Empress."

The passing words of a minister, a lay priest of the Creed.  It was a cold day, my pale skin rising in small goosebumps from the thin, and, to be honest, barely concealed figure.  I was cold, rags did little to keep me warm, while the priest sipped his tanna tea between sermons.  He was warm, he took his time.

"Be glad for the chance to serve in this life, for if you should serve well, you shall be forgiven of your innumerable sins.  Work hard, servants, and honor thy Masters!  Do thy work without fussing or complaining!"

I rolled my eyes and looked to my sister, her large, black ringed eyes watching me with a hint of mischief to them.  She rubbed at her chained wrist, bound to mine as I was bound to the large barbarian to my side.  He did not speak any tongue I knew, and there was a certain gruffness to him that was barbaric, but mhe was no enemy of mine, or of any of the Djala bound as he was.  I gave him a smile, and he nodded once, his shaggy, unshaven breard hanging to his chest.  He had been here a very long time.

"Now then, bow your head in prayer, then set to your work.  Honored Dragonbloods, please, take the slaves to their work places, and let them purify their sins through labor to the Empire."

I grunted and sighed, slowly standing with the rest of the coffle.  Work.  I hated work.

"Halt."  Outside of the work houses, the lead Dragonblood, of the Caste of the Earth, halted my coffle and gestured us to be unchained, that we could work without troubling our neighbors.  He gave me an appraising look that made my skin crawl, before he slapped me on the flanks and pushed me through the door.  My backside hurt as I trundled into the faintly lit room, to the back chambers to cook and work with the vegetables brought in.  I was glad to not work the fields, but the scent of food I would be damned to eat made my mouth water.  I smiled to my Sister, as she was lead to a farther chamber, and glanced up at the big Brute.  He shrugged at me and went to tenderize the meats for the feasts that were held, on this day of honoring the Ascension of the Empress.

Honoring my ass, just an excuse to get drunk again.  I held my tongue, my fingers dancing quick to pick out the better of the fruits for consumption.  I let the time pass, picking, picking, picking, before being sent to prepare rice for boiling, noodles for cooking, this for this, that for that.  I prepared, with the rest of the slaves, and let my anger go into the food I worked with.
It was many hours later when I, with the rest, were chained together to return to the barracks, and I walked with what strength I had left, tired from standing, and hungry, though not looking forward to the gruel that awaited us. I sat at my bunk and ate, rubbing the bruises on my wrists and glad for the thin warmth provided by discarded blankets, and waited in the dark, for my sister to return. She always stayed later, though no work I envied.

She returned later, a secondary coffle of the pretty girls and boys who were chosen for other duties. She did her best to make no sound, but I could hear her whimpering, holding herself. They were not gentle with her. They never were. My heart ached for her, so powerfully it ached, and I reached to touch her shoulder to let her know I was still here, that I still cared and loved her. She accepted the touch and I held her close, to let her sleep, pained and bruised and battered.

My anger was deep there, as I laid her head on a pillow. Deep, and gnawing at my heart, like a beast wanting to be set free. I sat in my bed for many hours, before sleep pulled me under. I did not sleep enough, but few could tell with the dark eyes of a Djala. Few could tell I was still seething as I worked the next day, back at the food stuff, my ass still aching from the slap, my fingers working into the dough, the grapes, the knife biting into wood as I slammed it through the leafy greens.

As I lay awake and held her again as she shuddered, barely able to sleep for the pain.

"I don't like it when you do that."  I said, the guard gazing down at me again, his eyes surprised, for a brief moment, where he was going to smack me like he had done for almost the full year of my enslavement.  My voice was steel, my teeth grit, and the burning anger hard in my gut.  I gazed up at him, two heads taller than I, and he sneered down at me.

"Got some balls on you, Djala."  He said, voice acid.  And then he struck me in the belly with his foot, and slammed his fist into the side of my face, sending me tumbling down into the rain and snow and mud.  I grunted, retching from the force that had gone through my body.  The stones had cracked from how hard I'd been hit.  I turned my head and looked up at him, before he laughed, and kicked me again.

"Know your place, slave."

It was the giant who helped me to my feet and carried me to my work.

Work was painful, with only one eye open, and with my mouth swollen, my knee aching.  Work was hard, so very hard, and I stretched my aching arms out to stir the noodle, the heat of the fire unnoticed to the ice that had replaced my blood.  I didn't notice the hot water splashing me any more, I didn't care that the wood cracked as I hit the chopping block with my flat blade again and again.

I did notice when I grabbed the knife and threw it, and it sank six inches into the stone wall.  The barbarian stared at me, his eyes unreadable, before reaching over to touch my shoulder to comfort me.  I was calmer for it, but I wanted to do more, to end this.  My head hurt, my body ached, and my chains felt heavy.

"I'm tired."  I said to him.  I looked up at this giant, two heads taller than the bastard who had struck me, he who had to duck and stoop to work in the kitchen.  Even here, he remained large, great arms hauling the pots and logs and tables where they needed.  "I'm tired of being beaten, of seeing my sister hurt, I'm tired of these chains, and I'm tired, so bloody tired, of those bastards mistreating people!"

"I too am tired."  He was not proficient, but it was there, the meaning of his words.  I gazed up at him with a shiver of anger rolling in my gut, wanting to be let free of the cage it was in.  "I tired of cooking.  Pots heavy."

He flexed an arm, the dragon wrapping it seeming to writhe over the mountains that were his muscles.  I nodded to him, then, and clasped forearms, my hand positively elfin against his greater paw.  "They no treat people good."

"No.  They no treat people good."  I said.  I looked to him then, and knew I was going to die today.  But, I felt freedom, as I took ahold of my anger and pointed towards the lock.  He gave a grunt and grabbed the great mallet he used to tenderize the sides of cattle, and he swung it at the lock.  It shattered.

"Come, little panda brother, we show strength."  I grabbed the mop and snapped off the head and followed at his side.  He let loose a roar of the north that shook the other slaves, and terrified the keeper outside the door.

The keeper did not have a chance, as I broke his knee with the make-do staff, and shattered his clavicle with a downward sweep.  He yelled his warning and gurgled into moans of pain.  Rebellion was in the air, and some of the slaves caught it.  They would go with us, for they were tired too.

Of course, it was sixteen slaves against twenty two guards, and four dragon blooded, and they were hardly any push-overs.  I gazed up at the barbarian, who charged into a pair of guards caught off guard, and crashed their heads together like symbols - the ringing made even my head ache in sympathy.  I swung my stave and caught a spear thrust and shoved it down, my left leg snapping out to catch the man in the groin.  He doubled over, holding himself, before I snapped my foot up against the bridge of his nose, and sent him spinning.

Three down, too many to go.

"Restilio!"  The shout, the sweet voice of my sister.  She was at the side of one of the bastard dragonbloods, his hand holding his knife with a look of dumb surprise.  She struggled against his grip and bit him as he reached for her - and I felt pride, which turned to horror as she was backhanded, and thrown into a wall with a pained crunch.  Her body was limp, and my hands trembled.

My vision narrowed and wavered with a whisper in a tongue I knew not - asking me a question - a question I was unsure of.  The world had stopped movement - a slave lay broken with a spear through her chest - the barbarian, my big brother, held aloft two guards by their hair and was swinging them like flails against the others.

Three of the blooded were rushing to me, and he who hurt my sister, he who had harmed her was raising himself up, his hand drawing the great jade blade from its scabbard.

The voice asked again.

"Yes."

The world exploded into light.

"Anathema..." A word whispered in horror, and in wonder. My body was not upon the ground as I felt the fire race through me, an agony of pain washing through my body, and then a euphoria, replaced with a most intense, interesting, and beautiful feeling.

A wash of a lifetime ago spilled through my head, and I found myself in the memories of so many centuries ago. I was bathed in the first rays of sun on the longest day of the year, I was cast in the golden rays of The Unconquered Sun, and I knew his name, for He smiled upon me. I was alive, like I had never been before - and I felt the world call to me, needing me, to fix this world to what it should be.

"Anathema." The bastard who harmed my sweet sister, my Tackchi, would know justice. My feet touched the ground and I watched him rush me, as did his four companions. Their weapons were drawn, and their blades hummed in fear, for their blades knew who, what, they faced, even if I only had a grasp of it.

The first blade swung low, and slashed at my chest - the tip scratching across the surface as I twisted away, and brought my elbow down. The blade screamed as I smashed it away from me, and caught the second thrust between forearm and bicep. The third was swept away with a twist of my head, and I spun, wrenching a blade free from the dragonblood. My leg swept out, and caught him in the chest, sending him spiraling, twisting in shock, surprise, and pain as he crashed through the table he had risen from, thirty feet away. I had not thought about the motion I flowed with, as it did not require thought - these were the instincts awoken in me.

I spun again, my fist slapping into the chest of the fire caste, who staggered, and felt blood trickle his mouth.  My palm caught him aside the face and sent him down into the wooden floor with a sickening crack.  He groaned most painfully, as I faced the third, who stepped back.

His head fell forward as my Big Brother brought both hands down in a thunder-blow, sending him into the ground up to his knees.  At his brow was a great circle, flared and open with the glory of the Dawn.  He gazed at me with a large smile.

I faced the fourth, the bastard who struck me every morning, who had harmed my sister at night.  He gazed at me in mortal terror, as I approached him, as I closed the distance.   Justice demanded penance, and he would pay.

"See to my sister, and the others.  This is between he and I alone, Big Brother."





"Your crimes are written in your eyes, Dragonblood."  I found my voice to be... compassionate.  I had lost my anger in my own pain, I had no more hate, though I must admit, I was going to enjoy bringing justice.  "How many girls have you killed in your pleasures?  How many have been bruised and pained and forced to serve you?  How many have you robbed and stolen from, in your belief that it is your right, that they are less than worthy of respect?  How many girls, and boys, have you harmed?"

I walked up until he was not more than five feet from me, his blade limp in his hand.  His mouth gaped open, as I looked up, unafraid of him.  I had never been afraid, I realized, only hesitant.  I knew, with the certainty of knowing how to breath or swallow, that he was a very, very wicked soul.

"How many lives, ruined?  Killed for looking crossways at you?  Is life so cheap to you, Danclii? How could you have become this?  This failure, this terrible man-boy who cannot even face his fears?"

That roused him, as I hoped it would.  He swung the great blade at my front and I stepped to the side, feeling it shave the air in-front of my cheek.  He snarled incoherently as he reversed his grip, bringing it side ways to hew me in half.  I bent backwards, feeling it cross its shadow over my belly, and flipped backwards, to my feet.  He struck a third time, and the wood between my feet cracked.

"You are guilty.  Your sins slow you, weigh you down, Blood."

He drew his blade up again and lunged, but this time I was prepared, and parried it as easily as one would parry a child with a stick.  I swept the blade up and struck his belly, cracking the woven armor he wore.  I struck again, sending him back, as he lowered the blade to sweep at my hand again.  I stepped back.

"You called me slave.  My name is Restilio, and I am... I am chosen of the Unconquered Sun, and I am his Lawbringer.  You are guilty."

He lunged forward, and this I caught with my fist, and returned the force as the blade buried between my knuckles.  The flow reversed as he was blown back and through the room, and through the great glass windows between the outside rain, and inside luxury.

I walked to the window and stepped through, as he gazed up at me, on his knees.

"Spare me!  Have mercy!"  He begged.  He was simpering, trembling, pleading with his fear and pain, for he had never before been outmatched in a fight, not when it mattered.  "Please, spare me!"

I felt pity again, and closed my eyes.  The Unconquered Sun demanded justice, but even He gave His light upon the just and unjust, and was always one to forgive, if one but asked.  I clenched my teeth, and felt the anger flow out of me.
I turned his blade and held it out to him. He took it, and let it touch the ground at my feet. IT was beautiful, worth a thousand slaves in value, and my knuckles ached where it had struck. A fine blade.
"Go. Tell your Masters their reign is through. Tell them that no more slaves will be taken, and that the Djala people will be avenged. Go, dog, and tell them they will be vanquished, as the shadow is vanquished by the glory of the midday sun. Go!"

I turned and walked away from him, leaving him to his misery, and raised my arms open, to feel the heat of the sun breaking through the clouds. A ray fell upon the ground before me, an acknowledgement of my oath to the Unconquered Sun, and I breathed in deep the warm, fresh air. It was pleasing. I looked to my rags, and sighed softly - I needed something better than this.

"Thank you. Anathema."

His boots splashed in the mud and snow, his blade heavy as he lunged for me, impossibly fast. I turned, I would be too slow, with the blade aimed towards my ribs. I spun slowly, gazing, watching, staring in horror at him...

...before he fell, skidding across the mud and slush, and lay behind me. A blade stuck out of his throat, and the wound spat red in wet gouts. I gazed down at him, then slowly up towards the hand that threw the blade - white and spotted black, trembling with the surity of the throw. Behind her, a surprised Big Brother stood, looking to her. Her bruises were large and painful, but she had a fire in her.

"Brother?" She asked, as her hand fell. "Can we go home now?"

I looked to the sky, as the clouds moved in, and the streets filled with shouts of horror and fear. I looked at her with a smile, and shook my head slowly.

"No. We have work to do, to make this city right. But, it might be best if we lay low for a while, and escaped the city."

Her face fell, before she gave a slow, but determined, nod. She understood, she knew it had to be done. She knew, as surely as a woman knows the secrets of feminity.

"Okay, brother."

---

And that's how /I/ play Exalted.  Picture is a Djala, according to the books.

The moonlight was beautiful. Above the shore and beneath the waves, it did not matter, the silver glitter was the same, beautiful and kind and soft on the skin, and bright, so bright - it was the hunters moon over the sleeping time on the darkened township of Oviserv.

Oviserv. In the small cove and natural port on the edge of the great fishing schools, it provided a rich bounty to those who respected it, and those who understood the need to give back.

Sitting at the shore, a young woman looked out upon her home, the town, and clasped her hands to the white dress that hugged her small, young figure ever beautifully. A thin veil hid her face, as she sat, watching, and listening to the shore lapping at the rocks.

"You do us proud." Her father had said. "You do us so very proud, choosing to honor our ways, daughter."

Cold comfort, as she watched the water part and a shape lift out, a spear in his hand. His hand, the webbed fingers stretched upon the bone crafted weapon, and his mouth gaped, gasping at the air, tasting the sweetness, the dry feeling over his tongue. Sahuagin, folk of the water, folk of the deep oceans.

He looked upon her with eyes that could not be read, and extended a hand, as if asking, asking if she were ready. He was as nervous as she, though his pride refused to let him show it.

"Come." He breathed, to his bride to be...