The massage was excellent, and Nadia wished she could have stayed there forever eating cookies as skilled hands danced over her skin and plucked kinks from her body. That all came to an end when Brannon stopped by her and her masseuse, his mutated form driving off any sense of pleasantness. “Duels are going to start soon.”
“Can we not watch them here or at least wait a few more minutes?” Nadia whined.
Brannon chuckled, but it came out choppy like a chainsaw starting up. Whatever lungs he had been made with or bought later, laughing clearly wasn’t included in the list of suggested activities. “I already waited this long to tell you and besides, you do not want to see me more pruned. Get dressed, I’ll wait outside,” he said before he left the spa.
Nadia grabbed a towel and dried off before combing her hair. Her synthetic weave left her with painfully little to do and made her miss her chocolate waves immensely, her black bob a dark phantom. Not until this is done, Nadia reminded herself as she dressed.
“What took you so long?” Brannon asked when Nadia entered the lobby, his lone eye somehow glaring into her.
“Oh, we have more than enough time,” Nadia said, walking past him into the cold night. If she wished, Nadia could have changed the refraction of her skin to let in more of the scarce light, warming her and making her brighter at the same time. Nadia rarely did this while she still had her old skin, always preferring her light blue color and a coat. Now, her skin was thicker, and the small blizzard around her was little more than a chill. She hadn’t been cold in sometime since her surgery and found herself missing it, if only the familiarity. What other feelings, uncomfortable though they might be, would Fried demand that she give up? Already she would go hours at a time without feeling anything in her throat following her daily vomiting. Would she sacrifice her tongue on the altar of duty, followed next by her nose when she needed to be immune to gas? Nadia would, if Fried asked her, at least, she thought she would. Senses were physical things, but her mission was of the divine.
“I have never been to an actual duel. You?”
“Sometimes the knights we were with would put on a show to break up the fights we had in camp,” Brannon said. “Or they’d step into the ring against five of us, or ten, or with one hand behind their back, or all of the above.”
“Did the soldiers ever win?”
Brannon let out a cutting laugh. “Never. They mopped the floor with us every, single, time.”
Nadia nodded. “They are strong as a battalion, or so the saying goes.”
“They’re stronger than an entire battalion. We’d get six at a time, a squad, and by Fried did we feel like martensite when they were with us,” Brannon said before adding, quieter, “and then we saw why we needed them.”
“What is out there, on the front?”
Brannon’s head cocked in confusion. “I thought you were a soldier too.”
Nadia shook her head. “No. Just a widow who wants a better life than running a simple flower shop.”
“Let’s just say all of the other empires have their own super soldiers. You know the beast people out east?” Nadia nodded. “Well, they don’t end there with their gene mixing. They have ten-foot wolves with twenty rows of teeth, all razor sharp.”
“For his servants’ defense against the darkest evils, Fried bestowed upon his empire knights of iron and light, to serve as shield and sword,” Nadia rattled off from the good book. “To take down a monster, you need a knight.”[Nolan Hoo1]
“Or another monster,” Brannon said before he stopped walking. In the distance, initiates had formed rows and sat on their knees, hands together as a knight in the icy blue armor of Sixth stood and led them in a prayer. Before Nadia could join them, Brannon grabbed her hand. “There will be time enough for that later.”
Nadia relented and followed Brannon. My lord, bless your servant Brannon so that he may see you and know your will.
The train deposited the initiates back at Ascension Stadium. Gone were the kiosks and the bonfires, their light replaced by the crown of lighting towers around the stadium “Do we just go in?” Nadia asked Brannon, not seeing a place to show a nonexistent ticket.
“No, I heard we have to say the Vater von Allem backwards,” Brannon said sarcastically, drawing a scowl from Nadia, confident in her abilities to do so. “Yes, we go in,” Brannon added before he strode past the gate and into the stadium. When he wasn’t smote for his arrogance, Nadia followed behind.
The kiosks outside had been swept away, but the crews at the vendors inside had not. If I did not know any better, I would think it was muscles and augments night at the stadium, Nadia thought as she and Brannon zigzagged through the initiates to find seating. All around them screens displayed advertisements as well as the first match, Leo Petersen, Lieutenant of Eighth Order versus Anika Singh, Captain of Second Order, Nadia read. “I would wager on Anika. We flower people must stick together.”
Brannon chuckled. “Calling Second Order flower people, that’s funny, but I have to disagree. Duel rules, she’s not gonna be able to leverage any of her poisons on him. Without them, she’s just a knight. That, and”—Brannon et out a deep sigh—“I have a soft spot for Eighth. Most of the soldiers do.”
They are the second most numerous behind fourth. “Fair, but the knight from Eighth does not get to use his bike here. Without it, he is just a knight.”
Brannon grinned, the crook of his mouth equal parts eager and oddly lecherous. Nadia was suddenly thankful that her lord had given her a properly centered mouth. “If that’s the case, it should be a good fight,”
“Brannon? Is that you?” an elegant voice said from behind the duo, each syllable perfectly clear. Turning to the noise, Nadia was greeted with the sight of a woman with wavy chocolate hair to her shoulders, cyan glass-skin glistening like snow, and electric blue eyes like some of the flowers in her old greenhouse. For all intents and purposes, just a few feet away was a copy of Nadia, having dragged herself out from under her burnt house to go watch some krieger duels. She wore a dress much like the one Nadia had worn all those months ago, with embroidery of eagles instead of flowers.
“Ah, Natalia,” Brannon said, causing Nadia to freeze up and her glassy skin to become borderline transparent. “This”—Brannon gestured to Nadia—“is my roommate Nadia. She likes pastries.”
Natalia laughed, like a shiny bell ringing in the winter wind. “Who doesn’t?”
Nadia’s muscle memory forced her to extend her hand, lest she be rude. The other woman’s skin shifted under hers, as if there was a great pustule between them. Nadia made no mention of it. People have all sorts of skin. “It is nice to meet you, Natalia. Were you and Brannon in the game together today?”
Natalia shook her beautiful head, hair moving perfectly. “No. I know him from the front. I didn’t realize you were competing in these trials, Brannon.”
“You didn’t exactly tell me you were either until a few weeks ago,” Brannon said. “But I guess I shouldn’t have beensurprised. It was only a matter of time before you ran out of glory to win with the Volkswaffen.”
“Yes. This was always an inevitability for me.”
“That dress looks wonderful on you, but I do not think such items were included in our clothes at the hotel,” Nadia said. “Unless they added it while we were in the spa.”
Natalia smiled. “I can assure you they did not change the clothes. I had my family smuggle this and a few other items in for me.” She reached into the pockets of her dress, one of the embroidered birds lifting its wing to allow her entry before she pulled out a small metal container. “Mint?”
Brannon took a mint, placing it near the back of his jaw like he was chewing tobacco, “Natalia here is of the Krugg family, she bought me my mouth all those years ago. Third daughter, correct?”
Krugg family, that explains things, Nadia thought to herself. Their name is on just about every gun I have seen, here or otherwise.
“Second,” Natalia clarified, “but I will be the first to be undertake these trials and the first to become a captain, I am sure of it.”
Brannon nodded. “That’s the Natalia I know. Which order?”
Natalia scoffed. “Sixth, of course, it is simply the best for lattisticians.”
Nadia’s eyes widened. The lattisticians were those alterists in the empire capable of manifesting their abilities beyond simple sparks. A weapons princess and an alterist? What is next? “You are an alterist?”
Natalia pulled a black card from a pocket on her dress. A silver band ran down the middle, flanked on either side by a pentagon of five gold triple-eagles. “That right there is my official license to practice alterism. Had one like it since I was four, began lattistician training when I was six.”
Nadia glanced at the card, then at Natalia’s hands. A thin mesh of skin surrounded her hands like fingerless gloves, jagged arcs running like lightning over the top of her wrist, her palms icy white from the energy churning inside. Presumably, it coiled up her arms and terminated at her shoulder, or maybe it went down again to her taint, or inside, or—
Nadia was never more thankful than in that moment that Fried had bestowed only the blessings that he had upon her “That is very young.”
Natalia shrugged. “Mother and father wanted an alterist and they paid very good money for me,” she said as she rubbed her stomach. “I made sparks at two, and it was only when I turned four that I could be officially certified by law.”
Nadia raised a brow. “You were made?” she asked. Fried blesses who he chooses with alterism, it is not for us to decide.
Natalia nodded. “Implanted and augmented, I suppose, like you and Brannon, only mine was done moments after mother had me and”—Natalia giggled like her birth was some well known comedy—“I doubt they even bothered to wipe me off. I had the coils of ten men fused to my own and I was only allowed to drink from a nasty blue serum for the first two years of my life. Legally, I couldn’t start lattistician training until eight, but that did not stop father from hiring the best tutors, and the empire was more than happy to turn an eye, so long as their wallets were filled first. Better for them, getting paid before and after I entered into combat service.”
“And how did they get these coils?”
Brannon and Natalia bounced a look between each other, their faces saying something like oh, she really doesn’t know anything. “With a scalpel, I assume.” Her smile dipped, and her eyes flicked over the crowd as if one of her family’s guards might swoop in to save her from this idiot. When none did, she looked back to Nadia, polite smile reaffirmed. “Or maybe they used a pair of scissors, I wasn’t awake for it.”
Nadia wanted to ask another question—several, actually—but was interrupted as the lights in the stadium dimmed until she could hardly see anything. Only the birds on Natalia’s dress provided any light, themselves looking ready to fly off the fabric.
A black dot sliced through the night, and when the lights returned, they focused on a tall knight emerging from the void. Shoulder-length black hair floated gently behind him, contrasting the gun-metal grey armor he wore. The bulky plate panoply sported talons from the gauntlets and greaves, and ornate wings extended from his shoulders, flapping gently to keep him aloft. A hush fell over the stunned spectators, who quickly erupted into cheers as Siegfried, the renowned proctor of many krieger duels, flared his wings to their limit. Jan and Konrad would lose it if they knew I was here! Nadia thought as she whistled with her fingers.
Siegfried let the lights and noise wash over him, bopping his head to an unknown tune as several drones hovered around him. “Initiates!” Siegfried called out, his deep voice rippling to the edges of the stadium. “It is my duty to the Ironclad to host and proctor these matches week after week, and it is a duty I have done for nearly 80,000 years, and 80,000 more if today’s games are anything to go by. BUT”—Siegfried brought his hand to his heart—"tonight, it is not my duty, but my pleasure, to proctor the matches you are about to see.”
Siegfried raised his right arm. “Dueling! From a little city called Palmendorf is the Lieutenant of Eighth Order’s 12,912th battalion, Leo Petersen!” Siegfried announced as a thumb sized cloud grey blob charged into the arena.
The screens showed a man with a patchwork of white scars covering his glassy, bald head waving and flexing before putting on a sallet helmet. The stormy grey armor had been polished to look as murky as possible before jagged blue lines had been engraved into it. Leo didn’t look so much like a knight as a man whose body had been horrifically Frankensteined with a storm cloud. Cries of “reitet den Blitz!” ripped through the stadium as Leo’s fans cheered him on, their arms throwing imaginary javelins as they did so.
Nadia nudged Brannon. “Get a good look at him before he loses,” Nadia whispered, drawing a scoff from the phage.
Brannon turned to his longtime comrade. “What about you, Nat? Who you picking?”
“I defer to the lady on this one,” she said before turning back to the stadium, cupping her hands around her mouth and yelling, “Sieg für Zweiter!“
“Dueling!“ Siegfried’s voice boomed again as he lifted his other arm, “out of a much larger city called Naples is the Captain of Second Order’s 12,306th battalion, Anika Singh!“
The screens switched to a black woman with black hair in a tight braid wearing a gas mask and a long brown duster coat, dark green plates underneath. Where Leo’s armor had clouds and lightning, Anika’s had vipers and cobras engraved onto each plate, mouths ready to swallow whatever bullets might hit her. Maybe they’d also leap off of the armor and bite Leo to death; Nadia wasn’t ruling it out.
The chants were replaced with deep bellows of ”Leben und Tod! Leben und Tod! Leben und Tod, durchströmen un!” After three repetitions, the fans of Second Order—Nadia and Natalia very much included—brought their hands over their mouths like a respirator and hissed into it, filling the arena with the sound of static.
Leo and Anika met in the center of the arena where Siegfried descended to meet them. After shaking hands, Siegfried handed them both a capsule that they swallowed. The capsule used stored energy to monitor their vitals and project a protective field in case enough damage was taken, making deaths in these duels nonexistent.
Both combatants proceeded to their side of the arena where their weapons waited for them. Anika chose a long spear with the tip coming out of a serpent’s mouth while Leo chose a large two-handed sword and a Nagel pistol. It was like the one Nadia had inherited from Tobias, but fired condensed rifle rounds instead of pistol rounds, the recoil made negligible by his strength.
Siegfried threw up his hand before ascending into the sky himself. Not a moment too soon either, as Leo opened fire with his pistol and lunged at Anika. “I will have to get used to that,” Nadia muttered as she took notes on how the knights moved. They could call upon the steam stored in their tailbone pocket dimension as they pushed off the ground, sending it back while in flight to have the extra momentum carry their comparatively lighter bodies farther.
Anika strafed to her right, meeting Leo’s advance with calm and measured steps, his stream of bullets just missing her or punching through her coat and smashing pitifully against her armor. When Leo stepped into her perimeter, Anika thrust her spear forward, colliding with a wince inducing scrape along Leo’s helmet. With his momentum stopped, Anika raised her other arm and shot a cloud of white smoke from a hidden canister to completely envelop the grey knight. Anika darted into the cloud, disappearing from sight as Siegfried descended to the arena, not flapping his wings lest he disturb the cloud.
Flashes of steel cut through the mist as the initiates leaned forward, hoping to get a slightly better glimpse of any crack in the cloud. This was unnecessary, as Anika threw Leo out of the cloud harshly, and as he scrambled for his blade, Anika thrust her spear through his groping hand. The crowd winced as one and Anika strode right up to Leo’s prone form. Leo spun with what movement he had, hoping to shoot at Anika while he still had a free hand and bullets. Two shots landed on Anika’s armor before she kicked the gun away and mounted him, driving her knees into his armpits, dragging his pinned hand through the spear as she did so.
Siegfried hovered behind the green knight. “Easy way or the hard way, ladies and gentlemen, Anika has given her opponent a chance to surrender,” Siegfried’s voice called out. As soon as he said this, a defiant shout rang through the stadium and was followed by the sound of hammer blows as Anika mauled Leo. “And he has decided the hard way,” Siegfried sighed.
Nadia counted seven elbows and three punches before Leo was surrounded by a wispy yellow cloud, ending the fight. Still halfway through her swing, Siegfried grabbed Anika’s arm and yanked her to her feet. “Your victor by knockout, Anika Singh!”
“By the Ironclad,” Nadia whispered as she watched the replay on the screens. Leo’s visor was dented like a beer can in the hands of an angry man. How are they going to get it off? Nadia wondered before chiding herself. That is a head in there and the question I ask is how are they going to get it off and not if he is still alive?
“Well, you were right, I’m not gonna get a look later,” Brannon said. “I guess on the bright side, if that ever happens to me, Nat here can remake my face again.”
Natalia scoffed. “Why would I do that? It’d be an improvement.”
“Ouch!” Brannon exclaimed as he clutched at non-existent pearls. “Why must you wound me, my lady?”
A voice sounded from behind the trio before Natalia could get in a remark. “No way, is that you Nadia?” Turning, the trio was treated to the sight of Haydn, accompanied by Gershwin.
“Do not tell me you two ended up together,” Nadia muttered. “Hello Gershwin. Is Haydn here treating you well?”
“Haydn here is quite alright,” Gershwin said, which Nadia assumed was a polite lie. “Quite the match, wasn’t it?”
“By Fried, she showed him with that gas cloud,” Haydn interjected. “Everybody was telling me, Haydn without their poisons, Second is just tin-men, but all of them forget they have non-lethal options. They’re the order I want to join.”
“Sure it’s not for the drugs?” Brannon asked.
“That too. If anybody has good drugs—”
“For the next duel!” Siegfried boomed, cutting off Haydn’ degeneracy. Like a good announcer, he let the word linger for a moment as the screens caught up.
The screens cut away and Nadia’s blood stopped, then froze, then sublimated when she saw Vogel and the red knight from before. Vogel had a cocky smile that said yea I run a drug smuggling business, the fuck are you gonna do about it? and the red knight sported a wide grin that said hide your kids, don’t hide them, I’m coming for them anyway. “Fifth,” Nadia said immediately.
“Eleventh,” Brannon, Gershwin, and Natalia said. “I’m sure that VK”—short for Vergoldete Kette—“has a plan to beat KVD,” Natalia added. “They are the empire’s planners.”
Haydn rolled his eyes. “Well, well, I guess I’m on the outs again. I’m hoping red has a new bodysuit to wear after this.”
“Let us hope that Siegfried intervenes before then,” Nadia said. Because I am going to kill Vogel.
“Fighting! Out of the eastern corner, from the Vichy region of Cannes, he’s the 13,091st Captain of the golden order of Eleventh, Emil Vogel!” Siegfried yelled as Vogel stepped into the arena, his golden armor blazing against the night sky as if made of pure sunlight.
“And fighting out of the western corner, from the city of Friedstadt, the fearsome and vicious sergeant and weapons master of the 13,056th battalion of the Kinder Von Deimos, Otto Braun!” Siegfried announced before Otto came out on all fours like a spider.
“That is disgusting,” Natalia said, a tinge of green marring her perfect glass complexion. “I might actually vomit.”
After shaking hands briefly, Vogel retrieved a longsword and shield with a gold rim. In stark contrast, Otto pulled out a two-handed glaive and a massive axe—each gripped in one hand—the curved blades jutting from grotesque, hopefully-artificial skulls.
As soon as Siegfried raised his hand, Otto skittered to Vogel and leapt into the air, contorting his body to put his full weight into a downward slash. Vogel caught the hideous axe-blade with his shield, letting it sink a millimeter into the gold paint as he skidded back. With a screech, Otto pushed off the shield, wrenching his axe free and sending himself backward where he landed on all fours
Not waiting for the hideous red man to skitter towards him, Vogel made himself a bulwark behind his shield and charged. When Otto next flung himself at Vogel, the golden knight bulldozed forward, catching the axe on his shield as his longsword pointed its one-micron tip at Otto’s neck.
Otto dropped his hands from his axe and darted back, letting the sword poke his ghastly cuirass with a harmless ping. Separated, Otto gripped his glaive tightly, pointing the gruesome tip at the golden bulwark.
After a moment of circling, Otto skittered forth again, thrusting upwards with a barrage of strikes. Vogel blocked each with his shield until the spine of Otto’s glaive curved with a sickening creak. Otto pulled back with a guttural shriek, bringing Vogel stumbling into him. He dropped low, kicking the golden boy’s teetering legs out from under him like a murderous breakdancer.
Vogel stumbled onto his hands, sword clattering out of his grasp as Otto leapt on to his back and pulled a dagger from a slot along his clavicle. Come on, Nadia thought, her nails between her teeth and her mind too focused on the screen to chide herself as she watched Otto slash at Vogel’s neck.
“Vogel is in a bad situation!” Siegfried called out, hovering over the two men. “What will he do?”
Vogel grabbed Otto’s hand and twisted until the knife fell free. With the hand still secured, Vogel moved his remaining hand to wedge one of Otto’s feet from his groin before standing up and sending Otto over his shoulder. Otto landed with a thud, kicking up a geyser of dirt before Vogel kicked him hard in the side. Otto ripped another knife from his clavicle and stabbed it into Vogel’s foot, drawing only a wince from the golden knight as he continued to kick, driving the knife deeper.
The screens showed Siegfried wincing with each strike, and the entire stadium winced with him. “What a reversal!” Siegfried finally managed as Vogel mounted Otto and grabbed the nearby dagger. Vogel drove the point of Otto’s dagger into the man’s neck, breaking the skin before Otto was surrounded by the same ward that ended the first match.
“Holy shit, that was beautiful, textbook perfection,” Natalia muttered as Siegfried raised Vogel hand. “Sieg für Elfte!”
“Holy shit is right,” Brannon said.
The screens showed a side by side of Otto’s mauled face and Vogel’s wide grin as he pumped his arms in the air. Why should he be happy? Nadia thought, her face growing a darker blue with each word until she bolted from her seat. My lord, give your servant the patience and control to see your will done, Nadia prayed as she ran from the stadium.
Nadia gazed around for a statue, of any sign of her lord, for guidance as footsteps drew closer. Nadia turned to the sound, ready to backhand whoever had the idea to chase a freak like her through the dark, only for her hand to be caught by Haydn. “Woah. It’s just me.”
“Go!” Nadia screeched as tears ran down her eyes. She gazed around, not for a statue, but instead for a corner where she could cry with whatever shred of noble dignity she had left and hopefully just stop existing. What can I do? Nadia lamented as tears turned her into more and more of a freak. Otto had been a weapons master—an unorthodox one—and Vogel had laid him out. Where does that leave me? Must I wait—Nadia did the math on how old Vogel was given his captain number—600, almost 700 years?
My lord, I have done all of this, turned myself into a monster, Nadia thought. She knew she could still grow her hair and rock a dress, but was that her lord’s will? Has his will changed? Nadia thought in horror as a rock settled in her gut that made her just want to curl up until it passed, if it ever did. Is that why the statues do not speak to me? No, Nadia reasoned. Our lord’s will is iron. He would have sent a sign if this was not his will.
Haydn approached Nadia with hands raised. “It’s just me,” he reiterated, continuing when Nadia didn’t shout his head off, “You took off back there. Everything all right?”
“Why does it fucking matter?” Nadia asked through tears. Nadia looked past Haydn for any exit from a conversation with the druggie, her eyes landing on a cluster of black trashcans. Three of them shimmered before they took on the form of her children, smiling in their black uniforms. The figures held hands and walked towards Nadia before standing by Haydn. Natalia took Haydn’s hand in her own and looked up, a smile in her eyes that Nadia recognized from when she did the same to her father.
“The hands on a clock do not know time,” the children recited from the good book in unison, like their mouth was on one hinge. “The Ironclad’s hands are no different. A day, a month, a year, our lord’s will is iron,” the figures added before disappearing.
Nadia wiped her eyes before moving to Haydn. If any of them will help me in this heresy, it is him, Nadia thought. “Haydn,” Nadia cooed, like she had with Jan in the mornings when he didn’t want to put on clothes. Her tears and short breaths stopped that, forcing the cooing to come out like a bird choking on something while attempting to mate. “Do you want to kill a knight?”
Haydn schooled his mouth into a thin line. “Seen some real cunts today yea, but I’m not exactly looking to end my career as a knight before it’s begun.”
“Would it change your mind—“Nadia let out a huff and the cool night robbed her throat of any wetness. She shouldn’t have said anything. Images flashed in her mind of the ghostly Natalia reaching for Haydn’s hand. That had to be her lord telling her something. “Would it help if I said that the knight has killed children, my children?”
Haydn’s shoulders sagged. “Might change my mind,” he shrugged, “and mother always said to try everything once. Who we hitting?”
“That knight Vogel for one,” Nadia said as she moved to a bench before spilling her guts.
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