The First Penitatas
Chapter 31: A Sacrifice to Killing Iron
The first blast to hit Vices went off in the district's southern end. A heavy transport laden with explosives detonated without warning as locals argued with the driver in an effort to clear the road he had blocked with his ill-chosen route. The sheer concussive force of the blast levelled the adjacent buildings. The shockwave, visible by the debris it hurled outward, slammed into the inner skin of the city dome with enough force to shake the entire megastructure. Those closest to the blast were scorched to ash in a heartbeat or liquefied by the sheer physicality of the blast wave, while those further out were tossed away and smashed against what buildings remained standing.
In the Sinking Light, staff and visitors alike barely had time to register the sound of the explosion before every window in the building cracked. Two of the south windows shattered outright, yet the glass had no time to fall before a storm of dust and debris hammered the building. A rooftop air-cycler, adorned in sixty years of graffiti, cannoned through the external wall and smashed into the dining area with meteoric force. Two patrons were unfortunate enough to be sat in the path of the projectile and were killed near instantly, flung across the bar in opposite directions with nightmarish force. A chunk of table they had sat at, whooping as it scythed through the air, sliced open Eskal's ear before punching through a barely-standing window pane and shattering against a crashed goods vehicle outside.
As the dust settled, Hafn emerged, frozen in place but miraculously unharmed. Furrowed gouges ran either side of him where fast-flung brickwork had rent the floor apart, while the remains of the table and its former patrons pattered down around him. Ivaka rushed over, scooped the boy up and hurried him to the relative safety of the kitchen area. For several long seconds the room held its breath. Then the screams began. A young male stood next to the corner stage, puzzled why his friends were so terrified. At their insistence, he looked down and saw a length of rebar punched through his gut. He looked at it and asked in a disconnected voice, "Was that there before?" Then he noticed that, by some miracle, his pint was still in his right paw, unspilled. He started to drink.
Close to the crater in the centre of the room, a rejuve lay in a pool of blood with a long, deep gash across his forehead. Next to him a young female lay on her stomach, shrieking that she couldn't move. A chunk of masonry had struck her in the small of her back and snapped her tail at an awful angle. Blood soaked her shirt and trousers. Another rejuve clutched a clearly broken arm, shrieking at the top of her lungs. Two Lifters were sprawled by their colleagues, one unconscious, one close to it.
Outside, chaos was spreading. Kyyreni and aliens alike were trying to make sense of the insensible scenes playing out around them. There were innumerable wounded; workers and visitors alike had been struck by debris, crushed or buried, choked by dust and grit. Some who were physically unharmed darted about, crying out for aid, crying out for friends or family they could not find. Power connections failed intermittently, plunging sections of Vices into darkness lit only by burning structures. The Sinking Light lost its power for almost a minute, and when it returned all the broadcast screens that still functioned displayed an ominous alert rune and the simple phrase: EMERGENCY. STAND BY.
Order came in the form of the militia. Armed and armoured, their features hidden behind gas-hoods, they corralled the wanderers off the streets and barked orders for moving of the injured. They came to the Sinking Light before long, four of them, wearing wasteland fatigues caked in blood and dust. "You are all to shelter in place!" their leader barked. "The streets must be kept clear! Emergency powers have been enacted, so stay where you are!"
The screens flickered again. This time, they displayed Taahl Tavik, issuing a message to the people, urging them to trust in the militia who were to save them from the tyranny of House Vaskal. Cries of alarm and disbelief met the announcement.
Within an hour, the Sinking Light had become a hospice for the lost and forgotten. The fires were getting worse; the dome and the district boundary-walls shimmered like an autumn sunset over the rooftops. The air was heavy with the industrial stink of torn-up rubble and burning plastics, mixed with the blood-and-filth scent of suffering that the injured carried with them. Thankfully, enough of the able-bodied Kyyreni who had found their way to the Sinking Light had some knowledge of basic medical techniques. Four tattooed youths turned up, one missing an eye, the other with a crushed paw, and their healthy colleagues laden down with pharmaceutical products taken from Gods-knew where. Nobody complained, as they agreed to share their plunder.
The screens continued to play messages from Taahl Tavik, and by the reckoning of most within the Sinking Light, they were baffling. The young noble promised 'a return to order', and spoke out against the social, moral and spiritual corruption of rejuvenation, which proved particularly chilling for the rejuves present. Penitatas were singled out directly. "No longer will criminals be rewarded for their misdeeds with immortality and the doting care of others. There will be no place for such scum within the new world we shall forge together!" Sam began to cry at hearing the announcement. Ivaka turned the screens off in disgust.
"It's going to be alright," Skal told her. "Kadan will protect us! You'll see!"
He glanced over to his friends. Ros was hovering by one of the injured, awkwardly holding a tray of cloth and basic medical supplies while an adult female checked the latest arrival. Hafn was distant, staring at nothing. Skal couldn't help but look to the injured. The nearest was a Daysider in his forties. There wasn't a mark on him, but he had been out cold on arrival and his breathing had slowed alarmingly. The boy wondered if he'd die right there, as he watched.
The trance was broken by Ivaka, who brought over bowls of soup and a small roll-loaf to share. "You should eat. Ros? Come here. Eat up, all of you! Hafn? Please?" she fussed over them, hovering anxiously until all four had swallowed at least one spoonful. Then she gave an unconvincing smile and returned to the kitchen.
"We can't stay here," Eskal told Ivaka as she returned to pick up another tray. "The district is still burning, and I don't think it's contained. I'm sure I heard weapons fire." It was a lie, but one intended to shield her. Ten minutes before, two dust-caked Dawnsiders had carried in a young man between them. The youth was dead - shot in the spine at close range by a high-velocity round.
"We can't leave these people," Ivaka replied, looking at the bloody mess that had become of her dining area. The tables were all thrown outside, and chairs moved so as much floor as possible could be set aside for the wounded. Most used shirts and jackets for bedding. A pair of Lifters were hauling out debris as best they could to make space for more refugees. Two other volunteers were clearing bodies and blood.
Eskal stepped in front of Ivaka to demand her attention. "We might have to. I don't know what's happening here, Ivaka, but every instinct I have is screaming that we have to get out of Vices!"
Ivaka locked eyes with him. "I am not going anywhere! Not while there's people here who need me!" She couldn't quite keep the fear out of her voice, but for Eskal that made her words all the more convincing.
A low rumble echoed from the north. Another detonation. Eskal was tempted to dismiss it, but a second followed, much closer. Then came a third, so loud and forceful it seemed to be directly above their heads. There was a monstrous howl of tortured metal, a shearing shriek that echoed through the streets, and the stragglers who lurked outside came bursting back inside, ghostly pale and howling in alarm. Skal ran over to the window and peered out through the cracked glass. "What's happening?" Sam asked him, but he couldn't speak. Terror stole his voice away.
The dome was coming down.

The first of Tavik's men burst into the library with a weapon raised and firing. He had no intention of wasting time with taunts, threats or listening to pleading. He gunned down the Guildmaster in a heartbeat. What he hadn't counted on was the Enforcers being armed.
Kadan drew his pistol and returned fire. In the miniscule span of time it took, the Enforcer General was raked with a salvo of rounds and flung off his feet. The Corrector-Captain barked off an explosive round that caught the Houseguard under the chin and blew his jaw clean off. A bone fragment tore the eye out of a second attacker, buying precious moments for the Watch-Captain and Border-Marshal to join Kadan in retaliating. The two surviving attackers exchanged fire for a few brutal seconds before losing a second of their number. The last Kyyreni withdrew, firing from the hip as he went.
"Sound off!" Kadan barked, panting hard as adrenaline pounded through his system. The sensation made his wounded arm ache.
There was no immediate answer. He risked a glance behind him and saw the Watch-Captain and Lady Administratrix both kneeling over the Madame Seneshal. She was gut-shot and bleeding out at an alarming rate. The Border-Marshal was slumped against a bookshelf, panting hard. His armour was bullet-riddled, but there was scarcely any blood. "Okad! We have to go! We've got to get to the Lord Governor!"
The Watch-Captain glanced up, saw the fury in Kadan's expression, and acknowledged the order with a grim not. He placed a bloody paw on the chest of the Madame Seneshal as a wordless farewell, and followed Kadan from the library. A gunshot rang out before they could get clear, striking the antique doors and blowing splinters of wood into their faces. They fell back, pinned in by Tavik's men.
Cries of alarm rang out. By now, Houseguards and other members of House Vaskal were approaching, drawn by the gunfire. Queries and orders rang out, while the men of Tavik loudly and boldly branded the Enforcers as traitors. Watch-Captain Okad gave Kadan an anxious glance. "We're dead men, aren't we?" he asked grimly.
Kadan risked poking his head through the doorway. "Houseguards! Taahl Tavik has betrayed your Lord, and I have the proof! It's right here!"
"Don't listen, it's a trap!" barked one of Tavik's soldiers.
The Houseguard sneered at them. "I know the Enforcers. I know Kadan. He is disrespectful, but I will hear him out." the tone of the Kyyreni's voice made it clear that any dissent would be seen as an admission of guilt on their part. As he drew near, the Watch-Captain handed over Kadan's evidence. The Houseguard watched the video in silence. Then he turned and strode with grim purpose towards the two men of House Tavik. "You need to watch this," he told them, coldly.
"But... this is impossible! Our Lord prepares himself for an honour duel!" the elder of the two Kyyreni protested.
The Houseguard drew his sword. "You have spilled blood within my House. There will be an answer for that."
The younger of the two rose his weapon and was cut down in two swift, brutal strokes that opened his wrist and thigh. The third blow, a thrust to the collar, was delivered more out of disgust than any need to further injure the male. The elder of the Tavik paid barely flinched. He let his weapon fall and bared his throat. After a nod of respect for his choice, the Houseguard opened his throat cleanly.
The Houseguard turned once more to the Enforcers, his fur and fine clothes splattered in blood. "You will come with me at once!" Without waiting, he strode across the ruined carpet and towards the rear of the palace, where the honour duels took place.
As was custom, Wokun and Taahl had stripped to their fur for the duel, with tails unbound and their unbraided manes left to hang loose across their shoulders. It was an ancient display of both courage and honestly; to face the foe without protection, and to prove you had no hidden trickery. In practice, the two young males revealed a great deal more than their blond fur and athletic bodies. Wokun bore several scars, in particular upon his mangled muzzle, and two fresh wounds upon his chest. Taahl's flesh was unblemished. Both of the Kyyreni fought with a houseblade - a hand-and-a-half sword with a long, slightly curved blade. Their weapons were thinner than 'true' houseblades, and the curve at the tip less pronounced. A thin sheen on crimson edged the tip of Taahl's weapon.
Kadan, Okad and the Vaskal Houseguard ran to the arena as the pair danced around each other, blades flashing against each other. They were testing, probing, shifting between stances and practiced grips in an attempt to find a positional advantage, yet it was clear to all where the advantage lay. "Stop!" Kadan roared. "Stop the duel, now!"
All eyes turned upon him. "You have not the authority to interrupt this challenge, Enforcer!" the Arbitrator spat.
"The fuck I don't! We have evidence that Taahl Tavik is supporting the bastards attacking us! He's a traitor to the City!"
At the accusation, the two noble Kyyreni broke and lowered their swords. Taahl Kadan with a fiery stare and snarled at him, "You have no right to make such claims against me. You are a servant, a thrall, and you will hold your tongue if you value your life. Guards, remove him!"
"Taahl, stop!" came a cry from behind the gathering. Ylari came bounding to the arena with her cub swaddled to her chest. "You cannot do this!"
"I grow weary of these interruptions," the Arbitrator said in a warning tone. "Lord Vaskal, first your Enforcers and now your sister disrupts this duel. If there are any further disruptions, I will consider it an act of dishonour in the ring of challenge. You know what that means, I trust?"
"I do," Wokun answered in the voice of a defeated man. He turned his sorrowful eyes to Ylari and added, "Sister, if you care at all for me, you will allow this challenge to continue."
Ylari gave a shuddering sob. Blinking back tears she replied, "would you swear an oath to me, dear brother? Swear an oath that you will not utter a word of a lie within that ring."
Confused, the Lord Governor gave a brief glance to the Arbitrator as if seeking approval. The old, crimson-robed Kyyreni shrugged. "I... I swear it, sister. I swear upon the Gods and my own immortal soul that I will not lie to you."
Ylari then turned to her husband. "Taahl? Will you also swear an oath? Swear to me now... swear this child is of your blood. Swear it, Taahl!" she added forcefully as the Arbitrator tried to put and end to her performance.
Taahl hesitated. It was a subtle pause, but Kadan saw it. Suddenly, the world seemed distant. The lord's words came to him from a great distance, muted and echoing. "I swear. I swear an Oath that boy is my blood."
"Then I name you as an oathbreaker!" Ylari cried, tears streaming down her face. "This is not your son, Taahl! He cannot be, for you were born sterile!"
Shocked and outraged cries rose to meet the claim. Wokun realised then why Ylari had bound him to an oath. "I know this to be true!" he added, raising his voice to be heard. "Taahl was to marry my sister years ago, but his defect was discovered when he first came of age! Our families called off the wedding, but kept the knowledge secret so as not to dishonour him. I am sorry, Taahl, but I have to speak truthfully now. You were bound to do the same... and you did not. You are not the Taahl I knew..." Wokun was crying at the end, the silent tears of rage and pain born from the shattering of his world. "I name you, Taahl Tavik, as an Oathbreaker!"
Kadan stepped to the edge of the ring, shaking with primal fury. "That means you're still Lord Governor, doesn't it? That means your Red Wall protocol is in effect?"
Wokun wasn't listening. His eyes remained fixed on Taahl, his muzzle twisted into a grimace of pain that had nothing to do with the shallow wounds upon his chest. "I tried to protect you, Taahl," he rasped, straining against himself to remain composed. "I wanted to protect you, but I can no-longer do you. I hope you understand."
"Why the fuck are you defending a traitor?" Kadan roared, daring to swing his weapon toward the Lord Governor. "This bastard has sided with the people blowing up our city! His lackies murdered my colleagues in cold blood, and you're here crying like a fucking child because we hurt his feelings!"
Wokun seemed more confused than hurt by the vulgar insults of his subordinate. Once more he fixed his eyes on Taahl, who had scarcely moved. "Is what Kadan said true? Have you betrayed the City?"
"She knew my secret," Taahl replied. Kadan knew with absolute certainty that 'She' meant Lady Sin. "She told me that the only hope I had to keep the truth concealed was to aid her. I... I couldn't let it end with me, Wokun. I couldn't be the last of the Tavik line! Even if Orn isn't of my blood, people would believe he was. I thought, perhaps, that would be enough." The young man had the decency to hang his head in shame.
Wokun stepped from the ring, no less broken than the traitor. He paused, turned, and said to Taahl, "lines of succession can become muddied, Taahl. The order of birth can be improperly recorded, and the true successor fades from notice while a false line is recorded. It has happened before. Would it bring you comfort to hear I was told of such a line?"
By the young man's expression, it did not. If anything, the revelation seemed to have destroyed the Kyyreni noble. "Then everything I did was for nothing? The line would have endured?"
"I thought that would bring you comfort. I didn't mean to make your end more painful."
Taahl nodded. "I... I think it does. Yes. Thank you, my friend. Forgive my weakness."
Wokun glanced at Kadan and gave a sombre nod. Okad tapped the Corrector-Captain on the shoulder and wordlessly offered his weapon - a pistol that, unlike Kadan's, was loaded with standard ammunition. Kadan took it.
"You stole my son, claimed him as your own, you sold us all out to a fucking murder-cult! Every death we suffer, everything we lose because of them, I will blame you for it all until the end of time!" The Enforcer raised his weapon and howled like a demon as gunned the nobleman down. He put seven rounds into the young Kyyreni's chest, and pulled the trigger nine more times out of sheer rage. The cub, Orn screamed in fear and confusion in Ylari's arms.
Blond paws closed around Kadan's weapon and carefully pried it from his grip. "That was unnecessary," Wokun growled, and for a brief moment the Lord Governor thought Kadan would kill him, such was the fire in the Enforcer's eyes.
"It..." Kadan's eyes slid closed. He took several deep, shaking gulps of air and reopened them. "Probably, but I have wanted to do that for all my life."
"Kill a nobleman, you mean?" Wokun asked with a black-humoured smile. "Well, I'm glad you got your wish. Where is the rest of your Guild?"
"I already told you. The Guildmaster's dead and the others... they might be too. We left wounded in the library," Kadan answered. He felt dazed, drunk despite being sober. Wokun sent his surgeon, under escort, to see to them. "Lord, you should see the video we were given. Okad? Show him."
"Later," Wokun waved away the offer. "Right now we are under attack and I need to know how badly. I need order restored. I must dress, and prepare. You should ready yourself as well, Guildmaster. The days ahead will be the hardest of our lives.
"I just told you the Guildmaster is dead," Kadan growled impatiently.
"You don't look dead to me, Kadan. But you will be if you fail. We'll all be dead if you fail," he added as he departed.
Confused, and now feeling lost as to what to do, Kadan found himself focusing on the pained sounds coming from young Orn. A terrible dread, far worse than any near-death experience gripped him to the point of nausea. He inched towards Ylari, who would not meet his eye beyond the briefest of shamed glances. Eventually, the cub in her arms settled. "When did you find out he was mine?" Kadan asked in a whisper.
"I've always known," Ylari replied. "I've known of Taahl's impediment for years, but I was sworn to silence. It was necessary, Kadan. I hated every moment of the lie, but it was necessary..."
Kadan brushed her cheek with tender care. "If anyone else had told me that I would... do something rash. But I cannot be angry at you. I just wish I knew what to do. I... I don't know if I can be a father to him, Ylari. You're still a noblewoman, and your brother just made me Guildmaster, assuming there's a fucking Guild left at the end of this. I want to be there for you, but-"
"Then you will be," Ylari interrupted in a tone that would suffer no argument. "I know you, Guildmaster Kadan. I know your power, and your passion, and I know that any fool who stands between you and your desires will suffer for it. Especially now. If you want us to be together, I know it will be so."
Kadan dared to steal a fleeting kiss from the young Dawnsider. "I will make this right again, I swear it."
Ylari's blinked tears away and whispered, "you should go. My brother will need you. Your son and I will be safe here."
"My son..." Kadan felt a sudden chill down his spine. "Gods! Skal is out there somewhere!"
Okad placed a paw on Kadan's shoulder, "I will find out what's happened to him, Guildmaster. Lady Ylari is right - the Lord Governor needs you. Duty must come first."
Kadan let a growl pass his barred teeth. "I think that's the first thing I'll change," he snarled as he shrugged off Okad's grip before hurrying away to his lord's side.

Skal stared up in terrified awe as the steel sky fell in. A support pillar several streets away ruptured at its head and brought a jagged chunk of dome with it. Cracks formed, linking to secondary damage points and splitting the skin of the great, protective shield. Four simultaneous blasts fired off, hurling arm-sized securing bolts down into the streets with enough force to split a truck in half. The vast, twin-turbined air cycler they'd held in place fell with eerie slowness, trailing debris in its wake. A length of cable stayed attached just long enough to arrest the fall, jerking another section of the dome loose as the multi-ton ventilation unit was swung like a wrecking ball into another support structure. Then the cable snapped, bringing machine and support down together. Forty feet of dome, in three erratic waves, followed close behind.
Fire and water poured down upon Vices. Great, billowing clouds of smoke plumed up from the numerous impact sites, blotting out the ugly wound above for several minutes until the sheer, relentless downpour cleared the sky. Thunder, ear-splitting with its closeness heralded a fresh torrent of water that rushed down in quantities far beyond anything the district's outflow system was ever built to handle.
The sound of the storm above almost concealed the storm below. The heavy thuds and barks of large guns rebounded off the buildings, mixed with the gekkering of small-arms. As he watched the world come apart around him, a Dawnsider appeared at the top of the road, falling over on the loose rubble in his mad flight towards the Sinking Light. He spotted Skal at the window and skidded to a halt, landing on his arse before scrambling toward the establishment. "You've all got to get out!" he cried as he barged in. "Hurry! You have to run!"
Eskal stepped forward. "Take a breath, lad. Tell us what's wrong."
"It's the militia!" he replied, pointing back the way he came. "The bastards are going door to door, kicking them in and dragging people away! They want the kids! They'll kill anyone who tries to stop them taking the kids!"
All eyes turned to Skal and the other rejuves. Sam began to cry again. Others turned to the dark screens and recalled the words of Taahl Tavik, and his promise of a reckoning for the rejuves. One of the Lifters, a broad-shouldered, brutish looking Kyyreni stood up and walked with grim purpose towards the front of the bar. Eskal moved to stand between him and the penitatas.
The Lifter looked Eskal up and down. "You're a noble, yeah? You know something about fighting?"
"I do," Eskal answered. His paw was at the holster on his hip.
"Good. How do we fight them?" the brute looked around the room briefly. "We've got, what? Thirty-odd people here who could fight. Is that enough? How do we kill those fuckers?"
Eskal glanced away, towards the frightened penitatas. "Let me check on them before we begin," he told the Lifter, and moved to the four rejuves sat together by the window. He knelt down and smiled at them, though there was no joy in his eyes. "Skal? I hear you're fond of starships. I'm hoping you have taken a similar interest in militia vehicles."
Skal gave him a puzzled look in reply. The nobleman shook his head and turned to Ros and Sam in turn, meeting their gazes and offering murmured words of encouragement. Last, he looked to Hafn. The boy was still shaken and distant, looking out the window but seeing nothing. Eskal steered his muzzle round with a gentle touch so they could speak eye to eye. "If you want to know about nobility, then here's the first lesson. In times of crisis, people look to us for guidance, assurance and leadership. No matter what, a noble should always appear confident and in control. Never doubting, never afraid. Do you understand?"
Without waiting for the boy to confirm, Eskal turned back towards the slowing gathering audience. "I have little direct experience with this militia, but I can make informed assumptions. We likely face somewhere between two thousand to six thousand soldiers, mostly light infantry, outfitted with basic combat armour from what I've seen, and armed with six-oh-six rifles. At least some of them have battle experience in the northern campaigns, but I suspect most of them are simply fanatics of the Blighted Cult, relying on zealotry more than skill at arms. We should assume a full suite of vehicle support; skimmers, tanks, self-propelled guns, perhaps even aircraft. Skal? I believe you have some familiarity with military vehicles?"
The boy froze at the sound of his name, but as all eyes turned to him he remembered the whispered words from moments before. "Yes... If they use the most common tank model, that would be a KIR Mk18; a medium tank, fast and hard to kill. But it's a ground vehicle, not a skimmer, and it's not tough enough to take hits from dedicated tank-destroyers, so they rely on mobility to stay alive."
"Mobility is the one thing we can surely deny then," Eskal cut in, taking over from the boy with a nod. "A tank is more a psychological weapon than a true threat. Once inside the dome, our narrow streets, the dividing walls of the district, and any barriers we can erect will all severely hinder armour movement. Once a tank is boxed in they can be destroyed by infantry assault, using a variety of improvised methods. It is dangerous, I won't lie, but it can be done! Moreover, we only need to do it a few times and block key approaches with burning hulks. After that, it's a skimmer and infantry war, and the domes and high buildings make skimmers less than ideal. If they stand still, they die quickly; if they fly evasive, there's every chance they'll smash themselves into an obstacle. The true threat is infantry: the man on foot with a rifle in hand."
Eskal began to pick out his soldiers, calling them over and briefing them on how he intended to acquire weapons. "Once we have arms, our next task will be to find reinforcements. For that, we will go south and link up with the Enforcers. That means braving the fires, but it is an acceptable risk; the Enforcers will not only provide men and materiel, but also a safe place for the wounded and other non-combatants. Everyone who stays behind should make ready to move as soon as our vanguard returns. Volunteers?"
Paws began to raise, and voices followed. Mostly young males, with a few of the more courageous females were answering the call. Ivaka was not one of them. As Eskal's troops began to congregate around him, a strange anxiety took hold in Skal's chest. He looked to Sam, Hafn and Ros, all of whom were staring at Eskal with a curious mix of fear and admiration. He thought of how his own efforts to better his lot, born of selfishness in truth, had earned him the same level of awe from his peers. 'Skal the Reborn', as the story went. He'd always thought it foolish, but something deep within him wanted to earn that heroic name. "I want to help!" he blurted out to the shock of all in earshot.
Eskal smiled like a proud father, "I appreciate the offer, young man, but I think it would be best you stay here."
"But I can be useful out there!" Skal protested. "If the militia see a group of men roaming around they'll know you're up to something, but nobody will look twice if I'm on my own!"
"Yes they will!" Sam hissed, terror writ clear across her muzzle. "They're trying to kill rejuves, remember?"
Eskal did not seem to share her concerns. "You are right, Skal. You can scout for us." Ivaka gave a cry of alarm, but the noble cut her off, "Skal is a rejuve, not a true child. Moreover, he's a member of the Enforcer's Guild. I believe he is fully cognisent of the risks involved, and I trust he can look after himself. Skal, you will scout for us - but the moment you spy trouble you are to pull back and let the adults handle it! If you accept these terms, you may come."
"I do!" Skal answered. His own eagerness surprised him. He turned to Sam once more and took her artificial paws in his own. "Don't worry about me, I'll be just fine. You'll see."
Sam seemed unable to find an answer. All too quickly, Eskal gave the rejuve a tap on his shoulder, and nodded towards the door. For better or worse, Skal had committed to the venture.
The party headed north, winding through streets caked with dust and rubble. Standing water was everywhere, even under the shelter of the dome. The source turned out to be a shattered water pipe built onto the frontage of a gambling den. The spray was aimed directly at the passenger compartment of an abandoned open-topped ground car, creating an ornamental pond in the middle of the road. Eskal led them around and through a side alley, towards the interior plate. An alarm was singing out nearby. As they emerged back onto the main roads they were greeted by absolute devastation; every shop front smashed, security bars ripped down, doors hammered in. The water sloshed around smashed liquor bottles and lost coin-cards, while waterlogged narcotic packets drifted back and forth in the eddies. One of the store fronts had a dead Dawnsider tied to the streetlight outside, a cardboard sign reading 'LOOTER' tied around his neck. The youth had been beaten severely and hacked at with some kind of blade. "Wait here," Eskal told the group as he headed into the store directly behind the body. A minute or so passed in tense silence, followed by a sharp snap-crack sound from within. Eskal emerged carrying a home made machete and a pry bar. Nobody questioned their origin.
"We'll use this as the ambush site," he said, pointing to a high-topped transport vehicle. It was a skimmer in Lifter yellow, powered down and rested on six thick landing struts. He handed his ballistic pistol to one of the Lifters and drew his own energy weapon. The pair swept the vehicle, finding no-one alive. "We'll move that body here, next to the truck. Skal? Scout north for me. If you find anyone, lure them back here. Get into that store or the alley we came from as quickly as you can. If shooting starts and you're in the open, you drop to the ground and play dead. Got that?"
"Yessir," Skal said with an anxious nod.
"Good. Remember, keep yourself safe above all else."
With one last nod, Skal moved along the road towards the plate. Even from a distance he could see that it had taken the brunt of the dome collapse; the silhouette of shattered rooftops was both distinct and discomforting, as was the lack of people. Vices normally thronged with foot traffic, but now it was seemingly abandoned. The word 'necropolis' settled itself in Skal's mind and refused to leave, despite the protests of his inner monologue.
The militia patrol blindsided him. He heard their call and turned as they emerged from a side street. He tried to back away, but his paw caught a wet bottle and flew out from under him, planting the boy on his back in the soaking street. Before he could right himself again, a Dawnsider in a tan-uniform had him by the wrist. "Let go!" he waited, tearing up from pain and fright.
"Show me his paw," the squad leader growled. Skal's captor did so. "No mark, eh? You're the real thing?"
Skal realised his only way out was to play to his biological age. The throbbing along his spine helped him summon up tears, and the puddle-water soaking his face helped sell the routine. "I n-n-need help! M-my dad's re-eally hu-urt!"
"Where is your dad?" the militiaman asked. There were four of them, all armed with rifles. It took considerable force of will to look at anything but the rifles. Skal clenched his eyes shut, let out a bawling howl and thrust an overly shaky paw back the way he'd came. "Alright, calm it down! Keep hold of the brat, we'll go have a look."
The four moved with care towards the ambush site. There was no sign of Eskal or his squad there now; the only difference Skal could spot was the dead body's relocation, and the fact both the truck doors were now hanging open. "T-t-there!" Skal squeaked, indicating the corpse now lying on the ground.
"He looks dead to me," on of the militia whispered just loud enough that Skal could hear. The boy pretended not to.
Their leader took hold of Skal's paw. "Fan out, check for trouble."
The remaining three soldiers swept the vehicle carefully, confirming it was empty and there was no-one underneath. One confirmed the dead man was indeed dead, and indicated as such with a quick paw gesture. "Something's not right," the leader growled. Eskal confirmed his suspicions.
A bolt of energy hit the Kyyreni in the face, blowing his skull apart and hurling his armoured skull-cap five feet into the air. Skal froze, caught by surprise at the sudden fury of the attack. Gunfire rattled, briefly, and more cracks of fire sounded from Eskal's weapon. The spinning, tumbling helm clonked back to earth and span out the last of its momentum at Skal's feet. By then, the other three militia were down. The ones who were still screaming were quickly silenced by brutal blows from clubs or blades carried by the ambushers.
"You alright?" Eskal asked as he hurried to the Penny boy.
Skal's eyes were drawn to the helmet below him. There was a charred, viscous mess stuck to the inside. At the same instant Skal realised what he was looking at, his nose was assailed by a reek of burnt fur and boiled blood. He swung his muzzle to the side and vomited.
"That's good, you get it out," Eskal encouraged him, giving the rejuve a few hard pats on the back. "You don't need to stay here, Skal. You can go back."
"N-no," he stammered, hawking up a few dregs of bile. "I'm gonna see it through!"
With a sigh, the noble stood back up. "I appreciate your courage, Skal, but this is no place for you. I should never-" Eskal's apology was cut short by a cry of alarm. A gunshot rang out from the north, and the noble flung Skal into the nearest doorway as panic filled the street. Shouts and screams came from all directions, overlapping and incoherent.
The door behind them burst open. Eskal was thrown backwards and tumbled to the ground, grappling with his attacker for control of a double-edged knife. Skal turned to see a second Kyyreni in the doorway, a black-clad warrior with a heavy calibre pistol. He recognised the uniform immediately. "Stop!" he cried, arms raised, "I'm Skal! Kadan's son! We're friends!"
The Enforcer looked down at him in surprise. There were a few tense seconds before he stepped forward and pulled his colleague away from Eskal. "Arms down!" he cried. "Arms down, all of you!"
Halting the fight was an awkward and fragmented process, but slowly the two groups slunk apart and licked their wounds. Injuries had been inflicted on both sides, but thankfully none were mortal. Eskal got to his feet and stared down the two Enforcers. "I was under the impression you were defending the people of Vices," he growled.
"We were, at least those who aren't out to fuck everyone else over!" the Enforcer answered. "Seems Lord Tavik had been urging people to attack us, and there've been more than a few willing to try! Hang on, aren't you the bouncer at that rejuve pub?"
"Close enough. We're out here raising arms, hoping to drive the militia back. Looks to me you're doing the same, so perhaps we can combine our resources?"
"I think we can work with that. The name's Kyr, line-sergeant Kyr. Come with us, we've got a base camp of sorts under the plate. I have a bad feeling we'll need all the help we can get soon enough."

Despite knowing it was a foolish thing to do, Kadan tossed a pawful of opioid pills into his muzzle and washed them down with a pull from his hip flask. There was only so long he could stand the sensation of his bones grinding together.
"Perhaps you should sit this one out?" the Houseguard opposite suggested. His voice came out of his armour's beaked helm low and distorted. Clad as he and his companions were in powered armour, they made an intimidating sight. Kadan made an obscene hand gesture in response to the faux concern, then closed his eyes as slowly, by subtle degrees, the pain became less urgent.
A jolt of turbulence snapped him back to alertness. Kadan had been a sleep, but only for a few moments. Angered at himself, he looked for someone to vent at and found the most obvious target. "Just how much did you know about Taahl's fucking schemes?" he snarled at the Lord Governor.
"Not now," the young leader replied, without bothering to turn towards him. "We will discuss that later."
"We might not be alive 'later', so I'd rather you talked now," Kadan pressed, but it got him nowhere.
The transport whined down just shy of the Broadcaster's Guild. Kadan would much rather have gone to the aid of the Billet, or one of the many other besieged Enforcer posts, but the Lord Governor wanted him there. Waiting for them were Kyyreni civilians, most of whom had wrapped yellow bands around their heads, arms or chests to quickly and easily identify one another. Kadan and his power-armoured escort were steered towards a forward command position, staffed by a handful of Enforcers and surrounded by heavily armed Kyyreni who had added the ad-hoc yellows to their more formalised gang colours. Command appeared split between an Enforcer lieutenant and a Nightsider who was presumably high up in the gang's hierarchy.
"Corrector-Captain!" the lieutenant called, practically wagging his tail in delight at seeing a superior officer. "Allow me to introduce the Teeth, a local 'volunteer' group who are helping contain the situation.
"Where the fuck did you get this kind of armament?" Kadan snarled, noting the rifles they all carried. They were old, but military-grade; the kind of weapon the Enforcers kept in select armouries for direst emergency.
The lead 'Tooth' gave a smile of wry amusement. "The traitors! They wanted us to join in their little rebellion, spent months grooming us and bringing into the fold. When it all went off they brought us to the weapon stockpile and we slaughtered them all!" The ganger stepped forward, took in Kadan's bound arm, and offered his own left paw. "We might not always agree with the laws you enforce, Enforcer, but any man who dares call me 'traitor' will be found hanging skinless from the dome-top. The name's Ozrat, son of Ozra. Me and mine are with you to the bitter, bloody end!"
Kadan clasped the ganger's forearm, to the audible contempt of the Houseguard. Prompted by their reaction he turned to the nobles, found one whose collar bore a subtle oval pin and announced, "Ozrat, son of Ozra, meet Wokun, son of Jaahr."
The confidence bled away from the ganger in a heartbeat, but the Lord Governor seemed prepared for it. He removed his helm and stepped forward to clasp the criminal's forearm. "It is an honour to fight beside you, Ozrat. When this is over, you and I shall have much to discuss. For now, explain the situation."
Kadan half-listened to the ganger's outline of the siege, favouring the lieutenant's account. The Broadcast Guild had been attacked without warning by two groups simultaneously, one of which matched the description of Haakyr's band of murderers. They took control of the building, secured every access point, and began transmitting Taahl Tavik's speeches to the masses. They had no certainty on numbers or weapons, but most of the fire coming from the upper floors was small arms grade; pistols and rifles. The lieutenant guessed they would need a hundred soldiers at least to take and secure the Guild. "They can't have more than a company in there, unless most of it is held in reserve. If the chatter's to be believed we've got firefights all across the City. Hard to believe they'd waste too many men on this."
"Well I think they expected local support," Kadan replied. "How many do we have?"
The lieutenant shrugged, "couple of hundred able bodies, but only fifty or so I'd remotely trust with a weapon. Only twelve of our own men are present, excluding yourself, captain."
"He's not a 'captain' anymore," Wokun cut in. "Kadan is your Guildmaster now. Spread the word." The Lord Governor added as he sealed his helmet back in place.
Guildmaster, am I? Kadan sighed inwardly. "Guess I should act like it. Lord Governor, how durable are your suits? Can they withstand small arms?"
"Far better than your ballistic plate will, Guildmaster," Wokun confirmed.
"Alright, then House Vaskal takes point. I want you to smash right through the front door. I will lead the second wave, going in on your tail. Ozrat, pick twelve men you trust for the push. The rest I want positioned around the building to cover the exits. I guarantee these vermin will bolt when powered armour breaks down the door."
"I'm on it," the ganger answered.
"One other thing: we haven't got the manpower to be guarding prisoners. Kill them all. I don't care if they throw down their arms and beg for their lives, they all die. Am I understood?"
Ozrat laughed blackly. "Oh, I understand you perfectly."
Kadan watched the ganger move out, and waited impatiently for the preparations to be made. The dull aching was still there, but he couldn't afford to dull his senses any more than he already had. He could already feel his tail lagging like dead weight behind him, forcing conscious effort to shift the limb properly. The newly-minded Guildmaster turned to watch his lord address the troops. Wokun and his Houseguard removed their helms so he could look each of them in the eyes. With sombre formality he said to each of them, "Kadec Kyiyn," and they echoed the words. Blood and Iron. So often a heartfelt curse, but Kadan suspected it was meant as a simple reminder of their faith.
"We were forged of blood and iron. Vorhol, Forge God, reached into the heart of the world and plucked forth the purest iron from which to forge us, and as the metal glowed in the fires of the forge he cut open his palm and bled his divine blood upon it. From this we were made, this bond of blood and iron becoming a divine gift - a soul. Unique amongst all creation, save the Gods themselves, that which Vorhol forged would have the means to shape its own destiny. We, the Kyyreni, the fusion of the mortal and the divine."
Kadan realised his whispered scripture had carried enough to draw an audience. Enforcers, gangers and nobility alike were looking to him, Wokun included. He raised his voice and carried on in a bold, commanding tone, "Kyyreni! We are masters of our destiny! We live and die not by the whims of Gods, but by our own strength and force of will! Our enemies in there have pledged their souls to false gods; to soul-consuming demons, personifications of madness, perversion and death. They are Kyyreni no-longer, for they ceased to be our people the moment they sacrificed themselves to their unholy masters! They are perverse mockeries of us, blighted, soulless animals that live only to ruin and defile! To kill them is an act of mercy... so let us be merciful to them! For Taviksaad!"
"For Taviksaad!" the Kyyreni roared in answer. Wokun gave an approving nod before locking his helmet back into place.
The instant Ozrat confirmed readiness, Wokun led the charge. The Broadcasters headquarters was a brutalist building, grey and hideous to look upon. Small arms fire chattered from the tall, narrow windows looking out over the entrance courtyard, which the nobility seemed not to notice. Their armour hissed and whined, the radiators on their spines glowing white hot to thermal sense as they shouldered through the ad-hoc barricade at the front entrance and ploughed straight through the laminated glass of the main doors. What followed was a slaughter.
Kadan had never seen powered infantry in action. He'd heard stories of what they could do, but the sanitised tales barely scratched the surface. Fully armed and armoured, each of the attackers weighed almost half a ton, and they advanced with no regard to their victims whatsoever. They marched at a brisk pace while firing from the hip, driving the terrorists to cower behind cover that was swiftly demolished by brutal kicks and stomps. The nobles then marched through, bones snapping beneath their armoured boots, leaving broken, screaming bodies for Kadan and his squad to finish with bullet and blade.
The display left Kadan enraged. Not at the callousness of the technique, but its overwhelming efficacy. He found no pleasure in putting an end to cultists who were drowning in their own blood, or frantically stuffing organs back into ruined bodies. He longed for vengeance of his own, to be the source of their agony. Their conspiracy had caused so much misery to his people, his world, his family... his family! The Gods-forsaken scum had hidden his own bloody son from him! They had done everything they could bar kill him, and he wanted to rip out every last throat himself!
As they followed the sounds of battle upwards, Kadan found himself directly behind the Lord Governor. Augmented by his armour, the young ruler had slung his rifle and grabbed a mangy Daysider in both paws and was brutally dismembering him. The fanatic shrieked in agony as his shoulder ligaments popped, bones crackled, and finally the entire limb ripped away in a splatter of gore. Though his voice was muffled by the beaked helm, Kadan knew Wokun was howling in rage as he beat the Daysider to death with his own arm. As the broken corpse hit the amber carpet, Wokun turned his head towards Kadan. "I... I just wanted one of them to suffer," he confessed, seemingly embarrassed by his brutality.
"I know," Kadan answered. He was suddenly sober. What he saw hadn't sickened him - there was no torture anyone could inflict on Lady Sin's followers that would ever do that - but it had filled him with concern. "If I may say, Lord, I don't think a leader should be seen to do that."
Wokun scoffed. "We both know you would have in my place."
"I would have done much worse, but you're supposed to be better than me. Or have you forgotten that?"
Wokun tried unsuccessfully to wipe some of the gore from his armoured paws. "I think I had. Thank you for reminding me, Guildmaster." He took up his rifle again and gestured for Kadan to follow him. "I'm starting to get chatter from outside. It seems Haakyr and his mercenaries are making a breakout."
"Then why are we still going up?" Kadan snapped impatiently.
"Because only the Daysiders are running. The cult wants this place. They are fighting a war of ideas as much as bullets, Kadan. They want the people to believe they are righteous defenders of the true leader of Taviksaad, overthrowing a usurper. An inversion of reality can be a potent lie indeed. An outright fabrication is too easily dismissed, but a mirror-image of reality looks enough like truth to be accepted."
"Like how nobles are always honest and forthright?"
Wokun halted at the barb. He turned his hulking form towards Kadan, who stared calmly up into the eye-lenses of the helmet. After a pause, Wokun asked, "what really happened during the first uprising, Kadan? If you expect honesty of me, then I am entitled to it in return. Who ordered the Red Wall in Blister? Who ordered the Enforcers to turn their weapons on terrorist and civilian alike?"
"You are about to learn just how hard it is to tell the difference in the middle of a firefight," Kadan growled back.
"That is not an answer," Wokun pressed. "Do you fear reprisal? Do you believe I would punish you if you admit your guilt?"
Kadan glanced away. "I think... whoever gave that order... the guilt is what keeps him silent. When the difference between life and death rests on a split-second choice to pull the trigger or not, when every corner, every window, every shadowed gantry might hold another attacker... I think someone figured we'd either have a mound of dead innocent, or dead Enforcers. We may have blood on our paws, but at least we're still here to protect the rest of our people."
"More to speak of later, I think," the Lord Govenor nodded to the side, and they pressed onward.
Higher up, the resistance thinned out considerably. The cultists learned too late their way out was cut, and began to consolidate in whatever defensible positions they could find. Where Wokun's men found them it was a bloodbath, but if met by Enforcers and Gangers the fights were drawn out and costly. By the final stand, half of Kadan's squad were too badly wounded to keep fighting, and two more had gone to Vorhol's side. The only injuries for House Vaskal were cramps caused by excessive trigger usage.
The last holdout was in the main broadcast studio. Taahl Tavik's prerecorded propaganda played silently on numerous ceiling monitors and side screens, while an eight-screen workstation appeared to have lined up additional recordings for transmission. Guild members were cowed along the edges of the room, watched over by skittish cultists. At the far end of the room, with her back to the door, was Lady Sin.
Kadan raised his pistol, but Wokun's armoured paw forced the weapon down. "I want her alive."
The Enforcer bit back his retort. "All of you, drop your weapons if you value your lives! You all know who I am, and you know I will not offer mercy twice!"
"Do as the Corrector-Captain says," Lady Sin announced, finally turning to face her foe. Her permanently smirking muzzle cocked to one side, parrot like, at the sight of Wokun. "The Lord Governor himself? I am honoured."
"I am surprised you remained behind, rather than fleeing with the others," Wokun said as he crossed the chamber. With a subtle hand gesture he send one of his Houseguard to the control terminal to end the cult's broadcasts. "I have to assume there is a reason."
Lady Sin, as always, smiled at the statement. "Cold calculation, nothing more. My God has promised me victory - he did not promise I would live to see it."
"Someone should tell that thing you worship, Taahl Tavik is dead," Kadan spat at her, thought it did nothing to change her smug composure.
"No matter, he has played his part. I have accepted that I shall die, and I do not fear the end; for I am Redeemed! In time, all on Taviksaad will come to accept the path to salvation that we alone can offer them. Your lies and hollow promises can sway them no-longer."
Kadan gave the female a wordless curse before turning to his Lord. "I think we're done here. I need to get to Vices, Wokun. I need to make sure my son is safe!"
Wokun turned him away from the smirking Lady Sin and spoke in a whisper. "I want you to locate their sin-eater, the one they call 'The Blighted Man'. He may still be in Vices. If you can secure him, it would be invaluable for breaking their morale. She believes her false god is with her; if we were to find their messiah it would doubtless make her, and the other cultists far more compliant. Do this for me... after you have taken your boy to safety."
"Yes, Lord," Kadan gave a slight bow to the Lord Governor. Before he left he gave one last, hateful stare towards the creature known as Lady Sin. "Don't die before I get back," he said, then he spat at her and headed back to the ground floor.
Outside was a scene of blood and carnage. The other captives lay dead at the entrance by the gang's hand, but the men charged with covering the north-east entrance had suffered crippling losses. Ozrat was among the wounded, whimpering in silent anguish as his colleagues tried desperately to bind his wounds. "Was... a Daysider! Huge! An axe!" he blurted out, tearing up at the sheer effort it took to speak but a handful of words.
"Haakyr," Kadan growled in reply. "You did your part, Ozrat. Rest and heal." He turned to one of the few uninjured gangers and asked, "can your men keep guard of this building on your own, without the Enforcers or the Lord Governor's men?"
"I think so, yeah," the ganger replied.
"Good. Did anyone see which way the Daysiders went?" Kadan asked, although a part of him knew the answer before it was said. He felt it in his gut - in his very soul. Haakyr was headed for Vices, just as Kadan was. One way or the other, it would all end there.

The storm eased, but the thunder redoubled. It shook the city dome, causing debris to rattle down upon rooftops, vehicles and heads alike. "I've never known a storm like this," one of the Lifters growled as he flinched from a sheared bolt's impact on his shoulder.
Eskal turned his eyes upwards. "It's not a storm," he said in a fatalistic tone. As if summoned by his words there came a shrieking demon, plunging from the sky through the breach in the dome. Quicker than the eye could follow, it plunged through the slatted roof of the Carnality, the district's oldest brothel. A blinding fireball ripped the roof clean off the building, hurling blazing tiles in all directions. The upper windows blew out in a spray of molten glass, tongues of fire lashed at the surrounding structures, brickwork splinters whisked through the smoke-laden air as the walls bulged from the pressure within. There was a few seconds respite before the internal floors gave out, crashing down level by level, blowing out more glass, flames and smoke with each percussive collapse. When the cascade hit the ground floor the main doors blew off their hinges and danced across the road in gowns of yellow fire.
"How many were in there?" line-sergeant Kyr asked.
Eskal turned his back on the inferno. He stared Kyr square in the eye and said in a tone that would suffer no argument, "no-one was in that building, are we clear?"
The Enforcer nodded, but his eyes flicked to the blaze. In that brief moment, he saw why Eskal was so insistent. "Right... no-one was in there."
For half an hour, shells and rockets continued to bombard the City. More of Vices was set ablaze, leaving no doubt that the district had to be abandoned. From their improvised headquarters under a raised section of the district, line-sergeant Kyr did his best to coordinate a full, official response to the developing crisis. Regular communications were shot - be it due to damage and disruption from the attacks, or active interference, most communication devices struggled to operate beyond a few hundred metres. The Goddess of Fortune had clearly favoured the loyalists, however, as they had access to a fully functional emergency land-line. The Enforcers did not widely discuss most of their communications, but they did express key points. One of these was the use of yellow markings to identify friend from foe. The other was to announce the Lord Governor himself was leading a counter-attack against the traitors.
With the line-sergeant holding the fort, Eskal did his best to steer the evacuation of the district. He returned with Skal to the Sinking Light to find preparations already in progress. The Sinking Light still had cover above, albeit rapidly collapsing cover, but artillery bombardment was more than enough to shatter any illusions of safety the bar had once provided. Eskal took charge the moment he walked through the door, while Skal flung himself into Sam's comforting embrace.
"I was so scared!" the Kyyreni girl sobbed. "When the bombs started going off I thought you were dead!"
Sam's words almost broke the boy, yet there was something that held him together. It was a burning in his chest, like molten iron being pumped into his heart. It started so small, just a flicker of defiance against the flood of emotion that battered his mental wards, yet it grew in potency with every breath he took. He needed to be strong now, for Sam. He needed to give her confidence, to protect her, to see her safely from the madness that was engulfing their world. Skal heard his own voice speaking inside his head, the voice of his adult self; the voice of the man he should have been, yet never was. "You can cry when this is over. Until then, you are going to carry them all on your back."
Skal pulled away from the blonde girl. With gentle care he ran a paw across her muzzle to smooth out her ruffled, tear-sodden fur. The boy was more calm than he had ever been in his life. "Everything will be alright. We are going to head out soon and move to safety. Trust me."
"Of course I trust you," Sam whimpered. She tried to smile, but it was beyond her.
Skal turned his gaze to Hafn and Ros, meeting the two young rejuves with a gaze as hard as holy iron. "Things are bad out there, worse than you can imagine. If anything goes wrong, I want you two to promise you'll keep Sam safe. You take her and you run, as fast and as far as you can!" They accepted the order with mute nods. It was hard for Skal to tell if they were in awe of him taking command, or terrified of his sudden hardness.
As soon as the wounded were readied to travel, Eskal and his ad-hoc soldiers led everyone out of the Sinking Light. The shelling had stopped, but the infernal sounds of burning buildings and the ominous creak of the dying city dome filled their ears and sapped courage from their limbs. More than one survivor simply halted, staring up at the mutilated metal sky or at a billowing smoke column rising from above the rooftops. They had to be shoved back into motion. One young female turned and bolted south without warning or explanation, vanishing into an alley before anyone could catch her. No-one ever found out why - no living soul got the chance to ask.
Rattles, pops and percussive thuds sang out as the refugees snaked along the pre-swept path towards the forward outpost. The plan, as announced by Eskal and spread by armed Lifters, was to meet with the Enforcers and their trusted militia before using the service tunnels to move to the safer inner districts. Several Lifters had begun ripping up their shirts and handing them around, so that they would be recongised as friendly when they finally found the Lord Governor's relief forces.
Skal stayed up front with Sam clinging to his tail. His courage had crystalised into a disembodied sensation, as though his soul had drifted free and his body was simply wandering the world of its own accord. He was not afraid, but he was aware he ought to be fearful. He knew the sounds ahead of them were those of conflict, but he couldn't connect that to an emotional response. The sounds of rain produced an unfamiliar clamour, shifting in volume and intensity as they passed streets open to the sky. He glanced up only once and caught a glimpse of two thin, sleek skimmers bolting overhead, moving too fast to clearly see any markings of allegiance.
As they drew near to the rendezvous, a calamitous roar shook the buildings ahead. A drug parlour blew apart in a spray of dust and rubble, the billowing smoke-screen parting to reveal Kyr's men and loyalists in full flight. "Back!" a young Dawnsider male shrieked at them, waving both arms frantically as he stumbled clear of the dust. "It's a fucking invasion!"
Kyr arrested the youth's retreat, "What happened? What are they hitting us with!"
"A fucking tank!" the bloodied, dust-caked Kyyreni yelped as he squirmed free. "There's at least two of them rolling in from the north, crushing everything in their way and blowing our base apart! Soldiers too!"
"Due west then," Eskal said.
More fleeing fighters joined them, one of them a Daysider Enforcer whose armour was shattered by small arms fire. He had the vague, dilated gaze of a man who had over-medicated on potent painkillers. "We can't go west," he said, gesturing north before remembering which way 'west' was, "there's soldiers all over the place that way, slinking along the inner wall and trying to push us out into the rain. Probably plan to drop more bombs on us."
Skal heard the exchange and looked up again to the gaping wound above. "Are they still bombing us?" he asked, flicking his eyes back to the leaders of their band. "I don't remember when I last heard an explosion."
Eskal took charge of them once more. "We're going to have to fight our way out. We go east, find a maintenance access and then double back under the district."
"Closest access is west of here," Kyr countered.
"If we go west, we risk being pressed up against the wall and trapped. East gives us more options; if we can't get underground, we might be able to find an emergency access and get out of the City altogether. If worst comes to worst, we have more places to scatter and hide than we would going left."
Kyr looked as though he planned to argue, but another walloping blast silenced any dissent. Two portable office buildings were blown clean off the hanging gantries, showing the street around them with shrapnel. The pyrotechnic display added three more wounded to the growing tally. "Fine! East!"
Sounds of battle redoubled. Panic spread, giving way to blind terror at the rearguard began to fall. Desperate, yet often futile efforts were made to save the fallen, and as bullets began to strike the backs of the injured and unarmed, any semblance of order collapsed. People scattered, most heading into the storm not because it was planned, but because they were simply following the stampede. Skal gripped Sam tightly and tried his best to find Ivaka, using the female as a guide as they all surged forwards as one. A rocket barked overhead, toppling a data signal tower and forcing Skal to yank Sam backwards to avoid it's cacophonous collapse. The twisted metalwork cracked the ground where she would have been standing. The howl of its impact was ear-splitting. "Ivaka!" he shouted, half deafened by the roar of falling metal, but his words were lost in the clamour of voices, gunfire and indiscriminate destruction. He dragged Sam onwards, hurrying forward through the alien rain to a roadway lined with devastated buildings. Half the road had collapsed to reveal the maintenance tunnels below, but blinding smoke and blistering heat billowed from the vent, denying any hope of using it as an escape.
The boy turned north, running at a crouch and staying to the western side of the road as best he could. Half the buildings had lost their frontage, filling the street with rubble and broken glass that lacerated his foot-paws, but he barely acknowledged the pain. Sam yelped and wept behind him, but kept pace. Buildings and vehicles alike burned on the opposite side of the road, boiling the rain to steam. Fire-suppressant foam had smothered the blazes ahead of them, leaving foam formations for them to plunge through. In the grey, bubbling bergs the two rejuves heard gunfire ahead of them. Skal flung Sam through the nearest doorway and dove after her as the war found them again. A black-furred feline alien gawped at the two rejuves from a staff access door hastily barricaded with upturned tables. It waved a kitchen knife at them in wordless panic. Skal tugged Sam upright and pushed her to the north side windows, all of which had shattered, and helped her into the alley before urging her to flee westward. As Skal climbed through after Sam, he saw mercenary in the tan fatigues of the cult's followers glance his way, turn and raise a rifle. There were two overlapping cracks of weapon fire. One shot bounced off the brickwork behind Skal's head, the other punched into the soldier's thigh just under his ballistic vest and floored him. The penny boy flung himself to the ground, scrabbled in the dirt for purchase on his bloodied paws and darted after Sam, who had curled up in the shelter of an industrial waste bin.
"Not here! Keep going!" Skal cried out as he ran past, skittering to a halt at the alley's mouth before turning north towards a parking lot half buried by fallen debris, half excavated by a penetrating shell. The pair reached the park's edge before Skal flung the girl behind the nearest skimmer-bike for cover. Weapons fire rang out loudly ahead. He dared to poke his head over the seat and twitched his ears around, listening for a few seconds before realising the attacks ahead were an echo of the fighting the next street over, the echo somehow louder than the original. Skal resolved to press on.
Halfway across the parking lot, at the crater's edge, it was Sam's turn to force a halt. "Stop! Stop!" The girl thrust a shaking arm towards the caffeine parlour on the far corner and cried, "I saw someone over there!"
Skal glanced around, considering their options. Back seemed pointless, as did heading into the bombed-out buidling to the east. That left north, past whoever Sam had seen, or west across the open street to the shops beyond. Neither of those seemed a desirable option. "Maybe... maybe we just wait here a minute?" he offered. The suggestion didn't meet with Sam's approval, but she said nothing and stayed still while Skal listened to the rapport of weapons shift and fade. Someone was winning, it seemed, but it was impossible to say who.
The Kyyreni boy's ears twitched sharply at the sound of shifting rubble. He rose to glance at the source, only to be slammed backward by a lunging creature. He felt sharp metal press against his throat as the stench of blood and sweat overwhelmed him. Skal realised he was looking into the face of a Daysider; a huge, brutish male whose fur had been matted down and blackened with blood. Fresh, ritualistic scars covered the beast's muzzle and muscular arms, several of them splitting and weeping as he moved. His eyes were portals to a nightmare, boring through Skal's head to focus on something no sane mind could ever witness. When it spoke, its voice was a suffocating whisper. "What little treats have I found? A pair of lost cubs, mewling in the rain? Oh, what fun!"
The Daysider's ear twitched. In a heartbeat the giant was upright, hauling Skal to his feet with a curved knife's tip hooked against his throat. Another Kyyreni was approaching, a Dawnsider. It took several seconds for Skal to recognise him, such was the speed and shock of the ambush. "Haakyr!" Eskal roared the name in challenge, his pistol raised in a two-handed grip.
Haakyr chuckled, his foul breath washing over Skal and making the boy's stomach churn. "You will drop that pretty pistol, coward," the Daysider growled, flicking his tail playfully as though this were all some jolly game.
Eskal made a jab with the pistol. "That won't happen. Let the boy go."
"Or what? You'll shoot me?"
"If I have to," Eskal answered with an iron-hard scowl. "You've killed thousands, Haakyr. How many thousands more would die if your madness was allowed to continue? I will sacrifice that boy if I have to, for the good of all. Let him go, and I will consider mercy."
"Save your false words for the chattel!" Haakyr spat back, pressing the tip of his blade against Skal's throat to draw a bead of blood. "I know who these children are, Eskal. If you were willing to let them die I would be dead by now! Ah, but we both know I'd tear the boy's throat out with my last gasp, and you would be the one to answer for his death. Throw that toy away. Now."
It seemed to take a lifetime for Eskal to decide to toss his weapon. As the pistol clattered under a nearby car, the noble gestured to the sword on his hip. "Do you want me to throw this as well?"
"Oh no, you will need that." With a gleeful cackle, Haakyr gripped Skal by the scruff of the neck and flung him aside without care. "You are both penitatas, yes? You go to a 'penny school' to learn your place in the world. Consider this another lesson. Watch closely, and you will understand all you need to know in life."
The two began to circle one another. Eskal's heat-blade shimmered in the rain as the droplets boiled away, while Haakyr favoured a primitive axe that he tossed playfully from paw to paw. "I imagine you've been looking forward to this, old friend," he purred as he and Eskal took a measure of each other. "At last, the little boy who ran away can live up to that oh-so-special blood pumping through his arteries. Do you think they'll tell tales of this day in the Winter Hall?"
"I remember the boy you used to be, Haakyr," Eskal answered as he closed the distance between them step by careful step. "I remember how you cried yourself to sleep every night, how you begged to be saved. I'm sorry I couldn't take you with me."
Haakyr gave a disdainful snort. "I was saved, coward. I beheld God."
"I remember. I remember you in that cage, tearing that Aspatrian's throat out with your teeth to save your own hide. I saw your mind shatter before my eyes, Haakyr. I remember the look on your muzzle when you told the cult that God had spoken to you."
The Daysider ceased his circling. "God did not speak to me, Eskal. God screamed, and he never stopped screaming!"
The giant charged. He moved with impossible speed, his axe blurring as it cleaved the raindrops in a series of murderous swipes. Eskal danced around him, dodging and parrying, escaping each killing blow by the narrowest of margins. The noble Dawnsider tried to back away and gain distance, but Haakyr was relentless. Each time their weapons met the air filled with sparks and the sharp scent of superheated metal. On the rare moments Eskal found an opening he lunged forward, only to be driven back by lightning fast redirections of the axe, or a slashing claw, or a mauling lunge. His blade left four blistering wounds across Haakyr's chest, yet the monster paid them no heed at all. As the duel moved back and forth, Sam and Skal scuttled around them, trying to keep a vehicle between themselves and the clash. Yet Skal insisted they remain, despite Sam's pleading whispers to leave Eskal to finish the fight.
The pair broke apart at last, both breathing heavily and soaked to the bone by the unrelenting downpour. Eskal reached into a pouch above his tail and pulled out a needle, ripped the safety stopper off with his teeth and plunged it into his bicep. The Dawnsider gave a grunt of pain as a series of twitches and spasms wracked him for a few vulnerable seconds. His breathing hastened, his eyes over-dilated. Haakyr calmly watched as the drugs took hold. Foam flecking from his lips, Eskal fixed the Daysider with a rage-maddened stare and roared, "should have ended it when you had the chance!"
Haakyr gave a single, dismissive laugh. "I hope now you'll be a challenge!"
The two clashed again. Fuelled by stimulants, Eskal moved faster and swung his blade with greater fury. His rage put Haakyr on the back-paw, driving the larger, stronger opponent back against the nearest car, only to roll aside from a blow that would have cleaved his skull in half. He came up to meet the blade with his own and turned it away, and the blow after, but he was once more being forced to retreat. The two penitatas dared to cheer as Haakyr was once more backed into a corner, perched on the very edge of the shell crater with nowhere left to go. "This ends now!" Eskal roared as he lunged forwards, his sword whistling like a kettle as boiling steam billowed from the glowing blade.
Haakyr caught the thrust. The air was filled with the urgent hiss of sizzling fat, his fur and flesh began to blacken in the intense, flesh-melting heat. Yet still he held, with barely a grimace upon his muzzle. Despite his drug-induced rage, Eskal's expression formed to one of puzzlement, then alarm as Haakyr wrenched hard upon the blade, causing the Dawnsider to stagger. The axe came up in a punch that caught Eskal in the sternum. The crack of breaking bone echoed across the lot. Eskal staggered backwards as Haakyr stepped forward and swung again, delivering a disemboweling blow that dropped the noble to the ground on what remained of his stomach. He lay there, twitching and panting, as Haakyr turned his attention to the heatblade in his paw. He seemed puzzled at first, as if unsure of why he still held it. With an angered grunt, he dropped the axe into his holster, gripped the blade and ripped it free with a furious bark. The blackened remains of his fingers bounced away into the storm.
"Was that really your best?" he asked as he let Eskal's sword clatter to the ground and reached for his axe once more. "You had that fancy sword, those combat drugs, the bloodline of the greatest Kyyreni warrior who ever lived... and yet here you are, shitting out your own intestines."
Skal peered out from behind his latest hiding place. He saw Eskal on the ground, and how close to truth Haakyr's taunt was. The wounded male was desperately trying to scoop up his own innards with one paw, and hold them in place with the other. Haakyr stepped over, straddling Eskal, and buried his axe into the wounded man's back. Eskal's agony rang out over the battlefield. "This wasn't supposed to happen, was it?" the Daysider asked in a mocking tone. "In those stories you 'noble' families tell, the great hero always defeats the villain. The monster dies, the Legend is born, and the old order is restored. You should have learned long ago that was all they were - stories. In the real world, men like you don't have what it takes to win. In the real world, men like me are the ones who triumph. I will kill you, Eskal, but not yet. You cost me my hand, and so I am going to make you suffer. I will start by killing those children, slowly, while you lie there in your own offal. I want you to die knowing you couldn't save anyone, least of all yourself."
A flash of light cracked across the lot. A bolt of energy struck Haakyr squarely in the chest, leaving a burning hole in his chest. The Daysider glanced at the wound, then up to its source. Skal stood with Eskal's discarded pistol in hand, its grip trembling against the bonnet of a low-ride ground cruiser. He fired again, but Haakyr didn't sit still to be shot. The Daysider lunged, clearing half the distance in the time it took for Skal to squeeze off a second shot. It burned a hole through his left bicep. Haakyr launched himself skyward, vaulting up and over the car as Skal stumbled backward and fired again in a panic. The hulking Daysider cannoned into him and rolled past. Frantic, Skal scrabbled to recover the pistol, expecting a blade or a set of fangs to pierce his flesh at any moment. His paws found the grip of the weapon and he swung it up as Haakyr rocked back onto his knees. The left half of the Kyyreni's head had been blown clean off, the eye boiled to a useless lump of reddened flesh, and brain matter visible where pieces of skull had been blown clear or vapourised. Skal took one look at the wound he'd inflicted, then he began to scream. He didn't stop screaming until he'd emptied the entire charge pack.
The spent pistol splashed against the tarmac. Skal collapsed against the car, wailing in anguish. It had all been too much; the horrors he'd seen, the countless near-death escapes, and Haakyr's last assault all crashed into his mental walls and brought them down. He hid his face beneath his paws and wailed like he never had before.
He was silenced by a sound, so soft he almost missed it, yet beyond terrible in its source. He glanced through his fingers at what remained of Haakyr. He had shot the monster twenty times, reducing him to something barely recognisable as Kyyreni, and yet a gasp had escaped what remained of the Daysider's throat. Haakyr's one remaining eye opened. His right arm, held on by just a few strands of flesh, twitched in an attempt to reach for something. His tail thrashed about like a serpent. He lived. He had suffered a dozen fatal wounds, and yet he lived.
"Oh Gods!" Skal wailed in desperation as he lost control of his bowels. "Gods, please save us!"
Haakyr's blood-shot eye fixed upon the boy. His shattered torso convulsed as he slowly, painfully hawked up a mess of black ooze that dribbled from the holes in his jaw. "Stopped." he gurgled in a voice barely able to form words. "God... stopped... screaming." His head rolled a fraction to the right, his bloodied eye turned skyward, and his chest fell still. Skal watched, convinced that Haakyr would rise up to kill again, but there was no killing. The beast was finally dead.
The rain slowed to a mere spittle. It took a feat of Herculean willpower for Skal to rise from the floor. He felt hollowed out. The pressure building in his head was so intense he feared his eyes would pop from their sockets. He didn't want to cry, it went far beyond that; he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
"Skal!" the cry echoed across the lot. He didn't hear it, so lost was he in his own head. "Skal! Sam!" the voice cried again, or was it a different voice? He wasn't sure. Sam's artificial paw closed around his own, and without a word she steered him towards the voice. Climbing over the rubble was Ivaka and several members of Eskal's militia. Not far behind, peering sheepishly over the lot, were a handful of rejuves. The Nightsider female stuttered to a halt as she took in the scene, before rallying and rushing straight for the two rejuves winding toward her.
Ivaka tried to comfort the pair, but her words were lost on Skal. He couldn't help but stare at Eskal. The noble still lived, somehow, but he was fading fast. Two Kyyreni blocked his view as they moved to provide emergency aid.
A sudden cheer rose up from all sides. More armed Kyyreni were approaching from the west, wearing the improvised yellow of the loyalists. They were led by a pair of power-armoured warriors in the colours of House Vaskal, and an Enforcer with Corrector markings. The sight of that man, in broken Enforcer armour with an arm in a sling, was the one thing that made Skal's heart beat again. "Dad!" he wailed, barely forming the sound.
Kadan broke into a mad sprint, his one good arm flailing as he powered forward to join Ivaka and the rejuves. He hoisted Skal up and clung him so tight the boy could hardly breathe. "Thank the Gods you're okay!" Kadan gasped, nuzzling the penny in a primal display of care.
"Look!" Hafn called out from atop the rubble. He was looking up into the sky, his paw pointing through the vast wound in the dome. The clouds were parting above, and as Skal watched he saw a sunbeam pierce the heavens to illuminate Hafn, as if he were being anointed by destiny. A member of the Broadcast Guild filmed the moment - a simple act that, unbeknownst to anyone present, would change the boy's life forever.
Then the roaring began. Distant at first, but growing louder with each passing moment. The loyalists flinched as a sudden, furious downdraft washed over them and the hulking black hull of the Lifter gunship Murder One dropped into the City, its six rotary cannons spooled up and tracking. The pilot swung his guns northward, and moments later the roar of his guns drowned out the feral howl of victory rising from the loyalists below.

The Terror, as the cultist uprising came to be known, was not won by a single action. Much later, when enough time had passed that historians dared to speak candidly about those terrible days, the ultimate consensus was that the old order won out through a series of lucky accidents rather than superior strategy. The Watch were taken out of the fight almost immediately, with Black Pit subjected to prolonged artillery bombardment until its surface installation collapsed, burying staff and convicts alive. The life support systems survived, however, and so when the Watchmen dug themselves out of their grave they emerged with only light casualties. The Watch launched a counter-attack against the field guns, overwhelming the crews and disabling the weapons before moving to reinforce the City.
The bombardment of the City proper was halted by the 1st Taviksaadi Militia, "The Lord's Own". The cult had planned to eliminate the 1st in their opening attack by blowing up the transport ship bringing the regiment home from the polar terraforming stations. A minor technical fault led to an unscheduled maintenance cycle, uncovering the device and saving a thousand lives. The Lord's Own engaged in the Terror's only official armour clash, where their superior skill in tank warfare more than made up for their lack of numbers.
The duty of crippling the Taviksaadi fleet fell primarily to the Varangians. The bulk of their fleet had gone dark on the system's edge under the guise of moving on to new hunting grounds. The plan, as far as it could be discerned, was to form a blockade of the system while a smaller strike force was to help traitor ships take control of the orbital approaches. The Varangians in near-orbit broke off from the attack the moment it began and made best speed out of system. The outer blockade, if it had ever been formed at all, was wholly absent when the Free Armada arrived two weeks later to render aid. The retreating Varangians were ultimately chased down and boarded, with only two captives taken - the rest of the crews fought to the death. Thousands of slaves, mostly Aspatrians, were rescued from the abysmal squalor of their holding pens and returned to Taviksaad. The other traitor ships, attacking the planet's orbitals unsupported, were overwhelmed and destroyed with all hands lost.
The attack on the starport was executed perfectly, with the entire facility shelled and burned to the ground in a two hour assault. Two platoons from the People's Guard stormed the ruins in the wake of the bombardment, killing all those who had been unable or unwilling to flee into the wasteland. The port was utterly sacked without a single loss for the traitors. This utter annihilation failed to destroy any of the Guild's gunships, all of which were airborne, voidborne or docked in orbit at the time. These same gunships would be the the speartip that plunged into the City, annihilating tanks and infantry alike with their anti-voidcraft guns. The Border Guard and militia-marines in their passenger holds provided a vital boost in fighting men. It was this intervention that ultimately turned the tide in Vices, and the entire City soon after.
Yet the war was hardly one-sided. The Enforcer's Guild as a whole suffered catastrophic losses. Multiple precincts, as well as the Billet itself were overrun. The People's Guard were utterly merciless, making no distinction for age or sex as they tore the Guild apart. Three thousand members died in the first day alone, many of them non-combatants. As a police and security service, the Enforcers Guild had ceased to exist; only its specialist subdivisions remained with any semblance of operational capacity.
Vices burned, yet the damage was contained. Blister was used by the traitorous artillery to range find on the City. Its dome, damaged a year before, was never properly restored - certainly not to the extent needed to resist field howitzers. A dozen incendiary rockets lit the district's chemworks alight, triggering a toxic inferno that melted the dome from the inside out. The fire control systems had been successfully sabotaged by the Blighted Cultists to ensure its destruction. Having found their range on Blister, the field guns were turned south onto Wrongside. Following emergency protocols, and with fires running out of control in neighbouring districts, the gate control officers of Outer Tenements made the choice to keep the access doors to Wrongside locked. Automated security systems had sealed the outer gates of Wrongside, but either due to sabotage or technical failure, the lockdown could not be lifted. All attempts by Wrongside gate officers to raise their counterparts in Outer Tenements failed; by the time word reached Outer Tenements and their gates were reopened, thousands had perished in the flames.
When the tide turned, it washed through the City in a bloody storm. Looting and vandalism was commonplace, but far worse were the clashes between citizens who sought to right a few wrongs of their own. Some were gangs claiming territory, others families looking to settle long-held feuds. Most were frightened citizens who, driven into a frenzy by the chaos, lashed out any anyone and everyone they saw as being loyal to Taahl Tavik. Many who had fought to save the City found themselves assaulted by the mob. Aliens especially became a target; dozens of non-Kyyreni were lynched by those who, just days before, would have proudly boasted how many alien races wished to make a life on Taviksaad. Fear made monsters of many souls.
In the wake of the chaos, when he had found time to sleep, to bathe, and to mourn, Lord Governor Wokun took to the Palace Common to address his people. He spoke from a stage flanked by Houseguards in powered armour, and from a pedestal that concealed an anti-ballistic field projector. He was joined by priests of Vorhol.
"My people," Wokun began, cameras recording every word for posterity, and others broadcasting his speech live to every screen on the planet. "I have but two words for you to hear; kadec kyiyn. You know these words, but few of you truly understand them. 'Blood and iron'. My companions here would doubtless tell you they refer to the blood of Vorhol, and the purest iron from the heart of Urokon. From that iron he forged our flesh, and with that blood he forged our souls. Thus, we are both of the physical and spiritual world. That is not the true meaning of those words. The truth we abandoned in favour of the modern reinterpretation, for we lost our understanding of the old words. The holy phrase means, 'a sacrifice to killing iron'. This does not mean a blood offering made to the Gods in the hope of winning favour, though many have made that understandable mistake. No, it speaks of the sacrifice implicit in the taking up of arms; every man and woman who has ever wielded a weapon in defense of Taviksaad has done so knowing they may fall in battle. It has ever been thus.
"The sacrifice of battle is what made us. Vorhol forged us to be soldiers, yet gave us free will to choose to fight, or to lay down arms as our conscience willed us. That choice was presented to us in recent days - to take to our knees and accept the dominion of the Blighted Cult, surrendering ourselves to their twisted decrees, or to take a stand and sacrifice in the name of our true faith! We chose to stand! We chose to sacrifice! A tithe of blood was demanded of us, and we paid that tithe with unflinching heroism! Truly, my people, the City stands - Taviksaad stands - because of people like you! Heroes rose from the common people, rallying those who wavered, leading those who were lost, braving fire and death to put and end to the twisted ambitions of those who follow a false god! I fought beside some of those brave men and women. The courage they showed was humbling; I have been trained in the arts of battle from a young age, yet wherever battle was joined I saw citizens of the City take up arms beside me, men and women who had never held a gun or blade, yet whose love for Taviksaad eclipsed my own, and whose courage put mine to shame.
"I know many of you are grieving, and you are right to grieve. Friends and loved ones have perished, or have suffered terrible injuries; homes and businesses, the work of lifetimes, of generations have been annihilated. The City dome, an iconic symbol of who we are, has been shattered. I do not think ill of any who weep, or who feel despair. Allow yourself time to feel this anguish, to mourn all that has been lost. Then, when you are ready, join me in looking to the future. I will not act rashly, and I did not come here to make grandiose promises of what will come next. Our time of sacrifice is not yet passed, but I choose to believe the worst is behind us, and in the months and years that follow we will emerge a stronger, better society.
"There will be changes, and I shall speak more of them at a later date. But I have come to realise something in the wake of the Terror - that many feared the changes my father ushered forth, and that we would lose ourselves in the changing. I understand the resistance to change, and some change should be resisted, but change is an essential part of life. From this trial we shall grow as a people, discarding that which failed us, embracing that which makes us stronger. It will be a long and difficult task, one a lesser people would not be able to accomplish. We are far from 'lesser'; we are the sons and daughters of Taviksaad, and our world shall become the envy of the heavens!"
In response to their Lord Governor's words, the crowds exploded into jubilant cheers and stamping of footpaws. Wokun basked in the adulation for a time before urging quiet once more. "There is one last thing that must be done. Bring forth the prisoner!"
A Kyyreni female was marched into the stage, a Dawnsider female in her mid teens. She had the lost, glazed appearance of someone heavily medicated. Wokun addressed this without hesitation. "Do not be fooled by her youth, good people. This woman was a powerful agent of the Blighted Cult! Their spiritual leader, no less! We found her in this state, heavily drugged, doubtless in a cowardly attempt at suicide to escape punishment!"
He let the crowd vent their anger for a time before resuming, "I believe this young woman wishes to die, and given what the Cult has done to us, death seemed a fair punishment. Do you agree, Taviksaad?" They did. Of course they did. Wokun could have thrown her from the stage and the mob would have ripped the girl limb from limb. He drew a pistol, took careful aim, and pulled the trigger. The Blighted Man fell to the ground with a single shot to the head. "Are you paying attention, Cultists? Have we made ourselves clear? Wherever you are, wherever you hide, you shall be found! Justice shall. Be. Done!"

Kadan turned off the screen. He turned back to the cage and fixed his hateful glare upon the female within. She was nude, her fur matted and bloodied, with bruising showing through in countless places. Her eyes were fixed upon the now dark screen. "I take it you saw that?" he asked.
Lady Sin rose from the floor of the cage, her limbs trembling. She looked at Kadan with wet-eyed terror, and for the first time she wasn't smirking. "She had to be purified," Lady Sin whispered, her voice cracking under the strain of her anguish.
"So if you die now, what happens? Demons eat your soul? Will you be damned for all eternity?"
"Yes," Lady Sin confessed. She didn't dare meet Kadan's wrathful gaze. "I would be damned."
Kadan drew his pistol. He held it aimed at her head. The weapon shook in his paw as he fought the urge to pull the trigger. Eternal damnation wasn't nearly enough, but it was close. At last, the weapon dropped. Kadan leaned in close and snarled through the bars, "We will have questions for you. If you want to save yourself from Hell, you will tell us everything."

EPILOGUE
As the hovercar sighed to a stop inside the palace grounds, Lord Governor Wokun was there to greet it. The passenger door swung open and a pale, wasted Kyyreni was revealed. The man had to be helped out of the vehicle by the driver. "Welcome, Eskal," Wokun said with a subtle nod.
The gaunt visitor closed his eyes and took a series of long, deliberate breaths as he wobbled in place. "I wish you hadn't summoned me. It's a damn miracle I didn't ruin your leather seats."
"Come inside, please. You can make yourself comfortable while we talk."
"I already know what you want to say, and I refuse," Eskal answered without bothering to open his eyes. "I left this life by choice, Lord Wokun, and I choose not to return."
"Perhaps after we speak you will feel different?" Wokun prompted politely. Eskal's response was a wordless grunt comprised of equal parts pain and frustration. With obvious reluctance, he followed the Lord Governor. Every step was stiff, accompanied by a wince or grimace, and followed by a subtle pause. Eskal's tail hung dead behind him as he moved. Wokun fell into achingly slow step beside the older man. "The people expect to see someone rewarded for the bravery shown in the Terror. You understand what it is to be nobility - not just High Law and the intrigue of court, but the shadowed side of rule as well. You understand that far better than I. Given all that has happened, this is something I value."
Eskal stumbled to a halt. The man made a half-hearted attempt to pass his halting off as being lost in thought, but the agony he was in was too obvious to conceal. his abdomen was incased in casts and bindings. He still had cannulas in his arms and legs, stuck down to his fur with strips of luminous green adhesive tape. After a long pause, which Wokun was careful not to interrupt, Eskal finally said, "what you really want is a puppet. Someone who will make House Vaskal the undisputed masters of this planet by bringing them so much glory and renown no-one will challenge you for a generation, but at the same time it has to be someone who will do whatever you tell them to do. Someone who won't cause people to wonder if this new hero would make a better lord than the Nameless line in charge."
With a sigh, the broken former noble turned his agonised eyes to the Lord Governor. "I can get you such a man."

The Sinking Light was a ruin, but it still technically had four walls and, by the loosest of definitions, a habitable interior. Ivaka had done her best to restore the place, shambling zombie-like through the gutted, smoke-ruined interior as she swept up debris, scrubbed the floors and surfaces, washed clothes and bedding, and various other little tasks that helped give her an excuse not to think about the future. When she finally did, the weight of her losses broke her. She lived, as did her adopted sons, but her livelihood was gone.
She barely noticed Kadan's arrival. The Guildmaster had found time to change his clothes, wash and otherwise make himself presentable. It took several minutes for Ivaka to realise it had been days since she'd last laid eyes on the Dawnsider. Kadan glanced around the remains of the Sinking Light without making vocal comment, but his subtle body language showed the assessment was not promising. "Ivaka, where are the boys?" he asked at last.
"Come to reclaim them, have you?" she asked bitterly.
"What? No! Not at all. Hafn has been summoned by the Lord Governor. You are welcome to come along."
"Hafn? But why would the Lord Governor want him?"
"I don't know," Kadan replied. "Will you please get the boys? I really don't want to keep Lord Wokun waiting."
With some reluctance, Ivaka complied. The journey to the Palace was a distressing one for the Nightsider female; once beyond Vices, damage and destruction was comparatively light. Several districts appeared to have evaded the Terror altogether. This enraged her, leaving her sick at the gross, cosmic unfairness of fate that had seen her lose everything while those in walking distance carried on as normal. In this dour mood, she set foot within House Vaskal to find the Lord Governor himself waiting.
The young ruler of Taviksaad turned his scarred muzzle to each of the two rejuves in turn, studying them briefly before addressing Ivaka. "I take it you are Hafn's mistress?"
"His mother, Lord," Ivaka corrected as firmly as she felt comfortable.
Wokun accepted the correction without pause or comment. "I need to speak with him, urgently. It is a matter of some importance, so I must ask you agree to wait here until we are done. He will come to no harm."
Hafn cast his mother a worried glance, but she shushed him into compliance. With shy steps the boy padded forward and Kadan fell in behind him, gently urging the boy forward with subtle nudging.
The three stepped into an office where Eskal waited. The war-wounded male was leaning on a chair in what he hoped appeared a casual manner, his eyes fixed on a screen turned deliberately to face the door. "It's a good picture of you," he said as Hafn was led inside. The image was indeed of the boy, gazing up through the dome's great wound to the parting clouds above.
Wokun wasted no time. "I have been told Hafn is descended from a noble bastard. Supposedly, his great-grandfather was the son of a noble house who came here during the Revelry, enjoyed the company of a prostitute, and unwittingly seeded her with a son. Is this correct?"
Hafn opened his muzzle to reply, but Eskal cut him off, "That is the version I told you, Lord."
"I have heard another version," Wokun continued. "In this account, the boy was not descended from some off-world noble, but a local thrall who was a distant successor to the line of Tavik. That successor unwittingly sired a son, and in so doing caused the true line of succession to slip from official record. Perhaps that line passed down the claims of their inheritance, only to be dismissed until, by miraculous fortune, an eye witness returned to verify the claim."
All three adults turned their eyes on Hafn, who stood between them looking lost and afraid. "I... I don't understand..." he whimpered.
Eskal smiled at the boy, "We just need to know which noble you are descended from, that's all."
"I don't know! I wasn't told!" Hafn blurted out. The boy was on the verge of tears, doubtless due to the presence of Lord Wokun.
Grunting in pain with every tottering step, Eskal approached the frightened rejuve. His efforts to move unassisted ended poorly, forcing Kadan and Wokun both to pick him up off the floor when his legs gave out. Seeing his idol in this terrible state finally caused Hafn to weep. Once placed into a chair, Eskal breathlessly urged Hafn to join him. It took some time for Eskal's strength to recover enough that he could speak properly. "My memory isn't what it was, Hafn. Drugs, pain, age... and a few blows to the head. It's not easy to remember all the details of my past. But I think, when I was here last, one of the men who joined me in my tour of the local whore-houses claimed he was descended from the Tavik line. You told me you were of noble blood, Hafn. The timeline fits."
Hafn's jaw dropped. "I... I'm a Tavik?"
Wokun glanced across to Kadan. "You can vouch that you heard this declaration, Guildmaster?"
"Yes, Lord Governor," Kadan answered stiffly, refusing to meet anyone's eye.
Eskal sighed with apparent relief. "Then I have some news for you, Hafn. Taahl Tavik is dead, and he left no heir. The line must now pass to a line of succession, to a man - or boy - who can trace a direct male lineage to Tavik of Legend. With your admission of your ancestry, we can confirm that a line thought extant was in fact lost to record." He saw the boy's confusion and added, "You are now Hafn Tavik, bearer of the name of Legend."
"Sadly, the House of Tavik has chosen to disband, following the death of their Lord. However," Wokun turned toward the boy and knelt before him, "House Vaskal would be honoured beyond measure if the last of the Tavik line were to join us."
"I... yes! yes yes yes!" Hafn cried, bouncing on the spot with maddened glee as his dreams became reality. The joy faded somewhat when the reality of the arrangement became clear; the offer was for him, not his adoptive family. Joy turned to sorrow as Hafn Tavik was forced to say goodbye to his mother and closest friend. It was not forever - in truth, he'd see them again within a few short days, and countless times thereafter - but it was the end of his new family as he knew it. Brief as it had been, he mourned its passing. From that moment on, his family was the House Vaskal.

Skal watched the proceedings from the shadows, peering through the library doors as Ivaka and her boys arrived, and ultimately left without Hafn. He heard enough to know why. By the time Kadan returned to the library, Skal was seething. He had been the one to save Eskal! He had been the one to kill that Daysider monster! Hafn had done nothing - he'd never done anything but complain and moan and wait for everyone else to do his work for him! Now he was the one being rewarded! It wasn't right! It wasn't fair!
Kadan entered to find Skal in tears, wailing fitfully in his own private grief. The boy didn't hear him enter, and flinched sharply when Kadan's paw came to rest on his shoulder. "I know what's eating you up," he said as kindly as the unkind Enforcer could manage. "This whole thing feels like bullshit, doesn't it? The whole fucking world burns, we put it back together, and nobody even bothers to thank us. No, we just get told our place and they expect us to get on with it."
"He made you Guildmaster," Skal whined.
Kadan snorted in disgust, "this isn't a reward, Skal. A reward would have been..." he paused to collect his thoughts and began again in a more fatherly voice, "a reward would have been a plot of land, far away from here. Somewhere we could be a family. Ylari could raise Orn there with us, Sam could live with us so you'd have someone your age to keep you company. Just us, a family, somewhere we'd never have to deal with the nobles or the gangs or this fucking city ever again. That's a reward, Skal. This is punishment."
As Skal fell back into his misery, Kadan squatted down beside the boy and added, "but this punishment isn't forever. You have friends in high places, Skal. We both do. We put the world back together. Now, we have to see if it sticks. If it does, if we see a new way of life emerge, they'll remember the people who made it happen."
"You're sure?" Skal asked with a hint of hope in his voice.
"Damn sure," Kadan answered with a black-humoured smile, "because if anyone does forget, I will cave their fucking skulls in."
"So... I'm still a penitatas for now?"
Kadan nodded. "Yeah. For now. But on the plus side, I'm going to be far too busy to tan your hide for a while." He stood up and offered his paw to the boy. "Come on, son. Your girlfriend's probably worried sick over you right now. Let's go home."