Sura and his platoon walk into Xut’s chambers in the cathedral. They all bow.

  “Where is the other?” Xut looks up from his scroll. Sura holds his breath before saying quickly. “Ulra was murdered by the ruler of Zod. We have failed our mission”. They hadn’t even begun their mission.

  Another pureblood had been killed by a vileblood under Sura’s watch. The top 5 ranking pureblood apprentices took turns watching the Cathedral and acting as a proxy ruler. Virgil was just barely out of the top 5; he ranked 7th.

  Xut stood up calmly. “Another. Was the congregation not enough for you? Was Canis not enough for you? Murdered in our own cathedral during a rite. Now another?” He twists the ring on his middle finger, moving it forward and back. Sura begins to shake as he is still facing the floor. He feels a pool of water flood his back. The water begins to boil hotter and hotter, “Do not move”, Xut commands.

  “Leave.” He shoos the others out. “The rest of you.”

  More water is poured, making Sura’s back bubble. “You have shirked your duties, you know what that means”.

  “Yes”, Sura acquiesces, strained.

  Sura’s neck bulges with his veins as he grits his teeth. The water drips onto his sword; it writhes and hisses. Sura is still looking at the floor and can hear a serpentine shriek in response to the Hydra’s outburst.

  Damn those vileblooded swine, dragging us into their mess.

  Madarame’s grinning face pops into Sura’s mind as his head was on the floor from their battle.

  In the land of Werry, Sol and Vanele appear in attendance at the ball. Both donned masquerade masks and wore all black. A tradition for when the kingdom is to be engaged in war. They step out of the carriage, Vanele lifts her hemmed dress to avoid it touching the mud, while Sol tucks away his grimoire. Orchestral music sounded from the building, and people in similar attire were coming in and out at a flux. They needed to blend in as an affluent couple, so they interlocked their arms and waltzed in.

  “Names and nationality, please.” A man is hiding behind a booth as soon as they enter.

  Shit, Vanele thinks, they had already been found out.

  Sol smiles. “I am Dantes of Cairnreach, and this is my newlywed from Lyeer. I booked a reservation yesterday evening”.

  The man flips through his ledger. “Ah, Mister Dantes, please forgive me. I could not recognise you with that mask.” Sol had cast an illusion and had a variety of personas of varying status and citizenship, which he used when necessary. To the man in the booth, Sol looked like a Cainreach Noble, missing the skin on his upper face which the mask concealed.

  The man looked at Vanele with a disgusting expression. “You are most kind for taking in a Lye…” He stopped himself.

  Vanele was about to explode, but she realised that was standard in Cainreach and its auxiliary kingdoms. She had to get used to it. They walked out of the lobby and down the corridor. “Don't take it personally”, Sol placated her. “These people don’t like anyone who's not one of them”. “Yeah, I know,” she let out a wistful sigh.

  Vanele and Sol wanted to see who attended this Ball. It was known in Cainreach that, if a general or the King himself was not present, it meant they were preparing to be a major spearhead in the war. Of course, Sol did not expect to see the King, but he wanted to see which generals would be in attendance.

  Sol and Vanele glide towards the centre of the hall and blend in. Vanele is met with remarks and mock glances. “Can’t you disguise me too?” She whispers. Sol whispers something back. “We need them to see you”.

  They dance for a little while until Sol is patted on the shoulder from behind. “Excuse me, sir, may I have a word?” Vanele is told to wait in the back while they speak. A woman speaks plainly. Sol removes his mask to show his nobility. “Ah-. Excuse me again, sir, but only those from Cainreach and its auxiliary kingdoms are allowed, Verezians at a fine may attend too. The King’s orders.”

  Sol raises his voice, indignant. “A commoner telling me what to do?” He spits on her, “I’ll believe it when the king himself informs me, or perhaps even a general? A commoner, I certainly won't oblige. The missus stays”.

  “I know, I know, sir, but neither are present at the ball here today. With the war coming up with Zod they are all busy with preparation.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “Every single one of them is preparing? What's the crown for then? Is this king stupid?”

  “Please, sir, lower your tone”.

  Crash

  A Loud crash comes from the ball.

  The woman rushes inside as Sol follows.

  Vanele has her elbow pressed on the throat of a noble. He struggles in vain. A guard raises the spear to the back of her head. “Dirty moonless filth”, she unsheathes a dagger hidden in her dress and parries the tip and launches at the guard.

  “Oh dear”, Sol says. He rushes to her, grabbing her around the waist before she connects as they both vanish. She is still flailing the dagger as they both appear in Sol’s home now.

  Once she realises where she is, she throws the knife at Sol. He stands there as it flies past his ear. She kisses her teeth tired with his games.

  Madarame waltzes out of the cell and creeps out. Peering around, he notices the guard in the tower at the centre is busy doing anything but guarding. Madarame climbs up the mall and towards another cell floor. He hops in and looks around. He can hear the voice of someone he knows, General Meril. “He is imprisoned?” He noted that the voice was deeper and had a stronger bass than usual. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw a bulge huddled in the corner of the Cell.

  It was breathing like a laboured horse, each breath agonising. The spine protruded from the greyish-blue flesh, as if malnourished. Its ribs were curved and overlapped somewhat Its head snapped to the right every few seconds, like a tick, while its mangled hoof-like hands brushed it.

  It turns to him, it's Meril, half of his face appears to be old and melted, the other half is paralysed in its youthful state, unmoving, the hair looks like the mane of a horse, and his jaw protrudes forward in an abnormally severe overbite, making his teeth shoot past his lip.

  While it looks at Madarame, its melted eyelid opens. It tries to get up, but its hunched posture and abnormally long legs make it trip; it staggers and crashes, shaking its head left and right.

  It releases a neigh in the voice of a man while shaking its head, huffing and frothing with sweat just like a horse. The air stank. “Na- Mmmnna-” The creature's voice breaks while it tries to move its mangled mouth to enunciate. The Guard shoots up awake at the Horrific sound. Madarame turns, jumping towards him. He panics. The guard panics too, pulling a lever from his room as the cages on that floor begin to open, the doors smash on their hinges.

  Madarame throws a fist right through the head of the Guard as multiple malformed Human hybrid creatures jump and shake in some sort of fury or excitement. Their malformed bodies made it difficult to even look at them. A hybrid with the features of a man stretched onto the skull of a dog is barking in a deep, humanoid voice, his body turned backward, and he is on all fours. His fingers have fused into a paw, and his spine is also protruding. His teeth are far apart due to the forced widening with pallet expanders and appear to be sharpened with a grater. Madarame forms a cross with his hands as strings fly, ravaging the man-dog. The human voice whines a little before sticking its tongue out and jumping on the ledge. Its eyes are in drastically different positions, and the skin stretches them into an uncanny vertical position. The hunched over, malformed Meril is grunting, still trying to finish his word, his head facing the floor as his one functioning eye looks towards Madarame. He holds a fleshy bat-like weapon. He smashes the bars, galvanising the other hybrids, as the room fills with deep human voices mimicking animals.

  The king is watching from his chambers. He is intrigued to see how his beasts of war will perform. If these few can kill Madarame, one thousand and fifty of them would certainly brutalise Zod. Madarame fires strings rapidly at the Horse, and it breathes, standing there as it's minced. The iron bars have turned into paste, yet the hybrid is waiting there. It stops breathing and launches at the tower. The dog is still barking. Madarame moves out of the way as the bat comes crashing down, creating a crater where it lands. “Mnaaa,” the horse shouts as it slams the bat down rapidly, frothing with sweat. Madarame is horrified; he conjured a Blade and steps into his swing, landing clean on the horse's face. Its breathing continues as it swings its head back, launching the bat. Madarame barely dodges as the horse hunched closes the distance and swings once more. Madarame catches the bat with his foot as his bones shatter. He blasts his other foot into the Horse's face, not damaging it but launching it off the tower. It falls, splatting at the bottom. It's trying to get itself upright. Kicking its hooves and neighing pushing against the wall to rock itself up. The dog is still barking and panting. The horse hybrid gets back up and shuffles down the corridor with haste.

  “What is this-” Madarame turns around to see a small child’s skin layered on the structure of a bat flying into his neck. Its teeth sink into his flesh. Madarame throws his elbow back right into the eye of the bat child he feels the eye push back in the socket as it starts to wail. Madarame is about to punch it in the mouth, but he is too disturbed by the wailing. The wings flap rapidly faster and faster as sonic booms fly about, which Madarame stays clear of.

  The malformed remains of Meril have returned and strike Madarame in the back of the head. The dog hybrid is holding onto the horse, sinking its teeth into its spine, as all three are now on the platform. The dog pounces, biting at Madarame's hip; its jaw locks, and it tries to pull him toward the Horse. Madarame places his palm on the dog's head, concentrating his strings on the inside of its skull, aiming to pulverise the brain. As his hand makes contact, the horse smashes the bat into it, hitting the dog's skull and breaking Madarame’s hand.

  Madarame falls over with the force of the swing, and with his hip locked in the dog’s jaws, a chunk of flesh is ripped out as they both fall. He lies on the floor as the bat smashes his ribs and head over and over, neighing and shaking its head. The dog gnaws at his feet as the bat sends sonic booms towards him.

  The animals are all hyperactive and are crying, breathing and panting faster and faster with each strike.

  The King watches the fruits of his labour.

  The light in Madarame’s eyes has yet to dim.

  His back tears open as spider-like legs protrude; they impale the animals and wrap them in a bundle of webs. The legs are not string but made of some type of keratin like material, they have joints and are covered in little hairs. The tip is sharp like a serrated edge and is curved like a cutlass. The Horse-Meril hybrid is first, held up by two legs the other 4 rapidly pierce and tear at it causing the breathing to pause and the animal to whine.