Super Genetics

The elder of the Blood Clot clan, a Red Duke of the Charnal Halls, had not been so furious in a thousand years.

Held under threat of silver by a spawnling! Extorted into abasement by a creature no stronger than one of my thousand children.

The truth of that rankled more than his clan’s exile to this realm. More than the tenuous alliance between man and sanguine that neither could break.

It took a force of will cultivated over millennia to stop himself from slaying the boy outright. He would almost rather live with the silver mania than suffer this insult.

Almost.

When the boy had finally left, releasing the silver trap, he was sorely tempted to send his spawnlings after him. But one of the bone servants had left ahead of them, a witness to the boy’s arrival. To exact vengeance now would incite reprisal from their lord.

And adding insult to injury, they had taken his meal! Three nights, he’d waited, his patience strained to the limit. Three nights for the fear to take root, the delicious cortisol, adrenaline, and other chemicals of terror mixing to create a beautiful cocktail ready to be enjoyed.

He had been dreaming of draining the little one!

The anger unconsciously slipped to the hand clutching one of his lieutenants by the neck. Kicking legs were the only indication he was squeezing too tight, before his spawnling’s neck burst like a sated tic. He tossed the body with a contemptuous sigh, letting his children consume their sibling rather than waste the sustenance.

Times were hard in this cloistered city—even with the eternal night.

He beckoned the nearest lieutenant over with a thought and a flex of aura. The spawling approached with her head low, her body quivering. Placing a hand around her neck, he kept the pressure loose as he spoke.

“Your brother reported the brat prince was an E-ranker.”

His claws punctured skin, a not-so-subtle indication of his exhausted patience.

“All signs suggested it, sire!” His claws pressed tighter, choking her. Her voice hissed out, quiet and strained. “Perhaps D-grade, but certainly not C—”

He cut her off with a squeeze, his voice echoing so painfully that the nearby spawnling threw hands over their sensitive ears.

“Then how, exactly, did he open micro portals and liquefy silver!” He shook her lightly, her limbs flapping about bonelessly.

When he was done, he was surprised to note the lieutenant was still alive. Strong stock, he noted. Remember this one.

She spoke through obvious agony, her tone subservient and measured.

“I will look into it personally, sire!”

She hesitated and he sensed there was more she wanted to say.

“Speak.”

It only took her a moment to steel her resolve, all the while knowing that her life hung on the balance of her next words.

“Do we…engage with the lord of bones—”

His aura stretched out with mention of the man. All throughout the nest, spawnling reacted as if a physical weight pressed them to the floor.

“And why in the name of the Sanguine Prince would we do that?”

To her credit, she continued with her line of thought, not letting the threat of violent death steal her nerve.

“To receive recompense for your stolen meal—”

He threw her away, sparing her, but not without injury.

“That blood sack will never hear of this meeting! Is that clear?” The nearby spawnling mewed in abject terror and he felt the promising lieutenant shove her way to the front, taking a knee with dignity. Yes, very good, he thought. “What if the lord of bone were to deny us, hm? We would slink away in shame, empty handed? No, never ask for something that can be refused.” His aura relaxed, allowing his children to relax in turn. “Instead, double the feedings. Make him come to us.”

“Yes, sire.” The lieutenant’s voice was steady and he nodded approvingly.

“But first….tell me everything we know of this Fluorescent.”

The family of three were too weak to walk.

Anabelle—the girl—flinched as Crunch tried to pick her up. Her father had tried himself, but days without food or water had sapped his energy.

It was only after Terry bent down to a knee and spoke to her, did she relent.

“Are the ghouls scary?” he asked softly.

She refused to look at him at first, but after a moment, her eyes peeked through her hair to glance at him.

“Ana, darling, please.” The mother was scanning the nearby buildings, her eyes searching for sanguine that refused to be seen. “We have to go. Now!”

Her voice was high, panicked, infecting the girl with that frantic energy.

Terry glanced up, nodding subtly to let her know he could handle it. Her eyes were widened with terror, but she relented, her will too drained to feel anything but relief.

“Anabelle is such a pretty name.” He pointed toward Crunch. “Wanna know his name? It’s not nearly as pretty, but he likes it.”

The girl’s head swiveled, but her hair still covered her face. After a moment, she nodded, her greasy hair swaying briefly.

“His name’s Crunch.” He pantomimed taking a bite out of imaginary food with a big chewing noise. “Like the sound you make when you bite into celery or an apple.”

Her nose wrinkled behind her hair.

“I don’t like celery.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but he heard it all the same.

He leaned in, matching her whisper.

“I don’t either. Don’t tell my dad.”

Her lip quirked up and she nodded quickly.

“Is it okay if my friend carries you? We want to get away from the bad things.”

She whipped her head back toward the warehouse, but Terry spoke quickly.

“Don’t look at them.” He kept his voice low, soothing. “Look at me, Anabelle.” Reluctantly, she pulled her gaze back. “Crunch is a good guy. He doesn’t like them. He’ll protect you and your parents, okay?”

She chewed her lip for a moment before nodding. Terry smiled, holding his hands out.

“Can I hand you to him?”

Stepping forward, she angled into his arms. As he rose, Crunch came to take her. His single arm scooped her up easily and she giggled.

“His skin feels slimy.”

Terry matched her with a chuckle of his own. “It does, doesn’t it?”

Eyeing the warehouse, he kept his silver needles around them like a net, poised to stab any sanguine that attacked.

Burgundy had paced ahead, leaving Blood Alley as insurance. Should they be overwhelmed, he would return to the Emperor and lead a bloody crusade against the sanguine. But his absence meant Bloodstain had to carry both parents.

It was an uncomfortable journey for them, but neither complained as the ghoul jogged with one on each shoulder. Terry would have offered, but his attention was on his metal telekinesis and the dozens of needles that were shadowing them.

When they exited the train tracks and linked up with Burg, the mother let out a cry of relief, forcing herself off Blood’s shoulder to give her daughter a frantic hug.

After their tearful embraces, Burg ranged around them to make sure no sanguine followed as they ferried the family back to their homes.

It was a bittersweet parting for Terry. On one hand, saving them had been an unexpected bonus to his confrontation with the sanguine. On the other hand, he knew that saving three lives was only a drop in the bucket compared to the hundreds reported missing.

Once they were safely behind locked doors, Terry and his three ghouls climbed to a nearby roof and began the trek back to the Break Room. As they leapt roof to roof, he examined the latest update to his Quest.

Quest Given: [Feed Wichita]

Grow enough food to supplement Topeka’s inflows.

Update → Next Step: Discover a new light source

Deadline: 31 days remaining until famine riots

Reward: Variable

Thirty-one days…thirty-one days until the riots.

“We’re not ready,” he muttered.

“My prince?” Crunch asked at his side.

“Nothing, Crunch. Nothing…”

For eight months, he’d been able to sit back and let Flore and Tania run Feed Wichita like a well-oiled machine. But now, their main source of light was gone. More than that, their team leader was dead. How would Tania take it? How would Vladimir react? Would he try to assert control over the others? He’d fallen into line so well the last few months and now all of that was threatened.

He needed to enact Plan B. He’d shied away from it, afraid what he might learn, but also afraid to antagonize his grandfather. Flore’s death necessitated it though.

He had to pay Sol a visit.

The Catacombs no longer held any sway over Terry’s mind. What had once felt eerie, preternaturally dark and full of terrors, was now simply excavated rock and stale air.

Even as his feet tread familiar ground, the memory of Tenebrous’ forearm around his neck, none of the fear from that time so long ago touched him.

As he approached the section of the underground prison reserved solely for the S-ranked Elementalist, a flush of excitement washed over him. And, a touch of anxiety.

What secrets does Sol hold about mom? Why had he tried to kidnap me? And what had he been trying to do that fateful morning over a year ago?

He pushed those thoughts away, and with it, the anxiety. They were selfish thoughts, irrelevant to the plight facing Wichita. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now.

His mission was clear: convince Sol to let him catalog a light-based Skill.

As he trekked deeper into the Catacombs, the pained cries of prisoners echoed out louder and more numerous than in his memory. Hunger and sanguine abductions had clearly led to a greater number of people willing to speak out against the Emperor and the sounds he heard now were evidence of his grandfather’s unmerciful tenor.

It hurt him to hear, hurt him to realize that the man he had once idolized was little more than a superpowered tyrant. But he couldn’t change Wichita in a day; everything he was doing now was for those wrongly imprisoned. For the hungry and hopeless of the city who wondered why their fathers or mothers or children disappeared. For those wondering if it was the sanguine…or their own ruler.

He reached the first checkpoint on the path to Sol’s prison. From Crunch, he knew these checkpoints had been instituted after Tenebrous’ capture; a way of preventing a breakout should an Awakened get this far into the underground fortress.

Four ghouls stood at attention beside a heavy steel door. Another four humans sat at a table, playing a game of cards. An ominous red button jutted from the wall near the guards—obviously an alarm.

The ghouls reacted first, their auras shifting in silent conversation as they sensed him. The humans were too engrossed in their game to notice as he turned the corner into view, but a quiet growl from one of the ghouls alerted them. They turned toward the ghoul in surprise, then all four heads whipped toward Terry in a near panic. As they bolted to their feet, they nearly overturned the table in their haste.

One of the guards blurted out in surprise.

“Pr-prince Terry! Wh-what brings you here?”

Another guard hissed and slapped his arm discreetly—presumably at the guard’s lack of decorum in questioning his prince.

Terry just chuckled lightly, letting them know they were off the hook.

“Gentlemen, please. Rest easy.” He approached, flaring his aura in greeting to the ghouls as he addressed the human guards. The ghouls expressed their aura back, respect mingled with subtle surprise. “I’m here to visit the prisoner.”

The guards shared a worried glance. It was clear they hadn’t been briefed on whether or not he was permitted and were trying to figure out how much trouble they would get in—either by rebuffing him or letting him through.

The ghouls shared no such indecision.

“Visitors are not permitted, my prince.” The ghoul who spoke shifted his aura into a regretful shape.

The human guards sighed, clearly grateful their undead counterparts had taken the lead.

But Terry wasn’t going to be deterred. He shaped his aura in turn, a shape best translated to embarrassed insistence.

“Pardon, honorable servant, but it is not your place to turn away your prince.” He locked eyes with the human guards. “Feel free to search me, but I will be entering.”

Their anxiety redoubled, their auras fluctuating so visibly that Terry felt the ghouls pull their own auras away from the human guards. Terry had learned that a lack of control was embarrassing to their kind.

“My prince…” The guard started, then trailed off as the ghoul stepped forward.

At first, the guards went wide eyed, believing the ghoul was taking a threatening posture. But Terry simply smiled, bowing his head in acknowledgment of their unspoken conversation.

Shapes in their auras danced back and forth as Terry and the ghoul spoke.

This one would not see his charges punished, the ghoul’s aura said.

And this one would never allow that, he replied. He had learned over the past year from Crunch, Blood, and Burg that the ghoulish soldiers held their human companions in an interesting light; almost like children that needed protecting. It was a complicated relationship, more nuanced than that. But from what he had gathered, the ghouls admired and protected human soldiers in particular because they viewed them as inordinately brave. They had to be, in order to put their incredibly fragile lives on the line against superpowered Awakened.

That was Terry’s interpretation, anyway.

Your honor is well known. Forgive this one for questioning.

Terry waved away the ghoul’s concern. Turning to the guards, he smiled.

“It’s been decided, gentlemen. Open the door, please.”

The guards looked toward the ghouls in question, but to their credit, didn’t argue with their prince.

“May I search you, my prince? For sources of light.”

He nodded acknowledgment and the head guard turned out Terry’s pockets, ran his hand along the inside of his waistband, his shoes, and so on. It was a relatively surface-level search, but they didn’t exactly suspect their prince of attempting a breakout anyway.

With the cursory search done, one of them pulled an oddly shaped key from a pocket and went to the steel door. As he slotted it in, the lead ghoul shaped his aura, feeding it into a particular spot on the other side of the door.

Terry’s eyebrows rose. An Artifact that responds to aura imprints. Fascinating.

The door shuddered, an internal mechanism interacting with the aura, followed by the sounds of loud thuds as metal bars retracted from the stone wall. The ghoul pushed the door open, allowing Terry to pass by.

He thanked the humans vocally, the ghouls with his aura, then strode deeper into the prison.

When he reached the second checkpoint, there were no humans present. Instead, one of the patches—not Tom or Jerry—stood at ease near a similarly Artificed door.

The patches were not vocal like the ghouls, but that didn’t mean they were stupid. When he approached, the eyes behind its steel mask narrowed briefly. But as their auras touched, there was no confusion about who he was or his ancestry. The patches flashed an acknowledgment, then opened the Artificed door with a similar burst of imprinted aura.

Behind that door, no lights shone.

He strode past the doorway, the light at his back fading as the door was shut behind him. Pure, inky black darkness engulfed him. The final threshold lay before him, guarded by a creature he did not know, yet elicited familiar primal feelings within him.

The draugr left its position against the far door, approaching with a languid air. Its aura felt the same as the one Silver had killed, yet Terry couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly.

It had felt so strong when I was un-Awakened.

Not to say the draugr was weak—far from it. But now, it felt like a solid rock anchored in the center of that aura river, rather than a looming mountain, vast and unscalable.

He was still intimidated by the creature, the cold despair from its aura tracing shivers up his spine. But no longer did it suffocate him with its mere presence. As it approached, a forceful wave of aura pushed toward him. It felt violent, clumsy with its strength, and he knew now that draugr lacked the subtlety of the other undead.

It was a blunt instrument, no nuance or tact to its being.

An excellent prison guard, but a butcher when positioned at the city gates.

He understood why the draugr had attacked so many months back, why it had slaughtered civilians and ghouls alike. It was a single-minded creature—a hammer who considered every problem a nail.

And it only respected one thing.

“No passage,” it hissed. Its aura reinforced the notion, pressing against him, trying to push him back.

He wouldn’t let it.

“I am the grandson of Emperor Necroton, your lord. I will pass.”

Its aura redoubled, but Terry didn’t let that boy-like fear take hold. He flexed his own aura, relishing in the way they nearly matched. The draugr was indomitable, more raw emotion than sentient creature.

But Terry’s conviction was ironclad, his purpose pure.

The draugr could have killed him with its body, if not its aura. But that wasn’t what it had been programmed to do. And if it tried, well…Terry had some tricks up his sleeve that could counter the creature.

Their silent battle raged for another few heartbeats, a tide of power ebbing and flowing, until it was clear that Terry would not submit.

The wave retreated and didn’t return.

“You are the son of bone and spirit. You may pass.”

Terry didn’t let surprise register in his aura, maintaining the illusion that he belonged here. But he couldn’t help but cheer internally.

Take that, you bastard!

The draugr opened the door at the end of the hall with its aura and Terry opened his senses to navigate the pitch black.

Past the third door, he found himself in a small space, only a handful of paces wide in any direction. Another door lay before him and a quick pass of his aura revealed no key or receptacle for an imprint. There was, however, a small feeding slot at waist height. A chair lay to the side and he dragged it forward, placing it before the slot.

Slowly, he peeled the sliding door back, the metal grating with a soft hiss.

“Sol?” He kept his voice quiet, barely above a whisper.

Movement stirred beyond the door—the rustle of cloth against cloth.

“Wh-who’s there? Terrence? Have you come to gloat some more?”

His heart clenched at the tremor in the man’s voice. Here lay a man who had once tamed the sun and sky. Who had once rivaled the atomic bombs of before.

Now, he sounded broken.

“No, Sol. I haven’t come to gloat. It’s Terry, Penelope’s son. And I’ve come to ask for your help.”