Ulrich had been alone at the camp all night, but he didn’t realize it. After sparring with the aspirants of the Disciples, he was offered a drink from some of the older women in the tribe. It was something of a warm tea, and he took it out of respect for their culture, not for any desire to drink it. One sniff told him it wasn’t for him. It had the smell of earth and roots, and he was craving something a little sweeter.

  The first sip changed his mind, however. The warmth of the drink and its bite told him all he needed to know. This was alcohol. Good alcohol, in fact. It didn’t have the tinny piss taste he was used to from drinks in the valley. Instead, it had a simple sweetness in its aftertaste and a bold flavor throughout. He finished his cup quickly, then requested another… and another.

  Before he knew it, Ulrich was drinking with the village and having the time of his life. The Pit Lord traded tales of his adventures for the attention of all the disciples. Tales of assassinations, long walks through the desert alone, and the strangers he’s met on his journeys.

  “The valley sounds like a big place,” one of the disciples said. She was a tan woman with long brown hair that she wore in a single braid. She lounged close by him, also drunk on their brew, and she offered him a helping of meat. The seductive grin on her face went unnoticed.

  Ulrich took the offering and ate it in one bite. “Big as all Hells. I didn’t even know this place existed.”

  “Most people don’t. We’re very secretive.”

  “Very secretive,” another girl said. She traced one calloused hand over his chest. Ulrich politely brushed her hand away. Even drunk on their alcohol, he was oblivious to the attention he received.

  “I guess so. But it just goes to show, you can walk for as long as I have and still not uncover all the secrets of the valley. What’s it like being stuck in the jungle?”

  “Lonely,” one of them said.

  “Boring,” said another.

  Ulrich nodded. He’d probably feel the same way if he was one of the executioners trapped in the gilded cage that was the pit. The jungle was vast, but if these were the only people in it, it might as well be a cramped shack. Nothing to keep life interesting, nothing to change the day-to-day survival. Just monotony. Until someone shows up, that is.

  “You get visitors, though. Like us. And you throw great parties,” he laughed and toasted them. They giggled along to his praise and copied his movements. It appeared they had never held a toast before.

  “The visitors are rare, and it’s mostly the elders that get to have their way with them.”

  “Only the seers,” one of the women reminded her sister. “I don’t think our Ulrich is a seer.”

  He raised one eyebrow, trying to comprehend what that meant. It was part of his charm really. In every situation involving women, Ulrich the bear was wildly unaware of his own attraction. It was something that often left witnesses, and his suitors, puzzled. “I’m not a seer, no.”

  “That’s too bad. I’m sure Mistress Gaya would have enjoyed you.”

  Now he raised both eyebrows as he choked on his drink. Slowly, he pieced their words together to form a coherent thought. He was waving his hands in front of his face as he looked around and saw all of their sly smiles. “Please! Leave the... breeding… to the sages.”

  They drank late into the night, eventually all retiring into one of the tents and passing out together in a large pile. In the early hours of the morning, the village sentinels blew warning horns that strangers were approaching, but all of the hungover women and their new obsession barely stirred. It wasn’t until those strangers were invading the tent that Ulrich sprang up in a panic.

  They were all comfortably nestled in the wrapped root system when the flap opened and cast morning light into it. Ulrich was sleeping and surrounded by what anyone would assume was a harem of women. Then a shriek woke all of them up.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re all doing!”

  Ulrich jumped at the familiar voice. He brushed all of the women off of him like they were cookie crumbs from treats he had been forbidden from eating. Many of them stirred, their heads swollen with alcohol. Others also readied themselves for a fight. They stopped when Ulrich rose and shyly said, “Hello, Shiela…”

  The Pit Lords came in a small force. A very small force. Much of the clan was back at the pit rebuilding their home. Shiela had brought along Mateo the Reaper and Boris the Wall, and that was all they were able to offer. Hati and Loken stayed behind as the lone protectors of their warlord.

  Ulrich would have liked to see Talin the Great, but it would have been too much to expect him to join them. His laser cannon would have been a boon on the battlefield, but then he would have had to drag his metal torso through the desert for days on end. No. Shiela, Mateo, and Boris would have to do.

  Each was using their performance weapons. Shiela’s claws were individually sheathed and hanging from her hip. Mateo wore his scythe on his back. Boris lugged his giant shield with one arm, but he was looking tired.

  “You… you do this all the time, Brother Bear?” Boris huffed. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to drop the shield and lay on his back. He had never looked so out of shape until now.

  Ulrich brought him a cup of water and set it on the shield. To call it a shield was something of a misnomer. Indeed, Boris used it defensively, but it was more like a repurposed ship’s hull. No one could remember how the weapon came into possession of the Pit, but when Boris rose to the rank of executioner, he was drawn to it. It was a sheet of metal that had been carved into to depict an angel leading an army of men across a planet.

  “That’s why I pack light,” Ulrich said as he sat the water down. “No point in bringing something with you that will only weigh you down.”

  Mateo sat near them, eyeing the warrior women that also watched them with curiosity. As a performer, you’d think he was used to all the attention, but their eyes on him made his skin crawl. “Will you tell your friends to stop staring… and maybe fetch some food. I’m starving.”

  “The communal cooking pot has some stew in it, I think. If you’re lucky, you might fish out some meat.”

  Mateo looked at the bubbling cauldron in the center of the village. To go grab some food meant wandering through the tribal women alone. Then he would have to ask for a bowl and a ladle, and the thought of having to talk with them made him blush. He pulled his hat over his eyes and tried to stop his stomach from rumbling. “Never mind. I’ll eat when you do.”

  “A tribe of all women? You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Ulrich! Is this what you get up to on your missions? Is this… is this why you always take so damn long?” Shiela demanded. She was standing, never dropping her guard. One hand clung tightly to the claws on her hip. The Disciples didn’t make her jumpy or frightened like they seemed to have made Mateo, but they did infuriate her. She looked at each of them, trying to guess which of them might have spent the night with her man while she was away.

  “They call themselves the Disciples. It’s a long story. Basically, they only give birth to women, and they reproduce with travelling seers.”

  The word “reproduce” made Shiela’s eye twitch. She reestablished her dominance by crossing her arms and sticking her nose in the air, exposing her muscular neck. As much as she hated to admit it, she was feeling inadequate among them.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  “Just remind them that you’re not a seer the next time they form a literal harem around you,” she said, and before Boris could lift the cup of water to his lips, Shiela snatched it away. The cool water helped her calm the rage stirring in the bottom of her heart. The Lioness left him with a reflective sip at the bottom of the cup.

  “Thanks…” Boris said as he finished it.

  The morning went by and turned into noon. The Pit Lords all convened and reiterated their mission. Ulrich had gone ahead and found a foothold in the jungle. Fortunately, it had been in a friendly village. Karma only knows how the winds of fate might have blown with only them to put up a fight against the Gordo clan.

  Their plan was flimsy at best. Find the Gordo clan, kill the Gordo clan. Any nuance to take shape was better left with the brains of an operation: Greenblatt and the Gaya woman. The executioners were more like elite shock troops, not generals. So rather than continue wasting brain power on more thinking, they mingled with the Disciples and enjoyed some of the communal stew.

  It took hours to get word from Greenblatt. When sunset came again and he still hadn’t returned, Ulrich began to worry. He looked for any of the women who might know where this place was that Gaya took him. Many knew, but most tried to put him at ease rather than take him. None, it seemed, wanted to go to such a cursed place. By near nightfall, as the torches were being lit by the sentinels, one called into the village with news that lifted the weight from Ulrich’s shoulders.

  “Mistress Gaya and the stranger return!”

  Ulrich nearly tripped as he ran to meet them. Shiela made some jab from behind him about a mistress, but he ignored her. It was Greenblatt he wanted to see. The two of them sat on the pack beast, and Ulrich was glad to see he had gotten her back. The bodyguards were with him as well, but they had been redesigned. From this distance it was hard to tell just how, but their silhouettes seemed to have had some additions to them.

  He stood among a group of the warrior women as they all waited for a chance to see their heroes home safe. One of them made a comment about the pack beast and how it was a disgrace to see Gaya on the back of it. Ulrich could see, however, that the beast was necessary. She wasn’t just carrying the two of them on her back. The saddlebags on her hips were also stuffed full.

  Mistress Gaya slipped off the pack beast as they rode in. A large group of women swarmed her, but she was making a move toward Ulrich for some reason. She drew close to him and spoke low. “Was his brain always so… corrupted?”

  The executioner raised an eyebrow. “Well, I guess he can have a bit of an attitude.”

  “That isn’t what I mean. Just go have a look at him.”

  Greenblatt was on the back of the beast ignoring the fanfare that fell upon them. His hands dug through the bag for something when Ulrich closed in. The two watched each other for a moment, then he began to dig again. “Have a good time training the girls?”

  “I did. Did you accomplish what you needed to?”

  “Oh boy, did I!” Greenblatt said. He pulled something from the saddlebag and held it up for Ulrich to see. It looked like chest armor. “lightweight, sturdy, and able to absorb quite the hit. I made enough to arm about fifty of the tribeswomen. It should cover their torso, and hopefully, be able to stop a shot from their weapons.”

  Ulrich took the armor and looked at its flat surface. He wrinkled his nose with a frown and poised the first question that came to his mind. “Should you have made room for their… you know.”

  The warlord shook his head. “The Gaya woman tried it on. Breasts or no breasts, they’ll fit.”

  “What else did you bring?”

  The question was an insult to Greenblatt’s genius. What the hell did he mean “what else”? Was it not enough to upgrade their armor? He had spent all night on that. But then again, he had spent all morning on his entourage.

  “001 and 002 have had their capabilities upgraded as well. I was able to create a weapon akin to the one your warlord possessed. Both of them have it equipped.”

  The lobotomites were both handsomely outfitted now. They still carried their poleaxes, but each had one arm that had something mounted to their wrist. It looked like a pipe with tubing that stretched back and into a large tank on their backs. That must have been the laser that Talin had, only made much smaller. They also had their legs removed and replaced with thin metal blades, perhaps for better mobility, perhaps for combat.

  “Not bad, Black Thumb,” Ulrich smiled.

  Behind his mask, Greenblatt smiled. “I didn’t just upgrade them and the Disciples. I couldn’t forget about you. Catch.”

  An item flew in the air as Greenblatt whipped it out of the saddlebags. Ulrich caught it and his face twisted in confusion. It looked like a gauntlet worn by the knights of old, but with more exposed wires and screws. The Black Thumbs and their tech were still a mystery to him. “What is it?”

  “It took me a moment, but I managed to create a force multiplier for your punches. The design was already in the lab. At one point in time, it was created to help lift heavy objects by retracting. I made it project the user’s augmented strength instead.”

  Ulrich put it on. The device attached at the forearm and clicked into place over his wrist. It unfolded, and another section enclosed his hand. On the Pit Lord, it looked like a prosthetic arm, and perhaps that was Greenblatt’s own flair added in. Cables in the fingers stretched and wound as he opened and closed a fist.

  “I call it a power fist. I’d let you try it out here, but you might be able to knock over a tree with it. I also have something for Krav as well. Where is he?”

  Suddenly, Ulrich realized he hadn’t seen Krav all night. He had been too busy training with the Disciples to keep track of him, and once the alcohol came out, the boy was forgotten completely. Ulrich slipped the power fist off and looked around. “You know what… I’m not sure.”

  “Figures. He’ll turn up eventually. Gaya and I have been discussing a plan. Have you come up with anything here?”

  “I was in charge of training. That’s really all I’ve been doing. Some of my clansmen are here, though. You should join us and tell us what you’ve come up with.”

  Once Greenblatt was unpacked, he did just that. Gaya passed the armor out to her soldiers as the strangers gathered around the fire. After she finished, she joined them. They piled into one of the tents and Greenblatt and Gaya ate while they went over their plan.

  It had been a mostly sound strategy. If the Gordo clan had already made it to the Emerald Expanse, there would be trouble. If they were still among the trees, like Gaya had assumed, it would be easy. The jungle favored the Disciples. They could move through the trees with more speed than the Gordo clan could on the ground. It would simply be a matter of supporting the wastelanders from above as they and the more skilled Disciples made contact with the enemy. The Gordo clan relied on ranged weapons, which might prove difficult to use in the jungle’s closed terrain. If that was the case, this would be an easy fight.

  If not, though, this would be an entirely different fight. If Jackmaw Yapyap and his men made it to the Emerald Expanse, there was almost no hope. The terrain there was wide open, and a head on rush wasn’t something the Disciples could pull off with ease. They would be charging headlong into their weapons and perhaps lose over half of their own fighters before they could even wet their blades.

  Greenblatt floated the idea of using his lobotomites as a distraction. With their new speed and firepower, it didn’t seem like a bad idea. The only issue was, what happens if they don’t survive? Supposedly, the Gordo clan projectiles moved faster than the eye could see. How could his creations dodge a whelming wave of firepower that moved like that?

  Ulrich’s idea was even worse. He wanted to got straight for the head of the clan. A decapitation strike would send them scattering like rats. Gaya liked the idea until he admitted his only plan to get to Jackmaw was to send Shiela charging him headlong. The Lioness seemed to be ok with this plan, but Gaya thought it was suicide.

  Their ideas bounced against the sides of the tent and came back weightless. Nothing was sticking, and at this point all they could hope for was that they hadn’t found the Emerald Expanse yet. If they moved now, they might be able to catch them making camp. Gaya was about to give the order to prepare for war when the sentinels of Rootwalla called that someone was approaching.

  “The warrior Nala has returned!” they cried. Gaya didn’t remember giving the girl permission to leave, but she would reprimand her after the battle. If both of them survived, that is. They all left the tent, and Gaya went to meet Nala. She stopped in her tracks as soon as she saw her.

  The girl looked absolutely exhausted. She was leaning on every tree she past like it might be the last handhold before she lost consciousness. The strange boy was with her. He was chewing something and talking her ear off. Someone was hanging off one of his shoulders.

  “So anyways, Lenny told me not to drink it, but what was I supposed to do? We hadn’t had water in a day and the water in the wasteland isn’t like the water here. You can’t always just scoop it up, sometimes you have to boil it. Anyways, I drank it, and sure enough I shit blood.”

  “Where the hell have you two been?” Gaya said, blocking them from proceeding any further. She crossed her arms and stared daggers down into them.

  Krav was wearing a strange pair of onyx glasses. He lifted them to his forehead and cocked an eyebrow at the warrior. A crooked smile spread on his face, and Gaya could tell he had lost more of his mind since she had last seen him. The boy tossed whoever he was carrying onto the floor, and Greenblatt immediately recognized him from Agua Fria.

  “We were getting this.”

  “And just what is this?”

  Shi-Toh laid on his back and groaned. One cheek was darkening into a deep bruised purple and he wore a jagged laceration from his chin to his lips. Without his glasses, his secret was put on full display. The feathered man was wasting, but it wasn’t like any form the rest of them had seen. He was only blighted in one sickly eye.

  “This is the guy who’s going to answer all of our questions. Aren’t you, Shit-o?”

  As he slowly came back to life, Shi-Toh stared up at the group of strange faces. He recognized Krav, and his blood boiled when he saw that the boy had taken his glasses, but the rest were unknown to him. Now he was in a predicament. Karma had not been kind to the feathered man. Either these savages would kill him, or Jackmaw Yapyap would.

  He sighed and struggled to sit up. “Ask away, boy. My life is over regardless.”