Nightmare Fuel (Fantasy Steampunk)

Author's Note: Those who choose to comment may be as vicious as they wish. CC Level 5. Feel free to hurt my feelings. However, I do request that you tell me the parts you liked as well, so I know what to keep doing in the future.

"The steel that ran through the veins of the legionary was more important than the iron in his fist."-Patrick Kelly.

The humanoid form was huge, 5 meters tall and just as wide, covered in coal-black, segmented metal plates that reflected little light and shifted fluidly like the carapace of a lobster. It held a gigantic steel-hafted glaive in its cold metal hands. The weapon's adamantine blade gleamed in the setting sun in sharp contrast to the pitch black armor. Its giant feet glided effortlessly over the mud of the field, without the mechanical grinding of gears of the strained whirring of overtaxed servos that characterized the operation of other types of powered armor. Daylight was quickly fading and the pilot inside the armor had decided to do a lap of the battlefield, surveying the totality of the day's victory through the sleek teardrop shaped sensor array occupying the armor's head area.

Shattered steel and the broken, bleeding, screaming, shitting, dying bodies of men lay where the armor had been. Other suits of powered armor, or at least pieces of them, lay scattered about the battlefield, some with the splattered remains of their pilots and crews still hanging from them. The armor then slowly gained altitude as the previously closed exhaust ports in its back opened up and steady blue flames shot out from them. In contrast to the black armor, the enemy power armor had been crude. The much smaller suits had been riveted together and assembled with primitive tools, the protective plates crudely hammered out of rolled sheet metal. The pilots, or rather, the wearers of the armor, had no sensor arrays in their helmets and had to rely on their own eyes and ears to guide them around the battlefield. The sheer number of flattened helmets and crushed skulls had shown that was a fatal design flaw.

"Panzerkampfapparat XC-091 is a success. We will of course indoctrinate Alena into the Reikscarle as per your requests Professor Kamatov." The armor continued doing twirling donuts over the rapidly darkening battlefield as two figures stood on a distant hill took turns watching PzKpfA XC-091 glide gracefully into the sky. One was a tall bear of a man in a crisp black and gold uniform, the other was a short, dumpy looking man in a grey trench coat. Another enormous suit of powered armor stood behind both on the hill. It was a dull field grey with gold accents, its ridged and ornately decorated plates and dome shaped helmet splattered with mud and gore. There was an enormous war hammer strapped to the back of the machine, the head of the weapon alone was more than a meter across. PzKpfA XC-038, the Morgenstern, was an old suit, dating back at least 100 years. But it was a royal suit, it was the suit of Archduke Ulrich von Ravenstahl, Grand Master of the Reikscarle Palastgarde. Next to the Archduke and in total contrast to him stood Professor Vladmir Kamatov, hands tucked into the pockets of his grey trenchcoat. Kamatov was not tall and burly like the Archduke, nor could he pilot a suit of power armor.

But he was the one that had constructed the XC-091, so he stood next to royalty on a distant hill watching as his daughter Alena piloted his creation, laying a vicious beating on a group of borderland barbarians. He stared out into the distance, not bothering with the binoculars he held in his hands.

"There is something you don't want me to know Professor Kamatov. What is it?" The Archduke stared out at the bluebell flames in the horizon, his steely grey eyes squinting.

"Umm...nothing...nothing at all", replied Kamatov nervously as he paced about the hill.

"You are hiding something from me. You are hiding it well. I can tell it has nothing to do with you or the armor. In fact, the armor has not only met every expectation of the Reiksgarde, it has exceeded them. Why must you hide from me? Alena is very good at piloting, I am willing to waive her from the academy if that's what you want."

"Well... you see... Maybe you should see this for yourself. I personally have a few concerns." Professor Kamatov pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped off his balding pate.

"Maybe I will." replied the Archduke. XC-091 began to head lazily towards the hill the two men were on. The armor touched down on the crest of the hill next to the Morgenstern and cut the power feed to its jump jets. Each plate of sleek, segmented metal on the XC-091 almost flowed into the others around it like liquid. The solid, clunky plates of the Morgenstern looked positively unwieldy next to the newer suit.

"Actually umm... Herr Archduke, can we discuss this tomorrow? I swear, it's nothing unmanageable."

"Very well then, I will prepare the imperial insignias and badges. Meet me at my hunting lodge at Raweis tomorrow. The Dual Empires of Waldreik and Tsernovia commend you for your service to the state." The Archduke walked around to the rear of his armor; there was a quiet whirring of microturbines as the powerpack on the back folded upwards and out. Morgenstern's pilot climbed up into the cockpit located in the chest after the hatch on the back was exposed. Suit XC-038 shimmered with a blue light for a second, then disappeared.

<Can we go home now?> The voice came from the general direction of XC-091. It wasn't really a voice, as it made no noise. Young and female, it was something disembodied that Professor Kamatov merely heard in his own head.

"I suppose." Professor Kamatov sighed. He opened up the hatch in the rear of XC-091 and entered the cockpit. The hatch closed, then XC-091 disappeared in a shimmer of blue light as well.

"You were masking for me. Why?" Professor Kamatov tinkered with a swivel arm mounted soldering iron in one hand, and a small servo in the other. In the background of the dark repair hangar, XC-091 sat inert and unoccupied, its great glaive hung up on a rack on the wall, next to various hydraulic power tools, lines of cables and thick, heavy books that were stained with grease from the workshop.

<Dad, it was nothing. You want him to know the truth about me?> The pilot of XC-091, Alena Kamatova sat in chair in the middle of the workshop floor. A bundle of cables protruded from the back of her shaved head. Dull, milky eyes stared blankly up at the hangar's high ceiling. The steady hiss of a respirator was the only sign that Alena's wasted body was being kept alive in any capacity.

"Nothing?! What you did constituted as assault and battery on an Imperial Official! Not only just an imperial official, but the Archduke of Waldreik!" Kamatov put the servo down on the workbench in front of him. All the parts of the XC-091 were unique and delicate and couldn't be easily reproduced. A mistake would be costly to say the uleast.

<I'd rather mask your psychic emissions than get laughed out by the Archduke. The sort of embarrassment isn't something I want to go through.>

"Alena, we have to meet with him again tomorrow. What do we say to him? He is the Grandmaster of the Reikscarle Palastgarde, and its his job to approve custom armor."

<If I succeed in convincing him to keep us, it's a one way ticket to the nobility. What's the Reikscarle PG but a bunch of nobles? Sre, they guard the Emperor when he enters battle, but besides that, they don't do much. The houses of Ravenstahl and Ivanov can't defend the empire themselves you know. If I fail, nothing will happen except I will be humiliated.>

"But he is the Archduke of Waldreik! I am merely a humble academic. And you... you are merely a..." Even without the benefit of psychic powers, Vladmir Kamatov 's disappointment was palpable.

<Just say it. I'm a cripple. I'm just a useless cripple. I just pilot the mech that you built for me out of scrap metal, sweat and tears. It's ok, I understand.>

"No, no... I don't mean that I... I mean... Look at us. What are we compared to the Reikscarle?"

<I'd say you're a genius for making an XC grade mech with only a few scraps of adamantium and inventing armor capable of altering its crystal geometry. I'd say I'm probably going to be one of the most talented pilots to join the Reikscarle PG in a long while.>

"Fair enough. If you can't convince the Archduke to accept you into the Reikscarle, both of us are probably going to end up in the royal dungeons."

<Don't worry. He's the Archduke of Waldreik, not Svargia. He's not a god. Just calm down so you can perform maintenance on the mech.>

"You know what to do." Professor Kamatov walked over to the cogitator console next to the armor. The mess of wires, keyboards and display screens piled all the way to the workshop's high ceiling hummed and buzzed as the professor turned it on. Kamatov tapped a few keys and the two vision slits in the armor glowed red.

<Diagnostic is up and running. There are a total of 164,303 points to check. Armor does not seem to have sustained any major damage, nor are there any components that appear to need replacing. Everything feels alright.>

"That's good. How's the armor holding up?" Kamatov typed a few things in.

<Exterior molecular realignment capability at 100%. My shields didn't even go down. The shield amplifiers are at 65% and charging. Dump capacitors are at 100% integrity.>

"Amplifier status?"

<100% integrity. Wait...no, let me recalibrate it. It's not at optimal for battlefield conditions. Let me play with it. This might take a few minutes.>

Kamatov nodded and went over to the scrap pile lying in the corner of the shop. He stooped over and picked up something about as thick as an average human thigh. It looked look like a series of gears stacked up on top of each other with a hand crank on one end. He placed one end of the column of gears in a hollow bay in the giant cogitator. The crank end was attached to an electric turbine, which Kamatov pushed forward on a dolly. As the gears slowly ground over each other, a few of the display screens changed from diagnostic information to battlefield data, more specifically the most recent battle the XC-091 had fought in. It was mostly text based feed with a picture here or there, as the primitive cogitator salvaged from the wreck of the dead power armor was nowhere near advanced enough to take video. The electric motor came to a stop, and so did the gears of the salvaged cogitator.

"I'm going to upload the battle data feeds from the difference engine you salvaged. It should provide some useful information."

<Fine by me. Weapon integrity is at 100% by the way.>

"So now what? Maintenance is done?" Kamatov's cogitator sputtered to a halt as it shut off. The fresh diagnostic report was written into the armor's own maintenance records. There was the sound of a roll of paper hitting the floor as the cogitator printed out the report and cut it off.

<You should be able to access quite a few resources they don't make available to civilians. I'm thinking-->

"Adamantium by the ton, high-level tech-incantations, psychoactive wiring and interfaces. Liquid ceramite. Nano-turbine servos!"

<And a better life support system perhaps?>

"Umm... well..."

<Please? The tube in my throat gets in the way of my concentration.>

"I'm not exactly sure they would have things like that on offer. Anyway, I think it's time to close up shop."

<Fair enough, but leave me in here for the night. I need time to calibrate everything.>

From the gigantic crystal dome of the Imperial Palace's Groshalle, Waldreik's capital city of Reikstat could be seen. Or at least the results. The smokestacks belching filth and grime into the air, the sound of automated forge hammers, lathes and machine tools rattled, crashed and screamed deep into the night, staining the entire capital the glowing orange of the unending furnace fires. What came from those factories was the lifeblood of the empire. Coal was burned to make steel, silicon was sliced to make cogitators and difference engines and thin sheets of glass drawn out in threads to make wires. And out on the polished granite colonnades of the Imperial Palace, the suffering of slave laborers working in 25 hour shifts could be blissfully ignored. After all, the palace was well away from the grime and filth of Reikstat. Why care about them when you live in the Imperial Palace in the fresh mountain air? Four million square meters of polished granite columns, marble friezes, jeweled brocades woven from braided gold leaf.

Crown Princess Anika von Ravenstahl leaned over the steel railing on a balcony of the cathedral-hangar that housed the suits of power armor used by the Reikscarle Palastgarde. The armor was to be well cared for by the priests and priestesses of the god Svargia, anointed with holy oils, inscribed with the highest quality runes and blessed with the most potent incantations. The wispy blond haired teenager leaning on the balcony railing had pale, porcelain skin and crimson eyes that glowed in the night sky and in the dark hallways of the cathedral. The priests and tech-mages that worked on the suits of armor docked in the cathedral's nave wore the dull feldgrau coveralls that every government armorer wore. Despite their hallowed positions, the wardens of the Reikscarle power armor wore no badging or ornamentation. They were to remain humble before the eyes of Svargia and his holy relics. Crown Princess Anika wore the crisp black and gold uniform of the Reikscarle PG, complete with steel toed, hobnailed jackboots. And yet on the polished granite floor and steel staircases of the cathedral, not a footstep could be heard, especially over the noises the machine tools on the floor made.

The Palastgarde Cathedral Hangar had 108 suits power armor under its polished granite walls and ribbed steel vaults; 100 suits held in between the steel arches holding up the cathedral's roof, 50 on each side, 3 perched in the sanctuary alcove and 5 hanging above the main sacrificial altar. Although imposing, the suits on the sides of the hangar did not even come close to comparing with the suits sitting in the sanctuary alcove. And the suits in the sanctuary alcove couldn't hold a candle to the 5 suits suspended by wire above the altar, the XCs. The XC suits seemed to pulse with a blinding halo of light, even in the badly lit dark of the cathedral. A pair of glowing red eyes moved through the nave, towards the altar, towards the XC suits. Anika waved a black glove hand and the candles surrounding the altar lit up, burning steadily.

"What is your wish majesty?" The head priest of the temple, the only one wearing any sort of badging on his grey coveralls appeared next to the princess. He was tall, balding and covered in the grime and filth of a priest of Svargia. In his hands, he held a halogen work lamp.

"I have to get to Raweis tomorrow. I'm certain Lamia is in working order. I want the suit prepped at Reikpalast Square by sunrise." Princess Anika spoke quietly and without any hesitation.

"Yes your majesty. I will have unit XC-090 ready to go." The priest nodded. One of the five suits hanging above the altar suddenly seemed to come alive, the vision slit in its helmet sensor glowing the same shade of red as Anika's eyes.

Lamia was based off the Seraphim frame, a lighter armor than two heavy, squat Gothikus patterned suits flanking it. It had a teardrop shaped helmet and carefully segmented plating, coated in adamantium and elaborately etched with runes and incantations. A pair of gigantic wings sprouted from its back, each feather rendered expertly in mirror polished adamantium.

"Would you like to perform a system and interface diagnostic majesty? It would certainly hasten the rate at which we can ready XC-090 for combat."

"Yes." The wires suspending Lamia from the ceiling were withdrawn. The armor gingerly touched down onto the ground and knelt before its master. The Princess took off her gloves. She touched XC-090 with cold, black metallic fingers, instead of the fleshy ones the head priest handled the armor with. An attentive psychic could pick out the slow spin of the psycho-conductive turbines powering the joints in Anika's arms. The armor noticed. The countless runes etched onto its surface glowed red and began to dance across the surface of the armor. Princess Anika felt the armor, felt every millimeter of wire, every servo, every amplifier and pickup, every scrap of armor plate. She closed her eyes, then opened them.

"Pontifex Fredrikus, re-calibrate the shield servos and align the sensor systems. I've uploaded some of my own reference points."

"And like that... you disappear...." muttered Fredrikus, head priest of Svargia began the maintenance rituals as his hands glowed blue and the runes played across the surface of Lamia again, the light display skipping across the ceiling and bouncing out of the windows.

Anika stood back out on the balcony again, leaning against the steel railing. The unceasing furnaces and the orange glow of Reikstat were familiar, comforting.

The surprise her uncle Ulrich had in store tomorrow probably wouldn't be.

Let me start out by saying this is without a doubt the best story I have encountered on the ORG since I signed up, and I fully support your seeing it through to the finish.

<Activating critic mode lvl1> Yes nerdy I know. Anyways it's quite hard to offer any real criticisms at this point in time only a few minor points. One of those being you refer to the machines in one chapter as powered armor and in the next a mech, from my understanding a robot that is piloted is a mech, and powered armor is generally worn to augment the wearers abilities. In other words mechs have cockpits and are driven, powered armor is form fitting and worn.

At times it can get a little confusing, understand that you the writer, have a greater understanding of how the mechs work, but as a reader especially somebody who does not normally read steampunk, it would be easy to get lost amongst all the technical babble and start skim reading until its finished.

One last minor point and this isn't really a criticism more of a "If I had written it" I would certainly have started with the battle, not all of it perhaps just the tail end of it, maybe a few stragglers fighting to death just to demonstrate the power of the prototype mech, and the mechs in general.

Lastly, I am curious is this world our own in the future, based on the Holy Roman Empire or is it another world of your own invention?

If you like I will read over it again later see if I can find anything else.

Note: If you want a better story, read Froggy's Eleanor series (which I am a massive fan of). That is all. And thank you for the praise.

Mech and Power Armor Distinction: You are correct in stating that the mech is piloted and that power armor is worn. The suits in this are a hybrid of both, since they depend on the wearer's abilities to function, and has a cockpit (piloting), while at the same time, it augments the wearer's abilities, similar to a suit of power armor.

XC-091: You will see the XC-091 do A LOT of damage soon enough.

Archduke Ulrich von Ravenstahl, Grand Master of the Reikscarle Palastgarde sat in front of the central fire pit at the Raweis hunting lodge. As the fire was empty, the Archduke sat in the cold, empty darkness of the Grosjaegerhalle. He did not look at anything, merely staring out into space. One of the bad parts about having a tendency to get lost in thought was that you started to look like an idiot after a while, no matter how deep or intellectually stimulating the subject matter was. The large frame of the Archduke rested on the cold stone floor, surrounded by richly woven tapestries. Huge crystal chandeliers, 14 meters long, hung from the hall's cavernous ceiling, although they held no light in them.

Primarch Ulov Patimkin stood in the shadows looking down upon his master from the first ring of walkways above the hall. His long nose, thin frame and dark hair suggested that he was the sort of person that stood in shadows. Unlike the Archduke, his black uniform had no gold braiding, ribbons or medals, merely a personnel ID badge with his name and face on it. Primarch Patimkin wondered what kind of thoughts were running through the Archduke's head. Was it the new suit, XC-091? He had seen the video feeds. It was an amazing piece of machinery, but his gut instinct told him there was something wrong with it, never mind the laws that Professor Kamatov had broken. There were risks to everything, but the Archduke was taking a big one. He stepped off the edge of the walkway and landed noiselessly next to the Archduke.

"Ulov, you wonder why I'm doing this. You think I'm putting the Empire at risk. You think that by allowing the creation of an unsecured suit of power armor, I'm somehow supporting corrupting influences. I don't give a damn if the false gods and demons corrupt us, because they already have." The Archduke spoke without turning his back as he continued to stare into empty space.

Ulov nodded. "Indeed my lord, there are risks involved. I am uncertain of the stability of the radical technologies used in the armor, nor of its creator. You see, Professor Kamatov has broken many of the Empire's laws and--"

"I do not care for laws, for I am above them. After all, you are the law, and you bow to me as master, do you not?"

"Although I bow to you, I would not dare say that I am the law. I am merely the head of the Sikerdienz. Emperor Augustus von Ravenstahl is the law. I merely enforce it."

"Yes Ulov, but my brother is a foolish individual, a weak minded coward who feigns patriotism and piety in order to ensure his grip on power. Would you not agree with me? Would you not agree that he has corrupted our empire, allow it to become lax and weak?"

"Some of the men argue that the relaxation of the moral standards result in more efficient execution of their duties. I am of course, having them watched."

"Speaking of watching, what do you know about Professor Vladmir Kamatov?"

"You mean besides the fact that he is a criminal, heretic and traitor? I have no idea how he obtained components for his unregistered teleport homer, nor how he's managed to hide an unregistered psychic from us."

"And yet you are the head of the Sikerdienz, you are the pointy end of the stick, the strong arm of the Empire. You mean to tell me that your attempts at probing Kamatov's hangar have come to nothing?"

"Well... my lord, I don't quite...know...where...the hangar...is." Ulov was shocked at how fast the tone of the conversation had changed. He gulped and braced himself for the Archduke's wrath, which may or may not have involved serious pain.

"So, you've been masked? Every single one of you?"

"Yes...yes. We've tried more conventional methods of location, but we haven't had much success with that either. The signal of their teleport homer is unresponsive to any Imperial frequencies."

"So they're entirely off the grid..." The Archduke's eyes narrowed. "Ulov, I still plan to meet with Kamatov and daughter. Right now, I need you to step back and resume your original duties, I'll take care of everything. Now take your leave, you will hear back from me later."

"As you wish my lord." Ulov disappeared back into the shadows. When the Archduke knew that Ulov had departed, he pulled out a device. Shaped like a ball, it was ornately decorated with the same style of gold trim on the Archduke's uniform and fit neatly in his hand. 2 cables connected the ball to a small antenna which the Archduke extended.

<This is Morgenstern 38 to the Reikspalast, authentication code 'Blackcurrant Rex'. I request that a detachment of twenty Palastgarde suits and their pilots be on immediate standby, including Lamia 90, Serapis 81, and Tyrion 83. The rest may arrive at your discretion.> The Archduke squeezed the ball as he broadcast the psychic message.

<Reikspalast to Morgenstern 38, you request has been granted, although XC-090 already plans to depart for Raweis tomorrow morning.>

<You mean somebody told her about XC-091?> The Archduke cursed under his breath. <The have the requested armor deploy outside of the lodge grounds. They are not to move in unless I give the order.>

<That I can do with every suit besides Lamia 90. You don't outrank Princess Anika, so you have no authority over her.>

<Just...do...it....>

<I'm sorry, but Anika would have my head if I tried to stop her.>

<And I will have the heads of your family if you don't comply this instant.> If the Archduke was speaking, he would have been doing so through gritted teeth.

<Have mercy on me your lordship, I'm not in any position to actually do anything. I have absolutely no influence. I merely operate this end of the ansible.>

<Then I will grant mercy. There is one condition however; see if you can in any way delay Anika's trip to Raweis.>

<I'll umm... try sir. I'll try.>

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Meldarion

One last minor point and this isn't really a criticism more of a "If I had written it" I would certainly have started with the battle, not all of it perhaps just the tail end of it, maybe a few stragglers fighting to death just to demonstrate the power of the prototype mech, and the mechs in general.

---

Personally, I rather liked it that the story didn't start in an action scene, but rather just after it. It sets the tone for the rest of the story: it's not about necessarily battle, but the consequences and politics surrounding it as well.

As for the rest of the story, I really like it. Good description, good plot. It's occasionally a bit hard to understand what the characters are referring to, but I guess that is unavoidable if you don't know who the empire works. My apologies for not giving a more comprehensive review, but I haven't got time to properly study it :book: .

Riso Stefanston tore off the ansible's headset. All the other operators in the control room were either busy handling communications or preparing communications and thus could be safely ignored. That just left him. Unfortunately, service to the Empire meant that he couldn't just get up out of his chair and leave the control room. It was his shift and there were messages to send and messages to receive. The glow of the cogitator screen in front of him was a solid blue and the gears behind the screen ground against each other steadily. No signal, and he wasn't going to scan the airwaves. He rubbed his aching temples. Damnit, he need a cigarette. He needed one badly. He slipped the headset back on and gently repositioned the psychic pickups over his temples. Now what? He was the one that relayed the message to have the Princess show up at Raweis in the first place. And now the Archduke tells him to cancel her trip. Except he was stepping above the bounds of his authority by issuing that order.

Damnit... the fucking cigarettes. Stefanston hit a button on the cogitator console. A speaker crackled to life.

"Reikspalast Canteen front desk. How may we help you?"

"A pack of cigarettes, Imperial Palace Reds... oh, and a large mug of coffee, Tsernovian roast."

"On the way sir."

"Thank you." Riso breathed a sigh of relief as he shut off the voice com.

The cigarettes were on their way. Badly needed relief. The first problem was that there was a gag order on the message ordering the Princess to report to Raweis in the morning. The identity and location of the original sender was hidden, but he had a level 1 Imperial identification code backing him up. That meant that the message came from the Emperor, or at least the Emperor's office. Not a department you asked questions about, even if you did handle the communications of the other members of the Reikscarle. Stefanston wrung his hands. Sending a communique to the Princess without solicitation would mean termination of his employment or worse, but any number of Imperial Stewards, Chamberlains and Chancellors would probably lose a message he sent. The layers of Imperial bureaucracy were thicker than the layers of makeup whores in Reikstat used to hide the sores on their faces.

He would wait until the cigarettes arrived before doing anything. The first communique sent would be to the Imperial Chamberlain's office. Failing that... well, failing that, he would have no more options, the Imperial Chamberlain directly controlled access to the Imperial Family. And suddenly, something snapped him out of his reverie.

<Riso, sweetie, Timo just said his first word!> Normally, for any man, such an occasion would be joyous. The voice of his wife cut into his aching, pounding mind.

<Really now Dana? What was it?> The psychic vid feed crackled to life. There was a beaming toddler with a stuffed bear in his arms and Riso's young wife, smiling.

<It was 'bear'. I'm so happy! But you sound...> Dana's voice faltered.

<Right now, I'm dealing with an emergency. Imperial security, the whole deal. In fact the Archduke threatened to cut off Timo's head if I didn't get this one impossible task done. Dana, if I don't get this done, I just want to know that I love you and that I always will.>

Never mind that Dana managed to get access to an illegal, heavily encrypted psionic channel. Never mind the fact that he was at work and could not be disturbed. Those were minor infractions compared to insubordination to a royal, especially a member of the house of Ravenstahl. Riso began the procedure for contacting the Royal Chamberlain, dialing in some numbers and security protocols into his cogitator. A voice suddenly broke his concentration.

"Your cigarettes and coffee sir. We ran out out Tsernovian Roast. However, you can enjoy Imperial Roast free of charge." The slave girl had a sing-song voice and perky smile. Like most of the other canteen slaves, her arms had been replaced with clumsy mechanical contraptions that ended in crude pincers instead of the far more expensive hand terminals. The fact that she had stolen coffee reserved for Imperial use only suggested that the psychic control collar around her neck was malfunctioning, badly. Wait... this presented an opportunity. And Imperial Roast was good. If it wasn't the coffee of the gods, it was the closest thing allowed to mortals. Riso concentrated and put up a psychic mask around him and the slave girl.

<I know you've somehow managed to deactivate your collar. Put the tray down, I have a task for you.> The slave girl put the tray down near Riso's console. <I have a message that I need delivered to the Royal Chamberlain. It's worth your freedom if you get it to him. I'm going to call the Reikspalast canteen and tell them that you won't be coming back from the night because I need you to run a separate errand.>

"But I can't use the security keypads in the palace. They have really tiny buttons."

<You'll figure out a way. Besides, you're too smart to work as a kitchen slave forever.> Riso tapped in some inputs into his cogitator and accessed the most recent message. <Now get closer.>

<What?> The single thought that ran through the slave girl's head was simple question.

<Get closer, they don't let me have any data crystals in here, so I'm going to re-appropriate your control collar's data crystal. If anyone asks, I, Riso Stefanston of the Reikscarle PG deactivated it.>

The slave girl got closer to Riso's chair. The only problem was getting the data to the control collar while not breaking the continuous data feed to the central cogitators in the palace. A full blown alert would not be pleasant, nor would the execution for high treason that would follow. The central record bank was definitely off limits. Riso pulled out his lighter and melted part of the insulation off the feed wire.

<Now I want you to grab wire right here, gently.> Riso pointed to the half frayed wire and prayed silently that none of the other operators would look backwards. Normally they didn't, but things always went wrong. A crude metal pincer worked its way around the frayed wire. <Now I'm going to record....there, done.>

"Now what?" asked the slave girl.

"You are free to go." <You shall remain free if you succeed.>

XC-091? Svargia's blood....Ulrich was going to violate the Imperial Covenant. That power hungry bastard wasn't satisfied with being just the Grand Master of the Reikscarle. No, he always wanted more, didn't he? Anika von Ravenstahl was naked, literally, figuratively and truly and had just been rudely awakened. Metallic fingers attached to metallic arms yanked out the lead wires running into her chest. A huge pair of wings sprouted from Anika's back enveloping her body, their polished adamantium feathers glowing in the dark.

"I'm not going to ask how a slave from the kitchens got into my private chamber. However, please do volunteer that information. Also it's 3 in the morning. Could you please tell me your name and ID number so that I won't have to dig around inside your head for it?" Anika hopped off the maintenance pad and slipped on an almost transparent silk chemise., letting the mess of wires dangle from the ceiling.

"My name is Olga Arsamazova, ID number 404B-339A-3033D-145609K. I simply told the guards the truth and they let me past. The Chamberlain was harder to convince, so a couple of the guards gagged him and had him tied to a pillar. I don't think they enjoyed the message too much." In comparison with the Crown Princess' sleek cybernetic limbs, the slave girl's implants looked as primitive as the old, unmoving suits of chain mail hanging from the mannequins in the hallway outside.

"Thank you. Before you go, could you please tell the guards that I want the Chamberlain untied? He was just doing his job....on second thought, the guards will escort you to the Palastgarde barracks. Stay there until further notice. Needless to say, you shall be relieved of your kitchen duties."

"Oh...alright." Anika left Olga behind and began walking down the hallway. A pair of Reikspalastgarde in ornate Leikte Gothikus armor strode alongside her in the wide hallway, the servos in their armor whirring with every stride as their heavy steel boots slammed rhythmically against the polished granite floors. The Princess' own metallic feet glided quietly in stark contrast.

Now what? Obviously, forces had to be mobilized, but discreetly. Any sort of disorder could split the house of Ravenstahl. It would certainly split the Empire. The House of Ivanov openly supported Ulrich von Ravenstahl over her. However as long as Emperor Augustus von Ravenstahl was alive, they could not act. This was the excuse that Anika had been looking for. Without the Archduke, the Ivanovs would have little choice but to accept her as ruler of Waldreik and Tsernovia. The potato sucking Tsernovian Boyars were in no position to start a civil war. What was the first course of action then?

"Your highness, I highly recommend arranging a protection detail for Riso Stefanston. Well, first you must..." the Reikscarl bent his armored, 2.5 meter bulk down began to speak, he was cut off.

"Let's get the most important stuff finished first. Meanwhile, go make yourself useful. Wake up and assemble a takedown detail. I want five XCs, a pair of Lar-baer sturm-morsers, a battery of heavy artillery, 50 Reikscarle in Leikte Gothikus and 25 in Leikte Seraphim. And that would be NOW." Anika did not raise her voice, but that last word had a tone of final authority to it. The Reikscarl teleported away in a shimmer of blue light. The second Reikscarl kept walking.

"Your highness, permission to speak freely?" The Reikscarl seemed uncomfortable.

"I'm not going to cover myself up. Right now, I don't give a damn if the world sees me like this."

"But don't you think that flaunting the fact that you're a....a..."

"Demon spawn? Yes, I'm aware of the sensitivity of the situation here."

"Well, you should know that one of the specific grievances the Archduke has is your technical status as a...."

Anika stopped walking. "How long have you known about this? Why wasn't I informed?"

"They just...seemed like idle comments at the time...your majesty." Anika had unfolded her wings. The admantium feathers didn't flap, but they did hold her up in the air. The tips of her fingers had suddenly elongated, becoming razor sharp in the process. The claws had been shoved right through the Reikscarl's chest plate with blood and hydraulic fluid oozing out from the holes formed. The guard did not struggle as both rose high into the air towards the ceiling.

"YOU IMBECILE!" And with that Anika threw the Reikscarl. More than two tons of flesh, adamantium and steel slammed into the polished granite floor. The stone tiles cracked as the body bounced once before skidding to a halt. "You fucking moron. Why didn't you tell me?" muttered Anika under her breath. Other Reikscarle were rushing into the hallway, only to be greeted with their comrade's dead body.

Crown Princess Anika von Ravenstahl faced the Reikscarle and spoke carefully so that every Reikscarl could hear. <I want everybody to know that I will not tolerate undivided allegiances in the House of Ravenstahl. You are not bound by either honor or duty to defend the Archduke of Waldreik, Ulrich von Ravenstahl. Your loyalties are primarily to protect Emperor Augustus von Ravenstahl and his immediate family line. Any other task you carry out is secondary.> Anika's crimson eyes pulsed with rage.

"I will go by myself. Anybody that doesn't want to get killed should get out of my way."

And Riso Stefanston sat at his cogitator with his headset, cigarette clenched in his lips.

<Archduke, I managed to delay the Princess' trip to Raweis. She will arrive the day after tomorrow. Yes, thank you for sparing the lives of my family.>

"You're early."

<Now really Herr Archduke? You said 'tomorrow morning'. My internal clock states that it is exactly 4 in the morning, Raweis time. That means it's 3 in the morning Reikstat time and 5 in the morning Metingrad time. This is the morning. I am here.>

The XC-091 stood in front of the Grosjaegerhalle's fire pit, the huge glaive slung on its back. The Archduke was surprised, but trying to show nonchalance. Alena's voice sounded almost lazy.

"How did you pass our teleport security screens? I didn't send you the signal yet."

<I didn't need the signal. I picked it up from the Morgenstern as you teleported out. There are all sorts of new technologies on the XC-091, the compact teleport homer is one of them, the variable geometry plating is another one. My father was forced to innovate after all.>

"How did you get your hands on strictly classified technologies? Private citizens without military clearance are not permitted to get anywhere near..."

<Who said Vladmir Kamatov was a private citizen? Who said his name was Vladmir Kamatov?>

"Then who is he? Who are you?"

<Do you remember Sharish Arsamazov? I think you do. He was a tech-mage working for the Imperial Cybernetics Research center...the Ivory Tower as you call it. Now what I don't understand is why you had him purged, and despite all the searches I've done in the Imperial Archives, I haven't found anything. I'm going to go with you deleting his records, so you should tell me.>

"Why?"

<Why not? You want me in the Reikscarle. You want to shake things up. All the secrecy on your end? You want to throw a coup, don't you? Since I am your instrument, you should tell me more about Sharish Arsamazov.>

"Sharish Arsamazov was caught stealing protected technology and being in violation of Imperial Protocol. He was terminated, the projects he was working on were rolled up and black bagged."

<I don't believe my father would do something like steal from the Ivory Tower.>

"Your father... you mean that--?"

<My real name is Malika Arsamazova. You will of course present me as Alena Kamatova in the records.>

"You were recorded as killed..." Now the Archduke was truly shocked.

<No, you put a bullet into my brain and threw me into a mass grave. You could say that you killed me, but it's not an entirely accurate assessment.> The XC-091 shifted its weight slightly.

"Then what happened to..." the Archduke sighed. "If you want to kill me, at least fight me fairly."

<That wasn't my father you killed. The charred remains in his house weren't him. And I'm not interested in fighting you. You would have done what any other official in your position would have done. After all, we are heretics. We are Adinrkasi and you are a disciple of Svargia.>

"Yes, that's...that's why Sharish Arsamazova was purged. I must admit, I did acted of my own volition instead of seeking Imperial permission."

<I figured as much. Ulrich von Ravenstahl, hammer of the Adinrkasi and Bemnite, champion of Svargian and Reikan values. Why would you go against Imperial decree and mandate extra persecution?>

"The Emperor is not going to be around much longer."

<Huh?>

"The Emperor is not going to be around much longer. Augustus von Ravenstahl will be dead soon. Of course I would want to implement my policies as early as possible. Don't you think his other prospective heirs haven't done the same?"

<From what I know, there is only one legitimate successor to the Imperial Throne.>

"You can't seriously believe Anika would be suitable....Malika." The Archduke grinned upon mouthing the last word. "Besides, legitimate doesn't mean the best, or the most suitable. My brother is a weak man, chosen by my father because he would implement...more flexible policies. The real problem is that Anika is...too kind, too gentle."

<And you Uncle, make plants wither and die when you breathe upon them.>

"What the..." Now Ulrich was wide eyed in shock. A Reikscarl in Leikte Gothikus ran into the hall.

"Your highness! XC-090 approaching without clearance! What are your orders sir!"

"Get the Morgernstern fueled up, activate all defenses. As for you Malika, ask yourself if anybody else is willing to give you what you want."

The Archduke ran into the palace hallways as fast as he could. Outside the Grosjaegerhalle, the boom of Raweis' flak cannons could be heard.

<You must be Princess Anika. I am Alena Kamatova, pilot of the XC-091 Marawijie.>

<Marawijie? The Tsernovian goddess of Nightmares. Nice designation.> A flak shell bounced off Lamia's shields and burst beside it. The armor's long clawed fingers glowed crimson as Anika sent a blast of psychic energy towards the battery tower below. The reinforced concrete tower shattered like glass, sending the flak battery and crew falling towards the earth.

<Yes. It's best if you just turn in your armor and surrender peacefully...> Flak shells whizzed past XC-090 as it closed with Raweis. The few that managed to hit merely bounced off its shields. Heavier artillery shells were merely dodged as they sped past, dragging their top heavy vapor trails behind them.

<There is no surrender Princess. I cannot allow you to harm the Archduke. I sense your hostility.>

<Well, then you'll die like everyone else here.>

<Fair enough.>

XC-091 burst through the vaulted roof of the Grosjaegerhalle, the black armor opening the fan shaped exhaust ports in back shoulders and speeding towards XC-090. A thunderous boom shook Raweis as XC-091 accelerated towards Lamia. Every window in the citadel cracked, then shattered.

<What in all the hells--?>

That was the sole thought Anika managed to put together before the bulk of Marawijie slammed into her armor. The much smaller, lighter Lamia was sent flying, spinning head over over heels.

<Heh... nice... trick.> gasped Anika as he struggled to regain her bearings. Her shields had held up, but the generator servos had just been re-calibrated. Now, they were out of alignment. At least the flak cannons stopped firing.

<Flicker, flicker, flicker.... That's all your shields do?> There was the ominous scraping of metal on metal as Alena slid the gigantic glaive from Marawijie's back mount. The crimson shield aura surrounding the XC-090 was fading in and out as both suits hovered in the night sky. Alena broke the sound barrier again, as another boom shook the citadel beneath. XC-091 did it in only a few meters, lunging forward with the glaive in its hands.

Holy Svargia... she's FAST. Lamia dodged the thrust and got inside the reach of the glaive. Anika raked her armor's claws across the black shielding aura of the XC-091. There was as crackle of energy as chunks of the shielding aura were pulled away from Marawiejie. This was followed by another red flash as a pair of psychic blasts slammed into the XC-091, forcing it backwards. Alena responded by putting the mech into full throttle again, charging at Lamia from close up. There was the sound of metal on metal as the two giant armors slammed together. Even though it was the heavier armor, both mechs began tumbling towards the earth as Lamia jammed both its razor tipped arms to the shoulder into Marawijie's torso. The stone courtyard shuddered as a combined 80+ tons of powered armor slammed into it, with Marawijie on the bottom.

<Heh. Not bad. Guess we'll never know how you would have turned out...> Lamia turned to face the Grosjaegerhalle, next to which were the Archduke's quarters. Anika began the take off sequence.

<Bite...me...> gasped Alena as the Marawijie rolled to its feet and plunged the gigantic glaive right into Lamia's back. Lamia's shields gave only the briefest resistance before psychically sharpened adamantium plunged into the back of the cockpit hatch and came out of the Lamia's chestplate.

<AAGH!> Anika dodged to one side in her cockpit to avoid getting impaled. Lamia held onto the shaft of the glaive tightly as Marawijie suddenly jolted itself backwards. However, there were two holes the size of Lamia's arms tunneled right through XC-091's flight jets. There wasn't the acceleration that came. Lamia pulled the glaive forward as it brought its own throttle up to full. Marawijie simply let go, sending Lamia flying towards the main citadel. This time, Lamia turned on a dime, dragging the shaft of the glaive through its mangled cockpit.

<Too easy...> Lamia walked slowly towards the heavier Marawijie armor, shields still flickering in and out. It readied the giant glaive for a death blow.

Only it never happened. Something heavy hit Lamia's helmet, There was a flash of blue light as the it crumpled to the ground. Morgenstern stood triumphantly over the inert Lamia, giant war hammer in its hands.

<Focus Anika. You never had focus.>

"Doctor Sharish Arsamazov. Who shall pay for the hole in my hall's roof? I cannot hold a feast in this hall until you fix the hole you put into it, and this is indeed a hall for feasting." Back in the Grosjaegerhalle, the Archduke once again sat around the fire pit, this time enjoying a bottle of Imperial Reserve Ale. "You sure you don't want a bottle? This is Imperial Reserve, not available to civilians. It's the good stuff."

"I'm positive."

"Fair enough. About the hole in the roof.... I suppose that..."

"I was thinking of having Malika work off the damage. No protests. That's an order. XC-091 is too good of a resource to squander."

"But..."

<Dad. It's ok, I should have used one of the windows as an exit. It would have been cheaper.> Alena was lying on a stretcher, still wired into the XC-091. A piece of duct tape joined together an oxygen line that had been severed in the battle. <You didn't react as badly as I thought you would Herr Archduke.>

"You saved the rest of my hunting lodge from being destroyed. I am grateful for that. However, you still wish to join the Reikscarle. I am the Grand Master of the Reikscarle."

"What if I change my mind?!" snapped Dr. Arsamazov.

<Easy there. Beating down Lamia was the most fun I've had in a while.>

"Correction: The Princess defeated you. I had to save you." The Archduke drained his bottle of Imperial Reserve and threw it into the fire pit.

<I have could have won. Lamia had taken critical systems damage already, and its pilot was disoriented.>

"And your ventilation systems were severed. You had 20 seconds to defeat the Princess before losing consciousness, this after you lost your weapon."

<I could have simply crushed her with the weight of my armor and some extra momentum. The jets in my legs units still worked.>

"It's all speculative now in any case. Who here wants to see what I'm doing to my brother's chosen successor?"

The XC-091 raised one massive hand into the air.

Meanwhile, in the basement/dungeons of Raweis, Anika von Ravenstahl could do nothing. A pair of Reikscarle in black and gold uniforms had her suspended by the wings from meathooks. One of them was repeatedly jabbing her with a black device, similar to an electric shaver.

"THIS HAYWIRE DEVICE IS GREAT! ARE WE GETTING THIS SHIT ON VIDFEED?!" The Reikscarl doing the torturing had to shout loudly over Anika's anguished screams.

"FUCK YEAH! WHOOOOOO!" The other Reikscarl moved the ceiling mounted swivel-cam towards Anika. "GIVE HER ANOTHER ONE!"

"No... please... don't..." Tears streamed down Anika's face as he pleaded to her assailants. Her limbs were jerking uncontrollably from being overloaded by the haywire device.

"Sorry sweetie, but we can't stop ourselves. This is a lot more fun than having my way with the kitchen slaves at night."

Anika simply spat a mix of glowing red blood and hydraulic fluid into her tormentor's face. The gesture of contempt got her nowhere. The Reikscarl with the haywire device turned up power output of the device and jabbed it into the middle of her abdomen again.

"YOU KNOW, SPEAKING OF HAVING YOUR WAY WITH---" The Reikscarl on the camera began reaching for his uniform's zipper. His hand was slapped away by the other Reikscarl.

"Our guest is not a kitchen slave Franz. Besides, she probably has teeth down there."

"Erich, my man, you know as well as I do that a woman is a woman."

"You were about to make sweet, sweet love to the spawn of an Iron Succubus you disgusting pig."

You did not just insult my mother you troglodyte. Anika gritted her teeth, primarily out of rage, but also because her jaw actuators would have clamped off her tongue if she didn't. Now just focus. FOCUS. Ok... try to feel your hands and feet, that's the first thing. Hands and feet. Might take a while if they keep at it with the haywire device.

<So, this Haywire Device. What does it do?> asked Alena as the XC-091 watched the vid feed being projected from the ceiling.

"It merely prevents any and all mechanical devices from operating. Even simple devices. Observe if you will." Two Reikscarle brought out a plastic children's seesaw. The Archduke pulled out the same black apparatus and touched it to the seesaw. There was a crackle of blue light as the seesaw fell to pieces.

<There's a similar device in Morgernstern's hammer. Same blue crackle.>

"Correct. When applied to being such as our princess here, what results is excruciating pain as the mechanical elements of her body try to separate from the organic ones."

<I could feel her aura. The whole is far greater than the sum of two parts. There's something downright demonic about it.>

"You're correct again. We surmise that Anika's mother is an Iron Succubus. We are still unsure about her paternity, as the Emperor has refused to submit to any tests regarding that issue. I'm guessing that Anika isn't of royal blood at all, or human for that matter."

"Why not collect some genetic material from Anika right now? If you want to trace it to the Emperor, match it to yourself Archduke."

"The problem is that there isn't any real DNA that we can extract from the Princess. Her demonic aspects have corrupted it. Good thinking though."

Back in the dungeons, Princess Anika focused. She managed to clench her fist long enough to ram it through Erich's gut. Suddenly, it all came flowing back to her, as Erich's blood seeped slowly over her arm.

"AAIIIIEEEE!!!" And with that high pitched, girlish scream, Franz turned and bolted out of the room as fast as he could. Anika ripped the chains and meathooks from their ceiling brackets and freed her wings. A couple of feathers dropped to the ground edge first and lodged into the concrete floor of the dungeon with dull clunks. Erich tried to crawl away, but the fist sized hole in his gut prevented him from doing so.

"Now Hauptmann Erich. It's my turn to teach you what pain is." Clawed fingers reached between Erich's legs and clamped down hard. The Reikscarl let out a dry rasp as he coughed up dark brown blood over his uniform jacket. The Princess shoved both of the meathooks into Erich's stomach wound, and pulled them outwards, so that the sharp ends protruded from the man's ribcage. Blood splattered onto Anika's thin shift, staining the expensive cloth. As the first armored guard burst into the room, Anika kicked the fragmentation grenade he had thrown into the hallway. The secondary explosions from outside tore the entire doorframe loose, filling the entrance to the dungeon cell with rubble. That left the wall. A clawed hand burst through the wall, impaling a Reikscarl guard through the throat. His armored bulk was pulled through the reinforced concrete of the dungeon cell, creating a convenient hole.

"Get her!" The Reikscarle detail still standing turned their guns upon Anika. The slugs from their automatic shotguns seemed to fall short of their target. All of them. The Princess ran past one set of guards, dragging Erich with her. She stopped and jerked forward on the chains, whipping Erich forward, sending him straight into the one of the Reikscarle. Erich's chest wall freed itself from the rest of his body and one of the meathooks whipped around, lodging itself cleanly in the brain cavity of another guard. Anika flipped the guard's fallen gun into her hands and opened fire. Instead of just bouncing off the heavy armor of the Reikscarle, each psychically charged slug from the 40mm shotgun shells came out as a white hot fireball.

<Your castle appears to be on fire Herr Archduke.> Upstairs, Ulrich had switched to the surveillance vid feeds for Malika and Sharish's viewing pleasure. Anika calmly made her way through the palace, turning guard after guard into molten slag.

"Don't worry my child. I want her to escape. Where is she going to go? I'm in possession of her armor, the Reikscarle is loyal to me, and me alone."

<You're not exactly in possession of her armor.>

"What do you m-"

And then XC-090 burst through the floor of the great fire pit. The suit was heavily damaged, with a dented helmet and a gaping hole in its chest revealing the cockpit and Anika at the controls.

<Well now Anika, up for round two? Come on, try cutting my respirator lines.>

<No, I won't. Good opponents are hard find these days.> With that, XC-090 disappeared in a shimmer of blue light.

Mead Hall Members: Any questions or comments? Seriously, I've written a lot, and it seems like the .org is too ambivalent to comment on it.

It's just the Mead Hall.

As I understand it, you're German. While that's fine and all, for the rest of us Anglo-Saxons, we get lost in the ungainly names and all. I think it's a great piece, however, and I've continued to re-read it.

Dude, I'm Chinese. I've just spent too many hours reading Warhammer (Warhammer 40k and Fantasy) and Warmachine rulebooks in order to put this world together. I blame Warhammer Fantasy for the spelling of certain words.

Excuse me...

But the comment still stands. The names slow down the reading, often resulting in me simply skipping them in order to continue the flow of the story. Now, while I'm not asking you to name everyone John Smith, I would prefer something like "Gregor Kaspar" or "Edheart". The names, as they stand, are my biggest problem.

And this is what I get for asking real Germans and Russians about naming conventions. :tongue2:

Anika's teleport homer was broken...as was her systems diagnostic cogitator. Still disoriented from exposure to the haywire device, her own diagnostic checks didn't pick it up either. Instead of teleporting back to the Imperial palace, she was pulled out of dimensional flux somewhere over the hot wastelands of Ourobri. Exhausted and badly injured, the Princess ran out of strength, her armor falling out of the clear blue sky and smashing into the parched desert rock with a loud, resonating thud. If there was wildlife, it would have panicked and fled, but as it stood, nothing lived except for maybe a vulture or two that passed overhead. The unconscious Anika lay in her mech's cockpit with thin trickles of hydraulic fluid trailing from her chest and mouth. The crimson flicker of Lamia's shields finally died out and faded into nothing. The hot sun beat down mercilessly on the suit of armor. The vultures circled before flying off, disappointed that the foreigner in the mech wasn't edible.

The sun was high and bright in the crystal blue sky, same as the desert. In the warm, sunny Imperial Reiksgarten, a bright blue butterfly landed on an outstretched, metallic finger. A much younger Anika sat in the grass peering quizzically at the insect perched on her hand.

<I'll think I'll give you a name. I don't know what kind of names butterflies have though. Maybe you're named after your favorite flower...so, clover then. You're named Clover.> The butterfly felt enough at home to stay on Anika's finger for just a few seconds more, then it just disappeared.

The crack of a high powered rifle bullet was heard immediately thereafter, followed by a faint "WHOOO!!! HELL YEAH!" and a much louder <WHOOOO!!! HELL YEAH!!!!>, Anika turned her head upwards, wondering what was going on. The glare from the rifle's scope could be seen from one of the towers hundreds of meters away. A teenaged Archduke began breaking down his rifle, sliding the scope off first. He leaped out of the tower, skipping across the rooftops until he got to the Reiksgarten grounds. More Reikscarle trainees in black and gold uniforms appeared from the colonnades surrounding the Reiksgarten just as the Archduke caught up with them. There were 10 of them, maybe more. The Archduke slung the rifle over his back and walked up to the group.

"So gentlemen, what shall we do?" asked the Archduke.

"Hey! You shot Clover!" Anika turned towards the group of Reikscarle with a glare.

"Well, is anybody watching?" asked one of the black uniformed youths as he looked around.

"Nobody's watching Franz. Nobody but us at least. Actually..." the Archduke thought for a moment. "Nope, none of us see anything."

At this, Franz let out a small, high-pitched squeal of delight. He slipped his belt off and stepped up quickly towards Anika. "You sure nobody's watching?" he asked once more as he tied his belt around the girl's arms.

"Nope." The Archduke tapped his foot. "Make it quick Franz, if you take too long, I'll start seeing things again."

"It won't be too long Ulrich." Franz grinned and unzipped his pants. Little Anika struggled against the belt, and against Franz's weight.

"AAAAGH!" A grown Anika sat bolt upright. A combination of pain and revelation shot through her body.

"Easy there! Easy there, your body's still recovering. Get some rest." Anika saw a pair of goggles and a white surgeon's mask. The man standing in front of her had black rubber gloves and dusty trenchcoat on.

"No, I don't need any res...t." Anika collapsed back onto the steel pallet she was lying on with a thump. "Who are...you? And where am I?"

The man in the goggles and rubber gloves turned towards Anika, smiling under his surgeon's mask. "I am Zubri Tuskhegz, Chief Tech Shaman of the Red Crow Tribe of the Ourobri people."

"Wait... I'm in a... Why the hell's it so dark in here? How did I get here?"

"You ask many questions and demand many answers. We found your fancy armor crashed in the middle of the desert. My apprentices tried to cut you out of it, but went through a couple dozen plasma cutting charges to no avail before accidentally shifting your entire suit. Your unconscious body hit the cockpit release hatch. This is our tribe's Machine Pit."

"So, how long have I been out? And where am I again?" asked Anika as she tried to sit back up again.

"You've been in a coma for the past three weeks. You regained consciousness about a minute ago. And you are in the Ourobri lands."

"Ourobri... I don't believe it. I just can't."

"And I don't even known where the 'Dual Empires of Waldreik and Tsernovia' are. That makes two of us."

"Ourobri, I'm not surprised that you've never heard of us. We're on a separate plane of existence. That means that... I'm never getting home. Wait, I'm going back to sleep, this is a bad dream."

There was hollow metallic clunk as Anika's wings slammed back into the steel pallet.

There was another hollow metallic clunk as a pair of bejeweled goblets clanked almost violently against each other in an overenthusiastic toast. The Archduke had lit the fire in the Grosjaegerhalle.

"We've done it Franz. Lamia's audio/vidfeed units and its teleport homer can no longer be detected on any plane." The Archduke smiled and drained his goblet. Except for Franz, the hall was otherwise empty.

"Indeedy!" Franz squealed and drained his goblet. "So now we march upon the Imperial Palace."

"March upon? We already have an army there, I could just order the Emperor killed.... On second thought... Franz, get Morgenstern ready."

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by DemonArchangel

And this is what I get for asking real Germans and Russians about naming conventions. :tongue2:

---

Personally, I like the German and Russian names. They suit the atmosphere. My main complaint is that the story is introducing new names, places and concepts at a breakneck speed. But relatively minor; please carry on :book: .

Sorry about the breakneck introduction of concepts and characters, I've been writing this story at a frenzy, and I really should look back more often.

The heavy linen sheets covering Anika von Ravenstahl were pulled aside as she woke up once more in the darkness of the machine pit. There were two lead cables threaded into her chest where her metallic arms blended into flesh at the shoulder, although the non-standard interface meant that the copper wires were simply soldered to the hollow glass fiber lines in Anika's chest. Instinctively, the former Crown Princess of Waldreik and Tsernovia pulled out the lead cables soldered into her chest. Her startled, bloodcurdling scream woke up the figure sleeping at the foot of her pallet.

"AGH! What's wrong!?" gasped the figure clad in a dusty black trenchcoat as he pulled himself up off the ground. He sounded adolescent and somewhat awkward.

"You're not supposed to solder the leads to me, you fucking jackass! I'm sure you don't have the proper interface plugs, but you could just reshape the plugs you currently have." Anika rubbed her shoulders as she sat upright once again.

"Actually, we didn't solder, solder wouldn't adhere, so we had to use a plasma weld. Your components are startlingly advanced, and honestly, baffling to us. We have never seen cybernetics so complex or so... It's like there's a mystical component to your everything about you. Some of the greedier apprentices tried to cut your wings off for salvage. I had to stop them, although even the swivel torches on the ceiling right here wouldn't make so much as a scorch mark."

"Let's start over again. Who are you?" Anika sat on the side of the stainless steel palette and unfolded her wings. Even though there was only a small amount of moonlight slipping through the entrance to the machine pit, the brilliant glow of the adamantium feathers filled the entire warehouse sized pit, illuminating the steel walls of the

"I am Aslan Tuskhegz, son of Zubri Tuskhegz. And you are Anika von Ravenstahl, Crown Princess of Waldreik and Tsernovia, whose radiance I am basking in." Aslan clasped his fist to his chest when he recited his father's name.

"Correct...wait, how are you speaking the same language I am?" Anika ran her clawed fingers through her matted blonde hair to straighten it back out.

"Objects from Waldreik and Tsernovia appear from time to time. Books on language, audio feeds, some vidfeeds. Our ancestors thought that your language must have been the language of the machines, the Mekaniksprak." At the mention of 'Mekaniksprak', Anika nodded.

"Dimensional instability due to malfunctioning teleport homers I assume, or maybe even simple dimensional instability pulling objects from one place to another." Anika began wrapping the linen sheets around herself. The wind blowing from the outside was uncomfortably cold.

"You could have dinner with our family... what kind of fuels do you run on?"

"Thank you for the offer. I'm fine with organics."

"You can...you can run on organics?" There was a look of amazement on Aslan's face. "I've never heard of a mechanical construct that could run purely on organics. We've been sustaining you on..."

"Machine oil will do as well. Although--"

"No, my father was pumping dragon's blood into you."

"Dragons? What the? They've been extinct in Waldreik for 400... There's probably a few running around in Tsernovia..."

"Indeed. Follow me."

Anika found herself obeying. The machine pit's steel door opened. The buildings were squat and cylindrical, covered in dusty felt. Even the machine pit, dark and cavernous on the inside, seemed pathetically tiny when compared to the great Reikskathedral. The entire camp was made up of several dozen felt tents of varying sizes. Waldreik's asphalt paved highways were replaced with cracked desert dirt. As the sun had gone down, few were left outdoors, and it was dark.

"Your village... it's...it's the smallest place I've been to in a while. Everything's just hitting me."

"Yes, but Waldreik is a land of immense wealth. Your have more pure adamantium in one feather than the Ourobri lands have as a whole."

Anika nodded. "Next time I molt, I'll crash your precious metals markets."

"Molt?" asked a confused Aslan. "You mean they...they grow? How? Father said you followed the same component based architecture described in the Grosmekanikbuch technical manual and the book of Svargian Adamantine Rites."

"You describe me like I'm a diagram in the book of Iron Rites." Anika smiled wryly. "If you must know, I do obey the book of Adamantine Rites when it comes to component based architecture. My faith in Svargia is strong."

"Then how do you account for your...your layout?"

"There are... discrepancies in my nature." Anika didn't want to mention her demonic bloodline, but something compelled her to do so anyway. "My mother was an Iron Succubus. I don't know who my biological father is. I'm sure it wasn't the man who raised me, he's flesh and blood."

"But? All the rituals of... So many anti-demonic rituals, so many wards against the incursion of the demon... according to the Adamantine Rites, you're...you're..."

"An abomination? Something to be hated and loathed? To be shunned? To be looked down upon like a piece of refuse from palace kitchens?" Anika halted, her eyes flaring with rage. Her wings began folding in a protective arc around her body. Her fingertips began to lengthen into razor sharp claws.

Aslan put his hands up as if shielding himself. "Oh no, no. I wouldn't ever think that way about anybody! Really. You're have such... magnificent grace. Like one of the Valkyries in the Adamantine Rites. I really don't understand why you call yourself an abomination. You're... beautiful."

Anika stared at her hands as her claws faded back into her fingertips. "I have one request. Could you just treat me like... like everyone else? I know it's an odd thing to ask, but I just don't want to be treated like a curio."

"I promise I'll treat you like a person, but it's not every day somebody as unique as you visits."

"This might make it easier for them to understand then."

There was a blue ripple at the base of Anika's wings, the same ripple the teleporter homers made. Anika's wings only became somewhat larger and fuller, much to her surprise.

"Wait... what just happened? I can make them retract into my body. Why can't I--? I just fully extended them..."

"You're still recovering from the injuries you sustained in the crash. You might have component based architecture, but I'm going to go with your...those glowing blue thinggies beneath your wing roots, they looked sort of fried. I took them out. Didn't think you needed them."

"What but... You know what? I don't care. As long as I can fit inside your tent."

Your style seems to have improved a great deal since I last read your work, DA. The plot flows nicely and the overall structure isn't bad either. It's very easy to see this is influenced by 40k/warhammer fantasy and my only true gripe stems from what Ludens indicated, however it's far from something major.

I look forward to reading more. Are you planning to continue?

Freedom... this is freedom?

404B-339A-3033D-145609K, aka Valeria Tugabyeva, aka Olga Arsamazova held Riso Stefanston's check for 125,000 Reiksguilders in one of her pincer hands as she sat upright in the uncomfortable office chair. Karl Rainier Hohenzol, Chief Overseer of Palace Personnel was fat and balding, staining his grey uniform shirt with sweat despite the air conditioning in his room. Valeria touched her other arm to her stomach and shivered as she felt the cold metal pincer through her thin grey slip. The single light bulb on the ceiling overhead glowed only dimly, suggesting a lack of psychic ability on the part of the Overseer. He supplemented it with a desk lamp that was somewhat brighter than the bulb on the ceiling, only because it was so close. The somewhat large office had no windows, so the Overseer had to strain hard to keep his light sources going. It was probably why he was sweating so hard. He constantly took sips of water from a large plastic bottle on his desk and looked like he was struggling with his paperwork.

"Your name is Valeria Tugabyeva, am I correct?" The fat man stared up from the rather thin manila folder holding her files. Kitchen slaves, being essentially disposable, didn't have much information stored on them. Food delivery wasn't exactly a vital service. The Dual Empires could go without people waiting on them if it came down to it.

"Yes sir", nodded Valeria . Her real name was Olga Arsamazova, but the only recently living person that knew that was...well, the new Emperor Ulrich III announced the death of Crown Princess Anika von Ravenstahl over vidfeed address. Olga thought that the new Emperor did a good job of hiding his glee behind a mask of stone faced teariness. As far as most people knew, she had died after a rare teleporter malfunction caused her armor to rend itself to pieces while she was piloting it. Without any orders from the Archduke, the Reikscarle simply let her go when Communications Officer Riso Stefanston showed up to claim her.

"Now Ms. Tugabyeva, according to this statement, you have declared yourself as a follower of the Adinrkasi Rite, is this correct?" The Fat Man read out loud in a droll voice that contained absolutely no humor. Valeria could only stare at his fleshy fingers. The form of the Overseer held no cybernetics.

"Yes sir. I affirm that I am a follower of the teachings of the prophet Adin. I am fully willing to accept the consequences of my religious beliefs." Valeria spoke in a highly formal tone with a slight quaver in her voice.

Suddenly, the fat man's eyes lit up and he put the file down. "Ah, Khstrais Nali, Sister Tugbyeva!"

"Khstrais Nali, Brother Hohenzol, although I don't think that is your given name." Valeria eased up somewhat in her stiff chair. Hohenzol knew the Blessing of Khstra, the greeting of Adinrkasi the world over.

"I'm an old man, from before the time of Augustus. Otto II was quite the monster. My parents gave me a passable Svargian name, but taught me the 10 Mystic Patterns and the Rituals of Adherence. Of course they had to do it by heart, as all the books were banned. Now you... you..."

In the last few years of his life, Augustus von Ravenstahl had relaxed many of the restrictions against the Adinrkasi and Bemnites, appointing many of them to high office. Ulrich III had promised to continue his brother's policies, including the ones of tolerance. Maybe it was that gigantic black suit of armor that stood watch behind him. The 10 Mystic Patterns and all 3200 Rituals of Adherence had been carved into its midnight black plating. Whoever could decipher all 10 Mystic Patterns had spent a long time studying Adin's cryptic Book of Adherence, decades maybe.

"I disabled my collar." One of Valeria's pincers tugged on the metal control collar fused to her neck for emphasis. She moved her arm back down slowly, as the gearboxes implanted in her shoulder and chest cavity shifted the limb's joints back into position. "I used shards of broken glass to do this:" Valeria undid the first three velcro fasteners on her dress, revealing the at least the first of the 10 Mystic Patterns carved into her chest. The thin bands of scar tissue began to tell a story. "It was Adin's intent that all his adherents interpret the Patterns for themselves, making every student's experience different. While you memorized the Patterns by heart, I took a different route." Valeria began tugging at the strip of cloth covering her breasts. "This took night after night. Sometimes, I had to swallow the bits and pieces of glass I was working with when the Reikscarle did their sweeps of the slave quarters every once in a while."

Normally, your average fat, balding man in a dead end job would salivate over a young woman revealing her breasts to him. But Karl Rainier Hohenzol was held in rapture at the patterns. They were cut with amazing precision and detail, especially given the tools available to the slave girl. "Y-you have all 10 of the patterns, right?" stammered Karl as he struggled to understand the nature of Valeria's patterns. Valeria merely nodded as she refastened her dress.

"All 10."

There was a long pause in the room before

"Very impressive, I must say. Now before I free you, there are some pieces of paperwork that need to be taken care of. First, I need to see the check." Valeria handed it over to Brother Hohenzol who looked it over.

"Ok, I affirm that this check is of the correct amount. Now. Now comes the hard part."

"What now?"

"The bill." Hohenzol picked up a brown paper envelop sitting on his desk. "Itemized for your convenience." Valeria began pulling out papers. Some of the charges were mind boggling. The total came out to more than 360000 Reiksguilders after taxes and interest.

"H-how... am I supposed to pay this back?"

"I don't know. I don't write these up. Accounting upstairs does. I really wish I could help you Sister Tugbayeva, I really do."

"No, you've done enough. Thank you." With that, Olga Arsamazova, aka Valeria Tugabyeva, exited the room.

Firstly a well done is in order for breaking the two-hundred view mark, DA. For your hard work your thread gets one of those fancy red envelopes!

Now onto the story. I know when no one comments can be tough but we're doing our best here. Traffic is low.

Still! I am enjoying your story, it's a different shade of what I've come to expect from these parts and hope to see it continued, remember not to get lost in detail and as I said before let the plot flow and tell itself. So far it's been quite a read. :bow: