“The Draenir treated us poorly,” Melba replied.
“They actually didn’t. Ta’Zan started killing them while experimenting and looking for ways to make better versions of you,” Amane said. “Then, he fled with the research and a treasure trove of stolen knowledge. Decades later, he released the virus when he heard that his maker, Mudak, killed himself in prison.”
“You can’t be serious,” Omid said. “Our whole lives, we were taught to believe that the Draenir hated us and wanted us dead… that the plague was nature’s way of hitting back!”
“You’ve been lied to,” I replied.
“Granted, the Draenir weren’t exactly fond of us, but they weren’t going to terminate us, either,” Amane said.
“What do you want from us?” Marlow asked.
“Your support,” Ben said. “We’re planning a campaign against Ta’Zan, but it takes a lot of people to make it happen. His enterprise can be sabotaged from the inside, but we need you—your knowledge, your relationships with the Faulties still serving him, your willingness to be our eyes and ears on the ground, while we move around and carry on with our mission.”
Marlow thought about it for a while, then exchanged glances with the others before giving us a faint shrug. “There’s only four of us.”
“You know the other rogues, too, Marlow,” Amane replied. “I remember you. I remember you all. You were close to everyone, before the big sleep. If they see you with us, they’ll be inclined to follow.”
Omid ran a hand through his turquoise mane, then looked around, frowning. “We’re not the ones calling the shots out here. Someone else has managed to rally the Faulties. More and more are joining him, every day.”
“First and foremost,” Dmitri said, raising a hand, “we need to test you for remnants of the plague. You might still be carrying it, and our Draenir friends here are dangerously close to extinction already.”
Omid frowned. “Test us?”
One of the Draenir boys handed one of their testing pens to Amane, who showed it to the Faulties. “It’ll sting a bit, but it’ll be quick.”
The Faulties looked at one another, then shrugged and put their arms out, as Amane took blood samples and waited for the light on the pen to stay blue or go red. Fortunately, all four Faulties tested negative.
“Okay. Now, you say there’s a Faulty leader rising,” Ben said, bringing the conversation back to what really interested us.
“We can take them to him,” Marlow muttered to Omid.
“It’s a great risk. We’ve gone to great lengths to conceal that settlement,” Omid said.
“We’re hiding ourselves,” Ben said. “We’re not interested in revealing our presence to the Perfects, either.”
“But you could lead them to our camp, without even realizing it,” Omid insisted.
“Didn’t we just save your asses from two Perfects who’d almost followed you to your camp? It’s what, three miles north of here, more or less?” Dmitri asked, wearing a satisfied grin as his nostrils flared. He’d caught their scent, even across a three-mile distance. I was officially impressed.
Omid froze, his eyes wide with fear. “Hold on. How did you know?”
“Good nose,” Douma murmured, clearly amused.
Melba sniffed the air, her ears moving slightly. Concern settled on her face, to the point where I had to ask, “What’s wrong?”
“Perfects. More are coming this way,” she replied.
“You can smell them in the air?!” Dmitri croaked, clearly stunned.
Melba sighed. “More or less. I can hear them. They’re flying low, probably surveying the area. They’re looking for something.”
“Or someone,” Omid said, scowling at us.
He turned around and darted through the woods, motioning for us all to follow him.
“Come on!” Melba breathed. “We’ll get to safety!”
We didn’t wait to be told twice. The Draenir looked terrified enough as it was.
The flutter of wings added burning coals to our heels as we ran, as fast as we could, through the dark jungle. The night was our advantage, but if the Perfects caught our scent, even beneath the foliage, we’d still have a fight on our hands.
I held my weapon close to my chest, clutching it tightly as we jumped over swirling tree roots and jagged rocks that poked out from the ground.
The Faulties kept running, taking tight turns here and there. Every minute that passed took us deeper into the woods, to the point where I didn’t even know where we were anymore. Darkness surrounded us, with the same gnarled trees and waxed leaves everywhere.
“How much longer?” I whispered.
“They’re getting closer,” Amane murmured. She could sense these Perfects, and, based on what we’d seen so far in her natural detection system, if she could feel them, they could feel her too.
“Shush!” Omid said.
A large projectile burst through the trees above and landed in front of us, tearing the ground open like a rocket exploding. Seconds later, it was joined by six others. Each landing blast threw us farther back. The Draenir were the first to go down, rolling on the hard ground until they settled on their bellies, covered in dirt and coughing.
Once the dust cleared, we could see our enemies standing, their claws extending and their huge wings retracting beneath their shoulder blades. Perfects.
“I thought I smelled a traitor,” one of them hissed, looking at Amane.
“And I knew I’d sensed vermin with wings,” Amane retorted, then aimed her weapon at him.
Douma groaned, rolling her eyes. “Stop. Don’t waste your ammo on them,” she said.
She then dashed forward and engaged them in combat, moving like a flash of lightning from left to right, as she clawed at their sides. The rest of us didn’t stand back. Even the four Faulties helped out, running circles around us and occasionally going in to deliver a hit. The Perfects were close to being overwhelmed, until one of them released a flurry of fireballs at us.
One was headed straight for Amane. I lunged and tackled her. We both fell down just as the flames blew past us. The Draenir had their weapons ready, in case we couldn’t take the Perfects out on our own.
The first head rolled, courtesy of Douma, who then moved on to the next. Her opponent tried to punch her, but she ducked and shot back up with a crippling uppercut. We all heard his teeth clatter, then break. Dmitri snuck up on him and cut his head off with a soul-eater.
Ben, Vesta, and Zeriel worked well together. The fae challenged the Perfects’ fire abilities with their own, flicking their lighters open and casting concentrated fire bubbles that exploded once they touched their targets. Zeriel went in and finished the job, decapitating them with a single, devastating blow.
One of the remaining Perfects came at me, and I would’ve given anything to go full dragon on him. He couldn’t be worse than Araquiel, that was for sure, and I’d managed to injure that bastard, too. I dodged his hits and gave some back, in triplicate, until I heard his ribs crack. But then he did something that caught me off guard.
He sneered and dashed past me. He caught Amane from behind, gripping her by the sides of her head. His hands glowed red, and Amane screamed from the pain, as the bastard lit up from head to toe.
I growled, rage burning through me like lava, then charged the Perfect. The sound of my wrath was enough to distract him for a split second. He let Amane go, and she fell on the ground, soft like a rag doll. We tumbled, kicking and punching each other wherever we could, as I tried to get him as far away from Amane as possible.
Three other Perfects were still standing and giving our crew a major headache.
The brief whistle of a small object flitting through the air caught my attention. Whatever it was, it got lodged in the back of my opponent’s neck. He froze, his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes bulging. A second later, he was down on his belly, a short arrow protruding from his nape.
I jumped up just as more arrows shot through the brawl, hi
tting each of the remaining Perfects and paralyzing them. One by one, they fell, unable to move or say anything. Omid, though severely wounded and bleeding, managed to get himself back up and retrieved his makeshift sword from the ground.
He cut off one of the Perfects’ heads. “Take care of the others,” he managed, grunting and puffing as he struggled to stay upright.
Douma glanced around, thoroughly confused. There was no sign of the one who’d shot those arrows, but our enemy was down and disabled.
I ran to Amane’s side and gently turned her over, while Ben checked Zeriel, Vesta, and Dmitri. The Draenir were okay, staring in sheer awe as we organized ourselves after a bloody fight.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whispered, as I pulled out one of the healing packs.
With trembling hands, Amane helped me rip it open, then took the wet pads out and pressed them against her burnt cheeks. We’d made the healing packs prior to our departure from Rakkhan’s camp, dousing textile pads in our proprietary healing magic and using empty sealable bags from the stronghold to keep them fresh and ready to apply at a moment’s notice.
“I’m supposed to help you,” I said, smiling. “Not the other way around.”
“Well, you’re clearly all thumbs,” Amane replied, trying hard not to smile. Her face had to hurt like crazy. Those were deep, third-degree burns. They were going to take an hour or so to heal, so I took out a roll of gauze and wrapped it around her head, to keep the healing pads in place while they did the job.
“What the hell was he going to do, anyway? Grill you?” I muttered, helping Amane up.
“No. He was going to cripple her, so he could take her away,” a male voice boomed through the jungle. “Given how fast our little science genius moves, the winged idiot grabbed whatever he could, first. You see, you’re all on Ta’Zan’s most-wanted list, but Amane is at the top, and is an absolute priority.”
We didn’t see anyone, until a shadow tore off from a nearby tree.
He stepped forward, coming into a single ray of moonlight that had managed to pierce through from above. He was a Faulty, but a pretty impressive one, in my opinion. He was as tall as I was, covered in hard muscles, and had a tanned complexion. His head was shaved, and he only wore a pair of old leather pants—probably something he’d fished out from some ancient Draenir site, tucked away in a drawer and not so broken down by time.
But it was his playful expression and lime-green eyes that really stood out.
“Herakles. It took you a while,” Omid said, his tone flat.
Herakles was the one carrying the bow, along with a quiver on his back, loaded with short arrows. He was the one who’d taken the rest of the Perfects down, paving the way for their demise. We gathered together as a crew to face him, while Omid and his Faulties moved to stand by Herakles.
“Well, pardon me! I was a little bit shocked when I sensed Amane with you!” Herakles retorted, then gave Amane a most charming smile. “Hey there, gorgeous. It’s been a while.”
It made my blood boil, but then it got worse when Amane replied. “Herakles. You’re still alive.”
“Thanks and all for ridding us of these fellas, but I have to ask… who the hell are you?” Dmitri asked, dusting himself off. He’d gotten some scratches of his own, several deep enough to cause serious bleeding, but Douma was quick to rub a healing patch cloth over them.
“He’s the one who will help us,” Omid said. “He’s the one we were going to see before the attack.”
Amane chuckled, then squirmed from the pain. She was still limited in terms of facial expressions, given the burns.
“Seriously? You’re our beam of hope?” she retorted.
Herakles grinned. “You know, even with those wraps, you’re still the prettiest thing around.”
Amane rolled her eyes. “Good grief, that’s what we’ve been reduced to. Seeking help from Herakles, the fast-talking pirate.”
Herakles seemed to take it as a compliment, his chest swelling with pride. Based on the way he kept gazing at Amane, I couldn’t help but wonder whether there was some history between them. There had to be. He was way too familiar, too much for my comfort.
“Wait, you sensed Amane coming?” Ben asked.
I’d been so preoccupied with his attention toward her, that I’d almost overlooked that precious detail. Herakles flashed an annoyingly charming grin.
“Amane and I go a long way back,” he replied. “And yes, I sense her better than most. Heck, she’s the only creature who makes my senses tingle the way she does.”
Amane groaned again, clearly annoyed and frustrated by his thinly veiled compliments. I shared her pain.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she mumbled.
“Fate is funny like that,” Herakles said. “So! I take it you need our help?”
“We do,” Ben replied. “We need all the help we can get.”
Suddenly, I was hit by two very different emotions at the same time. From one side, there was enthusiasm… hope, even, that our mission was paying off, that this Herakles character was going to help us rally the rogue Faulties for what lay ahead.
From the other side, however, I was severely irked by his presence. He looked at Amane as if she were a piece of prime rib, his for the taking, and I hated it. I wasn’t one to share, and I was already in too deep with Amane to let someone like Herakles swoop in and throw me to the side.
I shook those thoughts away. I was a dragon, dammit. A little competition wouldn’t kill me. A Perfect, maybe, but not this Herakles guy.
Vesta
Herakles was the dashing type—a marauder with a not-so-ordinary appearance, yet more human looking than most of the Faulties. The only sign of hybrid genes in him were the black scales running down the back of his head, his nape, and his spine. Other than that, the guy could easily go on the cover page of a men’s magazine. I’d perused plenty of those during my last visit on Earth.
First, Amane tested him with the special pen to make sure he wasn’t carrying a dormant plague virus. He didn’t like the sting much, but the result came back negative, and he took comfort in knowing the rest of his people would go through the same process. Amane had gotten really good at testing times.
We then followed Herakles even deeper into the woods, walking quietly behind him. We left the Perfects’ corpses burning and covered our tracks with some of Amane’s nifty black mineral dust.
Herakles didn’t look back at us, unless it was to give Amane one of those broad, knee-melting smiles. It annoyed the hell out of Ridan, but the dragon said nothing. His expression didn’t hide it, and I had a feeling that Herakles was partially doing it to get under Ridan’s skin.
“You shouldn’t poke a dragon,” Zeriel muttered.
He, too, had noticed the unexpected trio forming ahead of us, as Ridan stayed close to Amane, who, in turn, was catching up with Herakles as he led us to his settlement.
“How many Faulties are living with you here?” Amane asked.
“About three dozen,” Herakles replied. “Most came in over the past couple of days.”
Omid chuckled. “For good reason, too. The pounding you gave Messiel was one for the history books.”
“Messiel?” Ben replied.
“Ah, one of Ta’Zan’s prime lieutenants,” Herakles explained. “He used to come around to try and push us farther down south. He tore down our settlements, repeatedly, until I tore his head off, once. It was enough to teach him a valuable lesson.”
“They’re pushing the Faulties farther away from the diamond colosseum cluster?” I asked, remembering the stories that Leah and Samael had already told us about this behavior.
Herakles nodded. “They want us rejects as far away from their prissy diamond world as possible. We’re not a good look, apparently,” he said. “Anyway, I overheard you guys saying you have an idea on how to kick Ta’Zan to the curb.”
“That’s good hearing you have… We do, yes,” Ben replied. “It’ll take a lot of work and the ef
fort of as many of us as possible, though, which is why we’re out here, asking for help.”
Herakles smiled. He was more than aware of his physical advantages and clearly didn’t shy away from using them. “Does your plan include toning the Perfects down so we can all live in peace?” he asked. “Kill them all for good, even?”
“We’re not into senseless mass murder and genocide,” I cut in. “The Perfects can be reasoned with, or even have their memories wiped, so they can start over without Ta’Zan’s indoctrination.”
Herakles stopped, then turned around to face us.
“Okay. That explains her, then,” he said, pointing at Douma. “And why she didn’t rush to slit my throat the moment she saw me.”
I had to give Herakles credit. He kept all his cards close to his chest. Douma was clearly confused.
“Why would I want to do that?” she murmured, keeping herself close to Dmitri.
“Because the last time you and I saw each other, I cut your legs off and tossed them in the ocean, off the coast of Santyos.” Herakles chuckled, then narrowed his eyes at the four Draenir. “And I thought your kind were extinct. How are you still breathing?”
The boys were in over their heads at this point, in constant awe of both Faulties and Perfects. This was, after all, their first time out in the world. I figured they had a ton of questions to ask, already, but they kept to themselves, for the most part. They obeyed our orders and were ready to assist where needed, but their wide eyes and whispered impressions reminded me that everything was still new to them. Different. Thrilling and scary, at the same time.
In many ways, like Strava was for us when we first set foot here.
“Some survived, it seems,” Omid muttered, giving the Draenir a sideways glance.
“Rakkhan, a Draenir elder, rescued a few people—many of them children—when the plague broke out,” Amane said. “They got as far away from the populated areas as possible. They’ve been living in complete isolation since. Until recently, they didn’t even know about Ta’Zan’s Perfects.”
“We didn’t even think the Faulties had survived. Or Ta’Zan, for that matter,” one of the Draenir replied.
A Shade of Vampire 65: A Plague of Deceit Page 13