Elonora knew this, and moved in to attack Douma, forcing her into a defensive position and using both her regular sword and the soul-eater to deliver slashes. I did the same—I went for Douma’s legs, while Elonora focused on the upper body.
I caught glimpses of the fight around us. Araquiel faced off with Kailani and Ridan, while Oriphiel came for Dmitri. Leah and Samael helped block some of her attacks, until they were distracted by the other Perfects. Vesta, Kallisto, and Ben did their best to draw them away from Dmitri’s cluster, but Oriphiel was determined to take him down.
“You know what irks me?” Oriphiel asked, panting as she brought her claws down, repeatedly, in an attempt to break through Dmitri’s shield defenses. “That Douma doesn’t have the heart to put you out of your misery, Dmitri.”
“I think Douma has a soft spot for this half-breed,” another Perfect replied, before charging both Leah and Samael.
“I’m inclined to agree,” Oriphiel muttered. “Otherwise, she would’ve offed you in one, simple strike,” she added, narrowing her eyes at Dmitri.
I stopped for a second, noticing Elonora as she managed to keep Douma busy with a flurry of sword attacks, left-right, left-right, until I had an easier path to dash around, then behind her, and sink my teeth in. But I also observed Douma’s expression changing as Oriphiel taunted her and Dmitri.
“I mean, Father has absolutely no need for a half-wolf,” Oriphiel added. “Your genetic package isn’t even remotely intriguing. He’d have no use for you. At this point, you’re just an extra body, and, frankly, you’re too much of a nuisance, not only in how you behave, but also because you’re distracting my sister.”
“Uh-huh, so? What’s your point?” Dmitri asked, stopping with his shield out and his sword ready to strike. His breathing was heavy. Despite his resolve, his body was having trouble keeping up with him.
“How about I end you right here, right now, and we call it a day for you, Dmitri? Huh?” Oriphiel spat. “You’d be doing us all a favor if you just died. Seriously.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Dmitri replied. “Come and get me.”
Oriphiel grinned, then bolted toward him. Douma caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, then stilled. “Sister, no! Father wants all of them!”
But Oriphiel didn’t care. She went straight for Dmitri’s head. My heart stopped for a second, my stomach tied up in knots, but the dread didn’t last for long. Oriphiel’s decision to kill Dmitri had an effect on Douma, but not the kind the Perfects would’ve wanted.
It left Douma open to Elonora and me.
In an instant, I ran toward her, ready to sink my teeth into her neck. But Douma shocked us all as she darted away from us and tackled Oriphiel out of the way. Oriphiel landed several feet away, tumbling through the sand, and stopped on all fours. She bared her fangs at Douma.
“I knew it! You’re sweet on the mutt!” Oriphiel hissed.
“Half-wolf,” Dmitri retorted. “I don’t call you quarter-chicken or whatever the hell you’re made of.”
“I told you, Sister!” Douma said firmly. “Father wants the whole group alive. He was specific! Don’t be stupid just to piss me off. Dmitri is useless in combat, but Father said he needs him, and we obey! We don’t let our judgment get clouded by petty disputes. You and I can have our own fight once this whole mess is over and done with.”
“Oh, that is absolutely going to happen,” Oriphiel replied, then got up.
Elonora and I weren’t done, though. We both descended on Douma, while Dmitri charged Oriphiel, flanked by Leah and Samael.
“I’m not done with you yet,” Dmitri growled.
Bodies, swords, and claws were about to clash. Blood was going to stain the white sands around us. We had to keep fighting and take the key players out. Ridan was busy fighting, but he was more than ready to take us all on his back as soon as we were ready.
“What is up with all the noise?” A male voice boomed across the beach.
It had a strange effect on all the Perfects, Araquiel and Douma included. They froze. It brought us to a standstill, as well. The blood thickened in my veins, and shivers ran down my spine, as I followed Araquiel and the others’ perplexed gazes.
To our left, about fifty feet away, standing tall and proud in the moonlight, was a most gorgeous creature. His muscles were beautifully sculpted, his legs long, and his arms bulked enough to crush a boulder with his bare hands. His hair was a splendid soft blond, curly and messy as it framed his handsome face.
Pristine white wings fanned out from his back, and a strip of silk covered his lower body, about midway down his muscular thighs. His eyes confirmed what I already knew he was—one was blue, one green. He was a Perfect, but different from the ones we’d dealt with so far. His skin was tanned, and he didn’t wear the tunics and gold plates on his chest and limbs.
He looked as though he’d just come from a rad surfing session.
My brain made the connection shortly before Araquiel expressed his perplexedness.
“Raphael,” he managed. “What… What are you doing here?”
I could almost smell his fear. Heck, looking at Douma, Oriphiel, and the two remaining Perfects, I saw that they were all equal parts stunned and petrified. They were afraid of Raphael, and I couldn’t help but wonder…
Should we be afraid, too? Or have we finally found a Perfect friend in this wretched place?
Derek
We didn’t give up on working Isda and Monos over. The two Faulties were our frequent caretakers, responsible for delivering our food and water, along with medication for the hundreds still recovering from their wounds.
Factions were forming within the diamond dome, with hundreds coming together and trying to plot a way out. Of course, most groups were quickly disbanded through a series of electroshocks. Those collars were viciously effective where rebellious thoughts were involved.
The rest of us stayed together, occasionally speaking out for everyone to hear. I understood their frustration and anger, but there wasn’t much we could do at this point. The one thing we could do was to get some Faulties on our side. I was specifically focused on Amal. She was the one with most of Ta’Zan’s trust, and she could eventually help us tamper with the shock collars without triggering them. Isda had already let slip that Amal was the one with the keys.
All we had to do was talk to her and convince her to help us. It was a dangerous endeavor, because all Faulties were loyal and loving toward Ta’Zan, almost by design. However, they were growing tired of the Perfects’ treatment. They were considered inferior and grotesque, and we knew it was only a matter of time before they’d snap and consider a mutiny.
Imprisonment was difficult to live with, and I often got the urge to just fight my way out. But then the collar around my neck began to warm up, warning me that I was about to enter a prohibited realm of thought. It was irritating and nerve-wracking, but Sofia’s calm and soft demeanor helped me back to the surface every time.
Being with my brother, my sister, and my closest friends was a good thing, too. Despite the dire circumstances and the prospect of Perfects spilling out into the universe, I was relieved to have the best people with me. We were able to bounce ideas off one another and discuss possible escape scenarios. They all involved cozying up to the Faulties.
We had no way of getting out of here on our own, anyway.
Sofia and Claudia kept an open communication line with Isda and Monos. As soon as night fell over the diamond coliseum, and the dark blue sky became visible overhead, the double doors opened. Isda and Monos, accompanied by several other Faulties, pushed food and drink carts into the dome hall.
The prisoners were well-adjusted to the protocols by now. No one protested or complained. We’d managed to get everyone on board with treating the Faulties with as much respect and consideration as possible. These creatures needed to see for themselves that there was a better way, and that it didn’t involve absolutism and violence, but rather kindness and accept
ance.
They all lined up in groups of fifty, leaving room for the Faulties to move around with the service carts. Isda came to our cluster, as usual, accompanied by Monos. She handled the foods, and Monos dispensed the liquids. I noticed several carafes filled with a pale orange-and-pink liquid next to the water ones.
“I hope you’re all ready for dinner,” Isda said, her smile filled with warmth, as she handed blood bottles and plates of cooked food around.
“What’s in those?” I asked, pointing at the orange-pink liquid.
Monos gave me a friendly wink. “We’ve just harvested the spring plums,” he said. “We squeeze the juice out of them and drink it. I figured you’d like some. Well, at least those of you who can drink anything other than blood.”
He sounded almost sorry for us. I chuckled softly. “Well, we vampires don’t do well with solid foods, in general, but we can sip some juice or water or the occasional coffee once in a while. It makes us a little more tired than usual, because of how our digestive system is built, but I think it’s worth the trouble,” I replied.
Sofia nodded in agreement. “If you don’t mind, we’d love to taste it, at least.”
“Of course,” Monos replied, then poured us some glasses and handed them over.
I took a sip and was impressed. It was absolutely delicious—a refreshing mixture of peaches and oranges, with just a hint of a lemony accent. I didn’t stray off the blood path much, but it was worth it sometimes.
“This is delicious,” I announced.
Isda and Monos beamed at us. They seemed genuinely thrilled and eager to please us. It felt like such a contrast when compared to their Perfect brethren.
“We grow the trees ourselves, on the west side of the coliseum,” Isda explained. “They usually grow in the wild. We transferred some of them here, then used the seeds and planted more to increase our resources. In a year or so, we’ll double the harvest. We’re now taking care of a hundred spring plum trees, plus dozens of other fruit trees, all collected from the wild and seedlings we just planted. The land on this side of the island has a rich and healthy soil, perfect for such harvests.”
“That’s impressive,” Sofia said. “You’ve certainly established yourselves here, haven’t you?”
“Well, it’s been our home for centuries,” Isda replied with a mild shrug. “We were quick to learn agriculture, mining, and building, first and foremost, and some of us specialized in craftsmanship and weaving, while a select few joined Father in his labs. There were five hundred of us to begin with. Now, the Perfects are joining in.”
Monos sighed, visibly displeased with the idea. “Father wanted them to get involved because they’re much faster at extracting and processing the materials. Perfects have this function—”
“Monos!” Isda reprimanded him, but kept her voice low. “You know Father doesn’t like it when you talk to the outsiders about the Perfects.”
Monos waved her away, shaking his head. “It’s fine, Sister. Come on, lighten up!” he said, then looked at me and put on a sheepish smile. “She’s still afraid you’ll want us to rebel. Though, it is starting to sound better than what’s going on now, if you ask me.”
That was exactly what I wanted to hear.
“Monos!” Isda hissed, this time troubled and alarmed. “Stop it.”
“He should be allowed to voice his opinions, don’t you think?” Xavier asked, watching her expression gradually change, her shoulders dropping into a more relaxed posture.
Isda was more afraid of rebellion than Monos, who was already voicing his thoughts, like music to my ears. She nodded slowly.
“Has Ta’Zan ever punished you for complaining about the Perfects?” Claudia replied.
“Not directly. He just tells us that he hears us, then we’re carted off to crappier jobs,” Monos answered for her. “One day, you could be helping him craft a new microscope, and the next, you’re pushing food carts into the prison dome.”
“I take it you’re using yourself as an example,” I replied with a half-smile.
“I am,” he said, then exhaled. “Anyway, I know you won’t rat us out to Ta’Zan, so I feel comfortable sharing my thoughts with you,” he added, then gave Isda a smirk. “You should, too, Sister. It’s not healthy to keep it all bottled up inside you.”
She huffed, then crossed her arms and raised her chin up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m perfectly happy.”
“Is that why you cry yourself to sleep every night?” a nearby Faulty female named Zorra asked. She’d overheard Isda and was clearly not buying it. Isda froze, her eyes wide with shock. Zorra laughed. “We sleep in the same room, Isda. You should know I’m a light sleeper by now.”
“We’re all unhappy,” Monos said, looking at me. “Every day, more Perfects are born and taught that they’re the best, that everyone else is inferior and meant only for servitude, that to achieve universal peace, violence is needed to wipe out the people who engage in acts of war and violence of any kind. And they look at us like we’re vermin, ugly and deformed, compared to their precious selves.”
Lucas stepped forward. “You were about to tell us something about the Perfects, a minute ago.”
“Ah, yes!” Monos replied, recovering his train of thought as he dispensed more water to the rest of our group. “The Perfects have a… well, we call it ‘quick mode.’ They’re able to speed up their metabolisms and change their perception of time. They move so fast that a minute can turn into a second. A day can become mere minutes. Before you know it, they’ve built an entire coliseum in less than a day, especially if there are hundreds of them working on it. We have something similar, but not as fast as them. We’ve used this method to extract materials and to process them for our needs, but everything has picked up the pace since the Perfects came out.”
“Like a time lapse, of sorts?” Corrine asked, narrowing her eyes as she digested the information.
Monos nodded once. “I suppose. They just turn into flashes, mere wisps of matter, well beyond our ability to see and hear them properly. The only thing is that it takes a toll on them. It wears them out for the rest of the day, which is another reason why Father makes so many of them. He wants a permanent production line without exhausting his people. It’s also why the Perfects are careful, and don’t use that technique in battle unless they have to. And when I say ‘have to,’ I mean when they’ve gone through all other options, both peaceful and otherwise.”
Isda rubbed her face with her palms, then proceeded to offer more plates of food to Kailyn, Lucas, Ibrahim, Corrine, and the other non-vampires and non-Maras in our crew.
“You’re telling them more than Father would be okay with, Monos,” she mumbled.
“I think they deserve to know,” Monos replied. “They can’t do anything about it, anyway.”
Ibrahim frowned, visibly startled by this development. “Hold on, so they apply this ‘quick mode’ in construction and manufacturing and whatever, but they use it sparingly in combat?”
“It depends on the circumstances. For example, when your fleet came in, they didn’t think twice. There were large numbers of your people on board, and they had to be captured before they could launch an attack on our planet,” Monos explained. “They used their quick mode to turn into those flashes you probably saw,” he added, looking at Jax, Hansa, Jovi, Anjani, Varga, and Heath. “But if they’re dealing with a smaller group, like, say, your children,” he said, shifting his focus to Sofia and me, “they’re more reserved, mainly because your children are smart as whips.” He ended with a chuckle, prompting Isda to click her teeth and shake her head in dismay.
“Monos,” she murmured.
“What? I’m right, and you know it!” he snapped. “Besides, they won’t use their quick mode unless they have to. I think they’ll do it soon, though. They’ve been trying to use their usual methods to discourage and capture the kids, but these outsiders are more intelligent than we gave them credit for. More intelligent than Ta’Zan ga
ve them credit for, too, in fact,” he said, then looked at me again. “You see, Ta’Zan has taught us to believe that quick mode is a cheat, and that it shouldn’t be used lightly—not only because it drains your energy for hours on end, but also because it discourages you from exploring your actual, real-time physical limits. He also taught us that everything we do is a way for us to express our love and adoration for him and for ourselves. So we must be pristine in our methods and delivery. Which is why the Perfects try to only use their quick mode when Ta’Zan orders it, specifically. But, like I said, I think they’ll have to use it soon, since your children keep dodging them, even with Abaddon on their trail.”
“You’ve heard from them?” Sofia asked, visibly hopeful.
Isda sighed. “Yes. They had a first confrontation with Abaddon a couple of days ago. It was a mess, because Abaddon went off the rails. All the Perfects went down, leaving your children to deal with that monster alone, so they released Douma for long enough for her to kill him, albeit temporarily, then put her back in cuffs of some kind.”
Corinne grinned. “My granddaughter knows her binding methods, all right.”
“That’s interesting, to say the least,” I muttered. “So, the kids are still out there.”
“Yes, but Abaddon, Araquiel, and the others aren’t far away,” Isda replied.
It still gave me the creeps to think of a Perfect regenerating from decapitation. We’d learned more about their anatomy and the memory chips from snippets that Monos let slip during the feeding visits. We’d put two and two together with everything else we’d seen ourselves, and we’d concluded that the Perfects were, indeed, a formidable foe, and more dangerous and powerful than anything else in the universe.
Of course, that assessment had been made days earlier, but, still, it chilled me to the bone. Nevertheless, I knew that Ta’Zan would never have made invincible creatures without an off button of sorts. He had to have a way to kill them, in case they went haywire or rallied against him. And I had a feeling that Amal knew something about it.
A Shade of Vampire 64: A Camp of Savages Page 6