It wasn’t what she had expected. Although, honestly speaking, Cylin wasn’t sure why she felt disappointed to see an endless sea of coarse ochre sand, upon stepping into the arch filled with light. Sonya had found the strange structure a few hours ago, and after a lot of discussions and angry shouting, her new tribe drew lots to see who would be the one to step through it. Of course, they had thrown a few items to see if it was solid, and after that had used some of the entrails of the dead Pathari Saar as a makeshift rope. As a result, they knew that things could in and out of the arch. The young girl could understand why someone had to see what was on the other side, but she wasn’t happy when she lost the draw.

Trembling and hyperventilating, Cylin didn’t make the first step, as much as she was pushed through. Cursing and screaming, she went headfirst into the wall of light. Her skin grew cold as it washed over her, the sensation not so different from scrubbing fine sand to clean herself. And yet, it also felt like water, but there was no wetness to it. The experience was unlike anything Cylin had ever felt before, and this frightened her. Within a second a thousand questions emerged into her mind and with them came a thousand different and horrible deaths. But there was also a rational part of her mind that told her all those were born out of foolish superstition. It told her that she knew what this wall of light was.

“Matter transporter,” Cylin let out the words tumble out of her mouth, as she had her first glimpse of the endless sea of sand.

The girl took a moment to marvel at her surroundings and to taste the first gulp of fresh air since the Hollow Gods had re-forged her body. The only thing around her that wasn’t ochre sand was an exact copy of the arch, made of the same cold black metal. However, this one was standing at an awkward angle, giving the impression that it would fall at the slightest breeze. Still, it was enough for a broad smile to form on Cylin’s face.

“They’ve created a localised stable wormhole!” She yelled at the top of her voice before dropping to her knees laughing maniacally.

A moment later she stopped, as it dawned on her that she had no clue what that meant or why it was important. If she focused hard enough, she could remember the exact definition and principles involved in making such a complex item. But there was no point of reference for her primitive mind to make use of such knowledge. Sadness entered Cylin’s thoughts as she realised that the process of granting the Slayers the required knowledge was incomplete. Regis had interrupted it at its most vital part. If only he and the others were a little more obedient, she and her new tribe would be actual Gods.

The girl looked at the unstable arch and bit her lower lip. It would be so easy; she need only unleash her gifts and the Slayers would be trapped for all eternity in the domain of the Pathari Saar. And Cylin would be free. Free to rule this world as she saw fit. No one was better suited to take the place of the Gods they killed than her. Not even that monster Nadene had the sheer destructive power the former slave could command at the tips of her fingers.

She could feel enormous energy gather at her right hand, as blood filled her mouth. Her teeth had finally pierced the soft flesh of her lower lip, and she savoured the thick taste of iron that seeped down her thought. It was so much different to the coppery taste of her natural blood, that it was making her dizzy. However, it was enough for her mind to shake off the dangerous thoughts flooding it. She didn’t know the first thing about ruling, no matter what the knowledge in her head was trying to make her believe.

With a primal scream, Cylin released the power gathered in her hand, tearing a hundred-meter-long wound into the earth next to the arch. She had no idea what spell she had used, but it was enough to scare her. No one had the right to wield such power. Especially not a mortal like herself. The former slave, stood motionless, mouth agape, observing the result of her unchained desires. There was no hiding this, and as soon as the members of her new tribe joined her, they would know. But that was inconsequential. At the current moment, Cylin was more afraid of herself than of Regis or Martell, or even Nadene.

The mage would scold her and think of some elaborate punishment for sure. However, she would also teach her about control and how important it was. The Second would be more direct. He would punish her body be it through violence or by forcing her to do some pointless menial tasks until the former slave could no longer feel her arms and legs. Regis, on the other hand, would destroy her will. Cylin had seen what the man was capable of and in his case, the violence did not scare her. The master of the Slayers had a way of stripping one’s self and crushing it, without so much as lifting a finger.

Any other day, the thought of either of those punishments would have the girl curl and cry herself to sleep. But not now. Now she was mortified by how quickly thoughts of destruction and insanity had taken over her. The ease with which she had surrendered to them, made Cylin contemplate how weak she was. And with that came the realisation that she needed help. In an instant, she decided that only Sarduk could help her.

“Yes,” she muttered to herself, “he has the wisdom of the shamans, after all. But… The healer Till, he managed to fix the one-eyed woman…”

Well, if the shaman refused or couldn’t help her, Cylin would then turn to the old healer. However, for that to happen she needed to inform the others that it was safe to cross through the arch. Carefully, the girl pulled on the improvised rope, forcing herself to ignore the sickening feel of the entrails it was made of. A few seconds later Big Uhr and Os emerged from the solid wall of light. Their makeshift weapons held ready to strike any potential threat, the two men stood as sentinels on both sides of the black structure. One by one the other Slayers followed until finally Regis stepped out, still supported by the elf Inney.

“Do you smell that?” He asked with a wide grin on his face, turning around to look at each and every person under his command. “Do you smell it!”

Confused smiles answered him, as men and women sniffed at the air. Cylin closed her eyes and took deep slow breaths, focusing both her natural senses and her gift in order to decern what Regis had sensed.

“This is the scent of freedom! This is victory!” The leader of the Slayers roared. “Remember it. Burn it into your minds, for there will never be another victory as sweet as this one.”

He then dropped to his knees and scooped greedily the ochre sand with his hands. Regis then threw the billions of grains into the air, as a playful child would. This released a chaos Cylin had not thought possible. The hardened brutes, who had killed her people, stripped her of her freedom and forced her to lift her hands against the Gods she worshipped, jumped into the sand like children. Throwing it at one another, or rolling in it like animals. It was a moment of pure unfiltered joy and one that caught the girl by surprise. Unsure as to how to react or what to do, Cylin laughed as she sat on the hot sand.

“I take it, I should be thanking you for not dooming us.” The voice of the old healer made the girl turn her head.

She hadn’t noticed when he had sat down next to her, or for how long he had been observing her. It was strange to look at the chiselled middle-aged man’s face when a day ago it was a wrinkled sogging mess. It was almost as if she was looking at an entirely different person. But regardless of the physical change, Till still had an air of wisdom about him, that came with age.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

The man lift his hand, stopping her from finishing what she was about to say. “A blind man could see the aftermath of your spell, and I’m neither blind nor stupid. So, child, if you wish to avoid Nadene’s wrath, might I suggest you tell me what happened.”

“Nothing, happened,” Cylin pressed her knees to her chest and focused on the sand at her feet. “You won’t understand.”

“Because I’m old? Or because I lack the gift of magic?” Till stretched his arms and legs as he lay next to her.

Cylin didn’t need to be a shaman to see that the old man was enjoying his new youth. A momentary glimpse at his bare groin reminded her that she, like all of them, was as naked as the day she was born. It also made her blush, as indecent thoughts crossed her mind for the briefest of seconds. Such ideas or the images that floated in her head were not something she would usually entertain. Apparently, the Hollow Gods had changed her body in ways Cylin didn’t fully understand. Still, the girl had enough self-control to restrain her primitive impulses. Something that Sonya was most definitely not doing, based on the sounds the girl was hearing from behind her.

“I don’t know… Both?” She stumbled on her words in an attempt to distract herself, as Nadene’s moans joined those of the raid-haired woman.

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” Till spoke with still in his voice. “You will hear what I have to say, and you better listen carefully.”

Faster than she expected, the old man grabbed her by the neck and shifted her head in the direction of the wound she had inflicted on the ground. She tried to struggle, but Till was far stronger than her and after only a few attempts, Cylin gave up and stopped resisting.

“That’s not nothing,” he growled in her ear, keeping his voice low. “The others will ignore it and will not ask a damn thing. But they’ll never trust you again. Do you understand?”

She nodded, suddenly too afraid to speak in case her words angered the healer further.

“Regis made an exception for you once already, but he’s not going to do it again. I’m not sure if he, or any of us for that matter, can die. But mark my words, there are fates worse than death, and our leader has shown me quite a few in the few years I’ve known him.”

Till let go of her neck and continued in a softer voice. “You’re not one of the Sand Roamers. Not anymore. You are a Godslayer now. I know this might be hard for you to understand, but that means a lot to us. But most of all it means that at the end of the day we can trust our comrades with our lives. The others might put it in different words, but that’s what it is. And for that trust to remain, you will walk to Regis and Nadene and come clean that you felt tempted to seek revenge.”

He gave her a fatherly smile and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“They’ll be angry. They’ll yell and might strike you. But they’ll respect you for it and will not punish you. Instead, they’ll help you. My dear child, believe it or not, I understand your anger. Everyone here has plenty of reasons to hate the others. But being part of the Slayers offers us something that we’ll never have. It offers us a place to belong. And I can see it in your eyes, you need us as much as we need you.”

With that, the old man stood up and joined Lilly, who had been patiently waiting to speak to him. Cylin watched the pair walk towards the heaving mess of bodies. It was limited to only about half of the Slayers, with the other half showing little to no interest in what was going on. A multitude of different emotions warred inside the girl. She was angry and frustrated, but at the same time, she was glad, relieved and excited. The old man was right, for good or bad she had cast herself with the Slayers. And not only from the time they performed that grizzly induction ceremony but from the moment she betrayed the Sand Roamers and sacrificed Hartha to them.

Nothing could erase the consequences of that single decision. Cylin could hate herself all she wanted, and she could hate her new tribe and she did to no small amount. However, Till was correct. She needed them because without the Slayers she was lost. The girl would be treated as an outlander in the land she called home. Watching the bodies consumed by lust, she realised how different they looked, how different her own appearance was. At that moment, Cylin made a vow to herself that although she no longer belonged to Scoria, Scoria would forever remain a part of her and she would never forget where she came from.

Speaking to Regis was a sensible thing, but it could wait, and not because he and Inney were currently enjoying their bodies to their fullest. No, Cylin had to put her own mind at ease first. It took her a few moments to find Martell. As usual, the man had remained stoic and was more interested in busying himself with scouting further ahead, having walked quite some distance away from the main group alongside Os and Mekset. Well, that suited her fine. A little jog through the scorching sand was what the girl needed to steel her determination.

It didn’t take her long to reach the trio. The way she was now, Cylin barely felt any discomfort from the trek, which would have drained all her stamina mere days ago. Crossing the desert without any clothing and at speed was a sure way to succumb to the Heat Sickness, but she couldn’t feel any of the signs. Instead, the former slave was certain that she could continue at this pace for hours before she became short of breath, and without thinking, she gave thanks to the Hollow Gods for re-shaping her body.

“I don’t recall assigning you to scouting duty,” Martell pulled her out of her mind with a cold emotionless voice. He then looked at the two men beside him who simply shook their heads, confirming that she had come of her own free will.

“I must speak with you,” Cyin spoke, uncertainty oozing from each word.

“Later. I’m busy.” She caught Martell’s hand as he turned to walk away.

“I must speak with you,” the girl repeated with a steady voice this time. “Leave us,” she added and gestured for Calder and Os to continue whatever they were doing.

The men looked at her with amazement written on their faces. On Os’ face, there was also amusement, while on Calder she could see something that approached respect. Either that or he was contemplating if he should be insulted by the demand. But Cylin was more interested in Martell’s reaction. The man narrowed his eyes and examined her in a way that one would examine if the strung corpse of a burrowing lizard was freshly caught or had begun to rot on the inside. After nearly a minute he motioned with the fingers of his right hand and the other two Slayers shrugged as they turned around and continued to explore the endless sea of sand.

“Thaari’o ti’sum,” Cylin uttered the phrase as soon as the two of them were alone and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

“No,” Martell answered flatly. “You no longer belong to me. You are one of the Slayers, a…”

“You’re not listening.” Her heart threatening to explode inside her chest, she stepped closer. “I belong to you.”

She tapped the side of her head with the tip of her finger. “In here,” before lifting his hand and placing it on her chest, “and in here.”

Martell’s eyes shifted from her to the direction of the arch. Cylin could see the moment he realised the meaning of her statement.

“If you need to scratch that itch between your legs, you should join the others.” The Second pointed with his chin towards the pile of bodies lost in ecstasy. His next words nearly broke her. “I have more important things to do.”

Nearly, but only for a moment. Like a striking viper, Cylin’s free arm shot out and grabbed Martell’s manhood, confirming that he wasn’t as indifferent as he wanted her to believe.

“Not this time,” she purred as she pushed him back into the sand with less force than she thought she would need. “This time, I choose this. Because I’m no longer thaar’a. I’m no longer your property. I’m a Slayer. And I choose to belong to you.”