Welcome Ma’al warrior. How should I address you?

Sasha was in darkness. He could still feel the sensation of standing over a console in the strange room, but he could see nothing.

Again, the tenor voice repeated inside his head, Welcome Ma’al warrior. How should I address you?

“Uhh,” Sasha began, “You can call me Sasha.”

Sasha, welcome to Complex 4. Population: 2,456. Systems functioning at 14%. All prisoners accounted for. Maintenance recommended soon. How would you like to proceed?

Sasha replied slowly, unsure of what to do, “Uhh, pop… population. Show me where the population is located…”

***

“My prophetess, I’m sorry to disturb you. I bring news,” Lord Scieth began, bowing low as he entered the prophetess’ attunement chamber. The large dome shaped room glowed a faint blue. Whether from the pools of water adorning the floor or from his master’s power, he wasn’t certain.

The prophetess sat motionless upon her raised throne of sapphires inlaid on ancient manza wood. Her eyes were closed and her porcelain face was twisted into a grimace. As she often did, she wore a flowing robe of sky blue that seemed to pour down the steps of the dais like a gentle waterfal.

He tried again, approaching cautiously, “my queen?”

A sharp exhale escaped her lungs and the room dimmed. Her eyes opened to reveal cold black pools as she stared at Lord Scieth unhappily. If she’d wanted to punish him for his intrusion though, she was restraining herself.

“Lord Scieth,” she spoke, annoyed, “For what purpose have you disturbed my work? Do you realize how difficult it is projecting my thoughts as far east as Togsov?” The color slowly returned to her ghost white face.

Before he could reply, she held up a hand. “Bring me a guest!” she shouted. Her voice echoed through the barren chamber. A moment passed and her expression turned to annoyance. Just when it seemed she would have to shout the command again, a clockwork servant emerged through the double doors behind Lord Scieth.

In its grasp was a frightened young man, no more than twenty years old. He was very well muscled despite showing the telltale signs of underfeeding. From head to toe, he was covered in ashen dust. Scieth recognized the look. The young man was likely from deep in the black crystal mines outside Golden Spire. Judging by his relative good health, he was probably recently “employed.”

“What is your name,” the prophetess asked gently. As she did, she rose from her throne and gracefully descended the steps. Her movement was fluid; nearly ethereal. Her dress was cut down the center in a large V, exposing just enough of her breasts to replace the young man’s fear with a much more powerful drive.

“My uh, my name is Mat. Mat Johnson,” he replied. He tried his best to stand straight, unable to pull his gaze from her slender form.

Seeing the look in his eyes, she giggled. It was a practiced act, meant to increase his desire and thus feed her more energy. The prophetess stopped a few meters from the young man and stared at him. Finally, she asked, “Where did you get such a strange name? Surely not from Alliance lands.”

The man shook his head, “No, queen. I was born in the Jindagee Marshlands. I was taken away when my homeland was conquered. I -”

“Say no more,” the prophetess interrupted. Stepping forward, she grabbed his filthy hand in her own. Lord Scieth could see the subtle twitches in her face as she fought her own desire to drain the young slave of his life force. She’ll want him prepared and brimming with vitality first, he thought, careful to hide his own disgust at the thought of what was to come.

The prophetess turned to the clockwork servant who was standing nearby, trying its best not to attract attention. “You,” she commanded, “take this handsome young man to be cleaned up. Feed him, offer him rest, clothe him,” she grinned with desire at the slave, “but not too much clothing. Then, send him to my bedchamber.”

The look in the young slaves eyes was unmistakable. Hunger. For food, or women, probably both, he thought with a shudder.

The prophetess leaned forward slightly, exposing a bit more of her form that had been hidden beneath the tailored robe. “After tonight, young Mat, you will never be hungry again,” she whispered.

At that, the clockwork servant guided the smiling slave out of the chamber through the servant’s door.

“Now that dinner preparations are underway, what is it you want?” the prophetess asked impatiently.

Lord Scieth bowed low again and began, “My queen, someone has found Complex 4.”

The prophetess’ eyes went wide. “It’s been so long. Are you certain?” she asked.

Lord Scieth nodded, “nearly one hundred years and yes, I am. Our seekers felt it. Somewhere near Togsov too actually.”

The prophetess laughed and clasped her hands together. The sleeves of her dress met in the middle, giving the illusion of water pouring from her palms. “Tomorrow,” she began, “we depart. I’m sure the alliance general could do with a little inspection of his siege anyhow. Tonight though, I have a matter to attend to.” Her smile turned into a hungry grin.

“My queen, perhaps we should consider departing sooner. We can’t risk its contents falling into the hands of -”

The prophetess’ hand shot out like a desert viper and grabbed Lord Scieth’s arm. Instantly, he could feel himself weakening. He fell to his knees, unable to hold up his own weight.

“I said tomorrow, Lord Scieth. Or is such expediency worth your life?” she asked as her eyes darkened.

Though he was her son, Scieth wasn’t entirely convinced she wouldn’t act on it. She hadn’t eaten for nearly a week. “Y..yes my queen,” came his feeble reply. “I will prepare your airship and we will be underway at first light.”

“Good,” she replied, releasing her grip. “Tonight, I celebrate our good fortune.” At that, she turned and exited the chamber at a brisk pace.

“I almost pity that poor boy,” he muttered when he was sure she’d left earshot. “And the poor fool who found Complex 4.”

***

Chok no gah! Chok no gah!

“Hurry!” Jim shouted at the two crewman who were lifting the last crate of provisions onto the hovering pushstone cart. Both men were haggard. The chanting of the cannibal hunting party, now only a few minutes out, was a powerful motivation despite their exhaustion.

With a thud, the last crate hit the cart causing it to drop a few centimeters and indent the sand beneath. At that moment, Kalandra, who had been watching the horizon with wide eyes, shouted, “I think I see them. They’re coming over the hills to the north!”

Jim pointed at the crewmen who were doubled over, catching their breaths, “You two, grab your rifles and follow us. No unnecessary shots. We don’t have the ammo to waste.” Not waiting for a reply, he leaned against the cart. It moved slowly at first but gradually built up speed.

Kalandra, who had also grabbed a rifle from the submersible’s armory, emerged from the broken hole in the side of the vessel a few paces behind him. She quickly made her way over and pushed against the cart. She was much smaller than Jim, but he welcomed the help.

Soon, the pair was running in full sprint as the cart floated above the sand with little resistance. The crewman, still panting, ran to catch up. It was another half kilometer to the opening of the cave, but to Jim it felt like a hundred.

He could barely hear his footsteps over the howling winds and rising chants. As they continued to rush the cart along, he looked sideways toward the northern horizon. What he saw nearly threw off his concentration and caused him to trip over his own feet. His tight grip on the cart’s handles kept him from making a complete fool of himself.

Cresting a nearby dune only a few hundred meters away, the skimmers began to appear. Their black streamers bent and bowed sharply in the rising morning wind. The lead cannibal leaned hard left against the torrent, maintaining the balance between himself and the olive colored sail and mast.

Unlike the last cannibals Jim had seen, these looked marginally better fed. There frames, while gaunt, showed more muscle than rib. They also appeared far better armored than the starving attackers he, Henry, and Sasha had narrowly escaped with their lives against a few months earlier. Many wore breastplates and pauldrons of woven bone armor. Woven, Jim knew, with the tendons and sinew of their victims.

Next to him, Kalandra screamed. “Don’t look at them!” Jim shouted. “Just focus on getting this thing to the cavern. From behind him, a loud crack rang out. “No, wait!” he yelled back to the trailing crewmen. “Wait for a clear shot.”

Chok no gah! CHOK NO GAH!

The chanting was growing to a frightening crescendo as the skimmers quickly gained ground. In seconds, they would be in range to loose their spears. Ahead, the mouth of the cavern grew larger. The voices of their pursuers echoed off the face of the stone, giving the illusion of voices all around them.

More cracks rang out, but this time, they came from ahead. Two flashes of light from atop the sandstone blinked. Jim heard a sudden blood curdling cry as one of the nearest cannibals was felled. He could hear the man’s oof as his body hit the sand. “They’re almost on top of us!” he heard one crewman cry.

More shots joined the chorus up ahead. Jim caught a flash of light against metal. It was Henry. He was lying prone above the mouth to the cavern, taking careful shots at the oncoming storm of bodies.

“Jim, hurry!” Henry shouted over the wind and chants. “The boys have set explosives and that Fredrickson ass-” He fired another round. Another scream announced he’d hit his mark. “Asshole would just as soon blow you and I sky high than risk his own pasty skin.”

Jim pushed against the cart with waning strength. It bounced and bobbed a meter from the burning sands leaving soft indentations. Finally, they reached the entrance. Jim had forgotten that the cave turned sharply right near the opening. They were running at full sprint toward a slanted wall and would -

UNGH!

Jim and Kalandra both smashed into the cave wall just as the darkness surrounded them. Jim spotted a bright spark as the metal clad cart ricocheted off the stone wall and spun out of control into the unseen depths.

It took him a moment to clear the cobwebs from his head. His eyes hadn’t had enough time to adjust to the darkness, but he could see Kalandra on the ground, doubled over and holding her left side. A pang of guilt stabbed at him. It was likely that he’d injured her when he collided with her and the cavern wall.

Two more gunshots echoed off the walls at the entrance. Jim turned to see Henry silhouetted against the light of midmorning. What he saw beyond was the thing of nightmares. The hordes of cannibals had closed the distance. A sea of bone armor clad bodies, hundreds of them, were converging just outside. Skimmers and their masts became tangled as riders simply jumped from their floating platforms haphazardly and rushed toward the entrance.

Henry had unslung a second rifle and was firing wildly toward the mass of hungry men. The crewmen who had followed them in had fared better than Jim and Kalandra. One leaned down and grabbed her gingerly under her back and legs and quickly ran off into the darkness. The other knelt and began adding to Henry’s fire with his own breech rifle.

With nowhere to go, the sound of their weapons echoed loudly off the wall which made the ringing in Jim’s ears worse. He stood as quickly as his shaking legs would allow and unslung his own rifle.

“No playing hero, Henry. Both of you, let’s go!” he shouted at his clockwork friend and the crewman.

Henry continued to fire but began rolling backwards. “Hop on!” he commanded. Jim would have questioned him if there was time. Instead, he leapt onto his friend’s back. Planting his feet on the metal frame supporting Henry’s movement ball. With his free hand, he grasped the crewman’s forearm and pulled him up.

Just then, the first cannibal breached the entrance. There was fury in his eyes as he charged toward them, spear held high. His mouth opened to reveal sharpened teeth as he screamed at them and charged.

A shot from Jim’s breech rifle collapsed the creatures chest behind a red mist. He fell lifeless in the sand. More bodies poured in. “Hang on!” Henry shouted. Suddenly, they jolted backwards. The sand and rock crunched beneath Henry’s movement ball as they increased speed rapidly. Jim, Henry, and the crewman continued to fire into the bodies that were now spilling through the entrance.

Then, they were in darkness. They’d rounded the first corner and were now descending into the abyss, deeper into the cavern. “Now Fredrickson!” Henry shouted. It took a second for Jim to remember. Still rolling into the darkness, Henry added, “you two might want to cover your-”

BOOM

The dust filled air pulsated and the floor bounced up and down. The group was tossed backwards, helpless against the torrent or sound and soil. Jim lost his grip on Henry’s shoulder and he landed flat on his back against the floor of the cavern. He saw flashes of light as his head struck the hard surface.

Stars swam across his vision. Through them, he saw Henry’s metallic hands reach down under his armpits. The clockwork man lifted him effortlessly and slung Jim over his shoulders. “We’re not out of it yet,” he heard him say, though it sounded as if he were speaking through a pillow… in another room.

Jim shook his head and tried to will away the throbbing in his skull. “I… uhh what?” came his feeble reply.

Ahead, he spotted Fredrickson, Captain Michie, and the rest of the crew including Kalandra who was still doubled over, clutching at what was probably a broken rib. Behind them, a pair of torches glowed, reflecting off a metallic surface that seemed to cut directly across the cavern.

Fredrickson stepped forward. Even in the orange glow of torchlight, he looked pale and sickly as ever. “He said, we’re not out of it, and he’s right” the ambassador replied angrily. “There’s an army of cannibals out there. Once they’ve finished feasting on their fallen comrades, they’re going to dig their way in here and feast on us. We’ve pretty much given them their dinner on a platter by trapping ourselves in this place.”

Jim had an overwhelming desire to knock Fredrickson’s head off his shoulders. An impulse he feared he might act on if he wasn’t still trying to maintain his balance. Already, Jim’s exceptional healing abilities were kicking in. The various gashes across his legs and chest from falling had stopped bleeding in only a few seconds.

I wonder how many days or weeks I’ll lose this time, he thought as he remembered his conversation with Malachi.

***

In the early morning hours, while everyone was still sleeping, Malachi had brought Jim to the cave. He’d led him down the passageway to the large metallic wall. “What is it?” Jim had asked him.

“It’s your escape from this place,” Malachi replied. “I suggest you wake your comrades and start offloading everything you can from your submersible before trouble arrives. You will need the contents of your cargo bay soon enough.”

“How do we get through this wall? It looks like solid steel,” Jim had asked.

“Look to the Protectorate Ambassador. He knows a great deal about this technology,” came Malachi’s reply.

As he often did, Malachi disappeared, leaving Jim questioning his own sanity. He’d spoken with Malachi enough times though to heed the man’s word.

***

“Hey hotshot, are you listening to me?”

Finally, the ringing in Jim’s ears stopped. The sound of torches steadily burning echoed off the cavern wall like a far away wind. In the distance, he could hear the shouts of cannibal voices and the scraping of tools on rock. The urgency of their situation snapped him back to attention.

Henry, who had been holding Jim up, finally released his grip. Jim steadied himself for a moment. When he was confident that he wouldn’t fall over, he made his way over to the steel wall and ran his hands across the cool surface. Every half meter, a small rivet would disturb the otherwise smooth design. He probed the wall further, discovering more rivets but otherwise nothing special.

“You did say, this was the way out, right? I’m not seeing a door, oh wise sage.”

The ambassador’s tone cut through Jim’s concentration. Jim curled his lip and he turned a sharp about face. Grabbing the unpleasant man by his collar, he promptly slammed him into the steel wall.

“You know, ambassador,” Jim spoke through gritted teeth, “It takes a lot to piss me off to the point of physical violence and well, you’ve done it. There’s only one other person I know who can push my buttons like you do and, she’s much prettier than you.”

The ambassador tried to protest, but Jim lifted him off the ground just enough to turn the man’s attention to taking in labored lungfulls of air.

He added, “I have no doubt, every man and woman in this cave would care very little if I were to beat you to within an inch of your life.”

Henry interrupted, “I’d say, we would all be a tad jealous if we didn’t each get to partake in such an activity.” Some of the crewmen chuckled darkly and nodded. Captain Michie tried his best to hide a snicker.

Jim continued, “However, I believe in second chances. So,” he slowly loosened his grip on Fredrickson’s collar and let the man slide down until he was standing with his own wobbly legs. “I am going to ask you nicely, just this once, will you assist me in finding a way through this wall?”

“It’s not a wall, it’s a bulkhead,” the ambassador replied shakily.

“That’s it, he’s mine,” Henry commented while punching his metallic fist into his open palm with a clang.

“No no, wait!” Fredrickson protested, stumbling backwards as he did so. “I’m saying, this is a ship, not a structure. L… look at the rivets! See?”

Henry halted his advance and turned back toward the wall. He ran his hands across the surface, feeling out the evenly spaced rivets. His metal hands on the steel bulkhead pierced the air with a screeching sound. Everyone cringed.

“I dare say, the man is right,” Henry exclaimed. “What’s more, look, over here near the cave’s edge.”

Captain Michie grabbed a torch and accompanied Henry to a spot where the wall and metal met. Jim and the still shaking Fredrickson followed behind. At the very edge of the metal, just under a caked layer of sandstone, Jim spotted it. A small door, rectangular and no longer than his forearm.

It had been fused by centuries of sand buildup but, there was no mistaking what it was. “There’s some kind of panel,” Jim noted. He trotted over to the stack of provision crates that were piled neatly against the opposite cave wall. After searching for a moment, he found a steel crowbar that had been brought with the cargo. It was leaning against the damaged pushstone cart.

“Ahh very good, that should do nicely,” Henry exclaimed. Taking the crowbar from Jim, he quickly chipped away the buildup around the panel. Everyone covered their faces as a cloud of dust and dirt slowly billowed across the floor of the large cavern. The clockwork man moved impossibly fast as he carved a space around the panel.

In seconds, he’d cleared a meter wide opening. Finally, he gently chiseled out the thin layer of sandstone that had fused the panel closed. He bent the rectangular strip of metal sideways with a loud CREAK.

Fredrickson whistled and shook his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered in astonishment. “I never thought we would find one so well preserved.”

“One what?” Captain Michie asked, tilting his torch closer to the panel for a better glimpse.

Despite nearly being beaten half to death by an angry mob moments before, Fredrickson’s countenance was jubilant. Laughing, he turned to the captain and replied, “This is a Burrower. We aren’t sure what the ancients called them, but it’s the name archaeologists in the Protectorate have assigned it.”

Jim and the others stared at the ambassador. He sighed and continued, “We have very little information about the time before The Fall but, some of our archeological digs have turned up machines such as this. Never so well preserved though. From piecing together the few fragments we’ve gathered, we determined that these machines ferried our ancestors under the sand, much in the way my submersible moves through the water.”

Henry held up a hand to interrupt, “you know, I was just getting used to the idea of a vessel that moves beneath the water. Now, you’re telling me this thing moves under the… ground?”

Fredrickson shook his head and replied, “it used to move under the ground. This thing is over ten thousand years old. It’s not moving anywhere.”

The sound of falling rocks and a guttural shout echoed from the far end of the cave.

“Sounds like our friends outside are quite hungry,” Henry joked. “Perhaps, we could speed this up?”

Fredrickson grabbed the torch from the captain and squinted as looked over the control board. Most of the buttons on the panel looked as if they had been fused by exposure to extreme temperature or perhaps just time. Without taking his eyes off the panel, he motioned toward the group. “You, clockwork man… err, Henry. Could you remove this panel for me? Quickly.” He asked. The shouts were growing louder and a soft light began to shine from around the corner of the cavern.

Henry wedged the crowbar between the panel and the backplate. “First of all, thank you for calling me by my name. Are you sure about this though? Won’t we break it?” he asked.

Fredrickson nodded, “yes yes, that’s the point. This panel is worthless. I think there’s a release lever behind it though. If I remember my archeology days correctly, that is.”

“How long has it been since you were an archaeologist?” Henry asked worriedly.

“About two hundred years,” Fredrickson replied.

Henry’s glow darkened a few shades, “two hundred y-” a loud crash of boulders echoed down the cave and light spilled around the corner. Long shadows accompanied the sounds of footsteps and shouts.

As the first cannibal rounded the corner, a crewman opened fire. Jim opened the breech of his own rifle and began to reload it. As he did so, he shouted over the sounds of approaching battle, “Just do what the man says. We don’t have much time.”

Henry leaned against the crowbar with all his weight. It was more than was needed though as the panel, weakened by millenia of wear, shot off and ricocheted on the cave wall before landing with a thud.

“Now,” Fredrickson instructed, “reach into the hole and feel for a lever. Once you find it, pull downward until you hear a click. I think that should release a pneumatic seal and open the hatch… assuming it will open at all.”

“Very reassuring, ambassador,” Henry replied sarcastically. As he reached his hand beneath the bundle of wires in the open hole and started to feel around for a handle, he commented, “you should know, clockwork men don’t have nerves, so I can’t exactly feel anything. I won’t even know if I’m gripping this lever until-”

Click

“Ahh, seems I found it.”

Suddenly, the cavern vibrated. A large squealing sound drowned the gunfire for a moment. Dust and rock fell from the areas covering the metal door as it fought against the design of nature and crushed the sandstone that had glued it into place for thousands of years. Slowly, it began to slide upwards.

Captain Michie motioned toward Jim and the crewmen, “You three, start loading those crates into the ship or whatever the hell that thing is. Your clockwork friend can fire faster than ten men anyhow.” As if to drive the captain’s point home, Henry, free of his obligations at the panel, rolled to join the firing line with a rifle in each hand.

In one fluid motion, he fired both rifles, opened their breeches, loaded a new round, and spun them back to level to fire again. Jim counted no more than two seconds between each shot.

“Move it Jim!” Henry shouted impatiently. “I’m a quick shot but not a miracle worker. There’s a lot of pissed off cannies coming this way.”

Jim and the others started to frantically drag the crates, one at a time, into the darkened interior of the burrower. Whatever it was, it had metallic deck plating. The torches did not afford enough light for them to see more than a few meters within but Jim could tell by the echo of gunfire against unseen walls, it was huge.

Fredrickson, in an unusual bout of bravery, bent over to pick up the now unconscious form of Kalandra and quickly trotted into the vessel. Jim and the others continued dragging the crates one by one, quickly as they could until only a few remained. The cannibals were pouring into the cave in a flood of bloody, sweaty flesh and menacing weapons.

Fallen warriors were quickly dragged behind the lines, presumably to be eaten later, while others charged forward. The gap between man, machine, and monster was closing fast. As Jim assisted one of the crewman with the last crate, a spear whistled by his head. It skipped across the metallic floor of the burrower with a flash of sparks and disappeared into the darkness.

At that moment, another loud squeal of metal on metal cut through the air. Jim looked up to see the massive steel door slowly descending. Jim thrust the last crate in with a free foot. It bounced across the floor and broke open, spilling dried meat and other precious food supplies across the floor.

He cursed and turned. As he leveled his weapons against the side of the hatchway frame, he shouted, “Henry, Captain, that’s the last of it. Come on!”

Henry rolled slowly backwards, continually firing as he did so. Captain Michie turned and started toward the entrance. As he took his first step, his eyes went wide and he froze in place.

Just beneath his sternum, a black crystal tipped spearhead emerged. Blood dripped from its jagged point as the captain fell to his knees. Henry had been so occupied with firing and reloading, he nearly ran backwards into the closing hatch. As he ducked under the lowering doorway, he spotted the dying captain.

Before Henry could rush back to his aid, Fredrickson grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “No!” he shouted, “You’ll never make it back in time.”

Henry’s tone was desperate, “Let go of me, you pasty faced selfish ass!”

The man’s strength was no match for Henry, but by the time he shook Fredrickson free, the door was too low. The last thing Henry and Jim saw was the horrified look on the captain’s face as the cannibals reached him and promptly dragged his dying body into the mass of hungry flesh.

The door sealed with a loud clang. Outside, they could still hear the muffled shouts of cannibals and the pinging sound of crude weapons against steel. Jim silently prayed to whatever gods might be listening that captain Michie had died before they began to eat him.