Chapter 11: Galanthus

“How many more characters are gonna appear before this story of your ends.” One of the listener was getting anxious.

Others also shared his sentiment, they murmured. “If that bullet thing is so deadly, how did that girl even survived?” The whispering soon filled the tavern, which was unusually crowded for this place.

The sudden complaints dragged young Mikey out of the nomad’s story. Oh right, he was not in a town at the end of the line, this was still the same old trading hub. Just big enough to be noted on the map but not significant enough for anything exciting. The young man did not know if the story was truly engaging or was his mind so dull it welcomed any modicum of difference. Whatever the case, he still wanted to listen till the end.

The nomad was not deterred by the reception. Emptying his glass of brown water, he continued his story. As soon as he opened his mouth the whispering ceased. Were they also wanted to listen or was it the nomad’s deep voice, like the abyss sucking one in.

“Guess you all want some explanations, very well, it is time for a small history lesson. Of a twin, born in a frozen night a long long time ago.”

___

But before all of that, one must talk about the raider band known as the Mutants and the twins that defined. There were two brothers, Father Foxgloves and another, they were the first. The twin searched for power and their desire was granted, their body mutated into abominations most horrifying. Was it granted by a deity or were they born that way, no one could remember. None could tell what happened to the other brother. Was there a fallout? Did Father Foxgloves killed and consumed his own sibling? Or was there something else?

All that matter was that Mutants were formed. They were composed of the Father and his direct spawns, those that inherited his horrid traits. The group engaged in normal raider activities, murdering, pillaging and kidnapping. There was one thing special about them, however, one could not join the Mutants but must be born into it.

The prisoners were used as food or for expansion purpose. However, some were kept alive for sacrificial purpose.

This land was plagued with many menaces but the Knight Order would not tell you about the one above all. There existed a mysterious raider group with no name, the forest they based in was now known as No Man’s Land. Whether it was Knights or merchants or nobles or simple peasants, none remained after passing near.

Hunting party, even an entire battalion, disappeared without a trace. Many suspected it was the work of a deity, but the Hunter could not sense anything eldritch in that land. Some did try, with their Blind steel ready. But even though they had bested countless beasts, the No Man’s Land swallowed all.

And thus, the King, the government, the Church of the Seven, the Knight and Blind Order, all decided to simply… ignore this threat. After all, the raiders of No Man’s Land rarely travelled outside for raids. And those who were captured? Acceptable casualty.

Back to the Mutants, they were part of the twelve raiders groups in the region not counting those in the No Man’s Land. Every month, one of them would have to offer a prisoner to satisfy the mysterious forest’s dwellers.

Thus, the Mutants also kept many of their prisoners alive as sacrifice. What if their month came and something happened, maybe the Knight Order was clamping down on them? No, they could not take such a risk. But, two certain prisoners lasted much longer than the other, a pair of sisters. Not much was known about one of them, what she was like but it was undeniable that Father Foxgloves had fallen in love with her. The woman knew it, of her limited influence over him. She could not save everyone fallen into the Mutants’ grasp but she could keep her sister alive.

Father Foxgloves would tell his children that those two were kept as emergency stocks, in case they needed to appease those in the No Man’s Land. There was no reason for him to explain, however, as they were all loyal to their father. Perhaps, the old raider himself could not believe he had fallen in love.

Of course, those two were also used for more… nefarious reason. The sister was torn inside out, left barely alive every time she had to deliver another abomination to this world. The woman herself was left alone, but not for long. Soon, her stomach would swell up to an unnatural size, a sign of a hulking affront to nature.

But that was not the case.

Then on a frozen night, she gave birth to two healthy normal baby boys, a twin. Father Foxgloves was enraged, he thought the two belonged to someone else. But he could not bring himself to harm the woman or her children, the old raider would unless his rage upon her sister instead.

The two would grow up within the Mutants and demonstrate inhuman strength. Not as much as their siblings but enough to convince Father Foxgloves they were his broods after all.

They were not like the normal raiders, however, both were fluent in the art of language, their minds were that of an academic. But made no mistake, the twin was as brutal as their abominations brothers and sisters. One of them was named Snowdrop, the other, his name escaped the nomad.

Lives continued on with the Mutants, until one day, blood was spilled within their own base. The woman, unlike her sister who had integrated into the raider’s rank, was still kept in cage. Years spent without outside air or even a glimmer of sunlight, she withered.

Did she ask him or did he do it on his own volition, no one could know. The woman was released, from captivity and life, by her own son.

Father Foxgloves felt a seething anger he had not felt through all his years blighting this world. The old raider would spend days torturing his own son but he could not bring himself to end the boy’s life. He was still her child after all.

And so, the son was sent as sacrifice to the No Man’s Land out of season.

What happened next was a miracle of sort. He was sent back, the only person to ever leave the forest alive. But what happened in there had changed him. The boy was no longer capable of speaking, the gift his mother had imparted to him, nor was he capable of higher thought. No, those in the No Man’s Land had transformed him into an animal. His psyche was not the only thing that was warped, however, his fingers would be lined with metal. Iron would flow through his bloodstream to be unleased in a moment.

Yes, the boy was then known as the iron child.

He went on a rampage, slaying his abomination siblings. Finally, the iron child was subdued by his brother and aunt. Their voices he recognized, they would be the only people he would listen to. The boy was contained but his spree changed everything, he had wounded the old raider. That meant the original Mutants himself, the seemingly immortal Father Foxgloves, could bleed.

So, the brother and aunt, Snowdrop and Madam Mandrake respectively would silently serve the old raider, all the while plotting a revolution.

Over time, they would slowly convert the other abominations to their side, either by appealing as a brother or as a mother figure. While Madam Mandrake was significantly more successful in this regard, it did not matter, their plan was well underway. The iron child would be unleased upon Father Foxgloves and the Mutants shall belong to them.

But everything changed on another frozen night.

An inconspicuous inn, a place of reprise for those seeking shelter from the storm and monsters. But in fact, it was a death trap, a bountiful catch by Madam Mandrake. It was a successful job but still a job nevertheless.

The next morning, the prisoners were brought to the Mutants’ hideout where their fate would be sealed. It was a haul like any other haul, but this time, the prisoners were different.

Two of them stood out, covered in a cloak both. One of them was pulled to reveal a man with white cloth covering his face. The abomination looked at him curiously and tried to remove his mask. But as it approached, a loud bang was heard and his brain was plastered upon the roof. The other swarmed the prisoners but they were repelled as the other stranger stood up.

Towering over even the most hulking abomination. Their childlike minds could sense this was not someone to be trifled with. This was not a Knight or even a Hunter, no, this man was an acolyte.

The only person to realize the extent of his power was Madam Mandrake.

As Father Foxgloves called for his children to help but the woman ordered them to stand down. They watched curiously as their father was cornered by the giant acolyte. The Father, despite having lived for more than a century, was still stronger than all of his children. Even the years spent sitting on his throne did not dull his strength.

But there he was, screaming as his fists were crushed by the acolyte grips. Father’s arm was ripped off with sheer brute force and he was beaten down using his own limb. Blood stained the floor, the blood of the Mutants’ patriarch.

Madam Mandrake could sense where the wind would blow, and she chose correctly.

Snowdrop watched as his father, so strong and powerful, cowered against an opponent whose strength was incomprehensible. The acolyte grabbed Father Foxgloves’ head and tightened his grip. It was not a slow death, the old raider skull was just stubborn enough to not break instantly, but hard enough to be crushed slowly.

Cracking noises filled the cavern and finally the screaming stopped.

Father Foxgloves fell to the ground, his head reduced to a simply mush. The acolyte, who had a calming expression on his face this whole time, asked.

“Who’s the next in line?”

Snowdrop glanced nervously at his aunt who signaled him to step up. “I am.”

And thus, the boy had inherited the Mutants from his father. But not everyone was happy with this arrangement. It was always a part of the plan for Snowdrop to be the next leader. But it was supposed to be after their own revolution. Snowdrop was supposed to be a mere puppet. Now, the boy was crowded by a force far beyond any that the Mutants could muster.

He was their true leader and he was the acolyte’s puppet.

Madam Mandrake did not find that arrangement to her liking. She had bided her time, waiting for her opportunity only for a stranger to swoop in and changed everything. But if surviving this long in this hell had taught her anything, it was patient.

The Madam would wait, she would bid her time. And when the day of reckoning arrived, she would seize what was rightfully hers.