Sacrifice had a hand on her neck.
When she pulled it away, her fingers came back slick—red-hot blood steaming faintly in the cold night air. The skin beneath her palm throbbed, not with pain, but with recognition.
This again.
The sensation followed her out of the black space like a shadow that refused to stay behind. The familiar pressure in her chest. The narrowing of the world. The quiet certainty that if she allowed herself to relax, even for a moment, she would not wake again.
Death was close.
She inhaled slowly. The breath stuttered. Her vision blurred at the edges, sparks dancing like distant embers.
Clinical assessment came first.
[Sacrifice]: Laceration. Superficial—no arterial spray. Heat residual… psychosomatic or sympathetic response.
Her voice was steady, even as her pulse wasn't.
She pressed hard against the wound, fingers precise, calculating pressure and angle. The blood slowed. Steam faded. The skin cooled under her touch, stubbornly refusing to give way.
Annoying.
She reached for her kit.
It was already open.
Bandages were in her hand before she remembered taking them out. Clean. Unburned. Impossibly dry, considering where she had just been.
She wrapped her neck in a practiced motion, tying the knot one-handed without looking. The tremor in her fingers subsided once the pressure was right.
Only then did she take in her surroundings.
She turned her head slowly, once… then again.
The women were asleep around her.
Not deliberately arranged—no orders had been given—but instinct had done the work for them. They lay close, backs turned inward, bodies drawn toward her residual warmth. Sacrifice's body temperature ran higher than normal, a side effect she had long stopped questioning. In the cold nights of Kazdel, heat was a resource like any other.
They had used it.
Breathing was slow. Even. No signs of distress.
Good.
Near the fire, the men remained awake.
Not all of them—just enough.
They sat or stood in loose rotation, weapons resting within reach, eyes moving with the dull vigilance of veterans who knew sleep was a luxury. One stirred the coals carefully, keeping the flame low. Another watched the ravine's edge without staring too hard, as if daring the darkness to blink first.
They noticed her movement immediately.
No words were exchanged.
One of them inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. Another relaxed a fraction once he saw she was upright and steady. The unspoken understanding passed between them as easily as breath.
Sacrifice adjusted the blanket over the nearest sleeper, ensuring it did not press against a poorly healed rib. Her movements were quiet. Deliberate. She did not wake anyone.
Then she sat back down.
The fire crackled softly.
The night held.
And for the moment—
That was enough.
[???]: Aren't you forgetting about someone?
Something hovered in front of her.
A device.
Roughly the size of her palm, angular and asymmetrical, its surface smooth like polished obsidian broken by seams of faintly glowing blue. A screen formed its "face," expressive in a way that made no mechanical sense—eyes narrowed, mouth twisted in visible irritation.
It floated.
No wires. No sound.
Just… there.
[???]: You useless sacrifice with no purpose, you almost got all of us discovered by that thing.
Its screen flared brighter, static crackling along its edges.
[???]: A monster wearing human skin. Do you have any idea how close you came to tearing open layers you weren't supposed even to touch?
Sacrifice did not reach for a weapon.
She did not raise her voice.
She simply watched it.
[Sacrifice]: Who are you?
A pause.
[Sacrifice]: And why did you bring me back?
The blue face twisted—half irritation, half reluctant admiration.
[???]: I would love to know that myself.
It spun in place once, like something pacing without legs.
[???]: Do you have any idea who had the sheer audacity—no, the brains—to bring you back in such a crude but simultaneously genius way?
It leaned closer, voice dropping.
[???]: Three skeletons.
Sacrifice's eyes sharpened.
[???]: Three different Sarkaz branches. Woven together. Reinforced. Balanced like a grotesque equation.
The device's screen scrolled rapidly—symbols, diagrams, anatomical overlays flashing too fast to read.
[???]: A heart that burns like a generator. Not metaphorically. Literally. It consumes Originium particles from the air, from nearby bodies, from residual contamination—
The face grinned.
[???]: —and then produces more power than it needs.
Sacrifice felt the warmth in her chest pulse faintly, like something acknowledging being named.
[???]: No storage. No release valve. No weaponized output.
The device's tone shifted, incredulous.
[???]: So the excess converts itself.
It flickered blue-white.
[???]: Healing. Regeneration. Structural reinforcement. Cellular refusal to accept death.
It stopped moving.
Hovered perfectly still.
[???]: You are a walking violation of at least twelve natural laws.
Silence.
The fire cracked behind them. A sleeping Sarkaz shifted. The night went on, unaware that something fundamental was being discussed beside it.
Sacrifice finally spoke.
[Sacrifice]: That explains the symptoms.
The device froze.
[???]: …Excuse me?
[Sacrifice]: Elevated body temperature. Accelerated clotting. Tissue repair beyond normal thresholds.
She touched the bandagonat her neck.
[Sacrifice]: Inefficient design. Excess energy should be redirected.
The blue face spasmed.
It cut itself off, vibrating.
[???]: You are standing there with three incompatible skeletal lineages, a self-sustaining Originium reactor for a heart, and biological permissions that should not coexist—
It leaned forward again, voice lower.
[???]: And you're worried about efficiency?
Sacrifice looked at it calmly.
[Sacrifice]: If something exists, it should have a purpose.
The device went quiet.
For a long moment, it simply hovered there, screen dimming slightly.
Then—
[???]: …That's the problem.
It drifted back, slower now.
[???]: You weren't brought back to be a weapon.
The blue face hardened.
[???]: You were brought back because something needed you to choose.
Sacrifice's eyes narrowed—not in fear, but in focus.
[Sacrifice]: Choose what?
The hovering device wobbled slightly, the blue face distorting.
[Arkham]: I wish I knew.
It corrected itself almost immediately.
[Arkham]: I don't.
A brief pause, like a system checking for missing files.
[Arkham]: That information was not included in my deployment parameters.
Sacrifice absorbed that without reaction.
[Sacrifice]: Then your statement lacks value.
The device bristled.
[Arkham]: Rude. Accurate—but rude.
It floated in a small circle, then stopped in front of her again.
[Arkham]: Designation: 003. Operational alias: Arkham. That was the name my creator used.
The name lingered, heavy with implication.
[Arkham]: I am here to assist you.
Sacrifice tilted her head slightly.
[Sacrifice]: Assist me how?
Arkham's screen flickered—schematics, warning symbols, fragments of unreadable text.
[Arkham]: Observation. Intervention prevention. Damage control.
A beat.
[Arkham]: And occasionally stopping you from getting erased by things that shouldn't be able to notice you yet.
Sacrifice considered this.
[Sacrifice]: "Yet" implies inevitability.
[Arkham]: Everything implies inevitability if you zoom out far enough.
Another pause.
[Arkham]: Also—I am not the only one assigned to you.
That made her look up.
Arkham hesitated. Just for a fraction too long.
[Arkham]: There are two others.
The fire popped softly. Somewhere nearby, a Sarkaz snored.
[Sacrifice]: Where are they?
Sacrifice considered this.
Arkham's face shifted into something that might have been a grimace.
[Arkham]: One is in Kazdel. He's already moving—on his way to assist you.
Sacrifice did not react outwardly, but she logged it. Asset in transit. Unknown ETA. Potential variable.
[Arkham]: The other is… observing.
The device drifted closer, lowering its altitude, voice dropping despite the empty ravine and sleeping mercenaries.
[Arkham]: And neither of them likes me.
Sacrifice finally looked directly at it.
Arkham paused.
[Sacrifice]: Why?
[Arkham]: I dropped the first one in Ursus.
Sacrifice's eyes narrowed a fraction.
[Arkham]: With his kin. Training. Conditioning. Cultural integration. He was supposed to mature into a stable combat-support unit.
The blue face dimmed.
[Arkham]: He got infected.
The word carried weight.
[Arkham]: Originium exposure. Severe. He was seized and shipped to a mine.
Sacrifice's jaw tightened—not emotionally, but structurally, like bracing a fracture.
[Arkham]: His kin broke him out.
A flicker—pride? Relief?
[Arkham]: They survived. He survived. Barely. He does not forgive me.
Sacrifice nodded once.
Arkham let out something like a synthetic sigh.
[Arkham]: The second one…
It stopped moving.
[Arkham]: I don't want to talk about it.
The fire crackled. Somewhere, a Sarkaz shifted in his sleep.
She reached for her medical kit instead—habit over curiosity. Fingers checked the seals. Counted bandages. Replaced a pressure wrap she'd used earlier with one that shouldn't have been there, but was. Familiar weight. Familiar order.
Reality, confirmed.
[Sacrifice]: When the one from Kazdel arrives, will he help me?
Arkham tilted in the air, screen rotating a few degrees as if considering how much truth to give.
[Arkham]: He has to.
Sacrifice paused, then looked up.
[Arkham]: In the end, he is bound by an oath. Same as you.
The blue face sharpened.
[Arkham]: An oath of protection.
That settled into her quietly.
[Sacrifice]: Protection of whom?
Arkham's answer came without delay.
[Arkham]: Of those who cannot protect themselves.
The fire popped, sending a brief shower of sparks skyward.
Sacrifice closed the kit and rested her hands on it, fingers interlaced.
[Sacrifice]: Then he will not oppose me.
Arkham blinked.
[Arkham]: You're assuming a lot.
[Sacrifice]: No. I am deducing.
She glanced at the sleeping Sarkaz—wounded, breathing, alive.
[Sacrifice]: My actions align with that oath.
Arkham hovered closer, its tone quieter now.
[Arkham]: He won't be easy. He's stubborn. Violent. Still angry.
Sacrifice nodded once.
[Sacrifice]: Then he is still injured.
Arkham went silent.
After a moment, it let out another synthetic sigh—longer this time.
[Arkham]: I don't know if you're the worst possible person to put in charge of this… or the only one it could ever work with.
Sacrifice didn't respond.
She simply adjusted the bandage at her neck one more time, ensuring the pressure held, and turned her gaze back to the fire—steady, unblinking.
[Sacrifice]: Arkham.
[Arkham]: Yes.
[Sacrifice]: Teach me about this world and its people.
[ C&^%*& &*( ]
Far across the mountains of Yan, a man lay perched like a sentinel, halo dim but unmistakable against the thinning night. His eye remained fixed behind the scope of a long rifle, crosshairs resting on Kazdel far beyond the horizon. In his other hand, he idly turned a carved score—old, worn smooth by habit.
Every muscle was still.
Every breath measured.
[Unknown Man]: That monster broke her neck… and she survived.
A pause.
The score clicked softly as he adjusted his grip.
[Unknown Man]: And now an annoying liar has gotten close to her as well.
He exhaled through his nose, half a scoff.
[Unknown Man]: I'd give it a week before she crosses paths with that guy from Ursus. Maybe less. But judging by the distance…
His gaze shifted, calculating.
[Unknown Man]: It won't be easy. That bloody lech is standing directly in her way.
He lowered the rifle slightly, though his eyes never truly relaxed.
[Unknown Man]: For now, my job is just to observe.
The twin moons hung low in the sky, pale and indifferent. He glanced up at them, then spat onto the stone at his feet.
[Unknown Man]: Just hope that little sacrifice can keep that monster busy…
A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
[Unknown Man]: So I can make my move— before it's too late for this world.
[Chapter End]
[Story Notes & Context:
1- In later chapters, multiple POVs will be presented, including perspectives from The Doctor, Theresa, and various royal courts. They will discuss a new threat, The alive Diablos, The Alive Diablos, as well as the mysterious Sarkaz, who, though deadly in reputation, never kills indiscriminately and instead defends those who cannot protect themselves.
2- Sacrifice has already experienced her first death at the hands of the Priestess, but her heart brought her back without her knowledge. Her biology exists for a reason: the combination of three fused skeletons allows her to move undetected by both the Priestess and the Black Crown, though she does experience occasional flashes during sleep that alert the ones who know. {And the three fused skeletons used to have owners}
3- This novel contains only three original characters: Sacrifice and the two others bound to her.
4- All three characters are bound by different oaths, and only the Unknown Man has the authority—or ability—to kill.
5- Sacrifice is not emotionless. She cannot trust others easily, and her duty outweighs her personal happiness. She may break her oath at any time if consumed by rage. This is a key reason the Diablos went extinct—their anger caused them to harm themselves and their kin more than their enemies.
6- The year is 1089, two years before the Civil war begans, the war begins officially in 1091.]