Rain stumbled as the soldier shoved her into the Consul's tent, her wrists still bound, the chain rattling against the floor. The tent smelled of dust and old parchment, filled with the strange, bitter scent of ink and candle wax. Unlike the crude, bloodstained chaos of Dominus's war tent, this place was orderly, methodical. Stacks of books, some crumbling with age, were carefully arranged on wooden shelves, their spines lined with the faded glyphs of the Once-World. Loose pages filled with handwritten notes were pinned to the tent's fabric, maps lay unfurled across a narrow table, and in the dim light, Rain caught sight of something almost mythical—a working screen, its dead glass reflecting the glow of a single oil lamp.
The Consul stood beside it, watching as the soldier forced her down onto a narrow cot, locking the chain around her ankle before stepping back. His old, clouded goggles obscured his expression, but his voice was quiet, almost weary.
"For your own sake, girl, do as Dominus says," he murmured, dismissing the soldier with a wave of his hand. The flap of the tent rustled shut, leaving them alone.
Rain glared at him, her chest rising and falling in short, angry breaths. "You think I'd just roll over and let him do whatever he wants?" she snapped. "Snow and I will never bow to a monster like him."
The Consul exhaled, as if she had simply confirmed something he already knew. He turned to his books, fingers brushing over the spines as though drawing comfort from their presence. "You think he hunts Knowers because he wants our knowledge?" he asked quietly.
Rain frowned, the question catching her off guard. "Why else would he?"
"He doesn't want it," the Consul said, his voice tinged with something bitter and old. "He wants to destroy it. He wants this world to stay as it is—a wasteland where only the strongest survive, where people fight over scraps like starving dogs. Because in that world, he is king."
Rain stiffened, her fingers clenching into fists. "That's mad."
"Is it?" The Consul turned to face her now, his worn face unreadable beneath the dim light. "Look outside, girl. Look at the world he's made. He burns settlements, slaughters those who resist, enslaves those who don't. The Crimson Legion is not an army—it is a force of nature, a storm that tears apart anything that dares to build."
Rain narrowed her eyes. "Then why does he keep you around?"
The Consul hesitated. "Because he knows that knowledge is still power. He hoards it for himself, buried away where no one else can reach it. And now, he wants to do the same with you."
Rain scoffed. "So that's his plan? Try to break me, turn me into another one of his pets?"
The Consul's silence was answer enough.
Rain sat back, her mind racing. Then, with a slow, defiant smile, she said, "He's going to fail."
The Consul sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "You are young. You still believe in things like hope."
"And you don't?" she shot back. "You sit here, surrounded by all this knowledge, and you're still willing to let him win?"
His jaw tightened. "You do not understand what I have seen."
"Then tell me," Rain challenged, meeting his gaze. "Tell me why someone like you, someone who clearly knows better, still helps him."
A long silence stretched between them. Then, finally, the Consul's shoulders slumped. He turned away, back to his books, and said, almost too softly to hear—
"Because I believe this is our punishment."
Rain blinked. "Punishment?"
"For what we did," the Consul murmured. "For what my kind did."
And suddenly, Rain understood. The weight in his voice, the sorrow that lined his face like old scars. He wasn't just a Knower. He was one of them.
One of the Old Ones.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Before she could speak, the Consul turned away. "Get some rest," he said, and his voice held a finality that told her there would be no more answers tonight.
As he left the tent, Rain lay back on the cot, staring up at the fabric ceiling, her heart pounding.
She had to be strong. For Snow.
Snow hit the ground hard as the Legion's soldiers tossed her into the prison cage, the rusted iron rattling around her. She gritted her teeth, shaking off the ache in her limbs. The night air was thick with the scent of burning wood and sweat, the sound of crackling fires mingling with the distant shouts of soldiers and the quiet murmurs of exhausted slaves.
She pushed herself up, only to freeze at the sight of a familiar figure slumped in the corner of the cage.
Bricks.
She barely recognized him. His massive frame was thinner now, his once-mighty arms wrapped around his knees. One of those arms—his right—was gone, the sleeve of his torn coat hanging empty at his side. His face was hollow, his beard unkempt, his eyes dull and distant. He didn't even look up as she moved closer.
"Bricks?" she said cautiously.
For a moment, he didn't respond. Then, slowly, his gaze lifted to meet hers. And when he spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper.
"They caught us."
Snow felt a cold weight settle in her stomach.
"The Niners," he continued, his voice dull and lifeless. "Southern region. We thought we lost them, but the Legion caught up. Killed everyone. Took me alive for their… games." His fingers twitched as if remembering the pain. "That's where I lost the arm."
Snow swallowed hard.
Bricks let out a bitter, rasping laugh. "Guess you got what you wanted, huh? You left, and now the Niners are gone."
Snow's jaw clenched. "That's not my fault."
Bricks turned his head slightly, his ruined eyes glinting in the firelight. "No?"
"No," she said firmly. "I chose what made me happy. I chose Rain. And if the Niners had stopped clinging to their fear—if they had just accepted her, accepted what she knew—they could have stood a chance. But they didn't. And that's on them."
Bricks didn't respond. He just stared at the ground, hollow and broken.
Snow exhaled sharply. "I won't end up like you."
Bricks flinched.
"I'm going to get out of here," she said, her voice steely. "I'm going to help Rain. And I'm going to show you that I can win."
Bricks let out another hollow laugh, shaking his head. "You don't win against Dominus."
Snow met his gaze, her blue eyes burning.
"Watch me."
————————————————————————————————————————————
Snow awoke to the sound of metal clanging against metal, the rough hands of Legion soldiers dragging her out of the cage before she was even fully conscious. The morning air was thick with the stench of sweat, smoke, and rot, and as her boots scraped against the dirt, she became aware of the deafening noise—drums pounding, voices chanting, the sharp crack of whips forcing reluctant slaves forward.
She was hauled toward the center of the camp, where a rough fighting pit had been formed. A crude circle of barbed wire and sharpened stakes surrounded it, the kind of makeshift cruelty that only the Crimson Legion could conjure. At one end was a narrow entrance, barely more than a gap in the fencing. At the other was something far worse—a large, hastily built gate, attached to the back of a wagon.
All around the pit, the Legion gathered, their red bandanas and crude armor gleaming under the pale sun. Some leaned on their weapons, others banged the butts of their repeaters against the ground in an impatient rhythm. Their voices rose in a fevered chant, a bloodthirsty eagerness for the violence about to unfold.
A raised platform loomed above them all, and at its center, Lord Dominus stood, the very image of brutality. He was bare-chested, his massive arms crossed over his broad chest, his horned helmet gleaming in the morning light. And beside him—
Rain.
She sat on her knees, bound by chains, her collar still fastened around her throat. Her pale hair hung loose over her shoulders, her expression unreadable. But her eyes—her eyes burned with fury.
Dominus raised his arms, calling for silence. The Legion obeyed.
"The world is broken," he began, his deep voice carrying over the gathered warriors. "The weak cry for salvation. They speak of hope, of rebuilding, of clinging to the rotted bones of the Once-World." He sneered, scanning the crowd. "But we are not weak, are we?"
The Legion roared back in unison, weapons raised high.
"No!"
"The strong survive. The ruthless rule. That is the law of the Crimson Legion." He gestured around him, at the smoke-stained ruins of whatever settlement this had once been. "This wasteland is our Paradise. And we will not let the cowards, the dreamers, the fools change it."
He took a breath, then raised a clenched fist.
"Rule in hell!" he bellowed.
And the Legion, wild with fervor, roared back—
"Rather than rot in hell!"
The sound was deafening.
Dominus let the moment linger, then turned his gaze toward the pit. Toward Snow.
"Let the game begin."
Snow and the others—slaves, frightened and starved—were shoved through the entrance, stumbling into the dirt. The gate at the far end of the pit rattled as soldiers climbed onto the wagon, undoing heavy locks.
Her pulse quickened.
The metal door swung open, and from the darkness of the wagon, they came.
Chasers.
Twisted mockeries of dogs, their bodies elongated and stretched in unnatural ways. Their fur was patchy, matted with filth and old blood. Their exposed teeth gleamed, too large for their narrow skulls. Their eyes were white, clouded, as if blind—but Snow knew better. They saw in ways no normal beast did.
She once fought these beasts back at the Brownstone Canyon, at that time, the beasts, tamed and trained by the savage Ferals, were different: Those predators are mutated and grotesque, almost like a nightmare come true, their appearance born from the poisoned land, savage and hungry for human flesh, like its masters.
The Chasers here, however, are like beasts trained to hunt. Their instinct is to relentlessly chase their prey, not to sated their hunger but because they are trained that way, their shape and bestial instinct represent their Legion handlers: a ruthless beast that kills for fun, not to feed.
A low growl rippled through the pack.
Then they leapt.
Chaos erupted.
Slaves screamed. Some tried to run, slamming into the barbed wire fence, their hands torn open as they scrambled for an escape that didn't exist. Others, in their desperation, turned on their fellow prisoners, pushing them toward the beasts in a pathetic attempt to prolong their own survival.
The Chasers struck fast. The first man barely had time to cry out before one lunged at his throat, dragging him down in a tangle of claws and snapping jaws. Blood sprayed against the dirt. Another slave, shrieking, tried to fight back with his fists—only for a Chaser to leap onto his back, crushing him under its weight.
Snow didn't hesitate.
She sprinted straight at the nearest Chaser.
It turned, its ruined snout twitching, sensing movement—just in time for Snow to drive her fist into its face.
Bone crunched beneath her knuckles. The beast howled, its head snapping to the side, but she didn't stop. She grabbed its jaw, ignoring the hot breath against her skin, and slammed its head into the dirt.
The creature snarled, twisting in her grip, its jagged teeth snapping at her arm.
Snow gritted her teeth.
Fine.
She'd take those teeth away.
With a vicious yank, she pried its jaws apart—then, before it could react, she drove her fingers into its mouth, wrapping them around one of its elongated fangs.
And ripped it out.
The Chaser shrieked. Blood spattered her hands, warm and sticky. The beast convulsed, writhing in agony.
Snow didn't waste time.
She drove the stolen fang into its throat.
The creature let out a final, gurgling snarl—then collapsed.
Silence fell over the pit.
The crowd, moments ago drunk on the thrill of violence, went still.
Even Dominus, who had been lounging on his throne, leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable.
The Consul, standing at his side, adjusted his goggles.
And Rain—
Rain was crying. But not from fear.
She was smiling.
Snow, breathing hard, wiped her bloodied hands against her tattered clothes. She held the Chaser's fang tight, its jagged edges now a makeshift dagger.
Then, lifting her gaze, she turned toward Dominus, her blue eyes like cold fire.
"After I'm done with your little game," she said, her voice clear and unwavering, "I'm coming for you."
The camp was silent for a long moment.
Then, slowly, Lord Dominus grinned.
And the Legion roared anew.