The Island itself was located in the southern waters that merged the Indian and Pacific Oceans. It was a tiny plot of land, barely worth the sodden dirt airstrip that covered the majority of its length, a leftover memento fro the second war that encompassed the world.
The only other remarkable feature was the small dock on the island’s eastern face. Unlike the airstrip, it had been built to be sturdier than the waves that crashed against it. The wooden timbers had been either refurbished or replaced in recent years, and much of it had been retrofitted to a more modern design technique.
However, the average person would not have been able to tell this. They would have simply seen little more than the remains of a small pier destroyed by time. Magic has a way of bending reality to suit its own needs, and the crafter of this particular act had been very skilled in the subtlety and nuance of it.
The being known to some as Baby Blue was perfectly aware of this as she let the salty air of the sea splash around her. After all, she had been present when this convergence of ley-lines had been chosen.
“Boss,” queried a nervous Ka-D-Bra behind her, antennae twitching wildly, “can we go now?”
Baby Blue nodded almost as if to herself. “Yes,” she said softly, “The meeting is about to resume.”
…
“I can’t believe you’re still alive,” Ignacio said holding onto Yolanda tightly. “It’s like a second chance from God.”
“I’m just a little bit of a Bombshell,” she said back, running a hand along his bony torso, “among other things.” She laid her head upon his chest. “But what about you? I thought you were going to die.”
“I almost did,” he told her. “I really should have.”
“I’m here now.”
“That’s more than I could have ever hoped.”
…
“How goes the sex thing?” Benson asked with sick glee.
Timmy glared at him with a mix of emotions that danced across his face in rapid succession. At his side, a healthy-looking lizard-woman with bright red skin and a flame-tipped tail grinned toothily.
“Tiny Tim got his feelings hurt,” she said mockingly. “Just a little too quick on the draw.”
“Shut up!” Timmy muttered through gritted teeth.
“And you?” Benson asked, staring the Charmelons in the face.
“I will relish the day you all die,” she smiled happily. “I might even make him my pet.”
Benson pulled his canteen from his hip, opening it. “Until then just remember one thing.”
“What?” growled the girl.
“This,” he remarked and dumped the water all over her head.
The Monster sputtered curses at him, and Timmy said nothing, while Benson smiled over them both.
…
“So,” Ignacio asked, his companions around the table looking at him. “I guess we should start with who we are. My name’s Ignacio. I’m a survivor from Texas.”
“Timothy Carlson, San Diego.”
“Robert Gauss Benson, I was a cop in San Diego.”
“Yolanda, I was a soldier.”
“Oh bullshit!”
“Sit down Timmy!” shouted Benson. “Now is not the time to overreact.”
“Thank you,” Yolanda said with a bow of her head as Timmy disgustedly retook his seat. “My job was to clear out any survivors from a town so we could begin reconstruction.”
“What kind of construction?” asked Benson.
“It depends on what we need in that area,” explained Rosalyn. “A confinement camp is the usual, but hospitals, equipment depots, and the like aren’t uncommon either.”
“Whatever,” said Timmy, “can we just get this over with? Who was next?”
“I was,” said the Charmelons. “I am a warrior of the Creator’s Great Army. Once I am free, he shall reward me greatly.”
“She won’t tell me her name,” admitted Timmy.
“That’s because she has none.”
The three humans stared slack-jawed at Rosalyn.
“No name? That’s impossible,” scoffed Timmy.
Benson nodded. “Everything needs a name. It’s human nature.”
“There are over a hundred different types of us,” stated Rosalyn, “and several of each type. Even without counting what’s in the G-Splice experiments, there are more than a hundred thousand of us. Names are recognition for those who stand out or were close to the Creator.”
Ignacio frowned. “But when asked, both Yolanda and Margarita said something. I just couldn’t make sense of it.”
“The official designation of who we are.” Margarita closed her eyes as she spoke. “Think of it as a manufacturing number.”
“People aren’t made,” Timmy emphasized.
“But we are.” Rosalyn smiled weakly. “It’s like something you might see in a movie really. Genetically and magically altered embryos are cultivated in vats. The failures are disposed of. Everyone else is put to work.”
“Put to use?”
“Fighting,” growled the Charmelons with relish.
“Also logistical support, scientific research, interrogation, healing and food services,” Rosalyn was quick to add. “But yes, most serve a combat role.”
“What was yours,” asked Ignacio.
“I helped in the development section,” she said. “We hoped that my amiable nature with bacterial agents could be applied to help with the G-Splice program.”
“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned this G-Splice program. What is it?” asked Benson.
“And what about you?” followed Ignacio. “What did you do to know all of this?”
“Well as for the G-Splice, they are the genetic pairing of two or more…’breeds’ I guess you could say, at the base level, like how a catgirl is both human and part cat. It’s the same thing only combining two or more of us.” She paused gauging their faces. “The results can be unexpected. I was helping with the Second Gen program when I was moved to being that damn idiot’s assistant.”
Yolanda frowned. “Second Gen? What’s that?”
“The second wave of Legendaries,” smiled the Charmelons. “The final solution to bring the humans to their place.”
…
Ignacio rubbed his forehead, wiping away the sweat from his brow before returning his hand to Rosalyn’s.
They were on the move once more, everyone anxious to leave the Canadian forests behind. Even the Charmelons, as Rosalyn had called her, was most willing to continue with their journey south.
Everywhere, he could hear the sounds of the nightlife, from the chirrups of insects to the soft breeze dancing in the treetops. The previous night, he’d even noticed the hooting of an owl that had seen them passing through its territory.
The sounds of the night continued their song as they walked, while he reflected back on what they had discussed earlier. Everything from the past two months, Yolanda’s surviving of the rocket blast, his capture and torture, Benson and Timmy’s meeting with Yolanda and decision to help her, and what it meant now that these…“girls” were bonded to him.
Margarita had been surprised at the idea when Rosalyn had told her of the bond between them. Yolanda seemed willing to accept it and said that even the Charmelons would eventually accept commands from Timothy. The lizard-girl had scoffed at the idea and offered more threats to kill them and celebrate their slaughter.
He was responsible for them all now, in ways he couldn’t even imagine. Him, a blind man. He would have to watch himself of that he was sure. Everything from food to money would be important to watch for, and he would have to make sure he didn’t pick a fight with anyone. Both Yolanda and Margarita could definitely hold their own in most fights and Rosalyn had said that she had several “tricks” up her sleeve that weren’t available to most of her kind.
“A benefit,” she had said, “of being an assistant to one of the First Borne.”
“Let’s take a break,” said Timothy, breaking Ignacio from his thoughts. “Cuntface needs fifteen minutes.”
“Take thirty and one of the others,” said Benson. “We’re almost at the shack.”
“Yes,” agreed Rosalyn, the de facto “mother figure” of Ignacio’s little trio, “take Margarita. She’s good with hot-heads.”
“What about you three?” Ignacio asked.
Rosalyn grabbed his other hand. “We’re good,” she told him. “Yesterday was more than enough, for all three of us.”
“Right, okay then,” swallowed Ignacio as she licked his nose.
“Let’s go,” said Benson. “It don’t feel right watchin’ them two go at it while the two of you are busy flirting.”
…
Yolanda peered at the figure standing outside the doorway.
It was a tall woman, with great feathery wings. She held a simple sword and shield and wore a tattered steel breastplate decorated with three interconnected rings around a small jewel embedded in the metal. Her long blond hair hung down to her chest that strained to break free of the metal protectant.
“She’s gone wild,” Rosalyn observed, crouched down beside her daughter’s sister-daughter. “Separated from the fight and no way to return to sanity.”
“Kill or capture.”
The angelic girl shoved her sword into the ground.
“Capture,” she said at last. “We need the strength.”
Yolanda nodded, letting her body prepare itself. As her mind focused itself upon her prey, the blood inside her began its fiery boiling.
…
For some it is known as the Great Nothing, a time when all sense of self is lost and a more feral nature is unleashed. To go wild was to let it consume oneself and thought by some to be the most liberating free choice available. Freedom at the cost of sanity was a price that several paid.
In the monstrous army, the threat of feraldom was not lost upon its leaders. It was a great and debilitating weakness, one that stretched its fingers across the breadth of the army. Many methods tried to keep the threat from overtaking them, methods that all of them used.
Except for four.
Called the Legendaries by their own troops, they were beyond the savage touch. They were the threat incarnate. To the Creator, they were failures in his purpose, beyond his control and suggestion. To his troops, they were living Gods.
The almost angelic girl knew nothing of this, or if she did it was beyond her mind for now. Such was the curse of going feral. She merely acted as her instincts guided her, seeking to fulfill the basic needs of life.
This was not to say that she moved solely by instinct. Indeed, later it would be said that the actions of a feral are too intellectual for an instinctual mind. Not necessarily a great mind, but purpose and forethought could be found.
Instead of such musings though, the intellect of the Valkyrie however great or small was focused on the simple task of catching the dawn’s light with the tips of her wings as it pierced the leafy canopy.
Suddenly she looked up, staring at the trees around her.
The cries of crickets offset a woodpecker’s echo as it searched for its morning feast.
Slowly, she pulled her sword from the earth.
She narrowed her eyes and jumped, climbing up into the air.
A mind consumed by instinct.
…
“Fuck!”
Yolanda watched as the girl rose from the air.
“I’ve got her!”
With a thought she was in the air above the winged feral.
A cry that was more of a screech than howl preceded the shield that swung towards her.
“No.” She grabbed it by the edge. “You won’t.”
The Valkyrie hissed, letting go of the shield and twisting in the air as she brought the blade upwards.
Fiery blood dropped from the sky.
…
It was a large room beneath the ocean floor.
They sat around the table; an oaken slab lovingly polished and meticulously cleaned. Over fifty years old, it had all of its original parts still.
Over sixty of them were present. A few assistants with teleporting capabilities to help those who couldn’t were there as well, but most were First Borne. Only the First Borne sat at this table where fate and destiny collided.
Baby Blue looked across at some of her companions. A Dildo Queen sat on one side of her, and a Sphinx on the other. At the head of the table was an empty chair.
“Are you sure?” asked a red-haired Catgirl. “Humans can be incredibly wrong.”
“The prisoner was sure,” she said looking the feline in the eyes. “He was telling the truth, and it goes well with what I could check.”
“Maybe,” a Titmouse squeaked, nervously brushing her whiskers, “you wish to distract this table from your own recent…mishap by creating a panic.
“Even if it’s real,” scoffed the Dildo Queen, “it wouldn’t do them any good.”
‘Agreed,’ waved an Alaka-Wham dismissively. ‘Typhonna or Storm Gail could destroy any such toy if they wished.’
“And what if they don’t,” asked Baby Blue. “Those four are temperamental at best and outright defiant the rest of the time.”
“If that’s the case,” the Alaka-Wham said aloud, “then the second generation will soon be born.”
A soft cackle overpowered whatever was to be said next.
The members of the table turned to a Herochan, an amused look across her face.
“We are fighting a war we can’t ignore. Already the tides of this war have shifted away from us,” she said, her voice empty and hollow. “The traitors are just the beginning. The dissent in our ranks has already cost us dearly. It will grow as the rumors become truth and sister kills sister on the field of battle. You presume much of your Second Generation for them to stop this, bug!”
“You dare to call me that!” roared the Alaka-Wham. “I am no bug! No bug has seen what I have seen, the cries of victory as we crush them in a final wave of destruction!”
“How much,” mused a Demoness mirthfully, “was actually seen, and how much is your own pathetic delusion of power.” Dark energies crackled along the length of her fingers as she sat back in her chair.
“More importantly is how we handle this crossroads,” the Herochan was quick to follow. “This ‘Languad’ although it could be quite powerful is still yet to be finished in its design. Before it is, we must win completely. The only solutions I see are slavery and genocide.”
She looked the Alaka-Wham in the eyes. “Such a victory is difficult to achieve. For it, we will need to be unified in both purpose and action. Humans are resilient and resourceful, and if we aren’t ruthless, they will come back and overthrow what little we have managed to accomplish. Our fight will be little more than a culling of the weak.”
“Where is this strength you talk about,” asked the Titmouse, still brushing her whiskers. “Surely it would have shown itself by now.”
“It’s there,” said Baby Blue. “Work with them, get in their heads and you’ll find it. All they need is a symbol, something to rally behind. This airship could do it.”
‘They will fall,’ scoffed the Alaka-Wham. ‘They will have no choice. It’s all they can do.’
“I hope you’re right,” the Herochan said. “Otherwise all of us will need to take names.”
…
“You’re quite lucky,” Rosalyn told the bleeding Yolanda on the bed. “Rushing into battle is a good way to get yourself killed.”
“Lucky?” she cried out. “That damn bitch got away from me.”
“Yes lucky,” Ignacio said from her side, her hand wrapped inside his. Benson shook his head as he continued staring out the window of the small cabin.
“You’ll be alright,” Rosalyn told the girl as the gash finished stitching itself back together. “It’s a good thing both of us can heal.”
“Good,” said Yolanda looking at her torn shirt and pants. “Now I just need to get new clothes.”
“Can you handle it until we find some?” Ignacio asked.
“Sure thing,” she said, sliding off of the bed and into his arms. “I could even lose this.”
The snap of her bra was like a slap to his head.
“I’ll think about it,” he said as he got to his feet.
“What the hell?”
The three turned to Benson. Over his shoulder, the two girls saw their three companions.
“They’re running,” Rosalyn said. “And Timothy doesn’t even have his pants back on.”
“He really is a Tiny Tim,” remarked Yolanda.
“Get them in here now!” Rosalyn said, grabbing Yolanda by the arm. “The human first, now go!”
…
“We’ve got a problem,” Margarita told them, still panting hard.
The Charmelons grinned. “The Creator has granted my prayers.”
“Shut up!” screamed Margarita. “Say it again and I’ll kill you!”
“Hey, just calm down!” Rosalyn said sternly. “Now what’s wrong?”
Margarita swallowed hard and looked at Yolanda. “Do you remember that Vixxen we fought when we first met him?”
Yolanda nodded. “How could I forget? That was the first time I fought one of my own.”
Benson snorted. “What of it? That was awhile back, right?”
Margarita nodded. “She’s in a pack, a small one. But they aren’t Vixxens.”
Rosalyn bit her lip and looked at her daughter. “What are they?”
…
She leaned back as they tore through the forest.
They had found the traitor.
They had found the prey.
The massive tank lurched towards the cabin nestled in the trees.
The pack howled. It was time to hunt.