12 Miles Below

General Zaang watched the news and reports across the screens in the command bunker. Machines flooded the streets now that the gatehouse defenders had surrendered. Surprisingly, the metal monsters had spared the knights. They followed the terms they’d set, leaving cowering soldiers alone while the bulk of the machine forces scurried into the city like a fire hydrant let loose.

He kept a close watch for signs of the betrayal. An errant swipe from a machine to kill some fleeing civilian, or some surrendered soldier getting their heads torn off. None of that happened. The screamers howled in victory and raced through the streets on all fours like animals. But they otherwise ignored the citizens. The only exceptions he’d seen were the odd stops, where a group of the hulking machines would stare at a terrorized citizen, before they turned and continued their direction, curiosity sated.

Zaang wasn’t sure what was stranger. The view of so many machines all running loose inside the city, or that there wasn’t any bloodshed to be found anywhere.

A massive difference from their regular known behavior. Massive difference. That tiny spark of hope deep in his mind grew a little brighter. That this To’Wrathh Feather had actually been honest about her terms. He’d already resigned himself to being killed. Expected it even, considering he’d been the opposing leadership and general. But hope was something hard to stamp out, and any drifting embers would reignite flames.

The duel between the Feather and sword saint had ended. Poorly. The moment they’d broken the tower, the Lady Winterscar was too clever to remain on the front lines fighting in a doomed fight. Instead, she employed a series of clearly pre-planned maneuvers, escaping deeper into the city and disappearing from view entirely. The general did not know where she’d gone into hiding, but he wished her well and hoped she had the good sense to escape the city while she could.

As for himself, given the direction that the machine army was moving, he already knew what was coming. The screamers were clearly running for very specific targets. The government buildings, where the consuls would be hiding. And here, his command bunker.

Soon enough, they reached the parameter, where only one Screamer proceeded, walking to the opening and speaking something to the guards standing by. Screens here only captured visual data, not audio. His comms crackled. That was his second in command, informing him that the machine had requested entrance.

Politely.

“Let it in.” He said, taking another sip of his cup before turning to the rest of the surrounding staff. “I don’t want to see any heroics from any of you. We’ve lost. If you can, try to find a way outside and hide among the citizens. I’ll obfuscate the records, and burn up any personnel paperwork to make it seamless for you all. No telling what will happen to me or the people who lead the defense. But the citizens seem to be left alone so far, so that’s your best bet, folks.”

The command group stared at him. And didn’t move. He gave them another twenty seconds before it was clear he was dealing with the stubborn type. “Fine, you fools. Stay here and die with me then. Do as you please.” He scoffed, though felt oddly at peace with this.

It wasn’t long until that envoy entered his sanctum, with its horrifying half-skull ducking under the doorway in order to fit into the tight corridors. He’d seen these up-close a few times, back when he was a regular in the line. This one looked no different, besides the strange new behavior. Looking around with what he’d almost attribute to curiosity.

It stalked in closer, those claws and frame more than strong enough to tear him limb from limb, and his officer’s dress would do nothing to help. One massive claw like hand, reaching out right past his right side to lie on the desk and give the hunched thing support. The white skull like head lowered until violet eyes met human ones. “Our lady. She calls for you. You will come. She will speak. You will listen.”

Zaang swirled the last of his cup and downed it with a satisfied sigh. The glass clinked as he set it down while he stood, brushing off dust and preparing himself for anything. Execution, or dinner. It was a coin toss at this point. “By all means, lead the way.”

That machine nodded slowly, lifted that hand off the desk, and turned back. “Good. Follow.”

-----

He learned a few things on the way. The machine had a name, Yrob. The Feather in charge of everything seemed close to this one, given that To’Wrathh had ordered him directly. Outside the bunker, the streets had grown empty. The moment the pillar fell, the city’s backbone was broken. The fighting had died down a moment later as the general surrender came blaring out. People huddled in their homes, windows shut, except for tiny cracks where they all huddled and watched. Machines stalked the roads now, lumbering around with a steady gait.

And through all this, General Zaang walked down the streets, escorted by machines. They arrived at the center of an open forum, pillars constructed all around in a semicircle, where the Feather stood waiting at the center. Zaang had seen her only once before in person, inside the white tent, while pretending to be an average administration drone. Back then, he’d had the sword saint at his side, ready to defend him if the worst were to happen. She’d been the only human he could trust to match the Feather in martial might. The other escorts with him had been all for show.

She looked outright terrifying now that there was no barrier between him and death should the Feather grow bored of him.

Feathers were always rumored to be ethereal beings, as if the machines that designed their bodies had simply opened up archives and looked up beautiful models in the archive, and copied them one to one with no extra thought given. They were all the pinnacle of human beauty from across the ages, ironic given that they were the most dangerous of all machines in a fight. The only disconcerting part of their features were the pale impossibly bleach-white artificial skin, white hair and violet glowing eyes, which reminded everyone that these weren’t human, no matter how perfect their forms looked.

To’Wrathh didn’t look like she’d just come out of a duel with the sword saint. Her hair had been tressed up in an Undersider fashion that the youth sported these days, though the rest of her attire was distinctly what Feathers wore. Dresses that seemed to originate from the roman days of history, a mirror to the Imperial fashion. Likely a backhanded insult to the Goddess the imperials served, if Zaang’s guess was correct.

Out in the open, her ‘wings’ were more stretched out, flat blades floating in the air forming the impression of an angel’s wingspan, and paired well with the large glowing metal halo above her head. He hadn’t been able to see those inside the more cramped tent.

That wasn’t the detail that Zaang paid attention to. Zaang was more curious about why this machine wore a hairstyle that humans wore. Let alone the style rebellious youth wore here. A sign, perhaps? And that human girl at her side, wearing undersider clothing. One of the rebel traitors? A little young to be standing in this forum.

In the tent she had made no show like this, leaving her long hair flowing back naturally. What changed between now and then?

“General Zaang.” She greeted him. “We meet in person, for the second time now.”

“I assume you’re not upset about the deception?” He asked, trying to get his thoughts in order.

“I am not. It was an interesting ploy, and ultimately harmless.” She said, seeming a little distracted even, looking past him.

A beat passed, while she remained front and center, likely reading reports mentally, if the general had a guess, or having an internal discussion with an underling.

“What happens next?” He asked. “The city has surrendered. We’re at your mercy.” He took a few cautious glances at the machines that surrounded him, still feeling mildly bemused at being so close to a Screamer, without having his throat strangled. “Congratulations on your victory.”

The Feather glanced over him. “Victory was inevitable. I enjoyed the novel tactics you employed. They were a challenge to fend off.” She looked up, past the open forum, down the road. “We are waiting for the other three consuls to be brought before me. I will discuss the full terms of your surrender once they have arrived.”

“I take it since I’m not dead, you do intent to honor your agreements?”

To’Wrathh nodded. “I have already told you this. I gave my word. So shall it be done.”

That hope he’d been trying to squash for so long flared a little more, as if angry from having been under his thumb the whole time. He kept himself level headed. Feathers were known to be cruel and enjoyed playing with their food. Giving him hope before squashing it would very much be something they could do.

For now, all he could do was watch and play his cards when his turn came. At least he had bottles waiting for him back home, and he could now indulge in the supreme excuse of ‘I can’t take these bottles with me into the afterlife.’

Silver linings. There were always silver linings.

The first week passed. It would be the strangest week the city had seen. The machine takeover was… curious. Zaang had found himself not executed, which was already an interesting twist of events, and he hadn’t even needed to argue for it. Not only that, the Feather had allowed him to go about the city freely, not even a captive. Machines now littered the streets, patrolling around, but otherwise didn’t harm the humans.

The talks had been short when the rest of the fat politicians waddled over, despite the sheer importance of it. The machine’s demands had been rather easy to comply with. All except for the grafting, which seemed like the poisoned apple in all this. For that, the consuls had argued, asking for time to get used to the integration.

“Very well.” To’Wrathh had said, on advice from the little girl at her side, Tamery. “I will offer this in good faith. All citizens will be given three weeks to be grafted and swear loyalty to the lady. After which, I will eliminate any that are not loyal. That should offer enough time for the people.”

The consuls debated this and agreed to it. If the general had a guess, they might still think they could run a rebellion from the inside out and beat off the Feather within three weeks. Fools, all of them, if they thought that was even remotely possible. The pillar was broken. This was no longer a citypoint. Anyone who wanted nothing to do with machines should make a full escape during these three weeks.

“And for the government, what will happen next?” One consul had asked. “Is there going to be an intermediate government while the transition of power happens?”

“Is the current leadership not fine enough?” To’Wrathh said. “Your city has functioned without critical issues under the current administration. I don’t see a reason to remove that infrastructure. You will report to me and follow any order I give. Otherwise, you will remain with your current set of powers for any other item.”

That got the people going and stunned the general. Not in his wildest dreams did he expect the machines to just leave the city’s government intact - let alone almost untouched.

She seemed to remember a detail, turning back to the consuls. “I offered positions of authority to a few of my Chosen and others who assisted in taking the city. See to it that they are given what they’ve been promised. A list will be sent your way. Other than that, continue as you have previously.”

“Chosen?”

And that’s how he got his answer on the Feather’s odd choice of hairstyle.

A rebellion had followed, of course.

Zaang had no hand behind it. Not even from the shadow. He’d already considered himself lucky to have been spared and didn’t want to press his luck. Grafting wasn’t an idea he agreed with, but still had a week or two left to plan out a full escape with his company. Stirring trouble was over his budget.

The one leading the rebellion, on the other hand, was someone that required To’Wrathh to constantly go out and fight. Again and again. The sword saint Kidra, of course. She’d become the de facto leader of the city rebellion. Apparently, she believed she could repair the pillar if word on the street was correct.

And worse - her surface savages had all seemed to inherit her skills out of nowhere. Moving just as fast as she did now, though not with the same grace. The strongest of them was the one in teal, supposedly the most experienced veteran among them. He was the only one that could hold out against To’Wrathh alone for over a minute, other than Lady Kidra herself, who could do far more than a minute. When both fought together, even To’Wrathh at full power wasn’t able to hold her ground.

Zaang would have believed To’Wrathh to be upset, or angered by defeats that required her to retreat against the rebels. Instead, the Feather seemed more and more animated as time went by.

The rebels had contacted him eventually, trying to ask for favors, men, intel, and all kinds of other items. Watching records of the clashes happening around the city had made him quickly reconsider having any part of any of this.

This sort of stuff was the domain of Deathless and storybook heroes. Mortals like him and his company had no business being caught up in all that. He’d found himself re-reading the old bard tales of past epic wars between humans and machine, almost obsessively, as if these stories had all the answers to an upcoming test he was cramming for. The constant fights between the Feather and the sword saint had set his hackles up when he saw how they always ended.

One thing he noted: side characters in mythologies never had a high survival rate, which was exactly why Zaang was far more concerned with finding a way out of this hellhole than taking part in it. The more he drank, the more obvious all the signs were. What were the odds a mythical Feather shows up - and fights on even terms with a human? A team of Deathless he could understand, but all the Deathless were on lower levels and hardly came up to this strata. The actual fights and wars were down there.

It was even worse when he’d found out the real reason the machines had taken the city - all to capture Lady Kidra and her brother. How utterly ridiculous of an idea, for an entire city, to be considered a stage backdrop for just two people of importance. The only thing that was missing was some convoluted romance and jealousy thrown in somewhere. All the best stories had those. Even better if it included infidelity or some star-crossed lovers, being both enemy and fated partners at the same time. Bards loved to sprinkle that all around like candy. That and people - like General Zaang - getting killed for the drama.

Wasn’t there a story about an entire city being sacked because some emperor wanted a girl on the other side of the wall? There had to be at least ten of those. The current events weren’t even original!

Whatever happened, all he wanted was to make sure his name didn’t end up anywhere on any of the pages. No matter how many letters for help Lady Kidra had tried to send him and his men, he ignored them all. The consuls might be secretly helping her out with supplies and all that, but by the goddess’s golden tits he sure as hell would not make such a rookie mistake. The only plans he worked on was how to get out of here in one piece.

The city wasn’t coming back anyhow, even if Kidra managed to finally cut off To’Wrathh’s head.

What would they do? The pillar was broken, and Kidra hadn’t been able to fix it despite having the Feather and her fighting over the shards. Surface savages and their death wishes. Couldn’t argue with them. Besides, if he was reading the right story, heroes never gave up. That would be unheroic. Hence, Lady Kidra would never give up, because as far as Zaang had figured it all out, the sword saint was clearly the main protagonist in all this.

The one thing he hadn’t figured out was if he was stuck in a comedy or a tragedy.

As general of a large part of the militia here, he’d found himself invited to a few different talks still. Ordinary logistics, and military deployments to put back law and order after the Feather and her army had clashes with the rebels. She’d even allowed him to give orders to machine Scre- Runners. Apparently, the machines had their own terminology for their combat units. These ones were called Runners.

But that was far besides the main point, which was that being able to order machines around - as a human - squarely put him on the map for a historical first, and that was not a position Zaang wanted any part of, given he was already convinced this was all some ongoing mythological chapter for the history books. Again, odds of survival are rather abysmal for side characters, and his ego was nowhere near delusional enough to consider himself a main character in this farce.

The campaign and sieges he’d won across his older years? Sure, those he’d been the leading actor. This whole situation? He was going to get himself killed in some tragic misunderstanding or as a stepping stone for someone’s stupid character arc, except he wasn’t sure which of the players was going to do him in yet.

Still, he’d often been forced to spent time with the Feather and her other advisors over dinner or talks. The novelty hadn’t left him just yet, though the stockpile of bottles he had on hand certainly was growing lower by the day. Maybe those caused his slipping sanity.

….

Nonsense! If that were the case, he’d need to stop drinking. And that would be bad.

In one such dinner, he’d asked her how the machines were so restrained from attacking humans when they littered the streets. People hadn’t yet gotten used to them, but a few were already trying to get back to normal life, even with machines walking around.

“I’ve shared with them memories of my own time spent here. I do so often now.” The Feather said while eating, as if that was an obvious step to take.

Professionally cooked food, fish gumbarato, with Nemanise sauce and bread to dip into. A typical staple. The Feather, on the other hand, was eating something that looked far less appetizing. That machine had carried in it on a plate, the Scream- no, that Runner she’d called ‘Yrob’

The one he’d met a week ago when it fetched him from his bunker.

“Runners do not have mouths to eat with.” To’Wrathh said, cutting into the amateur plate of food, and taking a bite. “And I cannot modify their base shell without inviting retribution. I share my experiences with them instead. They seem to appreciate it, and it costs me little to take care of my subordinates.” She turned to the Runner looming behind her, staring down at the plate. “A significant improvement on your previous attempt.” She told it, giving it a gentle set of pats on the head, as if it were a pet. “See for yourself.”

Violet eyes flashed for a moment. The Runner stood back up, nodding that skull like head, humming - of all things. “Is better. Less salt. More pepper. More herbs. A good step.” It grumbled. The other machines around also seemed to shuffle around. Zaang understood. This Feather was sharing every experience she had in the city. No matter how trivial.

“Runners have a built in hatred of humans.” To’Wrathh said, turning to the general. “But they will follow any order I give, thus when I ordered them to spare humans for now, they obeyed. That hatred, however, is not genuine hatred.”

“Your… runners tend to attempt to choke the life out of people if possible and disembowel otherwise. That’s a fairly standard operation for them. Rather cruel ways of ending someone’s lives, you’re saying that’s not true hatred?”

The Feather nodded. “I investigated why some of my Runners who’d been exposed to my Chosen, seemed to harbor no hatred of the humans any longer. I found the answer.”

The Chosen. Something that Zaang had been hearing rumors about ever since the Tower fell from internal traitors. Only now were they fully revealed, starting with that girl he’d first seen at the Feather’s side. That was their leader, a rather too young woman by the name of Tamery.

“Do tell. I’ve never heard from the machine point of view anything, this is all novel to me.” Zaang said, taking a bite out of the fish.

“That inborn hatred is pale and artificial. More a primal, unfocused thing. They move on instinct when they attack humans, and the building block of emotions behind this are based on fascination and interest. Channeled down to a need to see death in person.”

“Not sure I really understand. Human emotions don’t seem to be one to one with how machines think, or at least it’s a little alien to me right now.”

The Feather nodded. “Have you seen a child examine an insect, like an ant, and squash it with their thumb?”

Zaang nodded.

“Imagine the emotions that guided the child to do so and freeze it forever. No amount of squashing insects will satisfy. Each time they run into a human, it is novel, as if they’d usually never see one before. That’s why they act so uniform, the emotional blockage is built in. But a child doesn’t truly hate the insect. They might squash it because it looks strange, but that is not genuine hatred. The lady was never successful at ingraining that. Instead, she placed everything in position where such hatred would most likely grow on its own. If I understand her movements through history correctly.”

“I think I see where this is going.” Zaang said. “You said when your runners spent time around the Chosen, that desire went away? Did they get their fill or something?”

To’Wrathh nodded. “The block is not a true wall. Enough time spent around humans under my orders to coexist will let them continue to grow past that initial desire. More complex feelings are built, and that overtakes the more simple baseline that they had started with. ”

Zaang was about to ask another question when To’Wrathh stood up. “Excuse me. I must go.” She said, cryptically, drawing out her two swords and dashing out without another word, wings spread, trailed behind by a few Runners, leaving everyone at the table stunned. Zaang recovered first, taking another bite of his food and chewing angrily in the silence. This wasn’t new to him. He already knew what he’d be reading when he returned to command. Another report about rebels being rebels and To’Wrathh going on a wild chase to face off against the sword saint and her own group of elites in some heroic last stand or another close death-defying call.

And who’d have to clean up, requisition repairs, administer hospital fees and deal with all the paperwork? Him of course. Just another day in the city.

Grafting stations were setup around the city, and left completely unused as the people were too hesitant to make the plunge besides a few desperate ones. People knew they had two more weeks to decide on if they would take the plunge, or attempt to flee the city. Zaang had a bet going that if people choose to escape, To’Wrathh didn’t seem like she particularly cared. So long as To’Wrathh captured Kidra and her brother, everything else didn’t matter.

Machines continued to patrol around the city, and people were still hiding in their homes from them.

The rebels stirred things up, the machines went to squash them down, and regardless of who won, Zaang lost.

So, things were mostly going well and on track. Until To’Wrathh picked up a familiar ping from the outskirt of her territory.

That’s when Zaang learned that there wasn’t just one Feather to worry about. There were two.

And the second had been just spotted, limping straight for the city.

Next chapter - Turning point (T)

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