Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

[🎶 Radioactive – Imagine Dragons.]

"Oh, how I want to stick the barrel of his gun right down the fucker's throat." Rafel told Peitho and Aya telepathically. As the latter, fairskinned as a half-caste turned to exchange a look with Corazón, Peitho called inside Rafel's head, in words only he could hear; the sensuous voice of his system held the necessary amount of ire.

[What would you have me do?]

[A Sunmelt Spell perhaps? To roast these Deathlies where they stand.]

[At your command, host.]

Peitho left her words at that, but the insinuation was well beyond that. 'Seems like my system really wants to kick some Bonelander ass too.' Rafel guessed correctly. [Sunmelt] would render the whole gang in his oasis roundabout with a fast charge of pyrokinesis, influencing their own body temperatures with his own Helflame. Their blood would boil from the inside. And he wouldn't even need to lift a finger.

But... something stopped him from giving Peitho the green light to discharge the motherfuckers like a bomb, to liquefy them right under his tropical Palms, to melt their bodies on the enamel stone of his oasis pool. Instead he said, "it's alright, Peitho. I'm curious to meet this Skullrider of theirs."

He then extended his mindbending abilities to Cora also, breaching her [psych wards] but not forcefully. His voice was gentle in her head. She was at first alarmed, but quickly got over it. As a skilled fighter and witch of the Raven Arc, Corazón was quick to adapt to the feeling of someone else talking in her head.

"Guys, we have no idea of the nature of the Badlands—except these crazy bastards standing in front of us. So why don't we use them to learn a little about this wilderness. If they could stumble upon us without our knowing, it's worth it to learn a thing or two from them. Their currency is called survivor coin for godssake," said Israfel to the girls.

"You're saying we should play dumb... Let them kidnap us?" Aya spoke in their unified mind link.

"Exactamente! I have no intention of being taken prisoner again of Lilith. And I know you girls don't either. Looks like the Bonelands is going to be our home for a while. . ."

"And we have to adapt to it." Ravenna joined their telepathic conversation and finished for Rafel. She easily added. "I'm in."

Just then, the wiry Deathlie gang leader's voice came back harshly. "What are you all grinning about?" He barked, "and why are your eyes all swirly like you can see through each other's heads? Oi!" He told his fellows. "Get them up and 'bout. We've got to get going. Sunset's in an hour."

The frail chap kept his musket—which had a barrel carved of hollow humerus and twisting metal—to Rafel's temple as he was lurched to his feet from kneeling in front of the recliner chairs by the blue pool. The bitchy gang-girl chica also forced the girls to their feet. The thin lad gave a real toothy grin as they were led off to a waiting motorade.

The vehicles part of this caravan were all engine and bone. Crude tricycles. Big Bikes with spiked wheels. And rolling buggys with its cars wrapped in hard iron. They were all powered by some force.

And with the cruel way in which these engines were forged, it was definitely made to look and feel like it did: menacing. Imposing. Deathly. Goth. Rampaging.

"Haha!" The Deathlie gangleader chuckled, picking up a rank-B Epic [Collection Orb] and sucking the Ambiance Pouch into it. Just like that, the entire oasis vanished the same way it had come.

Whoosh!

Emptiness and cruel rusty earth was left where the fat coconut trees and pool had been.

Orbs like the kind in the gangleader's hand stored everything from pocket dimensions to large cargo too difficult to haul, to Ambiance Pouches; they were a thief's best thrift. Ravenna seethed as she watched the thin dude slip the Orb into his inners.

Alas, they had to keep up the appearance of true captives.

Out from his laughter, the Deathlies leader burst out, finishing his earlier statement, "this is going to be good! Dementa might just promote me to inner circle for this."

Rafel latched onto only one word.

Dementa.

'Who the fuck is that?'

It wasn't ten minutes before the tricycles and bikes and storm-trucks of the desert bandits was roaring across the hazy dunes, thundering deeper into wilderness and vulture country. The machine sounds of their engines echoed in the sparse and sun-bleached terrain... It reminded Rafel sordidly of his growl when he'd been a Titan.

About thirty minutes into driving; actually being ridden around in the back of an evil carriage by dusty madmen, they all came by a canyon.

It was a gap so deep into the earth it had to be hundreds of years in the making.

As Rafel was just about pulled from the back of the truck, he raised his eyes and saw a storm in the horizon, gathering. A desert storm. Sand nested in the clouds like rain. And the thunder in there was ash and heat and fucking smoke.

"Welcome to the Badlands, baby!" The bitchy butch clapped his shoulder. "Woohoo!" She yelled with her bunch.

The bandits led in a single file down into the great canyon. The sun was dipping at the brown crests of it. Shadows on the rugged rocks were long and alien-looking. Rafel double-checked for his harem following behind. This time, they were captives by choice.

At the hollow palm of the Canyon was sandwiching of tents. These Bonelanders must have a thing for circles, Rafel thought, because that was how the camp was formed. Round and round it went. As the troops poured in, more Deathlies crept out from behind flaps in brown, desert-adapted clothing to stare at them pass.

The largest tent was in the deepest cove of the Great Canyon.

It was gigantic. And relatively regal—if you were a barbarian.

All the Deathlies stopped before it.

The friends were brought forward. And then shoved right in.

Cora had to catch herself. "Rude." Her blue eyes held hard spite. But Israfel, Ravenna, and Aya and Corazón were stopped dead in their tracks by the one figure in the tent with them.

A woman.

The first strange thing about her was her dress. It was pure, unblemished white. Like she didn't give a fuck about the desert. As they all stood behind, in the loom of her shadow cause she was quite tall, a soothing wind blew in coolly and ruffled her opal robes. Her fashion was distinctly 'not from here'.

The second strange thing about her—at least for Rafel—was her hair. It was furious red.

Furious, glorious, magnanimous, stupendous red!

It fell straight down to her calves. Dreads, all of them. The locks were fat, rich, and glossy like a mane. She faced away from them another minute more, talking first. Her voice was the third strange thing: "You know what they call this Canyon?

Helladeep!

Like literally. You think they'd have found a better name for it by now, over the four hundred yours which it has stood. But no. I suppose to us... our vulgarity is part of Badlands culture."

It sounded like 'cultcha' coming out her mouth.

She then turned around.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

And all their jaws dropped.

"Hi," came the strange tone again, "I'm Dementa."

[DING!] Peitho notified to give Rafel the rapsheet on Dread-Red. Rafel was calling her this, because, well, her dreads were red. Beyond the vermillion of her tresses, like the spun sun dimming outside, her outlook could be described as cherubic. Quite the irony for a desert queen. Peitho put up this screen in Rafel's purview.

And a quick [lunar pulse] allowed only him to see. To any other person, it was blank air. But to Rafel the hologram was distinguished gold, similar to a flying banner of some Republic. Or if he thought what he really 'thought', Aya's thighs.

Succulent.

Juicy.

Pawpaw fair—

[Ahem!]

Peitho resumed her notifications.

[NAME: Dementa, the Junker queen.]

[SPECIES: Mecha Lords.]

[RANK: Triune of the Badlands, 2nd.]

[Indomitable Survivor]

[ABILITY: Guild Inventor. Expert Tinker. Kyoto Kombat, Class A.]

[Rebel Signet]

[LIFETIME: Fifty first reincarnation.]

[DING!]

[Subject influence ended!]

[330 Survivor Coins spent. Shall I top up current balance from ARCANE RUNE?]

Rafel ignored Peitho's advise for the time being. He had millions—of souls. He could top whenever. But first, the Junker queen.

Rafel approached her. "You're a Skullrider."

Dread-Red stepped closer to him in the tent, and the shadows grew longer. "Like I said, folks 'round here just call me Dementa."

"I'm not calling you that."

She stepped even closer, almost eye level with him. She said of him, "Hmm. A curious one."

"You kidnapped us." Ravenna chirped from behind.

"Hardly, Jade-eyed One." Dementa told her; it was a genuine compliment that had the other girl not knowing whether to blush or fear more. "...I don't plan on that which my NURs bring me."

"The name's Ravenna!" And she went on to call out the others, "that's Corazón, Aya, and Israfel." To this desert Wonder woman she said.

Dementa stepped back finally at this, giving Israfel space from wondering how she could smell so good in the heat, and a little thing of awe entered her pearl eyes. Very little though. She said with an eyebrow raise. "Ohh! Ain't this wonderful? I stand in the presence of not one, but two royals. But also... fugitives."

"Fugitives?" Ravenna scoffed.

"Are you not?"

Israfel at this moment was thinking their charade to fake being captives in the real was up, and with a single upward jerk of his joined wrists, he broke the chains and rubbed his arms. He asked quietly of Dementa. "Do you Bonelanders have any wine?"

The girls were freed too in seconds. If the Junker queen was scared, she didn't show it.