The aftermath of the acoustic weapon's deployment left a scar upon the land—and upon the minds of those who survived it.
Those who didn't die instantly were left writhing, clawing at their ears, foaming at the mouth. The scavenger raiders, feral men who had preyed upon weakened villages, had become the first unwilling participants in a symphony of madness. They were chosen specifically for this reason—pests, Tanya had called them. Not soldiers. Not assets. Just meat.
And now that meat had a new use.
Mayuri's lab stank of scorched hair and putrefied tissue. The scent was powerful enough to curl even the hardiest stomachs, but he inhaled it like perfume.
"Perfect vocal chords, stretched to their breaking point," he mused, examining the remains of a fallen raider laid across an iron slab. "And these vocal nodes—yes! Such elasticity. Even the screaming was… harmonious."
Tanya stood with arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "And you believe you can replicate the resonance?"
"Oh, I won't replicate it," he said with a grin that exposed too many teeth. "I will amplify it. Refine it. Tune it like a stringed instrument played by the gods themselves."
Behind him, a team of altered children—Mayuri's "assistants"—moved mechanically. Some stitched flesh into sound organs. Others carried crystalline tubes containing distorted, echoing moans. All of them were utterly silent, minds broken and reassembled to obey without question.
Tanya observed the construction of the newest creation: a grotesque fusion of human thoraxes, horn-like protrusions, and vine-grown sinew, forming a creature Mayuri dubbed "The Bellfather." It was the size of a bear and pulsed with breath not its own, a living amplifier for the frequencies that had destroyed the scavenger band.
"These creatures… they won't survive long, will they?" Tanya asked, voice cool.
Mayuri waved a dismissive hand. "Not designed for longevity. Think of them as fireworks. Beautiful. Brief. And—"
"Loud."
He beamed. "Exactly."
Tanya walked between the vats, stopping beside a cage where a still-living raider twitched in half-mad terror. The man's eyes were blood-red, pupils dilated into oblivion. His lips trembled, mouthing nonsense.
"Did he hear the full spectrum?" she asked.
Mayuri nodded. "He's the only one who didn't rupture. A fine specimen. I intend to use his larynx in the next series."
Tanya didn't flinch. "Do what you want. But keep them mobile. I want these things deployable."
"Ah, mobility. Of course. I've already begun reinforcing the tissue with wooden stilts and internal counterweights. They'll walk—stumble, at first—but scream nonetheless."
She pivoted to face him fully. "And your progress on command control?"
A dark chuckle. "My dear Valkyrie, these are not minds I can control in the conventional sense. But I can rig their screams to activate when they detect enemy heat signatures, pheromones, or sudden motion. In other words—"
"Tripwires that howl."
"Exactly!"
Tanya's gaze turned cold. "Then we'll deploy them in the marshes south of the Iron Fields. Arnar's scouts reported movement—small bands, likely opportunists testing our strength after the jarl wars. Let them test this."
Mayuri clapped gleefully. "Harvest the flesh of the cowards and make them scream into the next world. I love this time of year."
As she turned to leave, Tanya paused by a child assistant stitching a tongue to a vocal sac. "Ensure none of these… projects wander near civilians. Or allies."
The child looked up, eyes blank. Mayuri answered for them. "I've tagged each one with an internal glass bead keyed to specific pitches. Any deviation, and their lungs will collapse. Consider them… obedient."
Tanya said nothing more, only exited the lab to the cold air outside. The sky had turned silver-gray—Vinland's weather always seemed to mourn its own landscape.
She stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking the fortress walls. Below, her soldiers trained, unaware that somewhere deep beneath their feet, a chorus of dismembered voices was being born.
Her mind shifted—beyond war, beyond blight. She thought of the villagers still kneeling in prayer each morning, their eyes fixed on the flame-scarred statue of her conjured in myth.
They whispered her name not with fear, but with awe.
And perhaps, one day, with love.
But before that—there would be more screaming.