"So that's it, I don't get a choice?" Maria continued to whine.
"Look, that is the way life works for us,"
Gloria explained, trying to snap her sister out of her naivety.
"We either acquire a slave, or we stand no chance of winning the Great War," she added as she got off the bed and began to put on her clothes.
"What if I don't find anyone I want? What then?" Maria asked, trying her best to retain her rebellious tone.
"Oh, you will. Father is going to be here in a few days, and he wants you to have acquired a slave by then."
Maria's eyes widened at the mention of their father. She had no idea he had a part in all of this.
"Yes, Father was the one who mandated it," Gloria emphasized when she noticed the look of surprise on her baby sister's face.
"Dear old Dad called a few days ago and requested I guide you."
"How do you feel now that you know this order came from Father?" Gloria continued, taunting her. "Does it make you less of a crybaby?"
Their relationship with their father had always been a delicate issue.
Gloria, being the firstborn, was required to step up and take full responsibility after the disappearance of their mother. Maria, on the other hand, enjoyed the company and affection of their father—something Gloria had always found deeply unfair.
Just as their argument raged on, a knock echoed against the door.
When it opened, a familiar face stepped into the room.
It was Taylor's highest-ranking slave—one everyone had come to silently fear, slaves and Sentients alike.
If there was one thing Maria knew for sure, it was that Macklemore would never interrupt a Sentient meeting like this unless it was important.
The moment Gloria saw him, she immediately sought privacy from Maria.
"I guess we're done here. You can leave now," Gloria said to her sister.
Maria hesitated, suspicion flashing through her eyes, but eventually she turned and began walking toward the door.
Whatever was happening, her sister and uncle clearly did not want her involved.
Not that she cared anyway. She had always done her best to avoid Sentient–slave affairs.
"You leave for Earth tomorrow," Gloria called after her, her voice sharp and final.
She wanted to make sure Maria understood—the order still stood.
As the door shut behind her, Macklemore finally spoke.
"He got away," the slave announced, not proud of his own words.
Those three words sent Taylor into a fit of rage. He rose from his seat and began pacing the room.
"What do you mean?" Taylor snapped. "I thought you had everything planned out. Didn't he show up?"
"He did," Macklemore replied carefully. "His slaves were more powerful than we expected. Scow was killed."
Taylor stopped pacing.
"I thought you said he had just one slave?" he asked. Rage filled his voice—but beneath it was something else.
Fear.
Fear that his brother would return and witness the mess he had failed to clean up.
Shadow Master, as the others had begun calling him, was an entity they could not fully comprehend.
All they knew was that he was a Sentient with no ties to the Rae Clan whatsoever.
A ghost.
One trespassing on the wrong territory.
It was common knowledge among all the clans that Earth and its inhabitants were property of the Rae Clan. Any Sentient without Rae blood knew it was suicide to step foot on the planet—let alone attempt to shackle its mutants.
Many from weaker clans had tried over the years.
None survived.
A reminder that no one challenged the Rae Clan.
Yet Shadow Master was different.
An exception.
Macklemore cleared his throat. "Our source informed us that Scow was killed by some form of high-energy weapon. Shadow Master teleported off the hotel property."
He paused before continuing.
"He appears to be in possession of at least two slaves. Both suspected to be of human origin."
"Their mutations are believed to be space-folding and—"
"I don't give a fuck about his slaves," Taylor cut in sharply.
His eyes burned.
"Find him. Bring him back to me. Dead or alive."
(Somewhere on Earth)
Don stood silently, staring out at the vast wasteland that stretched endlessly before him.
The sky above was an oppressive bronze, dim and heavy, as if the planet itself had decided this place did not deserve light. The sand beneath their feet was blackened and coarse, packed with shards of crystalized minerals that hummed faintly when stepped on.
Jamil adjusted his cloak, eyes constantly scanning the horizon.
"This is the dark side of the planet," he said. "No settlements. No satellites. No Sentient signals."
Lilith crouched down, pressing her palm against the sand. Her expression tightened.
"And no life," she added. "At least… not the kind that wants to be seen."
It had been Jamil's idea to come here.
After what happened at the hotel, running was no longer enough. They needed to vanish—to disappear so completely that even the Rae Clan would lose their scent.
The Trap Cage.
A region avoided even by mutants.
For good reason.
"Let's tread carefully," Don muttered. "Places don't get names like this for nothing."
The ground trembled.
Just slightly.
Lilith froze.
"Don," she said slowly, standing. "Don't move."
Another tremor followed—stronger this time.
Then the sand beneath them collapsed.
The world vanished.
Don barely had time to shout before the ground opened like a mouth and swallowed them whole.
They fell.
Endlessly.
The air rushed past Don's ears as darkness consumed everything. He felt himself slam against hardened stone, pain erupting through his ribs as he rolled across uneven ground.
Jamil landed nearby, already summoning spatial distortion to slow his descent.
Lilith hit last.
The sand above them sealed shut with a thunderous roar.
Before Don could even get to his feet, the cave began to move.
The walls shifted.
The ground pulsed.
A sound echoed through the darkness—deep, wet, and alive.
Then it emerged.
The creature rose from the sand like a nightmare given form—towering, serpentine, its body composed of layered plates of obsidian armor. Its head split open vertically, revealing rows of rotating teeth and a glowing core buried deep within its throat.
The Trap Cage had a guardian.
Lilith didn't hesitate.
Her eyes ignited.
The air around her warped as raw energy bent to her will.
Metal did not form.
Steel did not manifest.
Instead, something sharper—something designed—took shape in her grasp.
A weapon born from intent.
The blade unfolded mid-air, angular and segmented, glowing with unstable white light. It hummed as if alive, reacting to her pulse, her breath, her rage.
She leapt.
The monster roared, the sound vibrating through Don's bones.
Lilith struck.
The blade sliced cleanly through one of the creature's armored plates, molten ichor spraying across the cave walls.
But the beast adapted.
Its body twisted impossibly fast.
A massive appendage slammed into Lilith mid-air, sending her crashing into the cavern wall.
"Lilith!" Don screamed.
She pushed herself up, blood streaking her temple, weapon reshaping in her hand—longer now, heavier.
The creature lunged.
Its jaws snapped shut around her.
Time stopped.
Don's heart dropped into his stomach.
"No—NO!" he shouted, running forward before Jamil grabbed him.
The monster swallowed.
Lilith vanished into darkness.
Don broke.
He fought Jamil's grip, panic clawing at his chest, mind fracturing at the thought of losing her.
Inside the beast, Lilith screamed—not in fear, but fury.
The walls constricted around her.
Acid burned.
She adapted.
Her weapon dissolved—reforming as dozens of smaller blades orbiting her body.
She thrust her hands outward.
The monster convulsed.
From the outside, Don and Jamil watched as glowing cracks spread across its body.
Then—
The beast exploded from within.
A violent eruption of light, flesh, and sand tore through the cavern.
The carcass collapsed, split open.
Silence followed.
Don stood frozen.
Then movement.
From the torn remains, Lilith emerged—covered in blood and ichor, breathing hard, eyes blazing.
Alive.
Don collapsed to his knees.
The Trap Cage had claimed its guardian.
And they had survived.
For now.