Published at 28th of October 2025 4:45 am

Chapter tempestas 12.9

This chapter is updated by JustRead.pl

Theyre handing out corpses, repeated the airhead degenerate. Simple as that. Ive really got nothing else to tell you. Cross my heart and hope to die.

Storm-static filled the silence after the absurd little whore-zombie stopped speaking. The roar of the deluge and the howl of the hurricane penetrated deep into the tomb, down through layers of black metal, down into the warren of shadow and echo, down into this semi-secure refuge, this dark little chamber, this shameful hole deep in the heart of the undead mausoleum.

Cantrelle knew the storm-static was a pattern, filled with signs from God. But she refused to listen. She had a better source of divine truth now, right by her side.

She kept her eyes forward for the moment, focused on this band of degenerates.

The leader stood framed beneath one of the two archways into the room; she had strode forward as if totally unafraid, rather than warded off by the black and grinning skulls daubed either side of the entrance. She stood ahead of her companions, as if she was vanguard to the dozen or so zombies lurking in the darkness behind her narrow, reedy, weak little shoulders. Her ridiculous armoured dress made her look frivolous at best, a slut at worst. Her multitude of stolen limbs flailed about with every word, expressing everything, signifying nothing. If a zombie such as this had presented herself before the former full and glorious strength of the Sisterhood of the Skull, with that mocking look on her face, Cantrelle would have ordered her skinned and gutted.

A far more extreme example of subhuman degeneration hung from the archway above the leaders head a mass of tarry black flesh, writhing with loops of glistening tendril, dripping oily mucus from the delusion of her nanomachine-modified body. There was one well on the way to dissolution and collapse.

The leader called herself Puk; the subhuman mistake above her was called Tati. Absurd names for absurd creatures.

None of the dozen zombies behind Puk had given their names, nor exhibited visible signs of advanced degeneration, nor advanced one boot-toe into the light. Cantrelles bionic eyes could see something was wrong with the group, as if they were using cloaking devices, or perhaps employing powerful infantry-scale shields to obfuscate their outlines, but she couldnt pinpoint exactly what was going on. She didnt care enough to find out. The state of their leader and her pet was evidence enough of their degeneracy.

Cantrelle worked to keep the disgust off her face, but she didnt work too hard.

Silence dragged on, filled with storm.

Click-buzz.

Cantrelle spoke over the Sisterhood comms network, via her internal bionics, on a heavily encrypted private line.

<<Yolanda,>> she said. <<Dead air.>>

Yola replied in a rapid little rush. <<I I know! I I dont know what to say to her. Ella, Ella, please, what should I>>

<<Calm down. Listen to me. Do as I say.>>

<<Yes yes, always, yes.>>

<<Demand context. Demand details. Make her explain.>>

Yolanda Araya Calvotana Yola, Cantrelles divine messenger, her twice-lost once-regained perfect little lamb, former leader of the Sisterhood of the Skull, current leader apparent of these pitiful remnants, prophetess once again though she knew it not, and Cantrelles forever-bedmate, mouthpiece, and pawn was sitting to Cantrelles left, upon the best throne-like chair the The Sisterhood had managed to scrounge up inside this mouldering old tomb. Yola was resplendent in her purple armour, polished to a high gleam despite the gritty rain and the tombs darkness, with her helmet retracted, her long red hair loose, and her noble chin held high. She was flanked by Cantrelle sitting on one side and two Sisters standing to attention in war-plate on the other. Kuro loomed behind her, a grey giant in the gloom, bristling with weapons.

Cantrelle did not need to glance at her beloved little lamb to know that Yolandas face betrayed none of her internal doubt and hesitation. Yola was like rime ice on stainless steel, no matter the shuddering mass of tender flesh beneath the surface. Yola had lost much, but she was still a near flawless actress.

Yola opened her lips with a wet click, and addressed the degenerate slut: I dont quite understand.

Cantrelle suppressed a wince.

Yolas voice had not lost any of its honeyed texture or cast-iron power. She still spoke with the same certainty and confidence which she had possessed as true leader of The Sisterhood of the Skull prophet and ruler, commander and captain, the living embodiment of the ideology and inevitability of The Kingdom of Death. But Yolas words themselves no longer carried clarity of meaning, let alone charisma. Despite all of Cantrelles coaching and coaxing, Yolas oratory skills had not recovered. Those skills had been false all along, nothing more than a Necromancers hand up Yolas unfaithful cunt.

Cantrelles little lamb needed words fed into her ear, lest she sound like the holy fool she was.

Puk actually grinned, the vile harlot. She pantomimed a shrug with half her stitched-on limbs. Whats not to understand? she said, almost laughing. Do you need me to say it slow and loud? Write it out in big-font print? Draw a picture on the wall? Maybe you should put your helmet back on, youll see better that way.

On the other side of Yolas makeshift throne, DeeGee and Yazhu took offence. War-plate servo motors whined as DeeGee twitched her plasma rifle and Yazhu braced to take a step forward.

Tati the black mass of degenerate flesh hanging from the archway uncoiled in response, glistening tentacles lowering from the ceiling, a toothed maw opening in a circle of dark flesh.

Cantrelle switched to the all-Sisterhood channel on the comms network.

<<Guns down!>> she snapped. <<Guns down and stay where you are, you fucking insubordinate cretins! I ordered you when this started, no provocations, no threats, no firing!>>

Yazhu stuttered back. <<B-but Canny, shes disrespecting>>

<<That degenerate jezebel has six friends at her back in powered armour, and four more with heavy weapons. I know my eyes are better than yours, Yazhu, but youre not blind, not inside that suit. Weapons down! Now!>>

Both Sisters obeyed, straightening up, stepping back, and making a point of taking their hands off their guns. Tati retreated back up to the shadows of the archway, gurgling like an open drain. Puk waited with a moronic smile on her face, pretending she hadnt witnessed the silent exchange.

DeeGee whined over the comms. <<I cant believe were letting them get away with that.>>

Cantrelle bit her tongue. These twitchy fools were going to get the ragged remnants of the Sisterhood obliterated in a meaningless confrontation with a gang of nobodies.

<<All filth will get whats coming to it,>> she broadcast. <<Show patience. Follow your orders.>>

Cantrelle switched back to Yolas private channel; the silence had dragged on too long.

But before Cantrelle could supply a suitable line, Yola improvised: I require neither diagrams nor help with my hearing. Little zombie, you must understand, it is very difficult for us to accept that anybody out there is giving up fresh meat. That simply does not happen. This stinks of a trap, or perhaps some kind of nasty joke at our expense. I do not like jokes at our expense. We are not to be joked about. Such matters must be rectified by serious correction of mistaken attitudes. Surely you must see that? We require additional proof of your words, or at least some kind of explanation. Will you not meet us in the middle on this matter? We are being gentle and contemplative, engaging in dialogue. Please, engage u in return.

Cantrelle relaxed.

<<Good girl,>> she said to Yola.

The others couldnt see the delightful little tightening of a smile around Yolas eyes, her internal preening at Cantrelles compliment. Even if they could see it, they wouldnt know what it meant.

Puk did a sickening little curtsey with her armoured dress. Cantrelle tried not to sneer.

Mmm, an explanation? Puk said, pouting her lips, putting a finger to her chin. Fresh meat, still on the bone! Theyve got more raw corpses than they know what to do with, that lot. Theyve been at it for a few hours now, passing out corpses to anybody brave enough to approach their big old tank. Its like a canteen or something. Girls just sitting around, chowing down. I saw a couple of fights almost break out, but that big tank, oh hes sooooo biiiiig, nobody keeps fighting when he shows off his guns. What a novelty, right?

A novelty, Yola echoed. Certainly.

Certainly! Puk echoed back, giggling.

Cantrelle said to Yola, over comms: <<Ask her if theyre demanding anything in return.>>

Yola said, But surely they demand some kind of payment, something anything in return for all this meat?

Puk shook her head. Nope. Nothing. Just that we spread the good word, as it were. Pass the message around.

How curious, said Yola.

<<Tell her to describe the tank.>>

Yola replied over the private channel. <<But it cant be anything other than the one we saw, can it? There cant be two>>

<<Tell her to describe the tank, Yolanda. Be a good girl, do as I say.>>

Yola gulped and shivered in Cantrelles peripheral vision, so subtle that none other would recognise the response. Cantrelle suppressed a nasty grin of her own, filing that token flicker of defiance away for later. This was nothing more than play, regularly expected. Yola had earned herself another sobbing orgasm at Cantrelles hands with that, and Cantrelle would read divine truth in Yolas pleading tears.

God could go fuck himself with his signs and portents. Cantrelle had found something so much better.

This tank, Yola said, ejecting the word as if it was offensive to her tongue. Would you describe it for me, please?

Puk smirked, lips pressed together. The dozen heavily armed revenants in the shadows behind her and Tati shifted and whispered amongst themselves.

Its a tank, said Puk. You know. Big metal box.

Cantrelle lost her temper with this puerile little slut.

Describe the tank, she said out loud.

Puks beady eyes flickered to Cantrelle. The degenerates amusement lost its edge.

Cantrelle knew she looked and sounded awful, especially compared against Yola and the others. She stared back at Puk, daring her to ignore the truth.

Yola still wore her immaculate purple war-plate, despite her shattered charisma; DeeGee and Yazhu had survived the Golden Diamond and the shattering of the Sisterhood mostly intact, their suits dinged and dented but still whole and hearty. Kuros suit of powered armour had taken a beating during the confrontation with the Necromancer and the blob-monster, but her on-board power plant was still humming along like always, with a little help from Cantrelles medical and mechanical expertise. The other seven remaining revenants of the Sisterhood were over at the other end of the shadowy room, in various states of disrepair and slovenly disorder, but none of them were visibly wounded or openly crippled.

Cantrelles wounds the ones inflicted by Elpidas fists and the teeth of Elpidas little runt had refused to heal.

Cantrelles hands were still almost useless, resting limp in her lap, marked by the improperly-healed semi-circles and ragged sores of the deep bite wounds she had taken during the struggle; shed broken her own metacarpals multiple times to get everything sorted out, but she still could not hold a gun, and could barely squeeze Yolas delicate throat with all the strength she could muster. The sensible option would be to cut them off, eat her own useless flesh, and regrow new hands from scratch. But Cantrelle was reluctant to take that final step and not only because the necessary investment of nanomachines was very difficult for the broken remnants of the Sisterhood.

Her mechanical tentacles were a little better. She had adapted her pair of pincer-tentacles for better manipulation, adding greater articulation and dexterity, to compensate for her crippled hands. The two tentacles which Elpida had snapped off were in the middle of a slow and painful process of regrowth sprouting delicate cores of copper-wrapped flesh from two ragged stubs, waving in the air to gather ambient nanomachines.

But Puk didnt stare at those. She stared at Cantrelles face, at Cantrelles blank and screen-like eyes, Cantrelles bald skull and bionic jaw. Most of all she stared at the strangulation bruises on Cantrelles neck the chain-link marks still engraved on Cantrelles throat, the bruises unfaded as black and purple ink.

Puks eyes lingered on that detail, then upon the bisected tattoo on Cantrelles cheek; Cantrelle had learned to tell when somebody was looking at the ruined and shattered symbol on her flesh.

The titular symbol of the Sisterhood of the Skull, the black tattoo of the grinning deaths head, broken in half by a zombies bite.

The new skin was raw and thin, red and sensitive, and had not healed any further.

Cantrelle wore her unhealed wounds with pride. At first she had been afraid to remove the bandage from her cheek and reveal the bisected skull the rest of the Sisterhood would undoubtedly take that as a terrible omen. When her various wounds had stopped healing, she had grown frustrated; something had gone wrong with her nanomachine biology, and all her medical skills could not solve the puzzle. Zombies did not suffer lingering wounds, as long as they ate plenty of meat, and Cantrelle was not starving. She had fallen into rage and despair. Was this also a sign from God, written upon her own body? Was this the punishment for her moment of heresy?

Because she was a heretic now, in a way she had trouble untangling.

Cantrelle had abandoned faith entirely after resurrection and undeath, consigning faith and God and divine signs to the sunlit days of true life. But then Gods works had burst back into the Kingdom of Death with the Golden Diamond, and Cantrelle had felt only hate. God had not been there when Cantrelle had needed him. God had not been there when the Sisterhood had needed him. He had not protected them from his wrath, nor spared them his vengeance. The Kingdom of Death was his, not theirs, and Cantrelle spat in his face at this insult. God had allowed Yola to stray. God had brought Cantrelle to the brink of defeat. And it was not God who had saved Cantrelle and Yola in the end, not physically, nor spiritually.

The mech had saved her, and remade her faith anew.

Cantrelle had witnessed that moment of beauty, that blossom of new life amid the rot, with her own two eyes. The flesh-storm blooming of the mech, a triumphant birth of new possibilities. She and Yola had been such fools, thinking of that downed mech as nothing but an instrument of worldly power.

The mech the new life had smashed Gods Sign into the dirt, and strode free.

In that moment of awe, Cantrelle had rejected the Kingdom of Death. She was certain now that was when her wounds had stopped healing. That was when something had changed inside her.

Eventually she had come to the obvious conclusion. She found comfort in defiance, and pride in her afflictions.

Cantrelles wounds were a reflection of the shattered Sisterhood, a sign of the broken promise from an absentee God. She would only heal when the Sisterhood was whole once more, stronger than before, stronger than ever. Then she would wrest the Kingdom of Death from Gods hands, and instll her perfect little lamb on the throne. They would find that new life, that blossomed biomechanoid, and learn truth at her divine feet.

But that was for the future.

For now, Cantrelle was wounded, wracked by chronic pain, huddled in the dark beneath a storm, treating with degenerates.

Puk broke back into a smirk. Her eyes flickered across all the other black and grinning skulls among the Sisters on Yolas shoulder pads and armoured abdomen, on Kuros chestplate, on DeeGee and Yazhus armour.

Puk said: And what will you do if I dont describe the tank for you, Deaths Head?

Click-buzz. Cantrelle spoke over the general channel. <<Do not rise to her insult. Nobody move. Nobody reply.>>

Out loud, Cantrelle said: We make no secret of what we are, degenerate. Do you have the courage to open fire on us, or are you going to answer the question?

Puk raised her eyebrows and put her hands together, as if praying. And why dont you open fire on us first, Deaths Head? Out of bullets?

We will not be first to initiate hostilities, Cantrelle drawled. We never are. Now, answer Yolandas question, or fuck off back into the tomb, you rancid little whore.

Above Puk, Tati uncurled from the archway and made several rude gestures in Cantrelles direction.

Click-buzz. Yola spoke on the private channel. <<Well done, Ella. Youre always so stirring. Well don>>

<<Be quiet, Yola.>>

Puk made a big show of sighing and looking behind her, past her dozen shadowy companions and down the tomb-corridor outside. The storm-rain and hurricane-winds howled and raged in the silence. Tati kept gesturing. Cantrelle wanted to spit on the floor.

Puk turned back with a lazy shrug. The tank. Ummmm, its big? she said. Bigger than a house, for a given value of house. White armour, and very thick, very heavy. Lots and lots of guns, more than any group of us ickle zombies could carry. One turret, big cannon, all purple and distended and thick. A rear ramp, I think? Not sure what else I can tell you, skull fucker. Not sure I want to, either.

Puk ended with a big grin. From the archway above, Tati gurgled: Skullll-fucker!

Cantrelle leaned forward in her chair and spat on the ground.

Yola said: Among their number, was there one by the name of Elpida?

Cantrelles veins filled with ice.

She glanced at Yola, but Yola was looking straight ahead.

That was a serious transgression. Speaking out of turn or questioning Cantrelles instructions, that was expected, almost playful, a regular occurrence which Cantrelle would transmute into Yolas own sobbing orgasms and shuddering tears. But this? Asking after the so-called superhuman with whom she had been obsessed? The superhuman whose face the corpse-rapist Necromancer had worn to seduce Yola? The object and focus of Yolas infidelity and betrayal?

Mm! Puk smiled. Elpida, thats right. She was the one who talked to us. The leader, I reckon. Maybe. Who knows for sure? Not me!

Yola nodded. Thank you.

Cantrelle would make sure Yola never spoke that name again.

<<Yolanda. Ask them about the apostates.>>

Yola said, And were there two others among them, called by the names Ooni, and Pira?

Puk shrugged. Dunno. Didnt see many of them. Why dont you go take a look for yourselves, hey? Maybe you could nab a corpse or two. You girls look like you need it more than we did. Hungry hungry skull-faces!

Cantrelle sighed. Yazhu snorted from inside her armour. DeeGee didnt make a sound, but Cantrelle saw the old soldier shaking her helmet. The others strung out at the other end of the chamber added some bitter laughter to the chorus. Everybody knew that was a joke. No Deaths Head would survive walking into a room like that, not when reduced to such paltry numbers. They would be torn apart and eaten alive.

Cantrelle opened the private channel again, but Yola opened her mouth first.

Yola said: Little zombie. Miss Puk, thank you for your gracious sharing of so much information, but I believe there is something you are holding back. I am a very good judge of emotions and character, you see. And I can tell that you are lying about something. Perhaps this is merely by omission, without intention, and I would like to believe so. But you are lying to us. And this I do not like.

Puk raised her eyebrows. From the archway above her, Tati spoke in a wet, bubbling voice: Bah! Bah bah bah. Not tricking. Its not a trick.

Ah, said Yola, fluttering her dark lashes. So there is some additional matter to share?

Puk mimed a wobbling motion with several of her stitched-on limbs. Kinda. Kinda not.

Cantrelle snapped, Spit it out, gutter-trash.

Puk shrugged. The first time we visited the tank people, they had this other girl, this thing, sat out a ways in front of the tank.

Thing? Yola said. Please, be more specific. There are many things in this world.

Like a super high-end cyborg, Puk said. All black metal, covered in spikes and blades. Big white face made of plastic. They were going to interrogate her or something. Only, see, when we went back a couple of hours later to see how they was all getting on, the cyborg was gone. Nowhere to be found. She didnt look normal that first time, you know? Even for a zombie like you and us, like. And, hey, you know what I think?

I couldnt possibly imagine, said Yola. Cantrelle almost grinned there was a touch of that old Yola sarcasm.

I think it was a Necromancer, Puk said.

Yola raised her eyebrows and nodded, politely and graciously. Cantrelle watched Yola in her peripheral vision, watching for hope or excitement.

As far as Cantrelle knew, Yolas Necromantic benefactor had not attempted further contact. The rejection beneath the Golden Diamond had marked the end of Yolandas infidelity. But Cantrelle took no chances; these days she never let Yola out of her sight. They slept together, ate together, pissed together. Cantrelle held the encryption keys to Yolas internal comms uplink, and the maintenance codes to her powered armour. At any given moment Cantrelle could remotely access the diagnostics of Yolas war-plate, to read off her heart-rate, the electrical activity in her muscles, or the arousal down in her crotch. There was no possible opening for further betrayal.

Still she watched for interest in Yolas face, and saw none. But Yola was a liar and a cheat and a traitor, and a very good actress. Her face would only show truth while sobbing and pleading, while Cantrelles hands closed around her throat.

Was this black metal creature the same Necromancer who had seduced Yola? The same Necromancer who had gifted Yola her powers of oration, her immunity to pain, her supreme self-confidence?

Cantrelle doubted that very much. But she had to remain vigilant, or wolves would steal her little lamb again.

Thank you very much for this information, Yola said. You have given us much to consider, Miss Puk.

Puk did another curtsy, with a sickening smile on her face.

Cantrelle fed Yola a line: <<Tell them they can go.>>

Yola raised a purple armoured glove from the armrest of her metal throne. You may be on your way. Go unmolested, with our blessing.

DeeGee and Yazhu glanced at each other, chattering on a private channel. Some of the other Sisters grumbled and frowned. Cantrelle resisted the urge to chastise Yola for improvising. What worth was the blessing of a Deaths Head?

Puk curtseyed and backed away, out of the arch, skirt held out to either side. Her vile pet followed, sliding across the ceiling and retreating into the corridor, departing with a wet raspberry noise from her mutated maw. Puk and Tatis friends went with them, receding into the shadows of the tomb corridors beyond.

Smell ya later, alligators! Puk called, waved half her ands, and was gone.

<<Hold,>> Cantrelle sent over the open channel. She waited until the booted footsteps were swallowed up by the sound of the storm, then said: <<Check shes clear. Nothing by the entrance?>>

<<Nothing there, Canny,>> DeeGee radioed back. <<Entrance is clear. Were alone again.>>

<<Alright. Stand down. Theo, Hems, youre to remain on watch by the other archway. DeeGee, Yazhu, you take this one. I dont want any surprises coming out of the dark. Stay awake. No fucking around.>>

Acknowledgement pings filled Cantrelles on-board comms. Sisters moved to obey her orders.

Cantrelle closed her eyes for a moment. She listened to the roaring rain and howling wind of the storm. That hurricane could only be sent by God, filled with patterns in the chaos. Cantrelle concentrated in hope of discerning a message, so she could do the exact opposite of Gods wishes, and spite him to his face. But try as she might, she could not discern anything in the noise, neither truth nor lies, no sense in the madness. God was silent. God was testing her.

<<Fuck you,>> Cantrelle sent on an unencrypted channel, off the comms. <<I hope youre listening. We will tear you from heaven and feast on your guts.>>

A whisper replied Yola, listening in. <<Ella?>>

<<Nothing.>>

Cantrelle opened her eyes again and turned to Yola, to the little group which had gathered to receive the unexpected degenerate visitors. DeeGee and Yazhu were still standing on the other side of Yolas makeshift throne. Kuro was planted behind Yola, like a statue in grey slate.

Cantrelle spoke out loud. I thought I told you two to watch the door. Are your comms malfunctioning?

DeeGee answered, voice muffled by her war-plate helmet. Negative. Canny, we just thought

Then you thought wrong, Cantrelle rasped. Go watch the door. Up close.

Yazhu said, Why?

Cantrelle glared at Yazhu, at the little lenses in her helmet. Because I give the orders and you obey them. Do we have a problem?

DeeGee said, Yaz, come on. Boss says we shift, so we shift.

Yazhu looked down at Yola, who was pointedly ignoring this exchange between an actual subordinate and a fake subordinate.

Yazhu said: Cannys not the boss. Yola, boss, what do you say?

Cantrelle broadcast to Yola: <<Answer her.>>

Yolanda looked up as if stirred from deep thought, green eyes flashing in the gloom, a gentle smile on her bow-shaped lips. Do as Ella orders, please. Her words are my words. Her will is my will. We are all friends and allies here. I wish no strife inside the Sisterhood.

DeeGee saluted. Yazhu shrugged. Both Sisters stomped over to the archway and assumed relaxed watch positions, fixing their attention on the corridor. They were well beyond earshot over there.

<<Good girl,>> Cantrelle said.

<<Ella, Im Im afraid,>> Yola said. <<Everyone is so on edge. And this storm, its its just impossible. Whats happening to us, Ella? Whats happening to the world?>>

Cantrelle sighed. She glanced over at the other end of the room, where the ragged remnants of the Sisterhood were gathered in the gloom.

Seven other stragglers sat around the chamber, cleaning their guns, watching the doorways, listening to the storm. They muttered together in low voices, sullen and sulky. Several fights had broken out earlier, tempers fraying, fears ignited by the impossible storm and the rush to flee inside the tomb.

After the shattering beneath the gravitics and aircraft of the Golden Diamond and the private confrontation with Yolas Necromantic seduction The Sisterhood of the Skull had been scattered amongst the ruins, no stronger or more unified than any roving cannibal degenerates. In the wake of the awe of the biomechanoids blossom, Cantrelle had dragged Yola to safety; she still wasnt sure how they had survived the attack by the sniper the tall zombie who openly wore the crescent-and-line symbol of the Wreckers and Murderers. But they had survived, scrambling away in the confusion. Cantrelle had dragged Yola out before the nuclear storm had consumed the fight behind them.

At first she had been alone with Yola, sleeping in holes at night, scurrying along like rats in the day. Cantrelle had come very close to strangling Yola to death, once, twice, then three times.

Yolas betrayal hurt, worse than unhealed wounds, worse than the indignity of starvation.

All Yolas confidence and power had come not from Cantrelles support and protection, but from the Necromancer who had wormed into Yolas heart beneath Cantrelles notice. The Sisterhood of the Skull owed their prophet not to truth or correct thought or victory, but to some corpse-rapist monster.

So Cantrelle had squeezed Yolas throat until Yola had begged and pleaded. She had called Yola a traitor and a heretic, a slut and a bitch, an unfaithful rutting animal no better than the degenerates they had once slaughtered together. But Yola never fought back, despite Cantrelles weakness and wounds. She never raced ahead and left Cantrelle behind for the scavengers. She never drew a gun and put it to Cantrelles head and told her to stop.

Cantrelle had tasted Yolas tears and decided they were true. She had fucked Yola until there was nowhere her little lamb could hide anymore secrets, no place for Yola to turn to ignore her betrayal.

And in Yolas tears and Yolas pleas and Yolas body, Cantrelle had rediscovered a medium far more real than any of Gods messages.

This was the lamb who should sit on the throne. Victory would make her clean.

Kuro had found them eventually. Kuro was a good hound to Yola, even Cantrelle had to admit that. Kuro had been there during that confrontation with the Necromancer, and Kuro had heard every word, and Kuro had not abandoned Yolanda. Cantrelle felt far less jealous about Kuro these days, not least because she knew Yola wasnt bouncing up and down in Kuros lap anymore. Kuros fuck-pet days were over.

Cantrelle had spent the long, gruelling weeks of starvation and scavenging since then rebuilding what she could of The Sisterhood. Shed located DeeGee and Yazhu not too difficult, as their powered armour gave them a survivors edge and swept up whatever other stragglers she could find. By the time the graveworm had approached this fresh tomb, Cantrelles efforts had amounted to no more than seven other revenants recovered. Only Yola, Kuro, DeeGee and Yazhu had powered armour. The others had scraps and clothes at best. Theyd lost all the drones, large quantities of advanced equipment, and most of their big guns.

Worst of all, theyd lost confidence. Morale was non-existent. They lived no better than the degenerates now.

But the ones who had survived were tough, those who could make it even when cut off from the group. Cantrelle saw the silver lining in this process of winnowing. The dead weight had been cut free. The Sisterhood was lean now, and would be strong again.

Deaths Heads always came back; Cantrelle had been around enough times to know that. The Kingdom of Death could never be truly stamped out. It would always rise again.

Yola, however, was worse than dead weight she was a lie.

Cantrelle knew she was holding these remnants together through the sheer force of her own willpower, but she still needed Yolas status as a figurehead. All those pretty words and that prophetic ideology had turned out to be seeded by a Necromancer, but Cantrelle did not have the reputation or charisma to command this flagging gang by herself, not without victories.

She needed to give them triumph, and soon.

Cantrelle turned away from the seven other stragglers and back to Yolanda. Kuro still loomed behind the makeshift throne, close at hand, but she could stay. Kuro knew the truth already,that the prophet had been a fraud.

Ella? Yola said, from up on her throne.

Unlike Cantrelle, Yola had fully recovered from her wounds. The burn mark which had marred half her face was gone, leaving only perfect amber-bronze skin over sharp cheekbones and an elegant jaw. Her bright green eyes were unclouded by blindness or damage. Ruby-red hair fell about her face in a rich wave.

But Cantrelle saw the uncertainty in those eyes, the hesitation in the lips, the flinch in the muscles when Cantrelle stared too hard.

You asked about Elpida, Cantrelle said.

Yolas eyes widened slightly; beyond earshot of the others, the mask of the actress slipped away. I I thought it pertinent to our plans

Cantrelle reached out with one set of tentacle-pincers and laid the cold metal against Yolandas cheek. Yola went very still and very stiff. Cantrelle slid the tendril-limb down the side of Yolas throat, then wriggled it past the neck-seal of Yolas armour.

Yola swallowed. Ella?

Nobody cares. They know we fuck.

But

Be quiet.

Cantrelle forced the pincers lower. She dragged the hard edges over the soft flesh of Yolas proud chest, then down across her quivering belly, then settled the flexing mass between Yolas legs.

None of the Sisters could see what she was doing. Only Kuro, and Kuro never complained.

Cantrelle said, Never speak that name again.

Yola nodded.

Cantrelle withdrew the tendril slowly, dragging it back up across Yolas belly and chest and collarbone until it popped free from the armours neck seal. Yola swallowed and panted, placing one armoured glove against her own throat. Cantrelle pulled the tendril back toward herself, then shoved it into her coat and awkwardly pulled out her PDW. She pointed the gun off at the floor and slid out the magazine, checking the bullets.

Well talk about this more later on, she said. First we have to decide what to do about Elpidas band of degenerates, and their tank.

Kuro spoke from inside her armour, a high-pitched garble of static: Cant do anything about them.

Mm, Cantrelle grunted, trying to think, looking down the sights of her gun. It was so difficult to form coherent thoughts beneath the pounding noise of the storm beyond the tomb. She looked up at Yolas face and pictured her tears; that cleared her head. Weve lost all the heavy weaponry except what youve got built into your armour, Kuro. We cant mount an effective attack on them physically. We cant scratch that tank. Fuck.

Yola cleared her throat gently. Why must we assault them? Surely we can simply stay out of the way, avoid contact, and go unnoticed.

Cantrelle sighed at Yolas idiocy but she didnt snap. This was her little lamb, true and real. An empty-headed fool. A holy vector.

Cantrelle said, What do you think shes doing, Yola? Why do you think shes handing out corpses to any random zombie who shows up?

Yola wet her lips. To buy their allegiance.

Cantrelle nodded. Right. Good girl, well done. Yes, shes growing the size of her group. Buying pawns and ablative meat, with meat. Cantrelle snorted. How ironic. Meat for meat.

Yola frowned delicately. Whatever for? What task will she use them for?

To finish off her enemies.

Kuro crackled: Us.

Oh, said Yola. She blinked several times, batting those dark lashes, then fell silent. She looked so regal and contemplative, as if her strategic genius mind was chewing on the problem, but Cantrelle knew that head was almost empty. Cantrelle stared off at the archway into the rest of the tomb, listening to the storm. Maybe if she

Yola spoke again. May we not take advantage of this situation, as other revenants have done so?

Pointless, Kuro squeaked.

Quite, Cantrelle drawled, returning her gaze to glare at Yola. Wed be seen and known not least by Elpida and her arch-degenerates. If the apostate is still with them, itll be even worse. Ooni will know us instantly. If they havent eaten her already. Well be noted, hunted down, and wiped out. We need other options, other ideas.

The tomb, Kuro said, voice full of static.

What? Cantrelle snapped.

The tomb itself, said the big dumb giant. Full of secrets. Astrometrics. Communications hubs. Topographical maps. Other stuff. We might find something good.

Cantrelle frowned with sudden sharp concern.

Kuro had been showing more intelligence and initiative since the shattering of The Sisterhood, as if regular playtime with Yola had been draining her already residual intelligence. She had spent some time exploring and patrolling the nearby rooms, dragging pairs of the other Sisters along with her, and also carefully checking the tombs armoury already stripped by Elpidas group. Cantrelle had assumed she was trying to be helpful, but this new level of comprehension was potentially dangerous. She wished Kuro would open her armour so Cantrelle could read her expressions.

We lack the technical skills for that, Cantrelle said carefully. She sighed and raised her eyes to the ceiling, dripping with shadows, echoing with distant rain. And therein lies our answer. There may be others in the tomb, others formerly of The Sisterhood, who also made it in here before this blasted storm hit. We may be able to make contact. We need to grow our numbers again. But well need meat in the meantime, that much is true. Perhaps we can steal it rather than beg.

Ella, said Yolanda. We should take advantage of this.

Cantrelle sighed and glared at Yola again. Stop repeating yourself. The idea has already been

Ella, she hissed. I want to be useful, and

Be quiet.

<<Ping-ping-ping>> Yola sent. A non-verbal systems ping. The old cry for help.

Cantrelle was stunned into silence.

Yola followed up: <<Youre not listening, Ella!>>

Cantrelle blinked. That was true defiance. Yola needed more than discipline, she needed reminding. Cantrelle steeled herself for the task once the others were asleep.

Yola must have taken Cantrelles shock for acquiescence. She hurried on, hissing words into the darkness.

Ella, we should take advantage of this opening. What if we disrupt the process, disrupt their sharing and redistributing of meat? And I dont just mean disrupt the physical process I mean disrupt the very fabric of what El She caught herself, gulped with a touch of fear in her eyes, then carried on. Of what the degenerate is trying to achieve. Dont you remember all the things she said when we held her captive? She holds to this very specific nonsense and foolishness. What if we could show that it was foolish nonsense? Not just to her, but to those whose hungry mouths she is feeding with lies?

Yolas emerald eyes burned with a light Cantrelle had not seen in a very long time.

Disrupt it? Cantrelle said slowly. With that tank on overwatch? Wed never get anywhere near them. What exactly are you suggesting, Yolanda?

Yola began to smile. We use a pawn.

A hostage? Theyd blow right through a hostage, Yola. Dont be stupid.

Yolas smile blossomed. What if we want them to?

A shiver went up Cantrelles spine.

She hadnt seen Yola this way in forever a clever little nightmare with a dark plan and a taste for cruelty. For the first time in far too long, she knew exactly what was Yola was thinking.

Yolanda?

Yes, Ella?

Are you thinking what I assume you are?

Yola bit her lower lip.

Yola the Prophetess had never bitten her lower lip. Yola the Prophetess had never cried or shivered or moaned beneath Cantrelles hands. This Yola was Cantrelles Yola, the one she had been trying to coax back out for much longer than the last few weeks of desperation. This was Yolas initiative, Yolas idea, Yolas pretty little mind finally slipping into gear, iled and warmed by Cantrelles hands.

Cantrelle spoke into the comms network: <<Cerybe, Francka, over here.>>

On the other side of the room, two Sisters clambered to their feet and walked over to the throne. Cantrelle glanced up at Cer and Franny. Both of them were a mess, wearing patchwork bits of armour carapace, carrying guns strapped over their backs. Cerybe had long blonde hair tied in a braided ponytail. Franny was grey and ragged with some kind of attempt to grow herself iron-impregnated skin.

These two had been responsible for preserving most of the supplies which The Sisterhood now possessed. They were capable and cautious and knew when to play it safe. They were survivors, and they took orders well.

Cantrelle said, Both of you are going to strip off any parts of your armour or clothing which shows our symbol. No skulls. Understand?

Cer raised her eyebrows.

Franny shrugged. Okay, sure. What for? We doing some covert ops shit?

Yes, said Cantrelle. You two are going to request a corpse from the degenerates. Pretend youve never heard of the Deaths Heads before. Take the body cam we have, and keep your radios open. We need as much information about their process as we can get. We need to understand their procedures, how theyre sharing out the meat, who they have in the open, all of it. Take note of how many revenants there are in that room, their positions, how well-armed they are, and so on. I want details, details, details.

Cerybe pulled a grin. We eating in or taking out?

Cantrelle snorted. Bring the corpse back here. Well partition it out. But thats not the purpose of this operation.

Right, right, understood, said Francka. So whats step two?

Yola spoke before Cantrelle could answer. You wont be responsible for that part.

Cantrelle glanced back at her. Were going to need a volunteer for the follow up. Yola, do you have a plan for that?

Yola wet her lips with a flicker of tongue. How about little Puk?

Cantrelle shook her head. No, too dangerous. Shes too experienced, too well protected. We need a freshie, a fool, somebody scared.

Yola shrugged. Im sure we can rustle that up.

Kuro squawked through her cloud of static: I will.

Cantrelle nodded. A dark grin grew on her face. Well need all the explosives we can muster. Cer, how much do we have?

Cerybe blew out a breath. I havent taken stock in a while. Grenades, plastics, enough to make a pretty big boom. But I doubt its enough to punch through the side of that tank. Canny, that aint gonna work.

Yola smiled wider. That is more than enough. We are not aiming for the tank, after all. We also need metal, a welding tool, and radio equipment enough for remote detonation. A timer would be acceptable, but remote would be better. Something that cant be jammed, either. Can we do all that, Cerybe, my dear expert?

Cerybe frowned, then raised her eyebrows in realisation. Uh, yeah. Yeah we can, boss.

Holy shit, Francka said slowly. What have you cooked up, Canny?

Cantrelle felt a grin rip across her face. Not me. This plan is Yolandas baby.

Yola beamed at her subordinates, then at Cantrelle.

Cantrelles heart skipped a beat. Yola was only usually this beautiful when she was crying.

Our baby, I think, Yola said. Now, Ella, Kuro, lets go find us a volunteer.

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