the Mana-Wilds (the Cold Iron Chronicles) #5: Fangs of Iron

Chapter 1: Caged Birds

TW: History of Slave Abuse

The sharp and repeated rapping of Izo's trekking pole ascended the slope of coal hill. The Daylit sun blanketed in a veil of mournful grey clouds revealed the path. The trek towards is peak was laden with blanched mud covered in auburn leaves. Upon reaching the top, the interprid Otherworlder Izo 'Cold Iron' exasperatedly let out a triumphant sigh of relief.

"I have seen Elders with better constitutions than you! Sickly and paling Elders!" belittled Arazni as the self-proclaimed 'Doctor-Commander' gasped for breath. "This is only one hill! One lone hill and you are already beginning to faint."

"Shut up Angel!" Izo snapped back to his angelic passenger. "We are lucky this cache Myrmidon pinpointed isn't too far away from Vellumis." He repaced the inhalations of his flaccid lungs until his breath returned to normal.

Having taken the settlement of Vellumis from the macabre Whispering Way Cult, he along with Myrmidon and the Leshies of Crossfen had wasted no time in digging their heels down to replace its previous occupants with something... less dreadful yet oh still august. Stationing several M.U.S.C.L.E. Units as a garrison to defend the holdings from any future attacks was the most palpable of his reach. However, he cannot afford to further extend the limited numbers of his Robotic Army too thin, not without reawakening the still dormant caches of his steel legion. Taking Land is one thing, holding on to them is another entirely. And over his cold dead hands would he ever let it go.

In regards to the more... human side of his current complications were the dozens upon dozens of numbers of freed serfs that the treacherous crone Lysithea Sorrowscythe had once yoked now falling upon his care. The Tribals will have to be content with having to be put to labor, but they can expect a more... or less... forbearing authority compared to the likes of Lysithea. All of the queerness of their mutative bodies and skins amidst a sea of the typical wastelander, he couldn't just leave them to such a cruel and harsh world outside of the hilly walls of Vellumis.

Nay... once they have been properly fed, healed and ministered for, he will evangelize them to the old Red, White and Blue Way. The American Way.

Just as it must be.

"Now... where are--- A-Ha!" Izo pulled out his Scanner.

Designed to triangulate the position of the Caches that Myrmidon could detect within his sensory network based on a now recently erected Relay back at his forward base of Vellumis, the Doctor Commander soon trounced upon the treasure:

Paint slightly-faded yet immaculate from unworthy hands lay a solid steel US Army Cargo Crate, the kind used by the old world's corps of Logistics to transfer weapons and other such equipment securely.

"Lock shows know sign of wear and tear." Izo eyed the keyhole that separated him from the crate's prized contents.

"Solid Carbon and Titanium, nothing but the Access Key such as the one in your hand could unlock. Security of our technology is paramount to the continuity of the American Government." Myrmidon spoke through one of the three accompanying M.U.S.C.L.E Units that act as his praetorian guards.

After what nearly happened to him in Vellumis, he never wants to venture fourth without a cadre of ever-loyal automatons to guard his life from those who wish to do him harm.

"More M.U.S.C.L.E. Units like them, right?" Izo asked.

"Irresolute, Mister Secretary." Myrmidon shook their head. "The Cargo I was supposed to receive in Fort Bragg not only contains additional weapons and M.U.S.C.L.E. Units but additional Unit variants for more... specialized were streamlined with the resources needed to be able to reproduce them. Due to the complications of our current Geographic Positional Computation abilities my ability to discern what cargo is contained in which crate is limited. Ergo, I will not know the contents of this crate until your Access Key inserts itself into its lock." Myrmidon explained.