Chapter 1

Vorox were natural explorers.

As active carnivores, too many of them in one place would quickly overhunt any territory. Despite their nomadic nature, however, Vorox did not seek out something so predictable as a breeding ground or a nest like other creatures to roam the deserts of Bara Magna. Instead, they traveled impossible distances to the sunken canyons their clans had laid claim to before the Core War.

Over countless generations, the social structure of the Sand Tribe warriors had grown exponentially more complex. Contact had been made with other factions, each of which possessed a regional foothold of their own. There had been some halting trade, sometimes for weapons and riches but more often for basic supplies.

It was for this reason that Malum now traveled across the Sea of Liquid Sand, accompanied by a female Vorox from the first tribe to have submitted to his rule, following the paths of stories and rumors and third-hand accounts through what appeared to be previously-claimed territory. Three months spent skulking the Wastelands after his exile from the Fire Tribe had taught him to identify the patterns and scents marking hunting grounds that were already spoken for. His companion had a name, but while Malum was aware Vorox gave each other titles, he seldom needed to know any. Her wise counsel and proficient knowledge of the Agori dialect had allowed him to accomplish much in the past few months.

The pair proceeded with caution, and openly. There was a real possibility that local Vorox might chase them off their land. However, Malum was perceptive enough to position himself in their place, considering how he himself might have looked upon an intruder lurking around the gates of Vulcanus. He knew that an aggressive or covert entrance would increase the chance of a hostile reception, so he instead made no effort to mask his approach.

Sure enough, a pack of Vorox soon slunk their way from the sand, their helmets emerging from the ridges of the dune around the traveling pair. In his experience, this suggested they were curious enough to observe and confident enough to make their presence known.

There were seven of them in number, five males and two females, presumably holed up in a nearby plateau and liberally surrounded by sand traps to warn them of any hulking crimson trespassers. Also present was a healthy smattering of Zesk. While smaller in stature, they were able to hunt and take live prey. Those that survived the full force of the desert were the strongest, the most intelligent and the best able to interact with others of their kind.

The language of the Sand Tribe was not suited to complex conversations, for the subtle vibration of speech did not carry over the roaring elements. Months spent beneath the desert sun had afforded the exiled Glatorian a rudimentary understanding of the vernacular. He still made the occasional slip, however, which was why he had brought his most trusted follower to assist him.

‘We bring you greetings from the West,’ he began, meaning: We are few but we have many friends. ‘We have traveled far and seen many things.’

The native Vorox remained suspicious. They were spoken for by their pack leader, who emerged from his vantage point and descended into the dune. At his invitation, Malum approached.

‘This is no place for your kind.’

“I do not seek to hunt,” Malum countered in the language of the Agori. “I do not come to settle. The land beyond your land is of interest to me.”

‘It is not to be traveled,’ came the reply.

“That is what I have come to discover. Will you tell me what you know?”

Unrest erupted amongst the Vorox, only to be silenced by their leader. ‘Why should we?’

“I will tell you things in return,” negotiated the exile, receiving a supportive nod from his translator, whose talents had so far gone unused.

The Vorox sentries slowly stepped back from their positions and huddled closer together, keeping eyes on the stranger. For them, knowledge of the Wastelands was the one true currency.

‘Tell us,’ challenged the pack leader.

Painfully aware that he had precious little to trade, the former Glatorian made a spectacle of looking West, in the direction of Atero, as though he might be spotted.

“My name is Malum,” he began neutrally. “I was at one time a champion of the Fire Tribe and victor of a thousand battles, my name chanted by Agori the world over until the Glatorian saw an opportunity to turn against me. Growing jealous of my strength in the arena, they conspired my exile and cast me from my home.”

Inclining their heads, the Vorox stayed silent. The value of a Glatorian captive was immensely evident to them, especially with the Bone Hunters constantly encroaching on their hunting grounds.

“But the Glatorian let me live. For thousands of years I patrolled their golden citadel from the inside, fortifying the weaknesses and learning how their guards operate. I have been within the gates of Atero and offer you the means to reclaim it.”

There was now urgent chattering amongst the Vorox, fragments of which Malum could overhear. The warriors were too agitated to guard their tongues.

Widely believed to have been a neutral city during the Core War, Atero at one time served as the ancestral home of the Sand Tribe, square on the equator and in close proximity to the volcanic fault line in Vulcanus. Due to the nomadic nature of the Sand Tribe warriors, however, the settlement had been annexed by the Agori in the years after the Shattering once the Vorox and Zesk had regressed into their current state, leaving them little option but the empty embrace of the Wastelands. The loss of the settlement had been a sore point amongst generations of displaced Vorox tribes.

‘You wish to trade this information?’ asked the pack leader.

“I know the structure of Atero’s defences,” Malum confirmed. “And I will give it to you… but I will trade like for like. You have knowledge of the Wastelands and the precautions you take to survive here. That is what I seek, so that I might make a home here.”

Flaring her nostrils, Malum’s aide bristled at him. Only then did the exile realize he had overplayed his hand, because the lead Vorox had gone very still - a particular hunting stillness that signaled raw aggression.

‘So you seek our lands after all…’

“I seek a home,” Malum insisted, but the language was a hard one through which to convey tone. Enough unintended body language had already leaked into it to confirm the pack leader’s suspicions. Abruptly, the Vorox reared up, drawing back his arms and stinger tail. It was a brute language unchanged since the Core War. He was poised to strike.

“Back off,” Malum cautioned as his translator moved to meet the challenge. He himself was tense, but he was not showing submission nor unlimbering his weapons.

‘Go now, or we fight,’ the Vorox demanded, his tribe brandishing their spears.

A raging flame ignited in Malum’s eyes. The whole of his body was energized with unchained power as he recognized the fight was upon him. Like a Dune Snake’s skin, he shed what civilty he had earnestly attempted to present before in favor of the aggression, fury, and, indeed, perhaps madness that had benefited him so well in the arena.

The Vorox had challenged him. The Vorox would pay.

There was a functional limit to how much knowledge members of the Sand Tribe were able to retain from before the virus struck. This clan of warriors possessed a modest handful of tricks carefully preserved over the centuries. Their individuals could learn and teach but their inbuilt knowledge was limited.

While innovation was largely believed to have been lost on the stagnant world of Bara Magna, the Agori still possessed a great deal of information to draw upon. Different discoveries and tricks and tactics had been combined and experimented on by grand strategists like Certavus for centuries. Malum was no artisan, but he bore the fruits of others’ labors.

The exile struck first with the raging fury of a caged Gravel Hawk, clashing against his adversary as though he represented the very system that had rejected him. They fought in the manner of beasts, snarling with unbridled aggression while slashing and scratching, making no effort to deflect blows or dodge. The Vorox was larger. In the past his height might have persuaded another smaller challenger to back down. But not Malum, who had never backed down from a fight in his life, no matter how clearly his opponent outclassed him.

The Vorox stung just as the scarlet warrior readied himself. Taking the brunt of the stinger on his shoulder armor, he swung his right arm up and connected clean against the pack leader’s jaw. An astonishing crack! emanated through the sand dune as his adversary’s head snapped back, screeching in pain. The crimson Glatorian took the opportunity to deal further damage, slashing with his Flame Claws and cutting deep into his adversary’s armor until at last he was brought to his knees.

The rest of the pack stared at him with interest. Two of their number splintered off towards their injured leader. Malum knew his opponent had no more stomach for the fight, but still anger spurred him to go through with what he had started. The tips of his blades had been coated with the venom of a Talon Snake he had trapped earlier that day, a tactic Vastus of the Jungle Tribe occasionally used to paralyze Bone Hunters on the outskirts of Tesara.

The remainder of the Vorox appeared to have adopted a submissive stance, thoroughly cowed. One of their number stepped forward, putting himself between Malum and the injured pack leader.

’What do you want?’ he demanded, stinger tail poised to strike.

“The land beyond yours is of interest to me for it holds many secrets,” answered the exile, making a conscious effort to force his wrath down. He lowered his weapons but making no move to indicate surrender. “You will take me to the Canyon Outpost where your tribe resides and in return, I will join your cause and learn the forgotten secrets of the Sand Tribe.”

Trailing off, the exile switched over to the language of the Vorox for his final words.

’For I am Malum… Warrior of the Wastelands.’