UE Rewrite: B5 — 15. Skinned and Smiling (Patreon)

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Lieutenant Morek (The Great Polsan (Grasslands) Clan Officer!)

Undying Empire Index

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The frost bit deep into Lieutenant Morek’s throat sac as the troop barge touched down on the ridge, Skel’wings collapsing into exhausted heaps across the white-crusted ground. Ice crystals formed with each labored breath from the magnificent birds, their usual silent dignity replaced by desperate gasps for the thin mountain air.

Krava wasn’t lying about the route being brutal, he thought. Vision scanning the white powder they’d dropped into, snowflakes loosely fell around them. The edge of the perpetual White Veil… A death zone for most ri’bot. What a place to establish a forward scouting base.

Since the Death Empress’ scouting mission of their home city, his Polsan Clan Shock Platoon had traveled all through the night over the northeastern mountain passes to reach this point. It had pushed both Skel’wings and riders to their limits. They’d never flown hundreds of miles in such a short time.

Of course, the alternative—the southeastern grassland approach—would have been suicide. Krava made it clear that this undead ruler would have such places tightly observed. This frozen wasteland, however, offered concealment that came with its own price—she’d never think they’d be in such a hostile zone.

“Grass wraps,” Morek croaked, his voice barely carrying in the thin air. “Skel’wings first, their feathers will freeze if we don’t act fast.”

His warriors moved with practiced efficiency despite the cold, pulling white-woven coverings from the supply bundles. The special grasses—harvested from the high steppes where winter never ended—provided insulation while blending perfectly with the perpetual snow cover. 

Within minutes, the great war-birds resembled natural drifts, their forms breaking up the telltale silhouettes that would betray them to watchers below.

Morek pulled his own covering tight as it was handed to him, feeling the grass fibers trap precious body heat against his skin. The woven material smelled of home—distant prairies and silver rivers within the layers—but here, three thousand meters above the valley floor, it felt like the difference between life and death.

The Elder Chief chose well. No valley clan would think to watch the killing ground of the northern peaks. Hopefully, the heat crystals will last the mission.

Through the swirling snow, the black fortress with its colossal spire dominated the horizon like a wound in the world’s flesh. Even at this distance, the Black City—what the quen’talrat called Kel’mal’tha—seemed to pulse with unnatural energy. It felt more alive than he’d been told.

The geometric perfection of its architecture had been tainted by something else entirely. Where once the White God’s monument had stood empty and cold, now it thrummed with activity.

His jaw tightened against the swirling frost. 

She has reactivated the city’s power… Krava was right to be concerned.

“Sir,” Sergeant Grask whispered, settling beside him with the long-sight scope. “Position established. Clear view of the northern shelf and approaches.”

Morek accepted the precious crystal device, feeling its weight in his webbed hands. The scopes cost the Great Chiefs a king’s ransom in trade with the far eastern desert ri’bot, but for intelligence gathering, nothing matched its clarity.

He raised it to his eye, and the distant valley leaped into sharp focus.

By the First Speakers…

The stories hadn’t prepared him for this. Lines of smoke rose from dozens—no, hundreds—of cooking fires scattered across the northern approaches to the fortress, lining the entire valley shelf. But these weren’t the chaotic patterns of storm fires. They were controlled, patterned, following established paths toward the black walls like pilgrims approaching a holy site.

“What do you see, Lieutenant?” Grask’s voice carried the tension they all felt after seeing that unholy winged storm the undead ruler used.

“Complications.” Morek adjusted the focus, studying the few distant figures who were in the open. “Many complications.”

Through the crystal lens, details that should have been impossible at this range became clear. Humans—or so he assumed; the soft-skinned invaders from the world-break Krava reported—walked alongside ri’bot from valley clans.

Not a few…thousands. Not as prisoners or slaves, but as equals—laughing, conversing.

Perhaps the most terrifying part was the skeletal, flaming remains that had first caught his sight. Green fire clinging to moving bones. The undead that the elder chief had described.

“Numbers, sir?”

“Thousands are traveling to the city… Perhaps tens of thousands by the patterns.” He swept the scope across the fortress walls, seeking signs of fortification or preparation for siege. Instead, he found something far more disturbing. “They’re not preparing defenses… Do they not fear an attack? Something’s not right…”

“Nothing, sir? Is no one on the walls? What about the rest of the city interior? The central tower glows bright… Has the city awoken?”

Morek rubbed his two left teeth against his mouth, working around his jaw. “No. The city looks abandoned from all the northern sections I can see. The migration is happening around the south and to the east… They may have only gotten one gate open, where the Golariex penetrated the walls, over a century ago.”

The northern battlements stretched empty and broken before him, ancient stone scarred by battles fought generations ago. Dust and grime coated the abandoned ramparts where once the White God’s sentries had stood watch. Even from this height, the fortress walls towered impossibly high, blocking his view of the city’s innermost districts.

How much of the city can we actually observe from here? The walls themselves are tall enough to hide armies. They couldn’t have predicted our arrival; we kept low… Are the smaller ones children? Where are they getting all this equipment from in the northwest? In that direction, the only other major nation we know of is…the golariex themselves. Impossible.

He looked again at the unusual metal vehicles that cut through the trails the undead were cutting through the jungle. It would have been laughable if told to him…but the numbers were clearing paths the various valley ri’bot clans had carved for centuries.

If this Elinor managed to obtain support from the golariex, then it could be trouble. Yet, their lands are vast, greater than even the nalveans. Within the time they’ve operated, it is unbelievable that they’ve been able to spread that far without the nalveans entering open combat against them, since the golariex have a tight relationship with their High Ruler.

“Sergeant,” another warrior reported from the observation post they’d established among the frost-shattered rocks nearby, using smaller looking glasses. “Movement in the valley. Large groups converging from multiple directions—one heading below us. Maps show an old quen’talrat mining post in that direction.”

“Take a team and check out the mines,” his subordinate ordered. “Keep out of sight. We don’t want conflict yet.”

“Understood.”

Morek lowered the scope, processing what he’d seen. It appeared Elinor had brought the valley clans into her grip. From the skin colors, he saw every single one, excluding the Komath and Prume.

The Delthax, Wixum, Flex, Roxim, Xaltan… Supreme Chiefs, even the Clanless seem to be numbered amongst those supporting the humans. We may need to send lone scouts to the Komath and Prume territories, yet the far west and southwest are dangerous locations to reach undetected. Hmm…

“Establish watches,” he commanded. “Four-hour rotations. No fires—keep your heat crystals close—no hunting beyond absolute necessity if we run low on rations. We observe and record. Nothing more at this time.”

“Sir,” Grask hesitated. “The warriors are asking—how long will we maintain our position in the White Veil? The Skel’wings need rest, and this cold…”

“Until we understand what we face or the heat crystals fail.” Morek’s throat sac tightened as he considered their mission parameters. “The Great Chiefs sent us to assess the potential threat. What I’m seeing suggests something far beyond threat assessment. We may need to do what Krava suggested… I’ll make that decision soon enough.”

He raised the scope again, this time focusing on the scalding dead-zone of boiling mud pits, geysers, and colorful, thermal pools that surrounded the colossal city. His gaze centered on the few groups that had broken through; most of them were those with limited equipment compared to the others, which were cutting through the jungle.

The implications involving the golariex crashed over him like an avalanche. If this pattern held, if the Death Empress truly offered alliance rather than subjugation to the greater nations, unlike the White God, then things were dire.

If she normalizes relations with two of the seven great nations, then the Great Chiefs would have a hard decision to make. Five of the seven Valley Clans have recognized her. She appears to command the whole valley… This would require the full force of the Great Clans.

“Sir, should we send word back to the Great Chiefs?”

“Not yet.” Though every instinct screamed otherwise. “We need more than speculation. The Chiefs require actionable intelligence, not panic reports. And from what I’ve just seen, we can’t afford to be afraid and give misinformation… One report could bring about a disastrous war that needn’t be fought.”

But privately, he wondered if any intelligence would be enough to prepare their civilization for what was rising in this cursed valley. Krava’s warning spoke of armies of the dead, of necromantic power from the Pits that violated the Supreme Chiefs’ first law. He hadn’t mentioned diplomatic relations with the great nations.

“Sir, there!”

Morek lifted the spyglass, twisting to zoom out. He caught sparks in the air—the flying electric fiend Elinor had used to scout their lands.

What a monster that is…but I suppose it would be the ruler’s mount. Luckily, it seems it is their only sky unit. If there were more of them…it would be devastating. That’s already a positive development.

“I see her… Stay low, she’s heading toward the mountains. The barge?”

“Covered, sir.”

“Good… Signal the scouts to be careful.”

What is her goal? The mines? It seems so…

He breathed a sigh of relief as she disappeared below the ridges far below, along the mountain slopes.

If only I could speak to Elder Chief Valdar, or he would go to talk with the Great Chiefs himself… Why did he choose this human Pit creature over one of his oldest friends? Why would tens of thousands of humans be coming from the northwest? Krava only mentioned thousands… Do they breed that fast? Terrifying…

Hours passed as they settled into observation routines, keeping the dull red crystals they’d brought with them close to their chests.

The sun tracked across alien skies while Morek’s team documented everything—human movements, supply lines, the steady stream of new arrivals at the dead-zone, heading to the southern part of the city.

As afternoon stretched toward evening, patterns emerged from the chaos. The refugee streams weren’t random—they followed specific routes, maintained intervals that suggested organization and planning. Supply trains moved with military precision; the deforestation work, far to the northwest, showed visible progress through the jungle. Undead moved without rest.

Do they have no limits on their endurance? Will they work even during the night? No sleep. No blindness in darkness? What do they eat? Where is the weakness?

This wasn’t the desperate improvisation of a warlord drunk on sudden power. This was exactly as Krava described: systematic empire-building.

“Lieutenant,” the lookout called softly as Elinor took back to the skies from the mines his scouts had confirmed were in full operation. “Smoke patterns. Inside the dead zone, approximately fifteen kilometers from the northern walls. Looks like a camp. Do they sleep during the night?”

Morek swung the scope toward the indicated position. Through the crystal lens, he could make out the telltale signs of organized settlement—cooking fires being arranged in defensive patterns, supply caches set down by flaming undead, what appeared to be a command structure of human guards.

Perhaps a few hundred, still trickling in. This camp was left by the previous group… They’re expanding it, showing they’re creating outposts. Where did they come from if they didn’t establish these to reach the northwestern lands? So many mysteries…

He focused on those who were armed. For the first time, he saw humans holding what could have been swords and shields, even two with strange, four-legged beasts they rode on.

A lump formed in his throat, considering options.

Officers? Most likely. All the warriors we’ve seen have been undead so far. By the time night falls, there may be a thousand in the camp. If we can capture their leaders, then that should be all the intel we need. If successful, all these questions could be answered… It’s a risk, but necessary at this point. We must know where they’re coming from, because…

He turned his glass to the dimming light of the northwest, where red grass swayed in the hilly zone, the massive river glistening. An hour previous, he’d found what could have been a command area on one of those hills. It was hard to tell.

If the golariex have been supporting them…that could be where their numbers are coming from. The Holy Empire is known to be able to breed with any race. Tongue snapper, if that’s true, we could be overrun by not tens of thousands…but millions. Living, who can then be converted into the dead. 

“Grask, select a capture team. Six warriors—travel light. I want them to target those two leaders who use the four-legged beasts to ride.”

“Standard hostage protocols, sir? Attempt to incapacitate with paralysis darts?”

“Standard. As little damage as possible.” Though nothing about this situation felt standard. “Only the leaders; leave the rest unharmed. Threaten the others if necessary or use them as hostages if all else fails. We’re gathering intelligence, not starting a war.”

As his sergeant organized the strike team, Morek continued studying the distant camp through the scope. The soft-skinned humans moved with curious inefficiency, their social structures alien beyond easy comprehension.

They seemed to prioritize group cohesion over individual survival—a trait that made them simultaneously weak in direct conflict and dangerous as converts to any ideology offering community. The strange part was that most of them appeared relatively weak…struggling.

Why treat the living so tenderly if she can just raise them into the supernatural forces that have been acting as beasts of burden and protection to them? Krava mentioned she sought to take all of the humans, bartering heavily for them… Breeding to obtain more troops?

His focus returned to the tens of thousands of people traveling through the jungle, lights now beginning to dot the horizon in a chilling line as night began to fall.

The strike team departed as twilight painted the valley in shades of purple and gold. Morek watched them disappear into the descending darkness, professional warriors moving with the silence that had made the Great Clans feared across the continent, careful to cover over their tracks in the White Veil.

He settled in to wait.

The hours crawled past with glacial slowness. His remaining warriors maintained their positions, shivers breaking out as their heat crystal lost heat faster than typical—something was strange about this mountain chill. Unnatural.

Still, they were disciplined, despite the killing cold and the psychological weight of observing something that challenged their fundamental understanding of how power worked. Their birds remained still, their riders keeping close to share in their body heat under the cover of their camouflage.

Through the scope, he tracked the fortress activities as they transitioned to night operations. Torches blazed along the wide, southern road, revealing continued activity. The empress had simply flown to the central spire without worrying about the feared invisible disintegration field the Black City was known for—perhaps it didn’t affect undead.

Near midnight, movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. The strike team returned far sooner than expected. Morek felt relief flood through him—until he realized only half the warriors were visible.

Lieutenant Grask approached the command position, but something in his gait seemed wrong. Too relaxed. Too casual. As if he were returning from a routine patrol rather than a hostile intelligence-gathering mission.

“Report,” Morek commanded, breath visible as he hugged his core under the grass.

“Successful extraction, Lieutenant. Two prisoners secured, cooperation achieved without casualties.” Grask’s voice carried an unusual note of satisfaction, but underneath lurked something Morek couldn’t quite identify. “Strange customs among the humans, sir. They volunteer for sacrifice to protect their companions. Makes negotiation…unusual.”

Leaders, volunteering to be taken?

“Halfway up, they looked like they’d do something, then…I can’t explain it.” He turned to look down the snowy hill at the figures tripping over the snow, climbing with difficulty, the larger one supporting the smaller. “There was this, flash—they glowed… In fact, you’re glowing, Lieutenant?”

Morek’s brow furrowed as he looked closer at his lower officer, seeing his pupils unnaturally even for the dark, almost taking up his entire eye. Reaching out, he clasped his offered hand, his skin unnaturally hot.

“Drink some water,” he muttered with concern, the dark flakes still falling around them. Scanning the lower ridge, he saw no one else. “Where are the other three warriors?”

“Ah, maintaining overwatch on the prisoner camp, as you ordered. They’ll return at dawn with additional intelligence.”

“I ordered?” Searching his memory, Morek’s vision narrowed, fingers sliding to the shortsword beneath his covering. “I never gave any order to remain behind at a lower altitude.”

Grask’s eyes opened wider, lips parting as if in a partial trance, then he blinked and shook his body as if fighting a cold. “Hmm? Oh, my mistake, Lieutenant. I…could have sworn I heard you signal to me to leave them behind. The chill must have gotten to me… Perhaps I am dehydrated,” he mumbled, taking out a wooden flask to do as ordered; his eyes were normal now.

Was I seeing things? I don’t like this… It almost feels like we’re being watched. But…from where on this slope?

“Hmm… Show me the prisoners.”

The sergeant led him toward the captured humans—two specimens who huddled together under guard, their pale skin almost glowing in the darkness. The larger one maintained a protective position around the smaller, another example of their social priorities.

“Names,” Morek demanded. “You understand ri’bot common?”

“Virgil,” the larger one responded after a moment’s hesitation; he sounded male. “This is Gloria. We…volunteered to come with you, in exchange for leaving the others alone. I would…suggest letting us go. Really… You should let us go before—mmm.”

“You serve the Death Empress? Some of her leaders?”

The female—Gloria—lifted her chin with a strained, shaky laugh that seemed genuine. “We serve Empress Elinor, yes. You really don’t want to do this. Please, let us go… She may skin your friend alive, and wear your flesh like a costume…to see how you react.”

The snow-muted silence pressed too hard against his ears. No crunch of skel’wing talons, no restless feather-rustle beneath grass.

He turned, throat sac tightening.

Gone… When?

The great birds were gone.

A dozen war-beasts, each with wingspans wide enough to carry up to five warriors, vanished without even a shadow—not a trail. Even the mounds they’d created in the perpetual White Veil were gone.

His hands tightened around the grass wrap of his shortsword beneath his natural cloak.

How could I not notice?

Ten minutes ago, when last I checked? Five?

“Grask,” he rasped. “The birds.”

The sergeant stiffened, then suddenly lunged, Grask’s dagger flashing as it sought his throat. Morek caught the strike with his short blade, sparks of frost scattering from the impact as it slid out from within his straw.

“What are you doing?!”

Grask’s eyes now bulged, throat sac pumping with ragged fury. “What are you?!” he roared. “You’re wearing his skin! What have you done to the lieutenant? You’re not real!”

Steel scraped as they locked, blades trembling. The other warriors froze—several now missing nearby—torn between obedience and terror.

“What?! You’ve lost your senses!” Morek shoved him back, snow spraying.

But his gaze snagged on the prisoners.

The humans were no longer trembling. They stared past him, toward a slim figure sitting cross-legged beside where Grask landed, now quivering as if stunned.

Not a ri’bot. A human.

Small, fragile, with strange, pale flesh, bright bluish-white fur that momentarily blurred into the background—perfect camouflage—and glossy teeth, bared in a way that felt too wide for her face—no tracks, nothing to indicate how she got there in the falling flakes.

He pointed his blade. “What did you do to my people—my Skel’wings?!”

The girl giggled, a sound like brittle glass, high-pitched and almost manic. “Where you’ll be soon! Well, where most of them are—the lucky ones, anyway! Gloria and Virgil tried to warn you. This has been so educational!”

Grask shrieked, lifted from the ground by nothing. His limbs bent wrong, dangling as if joints were loosened, his cry curdling into panic.

Morek staggered back, cold hammering his chest as the very ground beneath him began to wobble. It peeled back, displacing snow with what he now understood was silk; they were standing on her very fur—pure white thread, creating tunnels into the mountain that had swallowed his units.

“I only skinned two and wore their flesh,” the creature said brightly, her hair lifting in silk-like strands, moving on its own. “That’s all it took. Don’t you want to be human? That’s who they think you are.” Her head tilted strangely, eyes shining with unnatural delight. “Beneath that ri’bot husk…” 

She leaned forward, whispering like a lover sharing a secret. “Welcome to the fun.”

A sting pricked his neck—no attack indication, no warning.

The world spun. No pain. In fact…elation brought on a smile.

“You… What are you?”

His sword slipped from numb fingers as blackness rushed in.

“Hmm? Me? Oh, I suppose your kind calls me…the Creeping Shadow.”

The name rattled through him—nursery curses, war chants, the whispered terror every tadpole grew up with. Visions of the fabled horrors beneath the valley jungle sent horror rushing into his thumping heart—too fast, too uneven. 

Is it in the water? No, Venom… She’s injected me with venom!

“Fool you once. Fool you twice… Maybe even a third time! ” The last thing he saw was her grin—hungry, curious, innocent all at once. “Night-night! I hope you like the game I have planned for you. There is no time to die. We have so many games to play… You want to be human or ri’bot this round?”

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