Cover source

Warning: Scenes of violence and mayhem are included in this story. Reader Discretion is advised!

This story continues from Clockwork City - Steam Brutes Part 1.

Clockwork City

The City is outside of time. The City of brass and steam, of steel and glass. Most of the inhabitants of the city toiled their whole lives, ignorant of the secrets only the scholars theorized and only the scribes recorded in the vast and dark Citadel.

The events that now began to unfold throughout the city would shape it for all the eons to come.

Steam Brutes Part 2

The Feathstone Guild was one of the mightiest collections of craftsmen and warriors in the Under City. The Guilds supplied the Gear Lords of the Upper City with workers, produced goods and technology. In order to do so the Guilds had to compete with each other.

It was not simply a question of price and craftsmanship, the Guild Masters kept a balance between them. If one Guild wanted to undercut everyone else then they would soon have too many enemies and the streets would run red with their blood.

A Guild's place was forged by the skill of its craftsmen and tempered in the blood of its champions.

The Featherstone Hall was empty as Max pushed one of the doors open. On the far end of the Hall was a throne. Festooned in copper and brass pipes, the throne was fed steam from the level below the Hall. There were tanks and gauges on the back of the throne. The Boss had never allowed him to take a closer look and Max knew that the old man knew that Max would figure out its secrets.

The old man was imposing. Sitting wide-legged on the throne the man leaned forward as Max approached. The Boss' sheer size and weight made the brass embossed armor pieces he wore squeak as he moved.

There were a pair of servants next to the throne, neither of them stood higher than the Guild Master's shoulders as he sat on his Throne.

"Maximus." The Boss' deep voice rumbled before the man let off a puff of steam from his mouth.

Maximus gave a slight nod of his head and the briefest bow. "You sent for me Guild Master."

The giant man's white mustache bristled in irritation at Max's irreverence. Yet the Guild Master liked Max, he was perhaps someone worthy as a challenger for the seat of Featherstone one day.

"Wrayburn youngsters have been spotted inflicting property damage on Vernier Street, hurting some of the Guild worksmen who are on their way to work." The Guild Master growled, his hatred for the word Wrayburn obvious. Max shared his master's hatred.

"We need to send a message to Darius Cane that he will not forget." The Guild Master said. "Use any force necessary to drive these troublemakers out of our Streets."

This perked Max's interest, he smiled and bowed again.

"I will be coming with you." A voice said from the shadows and steam.

Maxwell spat on the floor of the Hall. "I thought I smelt shit in here."

Another giant of a man, the speaker stepped into the light his muscles bulged and shone like polished brandy bottle glass, a deep brown. The man wore work pants and steel cap shoes, but that was the only thing that made him look like someone who did actual work. he wore a black leather jacket that was too small to cover him over his bare chest.

The big man laughed. "Oh come now! Are you still angry at me for breaking those ribs of yours?"

"Not at all Yavin." Max replied and smiled, tapping the rights side of his chest. There was a clang of metal on metal. "You made it easier for me to remove them. The flesh is weak."

"You two are going to work together on this assignment." The Guild Master growled, silencing them both.

"Yes Guild Master!" Max said and bowed.
"Yeah Boss." Yavin said, grinning. "You don't need to worry. I will bring Maxwell home!"

The two of them set off for the front door in silence. No more words needed to be spoken between them. They were not friends. They were Guildmates.

Maxwell did not hate Yavin. He had fought the man many times in the practice ring. Even then it was often a bloody outcome with broken skin and sometimes broken bones.

Their target was Wrayburn.

The lab was cold. It needed to be cold for the procedure to succeed.

Dr. Fumien Nyte's hands did not shake as he cut through the human flesh, despite the muffled screams of the subject strapped to the table with the heavy leather bindings.

It was a trait that made him a very good surgeon. Yet he was not a surgeon. He was an artist.

The truth was that he was not good at using the blade through human flesh because he had a sense of calm focus or compassionate spirit. Instead, he had exactly the opposite.

To Dr. Nyte the flesh beneath his blade was less than meat. It was sand and clay, ready to be sculpted and edited as he saw fit.

In this world of machines driven by gears and steam, he would create his own machine, one of muscle and bone!

There was a growl at the back of the lab and the clinking of chains. The Doctor knew what this meant. His best creations thus far - it was hungry.

Quickly slicing off a piece of bloody meat from the subject he threw it into the shadows. There was a flurry of movements and the piece of flesh was caught in the air and devoured. The sounds that the thing made as it shredded the man-flesh would have chilled lesser men to the bone.

But Dr. Nyte was no lesser man. This was his art and the beast was his first masterpiece.

"Soon the world shall know my art!" The Doctor cackled, his grotesque face twisted in glee.

In a dark alleyway in No-man's land of the Under City there was a flash of light and lightning traced through the air. It made a humming noise that dissapeared as soon as it had begun.

A drunken man had been stumbling through the streets. He was barely aware of the flash of light. He stumbled closer to the source of the illumination but it was gone and in its place the alley was dark again.

Fumbling through the darkness, suddenly afraid, the drunk staggered back into the light of the gas lamps that illuminated the cobbled sidewalk.

The Dustoff

Until next time. Cheers!
@zakludick