them into the valley, and soon they marched through the camp. Gloriae looked around, nausea twisting her gut. Blood soaked the snow and the huts' walls. When a mimic cracked a whip and entered one hut, Gloriae glimpsed prisoners inside, thin and shivering, their backs lashed. Many prisoners were missing limbs, their stumps wrapped with bloody bandages.
Between the huts rose piles of body parts, sorted into arms, legs, torsos, and heads. The piles rose thirty feet tall. Mimics walked atop them, rummaging through them, like ants scurrying over hives. Gloriae saw one mimic lift a woman's arm, lick it, and toss it aside. She gagged and coughed, her head spinning.
What has he turned into? she thought. How could Dies Irae, an emperor once devoted to gold and light and beauty, sink to such evil? This was not the man she had known. True, the Dies Irae who'd raised her had hunted, killed, and brutalized his enemies. But he had done it for order, light, and justice. This... there was no light here. There was no glory or justice. You became worse than any enemy you've imagined.
Past the piles of bodies, Gloriae saw ditches where fires burned. The mimics were tossing body parts into the flames: limbs that were frail, torsos that were thin, heads with no teeth. They crackled in the fires. Gloriae understood. He collects what he needs. He burns the rest.
Finally Dies Irae stopped by a group of chained, whipped prisoners who stood barefoot in the snow. He raised his hand, and the mimics carrying Gloriae and Agnus Dei stopped too.
"Put them down," Dies Irae said.
The mimics tossed Gloriae and her sister onto the bloodied snow. They rolled, grunted, and shivered in the cold.
"What have we here?" Dies Irae asked, examining the prisoners. He caressed the hair of a chained toddler. "Why, this one is too small. He is useless to me. Burn him." He moved on to a woman with a bruised face. He squeezed her arms. "This one is strong. Take her limbs. Her teeth are crooked; burn her head." Next he frowned at an old man. "Burn this one, all of him."
He went from prisoner to prisoner, choosing parts to keep and parts to burn. Gloriae watched, her head spinning, the taste of vomit in her mouth. She struggled against the ropes binding her, but only chaffed her skin bloody. Beside her, Agnus Dei also struggled. She screamed into her gag, and her eyes were so wide, Gloriae could see white all around her irises.
I will kill you, Dies Irae, Gloriae swore again. This is not the empire I fought for. This is not the vision you taught me. I will break free and I will kill you.
When he had finished reviewing the prisoners, Dies Irae walked toward Gloriae and Agnus Dei. His boots, made from the golden scales of a young dragon, stood a finger's length from Gloriae's face.
"And now... these two."
His voice was soft, almost loving. He knelt and caressed Gloriae's cheek. She glared at him. His face was so different now. She remembered his face being strong, cold, and tanned gold. Now his face was gaunt, deeply lined, and ghostly white. A patch covered his left eye, and his right eye seemed paler too, a watery blue. He smiled at her, his lips like squirming worms, and touched her hair.
"This one... this one is strong. This one is steel. But she is treacherous, yes. A betrayer. Use what parts of her that you will, but leave me her head."
Next he knelt by Agnus Dei. She floundered in her bounds and her eyes shot daggers. Dies Irae leaned down and kissed her cheek, leaving a line of saliva on her skin.
"And this one... this one too is strong. Stupid, yes. Beastly and cursed, certainly. But strong. Use her body for your warriors, Warts and Bladehand. Leave me her head too. I will take their heads back with me to Confutatis."
Bladehand, the mimic who had carried Gloriae, nodded. "Yes, master. We will be building a new batch today, master. Their bodies will make good warriors." He knelt on all fours, leaned in, and licked Gloriae's cheek with a bloated tongue.
"Excellent," Dies Irae said. "Toss them in with the others for now." He smacked his lips. "Right now, it's time for breakfast."
Bladehand lifted Gloriae, and Warts lifted Agnus Dei. Grunting and licking their chops, the mimics carried the twins to a hut, opened the door, and tossed them in. The lock snapped shut behind them.
Gloriae