Pounding footsteps. The rustle of clothes. The harsh susurration of breath.

Sounds of a desperate race mingled with the stench of fear in the cloying air as dark shapes slipped through the hallways of the underground labyrinth. The harsh torchlight threw their shadows against the walls, revealing some forms that could have passed off as human... and others so different that they couldn't be mistaken for anything other than something else. First was the leader of the strange group, a youth with unnaturally blue, slit-pupiled eyes. On his back, he carried a creature so bent and malformed that it resembled a lump of rock more than anything remotely human. Behind the two came no fewer than thirty-two others, young and old alike. Their heads were bowed, and their feet dragged in the throes of utter exhaustion, but not a murmur of complaint escaped them as they forced themselves to run on.

The company had long lost track of the passage of time. It seemed an eternity since they had broken out of their cells; an eternity spent fleeing through a dream-like maze of blank white corridors. They ran until their limbs shook with fatigue and their breath came in short, sharp pants. Ran until the pounding of blood in their ears and the desperate drumbeat of their hearts drowned out all sounds of pursuit. Yet no one stopped. No one slowed. Not the slightest sign of hesitation showed in their faces; only the grim determination of runners who have sighted the finish line and, casting aside all weariness, brace themselves for one last effort.

And one last effort it was. For each member of the band knew with complete certainty that if they were caught, their enemy would not hesitate in punishing them. Their lives – the lives of those called “Spawn”, failed experiments with no other purpose than to serve as guinea pigs in their creators’ horrific experiments – were, after all, easily replaced. Failing this last, wild bid for freedom, they would be slaughtered to the last man as an example, a message from their creators to others like themselves: Obey and your lives will be spared. Disobey and we will show no mercy.

Though none of the company voiced it aloud, the threat of what would happen if they did not successfully pull off this act of disobedience hung over them all. In particular, it weighed heavily on the shoulders of #6765, the afore-mentioned leader of the ragtag band. The azure-eyed youth had been the original initiator of what was dubbed “the Great Escape”, and thus felt strongly responsible for the lives of the group. Three of those lives had already been lost, extinguished in the perilous attack that had distracted the humans enough for the group to break loose. Azure-Eyes knew that it would have been impossible to escape unscathed, and that three deaths were but a small price to pay in exchange for the freedom of the entire group, but the loss still gnawed at him terribly, and it was plain to his comrades that he still blamed himself for it.

“How much further?” the Spawn beside him – a petite young female with a long, black, squirrel-like tail – wheezed as they turned around yet another bend, and dashed up what he swore was the thousandth staircase they had encountered. #6778, he believed she was called, though he wasn’t too sure of the “names” of many of his comrades – the Spawn were rarely given chances to interact. So far, she had shown few signs of the exhaustion that gripped them all. Now, it appeared she was finally beginning to feel the strain. Either that, or she’d hidden how tired she was all along and only now was that façade cracking.

Azure-Eyes guessed it was the latter. He’d been doing the exact same thing.

For the escapees, the breakout was a grueling ordeal. He had known from the start what it was going to be like, but nothing could have prepared him and his company for the actual charge through the dungeons. Now, with the end still not in sight, spirits were low, and he knew that he could not let the others see how tired he was, lest they despair. It was lucky, he thought, that most of the Spawn were gifted with abnormal speed and strength as a result of the experiments that had created them. Had it not been for these special abilities, Azure-Eyes was certain their pursuers would have brought them down long ago. Even then, sprinting at full speed for a nearly half an hour had left them on the point of collapse. They would not last much longer.

Please, please, please let it end soon, he begged silently. Let it end before we are forced to stop.

They reached a fork in the path. “Which way?” Azure-Eyes panted, pausing to suck in a great lungful of air, and to push a rebellious lock of chocolate-brown hair out of his sweat-drenched face.

The creature he had been carrying on his back stirred.

“Left,” it croaked, in a voice that sounded like the squeaking hinges of a rusty gate, “Then take the second stair to the right. It should lead to the outside. We are nearly there.”

“Thanks, Vasir,” Azure-Eyes said between gasps, glad for the heartening news. Already, he could see the flames of hope, which had died to mere embers during the dishearteningly long chase, rekindle in the eyes of his companions. Vasir - the only one of them to have been named by their creators - blinked at him benignly, his eyes like spots of moss set in a rough old stone. The wizened old man was the only reason they had gotten as far as they had in their escape, for he alone had been part of the ill-fated group that had attempted to do the very same thing five years ago, only to be caught and massacred at the very brink of success. Vasir himself would have been killed had it not been for a special ability which made him very useful indeed to the enemy: he never forgot anything, not even the smallest detail. Ironically, it was this same ability that now made it possible for the group to retrace the path to the exit instead of meandering around and wasting precious energy.

Hope lending wings to their feet, the company raced on down the left fork, disdaining their aching limbs. A pair of guards standing in their way were overwhelmed and killed in an instant. Up the stairs they barreled, and, at long last, they saw the end of their journey, the result of all their effort. Not twenty yards ahead was the end of the tunnel, and sunlight – not the pitiful light of torches, but actual sunlight – was streaming onto the ground beyond, dyeing the emerald grass the colour of honey and throwing leaf-shaped shadows onto the ground so that the whole picture looked like a glittering mosaic of warm colours and shades. To the Spawn, who had never glimpsed the world outside before, it was undoubtedly the most beautiful thing they had ever seen. Spurred on by the sight, they quickened their pace even further.

And then, suddenly, they were no longer alone.

A person, or what appeared to be a person, stood at the mouth of the tunnel, barring their path. So swiftly and silently had he moved to block them from where he had been leaning against the wall that, to the startled eyes of the company, he seemed to have materialized out of the shadows themselves. The group stopped short in amazement, sizing up this new threat.

The youth – for he was indeed a youth, and one not more than nineteen years of age – returned their scrutiny with icy indifference, holding his place without the slightest trace of fear. Azure-Eyes thought the boy looked exactly like the long, silver blade he carried: cold, hard, beautiful and deadly. He was tall, perhaps just a hair below six feet in height, with a slender build. Long, straight, pewter-gray hair hung past his waist. It framed his face in wispy tendrils, falling over in a wave that partially obscured his right eye. Fair-skinned, dressed all in black – a leather trenchcoat over a loose shirt, linen pants, and high boots of supple leather – he looked like he had stepped straight from a monochrome painting. His eyes were the only bright colour of him; almond-shaped and exotically slanted, accented by almost effeminately long eyelashes, they were an eerie, metallic, golden-amber, and seemed almost to glow.

Those eyes were now doing a slow sweep over the tunnel and its occupants, their gaze intent but strangely emotionless, as if their owner was merely slowly and methodically considering what was before him, as one might study some strange plant or insect. Blue-Eyes shuddered as their flat stare passed over him, wondering why he could not shake off the sudden dread that crept into his mind.

“He’s one of us,” Squirrel-Tail whispered to him. “Those are not human eyes.”

Azure-Eyes gave a swift nod of acknowledgement. “We are of the same kind,” he called out, even as he realized that his heart did not believe her words – He’s one of us – “Why do you stand in our way? Let us escape the humans together.”

The stranger did not reply.

Sudden doubt surfaced in the Spawn's mind, and with that doubt came the first trickle of unease. This person had clearly been at the exit since before they arrived, and there were no guards to hinder him in any way if he chose to leave. If he had wanted to escape, he could have been out of here way before now!

Vasir’s hiss of fear confirmed his suspicions. “Thirteen. Thirteen. Not one of us,” the old man rasped, his voice cracking with terror. “Not one of us!”

Azure-Eyes felt his blood freeze.

Experiment Thirteen. It was a name well known to them all, and one synonymous with death. The last and youngest of the dozen and one successful creations. The one who had single-handedly carried out the brutal extermination of the members of the first rebellion. The humans’ greatest achievement. Their deadliest weapon.

“I have been instructed not to let you pass,” Thirteen said, his voice a chilling monotone. “Please turn back. You will be eliminated if you resist.”

Eliminated. Like they were mistakes to be corrected on a whim.

A hush fell over the group. Not twenty feet away was the freedom they had fought so hard for, yet facing them was their most dangerous enemy, one they could not hope to defeat. Already, their keen hearing could make out the distant footsteps of their pursuers. Time was running out: they had to make a decision, and they had to make it fast.

All eyes turned to the leader of the band. His fists were clenched by his sides, and reflected in his troubled eyes was the mental debate he was waging in his head. Move forward and die, retreat and face possible capture, with no hope of ever escaping again. Two impossible choices. For the very first time since the formation of the rebellion, Azure-Eyes seemed at a complete loss for words.

Seeing how no answer was going to be forthcoming from their leader, and maddened by the sight of freedom that was so close, yet so far, some of the other Spawn decided to take matters into their own hands. #6696, a massive creature with leathery skin, razor-sharp claws, and spikes protruding in a line all the way down his spine, leapt towards Thirteen with a roar.

“Traitorous slave of humans! We will never stoop to your level!” he snarled and attacked, talons outstretched, ready to rip his opponent to shreds.

“No! NO!” Vasir shrieked. But it was too late.

The golden-eyed killer moved like chained lightning. His arm lashed out, and to the horrified eyes of the group, the movement was so blindingly fast that it seemed that it flashed out of existence entirely, and then reappeared, relaxed by his side like it had been a moment ago; only it was dripping with blood.

And Thorn-Back was falling to the floor at his feet like a puppet with its strings cut, his fingers scrabbling futilely to stem the flow of his lifeblood from the gaping red hole where his throat had been. A horrible gurgling sound escaped him. His body convulsed, then stilled. He did not move again.

A hissing gasp rippled through the group. For a moment all they could see was the spreading pool of red at Thirteen’s feet, and the crimson liquid that was strangely incongruous against those elegant fingers, and the body of their companion who moments ago had been so strong, so vital, so alive.

Then, with a unified cry of outrage, they attacked.

To Azure-Eyes, the battle could have lasted for a heartbeat or for an eon. The world seemed to recede until the shouts and screams were mere echoes and there was only action and reaction and the flash, flash, flash of a silver blade and the crackle of magical fire and the arcs of blood spraying against the walls and floor. It seemed the company fought against a ghost, an elusive blur of silver and black, a phantom that spun out of their reach and then darted back in to strike with lethal accuracy, leaving death and destruction in its wake. And then the menace was upon him and he was fighting as he had never fought before. Thirteen was fast, faster than anything he’d ever encountered. It was all he could do to deflect each attack – whether it was the deadly silver blade or the equally deadly magic – and some he only barely managed to turn aside, so that he was soon bleeding freely from a multitude of small gashes. Then, suddenly, Squirrel-Tail was there beside him, and as Thirteen whirled to face this new opponent he slashed at him with all his remaining might, feeling his claws strike home.

For a second, just a split second, the Spawn began to hope. But then Thirteen straightened up, and Azure-Eyes saw that he was hardly even fazed, and with sudden finality understood that they were all going to die. White fire blazing from outstretched fingers, the gray-haired one made a gesture with his hand, and both he and Squirrel-Tail were thrown back by some unseen, crushing force to smash against the wall. Even as they brought their own magic into play, struggling to fight off the inexorable strength that was slowly crushing them, he knew it was no use. They were losing.

The command seemed to come from a great distance away.

“Stop, Thirteen.”

The horrendous pressure lifted. The world, which had begun to grow hazy, came back into focus. Slowly and painfully, Azure-Eyes and Squirrel-Tail struggled to their feet.

A short, portly human male wearing a white coat stood next to Thirteen, surveying the gory scene before him. It was a dismal sight. No more than eighteen of the group remained, and none of them were unscathed. Mutilated bodies of friends and comrades lay on the blood-slicked floor, and the stench of burnt flesh and opened bowels was sickening. The human, one of the hated summoners (the creators of the Spawn), wrinkled his bulbous nose in disgust, his expression a mixture of revulsion and satisfaction.

“I hope” he began in a reedy voice, addressing what remained of the company, “that you’ve learnt your lesson. Surrender now and you may be spared. Some of you, that is.” He chuckled, evidently very pleased with himself, before continuing. “Otherwise, I shall simply command Thirteen to kill you here. That would spare me the trouble of having to arrange punishments for you all.” Another cackle.

What a sadistic bastard, Azure-Eyes thought blearily.

“You must be feeling very proud of yourself,” he rasped at the human, simply too tired and angry to care if he lived or died. “This murderer did all your dirty work for you, and now you show up to take credit for what you didn’t do. How accomplished you must feel.”

The human’s face scrunched up like a dried prune in displeasure at this comment, but he quickly composed himself. “Ah, but all this is my doing, my stupid little friends,” he gloated. “Who do you think it was who sent Thirteen down here? I had to take charge of him when we received word of your escape, and mastering him is no mean feat.” He paused at their blank expressions. “I see you don’t understand what I mean,” he said. “Well, then, since we have lots of time, I will tell you.”

He turned to Thirteen, who had been standing by his side the whole while, silent as a statue. “Kill all who try to pass you,” he commanded, before addressing them again.

“He will do exactly as I say. Do you know why? Because he has no will. This collar here,” he explained eagerly, gesturing at Thirteen’s neck so that the rebels saw that he was indeed wearing a collar of sorts – a thick black band of leather engraved with magical runes and fastened with a silver buckle, on which was carved the numerals “XIII”, “allows us humans to enter his mind and control him with our words. But only a very few of us have the ability to do so, of course.” He puffed out his chest smugly. “I expect I shall be promoted to his Keeper permanently, for being able to do this.”

He petted Thirteen on the head as if the Spawn were a favourite bloodhound. Azure-Eyes shuddered in disgust at the gesture, feeling an unexpected wave of pity for Thirteen, who, he realized with a start, was as much a prisoner as they had been.

“And I suppose you think forcing a sentient being to do whatever you fancy is reason enough to feel accomplished?” Squirrel-Tail challenged. “You disgust me, you goddamn piece of lard.”

My sentiments exactly, Azure-Eyes thought.

“Bark all you like, freaks,” the summoner snarled, turning a rather interesting shade of puce in his irritation. “You’re still at a dead end. Turn around and go back the way you came if you want to leave.”

“No,” Azure-Eyes shot back defiantly. Behind him, the rest of the rebels drew themselves up a little straighter, determined to go down fighting.

“What?” the human exclaimed, clearly finding it hard to believe that the group, sorely outmatched as they were, were prepared to stand their ground.

“I said no,” he repeated, then, struck by sudden inspiration, added, “We know you don’t give a damn what happens to us or to Thirteen, but you sure as hell care what happens to you. Thirteen can definitely kill all of us, but tell me, can he fight us off and protect you at the same time? Are you willing to risk it?” As he spoke, he and the rest began to move forward, slowly but deliberately.

The human gulped. It appeared that, yes, he did care what happened to him.

“I warn you,” he cried shrilly, “you will all die if you attack. You’ll die. Do you hear me?”

“We hear you,” Squirrel-Tail answered. The group kept on moving.

The summoner took a step back.

Azure-Eyes knew what was going to happen before it actually did. He saw the summoner’s look of mild confusion as the whole group halted in unison, and every eye fixed expectantly on him. He saw Thirteen turn as if considering the man, those eerie eyes strangely intent. He saw the human’s look of confusion turn to horror as realization dawned upon him. He was standing behind Thirteen.

Kill all who try to pass you.

He never even got the chance to scream.

“Quick!” Azure-Eyes yelled as the summoner’s corpse slumped to the ground. “The side of the tunnel!”

The rebels needed no further prompting. Those few who could use magic immediately converged beams of energy upon the stone wall, while the rest bodily hurled themselves at it, battering at it with sheer strength alone. Under the combined force of their blows, the side of the tunnel began to crumble and cave, rays of sunshine streaming in through the cracks. Azure-Eyes could have laughed aloud for relief. He knew now that they could escape completely unhindered. Thirteen would not stop them; he would only do exactly what he was commanded to – kill any who tried to get past him and out through the tunnel’s mouth. With shouts of joy the rebels poured over the collapsed section of the wall, streaming into the forest they had almost died to see, some of them weeping with happiness. Last to go were Azure-Eyes and Squirrel-Tail. As they followed their companions, they chanced a glance back at the motionless figure of Thirteen. He was indeed standing in the exact same position, looking down at the body of the summoner he had killed, and though his face was as emotionless as ever, they thought they saw something flash, so swiftly they wondered if it had only been their imagination, in his eyes.

Something like triumph.