Chapter 10

The Castration Regiment

Excerpted from decrypted ONYXBONE military files (Unit 44-FEMUR)

The regiment marched without hips. Their lust had been repurposed.

Originally volunteers from the Fertility Collapse Campaigns, they were selected for surgical refinement. Their pelvises were removed and replaced with reinforced pelvic glyph plates. These weren’t scars. These were crests.

“Eros is inefficiency,” declared Colonel Gynic. “We carry no heirs. We carry trajectory.”

Before deployment, each soldier was ritual-cleansed in powdered sacrum. The final command? “Forget your friction.” The youngest wept until their ilium dissolved.

The Regiment operated best in silence. They moved through rib-choked cities without tremble. They did not rape. They unhooked. They did not torture. They fractured.

They were dissolved not by violence, but reunion. One soldier — name redacted — remembered kissing. Just remembered. And it spread like marrowmould. Within weeks, their glyph plates curled, their gait faltered, and they began dreaming of warmth.

Command detonated the barracks. The glyphs remained — now stored in pelvic tattoos, used only in rare surgical empathy procedures.

Moral:

Desire cannot be removed. Only redirected.
The body forgets nothing, especially what it’s lost.
Every regiment has a final moan, even if it’s silent.