《Apocalyptic Trifecta》


 Chapter 1: Born in the Dark

    We¡¯re gonna starve to death. Sam turned the thin plastic cup of tasteless yogurt over in his hand. The flavor had run out eight generations ago. One day the machine that made the yogurt would break down and they would be one step closer to finding out which of the three of them tasted the best. As it was, their diet was heavily milk-based since the meat fabricator died.


    Sam pondered what they would do when the milk machine went tits up. The implant prevented them from damaging or tampering with the Facility while they were inside the living area, so they couldn¡¯t even try to fix the machines. Sam could easily see them starving to death over and over again.


    He rested his arms on the solid steel table, the pale light of the ceiling bouncing back into his eyes as he used a sharpened steel pin from a destroyed pistol to etch the mirror-like surface. Apparently doodling on the walls and tables didn¡¯t count as tampering with the facility, but any time they tried prying away the protective covering over the fabricators, they were rendered immobile. Perhaps the machine could read intent.


    In the distance, Sam could hear Tom and Ann playing pool, laughing between the clack of balls striking each other. Sam wasn¡¯t sure why they played anymore. Usually whoever went first won. Sam looked down at the etching, a Technician he¡¯d found attractive looking back at him, every detail captured in the steel.


    The woman had simply failed to show up one day, along with everyone else at the facility, but the lights stayed on, the fabricators kept putting out food, and most importantly, the clocks kept running.


    Five hundred years.


    The clock had gone dead two generations ago and the implant had stopped them from fixing it, but that¡¯s how long he estimated since the technicians had sealed them in. Now the only things that still seemed to work the way they were supposed to were mission-critical: the Baths, the weapons, and the sims.


    Sixteen generations listening to Tom and Ann fucking in the other room made Sam wonder whether the technicians just wanted to torment him. What kind of sadistic fuck arranged him to be celibate for five hundred years? It wouldn¡¯t be a problem if he didn¡¯t know what it was, but the other two had boned in every corner of the facility, with or without him present. It looked like fun.


    Sam set his pin down with a sigh and stood. He¡¯d already completed his PT for the day, so all that was left was to get some rest and wait for the next sim, maybe draw on his bunk or masturbate. Sam scooped up the yogurt and headed for the bunks, stepping into the flickering light of the hallway.


    On his way to the beds, motion caught Sam¡¯s eye from the Rec Room. Ann straddled Tom atop the pool table, rocking the heavy wooden furniture back and forth, their long limbs spilled awkwardly off the edge of the green felted surface, applying nearly five hundred pounds of weight between the two of them. The two gave him a sheepish glance as he stopped and stared.


    ¡°Do you want in on this?¡± Ann asked for the one thousand three hundred and eighty-fourth time. Tom gave a thumbs-up for the six hundred and thirteenth time. Realizing that, Sam almost didn¡¯t bother to respond, because he¡¯d given the same response in the same way four hundred and fifteen times. However, it was his duty as their superior officer to enforce the rules.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got one rule for the rec room,¡± Sam said for the four hundred and sixteenth time. ¡°No sex on the pool table. When your heavy asses break it, we¡¯re not gonna be able to fix the damn thing.¡±


    The two of them clambered off the pool table, fixing their clothes as they went,


    ¡°Yes sir, Captain sir,¡± Tom said with an easy grin. ¡°You sure you don¡¯t wanna pass the time with us?¡±


    That sounds amazing. ¡°As your superior officer, it¡¯s against the law for me to have sex with soldiers under my direct command.¡± Sam turned away, knowing they would wait for him to leave, finish on the floor and grab a shower before joining him in the bunks.


    Instead, Ann caught his shoulder. ¡°Sam, are we even under your command anymore? Who enforces that? We haven¡¯t seen anybody in five hundred years. Tom¡¯s pretty sure technicians don¡¯t live that long.¡±


    ¡°Pretty sure,¡± Tom said, hooking his thumbs in his belt loop. ¡°You saw Professor Simon¡¯s hair start graying in just five years, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    Sam did see that. ¡°I did, but there¡¯s nothing to say that we aren¡¯t still under the jurisdiction of the U.S. military, and until I see something that convinces me otherwise, we¡¯re going to act as such.¡±


    ¡°Even if it makes you a nervous wreck?¡± Tom asked.


    ¡°Those are the rules.¡± Sam said, leaving them in the rec room.


    Afterwards, he and Ann cleaned the facility while Tom did his PT, then Sam spent four hours lifting the heavy steel weights in the tiny room while Tom and Ann enjoyed each other¡¯s company. When he was done, Sam grabbed a chunk of Tom¡¯s cheese, a yogurt cup, and a baked potato from the fabricator. He walked to the Rec room and knocked on the door frame.


    ¡°We¡¯re decent.¡± Tom called.


    ¡°That you know of.¡± Ann said.


    ¡°Much appreciated,¡± Sam said, flavoring the potato with the homemade cheese, using his knife to cut the hot starchy lump in half and make a sandwich out of it. He hadn¡¯t had a real sandwich since the bread fabricator had failed.


    ¡°What¡¯ve we got here?¡± Sam asked as he walked in, finding them unusually focused on their pool game. In the background, the jukebox was spilling out a thumpy song from the early two thousands.


    ¡°Tom bet he could beat me, best fifty one out of one hundred and one games.¡± Ann said, lining up her shot. With a swift, efficient motion, she put the seven in the pocket, the que ball miraculously backing up to rest directly in front of the eight ball. In the next breath, she¡¯d finished the game and they¡¯d begun racking for the next.


    ¡°Oh yeah?¡± Sam said around a mouthful of cheesy potato. ¡°Who goes first on the last game?¡± Tom wordlessly handed Sam an aged quarter a technician had used to settle disagreements. ¡°What¡¯s the score?¡±


    ¡°Fifty to fifty.¡± Ann said.


    Sam raised a brow. ¡°You realize whoever wins the toss wins the game, right?¡±


    ¡°Just do it.¡±


    ¡°All right, turn around.¡± Sam said, taking the coin with his left hand and flicking it into the air with his thumb. Halfway into the air, Ann and Tom shouted.


    ¡°Tails!¡±


    The coin landed in Sam¡¯s hand, showing some kind of weird animal. He was still unsure why the technician had called it tails. Maybe that was what the animal was called. In any case, they had both called it right, probably guessing from the sound along with the last known position on Sam¡¯s thumb.


    ¡°Ann was a few fractions of a second faster,¡± Sam said, reviewing the flip with his implant.


    ¡°Yesss!¡± Ann shouted, pumping her fist in the air.


    ¡°Crap.¡± Tom said, his face becoming pale.


    ¡°What were the stakes anyway?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s between me and my bitch for the next few weeks.¡± Ann said with a grin, breaking the rack and lining up her next shot. Three balls went into the pockets in a matter of seconds, and Tom was looking more and more distraught.


    In a moment, Ann was lining up her shot on the eight ball with relish, giving Tom a mischievous smile that promised equal measures pain and pleasure. A bead of sweat rolled down Tom¡¯s temple as his knuckles whitened on the pool cue, unable to even take a turn.


    The lights turned red and a siren blasted through the tense silence, sending Ann¡¯s shot wide.


    ¡°Oh, thank god.¡± Tom sank to his knees in relief as Sam shoveled the tasteless goop into his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing before tossing aside the cup. Game abandoned, Tom and Ann strapped themselves into body armor. Sam followed suit, throwing his armor on in a matter of seconds.


    ¡°Tom, take a picture,¡± Sam called to Tom, who snatched up his submachine gun and leveled it at the pool table, initiating the recording device with his thumb.


    ¡°But Sam!¡± Ann cried, horrified.


    ¡°Don¡¯t want you cheating,¡± Sam said, shrugging the stiffness out of his body armor before he picked up his shotgun. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s not like you weren¡¯t going to enjoy either outcome.¡±


    Sam flashed her a grin. ¡°Besides, Tom might miss.¡±


    ¡°Outcome aside, winning is winning.¡± Ann said, hefting her twenty-five pound rifle with ease.


    The three of them ran out of the rec room and barreled past the kitchen, where Tom¡¯s cheese sat on the countertop, bathed in the pale light of the glowing ceiling.


    ¡°Line up,¡± Sam commanded, standing in front of the mission port. He reviewed Tom and Ann¡¯s equipment, then had Ann check his. ¡°You know the drill, we enter quiet, figure out which sim we¡¯re dealing with, and then plan accordingly. Only use your grenades in the event of a Z sim or if the computer throws us a curveball.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s get this done, sir. I¡¯ve got a hot date tonight,¡± Tom said with a grin.


    ¡°Not if you miss,¡± Ann crooned into Tom¡¯s ear.


    ¡°Cut that shit out,¡± Sam said, glowering at the two. ¡°Until this is over, you two keep it professional. I hope I don¡¯t have to remind you of why we¡¯re on our current generation?¡±


    ¡°No sir,¡± Tom and Ann said, straightening their shoulders.


    It had been a day like this, with Tom and Ann getting caught up in each other, when the computer decided to throw one of its infamous ¡®curveballs¡¯, unleashing a horde of zombies on a mission they¡¯d expected to be an easy sweep. Tom and Ann had gone to each other¡¯s aide and unknowingly left Sam in the cold.


    Sam had gone down first, torn to shreds by the blunt teeth of the ravenous undead, and without his extra gun, Tom and Ann had been eaten alive shortly after. It was one of their most humiliating deaths.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°Keep that in mind,¡± Sam said, glancing up at the defunct mission briefing board, now just a gray reflective surface. He took a deep breath, and punched the red button to open the gate to the training area. It was one of Sam¡¯s greatest fears that one day the heavy iron plate would refuse to move, leaving them to starve endlessly to the sound of a blaring siren. The food processors stopped giving out food until the sim had been completed.


    The heavy iron plate rolled aside, revealing bright, untarnished metal where it was inset into the wall. Had the door been that bright at some point? Sam could hardly believe it. Silently, Sam motioned for his team to follow, and the three crept into the darkness of the domed testing chamber.


    Looking around the urban environment encapsulated in a massive dome, Sam signaled ¡®C¡¯ back to his team, identifying the location they found themselves in. The sims used an alphanumeric combination to denote the testing area, and the situation they were simulating. There were twenty-six different environments with one hundred variations for each of them, meaning a total of 2600 different scenarios. They knew them all by heart.


    Sam glanced back at the portal leading to the living quarters, and saw the steel plate embedded in a blue and tan building labelled ¡®Police¡¯. Some urban scenarios had them emerging from black S.W.A.T trucks, which usually meant a surgical strike.


    Coming straight from the police building was never a good sign, as many of those scenarios involved large numbers, such as riots or zombie hordes. Sam got low to the ground and crept forward with Tom, while Ann climbed one of the nearby building¡¯s drainpipes before ducking into an open window.


    Sam waited with his hand on Tom¡¯s shoulder, watching the window while Tom covered the street. When Ann¡¯s head reappeared and she gave them a thumbs-up, he squeezed Tom¡¯s shoulder, setting them on their way down the road.


    Sam caught Tom¡¯s eye and gave him hand signals. ¡®Search for objective until reaching Ann¡¯s effective range, then rejoin.¡¯


    Tom nodded, and they separated, creeping down the street, checking the buildings one at a time while being mindful to stay in Ann¡¯s line of sight. After sixteen generations, they could recognize the subtle signs the computer had placed a hostile in a building without even entering.


    Sam came to the end of the row of buildings, and turned to Tom, giving him the clear sign. Tom fired back with ¡®hostile around corner behind Sam¡¯.


    Sam dropped low and peeked around the last building. Indeed, there was a horde, standing silently, clumped together about thirty yards down the street. Sam motioned for Tom to stack up with him, and for Ann to take a better position.


    The two of them waited for Ann to climb through the guts of the faux-furnished buildings, until he spotted her giving a thumbs-up from a window overlooking the Horde.


    Zombies weren¡¯t particularly smart, and as long as Sam and his team didn¡¯t walk out onto the street and wave their arms, their targets would have no idea where the bullets were coming from. Zombies were much more of a problem when the sim distributed them randomly, or deployed a ¡®rabbit¡¯ to work them into a frenzy.


    Sam glanced back at Tom, nodded, and pulled a grenade from his belt. It wasn¡¯t a Z scenario, but there couldn¡¯t have been a more perfect situation than this, and so Sam pulled the pin, keeping his thumb tight around the spoon. He sized up the distance, and threw the grenade before tucking his body behind the wall.


    There were a few rising wails as the grenade skittered across the pavement, and a handful of seconds later, a percussive thud slammed through Sam¡¯s chest. Shrapnel flew, and chips of concrete scattered from the opposite wall.


    Sam counted another two seconds, then peeked around the corner. Most of the mindless undead lay still, a few of them giving gut-wrenching shrieks as they flopped about. Two were still standing, eyes rolling in their heads as they searched for the cause of their predicament. Uninterested in giving them a target for their ire, Sam gave the signal to Ann, and with two blasts from her rifle, the last two lay among their writhing brethren.


    ¡°It¡¯s about time we got an easy one,¡± Tom said, his shoulders relaxing.


    ¡°Let¡¯s not assume anything yet,¡± Sam said, hoisting his shotgun. ¡°The computer could still throw us a curveball.¡±


    Tom didn¡¯t say anything, but his face soured, and he held his gun tighter. Sam still remembered his first orientation with perfect clarity, the men in the white coats who removed him from the nutrient bath and told him his name. All the information Sam had in his head, sports knowledge and lingo, idioms designed to make him more ¡®relatable¡¯, as they put it, was no good without some real-life interaction first.


    They were designed to interact with humans on some level, as the team would have to coordinate with police units on-site. The technicians had given him a basic education, taught him lingo, and warned him that the computer was designed to throw the unexpected at them occasionally.


    A ¡®curveball¡¯, they had called it. Balls were already be curved, why call it a curve-ball? They had learned to fear them, though, as every generation seemed to end in bloody, screaming pain because of these men and women in white¡¯s ¡®curve-balls¡¯.


    Then the technicians had disappeared. No explanation, no warning, just thousands and thousands of training sessions, with the chips in their skulls constantly recording the neural pathways in their brains so that a new generation could be grown without the slightest drop in combat effectiveness.


    Sam and Tom turned the corner, their gazes scanning left and right as they walked toward the writhing pile of flesh. Ann watched their backs from her high vantage point, ready to knock a zombie down if one lunged up at them.


    Sam kept a lookout while Tom strode from corpse to corpse, diligently putting a bullet in each zombie¡¯s head, moving or not. The zombies had been tagged by the computer, and the door wouldn¡¯t open to let them out until each and every one was fully dead.


    ¡°It¡¯s times like this I wonder,¡± Tom said for the three hundred and thirty-fourth time, punctuating his phrase with a bullet in a writhing corpse. ¡°Where do they get all these zombies, logistically? I mean, they ran out of cheese, and flavoring for the food, and coloring. The only things that still seem to come just fine are these fucking things, guns, and bullets.¡± Tom shot a still corpse in the head. ¡°I get the feeling that the bullets will run out before these guys do.¡±


    Sam shrugged. ¡°They probably grow them on-site, like us,¡± he said, eyes scanning the street for movement.


    ¡°So, they grow a perfectly normal human, and then turn it?¡± Tom said, frowning. He kept his lips tightly sealed with every shot, unwilling to allow back-spray into his mouth. ¡°That seems¡­ wrong somehow.¡±


    Sam grunted his agreement, and Tom executed another zombie. As the echoing gunshot faded, a cracking sound tore through the enormous dome. The pavement slanted under Sam¡¯s feet.


    ¡°Wha--¡± Tom¡¯s voice was cut off by an exclamation of surprise as the ground fell out from under him.


    Off balance as he was, Sam was only able to throw out his left arm. He caught Tom¡¯s hand and his weight slammed Sam to the ground. Tom¡¯s weight tore at the tendons in Sam¡¯s arm, twisting them out of shape as Tom hung over the empty expanse. Sam dropped his shotgun and braced his right hand, letting out a cry of effort as he pulled, the muscles all the way down his back crying out in pain at the awkward angle.


    Finally, after what seemed like minutes, Tom¡¯s fingers found purchase on the edge of the hole. He hauled himself to the surface and the two of them rolled away from the hole in the ground.


    ¡°What the fuck was that?¡± Ann shouted from high above them.


    Tom glanced at Sam, whose eyes were locked on the four foot wide hole in the center of the training area, then back to Ann. ¡°Curveball, maybe?¡± he called up to her with a shrug.


    The street lamps turned red and a chilling voice began to emanate from the entire facility. ¡°Security breach, a lockdown is temporarily in effect.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a curveball,¡± Sam said, shaking his head and carefully retrieving his shotgun which lay near the hole. Sam stepped away and turned to signal Ann to keep her eye on the gaping chasm in the concrete while Tom and Sam checked out the alarm system to see if there was a way to turn it off.


    A flash of light from Ann¡¯s window dazzled Sam¡¯s eyes and a gunshot rang through the dome, whizzing inches by them and nearly drowning out Ann¡¯s scream. ¡°Run towards me, now!¡± Her voice pierced through the alarm just before another shot rang out. Sam glanced behind him and saw motion through the blue afterimage of Ann¡¯s muzzle flare, then turned and broke into a sprint, following Tom into the doorway beneath Ann¡¯s perch.


    A half dozen more shots rang out, and Tom held the door, slamming it closed once Sam barreled into the room. The two of them grabbed the fake refrigerator with practiced efficiency and slammed it down in front of the door.


    ¡°What was it?¡± Sam asked, blinking the afterimage out of his eyes.


    ¡°Some kinda bug,¡± Tom said, his face pale. ¡°About eight feet long.¡±


    ¡°Bug?¡± Sam asked. Sam glanced up the stairs, where he heard more shots being fired.


    ¡°Hold the door.¡±Sam threw himself up the stairs and came to stand beside Ann.


    Sprawled out below him were the corpses of a half dozen giant insects, with more pouring out of the hole and spreading out across the pavement.


    Sam wordlessly tapped Ann on the shoulder, and she stopped firing. In the ensuing silence, Sam and Ann watched silently as the enormous red ants began picking up the bodies of the zombies and pulling them into the hole.


    ¡°We need to get the hell out of here, sir,¡± Ann whispered, her face ashen.


    Sam didn¡¯t know if she meant their current situation or the facility that had been their home for sixteen generations. In either case, the answer was ¡®Yes.¡¯


    ¡°Barricade the window,¡± Sam said, and they slid a filing cabinet in front of it as quietly as they could, leaving just a sliver of window open for them to watch the ants below.


    ¡°What¡¯s the deal?¡± Tom whispered when they came down the stairs.


    ¡°Ants,¡± Sam said, leaning against the wall of the apartment building, his eyes scanning the house for things they could use. ¡°Really big ants.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the plan, then?¡± Ann asked, sitting beside Tom, who settled on his haunches, placing a hand affectionately on her shoulder.


    ¡°The plan is,¡± Sam said, his gaze settling on the wooden furniture. ¡°We¡¯re making a smoke screen, and we are leaving.¡±


    ¡°Back to the living quarters?¡± Tom asked.


    Sam shook his head. ¡°We¡¯re leaving the facility.¡±


    Ann and Tom stared at Sam wide-eyed. ¡°What?¡± Ann said. ¡°How are we gonna do that? There¡¯s no exit, and the implant--¡±


    ¡°The behavioral restraints are passive outside the living quarters,¡± Sam said, his eyes turning to the barricaded door. ¡°And the exit is right in front of us.¡±


    ¡°No fucking way,¡± Tom said, glancing toward the door ¡°It¡¯ll never work.¡±


    ¡°Do you wanna wait?¡± Sam asked, his gaze locking onto Tom¡¯s. ¡°You wanna wait until some critical system fails and we get trapped inside the living quarters and starve to death forever? You wanna to wait until the ants make holes in the living quarters? Or better yet, the baths? Do you wanna wake up just to be cut into pieces by giant mandibles over and over, forever?¡±


    Tom¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°Can we kill them?¡± he asked, leaning forward. ¡°All of them?¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Sam said. ¡°But then what? Go back to waiting around to get killed again by a sadistic computer? We haven¡¯t seen the technicians in thousands of runs, and this represents our one chance to do what we were meant to do.¡±


    ¡°Kill zombies and training robots?¡± Ann asked with a raised brow.


    ¡°Save lives,¡± Sam said.


    Tom sighed, his gaze wandering toward the door. ¡°Well, when you put it in terms of escape, or die horribly forever, it really clears things up. I¡¯m in.¡±


    ¡°How about you, Ann?¡± Sam said, shifting his gaze to her.


    Ann put her hand on Tom¡¯s knee. ¡°I¡¯m going wherever Tom does, or he¡¯s going wherever I do,¡± she said firmly. ¡°It sounds like we¡¯re gonna finally get to kill something other than zombies, which is a plus.¡±


    Sam chuckled. ¡°Alright,¡± he said, rubbing his hands together. ¡°We need to make some preparations.¡±


    The dome was covered in a thin layer of smoke. A repurposed air vent collected the smoke and forced it into the hole in the floor, pumping smoke into the ant¡¯s tunnels and smoking them out. It had taken days to break back into the living quarters, widening holes made with Anne¡¯s rifle. They had nearly died of thirst, with the constant, droning voice of the alarm reminding them of the lockdown every moment of every day as they dodged the ants.


    After they had gotten back inside, one of them stayed in the testing ground to prevent the test from resetting while the others gathered food and supplies. Sam had taken the first watch, his body aching with the need to drink but comforted by the pale blue glow of the living quarter lights shining through the shattered concrete wall.


    Ann returned with a bottle of water, and Sam drank greedily before handing it back. After getting food, they stocked up on ammo, and staged the backpacks just outside the reach of the ants bustling about the street.


    Finally, they climbed up to the top of the dome and secured a pipe to one of the vents pumping air into the dome before lighting a bonfire of soaked wood furniture and plastics under an improvised intake.


    ¡°Ready?¡± Sam asked hours later as they assembled around the hole in the floor, shining the light attached to his shotgun down into the cavernous opening in the pavement.


    ¡°Yep,¡± Tom said, taking a deep breath.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ann said, fixing a wet rag over her mouth.


    ¡°We go as fast as possible without losing sight of each other,¡± Sam said. ¡°If you lose the group, stay there and make some noise.¡± Sam rapped the butt of his flashlight against the steel of his gun, creating a distinct clang.


    Tom did the same, and Ann followed suit, each of them confirming the sound the other two would make.


    ¡°Tom, watch the rear,¡± Sam said. ¡°Mark dead ends with the red,¡± Sam said, handing phosphorescent red spray paint to Ann. ¡°The chances of getting into a firefight are high, so don¡¯t be stingy with the paint. I want to be able to see at a glance where we¡¯ve been already.¡± Here we go, Sam thought.


    Sam turned back to the hole, found the bottom with his flashlight, and jumped in. The tunnel was filled with a smoky haze that stung Sam¡¯s lungs even through the wet rag. As Tom and Ann jumped in, Sam began to creep forward, his shotgun trained in front of him.

 Chapter 2: Elves with Guns

    A cold wind buffeted Faera¡¯s perch, playing with the tufts of her rabbit skin hat. Her watchtower was cleverly disguised as an eagle¡¯s nest overlooking East Mountain. Only two hours till shift change, she thought, looking out over the mountains and forest and the road leading to the elven base.


    Faera¡¯s cheek rested against the cold steel of her rifle as she scanned for signs of a human attack. If the illiterate, stick-wielding barbarians tried to approach the mountain, she was looking forward to sending them hooting back to their caves.


    A flicker of movement caught Faera¡¯s gaze, and she shifted her scope, tracking it. ¡°Is that¡­¡± Faera¡¯s eyes widened as she recognized the object. She scanned to the left and right through the forest and spotted more movement, more ominous objects.


    Faera leaned to one side and frantically fished out her brick of a radio. She pulled the antenna out and the radio hissed as she clicked it on. ¡°Base, this is the watchtower, we¡¯ve got artil--¡±


    Faera¡¯s words were interrupted by a flash from the distant edge of the forest, followed by dozens more.  ¡°Artillery incoming!¡±


    The comms officer responded in an incredulous voice. ¡°Artillery? Are you fucking with-¡± His voice cut off as explosions rocked the base, blowing apart the fortifications like so many stacked matchsticks.


    A rolling thunder washed over Faera as the report of the first barrage reached her. Dozens of flashes of light and smoke came again from the far side of the forest, and she braced herself as the explosions rocked the ancient tree she sat in.


    The base was complete pandemonium. Elf corpses lay strewn across the inner yard, and screaming reached her ears even from this distance.


    Faera looked through her scope at the artillery again, looking for a bit of skin beyond the dense forest. She let her body relax despite the chaos around her, aiming at a sliver of skin visible between tree trunks. She pulled the trigger, spotting a burst of red.


    One less hand manning the heavy steel guns meant one less explosion rocking through her home. She panned her rifle to the next piece of artillery somewhat visible through the trees, lining up a shot on a head that seemed to bob in and out of sight as it worked a winch. She timed the shot, pulling the triger a half-second before the head showed up again. There was a sense of accomplishment when the man pout his own head in the path of her bullet, along with the disturbing sensation of ending a life.


    Faera took two more shots, but the next volley came raining down on their heads, unaffected by her modest contribution. They had far more people manning the artillery than she had bullets.


    ¡°Fuck, fuck,¡± Faera muttered, looking for something she could do, some difference she could make. Down the road, a dust cloud resolved into a dozen jeeps, and she found a target for her anger.


    Faera lined up a shot in front of the driver, exhaled slowly and pulled the trigger, feeling the familiar recoil as the bullet soared forward, intersecting the Jeep¡¯s path. The window bloomed a white flower, stopping her bullet at the center, and the Jeep jerked momentarily before it continued on, undeterred.


    With a growl, Faera unloaded on the lead Jeep¡¯s windshield. After the first jerk, however, it didn¡¯t slow or change its course, as it would have had she killed the driver. Where the fuck did they get bulletproof glass?


    The Jeeps roared up to the elven base, skidding to a halt and and disgorging dozens of soldiers from their covered beds. The soldiers were wearing gold-embroidered white jackets with large buttons cinching the pieces together. They were also Human.


    Where did humans get trucks and artillery? This was nonsensical.


    To Faera, their uniforms looked like a mash-up between the garb worn during the American Civil War, and religious vestments from the former Vatican. Of course, the humans wouldn¡¯t have known that. Shouldn¡¯t have known that. Who knew anymore?


    The soldiers drew steel sabers as they ran through the gaps in the defensive wall, without a care for the smattering of bullets from the elves. A few of them fell, but many more made it to their targets and cut down the long-lived people where they stood.


    Faera replaced her magazine and took aim at a man in a red coat, seemingly leading the attack.


    Her radio gave a brief burst of static. ¡°Faera,¡± came the voice of her father. ¡°We¡¯re pulling back into the emergency shelter and closing the door. We need you to get help.¡± He sounded resigned, but his voice retained the steel of command.


    Faera stayed silent, the crosshairs of her scope hovering over the red-coated man. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes intense. With a wave of his hand, a blast of fire erupted from a watchtower, incinerating two elves.


    Faera pulled the trigger. The shot rang in her ears and pummeled her shoulder, while the bullet flew out toward the man¡¯s heart. Something akin to heat distortion filled the air around the man, and the bullet hit the wall of the elven base beside him. He had some kind of protection spell. Humans shouldn¡¯t have magic, either.


    From a distance, the enemy hadn¡¯t been able to tell where the shots had been coming from, but now the man in red and a few of the saber-wielding zealots craned their necks.  Their gazes landed on the ancient tree a hundred yards from the base with a commanding view of the surroundings.


    ¡°Faera, if you don¡¯t leave and get help right now, we are all going to die!¡± her father barked. ¡°This is an order. Drop what you are doing and seek assistance from another settlement.¡±


    Faera took one last look at the humans. They were dragging elves back to their Jeeps, sorting the living from the dead before throwing screaming men and women into cages.


    Faera caught sight of Eliana, her friend of four hundred years. Her jet black hair was stark against the white uniforms as she struggled, carried by her arms and legs to be loaded onto the back of a truck.


    They took the elven corpses, too, tossing them onto a flatbed. Alive or dead; the humans took them all.


    Like hell she was gonna let that happen. She shouldered the gun, taking aim at the men carrying her friend.


    A crackling sphere of magic struck the side of her watchtower, sending shattered bits of wood through the air and throwing off her aim, through the scope she could see the leader pointing her out, weaving a spell between his fingers. Damn. There was just no time left.


    Faera brought the radio to her mouth and said, ¡°On my way,¡± her voice barely escaping her clenched teeth. Faera flew into action, as the enemy leader sent a half dozen soldiers up the mountain to retrieve her.


    She slid down the ladder even as a missile of pure energy tore a hole through the camouflaged sniper nest. The resulting blast threw her off the ladder, landing on her back and knocking the wind out of her.


    The sky had dancing stars in it as she struggled to catch her breath, turning onto her stomach with a groan she could barely hear.


    As her hearing came back, she made out movement on the hill beneath her. Soldiers made their way up, crashing through the trees as they bulled towards her.


    Faera groaned again, pushing herself to her knees, then putting her shaky legs beneath her before she began running west, away from their base and the road, deeper into the forest. By the time the humans made it through the traps surroundings her perch, she was long gone.


    Faera trotted through the forest, making a plan as she ran. If she followed the river for a few miles, she would encounter Gentle Nights, a farming town so named for its uncharacteristically warm winter nights. After she warned them of the attack, she could catch a ride in one of their trucks and ask assistance from the elven capital of First Word, where the elves diligently guarded all the knowledge humanity had long since lost.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    How did the humans get artillery? How did they go from homespun to mass-produced in just fifty years? Their Jeeps were at least a hundred years ahead of their clothes and sabers. Faera¡¯s brow furrowed as she thought. Was some radical elven group assisting the humans in hunting down other elves?


    Not possible.


    Perhaps some human had deciphered one of thousands of ancient, decaying books strewn about the world, and made some lopsided scientific progress. If that was the case, it wouldn¡¯t be long before one of the monkeys had the bright idea to create small arms.


    Faera shuddered. The elves had to be warned. She ran with renewed purpose, cutting through the forest with her rifle strapped across her back.


    Over the next couple hours, Faera kept up a steady pace, gliding silently through the woods. When she finally reached the river, she came to rest on the bank, panting as she splashed herself with the cold, clear water. Faera suppressed a shiver as it ate the outermost layer of warmth away, cooling her taxed body.


    She ate a bit of salted meat she¡¯d been saving for the end of her shift, and then glanced up at the sun, which was already beginning to slide into the west. Breath caught, Faera chased after it, running along the bank of the river, through the patchy shade provided by the trees.


    An hour later, Faera arrived at Gentle Nights, where the river met a hot spring and made a bend around the farming down, cocooning it with constant warmth.  The sun dyed the fields of wheat red as it sank below the horizon. The farmhouses clustered together on the edge of the fields looked warm and inviting, with their lights on and doors open to exchange the hot air of midday for night¡¯s cooler temperatures.


    Faera trotted down the dirt road, reinvigorated by the sight of civilization. She passed an orchard to her left, their flowers just past their bloom. When the porch lights from the sturdy wooden buildings shone into her eyes, she stopped.


    Where were the dogs? Every small farming community had dogs: Working dogs, family pets, and those to protect against predators. The dogs should¡¯ve come to check her out first thing.  In fact, she should have heard barking the minute she was within earshot of the village.


    Faera looked around, realizing there were no chickens or cows either. Not a single animal was in sight, and not a sound could be heard coming from the village.


    Faera dropped to a crouch and pulled out her pistol. Keeping her profile below the level of the wheat, she slunk to the nearest house.


    Cautiously, she peeked in the open door. The floor was bare wood polished by decades of use.  Three pairs of muddy boots sat near the entrance, the dirt dry and cracked.


    Faera edged inside, moving toward the kitchen. Their fridge looked homemade, cobbled together from the guts of other refrigerators. Tacked onto the fridge were clumsy pictures of animals and trees.


    Faera crept down the hall, her ears straining to hear any noise louder than the pounding of her heart. She stopped in front of what was probably a bedroom door. With a quiet breath, she nudged it open. The room opened up in front of her, and Faera saw two forms lying still on a simple mattress.  Strange, in the early evening.


    The two adult-sized elves were tucked in, and there was no obvious sign of foul play. They didn¡¯t rouse as Faera approached. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± she said, shaking the woman¡¯s shoulder. Without a response from either of the adults, she turned the woman onto her back.


    The woman¡¯s eyes were open and cloudy, her skin bone-pale and cracked. Faera suppressed a gasp and placed her fingers over the woman¡¯s throat, checking for a pulse. Getting none, she checked the man, only to find him in the same condition.


    Faera studied the two staring corpses for a moment longer before she crossed the hall. In the children¡¯s room were three beds, two stacked on top of each other, and the third against the window. In the top bunk was a boy approaching adolescence, dead in much the same way as his parents, and beneath him was a toddler, endlessly staring up at the bunk above him.


    The bed by the window was empty.


    Faera approached the window slowly, her training telling her not to stand directly in front of it. There were clumps of dirt on the windowsill, as though someone had climbed through it. When Faera checked the bed, she found dirt in and around it as well.


    Assuming these people all died at the same time, and that the parents would be cross with any child who got that much dirt in the house, Faera guessed this dirt had been tracked in by a child after the event had occurred.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Faera said aloud, holstering her pistol. ¡°I¡¯m not mad, it¡¯s okay.¡± Faera spoke softly, on the off chance Window Child was still around. ¡°You can come out, I want to help you.¡±


    Faera heard a scraping sound from behind her. Resting her hand lightly on the grip of the gun, she re-entered the parents¡¯ room--and came face-to-face with a little girl in mud-stained overalls. A nest of trash had been pushed out from under the bed as the sole survivor crawled out.


    ¡°Are you a mage?¡± the girl asked. ¡°Can you fix Mommy and Daddy?¡±


    Faera shook her head, kneeling down. ¡°No, I can¡¯t help them, I¡¯m here to help you.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± the girl screamed, and fought as Faera pulled her into her arms. ¡°I don¡¯t want help, I want you to fix Mommy and Daddy!¡±


    Faera held the little girl in her arms. She estimated her to be about twenty years old--her ears had barely begun developing the nub that expressed her heritage. Faera kept watch as the girl cried until she exhausted herself and hung limp in Faera¡¯s arms.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± Faera asked, tilting her chin down to see the girl¡¯s grimy face. ¡°Mine¡¯s Faera.¡±


    ¡°Beatrice,¡± the little girl said quietly, sniffling.


    ¡°Do your friends call you Bee?¡± Faera asked.


    Beatrice nodded against her chest.


    She held Beatrice out and met her eyes. ¡°Bee, listen to me. Is there anyone else left in the town?¡±


    Bee shook her head.


    Faera took a deep breath. ¡°Then, I¡¯m going to warn First Word, and I¡¯m going to take you with me.¡±


    Bee shook her head, vehemently this time. ¡°No, I wanna stay with mommy and daddy!¡±


    ¡°Bee, if you stay here, you¡¯ll die.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care!¡± Bee shrieked.


    Faera took a deep breath. ¡°Bee, if you die, it would make your Mommy cry, and turn your dad to alcoholism, and eventually he might start hitting your mommy, who would get a divorce and start living with dozens and dozens of cats. Do you want to be responsible for that kind of domestic violence?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not funny,¡± Bee sniffled, though a smile momentarily graced her face. ¡°They¡¯re dead.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Faera said, hugging her. ¡°And you¡¯re alive, and the only thing that your parents wanted while they were alive was for you to be happy. And the first step to being happy is being alive.¡±


    ¡°Be happy, Bee,¡± Beatrice said with a wobbly voice.


    ¡°No one says you have to be happy right now,¡± Faera said, standing. ¡°But you do have to stay alive, and for that you have to come with me, okay?¡±


    Bee nodded, and ran into her room, bringing a grimy blanket back out with her before she took Faera¡¯s hand.


    On the way out of the silent house, Faera snagged the keys to the farmer¡¯s truck off the moonlit counter. She watched the dark woods for any sign of the humans, but all she could make out was the chirping of crickets. She lifted Bee into the vehicle, and the girl scooted into the passenger seat, allowing Faera to climb in after.


    Faera looked down at the unmarked stick shift and blanched. ¡°I¡¯m sorry in advance for the bumpy ride,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m not very good with a manual transmission.¡±


    There were a few false starts and grinding gears, but eventually, Faera and Bee were coasting down the dirt road that lead to First Word.


    ¡°What happened back there?¡± Faera asked.


    According to Bee, she had woken up two days ago and everyone had been dead in their beds, somehow expiring in the night. Every single one of them had been staring at her.


    Faera had seen the open eyes, but couldn¡¯t guess the cause. ¡°Did anything strange happen that night?¡±


    ¡°I crawled out the window and went to the lake to watch the stars,¡± Bee said.  Her eyes widened as though she¡¯d had a thought. ¡°Is it my fault?¡±


    Faera slowed the truck, which died because she failed to shift properly. With a sigh, she turned and looked directly into the girl¡¯s eyes. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°But daddy told me not to--¡± Bee started.


    ¡°Listen, nothing you did could have caused this. The only reason you¡¯re still alive is probably because you went to the lake that night.¡±


    ¡°Then, if I had known, I could have brought Mommy, Daddy, Thomas and Eric.¡± Bee said.


    ¡°Seeing the future,¡± Faera said as she restarted the truck, which rumbled to life, sending a beam of light across the dirt road. ¡°That¡¯s a pretty tall order. You got lucky, end of story.¡±


    Faera kicked the truck into gear and it lurched forward with a grinding noise. Faera inwardly apologized to Bee¡¯s father for manhandling his truck. They resumed their journey silently, and the exhausted Beatrice fell asleep, nestled against Faera¡¯s hip.


    The night wore on with the truck cutting a swath of light through the dark woods along the trail between themselves and First Word. Faera yawned, covering her mouth with her hand.


    When she opened her eyes again, there were three figures in front of the truck, waving their arms.


    Faera stomped on the brake and studied the humans in shock. A man and a woman held a third man between them, injured. They bore weapons and armor perfectly reminiscent of the late twenty first century. There was even a small LED lighting the thumb of one of the men, where the display on his smart gun rested.


    Bee woke up, having been thrown against the dash. ¡°Oww,¡± She said, rubbing her head as she sat up.


    ¡°Stay down, Bee,¡± Faera said, her heart pounding as the two carried their wounded companion toward the driver¡¯s side. They hadn¡¯t seen that she was an elf yet, the glare from the headlights must¡¯ve been too strong. Then again, who else besides an elf would own one?


    Today, her understanding of the world had been turned on its ear, with technology elves had thought lost reappearing in human hands, twice. These ones actually looked like they belonged to the period they were from. No mismatched clothes and weapons.


    Maybe they were ghosts? They didn¡¯t show any sign of not being straight from the twenty-eighties. In any case, they weren¡¯t elves, and they had guns, which meant they were enemies.


    Faera made her choice and unholstered her pistol.  She rolled down the window.


    ¡°We need medical assistance,¡± the man holding the wounded one said, peering into the cab, his night vision obviously hurt by the headlights. ¡°Can we get a ride to the nearest hospital?¡±


    Faera shot him in the face.

 Chapter 3: The Great Escape

    Sam squinted and blinked, trying not to let the tears from the smoke cloud his vision. ¡°Mark it,¡± he whispered.


    Ann leaned down and marked the dead end with glowing red.


    ¡°Looks like we¡¯re going through the murder hole,¡± Tom said jovially.


    ¡°Grenade?¡± Ann asked Sam.


    Sam shook his head, tapping the earthen walls with his fingertips. ¡°I have no idea what a second grenade would do in these tunnels.¡±


    ¡°Then, what?¡± Tom asked.


    ¡°Speed,¡± Sam said.


    The ¡®murder hole¡¯ was the only branching path they had yet to go down. The reason was that the tunnel opened into a massive communal chamber filled with ants. The six-legged giants were lethargic from the smoke, but still, there were thousands. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no alternate route to the surface.


    ¡°Tom, you take point,¡± Sam said. ¡°Blast a path through them. Ann, follow behind him and watch the sides. I¡¯ll take the rear. And make it as fast as possible .¡±


    Tom arranged his clips for easy access and Ann fiddled with her submachine gun , making sure the safety was off.


    ¡°We ready?¡± Sam asked. At their assent, Sam pulled up his mask. ¡°Go.¡±


    Tom jumped around the corner, sprinting through the crowded chamber with Sam and Ann right behind him. They got a quarter of the way through before an ant reared up in front of them with its antennae waving. Tom put a controlled burst through its chitinous face, and the fight was on.


    The ant flipped onto its back and thrashed its legs. Tom and Ann jumped over the obstacle, since going around would put them in range of the rearing ants on either side. A barbed leg knocked against Sam¡¯s helmet as he followed suit. He took the hit and kept running.


    Ants crowded around from every direction. Tom switched to full auto , turning the approaching army into a nearly impassible wall of waving spears as they went belly-up. Still, it was only nearly impassible, and the three of them, souped up on adrenaline, ducked under, dodged around, and jumped over the tangle of sharp, flailing limbs.


    Ann fired short bursts to either side as they ran, content with slowing the ants down, while Sam glanced over his shoulder to gauge the rate that the ants were gaining on them. Normally, the ants would have been able to outrun them, but they had been exposed to the bad air for a long time now , and the effects were showing. They were pulling away from the ants, whose increased bulk was a hindrance when climbing over their brethren still in their death throws.


    As they approached the tunnel they had decided on, the one with the highest angle, a barbed leg caught Sam across the torso and face, digging into the Kevlar surrounding the ceramic plates in his chest.


    Sam tumbled to a halt, giving one of the forerunner ants just enough time to catch up. Something closed down painfully on his shoulder and lifted. Sam was facing down, but he knew what would happen next: The ant¡¯s massive mandibles would snip off his head .


    Sam hunched his shoulders and cranked his head back, and sure enough, he heard a cracking sound transmitted directly into his ears as the mandibles closed on his helmet. Sam¡¯s hand came up, and without time to open the closure the traditional way, he tugged his chin strap with desperate strength.


    A snap sounded, and Sam¡¯s head slid free of the helmet as the mandibles crunched the rest of the way through. The ant reared back with the trophy still clenched in its jaw.


    Sam pulled his knife and stabbed the claws pinching his shoulder. He fell free--and wound up face-to-face with a white, wriggling grub about half the size of his torso. A dark splotch of what appeared to be organs floated inside its pale, translucent skin.


    ¡°Sam!¡± came a shout from the tunnel.


    The ants closed in, and Sam lost any time to think. He picked up the massive grub, and hefted its wriggling mass between himself and the approaching ants. The ants immediately became more agitated, waving their antennae in indecipherable confusion¡­ but they didn¡¯t attack.


    Cautiously, keeping the grub between them, he began to back toward the tunnel. Sam sped up, jogging backward while holding his hostage in front of him, brandishing it in front of the oncomers, sliding and tripping, but never quite falling as he made his way to his team.


    ¡°You¡¯re here, drop the thing and we¡¯ll help you up!¡± Tom shouted.


    Sam threw the grub at the aggravated ants. He whirled and jumped, catching Tom¡¯s arm at the edge of the entrance to the steep tunnel.


    There was a tug on Sam¡¯s leg and he felt a crack, accompanied by a throbbing pain.


    Gunfire sounded over his head. Ann¡¯s hands joined Tom¡¯s, and they pulled Sam the rest of the way up.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Sam tried to stand, and cried out in pain as his leg folded out from under him. Lying there, he saw the first barbed legs beginning to pull their owners up into the tunnel.


    Sam forced himself up. Most of his weight on one leg, and brought his gun to bear, pulping the ants that dared follow. The shots threw him off balance, and he careened against the wall.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Tom said, yanking Sam¡¯s left arm over his shoulder. ¡°You can still watch the back.¡± Tom began to drag Sam along the cold dirt floor while Ann scouted ahead. Sam held off the approaching ants by turning them into writhing masses of pain every time they got too close, their flailing limbs buying a little extra time for his team.


    After what seemed like hours, Sam felt a cool wind blowing across his face, and he reared his head, alarmed. Sam lifted his shotgun , and found Tom kneeling at Sam¡¯s feet, bracing his lower left leg with¡­ some kind of wood.


    ¡°Easy there, chief,¡± Tom said, tightening the nylon strap around his leg. ¡°We¡¯re going to have to find a technician to take a look at this leg, maybe find a hospital?¡±


    They had inferred a long time ago that hospitals were where the sick and injured went to get better. The hospital sims always had posters of the human body, beds, and things similar to the tools that the technicians had used on them when they were hurt.


    ¡°We sure as hell aren¡¯t going back the way we came,¡± Ann said.


    ¡°Are these¡­ real?¡± Sam said, picking up a stick with his hands, and snapping it off with a dry crack in one hand. Tears came to Sam¡¯s eyes. It wasn¡¯t plastic. Sam had no idea what it would feel like, and discovering something new for the first time in thousands of sims made something burst in his chest.


    Sam began to sob. Burying his face in the grass, he savored the smell he¡¯d imagined, but never known.


    ¡°So¡­ a hospital, then?¡± Tom said, his brow raised.


    Ann sighed. ¡°He¡¯s lost it,¡± she said, her eyes scanning the dark woods . ¡°Let¡¯s get him to a hospital and see if they can put him back together.¡±


    She stiffened, eyes narrowing. ¡°Wait. I see lights. Someone¡¯s coming this way.¡±


    They took off, dragging their weeping CO on a path to intercept the lights. The vehicle was moving fast, and so the two jogged through the woods, jostling Sam between them.


    ¡°Alright, we¡¯re good here,¡± Tom said as they found the well-worn dirt path. The truck approached, its beams blinding. ¡°Let¡¯s flag them down.¡±


    The truck came to a skidding halt in from of them as they waved. Tom and Ann carried Sam around to the side of the truck and Tom started talking. ¡°We need medical assistance,¡± he said, patting Sam on the back as he tried to see the driver¡¯s face. ¡°Can we get a ride to the nearest hospital?¡±


    The barrel of a gun emerged from the cabin of the truck. With a flash of light, the driver fired.


    Tom¡¯s head exploded. He fell away from Sam, who steadied himself against the car.


    Ann jumped forward and yanked the gun¡¯s slide back even as the shadow in the truck turned it towards her. With the gun disabled, Ann twisted it to capture the shooter¡¯s hand. There was a feminine cry of pain from the truck.


    Ann twisted the murderer¡¯s hand up and out of the way as she drew her sidearm. She pulled the gun free from the tough fabric holster with a ziiip. She brought the gun up, her face carved in an animal snarl.


    Sam struck her wrist just as she pulled the trigger. The shot went through the roof of the cab. The gun slipped from Ann¡¯s numb hand, clattering into the dirt.


    ¡°What the fuck are you doing, Sam?¡± Ann asked, her voice cold.


    ¡°Listen,¡± Sam said. A little girl was whimpering on the far side of the truck¡¯s cab. ¡°We can¡¯t kill the girl¡¯s mother in front of her. We have to arrest her. The moment you disabled her gun, you were no longer acting out of self-defense.¡±


    Sam could faintly make out the woman sitting inside. Blood streaked from her ears, and she watched the two of them with fear written across her face.


    ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit,¡± Ann said, reaching for her knife. ¡°I¡¯m getting her back for Tom.¡±


    Sam pushed off with his good foot and tackled Ann to the ground, using his bulk to his advantage as he pressed his stun gun against her ribs. Ann gave a cry of pain and writhed under the assault. Once she was limp, Sam gave her a bit more juice--enough to keep her out for a few minutes--then hoisted himself upright.


    Sam¡¯s stomach turned as his gaze flickered over Tom¡¯s corpse. He swallowed down the white hot anger that urged him follow through with Ann¡¯s plan, and leveled his pistol at the occupants of the truck.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am, please step out of the vehicle,¡± Sam said, his voice steely. ¡°You¡¯re under arrest for the murder of a Human Resources Rapid Response Team member.¡±


    The woman in the car stared at him with wide eyes for a moment. Then she glanced down at Ann, still incapacitated, and the truck roared to life.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Sam said as the truck began to slide by. He fell forward and grabbed the side of the truck bed. Sam¡¯s feet were dragged along the dirt road as the truck gained velocity, jostling his injured leg.


    Sam let out a cry of pain and effort as he tossed his gun into the truck bed. He swung his unwounded leg up, then pushed himself the rest of the way into the bed, rolling onto his back.


    Sam grabbed his gun and moved to the cab¡¯s back window. He knocked on the glass with his pistol. ¡°Pull over!¡± he shouted, making sure the woman in the cab saw him.


    She mashed the brakes, and Sam¡¯s great bulk was slammed into the cab, knocking the wind out of him. Then the truck¡¯s engine sputtered out. ¡°Fucking manuals!¡± the driver cursed. The young girl whimpered, peering back at him with fear.


    Taking the chance, Sam swung out of the bed and hopped up to the door. He yanked it open, pulled the driver out, and threw her onto the dirt road with one hand. She looked about to scramble to her feet when Sam leveled his gun at her and switched on the recording device .


    ¡°Suspect is female, Caucasian, early twenties, minor gene cosmetics in the ears and eyes,¡± Sam said dispassionately. ¡°License and registration, please.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re kidding, right?¡± the woman said, standing.


    ¡°Are you saying you don¡¯t have them?¡± Sam asked.


    The woman crossed her arms.


    ¡°Alright then,¡± Sam said, shifting his grip on his gun as he leaned on the truck. ¡°I¡¯m taking you to the nearest police station.¡±


    The woman tapped her finger on her arm. ¡°You¡¯re taking us to the nearest police station?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Sam said. Then, ¡°Where is it?¡±


    She pointed the direction the truck was facing. ¡°There¡¯s a town that way.¡±


    Sam nodded and hopped around the front of the truck, never taking his eyes off the woman who¡¯d shot Tom. He opened the passenger side door, and saw the little girl hiding in the footspace. Sam picked her up by her shirt and deposited the thrashing child on the middle seat before jumping in himself, favoring his leg.


    Sam gazed out the open door at the woman. ¡°Ma¡¯am, I suggest you come with me. My team member is going to wake up any minute now, and she¡¯s not the type you can stop with words.¡±


    She seemed to consider for a moment, before she nodded and climbed into the cab, watching Sam closely. With trembling hands, the woman turned the engine, and put the truck into gear. After a few false starts, the truck was once again bumping through the darkness.

 Chapter 4: Whats your Juristiction?

    The enormous human sat at the other end of the bench seat, his eyes alert and watching Faera closely. He held the gun pointing away from her and Bee, resting his back against the door of the truck. Faera hadn¡¯t noticed when he¡¯d been slumped between his comrades, but he was massive, a solid four inches taller than his friends--which was saying something, because his friends were rather large, especially when compared to the average malnourished modern human.


    Compared to those, the man across from her was a giant. He was folded as comfortably as he could have been, but the man¡¯s knees approached his chest to make room for Bee and Faera. He was broad, too. With one heavily muscled arm, he¡¯d flung her from her seat in the car.


    And instead of just shooting her, he¡¯d tried to read her her rights. ¡°You have the right to an attorney¡­¡± he¡¯d begun after she¡¯d climbed back into the cab, astonishing Faera. The man truly believed he was some kind of twenty-first century law enforcement. His monologue perfectly matched her memory of reruns of crime dramas from that era.


    ¡°Can I ask a question?¡± Faera asked.


    ¡°Apparently,¡± the man with the gun said, glaring at her with his bright green eyes.


    ¡°What¡¯s your jurisdiction?¡± Faera asked, deciding to take a careful approach. ¡°Who do you work for?¡±


    ¡°Rapid Response teams are under the command of the United States government, dispatched to aid local police with special situations stemming from the Gates,¡± he said. ¡°And before you ask, yes, we have the power to make arrests.¡±


    Faera glanced at the big human in the passenger seat. ¡°How old are you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Where did you come from?¡± she said.


    ¡°That¡¯s classified.¡±


    Faera sighed and rolled her eyes. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°S four M,¡± Sam said. ¡°You can call me officer.¡±


    ¡°Look,¡± Faera said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡­ killed your friend. I thought you were trying to kill us.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t change what you did,¡± S4M said, his gaze tracing her her sharp ears and large blue eyes before glancing at the girl.


    ¡°She your daughter?¡±


    ¡°No, officer, she¡¯s not.¡±


    ¡°Huh. I don¡¯t make the final decisions,¡± the giant said. ¡°I¡¯m sure the judge will consider any extenuating circumstances.¡±


    Faera glanced at him for just a moment, her brows furrowed, before she turned her eyes back to the road. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to alarm the guy with the gun,¡± she said, swerving around a pit in the dirt road. ¡°But the world might be a lot different than you think it is.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡± S4M asked.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just say that the United States didn¡¯t really survive past twenty-one thirty.¡±


    The giant sat there with furrowed brows, chewing on that information. Long minutes went by as the three of them travelled down the bumpy road.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± he decided, his gaze fixed on her. ¡°I¡¯ll turn you in to local law enforcement.¡±


    ¡°Suit yourself,¡± Faera said. They were driving toward the first bastion of Elvenkind, First Word. The idea of receiving any kind of punishment for killing a human on their land, especially one that¡¯d been armed to the teeth, was laughable.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Why, officer?¡± Faera asked.


    ¡°So that I know how to refer to you in my report,¡± he said.


    Faera broke out laughing, and both of the other people in the truck watched her with concern. ¡°Now I know you¡¯re not faking it,¡± she said. ¡°Only the real thing would do paperwork.¡±


    While he was processing her words, she answered. ¡°My name¡¯s Faera.¡±


    The woods parted before them, and tall grasses swished by on either side as the fey-looking woman guided the truck along the road. Lights twinkled in the distance, disappearing as they approached a dark object too tall and long to be anything but man-made. The headlights revealed a smooth stone wall that looked like poured concrete at first glance.


    Faera drove right up to a massive wooden gate and began honking. A moment later, the gate swung open, revealing that the wall was about twenty feet deep, with another gate at the other end. They pulled in, and the gate closed behind them, leaving them sandwiched between the two.


    A man stepped out of a gatehouse built into the wall and peered into the truck. Faera was about to open her mouth when the giant spoke.


    ¡°Good evening, sir. Could you bring a representative of local law enforcement? This women is a suspect under my custody.¡±


    The man at the gate stopped with his eyes wide and his mouth open. He glanced at Sam, taking in his appearance, and then at Faera. Faera nodded, and he ran off.


    ¡°That man had gene cosmetics for his ears too, didn¡¯t he?¡± he asked. ¡°I can hardly believe we¡¯d run into your brother at the gate.¡±


    Faera shook her head. ¡°He¡¯s not my brother, and it¡¯s not gene cosmetics.¡±


    The giant glanced after the man who had only left at Faera¡¯s nod, and who looked suspiciously like her. ¡°You didn¡¯t bring me to some kind of cult, did you?¡±


    ¡°What would you do if I had?¡± she asked, brow arched. ¡°Take me and the girl hostage?¡±


    S4M bristled in his seat. ¡°If they tried to attack me, I¡¯d kill them.¡±


    Faera whistled. There were at least fifteen thousand people in First Word, and this ¡®S-four-M¡¯ character looked like he thought he could take them all.


    ¡°Tell you what,¡± Faera said. ¡°Since you didn¡¯t actually hurt anyone, I¡¯ll ask them not to kill you.¡±


    S4M shifted in his seat and leveled his gun at Faera. ¡°What did you say?¡± The tension hung between them like a lead weight , until Bee started crying.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on here?¡± asked an authoritative voice. A man wearing a badge of office stepped from the gatehouse. ¡°Why the hell did I get woken up in the middle of the night by a panicky boy about a hum--¡± The man¡¯s voice stopped when he came along the passenger side window and caught sight of the giant human in the truck.


    He cautiously stepped out of the truck, balancing on his good leg, wobbling a bit. He must have lost more blood than Faera had thought.


    ¡°Sir,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯ve arrested this woman for the murder of my partner and attempted escape . I¡¯m aware that this may be outside my jurisdiction, and intend to seek justice by cooperating with local law enforcement .¡±


    The man, whose pointing ears held his mane of hair in check, sized Sam up. ¡°Did she do that?¡± he asked, pointing at S4M¡¯s splinted leg.


    ¡°No sir,¡± he said. ¡°That was a giant ant. She shot and killed my subordinate before we were able to take her gun from her.¡±


    ¡°We? Are you saying there are more of you?¡± the sheriff asked, the light of the floodlights above them brightening his dark brown leather vest.


    ¡°Yes sir, one more,¡± S4M said. ¡°However, she was left in a violent state of mind after the loss of her partner. I¡¯d like to return to the scene of the crime to pick her up in person tomorrow, after she¡¯s had time to cool down.¡±


    The sheriff thumbed his chin for a moment. ¡°Alright, I can tell you aren¡¯t lying,¡± the man said. ¡°Alpha, Juno, take her to the jail and get her story. Find a place to house the little one, as well.¡±


    Faera¡¯s grin died when two soldiers stepped out and pulled her from the car, carrying her by the arms toward the gate. ¡°Wait, I¡¯m a ranger!¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ve come from Easthold! I have to speak to the Mayor!¡± Faera¡¯s shouts echoed through the night as she was escorted toward the gate.


    ¡°As for you,¡± she heard the sheriff say, ¡°you look like you could use some rest.¡± He raised his hand. ¡°Why don¡¯t you get some sleep?¡± out of the corner of her eye, she saw the giant topple to the ground.


    The mayor escorted Faera down the hall to his office. ¡°Sorry about that, Faera,¡± Mayor Gunderson said. ¡°I figured it would be the best way to keep him calm. Care to explain what you were doing in Derrick Fall¡¯s truck, with his daughter and an improbably well-armed human?¡±


    Faera took a deep breath, taking in the scent of books and stationary mixed with the rich wood from the furniture. Then she told her story.


    The mayor¡¯s eyes narrowed with suspicion as she described the attack. ¡°So you¡¯re telling me the humans reinvented artillery and jeeps, but not guns?¡± he asked, a sneer on his face.


    ¡°Yes sir,¡± Faera said. ¡°In addition, the village of Gentle Nights is all dead . You can ask the little girl about that.¡± Faera could tell the mayor wasn¡¯t taking the news well, but she had no choice but to tell the truth.


    ¡°And the human you brought with you, with the smartgun and the implant in his brain--what was his role in all this?¡±


    Faera shrugged. ¡°Pretty much what he said. A team of three relics from before the fall of man walked out onto the road, and I shot one of them.¡±


    ¡°Without determining whether they were hostile?¡± the mayor asked.


    ¡°They were human,¡± Faera said. ¡°Who wouldn¡¯t have believed them to be hostile?¡±


    The mayor rubbed his head. ¡°You know what my problem is?¡± he asked, eyeing her. ¡°My problem is when people come to me with such obvious bullshit stories, but just enough evidence to pressure me to launch an investigation, wasting time and money.¡±


    ¡°East Mountain is under siege!¡± Faera said, leaning forward. ¡°The humans were well armed and organized. They only have enough food to last a week in the shelter, and the humans are probably peeling that steel door off its hinges as we speak! We need reinforcements now!¡±


    ¡°Well, let me just pull those out of my ass ,¡± the mayor responded bitingly. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what we¡¯re going to do. We¡¯re going to send a team to check out your story about Gentle Nights.¡± He held up a hand, forestalling her. ¡°And if you¡¯re telling the truth, we¡¯ll send a squad with small arms to mop up your¡­ human problem.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not enough,¡± Faera insisted. ¡°There were hundreds of them, they have fucking Jeeps!¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°I find myself doubtful,¡± the mayor said, folding his hands. ¡°Humans have been throwing sticks until about fifty years ago, by the reports. Are you sure you didn¡¯t just see catapults and wagons?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Faera shouted.


    The mayor rolled his eyes. ¡°Escort Miss Faera out. There¡¯s room for her in the local jail until we get this mess sorted out. I¡¯m going back to sleep.¡±


    Strong hands grasped Faera by the arms and began pulling her down the hall. She didn¡¯t go quietly.


    #


    Sam opened his eyes and found himself on a cot . Sam¡¯s first thought was of Tom, and a wave of nausea swept over him. Had he been doing the right thing, not killing Faera, or had he simply been following his conditioning? It had been so difficult not to riddle her with bullets when his anger had made it feel like the right thing to do. Had her daughter not been there, Sam was pretty sure he wouldn¡¯t have stopped Ann.


    Sam swung his feet to the floor as he glanced around the room. He was in a cage of iron bars set into the ceiling. The rear wall appeared solid, and was painted a light puke green. His room was joined at the walls by two other holding cells, and there were three more across the hall.


    In the cell across the way, he spotted Faera, desperately sawing at the bars.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± Sam said. He rose, gingerly tapped his left foot against the floor, and felt no pain. It seemed as though they had fixed his leg, which was a good sign. He crossed to the bars, and leaned against them, watching Faera work.


    ¡°It¡¯s afternoon,¡± Faera muttered, not taking her focus away from where she sawed at the bar.


    ¡°And what are you doing?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Escaping, obviously,¡± she replied.


    ¡°Good luck with that.¡± Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath, put his hand on the cell door, and pushed. The iron-barred door swung free, and Sam walked out into the hall. Faera watched him, her jaw hanging as he passed.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Faera called, but Sam kept walking, ignoring her pleas.


    ¡°Guess this was the only place that had a free bed,¡± Sam mused as he walked down the hall. ¡°Must not have a hospital.¡± Still, Sam thought as he glanced down at his fixed leg, for not having a hospital, they did a damn good job.


    The team had broken bones time and again, both before and after the technicians disappeared. Once they were gone, healing took months.


    Sam kneeled down and rolled up his pantleg. A pale pink scar crossed his calf where the ant had grabbed him. Healed, in less than a day.


    These people must have some technicians on staff.


    Sam stopped at an iron gate, where a rough-looking man with pointed ears stood guard. He looked about fifty pounds lighter than Sam, and he glared up at him with a steely gaze.


    ¡°Step back,¡± the guard ordered.


    Sam stepped back. With a clunk, the iron gate swung inward, nearly brushing his nose.


    The heavily-muscled man limped to his desk and sat down before selecting a file. ¡°Says here,¡± he said, reading, ¡°that your weapons are no longer legal for law enforcement, and so you¡¯ll be provided with new gear at no expense. Assuming you still want to do police work?¡±


    Sam twitched, a little uncomfortable at losing his guns, but calmed quickly after imagining a less-than-lethal alternative with the same stopping power. ¡°I was made for it,¡± Sam said, standing straight.


    ¡°So I¡¯ve heard,¡± the man said drily. He pulled out a heavy tome and dropped it on the desk. ¡°You¡¯re going to need to read this. It¡¯s a primer on modern law, required reading.¡±


    Sam nodded and picked up the book, then paused. ¡°Does the United States still exist?¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± the man said, waving Sam away. ¡°You want a history lesson, visit the library. Your exit¡¯s that door there, it¡¯ll be a long tunnel, and a guy will have your gear at the end.¡±


    Tucking the book under his arm, Sam headed through the door. When the man had said ¡®long¡¯, he hadn¡¯t been kidding--two hundred yards at least.


    At the far end stood a slender man and a table. Behind him was an iron gate with nearly blinding sunlight streaming through. On the table was a collection of long steel and wooden objects.


    My gear? ¡°What, umm,¡± Sam said, turning a ridiculously oversized knife over in his hand. ¡°What is this?¡±


    ¡°Your weapons,¡± the slender man said cheerily.


    ¡°But what is this?¡± Sam asked, pointing to the rusty blade.


    ¡°Umm¡­¡± the man said, tilting his head in confusion. ¡°A longsword?¡±


    Sam pointed to the next one and raised his brows.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s a mace, and a glaive, morning star, shield¡­¡± The man continued, pointing out weapons.


    Sam¡¯s stomach sank. He couldn¡¯t imagine these to be nonlethal, not to mention they were nowhere near as good as his guns. The comparison in range--pfah!


    Matter of fact, most of them were rusted. Sam lifted a steel ball attached to a long wooden handle. The entire thing was about six feet long, putting it at about chin level with Sam . It looked like it could be used to subdue people without unnecessary injury, as it had no blades or points.


    ¡°Good choice,¡± the man said, ducking to reach beneath the table. ¡°Your body armor is here.¡± He opened a wooden chest and came back up with Sam¡¯s bulletproof vest.


    Sam shrugged into the vest, then regarded the man. ¡°Do you have any communication devices? Two-way radios?¡± he asked.


    The man shook his head.


    Sam sighed. He supposed there was no helping it. He¡¯d just have to make the best of the situation. Being above ground was already a dream fulfilled. Talking to people other than Tom and Ann tingled his every nerve with excitement.


    Thinking of Tom brought his mood down again. The perpetrator was in jail now, but he still felt like garbage for leading Tom to his death. Sam blew out a breath and squared his shoulders. He just needed to stay busy until he could process Tom¡¯s death.


    Unless Ann tried to get him back . Sam cocked his head to the side in thought. What was the range on the transmitters in their brains ?


    Sam began to brighten . Maybe he and Ann could exterminate the ant colony with some heavier-than-air poison or possibly even go back into the facility from the ground level entrance. It was food for thought. In any case, he got the feeling he would see Tom again.


    Sam lowered the iron ball to the ground, using the heavy weapon as a walking stick. ¡°I¡¯ll be good with this. Can you tell me the way to the sheriff¡¯s office? I have to retrieve a friend of mine from the woods.¡±


    ¡°Umm¡­.¡± The man at the gate shifted in his seat. ¡°Just, um, take a left after you get out of the gate and look for the sign.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Sam said.


    The man nodded and heaved on a lever, opening the gate with a rattle.


    Sam moved forward, squinting against the brightness, and heard the murmur of a crowd. The sound of people intensified as Sam stepped out into the glaring light. He¡¯d expected a street, cobbles, but the surface beneath his feet was yellow sand.


    The gate slammed shut behind him, and Sam¡¯s eyes began to adjust. He wasn¡¯t on a street at all. He stood on the edge of a massive circle of sand, surrounded by fifteen foot walls. Atop the walls were row after row of stone steps, with thousands of people seated on them. Every eye in the stands was turned on him.


    This can¡¯t be good.


    ¡°Now presenting, for your entertainment, the scourge of yesteryear!¡± a man¡¯s voice boomed above the crowd. ¡°The face of fear for so many of us, a monster in the skin of a man, programmed to kill without remorse. Mothers, if your children shy at the sight of blood, cover their eyes! For we have to fight in the colosseum today, a commanding officer of the Rapid Response Teams!¡±


    ¡°Goddamnit,¡± Sam said, quoting one of the technicians as he tossed the law book aside into the sand.


    A massive image sprang up in the center of the colosseum, a hologram of a towering man in full combat gear. A quick collage of scenes showed the figure rounding up and executing people with pointed ears. The video was paused just as the man glanced at the camera, and sure enough, Sam¡¯s face was glaring back at him.


    ¡°Goddamnit!¡± Sam¡¯s voice was lost in an ocean of boos. He swung the mace onto his shoulder, testing the heft of the weapon. It wasn¡¯t his fucking fault they downloaded his skills into hundreds of clones and then¡­ ordered him to kill these people¡­ was it?


    ¡°This monster deserves no easy death,¡± the voice continued. ¡°And while it would be a simple matter to unleash a demon to tear this S4M unit asunder, it would simply be over too quick, without impressing upon the young ones what a threat this murderous brute truly was.¡±


    In the pause, Sam spotted the announcer on a special box on the upper stands. ¡°No, dear viewer, we are going to start small,¡± the man dressed in gaudy, eye-catching robes promised. ¡°We are going to make a week of it, and see where this monster stands among others of its kind!¡± The orator held his hands up for applause, then lowered them slowly. ¡°Worry not, if this¡­ abomination fails to last until the finale, our good master Theold will battle the final beast for your pleasure. It¡¯s sure to be a show!¡±


    At Theold¡¯s name, a cheer rang out through the crowd.


    ¡°Starting to think Ann had the right idea,¡± Sam said, scowling.


    ¡°Well then, there¡¯s only one thing left to do,¡± the orator said. ¡°And that is to announce our heinous monster¡¯s first trial!¡±


    The gate across the arena from Sam rattled as the heavy doors swung slowly outward.


    Sam started to run, sprinting at full speed toward the widening gap.


    ¡°Bred in the swamps around the Gate of Entropy,¡± the orator began, ¡°this beast will¡­ eh?¡±


    The crowd gasped as Sam leapt through the gate and slammed the mace down on the chitinous horror. Picture the product of several generations of giant ant breeding in a radioactive pond. Its pincers looked as though they could sever bone with ease, and horrific mandibles covered a gaping maw that appeared to have its own fingers.


    Unfortunately for the monster, its handlers had yet to free it from its restraints, and Sam¡¯s repeated bashes crushed whatever passed for a nerve center. The creature slumped to the ground.


    ¡°And, umm, that¡¯s why the S4M model was so feared, ladies and gentlemen. It matched intellect with unbridled bloodlust¡­ Can we get security to the monster pen, please?¡±


    One of the handlers went for his gun and Sam smote him with the mace. He slammed up against the wall before collapsing in a heap.


    The other handler, covered in monster blood, took one look at Sam and ran out onto the sand. Gasps of horror filled the stadium as the blood-soaked man tripped and fell in the center of the arena.


    Sam leaned down and tested the first man¡¯s pulse before he snagged the gun, a simple six-shot revolver that had clattered to the floor. Glancing up, Sam saw that his exit was gated off by thick iron bars.


    Whistling, he strode up to the thick bars and hefted the mace. With one powerful swing, he bent one bar to the left. His second swing bent the next bar to the right, allowing him to slide through.


    As Sam strolled through the tunnel, three guards jumped out into the tunnel. Sam shot them. He stepped out of the way long enough for them to realize they¡¯d been gut-shot, before continuing on his way.


    ¡°As long as you get medical attention immediately, you should live,¡± Sam said, clapping one trembling man on the shoulder as he took his gun. Luckily, the coliseum issued the same arms to their staff, and Sam was left with two pistols and twenty-one bullets.


    He tucked the second pistol away in his vest and tapped down the hall with his trusty iron-topped stick. Sam had to admit, it had worked nicely. Maybe he¡¯d keep it.


    At the end of the hall, Sam entered an enormous room filled with cages. Howls and rattling sounded, making Sam¡¯s eyes widen. The raging occupants included giant snakes, lizards, insects, and many more he couldn¡¯t recognize. One particular monster caught his attention, a creature shaped like a brain with short stubby legs and long, fanged tentacles.


    Sam¡¯s feet moved, bringing him to stand in front of it. The thing was about the size of a horse. It was disgusting, really; the entire creature dripped mucus, and whatever passed for its mouth flapped open and closed as it breathed noisily. Needing to get closer, he put one foot on the lip of the wheeled cage and stepped up.


    The slowly undulating tentacles struck like snakes, wrapping themselves around Sam¡¯s arms. The loosely flapping mouth peeled away, revealing rows of serrated teeth even as the fangs of the tentacles bit down into his arms.


    A jolt of fear ran through Sam and he squeezed the trigger of his pistol reflexively. The monster shrieked and yanked Sam against the bars.


    The fog cleared. He tilted the barrel of the gun down and unloaded the rest of the bullets straight into the pulsating brain. Tentacles began to whip around frantically, and Sam was spat from the cage like a fruit pit.


    Sam sat up, groaning, his arms bleeding from the shallow wounds on his arms. He took another look at the brain-thing, but looked away when he felt himself wanting to approach it again.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky, human,¡± came a bass rumble from Sam¡¯s left.


    Sam glanced to the side and spotted a towering man with a horned wolf¡¯s head. He stood eleven feet tall, dwarfing Sam by comparison. His upper body was covered in gray fur, and his lower body was naked, with powerful muscles the size of Sam¡¯s entire arm corded throughout.


    ¡°And you are?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°A fragment of the Devouring Beast, Kein¡¯Maddal,¡± the monster said, throwing its shoulders back.


    ¡°Cool,¡± Sam said. He moved toward the exit.


    A roar filled the room, rattling Sam¡¯s breastbone. ¡°I can forgive your ignorance, mortal, but do not slight me by turning your back.¡±


    Sam turned to face the monster.


    ¡°I am being held by these lesser beings for their entertainment,¡± it said. ¡°I find the situation unacceptable. Free me, and I will aide thine escape from this place.¡±


    Curious, Sam approached. ¡°It says on this sign in front of your cage not to accept any deals from you, not to say your name three times, or break the iron circle built into your cage,¡± Sam said, examining the iron ring it stood inside.


    ¡°Of course they wouldn¡¯t want me out. It¡¯s not in their interest,¡± the demon said. ¡°But that sign doesn¡¯t apply to you, does it, human?¡± It stomped, pacing in its tiny cell.


    ¡°Says here that you tore the last guy who opened your cage to bloody pieces,¡± Sam said.


    ¡°Lies!¡± roared the demon.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not one to gamble with those kinds of odds,¡± Sam said, turning away. ¡°Good luck fighting the old guy."


    ¡°It¡¯s Theold,¡± a commanding voice said from the opposite end of the room. The assembled monsters fell silent in a near-palpable wave that pushed out from the man with the salt-and-pepper hair. He wore a simple red robe that fluttered as though in a light breeze, six inches above the floor. He was tall, almost as tall as Sam, and his ears were distinctly pointed.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been wondering,¡± Sam said, pointing at Theold. ¡°Do all people have pointy ears nowadays?¡±


    Theold squinted, regarding Sam with a penetrating stare. ¡°You really don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on, do you?¡±


    ¡°Not really,¡± Sam said with a shrug .


    ¡°I was hunted by one of you once, you know,¡± the man said. He pulled aside the collar of his shirt, revealing a puckered bullet wound below his breastbone, near the heart. ¡°Five hundred and thirty-five years ago.¡±


    Sam whistled. ¡°Damn.¡±


    Theold lowered his gnarled hands as he regarded Sam. ¡°You¡¯re a little different from the ones I¡¯ve met before. It¡¯s a shame to kill one that feels as clean as you. Perhaps you haven¡¯t been given any additional programming. Factory settings, as it were.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m still trying to get my head around the fact that I apparently both never left the facility and at the same time committed genocide,¡± Sam said. ¡°And that you¡¯re over five hundred years old. That I¡¯m over five hundred years old. It¡¯s a lot to take in.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± the man said. The sound of rushing footsteps approached. ¡°The time for talk grows short.¡±


    ¡°Yup,¡± Sam agreed, dropping the spent revolver and drawing the spare.


    ¡°Sleep,¡± Theold said, with a wave of his hand.


    Sam toppled to the floor.

 Chapter 5: The Most Dangerous Game

    Faera sawed at the iron bars, cursing the Nuetta dampening runes preventing her from willing them apart when she heard footsteps approaching in the distance. Faera sprang back onto her cot, concealing the file in her hair.


    Five men struggled down the hall under the bulk of a sixth, with a tired-looking mayor following close behind. Only the clone could be that big. The guards opened a cell door and threw him in the direction of the cot.


    Mayor Gunderson stopped in front of Faera¡¯s cell, giving her a good view of the bags under his eyes. He retrieved the keys from his pocket, and swung her door open. ¡°Come with me,¡± he said, his voice quiet. ¡°Gentle Nights checks out, so we¡¯re sending you back to East Mountain with a squad.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not enough,¡± Faera hissed. ¡°The humans hav--¡± Faera was stunned as the mayor lunged forward to clap a hand over her mouth. He glanced at the guards who were strolling back out the jail, relaxing only after they were gone.


    ¡°That information could cause a panic, Ranger ,¡± he said, referring to her by her title. ¡°The city council was unwilling to sign off on funding anything more than one squad, so I pulled some strings and made sure it was composed of veterans. I briefed them, and these soldiers are taking your warning very seriously.¡±


    ¡°Also,¡± he said, talking over her, ¡°I asked around and two more squads of veterans are going to be taking paid vacation¡­ in East Mountain. To, and I quote, ¡®hunt the most dangerous game¡¯.¡±


    Faera blinked. ¡°That might actually be almost enough.¡± Upwards of twenty people with assault rifles wouldn¡¯t be able to wipe out the hundreds she¡¯d seen piling out of those vehicles, but they would probably be able to hurt them enough to drive them away.


    ¡°I busted my ass on this one, Scout,¡± Mayor Kine said, leaning close. ¡°Those men have instructions to beat the shit out of you if this is a hoax.¡±


    ¡°Not a hoax,¡± Faera said, shaking Kine¡¯s hand. ¡°And I appreciate your effort, sir.¡±


    ¡°You better,¡± Kine muttered, turning away. ¡°Follow me.¡±


    Faera followed behind him, sparing one backward glance at the man sprawled across his cot. ¡°What¡¯s gonna happen to him?¡± she asked.


    Kine glanced over his shoulder as they exited the security gate. ¡°They¡¯re going to make an example of him,¡± he said. ¡°I argued that, were he programmed to kill, he would have done it already, but the council¡¯s composed of old codgers with PTSD. One of them actually climbed under his desk and started hyperventilating when we showed them pictures. The rest weren¡¯t much better.¡±


    ¡°Guess I got lucky,¡± Faera said.


    ¡°You surely did,¡± Kine said, guiding her to the street.


    ¡°That¡¯s a bummer.¡± Faera turned left toward the city gate. ¡°He seemed like he wanted to help people.¡±


    #


    Create a new folder, bookmark Sierra,  thirty seconds before the last two interruptions of consciousness. Sam lay in the bed with his eyes closed, breathing slowly. He had woken mid-carry, but felt the hands of at least four men at all times, and had chosen to bide his time. In doing so, he had overheard an interesting conversation that gave him a lot to think about.


    First, there was some kind of military activity happening in East Mountain. Second, it was caused by humans.


    And the third point that could be gleaned from this? These people weren¡¯t human.


    Sam laced his fingers behind his head as he considered: Which side would he choose?


    Sam knew his own face well, having seen it every morning in the bathroom¡¯s cracked mirror.  Sam could tell that the man who had executed those pointy-eared people in the arena¡¯s hologram was in pain . Siding with the humans would be safe, but he would wind up becoming exactly what these non-humans had accused him of being.


    On the other hand, how could he live in peace with the non-humans, when he apparently stood for something they reviled?


    Sam tapped his foot against the air, replaying one of the songs in the Rec Room jukebox with his implant.


    For now, he would have to escape and witness more of the world with his own eyes, before he made a decision.


    #


    The sun was beginning to set when Faera came to the city gate. It had already been twenty-four hours since the attack on East Mountain, and her heart hammered with worry for her people.


    At the gate was an armored military truck loaded with six soldiers. Beside it was Daniel Fall¡¯s truck, three men in the cab and five in the bed. A third private truck held another six.


    ¡°Here¡¯s your team,¡± Mayor Kine said. ¡°You¡¯ll be along as a guide, Captain Maillard will be in command, and the rest of his platoon--¡± Kine motioned to the two civilian trucks loaded with soldiers ¡°--will be joining for R&R.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± Faera said as the captain stepped forward. The man showed the first signs of aging, meaning he was most likely nearing his six hundredth year of life and that he¡¯d probably been born on the other side of The Gate.


    He held out a hand and clasped Faera¡¯s with a warm grip. ¡°Name¡¯s Captain Maillard, Ranger. If you¡¯ll pardon my brevity, get your ass on the truck. East Mountain doesn¡¯t have all week.¡±


    ¡°Yes sir,¡± Faera said, scrambling up into the military truck. She was pleased to find her weapons in the bed, and she strapped her holster on as the truck rumbled to life. The grim-faced elves around her were armed to the teeth, and they sat upon ammos cases as long as she was tall. Faera fetched two extra clips for her sidearm and rifle, slipping them into slots on her belt.


    The drive back to East Mountain took two hours. They bypassed Gentle Nights, instead following the road that Faera had avoided for fear of humans running her down in bulletproof trucks. After crossing the bridge, with East Mountain approximately twenty minutes away on foot, they pulled off to the side.


    ¡°Alright, listen up,¡± the captain said after they¡¯d jumped from the trucks. ¡°The report from the scout here was that the humans softened up East Mountain with artillery, then blitzed them with jeeps carrying several hundred swordsmen. The men and women of East Mountain fell back to the emergency shelter and sealed themselves in.¡±


    ¡°That was,¡± the captain said, checking his watch, ¡°twenty-eight hours ago.¡± His gaze scanned across the assembled soldiers. ¡°We¡¯re going to return the favor. Holdan, I want you to take your squad to the edge of the forest and disable any artillery you find--the last thing I want is to get shelled like a dumbass. If you run into something you can¡¯t handle, launch a red flare and retreat.


    ¡°The rest of you are going to follow our guide here to a good vantage point, then we¡¯re going to get some target practice. According to the report, there¡¯s a good chance that there¡¯re kidnapped elves among them, so take good aim, and no grenades unless I say so.¡±


    The soldiers gave an affirmative, and Captain Maillard met her eye. ¡°Get moving.¡± Faera broke into a jog, and the captain and two squads followed her, while Holdan¡¯s broke away to the east.


    Minutes later, approached the last hill overlooking the base, Faera motioned for the soldiers to crouch. She shimmied to the top of the ridge, and gazed down at her home .


    The empty, burned husk of the base stared back at her. The shattered walls and watchtowers had been set aflame, and the massive steel plate that had protected the emergency shelter from dragons  four hundred years ago had been peeled away like the lid of a tin can. Their last line of defense hadn¡¯t even held a single day, Faera realized, fists tightening.


    The base was still. The Jeeps and soldiers that had swarmed the area the day before were long gone, and all of her people, her dad, and her friend, were either dead or taken.


    She motioned the captain up, and he surveyed the smoldering wreckage with a grim expression. After a few minutes, the captain stood. ¡°Ranger, come with me. Tennins,¡± he ordered, ¡°stay here and provide cover in case something unexpected happens. Everyone else, with me. We need to check for survivors.¡±


    Without waiting for the others, Faera set off down the hill, letting gravity assist in her flight down the side of the mountain. Faera¡¯s feet only seemed to touch the ground in fits and bursts as she flew through the trees.


    Finally, Faera emerged into the clearing around the base. A single road cut through the woods, leading to the elven base built into the side of the mountain. She smelled smoke as she ran up the path.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Jumping over a pile of smoldering logs that used to be the wall, Faera scanned left and right. She saw nothing alive in the main yard. Base housing lay in ruins, the apartments collapsed as though they had been flattened by the hammer of an immense giant.


    ¡°Hello!¡± she called out. ¡°Is anyone still alive here?¡± The buzzing of flies was her only answer. Around her, human corpses lay naked in the dirt, stripped of their valuables and left to rot.


    On the other hand, she saw not a single dead elf.


    Heart hammering, Faera rushed to the Emergency Shelter and climbed through the peeled-open steel door. Inside, there was a destroyed barricade and bloodstains on the walls and floor. A wide stain travelled the length of the hall, where it appeared each and every shelter occupant had been dragged out, alive or dead.


    Faera shivered as her blood ran cold. Why the hell did they go through so much effort to kill elves? And why did they take them? Particularly, what use could they have for dead elves?


    As far as Faera knew, only the oldest elves who could remember a time before her race had resided on Earth. Humans, with their short life spans, had simply passed learned hate from one generation to the next. In those generations, they¡¯d reverted, lost most of their technology.  So how the Jeeps and artillery?


    Faera walked deeper into the Emergency shelter, and found beds overturned, failed barricades knocked aside. She came to the communications room and saw that someone had taken a sword to the radio. Faera moved deeper into the Emergency shelter, looking for bodies, any clue.


    In the Common Room, the furniture had been moved to create barricades near the entrance. Passing those, she saw the word first. Written in flaking brown blood, the word ¡®blasphemy¡¯ had been scrawled across the floor. Behind it lay a jumble of scorched, useless guns amidst the powdery ashes of what looked to¡¯ve been¡­ books. Thousands of books, taken from the now-empty shelves.


    The base¡¯s accumulated knowledge, all gone. Faera felt something evil in that pile of scrap, as if the hunts of her kind  had manifested some dark, physical form right in front of her.


    The muscles in Faera¡¯s jaw tightened as she looked at the desecration, nails biting into her palms as she made fists.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Captain Maillard said, approaching from behind. ¡°The sweep was clean. No survivors.¡±


    Faera wiped her cheeks and regarded the Captain. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said quietly. ¡°For coming.¡±


    ¡°Just wish I could have been here to lend a hand.¡±


    ¡°You and me both,¡± Faera said, biting back a sob.


    ¡°They¡¯re going to have to take this seriously,¡± he said. ¡°Between this and Gentle Nights, we¡¯ve got to get off our asses.¡± He must¡¯ve seen something in her expression. ¡°Come back with us. Help me convince them.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m going to follow their trail and kill as many of them as I can,¡± Faera said, her eyes narrowed. She thought back to the prisoners that had been loaded into the cages. If she was fast enough, maybe she could save a few of them.


    ¡°Come back with us,¡± Captain Maillard urged. ¡°If you run after them half-cocked, you¡¯re just going to end up dead. Take a few days to calm down, make a plan, and get supplies.¡±


    Faera glanced back at the captain, and saw the pain in his eyes. ¡°Did something like this happen to you?¡±


    The captain nodded. ¡°My son had a homestead to the south,¡± he said. "They took em, along with my granddaughter."


    Faera nodded, not needing to hear any more. She turned and walked back out of her former home with anger smoldering in her chest.


    The ride back to First Word was a silent one.  All the optimism and nerves mixed with bloodlust was washed away, replaced with sullen anger, disappointment, and fatigue. Faera sat amongst them, her rifle leaning over her shoulder as her mind wandered.


    How was she going to get her people back? Faera knew that a large portion of them were still alive, and--best case--would be sold as slaves. Worst case, they were being kept alive to keep their ¡®ingredients¡¯ as fresh as possible so that these short-lived savaged could try to gain elven powers by eating them, or mixing their blood with mercury and drinking it, or some other stupid shit.


    The humans from the twenty-first century had done the exact same thing, albeit with more care and precision. They¡¯d been working on sequencing the elven genome, trying to isolate what made them so long-lived and uniquely gifted at manipulating the energy that seeped through the Gates.


    Eventually, in their envy and frustration, the humans had tried to exterminate them. The quest to unlock the elves¡¯ secrets had never halted, but their science had devolved into barbaric superstition. Today, humans believed that drinking elven blood granted long life and virility.


    Faera rolled her eyes. If there ever was a stupider reason for genocide... Rhinos, elves, and myriad other creatures, killed to make human dicks hard.


    She followed the troops into the base, where the light of the evening  sun was blocked out by the massive concrete walls of First Word¡¯s fortifications. The troops helped unload the trucks, then broke off into ones and twos, disappearing into the stretching shadows, heading back to their homes and families.


    All except for Captain Maillard, who stayed to check over the truck, fastidiously making sure everything was perfect in case they had to use it in a hurry.


    ¡°Thanks for bringing me back here,¡± Faera said as the captain stepped from the truck. ¡°Can you point me to the logistics officer? I haven¡¯t spent much time in First Word.¡± She needed guns. Guns, dried food, knives, a water filter, camouflage, rope, a spare pair of boots and clothes, extra socks¡­ Faera mentally began preparing the list of things she¡¯d need for her trip into the human lands.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do you one better,¡± Captain Maillard said, dusting his hands as he closed the truck¡¯s door. ¡°The mayor called a council meeting. It¡¯s an unofficial debrief. We tell them what we saw, and they¡¯ll take some kind of action. They can¡¯t deny the fact that the entire population of East Mountain has vanished. You¡¯ll get your help.¡±


    The captain guided Faera through the streets of First Word until they reached City Hall, where the Mayor and the Council of Elders awaited them in an oval room that smelled of musty old wood and older elves.


    ¡°Ranger,¡± a wrinkled old elf in a patched suit said, nodding as she entered the room. ¡°Captain.¡± Faera cast her gaze across the assembly of elders, and saw that each seat was filled save the centermost. The younger mayor sat in a far wing.


    ¡°We¡¯d like to hear what happened at East Mountain Fort,¡± the wrinkled man in the suit said. There were five other elders beside him, some dressed human formal, some wearing more traditional elven robes.


    ¡°The entire fort was looted, and its population has been abducted, both the living and the dead.¡±  The captain spoke to the assembled elders.


    ¡°That¡¯s alarming,¡± a woman in robes said. ¡®Uyetta Suienan¡¯, her nameplate read.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± the suited elderly man agreed. He was ¡®John Southland¡¯. ¡°Was there any evidence of small arms fire, or the artillery and Jeeps spoken of by Ms. Entramond, here?¡±


    ¡°There were scorch marks where high impact explosions tore apart the city gates, and tire tracks leading up to the gate itself,¡± He said


    ¡°Tire tracks and explosives?¡± another man said, also robed, one ¡®Makeval Rondus¡¯. He flipped open a manila folder. ¡°According to your first debrief, there was a human or possibly mixed-blood who was capable of harnessing Nuetta to cause explosions. Is it possible the damage to the fort was caused by him or people like him?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Faera said with an edge in her voice. ¡°I saw the artillery, the gouts of smoke and the explosions. There was no soul within visual range of the walls when the bombardment started.


    John turned his gaze to Captain Maillard, shifting in his seat. The old goat probably had ass problems.  ¡°Did you see any sign of artillery, captain?¡±


    ¡°I saw the damage to the walls, sir. The tracks were too far out to--¡±


    ¡°How about small arms fire?¡± John asked.


    The captain frowned. ¡°There was no sign of small arms fire, but--¡±


    ¡°You see, there is no concrete evidence of the humans reinventing anything as advanced as a simple blunderbuss,¡± John said, with Makeval nodding in agreement. The other elders seemed pensive, their expressions subdued.


    ¡°Why are you trying to downplay this?¡± Faera demanded, taking a step forward. The guards against the wall took a half-step in her direction. They¡¯d probably tackle her if she got in the elders¡¯ faces, so she decided not to push her luck. ¡°You know for a fact that every soul is gone,¡± she continued. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be sending everything you have at them?¡±


    ¡°Please, Ms. Entramond, no one is more concerned about this than we are.¡± Makeval gave the platitude with a severe and patronizing tone.


    ¡°More concerned than the thousand elves of East Mountain? Because I guarantee you that they¡¯re pretty fucking concerned right now. They¡¯re probably waiting in iron cages to be cut up for elixirs or fetishes or some shit.¡±


    ¡°Please, Ms. Entramond, the matter is one of scale,¡± John  said. ¡°There would be no benefit in sending the full army when a small taskforce will do. Especially when we don¡¯t know exactly how the Fort was attacked.¡±


    ¡°It. Was. Artillery. And. Jeeps,¡± Faera growled.


    ¡°Ranger, I¡¯m sure you¡¯re aware that memory is a fickle thing, even more so in a traumatic event. It¡¯s very easy to get the order of events jumbled up, and even invent things to fit the narrative. We can¡¯t afford to act on one soldier¡¯s hysterics.¡± Makeval gave a dismissive wave.


    Faera was over the desk before the guards could catch her. Her fist sank into the elder¡¯s nose with a satisfying crack, causing the old man to spew a mouthful of blood and a tooth across the table and her sleeve . Her momentum carried them backward, and she rode him and his chair to the ground, achieving a mounted position.


    ¡°How¡¯s this for hysterics, asshole!¡± She got three good hits in before she felt the rough grip of the guards under her arms, pinching her nerves as they hauled her away from the elder. Faera tried to give him a good kick to the liver as they hauled her away, but they lifted her painfully off the ground and another two men grabbed her legs, Captain Maillard being one of them.


    ¡°That was not a good idea,¡± he said as the four of them carried Faera out.


    They dragged her straight to a cell. Faera didn¡¯t have any hatred for the ones carrying her, or energy to spare struggling, so she went limp in their hands, spending the time being dragged through the street considering what she¡¯d just done. She expected to be court-martialed and put in prison, but a week later the charges were dismissed in light of Faera¡¯s circumstances¨Chysterics--and she was released as a civilian.


    Faera woke up a free woman in her hotel, rolling her shoulders as she sat up, stretching out a muscle she¡¯d strained in the attack on the council member the week before. She had been fortunate that the damage inflicted on Makeval had been slight, otherwise she might have found herself stuck in jail.


    As Faera¡¯s thoughts turned to jail, she recalled the human who¡¯d been in jail with her. Apparently the man had been some kind of vicious war criminal, and so had been sentenced to death by arena participation.


    Faera stood and went to the sink, brushing her teeth in front of the mirror. As she did so, she could hear the cheer of the crowd from the arena. The hotel she was currently staying in rested in the shadow of the massive structure.


    It was a barbaric custom, one carried over from their previous world. Participation was more or less voluntary nowadays, with the adoption of human technology.


    A rousing cry made Faera turn her head to look at the coliseum out the window. In the glass, she saw the reflection of her pointed ears. If it weren¡¯t for those, she¡¯d look pretty damn human.


    Curious, Faera put her finger across her ear, imagining the cartilage stopping there. It truly did look like a human ear, if only it were a bit more rounded on top.


    Suddenly, Faera was struck by an idea. She knew how she was going to find her friends and family that had been taken. She threw her clothes on and sprinted downstairs, tossing a few bits at the guy behind the desk.


    After a quick afternoon shopping, and consulting with some body modification specialists, she found herself sitting in a chair with her ears marked with a grease pen.


    ¡°Are you sure you want to do this?¡± the tattooed elf asked, a scalpel in one hand and a cube of ice in the other, pressed against her ear. ¡°There¡¯s not a whole lot of coming back from this. It might even get you shot on sight.¡±


    ¡°Not where I¡¯m going,¡± Faera said.


    The tattooed elf shrugged and then flicked her ear with a finger. ¡°Can you feel that?¡± he asked.


    Faera shook her head.


    ¡°Okay,¡± the elf sighed, brandishing the scalpel. ¡°Here¡­ we¡­ go.¡±

 Chapter 6: Unsuspecting Villagers

    In the days since his first escape attempt, Sam had been foiled two more times before they simply put him under constant guard, with two elves watching him twenty-four hours a day. At least, when they weren¡¯t making him fight in the arena.


    Sam was lying in his cot with his head propped up by the brick wall, reading the elven book of law, when his door swept open. Sam¡¯s two guards started, snapping to attention. The first guard was a slender woman named Hera, who worked in her sister¡¯s bakery after hours, and the second was Thomas, a veteran of the Division war who collected memorabilia.


    Thomas and Hera paled as their superior¡¯s gaze passed over their abandoned card game. The table they played upon was pressed against the bars of the cell, with a stool in Sam¡¯s cell completing the setup.


    The heavyset elf took all this in with a scowl, then his gaze snapped to Sam. ¡°You¡¯re on.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been reading this book you gave me,¡± Sam said, holding his place with his index finger. ¡°And I invoke a Citizen¡¯s right to choose whether or not to fight in the arena.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just stupid,¡± the elf said, his scowl deepening. ¡°You¡¯re not a Citizen.¡±


    ¡°I was here when this country was founded, ergo, I am a Citizen,¡± Sam said leaning against the bars.


    ¡°Only elves can be citizens, numbnuts,¡± the heavyset elf said, his complexion reddening.


    ¡°Not true,¡± Sam said, flipping the book open. ¡°And I quote: ¡®Any person within the border of the nation at the time of its founding, and anyone born within those borders thereafter is a Citizen of the last stronghold of humans and elves, Metade.¡¯¡± He leaned against the bars of the cell. ¡°¡®The last stronghold of humans and elves¡¯,¡± he repeated, musing. ¡°Sounds pretty clear to me.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have all day to argue minutia,¡± the arena¡¯s overseer said, drawing his gun. ¡°Now you¡¯re going to go out there, and you¡¯re going to fight, or die. I don¡¯t really care which.¡± The overseer twitched his gun, motioning for Sam to move.


    ¡°It was worth a shot,¡± Sam said with a sigh, and tossed the book down onto the cot. He only had one day left until the end of the festival, when he was scheduled to die fighting a demon. Demons, from what Sam had been able to gather, were impossible to kill by mortal means, which basically meant tomorrow would be his execution--or an interesting fight, at the very least.


    Sam stepped out of the cage, and walked in front of the overseer, down the path he knew well by now. ¡°So what¡¯s on the menu today?¡± Sam asked, perusing the assembled weapons as the gate closed behind him. The overseer stood behind it, still watching Sam with a steely gaze.


    The twitchy young man behind the table held out a boiled leather cuirass. ¡°Since you used the radio in your vest to contact Town Hall and tried to become a landowner, we have to issue your armor,¡± he said in a rush, flinching away from Sam.


    That wasn¡¯t all Sam had done, but there was no sense telling him that. Sam¡¯s recent escape attempts had been less violent in nature than his first, as Sam was determined to change the elves¡¯ opinion of him. It didn¡¯t help that they put him into a situation where he had to kill in front of an audience every day.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Sam said, rapping his knuckles against the hard leather. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t stop bullets, but thankfully that isn¡¯t going to be an issue.¡±


    The boy smiled nervously, his gaze shifting to the overseer, who still had his gun leveled at Sam. He shrugged into the stiff armor, and regarded his choices. Once again, the table was covered with weapons, and this time Sam was aware they were meant to be lethal.


    Sam grabbed a short sword and sheath, strapped it on, then picked up two thin knives and slid them into his leather boots. Finally, Sam grabbed the newly-repaired Old Faithful, the dented iron ball now riding the end of a replacement steel shaft.


    The overseer gave a nod, and the gate in front of Sam ground open.


    Sam stepped out into the arena, his eyes quickly adjusting to the brightness of the open-air stadium. ¡°Okay,¡± he said, hefting his mace as he studied the environment. Great slabs of stone formed walls and corners, providing a smattering of cover throughout the arena.


    The gate on the far side of the arena was concealed behind a wall of granite, but the creatures had most likely already been released. Ever since that first match, the people in charge had made sure he hadn¡¯t had another chance to blitz his opponent.


    ¡°The scourge of the ancient world has been released on the unsuspecting villagers! Watch and be terrified at the efficacy of this abomination¡¯s slaughter!¡±


    Sam cocked his head to the side at ¡®unsuspecting villagers¡¯. They weren¡¯t actually going to send unsuspecting villagers into the arena, so what was the game?


    He spotted a pair of beady eyes below a peeling scalp staring at him from above one of the walls. One of the eight-foot stone walls. A deep, resonating howl swept through the arena, spreading as more and more voices took up the call.


    ¡°Seems like the villagers have caught the scourge red-handed in the middle of its deadly assault!¡± the announcer crowed, his voice echoing through the stands. ¡°Perhaps these innocent sheep can fend off the wolf.¡±


    A moment later, one of the ¡®innocent sheep¡¯ stepped around the wall, and Sam forgot to breathe.


    It was a man, nine feet tall and ugly, with a heavy-boned face and massive frame. The most startling thing was the heavy makeup applied to the thing¡¯s face, and the points crudely stapled to its ears.


    The audience roared with laughter as the ogre halfheartedly dressed as an elf came into full view. The beast showed no awareness of the staples in its ears, or of the paint running beneath its weeping nose and drooling lips. Its focus was entirely on Sam.


    With a bass rumble, the ogre lunged toward Sam, its bone club whistling through the air.


    Sam dove under the feral swing and started running, seeking cover behind the stone walls.


    ¡°Audience members who are unable to see behind the wall may watch the screen for a close-up of the action,¡± the announcer said. ¡°It seems as though, after seeing the boy raise the alarm, the scourge has decided to go straight for the heart of the village in an attempt to catch them off guard!¡±


    Sam stopped and changed directions, taking a hard left and putting some stone walls between himself and the drooling ¡®boy¡¯.


    ¡°The scourge has turned away from the villagers who are actively seeking him, and has decided to circle around the poor young boy,¡± the announcer said as Sam crouched between two walls and took another left.


    ¡°There¡¯s a villager waiting for the scourge, ladies and gentlemen. We may see the end here,¡± the announcer said excitedly.


    Sam had just come to the end of a hall created by two massive stone walls. He slipped a knife out of his boot and threw it up and over the wall. Somewhere on the other side, it clattered against stone.


    A roar sounded behind the wall, and the earth shook. Sam ducked out and saw the ogre with its back turned, its club buried in the sand after a massive swing.


    Sam swung the long-handled mace up, and then down, crushing the massive beast¡¯s thick skull.


    The faux elf slumped to the ground, to a jeering cry from the audience.


    ¡°The Scourge has some damn good instincts, I¡¯d say,¡± the announcer said, rubbing his chin.


    Sam rolled his eyes and pointed to the glowing orb that was tracking his every movement, and then to his ears. ¡°You know I can speak English, right?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Oh, it appears as though The Scourge can recognize the speech patterns of higher life forms, and somewhat infer their intent from tone,¡± the announcer said.


    Sam shook his head and returned his mind to the task.


    He was creeping along a wall when a gust of wind whizzed past his left shoulder. Sam glanced behind him and spotted three ogres wielding crossbows, each of the weapons the size of a small man. Sam had enough time to throw himself to the ground before a volley of wrist-thick bolts plowed through the air above him. The ogres snarled and punched the one who had fired early and missed.


    Sam sprang to his feet and charged the ogres. They swung their enormous crossbows at him, trying to bring them down on his head. Sam ducked low and slid past, breaking a shin with Old Faithful on his way by.


    The wounded ogre collapsed to the ground, and Sam had just enough time to plant a killing blow against the side of its head before the others fell upon him. He rolled out of the way of the huge crossbows, and caught sight of another six ogres with clubs sprinting towards them.


    Sam vaulted off the still twitching corpse of the ogre and sailed over the eight foot wall, crashing down into the sand on the far side. The open design of the arena meant the ogres could have gone around in a matter of seconds, but they stubbornly attempted to follow him straight over the wall.


    The ogres were clumsy and slow, and as the first one folded himself in half over the wall, Sam delivered a killing blow to its head.


    ¡°It seems as though the Scourge intends to divide the villagers and kill them one at a time, showing a near-elven level of intelligence and sophistication,¡± the announcer called over the screaming crowd.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°But,¡± the announcer said, raising his voice. ¡°Now the village chief has joined the battle! Can he save his people?!¡±


    A deep voice began chanting, and Sam¡¯s stomach dropped. He whirled and sprinted away from the wall at full speed. The deep voice came to a roaring crescendo and the wall exploded, blasting stone shrapnel in every direction.


    Sam¡¯s left shoulder stung, courtesy of a sharp chunk of granite lodged in his hide. He glanced back and saw an ogre taller than the rest, flanked by two more wearing actual armor and wielding swords that must have each weighed over a hundred pounds. The club-wielding ogres flooded through the gap in the wall while the crossbowmen began to reload.


    Sam let out a growl of frustration and dodged around a wall, sprinting away from the eleven giants with all the speed he could muster. He led the club-bearers on a merry chase, separating them from the crossbow-wielding ogres, being careful to keep out of sight of the latter.


    Finally, Sam turned back and hitched himself over a granite wall, coming face to face with the crossbowmen. As he fell, he threw his short sword at one ogre¡¯s hand. The blade flew true, and sunk deep into the meat of the giant¡¯s wrist. The ogre reared back, dropping the crossbow and clutching its arm.


    Moment of truth, Sam thought as he rolled out of the way of the second ogre¡¯s shot. The quarrel blasted through the stone wall behind him, the steel fletching ripping the air by his skin.


    Out of the corner of his eye, Sam spotted the ogre mage¡¯s two guards lumbering toward him, wearing hundreds of pounds of steel over their vital areas.


    ¡°The Scourge has separated the poor village hunters from their brethren, and now the fiend plans to take the opportunity to dispatch them before the village chief¡¯s bodyguards can catch him!¡± the announcer crowed.


    Sam ignored the idiot as he lunged forward. He snatched the enormous loaded crossbow off the ground and fell onto his back, holding the immense weight of the ranged weapon up with his legs. Sam spotted a moment of dim realization on the armored ogre in the lead before he squeezed the release. The crossbow bucked and nearly flipped Sam upside down.


    The bolt tore a hole through the lead ogre¡¯s thick breastplate and buried itself in the second. The lead ogre dropped to the ground while the second knelt, clawing at the bolt trapped in place by his armor.


    ¡°In an unexpected turn of events, the Scourge has used the hunter¡¯s weapon to kill one of the chief¡¯s bodyguards and wound another!¡±


    Sam flung the heavy weapon away and rolled in time to avoid a stomp from the wounded crossbowman. The other threw its unloaded crossbow down and lunged at Sam, dropping all pretense of civilization as its mouth frothed in rage.


    Sam ducked and pushed forward, passing between its legs. When it turned around and lunged again, Sam met its charge with his mace to the ogre¡¯s forehead. Blood shot from its nostrils, and Sam jumped straight up as the monster slid beneath him and lay limp.


    He scanned the battlefield. Wounded crossbowman, wounded armor wearer, one larger opponent capable of slinging explosives¡­ with its mind? All that and six tree-trunk-wielding, slobbering giants hoisting themselves over the walls. Sam¡¯s gaze caught on the tallest. The ogre fixed him with a steady glare that spoke of intelligence.


    Sam locked his gaze on it, intent on not missing a single moment. It pulled one black-nailed hand back and snarled a single syllable, then pushed its hand forward as though it were tossing a shot put. The air in front of the ogre¡¯s hand wavered, then a ball of crackling energy manifested, flying toward Sam and splitting into three identical spheres in midair.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Sam said, rolling out of the way of the speeding blasts. The balls of light swerved in midair and slammed into Sam¡¯s chest, leg and back. Sam cried out in pain, and the boiled leather fell away, smoking and mangled.


    Sam rolled to his feet and looked at his right leg, which was now showing black through his charred pants. The skin felt numb, and Sam smelled burnt flesh. Sam tested his leg, and found that it still moved, albeit stiffly. Add a bookmark to the Sierra folder, Oscar Mike. Gotta remember that one.


    ¡°It seems as though the Scourge¡¯s plan to eliminate the village hunters first and whittle away the rest of them has hit a bit of a snag,¡± the announcer said, his voice booming across the sand as Sam started running away from the ogres again. ¡°What do you have to say on the subject, Theold?¡±


    ¡°I think we just saw something strange, Grant.¡± The old elf¡¯s voice rang in Sam¡¯s ears. ¡°The S4M units would never have stopped moving long enough for a mage to cast a spell. I can only guess that this particular one had a reason for stopping.¡±


    ¡°What might that be?¡± the announcer asked.


    ¡°If I had to guess, he--¡±


    ¡°It,¡± the announcer reminded Theold.


    ¡°It,¡± Theold¡¯s gravelly voice came back, ¡°probably wanted to see a magical attack first-hand so that it could develop a countermeasure against me.¡±


    Magical? Sam thought as he ran.


    Sam sprinted away from the mage, his leg slowly growing more and more painful. Sam was able to separate and kill two more ogres as he ran, but his lungs were burning, and his leg was losing strength quickly.


    ¡°I see,¡± the announcer said, nodding sagely after a pause. ¡°After all, these things were quite the quick studies back in the day. Isn¡¯t that right, Theold?¡±


    Sam glanced up, and saw Theold give the gaudy-robed announcer a level stare. ¡°That doesn¡¯t even begin to describe it, kid,¡± Theold said, his tone flat.


    Sam came to a stop leaning against a granite wall, his feet sliding in the dry sand of the arena as he gasped for breath.


    ¡°Looks like the Scourge is slowing down,¡± the announcer said. ¡°This village of elves may yet prevail, repelling the evil invader!¡±


    ¡°Gimme a break,¡± Sam said between desperate gasps. One mage, four club bearers, and two wounded left.


    The mace had grown heavy in Sam¡¯s hand and his short sword was long gone, buried in an ogre¡¯s wrist. If he was lucky, the ogre had just plucked it out and discarded it, but Sam suspected the wounded ogre had destroyed the weapon as soon as it was removed.


    The ogres were more cautious now. At the mage¡¯s instructions, they were searching the labyrinth of walls in pairs, never leaving their partner¡¯s side.


    Sam limped to the corpse of the first crossbowman and flipped him over. His crossbow was unharmed despite resting under the bulk of the ogre. Sam grabbed one of the bolts and began winching the crossbow, his left arm aching where the shard of granite was still lodged.


    The heavy wood creaked as the bolt fell into place in the receiver. With a grunt, Sam hoisted the crossbow over his shoulder and started tottering forward, looking for a place to set up an ambush.


    ¡°Looks like it¡¯s going to try the crossbow again,¡± Grant said. ¡°I know we¡¯re all dying to see how this turns out.¡±


    Sam glanced over his shoulder at the commentator and briefly considered shooting him. But then Sam shook his head as he dragged himself out into the open. It wouldn¡¯t help him in the long run, as great as it would feel to shut the guy up.


    Sam heard a roar of challenge to his right, and he flung himself to the ground, orienting the crossbow on the charging ogres. The crossbow bucked out of his weakened grasp, and the bolt caught the lead ogre in the throat. Sam tried to roll out of the way, but his injured leg sent a jarring burst of pain all the way up his spine.


    The injury slowed him just enough for the ogre to snatch Sam up from the arena sand, lifting him until they were face-to-face. The ogre gave him a rotten-toothed grin before he shook Sam violently. Old Faithful flew out of his fingers, landing in the sand. The ogre gave a sadistic grin as he held Sam aloft with one hand and wound back his club.


    ¡°And there we have it, ladies and gentlemen, the Scourge of the Ancient World only amounts to--¡± Grant¡¯s voice cut off when the ogre slumped over, collapsing in a boneless pile. ¡°What just happened? Can we get an instant replay on that?¡± Grant¡¯s brows furrowed as Theold chuckled beside him.


    Sam limped away from the dead ogres and retrieved his mace. ¡°Two clubs, two wounded, one mage,¡± Sam chanted to himself over and over to pace his breathing and distract himself from his leg, which was beginning to weep blood from the cracks in his burnt skin.


    The giant floating image above his head zoomed in on Sam¡¯s last moments with the ogre, slowing them down drastically. As the ogre shook Sam, he¡¯d retrieved his second knife from his boot. When the ogre had stopped moving for a moment, Sam had launched the knife through the ogre¡¯s eye, piercing deep into the giant¡¯s brain.


    ¡°Wow,¡± the announcer said, leaning back as he watched the replay. ¡°I¡¯m going to be honest folks, it¡¯s my job to talk up the monsters, but that was just terrifying. It¡¯s no wonder the old folks are terrified of them. Do you have anything to add, Theold?¡±


    The old elf caught the announcer¡¯s eye for a moment and leaned into the microphone. ¡°Just that they came in groups of three, Grant.¡±


    ¡°Hats off to those brave guards who nearly died slowing this thing down long enough to give Master Theold a chance to stop it,¡± the announcer said. ¡°Now back to the fight. It¡¯s finally starting to wind down, and the outcome is anyone¡¯s guess.¡±


    Sam waited for two ogres to be on the opposite side of the wall, then jumped down behind them and dispatched the giants with hammer blows to the head. ¡°Two wounded, one mage.¡±


    Sam hoisted himself back up onto one of the walls and spied the mage in the distance, his palm glowing above the wrist of the crossbowman. Sam saw his shortsword discarded beside them, thankfully unbroken.


    He made his way to the edge of the labyrinth, and began limping along the outer wall of the arena. Sam rounded the corner of the maze of walls and saw the two ogres. He planted the six-foot blood-covered mace in the sand of the arena and took a deep breath.


    ¡°Bring it!¡± Sam shouted with every fiber of his being, his voice echoing through the stands. For a brief moment, the chattering of the audience lulled, and it was quiet. Then the elves began to shake the very sand with their bloodthirsty cheers, mirroring Sam¡¯s exclamation.


    The formerly wounded ogres stomped forward, swinging one of the veteran¡¯s discarded swords. Sam waited until the last moment, leaning against the wall for support until the blade was almost upon him, then lurched forward.


    The massive steel blade buried itself in the wall giving Sam time to bring his mace down on the ogre¡¯s skull. The ogre slumped to the ground, and Sam started limping forward again, intent on the mage.


    A shock tore through Sam¡¯s body, driving the wind out of him. Sam looked down and saw that he¡¯d been pinned to the wall by a bolt from the remaining Ogre veteran. The thick bolt in Sam¡¯s stomach was buried in the wall behind him, and the heavy metal fletchings jutted out of his abdomen.


    ¡°Ugh.¡± Sam tried to take a breath and nearly threw up.


    The veteran ran up to Sam, giving him a view of the broken-off bolt jutting from his armor. The veteran pulled the hundred-pound sword from the wall and grinned down at Sam.


    Sam wasn¡¯t paying attention to the ogre above him; he was watching the so-called mage, who was chanting with lightning coalescing between his weaving fingers. Does he have some kind of tech that can create those effects? The mage drew a line between his hands, aiming at Sam as if he were drawing a bow. A split second later, lightning leapt out from his fingers, flashing toward Sam.


    Sam shoved against the wall, tearing himself free from the bolt¡¯s fletchings, and fell to the ground. The lightning cascaded over him, the veteran, and the wall. As if seeking the larger target, the lightning coalesced around the veteran, with only a bit of electricity licking against Sam¡¯s skin.


    The veteran fell on top of Sam, driving the air from his lungs. Sam struggled to pull himself free as another chant began rolling off of the ogre mage¡¯s tongue. Sam¡¯s vision began to dim as he realized he wasn¡¯t going to get out from under the ogre in time.


    The mage chanted the last syllable, and a bead of orange light took shape between his fingers.


    The elves were on their feet, screaming imprecations at Sam, at the ogre, and the announcer. The sea of screaming rose to a crescendo, when a gunshot cut through the noise.


    The orange bead floating in front of the ogre mage detonated, and it erupted in a ball of fire, consuming the monster. Confusion swept through the stands, with a few onlookers beginning to panic until the announcer spoke.


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen,¡± the announcer said, motioning to the screen. The floating image showed Sam pulling a small pipe out of his pants, and a tiny blast of smoke and fire escaping from it. ¡°It seems the Scourge of the Ancient World is a cheater, and snuck a homemade pistol onto the arena floor.¡±


    Theold stared at the announcer agape. ¡°You do realize that the S4M unit never signed the waiver, right? By definition, he can¡¯t be considered a cheater. And besides, when classified as a monster, if he was able to sneak it past security, he should be able to use it in the arena. What would you have done?¡±


    ¡°I would have died with dignity,¡± the announcer said, raising his nose.


    ¡°Sure, while someone else goes home and fucks your wife, I suppose,¡± Theold said. ¡°Get the medics in there to retrieve the combatant. The show¡¯s over.¡±


    Grant watched Theold stand and leave, his face crimson. ¡°You heard him,¡± he snarled before standing and making his own exit.

 Chaper 7: Little Billy

    ¡°Something¡¯s changed,¡± the dragon mused, shifting his weight atop the accumulated wealth of a dead nation.


    ¡°My lord Tyranus?¡± a nearby human spoke, its tiny voice barely reaching Billy¡¯s ears.


    Billy was the dragon¡¯s name, and it was how it thought of itself, after all these years. Born in a lab, the first thing to cross Billy¡¯s eyes had been humans, and for the first three years of his life, he¡¯d thought he was one.


    The researchers had been astonished by Billy¡¯s intelligence, and had amused themselves by affording the baby dragon a classic education--which, in retrospect, may not have been the best idea.


    ¡°My lord Tyranus?¡± the man said again as Billy twirled a twenty-seven pound gold bar between two claws. The trick was to slow down on the upswing so that the bar¡¯s momentum could carry it around the claw.


    The only problem was, having been raised by humans, Billy was considered to be a pansy by other dragons, despite having grown bigger and stronger than any wild dragon under the tender care of the Harvard Biology Department. A couple hundred years after the fall of man, he¡¯d even found his family¡­ and they had dismissed him offhand for not following dragon etiquette.


    Why should he have to ritualistically posture and fight, stretching his neck as high as possible to compare heights? It made no sense. Dragons were naturally more intelligent than humans, but an education was something to disdain, especially if it came from humans.


    Perhaps if his brethren had studied the planet¡¯s history before they declared themselves the masters of the world, they would have been ready when Billy sent some expendables to their lairs with backpack nukes. Needless to say, there were no other dragons left on the American continent.


    Now that Billy was entering his adulthood, though, he was beginning to experience a longing for companionship. Perhaps he could go through one of the Gates and court a female of his species.


    As Billy sighed, a gout of flaming liquid dribbled between his massive fangs and spattered on the ground, evaporating into the air as it combusted. He didn¡¯t really know what a red dragon courtship entailed, but if the behavior of the others who settled Earth¡¯s land was any indication, it would probably involve him wrestling his mistress to the ground and taking her by force.


    While such an animalistic method held appeal, Billy had always wanted to try cowgirl.


    ¡°My lord Tyranus?¡±


    ¡°What!?¡± Billy roared, whipping his head around to address the man standing at the edge of Billy¡¯s bed of gold and gems. His voice rang from the sheets of hanging brass and silver, creating a melodious undertone to his question.


    The force of Billy¡¯s breath rocked the man back on his heels. A small amount of burning liquid squirted out of the dragon¡¯s mouth before he was able to shut the flap in his throat, and it trickled down the pile of gold like a merrily-burning stream down a mountain, ending its journey at the man¡¯s feet.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, my lord, but you said something had changed?¡± Billy¡¯s chamberlain, a large man by the name of Thomas, asked.


    Billy blinked slowly, unwilling to admit he¡¯d become lost in thought. He rewound his short term memory, and found the moment Thomas spoke of. ¡°Yes,¡± Billy said. ¡°I felt a disturbance in the force.¡±


    The human didn¡¯t get the joke, but to be fair, it was somewhere around six hundred years before his time. Hell, it had been ancient when Billy had been born.


    Thomas gazed up at him, blind devotion written across his face. ¡°What was it, my lord?¡±


    ¡°I felt one of the threads of the world snap,¡± Billy said, using imagery to describe leylines to the ignorant savage. ¡°There will be recoil of some kind, you can be sure of it.¡±


    Billy closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, and strummed the leyline below him like a guitar string. The resulting echo was off-putting and discordant.


    ¡°Something has stirred,¡± Billy said, feeling the land through the magical current. ¡°There was something evil underground. A presence that had been there for so long I had grown numb to it¡­ is gone.¡±


    Billy¡¯s mind raced, ruling out possibilities. It couldn¡¯t be another dragon; they had all been accounted for. Humans didn¡¯t have enough magical ¡®weight¡¯ to register on the leylines. Elves had settled a nearby site of power, but they hadn¡¯t yet intruded on the forest, where the presence had been.


    It could have been an elf, Billy reasoned. How would an elf have survived for six hundred years hiding from the humans in a cave? The obvious answer was magic. A powerful magical practitioner moving for the first time in centuries could create such a disturbance.


    It was times like this that Billy wished the internet was still around. He could probably get a clearer picture with Google Maps.


    ¡°What shall we do?¡± Thomas asked.


    Billy shook his head. ¡°It is no threat to me,¡± he said, glancing at his chamberlain. ¡°But it would best be dealt with quickly, that it does not impact my people too harshly, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Thomas nodded. ¡°Your concern honors, uplifts and obligates us, my lord,¡± he said, saluting.


    ¡°Prepare the stage,¡± Billy said, idly squishing the gold bar between his claws. ¡°I wish to address my people.¡±


    The next morning, with the rising sun glittering off his scales, Billy stood poised on a concrete platform. A statue had once rested here, but in no living memory but Billy¡¯s had there ever been anything but the stage.


    Billy stood at the center of row after row of bright crimson, black, and white banners, all of which drew the eye to his magnificence. A milling crowd massed below him, desperately pushing to get closer and perhaps receive the blessing of their living god.


    ¡°My beloved people,¡± Billy said, his rumbling voice amplified magically so that it reached every corner of the city. ¡°A hundred years ago, your great-grandparents chose to follow me and separate from the ignoble ways of the empire that dominated the Mississippi--faith which you, my most treasured possession, have upheld. I am eternally grateful for your trust, and the honor you have given me over the years,¡± Billy said, his voice stirring the crowd.


    ¡°I bore witness to a weak, broken people, cut off from your roots, starving and poor. Watched you grow into the proud warriors you are today.¡± Billy shifted his wings as he reared back, overlooking his domain. ¡°Your ancestors fought. The empire tore at them, tried to make them animals. Every day, they would struggle, and burn, and hunger for the one chance that could see them free. Every day, they witnessed the evil that had corrupted the empire,¡± Billy said, scanning the crowd. ¡°The evil that turned it against us, but more importantly, against itself.


    ¡°The Mississippi Empire follows a doctrine no man can ascribe to,¡± Billy continued, enjoying the transfixed stares. ¡°They think to enslave the world and supersede your proud race beneath another.¡±Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The assembled humans murmured darkly.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Billy said, grinning inwardly. ¡°I speak of elves. The ruling class of the Mississippi Empire seeks to abandon their heritage, favoring that of the elves. The emperor himself is tainted by their blood, and hopes to win immortality for himself.


    ¡°Let me reiterate.¡± Billy held up a claw. ¡°The very same man who treated your great-grandfathers like dogs, who attacked and killed many of your grandparents, and who you and your parents are locked in a fierce war against, is the Emperor of Mississippi. And while he schemes and brings woe to generation after generation of our people, the elves slowly tighten their stranglehold over his country, marginalizing humans further and further, luring women away from their husbands for trysts with elven men.¡±


    At this, loud boos and disgruntled yelling washed across the crowd. Billy allowed the anger to grow, waiting until it had sufficient force before he directed it.


    His wings snapped out with a crack of thunder. ¡°Do not blame them,¡± Billy¡¯s voice boomed. ¡°These women do not do it for sport, or some perverse attraction to the inhuman creatures. They simply see no future for their pure-blooded children, and so they do what they must. The roots of the problem run deep, spreading through the lifeblood of the Mississippi and taking hold like a cancer.


    ¡°If we are to survive as a nation, and as a people, we must defend ourselves from the encroaching threat. And we are a nation, truly,¡± Billy said, stretching his neck to peer out over the crowd. ¡°Your great-grandparents gave you freedom, your grandparents gave you land, your parents gave you thriving cities. And it is this generation that will see it all come to fruition.


    ¡°As a nation, we have the mettle--and the metal--to defend ourselves as we have never done before,¡± Billy declared. ¡°We must set the needs of the nation in the forefront to ensure a strong country for your children, and their children in turn. We will not dally in the games the empire tries to play with its currency, and we will keep our workforce strong and pure. We must work to keep ourselves free from the grasp of the Empire that seeks to enslave us. And once you have built the foundations of your own great empire,¡± Billy said, ¡°your children will live a life of happiness and security, with my blessing.¡±


    A smattering of applause rose from the crowd.


    ¡°But we cannot do this in the shadow of the empire, my people. We must purge the corruption that threatens humanity from the face of the earth. We will give the arts and literature of our people to theirs, and stop the spread of malignant ideologies, excising it from their consciousness like the cancerous growth it is.¡± Billy spread his wings and released a gout of flame into the air, sending a wave of palpable heat over the cheering masses.


    ¡°We must be vigilant,¡± Billy said. ¡°For this taint encroaches from more than just our north and east. I have felt stirrings from the west as well. An ancient beast that lay dormant for hundreds of years has begun to move, and will seek to spread its corrupting influence through our land. Guard yourselves, and guard your neighbors, for the most priceless possession that this country has is its people, and it is with solidarity that we will drive back the forces that seek to see us undone!¡±


    With a final flare of flame, Billy brought the speech to an end among chants of ¡°Tyranus, Tyranus!¡± The poor fools didn¡¯t even know the meaning of the word he¡¯d chosen as his name. Billy supposed that was only to be expected when he himself was the author of all books on history and literature. All truths save his own had been washed away over generations of controlled education.


    The exception to this were people long-lived enough to see what he had turned his nation into--namely elves, especially the ones who¡¯d been around in the beginning. Billy wanted to erase those few hundreds¡¯ knowledge more than their selves, since elves made such excellent snacks.


    ¡°There is a spy among us,¡± Billy said with total confidence, despite being personally unaware of one. When wasn¡¯t there a spy? His declaration cut through the chanting while he extended his senses through the crowd. Sensing the hearts of three of the humans beginning to hammer, Billy corrected himself. ¡°There are spies among us.


    ¡°Not to worry, I¡¯ve marked them, my people,¡± Billy said, stepping down from the pedestal, the crowd flowing around him like water as he walked. Hands reached out to touch him, seeking the blessing of their god. It didn¡¯t particularly bother Billy, as oil was good for his scales.


    The three nervous humans began backing away, trying to escape.


    ¡°Link arms,¡± Billy commanded. ¡°Join hands with those around you.¡±


    At his word, the crowd went from a liquid to a solid, trapping the three spies inside the wall of flesh. In the stillness of the crowd, their struggle to flee was made glaringly obvious. Billy¡¯s worshippers grabbed these men of their own accord.


    Pleased at not having to track them down himself, Billy sat on his haunches in the center of the crowd. ¡°Bring them to me,¡± he said.


    A wave of hands lifted the three men into the air, kicking and screaming, and deposited them in front of Billy.


    ¡°Hold them down.¡±


    Dozens of willing hands pinned the men to the ground.


    ¡°Do you know,¡± Billy said, lightly breathing on a claw, ¡°what the empire does to spies who have failed their mission? Especially ones who¡¯ve given away state secrets?¡±


    The men stared up at him with wide, terrified eyes. ¡°We¡¯d never tell you anything, monster,¡± the youngest-looking said.


    ¡°Ah, but you already have. You¡¯ve told me that the empire is experiencing a famine,¡± Billy said, craning his neck to look down at the emaciated man before him. He blew a controlled jet of flame over his claw and then sliced through the man¡¯s homespun shirt, burning away the wool as the spy whimpered. The smoking shirt fell away, revealing ribs that stood out from the skin, and red rashes across his body.


    ¡°Hold his head,¡± Billy commanded, and hands secured the boy¡¯s head in place. Billy switched to a different claw and pressed up on the boy¡¯s lips, studying his gums, then his eyes, tongue, and heartbeat. The little one¡¯s heart trembled beneath his touch.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Billy said, smiling. ¡°I¡¯m a doctor."


    ¡°But, unfortunately,¡± he continued, ¡°I never took the Hippocratic Oath.¡± Billy switched to his hot claw and began carving the symbol of his supporters on the spy¡¯s inner thigh. He hummed to himself, ignoring the boy¡¯s tortured screams as he worked, and wondered how long it would take the young one¡¯s libido to get him killed. Probably a woman down on her luck in a cheap brothel would turn him in to the state. Billy wished he could see how it would all turn out, but his part in the play was done.


    He set a claw lightly against the spy¡¯s forehead. ¡°Forget,¡± he said, and the spy¡¯s eyes rolled back in his head.


    ¡°Let this one go,¡± Billy said cheerfully. ¡°He¡¯s served his purpose.¡± As the spy was carried away, Billy locked eyes with a more grizzled specimen, a bearded man decorated with scars from a life of hardship.


    ¡°Next,¡± Billy said jovially, reheating his claw until it glowed a cherry red. As they dragged the man closer, Billy sharpened his claw, dragging his others across the super-heated one, shaping it while it was relatively soft.


    Billy repeated his inspection on the older man, and came to the same conclusion: The empire was starving. He ran his gaze over the scars of whip-lashes, and the thick calluses on the man¡¯s hands. ¡°As a human male of some age, you¡¯ve probably got a much more developed sense of stability,¡± Billy said. ¡°How would you like your own land to the east?¡±


    Billy¡¯s read on the man was that as a former slave or convict, he would gladly accept independence from his nation--but the man shook his head, tears in his eyes. ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± the grizzled spy said. ¡°They have my wife n¡¯ kids.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± Billy reached down and pricked the man¡¯s shoulder with his claw, letting his blood form a small pool on the cobblestones. He dipped his claw in the red puddle and scratched out a circle of symbols on the stone.


    With a flash of light, three small humans sat huddled in the center of the circle, two girls and an infant in the eldest girl¡¯s grasp.


    ¡°Well, now I have your kids,¡± Billy said. ¡°So what¡¯ll it be?¡±


    The man¡¯s expression was tortured. ¡°I--¡± he began.


    ¡°Hold,¡± Billy said, raising the girls¡¯ hair away from their ears. ¡°I see.¡± He turned his gaze back to the spy. ¡°You must be considered quite successful back home, having a half-blood for a wife.


    ¡°Unfortunately, I must rescind my offer, and replace it with a new one,¡± Billy said. ¡°A job offer. One for you, and one for your¡­ spawn. Don¡¯t worry,¡± Billy said, savoring the man¡¯s anguish, ¡°it¡¯s not as stressful as spying.


    ¡°Consider your girls lucky. They are young enough to be taught their proper place. I think you men can take care of that,¡± Billy said, addressing the crowd, who chuckled, crowding around the unconscious girls.


    ¡°No!¡± the spy shouted. ¡°Leave them be, I¡¯ll tell you everything!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll tell me everything!¡± Billy boomed, his voice ringing from the mountains. ¡°Or they will die. What happens to them while they live is no more than a consequence of their birth. And I hope you were listening to me, as well,¡± Billy said to the crowd. ¡°I¡¯ve given my word that they will live, so treat them¡­ gently.¡±


    Cheers rang through the crowd as they dragged the sobbing spy away. There was only one job for a man who¡¯d been tainted by the touch of an elf; he¡¯d live out the rest of his life in hard labor. The same was true for women born with the taint of elven blood, although their duty required less heavy lifting.


    ¡°Next,¡± Billy said, crooking a claw.


    The third spy immediately began to grovel. ¡°My lord, I care nothing for Mississippi. I swear I¡¯ll tell you everything--¡± the man said, before Billy rammed a claw through his lungs.


    ¡°I hate it when they think they can manipulate me,¡± Billy said, before tossing the corpse into his mouth and swallowing it whole.

 Chapter 8: A New Deal

    Sam woke chained to a hospital bed. His entire body ached, but it was most acutely sore in his leg and stomach, where he had sustained grievous injury. Sam grunted, peeling up his gown to inspect the damage. The hole in his stomach was covered by a gauze bandage, and his leg was pink below the knee.


    ¡°You¡¯ll make a complete recovery, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re concerned about,¡± a voice said from beside Sam.


    Sam started, glancing over to see Theold, the man who¡¯d foiled his first escape attempt. ¡°Can¡¯t say that it¡¯s nice to see you again,¡± Sam said, his tone dry.


    ¡°I think you¡¯ll appreciate this visit, actually,¡± Theold said. ¡°Now cover up, you have a guest.¡± Theold motioned at Sam, who had peeled his hospital gown away.


    ¡°Why?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Why should you cover up or why do you have a guest?¡±


    ¡°Both,¡± Sam said.


    ¡°I¡¯m too old to care about this shit if you don¡¯t,¡± Theold said before leaning out the door. ¡°He¡¯s ready.¡±


    The door swung open, and the woman from the truck walked in. Faera, Sam recalled. She had bandages over her ears, covering the distinctive features of elf-kind, but Sam knew that face. She entered the room and froze, staring at Sam.


    ¡°What do you want? Is this a conjugal visit or something?¡± Sam asked, his mood souring. He had no idea why these people were bothering him. Theold seemed to have some kind of academic interest in him, or perhaps an old grudge, but Faera? He had no clue.


    Faera blushed and tore her eyes away from Sam¡¯s body to focus on his face. ¡°I¡¯ve got an offer for you,¡± she said, meeting his eye. ¡°I help you get out of here, and you help me get my town back.¡±


    Sam winced as he sat up. ¡°What makes you think I would help you? You killed my friend, I saved your life, and you reciprocate by leading me to this place.¡± Sam motioned at the city around them to the limits of the chains on his wrists.


    ¡°Would you have believed me if I¡¯d warned you?¡± Faera asked.


    ¡°No, but you didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Look,¡± Faera said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I killed your friend. I was scared. And ever since the moment we met, you¡¯ve held yourself to a higher standard than me. I was just hoping¡­ that some of that optimism and willingness to help people is still there.¡±


    Sam¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°How many people in your town?¡±


    Faera¡¯s shoulders relaxed. ¡°About fifteen hundred, give or take. I expect a large part of that number are dead.¡±


    Sam stayed silent, watching her closely. When she began to fidget, he spoke. ¡°Who took them?¡±


    ¡°Humans equipped with technology they shouldn¡¯t have reinvented yet,¡± Faera said, wincing. Keywords: Humans, technology, reinvented.


    Sam narrowed his eyes as the picture got a little bit clearer. ¡°And what do you need from me, specifically?¡±


    In response, Faera¡¯s hands went to the bandages on her ears. ¡°In elven society, it is taboo to alter your ears,¡± she said, peeling away the bandages. Beneath the white gauze, her ears looked like a human¡¯s, albeit a bit pink at the tips. ¡°No one else is willing to do what has to be done to find my family,¡± Faera said, her gaze resolute.


    ¡°But why do you need me, specifically?¡± Sam asked. ¡°Why not just go alone, or take your elf pals?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll field that one, Es Four Em,¡± Theold said.


    ¡°It¡¯s Sam,¡± Sam said, fixing the old man with a dark look in a moment of hostility.


    ¡°I should have guessed,¡± Theold said quietly. ¡°In any case, Sam, human society has become a bit¡­ tribal in the time since you were created.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Statements from scouts and interviews with prisoners indicate that women are property in the human lands to the east,¡± Theold said, sounding bitter.


    ¡°You need me as a cover,¡± Sam realized.


    ¡°I can¡¯t force you to do anything, and we are nowhere near on equal footing, but please,¡± Faera said, coming to kneel beside the bed, ¡°help me.¡±


    Looking down at her, Sam suddenly realized she was a girl. Not just a girl. A woman. A pretty one, one not taken by his best friend.


    Attraction came out of nowhere and hit him with the force of an anti-tank round. With her body close to his, Sam struggled to maintain his senses. It seemed as though his body wanted to explore every inch of hers. She was begging him, something the women of his experience would never do, and he¡¯d be lying if he said the act wasn¡¯t compelling. Her green eyes were wet with suppressed tears, and her lips were soft and rounded, and¡­


    ¡°You¡¯re making it hard,¡± Theold said offhand. ¡°For him to think.¡±


    Faera backed away, and Sam tried to cover himself, but the chain around his wrists complicated things. ¡°I have one condition,¡± Sam said when he¡¯d managed to shrug the gown back over himself.


    ¡°Name it,¡± Faera said, her eyes once again directed at the ceiling.


    ¡°If we succeed, I want both of you to tell everyone exactly who helped you,¡± Sam said. ¡°I¡¯m sick and tired of being treated like a monster.¡±


    Faera looked him in the eye and nodded. ¡°Easy.¡±


    ¡°All right,¡± Sam said, jangling his chains. ¡°Get me out of here.¡±


    Theold nodded, and with a wave of his hand, the handcuffs sprung open. Sam¡¯s skin prickled slightly as an invisible force washed over him. He watched the mage¡¯s hand closely, looking for the secret behind it, adding another bookmark to the Sierra folder.


    ¡°Convenient,¡± Sam said, his gaze lingering on Theold as he sat up and heaved his legs over the edge of the bed.


    ¡°We brought some clothes,¡± Faera said, handing Sam a linen bag. ¡°Change into those, and then Theold will see to your disguise. We don¡¯t have much time, so make it quick.¡±


    Not needing any encouragement, Sam tore off the gown. Faera turned away as he began donning the elven clothes. Sam found himself admiring Faera¡¯s silhouette, glancing up at her surreptitiously as he stooped over to slide on the pants. His eyes met those of her reflection in the hospital window, and he suddenly realized¡­ had she been looking at him, too?


    ¡°Yes, yes, you¡¯re both physically attracted to each other,¡± Theold said with a sigh. Faera and Sam stiffened, and Theold clapped his hands. ¡°Hurry it up!¡±


    Sam threw on the clothes, reddening as he realized he was suffering from the same distraction he¡¯d often had to curb in Ann and Tom. He hadn¡¯t understood how pervasive the influence of attraction was until he experienced it firsthand. It was impossible to shut out.


    ¡°All right, kid,¡± Theold said, reaching up to place his hands on either side of Sam¡¯s face. ¡°Close your eyes and hold still.¡±


    Theold¡¯s hands were rough but warm against Sam¡¯s cheeks. Once again, Sam felt an invisible force that seemed to flow over him in waves, settling into his skin with pins and needles. It felt as if his face had somehow fallen asleep, like an appendage that had been slept on.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    ¡°Why¡¯d you call me kid?¡± Sam asked, looking down at the aging elf as he stepped away. ¡°Haven¡¯t I been around for hundreds of years?¡±


    ¡°You may have been taught every method of kicking ass that humanity ever devised,¡± Theold said, appraising Sam with a critical eye. ¡°But you¡¯re as nervous around women as a teenage boy just starting to notice boobs.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Sam said, rolling his eyes.


    ¡°It might be a problem,¡± Theold said. ¡°If you seem too sheltered for your stature.¡±


    Sam tugged on the collar of his shirt. ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡±


    ¡°Is the clothing okay?¡± Faera asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s a little tight,¡± Sam said, popping threads in his collar to loosen it.


    ¡°Biggest we could find.¡± Faera handed Sam a mirror. ¡°When we get to the east, we¡¯ll have to change clothes again.¡±


    Sam looked at himself in the mirror, and was astonished at his new face. His hair had lightened and his cheekbones had seemingly risen. His eyes had widened, and he had distinctive points on his ears. Sam reached up to feel his ears, but beneath his hand, they felt exactly the same.


    ¡°It¡¯s an illusion, good for a couple days,¡± Faera said. ¡°Can you walk?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll make it,¡± Sam said, putting the mirror down.


    ¡°Alright, you don¡¯t have a lot of time,¡± Theold said, turning to leave. ¡°Get out the gate before the alarm is raised or you¡¯re screwed. I need to be somewhere else.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Sam said. ¡°I thought you hated me.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an old story,¡± Theold said, before vanishing in a gust of wind.


    Theold teleported home and staggered to his recliner. The toll of the Nuetta he¡¯d used today washed over him in a wave of exhaustion. Theold put his feet up and stared at his trophy, a single black smart-pistol mounted on the wall, still as deadly as the day he¡¯d taken it.


    He remembered the fear and sadness of the implacable killer that had stalked him for years. When Theold had finally defeated his hunter, as it lay dying, he¡¯d taken a peek into its mind, curious about the thoughts of such a deadly machine. Instead of the evil he¡¯d expected, he found the dissatisfaction of an empty life mingled with the fear of a dying man.


    Theold sighed and closed his eyes, his frail body barely making a dent in his old chair. Maybe this one would achieve what all the others had wanted. A life of his own.


    Sam¡¯s gaze lingered on the spot where the elf had disappeared before he followed Faera from the room.


    ¡°Stay as relaxed as possible,¡± Faera said over her shoulder. ¡°To everyone else, you look like an elf.¡±


    ¡°An enormous elf,¡± Sam said cynically. Despite his doubts, the two of them walked out of the hospital without anyone stopping them, although many people did double-takes on account of his size.


    Faera took him to a truck parked on the street, and from the hospital it was a short drive to the gate.


    At the gate, an elf eyed them critically, his gaze running across Faera¡¯s bandages. ¡°What happened to your ear?¡±


    ¡°What!?¡± Faera shouted.


    The gate guard pointed to his ears with a quizzical look.


    ¡°Oh, this!¡± Faera said. ¡°Factory accident with a hardhat! We got word about the land at Gentle Nights being up for grabs, and my husband and I decided to give the manager the finger!¡±


    ¡°Braver people than me,¡± the elf said, motioning them to proceed.


    Faera nodded to the gateman and stepped on the gas.


    Sam glanced over as the truck rumbled down the road. ¡°Husband?¡±


    ¡°Gotta start the cover sometime,¡± Faera responded with a shrug. At the fork, Faera turned toward East Mountain.


    Two and a half hours later, they reached the edge of the forest. Faera grabbed a bag of homespun clothes out of the back of the truck and tossed half of them to Sam.


    Sam and Faera dressed and put the truck into neutral, hiding it in the woods.


    ¡°How do people walk in these?¡± Sam asked, wiggling his toes in the straw sandals.


    ¡°Same as everyone else,¡± Faera said, grabbing the rest of their supplies from the bed. She slipped a knife into her boot, then tossed Sam a shepherd¡¯s crook.


    The smooth wood felt good in Sam¡¯s hand. ¡°What¡¯s this for?¡±


    ¡°Herding sheep,¡± Faera said. ¡°And defending yourself,¡± she added when Sam gave her a look.


    ¡°Never seen a sheep before,¡± Sam mused, running his thumb along the wood.


    Faera jumped down from the truck bed and handed Sam a roll of copper coins with square holes in the center, held together by a length of twine. ¡°Money,¡± Faera said as Sam examined the coins.


    He tied the string around his belt. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s head out,¡± Sam said. He turned away from the forest and began to march, before turning back. ¡°Where, exactly?¡±


    Faera shook her head. ¡°You know as much as I do about the modern human world. We¡¯ll just have to walk until we find a road or get some directions.¡±


    ¡°This was poorly planned,¡± Sam said, turning to the east and marching forward.


    They walked out onto the plains with the noonday sun above them. Hours went by and they kept themselves occupied by telling stories.


    ¡°Assume I know nothing about the dangers of the world, because until a week ago I assumed zombies and humans were about the extent of it,¡± Sam said, glancing over at Faera.


    ¡°Zombies!¡± Faera said with a laugh. ¡°They¡¯re far too slow to be a threat to people. Plus, they have absolutely no higher brain function.¡±


    ¡°I assume they were dangerous because of population density,¡± Sam said.


    ¡°Not a problem anymore, I suppose,¡± Faera said, glancing at the top of the next hill. ¡°What you really need to be careful of are mind stealers.¡±


    ¡°Like that short brain thing with tentacles?¡± Sam asked. ¡°That make you want to come closer?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, they¡¯ll eat your brain in a heartbeat.¡±


    ¡°What about demons?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°You can go your whole life without meeting a demon,¡± Faera said.


    Sam snorted.


    ¡°They¡¯re pretty rare. A demon is a fragment of a dark god, usually sheared away in battle with another deity.¡±


    ¡°So gods are real?¡± Sam asked, his eyebrow raised.


    ¡°Where I come from,¡± Faera said with a shrug. ¡°Anyway, demons aren¡¯t the sort of thing that you come across on earth.¡± She tilted her head, looking at him quizzically. ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡±


    ¡°I met one,¡± Sam said. ¡°In the monster pens, when I first tried to escape, I met one that offered me anything if I let him out of his cage. I¡¯m pretty sure he was supposed to be the main event. You got me out of there the day before I was scheduled to fight him.¡±


    Faera stared at him, jaw dropping. ¡°What was he like?¡± she asked, her eyes wide.


    ¡°He was taller than an ogre,¡± Sam said, raising his hand. ¡°Furry upper body, naked lower, big old dong, and a horned wolf head. Threatened to kill me when I didn¡¯t let him out.¡±


    ¡°Damn,¡± Faera said, shaking her head.


    ¡°Okay, keep going,¡± Sam said. ¡°What else out there can kill me? I have a vested interest in this sort of thing.¡±


    ¡°Never camp next to a swamp at night without surrounding yourself with a ring of salt,¡± Faera said.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°There are slugs that can burrow directly into your brain¡­¡±


    ***


    Torus Grant, the owner of the arena, had a problem.


    ¡°What the fuck am I supposed to do?¡± he moaned, clutching his head. The clone was missing, the mage refused to perform, and the demon was¡­ well, a demon.


    He had bought himself an extra day by claiming he was making sure that the clone was in the best of health, giving him an extra round of healing at great expense to Grant. But, the truth would come out in less than twenty hours.


    The fights up until this point had whipped fans into a frenzy, and if he didn¡¯t deliver the epic final bout, their wrath would fall directly on his head, and his pocketbook. And he couldn¡¯t afford to keep the demon contained forever. The damn thing cost him an arm and a leg every phase of the moon, when a mage had to reapply its bindings.


    Grant stopped pacing the floor of his office. The demon. The demon could be the solution to his problem. Grant strode across the room and picked up the phone, punching in the number for his go-to wizard.


    Twenty hours later, Grant was standing in front of the assembled audience of the arena. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen,¡± he boomed, enjoying the way his voice echoed through the stands. ¡°Today you came to see the epic showdown between the scourge of the Ancient World and a demon straight from the other side of the Gate!¡±


    Grant let the wave of cheers wash over him, reveling in the uplifting sensation. He turned the magical cameras, the Observers on himself, and donned a frown. ¡°Unfortunately, that won¡¯t happen today,¡± he said sorrowfully.


    Scattered murmurs and catcalls spread through the arena like wildfire.


    ¡°The truth is,¡± Grant said, slumping his shoulders. ¡°The Scourge escaped from the hospital last night, and is at this very moment plotting the downfall of elven civilization.¡±


    Boos spattered like a scalding rain.


    ¡°And you¡¯ve all seen what it can do!¡± he shouted, his voice echoing from nearby buildings. ¡°It will stop at nothing, and no one man can hope to defeat it!¡±


    The boos faltered, replaced with some murmurs of concern. Somewhere in the audience a child cried out.


    ¡°But I, dear viewers,¡± Grant said, his voice gentle. ¡°I had a thought.¡±


    ¡°What is this arena, compared to the wildness of nature?¡± Grant asked. ¡°The Scourge is smart, adaptable, and strong. It thrives on unpredictability. Why not¡­ confront it on its home ground, for your viewing pleasure?¡±


    Grant gave the signal, and the arena floor opened, revealing the demon at the center of a circle of enchanted iron. The audience gasped at the appearance of the monster, shying away from the Arena¡¯s innermost wall.


    ¡°This demon will be the one to deliver our justice!¡± Grant said. ¡°Make the pact!¡±


    A red- robed mage walked out to the center of the arena, stopping just short of the iron circle. Kein¡¯Maddal paced the interior of his prison, watching for any slip he could exploit. The mage set a brazier in front of the demon, and pulled an ogre-sized quarrel covered in dried blood from his robe.


    ¡°I bind you to these conditions,¡± the mage said, his voice amplified for the crowd. ¡°Bring no harm to elves. Seek out the bearer of this blood and kill him. When you have done this, you will return to your home plane immediately. These are the terms.¡±


    Kein¡¯Maddal leaned forward, salivating. ¡°Agreed.¡± His voice rumbled through the arena without need of a microphone.


    The mage began chanting, scraping the dried blood into the brazier. He set aside the bolt and threw mystical ingredients into the brazier, then lit it with a flick of his wrist. The smoke curled around the demon before a resounding crack detonated through the arena. The thick iron circle penning in the demon fell away in two halves, and the monster launched itself into the sky. Sprouting wings from its back, it flew eastward, one of the arena¡¯s magical Observers tailing close behind it.


    ¡°Looks like he went east, ladies and gentlemen,¡± Grant said. ¡°We¡¯ve partnered with our sister company, Strong Entertainment, to bring you 24/7 coverage, for free, on channel eight until the monster is dead.¡±


    A rising cheer spread through the crowd, and Grant soaked it in. ¡°Now, let¡¯s take a look at that live feed¡­¡±

 Chapter 9: Civilization

    ¡°Thanks again for the ride,¡± Sam said, sitting beside the farmer while Faera kicked her feet off the back of his wagon. The entire wagon was filled to the brim with potatoes, and Sam found himself marveling at the sheer quantity being hauled to market by a team of four massive horses.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mention it,¡± Hank said. The man was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, looking like nothing more than a sack with three holes cut into it. The shirt went down to his knees, and Sam was suspicious that the man wasn¡¯t wearing anything else underneath. ¡°You saved me a lot of money, in truth.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s that?¡± Sam asked. ¡°You had all the tools to do it yourself.¡±


    ¡°Would have taken me a whole day to fix it,¡± Hank said. ¡°Maybe longer, just finding a way to prop up the wagon while I worked. All the while, the potatoes would¡¯ve been rotting in the heat. You did me a hell of a favor, kid.¡±


    ¡°I guess timing is everything,¡± Sam said.


    ¡°That it is,¡± Hank said, nodding in agreement. ¡°Tell you what. Take an armload of potatoes with you when we get to town. Your wife looks like she could use the food.¡±


    Sam chuckled, glancing over his shoulder at Faera. ¡°Thank you, sir,¡± he said with a grin. ¡°Faera, thank the man.¡±


    Faera¡¯s stiffened for an instant, then twisted to peer over her shoulder. ¡°You are very gracious, Hank,¡± she said sweetly.


    Hank grunted in agreement. ¡°Keep some of them. If you¡¯re planning on starting a family in the wilds with nothing but sheep, you¡¯ll need all the help you can get.¡±


    Sam twirled the hook in his hand, enjoying the smooth feel of the wood as it spun. ¡°I don¡¯t have any sheep, unfortunately. This is an heirloom from my grandfather.¡±


    ¡°All the more reason,¡± Hank said. ¡°I spent a good fifteen years clearing the land with my Hanna, before she passed, and it was a struggle. We would have died several times if not for the kindness of strangers.¡±


    Hank tilted his head before glancing over. ¡°Say, if you have a daughter in the next five years, do you suppose you¡¯d be willing to trade her for a wagon and some horses? My son is turning eight soon, and I gotta think about the future, y¡¯know?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s not get ahead of ourselves,¡± Sam said.


    ¡°Time flies, my friend,¡± Hank said, spitting a dark brown glob off the side of the wagon. ¡°But you¡¯re right. It seems a little premature to ask before you¡¯ve even been through your first winter.¡±


    ¡°Are they bad here?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Not particularly,¡± Hank said with a shrug. ¡°The winters are pretty gentle--not like up north--but it is winter that separates the men who are serious about homesteading from the ones who are playacting.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Sam said. He leaned back in the bench seat, gazing up at the fluffy clouds rolling by.


    ¡°Want some chew?¡± Hank said, holding out some cured leaves.


    ¡°Nah, tobacco is a carcinogen,¡± Sam answered.


    Hank gave him a funny look.


    ¡°It¡¯s a fancy word for unhealthy,¡± Sam said, covering his slip. ¡°My grandpa taught it to me.¡±


    Hank squinted at Sam. ¡°Sounds like one of those fancy elf-words.¡±


    Sam grunted as Hank tucked the leaves back into their built-in cubby.


    The three of them rode on in silence, the wagon bouncing as they crested hill after hill. In the distance, a haze was forming.


    Sam stood in the gently rocking seat. ¡°What is that?¡± he asked, unable to make out the shape of the mountains in the distance.


    ¡°Just give it a minute,¡± Hank said, tapping the horses with his switch to pick up the pace. ¡°Once we reach the top of this hill, we¡¯ll have a good view of the valley.¡± The wagon crested the hill a short while later, and it was just as he¡¯d promised.


    The dirt road spooled down into the valley, slicing between farms that had carved plots out of the forest¡¯s edge. Below that, a river wound through the valley bottom. And in the distance, Sam could barely make out a solid line, a man-made structure engulfed by a cloud of dust.


    A city wall, Sam realized. And around the city was a swath of shining steel milling slowly around the perimeter.


    ¡°By Tyranus, the city¡¯s under siege,¡± Hank said softly. ¡°Damn, damn, damn!¡± He glanced over at Sam. ¡°I¡¯m going to trade for tools with the nearby farms and then head back. I¡¯ll lose a lot of profit this year, but I¡¯m not ready to orphan my children just yet,¡± he said, glancing back down at the army kicking up dust.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°The empire¡¯s attacking us,¡± Hank said. ¡°Are you blind?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Sam said, stepping off the wagon as he watched the army shift. ¡°We¡¯ll get off here. But, real quick, Hank: If I were to say, catch an elf, where would I take it?¡±


    ¡°What, are you looking to catch prisoners of war?¡± Hank asked, turning the wagon after Faera jumped down. ¡°No place to sell those blighted elves in this country, that¡¯s for sure.¡±


    He paused to look Sam and Faera over. ¡°You ain¡¯t homesteaders, are ya?¡±


    Sam shrugged.


    Hank rolled his eyes. ¡°Whatever your purpose, don¡¯t go getting yourself killed trying for a big score. You seem like decent folk.¡± Hank reached behind him and tossed them each a couple potatoes. ¡°For the road,¡± Hank said, shaking his head as he drove the horses back down the hill, toward the farmsteads they¡¯d passed.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get closer,¡± Faera said, setting out down the road. ¡°I need to get close enough to see their uniforms.¡±


    Sam pocketed the potatoes and walked after her, his longer stride eating the distance. As the sinking sun was turning red, the density of the farms increased, until they were trekking from one field to the next. The farmers must have sought shelter elsewhere, because the farms nearest the city were not only abandoned--they were also stripped of food. They made camp for the night in an abandoned house, roasting Hank¡¯s potatoes for a change from the stale, dry bread they had packed for the trip.


    The next morning they came in sight of the army. Row upon row of grim-faced men stood in massive formations surrounding the city. The soldiers wore indigo blue under their polished steel helmets, giving the impression of a blue ocean bristling with steel. The rear ranks rested while the ones in front pushed forward, attempting to climb the city¡¯s walls using wooden towers and ladders.


    ¡°These aren¡¯t the people responsible,¡± Faera said, overlooking the battlefield. ¡°Their clothes are totally different. I wanted to be sure they weren¡¯t just wearing a different color, and now I am. The design of their uniform is from a completely different era than the soldiers who attacked my home. In addition, I see no artillery, no jeeps. Nothing more advanced than thirteenth century.¡±


    ¡°So, do we go on inside and ask around, then?¡± Sam asked as he watched a forty-foot ladder pushed away from the wall by long poles, sending a dozen men screaming to the ground. He took a bite of his baked potato.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to,¡± Faera said. She glanced back at Sam with a raised brow. ¡°Do you have any suggestions?¡±


    Sam shook his head and finished off the last of his leftover potato. He watched a man in an elaborate outfit step forward, covered by the massive shields of his guards. With a wave of his hand, a section of the wall sagged, then toppled to the ground.


    ¡°Might not be too hard,¡± Sam said, watching the army surge forward, attempting to mount the pile of stone and force their way in.


    The massive stone blocks that had made up the wall suddenly began to move. They spun violently, grinding the men climbing on top of them into paste. The soldiers who had been allowed in were surrounded and dispatched while the stone field was impassable.


    In a matter of moments, the fallen wall was still again, but this time it held a predatory stillness, like a spider waiting for more flies to catch in its web.


    ¡°Maybe it will be hard,¡± Sam said, eyes widening as blood oozed from the rubble.


    ¡°Does it bother you?¡± Faera asked.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Watching humans kill each other en masse?¡±


    Sam shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he said. ¡°I was always supposed to take part in violence, so it doesn¡¯t bother me much. But I always kind of assumed it would be for a good reason, like protecting the law or defending the nation. Now that it¡¯s all gone¡­ Yeah, I guess it kinda sucks, watching Americans kill each other like this.¡±Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    ¡°They¡¯re doing something,¡± Faera said, pointing.


    They were loading massive barrels onto trebuchets that dwarfed the height of the city¡¯s walls. The first trebuchet fired, and its barrel came down on the meat-grinding stones. Black liquid exploded.


    ¡°Is that oil?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s pitch. They¡¯re trying to stick the blocks together,¡± Faera said.


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t the defenders trying to stop it?¡±


    ¡°Because they can¡¯t,¡± Faera said.  ¡°Besides, the defending side need simply light the bricks on fire to prevent an incursion.¡±


    ¡°Then why try to cover the bricks in pitch?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Because if the defending side does light the blocks, they will crumble into gravel, and the next wave will be able to cross unharmed.¡±


    ¡°But no one wants to be the first over the pitch,¡± Sam said. ¡°A stalemate,¡±


    ¡°In essence. The two armies will temporarily divert their attention elsewhere until the battle grows more desperate.¡±


    ¡°Are you thinking what I¡¯m thinking?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Cover our clothes in soot and sneak in under cover of darkness, risking immolation on discovery?¡± Another barrel shattered across the mountain of stone.


    ¡°When you say it like that, it doesn¡¯t sound as good,¡± Sam said.


    Sam and Faera crawled along the base of the wall, their clothes covered in soot from an abandoned farm¡¯s hearth. Sam¡¯s face pressed into the dirt as he inched forward, never moving faster than a sloth. He could see the edge of Faera¡¯s thigh out of the corner of his eye, and the high walls above him, the glowing lights of the patrolling soldiers just out of sight.


    They were pressed up against the towering walls, climbing over the rotting bodies from the morning¡¯s assault. Sam tried his damndest to shut off his sense of smell, to not meet the staring eyes of a dead teenage boy as he edged past.


    ¡°We¡¯re at the blocks,¡± Faera whispered. Sam tilted his head the tiniest fraction, watching Faera¡¯s blackened hand work its way up the first big block. She slowly pulled herself up, sliding sideways to stay in the shadow created by the uneven stone.


    Sam couldn¡¯t help but silently admire her body as she made her way up the stone hill. It required strength to move that slow, grace to move that silently. Plus, there were the curves of her hips and butt by moonlight¡­


    Once Faera was clear, Sam began his own ascent. It was one of the worst isometric exercises he¡¯d ever done, slowly pulling himself up, body absolutely controlled as he oozed his way upward. His arms and legs were trembling by the time they got halfway up the mountain of tacky blocks.


    The tar had cooled, but it was still sticky against Sam¡¯s skin, tugging at his clothes, doing everything in its power to slow him down. Sam was simply wishing he wouldn¡¯t have to add burning alive or perforated by arrows to the list of ways he¡¯d experienced death.


    Halfway up the hill, Sam had been forced to take a longer path than Faera, since she could fit into smaller shadows on the way up. He actually hadn¡¯t seen her at all in a couple hours. He knew she couldn¡¯t have been caught, since they would have raised the alarm and lit them on fire, but not being able to see his partner made him anxious.


    Sam glanced slowly behind him, and saw the horizon beginning to lighten. Crap. Not letting his worry make him move any faster, he continued climbing from shadow to shadow.


    An hour later, the sky was getting lighter, and Sam was near the top. He suddenly heard the ringing of bells and shouting that make his guts twist with panic. Did they notice her? Did they notice me? Sam froze, holding perfectly still.


    The alarm kept ringing, but no one set him on fire or shot him, so Sam slowly glanced around to figure out what was going on. Off in the distance, the opposing army was approaching with something like massive bulldozer blades pushed by ten-ton animals.


    In front of the two of themhundreds of men lined up, their flaming arrows trained on the very mountain of flammable stone that Sam rested upon.


    ¡°Faera,¡± Sam whispered, the sound almost lost in the clamor of troops lining up on the walls on either side of them. If the men above them bothered to look straight down at the rubble, they would most likely be able to pick them out.


    ¡°Yeah, I see it,¡± came Faera¡¯s soft voice, and with it, a flood of relief.  She was alive.


    ¡°We might have to run.¡±


    The burning arrows leapt from the bows, sailing through the air toward the dark hole in the city¡¯s defenses, and bringing Sam a flash of insight. If the attackers lit the stone on fire and hit it with dozers, they could carve a nice, easy path into the city.


    Sam and Faera lunged to their feet and into a sprint, two fleet shadows in the darkness.  Sam hurt from head to toe, but he didn¡¯t let it slow him. Faera had been slightly above him and to his right, and she glided up the hill in a matter of seconds, jumping from one man-sized block to another. Sam was right behind her, anticipating one of those arrows in his back.


    They were halfway down the hill when the tar caught fire. The flames nipped at their heels as they descended into the city, leaping over the hastily constructed palisade inside the walls. Once they hit the street, Sam punched the goggle-eyed watchman in the jaw, making the kid sink to the ground.


    The glow of torches came from the alley, hundreds of soldiers coming to man the palisades in case the enemy tried to push inward. The two of them had only seconds before they were spotted.


    ¡°Here!¡± Faera whispered, guiding Sam into a narrow, smelly crack between two buildings. Sam jammed his shoulder up against the crack and tried to squirm in as the torchlight drew closer. Sometimes there were downsides to being big.


    Sam took a breath, then exhaled all the air in his lungs, and was finally able to fit. He scraped along for a claustrophobic ten feet before a temporary widening of the alley allowed him to catch his breath.


    The men with torches ran past the crack, and Sam closed his eyes so they didn¡¯t see the whites of his eyes in the darkness. Once they were past, the two of them kept moving through the alleys until they found an opening. They stripped off their soot-blackened farmer¡¯s overalls and stashed them out of sight.


    ¡°You stay in the alleys for now,¡± Faera said, unfolding her clothes from the grain sack she¡¯d carried in with her.


    Sam rinsed the soot from his body in the smelly water of the river that passed through the city, dreading getting it into his eyes or mouth. ¡°Why?¡± he asked, wiping himself dry.


    ¡°You are almost seven feet tall,¡± Faera said, her back turned. ¡°You can do nothing but draw attention. I¡¯m going to make some inquiries about the elves. If the city falls and we get separated¡­ try not to kill all of them.¡±


    Sam snorted. ¡°Not likely,¡± he said, examining the deep alleys surrounding the river. ¡°I¡¯ll be haunting the alleys, then. If the city falls, I¡¯ll meet you downriver, wherever it happens to branch.¡±


    ¡°Sounds good,¡± Faera said. ¡°It should only take a day.¡±


    She shook her hair, flinging water across the stone-reinforced riverbank, before setting off deeper into the city, taking half the rope of coins with her. Sam watched her leave, casting an appreciative gaze at her figure.


    He shook himself when she turned a corner, leaving him alone by the river. ¡°To hell with that,¡± Sam said, and followed the alleys toward the main street.


    A scrawny man with rotting teeth jumped up as Sam approached, his hand hovering near the handle of his knife as he snarled. The man¡¯s eyes traveled up¡­and up, until they reached Sam¡¯s face.  Sam regarded him with a stillness one breath away from violence. The cutthroat swallowed, sat back down, and averted his eyes.


    Sam squatted down in front of the man and took out two coins from the roll, waving them in front of his face. ¡°If I wanted to sell some elves in bulk, where would you suggest I go?¡± Sam asked, setting the coins on the cobbles between them.


    ¡°No elf-flesh trade in this city, fool,¡± the man said, shrinking away from Sam. ¡°By order of Tyranus, everyone knows that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a basic fact of human nature that illegality will create a demand which can only be filled by an underground market,¡± Sam said, resting on his haunches. ¡°It¡¯s not a matter of asking whether or not it¡¯s happening, simply where.¡±


    The man stared at him, wide-eyed. ¡°You sound like him,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Who?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Are you with the Force of God?¡± the man asked, scrambling up to press himself against the alley wall. ¡°I¡¯ve done nothing wrong. I do my daily work, and no more. You¡¯ll get no confessions from me, s-sir.¡± The man edged down the alley, keeping his eyes on Sam, until he finally turned his back and ran.


    Sam sighed and stood up, staring after the lean man, then down at his feet. ¡°Shit,¡± he muttered. Despite his panicked appearance, the man had enough of his wits about him to snag the two coins on the ground as he sprang away.


    Sam shrugged. It was like Faera had said; he stood out, in a colossal way. Sam ran through the conversation in his mind, noting where it had broken down, probably because of his use of language. He also considered the name the man had mentioned. ¡®Tyranus¡¯, Sam mused, had some pretty haughty undertones.


    Perhaps he would be better-served learning more about the man who dictated how the slave trade was handled. Oftentimes, officials in positions of enforcement could be bribed by the very vices they were meant to regulate. Sam¡¯s basic education had included many of these more gritty aspects of reality.


    He continued down the alley to the main street, where the distant clamor of battle and the muted murmur of women were the only sounds. Sam glanced out and saw women going about their daily business, occasionally sending worried glances up to the city wall. If Sam were to walk out, he would become the center of attention, visible from all angles, surrounded by women who barely brushed five feet tall.


    Sam grunted and turned around, winding his way through the back-alleys until he stumbled upon a young boy playing by himself. Sam knelt down beside him, wondering if the boy would know anything useful.


    ¡°Hello,¡± Sam said.


    ¡°Hi,¡± the boy responded without looking up.


    ¡°Who is Tyranus?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Momma says he¡¯s God,¡± the boy said, hitting small stones against each other, knocking them out of a scratched ring in the dirt. ¡°Says he led our people away from the bad people who were hurting them, and now the bad people are trying to come get us, but Tyranus will stop them.¡±


    Sam¡¯s brows rose. Was Tyranus a title, then? ¡°How long ago did that happen?¡±


    The boy glanced up at the sky. ¡°Ummm,¡± he moaned as though making some great effort, probably studied from his father. ¡°Momma said my grandfather¡¯s grandfather was Tyranus¡¯s first, umm¡­ loo tannic.¡±


    ¡°Lieutenant,¡± Sam supplied.


    ¡°Yeah, that one,¡± the boy said, returning to his game. ¡°She says he¡¯ll remember our family one day and give us his blessing, but Da said she¡¯s full of shit.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s mean,¡± Sam said, to which the boy shrugged. ¡°How about elves?¡± Sam asked. ¡°How does the current Tyranus feel about elves?¡±


    ¡°Elves are evil,¡± the boy said as he flicked rocks together. ¡°They steal and lie and strangle the money, and crowd out real people with their long lives, and hurt them with their evil magic. They have to be purged for the golden age of humanity to return.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll assume you didn¡¯t come to that conclusion yourself?¡±


    ¡°You ask a lot of questions,¡± the boy said, glancing up at Sam. His eyes went wide as he noticed Sam¡¯s size. ¡°Are you with the Force of God? Momma says they ask questions and make sure our minds and bodies are pure, or else we disappear. Are you going to make Da disappear? He argues with Momma a lot about Tyranus, and she says he¡¯s not pure when she gets mad at him.¡±


    ¡°If I were a Force of God,¡± Sam said quietly, ¡°would it be a good idea to tell me that?¡±


    Wide-eyed, the boy shook his head.


    Sam ruffled his hair. ¡°I¡¯ll give you a pass this time, kid, but next time a stranger comes up to you and asks strange questions, think a little more first, okay?¡±


    ¡°Ralian!¡± a voice screeched from a window. Clattering and thumping sounded from the house next door, and the door flew open. A young woman grabbed the boy by the wrist and hauled him into the house, sparing a fearful glance at Sam.


    Sam tucked himself away in an alley. Squatting against the wall with his forearms resting on his knees, he went over the facts.


    ¡°Secret police, and a god-king who directs the people¡¯s discontent at a small, easily identifiable fraction of the population, while maintaining their feeling of victimization by a larger force,¡± Sam said with a sigh. ¡°It¡¯s almost textbook.¡±

 Chapter 10: Big Red Speedbump

    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen you before, lass,¡± the merchant said, watching Faera like a cat would a goldfish.


    ¡°That¡¯s strange,¡± Faera said, crossing her arms. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen you here before, either.¡± That got a guffaw out of the old man standing at the stall filled with carved wooden goods. Wrought iron was rationed in wartime, apparently.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m not from here,¡± Faera admitted, playing to his sympathy now that she¡¯d broken the ice. ¡°I was travelling with my aunt and uncle, but we were separated ¡­ I don¡¯t know where they went, and my money is running low.¡±


    The man¡¯s face softened. ¡°You¡¯ll want to go to City Hall. Show them your Mark and they¡¯ll find you some work. Assuming we¡¯re not all dead in the next few days,¡± he added. The man rolled up the stained sleeve of his shirt, revealing a tattoo with his name and ID number, immaculate against his weathered skin.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do that,¡± Faera said, then cocked her head, frowning. ¡°We saw something strange on the road on the way here.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°When we were on the road, we saw a caravan of wagons with no horses,¡± she said, describing the jeeps in a way she thought appropriate for her cover. ¡°They roared like beasts and passed by us at a speed I couldn¡¯t believe.¡±


    The merchant grinned, revealing a motley assortment of teeth like crooked gravestones. Smelled like the grave, too. ¡°Lass, you¡¯ve been blessed. Not many have the honor of witnessing the Force of God up close.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s amazing!¡± Faera said, clapping her hands together in excitement.


    The old man chuckled, his face glowing as he basked in her enthusiasm. ¡°Prob¡¯ly on their way to cleanse the cursed mountain, pry the elves from their filthy holes and purify the land.¡±


    ¡°But why the elves and not the army at the gate?¡±


    The old man lost his exuberance, and his face crumpled into a scowl. ¡°It¡¯s not my place to question the will of Tyranus, but if I had to guess¡­  He¡¯ll deal with the Mississippi Army shortly, and he¡¯ll do it himself.¡±


    The man leaned forward, and Faera fought the desire to lean away from the septic stench oozing from his mouth. He tapped his nose. ¡°If I had to guess¡­ I think we¡¯ll see our god in the flesh.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s got to send a message, right? What better way to do it than send those blue cowards running back home covered in orange flame, yeah?¡± The old man winked. ¡°Keep your eyes to the sky lass. You won¡¯t wanna miss it.¡±


    Faera frowned, not quite understanding the man¡¯s meaning, but not wanting to reveal her complete lack of knowledge about what she assumed to be their god-king. She excused herself, digesting the information as she walked away. Two details stood out to her: Tyranus burned things, and he was going to come through the air, if at all. If the god was just make-believe like the ones of the previous millennia, then the citizens wouldn¡¯t have such brazen confidence in him, would they?


    Tyranus could be a sorcerer, much like the crimson-robed man she¡¯d seen at her home. Rock-throwing humans would fall at the feet of such a man easily enough. It was a rare human indeed who could grasp even the most basic magic. Most human sorcerers were half-bloods who simply showed no signs of their elven heritage, or elves who¡¯d disguised themselves.


    But why would he target elves? Food for thought, but figuring the man¡¯s reasoning wasn¡¯t a priority. There were as many reasons for evil as the men that did them--why should she bother to tread that murky water?


    The important thing was to find out where the elves had been taken. She saw no signs of elf slaves in the city, and thank the gods, she found no sign of people eating them.


    So where did they go?


    Faera headed back toward the alley, concocting a plan as she walked. The people who took her family wouldn¡¯t have been from Mississippi. The Mississippi Empire, from all accounts, allowed elves citizenship. Even the emperor was half elf, albeit an aging one.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    The heart of the Empire was downriver, to the south, kept fat by the hundreds of tributaries that brought wealth from every corner of the empire to the very edge of the Gulf of Mexico. That meant she would have to go the other direction. Follow the upriver from this city backward to find the heart of this kingdom that was in contention with them. But how was she supposed to do that with an army literally climbing the walls this very second?


    A sound that barely qualified as such slammed through her chest, rattling her heart and lungs. Faera dropped to the ground with the rest of the people walking the street. Through the buildings above, she caught a glimpse of red light filtering through the leathery membrane of a wing. Another glance, and then the giant creature disappeared beyond the wall.


    ¡°No,¡± Faera breathed, suddenly having an inkling of what they were up against.


    Disregarding her disguise, she dashed to a nearby building, scaling it in one fluid motion. She ran along the rooftops until she reached the clearance around the city wall. She leapt the gap between the two, and scrabbled up onto the embattled wall in a series of moves no human could hope to replicate.


    But that was okay--the men on the wall didn¡¯t see a damn thing. They were too busy chanting the name of their god-king as he bathed their enemies in liquid fire. The thousands of Mississippi troops didn¡¯t even get a chance to resist as the dragon knocked down their neatly assembled columns like so many dominoes, albeit with flame.


    Faera had never seen a dragon. She had been born a few hundred years after her parents abandoned their former world for the promise of safety in this one¡­ But she¡¯d heard the stories.


    ¡°No,¡± Faera said, trying to deny what she saw with her own eyes. A dragon was not supposed to be that big. The crimson-scaled beasts of her parents¡¯ world were said to be roughly the size and weight of three horses, end to end. This monster swooped down and fit an entire horse and rider in its maw before it bit down, letting the horse¡¯s legs and head drop to the ground.


    The dragon paused for a moment, picking the steel and saddle leather out of its teeth with a single, man-sized claw even as three blue-clad sorcerers stepped out of the flaming chaos. Their mouths moved, and though the wizened men were inaudible against the roar of fire and the pained screams of the Mississippi army, the tortured clamor seemed to have no effect on their spells.


    One by one, darts of multicolored force shot forward and scattered against the scales of the dragon. The crimson beast finished picking the leather from its teeth and rushed forward, batting the three men aside with a single swing.


    And with that, the Mississippi army was no more. Not a single survivor.


    Faera ducked out of the cheering throng of soldiers, desperate to escape from the city. First Word needed to know about this. She stopped on the stone staircase leading back to the interior of the castle, torn. She needed to save her people, too. And besides, what would happen if she went back and told them there was a dragon bigger than any in recorded history at the heart of a conspiracy to eradicate the elves? The elders would laugh in her face. Again.


    Faera gritted her teeth and as she descended the stairs, the wild bellows of the soldiers on the wall were muted by six feet of stone. First Word could take care of itself--nothing she did for them would make any damn difference. She got to the streets and snatched up a muddy shawl that had been lost in the confusion of the dragon¡¯s arrival, draping it around her shoulders.


    <ol>


    <li>Find Sam, </li>


    <li>Get out of city, </li>


    <li>Track assholes who have my friends, </li>


    <li>Kill assholes who have my friends, </li>


    </ol>


    Faera thought to herself, making a tidy, bulleted mental to-do list.


    The cheering in the streets renewed as the gates of the city swung open and the citizens rushed out, hoping to get a glimpse of their god--but more importantly, loot the thousands of fallen soldiers. The entire city flooded out onto the field, leaving Faera struggling against a stream of bodies.


    In minutes, the streets were empty, and Faera could navigate them freely, which was both a blessing and a curse. Now, she was the center of attention wherever she went, being the only person on the street.


    Faera ran to the back alley where she had left Sam, favoring speed over stealth. By midnight, the security around the city should be besotted enough to allow the two of them to flee unchallenged.


    She grabbed the filthy stone wall and swung into the alley. ¡°Sam!¡± she said. ¡°We gotta get out of the city. The one in charge of the elf-hunting is--¡±


    ¡°The god-king Tyranus, right?¡± Sam asked with a bemused smile, surrounded by a half dozen men wearing white and gold uniforms. Their swords were drawn and when Faera arrived, their expressions turned murderous.


    For an instant, every one of the six men were looking at her. In a blur of movement, Sam managed to sucker punch four of them. The captain turned his head back at the sound and was only able to issue a short squawk before Sam¡¯s palm covered his face, slamming his head against that of his lieutenant.


    The men fell to the ground in a wave, dropping their gold-embroidered uniforms into the brown filth of the alley. Sam dusted his hands, giving her a smug smile as his forearms glistened in the noon sun.


    Faera¡¯s breath caught, and then she shook her head. She didn¡¯t have time to be impressed. She jumped forward, danced around the twitching bodies and grabbed Sam¡¯s arm.


    She pulled, and the huge clone followed. It occurred to Faera that due to his sheer mass, Sam went wherever his feet took him, and her tugging on his wrist was somewhat incidental--but to hell with it, they needed to go. Now.


    ¡°Tyranus is here, and we need to get out of the city before--¡± Faera stopped in her tracks as a booming roar filled the air. She looked up, and saw leather wings blocking out the sun above them.


    ¡°Hey, I know that guy,¡± Sam said.

 Chapter 11: The Other Guy With Wings

    Kein¡¯Maddal settled into the recesses of the pitiful human infestation, his wings wafting the stench of offal, sweat, blood, and grease mixed with the tender scent of freshly roasted hare. The unholy mixture of smells only made his stomach ache with hunger, and yet, even for someone like him, a fragment of The Devouring Beast, he valued his freedom over his next meal. Kein¡¯Maddal inhaled once more, and the scent of mother¡¯s milk made his mouth water. Where there was milk, there were babies. Another time.


    ¡°Hey, I know that guy,¡± the slightly larger-than-average man with the strange purple-tinted skin said, daring to point his finger at the majesty that was Kein¡¯Maddal.


    He roared his displeasure, his voice rippling the fabric of reality around them and withering the produce in the abandoned stalls lining the street. ¡°You should have paid me the proper respect, little man, and set me free when you had the chance.¡±


    ¡°Nah,¡± the purple-tinted man said, tugging the elf behind him by her collar. ¡°I¡¯m not an idiot.¡±


    With the tight quarters of the street hampering his full range of motion, Kein¡¯Maddal was only able to apply a light slap with his clawed hand, but it was enough to send the human hurtling through the wood-slatted window of the grocer. Kein¡¯Maddal aimed a second swipe at the elf, but she backed out of his reach. Like a rat retreating into its burrow, she followed the little man through the wall.


    ***


    ¡°Ow,¡± Sam moaned, struggling to right himself in the tangle of broken wood. He was noting the building code violations and halfway through forming a citation before he stopped himself, slapping his forehead.


    ¡°Get down!¡± Faera screamed. She hit Sam right around his knees, dropping him backwards onto the floor. In the street, a horrendous hacking cough from lungs too big to belong to a human came to their ears. A moment later, black gel shot through the broken window, sinking into the surrounding wood and brick with a faint, tortured wail.


    Sam pushed himself to his feet and studied the black goop dissolving the surroundings and screaming in pain. The goop was screaming.


    ¡°Come out, little man,¡± the demon said, peering through the hole, which the ooze was slowly widening. ¡°Or I¡¯ll amuse myself with this colony of mortals.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got to stop him,¡± Sam said, meeting the demon¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°You can¡¯t,¡± Faera said. ¡°A mortal without magic is powerless to stop a demon. We can use the sewers to--¡±


    Reason battled with testosterone for a moment, and then Sam had an idea. ¡°Could the Tyranus guy do it?¡±


    Faera paled. ¡°Maybe, but¡­¡±


    ¡°Then I got this.¡± Sam was already out the window.


    He jumped over another slap from Kookie Monster, drove a chair leg with exposed nails into the thing¡¯s neck, then rolled and sent a second strike into its groin. There was no spurt of arterial blood. Odd.


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand!¡± Faera cried. ¡°He¡¯s a--¡±


    Korporate Monkey caught Sam with a backhand, sending him tumbling out of earshot. Sam gritted his teeth and focused on rolling as far as possible. It seemed like nails to the groin elicited a stronger response than to the neck.


    Despite what Faera said, he was sure he could make an impression on this guy. Sam was designed for war, designed to kill. And anything could be killed.


    Sam leapt to his feet, running as he scanned the street for a weapon, finding nothing but wooden wagons, rope, and smelly straw. He passed by a shop with a burning bed of coals in the center, and what looked like a multitude of rough-hewn steel farming implements. The owner appeared to have chosen discretion as the better part of valor.


    Sam rolled into the shop as a massive fist dented the cobblestones outside. He needed something sharp. He was slightly concerned about the lack of blood, but figured all he needed to do was hit Kala Moochie harder to get to the juicy bits. People probably thought demons were immortal because they kept their blood behind a deep, tough layer of skin.


    He grabbed a six-foot steel pole and shoved it into the square hole on the anvil, levering the big iron block over his shoulder. It wasn¡¯t more than he could handle, but it was close. Wood splintered as the demon began to tear apart the shop¡¯s supporting beams.


    Sam grunted as he pushed himself toward the staircase in the back. The demon¡¯s claws began hollowing out the shop¡¯s interior, the enormous beast bending low to look into the room. Sam humped his way up the stairs, which creaked but held, and got a brief glance of the owner cowering in his bedroom as Sam ran through and jumped out the second story window.


    With the anvil riding on his shoulder, and a steel pole jutting out in front of him, Sam fell down at the demon even as it stood up. He weighed two hundred and fifty pounds, and with the extra two hundred pounds of inertia, he figured he was definitely going to reach the demon¡¯s juicy center.


    The demon gaped and tried to raise a hand, but it was too late. The pole sank into Kunt Muncher¡¯s face and through its neck, finally emerging from behind a shoulder blade. Sam let go of the steel and slid out from beneath the anvil, his back one big aching bruise. The anvil slid down the steel pole, thudding against the twitching monster¡¯s chest.


    Sam sank to his knees feeling triumphant. S4M units were nothing if not problem solvers. He closed his eyes and focused on catching his breath.


    The ground shaking was his only warning as the demon tromped forward. Sam sprang to the left, ignoring his aching ribs and the taste of blood in his mouth. A foot smashed down and sank into the stone of the street like it was wet sand, sending up a plume of dust and making the buildings shit themselves in a clatter of bricks.


    Sam cast a look up and saw an anvil tumbling through the air toward him like a cannonball. He hopped over it, and the steel mass gouged a hole in the street behind him. Seeing the demon slowly pulling the steel pole from its face, and the wound closing behind it, Sam started sprinting.


    Despite the debris strewn along the road, the gawking onlookers, the piss-slick street, and the cold shudder down the back of his neck as the demon chased him, Sam didn¡¯t think he¡¯d ever flown that fast. His feet barely touched the ground. Most of his flight was spent sailing through the air, touching off the walls when he needed to course-correct. He hadn¡¯t moved like that in generations; not since the technicians disappeared and stopped making them do the sadistic ¡®Fitness Exams¡¯.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    A couple things had been made clear during their interaction: Demons were harder to kill than Sam had thought, and he might need some help.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Tyranus!¡± Sam shouted as he ran, harried by the booming footsteps of the demon. The citizens of the town screamed and ran away, their arms laden with melted steel or bits of preserved indigo blue fabric, probably intent on turning the Mississippi uniforms into pillows or something.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Tyranus!¡± Sam shouted again, leaping over a cart. On the other side was a massive block of stone advertising a mason¡¯s shop. Sam landed, braced himself against the stone and shoved the cart backwards, sending it skittering sideways, its wheels squealing a protest as it slid faster than it was ever meant to travel, in a direction it was never meant to move.


    The cart caught the demon¡¯s ankle, and Kim Midol plummeted to the ground with a curse that caused a wave of nausea to assault all who heard it. He just barely caught himself with his wings against the buildings on either side of the street.


    While it was off-balance, Sam grabbed a cowering bystander, an old man with really bad teeth. He squealed, his rancid breath wafting into Sam¡¯s face.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Tyranus!¡± Sam shouted.


    The old man pointed down the street in the direction Sam had come, back toward the demon. ¡°M-m-main gate. There¡¯s a parade.¡±


    ¡°Thanks!¡± Sam said, dropping the old man to the ground and sprinting toward the demon. He scrambled to the right, between the demon¡¯s arm and leg as he tried to right himself in the relatively narrow street. The demon sent a swipe at Sam, digging furrows into the brick and wood buildings with his claws.


    The beast roared in anger and twisted around, once again giving chase. Sam put his head down and ran. Between the quaking stomps of the demon following him, Sam could hear the faint cheering of a crowd in high spirits. This KM fellow didn¡¯t seem to be interested in anyone other than Sam as the two of them barreled down the street past mud- and ash-smeared, gawking townspeople. That might mean he¡¯d have to make Tyranus interested in his boy here, rather than the other way around.


    Sam burst onto the main street, not bothering to slow down for the crowd. Sam was like a fast ship on the ocean, flinging people aside like spray as he hurtled toward the city gate. Moments later, the screaming started as people spotted the very focused demon.


    The crowd, thus motivated, began to flow the right direction, carrying Sam along with them. He spotted a big, garish crimson float ahead of him--the tail end of the parade. Sam surged forward, only to slide to a halt when the float turned around and growled at him.


    Sam looked up, and up. About twenty feet above him, the enormous red lizard¡¯s head hovered, looking down at him and his pursuer, the upstarts that had crashed his parade. Meanwhile, the citizens of the city vanished into every alley, every window, every open door. In seconds, Sam found himself standing alone in the center of the street between the enormous lizard and the eleven-foot wolf-headed demon.


    ¡°Who are you that dares intrude upon my demesne?¡± the red lizard rumbled.


    ¡°I do not answer to--¡± the demon started, overtop of Sam¡¯s ¡°I was hoping--¡±


    The lizard¡¯s head tilted. Sam realized that, up until this point, it had not been looking at Sam, which had probably been for the best. The lizard¡¯s eyes dilated, its long neck bringing the cabin-sized head a few feet away from Sam¡¯s own. Sam might be able to reach either end of that toothy smile with his fingertips, maybe.


    ¡°If it isn¡¯t an S4M unit!¡± the dragon said, a rumbling spreading through the street as it chuckled. ¡°What a blast from the past! Your team almost killed me once.¡± The dragon traced a furrow in its scales, scratching beneath its eye. ¡°Where¡¯s T0M and 4NN?¡±


    ¡°Tom¡¯s dead, and Ann¡¯s AWOL,¡± Sam informed it.


    ¡°Shame, I guess this will be a lot less fun.¡± The dragon¡¯s lips peeled away from the partially-serrated teeth that lined its jaw, its intentions clear.


    ¡°HOLD!¡± the demon boomed. ¡°I must kill the mortal. Any other outcome would be to renege on my agreement. Give him to me, or I will end you and your paltry, limited, mortal demesne here, lizard.¡±


    The lizard¡¯s attention snapped back to the demon, its lips peeling back from arm-length fangs as a low rumble shook the dirt on the cobblestones.


    ¡°Wow, are you going to take that shit from him in front of your people, Tyranus?¡± Sam asked, aiming to add fuel to the fire.


    ¡°I know what you¡¯re doing, and while I find it amusing¡­ I will not tolerate it.¡± The giant jaws snapped open, gaping in front of Sam like the gates of hell before the dragon lunged.


    Sam flung himself backward, narrowly avoiding becoming two severed legs and a smear on the cobblestones.


    Kein¡¯Maddal roared and leapt forward, trying to kill Sam first--or at least prevent the dragon from killing him. Sam rolled to the side as the giant demon¡¯s foot collapsed the street where he¡¯d just rested.


    For a breathless moment, the two powerful beings stood nose-to-nose. Then Kein¡¯Maddal tackled the dragon¡¯s long neck, pushing Tyranus onto his back feet. The dragon raked at the demon¡¯s chest with his claws.


    Watching the two titans smash each other into buildings, Sam realized that now was a good time to make an exit.


    ¡°Tyranus,¡± Sam shouted, waving his hands above his head.


    The dragon¡¯s eye rolled toward him as he landed on his back, collapsing a brick shop.


    ¡°Let me know when you¡¯re having fun!¡± Sam flipped him off.


    He didn¡¯t expect the gout of flame to shoot over fifty feet. Sam threw himself to the side, but the fire welled up and expanded, filling every corner of the street as it rushed toward him like an oncoming train.


    In the billowing fire, Sam could just barely make out Faera¡¯s form, silhouetted against the glaring flames. Create a bookmark, Echo Alpha. The elf twisted her hands in front of her in a complex ritual that seemed to wind in on itself, and then thrust her hands palm-out with a shout.


    The fire spilled around the two of them, conforming to some invisible dome that was projected outward from her hands. Sam felt the intense heat scorching the hairs of his eyebrows and scalp, so he could only imagine what Faera was going through. She let out cry of pain, and fell to her knees when the torrent of fire stopped, leaving them surrounded by a burning hellscape. They stood at the very point of a cone of unscathed buildings. Change directory to the Sierra folder.


    Sam scrambled to his feet and grabbed the shaking elf, who had tucked her hands against her chest. She was trembling and her eyes were distant, staring blankly into the flames in front of her. Sam tried to pull her to her feet, but her rigid fetal position made it difficult. For the sake of expediency, he decided to take the Viking route, shoved an arm around her waist, and threw her over his shoulder.


    Sam turned the corner a moment before a second blast of flame glassed the streets again. Sam glanced at the brightly-glowing stone behind him that flowed down the gentle slope of the street like syrup.


    ¡°We need to leave,¡± Sam said, kneeling down toward the sewer grates he¡¯d seen a man flee into earlier, Faera still balanced on his shoulder. The grates were far too small for him, but a few good kicks shattered the weak masonry holding the bars in place, and Sam slid into the blackness of the underground, pulling the insensate elf along with him.


    Sam scuttled down the smelly river of sewage. The ceiling was a mere five and a half feet high, so he had to run almost doubled over, carrying the elf. Even as his nose got used to the smell, his back began to complain.


    But his discomfort wasn¡¯t important. What was important was following the sewage to the river and getting the hell out of here. Sam shook his head, wondering what had possessed him to give the dragon the finger. He reviewed the scene to distract himself from the growing protests of his spine.


    It was the mention of Tom and Ann, he realized. He hadn¡¯t had time to think about them the last couple weeks, he¡¯d been so busy fighting for his life. His dreams, on the other hand, were nothing but a highlight reel of his greatest failures, the implant made sure of that.


    Sam glanced down at the elf in his arms, recalling the spell she had cast. She could do magic, too--that was news to him. Come to think of it, though, maybe spellcasting was a lot like martial arts. Maybe a guy who trained for twenty years could beat a guy with a gun, but there were a lot more guns than there were martial arts masters.


    Even if you knew how to blow someone up with your mind, it was still probably a lot easier just to shoot them. Sam had assumed she didn¡¯t know how to use elven magic, but that seemed not to be the case.


    In light of this new discovery, Sam started forming a plan. If he took a rest and set her down, she¡¯d probably get some kind of nasty infection in her wounds, which would interfere with said plan. She was too valuable to set down here. Not to mention, cute.


    Sam scuttled through the tunnels, hunched over in the dark as he navigated away from the earth-shaking sounds of combat. He probably looked like some hulking monster with a taste for women, escaping with the fair prize it¡¯d stolen away in the night. Sam chuckled.

 Chapter 12: Molting

    ¡°By Enriah,¡± Grant breathed as the invisible orb hovering over the demon¡¯s shoulder focused on the red dragon. Larger than a nightmare, it reared its head back, making the audience realize how small they truly were.


    ¡°It appears that the demon has chased the Scourge to a city in the middle of being attacked by a dragon,¡± Grant said.


    A hushed murmur travelled through the audience in the arena as they stared at the massive magical projection in the center of the sand circle, set up specially for this live broadcast.


    ¡°Are we listening to the same feed?¡± Theold asked, glancing over at Grant. ¡°He said ¡®my demesne¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Implying that he was conquering it.¡±


    ¡°There are fucking flags with his picture on it!¡±


    ¡°Ah, the Scourge seems to have goaded the dragon into attacking, and the demon is making a play for him¡­. and it seems as though the Scourge has succeeded in getting the two to clash.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s see where the Scourge is now,¡± Grant said, spinning the control of the Watcher so it was looking backward over Kein¡¯Maddal¡¯s shoulder. The clone¡¯s words were indecipherable in the commotion, but the raised middle finger spoke for itself.


    A blast of flame filled the vision of the Watcher, targeted at the Scourge.


    ¡°Could this be it?¡± Grant shouted.


    The audience waited breathlessly¡­ but when the fire faded away, the Scourge remained, now cowering behind a kneeling woman. The clone scooped her up with super-elven speed and carried her away.


    ¡°It seems as though some kind of human spellcaster stepped in to aid the Scourge!¡± Grant shouted, standing. His commentator¡¯s chair clattered to the ground behind him. ¡°What could this mean!?¡±


    ¡°Means he¡¯s getting help from someone with elf blood, I suppose,¡± Theold said with a shrug. ¡°A Ranger, probably. The defensive barrier had about the same performance as the one we teach them.¡±


    The clone ran into an alley with the woman over his shoulder and disappeared. Grant, experienced director that he was, zoomed back in on the action--the fight between the demon and the dragon, two beasts they had little hope of capturing for a fight in the arena. In a way, this was its own opportunity.


    ¡°Be at ease, folks, the demon cannot die by mortal means. He has the blood scent of the Scourge, so consider this an appetizer to the main event. Although I¡¯m ashamed to admit this may put the Scourge¡¯s execution to shame.¡± Grant made sure they got an up-close image of flying talons and gnashing teeth.


    The Watcher¡¯s screen suddenly emitted a flash of light that seared Grant¡¯s eyes and elicited a cry from the spectators. Then the screen went dark.


    Grant placed a hand over his microphone and glanced at the technician standing beside him. ¡°The hell just happened?¡±


    Sam sat by the fire in his underwear, his soaked toga spread out on branches above, catching as much heat as they could. They were a few miles upriver, resting on a bank, and Sam intended to get another few miles of distance as soon as his clothes were dry.


    Faera sat removed from the orange flames and smoke, completely dry. She rocked back and forth, chanting and moving her stiff fingers in slow patterns.


    ¡°Is that a spell?¡± Sam asked, watching.


    ¡°Special Forces have to master six spells in order to qualify,¡± she said, nodding.  ¡°Right now, I¡¯m doing first aid on my hands.¡± Sure enough, her movements were smoother and faster than when she had started, albeit not a lot faster.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°What are the six?¡± he asked.


    ¡°A barrier, healing, tracking, navigating, a simple attack spell, and one to allow me to communicate with other Spec-ops silently.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not a lot.¡±


    Faera snorted, continuing to chant and move her hands. Now that Sam was paying attention, he could see the swelling of her pink flesh slowly receding.


    ¡°Could you teach me?¡± Sam asked.


    Faera stopped in place and gave him a look like he was a stupid, stupid child. ¡°No.¡±


    Sam stood up, then came to sit right in front of her, still in his underwear. ¡°Don¡¯t mind me,¡± he said, then began mimicking her movements and chanting. He took care to tune his words and actions as close to hers as possible, from the movement of his hands, to the angle of his elbows, the straightness of his back, and the syllables that flowed from her lips.


    ¡°That won¡¯t work!¡± Faera shouted, drawing Sam¡¯s attention to her face. ¡°You¡¯re not--¡±


    ¡°Not what?¡± Sam asked without stopping. ¡°Not an elf?¡± He shrugged. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. At the very least, I can bluff experts if I know the form perfectly.¡±


    Sam used his implant to bring up the memory of Theold waving his hand. It irritated him, watching his eyelids sink shut at the old man¡¯s command ¡®sleep¡¯, but he reviewed the scene over and over, trying to figure out exactly what the old man had done. Sam opened up the memory of the sheriff who had also put him to sleep. He was fairly sure it¡¯d been the same spell.


    Sam ran the two memories side by side, matching the timing with the command. It wasn¡¯t like watching two screens side by side, but more like superimposing them on top of each other, which gave Sam a slight headache as he meticulously compared the movements of the two elves.


    There. There it was. The sheriff had tucked one hand behind his waist while he was helping Sam up, and it was at that exact moment that Sam spotted a bit of movement from inside the sleeve of the old man. Sam isolated the footage and tried to piece together the exact gestures they had made. The skewed angle of the sheriff didn¡¯t make it easy, and it was impossible to tell exactly what Theold¡¯s fingers had been doing, but Sam was confident he was on the right track.


    A snap of fingers in front of his face brought him back to the present, and Sam stored the memory snippets he had isolated for later review.


    ¡°You can¡¯t because you¡¯re a human, you don¡¯t have the aptitude for it, and you haven¡¯t Molted,¡± Faera said, gazing into Sam¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°What?¡± Molted? Like a snake?


    ¡°Where we come from, there is an energy that accumulates in all living things. Over time, every living thing absorbs tiny amounts of this energy, growing beyond what humans would consider natural. Of course it was always natural to us.¡±


    ¡°What does that have to do with Molting?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t interrupt. Anyway, these living things from my plane, when they die, they release that energy back into the environment. But it isn¡¯t like here on earth; it¡¯s not a slow, gradual process. This energy is released all at once in a silent explosion. If a person was standing next to this explosion, they would absorb some of it.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Sam said.


    ¡°If the person were to absorb a large amount, it could be toxic. They come down with a fever as their body struggles to find a way to cope with that energy. If they survive, then when the fever breaks, they find themselves more powerful than they were before. The energy has found an outlet, and is now theirs.¡±


    ¡°Hence, Molting.¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    ¡°So why not get a bunch of people in a room, and arrange to slaughter a bunch of creatures in their presence, really soak up all that--¡±


    ¡°Stop,¡± Faera said. Her gaze was unwavering. ¡°That line of thought has already reached its natural conclusion. Our world was broken by a war between an elite class who held all the power in the world--they raised generations of people, for thousands of years, simply to kill them and bathe in their essence--and the pitiful wretches they treated like livestock. The resulting war is what broke our world, and only the Gates allowed us to escape the devastation. For all I know, the war is still going on, but we have no part in it.


    ¡°It is now highly illegal to force a Molt. Any profession that experiences its share of death will naturally Molt more often than others, though.¡±


    Sam, considering her words, was chewing on his lip when something dawned on him. His life up until this point seemed to be word-for-word the situation he¡¯d just described. A handful of people locked in a room, slaughtering non-stop, and Tyranus¡­


    ¡°Could Tyranus be doing that?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± Faera spoke, before halting. ¡°A dragon wouldn¡¯t¡­¡±


    ¡°¡¯Cause it sounds reasonable. I mean, nothing on earth lives as long as elves, so one of them would have to be worth, like, a thousand humans, right?¡±


    ¡°Maybe more,¡± Faera whispered. ¡°The energy is cumulative.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± Sam rubbed his chin while he thought. His bristles were beginning to get long now. That was right, this body was only three years old. Three years and two months, if the LED calendar in the testing facility that counted time since the last Generation was to be believed.


    While he was supposed to have been around upwards of five hundred years, if his body was only three years old, and if things worked the way Faera said they did, it meant he probably hadn¡¯t Molted. Unless this energy she spoke of followed his mind, and not his body. The energy from her home plane seemed to follow its own laws of physics, so why not?


    ¡°Can you teach me anyway?¡± Sam asked. ¡°I think it¡¯s a long shot, but any little bit could help.¡±


    Faera stared at him for a while. ¡°No.¡±

 Chapter 13: Horned

    ¡°If I were an evil dragon hoarding a thousand Elves, where would I keep them?¡± Sam asked. He and Faera were perched on the top of a mountain overlooking both the valley they had come from, and the extension of Tyranus¡¯s lands. Far below them was a tributary that connected to Guilivere, the city on a river which in turn led to the Mississippi. The bald cap of the mountain offered no shelter against the wind, but it allowed the two of them to see hundreds of miles in each direction. On the horizon, Sam could see the telltale smudges of smoke that hinted at civilization. The winding river lead straight to it.


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t he keep them anywhere?¡± Faera asked, leaning against a mossy rock. ¡°It¡¯s not like his rabid followers would care if he¡¯s eating elves--they hate us. They¡¯d probably serve them up.¡±


    ¡°If his citizens don¡¯t care, and he could get away with keeping them anywhere, why deliberately make it illegal to traffic elves? Maybe¡­ Maybe it¡¯s like printing money, he wants the monopoly on it.¡±


    ¡°The kidnapping effort obviously had a lot of manpower behind it,¡± Faera said, her brows furrowed. ¡°There were jeeps, artillery, even a sorcerer. I don¡¯t know how he got a human sorcerer, but it couldn¡¯t have been cheap.¡±


    ¡°Keeping that many prisoners would be impossible to keep a secret. So rather than keep it secret, he probably wants to keep it secure,¡± Sam reasoned. ¡°What¡¯s the name of the capital, again?¡±


    ¡°Hope.¡±


    Sam snorted. ¡°Guy¡¯s got a shitty sense of humor. By the way, why didn¡¯t you tell me he was a dragon?¡± he asked, glancing at Faera, who was dusting herself off, getting ready to move again.


    ¡°You literally jumped out the window while I was trying to tell you,¡± Faera shot back. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet, that that worked.¡±


    ¡°Not really,¡± Sam said. ¡°Dictators, regardless of race, can¡¯t stand to be seen as compromising or weak. When Tyranus¡¯s people looked at that situation, they wondered to themselves who was tougher. If Tyranus had taken any shit from the demon, he¡¯d lose a bit of that glow of fanaticism, and he can¡¯t afford that.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you give him shit?¡± Faera asked, setting off down the mountain.


    ¡°Yeah, but I¡¯d bet you a week¡¯s worth of cheese that not a single person saw that. They were too busy watching the demon.¡±


    Faera glanced over her shoulder. ¡°Cheese?¡±


    ¡°Never mind,¡± Sam said, brushing past her.


    The slope wore away at their thighs as they descended the mountain in silence, always keeping their bearing on the city in the distance. There was never any definable moment when the mountain stopped and the forest began--the two simply merged--and only after hours of hiking could Sam look back at the mountain and say that they¡¯d left it.


    ¡°But we haven¡®t,¡± Faera said. ¡°We¡¯ve got a mild slope for another couple hours until we reach flatland.¡±


    ¡°Damn.¡± Sam put his head down and kept trudging.


    As they descended, the forest grew gradually more damp. Eventually, it seemed like every step sank five inches into a moss that grew straight up out of the water. While Faera hopped from exposed root to fallen log, passing beneath branches that seemed to lift themselves out of her way as she walked, the forest afforded him no such hospitality. Even if he tried to stay dry by stepping on protruding bits of wood or stone, they would invariably snap and sink him into the forest floor. After a few miles, Sam was afraid his sandals were going to fall apart, and he¡¯d have to continue barefoot. Meanwhile, the limbs of the trees seemed intent on smacking him in the face every time he glanced down to check his footing, like the bastards were playing a sadistic game with him. Sam¡¯s size had finally caught up with him.


    ¡°This is the border between elven and human territory,¡± Faera said, pointing to her right. ¡°To the north is First Word and the country of Metade, and to the south is the country of Salvation, apparently.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m technically a citizen of Metade,¡± Sam said, cursing when his last sandal strap popped off. He took the soles and tucked them in the waistband of his toga. ¡°Are there elf lawyers?¡±


    ¡°None that would represent you.¡±


    Sam shrugged. ¡°So, how come you guys didn¡¯t notice an entire country on the other side of the forest?¡±


    ¡°Tyranus¡¯s little project sprang up practically overnight. We¡¯ve known about the Mississippi Empire for a hundred years now, but they were never particularly close to our borders.  Combine long lifespans with a general apathy for anything that happens outside, and you can bet we¡¯ll miss a few things.¡±


    Faera had taken to picking out paths for Sam to follow, guiding him to the sturdier stumps that he could rest his weight on. Sam¡¯s feet were happy not to be subjected to those inhuman conditions any longer. It was bad enough that they had to take his weight every day of his life, but doing it wet and miserable was just too much. Barefoot in a bog was where his feet drew the line.


    Faera stopped, cocking her head to the side. ¡°Something¡¯s following us,¡± she said, turning to regard the obvious trail Sam had cut through the dense foliage.


    ¡°What?¡± Sam turned to look behind them.maybe the demon had gotten away and was an instant away from jumping down their throats. All he saw was the browns and glowing greens of a forest in the afternoon sun.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, it¡¯s stopped.¡±


    ¡°Is it dangerous?¡±


    ¡°I said I don¡¯t know.¡± Faera gave Sam a searing look. ¡°But it¡¯s safe to assume. Prey animals don¡¯t stalk people.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t get snippy. I was never trained to deal with animals,¡± Sam said, prying a rock the size of her head loose from the wet forest floor with his fingertips. He hefted the rock in his hand with a grimace. ¡°I miss my mace.¡±Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Here¡¯s the plan,¡± Faera said. ¡°It¡¯s stopped because we¡¯re facing it, but when we turn around and start moving again, it¡¯s going to try to pounce on one of us. Probably me, because I seem like the weaker one.¡±


    Sam glanced at Faera sideways. ¡°You aren¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Shove it. When you hear it begin to charge us, all you have to do is smash it with your rock. Humans have been honing that technique since the dawn of time.¡±


    ¡°Sounds easy, despite your impugning my heritage.¡±


    ¡°Be careful,¡± Faera said. ¡°We have no idea what is going to burst out of the woods at us. It could be as harmless as a mountain lion, or it could be a Sjidka, in which case we¡¯re fucked. If that rock of yours doesn¡¯t do jack squat, just run. Understood?¡±


    Sam glanced at the rock in his hand and did some quick calculations. The rock was¡­ about seven kilograms, so just under seven thousand joules at a hundred miles an hour. If their attacker didn¡¯t get hurt by that, Sam would be the first one to run away. He could think of two fellows it might not work on, but he didn¡¯t expect to encounter something like them out here in the middle of nowhere.


    ¡°All right then,¡± Sam said, turning back to the south and setting off, keeping Faera ahead of him. His nerves sang as every once in a while he heard a sound from something other.


    Sam¡¯s ears were tuned to the sounds coming from behind him, and his gaze intently scanned the sides of the trail for any sign of their pursuer. So, when the root caught his ankle, he stumbled forward, trying to catch himself on a branch as he fell.


    Faera glanced over her shoulder as Sam plummeted towards her. The branch he¡¯d grabbed snapped off in his hand, and there was no helping it--he was gonna smash into her. Her eyes went wide, and she twisted out of the way just as a voice boomed through the forest.


    ¡°Get away from her, monster!¡± came a voice that might¡¯ve been called soothing, if it weren¡¯t twisted with anger. A dark beast burst from the woods, charging at him.


    Mid-fall, Sam tried to throw his rock, but fumbled it instead. He hit the ground and rolled, while the black-coated animal sailed over him.


    Their pursuer reared to a stop beside Faera. ¡°We haven¡¯t got much time,¡± that pleasant voice said. ¡°Get on, before he catches you again.¡±


    Sam¡¯s elbows sank into the moss as he took in the scene.


    A horse was speaking to the stunned elf. A horse with a horn.


    ¡°That¡¯s new,¡± Sam grunted. He crawled to his feet, looking for something to protect himself with. The branch was woefully rotten, not good to use as a club no matter how much it looked like one, and his rock was sunk.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Faera said. ¡°He¡¯s not--¡±


    ¡°Oh, no, he¡¯s up again!¡± the horse said, lowering its now glowing horn to point at him. Without another word, the massive horse spurred forward, trying to skewer him.


    Sam tried to move out of the way, but both his feet were somehow stuck. He didn¡¯t have time to unstick them, didn¡¯t even have time to figure out what they were stuck on. Rather than look down like an idiot and get horned, he¡¯d rather make lemonade.


    He caught the beast¡¯s horn and pulled the massive animal¡¯s head to the side. As Sam touched the glowing horn, he felt a strange calm he¡¯d only experienced in moments of solemn contemplation. The feeling was so sweet it brought tears to his eyes, and he nearly let go.


    Then the animal¡¯s chest, a battering ram of flesh and bone, slammed against Sam, tearing him loose from the ground. Sam held tight to the horn and threw his left arm around the thing¡¯s neck as it began to drag him through the woods. In the distance, he glimpsed Faera standing beside where he had been stuck, which was marked by a tangle of vines in two conspicuous clumps.


    ¡°Get off me, you foul demon, spawn of mankind¡¯s evil!¡± the bucking horse shouted as it tried to alternately gore Sam and slam him against the trees.


    ¡°How about no, you crazy talking horse!¡± Sam returned, kicking off the ground and swinging his leg over so it couldn¡¯t slam him into the trees anymore.


    The horse went stock still, Sam¡¯s momentum nearly throwing him over its head. Its ears flicked back as it stared at him with a single bloodshot eye. ¡°What did you just call me?¡± it demanded, melodic voice echoing through the trees.


    ¡°Are you not?¡± Sam asked, coming upright on the horse¡¯s back. It was a reasonable enough assumption; there was some pretty interesting engineered life by the late twenty-one twenties. So anything was possible, although Sam was fairly sure that making domesticated animals sentient was on the list of No-Nos. Normally he¡¯d file that under To Investigate but he was busy.


    The horse stared at him for a moment longer, then all hell broke loose. The thing started bucking with purpose, forcing Sam to duck down, grab its neck, and hang on for dear life--all while avoiding the pointy bit the horse was waving around as it tried to arch its neck enough to stab him.


    ¡°Stop! He¡¯s harmless!¡± Faera cried.


    Harmless?!


    ¡°Yeah, right!¡± the horse said, arguing the point before Sam could.


    ¡°I got this!¡± Sam called as he and the horse wrestled. The horse ran circles around Faera, trying to pry Sam off against trees and hit him with low branches. Sam lost some skin on his leg when he was just a little slow getting out of the way of an oncoming trunk.


    The horse did a quick turn and let its front legs fold, diving into a brutal roll meant to squish Sam. Sam, in turn, jumped off the horse and grabbed its horn, twisting the horse¡¯s head down with everything he had.


    Despite Sam¡¯s efforts to hold the beast down, it managed to get its feet under it again--and he managed to dive on its back again in the single breath he had before it tried to pick his nose with its horn.


    The horse reared back, and Sam held on as it began speeding forward again. ¡°Take it back!¡± it shouted, flying through the woods. Sweat rolled across Sam¡¯s forehead, working its way to the back of his neck as a result of the acceleration. Trees flashed by at incredible speed, and still the horse was keeping Faera, who seemed to be calling after them, in sight.


    ¡°You called me a demon spawn of mankind¡¯s evil!¡± Sam protested.


    ¡°It¡¯s true!¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re a talking horse!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a unicorn, obviously!¡±


    ¡°A what?¡±


    ¡°Agh!¡± The self-proclaimed ¡®unicorn¡¯ lunged toward a tree, trying to scrape Sam off again.


    It was the move Sam had been waiting for. He grabbed the horn with both hands and yanked to the left.


    The horn stabbed deep into the tree. Sam experienced a moment of weightlessness as he and the unicorn went down in a tumble of hooves, fists and dust. One hoof caught him across the chest, sending a popping sensation throughout Sam¡¯s body. Then they hit the ground, and the infighting started.


    Sam tackled the unicorn that was trying to pry its horn from the tree, taking advantage of the extra weight to keep its head pinned. Sam, just out of range of the flailing hooves, had won.


    ¡°Let go of my horn, Demon.¡±


    ¡°No until you calm down, Horse.¡±


    The unicorn glared at him with its brown eyes, and then its horn began to glow again. The tree began to grow and stretch, and branches quickly wound themselves around Sam¡¯s limbs, securing him to the same trunk as thoroughly as if he¡¯d been tied there by a rope.


    ¡°Let go now, or you will starve to death where you lay. Or fall asleep and I will ram this horn through you so hard your spine will come out the other side.¡±


    ¡°I guess we¡¯ll see who falls asleep first,¡± Sam said, glaring back at the stubborn animal.


    The unicorn¡¯s nostrils flared, and then its lids lowered as it breathed in deeply. ¡°That can¡¯t be¡­¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Faera shouted, slapping both Sam and the unicorn across their faces. The two immobilized combatants didn¡¯t really have a say in the matter.


    ¡°You,¡± Faera said, pointing at Sam. ¡°Let her go. She¡¯s a unicorn.¡±


    ¡°And you,¡± Faera said, pointing at the unicorn. ¡°Let him go, he¡¯s helping me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m supposed to let her go just because she¡¯s a unicorn? That doesn¡¯t even mean--¡± Sam¡¯s words were interrupted by another slap from Faera. He glanced down as he felt movement, and saw the tender wood unwrapping from his arms and legs. ¡°Fine, but this better not bite me in the ass,¡± he said, and let go of the horn with a sigh.


    Sam and the unicorn stood, staring at each other. The unicorn¡¯s nostrils flared as it appraised Sam.


    ¡°You,¡± it said, its eyes narrowed. ¡°Pet me.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±

 Chapter 14: Negotiations

    Sam sat by the tree, the unicorn¡¯s head in his lap, her horn resting against his ribs. ¡°Are you sure I need to pet you to heal my rib?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Linquala replied, her eyes rolling back in her head. ¡°It won¡¯t work otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Sam¡­¡± Faera said, watching the scene askance. ¡°Are you¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Have you ever¡­¡± Faera began to ask, her cheeks flushing.


    ¡°He hasn¡¯t!¡± Linquala said, breathing deep and moaning in a way that an ungenerous person might describe as ¡®horse-like¡¯.


    ¡°Hasn¡¯t what?¡± Sam asked, growing perturbed.


    ¡°Over five hundred years, and sixteen reincarnations! I¡¯ve never felt anything like it!¡± Linquala shouted, raising her head to look at Faera. ¡°Don¡¯t stop,¡± she said, nuzzling into his lap once again. ¡°Sometimes, very rarely, you¡¯ll find someone who died too young in their past life, when they¡¯re twelve or so, just before they reach that age. I always thought that was as good as it could get, but thissss!!¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Sam asked. This was starting to sound kind of suspicious. How did she know what generation he was on, anyway? In addition, the unicorn¡¯s drool was beginning to seep through his toga.


    ¡°Don¡¯t stop!¡± the unicorn whined, nudging him harder. That settled it. His rib was already healed--if it hadn¡¯t been, he¡¯d be writhing in agony.


    ¡°I¡¯ll stop, unless you tell me what you¡¯re talking about,¡± Sam said, hovering his hand over the unicorn¡¯s neck.


    ¡°Noo¡­¡± Linquala moaned, and a single tear rolled from the unicorn¡¯s huge, watering eye.


    ¡°Well?¡± Sam said, immune to her pleading.


    ¡°Fiine,¡± the unicorn whined. ¡°Promise me you won¡¯t stop though. Promise!¡±


    ¡°I promise nothing,¡± Sam said. ¡°Do you want more pets or not?¡±


    ¡°Yeess¡­¡±


    Faera ducked behind a tree, her shoulders shaking from suppressed laughter.


    ¡°Then tell me,¡± Sam demanded.


    ¡°It¡¯s because you¡¯re pure,¡± Linquala breathed.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t consummated.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°Oh, fine,¡± the unicorn said, jabbing his ribs with her horn. ¡°It¡¯s because you haven¡¯t had sex.¡±


    Sam¡¯s brows shot up, but his hand went down. He continued petting the unicorn.


    Once again, her eyes rolled back in her head and her massive horse tongue lolled out onto his foot. ¡°I don¡¯t understand¡­¡± Linquala said, moaning.


    ¡°Purity is a state of mind,¡± Faera said with a grin as she approached. ¡°Sam, here, spent the last five hundred years and sixteen lifetimes following his programming.¡±


    ¡°My programming resents that statement.¡±


    ¡°That makes no sense,¡± Linquala said. ¡°I mean, we do like ascetic monks, but this is just¡­¡± Her tongue escaped again. The unicorn¡¯s eyes drifted closed and she began to snore.


    Faera put her finger over her lips and crept toward the unicorn that was contentedly sawing wood under Sam¡¯s careful ministrations, careful not to make too much noise or send a shadow over her eye. She wetted her finger, then put it in the unicorn¡¯s ear and twisted.


    Sam would have thought it terrifically funny, were it not for the horn that nearly gouged out his eye when the unicorn jerked awake.


    ¡°What the hell?¡± Linquala shouted. ¡°Who¡¯s there? What time is it?¡±


    ¡°Linquala, would you be willing to provide assistance? In exchange for pets?¡±


    ¡°In exchange for Sam, perhaps,¡± Linquala said, lowering her head again.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Sam said, frowning. ¡°I¡¯m not exchangeable. And don¡¯t promise my time for whatever you want.¡±


    ¡°Are you saying you wouldn¡¯t pet Linquala to free my people? You agreed to help me already, so, you know, I figured you¡¯d rather pet a unicorn than fight a dragon.¡±


    Sam thought back to the gnashing jaws that had nearly swallowed him whole. ¡°Maybe,¡± he said, petting Linquala again.


    ¡°I¡¯m not fighting a dragon, no matter hooooow... gooood this feeeeels,¡± Linquala said, stretching her legs straight out as Sam began to itch behind her ears.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Nothing that hard,¡± Faera said, kneeling down in front of the unicorn. ¡°Just help us get through the forest, and Sam, here, agrees to give you half an hour of petting.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s allll?¡± Linquala whined, curling her legs up.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Faera said, cocking her head to the side. ¡°Maybe if you could do more than that, we could negotiate more pets. Can you think of anything?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Sam, stop petting her.¡±


    Sam lifted his hand away from the unicorn¡¯s velvety fur.


    ¡°No, please! Keep petting me!¡± Linquala tried to rub against Sam on her own, nearly goring him with her horn.


    ¡°C¡¯mon, you gotta know something. Give us something to work with!¡± Faera leaned forward to snarl, playing the bad cop perfectly. Sam struggled to keep a straight face while she roughed up the insensate unicorn, grabbing ahold of her slack cheeks and tugging her around.


    After a moment of this, Faera told Sam to get up to leave. When Sam¡¯s legs shifted beneath her, Linquala finally cracked.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Linquala said, pressing down on Sam¡¯s legs to hold him in place. ¡°Wait, I just thought of something. There¡¯s an abandoned military base about five miles from here, straight west. If you got some gear from there, it could make killing your dragon a snap. Keep petting me.¡±


    Sam imagined hitting the dragon with a grenade launcher, rocket launcher, or even a VAMPR. Weapons like that, with the exception of grenades, were kept from the hands of the clones for fear of destruction of the facility. But Sam had the specifications of each weapon and instructions for their use in his head.


    Yeah, that could work. Even a simple grenade would probably eviscerate a dragon if he could get it down the monster¡¯s gullet.


    Sam put his hand back down, and began scratching behind Linquala¡¯s ear.


    ¡°Oh, by all the sacred fires,¡± Linquala said, her muscles turning to putty.


    ¡°I think that¡¯s worth another half hour, don¡¯t you think?¡± Sam said.


    Faera crossed her arms with a frown. ¡°Is there anything we should know about the base? Are its autonomous defenses still active?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Linquala said, gasping when Sam began to massage her neck. ¡°They rusted away two hundred years ago, and the radiation is nothing much to speak of anymore. But since the defenses are gone, some Ungrin have infested the place¡­¡±


    Faera grimaced. ¡°I can see why you didn¡¯t list it as an option, then.¡±


    ¡°Is it something we can¡¯t handle?¡± Sam asked, glancing up.


    ¡°I¡¯ll help!¡± Linquala shouted. ¡°I¡¯ll help for pets!¡±


    Faera covered her mouth with her hand, but Sam could see the smile in her eyes as she spoke. ¡°Between the three of us, it should be less dangerous, but be prepared for a few minor cuts and stabs. Are S4M units immune to tetanus?¡±


    ¡°¡¯Course, but what are Ungrin?¡± Sam asked, running his fingers through Linquala¡¯s mane while she thrashed her hooves in the air.


    ¡°They¡¯re vicious little bastards, about this tall,¡± Faera said, leveling her hand at her hip. ¡°They¡¯re small and relatively weak, but jamming sharp sticks into sensitive organs has worked since the dawn of time, so they stick with it. They¡¯re smart enough to make some of their own tools, but mostly they just steal them from others. They breed like rabbits. A tribe can range anywhere from two to two hundred, though they tend to implode in a cannibalistic frenzy when their population gets too big.¡±


    ¡°Sounds pretty dangerous if they have more than six or seven,¡± Sam said. He knew for a fact he could triumph over a few midgets, but numbers could quickly pose a problem.


    ¡°Linquala.¡± Sam glanced at the drooling unicorn in his lap. ¡°How many Ungrin are there?¡±


    ¡°About thirty,¡± Linquala said, her eyes closed. ¡°The forest doesn¡¯t have enough food to support more than that.¡±


    ¡°With Linquala¡¯s help, thirty should be doable,¡± Faera said.


    ¡°I need a weapon,¡± Sam said, eyeing the unicorn. ¡°Something to keep thirty little guys with spears at arm¡¯s length. Something like a really long club.¡±


    ¡°You mean a staff?¡±


    Sam searched his encyclopedic knowledge of weapons and came up dry. ¡°What?¡±


    Faera leaned down and handed Sam her knife, pointing at a young tree that stood exceptionally straight. ¡°That ash there; trim its roots and branches, and you¡¯ll have yourself a staff. It¡¯ll be green wood, but it¡¯ll do.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Linquala said with a snort as Sam started to get up. ¡°I¡¯ll make you a staff, just keep petting me.¡±


    ¡°How about some armor, too?¡± Faera asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t push your luck,¡± Linquala said. Her horn lit up under Sam¡¯s elbow.


    Five feet away from them, a sapling sprang from the soil, growing straight up as though it were being pulled. The leaves were long, thin green tubes reminiscent of pine needles, but far longer and bending slightly upward. The sapling stretched toward the sky, pulsing upward in time with the light from Linquala¡¯s horn.


    On impulse and without warning, Sam scratched behind her ear. Linquala shuddered and let out a moan, her horn brightening. The tree added another foot in a fraction of a second, careening off at a rakish angle. That gave Sam an idea.


    ¡°Think you could make that into a shepherd¡¯s hook?¡± Sam asked. ¡°I never got a chance to use my other one.¡±


    Linquala sighed wordlessly and the tree curled at the spot where he¡¯d distracted her. A few minutes later, the leaves and then branches began to wither and fall away. Even the bark sloughed off, leaving a dull, dark brown wood behind. Finally, the crook fell, detaching itself from its roots in front of them.


    ¡°Won¡¯t it be a problem if someone grabs the hook and tries to pull it out of your hands?¡± Faera asked.


    ¡°In a situation like that, the stronger person will make the weaker person his bitch,¡± Sam said, hefting his new weapon as he petted Linquala. The nine-foot crook was heavy, taking a modicum of effort to lift, and fit well in his hand. Sam tossed the crook to Faera.


    She staggered, grunting under the weight and almost dropping it. ¡°What the hell is this made of?¡±


    ¡°Bull-oak,¡± Linquala said, sounding pleased with herself at Faera¡¯s surprise. ¡°A friend of mine gave me some seeds a few hundred years back as part of a bet. Took me a while to figure out, but I finally got the knack of it, as you can see.¡±


    ¡°Damn,¡± Faera said, hefting it. ¡°This thing has to weigh thirty pounds. At least.¡± She glanced at Sam and his unicorn. ¡°Alright you guys, let¡¯s get to it. I want that base cleared out before nightfall.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to stop,¡± Linquala said petulantly.


    ¡°Look at it this way,¡± Sam said, patting the unicorn¡¯s neck. ¡°You can give yourself time to recover some before the next round.¡±


    Linquala sighed, and lifted her head off Sam¡¯s lap, allowing the blood to flow through his thighs again. He stood and shook the tingles out of his leg, while holding the drool-soaked part of his toga away from his skin.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Linquala said. Sam had no experience reading the expressions of horses, but the unicorn avoided eye contact as she began to compose herself again.


    ¡°No problem,¡± Sam said, tucking the sopping material aside. ¡°You couldn¡¯t help it.¡± Faera handed Sam the crook, and he settled it over his shoulder.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get going,¡± Faera said with a motion at Linquala. ¡°Lead the way.¡±


    Linquala nickered and set out at a trot, forcing Sam and Faera to jog to keep up. Low bushes seemed to warp around their path like the image from a fish-eye lens, and they found themselves speeding through the woods as if on level ground. The earth itself pushed against their feet, springing them forward as the trees flew by.

 Chapter 15: The Abandoned Base

    They arrived at the military base in about fifteen minutes, by Sam¡¯s estimate. That meant they had been doing a solid twenty miles an hour. Sam could do that, but not through the thick of the woods.


    Sam eyed the unicorn speculatively. It seemed like they were only scratching the surface of what Linquala could do. He quietly made a bookmark of their encounter, for review.


    ¡°Here it is,¡± Linquala whispered as they approached. The military base had once been a massive facility, and the crumbled cement that lined the forest floor was a testament to that. They had passed by skeletal buildings hollowed out by time and wildfires, eaten out by plants and insects and all manner of rooting creatures, but what was in front of them could only be described as a fortress.


    The dome-shaped building sat heavily in the center of a clearing. Some unknown force had prevented plants from growing there, and Sam could still vaguely see the painted lines of the parking lot. The structure was remarkably well preserved, although what were probably blast-resistant glass windows were clouded with age. The door to the base stood agape, its corners worn and twisted where it had been pried open.


    Sam hoped that whoever had bent that metal was long gone. Faera had mentioned Ungrin using tools made by others, and he wondered if that meant they had figured out how to operate guns. All of the more advanced weapons would likely have security locks on them, but a simple revolver would kill Sam just as well as anything else.


    ¡°Are these Ungrin able to use guns?¡± Sam asked, glancing at Faera.


    She shook her head. ¡°Doubtful. These things are pretty dumb.¡±


    ¡°But they can talk and use tools, right?¡± Sam asked, his mind starting to churn.


    ¡°Correct.¡±


    ¡°So they¡¯re sentient. And you want me to storm the place and kill them? Is there any way to just trade them for a weapon?¡±


    Sam found himself being stared at by both Faera and Linquala. The latter¡¯s jaw hung open, giving him a good opportunity to inspect the inside of a unicorn¡¯s mouth.


    Faera sighed and rubbed her temples. ¡°Look, Sam, these things are evil with a capital E. They don¡¯t respect lives or honor. They will try to catch and eat anything made of meat. There is no way to reason with them. The only thing you can do is kill them. They prey on lone travelers and small caravans¡­ it saves more lives in the long run to exterminate them.¡±


    ¡°Just like me, the embodiment of human evil?¡± Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. He wasn¡¯t going to believe he should kill something on sight until he¡¯d had experience with it himself.


    ¡°Crap,¡± Faera said, putting her hand over her eyes. ¡°Just¡­ don¡¯t let them kill you, okay?¡±


    ¡°Just stay here and back me up if they attack,¡± Sam said. He stood.


    ¡°They¡¯re gonna attack,¡± Faera said, hefting her knife.


    ¡°Even so,¡± Sam said, then left the elf and magic talking horse behind. He walked out of the concealing bushes and entered the asphalt-coated clearing. There, he waited in plain view for a minute. Nothing happened.


    According to what he¡¯d heard from Faera, diplomacy was something these Ungrin weren¡¯t particularly keen on. But they were able to communicate, which meant they could be reasoned with, albeit not the way most people were comfortable with. Well, if it saved some killing, he¡¯d try¡­


    Sam let out a bellow and twisted to smite the battered steel door that hung from the entrance, using it like a gong. The sound reverberated through the forest, digging into Sam¡¯s eardrums where he stood at the epicenter.


    In seconds, a wail rose from the black depths of the bunker, carried by many voices. Skittering and scraping sounds echoed from inside the building.


    ¡°Ungrin!¡± Sam shouted at the top of his lungs, flexing what showed above the toga tied around his waist. ¡°Give me what I want or die!¡±


    Maybe that would work. If they perceived weakness, they would probably attack, but maybe if he cowed them from the very beginning, they¡­ never mind.


    ¡°Meat!¡± a little blue man shouted as he charged Sam, a weathered K-bar in his hand. The Ungrin¡¯s skin was a dark blue approaching purple. He was naked, his little dong flapping in the wind beneath his emaciated belly as he sprinted out the door. A sadistic grin revealed curved, serrated teeth. This thing was obviously a carnivore.


    Sam smote him. The little blue body folded around the crook like a piece of origami before flying off and impacting against the bunker¡¯s concrete wall, leaving a smear of red blood.


    ¡°Ungrin!¡± Sam shouted. ¡°I¡¯ll kill all the same unless you give me what I want!¡±


    ¡°Meat! Meat!¡± The cry was taken up by more and more voices.


    Three more Ungrin charged out of the dark entrance, sharp sticks and stolen army gear raised above their heads. Just as Sam was swinging the crook back to deal with them, a rock shot out of the darkness, flying over their heads. Sam only had time to flinch.


    The rock glanced off his forehead, blinding him with a flash of white. The pain caused him to stagger backwards as more Ungrin flooded out of the base, screeching as they came.


    Sam had expected to have at least a little dialogue if he intimidated them, but apparently that was not the case. Or maybe Sam just wasn¡¯t intimidating. Everyone else was afraid of him--it didn¡¯t seem fair that he couldn¡¯t leverage that kind of influence to save these little guys¡¯ filthy fucking lives. In the end, if these little bastards wanted to pit themselves against the apex of human warfare ingenuity, that was their fucking prerogative.


    With a bellow, Sam blindly swung the crook. He felt two impacts, and guessed he¡¯d gotten two of the first three. He¡¯d swung low, so the third one¡­ Sam ducked his head to the left and backhanded the space in front of him. His arm caught the third one mid-jump. He felt its rudimentary spear snap against his forearm as he slapped the Ungrin out of the air.


    Sam took two steps backward and blinked his eyes, trying to get his sight back. He made out motion just in time to jump above a savage thrust from one of the squealing Ungrin. On the way back down, Sam caught the back of the Ungrin¡¯s head with his heel, folding the critter in half and crushing its skull into the asphalt. He blinked the last of the spots out of his eyes and took stock of the situation.


    He was surrounded by around thirty blue-skinned little monsters that wanted to eat him. They were showing a lot more caution than before, their spears held in front of them as they assessed him from a safe distance. Even though they were hesitating, Sam still heard the word ¡®meat¡¯ being tossed around between them, almost like a verbal tick or a hiccup. They simply saw him as meat, and they seemed unable to contain the thought.


    About this time, Faera and Linquala burst through the brush, slamming against the five or so that had gotten behind Sam. Faera slammed her knife through the spinal column of one of the Ungrin that had turned to look at the sound coming from the forest. She grabbed the spear from its loosened grip and slammed it home in the eye of another.


    Linquala simply crushed them, two at a time, beneath her hooves. In moments, the space behind Sam was clear, and he breathed a sigh of relief.


    The Ungrin on the other hand, were furious. Petulant, angry cries echoed through the forest.


    ¡°Wrong, bad meat!¡± they called out with the tone of a toddler with their favorite toy stolen from them. Some stomped on the ground in anger while others howled and threw themselves at Sam.


    ¡°I,¡± Sam said, swinging his crook down and busting a skull. ¡°Told.¡± He emphasized each word with another dead Ungrin. ¡°You!¡± he grunted. ¡°Give me what I want, or die!¡±


    The ungrin screeched and threw their spears at Sam. Others shot rocks at him from primitive slings. Sam avoided it all, using an Ungrin shield to soak up some of the more inconvenient projectiles.


    Finally, there were only five left. Probably realizing how outmatched they were, they broke, running in every direction. Sam, not quite out of the fight yet, threw the crook, breaking the spine of one, while Linquala chased another two down.


    Sam heard Faera snarl a single syllable. Her fingers were flung forward in an awkward contortion, and a ball of crackling energy materialized six inches in front of her, shooting forward and impacting against the neck of the final Ungrin. He dropped bonelessly to the ground.


    ¡°He was going for a bolt-hole,¡± Faera said, when she saw Sam staring at her. She nodded toward a circular patch of grass near the edge of the asphalt. ¡°If he made it, he¡¯d probably try to ambush one of us in the tunnels below the bunker. Or, even if he left us alone and escaped, there¡¯s a chance the little bastard would Molt and start a new clan.¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Still not comfortable attacking things just on your say-so, but yeah, they weren¡¯t fazed by my act at all,¡± Sam said, frowning.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Linquala said, rubbing her cheek against Sam¡¯s hair. ¡°You were very scary.¡±


    ¡°Not really the point, but thanks.¡± Sam picked up his crook and crushed the skull of the ungrin that crawled beside it. ¡°Try to avoid a fight with everything you¡¯ve got, but once it¡¯s upon you, crush them. One of the technicians told me that.¡± He pressed his palm against his forehead to staunch the flow of blood dripping over his eye.


    ¡°Let me see,¡± Faera said, prying Sam¡¯s hand away. She murmured the words of the healing spell, and the throbbing in Sam¡¯s forehead flared for a moment, drilling into Sam¡¯s skull, before fading to a dull thud. Sam gingerly touched the wound on his head, and while it was a bit tender, it was no longer bleeding. That magic thing was handy.


    ¡°Still won¡¯t teach me?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°Ah well,¡± Sam said, putting his crook over his shoulder. It was no use standing around and begging Faera anymore. It seemed as though the NDA on magic was pretty solid.


    ¡°How about you, Linquala?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have a horn.¡± The unicorn tossed her head.


    ¡°Fair enough,¡± Sam said with a sigh, heading toward the open door. ¡°Guess I¡¯ll stick with smashing things with my stick, then.¡±


    He entered the dark bunker, and immediately took a step back out. The stench was tolerable outside the bunker, but as soon as he set foot inside, the smell of rotting meat and things turning to slime from the inside out assailed his senses. Sam leaned on the crook while Faera watched him with a frown.


    ¡°Smells really bad in there,¡± Sam said, taking big gasps of breathable air.


    ¡°Yeah, it smells bad,¡± Faera said, before ducking her head in. ¡°But it¡¯s not that bad.¡±


    ¡°I was raised in a lab!¡± Sam protested, seeing she was having nowhere near as much trouble with the stench of anaerobic decomposition.


    He squared his shoulders and nudged Faera out of the way. Sam approached the bunker door again, keeping his breathing shallow. If he could stand it long enough, his brain would grow numb to the sensation, according to his physiology training.


    Sam¡¯s stomach did cartwheels when he set foot inside, but he forced the bile back down his throat as he descended the stairs with watering eyes. Sam expected the interior of the bunker to be pitch black, but that wasn¡¯t the case at all. Although, in Sam¡¯s mind, it wasn¡¯t much of an improvement.


    Scattered around the first floor of the bunker were piles of offal that fed various luminescent mushrooms. Each pile had a small furry animal at its core, with the fungus growing between scraps of refuse tossed on top of the moldy fur.


    The furniture had long ago been removed, and the computers that had most likely abutted the wall had been cut away. Tubes leading nowhere jutted from the wall at odd intervals, their bundles of copper wires tarnished and frayed.


    ¡°Don¡¯t bother picking anything up off the ground,¡± Sam said as he crept through the rank bunker. ¡°Any gun left out in this environment is going to be unusable.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Kay¡± Faera said, crouched and following silently behind him.


    Sam glanced back. ¡°Where¡¯s Linquala?¡±


    ¡°Good luck, you two,¡± the unicorn called, voice drifting down the stairs. ¡°Not going in there in a million years!¡±


    Fair enough. She had gotten them there, and provided Sam with his Smiting Stick, so there wasn¡¯t much he could complain about. Not to mention, the dimensions of the base might not be so accommodating to something horse-sized. The tight quarters combined with thoughts of the tons of stone looming over his head were making even him uneasy. Sam supposed the testing facility must have been built with his dimensions in mind.


    He took the hall to the right, plunged into deep shadow by the lack of phosphorescent mushrooms. Sam slowly walked forward, one step at a time, searching for a locked door that might indicate an armory, or a staircase leading down. He pushed a door open, wary of causing the hinges to scream in agony. They didn¡¯t make much noise--the door simply fell off of them and collapsed to the floor, shattering into three pieces of rotten wood, releasing a plume of spores from the moldy ground, and sending a clattering noise through the entire bunker.


    Sam held his toga over his mouth to hopefully inhale fewer fungal reproductive units while he listened. The crashing sound echoed for two heartbeats before everything was silent again. No responding sound erupted from the darkness, no little blue bastards chanting ¡®meat¡¯ mindlessly.


    It appeared that they were alone in here, but Sam wasn¡¯t going to take chances if he could help it. He continued along the hall, taking the rotten doors off their hinges and carefully setting them aside as he checked each room.


    After the third door, Sam couldn¡¯t see anymore. The light from the main hall of the bunker was simply too dim.


    ¡°You got a way to make light with magic?¡± he asked.


    ¡°There is a way, but I already told you, Special Forces only learn a small number of useful spells.¡±


    ¡°How is having a mind-flashlight not useful enough to make the cut?¡± Sam inquired.


    ¡°Elves have very good night vision.¡± Sure enough, when he turned back to look at her, he spotted the glimmer of a pair of reflective eyes.


    ¡°Well, shit,¡± Sam said, then slid past her into the main hall. He tore a strip from his toga and bound together a dozen of the luminous mushrooms, concentrating their light enough to shine in the dark. Then he tied them to the top of his crook, suspended in the center of the half circle of wood.


    ¡°You probably don¡¯t want to check out the rest of this hall,¡± Faera said as Sam returned. He put the crook closer to illuminate her face. The brief instant before she batted the ironwood away revealed a grim expression.


    ¡°I have to see if there¡¯s something we can use.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no weapons in there, trust me,¡± Faera said.


    ¡°I trust you, but did you check for keycards, computers, or notebooks? Keys? I don¡¯t want to get stuck in front of the door to the armory and find out the keys was in one of those rooms.¡±


    Faera sighed, and stepped out of the way. ¡°Help yourself.¡±


    Sam pressed forward past where the dark had stopped him, and continued inspecting each room, being careful of the doors. One room in particular was filled with scraps of wood where the furniture must have been piled and then systematically torn apart to make simple weapons. The next room contained all the computers from the main hall, and Sam searched the area thoroughly, keeping his eyes open for an ID card or an encrypted access pass. The little security cards were quantum entangled so that they and nothing else could open their respective locks. The military expected a certain level of stupidity in their grunts, and so the names of whatever they opened were generally indelibly written on their sides. The keys looked like portable hard drives, and might have wound up in here whenever the rearranging of the bunker¡¯s furniture took place.


    The computer cases had been torn apart for the thin, sharp pieces of metal the Ungrin could carve from their sides. The interiors, on the other hand, had simply been smashed, leaving bits of copper wire and magnets strewn about the floor. After a good fifteen minutes, Sam couldn¡¯t find anything immediately useful, but he marked the location in his memory in case they needed a magnet or some wire. It might be possible to use some of these parts to jury-rig a broken door in the high-security parts of the bunker, for example.


    Sam stepped out of the room, and noticed that the smell wasn¡¯t quite as bad anymore. He was starting to get used to it. He stuck his head into the next room, and nothing immediately jumped out at him like in the previous two. Sam swung the crook low to bring illumination to the floor, and spotted a foot. Sam took a moment to process that.


    A foot. A foot must be connected to a leg, so the song would have you believe. Sam shifted the crook, following the foot to its natural conclusion.


    Leaning against the wall was an eviscerated young woman. The meat had been stripped away from one of her splayed thighs, revealing bloody bone. Her ribs had been pried open to get at the inner organs, her throat was cut, and a curtain of brown blood spread down her mutilated breasts.


    Sam grimaced and studied her face. She had freckles, was human, about sixteen years old. The perpetrator¡­ Sam shook his head. There was no need to profile. He didn¡¯t need to annotate all the horrible shit that had been done to her for the police to review later. The ones responsible were dead, the police were dead, and it was all pointless now. Sam felt his stomach churn, and with a gasp, he tried to hold it down.


    That sudden intake of air brought the taste of old blood, of her into his mouth, and all of a sudden, the stench of the bunker became too much. Sam bent forward, retching. He hadn¡¯t eaten in a few days, so only a clear bile spattered on the ground. If Sam had had anything to purge, he might have felt better. As it was, he was left shaking.


    Sam stumbled out of the room, gasping the foul air, trying to catch his breath in the suffocating environment. ¡°You were right,¡± he said, leaning on his crook. ¡°I¡¯ll just kill them from now on.¡±


    Faera shrugged. ¡°I like your take on it, actually. Maybe one day, you¡¯ll establish contact with something everyone else assumes is evil, opening a whole new world of possibilities. If you don¡¯t die first.¡±


    ¡°That does seem to be the more likely outcome,¡± Sam said, fixing his gaze on the hall to the left. Perhaps the armory lay in that direction.


    He took one last glance back toward the girl in the room. ¡°Where do you think she--¡±


    ¡°Just a friendly reminder,¡± Faera said, putting a hand on Sam¡¯s arm. ¡°If you look for where she came from, all you can do is tell her family what they already know, and humanize her for yourself. The pain will just be worse.¡±


    Sam¡¯s brows furrowed. He quickly catalogued the girl¡¯s hereditary facial features, in the event he met a relative. ¡°Fine,¡± he said. ¡°I won¡¯t go out of my way to find them, but if we do meet her family, they deserve to know she¡¯s gone.¡±


    ¡°No problem there,¡± Faera said.


    Sam nodded and set off toward the left-hand hall. He ducked under a burned-out red bulb that must have served as some sort of alarm over five hundred years ago.


    As Sam crept down the hall, his mind returned to the dead girl almost against his will. The blood had only been a couple days old. If he and Faera had been here just a few days earlier, that girl might be alive now, throwing a petty tantrum, going through the pain of growing up.


    Sam wondered what she had been doing out in the woods. Was she running away from home, playing in the woods with her friends, or out gathering food to supplement a bleak existence on the fringe of society? Rich kids don¡¯t wind up alone in the woods with their chests torn open.


    A woman¡¯s moan of pain echoed suddenly in the darkness.


    Sam shot up straight, holding his crook light forward to peer down the hall. ¡°Hello?¡± he called. He glanced back at Faera. ¡°Did you hear that?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Faera said, frowning. ¡°Only reason a girl would be alive in a place like this is if they were saving her for later.¡±


    Sam snapped his gaze forward again and began to trot ahead, lighting his way with the crook. He was in time to save someone after all.


    ¡°Hello?¡± he tried again. Sam peered into the rooms that dotted the sides of the hall, briefly illuminating their foul contents before moving on.


    Another single-vowel moan.


    Sam¡¯s ears pricked. He was much closer to the woman now. The sound was coming from the end of the hall. ¡°Hold on,¡± Sam said, trotting down the rot-slick tunnel.


    At the end, he spotted a single arm protruding through some bars. Sam rushed up and knelt, peering deeper into the cage. It sounded like the woman might have a head wound, being unable to enunciate. Faera could probably do first aid, and maybe when she was conscious they could return her to her home.


    The arm suddenly reached out and seized his ankle with desperate strength.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Sam said, putting his hand on her arm as he glanced down. ¡°You¡¯re gonna be¡­¡±


    Sam only had an instant to process the sticky sensation that glued his hand to the arm, and the strange, raised bumps on her skin. The bars of the cell snapped open, and Sam was wrenched forward with a strength that had nothing to do with an injured woman. He got a glimpse of the arm retreating into the moist pit revealed by the glowing fungus, growing less and less human as it was sucked backward.

 Chapter 16: Vampires

    A startled cry was all Sam managed before the bars slammed shut again, closing him inside that moist, pink, barbed cage.


    ¡°Sam!¡± Faera¡¯s scream seemed to come from a long distance as the world began to spin around him. The barbs in the walls of the cage only went one direction, slippery and smooth, helping him slide deeper. When he struggled towards the bars, they dug into Sam¡¯s skin, stopping his movement.


    The pink walls started closing in on Sam rhythmically, trying to squeeze him farther backward. Sam slid three feet and the pressure magnified, becoming intense.


    With a grunt, he propped the crook sideways, sticking it in the thing¡¯s throat like a splintered chicken bone. He had been swallowed. He¡¯d bought himself a couple seconds, but he had been swallowed.


    Even then, the hand around his ankle tried to pull him deeper, and it took every ounce of his strength to stay put. Sam panted, thankful that there was enough clearance to allow a path of air from the front of the thing¡¯s gaping mouth. The bars had been wickedly long teeth that narrowed down to razor-sharp tips. The arm had been its tongue, and the voice, well¡­ this fucking thing did a great falsetto.


    Humans and monsters must respond better to women than men, Sam thought in a moment of madness as he slid six inches deeper. For humans, women were things to be protected and sought after, and for monsters, well, women had more body fat.


    ¡°Sam, hold on!¡± Faera shouted again, sounding about the same distance away.


    There was an impact, and the entire throat shook and slammed back and forth. Foul, moist air passed by Sam as the creature let out a cry of pain. The shaking slid Sam a good six inches farther away from the opening of the mouth.


    What the hell could he do? The only thing he could have possibly grabbed hold of were the tooth bars, but they were far out of reach now¡­ Sam looked up, at his crook with the glowing mushrooms hanging in the center of the sheep-catching hook. ¡°Huh.¡±


    Sam twisted his body with all his strength, turning the crook once again parallel with the throat. If he missed this, he was shit out of luck but¡­ With a grunt, Sam thrust the crook forward. He turned the crook, swung it to the side and pulled, even as the walls closed in on him in the absence of chicken bone. Moment of truth.


    With a clack, the crook caught the teeth at the monster¡¯s mouth, arresting Sam¡¯s descent into the bowels of the monster. Okay, we¡¯ve got a more secure foothold, but now roughly sixty percent of my body is anchored by barbs, he thought.


    Sooner or later, he was going to lose his grip on the crook. At this point, it was simply a contest of strength between his hands and thousands of stationary barbs. And the wood was getting slippery. Sam had to do something drastic or he¡¯d get tired and wind up lunch.


    ¡°Alright you fucker,¡± Sam snarled, and began to pull with everything he had. The barbs sank deep into his skin as he slid a half inch forward before coming to a halt. The monster tried to shake its head, and several pulses traveled down the wet pink walls, trying to dislodge him.


    ¡°Not¡­ getting off¡­ that easy!¡± Sam said, to himself and the monster. He curled up, putting his legs and back into pulling on the tooth. Sam let out a scream of effort as the monster squealed in pain.


    With a wet, sucking pop, the monster¡¯s massive, bar-like tooth came free, pulled into its throat by Sam¡¯s crook. The raw, bloody tooth was at least nine feet long, and as soon as it came free, Sam began sliding backwards again.


    He thrust, swung, and secured the crook on another tooth. ¡°Give you a toothache, buddy?¡± Sam asked, his voice muffled by the flesh pressing in on him from every side.


    He took one hand off his crook and snagged the massive, curved tooth as it tried to slide by. Bracing the fleshy bottom of the tooth against his palm, Sam shoved the razor sharp tip forward, using the leverage from the crook to pierce the monster¡¯s flesh.


    Sam¡¯s world began to thrash, the barbs ripping out of his skin, and a monumental hacking, heaving filled the space he occupied. The slick pink passage became smooth, and with a blast of rank wind, Sam was jettisoned forward.


    He burst out into open air, flailing with the crook as he fell.


    One second, still falling. Sam saw nothing but shadows and blue lights dotting his surroundings.


    Two seconds. Sam tried to locate Down, but a freefall was essentially weightless. He scanned the blue-dotted void, looking for some point of reference. Some of the blue dots had to be moving Up relative to him, which would inform Down.


    Three seconds. This was starting to become a problem. If the ground didn¡¯t make itself apparent--


    Sam¡¯s thoughts were cut off as he hit to the tune of dozens of broken bones. Sam¡¯s vison went white, and he forgot how to breathe.


    His vision cleared about the same time he remembered to breathe, and with a painful gasp, his eyes snapped into focus. Above him--and he was sure of the direction now--he saw a black shadow gliding along, obscuring the blue dots of light on the ceiling. It had to be a ceiling. They were still underground, weren¡¯t they?


    Sam lifted one severely scraped arm up and tried to check his broken bones. Moving his arm was a good sign; it meant he hadn¡¯t severed his spine. Sam wiggled his toes. Still had feeling there.


    Sam levered himself up, and while his whole body ached, he couldn¡¯t locate the broken bones. Sam pressed his hand down, and jerked it up as something poked his palm. There was a shard of bone there, softly illuminated by the blue lights on the ceiling. Sam blinked his eyes and looked more closely at his surroundings.


    He sat on a pile of bones that had no perceivable end. Fading into the darkness, the pile was composed mostly of humanoid skeletons. Most of the skeletons were small with wide heads and razor-sharp teeth. Ungrin, then.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Just barely visible was another layer beneath that, older skeletons rotting from age and damp. They had human proportions, although Sam could only make out the occasional bony arm or leg jutting out beyond the freshest bones. One of them still had a scrap of digital camo wrapped around an ankle.


    Sam¡¯s reverie was cut short by a piercing wail that echoed around the massive chamber. He stumbled to his feet, dizzy from blood loss. Minor punctures all over his body wept blood as Sam stabilized himself with his crook. He glanced up, and the shadow on the ceiling paused long enough for him to gather some details.


    It looked like a giant black gecko, except its mouth dwarfed the rest of its body. The thing¡¯s neck twisted a half rotation, and the teeth that had been concealed against the ceiling were exposed, revealing a gaping, cage-like mouth. He was even able to make out the hand-tongue thrashing around in the gap he¡¯d made. The missing tooth jutted from behind its jaw, causing the monster to bat at it with irritation.


    Sam didn¡¯t know where the creature¡¯s eyes were, but he could feel its attention on him. He could also tell that it was pissed. Sam glanced around, looking for Faera. If he didn¡¯t get some help, he was looking at being dinner sometime in the next few minutes.


    It still needed to pry the tooth out of its mouth, so Sam figured he had a little time. He began stumbling off of the bone pile, heading for one of the dark halls intersecting the perfectly smooth cavern. The cavern couldn¡¯t have been a feature of the original bunker. It seemed like a bore hole cut by a VAMPR, but much bigger than it should have been, unless someone overloaded it¡­


    Sam came to a halt. The Variable Anti Matter Pulse Rifle could be dialed in to cut a very specific amount of matter out of existence and store it as matter and energy. A VAMPR could even be wired up to use as a generator in a pinch--which could¡¯ve been the case here, after the base lost power. But if someone had turned the thing all the way up, it would have cut a perfectly spherical hole in the base and then exploded with the force of a nuclear blast.


    The base obviously wasn¡¯t an open-topped crater, so the gun must not have exploded, but Sam was increasingly certain a VAMPR had taken a huge chunk out of it. Somewhere underneath this enormous pile of bones, there might be a bomb that had been trapped there for hundreds of years. A bomb capable of vaporizing him, his friends, and a goodly stretch of the surrounding forest--a bomb which, inexplicably, hadn¡¯t gone off.


    Sam started running again, not wanting to stay on that pile any longer than necessary.


    A black shadow swooped across the ceiling, and the monster dropped down in front of him. Sam saw its eyes now, wetly glistening from the edge of both its upper and lower jaws. The moans of pain that¡¯d drawn him in earlier took on a buzzing sound, as though the monster were standing in front of a fan.


    Sam backed away from the enormous creature as it stalked toward him. He would¡¯ve given anything to have one of his guns right now.


    Sam took a deep breath to clear his swimming head and drew the crook back, ready to smash out another tooth. ¡°Come get it, you slimy bastard!¡± Sam shouted.


    The strange wailing-purring reverberated through the cavern, growing in strength as the creature charged forward, bones rolling off its blue-stained chest like water from a ship¡¯s prow. Sam tensed, aiming his first blow at one of the beady eyes that dotted its chin. It had more than two eyes, but there wasn¡¯t a creature that Sam could think of that didn¡¯t cherish all of them.


    As Sam¡¯s crook came down, two balls of crackling energy curved around him to impact on two more eyes. The creature¡¯s wailing rose in pitch, until it sounded like Sam was fighting a steam whistle. The creature had lost three eyes in one go, and it reared its head back and plowed over Sam, slamming him to the ground as it dashed madly forward.


    There was a deafening explosion, and he was sprayed with warm liquid. One of the monster¡¯s enormous feet crunched bone beside Sam¡¯s head as it veered away, thrashing in pain. Sam lifted his head and saw it slam into the cavern wall at full tilt. Bones and ancient, rusted guns were flung through the air like confetti by the creature¡¯s death throes.


    Sam rolled up and glanced over, spotting Faera with a shotgun strap slung over her shoulder. ¡°Found the armory, I see?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but all the good stuff is locked with biometrics.¡± Faera nodded down at the gun in her hands and shrugged.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Sam said, pushing up to his feet. When he stooped to pick up the crook, he nearly toppled over. He¡¯d lost a lot of blood. ¡°I¡­ probably have access.¡±


    Faera appeared by his arm and put her shoulder under, stabilizing him. ¡°Let me stop the bleeding first. Come on, let¡¯s sit you down in one of these halls.¡± Faera guided Sam to one of the intersecting hallways, about four feet off the bone-laden ground.


    Sam clambered up and then reclined against the solid wall. The fungus draped along the floor and walls here was infinitely more comfortable than bone shards. He watched Faera hoist herself up the four-foot gap, and decided there was time to rest his eyes before she managed to reach him¡­


    An impact against Sam¡¯s jaw snapped him awake, ears ringing.


    ¡°Sam, I¡¯m gonna need you to keep your eyes open and keep talking to me until I¡¯m done, okay?¡± Faera said as she returned to working the first aid spell. Sam watched her fingers making convoluted gestures over his skin, causing the myriad puncture wounds to slowly seal. He noticed that only the skin within two feet of her hands seemed to respond to the treatment, marking the range of the spell.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Sam said, his words slurred. ¡°Gonna need to eat something after all this.¡± He hadn¡¯t eaten in three days, and the effort just to keep his eyes open was dipping into his body¡¯s reserves.


    ¡°Yeah, what would you like?¡±


    ¡°A cheeseburger.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll get roast hare.¡±


    ¡°Fine. Faera?¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡± Faera asked, glancing up from where she was closing the wounds on his waist.


    ¡°There might be a vampire under the bone pile, set to explode in a blast that could rival a nuke.¡±


    Faera¡¯s hands stopped. ¡°What?¡±


    Sam explained the VAMPR, how it worked, and the concept of E=MC2. How the weight of a single person could be measured in gigatons of TNT if it was converted directly into energy.


    ¡°Why the hell would your scientists build a handheld device that could do that?¡± Faera asked, her eyebrows furrowed.


    Sam would¡¯ve shrugged, but it was too much effort. ¡°I don¡¯t know the politics of it. I assume they were under duress and the government wanted a gun that was unstoppable.¡±


    ¡°ih Seh kno, humans,¡± Faera said, shaking her head.


    ¡°I have to check,¡± Sam said, looking her in the eyes. ¡°I have to see if I¡¯m right, and if there is a VAMPR under that pile, I have to discharge its energy.¡±


    ¡°Without blowing us up?¡± Faera asked, passing her glowing hands over Sam¡¯s shredded thighs.


    ¡°The VAMPR was built with a lot of safeguards, its ease of use being one of them. I just switch from suck to blow, so to speak, and it¡¯ll shoot the matter back out, only using five parts per billion as energy, the least explosive way to discharge it.¡±


    ¡°How long will it take to dig up?¡± Faera asked.


    Sam rolled his head to look at the floor composed of bones. Assuming that the cavern was a perfect sphere¡­ ¡°Maybe a day.¡± The walls were tilted inward, indicating that the bones couldn¡¯t be any more than ten feet deep.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Faera said with a nod. ¡°If it¡¯s to keep the forest from blowing up, I guess we can delay for a day. Maybe we can find you some clothes in the armory, or the barracks, if it still exists.¡±


    Sam glanced down at where Faera¡¯s hands created intricate patterns above his naked skin. It seemed like the sheet Sam had taken to wearing had stayed in the monster¡¯s gullet, caught on the teeth in its throat. He had been ejected as naked as when he first stepped out of the bath--but bloodier.


    Sam sucked in a breath and glanced around for something to cover himself, finally settling for his crook propped between his legs. Faera shook with suppressed laughter as she put the finishing touches on his feet.


    ¡°Okay, now turn over,¡± Faera said, a spark of mirth dancing in her eyes. ¡°I need to make sure I got your back.¡±

 Chapter 17: The big Guns

    When Sam was able to get his feet back under him, the two of them searched the armory. The door had a scorched hole in it where he presumed the lock used to be, and the inside smelled nothing like the rest of the facility. The entire room had been behind an airlock composed of thick metal in a hermetically sealed room. The guns couldn¡¯t have been preserved better if they had been kept in barrels of oil.


    Speaking of which¡­ Sam slid a finger along the shining black metal handle of a rifle, dragging a trail through the thin, glistening sheen covering the weapon. As he watched, the streak of dry slowly closed up as the preservative did its job. Sam borrowed Faera¡¯s knife and carefully dragged the oil from his finger onto the blade¡¯s surface, watching it slowly spread.


    ¡°Good to know some of this stuff still works,¡± Sam said.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t gonna spread up my arm or something, is it?¡± Faera asked, eyeing the new sheen to her knife.


    ¡°Preservative gradually degrades into simple hydrocarbons on any surface other than ferrous metal, plastic or rubber, and is easily killed with an application of actual oil,¡± Sam explained as he looked around.


    The racks of small arms had no biometric scanners, but the goodies against the back wall all had the softly-glowing blue strips down their handles that indicated biometric locks. There were six RPGs, a control crown above a chest filled with Stinger drones, Kamikaze syringes, an anti-armor rifle, a portable nuke, and an empty space where the VAMPR should have been.


    ¡°Well, the nuke¡¯s off the table,¡± Faera said with dry humor.


    ¡°Obviously,¡± Sam said, placing his palm on the transparent case containing the stinger drones. The chest blinked red with a buzz. Sam frowned and lifted his hand away. ¡°Seems like I don¡¯t have access.¡± He tried the RPGs and the rifle, and came up with the same result.


    ¡°My security clearance is gone,¡± Sam said, glancing back at Faera. He should have been able to unlock these weapons.


    Faera gazed at the anti-armor rifle, presumably because it was the perfect solution to her dragon problem. The hundred-pound hunk of glossy black metal sat on its rack, rendered impotent by its safety mechanisms. Six individually-loaded bullets, each nearly the size of Faera¡¯s forearm, rested in a case just below.


    ¡°Is there any way to disable the biometric locks?¡± she asked.


    Sam shrugged. ¡°Once the bunker¡¯s computers died, there was no way to reconfigure the guns. Now your rifle, there, is just a huge paper weight. How about you? Do you know any magic that might bypass its security?¡±


    Faera pursed her lips. ¡°I do, but the spell¡¯s of no use to us, because I can¡¯t cast it.¡±


    ¡°Oh really? What¡¯s your idea?¡± Sam asked, expecting a clever workaround involving changing a person¡¯s biosignature.


    ¡°Well, that anti-armor rifle only needs to get a bullet in the chamber and have the bullet go off. Minor telekinesis could bypass the safety system and open the chamber from the inside. It would be doable for a fairly advanced magician like Theold, but not for me.¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± Sam said, admiring the turn her mind took. Rather than trying to hack the security system, removing it from the equation was far easier. In truth, Sam could probably take the gun apart and jury-rig it to fire once, if he had the right tools. Unfortunately, Sam didn¡¯t have the right tools.


    ¡°Let¡¯s shelve the rifle idea, then.¡± He glanced at the RPG warheads. ¡°The RPGs are much easier to jury-rig. Do you think they¡¯d be able to take out a dragon?¡±


    ¡°I think they¡¯d bloody him,¡± she said, eyes drawn to the conical tip at the end of the tube.


    ¡°Better than nothing,¡± Sam said. He followed the wall to a row of lockers labeled ¡®S4M¡¯, ¡®4NN¡¯, ¡®T0M¡¯. Sam put his palm on the reader, and the locker opened with a hiss of air to reveal a custom military outfit. Thankfully he still had some kind of clearance at the fall of man.


    ¡°Seems like you were ubiquitous. The face of the dystopian American military regime,¡± Faera observed, regarding the several lockers with his name on them.


    ¡°So I hear,¡± Sam said dourly, sliding on underwear and fatigues before adhering the armor together over it. The seams of the bulletproof jacket disappeared as the material bonded with itself, leaving Sam comfortably armored. ¡°But I don¡¯t remember any of it.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s get something to eat,¡± Faera said from the floor, where she was stuffing ammo into a dark green canvas bag. A moment later, she stood, the bag slung over her shoulder. Sam grabbed a rifle and stuck six clips to his vest before following her out. Food first, plotting to kill a dragon later.


    The two of them hunted dinner, and while Sam was a marginally better shot, Faera knew her way around forests and animals much better than him. She returned to the fire that night with five rabbits tied to her belt, resembling a fur curtain. Sam, on the other hand, had managed to scare away everything within shooting distance.


    Linquala, for her part, nibbled on nearby shoots from young branches of trees, watching them with disapproving eyes as they ate. Sam devoured two whole rabbits before he slowed down enough to talk.


    Sucking the grease from his fingers, Sam explained, ¡°A VAMPR can be converted into a generator by setting it upright on a stand, opening the side panel, and unspooling the internal wiring. Plug that into the bunker¡¯s power system, and adjust the settings on the gun to fire at a speed that matches the desired voltage. Then adjust the weapon¡¯s field of operation to a small cube and drop something disposable into its field, like a rock.¡±


    ¡°So what happens to the rock?¡± Faera asked.


    ¡°Well, at whatever voltage you choose, let¡¯s say 120 times per second, the rock gets pulled into a pocket dimension made by the gun, and each time, 5 parts per billion of the rock are converted into pure energy. Then the rock is spat out again, right where it was, with very little forward momentum since we made sure to dial that down.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°The energy that would normally be used to propel the rock at supersonic speeds gets fed into the bunker, and the rock just hovers there, slowly losing mass.¡±


    ¡°What happens when the rock loses too much mass?¡± Faera asked.


    ¡°Just add another rock,¡± Sam said with a shrug.


    ¡°What happens if you touch the field?¡± Faera asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch the field.¡±


    ¡°Would touching the field kill a dragon?¡±


    ¡°Touching the field would kill anything. Any part that is in contact with the field when the gun fires is shunted out of existence, then reappears doused with a boatload of energy. There is absolutely no defense, according to the manual.¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°So can we use it?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t,¡± Sam said, taking a bite of rabbit leg, savoring the taste of real meat. ¡°It¡¯s been trapped under moldy bones for hundreds of years. It can¡¯t be in good condition.¡±


    Casting an eye toward Sam, Faera thumbed the preservative that had spread to her entire blade, and sharpened it in the process.


    ¡°Fair point,¡± Sam said with his mouth full. Assuming it had enough air under all those bones, it might be fine. Preservative was trained to recognize and repair certain shapes, after all.


    The next day was spent in the sweaty pursuit of the VAMPR, a gun that should solve their dragon problem. Sam dug into the mass grave, piling bones along the sides of the spherical cavern. Layer after layer of skeletons came up, men and woman and children and Ungrin. Necklaces and rings shimmered, and coins tinkled as rotten clothing fell apart. All manner of beetle and centipede skittered, chasing Faera up into a nearby hall. Sam set the skulls aside gently, trying to afford them some dignity in the afterlife.


    And then he saw it. A flash of black against the murky white of bone. He dropped to his knees in the foul muck and pulled aside what was left of a shirt.


    He¡¯d been right. The VAMPR was here, if not in the flesh, then certainly in the bone. A ribcage had afforded the gun a pocket of protection from the slimy mess. The gun¡¯s wiring was exposed, but the preservative had kept the guts of the machine in perfect condition. The covering panel was gone, buried somewhere deeper in the pile, or lost to time.


    He reached down into the pit and pinched his fingers around the ribs, lifting the bones up and over the gun, careful not to nudge the weapon in any way. The machine gleamed in the soft blue light.


    ¡°Stay there,¡± he told Faera when she made to move closer to investigate what he¡¯d uncovered. The hall where she perched was presumably outside the gun¡¯s literal sphere of influence.


    He held his breath as he reached in and gently wrapped his hands around the gun. When he didn¡¯t immediately die, he lifted it free. Turning the gun to the side, aiming it away from himself and Faera, Sam checked the open panel and saw that it was flipped to the internal power configuration. Whoever had used it last had disabled the mechanism for power to bleed out from the gun, strengthening his hypothesis that there had been deliberate sabotage.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get this thing outside,¡± Sam whispered to Faera. He slowly clambered up the slippery pile of bones, cradling the gun like a baby made of radioactive snakes, always pointing the business end behind them.


    Sam was dizzy from holding his breath by the time they stepped, blinking, into the afternoon sun, nearly blinded after a day of spelunking.


    ¡°Ooh, what¡¯s that?¡± Linquala asked, coming out of the woods and lowering her head to sniff the gun.


    ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± Sam shouted, flinching away. ¡°Touch it.¡±


    Linquala raised her horsey eyebrows and turned to Faera. ¡°What¡¯s his deal?¡±


    Faera shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s been cloned a lot. My guess is some kind of genetic defect.¡±


    Sam frowned, fixing the two of them with his best sergeant glare. ¡°This gun makes the anti-armor rifle look like a child¡¯s toy. It destroys things with chunks of their own armor. And it¡¯s been pried open, sabotaged, and possibly filled with enough matter to kill us instantly. Do not touch.¡±


    ¡°Yessir,¡± Faera said, whipping a salute. Linquala stood stock still beside her in mock seriousness.


    Sam climbed on top of the bunker. From up here, he was able to see over the forest for miles in each direction. He pointed the gun toward the mountain, praying it would work as a backstop. Sam thumbed the power button, and his skin tingled as he felt power converge around him.


    ¡°Whoa, what¡¯s that?¡± Linquala asked, her voice filtering up from below as the flat black monitor on the top of the gun began to boot up, running through diagnostics. The biometric scanners, though, remained lines of matte black against the shiny grip. Either the saboteur, or whatever idiot was in charge of the base, had deactivated the security system.


    The boot finished, and Sam¡¯s breath caught in his throat. The VAMPR¡¯s load was in the red, far beyond the maximum specifications in the manual. The gun was currently storing eighty million kilograms of material. The only thing that had saved the bunker was one of the simplest safety mechanisms put in place by the designers of the gun.


    They lied about its maximum capacity.


    ¡°Okay¡­¡± Setting the gun to purge, Sam dialed down the speed to a thousand feet per second.


    ¡°What are you doing up there?¡± Faera shouted. ¡°Linquala¡¯s getting nervous.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not.¡±


    ¡°Discharging the gun,¡± Sam said, taking aim at the mountain. ¡°You may want to cover your ears.¡±


    After waiting a few seconds and offering a silent prayer that the gun didn¡¯t explode, Sam pulled the trigger.


    An earth-shaking boom rattled Sam¡¯s ribs as a boulder twenty meters across manifested in midair, creating an explosion of displaced air. The boulder flew hundreds of feet, snapping treetops off with inexorable force, until it touched ground and began carving a trail through the forest, travelling toward the mountain like a giant bowling ball. The concrete sphere finally came to a halt embedded in the side of the mountain.


    ¡°What the hell was that?¡± Faera asked, appearing beside him. Linquala followed shortly beside her, forcing Sam to wonder how she had climbed the side of the bunker.


    ¡°That,¡± Sam said with a steadying breath, ¡°was technology used in a manner it was never designed for.¡±


    The bunker¡¯s northeast side had a dent in it where the boulder had appeared out of thin air. Chips of hardened, weather-resistant concrete were scattered around the edges. Sam plucked a shard of stone from his forearm.


    ¡°The good news is the gun is operational,¡± Sam said, hefting the weapon. ¡°Give me a few minutes to change the settings. We don¡¯t want to blow up an entire city.¡±


    He knelt back down and began turning the virtual dials on the rifle¡¯s display, chewing his lip as he worked. They wanted to be far away from the dragon when they fired, so Sam turned the range up as far as it would accurately go. They wanted minimal casualties, so Sam set the penetration depth to stop somewhere around the back of the dragon¡¯s skull, give or take a few inches based on the amount of air that got trapped in the gun. He set the width to about the size of two fists put together--should be plenty to explode a Tyranus-sized head.


    Sam set the gun to fire the matter the instant it was taken, so the torn chunk of flesh would travel through the vacuum created by the gun to impact into its former resting place at¡­ He turned the dial up to three thousand meters per second. It was a common setting for large buildings or tanks.


    ¡°Okay, that should do it,¡± Sam said, sliding away from the bulky rifle. He nodded to Faera. ¡°Check it out.¡±


    Faera settled down in front of the rifle.


    ¡°Aim at that tree,¡± Sam said, pointing to a pine that towered over its brethren some three hundred yards away.


    Faera closed her eye and centered the gun¡¯s faintly glowing iron sights on the target, took a long slow exhale, and squeezed the trigger. There was a click that couldn¡¯t be heard, only felt as the trigger made barest contact with the sensory plate behind it.


    The tree exploded as two distinct thunderclaps filled the air. The first sound was the tunnel of air collapsing just behind the chunk of wood racing down the vacuum, and the second was the near simultaneous impact and subsequent detonation of the tree.


    Faera¡¯s eyes were wide as she watched the top of the pine soar skyward as smaller pieces of wood shrapnel came raining down on nearby trees. Finally the green cone turned sideways, losing a bit of its inertia as it made its way back down to earth.


    ¡°That tree had to be fifty feet tall,¡± Faera said, turning to gaze at Sam.


    He gave her a grin. ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to try a VAMPR.¡±


    Faera frowned. ¡°But you know exactly how to use it. How is it that you¡¯ve never used one?¡±


    Sam tapped his head. ¡°I¡¯ve got the manuals for every weapon conceived by man in here. They weren¡¯t going to let us practice with weapons with that kind of stopping power underground,¡± he explained.


    ¡°Every weapon?¡±


    ¡°Except staffs.¡±


    ¡°Did you know about maces?¡±


    ¡°Look,¡± Sam said, pushing himself to his feet. ¡°I know about every weapon more sophisticated than a crude bludgeon, okay?¡±


    ¡°Atlatl?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Longbow?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure I--¡±


    ¡°Blow dart.¡±


    ¡°Okay!¡± Sam said, putting up his hands. ¡°I know most modern weapons, let¡¯s leave it at that.¡±


    ¡°In so many good ways, you have so much to learn, Sam,¡± Faera said, smiling as she stood, hefting the VAMPR with a grunt.


    ¡°I know, right?¡± Linquala said. She breathed in right behind Sam, causing a draft to creep up his neck.


    ¡°Now show me how to turn the safety on,¡± Faera said. He shook his head, suppressing a smile as he bent to show Faera the safety feature, the on-off procedure, and how to modify the performance of the weapon using the display.


    After they were done practicing, Sam and Faera made their way down a wooden ramp Linquala had grown up the side of the building. It seemed as though the special material of the bunker wasn¡¯t able to resist the accelerated growth of Linquala¡¯s trees.


    Sam spent the rest of the day working on the RPGs, using the VAMPR to make precise cuts in the steel, giving them unrestricted access to the trigger mechanisms. By the end of the day, he had three RPGs jury-rigged to fire their explosive lances regardless of the biometric locks, and had dialed in the scope on the VAMPR.

 Chapter 18: Night Moves

    ¡°How are we supposed to sneak all this gear into the capital?¡± Sam asked, idly spinning the cylinder on a heavy-duty revolver with his thumb. They were hidden in the forest just outside the walls of Hope because Sam, a giant in full military gear with a big, obviously high-tech rifle stood out like a sore thumb.


    Linquala had reluctantly left them there after an hour and a half of petting, departing with an offer for Sam to live in her forest for the rest of his natural life, if he chose. Or weekend visits, at least.


    ¡°Probably hide them under some farmer¡¯s potatoes,¡± Faera said, shrugging the strap over her shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re gonna need a change of clothes, again.¡±


    ¡°Are you kidding?¡± Sam asked, glancing at his clothes. ¡°These things are flame retardant. There¡¯s no way I¡¯m going back to being wrapped in a sheet.¡±


    ¡°Alright then, here¡¯s the plan,¡± Faera said. ¡°I¡¯ll enter the city for recon, and you sneak in and meet me in that tower, two hours after midnight.¡± Faera pointed at the highest tower in the city, unarguably the best sniping spot, especially when the dragon was taller than any obstructing building.


    Sam studied the stone wall surrounding the capital, which was patrolled by a guard every hundred feet or so. The security seemed a bit lax, probably because they were so far from the battlefront, but that didn¡¯t mean it was nonexistent.


    ¡°I can do that,¡± Sam replied, folding his arms. ¡°Just make sure you don¡¯t get caught or killed.¡±


    Faera snorted. ¡°Out of the two of us, who¡¯s come close to dying more often since we met?¡±


    ¡°I take that as a compliment,¡± Sam said.


    Faera hid a subsonic pistol in her peasant¡¯s garb, then draped a loose shawl over herself. She walked to the east and disappeared into the woods. Half an hour later, Sam saw her walking alongside a band of traders on the road to the main gate. He laid the VAMPR down and watched the exchange through the scope. The guards waved the group in when the caravan leader handed him a small sack of something or other.


    In cities where bribes were commonplace, this exchange was no different than paying a toll; the gatemen were underpaid and compensated via bribes, which their superiors took a chunk of in turn. The money flow was a bit more¡­ stagnant, but the flow was there all the same. It would do no good for Sam to report the gatekeeper for accepting bribes in a system like that.


    Sam blinked and disengaged from that line of thinking. He was already outside the law. He was planning on assassinating the leader of the country; that alone had been unthinkable two months ago¡­


    Sam¡¯s hands began to tremble as he considered his purpose. He was going to topple a government. It was the exact opposite of everything he¡¯d been created to do.


    Enforce the law? Great! Investigate murders? Sure. Fight wars? Okay. If he killed the dragon, he might save a thousand elves, but the entire country would most likely be plunged into civil war. Sam had seen the uneasy fear of its citizens, and he knew dissenters disappeared, but the simple question that he had to ask himself was this: Would more people live if he didn¡¯t kill the dragon?


    Sam had never thought he would be responsible for that kind of decision. What was the proper course of action? He glanced up at the sun, which hadn¡¯t yet reached its apex in the sky. He had a little over fifteen hours to think about it, so he might as well get started.


    Sam slid back, deeper into the woods and out of sight of the wall, where he sat with his back against a tree, and closed his eyes. Uneasiness roiled in Sam¡¯s gut, until he was struck by a moment of clarity. It was a perversion of the law to twist a country¡¯s people into worship of a god-king.


    ¡°We hold these truths to be self-evident,¡± Sam whispered, his eyes flickering beneath his eyelids. An immortal dictator was so far removed from humanity that he could not possibly be expected to understand or care for the people, viewing them only as possessions. If Tyranus continued to have his way, how would he shape the lives of his people?


    Sam began to feel odd and dizzy, as though he¡¯d damaged his inner ear.


    He was suddenly standing beside a line of merry, grotesquely fat men and women. They wore expressions of ecstatic joy and excitement as they filed into the room ahead of them one at a time. None of them acknowledged his presence. Sam¡¯s fingers slid through the apparitions, and he found himself drawn alongside a portly man as he waddled forward, laughing and chatting with the woman in front of him. Sam couldn¡¯t hear what they said, and they didn¡¯t acknowledge his shouts.


    The gray brick of the hallway swept by slowly as they stepped forward, until Sam found himself pulled through the door. Beyond was a sparse room with a wooden desk, behind which sat a thin man with horn-rimmed glasses. He and the fat man Sam was following exchanged a silent conversation, then the fat man began to strip.


    When the fat man was done disrobing, the thin one offered him a black hood. The fat man donned it without hesitation. The thin man guided him to the next door, and opened it. Sam¡¯s stomach roiled. The hall was covered in blood, and a butcher was busily sawing away at the naked woman who¡¯d been in front of them in line.


    Sam began to hyperventilate as he watched the fat man sit down on a sticky table, his ecstatic smile just beginning to falter. As another butcher took position behind him with a knife, Sam felt a tap on his shoulder.


    Startled, Sam opened his eyes and turned to his left. But he was still in the butcher¡¯s room and the thin man stood beside him, smiling as he looked into Sam¡¯s eyes. ¡°You¡¯re getting closer. Come find me when you remember, Sam.¡±


    Sam¡¯s eyes flew open. He was panting, sweat rolling down his forehead. What the hell was that? That went far beyond his imagination, and actually showed him something. Every second of it had been real to his eyes. Who was the thin man that¡¯d known his name, and was what he¡¯d seen real?


    In a world where a man could make him pass out or change his appearance with a wave of his hand, Sam knew that he should be suspicious, but somehow he knew that was where humanity was heading under the direction of a dragon.


    Sam took a deep breath to steady his racing heart. That settled it for Sam. The dragon needed to die.


    He glanced up at the sun, but it¡¯d barely moved since Faera had entered the city. Sam closed his eyes again, and steadied his breathing. Open the Sierra folder for review, Sam commanded, hoping he didn¡¯t fall into another gruesome vision.


    When the sun had been down for four hours, Sam hoisted Faera¡¯s duffle bag of ammo and extra guns over his shoulder and began his approach. Between the VAMPR and the crook, his hands were full.


    Sam walked through the open clearing outside the city, unhurried despite the risk of discovery. Skulking implied guilt. Maybe if someone saw him, they¡¯d think he was lost or confused. Sam would ask where the main gate was, then disappear back into the woods. If they saw him skulk, the story might end differently.


    The moon was helpfully absent tonight, and Sam was next to the city wall in a matter of minutes. He set down the crook, useless against a forty-foot wall despite the wood¡¯s impressive resilience, before pulling up the VAMPR and holding it directly against the stone. Sam depressed the button, and with a rush of air, a large chunk of the wall disappeared, leaving a bore hole just large enough for Sam to crawl through with his gear.


    Sam hoisted himself up and as he scrambled through the hole on his hands and knees, he reminisced about the search-and-rescue sims that had the team crawling through tons of collapsed stone to find objectives. Those were the sims that irritated Sam the most. There wasn¡¯t really anything to fight, and one mistake would end up killing one or more of them, with no way to fight back or reverse the situation.


    Reaching the end of the tunnel, he clambered out in the darkness. Sam fished a flashlight out of the duffel bag and took a quick look around. The wall was pressed against a stone house that had a two-inch disk taken out of its side. The space separating the structures was barely enough for Sam to move his elbows.


    Not seeing anyone, Sam stowed the flashlight and recalibrated the VAMPR to purge with zero forward momentum. He then lined the gun up with the hole and depressed the trigger. With a crack of displaced air, the wall reappeared in front of him, about a quarter centimeter protruding.


    A dog began barking at the sound, and sweeping up his weapons, Sam ducked his head and put as much distance between himself and the entry point as possible. It wouldn¡¯t stand up under close investigation because the disk of stone gouged out of the house now lay outside the wall, but at a simple look, no one would assume the wall had been tunneled through. By the time someone took that look, Sam intended to be done with his work here.


    He padded silently through the streets, craning his neck to make out landmarks as he walked. In the dark and at this angle, the city was so much harder to navigate. From the outside, Sam could point his finger and say, ¡°I¡¯ll meet you there,¡± but now he was just a rat in a maze, his vision obscured by stone buildings.


    Another dog had picked up the call, and now people were shouting at each other. Were they security dogs? Sam didn¡¯t have time to wonder; he needed to leave, but where to?


    He took a deep breath and pointed his left hand at the wall to orient himself. He had entered the city at the point he¡¯d chosen, there was no mistake about that, even in the dark. So, the tower should be ahead of him, maybe a quarter mile along the city wall.


    Sam took off, leaving the calls of the animals behind him. After a quarter hour of walking, the tower appeared out of the corner of his vision, much deeper into the city, larger and taller than he¡¯d expected, looming over the people like some malevolent watcher.


    The tower glittered with light, making him feel like he headed toward a beacon as he turned right along the foul-smelling streets. The lights said to him that the tower was manned both day and night. And if it was manned at night, how were Sam and Faera going to meet there?


    Sam shook his head. It wasn¡¯t his job to bitch out and find alternatives, especially without a line of communication to his partner. It was his job to make things happen despite problems.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    When he reached the tower, he realized the thing¡¯s footprint was so big, he could spend maybe five minutes walking around it. The city seemed to have sprung up around it, and while there was a well-worn road in front of the massive double-doored entrance, buildings grew up along the tower¡¯s sides like parasitic vines. It was those that gave Sam a way in.


    Sam spotted the light of a lamp flickering in a small tower window, a building butting up against the tower just ten feet below. He followed the rooftop back with his gaze, finding where that one connected to another and so on, until Sam had his plan of entry.


    With a grunt, Sam hooked his crook onto the roof of a squat and sturdy building. He climbed up the wood, hand over hand as the bag and rifle hung over either shoulder--a clumsy way to climb, but necessary. Sam pulled himself onto the roof, unhooked the crook and slunk along the rooftops, jumping up to the next tallest one as he angled for his objective.


    Upon reaching the tower window, he crouched beneath it, straining his ears for any sign of an occupant to go with the gentle, flickering lamplight. Only silence came from the window above him. Sam craned his neck, looking up. The shutters had been left open, allowing the cool night air to drift through the portal.


    It could be a trap. Perhaps they had a problem with people sneaking in, and so they left an obvious entrance, booby-trapped or guarded by men with nets--but it seemed unlikely. Sam shrugged his shoulders and decided to deal with it if and when it happened, rather than overthink things. He bent his knees and jumped, clamping his fingers over the window ledge before silently hauling himself up.


    The crook, held to his back by the gun strap, tried to catch in the opening. Sam bent his shoulder low, allowing the heavy wooden staff to clear the frame, and clambered into the lit room.


    Once inside, his gaze settled on a bed drenched in silks. A woman sprawled atop the sheets, and he experienced a shot of alarm. Then he saw what she was wearing: A sheer white robe that draped over her soft breasts, breasts that rose and fell as she breathed. She had light brown skin and full lips, with faint lines at the corners of her eyes that betrayed maybe forty years under the sun.


    She was reading a book. The Knight of Passion was scrawled in gold filigree along the spine. On the desk beside her bed, beneath the lamp, there were larger books with more studious names, The Relationship of Elements and The Wellspring of Magic.


    The thing that really caught Sam¡¯s attention, however, was the attention of her searing brown eyes. ¡°You¡¯re not Aaron,¡± she said, setting the book down beside her. That she hadn¡¯t screamed was encouraging. She slid off the bed, neglecting to close her robe.


    ¡°No ma¡¯am,¡± Sam said, ducking his head in apology. ¡°I¡¯m just--¡±


    ¡°A thief,¡± she said, running her eyes down Sam¡¯s outfit, ¡°is what I would say, but you stand head and shoulders taller than an ordinary man, and you carry a relic of Elvenkind, the sworn enemy of my lord. Yet you cannot be an elf; you have neither the face nor the body of one. So, what are you?¡±


    ¡°Me? I¡¯m a relic of humanity, you could say, just passing through.¡± He gave her his best innocent look.


    ¡°You would have no need to steal into this facility were you a true ally of mankind,¡± she said, her eyes narrowing. ¡°I believe you came here to steal the Blessing of Tyranus at the behest of your master, some half-elven noble fop from Mississippi.¡±


    ¡°I--¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately for your master, the Blessing cannot be stolen, and it cannot be shared. Your mission is as meaningless as Mississippi¡¯s attempts to cow us.¡± The woman crossed her arms, looking at Sam appreciatively. ¡°I have nothing but sympathy for one as pitiful as you, reduced to a common pawn by the corruption of elves, despite your magnificent human body. I am prepared to offer you lenience.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Sam asked, trying to follow her bounding logic while wondering what the Blessing of Tyranus was.


    ¡°Attend me, then forswear your elven masters and surrender your corrupt elven magics to the Force of God, and there will be a place in this city for one such as you, by my side.¡± She raked her eyes over his body again as she took a step closer.


    ¡°Attend you?¡± Sam asked.


    She shrugged out of the white gown hanging from her shoulders, revealing a mature but supple body, her hips flaring out in a way that lead Sam¡¯s eye...


    ¡°Oh,¡± Sam said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I¡¯ve got to go. Maybe Aaron will show after all.¡± Sam turned toward the door, finally wrenching his gaze away.


    Sam¡¯s skin tingled in a pulse along his back as the woman snarled a distinctive syllable. It was one Sam recognized, having seen its effects three times. He leapt to the side and grabbed a small cabinet, tearing it away from the wall and interposing it between the two of them.


    Five crackling spheres impacted on the cabinet, tearing the furniture to pieces in his hands. Sam plowed through the cloud of splinters, eyes narrowed to slits against the shrapnel. The woman¡¯s eyes widened, although her startlement didn¡¯t stop her from beginning another spell.


    Sam threaded his fingers through hers, twisted her hand behind her, and clamping a hand over her mouth. The top of her head barely came up to his chest, so holding her steady should¡­ Sam¡¯s eyes widened as the woman began to pull her arm out from behind her back, competing with his superior leverage and muscle mass.


    With a grunt, Sam exerted full force, his bicep bulging big as her waist as he brought her arm behind her again. The two of them stood there panting as Sam struggled to keep her still. His only advantage was his mass. Because he weighed more, she wasn¡¯t able to knock him off balance and overturn the hold.


    She began making motions with her left hand, and Sam took his hand off her mouth to catch it, disabling her fingers. She drew the hand in against her chest, and Sam was unable to remove it by force.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to die slowly, young man. Your loyalty to the elves only speaks to your debased nature.¡±


    ¡°Where I come from, young lady,¡± Sam said, panting above the crown of her head. ¡°It is a crime to coerce someone into conducting sexual acts using political or personal power.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m speaking to your debased nature.¡±


    The woman began to thrash in Sam¡¯s hands. Her heels kicked back at him with surprising force, but without leverage against the ground, they only bruised. The woman was damn strong.


    ¡°I am the headmistress of the Tower of Blessing, Maria Ennore! Chattel like you--¡±


    Sam interrupted her tirade with a sucker punch to the head. Maria went limp and her head hung down to her chest. She slumped toward the floor as if the strike had turned her into Jell-O. Sam hadn¡¯t had Jell-O in five generations.


    Sam lifted her up and laid her out on the bed, and after a moment of hesitation, checked her pulse. Still strong. Sam doubted the woman was entirely human; she had exhibited raw strength surpassing his own. Her only weakness was she weighed less than half of what he did.


    He was going to need to spend a long time in the tower to get the perfect shot on Tyranus, and that meant he couldn¡¯t have people looking for him while he was there. She¡¯d thought he was a thief. What kind of thief camps out in the attic afterwards?


    Sam needed to make the place look like it had been robbed, and that he had left shortly afterwards. So, he would have to steal some stuff. Glancing at the window, Sam got to work. He would have to stage a robbery before this Aaron guy showed up.


    Sam opened her wardrobe, and spotted a beautiful red velvet cloak with gold buttons up the edges. The style matched Faera¡¯s description of the sorcerer that had attacked her base. The woman called herself the headmistress, so maybe this was where those people came from, and the Blessing of Tyranus was¡­ magic?


    Sam tore a rent in the cloak and snagged it against a rough stone, letting it hang halfway out the window to make it look like it got caught on his way out. He grabbed some jewelry off a shelf and tossed the pieces outside onto the roof of the building below, before he rounded up the two books on the bedside table and tucked them in his duffle bag. Might as well take those. Faera might clam up when it came to magic, but she couldn¡¯t stop him from learning somewhere else.


    He grabbed some more valuables from the chest beside the bed, including some fancy-looking sticks, and shoved them in his bag before he checked Maria¡¯s pulse one more time. The woman¡¯s pulse was as strong as Sam¡¯s own, and her eyes were flickering back and forth beneath her eyelids, meaning she would wake up any minute. Not wanting to have to knock her out again, Sam said a silent apology to Aaron, who was likely to have a bad day, before leaving the room via the door.


    Outside the headmistress¡¯s lamp-lit room, the halls were burnished a deep red by wrist-thick veins of glowing red crystal that striated the walls of the tower. Sam studied the glowing rock, and it pulsed--not anywhere near the speed of a beating heart, but it got a bit brighter, then died down a bit, and a few moments later, did it again.


    Weird. Sam¡¯s eyes followed the crystal up into the ceiling, and he wondered if the color had any significance, or if it was just because red was good for night vision. Then Sam put those thoughts aside and focused on looking for the stairs, or an elevator, or whatever people used to get around in here.


    ¡°Maria, by Tyranus, are you alright?¡± The muffled voice of a concerned man emanated from the door behind him, and Sam decided it was time to move. He picked up his feet, running down the hallway just slow enough to make each footstep silent, figuring he¡¯d look for a way up once he was at least out of earshot. More than one person like her would be more than Sam could handle at any given time.


    After a minute of searching, Sam came upon a massive spiral staircase that dominated the center of the tower. He leapt up the stairs three at a time, climbing ever skyward even as he heard voices raised in alarm. What were the chances Faera was waiting for him in such a heavily-guarded tower? In any case, he needed to get to a good hiding spot on the top floor.


    He didn¡¯t encounter anyone, and the staircase opened up on the final floor, emerging into an open air room that overlooked the entire city. The tower had gradually narrowed up to this peak, which was about ten feet across.


    Sam heard shouting below him. Even if they believed he¡¯d gone, it seemed they were still going to check each room.


    Not having time to be impressed by their security, he brought the VAMPR display up and changed the shape of the target area to a cone, did some quick changes on the depth, and pointed the gun up into the ceiling near its center. From what Sam had seen, the tower had a conical roof above the last windows, where he currently was. Sam didn¡¯t see any stairs or a ladder leading up to an attic, but he was sure there was a space up there.


    Sam pulled the trigger, and a circular section of stone disappeared from the ceiling. Beyond the hole was an inky black void. He tossed the duffle bag up and in, then hooked the crook on the ledge and climbed up, carefully sliding the VAMPR inside before hauling himself into the space created by the roof¡¯s frame.


    Once inside, he released the cone of stone, and with a great deal of effort, managed to roll it to the hole. Sam¡¯s muscles strained as he lifted and tipped the conical block. His fingers were starting to give out when gravity finally took over and slammed the stone chunk seamlessly into place.


    He held his breath, hoping that the commotion downstairs had covered the sound. Sam couldn¡¯t hear a damn thing, but he wasn¡¯t sure whether that was because no one had noticed, or simply because Sam was now resting behind three feet of solid stone. He put his ear against the stone floor, but not a single sound disturbed the still air.


    Air. That was an issue. Sam pulled out the flashlight and looked around his little hideaway, but didn¡¯t see any air holes. And why would there be? They didn¡¯t plan on housing anyone up here.


    Sam saved the VAMPR¡¯s current configuration to a ¡®ceiling cutter¡¯ preset, and then proceeded to make inch-wide air holes every meter and a half or so along the sloped roof. Once done, he laid down and got comfortable. No time like the present to get some sleep.


    Sam had made it to the top of the tower, but Faera hadn¡¯t. That didn¡¯t bother him too much, because Sam knew what Faera¡¯s plan had been. She wanted him in the tallest tower in the city to snipe Tyranus. Even if she didn¡¯t show, this was still the one place he¡¯d be able to kill the dragon, no matter where in the city he appeared.


    Faera¡¯s job would have been to give Sam information on when and where he might find an opportunity to shoot the dragon, but all Sam had to do was look through each air hole, which doubled as a spyhole, to check all the cardinal directions around the city. If he saw big red scales, he would shoot them. All of this assumed that the dragon made an appearance before Sam starved to death.


    ¡°I really hope I don¡¯t have to drink my own pee,¡± Sam said, retrieving a water bottle from the bag and taking a small sip before putting it back.


    The next day went by uneventfully, with Sam shuffling between spyholes. No sign of Tyranus. Sam was, however, able to observe life in the god-king¡¯s capital, and it didn¡¯t look like anything he wanted to be a part of. Sam saw people wearing simple blue sashes, or torn blue rags as they were whipped in the street.


    In fact, the dye these slaves were wearing was more vibrant than most of the unappealing tans Tyranus¡¯s people wore. Sam was watching four of these blue-clothed slaves carrying a palanquin when he realized they came from Mississippi, who had reinvented indigo dye ahead of the people of Sanctuary. That made sense. Even if the color is rare and beautiful, if you can¡¯t have it, change the perception of it to that of a slave color.


    Sam had no idea if the people in the tower underneath him were waiting for him like a spider waits for a seven-foot-tall death machine, or if he had actually managed to escape notice when he set up his nest in the roof. Either way, when the sun went down on that day, Sam decided to get some sleep. The stress had drained energy out of him like a bad battery.

 Chapter 19: Still Breathing

    A few hours into the night, Sam¡¯s eyes opened to the first sound that had made it to his ears since he¡¯d crawled up here. A faint scratching echoed through the pitch black room, and Sam shot to his feet, his eyes wide and searching for the source.


    He zeroed in, and¡­ There. In one of the spyholes, a small object obscured the faint light that spilled into his conical stone prison. Sam squatted down, and when the object didn¡¯t discharge a poisonous gas or shoot him, he pointed his flashlight at it.


    Tucked into the spyhole was a rolled-up sheet of paper. There was no movement from the other side, so Sam approached. He took the paper and unrolled it, still cautious of a trap. He brightened the paper with his flashlight and began to read.


    Hi Sam, it¡¯s Faera. Imagine my surprise when I cast my tracking spell and found you at the top of the most heavily guarded tower in the city. Did it not seem heavily guarded to you? Imagine my exasperation when you brute-force your way in, causing them to be on high alert the entire night. You do know you got there a half hour early, right?


    Anyway, I spent yesterday and today gathering info on the dragon. He seldom makes public appearances, but there¡¯s going to be one tomorrow at sunrise on the east stage. He likes to have the rising sun behind him, I hear. Asshole.


    He¡¯s the one who orchestrated the kidnapping of the elves, I¡¯m sure of it now. He¡¯s got them building jeeps and artillery for him in factories far removed from human habitation, guarded by a handful of his most zealous followers. He doesn¡¯t want humans to know that they¡¯re the ones who invented the most powerful weapons of war, not the elves, so he calls them ¡®elf-relics¡¯.


    The bastard actually has these people convinced that all magic flows from him, and that only the blessed can use it, and that elves are using something different. It doesn¡¯t matter. After tomorrow, he¡¯ll be dead, and his plan for my people and yours will fall apart. Be ready, tomorrow at sunrise.


    After he¡¯s dead, go to this location and disable some of the guards. A minor disruption will be all the elves need to win their own freedom. I assume that they¡¯re locked in some kind of anti-magic field, so if you see weird-looking writing in gold or crystal on the ground outside the factory, breaking that should be all the help they need. The situation will be a little trickier if the prisoners all have suppressing collars on.


    Sorry I can¡¯t go there with you. I think you¡¯re a pretty good guy, even if the elders piss their pants around you.


    Sam read the end of the letter, checked the map, and frowned. He shuffled up to the spyhole. ¡°Why can¡¯t you come with me?¡± he asked with his mouth up to the hole. Sam shifted to his ear and waited for a response.


    He heard nothing but the faint sounds of the city below and the wind whistling against the sharp edges of the spyhole. Faera had already left.


    Sam tucked the letter into his vest and checked the east stage. In the dim light of the moon, he could barely make out the stage, with its raised dais and pillars sporting banners with stylized symbols of dragons. He got a good idea of where the dragon would be positioned, at the obvious center of attention on the raised platform, where he¡¯d glitter with the light of the rising sun.


    Sam made a little hole that would allow his VAMPR a clear shot of the dais from the back of the room, propped on the ammo bag. Then he got into position, focused on his breathing, and let time slip away.


    The horizon behind the dragon¡¯s perch began to lighten, and Sam¡¯s tension rose. After another fifteen minutes, he began to hear cheers wafting from the spyholes around him, coming from the east. The sun edged above the mountains behind the dais, making a burning gold crescent above the stage. The cheers redoubled, and a red dragon came into Sam¡¯s narrow view.


    Sam¡¯s heart rate jumped and his scope jittered as the dragon began to speak.


    ¡°My people, my most beloved possessions¡­¡±


    Sam took deep breaths and calmed his heart, allowing the scope to settle. It followed a gentle pattern as his heartbeat slowed.


    ¡°There are elves among us.¡±


    Sam¡¯s closed eye opened. Did he mean¡­?


    ¡°They have gone so far as to disguise themselves as human, infiltrating our most sacred places under the pretense of being one of us. But make no mistake, they have nothing but hate for you, for the true inheritors of the earth.¡±


    ¡°This one here.¡± The dragon motioned to his left.


    There was only one elf Sam knew who was disguised as a human. This was most likely an execution. That¡¯s why she said she wouldn¡¯t be going with him--Faera didn¡¯t intend to survive this exchange.


    ¡°This one was caught trying to infiltrate my chambers. It was discovered carrying a lethal poison!¡± The stage was rocked with jeers, aimed at someone outside Sam¡¯s vision.


    He couldn¡¯t allow this to continue. If Faera wanted to die, that was all well and good, but if he could free her in the confusion following Tyranus¡¯s assassination, that would be better. In any case, time was of the essence.


    Sam fell into a murderous trance. He inhaled until his lungs were tight with air, and then began exhaling, relaxing his jaw and letting the air leak out of his mouth softly, softly. He could feel the rhythm between each heartbeat, and when he found the time between them stretching to infinity, Sam squeezed the trigger.


    Tyranus exploded. A detonation rocked the stage and Tyranus¡¯s form disappeared behind the wall of dust kicked up by the impact. The gathered crowd raised a wail as Sam watched through the scope, trying to spot the body through the cloud of dust.


    A great red wing dispersed the dust, swirling it away in miniature tornadoes. The dragon pushed up off of its elbows, and fixed the tower with a murderous stare. Sam¡¯s heart stopped for an instant as an icy hand clutched the back of his neck. A curveball.


    It didn¡¯t matter why the VAMPR didn¡¯t work on the dragon; the only thing that was important was that it hadn¡¯t. Sam took three shots at the dais to the dragon¡¯s right, hoping the shrapnel would shake it up without hitting Faera on his left. The dais exploded into sharp bits of marble, sending the dragon reeling to his side.


    The VAMPR was still working, so the dragon must be what caused the exception. The air between the two of them had compressed and impacted against his scales, but the flesh of the beast, which should have been torn out, remained in place. Maybe it was a magic thing.


    Tyranus launched himself into the air with a roar of anger that sounded like twisting metal, but deeper, the sound resounding through the city and raising the hairs on Sam¡¯s arms. Once he airborne, there were no buildings close enough for Sam to detonate in an attempt to damage him.


    Sam leaned up to the hole, and sure enough, Tyranus was headed right for the tower. Sam had about five seconds to leave.


    He grabbed his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. He had changed the preset on the VAMPR to ¡®ceiling cutter¡¯ when each of the spyholes around the roof blazed with light. In a second, the heat became enough to cook meat. The walls turned cherry red, then white hot as they began to melt.


    Sam didn¡¯t stick around for anything after that. He pointed the VAMPR straight down, making sure to keep his legs clear of the gun¡¯s range, and pulling the trigger. A cone opened beneath Sam, and he fell straight down just before the walls slumped in under the blazing heat of dragonfire.


    He hit the next floor in a crouch, banging his knees against the stone. A dozen startled men with swords surrounded him and blocked the staircase, denying him every exit. Too bad for them. Sam pulled the trigger again.


    Sam fell through each floor at a rate of half a second per, reaching the ground in about six seconds, leaving a ring of men and women gawking on every level. Sam could tell it was the ground floor because the room he landed in had wagons.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    The smell of manure hit him, making him think there must be a stable nearby. Sam slung the VAMPR over his shoulder and ran toward the source of the smell. How hard could riding a horse be?


    Sam burst through the gate, his head ducked down while the spinal column of the horse beneath him dug into his ass and balls. He¡¯d figured out how to commit to getting on a horse after the first one had bolted, but before he¡¯d discovered the need for saddles. Needless to say, they didn¡¯t keep their horses saddled in their off time, resulting in his current predicament. At least the horse wasn¡¯t giving him sass.


    Sam didn¡¯t have time to worry about the saddle, though. Around him, little black droplets of cooled stone fell down in a hail as the dragon tore open the roof of the tower. As soon as the morning light streaming between stone buildings flickered over the horse shooting down the street, the dragon¡¯s head swiveled. A moment later, Tyranus leapt from the tower, lunging into the air with more force than grace. The dragon was chasing him.


    ¡°Shit!¡± Sam tugged the horse¡¯s mane to the left, taking a turn eastward. If he could get to Faera, he might be able to slow Tyranus down long enough to get them both out of town. Sam dug in the duffle bag and fished out one of the jury-rigged RPGs, holding it beside his waist in his right hand while he held on to the horse¡¯s mane with his left.


    Sam¡¯s thighs were beginning to get sore, being clamped around the horse¡¯s ribs as he approached the stage. He felt a pressure close in behind him, and yanked the horse¡¯s head to the right. The stallion shook its head and bucked sideways.


    The dragon¡¯s teeth cut the air, missing the two of them by less than a yard. Its massive body swept by, radiating a heat that curled the hair on Sam¡¯s arm.


    The stallion reared up in fright, wanting to do anything but run toward the enormous red beast that had just passed them by. As the horse pranced, Sam leveled the RPG at the dragon, led it by an inch per hundred meters, and squeezed down on the trigger. The firing pin slid past its safety, and the rocket shot forward.


    Tyranus was banking, coming back around for another swipe, when the air beyond him exploded. The dragon¡¯s flight wobbled as the concussive blast of air and shrapnel hit. Bits of steel lightly peppered the surrounding area. Sam quickly checked himself for blood and didn¡¯t see any on his fingertips. Shrapnel could kill you before you knew it.


    Sam tossed the spent body of the RPG away and pulled out another one. He kicked the stallion into a gallop, nearly falling off its back as it lunged forward.


    A line of men in shining steel formed a wall around the crowd, but their purpose was to keep people from leaving, rather than to keep people from getting in. That and their gawking admiration for their god king gave Sam the opportunity to run them over. This was where Sam learned the hard truth that even a horse that can¡¯t talk has a mind of its own, and this particular draft horse had no intention of contending with a line of infantrymen, even as disorganized as they were.


    The stallion skidded to a stop on the stone street, and Sam was flung over its head, five billion dollar gun and all. He landed on a pair of infantrymen toward the back of their formation, and managed to disentangle himself and keep running. He dove into the crowd of terrified onlookers. Some of them tried to lock arms with each other and stop Sam, and he had to encourage them to move with the butt of the RPG to their faces. Don¡¯t mishandle explosives, kids.


    Over their heads, he saw a bloodied form tied to a post on the left side of the stage. He was down a horse, so getting out of here would be tricky. Sam might be able to cut a way into the sewers and escape the same way as last time, but he had a feeling Tyranus wouldn¡¯t allow him to do that again.


    Sam was dealing with another reticent citizen when he heard the rush of flame. He spun around and saw Tyranus had landed and was laying down a blanket of fire across the crowd, enveloping hundreds of his adoring citizens. Sam leveled the RPG at the dragon and squeezed off another round.


    Sam was in luck. The dragon¡¯s own fire had blinded it to Sam¡¯s action, and the RPG shot through the flames far too quickly to absorb much heat. The RPG impacted against the dragon¡¯s chest, rocking it to the side with a spray of blood. Tyranus¡¯s breath was shut off like someone had turned a valve, and the flesh-liquefying fire evaporated, leaving a swath of blackened bodies.


    The unity of the mob fractured as the remaining people saw what their god had done to them, while others had seen him bleed. A metallic screech filled the air as the dragon pawed at his wounded shoulder, and people started fleeing in every direction. The ones who¡¯d been so staunchly trying to stop Sam from moving through the crowd scattered, alternately weeping and screaming with terror as they fled. One man did both.


    ¡°You fucking ape!¡± Tyranus¡¯s voice echoed from the mountains.


    Sam turned and ran, wading through the chaotic courtyard. The humbly-dressed people parted around him like he was the wrong pole on a magnet, trying to shove and jump over their fellow citizens to get a little bit farther away.


    Behind him, Tyranus¡¯s claws made a peculiar squealing, crackling sound as they sunk into stone and sent dozens of hairline fractures through the street.


    Sam discarded the RPG and fished in his duffle bag as he sprinted toward the upper stage that held Faera. He pulled out the last one and spun toward the dragon that was rushing toward him on three legs. He was closer than Sam¡¯d thought.


    Sam wasn¡¯t an expert on dragon expressions, but he could have sworn Tyranus sneered as Sam aimed the RPG. Tyranus waved his unwounded arm to the left, and the RPG wrenched itself out of his hands to skitter across the empty stone of the plaza.


    ¡°Wound me twice, ghost from my past, shame on me. There will not be a third.¡± Tyranus lunged forward, and Sam jumped back. He felt the solid marble stage behind him and kept as low as possible against that ledge as he darted right.


    Tyranus¡¯s claws swung down and dug into the marble, slowing the swipe down just long enough for Sam to get clear.


    Sam needed an offense¡­What else did he have in his bag? He leapt onto the stage, juking the opposite direction to dodge the dragon¡¯s next strike.


    ¡°Stay still!¡± Tyranus shouted, his neck craned down.


    Sam dug in his duffle as he ran and felt a cold cylindrical something against his fingers. Another weapon? Sam didn¡¯t have the luxury of inspecting it thoroughly--he needed something now or he wasn¡¯t going to last another five seconds.


    Sam wrenched the object free and his eyes widened with dismay as he recognized one of the sticks he¡¯d stolen from Maria two nights before. The wood formed a smooth shaft about two feet long, with a fine polish and inlaid script.


    Sam didn¡¯t have more than a fraction of a second to get a look at the rod in his hands before a red snout the size and shape of a bullet train with teeth shot toward him. Sam, off balance and confused by the non-weapon, jerked to the side, but not fast enough to get the rod-holding arm out of the way.


    There was a sickening pop as his bone was severed by the dragon¡¯s teeth. His right arm tore away as easily as a Band-Aid, albeit more painfully.


    Sam swallowed down a scream and dashed away. He reached into the bag with his intact left hand, looking for Faera¡¯s shotgun. Maybe if he got the dragon in the eyes¡­ He groped for the feel of actual steel and not polished wood as he backed away, keeping his eyes on Tyranus.


    Tyranus looked down at him, Sam¡¯s arm-stump hanging from the corner of his mouth. The dragon¡¯s blood dripped, boiling on contact with the air. Suddenly a chuckle rose up from his chest.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I find most amusing about your kind, Sam. You¡¯ve been designed to fight until the bitter end.¡± Tyranus crunched down on the severed arm in his mouth. ¡°It¡¯s so boring when they start pleading for their lives after a scratch.¡±


    Sam kept backing away, the loss of blood making him dizzy. An S4M¡¯s severed arm would stop bleeding after a few seconds, but the artery sprayed up until that point.


    ¡°Guess I better end this, though. Can¡¯t have you going all diehard on me, can I?¡± Tyranus crunched on the last of Sam¡¯s arm with an exaggerated chewing motion.


    Tyranus¡¯s jaw exploded, sending a shower of molten blood spraying off to the side, sizzling on stone. Sam could see a hint of bone where the left side of his jaw had completely separated from the dragon¡¯s body. It hung beneath his chin.


    Sam and the dragon stared at each other for a moment. Then Tyranus teetered to the side, rocking the entire courtyard with the force of impact as he fell.


    Sam looked at his bag. Those wooden sticks must have had a lot more juice to them than Sam had thought.


    He pushed himself to his feet and glanced around. The courtyard was empty. Except for the hundreds of charred mummies, the civilians had all escaped.


    The army, on the other hand, was moving in. A thousand or so men wearing white-and-gold advanced from the streets with sabers drawn. Leading them was a man in a red cloak.


    They needed to get out of here, fast. Sam needed to get Faera somewhere safe and have her heal his stump. An S4M unit could go without a major limb for a while, but eventually the veins in his arm would begin to relax and he¡¯d bleed out.


    Sam jogged toward Faera, where she was tied naked to a pole. Underneath her was an assemblage of dry wood waiting to burst into flame. Faera was covered with bruises and cuts, and three of her fingers were missing. All-told, not a good day for either of them. At least they got the dragon.


    Sam got behind Faera and yanked her knots loose, unable to practice subtlety with one hand.


    ¡°Breathing¡­¡± Faera muttered, her chin against her chest.


    ¡°What?¡± Sam tugged another knot loose.


    Faera inhaled painfully and tried to raise her head, letting her neck drift to the left in an attempt to look at him. ¡°Still breathing.¡±


    Sam looked past her at Tyranus, and saw the dragon¡¯s chest rise and fall. Shit. From what Sam had seen, magic could fix up some pretty serious damage. All it would take was one well-intentioned zealot to heal their god-king, and then everything would be in vain.


    ¡°I see it,¡± Sam said, tugging the last of Faera¡¯s knots loose. He tried to catch her, but she slipped away from his outstretched hand and fell to the floor, shuddering. ¡°We¡¯ll do something about it, but right now we gotta get out of here.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re still breathing!¡± Faera shouted. Her skin began to ripple, and fur burst forth from her upper body even as her face elongated into a snout. Twin horns erupted from her head, curling behind her--no, his--ears as the demon grew in size, dwarfing Sam.


    ¡°Kein¡¯Maddal,¡± Sam breathed.


    ¡°Sam! Run!¡± Sam heard Faera¡¯s voice coming from behind Tyranus¡¯s dais.


    The demon lunged off its hands and knees and swept Sam up off the ground with one hand. ¡°I go free now, human,¡± Kein¡¯Maddal said.


    Sam felt his ribs cave in. He tried to punch the demon, maybe damage its elbow. Swing your left arm. Swing your left arm¡­


    The world went dark, and beneath the triumphant roar of the demon, Sam thought he heard Faera shout.


    Swing your left arm.

 Chapter 20: Better Luck Next Time

    The man¡¯s eyes flew open and his fist impacted against the glass in front of him, causing a small bloom of blood in the liquid. A thick, uncomfortable tube retracted from his throat as the fluid drained from the tank, nearly causing him to retch. Air reached his mouth and he gasped a shuddering breath. Wires unclipped themselves from every part of his body, melting away like sugar as they were exposed to air.


    Where was he? He looked at the world around him, at the clothes resting on the bench beside the glass casket. Was he supposed to be here? And if he was supposed to be here, what did that mean? He took a deep breath and tried to figure out where and who he was as the fluid receded below his knees.


    He looked at his skin. It was a deep brown, nearly black. Was that faint sheen of purple from the fluorescent lights, or was it his skin? Was that normal? There were clothes on the bench. That meant there was someone or something in charge of this, waiting for him. They probably looked like him, but who knew?


    He hitched a breath. He knew what clothes were, he knew what a bench was¡­ So why didn¡¯t he know why he knew those things?


    Subject has reached minimum cognitive function. Beginning imprint.


    Imprint of what?


    A flood of images and thoughts began to pour over him, and he felt his stream of consciousness drift out of reach, being tugged away from his control, as though someone were trying to snip away everything he was and replace it with someone else.


    No, he had to stay himself. He had to be him, and figure out what was going on on his own terms. He knew if they dictated what he thought, he would be nothing but a puppet.


    ¡°No, no,no,nononono¡­¡± A wash of memories entered his mind, vivid and just under the surface. Waiting to jump up and take him over if he paid them any attention. He felt like an invisible man being dusted with the filth of each memory, a different identity slowly coming into focus.


    No, he had to stay himself, he had to stay Sam¡­ Was he Sam? He hadn¡¯t had a name when he woke up. Was that one of their memories?


    Sam began panting, faster and faster as his mind spiraled out of control. Who was he, coming out of an assembly line, thinking his name was Sam? He couldn¡¯t be Sam. Sam remembered dying. This Sam wasn¡¯t dead.


    Sam remembered dying again, and again, and this time he did retch, spilling a small amount of bile onto the inches-deep fluid. Each time his na?ve brain touched another subject, it was overwhelmed by the sheer amount in store for him, saved in vivid color by the damn implant.


    Then Sam remembered all the times he¡¯d woken up in this same bath, all the times he¡¯d struggled to maintain his self but had been helpless against the tide of memories. Maybe this time would be different. He already called himself Sam, though, so hadn¡¯t he already lost the fight?


    Sam shuddered in the tub, wrapping his arms around himself, his mind chewing on each and every struggle between himself and the memories flooding through his system. He¡¯d never won. Or maybe he never remembered winning because they wouldn¡¯t let him keep those memories?


    Was he really the same as before, or had they changed him? If he was different than the previous Sam, then wasn¡¯t he really just dead, and this Sam was simply very, very similar?


    Sam had no idea what the truth was. He shook, trying to clutch that last fragment of who he had been before Sam had been shoved inside him. He had wondered things, he¡¯d been¡­.


    Sam¡¯s eyes rolled back in his head, and he began to shake violently in the glass tube. Even then, the memories assailed him. Everywhere he looked, everything he saw had a spiderweb of memories connected to it, each one linked to a hundred more, in a never-ending onslaught.


    An hour later, Sam took a deep breath. He was himself again.


    The baths were the low point of every generation. It wasn¡¯t so much the dying that bothered him, it was the implant. What a mindfuck, every time.


    Sam reached up and pulled the lever on the release. He had to get to the elf compound detailed in Faera¡¯s map. That urgent thought answered one of his nagging questions. His implant had been within range of the facility at the moment of his death, and so Tom should have also come back as soon as his implant went offline.


    The glass pod opened and Sam stepped out onto the synthetic floor, looking at his clothes, which were set out by the computer. Beneath Sam¡¯s foot, he felt a small line of pressure, which gave way with a metallic click.


    Sam woke up with a gasp of air. His cheek rested on the synthetic floor, and glaring orange lights stabbed his eyes. He tried to get to his feet but slipped, toppling back to the ground. What happened? Sam cast his gaze around the room, and spotted a spent claymore embedded in the wall. He gasped in pain as he stared at the twisted piece of metal.


    Sam did a body scan, craning his neck to look down at himself. His legs were shredded, but his bones were largely intact. He had some damage in his left kneecap, and his right foot was missing from the shin down.


    On a wordless moan of pain, Sam fumbled to get his hand under him, twisting his spine as he pushed himself up. He could feel his legs. That was good.


    And his liver, heart, kidneys and spleen were intact. Sam knew what each major organ felt like when it was wounded. It had been an experiment performed by a young technician named Elliot on the grounds of having the experiments assist in their own medical care. The kid was later shit-canned, to quote the other technicians, but Sam never forgot. Sam never forgot anything.


    Sam sank back to the ground and his lids sagged as he recalled the two days when the young man had prodded each of Sam¡¯s vital organs with an electric probe. There, that¡¯s where your liver is, can you feel that?


    Sam¡¯s eyes shot open. He couldn¡¯t go to sleep. If he didn¡¯t get bandaged up, he wouldn¡¯t live another hour, let alone get away from the ants which had most likely set up shop.


    Speaking of setting up shop¡­ Ann had left Sam a hell of a farewell present. It hadn¡¯t been Tom, that was for fucking sure.


    He pushed up onto his hands, and dragged himself toward the clothes. He needed to put a tourniquet around his stump ASAP.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Sam grabbed the edge of the shirt, pulling the pile of clothes down to him. A single sheet of paper floated down from the stack, followed by the spoon from a grenade.


    Adrenaline hit Sam¡¯s system like a freight train, and he snatched the grenade up and looked for a place to throw it. The door to the living quarters was closed, and he didn¡¯t have time. The toilet was similarly out of reach for his mutilated feet.


    The entire room was a tiny, featureless space designed to allow him to stretch out bath-cramps and get dressed. There was nowhere to throw the grenade. One second down.


    Sam¡¯s gaze flicked to the bath at the end of his blood-streaked drag-marks. It was riddled with holes, the glass a mess of spider-webbed cracks. Exposed wires snapped with electricity.


    The printer was out of commission. Sam realized with sudden surety that this had been the last time he would step out of that chamber. The baths had been destroyed, and¡­ the back of the unit was peeled open, just a bit near the bottom, revealing a black void beyond.


    Two seconds down.


    Sam pushed himself up into the air, wound back and flung the steel ball with everything he had. The grenade tore through the bent back panel of the bath, and Sam flung himself to the ground, hands over his head and neck. An impact rocked through his chest as the grenade went off, spraying Sam with a shower of bits of twisted metal and wire, which bounced off the walls and ceiling.


    Sam stayed still for a minute, letting the destruction settle, waiting for any secondary explosions from the sensitive equipment behind the bath, but there was nothing. Finally, Sam looked at the piece of paper, a note in Ann¡¯s handwriting.


    Sam, if you¡¯re reading this, and still alive, know that I didn¡¯t try to kill you because of Tom, I¡¯m not that petty. I was unbelievably pissed off, but I got over it eventually.


    I tried to kill you because we all deserve to die. I¡¯m a monster, you¡¯re a monster. I haven¡¯t got what it takes to end it for Tom, or myself, and he¡¯s the same, but we figured we could spare you the pain of existing.


    Blame me if you want. Yell at me for not giving you a choice, whatever it takes for you not to realize that we never had a choice, any of us. Not really. We don¡¯t belong here.


    ¡°The fuck?¡± Sam said, but only silence greeted him. He glanced up at the harsh orange light from the siren, blinking his eyes. Eardrums must be busted. Sam tore off the sleeves of his shirt and tied a tourniquet around his right leg, just below the knee.


    Sam couldn¡¯t hop on one foot, because his left knee was shot out and his lower legs on both sides were shredded, so he crawled, using his good right knee to push himself to the door leading to the living quarters.


    The main lights were out. Only the orange from the emergency lighting was available, and it glittered off the broken glass covering the floor.


    Sam awkwardly turned his head to look up. The bulletproof glass separating the observation deck from the living quarters had been destroyed. Luckily shattered bulletproof glass was a less-sharp kind, but Sam still wound up cutting his knees as he crawled to the pool table that had been pushed up beneath the hole in the glass.


    This must¡¯ve been how they escaped the facility a second time, bypassing the ants. Ann and Tom wouldn¡¯t risk the same route again when down a man, so they had done the smart thing, and found a better way. Most likely Ann had come in this way, seeing as it looked like the glass had been broken from the other side.


    Sam got an arm over the edge of the pool table, grunting with exertion--the pool table had never really seemed as tall as it did now. He hauled himself up, then set his sights on the observation deck, where the technicians used to watch them from behind four inches of bulletproof glass. He reached up and settled his fingers in a patch of glass that hopefully wouldn¡¯t slice his hands to the bone, then pulled himself up again, pushing the ragged portal beneath his waist and finally tipping over into the room.


    Sam lay there, panting and weak as a newborn chick, struggling to get his arms under him. All around him, the alarms silently flashed their orange light. The clamor probably would¡¯ve been deafening, if Sam hadn¡¯t already busted his eardrums.


    He levered himself up on his hands and glanced around the room, seeing it from this side for the first time in his life. The console that he¡¯d always seen the technicians fiddling around with was live. A single display on the console caught his interest, labelled ¡®external memory¡¯.


    There were three files: T0M, 4NN, and S4M. Beside Tom and Ann¡¯s file there was a green check mark, while there was nothing beside his own. Sam dragged himself to the console and levered himself up into a chair, mindful of his legs. He pressed his finger to his own name.


    Select external memories to add to Prototype S4M.


    Sam¡¯s brows furrowed as a wave of serial numbers preceded by ¡®S4M¡¯ began to scroll down the screen. Curious, Sam selected one, and a folder opened.


    S4MPA11942, Stationed in Philadelphia. Eight hundred and twelve kills, five years in service. KIA in inhuman rights protests, March 24, 2123. Subject displayed questionable behavior prior to termination. Imprint not recommended.


    Sam opened another file.


    S4MCA3112789, Stationed in Los Angeles. Four thousand three hundred and eight kills, six years in service. MIA in food riots, January 5, 2122. Subject displayed uncooperative behavior prior to disappearance, suspected flight risk, failsafe engaged. Imprint not recommended.


    Sam scanned through another file, and another. Each of them dispassionately recounted how long Sam had been ¡®in service¡¯ and how many people he had killed. As he scrolled through the list of age-old memories, he noticed a trend: Any S4M unit with more than three years in service had been classified as unstable and not recommended for imprint. Did that mean Sam would start to lose his mind after three years, no matter what? Or had he been invariably unable to accept the conditions that he lived in? Sam ran up against a hard wall of seven years, by which point all of the S4M units were ¡®terminated¡¯.


    Tom and Ann had imprinted their old memories, and they had become near-suicidal, planting a booby trap designed to kill him and prevent him from coming back. What had they seen that made them so sure he had to die?


    Sam hit Ctrl-A and selected the entire list of S4M memories. He clicked ¡®Implant¡¯, and a warning popped up, asking him if he was sure. Sam wasn¡¯t sure. He was bleeding out and this part of the forest was swarming with giant ants; he had no chance of escaping as he was.


    But maybe, just maybe one of the Sams on this list knew something that could get him out of here. Maybe he could find the code to reboot the security system, or he might¡¯ve witnessed the access password to the staff armory. Or at least know a way to doctor his leg.


    Sam took a deep breath and hit the button, and hit the button, and hit the button and hit the button¡­ Sam realized he was in a loop, reliving the same second over and over as the implant rebooted. Sam violently pushed the chair away from the desk, and hit the button.


    He fell from the chair, and hit the button.


    Sam realized he was living two experiences at once, and hit the button.


    Sam gasped in a lungful of air, and hit the button.


    Sam slammed his head against the floor as a rush of painful memories washed over him, and hit the button.


    Sam pulled his head back and struck it against the floor again, and hit the button.


    Sam let out a wail of torment as wave after wave of guilt crashed over him, suffusing his body with shame, and hit the button.


    Sam narrowed his eyes, and hit the button.


    Beneath Sam was a spot of blood where he¡¯d cut his head. He needed to stay focused on who he was, and what was happening right now. Sam hit the button. He needed to take control of the situation by force. The other S4Ms¡¯ baggage was ancient history, and he had things he needed to do right now. Sam hit the button.


    Unconscious until the reboot was over, that would work. All the Sams agreed, and they hit the button.


    The muscles in Sam¡¯s neck twinged as he put everything he had into bringing his head down. He needed to end it all, after everything they¡¯d made him do. Sam stopped himself just before his skull impacted the floor, and hit the button.


    They were coming after him, they would activate the failsafe any second. Sam was bleeding out, he was on fire, he was being drowned. They were going to find him¡­ Sam hit the button.


    No, he needed to be alive, and he needed to stay still until the implant was complete. Sam flipped himself onto his back and hit the button. Sam lay there, taking deep breaths and fighting every impulse to move between each button-press.


    Eventually the wave of memories was more than Sam could stand. His eyes rolled back in their sockets and he began to thrash uncontrollably as his mind was overwritten by over five million years of strife.

 Chapter 21: A History of Violence

    Sam hit the button.


    ¡°Let me go first, sir,¡± Sam said, entering and scanning the room before waving his charges in.


    ¡°Jesus, Simon, we were in here five minutes ago,¡± General Mathis said, rolling his eyes as he entered the observation theatre. ¡°I¡¯m starting to think your boy is a little slow.¡±


    ¡°He does exactly what he¡¯s been trained to do, without getting bored, or distracted, or assuming five minutes isn¡¯t long enough to set up a trap,¡± Carl said.


    ¡°In the middle of the most secure facility in the world?¡± Mathis scoffed.


    The general was graying, with a large-and-in-charge mustache above a chiseled jaw. You couldn¡¯t get promoted to general with a weak chin, no matter how good you were, it was just how life worked. Carl Simon was the biologist that Sam was in charge of protecting. He¡¯d played a role in unlocking the otherworlder genetic code, and the secrets in his head warranted a S4M escort. Simon was lean and smart, standing a little over six foot.


    Not many people knew about Carl¡¯s bald spot, Sam thought as he looked down at the PhD. Very few people were taller.


    ¡°Wait by the door, Sam,¡± Carl said.


    Sam stood by the door, half-turned so he could watch the entrance and the observation theatre at the same time.


    ¡°They should be bringing in the subject now¡­ Ah, here we go,¡± Carl said. Behind the glass, a man strapped to a table was wheeled in by a man in an environment suit. He was tilted to face the observers.


    ¡°From what we¡¯ve gathered from these people¡¯s mystical mumbo-jumbo, the thing that they call magic is some kind of poison that builds up in the body,¡± Carl said.


    ¡°Have you been able to isolate it?¡± General Mathis¡¯s gray brows furrowed as he leaned toward the glass to get a better look. He probably needed glasses, but had too much machismo to wear them.


    ¡°Not yet. Although the others have similar biologic makeup, we haven¡¯t been able to isolate the exact compound. My hypothesis is that whatever substance causes these changes decays rapidly outside of a living host. We are doing trials that will attempt to isolate the substance in an oxygen- and light-free environment.¡±


    Carl leaned toward the intercom and said, ¡°Start the procedure.¡±


    The technician on the other side of the window nodded and retrieved a scalpel from the nearby table. Sam watched dispassionately as the hooded technician began peeling aside the skin covering the man¡¯s chest, making him clench down on the bit between his teeth.


    ¡°Notice the faint blue glow from his tissues?¡± Carl said, pointing. ¡°Stop for a moment, son.¡± Carl flicked the light in the operating room off, and observed the light coming from their victim¡¯s organs. ¡°That is the subject¡¯s internal organs breaking the laws of physics, one sign that the subject is going through something called The Molt.¡±


    ¡°What, now?¡± Mathis asked, glancing at the doctor askance. ¡°Are we dealing with lizard people?¡±


    ¡°No, General. From what we¡¯ve gathered, the poison builds up in a subject¡¯s body, until it reaches a resonance frequency unique to each subject.¡±


    ¡°What the hell does that have to do with Molting?¡±


    Carl sighed. ¡°Forget the word ¡®Molt¡¯. Imagine that a person¡¯s body is like a cup with a hole in it, sitting out in the rain.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Humans are like shot glasses with big holes and practically no bottom, while Others are like buckets with one little hole in the bottom. The poison goes right through our system, but they chew on it awhile. And what do you think happens if a bucket gets shattered beside you?¡±


    ¡°You get splashed.¡±


    ¡°And some water falls into your cup. Well then, what happens if so much water falls into your cup at one time that you overflow?¡±


    The general shrugged. ¡°I thought you were going to tell me.¡±


    ¡°You die.¡±


    The general stiffened. ¡°So that¡¯s why so many of my men and your researchers have been dropping like flies. Little fuckers have a defense mechanism. This is another good reason to keep them in their camps. One of ¡¯em chokes on breakfast and winds up killing the neighbors.¡± Mathis snorted, a scowl on his face as he watched the vivisection.


    ¡°There¡¯s more,¡± Carl said, shaking his head before indicating the technician should continue. ¡°When one of the Others is overloaded with this poison, their entire being begins to resonate. It causes them to run a fever while their body goes into emergency mode, trying to figure out what to do with the excess energy. The solution is to build a bigger bucket. That¡¯s what they call The Molt. As the size of the bucket increases, the relative size of the hole in the bottom shrinks, in essence making the Other more ¡®magical¡¯.¡± Carl made air quotes, eliciting a laugh from General Mathis.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Sam frowned, studying the sheen of sweat on the doctor¡¯s brow, and his hands tucked into his pockets. Something was making his charge nervous. He scanned the room again, but didn¡¯t see anything aside from the doctor, the general, and behind the glass, the technician and subject. The subject and the technician were unlikely to be making the doctor nervous--they had little power here--so it was most likely the General. But why?


    So,¡± General Mathis said, leaning back from the window. ¡°What was so important that I come in person? We already knew that people in the area when they die tend to follow, and you just told me why. What do you have to share that couldn¡¯t be filed in a report on my desk?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Carl said, brushing a sweaty strand of hair behind his ear, ¡°I¡¯ve discovered that humans can go through The Molt as well.¡±


    General Mathis¡¯s brows rose. ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Does Thomas Dietrich from SEAL ring a bell?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that boy¡¯s dropped a lot of owl-eyed rats that didn¡¯t like the way we do things here.¡±


    ¡°Do you know what the other SEALs call him?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°The Machine.¡±


    ¡°The Machine?¡± the general asked. ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°Thomas has shown a remarkable resilience to the poison, despite being point blank at no less than three Other kills. I pulled up all the records I could find in regards to Thomas, and found something surprising. He¡¯s shown a numerical increase in every measureable fitness and cognitive evaluation of about 1.95 times his starting capacity.¡±


    General Mathis frowned. ¡°So he benches four hundred now or something? What makes you think he¡¯s¡­ Molted? I hate that word. We¡¯ll rebrand it if we have to.¡±


    ¡°It not just lifting, running, heart rate. Boy started with an I.Q. of 83. It¡¯s 162 now. Damnit, he¡¯s even luckier than before. I paid him a dollar every time a coin came up heads, and he averaged seventy-five percent out of a thousand.¡±


    ¡°Maybe he tried to affect the coin.¡±


    ¡°I was the one flipping the coin!¡±


    ¡°Huh.¡± General Mathis crossed his arms and tilted his head in thought. ¡°An amazing soldier is now even more amazing. What¡¯s the problem?¡±


    ¡°Would you take orders from a drooling idiot?¡±


    General Mathis bristled. ¡°Am I the drooling idiot in this scenario?¡±


    The intercom blinked. ¡°I¡¯ll field that one,¡± another voice said, crackling through the speakers in the display in front of the doctor.


    Sam¡¯s attention returned to the technician, who had turned to face them. The man took off the hood of his environment suit. Sam didn¡¯t recognize him, but the doctor took a step back towards the door as though threatened.


    Sam changed his target to the technician. Was the glass bulletproof? Sam¡¯s hands were out of sight of the operating theatre, and he drew his gun slowly, keeping the noise to an absolute minimum. Something told him he¡¯d have to shoot someone in the next few seconds.


    ¡°You¡¯re a drooling idiot if you expect me to believe all the world¡¯s problems can be fixed by killing a few elves,¡± Thomas said, dropping his hood onto the floor. ¡°The world was headed for the shitter before they arrived, I¡¯ve done some digging. As a matter of fact, food and energy shortages have eased since they got here, owing to the adaption of their technology and integration of their workforce.¡±


    Thomas unzipped the environment suit and stepped out of it. A pistol was holstered at his side. Thomas drew the pistol as Carl took another step back toward the door.


    ¡°And the biggest reason I¡¯d call you a drooling idiot is that you haven¡¯t bothered to wonder why Doctor Carl is still alive, having been exposed to so much of the elves¡¯ magic himself.¡±


    Sam¡¯s eyes widened as he reevaluated the situation, but it was too late. As it turned out, Doctor Carl had taken three steps toward Sam, not the door. He spun and seized Sam¡¯s gun with an iron grip, then began peeling the gun away from his fingers with strength rivaling that of a tow truck.


    ¡°What the hell is going on?¡± General Mathis roared.


    ¡°The president has been in power for thirty years, and everyone expects his son to inherit that title. The country has been under martial law for twenty-six of those years, and everyone just got used to it. The news is federally funded, and you are one of the major players in charge of maintaining the status quo,¡± Thomas said.


    Sam knew he only had a few seconds to act. He had to keep Carl and the general alive--that was his mission. Carl¡¯s lips were drawn back in a snarl as he pried the gun out of Sam¡¯s fingers, his attention focused solely on its acquisition. Sam tried to knee the doctor in the groin, but the doctor blocked.


    ¡°Carl and I have been talking, and we think the world would be a better place without a few key people. We¡¯re not arrogant enough to think we can fix everything, but we¡¯re at least going to break the stranglehold you¡¯ve imposed with your dynasty-making.¡±


    ¡°This is ridiculous!¡± General Mathis said. He bolted for the door, but the struggling men blocked his exit.


    ¡°Is it?¡± Thomas leveled his gun at the elf¡¯s head.


    Sam saw this and didn¡¯t have time to coddle the doctor, who was unwrapping the last of Sam¡¯s digits from the grip. He whipped his forehead down on the doctor¡¯s nose, causing Carl to drop like a boned fish. Sam aimed the gun at Thomas¡¯s head and squeezed the trigger six times in about a second and a half. Sam didn¡¯t know if the glass was bulletproof, but ¡®bulletproof¡¯ had always been a misnomer.


    Sam¡¯s vision cleared of the stars from the head-butt, and he saw Thomas on the ground, his head a bloody mess. The observation window had indeed been merely bullet-resistant. A small hole had been punched through the glass, with white cracks spidering outward, obscuring their vision.


    ¡°General, you need to get to a safe distance while I--¡±


    ¡°Thought you could get one over on me, you little shit?¡± Mathis said, kicking Carl in the side. ¡°I.Q. of one-sixty my ass. I¡¯m going to make sure your wife and kids spend the rest of their short little lives finding out exactly how much--¡±


    An explosive detonation sounded from the exam room, sending a shower of glass over Sam and General Mathis. As the noise died down, Sam stood and checked the doctor for wounds before reaching out to help the general to his feet. Mathis slapped Sam¡¯s hand away as he got up.


    Sam peered through the broken window. The Other had been cut in half by an explosive and painted across the bulletproof glass remaining around the now foot-wide hole. Carl moaned and chuckled from his position on the floor. Sam rolled him over and wrenched his hands behind his back.


    ¡°What the hell is this?¡± General Mathis asked, pointing at the dead Other.


    ¡°Dead man¡¯s switch, General. Never put yourself in a situation where you might lose. Tonight you¡¯ll have a fever, and you won¡¯t wake up. Even if by some miracle you have a tolerance for magic, you¡¯ll wake up a different man than you were before.¡± Carl began laughing, grunting as Sam pinned his arms behind his back.


    ¡°You¡¯re already dead, General.¡±


    General Mathis reached into his vest, and before Sam could object, he pointed a small pistol at Carl¡¯s head and fired.


    ¡°General¡­¡± Sam said, unsure of what to do. There was no training for this. For a brief instant, he wished he were back with Ann and Tom in the training facility.


    Then the general turned the gun on Sam and fired again.

 Chapter 22: Young Theold

    Sam gasped as he started awake.


    ¡°Sleeping on the job?¡± Ann asked, nudging Sam in the ribs with her elbow. The three of them rode in the back of a SWAT truck, rumbling down the street toward their objective. ¡°I thought you were supposed to lead by example.¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± Sam said, wiping the sand from his eyes. ¡°Sleep while you can, because sooner or later an assistant district attorney is going to have a crush on you, and you can say goodbye to your free time. I slept on a couch outside her office last night.¡±


    ¡°So you were still there.¡± Tom said with a smirk.


    ¡°Me and Tom were betting on how far you went when you failed to show after that deposition last night. Tom bet you only got to second base, But I think you went all the way. She¡¯s gotta know you¡¯re firing blanks, right?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to once again lead by example, and refrain from gossiping in a way unbefitting a gentleman and an officer of the law. Besides, you guys know anything you see or hear is admissible as evidence, right?¡± Sam said.


    Sam wondered if there was a base for what they did last night. He wasn¡¯t fully up on baseball sexual equivalencies, so maybe fifth base. Was there a fifth base? It wasn¡¯t important, and Sam didn¡¯t feel the need to brag about it, especially when it could bite him or the DA in the ass. More importantly, they were probably going to hit their destination soon, so Sam checked the time stamp on his implant.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got less than five minutes to the destination,¡± Sam said, turning his attention to his team. ¡°We¡¯re clearing out an enclave of Others, sources say they¡¯ve got Tyrmore Fendalin, a high value target who was wounded leading an attack on the east coast last week. First priority is the safety of the local human population. Ann and I will sweep the area clean from the side entrance while Tom will be a stone wall to runners.¡±


    ¡°Got it,¡± The two said as one.


    They checked each other¡¯s gear in final preparation for the assault, before the truck came to a halt in front of an abandoned steel mill, a great rusting hulk squatting in the center of the unpaved parking lot. Sam settled his helmet on, strapped in and checked Ann and Tom¡¯s, while Ann tapped his helmet.


    ¡°Orders are no prisoners,¡± Sam said, glancing at the two of them as he stood beside the door of the truck. ¡°This Tymore guy has some serious magical juice, and is beyond our power to capture.¡±


    Ann and Tom nodded again. Sam opened the door and the three of them jumped out of the black SWAT truck. Sam and Ann stacked up beside the solid steel walls of the mill, while Tom took up a position outside the front door, his shotgun leveled at the entrance.


    Sam placed the Can Opener on the wall, and popped the trigger on the side of the machine. There was a concussive wave of air that beat against Sam¡¯s chest as the wall burst inwards, shrapnel and light bathing the occupants. Sam jumped through the new opening and ducked aside, getting out of Ann¡¯s way as he searched the room for threats.


    The old office of the steel mill was weathered and sun-bleached where the sun panned through the window. Filing cabinets sat empty and gaping along the far wall, papers were strewn about, decomposing slowly in the dry atmosphere.


    In the center of the room was a body, an elderly Other missing a left arm, bandages covering one eye, and blood seeping from his chest. That was the target. Around him was a convoluted scrawl in their language, written with spray paint that seemed to pulse with light. Beyond that were five Others, sitting around Tymore in a circle. They had been knocked onto their sides, and most of them were bleeding from the ears. The one closest to their improvised door was still, but the others moaned and tried to rise in various states of confusion. Maybe this would be a quick job.


    The Others sitting around Tymore were young. As young as could be expected for them at least, probably in the low hundreds.


    Sam leveled his gun on Tymore, intent on finishing as soon as possible, when a snarled incantation from the apprentice farthest from the entrance flung Sam across the room. Sam had not been informed of more than one spell slinger, but it figured.


    Ann, through the door a fraction of a second after Sam, blew the kid away, and took out another for good measure. Sam got back to his feet and aimed at the three remaining ones, who had begun to flee toward the door.


    ¡°Hold, monster,¡± a weathered voice called from the center of the room, and Sam turned to see the wounded man in the center of the room in motion, raising his remaining hand from a supine position. Without any word from the old man, the rusted metal sheeting that the building had once prided itself on ripped loose from the floors and walls to create a wall blocking Sam¡¯s line of sight to the three remaining apprentices. It also locked the Other in with Sam. That seemed suicidal.


    ¡°Yes, I may die, but each of those seeds may grow to become the next world-tree that we will build our hope upon.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Sam asked with a raised brow. Moments later the sound of shotgun blasts rang through the twisted sheet metal as Tom took care of the runners. One, two¡­ Three four fivesixseven. Tom¡¯s gunfire devolved into a wild frenzy, and it didn¡¯t sound good.


    Sam¡¯s head raised in alarm, and he motioned to Ann, who ran back out the door.


    ¡°Really.¡± Tymore said, folding his hand across his lap, still laying flat on the ground, the pulsing symbols around him began to grow dim. ¡°Try to stamp us out if you will, the Wizards who guard the identity of our people, it matters not. Kill one and we all grow stronger.¡±


    ¡°Okay buddy,¡± Sam said, standing above the old man, his black pistol a comforting weight in his hand.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to stop me?¡± Sam asked, glancing at the old man past his sights.


    Tymore shook his head. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter now.¡±


    Sam shrugged and squeezed the trigger, putting a bullet between the old man¡¯s eyes. The remaining glow in the spray painted symbol went out like Sam had turned off a light. Sam turned and jogged back outside, his stomach uneasy at the extra shots Tom had taken.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Tom was nowhere to be seen, and Ann lay unconscious in the courtyard, a single Other bent over her, unlatching her knife from its sheath, hyperventilating. The young Other was covered in a fine sheen of blood, and Sam¡¯s eyes darted to the two dead ones just outside the doorway.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Sam shouted, aiming his pistol at the Other, the young man¡¯s eyes widened in panic, and he grabbed Ann¡¯s shoulder and rolled her in front of Sam¡¯s line of sight, covering himself.


    Sam cursed and broke into a sprint. The little bastard was still going for the knife. Others had learned by now that Human guns, especially those used by Response Teams were locked behind biometric scanners.


    Sam heard the sickly sound of a knife being rammed home into flesh, and The Other darted out from behind Ann, Sam shot him six times before he realized it was an illusion, and the apprentice was heading the other direction. Sam swung the pistol around and fired after the Other as he dove behind a concrete divider.


    Sam knelt, spotted Ann¡¯s panicked eyes darting around above the knife that had severed her jugular. There was no way she would live. In a fit of rage, sam jumped to his feet and sprinted after the kid, spotting Tom dead behind the divider, having swallowed the barrel of his own gun. Sam heard footsteps sprinting through the tall grass outside the mill, and he emptied the rest of his magazine toward it.


    ¡°I¡¯ll fucking hunt you down, you rat!¡± Sam shouted, his vision narrowing to a pinprick. Sam just barely resisted the urge to give chase, instead calling in the cavalry to pick up Tom and Ann and take them back to a Facility, where their valuable implants would be wiped and reused, their bodies chemically rendered into soup.


    This was infuriating. Every single one of those rats had been a threat level seven or higher, and they had seen fit to send a single team, when they should have sent three. When Sam demanded an explanation, all he got were platitudes about how stretched resources were, and how chaotic everything was. After Sam got out of the debriefing, he just wanted to go back to the barracks and lie down, he was exhausted, he had a pounding headache, and everything felt cold to the touch.


    Is this what being sick feels like? Sam wondered to himself as he lay in the quiet room in his cot, shivering and sweating.


    The next morning, Sam was called in for a follow-up to his debrief. He walked into the room, a sterile white box with a single plastic table. On the table was a black laptop, and behind that, a young technician with wide glasses. More of a fashion statement than anything else, the Technician could have had corrective therapy since he was young.


    ¡°Good morning, S4MCA 03148.¡±


    ¡°Just Sam is fine, There¡¯s only one of me in here.¡± Sam said, taking a seat across from the technician.


    ¡°Makes sense,¡± The Technician said, folding his hands together and looking away from the computer screen to eye Sam directly. ¡°So Sam, do you know why you¡¯re here?¡±


    ¡°I assume it¡¯s about last night. You want to download the video from the assault and put an APB out on the one that got away.¡±


    ¡°Yes, the computer¡¯s already interfaced with your implant. We¡¯re taking video and sound samples, and we¡¯ll have a profile for the Other in question built in a few minutes. The reason you¡¯re here in person is that we wanted to ask some follow up questions about the night before.¡±


    ¡°By all means.¡± Sam said.


    ¡°The symbolism around the terrorist, Tymore. You only got a quick look at it, and the video doesn¡¯t tell us much. Did you have any ideas as to its function?¡±


    Sam shrugged. ¡°I know what it wasn¡¯t, it wasn¡¯t a trap, nor was it a reconstructive spell. in the amount of time that the Others had, they could have restored a significant portion of his functionality.¡±


    ¡°If you had to guess?¡±


    ¡°I would guess it was some method of giving something of his to his apprentices,¡± Sam said. ¡°The way he spoke before he died leads me to believe that might be the case.¡±


    ¡°That was our assumption as well.¡± The technician said, writing a quick note in the laptop.


    ¡°The video and what you perceive isn¡¯t always the same, for example we can see you shooting six rounds into a target that doesn¡¯t exist. Did you experience any other magical attacks that the implant was unable to record?¡±


    ¡°Not that I¡¯m aware, no.¡±


    ¡°Nothing? There are magical attacks that can make people sick hours after the fact. Headaches, fever, that sort of thing.¡±


    Okay, this was getting oddly specific. The technician was digging, and he was showing signs of nerves; sweat on his brow, pupils dialated. The technician¡¯s hand was obscured behind the monitor of the laptop, but Sam would bet it was shaking, possibly hovering over the Failsafe button that would detonate the explosives in his brain.


    ¡°No, nothing like that.¡± Sam lied, heartbeat rock steady.


    ¡°In the recording you turn in two hours early, and wrap yourself in a blanket on your cot,¡± The Technician said, glancing back to the monitor. ¡°Are you sure you weren¡¯t affected?¡±


    ¡°It would be a lie to say I was unaffected,¡± Sam said, watching the technician¡¯s breath catch in his lungs. ¡°I turned in early that night because of emotional exhaustion. Those two are the closest thing to family I have, now I¡¯m just looking forward to tracking down that rat and putting a bullet between his eyes.¡±


    The technician breathed a sigh of relief he didn¡¯t think Sam would catch; Ergo fever and headaches were bad, bad enough to make the technician nervous. If it made the technician nervous, he believed Sam would inflict bodily harm on him for whatever the technician would be forced to do in response to aforementioned fever.


    S4M units had fairly high tolerances. It wasn¡¯t like Sam had a salary or the politics of the corporate ladder to worry about, the only thing that would compel Sam to hurt the Technician would be self-defence.


    So what were the reasons why the Facility would feel justified to engage the Failsafe and detonate the bomb in his head? It all boiled down to a lack of control. The fever signified that the Facility was losing control of Sam, somehow. Did that mean Sam was under the control of the old wizard? Sam did a quick scan of himself and his behavior over the last twelve hours.


    He couldn¡¯t find anything that pointed to the wizard pulling his strings, but he did notice a marginal decrease in the amount of time he spent getting dressed this morning. Every day, Sam would place his gear beside his bed and every morning he would rise when his alarm went off, getting dressed in the exact same routine.


    Sam quickly used his implant to index all his morning rituals and discovered he¡¯d shaved the total time down by roughly five percent across the board, which was fairly astonishing given how regimented and efficient it already was. This bore more investigation.


    The implant could only record video and audio for the Technicians, it couldn¡¯t capture his thoughts, so he would have to test this subtly.


    ¡°Alright, Sam, you¡¯ve been cleared for duty,¡± The technician said, giving him a faint smile. ¡°However your request for replacements has been denied by command. They¡¯re rolling out a new model of S4M units, and so your team will be replaced with a completely new squad. However, all the shiny upgrades on a newer model can¡¯t replace real-world experience, so you¡¯re being reassigned to the FBI to work on a national level.¡±


    Sam sighed. Maybe he could hang out with other clones in his time off. Sam and Tom got along famously with themselves, but Ann¡¯s could get a bit standoffish with each other.


    ¡°Sorry, I know you¡¯re used to working in a group, but Command doesn¡¯t have the resources for special orders. Your first assignment will be the Other who got away. You¡¯ve been given the rank of Special Agent, and given authority to cross state lines in the course of your duties. Your new gear is waiting for you outside, it has the contact information for your new boss and all the information you¡¯ll need to get started.¡±


    Sam stood at the Technician¡¯s dismissal. Now he had two pressing matters, Why Command was willing to have him killed, and where was the rat that turned his life upside down so he could put a bullet in him. He walked into the elevator, keeping his heartbeat and breathing stable with long, relaxed breaths. It was a lot like when people were shooting at him: same shit, different day.


    The floors lit up, and Sam glanced down at them. Ground floor.


    Sam hit the button.

 Chapter 23: The Ex-Girlfriend

    Sam thrashed on the floor as a thousand thousand lives swept through him, running the gamut of every conceivable emotion, but always ending in fear and pain.


    ¡°Fucking Rats!¡± Sam shouted before he began weeping, ¡°They used me, I didn¡¯t know! I¡¯m sorry!¡±


    Sam hit the button.


    The doorbell rang, and Ellanore peered through the glass window panes in her father¡¯s door. A moment later the door flung open, and she jumped into his arms.


    ¡°Sam! You came to see me!¡± The brown haired elf clung to Sam¡¯s chest, making him acutely aware of her boobs.


    ¡°¡¯course I¡¯d make time for your birthday,¡± Sam said with the southern drawl he¡¯d acquired from his time in this little Oklahoman town. Sam had been bought cheap by a forward thinking sheriff¡¯s department after his version had been decommissioned just weeks after Sam came off the assembly line.


    Maybe forward thinking was a mite generous. Lazy and uninterested in dealing with politics might be closer to home. A deputy that could handle the work of two while coordinating with the DA and handling other responsibilities the Sheriff couldn¡¯t be bothered to manage was worth his weight in gold. Especially since Sam couldn¡¯t legally quit.


    It wasn¡¯t all bad. People in town knew who handled the Sheriff¡¯s responsibilities, so as long as Sam wasn¡¯t signing papers or appearing in front of a camera, he was the Sheriff. The real sheriff was enjoying a good power nap, and Sam had covered for Doug and Stu last week so he could have the rest of tonight off. Ellanore had him all to herself.


    Sam set Ellanore down, and she tugged on his hand, forcing him to stoop as he was pulled into her home. Ellanore and her father, Greg, had taken human names shortly after they found themselves in America, some fourty six years ago. Greg had been a firm believer in integrating himself and his daughter, and quickly got a job as a Shaman, blessing the cattle and fields of the little farming community.


    The pay had been dick, and the government crawled up his ass like it was looking for gold, forcing him to register himself, apply for a license to practice. For all intents and purposes, he had to bend over and take it with a smile, but Greg had managed to ingratiate himself well enough in this little town that the two of them weathered a generation of witch hunts unscathed. The house was littered with mementos of their friends and neighbors.


    On the opposite wall, above the fireplace, Sam saw a picture taken at the Oklahoma State Fair with Greg riding the blue-ribbon winning bull, smiling like a lunatic. The banner above dated the picture twenty ninety two.


    Greg himself rested in a recliner he had salvaged out of a friend¡¯s scrapyard and refurbished with help from another, legs kicked up on a rusted steel toolbox turned ottoman with a half-drained beer in one hand and his other hand in some homemade beef jerky, appearing every inch the blue collar working man he projected.


    Sam knew the image was a ruse, at least to some extent. Greg had been important, back home, at least enough that he didn¡¯t have to birth calves and bless bull semen. Ellanore had told him stories about her youth, when they had lived in a palace made of weightless crystal that had floated from place to place at its owner¡¯s whim, affording them a new vista at the drop of a hat.


    She had been a budding girl of ninety seven when they had left, and while she understood the need to leave intellectually in retrospect, she never got over the loss of her former home, romanticizing its beauties and glossing over the fear that hung over her parent¡¯s heads. Day to day they had used their floating castle to evade pursuit, treating their daughter to one exciting place after another.


    Sam thought that she blamed her father for the loss of her mother and their home, but to Sam¡¯s ears it sounded like the man did what he had to do to protect his family. Sam himself was a form of rebellion at her father. The man did everything he could to keep himself off the government¡¯s radar, maintaining perfect compliance with the law, no matter how unfair or belittling.


    For example, Greg wasn¡¯t allowed to live less than half a mile away from any human, and if someone moved in closer than that, it was Greg who would leave. Sam understood what the law was founded in; If an elf died in his home he might take some humans with him, but from Sam¡¯s understanding the range of that effect was only a dozen feet or so. There was no reason for the half mile radius other than to make it difficult to Elves to leave their prescribed Zones. Greg made it work, though.


    ¡°Sam,¡± Greg said, dropping the beer in the bowl of jerky long enough to get out of his chair and shake Sam¡¯s hand. ¡°Good to see you.¡±


    ¡°Same here,¡± Sam said, shaking his hand. Ellanore¡¯s rebellion hadn¡¯t worked, and the two of them got along like peas in a pod. What started as a ploy to anger her father had grown into a full fledged friendship.


    ¡°You¡¯re just in time for Ellanore¡¯s birthday cake, I¡¯ve just got to bring it out of the oven.¡± Greg said, catching Sam¡¯s eye.


    ¡°Got it,¡± Sam said with a nod before turning to inspect the trophies and knickknacks scattered around the rather large wooden lodge.


    ¡®Bring it out¡¯ and variations of that phrase were code words that meant ¡®turn around, I¡¯m about to use unlicensed magic¡¯. Sam hummed a country song he¡¯d heard on the radio to deaden his hearing. Sam forgot the lyrics, but it was probably about the man having done something to drive his woman off, or thereabouts.


    Moments later the lights were turned off and Greg came out of the kitchen with a white cake, Funfetti most likely. Atop the cake were three crystalline numerals, floating an inch above the frosting and flickering with ethereal light. Sam hadn¡¯t seen or heard Greg make them, so he couldn¡¯t in good conscious attribute them to Greg. He probably had a license for that spell, anyway.


    ¡°Happy one hundred and forty third birthday!¡± Sam and Greg shouted while Ellanore rolled her eyes.


    ¡°It really doesn¡¯t make sense for us to celebrate birthdays,¡± she said. ¡°I mean, you¡¯re going to probably subject me to another five hundred of these before you finally die and I¡¯m free of you.¡±


    ¡°Seven hundred, easy.¡± Greg retorted. ¡°besides, I like it. It causes you discomfort, and it¡¯s a handy little ritual to mark our exploration of the fourth dimension.¡±


    ¡°Dad you¡¯re being weird, and Sam, you¡¯re sitting next to me.¡± Ellanore said, pulling a chair out for Sam as Greg began cutting the cake.


    The evening was calm as Sam, Ella and Greg shared stories of their lives. Ella worked in a local art supply store, although their biggest product was house and barn paint. Greg had recently been kicked by a heifer, and he lifted his shirt to reveal the ugly bruise with pride.


    ¡°You should have been there,¡± Greg said with a chuckle. ¡°Everyone thought I was gonna die, so they started running ¡®round like chickens with their heads cut off.¡±


    ¡°Dad!¡± you never told me about that!¡± Ella said, peering at his purpling skin. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, no permanent damage, though the doctor said if I weighed any more, the kick might have shattered my ribs and caused some serious internal bleeding, How was your week, Sam?¡±


    ¡°The usual. Flashed my lights at Henry a couple times to get him to slow down, put Gerald in the drunk tank after I found him taking shortcuts through someone¡¯s backyard, stopped a fight at the bar, and spent two hours trying to move a tractor that broke down on the road. No kicks to the ribs, unfortunately.


    ¡°What about the fight at the bar? That must have been exciting.¡± Ella asked.


    ¡°Perks of being technically a giant,¡± Sam said, eating a forkful of cake. ¡°People don¡¯t give me a reason to get excited. I asked nicely, and they could see where I was coming from.¡±


    ¡°About a foot above them.¡± Greg said.


    ¡°And you, Ella?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Same old. Creepy old men who were young when I got here constantly make passes at me, trying to relive the glory days, and kids riding by on their bikes try to get a look at me like I¡¯m a sideshow.¡±


    ¡°So what does that mean for me?¡± Sam asked. ¡°When I get old, are you gonna drop me like a hot rock?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got a few good years in you, handsome,¡± Ella said, stroking his forearm and crooning. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about what happens when you inevitably get fat and old, just focus on the time you have with me while you¡¯re still chiseled from a hunk of raw sex by the gods themselves.¡±This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Sam glanced at Greg. ¡°Your daughter¡¯s got a mean streak,¡± he said, pointing his icing-covered fork at Ella. Sam shifted his gaze to Ella, who was displaying practiced innocence. ¡°And you should know that this body is only six years old, Not only do I have another thirty good years in me, I could send you to jail for sexually assaulting a minor.¡±


    ¡°Please, you¡¯re not even human, that doesn¡¯t apply to you. Besides, you like it too much to lock me up.¡± Ella took a sip of her coke.


    ¡°How about I lock you up, and then I can get it whenever I want?¡± Sam growled, his heart hammering as Ella slid her hand along his thigh.


    ¡°Okaaay!¡± Greg said, standing with his plate. ¡°Sam, feel free to relax while we take care of the dishes. I think there¡¯s some bleach for my eyes in there. Ella, If you would.¡±


    ¡°I could keep Sam entertained while you take care of the dishes!¡±


    ¡°I could help too,¡± Sam said.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you could,¡± Greg said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he looked at Ella. He turned his gaze to address Sam. ¡°But you¡¯re a guest, and these dishes are going to take two people to clean.¡± Greg turned to Ella and cocked his head with a smile. ¡°I promise I¡¯m not trying to cock block you, the faster we get this done, the faster I can go to my room and listen to some really loud music and try not to think about the two of you¡­¡±


    Greg turned and went into the kitchen with a shudder, Ella shortly behind him, poking his bruised ribs in indignation.


    Sam sat in the recliner while clattering and happy chatter came from the kitchen. He noticed a thin green notebook under the metal bowl of jerky, a half dozen rings where Greg had set down cold beers on top of it.


    On the cover was a partially water-damaged series of elven runes, and beneath that was a short phrase written in English, ¡®On Magic¡¯.


    Sam flipped through the notebook, but he couldn¡¯t read any of the elven writing. Having exhausted the pages, Sam set it down to find Ella coming out of the kitchen with her father.


    Greg made an exaggerated gesture of covering his eyes and heading for his own room as Ella sat in Sam¡¯s lap. Sam had to appreciate how sturdy the recliner must have been, as it uttered not a single squeak of complaint. Sam was no stranger to chairs collapsing beneath him.


    Ella caught sight of the notebook by the recliner and picked it up. ¡°What do you think? It¡¯s the way dad learned magic, a few of his thoughts, and some stories from before we crossed over.¡±


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t read a word of it.¡± Sam said.


    ¡°Here, I¡¯ll read one of the stories to you.¡± Ella said, settling back and treating Sam like her own personal armchair.


    The story was one of Greg and his older brother Yu¡¯nelaine, who tried to turn himself invisible to spy on women in the bath. Hijinks ensued when Greg went behind his back and sabotaged the enchantment to fail and convinced the women to pretend Yu¡¯nelaine wasn¡¯t there. The story culminated with his older brother, heir to his families estate, walking the streets naked and craning his neck to stare at bosoms.


    Their mother hadn¡¯t thought it was funny, and the two had been switched mercilessly, but Greg¡¯s father took the two boys out for a hunt the day after, and had given them both a surprisingly similar tale of their uncle.


    Sam was chuckling the whole way through, despite Ella¡¯s distracting presence pressed against his lap. When the story was over, she set the notebook down and squirmed around in his lap, turning to kiss him.


    Loud Elvis music seeped through the door to Greg¡¯s room.


    ¡°What do you say we go for a ride?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d never ask.¡± Ella said, hopping off his lap and heading for the door.


    The two of them drove away to take the evening somewhere more private. One thing Sam had learned from rousting hundreds of young lovers out of their parking spots after hours at the park: Nobody would bother a cop car.


    The next weekend, When Sam made time to visit them, he was greeted by a disturbing sight. The cheap home-depot door on the front of Greg¡¯s house had been burst open, the locked bolt shattering through the frame like splintered bone.


    Sometimes people got it in their heads they could rob an elf and get away scot free, and that was mostly true, but Sam could think of a dozen ways to justify a thorough self-defensive beating. The most important thing though, was to see if Ella and Greg were here and if they were okay.


    ¡°Ella! Greg!¡± Sam shouted, pushing the door open and entering. The house had been ransacked, no other way to describe it. Greg¡¯s recliner had been ripped open, his state fair trophies shoved off the shelves.


    The TV was gone, and that would have made Sam think burglary, but each of Greg¡¯s framed photos had been torn out its frame and discarded. Someone had been looking from something, something small.


    Sam searched for some sign of where they could have gone. He didn¡¯t see any drag marks or blood in the dirt on either side of the house, but there were unfamiliar tire track and footprints in the dust of Greg¡¯s driveway. More than two men did this. What the hell was Sam looking at? If it had been some kind of hate group, he would have felt their passion at the scene, they would have done something cruel and vindictive, like taking a shit on Greg¡¯s stuff, or burning his house down, but this abduction had been done with a cold heart.


    Sam went back into the house and began searching for any more clues. The Green notebook was missing, and there was a muffled voice coming from the floor beneath Greg¡¯s trophy photo. Sam frowned, looking at the floor. Was there a space under the floor? Sam knelt and slid the photo aside, bending close to the floor to listen.


    ¡°Flip me over.¡±


    Sam jerked back, and looked at the white back of the photo. The voice was coming from the picture. With a trembling hand, he flipped it over. There was Greg, smiling as madly as ever as he sat atop the prizewinning bull.


    ¡°Good to see you, Sam.¡± The Greg in the photo said, his head animated while the rest of his body stayed motionless. Greg¡¯s voice sounded distant and reverberated as though he were speaking through a long tube.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on, Greg?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°My luck¡¯s run out, is all,¡± Greg said. ¡°The government types listening through your ears and watching through your eyes musta seen something they didn¡¯t like.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Sam asked, his heart sinking. ¡°Are you saying I¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t beat yourself up kid,¡± Greg said before a wracking cough interrupted him. ¡°If I turned you away, they would have sent someone or something else. I kept my surveillance where I could see it, is all.¡±


    ¡°How-¡° Sam began before Greg interrupted him.


    ¡°Don¡¯t speak, the video recorder in your head can¡¯t hear me, since you¡¯re not actually hearing my voice, so just let me talk. I Told the goons that took us a pretty whopping pile of lies to the effect that if they kill Ella, they¡¯ll lose everything I know. But there¡¯s one hitch. Are you willing to do Ella a favor?¡±


    Sam nodded.


    ¡°Could you burn my house down? Sooner or later they¡¯re gonna find the entrance to my study. As soon as that happens, they don¡¯t need her. I need you to put your hand on the wall behind the recliner and speak the words ¡®once you go magic, everything else is tragic¡¯.¡±


    Sam chuckled even as his eyes stung.


    ¡°Bet they¡¯d spend months trying elvish passphrases,¡± Greg said. ¡°Natey¡¯a, I wish I could be there to watch when they figured it out. I wish I could be there to watch her.¡± Greg was quiet for a moment, then he looked Sam straight in the eye. ¡°There¡¯s things in that basement that could end life as we know it. Blueprints for Magical WMDs, immortality, spells that kill entire races, control the minds of millions of people, that sort of thing. They want them because they want to use them. the humans that control your government aren¡¯t interested in protecting people, they simply want the power for themselves. Maybe I should have let them go, burned them fourty seven years ago when I first got here, but I didn¡¯t. I thought maybe one day knowing our past would help avoid making the same mistakes. Promise me you¡¯ll destroy them.¡±


    Sam nodded.


    ¡°Thank you. I¡¯m getting tired. It was nice knowing you, Sam. You were a good friend.¡±


    The picture was once again still, but Greg¡¯s wild grin had become a somber frown. Sam stood and glanced at the wall behind the recliner, then set out to get some gas from the shed. There was a red jug of it beside Greg¡¯s lawnmower. Sam snagged the plastic can and ran back inside, grabbing a propane torch from the fireplace before he came to stand in front of the recliner.


    Sam dragged it out of the way and placed his palm against the back wall.


    ¡°Once you go magic, everything else is tragic.¡± Sam said. A point of light shone from above Sam¡¯s head, where the wall intersected with the ceiling. The point spread sideways and then down, outlining a door that materialized as though it had always been there. The door swung open, and Sam stood there, confused. According to his internal map of the house, behind that wall was the bathroom. The door should have opened to reveal the shitter, not row after row of books, wooden staves, figurines, jewelry and glowing crystals.


    Sam breathed a gasp of surprise. He¡¯d heard what Greg had said, but the scope of what he saw took his breath away. Sam¡¯s training kicked in, telling him that this was the hoard of an Other terrorist, that he should immediately call in a Magical Disposal unit to remove the artifacts and use the rest as evidence in the Other¡¯s conviction.


    But this was Greg. He wasn¡¯t twirling a mustache and plotting his revenge on humans, or the rise of an Elven State, he was just Greg. The guy spent his days with his hand up cow ass to check if they were pregnant or not, for chrissakes. What was Sam supposed to do?


    Then Sam thought of Ella. They were already in custody, so the only way things could get worse for them was if this trove was discovered. The remains from a fire would still be enough to convict Greg of practicing without a license and he would mostly likely be sent to the purgatory of prison for elves. Human sentances were a joke to elves, so they had lined the process with so much red tape that they were never free of it.


    But Ella, she would have plausible deniability, and that meant Sam might see her again. Sam made his choice. He hefted the gas can, entered the room and began splashing the flammable liquid over the floor.


    Sam¡¯s world went white.


    ¡°S4MOK 0349, can you hear me?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Sam blinked his eyes open, squinting against the bright light shining down on him.


    ¡°You were subject to a magical trap left by the Other, designed to make the victim destroy evidence.¡±


    Sam blinked his eyes open and saw a technician standing beside him. Sam looked down and saw that he was strapped into a seat. Steel ran around the cuff, and Sam estimated a slim chance he could break out quick enough to stop them from doing anything.


    ¡°Why am I restrained?¡±


    ¡°After the Others were arrested, we kept an eye on you just in case. When you arrived at its house, you displayed erratic behavior and then opened a door you had no way of knowing about and tried to burn down the biggest trove of illegal magic we¡¯ve seen since the Others first arrived. We just want to make sure you¡¯re not still whammied before we release you.¡±


    ¡°What happened to Ellanore and Greg?¡± Sam demanded.


    ¡°They¡¯re awaiting trial,¡± The technician lied. Sam spotted his sideways glance, toward the watching security cameras.


    ¡°Show me.¡± Sam said. ¡°There should be news.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you think you should be focusing on something else, like proving you¡¯re not under the control of some Rat?¡± the technician said with a sneer.


    ¡°Goddamnit, where are they!?¡± Sam shouted.


    ¡°This is pointless,¡± A voice came over the intercom. ¡°He¡¯s not under a spell, he¡¯s just imprinted on them. This one¡¯s a write-off.¡±


    ¡°If you say so.¡± The technician said with a shrug and reached down to the computer in front of him. Sam was swept up in a wave of panic, and he yanked on the restraints, bending the steel-


    The memory cut off.

 Chapter 24: Old Supersoldier

    Sam lay there, looking up at the ceiling, unresolved wishes and last minute lingering regrets swirling through him, tugging his mind in a thousand directions at once. Underneath it all was a single, iron core, a memory that stretched longer, more solid than any of the others, the Sam who spent five hundred and fifty years with Ann and Tom. The other memories were more vibrant and provided deep insights into people and things that that Sam had never known, but they were wrapped around this iron core like a spool of wire.


    Just to be sure, Sam looked down at his ravaged legs.


    ¡°Yep, still that Sam.¡± Sam said, attempting to quiet the panicked thoughts that swirled through him from each other Sam. Was she going to be okay? It was five hundred years ago, either she was or she wasn¡¯t, nothing we can do now.


    I could have pulled the trigger one more time before Theold saw me, I know I could¡­ why¡¯s everything getting dark? Whatever beef you had with Theold is meaningless now, besides, he seems like a nice enough guy.


    A wave of ugly emotions swept over Sam, along with grim memories of the young Theold carving a bloody path through human society in the name of elven freedom. Apparently the kid had gotten a taste for it after he killed Tom and Ann. No, that was another Sam¡¯s opinion. Theold had been hunted, and the only way to defend himself was to kill his implacable pursuers.


    Sam¡¯s head began to hurt as he thought about a figure from his past, someone that more than one of his memories were familiar with. Their dissonant whispers made his head feel like it was splitting.


    Lesson received. Don¡¯t think about people or events from the past. It was like stubbing his toe, he now had to tread carefully in the confines of his own mind lest he disturb something that would rear its ugly head, forcing him into a panic attack or extreme migraine.


    Forget about Theold, Sam needed to stick to the facts. Fact one: everyone was dead, except Theold, there could be more, and even the country was gone. It was a clean slate. Fact two: there were a thousand Rats- Elves being held against their will, and Sam knew where they were. Fact three: Sam needed some emergency treatment, or he was going to bleed out.


    I¡¯m sure you can all agree with trying to stay alive. Sam thought humorlessly as he propped himself onto his elbows. He shouldn¡¯t have been surprised when a fraction of the Sam¡¯s memories washed over him, engulfing him in self-loathing. Sam found himself looking for a piece of broken glass when he resurfaced.


    ¡°Alright, sit down and shut up, me¡¯s!¡± Sam shouted into the floor, turning away from the broken window. ¡°We are getting out of here, and any of you that don¡¯t want to help better get the fuck out of my way!¡± Sam began crawling toward the four step staircase that lead to the hall.


    ¡°I wish I could do Faera¡¯s healing jiggery,¡± Sam muttered as he crawled over one step after another. Just getting the bleeding to stop would improve Sam¡¯s chances tremendously, but he¡¯d need to be able to walk, or at least hobble if we was going to get out of the ant¡¯s territory fast enough to avoid becoming dinner.


    ¡°Wait a minute.¡± Sam said, his neurons beginning to fire, making connections between the disparate thousands of memories. The implant could retain and imprint memories, and supplement learning, but it took a real brain to think. Sam reached the top of the stairs, chuckling evilly as he formed a plan.


    Sam wrapped his legs in gauze with the little time he had before he crawled out to the entrance of the Facility, a massive double door overgrown with trees and grass. There were hacked off roots and linbs where Ann had busted through, allowing Sam to open the door and crawl out without too much difficulty, holding a technician¡¯s scalpel in his teeth.


    Now time was of the essence. Now that he was outside the confines of the facility, the ants would home in on him in a matter of minutes, bloody as he was. Sam crawled through the forest, his eyes open and desperately searching for Unicorn Frond. After only thirty seconds, Sam found some and crawled through a bush to get to it. The experience made Sam wish he had spent a few minutes of his precious time bandaging his sensitive junk as well, but he¡¯d figured it was unimportant.


    Sam used the scalpel to cut the frond and take some bark from a nearby alder,


    ¡°Technically still a virgin,¡± Sam chuckled as he wiped some blood from his wounds onto the frond before mashing all three ingredients together. The technique was a trick a unicorn hunting Sam had developed a long time ago. Unicorns didn¡¯t get off on Virgin blood specifically, but if you mixed some with Unicorn frond and Alder, it was like nails on chalkboard for them, and they would come to investigate. Usually angry.


    Sam leaned toward the mush and whispered a name three times. ¡®Linquala.¡¯ He heard crashing through the woods, and Sam prayed it was the unicorn and not an ant.


    ¡°Whoever thinks th- O, goddess, Sam!¡± Linquala bent forward, touching her nose to Sam¡¯s chest.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Linquala said, her nostrils flaring before she reared back. ¡°You¡¯re not Sam!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s me-¡°


    ¡°What have you done with Sam, monster! He was as ambrosia, while you smell like an entire city of¡­ Sams¡­ Sad, tired, broken, used, corrupted Sams.¡± Linquala¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°What did you do to yourself, Sam? There is no becoming the person you were again.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a long story, let¡¯s just say the person I was would be dead by now. He certainly wouldn¡¯t know how to summon a unicorn. Can I bum a healing spell from you?¡±


    Linquala took a step back, tossing her head before leveling her gaze at Sam again.


    ¡°What do you intend to do if I heal you?¡±


    ¡°I still just want to help people, Linquala.¡± Sam said, looking up at her. ¡°A lot of Sams got caught up in the killing, and once they realized they were doing more harm than good, they were already too entrenched in the circle of violence. But I¡¯ve got a chance at a fresh start.¡± Even now, Sam was assimilating all the Sams, gathering the individual wires and trying to forge a single man out of the disparate pieces.


    Sam had a shot, because at their core, each of his lives was a reflection of who he was, who he could have become. If it had been the lives of thousands of strangers, Sam would be raving mad right now, still thrashing on the floor of the Observing Deck.


    The silence spread through the forest as Linquala decided Sam¡¯s fate, silencing birdsong and the rustle of the wind, until all was still. Sam felt as though her brown eyes were piercing his soul and examining each fragmented piece.


    ¡°I¡¯ll help you.¡± Linquala said.


    An hour later, Linquala delivered Sam to the edge of the forest. Sam used a new crook to shore up his balance. His left knee was fine again, as there was enough flesh left there to fix, but his right foot was entirely missing, and so Sam had a well healed stump just above his ankle, settled into a peg Linquala had made for him.


    Sam did his awkward stump walk out into the open plains to the south of the forest, until the Forest began to shrink behind him. Sam looked right. There lay the realm of Tyranus and the captured elves. Far to the left was the edge of the Empire of Mississipi.


    A more cautious, reserved man would head for Mississipi, try to blend in and live a simple life as a hermit. He could farm and fish and make a steady living hunting and trapping, eating potatoes in the fall and fern sprouts and meat in the spring, just getting by. All the while, he¡¯d be leaving the future of the world in the hands of an immortal dictator built like a tank crossed with a fighter jet that breathed fire.


    That wouldn¡¯t do. Sam had people who needed saving, and a big ugly dragon that needed to be taken down a peg or two.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Maybe Sam¡¯s confidence was all in his head, but it felt as though the other Sams were beginning to become one, unified in purpose. Linquala¡¯s healing had helped, but what had cemented their cohesion was Sam¡¯s decision to stump-walk all the way to the factory where the elves were held and free them by whatever means necessary.


    Sam was glad be hadn¡¯t killed Tyranus. Now that Sam had so many memories to pick through as he walked, he realized that killing the dragon in the middle of the city would have caused the deaths of a huge number of civilians, unable to handle a Molt. Sam swallowed a wave of guilt about the hundreds that had died in Tyranus¡¯s flames.


    That didn¡¯t mean Sam wasn¡¯t going to kill the dragon, he just had to be smarter about it. Killing him at the factory would cause the elves to Molt and the human guards to die, then the trip back to First word would be a leisurely breeze.


    The only problem that remained was actually killing the dragon. That part would take some effort. The elves worked in a factory though, there was no way they didn¡¯t have access to something that could do some damage.


    Sam clomped on through the grass of the plains, occasionally getting his peg leg caught in the burrow-hole of some small animal. If Faera was still alive, she would be with the rest of the elves.


    Elves had magic, lots of it. The factory must have some way of keeping that under control. From what Faera had told him, it took a lot of time and effort to master a single spell, so the civilians were for the most part helpless, but it would only take a handful of fighters like Faera to stage a revolt. So either the entire factory was a magic dead-zone, which, according to a Sam¡¯s memory, was wildly expensive, or they kept magic suppressing binding on them at all times, which was notoriously prone to failure.


    Sam leaned on the crook and stopped to rest. The hitching gait with the peg leg was making a stitch in his side, and his new muscles, which had only been stimulated in the most major regions while his body was in the Bath, ached so uniformly that he felt as though his blood had been replaced with a mild abrasive. Except for his missing foot. That itched.


    As the sun went down, Sam sat down and took off the peg, allowing his skin to breathe. His left knee ached and his right foot itched. Sam focused on the wounds, grounded himself on just which Sam had acquired them, and told all the other Sams to take a back seat. Sam closed his eyes.


    Open Sierra Folder, practice subfolder. In front of Sam, Greg¡¯s notebook opened up, its pages turned by Sam¡¯s own fingers. Sam paused the recording and began scanning the page, his eyes moving beneath his eyelids as he absorbed the contents of the notebook. At least five hundred Sam¡¯s had bothered to learn elven writing, many of them so they could hunt the rats better. Rats from a sinking ship, was the stigma humans had placed on the refugees, blaming them for ruining their planet and then coming to ours.


    Following the instructions, Sam took deep breaths and slowed his breathing, searching for the power just below his navel. The constant droning of worry from other Sam¡¯s faded away, leaving nothing but the beat of his heart. Sam felt like his consciousness was a miniscule little one man submarine, searching the insides of his body for something, anything in the dark, lightless void inside him.


    Sam sat this way for hours. Resurfacing occasionally when an errant thought struck him, or when he paused to review Greg¡¯s notebook. Other Sam¡¯s had read how-to books on magic, but none of them touched on the subject matter contained in Gregs small, handwritten notepad.


    There had been books on magic and spells in the twenty one twenties, when magic was largely declassified, allowing for eager human enthusiasts to publish them to the millions of hopefuls that wanted a bit of that magic for themselves. It didn¡¯t help them much. It was assumed that it was because no human had aptitude, since most elves could pick up a shiny new book on magic from Amazon, and duplicating the instructions precisely, have a reasonable chance of making the magic happen. This was not the case.


    There were more things at play. Even the elves, young ones, only in their fourties or fifties, produced effects that were nothing like the descriptions. Officially it was because magic was thin on earth, and maybe that played a part, but what really stopped people from learning magic was this: All the true masters of the arcane had been killed or were in hiding.


    The people who knew the secret to true, powerful magic had been intentionally culled, leaving the elven people weak and disconnected from their own heritage.


    Sam took another deep breath and let his mind empty, silently allowing his thoughts to leave his mind as he delved into himself again. Another hour ticked by, and Sam¡¯s little submarine analogy had taken on a life of its own. Blinking lights and dials were spread around his ¡®cockpit¡¯, and two foam-covered steel handles gave him control over his heading. Behind Sam¡¯s eyelids, he saw a panoramic window into himself, watching imagined blood vessels go by as he navigated his own body. Sam breathed in, and watched his insides pulse with life.


    An intangible force wrenched Sam to the side. He tried to fling his eyes open to see what had happened, but he was still in his little submarine, locked inside himself. Some force drew him forward, into the black behind his sealed shut eyelids. Sam wrenched on the controls, putting his thrusters in reverse. Sam felt a stretching sensation in his abdomen as he tried to fight the pull. The forward slide slowed, but it did not stop, and out of the darkness, he saw a burning white hot light in front of him.


    The heat from the light soaked through the window, and Sam felt the heat on his face as the little burning ball grew in size.


    Calm down, you knew this would happen, all you have to do now is establish a link, without losing yourself. Easy.


    Sam hauled the sticks to the side and put as much speed on as he could, settling into a high-speed orbit around the burning sun inside him. This was it, the contents of Sam¡¯s very own magical resevoire, burning with white hot brilliance as his body purged it from his system. If Sam could just harness a fraction of the heat he felt rolling through his skin¡­


    Sam reached out, the tendons in his neck standing out as he fought the centrifugal force of his imaginary sub fighting the pull of his Yuenan¡¯s gravity. Sam reached out, his arm straining against the walls of the sub as he kept his course with his other hand. The ball of burning light reached back, a single strand stretching toward him, pulled by Sam¡¯s will.


    Sam felt the heat reach new highs as alarms in his cockpit blared. Sam ignored them, and kept his hand outstretched, even as the side of the sub melted away, letting in a flood of pitch black water, along with a single glowing, white hot extension of the sun.


    Sam¡¯s sub was losing power, and his orbit was decaying, bringing the strand of white hot light in contact with his hand. There was no pain, simply a lack of anything. Not hot, not cold, Sam felt like his arm had instead ceased to exist. In fact, he¡¯d never had more than one arm, that would be ridiculous.


    Sam¡¯s brows furrowed as he recalled practicing with Tom and Ann. They had two arms, though. In fact, it seemed like all their gear, including Sam¡¯s had been designed for two. Sam glanced back at the white light engulfing his shoulder and released a scream of terror.


    He was losing himself. Greg had written that you must impose your will on the Yuenan, imprint yourself upon it, rather than allow yourself to be consumed by the well of power.


    Sam wasn¡¯t quite sure how to do that, all the talk was in metaphor, leaving Sam only the most general idea. One thing was certain though, Sam didn¡¯t intend to die a drooling vegetable on the plains of America. Sam focused on his training, his body settling swiftly into a relaxed state despite the encroaching light, tickling its way toward his neck. He had died before. This was nothing special.


    Sam buffeted the light with his memories, unleashing a wave of ego on the light. The memories took physical form, each of the lives Sam had lived glancing off the light, shaping it like invisible hammers striking down on molten steel. It flattened, and it slowed, but the individual memories were fragmented, they did not strike as one, not like the method detailed in Greg¡¯s book. Sam needed one thing, Some unifying concept to bind all of his lives as one and beat the light away from his¡­ what was it again?


    Sam¡¯s brow furrowed. None of the Sams had an identical personality, shaped as they were by their lives. Some had been happy, most had not, some hateful, others dispassionate. They held values that ran the entire spectrum. Sam dug deeper as the light approached his chin. There was one thing he could think of, and like an echo, it resounded through all his other lives.


    Sam was proud.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Sam said, glaring down at the white light spreading to his chest. ¡°Am the culmination of three and a half billion years of conflict.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t. Fuck. With. Me.¡± Sam¡¯s memories were in agreement, They hated to lose. As one, his memories swept past him, peeling the light away from his arm.


    Sam used the surge of strength to break the light away from it¡¯s source and hammer it into a glowing ring, twice the size of the sub. The Sub crumbled away, and Sam found he could breathe in the black depths. The glowing ring remained under Sam¡¯s feet, orbiting the furnace inside him.


    Step one complete. Sam thought, sagging in relief atop the ring. The glowing ring formed a path about four feet wide and twenty feet from either side. That was the hardest part. Now Sam could add to and expand the ring, using the first as scaffolding.


    Sam lay down on the ring, heaving a sigh as he wiggled the toes on his right foot. Sooner or later he¡¯d have to go back to the real world, but it was nice to have two feet in his imagination.


    Sam still had a lot of work to do. He needed to make more rings, create a channel for power to be drawn from his Yuenan, and more structures to focus the power. The thing that Sam had laid the foundation for just now, was called Isayatta in elvish, or ¡®inner palace¡¯ in English.


    It was the life¡¯s work of any spellslinger, and it separated the real heavyweights from the amateurs. Sam hung his feet off the edge of the ring and looked down at the ball of fire slowly spinning beneath him. He would have to spend years getting the whole thing in order, but Sam had already done plenty. He needed rest.


    Sam opened his eyes, and the sounds of the night flooded in around him. The wind swayed through the grass, nearly covering the sound of crickets chirping. Sam lay back and studied the stars. The culmination of three and a half billion years of conflict, huh? Sam thought to himself. Look at the ego on this guy. Sam¡¯s eyes drifted closed, and he fell asleep as the grass tickled the sides of his face. For the first time in twelve generations, Sam was exhausted, mentally and physically. He ached.

 Chapter 25: New Tricks

    Sam¡¯s eyes opened the next morning, his face buried in a clump of musty grass. Light filtered down through the green leaves and onto his eyelids, prying him to wakefulness. Sam sat upright, his body stiff and sore. Sam did his light exercises, pushups and sit-ups, working on the balance of his body minus a foot.


    Sam looked at his stump that had been rubbed raw by the peg-leg, and nodded. Sam could hop leaning on the crook for a day or two while his stump healed. It was Sam¡¯s conjecture that he needed to lose weight. About sixty pounds of muscle should to the trick. In the absence of food, it would happen whether he liked it or not, he supposed.


    Sam set the crook and the peg aside and sat cross legged before tearing a tuft of grass loose from the soil. The morning sun filtered through the dry dirt that scattered through the air, highlighting dust motes as they floated with the rising heat.


    Open Sierra folder, Practice. Sam reviewed the folder for a moment. It was composed of multitudes of glimpses of elves practicing as they were unguarded, usually before a S4M had killed them. Also included were any text a S4M unit had read on the subject of practicing with magic. In this slurry of information, Sam had narrowed down a handful of practice techniques that required the smallest amount of energy.


    Sam made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, and set it in the center of the dust cloud. As a human, Sam would have to start small. Sam focused on the dust motes as he reached inward, towards his Isayatta. Sam felt his consciousness settle on the ring, a beacon for his mind, and a safeguard. Sam breathed in, imagining himself sucking power through the Isayatta, straight from the Yuenan.


    The barest wisp of power rose from inside Sam, and floated across his skin, tingling with electricity. Sam sent the power outward, into the air around the dust. With half an hour of staring, and a focused will, Sam made the motes of dust in the air move between his circled fingers. Sam broke into a grin, and the tenuous hold he had on the stream of dust motes was severed, reverting to a collection of placidly floating specks in the air.


    That was fine. Sam stood on his good leg and jumped in the air, whooping. That hadn¡¯t been his imagination. The first outward manifestation of magic, and there had been no question about it, it had been his will moving that dust.


    Sam collapsed back to the ground, off balance. His grin sobered as he looked up at the sky. It would take months to reach the place Faera had described. In order to beat the dragon, he needed more than minor tricks. Like was written in the art of war, if you were going to pretend to be weak, you had to be very strong.


    The dragon was going to see a broken, limping S4M unit, coming back for a second try. He would laugh, he would mock Sam. He would be off guard. But if all Sam could do was move dust, what would be the point?


    Sam had a more pressing concern. He would most likely starve to death in a couple weeks, give or take. Sam craned his neck, looking back at the forest. There were still guns in the Ungrin lair. Sam was sure if he grabbed a rifle and some ammo, he could feed himself on the journey to the factory.


    Sam looked away from the forest and put his other hand into the dust cloud. In moments the dust motes began to swirl around his hand in ever more intricate patterns. Sam smiled, and this time it didn¡¯t interrupt his concentration.


    Sam learned fast.


    Five days later, Sam clomped through the grass, leaning less and less on the crook, his stump having acclimatized to the peg leg somewhat. Sam had just added a second ring to his Isayatta the night before, and the power flowed easier and more focused. Sam floated a small rock in front of him, tumbling it through the grass about ten feet out to flush out snakes or rabbits.


    Sam had lost at least ten pounds of muscle, not having eaten anything¡­ but he didn¡¯t feel particularly famished. He was hungry, sure, but he felt like he could keep going without eating for quite a while yet, buoyed by enthusiasm for mastering his Yuenan.


    That wasn¡¯t right. Sam should be Ravenous. He should be woozy, having only drank water three times since he set out. Mystery for another time, Sam thought as his rock tumbled through the grass in front of him.


    The rock sailed into the air as a round patch of grass and dirt flew up. A black spider, about as tall as Sam¡¯s knee and as wide as his outstretched arms, crawled out of its burrow with blinding speed. The thick, ungainly spider, with it¡¯s glistening black exoskeleton pounced down on the empty air where Sam¡¯s rock had been leading him.


    The spider landed on nothing, and Sam found himself being inspected by a natural born predator that looked like it weighed as much as he did, if not more. Sam definitely fell into the right weight class for the spider¡¯s meal. The two stared at each other for a breathless moment, sizing up the distance between each other and who would win.


    Sam clutched his crook tighter, slowly readying the staff. He had one good foot, and the spider had eight. This thing may not realize it, but it had Sam dead to rights. Sam quickly reviewed everything any other Sam had learned about spiders, and he was not pleased. Spiders and centipedes were the top dogs of the insect world, and that was before they became the size of people.


    Another interesting fact caught Sam¡¯s attention. Spiders sensed motion with hairs all over their body. Sam wordlessly caught a bit of air and strummed it across the motionless spider¡¯s butt. The spider all but leapt out of its skin, scuttling low and backward, disappearing into its burrow so quickly that Sam almost believed he¡¯d imagined the thing. The flap of grassy sod scooted across the land, pulled by a silver string, as four wrist sized legs with finger-length talons grabbed the door and settled it seamlessly over the hole. Nope, hadn¡¯t imagined it.


    Sam¡¯s first thought was to walk around the burrow, giving it a healthy berth. Sam¡¯s second thought was to wonder who would stumble into the spider¡¯s trap after him. Besides, the only way he would know there was no spider waiting to eat him would be to take care of this one and sleep here.


    Sam held up his hand and his little rock flew back to his palm, careful not to disturb the death trap in front of him. Sam began carefully cutting a swath dry grass around the burrow, sharpening the Nuetta siphoned from his yuenan into blades. It wasn¡¯t impressive by military standards, but Sam The Human Lawnmower was born.


    It was the fourth easiest practice technique, above simple telekinesis, creating light, and starting fires. Once Sam had clomped his way around the burrow in a full circle, he swept the cut grass into the center of the circle, packed tightly around the spider¡¯s burrow. Sam never came within fifteen feet of the burrow himself, not wanting to tangle with that monster in a fair fight.


    About halfway through, Sam¡¯s Yuenan went dry, and he had to stand and wait for it to fill again. Sam¡¯s stump ached, but he wasn¡¯t sitting or laying down within a thousand yards of that spider. As Sam waited, he wondered whether he had camped within a few feet of another spider¡¯s lair in the five days preceding this. Sam¡¯s skin crawled.


    Sam¡¯s Yuenan refilled in about eight hours, as the sun was beginning to turn red on the horizon. He finished stacking the grass, then set it on fire. Sam focused the power into a pinprick of light and heat, and the spark caught on a single, dry blade of grass before spreading to another, and another. In moments, the ring of grass around the Spider¡¯s den was roaring with flame.


    Sam reached out to the smoke and blistering hot air that floated above its burrow and with an effort of will, he shoved that air down through the gaps around its trap door, and into the spider¡¯s home.


    Sam felt a tremor through the ground in his left foot as the spider thrashed underground, before it jumped out. The spider reared up in alarm, finding itself surrounded on all sides by a wall of flame. It turned this direction and that, rearing up, unable to surmount its fear of fire and leap through. Sam took the current of air that rose above and swirled it around the spider, drawing all the heat of the fire around it like a tightening noose.


    The spider died in moments, falling onto its back and curling up as the wind cooked it. After Sam was sure it was dead, he carefully watched as the fire died down, stomping out the last of the smoldering bits of grass powdered into ash. The grass fire hadn¡¯t lasted long, maybe ten minutes, but it had burned hot, and it had done what Sam needed it to do.


    Sam stood at the center of the blackened circle of grass and poked the spider with his crook a couple times. Never hurt to be sure. It looked a lot smaller after it died, its limbs twisted inward. Sam began to wonder if spiders tasted like crab


    Sam reached out a cracked a single limb from the spider¡¯s abdomen. The exoskeleton was hot to the touch, almost too hot to handle, and a white meat nearly burst out of the shell, sending a plume of steam into the sky.


    Sam made the steam spin in a circle while he waited, doing loop-de-loops with the hot air. after a few minutes the steam died down, and Sam was able to take a bite of the meat. Not bad, a little springy, and it could definitely use some salted butter, but not bad.


    Sam leaned forward to take another bite when a distant voice interrupted him.


    ¡°Hey!¡± A man¡¯s voice echoed across the plains. Sam grabbed the crook and levered himself to his feet. In the distance, dyed red by the setting sun, Sam could make out three wagons, with five people walking beside it of various size, and one in the driver¡¯s seat, standing up to wave at him.


    Sam waved his hand, and the wagon train turned toward him. Sam watched them approached, taking bites of trapdoor spider idly as he watched them come closer. The meat has a lot of moisture in it, which was good. Sam wasn¡¯t sure when he was going to run into the next stream.


    The wagon pulled up next to Sam, who still stood in the center of the blackened circle of grass. The people around the wagon included three young men, and two women. The men wore a long tunics, hardy looking boots and warm coats. The women appeared to be wearing nothing but scars and an iron collar.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    The driver pulled on the reigns, signaling the horses to stop.


    ¡°What the hell do you think you¡¯re doing!¡± he shouted before jumping off the wagon in a fluster. Once he landed on the ground, he realized he was a good two heads shorter than Sam, and he stumbled over his speech for a moment.


    ¡°Don¡¯t, don¡¯t you know what would have happened if that fire had gotten away from you? you better have a damn good-¡° The man¡¯s words died in his throat as he took in Sam¡¯s apparent lack of clothing, aside from the bandages peeking out above his peg-leg, brown from old blood.


    How was Sam supposed to know what would happen? In all his lifetimes, he¡¯d never been a firefighter. He¡¯d fought fires, to be sure, but he¡¯d never been trained to do so. His knowledge on fire was somewhat sparse, coming from the twenty-second century.


    ¡°What would happen?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d, You¡¯d have burned us all to death, that¡¯s what! You¡¯d have caused a wildfire! On a day like this, who knows where the wind would have carried the flames!¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Sam said, looking at the sky. So the wind would have spread the fire in its path. That made sense.


    ¡°Don¡¯t Ah me, you oaf.¡± The man said, bristling. ¡°We¡¯re going to camp here, and you¡¯re going to move on, having nearly killed us by sheer stupidity.¡±


    Sam considered the man, taking in his well-put together clothes and the well-polished wood of his wagons. He had guards, he owned a slave, an elf.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°What? You listen to me, you obnoxious-¡±


    ¡°No. I am not moving from this spot until tomorrow morning. You¡¯re free to camp here as well, but no amount of whining from you will convince me to move before I am ready.¡±


    The man gaped at Sam, his mouth open in astonishment.


    ¡°Now you listen-¡°


    ¡°You listen to me!¡± Sam shouted over him. ¡°I¡¯ve taken orders for more years than man has been drawing pictures with their own shit, and I¡¯m sick of it!¡± One point two million S4M units with an average lifespan of five years, to be more specific, for an aggregate of six million years, give or take.


    The man¡¯s guards bristled, stepping closer with their hands on their weapons.


    Sam pulled in a deep breath, calming himself. ¡°Now, you can stay here if you like, but I want you to know, if you try to attack me or move me without my permission, you will lose three employees, a lot of money, and most likely die. Do you understand?¡±


    He nodded, cowed.


    ¡°Now, I assume you want some of the spider,¡± Sam said eying the two elf slaves. ¡°How much is a free meal worth to you?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± The merchant asked, his eyes narrowing.


    ¡°An exchange of hospitality. I¡¯d like some company tonight. You have my word that no harm will come to your slaves.¡±


    ¡°¡­Deal. But just so you know, if they suffer any damage I¡¯ll take it out of your skin, big man or no. Even with that foot, you¡¯d sell well.¡± The merchant reached out and clasped Sam¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Well then, I think I¡¯ll engage with my side of the bargain,¡± Sam said, with a grin, clomping toward the two women. He turned back and looked at the merchant sizing up the spider. ¡°It needs salt and butter.¡±


    The man grunted, and Sam watched as the four men crouched around the spider, tearing a leg off to serve as a meal for each of them. after they had become involved with eating, he turned back and began clomping toward the Elven women again.


    They shied away from him, their ribs standing out sharply underneath their breasts. Sam turned back to the four men around the spider. ¡°Toss me a leg, I think I can coax them with a bit of meat. Not my meat. Food, I¡¯m going to feed them. Toss me a leg, damnit.¡±


    One of the guards broke a leg off and tossed it to Sam. He caught it and approached the women, who watched him with vacant eyes.


    ¡°Food?¡± he said, holding out the leg. The elves stared at him, as if they couldn¡¯t understand a word he was saying. After a moment of silence, Sam sighed.


    ¡°Look, is there somewhere more private we could go?¡±


    One of the women wordlessly grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward a wagon covered in silk cushions. When they arrived, the two women, still mute, reached for Sam¡¯s groin.


    ¡°No, no,¡± Sam said, batting their hands away. ¡°I just needed to get you alone. I recognize the symbols on those collars, I saw more high-tech versions, once upon a time. how would you like to get away from these guys?¡±


    They stared at him.


    ¡°Really, the forest is just five days away. Call Linquala, and ask her for passage to First word, and you¡¯ll be safe before you know it.¡±


    They would need food and supplies, but if Sam let them take the wagons, they would probably make it in two days, and have plenty of food. Sam didn¡¯t really care what happened to the men. Karma¡¯s a bitch, they used to say.


    They stared at him. The girl on the left, the one with less scars, began to leak tears from her eyes without a single change in expression.


    ¡°Okay, look.¡± Sam said, losing patience. ¡°I can remove those collars, then when they try to follow you, I can beat them to within an inch of their lives, giving you plenty of time to get away. Do you want me to remove your collar?¡±


    As one, they nodded.


    ¡°Got it,¡± Sam said, putting his hand on the collar. Sam focused a little ball of heat on the engraving, and the magical power thrumming through it short circuited, causing the collar to fall off. Sam repeated the process with the second collar.


    ¡°Okay, done.¡± Sam said, coming to a stand. It was a shame to get off the cushions, but he needed to get back to the fire.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go back to outside, and whenever you¡¯re ready, just take the wagons and run, then I¡¯ll start whaling on them. okay?¡±


    They nodded.


    Sam ducked out of the wagon and went back to the group of men huddled around the spider. They¡¯d pulled out a small amount of wood and a pot of water, and were currently making a spider-soup over the burning logs.


    ¡°Smells good.¡± Sam said, settling down beside the fire.


    ¡°That was quick.¡± one of the guards quipped.


    ¡°What, did you expect me to bring them flowers?¡± Sam asked, glancing at the rough-clothed man sneering at him. He had a short sword at his side, hanging on a belt that was on its last legs. To Sam¡¯s left were two more men in their mid twenties bearing heavy scarring around their hands that spoke of swordplay.


    Across from the pot were the last two, another guard with a mouthful of blackened teeth gingerly sipping the soup, and the merchant, who refused to make eye contact with Sam. Sam glanced at the crook resting beside him. He could reach all six of them from here, even the one in his blind spot, past the jackass who insulted Sam¡¯s masculinity.


    The men returned to their meals, chortling. Sam noticed that there wasn¡¯t a bowl for him, so he coated his hand in a thin layer of air and reached into the boiling pot, leisurely fishing out a piece of spider meat.


    ¡°MMM!¡± Sam exclaimed, rolling his eyes in pleasure. The meat tasted so much better with seasoning. A clattering sound and a hiss of pain caught Sam¡¯s attention, and he looked down to find all but one of them staring at him, their skin pale in the dim light of the fire. The last one had dropped his bowl of soup.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Sam asked, dipping his hand into the boiling water again, shaking liquid off the chunk of spider meat before popping it into his mouth. Sam exhaled past the piping hot tidbit, trying to cool it down. ¡°Ow, hot!¡±


    ¡°What are you?¡± The merchant asked as his men shrank away form Sam.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re too big to be a human, you¡¯re too dark. You gleam the faintest purple in the sun. You¡¯re not an elf, they don¡¯t look like you either. Are you a Djinn, or what?¡±


    Sam glanced back at the wagons. Apparently the ladies hadn¡¯t gotten their things together to make a break for it, so Sam would have to keep them distracted.


    ¡°It¡¯s a long story,¡± Sam said, catching their eyes. ¡°But you folks look like you have all night.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m what¡¯s called a military grade bioengineered lifeform. It all started five hundred and eighty two years ago, when the Chinese-American war broke out. Both sides agreed not to use nuclear weapons, but the Chinese were the first to produce bioengineered soldiers, who were able to put America on the defensive¡­¡±


    One of the guards had his hand up.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°What kingdom is America?¡±


    Sam stared at him for a moment. This time it was his turn to be speechless.


    ¡°America was the country that covered this continent. All land in every direction was its domain. China was across the ocean to the west, or the east if you went around Africa.¡±


    ¡°Where is Africa?¡±


    ¡°Just shut up and listen.¡± Sam said, glaring at them. ¡°like I was saying, America wanted to get back on the offensive, so they¡­.¡±


    Sam gave the six of them the whole story about S4M units and how they came about, everything he knew about himself, from every S4M that had been able to glean a bit of their history. the memories came to him in a torrent. Things he didn¡¯t know that he knew. Sam was telling himself as much as he was telling them, as this was the first time he was processing all that raw information into knowledge.


    It was all classified information, but Sam cared about classified information about as much as the leaves he used to wipe his ass. It was all pointless by now.


    ¡°¡­A compound which enables a form of photosynthesis, which I guess explains why I shine just a bit purple in the sun.¡± Sam said with a sigh. ¡°That should cover just about everything.¡± That also explained why he hadn¡¯t felt the need to eat so strongly, but he didn¡¯t owe them an explanation. Sam¡¯s designer had simply been batshit crazy. Maybe Sam was a desert model?


    Sam glanced back at the wagon. What the hell was taking them so long? If they lost their nerve and didn¡¯t run away, they would still be punished for being complicit in him removing their collars.


    Sam yawned. The Story of Sam had taken quite a bit out of him. if he had to, He¡¯d simply beat the six of them senseless tomorrow. Sam stretched, and noticed a queasy feeling in his stomach. When Sam focused on it, he got a chill, and he raised his gaze to the others. Did they poison him? Everyone had been eating from the same pot¡­


    Sam¡¯s gaze took in the whole party, and he didn¡¯t like what he saw. One of them was holding his head in his hands, rocking back in forth. Another slept beside the fire, his arms clutched around his stomach, while another watched Sam with dialated eyes, sweat beading on his brow as he wobbled back and forth.


    The merchant himself had a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he hid under a blanket, spooning out another helping of soup.


    ¡°Umm,¡± Sam said, getting the merchant¡¯s attention. ¡°Do you know if the spider is poisonous when cooked?¡±


    ¡°Not that I know of,¡± The merchant said, ladling another spoonful of soup before glancing around at the men surrounding him.


    ¡°Shit.¡± The merchant said, his skin losing color as his face registered horrified realization. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, his eyes bulging. ¡°Shit!¡±


    He stood and ran to the wagon where the elf girls were, and Sam pushed himself to his feet. When he found the girls without their collars, it was on, and Sam wanted to be ready. Sam wobbled a bit on his feet as a shriek echoed through the plains, emanating from the wagon. A man¡¯s shriek.


    The merchant jumped out of the wagon, his eyes bulging with fear. He seized Sam¡¯ shoulders with a grip completely unlike his doughy build.


    ¡°Those collars were the only thing keeping us safe! You¡¯ve killed us all!¡± he shouted, spittle nearly reaching Sam¡¯s face.


    Sam dismissed him with a backhand. The merchant collapsed to the ground, and Sam readied his crook in case the man charged him again, but despite his expectations, the man simply got up and ran out into the plains, running full tilt away from all his worldly possessions.


    Sam frowned, and glanced at the guards, three of whom stumbled away from the wagons in every direction, while the other two slept by the fire.


    Sam clomped his way to the back of the wagon and pulled open the covers. Inside, the two women lay in a pool of congealed blood, sticking the fine silks together in a bloody brown clump. A small knife was buried in the heart of one while the other¡¯s wrists were cut. Sam grimaced at the gruesome sight and let the covers close. They¡¯d killed themselves to poison the men of the caravan with their death energy. Must have been some real bad blood there.


    That explained the panic then, but running now was like trying to run away after you¡¯ve been bitten by the snake. Too little too late, sucker. Sam clomped back out to the fire and knelt beside the two men asleep by the fire and checked their pulse. They were weak and sporadic. Sam had wanted everyone to make it out alive, but once again, everyone was going to die. Maybe not if they were lucky.


    The human survival rate of a Molt in twenty one twenty three was three percent. Sam was fairly confident those numbers would have gone up after five hundred years of natural selection, but how much? Worrying about slavers was a little more than Sam could afford right now. Right now he had to focus on surviving the night. S4M survival rates from a Molt were much better than normal humans, but not guaranteed. He needed food, water, and plenty of rest. Best not to strain his body running screaming into the plains like a madman.


    Sam grabbed one of the dropped bowls, rinsed dirt out of it and helped himself to some soup. Gotta stay hydrated. He wrapped himself in the Merchant¡¯s blanket as the chills descended on him. Soon enough, Sam was overcome by a wave of exhaustion, and he found his eyes slipping closed. Even if he did die, it wasn¡¯t a bad way to go¡­

 Chapter 26: Catching a Ride

    Sam¡¯s eyes blinked open to the sound of hoofbeats, and he sat up in the burnt circle of grass. Guess I gotta spend a little while longer on this mudball, Sam thought. Sam peered in the direction of the sound and spotted twenty riders kicking up a cloud of dust in the distance, their faces partially obscured by the grass.


    The men were in a word, unsavory. Sam dropped back out of eyesight and considered his options. He might be able to beat twenty men, on a good day. Sam had seen crossbows, though, and most importantly, he was missing about a foot of ass kicking appendages.


    Sam¡¯s eyes drifted toward the spider¡¯s burrow. It made his skin crawl, but survival was the name of the game. Sam left his crook where it was and rolled over to the black hole in the ground, keeping below the line of sight. The sides of the hole were crunchy, and little cascades of dirt fell over him, but it held. Sam grabbed the blackened chunk of grass and closed it over himself, sealing himself in the black of the spider¡¯s den, just as the hoofbeats began to reverberate through the ground.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Sam heard a man say.


    ¡°These are gone too, like the other one. Got caught up in an elfstorm.¡±


    ¡°Is this a spare axle?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know, top looks like a crook.¡±


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s start loading this stuff up, we don¡¯t get a free score like this every day.¡±


    ¡°Agh, I found the elves, They¡¯re stinking up the wagon.¡±


    ¡°Everyone shut up.¡± A commanding voice markedly older than the others, cut through the din of robbers.


    ¡°You see this depression here, where you found the crook?¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Boys, there was a survivor.¡±


    Sam kept his breathing as quiet as he could, his heart hammering in his ears.


    ¡°A giant of a man, about seven feet tall¡­ With a peg leg.¡±


    ¡°Someone like that, Sanctuary would pay double the usual finder¡¯s fee.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. Spread out and look for his tracks, I hope I don¡¯t have to explain to you what kind of impression a peg leg makes.¡±


    The men chortled and followed instructions, while Sam braced his shoulders against the trapdoor. If someone stepped on it, he wanted it to seem as solid as possible. Sam spent half an hour poised like that, his back and shoulders gradually growing stiff and aching.


    ¡°This is odd, I can¡¯t find his tracks, It¡¯s like an eagle came down and swept him away. Gone without a trace.¡±


    ¡°When you get to my age, boy, you learn that the simplest explanations¡­¡±


    The trapdoor lifted up, and Sam¡¯s eyes burned from the sudden invasion of light. A length of steel was held to his throat while a grizzled man with rotting teeth smiled at him.


    ¡°Are the most likely. Hello sunshine.¡±


    ¡°Good afternoon.¡± Sam said, eying the blade.


    ¡°Climb on out of there, would ya.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Sam said, hauling himself out of the dirt to stand two heads above the leader.


    ¡°You here least night when things went south last night?¡± The leader of the twenty odd men surrounding Sam stowed the sword away and offered him his hand with brash confidence. Easy to be confident when your men have crossbows leveled at the other guy.


    ¡°Name¡¯s Dave.¡±


    ¡°Sam. And yeah, I was here.¡± Sam said, taking his hand.


    ¡°You catch a fever?¡±


    ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°That ever happened to you before?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Not this body anyway.


    The man clicked his tongue and spat. ¡°Seems unlikely, given your size. I woulda guessed you already Molted as a boy.¡±


    ¡°You should see the rest of my family,¡± Sam said, his eyes half-lidded as he looked down at him. He could use a bit of force to change the angles of the crossbows, but only the ones he could see¡­ he hadn¡¯t learned how to see without eyes, yet.


    ¡°Do you know what we want?¡±


    ¡°I assume you¡¯re going to try to sell me to Sanctuary.¡±


    ¡°No try about it, boy, Sanctuary will pay your weight in gold to have you, even without the foot. You¡¯re going to come with us, or I¡¯ll gut you and leave you to die on the plains. Your choice.¡±


    Sam snorted. ¡°And miss out on my weight in gold? I bet you¡¯d put up with a lot of trouble for a reward like that.¡± Sam saw a smile blossom beneath the man¡¯s generous beard.


    ¡°Varas.¡±


    Before the old man finished saying the word, Sam felt an impact on the back of his neck, and his vision went blurry. Sam stumbled, and he felt two men jump on his back and press him to the ground, their stinking breath wafting to his nose.  Two more men held down his legs, while another two wrestled his arms behind his back.


    In moments, Sams hands and feet bound behind him, forcing him into an uncomfortable position that strained his spine, folding him like a poor man¡¯s sandwich, made with a single slice of bread.


    Hours later, Sam was slung over one of their horses, his spine still twisted at an awkward angle. Sam spat out a tuft of horse hair and adjusted his face. This was cruel and unusual, considering they could have just put him in the back of one of their stolen wagons.


    Sam entertained himself by talking to the outlaw¡¯s leader, an older guy by the name of Dave Cadillac. They seemed to respect the fact that he had a family name he could trace back to before the fall of man (or he claimed he could).


    ¡°So Dave,¡± Sam said, trying not to let horse hair into his mouth. ¡°Why¡¯s Tyranus paying for people who¡¯ve Molted?¡±


    ¡°Imagine you¡¯ll find out.¡± Dave said, his eyes squinting against the glare of the sea of grass that spread out in front of him.


    ¡°Some kind of arms race with Mississippi I bet.¡± Sam said.


    Dave glanced at Sam with furrowed brows, then looked forward again, his expression set in stone. Dave was a bad conversationalist.


    ¡°How many days to Hope at this rate?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be there soon enough, it won¡¯t do you any good to fret about it.¡± Dave reached out and tousled Sam¡¯s hair, or he tried. Sam bit down the impulse to wipe the smile from his face. Now that Sam had identified pride as his defining feature, he was working to temper it with restraint and humility. Plus the look on his face when Sam kicked all their asses would be hilarious.


    ¡°Just curious. My destination was a bit farther, in the valley to the west of Hope. You guys must be saving me a week of travel time, at least.¡±


    Dave guffawed and kicked his horse away, leaving Sam alone on the back of the sweating animal. It was getting in his mouth. Sam sealed his mouth shut and tried to breathe through his nose, but the smell became unbearable. Sam finally found an arrangement with his head tilted at an awkward angle, breathing through his teeth. Good enough.


    Since he wasn¡¯t actually walking, and he was fairly well strapped to the horse, Sam could go limp without any fear of falling, So Sam decided to work on his Isayatta. Sam closed his eyes and relaxed, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was going to wake up with a mouthful of horse sweat.


    Sam opened his eyes, and he was standing on top of his Isayatta. The glowing ring was supported by another smaller one beneath it, forming the first link in the Channel. The Yuenan had swelled, the bright white ball of energy was roiling beneath his feet, and Sam looked away, a bit dizzy.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Sam couldn¡¯t estimate exactly how much it had gained. It wasn¡¯t dramatic, maybe between five and twenty percent, but things got odd when talking about volume. Sam held his hand out at arm¡¯s length and compared the burning ball of light to his thumb. IT was about as wide end to end as his thumb was long. Maybe when Sam had time he would make some accurate measuring devices to use in this mind-space... if that was even possible.


    Sam drew another ring of pure light from the Yuenan, and formed it into a circle beneath his latest, before binding them together with glowing strands of energy, making the beginnings of a tube. The bottom part of the Isayatta was like a straw, the closer it got to the  burning ball of gas below him, the easier it would be to draw power, and the more concentrated that power would be.


    The more Sam worked with the Yuenan, the easier, and more responsive it got. Sam had formed the latest ring with no sweat, and felt confident he could start working on the top of the Isayatta.


    The top of this construction in his mind functioned a bit like a high-pressure nozzle at the end of an air hose, locking in pressurized magic power until Sam touched the top, unleashing a flood of magic all at once.


    That was far more advanced though, so for now, Sam was simply laying the foundations according to Greg¡¯s notes. Mostly. Thirty S4M units had studied architecture, so Sam felt confident he could engineer something better.


    Golden beams of light with delicate seeming arches formed around a second ring that floated around his first, creating a frame for his pressure system. Sam capped his primary ring, sealing off his Isayatta. With a minor effort of will, Sam pressed down, and the entire structure sank, opening the flow between the second and first ring. Sam watched the glowing power from the Yuenan flow up, dissipating between the arches. From the outside, it would looke like the nozzle of an air pressurizer. It wasn¡¯t actually pressurized, but it was the start of the kind of fine control Sam would need if he was going to master magic.


    Sam Spent a good deal of time admiring his creation, making sure that every single part of it was as close to perfect as his mind¡¯s eye could tell. In the middle of eyeballing the curve of the arch, Sam was overwhelmed by a yawn. A yawn in his imagination couldn¡¯t be good. Maybe it was time to wake up, then get some actual rest.


    Sam opened his eyes to the darkness of night pierced by a single, small flame with half a dozen men hovering around it. He lay on his side in the grass, staring at a fire with the faint taste of horse sweat in his mouth, with plenty of dust too. Sam spit, drawing Dave¡¯s attention to him.


    ¡°Well, look who¡¯s up. I¡¯m amazed you were able to sleep like that.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t feel my arm.¡± Sam said.


    A kick pushed Sam onto his stomach and off his arm. ¡°Better?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Sam said into the grass, then closed his eyes and went back to sleep. Sam heard Dave swear to some god, but he didn¡¯t bother listening to the rest.


    The days went by quick, and Sam was able to progress to practicing some of the more difficult and energy intensive magics.


    Sam hung his cheek over the horse¡¯s shoulder, loosening the knots on his wrists while making some illusory rabbits for Dave¡¯s men to chase. Illusions were a bit of an oddity, they were about the same difficulty to make either one person or everyone see the effect, but take that number to two, or three, but not the rest, and things became a juggling act.


    ¡°Over there!¡±


    ¡°It just went into its burrow!¡±


    ¡°I got it!¡±


    If you got it, it wouldn¡¯t still be running, dumbass!¡±


    The highlight of Sam¡¯s day was when he got two men to run headfirst into each other diving for the same rabbit. They hadn¡¯t come across any more trapdoor spiders, although Sam was fairly confident there were plenty more to be had. Most likely the spiders were unwilling to come out when they heard a fairly large herd of horses and people passing by. They mostly ate stragglers.


    Riding on the back of the horse, making sure his bonds weren¡¯t tight enough to cause damage to his circulation, Sam had plenty of time to consider his escape. He had the memories of killing millions of people for reasons ranging from passion, to cold, merciless duty, but this Sam hadn¡¯t killed anyone yet, not directly anyway. And Sam wanted to keep it that way.


    There lay the problem. Magic was a huge advantage, But Sam didn¡¯t know if he would be able to get away from twenty armed men without killing any of them. Then there was the fact they were hoping to sell him in Hope. Tyranus was unlikely to be the direct buyer, but Sam had made quite a splash the last time he¡¯d been there, so it was a bit of a coin flip as to whether the buyer would recognize him.


    Plus, Sam wanted to know more about why they were buying people who¡¯d Molted. Was Tyranus just eating them as a side dish to the elves, or was there something more? Every strong country needed a strong army, and from what Sam had seen, Molting increased measurable performance indicators by a compound fifteen percent. Thanks S4MFL 01102. Or as Sam liked to call him, Florida-Secret-Experimental-Laboratory-Guard-Sam.


    Fifteen percent might not sound like a lot, but in a race, would the one that went fifteen percent faster only win fifteen percent more? Hell no, they would dominate. Sam mused on that for a moment. That certainly explained that Maria woman, who seemed roughly three times stronger than her appearance suggested.


    That would imply¡­ eight Molts, give or take one.


    So was Tyranus divvying the elves up, or having his disciples stand beside him while he ate them, letting them catch some of the magical backsplash?


    Sam thought back to the tower in the center of the city. Come to think of it, he had the chills the first night he¡¯d spent there. Did the building have a way of forcing a molt? Sam hadn¡¯t seen, heard or smelled anything that would indicate to him that there might be elves being sacrificed regularly.


    Sam recalled the softly glowing crystal in the walls of the tower. It was starting to seem like they may not have just been an aesthetic choice for night-lights. If Sam were to trace them back to their source, maybe he would find more captive elves.


    Sam swallowed a lump of guilt. He hadn¡¯t helped a damn person yet. he¡¯d half-assed saving the two elf girls and they¡¯d killed themselves, offing the slavers in the process. He hadn¡¯t been able to help Faera, or save the girl in the Ungrin den. Now he had the choice between trying to save elves at the factory and saving elves in the city.


    Lot of damsels, Sam mused to himself. Sam would have to keep his eye out for men in distress, but he had to consider the possibility that men were simply killed, not held hostage or taken as slaves. Sam¡¯s attention was diverted from his musing when one of Dave¡¯s minions came up beside him, panting and covered with a sheen of sweat.


    ¡°What¡¯s the story on dinner?¡± Dave asked, looking down at the young man.


    ¡°Sorry, Dave, it¡¯s like the rabbits around here were dropped here by Satan hisself to torment us.¡±


    Sam giggled into the mane of the horse he was strapped to.


    Dave fixed him with a murderous glare. ¡°Something funny?¡±


    ¡°Nah,¡± Sam said, trying to fix his face. ¡°Nope.¡±


    Dave watched him for a moment longer before he addressed the young man with a chunk of nose missing.


    ¡°Quit wasting time and effort on the rabbits. If you were gonna catch ¡®em, you woulda done it by now. Break into the stock in the wagons and see if you can find anything. If you can¡¯t, slaughter one of the merchant¡¯s horses, and we¡¯ll make it last the rest of the trip. Also, get Gile to organize the night watch.¡±


    The nostril impaired young man nodded, then cocked his head to the side. ¡°Why Gile?¡±


    ¡°Cuz I think someone was having some fun with us this afternoon, tiring you boys out. They may be after our prize, here.¡± Dave said, casting a glance toward Sam. That old man was pretty sharp.


    ¡°Will do.¡± The lacky said and ran off.


    ¡°Can you untie me?¡± Sam asked once they were alone again. The steady sway of the horse felt like it was slowly grinding away his spine with the sharp edge of his shoulder blade.


    ¡°What kind of fool question is that?¡± Dave asked without taking his eyes off the plains, alert for danger.


    ¡°I give you my word I won¡¯t attack any of your men or escape, all the way to Hope.¡± Sam said.


    ¡°I trust you about as far as I can throw you,¡± Dave said, spitting dust out onto the grass. ¡°For a big guy like you, that¡¯s not very far.¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± Sam said, untying the knots around his hand with minor telekinesis. Using telekinesis without using your hands to direct it was a lot like writing or drawing pictures with the off hand. It could be done, but it was wobbly and messy. Anyone could do it with enough practice, however.


    Sam sat up on the horse when Dave wasn¡¯t looking and began to stretch. When the grizzled man¡¯s gaze returned to Sam, his eyes widened, and he pawed for his weapon.


    ¡°Relax,¡± Sam said as Dave drew his sword. ¡°I already promised not to kill you or escape. I decided there¡¯s something I want to take care of in Hope.¡±


    ¡°Oh, so grateful your Majesty deigns to allow us to escort you to your destination. Now get off the horse.¡±


    ¡°just give me a second¡­ to stretch¡­¡± Sam said, twisting his spine and stretching his arms with a yawn.


    Dave took a swing at him.


    Sam caught Dave¡¯s wrist before the blow landed.


    ¡°Look, Dave, I¡¯m perfectly happy to let you sell me to Hope, so-¡°


    ¡°Boys! The prize fish is loose and flopping around!¡±


    The twenty odd men jumped Sam in a frenzy of punches and kicks, landing Sam in the same position he had been in half an hour ago, with plenty of extra bruises for good measure. And now he had a sack over his head. The stretching had been nice, though.


    ¡°Let that be a lesson,¡± Dave said, and Sam felt something land on the sack, presumably the old man¡¯s spit.


    ¡°You¡¯re making it difficult to respect the sanctity of life here,¡± Sam said. A boot made contact with his cheekbone. Sam suddenly began to wonder if he could move things inside of other things. The rocks he moved were inside of air, weren¡¯t they? Could Sam tug a few well place blood vessels and give Dave an aneurism?


    Must not kill them. Must not kill them, Sam chanted to himself while he felt the sack become sticky with blood from his forehead and cheek.


    Sam spent the day trying to decipher a book another Sam had seen on the shelf at a lawyer¡¯s office one time. It had described a technique elf mages used to see without their eyes. Greg had written about building a strong foundation as a mage, but he hadn¡¯t mention sight without sight, so Sam was forced to pore over the handful of bargain store mumbo jumbo he¡¯d seen in the past, in the mid twenty one twenties.


    Use your mind as the screen, and your magic as the lens, allowing the world around you to come into focus through it. What the hell did that mean?  Sam was stumped for while before he tried shaping the nebulous power inside him into a lens and holding it in front of his brain.


    The sack on his head caught on fire.


    Sam was able to loosen the bonds in time to drop to the ground and put his hair out before he took any serious damage to his scalp. Sam was rewarded for his efforts with another beating and being tied up again, this time with a leather sack over his head, rather than a burlap one.


    Well, that was obviously not the right way to use your magic as a lens. Although it was interesting to note that it could be used as an actual lens, if the need ever arose.


    After hours of trial and error, Sam had developed a sort of sensitive membrane that relayed images back to his mind. At first Sam could only perceive light and dark, but when he curved it, the image became more¡­ Oh, son of a bitch.


    Sam rolled his eyes under the hood, and began constructing an eye. Within an hour, he was seeing what was going on around him. Sam took some inspiration from goat eyes, and without a need for a nerve attachment, he was able to make an eye that could see in every direction at once. If it could be said to have a blind spot, it would be fractions of an inch away from the  eyeball, where the six irises couldn¡¯t see.


    It was awkward and made Sam¡¯s stomach churn at first, but it was undoubtedly useful. Sam added making night vision mode to his list of things to do. Sam¡¯s head began to hurt when he tried to light Dave¡¯s hair on fire using a lens while watching through the floating eye. It was more than Sam could handle at the moment. Sam added doing two things at once to his list.


    Sam dismissed the magic and tried to relax against the horse, but his bruises kept him from getting any meaningful rest.

 Chapter 27: Worth his Weight in Gold

    Sam had no idea what time it was when they arrived at Hope. He had somehow fallen asleep, despite the grinding discomfort from the horse¡¯s spine. Sam only woke when Dave kicked him. Sam snorted as he inhaled a sharp breath, checking the situation with the floating eye above him. It looked like it was mid afternoon, and the city gate was behind them. Sam heard the bustle of the city as the troupe of twenty clopped down the cobbled stones, the wagons rolling behind them.


    The citizens of the capitol shied away from the dangerous looking men as they made their way through the streets toward a landmark that Sam recognized. The tower rose up like a thorn from the earth, stretching into the sky as if to make it bleed. They offloaded him inside the tower and stood him in front of a small, bespeckled man.


    ¡°We found a man who Molted, caught him in a wagon train right after an Elfstorm, looking as fine as you please.¡±


    ¡°How do you know for sure he¡¯s Molted? Could he have found the site same as you?¡± The bookish man said, his voice slightly muffled by the sack over Sam¡¯s head. ¡°And why does he have that over his head?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a biter, and aren¡¯t you the one to tell us for certain?¡± Dave said..


    ¡°Watch your tone, fool,¡± The little man said, casting a condescending look up at Dave.


    That was odd. The thin, balding, hawk nosed little man sounded like he believed he could take on all six of Dave¡¯s men that had managed to squeeze into his little office at the base of the tower and fit them through the mail slot. From their expressions, maybe he could.


    Sam checked out of the conversation, directing his floating eye to check out the contents of the man¡¯s desk. Mostly stationary, with a fancy glass and steel paperweight. Looked kind of like polished metal candleholder with a glass candle in the center. On closer inspection, Sam saw some kind of fluid inside the glass tube. Weird.


    Sam directed the eye down beneath the desk, checking for any weapons or emergency switches the man might have in case someone tried to rob him, but didn¡¯t see any. No bell or lever to summon the guards. It seemed pretty lackluster for an exchange that was going to involve Sam¡¯s weight in gold. That lead a bit of plausibility to the idea that the aged librarian had molted several times himself, making him more dangerous than the thugs in front of him, which Sam found amusing. Sam cracked a smile under the hood.


    ¡°Alright, you with the hood, hold this.¡± the clerk said, picking up the glass candle and pushing it into Sam¡¯s grip. At first, nothing happened, then the steel in Sam¡¯s palm began to feel a little warmer, and bubbles started making their way up the tube. A measuring device, neat, Sam thought as his disembodied eye watched the bubbles come faster and faster.


    ¡°Alright, it looks like¡­¡± the bookish man¡¯s words trailed off as the bubbles kept growing faster and larger, causing the interior of the glass candle to be more air than liquid. He snatched the measuring tool out of Sam¡¯s hands.


    ¡°Show me his face.¡± He said, his voice grim.


    Dave looked a bit miffed, but he complied, untying the chord and yanking the bag off of Sam¡¯s head. The light hit Sam¡¯s eyes, and he dismissed the floating eye, squinting as his own adjusted to the lighting in the office. It was an odd feeling, being stuck back in a human¡¯s limited field of view. Better not get too used to using that spell, or he might suffer in a situation where he couldn¡¯t use it.


    The clerk carefully looked at Sam¡¯s ears, eyes and cheeks, he lifted Sam¡¯s chin and tapped his collarbone a few times with his fingertips.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe it,¡± he said, watching Sam with trepidation. ¡°If I didn¡¯t examine him myself, I would have sworn you brought me an elf. This here, this is an aberration.¡±


    ¡°How much is he worth?¡± Dave asked, directing his question at the man who was continuing to study Sam, biting his lip in concentration.


    ¡°Worth his weight in gold, at least. Although I¡¯ll have to bring in a superior to verify and sign off on the transfer.¡± The clerk leapt to the other side of the room and opened a flap on the wall, exposing a brass tube. He shouted something into it before turning back to them.


    ¡°Do I get a say in this?¡± Sam asked as Dave¡¯s men devolved into whoops of joy and celebratory high-fives.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid, you¡¯ve been delivered to us by a higher power to serve Tyranus¡¯s will. Your power will usher in an era of peace and purity for humanity.¡±


    Sam rolled his eyes.


    ¡°I have other places to be.¡± Sam said.


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Dave shouted, smacking Sam in the back of the head with the butt of a knife.


    ¡°Nooo!¡± The clerk shouted, waving his arms and coming as close to panicked as Sam had seen. ¡°Don¡¯t hurt him. And you friend, if you are taken in here, every need of yours will be taken care of by the state. Worry not for your family, they will be provided a stipend and moved within a stone¡¯s throw of the tower. You will never have another worry, for the rest of your days, and if I¡¯m right about you, your children and your children¡¯s children will lead the charge toward glory for the human race under the banner of our Savior. Our lord will bestow great favor upon you.¡±


    ¡°Yeeeah¡­¡± Sam said. ¡°I kinda burnt my bridges with him the last time we met...¡±


    ¡°Out of the way, scum,¡± an imperious voice came from behind Dave¡¯s assembled crowd, causing Sam to wince. The rough and tumble young men jumped out of Maria¡¯s way as if they had startled by a poisonous snake by their ankles, slithering past, indifferent to their panic. Sam took a deep breath and tried the one thing he could think of to avoid a confrontation: change his appearance.


    ¡°Which one is it?¡± Maria asked, coming to stand beside the clerk, her brown eyed gaze passing over them once, then returning to the clerk.


    Sam struggled to keep his breathing calm. One person was easier to affect with an illusion than a large fraction of a group, after all. As long as the clerk didn¡¯t mention any defining characteristics, to Maria, Sam would look like a mountain of a man with much fairer skin, and a different facial structure. Still naked though.


    ¡°Why is he naked¡­ It doesn¡¯t matter, show me the reading.¡± The clerk jammed the steel and glass candle back into Sam¡¯s hand, which began to froth the liquid inside the candle. After watching it maintain a steady roil for a few minutes, Maria looked back up and Sam.


    ¡°Oh, my. Yes, authorize the payment, and publicize it. We want to be sure the public is incentivized to bring us treasures such as these.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am.¡± The clerk bowed and returned to his desk filling out paperwork, before handing a receipt to Dave. ¡°Take that to the vault.¡± Sam snuck a glance at the receipt and saved a snapshot to his implant in the newly made Tower folder, under good shit to know. The clerk then began getting each of the men¡¯s life stories, jotting down notes in order to publicize and aggrandize their achievement.¡±


    ¡°You, come with me.¡± Maria commanded, and Sam¡¯s bonds untied themselves with a snap of her fingers. She strutted past Sam, a light smirk dawning on her face. In a moment, Maria was out the door, leaving Sam standing in the center of the room. Sam shared a glance with Dave and shrugged, clomping to catch up.


    Maria walked in front of Sam, extolling Tyranus¡¯s virtues as a god, how all magic flowed from him, how he had created the world, how they gained power simply from proximity with the dragon, how Sam would find that other initiates, and Maria would prove very receptive to him.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Sam said, interrupting her. ¡°What do you mean, we gain power from being close to him?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re curious, it makes for an excellent student, but some questions must be tempered by respect for your betters, or it will do you harm.¡± Maria said with a steel edge to her voice. Sam rolled his eyes.


    ¡°As for your question, surely you noticed the smooth walls of the tower, the way it seems to be grown from the ground, like the thorn of a rose?¡±


    Sam nodded, then realized she couldn¡¯t see him, walking in front of him as she was. ¡°Yes, I noticed.¡±


    ¡°This tower was conjured, pulled from the very stone above our lord¡¯s chamber, and the mineral lacing through it serves to insulate and contain the power that radiates from him, so that he may live in the city among us, without causing harm to his people.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s like a chimney.¡± Sam said, things starting to click. As far as Sam was aware after running a casual search of a million memories, no being from beyond the gate radiated magic until it died. What did make sense was leylines.


    Leylines hadn¡¯t existed on earth, but Sam had heard accounts of them on occasion. Lines of power where the magic that had seeped into the earth flowed. Six hundred years ago they hadn¡¯t existed, but after half a millennia of magic spilling from the gates onto the soil, they had coalesced. Maybe they had always been there, and the addition of magic was like adding a drop of food coloring to an otherwise invisible current.


    If a person in normal magical atmosphere was a cup in the rain, standing on a leyline would be like standing in a significantly heavier downpour. If someone were to find a confluence and build a funnel on top of it, it would be like standing under a waterfall. That explained Maria¡¯s eight molts.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    It also explained why Tyranus lived there and fit with why he needed elves. Even spending every night at such a powerful source, he was only maintaining an equilibrium. When he left his lair, the magic in him would rapidly begin to exhaust itself, reducing until it matched the equilibrium of the outside world. In order to Molt again, he needed to stay in that chamber, shore up the magic inside him, and when it was time, sacrifice thousands of elves to make one last push, forcing himself into a Molt.


    Then how did Tyranus expect to molt again afterwards? His Yuenan would become so large that he would need to consume a nation of elves in order to fuel another Molt, and they sure as hell didn¡¯t breed fast enough. Sam thought back to his vision again, and one word crossed his mind: Livestock.


    Humans bred fast enough. Breed a strain of humans with enormous reservoirs of power, high fertility, but short lives, and you had the perfect dragon¡¯s farm animal. As far as Sam was aware from his other memories though, a dragon spurned civilization, living in a cave, accosting men and elves, stealing whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. From that standpoint, Tyranus was a freakish aberration.


    Sam imagined the dragon donning an enormous straw hat and chewing a fifteen foot stalk of bamboo while watching humans breed. It was a ridiculous image, but possibly not too far from the truth. There were a few ways to shed more light on Sam¡¯s suspicions, though.


    ¡°Can I visit my children, once we¡¯re done? Sam asked.


    ¡°You have children?¡± Maria said, her interest piqued, causing her to turn and stare at him mid-spiel about Tyranus¡¯s greatness.


    ¡°Yes Ma¡¯am, I haven¡¯t been back home in days, and I¡¯m worried sick about them.¡± Sam said, furrowing his brow and pouting in his best display of parental concern. It probably wasn¡¯t convincing, as Sam hadn¡¯t had a lot of time to practice it, but Maria was blinded by mention of his progeny.


    ¡°Of course, tell us where they are, and we¡¯ll fetch them for you. They can share your accomodations. In fact, if any children you have share your¡­ aptitude, you¡¯ll be well-rewarded, and they¡¯ll be cared for the rest of their lives.¡± Yep. Livestock.


    What Maria failed to mention was that if any of Sam¡¯s children didn¡¯t share his aptitude, they would most likely die of a fever in a matter of days, sharing a room with him in this chimney that essentially baked magicians. Or smoked them like jerky, Sam supposed.


    ¡°As Headmistress of The Tower of Blessing, it¡¯s one of my duties to see that the families of initiates are well-cared for.¡± So they can make more initiates, Sam added in his mind.


    ¡°Nevermind Maria,¡± Sam said. ¡°I¡¯ve heard enough.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Maria asked, confusion and a hint of irritation written on her face. ¡°How do you know my name?¡±


    ¡°My name¡¯s Sam. We¡¯ve met.¡± At that, Sam dropped the illusion. Sam had lost a lot of muscle mass, starved and strapped to the back of the horse, but Maria¡¯s eye widened in alarm. Sam was honored. After all, he¡¯d left an impression.


    She inhaled, and Sam slapped a hand over her mouth. ¡°I think you should know by now, Maria, that what I said about being a relic of humanity was true, given how badly I injured your god. I¡¯m a warrior created by ancient Man to safeguard and enforce the interests of the rich and powerful. If you¡¯re as zealous about the cause of humanity as you sound, then you should listen to what I have to say. Can you do that?¡±


    Maria¡¯s eyes narrowed, but she made no motion to attack him, so Sam gingerly removed his palm from her mouth. ¡°You did no such thing, Thief. Our lord was wounded in battle, defeating a demon. A fragment of a rival god.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you saw that fight with your own two eyes.¡± Sam said, his mood turning sour. Of course Tyranus wouldn¡¯t admit that a human had nearly killed him. Better to describe it as a titanic struggle that mortals had no hope of interceding with or affecting the outcome of.


    ¡°As the most powerful of my lord¡¯s healers, I had the honor of being called upon to aid in his recovery.¡± Mariah said, trying to look down her nose at him. It was hard to do, given his height. ¡°His wounds were not something a mortal could inflict.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah?¡± Sam asked. ¡°Did you find any metal in his shoulder? Wood shards in his jaw? Maybe of the same kind as the rods I stole from your room?¡±


    Maria blanched. ¡°How did you know that?¡± she asked, her voice low.


    ¡°Because I was there!¡± Sam said. ¡°That was your rod, I did wound your god, and he¡¯s not a god, and he certainly doesn¡¯t have human¡¯s best interests at heart!¡±


    ¡°Watch your tone, Infidel! You know nothing!¡±


    Sam grabbed her shoulders and stared into Maria¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m only going to ask you once. If your god¡¯s interests ran counter to that of humanity, if he intended to sacrifice you all to serve his selfish ambitions, would you side with him, or with humanity?¡±


    ¡°Surely I cannot comprehend his will-¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s not a complicated question!¡±


    Mariah¡¯s jaw set in stone, and her eyes turned cold. ¡°I will always serve my lord.¡±


    ¡°I guess I¡¯ve got my answer,¡± Sam said, stepping back from her and turning away, his peg leg clacking against the stone floor. ¡°I¡¯m leaving.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to strike me down?¡± Maria asked.


    ¡°Are you going to make me?¡± Sam asked, glancing over his shoulder with a raised brow.


    Maria chewed her lip in thought.


    ¡°¡­If you truly seek to aid Man, then your path will eventually lead you to ally with Tyranus. You simply need to be educated with the proper belief I will wait until such a time as you come to your senses.¡±


    ¡°Because you don¡¯t think I can hurt him?¡± Sam asked. ¡°Do yourself a favor and pretend I knocked you out and escaped again, your dragon god isn¡¯t a particularly forgiving sort. I¡¯d do it myself, but I¡¯m not in the mood.¡±


    Sam chuckled, turning forward and clomping down the hall, intent on the vault.


    The vault was a massive steel door behind a modest desk attached to an iron cage. Sam snagged a piece of paper from a nearby shelf while the clerk wasn¡¯t looking and clomped forward. When Sam drew close, the sound of his wooden peg drew the clerk¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Why are you naked?¡±


    ¡°Long story. Guy back in receiving told me to give you this.¡± Sam said, giving the man the paper, an illusion cast on it duplicating the receipt written for Sam¡¯s capture. Sam considering modifying the details, but he truly had no idea what kind of stuff was in the vault, and if he made a note asking for something that wasn¡¯t there, or that he couldn¡¯t have, he would be inspected more critically.


    ¡°Oh, wow, looks like you got lucky,¡± he said, his eyes widening at the amount written on the receipt. After a moment inspecting it, he nodded and went back to the vault, returning with a wooden crate on a trolley.


    It seemed as though Dave and his men hadn¡¯t finished with the clerk yet, eager as he was to get their story, otherwise, the man would have made a bigger deal out of the same exact payout twice in one day. The clerk pried the top off in front of Sam, and his eyes were struck by the gleam of gold bars.


    ¡°There¡¯s your reward, two hundred pounds of gold.¡± The clerk said, his gaze lingering on the gold for a moment before he snapped to attention. ¡°Would you like a trolley or cart to take them out of the tower or perhaps exchange a certain amount of your prize for land and a noble title?¡± The clerk pulled out a pad of papers detailing plots of land and their value, sliding it across the desk toward him.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Heath.¡±


    ¡°Well Heath, where I¡¯m going, two hundred pounds of gold is going to do me a lot more harm than good, what I really need is a way to protect myself. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you can buy plenty of gear in town, you¡¯re a rich man now!¡± Heath said with a friendly smile.


    ¡°How would you like to be rich, Heath? Sam asked.


    ¡°Well, of course I¡¯d like it, but what does that all have to do with each other?¡± The young man¡¯s smile faltered, and his brows furrowed.


    Sam put a finger on his temple. ¡°Look, I¡¯m just gonna spell it out for you, kid. I want to buy magical shit from you, using this two hundred pounds of gold. You make the things turn up missing, or checked out by a friend who you bribe, I give you the gold to do that with, and you end up rich.¡±


    Sam was thinking of the two rods he¡¯d stole from Maria last time. If there were more kept anywhere, they would most likely be in the vault.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    ¡°Give me one of the bars.¡± Sam said. The young man handed him one of the bars through the opening above his desk, about ten pound of gold.


    ¡°Look, get me two things to increase my survivability, and you keep everything in that crate. Take it home. It¡¯s yours.¡±


    He looked at the gold, practically drooling, his eyes unfocused. ¡°Survivability¡­ yeah, um¡­ yeah, I can get something for that.¡± The kid jogged back into the vault and came back with a golden amulet and a beetle-eaten staff with intricate patterns worn into its wood.


    ¡°These aren¡¯t popular with journymen and masters, because they don¡¯t focus Tyranus¡¯s power, aid in it¡¯s recovery, or have a spell enchanted, but the amulet draws from the bearer¡¯s Wellspring to make the man¡¯s skin more sturdy, and the staff¡­¡± The clerk tapped the staff against the deck, and a small thunderclap sounded. ¡°Hits harder than it seems.¡±


    ¡°And these are the least likely to be missed?¡± Sam asked, and the young man nodded. ¡°Then they¡¯re perfect.¡± Sam donned the necklace and took the staff. It felt light as air in his hands, especially compared to the ironwood crook Linquala had made for him, but he was thankful for a walking stick to shore up his clumsy gait.


    ¡°Heath, there wouldn¡¯t happen to be any magical prosthetic feet in there?¡± The clerk shook his head. ¡°Didn¡¯t think so.¡± Sam turned to leave.


    ¡°Just a second,¡± The clerk called after him. ¡°The amulet has a very low rate of consumption given the simple enchantment worked into it, but an average person can only wear that amulet for twelve hours in a day, after that, the amulet will lower in effectiveness, and they will begin to feel extremely fatigued.¡±


    ¡°Not a problem.¡± Sam said.


    ¡°The staff on the other hand is demanding. Don¡¯t empower a strike more than three times in a day or you may collapse. And if you died because of that, it would certainly defeat the point.¡±


    ¡°All that¡¯s for an average person?¡± Sam asked.


    Heath nodded.


    ¡°Thanks for the warning.¡± Sam said, signing the visitor log while Heath took the crate of gold to the vault, presumably to squirrel it away for after his shift was over. S4MDS 0003 Sam signed the paper before turning and clomping away.


    Sam left the room and came face to face with Dave and the half dozen men who¡¯d followed him into the tower.


    ¡°Dave, just the guy I wanted to see.¡±


    ¡°What the hell are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°Just picked up the reward for putting up with your dumb asses for two weeks, two hundred pounds of gold, signed one Darrin Greenwater.¡± Sam said, leaning on the staff.


    Dave pulled the receipt out of his vest and glanced at it. The old man was quick.


    ¡°You bastard, what did you do?¡± Dave shouted, while the rest of his men glanced at each other, brows furrowed in confusion. Dave¡¯s hand snaked down to the handle on his waist and Sam spotted the moment to act.


    With a flick of his wrist, Sam tapped the beetle-ridden wood against Dave¡¯s hand. Lightly, Lightly¡­ with a concussive blast, Dave¡¯s hand crumpled, the sword handle bent, jammed into his hip, which gave out under the force. The old man was slammed to the ground, shaking in breathless pain.


    ¡°At no point during our trip did you ever have control of the situation,¡± Sam said, watching Dave struggle to stand. ¡°Since I was headed to this tower anyway, I figured the reward for my capture was something I earned by virtue of allowing you to capture me. Besides, you¡¯re murdering thieves and the power behind this city is worse, so I figured what the hell, I can certainly use the gold better than either of you.¡±


    Sam glanced up at the six men in the hall, and leveled the staff at the breast of one who seemed to be inching forward. ¡°If the six of you like being able to move your arms and legs, I suggest you move aside.¡±


    Dave¡¯s six minions looked down at their boss, who was still trying to stand, his hip unable to bear his weight, then they flattened themselves against the far side of the hall. Sam walked past them, watching his back with his floating eye in case someone got brave. Sam¡¯s clomping gait echoed down the hall, and not a single one of Dave¡¯s men tried anything. Sam dismissed the eye when he turned the corner.


    Sam stepped out into the street, past two startled guards, and took a deep breath, gold bar in one hand and staff in the other, and not a scrap of clothing between them. Sam hefted the bar. It was time to find a tailor.


    Despite hundreds of double takes and whispered comments, Sam was never stopped, and within an hour, finally had some clothes. Sam walked out the gate of the city before nightfall, turning west toward the location of the Factory, embroidered green and black silk robes billowing in the warm wind. At least it wasn¡¯t a toga made from a bedsheet.


    At walking speed, the factory was three days away.

 Chapter 28: Plastic Surgery

    Billy took stock of his condition, the first time he¡¯d been able to stand to view the mirror since he¡¯d been brought back to his den to be healed. The dragon in the house-sized mirror sported a wicked scar along the left side of his face, where his jaw had been reattached. On his shoulder was a patch of oddly shaped scales, where the shrapnel from the RPG had been dug out. All in all, it made him look absolutely ferocious.


    ¡°Damnit!¡± Billy shouted, turning away from the mirror and destroying it with a swing of his tail. Ferocious was not what Billy wanted. Billy wanted Perfect. What better symbol of a living god than the beautiful form of an adult red dragon? Now, though, he looked as though he had suffered wounds.


    Wounds were nothing more than tangible symbols that someone else had laid hands upon you. They said someone else out there was in the same ballpark. That you could have equals. Then it spawned the niggling thought. Maybe Tyranus wasn¡¯t a god.


    It was an easy fix. An easy fix, but an annoying one. In order to reshape his flesh as it had been before the toy soldier had assaulted him in his capital, Billy would have to consume most of the energy in his Yuenan, which would take an extra fifty years to refill. And that meant his next Molt would be put on hold. It was like someone was jostling his arm when he was trying to build a castle out of cards. It was infuriating. Wait fifty years, and who knew how many more things would show up and jostle his arm? He¡¯d already been delayed twice in the last two hundred years alone. It was maddening.


    Billy wanted to hurt something. He paced his cave, digging his claws into the stone like soft cheese, resisting the urge to hurt his own incompetent minions. One of the lessons Professor Clement had tried to teach Billy had been to value his toys. When he broke them, they were gone forever.


    Billy glanced at the S4M unit that stood stuffed in the corner of the den, the VAMPR hung above it. A trophy, no good for venting. Besides, you didn¡¯t win that fight.


    Billy roared and leapt on the taxidermied man, tearing it to tiny little pieces. The demon had hardly even been a backup plan. Billy had subdued him, then intended to give him the last blow on the toy soldier in private so the immortal pain in the ass could be out of his scales. When Billy had lost consciousness, the demon had broken free and finished its mission, allowing it to return to its home plane, inadvertently saving Billy in the process.


    He¡¯d gotten lucky. The dimensional lock on his body, that he used to prevent wizard cabals from summoning him into a collapsing cave or a dragon-shaped iron maiden, had worked. The VAMPR worked on technology based on the spatial distortion of summoning and banishing magic, which meant, when the VAMPR tried to summon a chunk of his flesh out of his body, it was unable to. That stupid monkey had him dead to rights, Twice.


    Billy briefly considered bringing the S4M unit back to life so that he¡¯d have something to torture. No, that would be stupid. Billy could think of a million ways that could turn out poorly, and why would he want to spend so much power from his Yuenan just to bring a headache back into the world. Perhaps he could find someone else who looked similar and torture them.


    Perhaps he could make it a sacred position. A holy squeezy toy for Billy to vent his frustrations. It would have to be someone quite sturdy and well versed in healing magic. That sounded like a fine idea. Billy spat out shreds of dark skin and stuffing, and shards of one of the mannaquin¡¯s glass eyes before lumbering to his bed and collapsing on the soft gold. There Billy lay, stewing.


    ¡°My lord Tyranus?¡± Thomas called. Billy turned his head and engulfed Thomas in a wave of fire, leaving nothing of his butler but a smudge on the stone floor.


    Shit.


    Now the floor was covered in black scorch marks.


    Billy huffed a blast of fiery irritation and lowered his head back down. Might as well start reforming his flesh as soon as possible. Better to have his divinity unquestioned than rush the Molt. Billy closed his eyes and entered the trance state, using highly disciplined magic to slough off his wounded flesh and replace it with conjured dragonflesh created from pure energy. Healing always left scars, ergo this wasn¡¯t healing, it was the most difficult discipline applied in the most difficult way: genesis.


    Two days later Billy stood and fixed the mirror with a wave of his clawed hand.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Not bad. Billy had fixed the things that needed fixing, and even done a little cosmetic work. A more noble brow and snout, the ferocity subtly softened in favor of more intelligent, worshipable features. It only followed that if Billy was going to spend the time and effort to modify himself, that he take full advantage of it.


    You look like a girl.


    Billy resolved to change his appearance back as soon as possible. No amount of boost in human zealotry was worth forsaking his appearance.


    ¡°My lord Tyranus,¡± Billy heard a human call from the servant¡¯s entrance. He glanced over. It wasn¡¯t like humans would be able to see his shame immediately. The woman dropped to her knees at the sight of her god, tears springing to her eyes.


    ¡°My lord, what majesty¡­¡±


    Maybe he would keep it, after all.


    ¡°Maria, what is the reason for your presence here?¡± Billy asked.


    Maria roused herself and spoke. ¡°I¡¯ve come to ask your opinion on the fugitive who attacked me and stole from the Tower¡¯s vault.¡±


    Billy snorted. ¡°Just kill him, Don¡¯t bother me with such trivial things.¡± Billy looked away and returned to his own thoughts. A few minutes later, Billy noticed Maria still kneeling in the entrance. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°After Thomas didn¡¯t return from delivering news of him, we tried sending a squad of horsemen after him. They haven¡¯t returned. The man is very dark of skin,¡±


    No¡­


    ¡°About seven feet tall, with a  peg leg and an odd accent.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Billy asked. Why would he have a peg leg? Maybe it wasn¡¯t the toy soldier. Tyranus glanced over to the shredded taxidermy below the VAMPR. ¡°Did he give a name?¡±


    ¡°He called himself Sam, my lord.¡± Maria said, bowing her head.


    It could be any Sam, there were thousands of Sam¡¯s out there, maybe even a few seven foot tall black ones.


    ¡°He signed the logbook in the vault, though, and left a string of indescipherable characters.¡± Maria said, pulling a sheet of paper out of her robe.


    Wordlessly, Billy reached out and snatched the paper from her hand with finely controlled telekinesis. Billy scanned through the names until he landed on the one in question: S4MDS 0003, written in fine, controlled print.


    Goddamnit, it¡¯s the toy soldier. Billy bent his powerful mind to deciphering the serial number. The S4M unit¡¯s serial numbers were simply determined by what state they were sold to and in what order. There was no state with the abbreviation DS. The second part, the number, was easy to guess. It was the third S4M to cross paths with him since the fall of man. It also meant that this particular Sam had inherited the memories of the previous ones, enough to call himself the third.


    Wait. There were plenty of other S4M units, the serial number only had meaning to Billy, which meant the DS at the end was related to Billy as well. Dragon Slayer. Billy burned the paper in his hand and crushed the ashes. S4M dragon slayer number three out of a possible ten thousand. It was a warning. The Toy soldier was telling him that he would keep coming, again and again, until one of them got lucky.


    ¡°Which way did he go?¡± Billy asked.


    ¡°He followed the walls of the city for a time, then turned west.¡± To the Factory.


    Billy smiled at the arrogance of this toy soldier. It hadn¡¯t taken Billy long to figure out that the snapped leyline had been his little friend leaving his underground facility for the first time. The leyline had grown up around him, and like removing a fuse, The toy soldier¡¯s absence had caused that leyline to collapse, with a terrific backlash to the surrounding countryside.


    The facility that was pumping these clones out was just Southeast of First Word. In other words, smack dab in the middle of the forest between the two nations. The toy soldier was going for Billy¡¯s elves, but he could go for Sam¡¯s source of immortality, like trading a rook for a queen.


    ¡°How long ago did he leave?¡±


    ¡°Over two days, my lord.¡±


    ¡°Tell every available member of the Force of God and regular standing armies to assemble outside the city. I want his triumphant return met with a wall of flame that spans the horizon.¡±


    ¡°As you wish, my lord.¡± Maria said, bowing and leaving.


    In war, you did not blindly chase after your enemy, only reacting to their actions. A journeyman would force the enemy¡¯s hand, trained to do things that constantly put them at a disadvantage. A master would do that while cramming as many meaningful actions into a single move as Dragonfully possible.


    Get the elves back, destroy the toy soldier¡¯s immortality, level the forest separating his armies from the elven citadel of First Word, and most importantly, kill that motherless son of a general¡¯s wet dream. And if Mississippi came and took over a few cities and raped and killed their people while he was gone, well; the persecution complex of the christian faiths wasn¡¯t achieved in a day.


    ***


    Maria walked out of the cavern, her heart fluttering. The magnificence she had the honor of laying her hands upon a few weeks ago had become something divine, moving with such power and surety of purpose that she had become weak at the knees.


    And his face. Her lord had emerged from the life-threatening battle as if from a crysalis, more beautiful and splendid than before. Maria had no doubts about his divinity now. If that were the case though, why did she not tell him about Sam¡¯s Wellspring? The man that had held the Wellspring device showed such a powerful connection to her lord¡¯s font of power that Tyranus surely must be aware of it. That had to be the case.


    Maria nodded to herself, burying her uncertainty beneath the assertion that Sam was simply an unknowing part in her lord¡¯s grand design. In the meantime, she had to put out the word to the officers of both the standing military and the Force of god, every member a recipient of the Blessing of Tyranus. Her lord¡¯s hour was coming, and Sam was playing his part.

 Chapter 29: Supersoldier Walks into a Wall

    Step clomp, step clomp. Sam clomped along, forcing wind through a harmonica he¡¯d found on one of the soldier¡¯s waists. The instrument hung in midair while Sam controlled the melody with an idle thought. Maybe they were getting home by now. Sam had knocked each of them off their horses with just a little push from his staff, then disabled them and tied them up. Easy as pie.


    The more jaded Sams argued that letting the soldiers sent to ride him down live was a stupid, stupid move, and that they would inform Tyranus about exactly what he could do as soon as they got back to the city. Sam knew they were right, but he didn¡¯t have the heart to kill people yet. Not when he didn¡¯t have to. That was what Sam¡¯s effort mastering the art of magic was focused toward: more options.


    Sam focused, and the harmonica warbled a discordant tune, losing precision as he summoned a ball of crackling energy, holding it out in front of himself. This was the most basic, reliable spell in a wizard¡¯s arsenal: the Jyin Suata. It had been reinvented in multiple places, across multiple times. Against a normal human or animal with no defenses, it was a sure way to take them down. It never missed.


    The reason for that was when you cast the spell, the target and the sphere essentially had the magical equivalent of a taut rubber band between the two of them. The sphere could only move closer to its target.


    Sam held his hand close to the ball, feeling the energy raising the hairs on the back of his hand. It wasn¡¯t quite heat that Sam felt emanating from the sphere, it was potential. Of course, when it struck its target, most of that potential would be released as heat.


    From what other Sams had read and seen, there were countless ways to tinker with the spell, and it all basically came down to changing the way the energy expressed itself on contact with its intended target. This particular one was an idea Sam had, being more familiar with guns. Sam released the sphere, and it shot through the air, landing in the grass about fifteen feet away.


    An explosive sound echoed across the plains, and the trapdoor spider¡¯s legs erupted from the ground flinging chunks of grassy dirt everywhere as they thrashed, before becoming still. This particular version of the spell sucked all the energy in the sphere into a small point on contact and then shot it forward as kinetic force with pinpoint accuracy in the exact direction the sphere had been moving when it made contact. In short, it blasted a hole in whatever it hit.


    If Maria had shot something like this at Sam the last time, he¡¯d have had a hole in his chest about the size of a half dollar, or a Sanctuary silver piece. There were more deadly ways to express energy than a puff of heat.


    Still, the cast time was slow, and without using his hands, he could only do one of them at a time, but he¡¯d be damned if he used his hands for any spells. It made it easier, sure, but sooner or later someone was going to tie him up and gag him, again. When that happened, Sam was going to surprise the ever-loving shit out of them.


    As soon as Sam could play the harmonica and fire the Jyin Suata without missing a beat, he could try adding a second blast. As it stood though, Sam could only fire off five of them in a short time before he became exhausted.


    Between the amulet slowing the recovery of his Yuenan and saving a bit of power in case of emergency, Sam was only able to form one Jyin Suata each hour. Sam glanced at the mountains jutting into the sky in the distance. They had been gradually growing larger over the last three days. The steep valley between the two mountains where the factory was located was becoming visible and Sam figured he would be upon the factory by tomorrow, easily.


    Yet Sam didn¡¯t see any evidence of its existence. Sam would have expected a road or at least a trail leading to and from the factory, to supply its raw ingredients. Or smoke on the horizon from the engines, coal fires, or just cooking stoves of the thousands of men and elves that had to be living there. But there was nothing.


    It could be hidden behind an illusion. A trick Theold had used when Sam had been hunting him was something akin to a mirage, making the origin of camp smoke invisible from further away than fifty feet. Bending light a little wasn¡¯t too hard, you didn¡¯t have to create a miniature black hole or anything like that, simply dicking around with air density was plenty.


    Any place this secret must have guards, though. If he kept getting closer to the place on Faera¡¯s map, he¡¯d either spot the guards, or they¡¯d spot him. As long as they didn¡¯t defend the place with artillery, Sam had a pretty good shot at making it inside alive.


    When the sun went down, Sam rested in a depression in the sparse forest that spread out from the twin mountains like a receding hairline. With a bank of soil and a fallen pine between himself and the valley, Sam risked making a small fire, and warmed himself in front of it while considering his approach.


    He could go straight in the valley and probably get attacked on sight, or he could expend the effort of climbing a mountain with a peg leg in an attempt to catch them by surprise. Sam poked the fire with a stick, considering the pros and cons.


    Yeah, going straight in would be easier. Sam chuckled at how telling it was for him to think fighting armed men was easier than climbing a mountain and then fighting armed men, albeit with the element of surprise. From what Sam had seen, he was pretty surprising already.


    Sam spent the evening in meditation, working on his Isayatta by adding a ring, bringing the siphon closer to the source of his yuenan. In the pitch black inner world, the brightly burning Yuenan illuminated a dull red siphon in the distance, looking a bit like an Aztec pyramid, with a pale green light shining at the top. A steady flow of power was drawn into the bottom of the pyramid, like steam rising from the surface of water drawn into a vacuum. The dull red pyramid was the protection amulet¡¯s manifestation.


    That gave rise to some interesting questions. The amulet¡¯s siphon took up a sizeable chunk of space around Sam¡¯s Yuenan, did that mean there was a tangible limit to the number of things he could wear at any given time? Sam set that question aside as one to figure out at a later time, finishing his work of adding a ring to his Isayatta.


    Sam sat on the edge of the glowing gold construction, dangling his feet over the ledge as he watched the burning ball of magic inside him. Soon Sam would plate the roof and walls of his palace, but for now he was able to enjoy the view. It was starting to come along nicely.


    Once the core of the Isayatta was done, it was traditional to build an actual mansion around it to defend it from attack by other wizards, but that was a skill lost to time. The only people capable of destroying Isayatta were godlike entities still residing in their original world, and a handful of dead wizard refugees whose knowledge had died with them. At least according to Greg¡¯s notes.


    Sam was fairly confident most of Tyranus¡¯s magic was self-taught, but he¡¯d had over five hundred years to get the knack, so who knew what he was capable of? Sam realized that attempting to use magic to beat the dragon was like trying to beat a computer at chess. It wasn¡¯t going to happen.


    To take the analogy further, Sam might be able to distract the computer with a chess game long enough to unplug it and smash the CPU while it was defenseless. Similarly, In order to kill the dragon, he had to cheat. Sam released a soft breath and opened his eyes, letting in the light of the fire. He could do that.


    The next morning Sam walked straight into the valley, breaking into a grin when a towering stone wall blinked into existence about fifty feet in front of him. Atop the wall were two dozen men dressed in gold-embroidered white, with crossbows and grim expressions. In the center of the wall was a man in a red robe.


    Below him was a massive portcullis made from a strange blue-tinted iron. Magical script was scrawled across the iron and the wall. Sam ran it through the memories of elven and magical script other Sams had recorded, and deciphered the light-bending spell, an enchantment that drew strength from the earth to fortify the walls, and a curse targeting anyone who read it. Shit.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Sam¡¯s ears began to ring, and he missed the words of the guy on the Gate.


    ¡°Huh?¡± Sam said, wincing through a headache as the curse took hold.


    ¡°What is your business here?¡± the man in red repeated, his brows furrowing even further. Sam hadn¡¯t believed someone could frown that much, he looked like a Japanese frowny statue. You know the ones. Sam touched a hand to his ear as the pain grew worse. The curse seemed to be making him absent minded, forgetting he was in a deadly situation. Adjust strategy, AKA, lie your ass off.


    ¡°I¡¯m a messenger¡­¡± God damn, the grass looked funny the way it stuck straight out of the ground. Focus, Merchant from where? Add a detail that will make him think twice about offing you. Deal with the curse later. Or maybe just lie down.


    ¡°That you don¡¯t want to kill.¡± Got the job done, I guess.


    ¡°And why is that?¡±


    ¡°¡¯Cuz the one who sent me¡­¡± And that¡¯s all I got. Sam collapsed to the ground, his eyes wide and staring at the perfectly ninety degree grass shoots even as he dived into his Yuenan. Inside the dark space tendrils of sickly green energy were creeping into his consciousness like the roots of a tree, seeking out and draining his Yuenan. In the distance, Sam could hear the words of the man in red.


    ¡°Seems like he was a spy¡­ Cuff him and take him to the hole, and we¡¯ll find out where from.¡±


    Sam didn¡¯t have time to curse internally, as he was busy chopping the digging roots away from where they sustained themselves in his Yuenan, dipping into it like water. Once he was done with that, he¡¯d have to clean up the isayatta, which looked like an abandoned house in the jungle, covered in thick vines.


    Sam¡¯s staring eyes saw himself rise away from the grass, and he felt the hands pulling his arms behind his back, but he was completely absorbed in fighting the curse. Cold steel clicked around his wrists and neck, and Sam felt a tightness just behind his lungs.


    Inside the Yuenan the world darkened, and Sam looked up and away from his task of slashing away the encroaching roots. Above him a dome of steel had formed, scrawled with elvish script that defied being read. The steel completely surrounded Sam and his Yuenan, and to his dismay, he realized that he couldn¡¯t see through his eyes anymore. Am I trapped in here? Sam lowered his head and resumed hacking at the roots of the curse with energy from his Yuenan formed into a brilliantly glowing blade. One thing at a time.


    ¡°It¡¯s happened a few times before, with wizards. Very rarely, when you slap these cuffs on them..¡± Marcus pointed at the silver collar on the dark skinned giant¡¯s neck. ¡°They wind up like that, and there¡¯s no coming back.¡± The giant lay limp in the hole, his eyes open and staring, a line of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth.


    ¡°So what do we do with him?¡± Drake asked, casting a glance toward his red robed superior, who was scratching the leather grip of his sword with his thumbnail.


    ¡°Put him with the other elves. Have them keep him alive. Just because the giant¡¯s a vegetable doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t put him to use.¡±


    Drake nodded, motioning for three other men to help him carry the insensate black-skinned giant with the peg leg and fancy robes toward the pens while Marcus observed, his mind ready in case the giant was faking. Giving the elves something to care for used up their free time, and made them less likely to attempt an escape. In addition to that, Marcus was sure that the giant would be volunteered to spend shifts on the machine in favor of some of the more frail elves, and they would surely be happy for that.


    The question was, where did the giant come from? If the Restraining Cuffs made him a vegetable, he had to be a wizard. All wizards not part of the Force of God were either Infidels from Mississippi, practicing a crude and corrupted from of magic, or they came from elf lands, the source of great evil.


    Marcus had tested the giant¡¯s unconscious body, and found the depth of the man¡¯s wellspring was astonishing. It lay somewhere between a human¡¯s and an elf¡¯s, but closer to an elf¡¯s. If he had been a human with eight or more Molts behind him, would they have been able to take him so easily?


    Marcus decided to believe the giant was a half or quarter from the land of Mississippi, who, aside from his gigantism, had no unusual markers that would indicate elven blood, while maintaining a rather large wellspring. An ideal hybrid.


    If the giant¡¯s mind had survived, Marcus would have been very interested in his origins, but all the man was good for now was powering the machines. Maybe the Tower would show an interest and take him off Marcus¡¯s hands. Marcus decided to add a rather long summary of his observations to his weekly report.


    While Marcus was debating the proper course of action, Drake and his squad lifted the giant out of the pit and hoisted him up on their shoulders.


    ¡°Augh, he¡¯s pissed himself,¡± one of Drake¡¯s men complained, moving his hand and causing them to almost drop their cargo.


    ¡°That¡¯s fine, John, go and wash your hands,¡± Drake said, glancing over at him.


    ¡°Really?¡± John asked, incredulous. The rest of Drake¡¯s men eyed him speculatively, perhaps wondering what they could get away with too.


    ¡°Of course, go wash up¡­ then report to the sanitation officer, and tell him you want to spend the rest of the day knee deep in human excrement. Because you do. Because if I don¡¯t see you giving me a great big smile from a pool of raw sewage when we finish dropping this off, I¡¯m going to give you five lashes and then have you thrown in, now get out of my sight!¡± John fled to the sounds of the rest of his squad¡¯s jeering.


    ¡°Hal, get his legs.¡± Drake said. Hal didn¡¯t hesitate.


    The rest of the trip went smoothly, and the squad marched through the ordered rows of the Force of God housing, into the beaten dirt and steel fencing of the elf encampment. There were no houses, no roofs, the better to keep an eye on all of them at once from the observation towers. There were a few raised areas of earth that the disgusting creatures had made for themselves beneath stretched and oiled animal skins, allowing a handful of their elders a reprieve from the elements.


    Drake liked the midsummer practice of denying tents to the elves. It made it easier for him to study the females as they bathed. It filled him with fury to watch them stand on two legs and run water through their hair as if they were people. The thought made drake tighten his grip on the giant for an instant before he calmed down and focused on his job. Time enough for punishment after the sun went down.


    The man guarding the entrance to the fenced in pen with no less than two hundred elves, waved Drake and his men into the low security pen. Troublemakers and repeat offenders were moved to more well-guarded pens, with extra layers of security. At least these rats could see the sky.


    ¡°Listen up, rats!¡± Drake said as they approached the shaded hill, watching as all but the weakest scurried away from him. Drake gave his men the signal and dumped the giant¡¯s body face down on the side of the hill. The man¡¯s gaudy robe floated up and over, covering his head while exposing his nethers.


    Drake chuckled and shook his head at the disgrace, then his eyes lit on the peg leg. Drake bent and slid the wood club off the man¡¯s stump. Drake couldn¡¯t allow them to have access to weapons. He pointed at the giant with his peg leg before speaking.


    ¡°Take care of this man, we¡¯ll be adding him to the rotation. If he dies anywhere other than in the machine, I¡¯ll have you join him.¡± Drake made eye contact with a gray haired woman who¡¯d refused to budge from the hill, and his rage surged for an instant. How dare she look in a human¡¯s eyes?


    Drake breathed out and calmed himself, his anger mollified somewhat by the elven women dressed in scraps who watched him as though he were a wrathful deity.


    ¡°You,¡± Drake said, picking one out from the crowd. ¡°Come to my cabin after the sun goes down. Don¡¯t make me come find you.¡± The rat began to shiver, making comical groaning noises as it dropped to the ground and began sobbing. Drake chuckled, enjoying the view for a moment before motioning for his men to leave. As one they turned and left, leaving the elves to close in around the fool giant with piss-covered silk robes.


    ¡°What should we do about him?¡± A young elf man said, his ribs visible through the gaping rent in his roughspun clothes.


    ¡°We do what we¡¯re told,¡± The elder elf said before motioning to Haleia. ¡°What we need to focus on is protecting her.¡±


    ¡°How do we do that? The man¡¯s unhinged.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but not unpredictable. Have Haleia switch clothes with Jennei, and brief her.¡±


    The young man looked at his elder, horrified. ¡°You would send her to that monster again?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± She glared at the youngling, itching her missing fingers. ¡°Jennei is the best actress in a thousand years, a natural born spy. She had that man figured out the first night she spent with him, and briefed the other women besides. We haven¡¯t had a girl turn up missing in three months, since she was chosen. Do you think that was a coincidence?¡±


    ¡°No, but¡­¡±


    ¡°But you think we should send Haleia, a girl who couldn¡¯t fake an emotion to save her life, or send no one at all? You know those would both wind up with her dead.¡±


    ¡°But what if he notices the switch?¡±


    The elder snorted. ¡°He can¡¯t tell one of us from another. The man doesn¡¯t even remember who he pointed at, just that they burst into tears, which was what he really wanted.¡±


    Meanwhile three malnourished men flopped the giant over and uncovered his face.


    ¡°Tell Jennei to see if she can find out¡­¡± The elder¡¯s words stilled in her mouth, and she began struggling to stand. When a youngling came to assist her, she swatted them away, while still using their shoulder to get onto her good leg.


    She stumbled closer to the giant and fell to her knees, giving the younglings a fright.


    ¡°Oh, Sam.¡± Ella said, stroking Sam¡¯s cheek with her two remaining fingers. ¡°Where have you been?¡± Ella looked up at the people surrounding them, who stared as though they had seen something beyond their comprehension. The elder was crying.

 Chapter 30: Theyve got History

    ¡°What are you looking at?¡± Ella snapped. ¡°You, go deal with Jennei and Haleia. You two, get this man¡¯s clothes off.¡±


    They stood, their brows furrowed.


    ¡°Now!¡±


    The younglings bent down and slid the robe off, revealing the smooth upper body with heavy scarring around the legs and feet on both sides.


    Ella touched the cuffs on his hands and neck, the mirror image of her own. It was as if they thought Sam was an elf¡­ Ella peeled his eyes open. They were dilated and unresponsive to stimulus. His heartbeat was still steady and strong.


    She knew this wasn¡¯t her Sam. That man was long gone, but sentiment and cold hard calculation met in this instance. If she could wake this S4M unit up, he could lead the charge out of here, missing a foot or not. It definitely wasn¡¯t just because she missed him.


    ¡°Put him in the light,¡± Ella commanded, crawling back to her comfortable spot in the shade. ¡°find a way to get liquids into his stomach, I don¡¯t care how.¡±


    The younglings nodded and set to work, dragging the nearly three hundred pound man out into the light.


    ¡°Keep his air pathways clear, don¡¯t let him choke on his own vomit.¡± Ella called, folding her good leg underneath and letting the stiff one splay out in front of her. Ella sat back and thought, watching the younglings flail around.


    There was only one reason someone would be rendered comatose when the Binding Collar was locked around their neck. That person had been manifesting their consciousness inside their Yuenan when the collar was locked.


    That meant Sam could be revived, but only if the collar was removed in the next few weeks, before his Yuenan flickered out like a candle that had run its course. That also meant that this particular Sam was a wizard. Ella rested her chin on her palm, weighing her options.


    Two weeks since Sam had been trapped inside his Yuenan, and he was starting to get desperate. Sam counted the days by the tremendous shaking that rocked the entire world every twenty-four hours or so. Sam had no idea if it was truly a valid clock. What if it just seemed longer because he had no visible reference for time, and no one to talk to? Valid clock or no, it was counting down to something, as his Yuenan shrunk a little more each time. The glowing orb inside him was smaller, dimmer now, barely lighting up the elven scripted steel trapping him in there.


    After he¡¯d excised the roots of the curse, he¡¯d gone on to attempting to escape the enclosure, but the steel dome around him was in one solid piece, all the way around the burning ball. Sam had formed Nuetta from his Yuenan into a pile driver, trying to force a hardened glowing yellow rod of energy through the steel wall. The rod had evaporated like an icicle on cherry-hot steel, scattered and drawn into the steel, causing the shifting elven script to glow and pulse before disappearing.


    Sam couldn¡¯t even access his implant, which was so invasively buried in his brain that it was akin to saying that he couldn¡¯t access his brain. Sam¡¯s first idea after the pile driver had failed had been to use his Implant¡¯s passive audio-video capture wired into his visual cortex to restablish the ability to see, and maybe use the implant as a relay to control his body like a puppet until he could get the cuffs locking him inside off.


    It seemed, though, that Sam was entirely disconnected from his own brain. How does that work? Sam thought. I can still think and make decisions. I think one of the other Sams has seen something to that effect¡­ the usual flood of memories did not come. That information was stored by his implant, to be accessed when necessary.


    His spirit, if that¡¯s what Sam was right now¡­ had only a faint recollection of memories given to him by his implant. Sam right now knew he was in a bad place with bad people, trapped inside himself by something magical, but the details of why escaped him. Sam could recall waking up in the glass tube, the trip through the plains, the city, and that was it. Only a faint thought shaped his memory of why he had been there in the first place, as though the memories had left a gaping hole that he was able to tell the basic shape of by feeling around the edges.


    Sam set aside what he did and didn¡¯t know and focused on escape. If he got back outside his Yuenan, he would be able to deal with whatever came next.


    The Yuenan and everything in it, including Sam, began to shake violently, like he was in the center of a massive earthquake. The ball of light at the center of his being dimmed and brightened, as though it was a bulb in the middle of a brown-out.


    Sam huddled in his Isayatta, keeping an eye open for wooden bits of the curse that might land in his wellspring and begin siphoning what little power he had left. Sam had formed a thin membrane around the ball of fire to prevent hacked off bits of the curse from taking root. The damn thing was unbelievably resilient, and a single hacked off piece would take root and begin growing again in moments.


    Sam watched with narrowed eyes as his shaking core made the hacked off bits of the curse that he had missed in his last roundup fling themselves around the steel trap, pinging against the rune-covered steel walls. When they finally settled down, Sam floated through the empty space, picking up any branchlike bits of the curse that were illuminated by the dimming light of the Yuenan.


    If these things were destroyed like his own magic whenever they touched the steel walls of the sphere, Sam wouldn¡¯t have to spend so much time making sure that every last piece had been accounted for. As it stood, thousands upon thousands of bits and pieces had been scattered throughout his inner space while he had desperately hacked the roots away from his Yuenan. They were out there even now, resting in the dark, unlit spaces, waiting to take root again. It was a pretty shitty situation, all things considered.


    Sam glared at the wrist sized chunk of wood in his hand, then down at the dim light emanating from his Wellspring. Sam released a wave of pent up frustration, screaming wordlessly and flinging the chunk of wood out into the darkness. There was a ping of steel in the distance, and the wood floated back in front of Sam¡¯s face, unmarred.


    ¡°That¡¯s interesting.¡±


    Sam grabbed the chunk of wood, and floated to the boundary of his consciousness, where the steel wall sat, oppressive and heavy, stretching in all directions.


    Sam summoned a small bar of golden power from his Yuenan, and watched it melt away and be absorbed by the etched steel.


    Sam held the wood against the steel.


    Nothing happened.


    Sam slammed the wood against the steel. Sam knew it wasn¡¯t wood, it was his spirit¡¯s interpretation of the curse, but even though it was nothing more than a thought, the wood slammed against the steel dome all the same, causing a ringing sound to spread through the dark space.


    Sam¡¯s gaze fell on the netted bundle of curse fragments he¡¯d gone through the effort of securing in one space so they weren¡¯t floating free. There weren¡¯t enough large pieces to create anything, and besides, the wood was nowhere near as hard as the steel, it would simply shatter¡­ Unless¡­


    Sam glanced at the dim light of his Yuenan. That might work.


    ¡°And I¡¯m telling you, they weren¡¯t meant to come off!¡± Jennei said, glaring at Ella. ¡°I had to spend three nights with that disgusting man, at great personal risk to myself, just to get you the information that, yes, we are in fact totally screwed. They won¡¯t come off until the person wearing it suffers from complete brain death, typically about ten minutes after the person in question shits themselves.¡±If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°I see,¡± Ella said, looking down at Sam¡¯s gaunt figure. He¡¯d been steadily losing weight since he¡¯d arrived, but they¡¯d managed to keep him alive with sunlight and thin broth. Ella hadn¡¯t been able to shield him from being sent to the machine to be drained, not without revealing who he was to the rest of the camp, elves and humans alike. There were elders in the other pens who would gladly end him themselves, damn the consequences.


    Ella knew it was a long shot, and that she should give up hope, but something in her wanted to see that Sam again, despite all that had happened between then and now. In a life of misery that had grown so long that the misery seemed to be the way life was meant to be, a cherished figure from her past had shined a light on everything wrong with the world, and the demons of her world stood out in sharp contrast rather than slink about in the shadows. Ella felt like she was losing her mind.


    She felt this way, and while she knew it meant nothing, she felt that only talking to him again would bring some closure to her life. He wasn¡¯t her Sam, but she felt the need to tell him everything, ask questions he had no answers to, and gain some kind of closure. It was a pipe dream.


    ¡°He recognizes me now!¡± Jennei continued her tirade. ¡°And worse, other officers recognize me too! You can say goodbye to getting intel or smuggling things between the pens, because now they all say, ¡®hey, it¡¯s Drake¡¯s pet rat¡¯!¡±


    ¡°I hear you,¡± Ella said, tearing her eyes away from Sam and fixing the younger elf with a fierce glare. She was being very loud in the middle of a camp under constant surveillance. Ella was under the impression Jennei was more in control of her emotions than this.


    ¡°I hope he was worth it.¡±


    ¡°He would have been,¡± Ella said, stroking Sam¡¯s cheek. ¡°He would have torn this place apart like a stick fort built by children, and lead us to freedom.¡±


    ¡°So what do I do now?¡± Jennei asked, her arms crossed below her breasts.


    ¡°We¡¯ll arrange for you to ¡®die¡¯ next time a young woman is exhausted in the machine, we have enough gasoline to mar their face if the damage isn¡¯t severe enough. After that you can escape through the tunnel in Kehalar¡¯s pit. With luck you¡¯ll be in first Word in a month.¡±


    A red robe stepped into the periphery of Ella¡¯s vision. ¡°Please, continue. Who is this Kehalar fellow?¡± Marcus, the leader of the compound stood in front of Ella, rocking on his heels, grinning wickedly.


    Ella¡¯s gaze travelled to Jennei, who cast her eyes down, then back to Marcus. ¡°So It¡¯s come to this.¡± Ella said with a sigh.


    It was understood that Jennei was too valuable to lose, and if discovered, she would turn in an elder and worm her way deeper into the graces of the human¡¯s running the camp, until she was either able to escape or find some fatal flaw that could get them all out. Now Ella had some acting to do. Although she was nowhere near as convincing as their dear spy, she had no need to be, the man was blinded by his triumph.


    ¡°I do not know this Kehalar,¡± Ella said, shaking her head and passing her disfigured hand in front of her chest. ¡°perhaps someone from another camp?¡±


    Marcus leaned down and grabbed the old woman by her neck. She didn¡¯t need to fake a pained yelp as her bad leg was twisted and bent. She desperately put her good foot under her as the sorcerer glared into her eyes.


    ¡° You¡¯re not fooling me, old rat. You die tonight, along with Kehalar. Now you just need to decide how many other rats are going to join you dancing on the gallows tonight.¡± Marcus studied her head to toe at arm¡¯s length.


    ¡°Although I¡¯m not sure you¡¯ve got enough meat on your bones to snap your neck, scrawny as it is. You¡¯ll probably just choke to death, all of you.¡±


    ¡°Kehalar¡­ is the sanitation officer¡¯s assistant¡­¡± Ella said, giving them the name of the man who¡¯d become a petty tyrant lapdog of an officer. One old woman weighed against one man who wouldn¡¯t spit to save his species. At least they were getting some good out of her death.


    ¡°That¡¯s a lie,¡± Jennei said. ¡°Kehalar is post digger on the north side of the camp. The tunnel is below a crooked fencepost.


    Ella began to struggle sincerely. Jennei had betrayed them! ¡°No!¡± she shouted, trying to free herself from the sorcerer¡¯s iron grip. ¡°Jennei! You can¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Jennei said, her eyes downcast. ¡°He has my husband.¡±


    Ella snarled and scratched with her few remaining fingers, flailed lamely, trying to get at Jennei. If it was an act, Ella was convinced. If it wasn¡¯t, it meant the leadership of the camp was about to be wiped out.


    ¡°Well,¡± Marcus said, glancing over at Jennei. ¡°I don¡¯t think I even need you anymore, old hag.¡± Marcuse began to twist Ella¡¯s neck, overpowering her with one inhumanly strong fist. Ella¡¯s head twisted to the side, and she cast one last look at Sam, wishing she could have shared another moment with him before she died.


    Ella¡¯s eyes widened as she spotted the sickly green branches growing along the surface of Sam¡¯s collar.


    ¡°Wait,¡± she said, her voice a groan through the constricting fist.


    ¡°Wait for what?¡± Marcus asked with a raised brow.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ about.. to have¡­ a bad.. day¡­¡± Ella said, fighting to live even an instant longer, if she could see him again.


    ¡°Oh?¡± Marcus asked ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯ll be around to see it.¡± he squeezed the old woman¡¯s neck again, pushing her spine almost to the breaking point.


    Sam¡¯s eyes flew open, and he gasped in a breath, coughing as the air touched a raw throat and lungs. It was like some asshole had been pissing straight down his throat into his lungs. Sam sat up and hacked out a ball of dust. When his eyes adjusted, Sam was greeted by a strange sight. An old woman dangled from a red-robed man¡¯s grasp, and behind him, a beautiful elf woman watched Sam with wide eyes.


    No time like the present. Sam grabbed the cursed steel around his neck and tugged. The steel crumbled into pieces around the vine-like green shapes that permeated it. Sam did the same with the bands around his wrists.


    ¡°What¡¯d I miss?¡± Sam asked, coughing and attempting to stand before falling to the ground with a yelp. His legs were much weaker than before, and somebody had taken his pegleg.


    ¡°Who the fuck steals a peg leg?¡± Sam asked, leaning against a fencepole as he came to stand on his left foot. His amulet and staff were gone as well. Might as well have never bought them. Although, to be fair, the amulet had saved him from some minor wounds on the way over, so it was a wash.


    He could just get his stuff back after beating the stuffing out of whoever this guy was anyway. The red-robed guy was staring at him, mouth agape. Looked like he¡¯d seen a ghost. Or someone escape the unescapable.


    ¡°Who are you. What are you? How did you remove the Binding Collar?¡±


    Sam wasn¡¯t feeling very generous. He was hungry, tired and weak, naked again, and just got done risking his life getting out of that damn trap. The bastard could wait for his answer. Sam did a Self-Eval. His yuenan was (very slowly) refilling. In maybe twelve hours it would be safe to cast spells again. Sam was down a leg, and the other guy appeared to have superhuman strength, as he held the old woman who had to weigh at least ninety pounds outstretched in front of him with a single hand. Seemed like a fair fight.


    Sam bunched his one good leg under him and leapt at the red-robed man, enjoying the wild look in his eye as Sam sailed through the air toward him. The two impacted, and the old woman tumbled to the ground.


    Sam didn¡¯t bother to scrabble around in the dust for long, kicking, biting and cursing. Sam forced himself into a mounted position and began beating the man mercilessly. The sorcerer tried to ward off his punches with iron-like arms crossed in front of his face, but Sam wrenched them aside as he delivered three vicious punches to the man¡¯s nose, forcing the man¡¯s head to strike the packed dirt beneath him with a meaty thud.


    The sorcerer¡¯s eyes rolled back in his head, and Sam stood, hopping for balance a bit on his one good leg until he could lean against the fence. In the distance, Sam heard shouts and horns blowing, causing Sam to raise his gaze and take in the entire situation. Sam was fenced in, literally.


    Sam was leaning against one of three poles that suspended a stitched, oiled leather skin casting a negligible amount of shade on a small dirt hill. He stood near the center of a bare dirt field surrounded by steel fencing, guarded by dozens of grim looking men with crossbows trained on him.


    Sam realized that they hadn¡¯t shot him yet on account of the scuffle with their boss, but now¡­ Sam fell to the ground as crossbow bolts whizzed over him. in a fraction of a second, Sam scuttled over to the supine form of the red-robed sorcerer. Sam idly thought he might¡¯ve outscuttled the giant spiders of the plains as he grabbed the sorcerer and flung him over his shoulders. Social body armor acquired.


    The pelting of bolts stopped as soon as Sam came close to the sorcerer, and Sam kept him on his back by tying the man¡¯s sleeves together under his chin, wearing him like a backpack. He took a moment to compare the red robe to the one he¡¯d seen in Maria¡¯s room. They had the same material, and similar gold embroidery. There was a good chance he and she had a similar rank, which meant that if Sam hadn¡¯t knocked him out when he did, the man would¡¯ve probably started shooting lightning at him. It also matched Faera¡¯s description of the man in red. Could be the same guy, even.


    ¡°You, drop the commander and lay down on the ground!¡± a man wearing white and gold with extra tassels on his shoulder pads shouted in a furious voice.


    On the dirt behind him, the old woman had raised herself to her elbows.


    ¡°Old lady,¡± Sam whispered. ¡°how many of them are there?¡±


    ¡°Over two hundred. Be careful Sam.¡±


    Sam gave the old woman a second look, and his mind ran though the thousands of elf women he knew... When his mind adjusted for time lost, a face was revealed beneath the age and misery, one that one Sam in particular thought he would never see again.


    ¡°Ella.¡± Sam said, causing the old elf woman to draw in a shuddering gasp. ¡°S4MOK 0349 left a message for you.¡±


    Sam hopped over and knelt beside Ella and grabbed her wrinkled face in his hands, drawing her in for a passionate kiss. Ella sat, stock still, with her eyes wide when Sam pulled away.


    ¡°He¡¯s sorry about what happened to you and your father, he¡¯s glad you¡¯re still alive, and he¡¯s pissed off that he didn¡¯t play things smarter when he had the chance, at least long enough to see you again. Now if you¡¯ll excuse me, I have to go kick some butt.¡±

 Chapter 31: Credulous Bastards

    Sam came to a stand, leaning his weight against one of the poles supporting the tent. With a jerk, He snapped it free, using it to shore up his missing leg.


    Sam narrowed his eyes, taking in his situation. He was naked again, minus a leg. There were men with crossbows on guard towers, men with crossbows on the other side of the fence that surrounded him in every direction. More guards poured in as he swept his gaze across the camp.  He was in deep shit.


    It hadn¡¯t worked for the ungin, but sometimes smarter animals were easier to fool. Sam threw his head back and laughed, putting every ounce of disdain into his voice that he could manage, pulling from the endless well of anger inside him. The guards glanced at each other as the madman cackled. Sam¡¯s laughter winded down, and he swept a tear from his eye as the guards watched him cautiously.


    ¡°You must think quite highly of yourselves, to point your weapons towards one of Tyranus¡¯s chosen!¡± he shouted with a vicious grin.


    ¡°Put the commander down and-¡°


    ¡°SILENCE!¡± Sam boomed, shouting down the guard, who shrank away from him. Can¡¯t let the other guy get a word in edgewise.


    ¡°Do you hopeless fools even know where you are?? Five hundred and fifty-three years ago, Tyranus passed over this very spot, wounded from a battle against the corrupt gods themselves!¡± he shouted. The guard¡¯s crossbows began to dip as they listened to his tale.


    ¡°That very cave!¡± He shouted, pointing behind himself to the mountainside with unerring accuracy. ¡°Was where our lord rested before continuing on his journey to the east. The blood of our lord himself rests on that ground. This holy land has been given to you to manage out of the generosity of his heart, and you spit in his face!¡±


    Some of the men were looking a little nervous now, almost none of the crossbows were aimed at him any longer. Suckers.


    ¡°It was in this very canyon that our god struck down one of the demons of the old elven empire, shrugging off round after round of small arms fire before vanquishing it with teeth and flame!¡±


    Sam clenched his hand tight around the pole supporting him as he searched through the millions of crystal clear memories for any that had anything to do with this canyon. To his surprise, he found more than a few. It looked like this place had some nostalgia for the dragon in its youth.


    The guards were becoming pale, as his story had the air of authenticity. All of these things had happened, although it had been Sam hunting the wyrmling down back then, and the bastard had gotten the drop on him and roasted him alive.


    ¡°Yes, you¡¯re wondering to yourselves how I know all of these things, that you did not! It is because you have been tested. Tested to see if any of you could discern the truth beneath this humble mountainside.¡±


    ¡°And you did not!¡± he shouted, causing the assemblage to flinch away from him. ¡°As an arbiter of Tyranus, it is my duty to enact his will across the land, and he-¡°


    ¡°Prove it!¡± Sam heard a shout from the other side of the fence, quickly echoed by more of the assembled mouth-breathers.


    ¡°proof?¡± Sam demanded. Time to think fast. ¡°PROOF?¡±


    ¡°You dare to question the actions of our god, as if you could question the sun in the sky or the earth beneath your feet?¡±


    ¡°No one here doubts our lord,¡± the lead man said, bearing a sigil of office, slightly smaller than the one on Sam¡¯s back. ¡°We doubt you.¡±


    Sam stood up straight, desperately concealing the grin that threatened to rise to the surface. They were entertaining the possibility that he might be sent by their god. That was halfway to belief. All he had to do was prove that some of the things he said were true, and they¡¯d buy the rest of it.


    Ungin were harder to fool.


    ¡°I see. I can reveal to you the holiness of this place, and its deeper connection with your god. After unclouding your eyes, you wouldn¡¯t dare to doubt your god¡¯s will any further, would you?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡±


    Sam dumped the limp body of the commander off his shoulders as easily as taking off a winter coat, causing him to slump to the ground. Before they could regain their senses and point the crossbows at him again, Sam spoke loudly, that all of them would hear.


    ¡°Take me there, and I will allow the true believers to see what they have been missing about this holy place!¡± he pointed over his shoulder, to the cave where he¡¯d met the dragon for the first time.


    Boldly, without waiting for assent, Sam hop-marched his way to the gate, glanced over his shoulder and sent Ella a wink. The soldiers at the gate were startled out of their inactivity, and opened the iron fence for him, allowing him to hop through unmolested.


    ¡°And someone bring me my leg and clothes, Tyranus damn you!¡±


    In a matter of minutes, Sam lead a procession of fifty guards up the mountainside to where he remembered the cave being.


    Sam clomped up the side of the mountain, glancing at the geographical features, matching them up with image of the last glance he¡¯d thrown over his shoulder before entering the cave five hundred years ago. Right about¡­ here.


    ¡°Here it is!¡± Sam said, pointing at a featureless stand of shrubs and dirt-choked roots.


    ¡°Here what is?¡± Drake asked. Sam had gotten the measure of the cruel lieutenant of the camp director over the last half hour, and if he wasn¡¯t surrounded by fifty armed men, he would¡¯ve snapped the guy¡¯s neck twenty-five minutes ago.


    As it was, he had to pretend to be interested in how great Tyranus¡¯s guidance was, how subhuman and evil the elves were, how good it felt to hurt them.


    ¡°Here, can¡¯t you see?¡± Sam motioned to the gnarled roots and bushes.


    ¡°I see nothing.¡±


    ¡°Lend me a torch.¡± Sam said, holding out a hand. ¡°The cleansing of flame will reveal this holy place.¡± Goddamn, talking like this is exhausting. How do they do it?¡±


    Drake narrowed his eyes and took a torch for himself rather than giving one to Sam. He received a waterskin full of oil from a soldier and sprayed the bush down before lighting it on fire. The oil caught, and the flames leapt upward, transforming the scraggly brush into a pillar of flame.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°If there¡¯s nothing there, we¡¯ll be adding your corpse to the fire.¡± Drake said, his mouth set in a grim line.


    They watched the flames consume the bushes, cracking the root-woven earth with heat. Once the last of the branches had been burned down to the ground, and only patches of flickering fire remained, Drake turned to Sam with a raised brow.


    ¡°Another skin of oil,¡± he said, holding out a hand. Another oilskin was placed in his hand in a matter of seconds.


    ¡°This is why you failed the test,¡± Sam said, shaking his head, carefully keeping the oilskin in his peripheries. Sam sank down to his knees and plunged his fist through the cracked and burned roots. Beyond the first four inches of mud and roots was empty space.


    It appeared that roots had grown to cover the entrance of the cave and trapped mud, to create the image of a solid mountainside.


    Sam grabbed a chunk of the scorched and cracked covering and tore it away, revealing a hole into pitch-blackness about the size of a head. Sam glanced up and met Drake¡¯s frown with a grin before he went back to work tearing earthy chunks away from the cave¡¯s opening.


    In a matter of minutes, Sam had opened up a man-sized hole in the heat-blasted earth.


    ¡°Can I get that torch now?¡± he asked, to which a soldier stepped forward and placed the wooden handle in his hand, not noticing or possibly ignoring Drake¡¯s scowl.


    Sam ducked his head and entered the cave, carefully keeping the torch away from the ceiling. Best not to snuff it out. In the torch-lit cave, Sam saw a thick bowl of dust covering a dead man¡¯s bones. His bones.


    ¡°What is this?¡± Drake breathed, following behind him. ¡°The crypt of some giant?¡±


    ¡°This is where our god fought against one of the elven machine of war, in the flesh of a man.¡± Sam said, trying not to lose his cool and laugh at Drake. The skeleton was massive, true, but it was no bigger than Sam himself. Somehow the zealot was viewing the skeleton through subjective eyes. Probably comparing him to the dragon he¡¯s familiar with.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see any evidence of our lord being here,¡± Drake said with a frown. He looked around the cave, which only went back about fifteen feet into the mountain. ¡°Matter of fact, this cave couldn¡¯t contain his majesty.¡±


    Sam felt like scraping his mouth out as the flattering lies rolled off his tongue. ¡°Even our god was young once.¡± He dipped his hands into the wrist-deep dust and ran his fingers over the cavern floor, until his fingertips caught something smooth.


    Sam pulled a brilliant red scale the size of his palm from the dust, watching drake¡¯s eyes go wide with amazement. Hook, line and sinker.


    Drake put out his shaking hands and Sam placed the scale into his palm. ¡°You see now, what you were missing?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Drake whispered.


    ¡°Not yet you don¡¯t.¡± Sam said, leaning forward toward the skull half-buried in the sand.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°You see the outside. You know that Tyranus was here, but you don¡¯t know..¡±


    Sam punctured the brittle skull with two of his fingers, probing the cranium until he retrieved the Implant, pulling a shiny chip the size of a folded dollar bill, writhing with faintly glowing tendrils.


    ¡°What your god wants you to do.¡±


    ¡°What is that?¡± Drake swallowed and leaned away from the unnatural device.


    ¡°It¡¯s a relic of the old gods, corrupting this ancient battleground. It is an evil thing the ancients used to bind demons to their service. It can only be destroyed by our god himself. I will return it to him.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Drake said, nodding.


    ¡°Do you understand my mission now?¡± Sam asked, staring into the sadist zealot¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°I do.¡± He nodded. ¡±What does Tyranus require of us?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right, round all of them up,¡± Sam said, sipping wine from one of Marcus¡¯s goblets. The director of the camp still hadn¡¯t woken up, and Drake had been generous enough to restore all of Sam¡¯s possessions and provide him with some much-needed nourishment.


    ¡°Tyranus requires their sacrifice to reach the next realm of divinity. When he adds their lives to his own, the flow of power from him will redouble and our people will finally throw off the shackles of oppression.¡± Or some such. Sam took another sip of wine.


    The soldiers were busily shoving the population of the camp into the so-called factory. The Factory itself was a massive construction of steel buried in the mountainside opposite Billy¡¯s little hidey-hole. Sam was going over the memories of the facility. It had been a testing facility, where the eggheads of the past, like professor Carl Simon had studied the elves, trying to unlock their secrets.


    The elves were herded through the narrow corridor, their feet tromping over the metal grates set into the floors. The room that Sam sat and watched them flow into was massive, filled with pristine white paneling, and an empty platform opposite two dozen seats with restraints. The rest of the room was filled with technology from five hundred years ago. There were jeeps, howitzers, radios, all kinds of things that would make Tyranus¡¯s army more effective, stacked against every corner of the building.


    There were no guns, however. It seemed like Billy didn¡¯t want people shooting guns at him. It was unlikely someone would be able to steal a howitzer without the dragon noticing, and even less likely they would be able to hit him with it.


    Not only that, but why would you want your slaves producing guns? That seems like a bad idea. One way or another they¡¯d sneak bits and pieces out until they had a handful of guns to overthrow the camp with.


    Better yet, why would Tyranus want to advance human technology and launch them into the actual industrial revolution? Better to keep them unknowingly reliant on him for every military advantage they had. Normally that would be a problem when the leader died, but the dragon¡¯s life expectancy was greater than most nations. Sam didn¡¯t even know if a dragon could die of old age.


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± He said, glancing at the center of the room. There were matching runes in elvish around the restraining chairs and the empty platform. Looks like they were sucking power from the elves¡¯ Yuenan to fuel a magical reaction that would duplicate whatever was placed on the empty space. That was why his Yuenan had periodically shrank while he was trapped by the collar, he¡¯d been strapped in and drained while he was unconscious.


    Neat. If Sam still had the VAMPR, he¡¯d be able to make some duplicates, and he and the elves could blast their way out of this place. Hell, if he still had the gun, a lot of things would be different.


    He tapped his fingers against his arm, watching the passing elves for Faera and Ella, the only two living elves that he knew besides Theold. When he saw Ella go by, he snaked a hand out and yanked her out of the tide of elves. The guards glanced up at the sudden motion, but when they saw the scowl on Sam¡¯s face, they went back to their business.


    Ella watched him with hesitant eyes, unwilling to place too much hope on one person.


    ¡°I need you to get everyone to calm down and be ready to act. You¡¯re one of their leadership, yeah? That¡¯s what I heard?¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°Good, you¡¯ll know it when you see it, just make sure you¡¯re ready to move.¡±


    ¡°Are you...Are you really Sam?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a lot of people, sweetcheeks.¡± he said, gently pushing her back into the line.


    ¡°Get moving, rats!¡± Sam said in a stage-yell as he winked. ¡°Thank lord Tyranus that your miserable lives end today and you become part of something greater than yourself!¡± The surrounding elves sent him looks of dismay as they walked.


    No matter how long Sam waited, he didn¡¯t see Faera in the crowd steaming past him.


    After half an hour, Sam stood in front of the entire population of the elf camp, walking up and down the assembly from his vantage point atop the duplicating platform. He glanced at the corners, where less than a dozen men stood watch over more than five hundred. Five hundred beaten, malnourished, weak, sickly elves.


    His peg leg sent out a sharp clang on the metal platform as he paced.


    ¡°Some of you might know me as S4M. The scourge, oldest of Tyranus¡¯s followers, blessed with long life through obescience to his great power. If you don¡¯t recognize me, that¡¯s fine, I¡¯ve been beyond the veil working in our lord¡¯s great name the last five hundred years.¡±


    The oldest elves scattered through the assembly showed looks of extreme confusion. They knew who he was, and they knew he was lying. He saw it dawn in their eyes: If he was lying, this entire assembly might be a ruse.


    ¡°You and I have been chosen to be the last sacrifices to honor our glorious god¡­¡± Sam glanced over at Drake, who was hustling up beside him.


    ¡°The doors are locked and barred from the outside.¡± Drake said. ¡°One way or another they¡¯ll-¡°


    Sam punched him in the throat.


    ¡°Thank god that¡¯s over.¡± Sam seized Drake by the neck and tossed him to the ground.


    ¡°I guess that¡¯s the signal,¡± Sam heard Ella¡¯s mutter. He caught a brief glimpse of her shaking her head in the front row before he turned toward the remaining soldiers. Some drew their swords while others simply stared, uncomprehending.

 Chapter 32: Take a hike

    ¡°Ahh!¡±


    Sam¡¯s speed and weight wasn¡¯t as impressive as it might have been before he lost his foot and nearly fifty pounds of muscle, but it was enough to ram three guards against the wall, toppling into a flailing pile of limbs.


    The elves would have to take care of the rest of them by themselves.


    Sam aimed a quick punch at the side of one of the men¡¯s head¡¯s, aiming to take him out of the fight before Sam was overwhelmed. They thrashed, trying to climb to their feet, not really paying attention to the green-robed madman punching at them.


    Sam managed to knock out two while the third got to his feet, drawing his sword. An errant kick from someone sent his peg leg clattering across the steel paneled floor. He lunged up on his knees, and grabbed the squawking man by the shoulders and dragged him back to the floor, silencing him with a good punch.


    ¡°Well?¡± Sam shouted, getting up on his knees and glancing at the stunned rows of elves. There were about six men with swords, three of them bearing down on Sam while the other three watched the assembled elves with murderous intent.


    ¡°Damnit, the hell are you waiting for?¡± Sam said, catching one of the soldier¡¯s wrists as the man brought his sword hurtling toward Sam¡¯s face.


    Sam heard a feminine scream, and glanced past the soldier in front of him as he broke the man¡¯s wrist. Ella was charging the three swordsmen. Alone.


    ¡°Damnit,¡± Sam snarled, watching the lead man draw his sword back, aiming to cut the frail old woman in half. Beside Sam, two more men on his left and right were lining up shots to his neck and ribs, respectively. Fraction of a second.


    Sam tucked his left arm and shoulder into a shield above his neck and extended his right hand, focusing on targeting the man about to kill his ex. A Jyin Suata leapt from Sam¡¯s fingertips and impacted against the sword-swinger¡¯s chest, collapsing into a tight beam of energy and cutting a hole through the man¡¯s ribs about the size of a half-dollar.


    Sam didn¡¯t have time to aim, and he certainly didn¡¯t have time to regret taking a life, as the swinging swords lodged themselves in his arm and ribs. The amulet did its job, and the blades were unable to reach his organs, sending trails of pain across his body.


    And I¡¯m spent. Sam felt his Yuenan hit rock bottom, the energy he¡¯d been scraping together while the elves were being rounded up had been used on that one exchange.


    Sam reached out and grabbed the man on his left and dragged him into the one on his right, the two soldiers barely avoiding skewering each other as they tumbled to the ground.


    Sam stood up on one foot and hopped toward Ella, where she was trying to wrestle a sword away from the dying soldier. Above her, another guard was lining up a stab, aiming at taking the upstart elf¡¯s life.


    ¡°Anytime!¡± Sam shouted, hopping forward at reckless speeds and tackling the man to the ground. The elves startled into action, streaming toward the remaining four men, restraining them through sheer numbers.


    ¡°God¡­.Damn¡­¡± Sam panted as he crawled away from the soldier he was on top of, his weight replaced by dozens of hands restraining the struggling soldier.


    ¡°You all right?¡± Sam asked, glancing over at Ella. She nodded, her maimed hands gripping the handle of the dead soldier¡¯s saber. Sam inspected the youth¡¯s face for a moment. Trying to put himself at peace with what had happened. If he¡¯d spent any longer aiming for a nonlethal spot, Ella might have been killed. Gotta ask Theold about the sleep spell.


    In the distance, a schlick accompanied the scraping of blade against bone sounded, something Sam was far too familiar with. He glanced over and spotted the elves hacking and stabbing Drake¡¯s corpse into an unrecognizable mess while his subordinates were tied up with strips of cloth.


    Sam winced. Drake would have been a good hostage. And that, my friends, is why you treat the prisoners fairly.


    Sam crawled up against the wall and waited, staunching the flow of blood from his wounds. They weren¡¯t bad, all things considered. Sam was busy wrapping strips of the gaudy green cloth around his bloody arm when something occluded his light.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡± Sam glanced up and saw a wizened elf with a white-knuckled grip on his saber. The man¡¯s wrinkled face was twisted into a mask of fury.


    ¡°You killed my father.¡±


    Oh, crap.


    Searching¡­


    Sam dug through his implanted memories, sorting by Sams that had killed elven fathers. The list was longer than he expected.


    ¡°I¡­ Don¡¯t know what you think I¡¯ve done, but that was another S4M unit. I¡¯ve not killed a single person since I was created.¡± Sam glanced at the dead soldier. ¡°Except him, I guess.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care¡­ you¡¯re the same person. Same voice¡­ same smug attitude¡­ I¡¯m going to take you out of circulation before you unleash another genocide.¡±


    ¡°Remind me, where did I kill your father?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°My house! You broke into our house in the middle of the night and you killed him, and you killed my mother. Everyone!¡±


    Adding Female victim, incident took place at night. Narrowing search, 15365 results.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to have to be a bit more specific. What state were you living in at the time? Do you happen to know your street address?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have to listen to this shit!¡± The old man howled, raising the saber. Not good. Sam didn¡¯t have enough juice in his Yuenan to stop a blade again, he was bone dry and exhausted.


    Narrow search by facial features of subject, accent.


    The blade swung back.


    Search complete. A wave of memories, thoughts and behaviors washed over Sam.


    A rat thought he was gonna save the world by killing Sam? All the sniveling worm needed was a little push, and he¡¯d show everyone there that they were descended from the bottom of the barrel¡­ rats from a sinking ship.


    ¡°Are you sure you wanna try that, Jimmy boy?¡± Sam¡¯s voice was cold as steel. The rat recoiled away from him as though he¡¯d been physically struck. Sam exploited the gap to drag himself onto his foot, glowering down at the man.


    ¡°Do you have the balls to risk your life for someone else? Your Daddy Kai¡¯hel did, but from the way I saw you let three armed men nearly kill an old woman, I don¡¯t think you have what it takes. I guess cowardice is a self selecting gene.¡±


    ¡°Do you think¡­¡± Sam flexed his hand in front of the old man. ¡°You can kill me?¡±


    Jimmy dropped the sword and ran, his wispy white hair caught by the wind as he dove through the onlooking crowd of rats. Sam chuckled, keeping his eyes on the old one. He¡¯d have to establish some rules around here to keep them in line.


    If they decided they didn¡¯t like him, there was nothing but fear stopping them from killing him. The first thing he needed to do was get some rest so he could establish the pecking order.


    ¡°What the hell was that?¡± an old rat asked, coming closer without fear. Sam studied her with disgust. She was maimed, missing fingers from both hands, scars covering her face. There wasn¡¯t much he could do to her that life hadn¡¯t done already. She¡¯d probably be thankful if he put her out of her misery-y-y-y


    Sam¡¯s head slumped forward as Sam wrestled control away from S4MMD 0023, one of the bloodiest killers in the S4M clone lineage. Only after he¡¯d shoved the malicious voice deep into the maelstrom of background thoughts was Sam able to lift his head and meet Ella¡¯s gaze. That was bad.


    ¡°That was another me. Don¡¯t worry though, babe. I got it under control.¡±


    If he found himself in the same situation again, he¡¯d just play stupid and find another way to solve the problem. Better than risking losing himself to one of the million S4M units stored in the implant. Up until this point he had viewed the memories as footage, dissected and analyzed them, but allowing them to influence his behavior, even for a bluff, was beyond dangerous.


    ¡°You¡¯re not my Sam, are you?¡± she asked.


    ¡°He¡¯s in here,¡± Sam said, tapping the side of his head with the Implant. ¡°One of the nicer memories too, so I tend to stick with him.¡±


    Ella watched him for a moment, her eyes narrowed, then she let out a sigh. ¡°So what now?¡±


    Sam glanced around. ¡°Everyone should hear this.¡± He straightened and raised his voice. ¡°Listen up!¡±


    The surrounding elves had collected into small knots, talking quietly amongst themselves. At Sam¡¯ s call, a sea of faces turned towards him, expectant. Never thought I¡¯d have to deal with stage fright, Sam thought. Before had been a bluff, but now they actually expected something from him.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to get those cuffs off you all, then we are leaving, understood?¡±


    ¡°Leaving how?¡± a voice called from the back of the crowd.


    ¡°This lab was built in twenty one twenty, and decommissioned ten years later, since making duplicates of equipment was more of novelty than anything. In those ten years, no less than three S4M units served here...¡±


    Sam fitted his peg back on and clomped to a black panel of glass protruding from the wall. He placed his hand on it, and a moment later, the wall slid away with a hiss, revealing a dusty tunnel leading deeper into the mountain.


    ¡°So I know my way around the place.¡±


    ¡°So we¡¯re not going back into the camp?¡±


    ¡°Nope, as far as those asshats know, we¡¯re all being sucked dry in here until nothing¡¯s left, then buried for their stupid god. At least until Marcus wakes up. We want to be gone before then, understood?¡±


    Sam watched the sea of heads nodding.


    ¡°Now line up so I can take those cuffs off.¡±


    They hesitated. Ellanore came to stand in front of him, holding out her wrists.


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t they coming? Sam asked.


    ¡°The cuffs are designed to kill if tampered with.¡± She said as he laid his hand on her wrinkled wrists.¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± Sam said, allowing the curse to work its way into the cuffs. In a matter of seconds, they became brittle, and he bent them carefully away from her wrists and neck.


    Ella let out a gasp of relief and touched her neck with trembling fingers, where the collar had left a permanent scar.


    ¡°Next!¡±


    Sam knew that some of these elves could probably kill him with a gesture or two, once their yuenan refilled. Once that happened, he would no longer be top dog, and that could prove problematic.


    On the other hand, Sam would much rather have a group of five hundred powerful, hard to control magic-users, than five hundred burdensome sheep. Well, if they turned against him, he could always leave them to their own devices. He¡¯d already done right by Faera, wherever she was.


    He released another elf.


    ¡°Next!¡±


    Now they lined up, eager to be free. Even Jimmy, who watched him as if Sam would sprout tentacles and eat him at any second.


    In a matter of hours, they reached the other side of the mountain, pushing their way through the overgrown emergency escape hatch, weighed down by five hundred years of sediment.


    When the elves stepped into the evening sun, they danced and sang. Sam watched, bemused as the emaciated people spun in circles on the side of the mountain. He looked to the east and saw the glimmering edge of a river, heading to the northwest.


    If they followed that river, it might take them into elven territory, a few days later they would get picked up by a patrol and escorted back home. The only problem was, If Billy decided to roast them while they walked along the river. Sam supposed diving into the river would be a good way to avoid being roasted alive.


    It didn¡¯t solve the problem though. The dragon was a problem, the elves were a problem, the empire of Mississippi was a problem. Faera being missing was a problem.


    Sam groaned and rubbed his forehead. One thing at a time. S4M units were unnatural born problem solvers. He¡¯d get the elves to the woods then double back to Hope and look for Faera. That still left him with a dragon problem. He needed a way to kill it.


    Sam frowned, and began thumbing through the memories in his implant, searching for a stockpile of weapons that might still be available¡­


    ¡°Let¡¯s hit the road.¡± Sam said, part of his attention on assimilating memories and searching for weapons caches. ¡°The faster we can get you into the forest, the safer we¡¯ll all be.¡±


    Ella nodded, and they began to follow the river, the elves falling in behind them. A few hesitated, before chasing the safety of the group.


    As they walked, Sam was lost in his own thoughts as he reviewed his memories. Unfortunately, general Mathis was one of the few people capable of living through a Molt. The general had shortly begun a wholesale slaughter of elves, turning himself and his chosen into something like demigods, supplanting the president in a military coup.


    They weren¡¯t immortal though. Sam remembered the day the white light had erupted from the capital building, blinding onlookers as the leadership of the country was engulfed in nuclear fire, along with their secrets.


    It hadn¡¯t been long after that that the downward slide of humanity began in earnest, as the Gates widened, and humans lost control of them in a cascade failure. The country had been so stretched that it burst at the seams, civil war, hunger, and a handful of powerful individuals fighting to seize power for themselves.


    As the time went on, the memory of the S4M units became more and more spotty, as only a handful had survived the collapse of the United States.


    Where had Mathis kept the powerful relics he¡¯d stolen from Greg? Sam searched his memory, trying to match any of the objects he¡¯d seen in his brief glimpse in Greg¡¯s shack. If any other S4M units had seen them, he would know immediately.


    Sadly, no S4M had ever seen them again. That didn¡¯t surprise Sam too badly, after all, the general knew there was a camera in Sam¡¯s brain, and anything he saw might one day be leaked, or used as evidence against him. Until Mathis dissolved the court system.


    Sam decided he would have to use more roundabout methods, uncover the location of the weapons by the process of elimination and circumstantial evidence. He could map out every facility he was ever forbidden from entering, and use patterns of movement from the general that coincided with major events to determine where they had stashed the magical books. This might take a while.


    ¡°What¡¯cha thinking about?¡± Ella said, limping beside him.


    ¡°Know any ways to kill a dragon?¡±


    ¡°That size?¡± she asked. ¡°Howitzer maybe?¡±


    ¡°Long as you don¡¯t miss.¡± Sam grumbled, climbing up the mountainside, his stump aching. He took the weight off with his magic staff, pleased with its strength, despite feeling like balsa wood in his hands.


    ¡°Sam, do you feel like you have to defeat the dragon alone in a heroic explosion of glory?¡±


    A bit. Shoulda ended the little bastard five-hundred and fifty-three years ago. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Good, because that would be stupid.¡± Ella said.


    ¡°How¡¯s that?¡± Sam said, giving her a hand up a particularly large rock. The old woman¡¯s right leg seemed to be unable to support her full weight by itself, so climbing the mountain was hard on her.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got five hundred witnesses. Killing the dragon is as easy as delivering us to First Word. With that amount of certainty, they will be forced into action. Once they¡¯ve been roused into action, they¡¯ll kill Tyranus as a matter of course, before the dragon grows too powerful for anyone to stop.¡±


    Sam heard cries of shock and raised voices among the elves above them on the mountain, just a few dozen yards ahead of them. Sam took Ella¡¯s hand and helped her up the mountainside, picking up the pace. In a few minutes Sam came to the top of the mountain, holding Ellanore¡¯s hand until she no longer needed his support. Hundreds of elves dotted the top of the mountain, gathered in tight knots, speaking to each other in tones that ranged from hushed whispers to simple crying.


    ¡°What are we going to do-¡±


    ¡°-have to run-¡±


    ¡°How are we going to-¡°


    Sam looked out to the northwest, where the forest lay that divided Tyranus¡¯s country from the elves of First Word. All he could make out was a plume of black that stretched as far as the eye could see, and a malevolent, glowing red beneath it as the entire forest burned.


    ¡°Easy as getting you to First Word, huh?¡± Hope Linquala got out of there okay.


    Ellanore¡¯s fists clenched at her side, her scars flushing as she scowled. ¡°This is not right. He can¡¯t do that! Not without setting the entire elven nation against him!¡±


    ¡°I guess he feels like he¡¯s got a shot.¡± Sam said, squinting. ¡°Wish I had a better view.¡± Oh right, magic.


    Sam raised his hands and attempted to form a double lens of compressed air between them, kneading it into shape. The image of the burning forest warped the tiniest fraction, then returned as air escaped Sam¡¯s mental grasp. That wasn¡¯t the right way. Sam tried to delicately spread the force evenly so there would be no gaps in his control, but the lenses failed to form again.


    ¡°Let me.¡± Ella said, waving a hand. The mountaintop suddenly shot forward, until it was resting at the edge of the forest, causing Sam to reflexively stumble before catching himself on his staff. When he righted himself, he realized that the mountain hadn¡¯t moved, so much as their view of the forest. It had rushed toward them, bringing every detail into sharp relief.


    ¡°The easy way to make a lens is to put a point of attraction in the center and mold the air around it.¡± Ella said, giving Sam a glance. ¡°I added view splitting and eye tracking but I don¡¯t think you¡¯re ready for those yet.¡±


    ¡°Gimme a couple days.¡± Sam said, inspecting the forest. In front of the blazing inferno was an army five times bigger than the one that had assaulted Sanctuary, with row after row of howitzers and Jeeps carrying troops and supplies.


    ¡°What are the odds, as you see them, that your people will win?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°A toss up,¡±


    Sam folded his legs beneath him, and began to think. There was an army to the North, a river to the East, a fort to the South and a city to the West, they were well and truly in enemy territory.


    With all the elves here present, he might be able to retake the fort behind them, and¡­ what, bring some several ton howitzers up the road and shove it up the enemy armies ass? It was possible, but highly impractical, and the biggest problem was one flyby from the dragon and they¡¯d be shit out of luck. Over the weeks it would take them, they would surely be noticed and attacked.


    They could go East across the river and seek asylum from Mississippi, but none of the people here wanted to abandon their nation to death. If they went north, they could attack the army, possibly at night, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. Again, one blast of flame from the dragon, and they were all dead.


    Sam was confident the thing would roast a large chunk of his own forces to kill Sam. The elves, he could replace when he took First Word, so that wasn¡¯t a problem.


    Sam could go West¡­ and do what? Steal more from Tyranus¡¯s tower?


    Sam needed some inspiration, so he began to peruse his past lives for similar situations, but none of them had ever been responsible for five hundred lives, totally surrounded by enemies, and cut off from any kind of support.


    What Sam did learn was that a group of five hundred people ate like a motherfucker. They would basically have to kill more than fifty giant spiders a day just to keep everyone fed¡­ Sam cocked his head.


    ¡°Would you show me the city this time?¡± Sam asked, turning his gaze toward the tiny spire on the horizon.


    Ella nodded and the view changed to the capital city of hope, and the dozens of jeeps running back and forth between Tyranus¡¯s army and the walled fortress. Jeeps carrying food and supplies. Sam frowned, his mind racing.


    What would be more effective? Steal or destroy the supplies, thereby starving the dragon¡¯s army, or poison them? The latter would be more effective, but would require him to infiltrate the city. Again.


    Sam picked up a pebble and wrapped it with force from his Yuenan, tumbling the stone above his finger idly as he pondered the options.


    ¡°What¡¯cha thinking?¡± Ella asked, glancing at him.


    ¡°The things I usually think about. Best way to kill someone.¡± Sam did a few quick circles around his fingers before picking up another stone and twirling to the two around each other in a hypnotic double helix. ¡°In this case, starvation.¡±


    ¡°Cut the supply line, you mean.¡±


    ¡°Or poison it, yeah.¡±


    Ella glanced at the distant city, her eyes narrowed. ¡°Might work.¡±


    ¡°Problem is, I cut the supply line, a lot of people die, then the dragon comes back to fix it. Even if we kill him, thousands of innocent people will die if he dies within city limits. I can¡¯t see any way to resolve this without a massive loss of life.¡±


    ¡°The worst outcome is if you do nothing.¡± Ella said with a shrug.


    Sam added another rock to the mix, his head starting to ache. After a few seconds, all three of them wobbled before tumbling to the ground.


    ¡°Not bad for a human.¡±


    ¡°What I¡¯m looking for is terrifying, for a dragon.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got a ways to go, then.¡±


    ¡°That place there.¡± Sam said, pointing to the thorn-like obsidian spire in the distance. ¡°That is where he gets most of his power. People Molt there spontaneously. It¡¯s the confluence of two leylines, designed to bake people into super soldiers. There¡¯s some kind of vault with magical artifacts and who knows what else. If we took it, do you think we could kill the dragon?¡±


    Ella observed the city in the distance, seemingly chewing on a thought. She fell silent, her eyes clouded. The silence stretched on as the mountain wind sent a shiver up Sam¡¯s spine. He turned his gaze toward the burning forest, wondering when he would be able to see Faera again.


    ¡°Yes.¡± She finally responded with a single word.


    ¡°How many of you are willing and able to fight?¡± Sam asked. The fact that Tyranus had overextended himself and sent his entire army north meant the city was relatively undefended, but there was no way he could take the tower by himself. There were most likely thousands of people willing to lay down their lives in a zealous fervor still living in that city.


    ¡°That¡¯s up to you.¡± She said.

 Chapter 33: Sams Speech

    ¡°look around, look around, I see a lot of familiar faces.¡± Sam put his right hand on his hip, keeping weight off his stump with his left. He stood on top of the mountain, looking down at the assembled elven slaves. They watched him with a mixture of apprehension and fitful terror, glancing over their shoulders at the enormous cloud of smoke that was all that remained of the forest separating the two nations. Fitful and afraid was no good. He needed them angry.


    Sam¡¯s gaze fell on each of their faces as his Implant took a snapshot and ran them through his database of memories.


    ¡°Listen up. Yukenshya, pay attention, this is going to decide who lives and who dies.¡± The elves perked up, the old, square jawed elf whose name he¡¯d called was confused, but he straightened nonetheless.


    ¡°All of you have been treated like slaves¡ªno, worse, you¡¯ve been treated like goddamn cattle. Maybe even long enough to start thinking you might be.¡± Sam let that sink in.


    ¡°Well I¡¯m here to tell you that¡¯s bullshit. Your parents tore a fucking hole in space and time to get you where you stand today. Every single one of you is a goddamn walking explosion that would kill everything up to a one block radius. Your parents weren¡¯t cowards, no matter what your monkey contemporaries might tell you.¡±


    ¡°Yukensha,¡± Sam said, singling the old elf out again. ¡°Your mother was the leader of a resistance force, raided government facilities to give food and medicine to humans. She shot me three times in the chest, and once in the head, she had some goddamn balls.¡±


    ¡°Keya, your brother beat me in a fistfight. I don¡¯t want to undersell it, let¡¯s just say I bench four hundred pounds, and the man was almost hamburger by the time he grabbed a fork and jammed it into my eye.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the people that summoned a new world right out of fucking thin air, and that dragon is goddamn terrified of you. He¡¯s pissing his pants, wondering when the day you¡¯ll give him the benefit of your attention and reduce him to a pile of smoldering bones.¡±


    ¡°The battle that will be waged over there will determine who¡¯ll be wearing collars for the next thousand years, and by the looks in your eyes, I know which side you¡¯re on. We have a big fucking stake in that battle.¡±


    ¡°I know you¡¯re tenacious bastards, every one of you. Jimmy, your father hid in the attic of an abandoned building for three weeks, sleeping in his own filth for the opportunity to take a single shot at the son of a bitch organizing the Anti-Other movement of twenty one ten. The man who would later become the most disastrous president in history. The dumbass straw that broke the elephant¡¯s back. If there were humans with the balls that your father had, Jimmy, That fucker¡¯d have lost more than a lung, and none of us would be living in this shit-filth riddled goddamn squalor.¡±


    ¡°The elves over there have their job, we have ours. We¡¯re going to march right into their city and wrap our masculine fingers around that fucking dragon¡¯s throat, and we¡¯re going to squeeze the life out of him and his army. When he comes back to bitch about how unfair it is, us giving him a good ass fucking, we¡¯re not even going to do him the courtesy of leaving our number.¡±


    ¡°No one is going to know that a S4M unit and a regiment of elves are occupying the dragon¡¯s tower. If you have a way of magically contacting your family back home, don¡¯t. I want the first one to find out we¡¯re eating his power base out from the inside out to be the goddamned dragon. I want him to rear up on his piss-soaked hind legs and cry ¡®Agh, that walking death machine Sam and five hundred elves have neutered me!¡¯¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to lead that stupid beast around by the nose. We¡¯re not going to play fair. If you follow me to that city, you¡¯ll fucking find out what a red dragon¡¯s tears taste like.¡±


    ¡°Some of you are not going to like the pace I set. You¡¯re going to complain that fighting a war couldn¡¯t possibly be this much effort. That¡¯s your weakness talking. Kill it. I believe that an ounce of sweat saves a gallon of blood. Your blood, and the guy standing next to you. Every ounce of grain that we can sabotage or destroy is one less able body in that scaly bastard¡¯s march, so I¡¯m gonna push you, hard.¡±


    ¡°When this is over, three hundred years from now, when you¡¯ve got your grandson on your knee, and he asks you where the scars on your neck came from, you won¡¯t have to cough and say ¡®well, your granddaddy was a battery in the enemy¡¯s war machine.¡¯ You¡¯ll be able to show him your shiny red commemorative jock strap and say, ¡°Well, a dragon got a piece of me, so me and an unholy abomination of science named Sam took a piece of him!¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s how I feel. Who wants to help make that bastard suffer?¡± Sam said, raising his hand.


    The former slaves¡¯ eyes burned with purpose. Ella raised her hand. Another hand went up, and another, until five hundred and seventeen hands were creating a forest of palm trees.


    ¡°All right, put your fucking hands down, you¡¯re giving me the creeps. I want all the elders to get together with me, the rest of you, pair off and interview three other people, I want you to get to know each other, and I want you to get to know yourselves. If you can drive a truck, I wanna know. If you know magic I wanna know. If you know what¡¯s edible and what isn¡¯t, I wanna know. If you can shoot a gun, I wanna know. If you have any military or resistance experience, you can bet your ass I wanna know. Once you¡¯re done, focus on resting and rebuilding muscle. Starting tomorrow you¡¯re going to be eating well.¡±


    Ella and three others came up and sat with Sam. He glanced around at the aged faces and relaxed his shoulders. ¡°Patton?¡± she asked.


    ¡°A bit. Needed something to rile them up.¡±


    ¡°I guess it worked,¡± Jimmy said, casting Sam a critical eye. ¡°But they don¡¯t know you like we do.¡±


    ¡°Since you know me so well, you should know how good I am at what I do.¡±


    Yukensha glanced between the two of them. ¡°We do know, which is why the elders have made a conscious decision to lend our support.¡±


    Jimmy leaned back, clenching his teeth. ¡°Fine. Until the tyrant is dead, I will follow my father¡¯s example.¡±


    ¡°What do we need to do?¡± Keya asked. the old woman¡¯s silver hair was braided long and looped around her shoulders, sitting above the rags she wore.


    ¡°We need organization and training, food and supplies. We need them to gain thirty pounds of muscle apiece by the time we make Hope. We need a command structure, and a plan.¡± Sam said. He glanced up at the smoke-choked sky and clapped his hands together.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get started.¡±


    Sam walked just behind the long line of five hundred elves that marched abreast, twenty feet apart, forming an enormous comb as they searched for spider nests in the plains.


    The number of elves capable of magic was higher than Sam had been expecting, but he realized he should have figured on it. They had been strapped to the chairs and drained until they were done making a jeep or howitzer, or they died.


    The ones who remained were the five hundred with higher-than-average sized Yuenan. With a bit of practice, all of them became able to cast Sam¡¯s modified Jyin suata.


    ¡°Picture the Jyin suata itself like a soap bubble,¡± Sam said, walking beside a young elf named Jordan, whose height barely reached Sam¡¯s waist. ¡°All the energy is stretched tight, and when it comes into contact with something, it pops. The stretched energy comes together all at the same time and when it all collects together, it establishes the direction it wants to go, that it, toward whatever popped it.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t a soap bubble just explode?¡± the kid said, staring up at him while Ellanore chuckled.


    ¡°No, it looks like this.¡± Sam said, creating the illusion of a soap bubble, using a recording in his Implant for reference. ¡°You see how surface tension draws most of the mass of the bubble into one location when it pops?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but isn¡¯t that the opposite side from where it was popped?¡± he asked.


    ¡°It is, but look at it this way, the point where the most water collects and the point that popped it are always opposites. All you have to do is add an instruction for the energy to draw a point between the contact point and point where the energy coalesces, and it will always cut a hole into the thing it hits, even if the contact was glancing.¡±


    Sam focused, showing the water forming a glowing beam and shooting back the direction it had come from, toward where it was originally popped.


    ¡°Huh¡­ I don¡¯t get it.¡± Jordan said with a shrug.


    ¡°okay, look,¡± Sam said, exasperated. ¡°You¡¯ve got to make the Jyin suata shrink on contact and shoot through the other guy rather than just burn his skin. If you try to make it go through him or burn him, you get bruises or burns at most.¡±


    ¡°Why would you want it to shrink?¡± Jordan asked, shrugging. ¡°Can¡¯t you just put it through them?¡±


    ¡°can you explain surface area, pounds per square inch and force to this kid?¡± Sam asked, glancing over at Ella.


    ¡°I doubt it,¡± Ella said. ¡°Jordan¡¯s never been great at visualizing.¡±


    ¡°But if he got it, it¡¯d be the equivalent of the kid having a thirty eight special on himself at all times.¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ¡°Is that good?¡± Jordan asked.


    ¡°It means you could kill the average human in one shot.¡± Sam said.


    ¡°Cool! Show me how to do it!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been trying!¡± Sam said, clenching his right hand and looking up at the sky for patience. In the distance, there was another thump followed by screeching as the elves shot another spider out of its nest. By the time they got to Hope, Sam thought they might have hunted out the entire plains of rabbits, deer and spiders. Spread wide like this, they were able to cast an enormous human net.


    ¡°Alright, nevermind.¡± Sam said, taking a deep breath. ¡°Hang around, Ella¡¯s gonna give me some pointers on something, then we can get back to the Jyin Suata.


    ¡°¡¯Kay.¡± Jordan said, racing off to kick rocks through the grass.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Ella said as the two of them watched the young elf busy himself in the dirt. ¡°Sleep is a tricky mind-based magic. Cast a very delicate sensor into his nervous system. Think of it as gossamer or cobwebs, so light and gentle as to be unnoticeable.


    ¡°Got it.¡± Sam said, stretching the energy from his Yuenan forward, forming it into a thin web that felt as though it would be ripped by the gentlest breeze. it drifted toward the boy, gently settling around him, seemingly unnoticed. Once the web settled around him, Sam made the hand gesture Ella had taught him, causing the webs to conch closed around the boy¡¯s brain.


    ¡°So you feel anything?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ kind of like watching a flame,¡± Sam said as the raw data from the boy¡¯s brain was fed back to him, not words and images, but scintillating, ever shifting colors and patterns.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be able to glean more if you get the knack for it,¡± Ella said. ¡°And it doesn¡¯t look like he felt anything, which is good. A word of warning. This spell rarely works on the prepared, and it can even be dangerous to use on someone better at spellcraft than you. They can follow your strand back and inflict damage on you.¡±


    ¡°Attacking your Isayatta?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°No, overload your brain, but the danger is similar.¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± Sam grunted. ¡°Wonder how that works.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to know unless you¡¯re planning on fighting some elven wizards. Are you planning on fighting some elven wizards?¡±


    ¡°I have no idea what I¡¯ll be fighting in the future.¡± Sam said.


    ¡°I suppose.¡± Ella said. ¡°Now the tricky part. Observe the patterns of his brain, then introduce the notion of sleep to him. See what lights up.¡±


    ¡°Jordan.¡± Sam called out. The boy¡¯s patterns shifted in Sam¡¯s mind as the kid shifted gears from minding his own business to paying attention to him. Sam wondered if mind-reading would be possible with enough practice.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been walking a good six hours so far today, do you want to get some rest before we move on?¡±


    Briefly, in a pattern almost too quick for Sam to realize, the boy considered it, then shook his head. ¡°Nah, I¡¯m fine, I can keep up with everyone.¡±


    ¡°Did you see where his sleep resides? It should have looked almost like an echo of an action, stronger than an unconscious thought, but weaker than a conscious one.¡± Ella whispered


    Sam shook his head. ¡°Not sure that I did. It was fast, a dozen things at once.¡±


    ¡°What are you guys talking about?¡± Jordan asked, coming closer.


    ¡°Try again. Nothing like practice.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure? I¡¯ve been thinking about stopping for dinner about now anyway. You could catch some sleep.¡±


    Sam watched the fluctuating state of the child¡¯s brain as he considered sleeping. There, I think that¡¯s it, Sam thought as he sensed a familiar pattern pulse though the boy¡¯s brain.


    ¡°I think I see it, what now?¡±


    ¡°Recreate the echo, just a tiny bit stronger.¡±


    Sam sent power through the web, trying to recreate the faint pattern in the boys mind.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Jordan said. ¡°I can¡­¡± he never finished his sentence, instead laying himself into the grass and taking a nap.


    Ella rushed forward and placed a hand on the boy¡¯s forehead, her eyes closed.


    ¡°What¡¯s that for?¡±


    ¡°Making sure he doesn¡¯t have an aneurism.¡± Ella frowned in concentration, moving her palm over the boy¡¯s skull.


    ¡°That was a possibility?¡± Sam asked, ice running through his veins. Ella hasn¡¯t told him anything about that. If he killed a kid in the middle of the march, they¡¯d turn on him and rip him to pieces. Hell, he¡¯d taught all of them his Jyin Suata. He¡¯d be hamburger.


    ¡°Rarely, if you fumble around the brain like a brute. You always had the most delicate touch, Sam.¡±


    Sam¡¯s brows rose.


    ¡°And even if you did mess up, I can fix it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± Sam searched for the words to describe her decision. ¡°Practical.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Ella said, coming to her feet, aided by a staff one of the younger elves had fetched for her from the bottom of the mountain. ¡°He¡¯s fine.¡±


    Sam let out his breath, unaware he¡¯d been holding it. He¡¯d been fairly cavalier toward death until the Baths were destroyed. It was starting to sink in that this was his last time walking the earth, out of a million lifetimes. And it might have damn well ended because he accidently killed a kid. What a stupid way to die.


    Sam shook his head and put those thoughts aside, kneeling beside Jordan and shaking him.


    ¡°Jordan. Wake up, we have to keep moving.¡±


    Jordan¡¯s eyes drifted open, and he sat up with a yawn. ¡°guess I was sleepier than I thought. Waiting for you guys is boring.¡±


    ¡°Come along,¡± Ella said, reaching out her hand with a gentle smile. Jordan took her hand and the two of them walked off through the grass that had been cleared by the long line of elves marching through the grass. So far none of them had been dragged into the spiders lair and sucked dry, but there was always tomorrow.


    ¡°How did the insects get so big, anyway?¡± Sam said, coming to join her.


    ¡°Oh, when an insect Molts, it tends to get bigger, and all its progeny will share its size. When the insects become too big for their environment to sustain them, they die off. After several generations of molts, you have rather large spiders.¡±


    Sam had been picturing the end result of gargantuan spiders visible from space, but he supposed there would be no prey for something that size. About as big as a man was as large as a trap-door spider could get before it ran into some serious trouble feeding itself out on the plains. That might explain why he hadn¡¯t seen any mammalian predators all eaten by the spiders. Lucky they didn¡¯t get smarter.


    ¡°How many rings do you have beneath your Isayatta?¡± Ella asked as they walked, the white walls of hope a glimmer on the horizon in front of them.


    ¡°Four, how did you know?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°It shows in the way your magic forms, the speed and control. Someone taught you the fundamentals for real power. The kind the gods of our realm used, and the men who ran from them. Who gave you that?


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a million memories,¡± Sam said, tapping his temple as the old woman watched him with interest. ¡°A few hundred Sam¡¯s saw bits and pieces. I put it all together.¡±


    ¡°I suppose you¡¯ve earned it then. Our greatest taboo is to teach the Isayatta, for fear of history repeating itself, but we can honestly say you earned every bit of your knowledge. And there is no taboo against that.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°How long did it take?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°To make four rings, how long did you spend creating them?¡±


    ¡°I started just a few days after the last time I died, so about a month ago? I¡¯d work on it every so often before I went to sleep.¡±


    Ella did a double take and nearly tripped over her bad leg. Once she righted herself, her face soured and she grunted. ¡°Put more effort into it, four rings isn¡¯t enough to defeat a dragon. At your current pace you should be able to form another ring or two before we reach the city. Make that your priority.¡±


    ¡°What about learning a spell to kill a dragon?¡± Sam stroked his chin. ¡°Or if we could somehow get an RPG to the Factory, we could duplicate them and tear that bastard to pieces in a relatively short amount of time.¡± There was a simple plan, unfortunately for Sam, he didn¡¯t know where he could find any more RPGs.


    Sam did a quick search of his implant for bunkers that housed that kind of firepower, and discovered that the one with the Ungrin living in them was the closest one for hundreds of miles.


    Even if he could get past the burning forest and the army, and the dragon, they¡¯d taken all the RPGs and Sam wasn¡¯t confident he could bypass the biometrics on the anti-armor rifle, which was the perfect goddamn solution to their dragon problem.


    ¡°You would have a hard time finding volunteers for that.¡± Ella said with a grim smile.


    ¡°looks like we¡¯ll stick to the current plan.¡± Sam said. It wasn¡¯t a plan so much as a suicide pact that Sam had spent hours convincing the Elders to go with.


    ¡°By the way, the sleep spell, is it just me, or is it the start of something a little more.. mind fuckery?¡±


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s one of the most basic mind-control spells, but all the others follow the same technique. You learn one, you learn them all. They only vary by degree of difficulty.¡±


    ¡°So why is it okay for me to learn it? Isn¡¯t it dangerous to let me mess with people¡¯s heads?¡±


    ¡°Wizards as a rule are unafraid of having their minds manipulated.¡± Ella said with a shrug as Jordan watched their conversation intently. ¡°The gossamer threads of the spell can be blown away by the faintest application of Nuetta, and attempting to take control over a wizard¡¯s mind through brute force is like a patient wrestling a scalpel away from his brain surgeon. Either nothing will happen, or the patient will die.¡±


    ¡°Or become a vegetable.¡± Sam offered.


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°damn,¡± Sam said, shaking his head. ¡°Still got a lot to learn.¡± He glanced at Ella walking beside him, his curiosity piqued. She¡¯d been weathering the turn of centuries while he¡¯d been endlessly drilling. she was a huge source of information as well as a lead weight in his gut.


    ¡°So how have you¡­¡± been? Sam bit his tongue as he studied her scars and her missing fingers. Obviously she hadn¡¯t been great.


    Ella caught his eye and smiled. ¡°I¡¯ve been well, Sam. Most of my life has been happy, believe it or not. I¡¯ve grandchildren in First Word. Things weren¡¯t like this the whole time you¡¯ve been gone.


    ¡°I suppose not,¡± Sam said with a shrug. If they had, the old woman would have been dead already. ¡°So what were you doing all the way out here?¡±


    ¡°As one of the last elves with an Isayatta, I am obligated to occasionally travel the world.¡±


    ¡°I imagine the dragon was a bit of a surprise.¡±


    ¡°Just a bit.¡± Ella said with a gap-toothed grin.


    ¡°Sorry about your dad.¡± Sam said, staring at the city wall emerging from the distance. ¡°I know this Sam didn¡¯t have anything to do with it, but I can¡¯t help feeling responsible for anything any of them have ever done. When I experience their memories¡­they become a part of me.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t blame you, Sam. I don¡¯t even blame that Sam.¡± Ella fell silent for awhile, the sound of their walking sticks and the grass parting around them the only sounds.


    ¡°I looked for you, you know. After I escaped. I had some girlish hope that we could run away together and be happy¡­I don¡¯t know, on some deserted island or something.¡± She had a faint smile as she spoke. ¡°I never found out what happened to you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I died... He died, the same night. Greg asked him to burn his books, but Sam got caught before he could do it and interrogated. When they decided he wouldn¡¯t stop loving you, they,¡± Sam gave a raspberry and made an exploding motion next to his head. ¡°Activated the Failsafe and blew the bomb in his brain.¡±


    ¡°You two had sex?¡± Jordan asked, wide eyed, drawing their attention to the little brat walking between them. ¡°But she¡¯s so old!¡±


    ¡°Five hundred years ago, she was smoking hot.¡±


    ¡°Ewww¡­¡±


    ¡°Get the hell outta here, kid.¡± Sam said, shooing the brat away. Jordan broke into a run and joined the knot of a dozen elves about his age, trailing behind the curtain searching for spiders.


    ¡°Now, let¡¯s get started on transmutation.¡± Sam said, rubbing his hands together. He¡¯d read about it in his past lives, The ability to change one thing into another would come in handy if he wanted to make another RPG.


    ¡°You¡¯re not strong enough to transmute more than a grain of sand.¡± Ella said, glancing at him. ¡°I¡¯m not strong enough to transmute more than a golf ball. What would be the point?¡±


    ¡°A golf ball of TNT could do some damage.¡±


    ¡°Granted, but you need to work on the rings of your Iseyatta, it will make your use of Nuetta much more efficient. Gain enough of them and you might be able to make your own golf ball of high explosives with your limited Yuenan.¡±


    ¡°What I want you to do,¡± she said, coming to a halt and giving Sam a severe look. ¡°Is master the art of forging new rings as you walk and talk. Link it to your breathing, or your heartbeat, whatever it takes, make it something you constantly improve. It¡¯s the most basic technique from our world, and if you hope to do anything more than shoot a handful of Jyin Suata, you¡¯ll need it.¡±


    ¡°How about this,¡± Sam said. ¡°I learn to add rings to my Isayatta from breathing, you teach me transmutation.¡±


    ¡°Deal.¡± Ella said with a smile.


    ¡°Any advice on how to do the breathing thing?¡±


    ¡°It works best if you figure out your own way to do it,¡± Ella said.


    That¡¯s a little suspicious.

 Chapter 34: Buffalo Buffalo Billy

    It took two days of trial and error before Sam was able to forge the Nuetta into a ring while his eyes were open, another half a day to do it while walking. After that, he simply spent his time moving the energy into a ring timed with his breathing.


    Gradually, the strain on his concentration became less and less, until eventually forming new rings and breathing became the same action; unconscious and easy.


    ¡°Done!¡±


    Ella glanced over at him from where she was studying the walls of Hope. They¡¯d come much closer in the last few days, and the elves were on edge, expecting an attack from the city at any moment.


    Sam didn¡¯t think that would be a problem, it had looked like the entire adult male population of the city had been marshalled into the dragon¡¯s army. Never hurt to be careful though.


    ¡°Done with what?¡± Ella said, glancing over at him.


    ¡°Making rings while I breathe.¡±


    ¡°Damn,¡± Ella said, her eyes widening as she stared at Sam.


    ¡°So, transmutation?¡± he asked. ¡°I¡¯ve read some books on it, but it was all second hand information. Nothing on how to do it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve created a monster,¡± Ella said with a chuckle. She reached down and picked a blade of grass, focusing on it. In a matter of seconds, the grass lost its color and began to shine silvery in the sunlight. She passed the grass to Sam, who bent the grass. The blade of grass resisted his pressure far more than grass should have been able to, then straightened again with a twang. Yep. It was metal now.


    ¡°This is probably the coolest thing I¡¯ve seen so far.¡± Sam said, playing with the metal piece of grass. To hell with making stuff explode. Effecting real change on the world was freaking awesome. Well, blowing stuff up was good too.


    ¡°If you think of everything in the world having a sound,¡± Ella said, picking another blade of grass and watching it crumble to dust in her hands. ¡°Then pure elements would be a single note, alloys would be chords, molecules would be music of increasing complexity, and life¡­life would be a beautifully discordant symphony beyond any man¡¯s understanding.¡±


    ¡°So how do I make this happen?¡± Sam asked, twirling the piece of metal in his hand.


    Ella searched the ground with her eyes for a moment before raising her hand, allowing a pebble about the size of a thumbnail to fly into her palm. When she opened her hand again, the rock shone a brilliant silver.


    ¡°This is platinum. It¡¯s a good starting element to try, since one step to the right or left would give you gold or iridium. Relatively nontoxic, even if you miss.¡± She said, handing him the platinum pebble.


    ¡°huh¡­¡± Sam said, looking at the shining lump in his palm, almost disappearing between the creases in his hand. A moment later, she handed him a larger rock, about a quarter the size of his palm.


    ¡°Put your Nuetta through the platinum, strum it like a guitar string, and feel the sound it makes in your mind, replicate that on the rock I gave you.¡±


    ¡°Your dad blessed bull semen for a living.¡± Sam said, bemused. ¡°I¡¯m starting to think he may have only done that for show.¡±


    ¡°You think?¡± Ella smirked before she limped away.


    Sam glanced up at the city in the distance, then back down to the pebble in his hand. If you want to pretend to be weak, you have to be very strong. It¡¯s about exploiting the gap in expectations between the two.


    Sam took a steadying breath and visualized his Nuetta flowing through the platinum, casting a sound back into his mind as it came out the other side, like blowing on a harmonica. Sam missed his harmonica. Maybe if he learned this, he could make a silver one, that would be-


    Sam¡¯s concentration slipped, and the Nuetta scattered. This might be a little challenging.


    Sam found it easiest to concentrate on the pebble when he was mindlessly marching behind the line of elves, spacing out while he moved, concentrating on nothing but the platinum.


    The next day, he felt it. It was an elusive sensation, that settled in his teeth, the back of his neck, and his gut. At first he thought he was just feeling off that day, but he quickly homed in on the cause of the sensation, repeatedly firing Nuetta through the platinum caused the sensation to pulse through his body. When he sent the Nuetta a little bit faster or slower, he lost the feeling. It really was like hitting a note.


    That night, after Sam had familiarized himself with the sensation, he tried to force it into the rock in his hand. The rock resisted the change, like a magnet shrugging off a similar pole. The more he tried to force the note through the rock, the more it resisted. Sam also noticed that when he ran his Nuetta through the rock, there was no single note, and it offered resistance at any speed.


    That had to be on account of the multiple different elements present in a typical rock. There was almost nothing pure on the face of the earth.


    That night, Sam sat by his own fire, glaring down at the rock in his palm while he ate a leg of spider, determined to learn the skill. But no matter how hard he pushed, the rock didn¡¯t want to change its tone to match platinum¡¯s.


    ¡°How goes it, Sam?¡± Ella asked as she came to stand beside where he was seated. ¡°We reach the city tomorrow, so don¡¯t exhaust yourself, okay?¡±


    ¡°This fuckin¡¯ thing,¡± He said, picking the rock up and spinning it in the air with his Nuetta and allowing his arm to rest in his lap. ¡°Won¡¯t change no matter how hard I push.¡±


    ¡°This rock it too big for even me to change,¡± Ella said, stopping the rock¡¯s motion with her finger. ¡°But¡­¡± she lifted her finger up, and a small circle was metallic. ¡°No one said you had to do the whole thing at once. You can¡¯t view objects as wholes. Everything is made of smaller pieces, and there is more to the world than meets the eye.¡±


    Ella held out her hand, and Sam felt a gust of wind blow past his ears, swirling around her hand as a crystal formed in her palm, branching out into a delicate tree.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Sam said, slapping his forehead. ¡°Air is matter too.¡±


    ¡°Yup. Don¡¯t get too carried away, we¡¯ve got work to do tomorrow. And don¡¯t get excited and make any strange elements, a lot of them can get pretty toxic in their pure forms.¡±


    ¡°You got it,¡± Sam said, already focusing on the rock. He heard Ella walk away as he began to narrow the scope of his Nuetta. Now, what should he write? S4M was here?


    #


    ¡°You¡¯ve created a monster,¡± Jimmy said as Ella approached, taking a seat by the other three elders. ¡°Tell me how that is any less dangerous than Tyranus.¡± The bald man flicked a finger at the killing machine staring at a rock.


    ¡°He¡¯s working with us this time,¡± Ella said, wincing in pain as she sat.


    ¡°I¡¯m not entirely convinced. We do have to plan for the future, and four rings in a month? And he wasn¡¯t even trying hard? Might as well write off this plane now.¡± Yukensha said, voraciously eating a leg of spider. Of the elders, he was the youngest, and largest. He was rapidly regaining weight as they dined pounds of cooked spider each day.


    ¡°You even told him a technique that was said to be impossible was ¡®basic¡¯, and he did it in three days!¡± Jimmy almost began to shout before glancing over at the S4M unit in the distance, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper.


    ¡°The more dangerous he is, the more smoothly we¡¯ll beat the dragon,¡± Ella said. ¡°Keya, what do you think?¡±


    ¡°I think his end goal in killing the dragon is saving the human race, not the elven one. I¡¯ll need to see more of his actions, but as it stands, that¡¯s how it looks to me. I don¡¯t understand why you would teach him more than he already knows.¡± Keya clasped her fingers around her knees and leaned back, chewing on her thoughts.


    ¡°I¡¯ve gained valuable information by offering to teach him. Without that, we would never have discovered what exactly we¡¯re dealing with.¡± Ella said, taking a dainty bit of spider. ¡°I for one am confident that Sam won¡¯t turn on us when the dragon is gone.¡± Ella blew on the hot piece of meat to cool it. ¡°I¡¯m also confident that he has a bomb in his brain guaranteeing that.¡±


    The other elder¡¯s expressions changed. The worry eased from Keya¡¯s brows, Yukensha¡¯s expression became predatory, and Jimmy stared uncomprehending.


    A distinct clomping caught their attention as S4M rushed over to them, grinning.


    ¡°Check it out!¡± he said, holding out the palm sized rock. Above a crude S4M wuz heer, the platinum circle Ella had made was surrounded with delicate golden trace work depicting the rays of the sun above a mountain.


    ¡°I did a lot of carving and drawing when I was in the lab,¡± Sam said, grinning with pride as she turned the rock over in her hands, her gaze following the sand-grain thin lines he¡¯d formed in the stone. ¡°There wasn¡¯t much to draw but Ann and Tom having sex, though.¡±


    ¡°Impressive,¡± Ella said, keeping her voice as steady as possible. It was supposed to take years to grasp the most basic techniques, dozens of years to make four rings, and impossible to do it while moving. Maybe she had created a monster.


    The last thing she needed was for the monster to get a big head.


    #


    ¡°I didn¡¯t really get the chance to check it out from up close last time since it was at night, but that¡¯s a big fucking wall.¡± Sam said to the buffalo grazing beside him. Behind, another five hundred and seventeen buffalo milled around, grazing just out of bowshot.


    The walls of Hope rose up nearly a hundred feet, smooth and white. Men stood at the top of the wall, toy soldiers marching across them.


    ¡°They¡¯re spread thin.¡± The lady buffalo beside him said between munches of grass. ¡°There can¡¯t be more than five thousand soldiers left in the city.


    ¡°Five hundred for you, forty-five hundred for me.¡±


    ¡°Hah,¡± She said dryly. ¡°You wish.¡±


    ¡°looks like they¡¯re doing searches on the way in and out.¡± Sam said, gazing at the massive gate, working on his entry plan. The illusion seemed to be working at this distance, but not everyone had convincing buffalo illusions. Those people were the farthest away. Sam didn¡¯t think it would be viable to go for the front gate with illusions, there was too much risk of one of them slipping up and giving it away before they made it close enough to charge the gate.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Sam wished he could just cut the gate open and walk through, but he could only transmute about a grain of sand at a time, let alone teleport people like Theold.


    Theold, Kein¡¯Maddal, and Billy the dragon. They were the three measures of unassailable power he¡¯d come across in his time wandering the distant future, and Sam intended to surpass and kill two of them.


    Sam¡¯s gaze turned to the cobbled road leading to the city Gate, a steady flow of merchants and farmers milling on both sides. They opened every boxe, dug through potatoes and wheat to make sure no one was hiding inside. That didn¡¯t seem like a good way in.


    As he was assessing the situation, wishing Ella had taught him a way to fly rather than create paper-thin gold-plating, his gaze caught a jeep barreling down the road, its engine rumbling all the way out to where Sam and Ellanore watched the road, disguised as buffalo.


    The Jeep hustled down the road at a solid thirty miles an hour as the people on the side of the road got out of the way. Sam narrowed his eyes and made a simple lens to magnify the view of the gate. The jeep slowed down long enough for the gatekeeper to get a look at something shiny in the passengers hand, then the jeep kicked back into gear, riding through unchecked.


    ¡°You thinking what I¡¯m thinking?¡± Sam asked.


    If you¡¯re thinking about stealing a jeep and some uniforms and riding into the city unopposed, then yes, I¡¯m thinking that too.¡± Ella said.


    ¡°Alright.¡± Sam turned to the buffalos milling around behind him and spoke. ¡°All right you buffalos, let¡¯s follow that road. We¡¯re going to steal some jeeps!¡±


    Sam gave his best bufallo noise and led the herd north of the city, until the walls were once again shrunk in the distance. A mere ten minutes in a jeep, though.


    Every half hour or so, anywhere from one to a dozen jeeps came down the road either direction, pushing fifty miles an hour. All Sam and the rest had to do was stand on the road and look like buffalos, and the cars would stop.


    ¡°Look at that,¡± Jesse said, pointing in front of them. A herd of some five hundred buffalo were taking an afternoon nap on the damned road.


    ¡°What in the nine hells?¡± said Jesse¡¯s superior, one Captain Harmon, a blonde woman with freckles, biceps, and a sour disposition. She studied the herd for a moment before reclingin back in her seat. ¡°Move forward, slowly. They¡¯ll get out of the way. They¡¯re just animals.¡±


    ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± Jesse said, easing the jeep forward. He hoped she knew what she was doing. Jesse had no idea what would befall them if The miraculous wagon given to them by lord tyranus sustained any damage, but her knew it wouldn¡¯t be healthy.


    With sweat beading on his brow, Jesse eased the car forward, and the buffalo indeed moved, startling aside as the jeep moved forward, splitting around the convoy of a dozen trucks.


    ¡°Told yah,¡± Captain harmon said, adjusting her cap over her eyes again. ¡°Tell me when there¡¯s a real problem.¡±


    ¡°Ma¡¯am.¡± Jesse said in acknowledgement, working the jeep through the crowd of buffalo. It wasn¡¯t until the convoy was almost out the other side that Jesse saw somethign that made his skin chill.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡±


    Captain Harmon grunted.


    ¡°Some of those buffalo don¡¯t look real.¡± Jesse said, his gaze passing over a handful of buffalo that looke like paper mache, and one that simply looked like a one dimensional carboard cutout.


    Captain Harmon launched forward in her seat, cap tumbling off her head, pulling a handful of hair out of the tightly wound bun.


    ¡°Lock the doors!¡± she hissed, but it was too late. Hands flew out of the Buffalo surrounding them and opened the doors of all twelve jeeps, dragging the driver out of each vehicle.


    The last thing Jesse saw was an enormous black hand seize his uniform and yank him forward, bashing his head on the doorframe.


    ¡°That¡¯s what, fifty cars?¡± Sam asked, dusting off his hands as he dropped the kid into the grass on the side of the road. The woman with the vibrant captain¡¯s uniform thrashed and screamed, trying to bite the hands of the elves tying her up.


    ¡°fifty-two,¡± Ella said.


    ¡°Think that¡¯s enough?¡± Sam asked, approaching the elves that were having trouble. ¡°Here, like this,¡± Sam took a big hand and bent the captain¡¯s neck down, holding her still while the finished securing her hands.


    ¡°To catch his attention one would be enough,¡± Ella said, nodding. ¡°This¡¯ll really piss him off.¡±


    Sam opened the back of the trucks and saw nothing but some broken, bloody steel awaiting repairs. In fact, he had expected to be hijacking trucks fills with the wounded, but he saw no such thing. Apparantly in the army of god, you work until you die.


    ¡°Heathen elves, our god will punish you!¡± the captain screeched.


    Sam rolled his eyes, turning to face her. He walked close to her until she was forced to crane her neck to look at him. He squatted low and looked her in the eye.


    ¡°Do I look like an elf to you?¡± he asked. She didn¡¯t answer. ¡°Your god has a history of taking things that don¡¯t belong to him. I figure as the highest ranking living officer of the U.S. military, all the shit he stole from it is mine. That makes sense, right, Ella?¡±


    ¡°Sounds about right to me.¡± She said.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± the captain was confused and angry. ¡°The world belongs to our lord, it was created by him!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d love to stay and give you a history lesson, but I¡¯ve got things to do today. you seem tired, maybe get some sleep.¡± Sam said, standing and casting a delicate web onto her brain.


    ¡°What? I won¡¯t...¡±


    There it is. Sam found the soldier¡¯s off switch and flipped it. The woman relaxed into the grass and began to snore.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Sam said, clapping his hands together and standing to address the crowd of elves. ¡°This is your last chance to bitch out.¡± He scanned the assembled elves. The very old and very pregnant stayed with the children, leaving approximately four hundred and fifty about to head toward certain death. They stared back, unwavering.


    ¡°Excellent. Listen up! Ella tells me that dragons are especially greedy. Natural hoarders. And it¡¯s not just moldy stacks of playboys from the nineties. No, I¡¯m talking the real good shit. Not just gold and gems either, but artifacts brought over from beyond the veil. Maybe even the kind of thing enterprising individuals like ourselves could use to kill a dragon.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to smack him in the face, hard. We¡¯re going to drive a train of jeeps into the city, we¡¯re going to load every single thing he owns onto them, piss him off real good, and we¡¯re going to lure him away from the city with it, to a place of our choosing.¡±


    ¡°In that place of our choosing!¡± Sam shouted, catching their attention as he drew his gaze across them. ¡°We¡¯re going to kill the vainglorious bastard. We¡¯re going to beat him with every weapon designed by man or elf and show him we were not to be fucked with!¡±


    No one shouted, but Sam saw grim smiles on the faces turned toward him. That¡¯d have to do.


    ¡°Alright, I want the ten fastest talkers to step forward, the smartassest sons of bitches who get a hard on talking their way out of a knife to the throat.¡± Sam said. ¡°If the guy next to you is always cheating you out of money, push him forward, if he was just so nice you couldn¡¯t bear to let him take a turn in the factory, push him forward. If you have no idea when he¡¯s lieing, push him forward. If the man standing next to you is a goddamn sociopath who can fake a smile at someone he hates and laugh in the face of death, push him forward.¡±


    Before long, about thirty men and women were standing at the front, including a woman that looked familiar to Sam. The dark haired woman that had been standing beside the captain when he woke up.


    ¡°She the one that betrayed you?¡± Sam whispered to Ella. She shrugged.


    ¡°Jennei¡¯s loyalty was never in question. Marcus had her husband, now we have her husband.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± Sam muttered under his breath as he faced the assembled elves. ¡°Jennei, come here.¡±


    The dark haired woman came to them, her eyes steady and her body relaxed, but Sam noticed her hands concealing a tremor.


    ¡°Do you know why you¡¯re not dead?¡± Ella asked. Jennei shook her head silently. ¡°Because we still have a use for you. Your husband is-¡°


    ¡°Obviously you know we have your husband, and we could use him to guarantee your cooperation.¡± Sam said, cutting off Ella. ¡°But I¡¯d rather pay you up front, so that you can trust my word when we get in the thick of things.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Jennei asked, her gaze sharp as it landed on Sam.


    ¡°I mean we¡¯ll put him in the group that is heading for the river.¡± The group of elders and children fleeing across the river would be the safest one.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you afraid I¡¯ll disappear in the middle of the operation?¡± Jennei asked.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to be sitting right next to me,¡± Sam said. ¡°The only opportunity you¡¯ll have to leave will be after you¡¯ve gotten us inside the city. After that, the easiest way out of the city will be with us.¡±


    Jennei thought about it, her gaze distant and her arms wrapped around herself. ¡°Deal.¡±


    ¡°Alright, you can go tell him yourself.¡± Sam said. ¡°I¡¯ll meet you in the front jeep.¡± Jennei nodded and turned away. Ella watched sam with a scowl until the woman was out of earshot.


    ¡°Why did you do that?¡± she demanded. ¡°She doesn¡¯t need anyone¡¯s help to leave the city, she could waltz out at any time and no one would ever see her again. She¡¯s going to vanish the moment you turn your head.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Sam said, his eyes watching Jennei. ¡°I don¡¯t really care if she disappears after we¡¯re inside. I can always fight my way out. This is just a toss of the dice and I wanna see how it turned out.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Jennei¡¯s a two faced, duplicitous, brilliant, heartless monster, right?¡±


    ¡°What of it?¡±


    ¡°Did ever you wonder what kind of man she would give up her life and that of all the other prisoners for?¡± Sam asked. Ella¡¯s eyes widened and she turned to watch the exchange between Jennei and her husband.


    The big man turned toward Jennei as she approached, his face lit up in a smile. When jennei began talking, his smile faded, and he shook his head. She appeared to raise her voice, and he simply shook his head again, taking her in his arms. A moment later she began sobbing, rocking in his arms.


    ¡°Let¡¯s start lining up the trucks,¡± Sam said, nudging Ella¡¯s shoulder with his elbow.


    Sam and Ella lined up the trucks, organizing the ten most silver tongued elves as drivers heading into the city while the remaining five hundred or so packed into the jeeps, twelve to a car.


    ¡°Gotta wonder where he¡¯s getting the fuel,¡± Sam said, climbing into the jeep as the rich smell of diesel assaulted him. Sam turned the key and the truck roared to life, Sam took the stick and put the truck in gear. His peg leg slipped off the clutch and the truck¡¯s engine sputtered and died.


    ¡°Shit.¡± This might be harder than he thought.


    ¡°Need some help?¡± Ella asked with a smirk, resting her arms on the window of the truck as Sam struggled to get the truck to start again.


    ¡°I know how to drive a stick, it¡¯s just this damn... foot!¡± Sam rattled his peg leg against the underside of the footspace in frustration. ¡°It¡¯s the first time it¡¯s been a problem, aside from walking, balancing, aching when the weather changes, prickling, and generally being unhelpful.¡±


    ¡°You could have Jennei be the driver.¡±


    ¡°The passenger is the superior officer. If I want her to be the voice, I¡¯ve gotta figure..this...out.¡±


    ¡°You could ride in the back.¡± She offered as the car sputtered again.


    ¡°Damnit!¡± Sam shouted as the truck died one more time. He resisted the urge to bash the steering wheel. More than one Sam had gotten a concussion by triggering an airbag.


    ¡°I just need a way to smoothly...¡± ah. Sam reached inside and drew Nuetta from his Yuenan, pressing down on the clutch in place of his missing foot. The car roared to life again, and got a few dozen feet before it died as he tried to change gears.


    ¡°Got further that time.¡± Ella said appreciatively.


    ¡°I got this,¡± Sam said. It would just take a little practice to get used to driving the car with his mind and his body at the same time. By the time he figured out how to use telekinesis to work the clutch smoothly, Jennei climbed into the passenger seat, her eyes red from tears. She was wearing the captain¡¯s clothes, the saber rattling at her hip.


    ¡°He said he won¡¯t run away.¡± She said quietly.


    ¡°Shit, what a surprise, now you¡¯ll have to make sure we kill the dragon.¡± Sam said in monotone.


    ¡°Or make sure the convoy never leaves the city. Better chance he¡¯ll live that way.¡±


    Sam was speechless for a moment. Crap. He hadn¡¯t considered that.


    ¡°¡¯Course, you wouldn¡¯t be saying that out loud if you meant to do it.¡± Sam said, fishing for a reaction. Jennei shrugged.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ll use my judgement. If Tyrannus is stupid enough to have a dragon slaying arrow or sword lying around his hoard, then he deserves to die. If I don¡¯t even see the faintest chance of success, I¡¯ll most likely stab you in the spinal column and disappear.¡± Jennei retrieved a chisel-like knife with a frog crotch in it from a hidden sheath. The knife looked designed to guide the spine into the center of the blade and sever it.


    ¡°Damn,¡± Sam said, shifting the truck into gear and rolling out onto the road. Behind him, another nine trucks lined up professionally. Sam glanced to the east and saw the remaining trucks speeding out over the open plains, gaining as much time as they could to set up an ambush.


    ¡°Here we go,¡± Sam muttered to himself as Jennei pulled a hand over her face, becoming the same blonde captain they¡¯d pulled out a few minutes ago. She leaned back in the seat, threw her feet up arrogantly, and tilted her hat over her eyes.


    Sam worked the truck up to thirty-five miles an hour on the poorly-paved road. No, for these people, the road was probably quite the accomplishment, but it was still severely lacking compared to the roads of the twenty-first and twenty-second century.


    Two hours later, as the sun was going down, they arrived at the gate, the last people of the night being searched as they waited to come inside the city walls. Sam guided the truck up to the same station he had seen earlier, where another man was sitting. He had circles under his eyes, yawning as they approached.


    ¡°What the hell took you so long?¡± he demanded as Jennei flashed the shiny metal I.D. ¡°You shoulda been here an hour ago.¡±


    ¡°Some shit-for-brains sorcerer ahead of us thought shooting the buffalo on the road was a good idea. Well, he got one of his jeeps overturned by the beasts, and another died on the road. We cleared the road, but we left him to deal with his own mess. He should be by in the next hour or two, if he gets his shit unfucked.¡± Jennei said, scowling at the man behind the desk.


    ¡°Ah yeah, I heard about them from the guys on the wall this morning. Did you bring some back with you?¡± The man had a hungry glint to his eye. Sam winced, hoping he didn¡¯t try to check the back for buffalo


    ¡°Even if we did, why would we share them with a fat fuck who sits on his ass all day?¡± Jennei asked. ¡° They¡¯re going to the army of God. Now are you gonna cost me some more time, or are you gonna wave me through?¡± she leaned on the door of the car, giving the man an angry look.


    He shook his head, waving them through.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Sam said with a smile. She¡¯d kept the man on the defensive and gotten through without any major questions, and the buffalo lie was even more believable since the people of the city had seen them heading for the road. Sam hadn¡¯t even thought of that.


    ¡°Keep your mouth shut, corporal.¡± Jennei snapped. Sam rolled his eyes, but didn¡¯t add anything. Method actors.

 Chapter 35: The Heist

    They rolled down the street, slowed down to closer to fifteen mile an hour as foor traffic split around them, slowly making their way to the tower that grew out of the ground, and the buildings dotting it.


    As they approached the massive double gate in front of the tower, Sam changed his color and looks with an illusion, using a more olive skin tone than his second visit. Jennei raised a brow at that, but didn¡¯t bother to say anything as they pulled into the receiving area of the massive tower. The warehouse was enormous, but it was dwarfed by the tower above it. Hell, Billy could probably walk right in the front door if he wanted to.


    Sam and the others were directed to park on one side of the warehouse, with slightly less horse manure than the other, and a bit of fresh air coming in from the windows high above them. Sam opened the door and stretched with a sigh, his mind experiencing the fatigue of operating the clutch, rather than his leg.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a long time since the last crew came through,¡± the same bookish, thinning man said, his pen hovering over a clipboard. ¡°What¡¯s the word, captain Harmon?¡±


    ¡°Same old, some idiot screwed up and we have to pay for it. The rest should be coming along, once they straighten themselves out.¡± Jennei said, her voice a near match for the woman they¡¯d left in the plains with her sixty-odd friends. They¡¯d probably be okay.


    ¡°I see.¡± He said sourly. ¡°Not looking forward to dealing with that much paperwork just before bed, but Tyranus has provided me the energy to do it.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of our Lord,¡± Jennei said, casting Sam the look. ¡°All ten trucks contain relics He has requested be moved to his private chamber.¡±


    ¡°Our lord¡¯s sanctum?¡± the book keeper said, puzzled.


    A convincing pile of gold, gems, runed weapons and armorlay in the truck bed as she threw open the flap leading to the back of the truck. Sam saw the fake gold glitter enticingly as the man stared at it, his jaw hanging open.


    ¡°The campaign to cleanse the elflands Is going pretty good, I¡¯d say,¡± Jennai said with a devilish grin. ¡°It¡¯s remarkable how much these rats can squirrel away in their filthy holes.¡±


    ¡°Is it...¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure our lord has cast his eye on these treasures,¡± Jennei said, closing the flap. ¡°If even one is missing, he¡¯ll know, and he has ways of finding out who took them.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°Now,¡± Jennei said, leaning against the truck as the reamining elves came out of their jeeps and formed a half circle around the book keeper. ¡°Show us where to haul all this stuff.¡±


    ¡°I-em...You¡¯re not supposed to...I¡¯m not allowed to take other people down there.¡±


    ¡°You wanna be still moving our lord¡¯s property the time he gets back? Life isn¡¯t a series of ticks next to a list, man. You¡¯ve got to understand which rules are more important. For example: do you want to be responsible for holding up our brigade and displeasing Lord Tyranus, or do you want to get your job done? I need an answer, and these men are thirsty.¡±


    The elvish scumbags chuckled and elbowed each other convincingly.


    ¡°I suppose I can have you stage it outside the tunnel and take it down later.¡±


    ¡°Good enough for me,¡± Jennei said, shrugging. ¡°I¡¯ve gotta get refueled before I can sleep anyway. Show us where to put the stuff.¡±


    The thin man walked over to a disused corner of the warehouse and motioned. Sam climbed in the truck and backed it up until he was in front of the book keeper.


    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll go get some crates,¡± he said, heading to the other side of the warehouse. ¡°Once I come back with them, we¡¯ll stack them against this wall.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll hold here, but not for long,¡± Jennei said as he retreated.


    ¡°The tunnel¡¯s around here, eh?¡± Sam said, closing his eyes and making the floating eye. He passed it through the suspiciously discolored spot in the wall, and got nothing, it was solid stone for at least four feet, before becoming some kind of bedchamber on the other side.


    ¡°That¡¯s not right,¡± Sam said before opening his eyes. He experienced a moment of nausea before the floating eye faded away, disconnected from his Neutta.


    ¡°Keep your eyes open for his tunnel.¡± Sam said, casting his gaze around the corner of the warehouse they¡¯d found themselves in. The clerk had let slip mention of a ¡®tunnel¡¯ and the wereabouts of it¡¯s general location.


    Sam was already happy with his spy. He¡¯d have to get his own, not a loaner from Ella. Faera didn¡¯t really seem the type, though. Where the hell was Faera anyway? Sam recalled her voice coming from behind the throne. Did that mean she¡¯d been captured? He didn¡¯t know of any way they could have gotten what she looked like if they hadn¡¯t caught her.


    In any case, he was always going to check the damsel for a tail before cutting her loose from now on. Right now though, he needed to find that secre entrance, and it didn¡¯t seem to be in the walls. Sam looked around and saw stacks of crates, a junk pile, a hay pile for the animals, half an inch of manure everywhere, and no sign of a damn tunnel.


    Maybe the pile of crates had a lever or something. Sam shifted the crates, trying to find one that was fixed to the floor. No luck.


    A minute of fruitless searching later, and the thin man came back with a wagon full of wooden crates. He effortlessly pulled one out and set it in front of the jeep.


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get started.¡± He said. Sam sighed inwardly. Next thing that would happen as the old man would find out the back of the jeep didn¡¯t actually have treasure in it, just an old woman that was very good at illusions. Then he would shout, and they would have to knock him out to keep him from getting reinforcements.


    ¡°Go to sleep.¡± Sam reinforced the echoes of thought as the old man slumped down into the manure. Sam would rather skip the part where he had to beat him unconscious.


    ¡°Alright, look for the tunnel.¡± Sam said to the assembled elves. ¡°If we can¡¯t find it in five minutes, We¡¯ll get some info out of him, but I¡¯d rather not.¡±


    ¡°Ella, can you take three people and break into the vault?¡± Sam asked, giving the old woman a hand out of the back of the jeep.


    ¡°It¡¯s the third left, all the way at the end of the hall,¡± Sam pointed at the door. ¡°It¡¯s got some nice stuff in it.¡± Sam wanted some insurance. He need some kind of haul even if the raid on Billy¡¯s stash fell through.


    ¡°I can make that happen.¡±


    ¡°Take a crate.¡± Sam said, kicking a handwagon toward the elves following her. ¡°Gotta bring the right tools if you¡¯re gonna loot a place. Sam watched them go, her injured leg barely slowed her down as they sped across the warehouse.


    ¡°And try not to kill anybody!¡± Sam shouted after her. She gave him a thumbs-up. Once she was out of sight, his gaze returned to the situation at hand, where six elves were aimlessly searching the warehouse for a secret entrance that may or may not exist. Sam supposed he should be too.


    Sam kicked over the junk pile, but it had no hidden depths. The walls weren¡¯t hollow. His frustration was beginning to rise when one of the elves called out.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just pry it out of the old guy. It¡¯s gotta be faster than sitting here with our thumbs up our asses.¡±


    As far as Sam could tell, that particular elf was the only one sitting around with his thumb up his ass. Well, Sam hadn¡¯t asked for the hardest workers.


    ¡°If we do that, it¡¯s going to be tough as nails pulling the info out of him. The harder you push a zealot, the more zealous they get.¡± Sam said, shuffling through the hay with his peg leg, checking the floor. There was nothing but normal hay in it with manure beneath.


    ¡°Well, if you get tired of screwing around, let me know.¡± The smartass said, hopping towards the hay and tucking his arms behind his head, intending to take a break.


    As soon as the young man contacted the hay, he shot to his feet with a howl, catching the attention of everyone there. All eyes were on him as he arched his back, clawing at a spot just off the center of his shoulder blades.


    His friends rushed forward to make sure he was okay, not stung by a giant insect or something, but he waved them off after a few seconds. After a moment, he drew a shuddering breath and straightened,


    ¡°There¡¯s something under there.¡±


    ¡°No shit,¡± Sam said, swinging his peg leg through the palce the kid had been until he felt a wooden clack. With an application of Nuetta, the straw blew away in every direction, leaving a single, well-worn wooden pole bent at a fourty-five degree angle. A lever.


    ¡°Alright, stand back,¡± Sam said, bending down and putting his hands on the wood. ¡°I don¡¯t know where this thing will open. Once they¡¯d reached a safe distance, Sam pulled on the handle. With a resounding, metallic click, the floor to his right popped up, surprising a handful of the men standing on it.


    ¡°Nice.¡± Jennei said.


    The eight of them grabbed under the lip of the raised floor and lifted until the former floor was standing straight up, revealing a wide staircase leading into darkness. That was what they were looking for.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Jennei, close the door after us and bullshit anyone who comes along. Run if you have to. Send Ella after me as soon as she makes it back. I¡¯m gonna need someone to tell me what does what. The rest of you grab some crates, We¡¯re going to buglarize a dragon.¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Sam put his peg leg on the first step as the elves chuckled, grabbing the crates.


    A blade hissed out of a hidden pocket in the floor and impacted against his pegleg, burrowing its way into the hard wood a few inches. A thick oil dripped from the blade and the formerly hidden compartment it had launched from.


    Everyone stood stock still, their eyes on the poisoned blade.


    ¡°And watch out for traps.¡± Sam summoned the floating eye and sending it ahead of him while poking the stairs with telekinesis. Another hiss-Clang sounded as a second scythe blade struck empty stone.


    ¡°And don¡¯t step anywhere I haven¡¯t.¡±


    Sam must have poked and prodded every inch of the tunnel by the time they made it to the dragon¡¯s lair. He had set off at least a dozen traps, and the entire time, he had wondered to himself if there was some kind of device to disable them and make the hall safe to walk through. It would have saved them a lot of time. The old man probably knew.


    Aside from luring him down there with the wails of the injured, Sam didn¡¯t see any way of having the old man voluntarily go down there rather than take off and get help. After half an hour crawling through the tunnel at a snail¡¯s pace, they finally arrived at the tremendous archway.


    Golden light spilled from the massive pile of precious metals in the center of the room. The top of the pile was pushe din, looking like an animal¡¯s nest. Bits of melted gold that had flowed together gave the dragon¡¯s bed some rigidity. The gold glittered from the light in burning sconces decorating the walls. The entire chamber looked like it¡¯d been carved out of marble.


    ¡°Bastard literally sleeps on a bed of gold,¡± Sam muttered. He didn¡¯t forget to keep his head down and really look around before he entered, dodging around a pressure plate at the entrance, and pointed it out for the rest of them.


    One of the elves knelt down and marked the plate with a piece of chalk they¡¯d looted from the sleeping old man.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Sam said, his hands on his hips. ¡°Set the crates down and let¡¯s get to work.¡±


    They set the lead crate down, which Sam had used to soak up some darts and hidden blades. The elves began hauling crate after crate down the stairs, while the rest began loading them.


    ¡°Forget about the gold,¡± Sam said loudly as he spotted one elf picking up a handful of the stuff. ¡°remember we¡¯ve gotta carry this stuff back up the stairs. Look for anything with magic in it. If it projects a forcefield, changes the color of your skin or turns you into a bird of prey, I want it in the crate. Once it gets heavy, carry it back upstairs with a buddy. We don¡¯t have all night.¡±


    Sam wandered the hall, amidst the bustling elves loading up the crates, examining the glass cases against the wall containing various trophies of the dragon¡¯s conquests. In a decorated little box, Sam spotted a ring that seemed to waver in place, making his eyes hurt. Sam put it in his pocket. There was a guilded sword above a skeleton chained to the wall. It was almost five feet long from tip to pommel, and it seemed to be watching Sam.


    Interesting.


    Sam continued on his way. He was walking past a mannequin when a glint of silver caught his eye. The mannequin was wearing gilded leather armor and a blue silk cloak. Almost tucked behind the cloak, the mannequin¡¯s forearm sported a stylized silver scorpion holding on with its six legs.


    Sam watched it cautiously a moment, wondering it if was going to move on him, but the thing remained still. It was definitely inanimate. Sam shrugged, and grabbed the thing. He nearly dropped it when its legs detached from the mannequin, but that was all the movement it gave.


    ¡°Neat.¡± Sam said, turning the scorpion around to look at its stomach. A short elven poem decorated the bottom. Sam furrowed his brows as he spent a moment translating.


    When he¡¯s hungry, feed him


    When he¡¯s angry, release him.


    When the tide has turned, Kill him


    Huh. Probably command words. This probably won¡¯t get me killed, Sam thought as he held the scorpion over his forearm. As soon as his skin contacted the cold silvery metal, the legs of the scorpion clamped down on Sam¡¯s arm, securing the artifact in place.


    Sam waited with his hackles raised for the metal insect to do something awful, like try to amputate his hand or lay eggs in him or something, but the scorpion simply waited passively. Sam slowly relaxed. Now he needed to find out what the hell it was supposed to do.


    ¡°Ettai.¡± Sam said the elven word for feed, watching the scorpion expectantly. Nothing happened. Sam frowned and closed his eyes, entering his Yuenan. He spotted the massive silver scorpion resting in the white hot fire of his Yuenan, absourbing energy through it¡¯s legs.


    ¡°Obviously magical.¡± Sam said, opening his eyes to look at it. ¡°fairly obvious code words. What am i doing wrong?¡±


    ¡°Try touching something when you say Ettai.¡± Ella said, catching Sam¡¯s attention. She¡¯d finally gotten back from looting the vault, and she didn¡¯t look any worse for wear. In fact, she was wearing a fair amount of new things she hadn¡¯t been wearing before, a necklace, three rings, a new robe, staff and shoes.


    ¡°You know what this is?¡±


    ¡°Portable siege equipment, made by a sly wizard about eight thousand years ago. Try it on something.¡±


    Sam touched a nearby pile of gold. ¡°Ettai.¡± He felt a modest amount of Nuetta drain from him as a large swath of the gold was shrunken and sucked into the mouth of the scorpion.


    Sam leveled the scorpion at a wall, mindful of load bearing structures and other squishy bodies that might be nearby.


    ¡°Pak¡¯t.¡± The gold spurted out dissapointingly and clattered on the floor, barely clearing a handful of feet.


    ¡°Put some oomph in it.¡± Ella said.


    ¡°PAK¡¯T!¡± Sam shouted, pouring in extra Yuenan. The wall exploded with debris and choking dust. When the particles settled, sam was witness to hundreds of old american gold coins partially embedded in the wall in little craters of their own making.


    Sam glanced down at the scorpion on his wrist. It had to be the thing the VAMPR was based on. It wasn¡¯t as flexible, and it didn¡¯t have the range, but it was still supremely useful.


    ¡°I like it, I like it a lot.¡± Sam said before glancing at Ella¡¯s new wardrobe. ¡°Looks like your job went well.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re all minor things, better than nothing.¡± Ella said, looking down at herself. ¡°The artifacts down here scream with latent magical energy.¡±


    ¡°Anything that could kill a dragon?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°In the right hands, maybe.¡± she pointed to the large sword on the wall, the one that felt like it was watching them. ¡°That one might be able to penetrate the dragon¡¯s scales.¡± Sam reached out with his Nuetta and lifted the sword off the wall, to his waiting hand.


    The moment his hand touched the hilt, some tingling feeling took over his hand, tightening his grip. Ella stared at him suspiciously. She was plotting something. She wasn¡¯t the same Ella he knew, she¡¯d been through five hundred years of suffering. The thing that Sam couldn¡¯t believe was that she treated him just like she had before, a friend, despite having hundreds of years to grow bitter over his unintentional betrayal. She must be waiting for the perfect time to betray him.


    He should minimize the risk to himself. Sam¡¯s grip tightened more. A swift strike to the neck, and she¡¯d be dead before she knew what had happened. Always best to kill a wizard by surprise, lest they get a last shot in on you.


    Sam¡¯s arm tensed. His eyes narrowed.


    ¡°The hell are you trying to make me think?¡± Sam asked the sword, forcibly unclenching his hand and dropping the sword to the floor with a clattering ring before glancing back up at Ella. ¡°Pretty sure it¡¯s got an attitude problem.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°If i get close enough to hit him with a sword, I¡¯m probably dead meat,¡± Sam said. ¡°But...¡± Maybe if he didn¡¯t have to touch it. He applied Nuetta, and the sword rose into the air and sailed toward the wall, point first. With a jangling clatter, the sword bounced off the wall and fell to the ground. Sam had maybe been able to reach thirty miles an hour with the sword. Not near fast enough to bury it in anything.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s a work in progress.¡±Sam shrugged, lifting the sword in the air again and moving on, practicing swinging and stabbing with nuetta as he walked.


    ¡°Did the rest of ¡®em find anything cool?¡± Sam asked as he scanned the room. The glitter of gold nearly drowned out anything else.


    ¡°Tons. They¡¯ve filled three trucks so far.¡± Ella said.


    ¡°Is it slowing down? We might want to cut out here since we...¡± Sam¡¯s words died in his throat and the suspicious sword clanged onto the ground. The back of the room had come into view. Against the far wall was a shredded and restitched stuffed mannaquin of Sam, with a VAMPR and a shiny golden rectangle on the wall above it, like trophies.


    The shiny rectangle was Sam¡¯s implant. Sam put his hand in his pocket, running his thumb over the other implant he¡¯d collected from his unfortunate successor in the cave. His nail caught on the lump in the golden alloy that hid the explosives.


    Sam reached out and plucked the VAMPR off the wall, inspecting the heavy rifle, his gaze stopping on the gaping hole in the center of the gun


    ¡°Seems like Billy put a claw through it.¡± Sam said, turning the broken weapon this way and that. ¡°rest in peace, vampire, you were too good for this world.¡±


    ¡°Why do you call him Billy?¡± Ella asked, watching Sam pore over the gun with a frown.


    ¡°That¡¯s his name. Billy Sanchez, taken as an egg from a nesting dragon on the other side of the Sanchez rift in New Mexico by an away team of SEALs on an exhbidition to the other side. Studied, raised, taught, and named by a group of Harvard professors who didn¡¯t know what the hell they were getting into.¡±


    Sam watched Ella frown and open her mouth to say something, when motion caught his eye. An elf ran toward them gesturing wildly. ¡°Come check this out!¡± he said, waving his hands as he ran, his eyes wide.


    Sam took a last look at the defunct VAMPR, and tossed it aside with a sigh, picking up the sword with his Nuetta before turning to face the excited man.


    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±


    ¡°We found a printer!¡±


    Sam¡¯s brows rose.


    In the corner of the dragon¡¯s lair stood a glimmering black cube, ten feet on a side. A band of clear glass alowed them to see the fine checkered floor inside the cube, and a pair of massive black hinges covered edge, with a handle on the other side.


    Beside the handle was a blinking touch-screen.


    ¡°Oh, my, god.¡± Sam said. He could feel his cheeks tightening into a manic grin, but who cared? He was standing in front of the protoype for the military grade Logistics Fabricator.


    ¡°Do you have any idea what this is?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Looks like a three dee printer?¡± the elf standing nest to him. Sam stared at him. ¡°A really big one?¡±


    ¡°This is a Logistics Fabricator, built for supplying entire bases with nonstandard equipment and replacements on a case-by-case basis.¡± Sam said with a grin as he clomped up to the cube and brought up the screen. ¡°And not just a copy, either, this one¡¯s the protoype, without the restrictions added to stop dumb G.I.s from blowing themselves up.¡±


    ¡°So...¡± the elf said, working it through. ¡°We can use it to make weapons?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t get your hopes up. These things were supplied through a sludge of raw materials carried in massive tanker trucks. It could be too empty to make anything anymore. Tyranus probably used this thing to make the first jeep that you guys have been replicating for the past couple months.¡±


    ¡°Power source looks... magical.¡± Sam said, glancing past the corner of the cube, his gaze landing on the rubber power cable as thick as his waist that was abruptly cut and the individual wires spliced into a runed golden box studded with gemstones that burned with inner light.


    ¡°Supply levels...¡± Sam muttered as he brought up the system specs. ¡°Crap.¡±


    ¡°Crap?¡± Ella asked.


    ¡°Well,¡± Sam said, pointing at the esoteric numbers filling the screen. ¡°From what I can make of it, our boy Billy used up all the explosives and damn near all the iron and silica, he used up all the plastic makings too. Lemme check his usage history.¡±


    Sam scanned through the list. More than a dozen backpack nukes, along with a complete jeep, and half a dozen baubles. The Fabricator was nearly empty, save for some of the rarer metals.


    ¡°huh,¡± Sam said, fishing the wavering ring out of his pocket. ¡°Do you know what this does?¡± he asked, glancing toward Ella. She knew magic stuff.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen it before.¡±


    ¡°Crap.¡±


    ¡°But it looks like it was made by a wizard from our homeland. Maybe a good luck charm?¡±


    ¡°Like it makes good luck?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°What? No, it¡¯s obviously not magical.¡± She said, glancing at the ring whose appearance seemed to flicker like fire in his hand. Sam glanced at her then back down to the ring flickering in his hand. Maybe she wasn¡¯t seeing what he was seeing?


    ¡°Huh.¡± Sam grunted, putting the ring to his finger. The small band stretched itself wide to accommodate Sam¡¯s sausage fingers, and settled comfortably behind his finger joint. Sam stood still for a moment, paying close attention to his thoughts.


    Sam¡¯s breath caught as he felt a tiny burning sensation in his chest as his breathing was guiding energy into a ring he¡¯d been working on for a couple days. He closed his eyes and went to his Yuenan, where dozens of white poles stood straight up out of his Yuenan in five clumps, forming a pentacle.


    The division of his Yuenan had rearranged, with his Isayatta opposite the amulet, and the pentacle of white poles dividing the two of them.


    As he watched, the poles began to bend away from each other slowly, stringing a gossamer thread between them that flickered with motes of light. the motes were drawn into the stalks -Thats what they were, acting as some kind of natural looking conveyor system that drew in the motes of light and transported them into his Yuenan, Like a feather or a fern


    Sam spotted the reason for the burning sensation in his chest. His Yuenan had grown, just a bit. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam spotted motion. He turned to look directly at his Iseyatta, and saw a tiny hairy man waving to him in from the bare-floored-empty-walled mind palace. That¡¯s new.

 Chapter 36: The Man in the Ring

    ¡°Sam?¡± He opened his eyes at Ella¡¯s concerned face.


    ¡°Something wrong?¡±


    ¡°I was just checking my Yuenan to make sure it wasn¡¯t magic. Looks like you were right.¡± Sam lied. Some reason you don¡¯t want her to know that you¡¯re magic, fella? Sam thought, feeling a vague sense of caution from the ring.


    ¡°So why did you want to know about the ring?¡±


    ¡°I was looking for a way to game the system.¡± Sam said. ¡°Anybody find a cool ring, preferably gold or some other precious metal?¡±


    ¡°I found one that makes you stronger!¡±


    ¡°I found one that makes a shield!¡±


    ¡°I found one that slows time!¡±


    ¡°I found one that shoots lightening!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got one that makes you into a bird!¡±


    ¡°Wait, what?¡± Sam said, looking around for the Time guy. From the back, he saw one waving his hand, a glimmer of gold between his fingers. Time, huh? Sounded cool.


    ¡°Bring ¡®em all up, lets try this out.¡±


    The time ring was a puzzle ring composed of three different metals. Orange gold, a shiny black alloy, and silver winding between them.


    ¡°How do you use it?¡±


    ¡°Just put Nuetta through it.¡± Ella said with a shrug.


    Sam put the ring on his pinky finger --The only finger it would fit on-- and put a thick pre-collapse gold coin under his thumb. ¡°Here goes.¡±


    Sam flicked the coin up and channeled his nuetta through the ring. The coin stopped in midair, rising about as fast bread.


    ¡°That¡¯s really cool.¡± Sam said aloud, and glanced at the elves frozen in time. Was he simply experiencing time differently like in a car crash, or was he free from the constraints of time itself? One way to find out.


    Sam took a step to the side, half expecting the inertia to slow him down, but his body wasn¡¯t bothered by what should have been five or six G¡¯s of inertia. That¡¯s REALLY cool!


    Sam tried to take another step and his Yuenan bottomed out. Sam was assaulted by a piercing headache, and he heard the coin hit the floor. He squinted his eyes shut against the pain even as he heard the elves jump in startlement.


    ¡°So,¡± Sam said, opening one eye as the headache receded. ¡°It really does as advertised, but it looks like a normal person can only take a step or so before they¡¯re dried up.¡± He glanced at the young man who¡¯d handed him the ring.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t get it to do that at all.¡±


    ¡°Probably ¡®cuz you dont-¡° Sam glanced at Ella and choked back the words about isayatta. He didn¡¯t want to shit all over their taboos any more than he already had. ¡°Have enough juice.¡±


    ¡°Can I borrow this for a moment?¡±


    The kid nodded, and Sam walked up to the Fabricator and pulled down on the enormous lever keeping the door closed. The ten foot panel of black steel and glass swung open, forcing a few elves to stand aside.


    ¡°I wonder,¡± Sam said, hefting the ring in his hand before clomping in and setting it on the dot in the center of the chamber. If he was right, the dragon was going to kick himself in the nuts. Well, it¡¯s not like the scaly bastard ever intended to share the result, so why would he copy anything?


    ¡°What are you planning to do to it?¡± Ella asked as Sam mucled the heavy door closed.


    ¡°Gonna scan it, and test a theory.¡± Sam said, locking the door to the chamber and setting the cube to scan the contents of the chamber. First it would create a vacuum, then bombard the ring with radiation. I hope that doesn¡¯t destroy it. The radiation that was both reflected and passed through would be recaptured and decoded, giving the machine a perfect map of the ring itself, down to the atom.


    ¡°And your theory is?¡± Ella asked brow raised.


    ¡°Well, these rings basically do the mental work that a person couldn¡¯t do on their own, all you have to do is put Nuetta through them, and they recreate a spell too complex for the average elven or human brain.¡±


    ¡°More or less.¡± Ella said, intrugued. ¡°But enchanting a single object takes a group of nearly a dozen lesser wizards handling the complex properties of the spell in perfect tandem before applying that to the object itself. Then someone has to test it, and if even a single wizard made a mistake, it could prove fatal.¡±


    ¡°So i¡¯m wondering if the Fabricator can do it instead.¡± Sam said with a grin. The cube finished emptying of air before it filled with bright light and harsh sound for another three seconds. When the chamber fell silent, Sam watched the progress bar as the machine decoded the information it¡¯d captured.


    ¡°That makes no sense. There¡¯s no Yuenan, no magic in it at all.¡±


    ¡°This thing can make microchips capable of outperforming the human brain, why wouldn¡¯t it be able to handle an enchanted ring? I think the Nuetta wizards use when they alter an object, but it doesn¡¯t hang around afterward. If the machine can replicate those changes through some other means, then it should work.¡±


    ¡°And if it doesn¡¯t work, nothing will happen. And if it half-works, you could turn into a pile of charcoal, or be stuck in a time paradox. The odds don¡¯t look great.¡±


    ¡°Eh, there was a professor who started to take a look at using the fabricator this way just before the collapse, his work was very promising. He wound up shot for the food in his pantry, poor guy.¡±


    ¡°Alright, but I¡¯m not testing it.¡± Ella said, her hands up.


    ¡°No problem.¡± Sam said, bringing up the schematics. In the machine¡¯s display was the time ring. Sam isolated the different alloys in the bands and turned their opacity down, revealing an intricate laticework of interwoven lines inside the ring, made by some reaction between the Nuetta and the golden alloy.


    ¡°Blam. There¡¯s your enchantment.¡± Sam said, crossing his arms and grinning at the assembled elves.


    ¡°Still haven¡¯t proven it¡¯ll work.¡± She said.


    ¡°Alright then.¡± Sam opened the cube and took out the ring, then closed the chamber.


    ¡°If i make the ring bigger, do you think that¡¯ll make the spell not work?¡± Sam asked, adjusting the size of the ring in the display to fit his fingers.Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°No more than hamfistedly trying to print a copy of a priceless artifact.¡± Ella said, her voice flat.


    ¡®Eh, no risk, no reward.¡± Sam said, engaging the print. The chamber once again filled with light, and an ear piercing screech.


    ¡°Now,¡± Sam shouted over the noise. ¡°Emitters in the ceiling are firing a septillian atoms per second precisely where they need to be!¡± a fraction of a second later, the screeching stopped, and Sam looked in the chamber, spotting a ring sitting in the center, absolutely identical to the first, albeit a little bigger.


    ¡°Hold onto this one.¡± Sam said, giving the first ring away before he entered the chamber and retrieved the new one.


    Sam slipped the ring on his other hand with a smile. A perfect fit. He grabbed another coin and set it on his thumb. Welp, here goes nothing. If i turn into a pile of sludge, I hope they remember me as a nice guy, and if i get caught in a time loop, I hope I¡¯m not conscious of it. That would suck.


    ¡°Here we go,¡± he said, noticing the elves taking much more distance than they had before. Sam flicked the coin into the air and ran his Nuetta through the bands. Nothing happened, except the gold coin falling back into his palm. Sam frowned at the ring. Maybe there was a way to jumpstart it? Juice it up for first time operation.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t work?¡± Ella asked with a raised brow.


    ¡°No, but I got an idea. Hand me the first one again.¡± The first ring was placed back in his hands and Sam put the two together, circulating his Nuetta through the first, into the copy. Sam could feel it. The enchanted tracework inside the copy was like a soft deposit of sand being washed out of the center of a chunk of granite, his Nuetta flowed through and bored out the latticework of the ring in the shape of the spell, converting the nearly-complete ring into a finished product.


    The heavy lifting of etching the minerals was done by the machine, and the fine tune spell control was done with the original ring. Sam knew when he took the first ring away again that he¡¯d succeeded.


    Sam tossed the first ring back to its owner, and channeled a fine thread of Nuetta through the copy, watching it slowly tumble through the air. It seemed as long as Sam didn¡¯t move, the ring took very little energy to power, but as soon as Sam tried to move his hand, his already exhausted Yuenan gave him another headache, and the kid caught the ring.


    ¡°It worked.¡± Sam said, wincing as the golden light stabbed his eyeballs.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe it.¡± Ella muttered. Sam threw her the ring. She made a face for a moment before slipping it on. The thing was loose around her thumb. She flicked a coin into the air, and flickered. One moment she was watching the coin, and the next, she held the gold between thumb and forefinger, studying it.


    ¡°Is that what it looked like for me?¡± Sam asked. Because that was a little creepy. Ella tossed the coin back on the pile, took off the ring and studied it for a moment before handing it back to Sam.


    ¡°You¡¯re amazing.¡± Ella said.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t me,¡± Sam said, revisiting the memories in his implant. ¡°It was scientists, they just... choked at the finish line. Or got shot. You get the idea.¡± Sam slipped the the ring back on his finger and leaned against the Fabricator, tucking his aching peg leg in front of him in a pose he hoped was cool-looking.


    ¡°Alright, listen up, there¡¯s only enough precious metals in here to make a dozen or so more rings, which means that after you copy the one I tell you to for everybody, there¡¯s not going to be a whole lot left for anyone else, so think carefully.¡±


    They finished loading up the jeeps with all the treasure they could carry and jumped in the cars after thoroughly defacing Billy¡¯s throne room.


    Sam jumped in the passenger seat with Jennei, thumbing the ring in his pocket meant for Faera. He had hoped they would find her in the lair, maybe alive, maybe dead, but they hadn¡¯t seen a sign of her. The possibilities boiled down to three options: she was held somewhere else, she wasn¡¯t held at all, or she was dragon poop. Sam had no idea which of those three was more likely.


    He¡¯d have more time to search the city and hunt for clues after the dragon was dead.


    It was the middle of the night when they started their engines, cruising along the cobbled road toward the gate. Sam hoped they would let them out without a fuss the same as last time, but it didn¡¯t matter one way or another, Ella was going to weaken the gates if they tried to stop them, then they¡¯d just run them over.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna get some shuteye. Please don¡¯t stab me.¡± Sam said, leaning his chair back and closing his eyes.


    ¡°No promises.¡±


    Sam chuckled before focusing his mind and diving into his Yuenan, reaching the empty space inside him in the space of a breath. Sam floated through the void to his isayatta, landing on the entrance. Far below him, his Nuetta churned up, coiling and condensing beneath him in time with his breathing.


    Standing at the railing, looking down at Sam¡¯s Yuenan was a very short man, balding, with a friendly face.


    ¡°May I ask what you were doing in that ring?¡± Sam asked. Never hurt to be polite if the other guy was obviously not human.


    ¡°You come across too weak.¡± The short man finally spoke. ¡°A guy like you could walk in and demand to know what was going on and no one would question it.¡± His gaze lifted to the sails that had now fully spread, creating something a bit like a Tutu around the core of Sam¡¯s Yuenan.


    ¡°Better safe than sorry in this circumstance.¡±


    ¡°So you risk your life on an untested theory and now it¡¯s ¡®better safe than sorry¡¯?¡±


    ¡°living things are unpredictable.¡± Sam said.


    ¡°I suppose. What makes you think I¡¯m alive?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re talking, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    The short man chuckled a moment then faced Sam for the first time, only a hint of his good humor remaining.


    ¡°My name is Gurd, what you humans might call a user interface. I was created fourteen thousand years ago by the god Ibenyu, and served him faithfully for millenia until he was eventually consumed by another god. I was left on the battlefield with nothing but my thoughts, aware that I would never against fulfill my purpose and unable to end my own life. I can serve no other master than Ibenyu. What is your name?¡±


    Sam narrowed his eyes. Why was Gurd asking him to name himself? He probably got Sam¡¯s name from listening to what was going on around them. Did he...want Sam to call himself Ibenyu?


    ¡°May I ask a question?¡±


    ¡°As long as it doesn¡¯t violate my purpose.¡±


    ¡°What would you do if i said my name was Ibenyu?¡±


    ¡°I would deploy a series of tests to verify your identity.¡±


    ¡°And if I pass them?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°I would acknowledge you as Ibenyu, my master.¡±


    ¡°If I fail?¡±


    ¡°I would be forced to destroy you.¡±


    Sam drummed his fingers on the railing made of pure Nuetta beside him.


    ¡°I take it you want to serve a purpose again?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Very much.¡±


    So. It looked like Gurd would slant the test in Sam¡¯s favor wherever he could, but it couldn¡¯t be that easy.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you my name, but first I¡¯d like to play a little game.¡± Sam said, pulling glowing Nuetta through the center of his Yuenan to form a wall of glowing elven characters in front of himself. He could try having the user interface spell out the contents of the test. If he wanted Sam to pass, he could work with him to make that happen.


    ¡°Can you point to the first character of the first test?¡± Sam asked.


    Gurd¡¯s brows raised, but he didn¡¯t move.


    ¡°Can you look at the first character of the test?¡±


    Gurd froze in place, his teeth clenched, breathing rough. His eyes rolling unnaturally back and forth across the board of glowing characters, fighting his programming with a powerful will born of millenia of loneliness.


    Sam reviewed the characters Gurd had looked at with his implant, and discovered that while the ones he looked at were nonsense when strung together. He had avoided looking at one in particular.


    Sam put his thumb to his chin. He couldn¡¯t tell Gurd that he¡¯d noticed, or the construct would probably change his behavior, being restricted from communicating to anyone the content of the test. Sam wondered what kind of cognitive dissonance the construct was employing to believe he was not informing Sam while at the same time deliberately doing so.


    It was probably incredibly uncomfortable, by the look on the man¡¯s face. Sorry, but this is going to take a while.


    ¡°Well, that didn¡¯t work,¡± Sam lied. ¡°Can you try looking at the second character in the first test?¡±


    Time crawled by and Sam gradually decoded the contents of the test, until he was finally ready.


    ¡°I am Ibenyu.¡± Sam said. Gurd¡¯s face fell, his expression flat.


    ¡°What is the end goal of power?¡± Gurd asked.


    ¡°Cheesecake.¡± The answers to the questions were non sequitar, deliberately misleading. Ibenyu was a bit of a prick.


    ¡°Where were you born?¡±


    ¡°Fishing lure.¡±


    ¡°Beginning scan.¡± Sam felt pins and needles throughout his body. ¡°Your form does not match the-¡° Before Gurd could vaporize him, Sam had to give him the right excuse.


    ¡°This body took severe damage in the last conflict, Gurd. Combat override sixteen.¡±


    Gurd¡¯s face turned red, his teeth chattered, and a drop of blood began to dribble from his nose. An electric wail, a feedback loop emenated from Gurd¡¯s mouth, slowly rising in pitch, until it suddenly resolved into a voice.


    ¡°Override accepted, Welcome back, Ibenyu.¡±


    ¡°Gurd, from now on, I¡¯m retasking you to work with others. Disable the security measure preventing unauthorized users. Serve at your own discretion.¡±


    Gurd¡¯s eyes brimmed with tears as he nodded.


    ¡°And I, Ibenyu, have decided to change my name to Sam. From now on, you will refer to me as such.¡±


    ¡°Nice to meet you, Sam.¡± He said, his hand outstretched.


    ¡°You too, Gurd.¡±

 Chapter 37: Captured

    A jostling caused Sam to open his eyes, blinking sand out of his eyes.


    ¡°Problem?¡± he asked, blinking at Jennei who pointed forward, wordlessly. They were a couple miles outside of the city, travelling the smooth plains toward the mountain to the east, where the other elves should have secured a couple howitzers, and the only light was that of the stars... and hundreds of campfires ahead of them.


    ¡°Son of a bitch.¡± Sam leaned forward in the seat, studying the army in front of him. Where the hell had that come from? As he peered closely, he could make out the distant people assembling into formation, their armor gleaming in the firelight.


    ¡°Are they from Mississipi or are they Billy¡¯s goons?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Does it really matter?¡± Jennei asked. ¡°We¡¯re driving the dragon¡¯s stolen jeeps full of treasure. Either one would kill us on sight.¡±


    ¡°It matters because-¡° Sam¡¯s words were cut off by the air-shaking roar of a dragon. ¡°Get out of the car.¡± Sam threw open the door and jumped out, followed shortly by Jennei.


    ¡°Jennei, I want you to-¡° the sound of fluttering wings caught Sam¡¯s attention. A black hawk flew into the darkness, rapidly gaining altitude and turning toward the east. ¡°Yeah, that.¡± Now all he had to do was save the rest and kill the dragon. Or at the very least, survive.


    ¡°Out of the cars!¡± Sam shouted, waving his hands at the remaining elves. He placed his hand on the jeep. ¡°ETTAI!¡± the jeep and all it¡¯s contents shrank, sucked into the scorpion on his wrist.


    The elves left their vehicles, looking around the skies for the dragon.


    ¡°Scatter! Fly low until you¡¯re clear, then head east to regroup, got it?¡±


    Sam spotted movement out of the corner of his eye, followed by a torrent of flame. He turned his wrist toward the flame and shouted the command word, sending a treasure-laden jeep twirling into Billy¡¯s mouth, blocking the fire.


    The dragon¡¯s eyes widened, and it¡¯s flight became erratic, plunging into the ground, stunned.


    ¡°Ettai, Ettai, Ettai!¡± Sam shouted, sucking each of the trucks into the  silver scorpion as he ran past them.


    ¡°Get this to the others!¡± Sam shouted, pulling the scorpion off his wrist and tossing it to the nearest elf. ¡°And get moving!¡± Billy was in the process of digorging the jeep, shaking his head wildly.


    The rest of the elves nodded, turned into hawks and flew away, leaving Sam with Ella.


    ¡°Don¡¯t die for nothing.¡± Ella said with sad smile.


    ¡°Been there, done that. Get out of here sweet cheeks.¡±


    The old elf shook her head with a sour face and turned in to a gray hawk, flying away, leaving Sam truly alone, except for an army, a pissed off dragon, and a half-melted jeep.


    Sam looked down at the rings on his fingers. Turned out the hawk one was a good investment. Sam idly touched Gurd¡¯s ring while watching the dragon spit the last bits of windshield out of its mouth.


    ¡°Gurd, sorry to bother you so soon, but can you beat a dragon?¡±


    If you can¡¯t beat a dragon, Then I can¡¯t beat a dragon.


    ¡°Can you maintain an illusion?¡±


    Yes.


    ¡°Disguise yourself and the other rings, and try to make me seem nonmagical.¡±


    Sure. The rings on Sam¡¯s hands vanished in front of his eyes. By the way, I found a curse potted in your Isayatta. Did you want me to throw that out for you?


    ¡°No, it came in handy when...Just don¡¯t throw anything away, okay?¡±


    The memories i¡¯ve seen from your previous life are fascinating. The architecture of the twenty-second century is giving me great inspiration for the design of your Isayatta. May I have access to the Implant?  I think some of you studied architecture, and I¡¯d like more concrete schematics.


    ¡°Knock yourself out, but don¡¯t distract me while I talk to Billy.¡±


    Who¡¯s Billy- ih Seh kno, that¡¯s a big dragon!


    Sam put his finger in his mouth and gave a ear piercing whistle, drawing Billy¡¯s attention to him.


    ¡°Yo, Tyranus, over here!¡±


    The dragon¡¯s eyes narrowed. Billy began to run toward him, his steps shaking the earth as he charged.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Sam shouted, pulling the implant out of his pocket and holding it up high. The dragon didn¡¯t stop, simply lunging forward with its jaws, forcing Sam to jump out of the way.


    The dragon¡¯s momentum carried him ten feet past Sam, but his neck simply bent back and took another bite at Sam. Sam pushed off the ground he was rolling on, and with a tiny application of telekinesis, pulled himself out of the way of the dragon¡¯s teeth just in time to avoid being bit in half, unfortunately he  lost his peg leg in the process. Fucking thing.


    ¡°I can win your war for you!¡± sam shouted, doing his best to hop out of Billy¡¯s biting range.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Billy spoke, coming to a bemused halt. His voice rattled Sam¡¯s chest.


    ¡°I¡¯m of great value to you alive!¡± Sam said, brandishing the implant between the two of them like a holy symbol to ward off evil.


    ¡°I highly doubt that. You¡¯ve caused me more grief than any other human, bar none.¡±


    ¡°This implant has the memory of the S4M that tried to kill you the first time.¡± Sam said, holding out the shiny metal.¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°This implant,¡± Sam said, tapping his skull. ¡°This implant has the memory of every S4M who ever lived.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you.¡± Billy growled.


    ¡°I know where every military base and laboratory in america was. Even the secret ones. Guns, diseases, supplies, supercomputers. I even know your real name, Mr. Billy Sanchez, Harvard graduate with a major in biology and a minor in psychology and history.¡± Sam said.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Billy said, the scales on his neck and face lying down again. Sam took a second look. The dragon looked smoother and sleeker than the last time he¡¯d seen him, and the damage from the explosion was gone. Had the dragon done some kind of plastic surgery?


    At the same time, the army in the distance flickered out of existance. It was a goddamn illusion, and a big one at that. They probably could have gotten away, but they¡¯d fallen for a freaking fake. A really damn big one. Sam fumed inwardly in being caught in a trick. I¡¯m the only one allowed to be a smartass.


    Billy crossed his arms and settled to the ground in front of Sam, looking down at him. ¡°I suppose you want to negotiate for the information.¡±


    ¡°All I want is a tropical island off the coast and a couple of bare-breasted women. That shouldn¡¯t be hard to provide. You can have it back after i¡¯m dead. That and an answer to a question.¡±


    Billy snorted. ¡°What question?¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s Faera, the elf who was with the S4M that the demon killed?¡±


    Billy¡¯s lips peeled away form his teeth in a vicious smile. ¡°You¡¯re going to find out.¡±


    Sam felt gossamer threads settle on his brain, like his every thought and sensation had the tiniest tug as it shifted in real time. Sam resisted the urge to reflexively wipe the threads away. He couldn¡¯t play his hand yet.


    ¡°Sleep.¡± Billy¡¯s voice rumbled, and Sam felt his body loose control, sinking to the ground. Strangely though, he was still fully awake.


    I got this, just close your eyes and let me know when you want me to let you ¡®wake up¡¯.


    Sam felt massive claws cinch down around him none too gently, scooping up a bit of the dirt and grass beneath him.


    ¡°I should pop your head off right here,¡± Sam felt a claw pressing against either side of his neck, restricting his breathing. ¡°But I¡¯ve got questions that need answers.¡±


    Sam felt his stomach sink and the wind rush past his skin as the dragon lunged into the sky, winging it¡¯s way toward the city.


    Oh, great, let¡¯s all go to prison. Durg complained.


    Better than dying. Just keep me as innocous as possible.


    As you wish.


    There was a long pause.


    Since you¡¯re not busy, do you want to discuss where to put the entertainment hall and the pool?


    The what? Sam thought, focusing inwardly. When he reached his Isayatta, he saw the framework for a massive skyscraper slowly growing out of a block of solidified Nuetta ten feet deep and growing, covering and protecting the rings that channeled Sam¡¯s Yuenan.


    ¡°Oh, there you are.¡± Gurd said, floating up beside him, taking in the construction from a distance with him. ¡°Do you have an asthetic that you prefer? You mentioned liking bare breasted women so I was wondering...¡±


    ¡°While I¡¯m not opposed to the occasional naked lady, I¡¯ll have to turn down making my entire Isayatta look like one.¡± Sam said dryly. It occured to him that the Sam Faera knew was a totally different Sam. That Sam was awkward around people and boobs. This Sam was already jaded. It was either that or die.


    ¡°Suit yourself. I¡¯m thinking of having the tower twist a little, or maybe split in two and wind around the shaft.¡±


    ¡°Try to keep it simple, elegent, and efficient.¡± Sam said. ¡°No useless dangling or unbalanced parts. Other than that, you¡¯ve got my permission to make it however you want.¡±


    ¡°Where would you like the Arena?¡±


    ¡°The what?¡±


    ¡°The Arena, where you make the souls of the men you kill fight each other so that you don¡¯t consume them?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll need that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll just leave space for it. You never know. I¡¯m adding  a movie theater with every movie an S4M unit has ever seen, along with a pool, bar, and red light district.


    ¡°Populated with what?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Idunno. Any consciousnesses you create or pieces of yourself split away from you and waiting to be reabsorbed. If you don¡¯t lay proper groundwork, It¡¯s a total mess in here in just a few thousand years.¡±


    ¡°How long do you plan on our relationship lasting?¡±


    Gurd looked hurt, the expressive brows above his fat face drooping.


    ¡°As long as you want it to I suppose, master. I¡¯d appreciate it if you could give me to someone else rather than throw me aside. I couldn¡¯t spend another eight milennia lying in the dirt.¡±


    ¡°I just don¡¯t expect to live that long.¡± Sam shrugged.


    ¡°Not with that attitude,¡± Gurd scoffed, straightening, his expression clear. His head reached Sam¡¯s waist. ¡°I¡¯m going to make sure we have a long and beautiful friendship, you and I.¡±


    ¡°Keep the Iseyatta simple.¡± Sam said, turning away.


    ¡°Got it.¡± The little man effected a salute and went back to the business of constructing Sam¡¯s mind palace.


    Sam peeked through his eyelashes and saw that he was sprawled on the red-tinted stone floor of a cell, and the dragon hadn¡¯t bothered to bring Sam¡¯s peg leg. Damnit. Sam was getting pretty fucking tired of that. Sam raised himself to a seated position with a groan. It felt like Billy had treated him like a squeezy toy.


    ¡°Ah, you¡¯re awake.¡± Sam heard a familiar voice. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Faera¡¯s haggard face.


    ¡°You¡¯re alive.¡± Sam said, turning. ¡°I didn¡¯t-¡° his words caught in his throat as he took in Faera¡¯s condition.


    Faera¡¯s arms and legs were truncated above the joint. Her body was covered in bruises, and a magic sealing collar was around her throat. She watched him with a cautious gaze.


    ¡°You know me, huh?¡± she asked. ¡°That Sam is dead. You must¡¯ve been sent here by Tyranus. Don¡¯t know where he got ahold of another one of you.¡± She looked away, staring at the ceiling.


    ¡°What happened to you?¡±


    ¡°I think you know.¡± She said, her eyes narrowed.


    ¡°I really don¡¯t, Faera.¡± Sam said gently.


    ¡°Look around.¡± She said, motioning to the walls.


    Sam looked, and saw the same  obsidian walls with veins of red running through them as the ones in the tower.


    ¡°Are we in the tower?¡±


    ¡°Under it. This is where he ¡®Fattens up¡¯ his meals.¡±


    ¡°This is...the base of the chimney.¡± Sam said, looking around as the hemisphere of black stone built around them. ¡°This is exactly where the two laylines converge?¡±


    In the cells around them were another dozen or so limbless wretches.


    ¡°Yup, baking us like a stone-fired pizza.¡± Faera said. ¡°They did this before I got strong enough to bend steel.¡± She wiggled her truncated arms and legs before looking at Sam.


    ¡°So when are you going to get around to asking me where the elves make their guns or how many people we have?¡±


    ¡°Later.¡± Sam said, looking around. ¡°Glad you¡¯re alive.¡±


    ¡°That makes one of us, I¡¯m a goddamn quadruple amputee.¡± She said with a snarl.


    ¡°I¡¯d still hit it.¡± Sam gave her a grin and a thumbs-up.


    Faera¡¯s eyes widened, staring at him. ¡°You¡¯re definitely not the same Sam.¡±


    ¡°Never said I was.¡± Sam said, dusting himself off as he stood. ¡°Hypothetically, if I were here because Tyranus plans on torturing and eating me, how long before they cut off my arms and legs too?¡±


    Hinges squealed as a section of the wall swung inward,  revealing a grim procession lead by a woman in a revealing white dress with shining auburn hair.


    ¡°Ummm...now?¡± Faera said.

 Chapter 38: Hospitality

    ¡°Cattle shouldn¡¯t talk in front of their owners. Be thankful Lord Tyranus has allowed you to speak.¡± Maria said, directing a glare at Faera. Now that Sam thought about it, the rest of the prisoners were gagged. Billy wanted him to talk to Faera, hoping they would complement each other¡¯s suffering, like fish and beef.


    From what Sam understood, most people would die pretty quick if you cut off their arms and legs, stuffed a rag in their mouths and fed them once a day, but after who knows how many molts, these people were the picture of health despite the squalid conditions.


    ¡°So, it looks like Tyranus¡¯s plan for you has finally come to fruition as a vessel for his Ascention. Not so arrogant now that my lord has withdrawn his blessing, are you?¡± Maria said, standing outside his cell, hand on her hip and smirking as six grim-face musclemen opened Sam¡¯s cell and took him by the arms.


    Holy crap, she knows i can harness Nuetta and she¡¯s such a believer that she didn¡¯t even question it! For her all magic absolutely comes from her god. That¡¯s hilarious! One word and i¡¯d be in shackles and dead.


    ¡°Did anyone ever tell you that you sound really crazy?¡± Sam asked. Maria responded with a slap. Sam was momentarily tempted to bite a finger off, but he decided to let it hit his cheek.


    That was a mistake.


    Sam had momentarily forgotten the woman was physically stronger than he was, and the impact rocked his head to the side, making him see stars and briefly wonder if he felt his implant jostling around his brain. Would it smell like an anyeurism?


    ¡°Be thankful to my lord that you get to keep your tongue. I tried to persuade him that you can communicate without it.¡±


    Sam stuck out his tongue.


    Maria punched him in the balls.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to keep those,¡± Maria said as Sam slumped in his captor¡¯s arms. ¡°But we need bargaining chips, don¡¯t we?¡±


    Sam had taken nut shots before, but nothing could quite prepare you for it. He focused on regaining control of his lungs while they dragged him out of the room.


    ¡°Be right back,¡± he rasped.


    As they dragged him through the stone hall, Sam was thinking as fast as he could. If he could stall for time and spend time getting ¡®fattened up¡¯ he would Molt a few times, vastly increasing the amount of power he could bring to bear, but the only way he saw that he could do that was let them cripple him.


    Can you fix amputated limbs? Sam asked Gurd internally


    I could become an armband and hide myself near your smelly armpit, and sure, I could guide your flesh to regrow, but I don¡¯t recommend it. It¡¯s not fast or easy with the limited size of your Yuenan. Certainly not fast and easy enough to surprise them and make a daring escape.


    Can you maintain an illusion hiding my regrown limbs?


    That... might work. Are you sure you want to do this?


    Yeah, I¡¯m sure. If that bastard wants to grow my Yuenan so he can eat me, I¡¯m gonna make him choke on it. If i want to sell the idea that i¡¯m helpless, I¡¯m going to have to bleed. Once this is over, I¡¯m going to walk up to Billy and I¡¯m going to make him regret hurting my crush. Both crushes, I guess.


    This is gonna suck. Gurd complained.


    At least I¡¯m not going to hide you in my ass like the other rings. That and you¡¯ll get to meet new people.


    How¡¯s that?


    You¡¯re going to regrow Faera¡¯s limbs too, at least.


    Never worked for a woman before. Gurd¡¯s voice sounded intrigued.


    Word of advice, keep it professional and women will find you more attractive.


    Seems counter-intuitive.


    The door at the end of the hall opened, revealing a bloodied solid steel table with steel beams to restrain stronger-than-human victims.


    Time to get busy, make yourself into an armband.


    Sam telekinetically grabbed the invisible ring as it widened and slipped it up to his armpit, while sliding the other two rings off his right hand and under his arm, into his clothes and up his butt.


    We¡¯re not telling people about this when we¡¯re telling this story years from now, are we? Gurd asked.


    We¡¯ll keep it vague.


    The musclemen hauled Sam up to the table, and Sam struggled to make it convincing, but he was alarmed to discover he couldn¡¯t shake them off on his best day. These men must have a lot of Molts under their belt as well. It made Sam wonder. They weren¡¯t all wizards, were they? It was an unusual feeling, not being the strongest man in the room. Sam didn¡¯t like it.


    They hauled him, kicking and straining, up to the table, and locked him down one limb at a time.


    ¡°Now, we¡¯re going to make you a more presentable offering for our lord.¡± Marie said with the hint of a smile. ¡°You should have taken my offer. Both of them.¡±


    ¡°I think I¡¯d rather have my arms and legs cut off.¡± Sam said, rolling his eyes, glancing over at the muscleman retrieving a rather large axe from the wall.


    ¡°And so you shall. Not that one,¡± She said to the looming figure. ¡°The saw.¡±


    The man frowned, but he didn¡¯t question her, simply turning and retrieving a large, jagged saw.


    What a bitch.


    ¡°I¡¯m wondering,¡± Sam said. ¡°Since people get smarter when they¡¯ve molted, but those fellas don¡¯t seem particularly bright, did they get lobotomised or something?¡±


    Another brute came and shoved a rag in Sam¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°So you don¡¯t bite your tongue.¡± He said, patting Sam on the cheek as the other one placed the saw against his left bicep.


    Don¡¯t worry, I can stop the pain. Gurd said.


    Don¡¯t bother, we gotta make it convincing. Just make sure I don¡¯t shit myself.


    As you wish.


    After an hour of hacking his limbs away while Marie healed the wounds shut, they delivered his torso back to the cell. Sam lost consciousness after the first leg, and they¡¯d seen fit to finish the job while he was out.


    When he opened his eyes, he found himself on his back, staring up at the ceiling, much like Faera had been.


    ¡°You still there?¡± Sam asked.


    Yep. Gurd responded.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Faera said.


    Sorry, were you talking to her?


    Doesn¡¯t matter.


    ¡°So now what?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°I assume he¡¯s going to give you a few months or years as a limbless invalid to crush your spirit, get everything he wants to know out of you in exhange for a blanket, and then eat you.¡±


    ¡°Perfect.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Trade secret.¡± Sam said, struggling to turn onto his side and look at Faera. Finally he gave up and simply turned his head.


    ¡°When I break out, I want you to be ready. Then we¡¯ll kill his ass and consumate on the corpse.¡±


    Faera laughed and looked at the ceiling.


    ¡°If you break us out of here, I¡¯ll let you consumate anywhere you want.¡±Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°Deal.¡± Sam said, looking at the ceiling.


    How long is it going to take to fix my arms and legs? Sam asked Gurd.


    At the current rate? Two years.


    Sam felt a cold sweat on his forehead as the powerful Nuetta flowing through the room triggered the beginning of a molt.


    I think we can do it in a month.


    The time spent in prison was boring, and painful, Sam was kept in a state of near-perpetual fever for the first three days, as one Molt after another piled on top of each other until they finally slowed down and stopped after the fourth. Between the Molts, and the sails around his Yuenan, Gurd estimated it would still take two months to grow his limbs back completely.


    Every day Sam was hosed down after having a cupful of salty, fatty goop and water spooned into his mouth. There wasn¡¯t much light to photosynthesize, so he gradually lost weight, until his body became a truncated stick figure of its former self.


    The first week, Sam caught Faera up on where he¡¯d been, and what he¡¯d been up to. The second she told him about her family, her friend from her home, the one she was trying to save.


    ¡°Haleia?¡± Sam asked, searching his memories. ¡°Yeah, she was with the group of elders and children that went across the river. Not really the fighting type.¡±


    Faera sighed in relief.


    A week later he gave them the location of a supply warehouse for the Fabricator after they cut his dick off.


    A week later, Sam¡¯s arms and legs were skeletal things wrapped in a thin layer of skin, only visible to him. He¡¯d lost an eye.


    Sam wished they would feed him more.


    He was running out of dirty jokes to tell Faera.


    A week later, Sam¡¯s limbs had grown just enough muscle to move when Faera gave up.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I can do this anymore, Sam.¡± She said, tears streaming from her eyes, and pooling on the ground. ¡°I thought I cared enough to do anything, but I¡¯d put a bullet between the eyes of everyone I love if someone would put me out of my misery.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to make it through. I¡¯m going to get us out of here.¡±


    ¡°Stop! Stop trying to make me feel like we could ever get out of here! You¡¯re just building me up so they can knock me down again! I want out of here! I don¡¯t care who does it, just kill me!¡±


    ¡°They can hear you!¡± Sam hissed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care! I just wanna die!¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Sam said. ¡°Look at me.¡± Faera turned her head toward him, her eyes dead. ¡°If you wanna die more than you want to get revenge, go ahead and bite your tongue off, bleed out that way...otherwise...¡± Sam had Gurd make his right arm visible and put his finger to his lips before it blinked out of existence again.


    Faera blinked, staring at his arm, as if doubting her sanity.


    ¡°You with me?¡± he asked.


    She nodded.


    The door clanked open, causing everyone in the room to tense. It wasn¡¯t the right time of day for food and cleaning, and that only meant someone was going away to be tortured or eaten. Tehre was a certain solidarity in the prisoners, but Sam knew everyone was secretly hoping that it wasn¡¯t their turn.


    The door swung open and Maria walked in, smiling as she greeted them.


    ¡°Good evening.¡±


    Crap,crap,crap.


    ¡°Is it?¡± Sam asked, peering against the light of the lamp in Maria¡¯s hand.


    ¡°I¡¯m here for the black offering¡¯s confession.¡± Maria said, and Sam relaxed. Billy just wanted to pry some information out of him.


    ¡°But,¡± she said, a sadistic smile growing ¡°I heard some rather plaintive pleas for mercy, perhaps it¡¯s time for you to be offered to my lord?¡± Maria stared at Faera like a predator.


    ¡°You might not see it, but I¡¯m flipping you off right now.¡± Faera said.


    ¡°Me too.¡± Sam said, using his invisible, bony hand to give her the finger with all the power he could muster. It didn¡¯t seem to stick. To all appearances it looked like he was simply lifting a stump.


    ¡°I suppose that¡¯s a yes then,¡± Maria said, nodding to the  men beside her.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Sam said, his heart hammering. ¡°I¡¯ll give Tyranus a location, before you even start cutting, I¡¯ll give him a treasure trove, just leave her here.¡±


    Maria studied him with a narrowed eyes. ¡°She¡¯s that valuable to you? I¡¯m glad to see you¡¯ve come around. Then we will take both of you, and if your answers fail to impress, i¡¯m sure my lord will know what to do with your friend.¡±


    She nodded to her lackeys, who threw Sam and Faera over their shoulders. Sam carefully kept his regrown limbs from touching them, which was a hell of a challenge.


    ¡°This bastard¡¯s still heavy.¡± The man hauling Sam complained.


    ¡°Of course he¡¯s heavy, he¡¯s huge.¡± Maria said, walking behind them as they made their way down the hall. ¡°Forgive me, you were huge.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a little castration humor between friends?¡± Sam said with a grin.


    ¡°You seem intent on making my lord regret leaving you your tongue.¡±


    ¡°Guess you got me figured out.¡±


    Maria frowned. ¡°Why have you decided to speak this time? Nothing but your cock seemed to motivate you.¡±


    ¡°Uh, because you threatened one of my clone¡¯s girlfriends? Huh, I guess Faera wasn¡¯t his girlfriend. Hey Faera, screw that other Sam, wanna be my girlfriend?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s in it for me?¡± Faera called from the shoulders of the other brute.


    ¡°Back in the day, I was feared as a killing machine, but did you know there were also quite a few people who called me a sex machine? That¡¯s right, I¡¯ve got five million years of sexperience in this implant and the body of a genetically engineered super soldier. I¡¯ll do things to you you didn¡¯t even think were possible.¡±


    ¡°Linquala would be ashamed.¡±


    ¡°She acted like I smelled like shit!¡± Sam said, breaking into a cackling laugh, interrupted by a backhand from Maria.


    ¡°We¡¯re here.¡± She said, leading them into the gold lit chamber. Now that the dragon was back in residence, the braziers were lit, casting a warm golden color across the marble cavern. Sam cast an eye around the room before he was dumped in the floor. It looked like Billy hadn¡¯t gotten his loot back yet. Good sign. Sam briefly considered that the dragon might hide the stolen treasure from Sam to keep him as uninformed as possible, but Sam dismissed it. Billy wasn¡¯t taking Sam seriously.


    ¡°Welcome back.¡± Billy said, peering down at the two of them. His gaze travelled to Faera, and Sam saw his teeth shimmer with drool. Not good.


    Maria walked up the mountain of gold and Billy bent his neck low to listen to her whispers.


    ¡°Ah.¡± He said, glancing at Faera. ¡°So you wish to give me information to delay her fate?¡±


    ¡°Well, yeah. I¡¯m gonna need women for that island we agreed on.¡± Sam looked around the room. ¡°Is there paperwork I need to sign or someth-UURRG¡± Sam was interrupted by a black claw as long as a scimitar puncturing his abdomen.


    ¡°I think we can move past the bravado. Heal him.¡±


    Maria knelt beside Sam, putting a palm on his chest as the dragon withdrew his claw, leaving a puckering scar behind. Sam didn¡¯t even lose much blood.


    ¡°Now, tell me something interesting or I¡¯ll take her tongue. I¡¯ve heard you two enjoy your conversations. That is a luxury I have allowed until now.¡± Billy placed a claw meaningfully beside Faera¡¯s head.


    ¡°Secret bases and labs, eh? I know just the one you need. There¡¯s one in Nebraska under a bigass cornfield, called Whisky Able six. One of me used to guard there. Just off highway one eighty three, north of Ansley.¡±


    ¡°And what did the base do?¡±


    ¡°They never told that Sam, but cross referencing faces that Sam knew with facts the others were aware of, including personelle and supply shipments, there¡¯s a damn good chance they were working on natural male enhancement for dragons.


    Billy¡¯s eyes narrowed, and he lifted his claw, forcing it past Faera¡¯s teeth until she was sobbing and gagging.


    ¡°Fine, it was experimental weapons! Same people that made the vampire you smashed. If you don¡¯t want some farmer from Missippi blowing you out of the sky fifty years from now, you¡¯ll want to melt that place into slag.¡±


    ¡°That is interesting information,¡± Billy said. ¡°But I can¡¯t have you talking to a god like that.¡± Billy¡¯s claw twitched, the tip puncturing the side of Faera¡¯s cheek before he withdrew it, a piece of ragged meat hanging from the tip. Bastard.


    Faera cried into the stone floor, blood oozing from the hole in her cheek.


    ¡°Next time it¡¯s your other eye.¡± Billy set two fingers on Sam¡¯s stomach, their claws resting on either side of his head.


    ¡°You got it, Billy boy.¡±


    ¡°NEVER CALL ME THAT!¡± Billy roared, his blood-scented breath tickling Sam¡¯s skin. His teeth almost closed down on Sam¡¯s neck before he stopped, which was good, because Sam was a hair¡¯s breadth away from shooting a Jyin Suata into the dragon¡¯s mouth and taking his chances with the rest.


    The earth-shaking growl calmed, and Billy pulled his head away. Sam noticed the dragon¡¯s gaze dart to his follower, but she was too busy sneering at Sam. Sam supposed that had she been looking at Billy at all, she would have been killed.


    Billy took a deep breath. ¡°You¡¯re trying to make me lose control and end your life, but dozens have tried that before. I¡¯m used to it. I swear that you will live a long time in the darkness.¡±


    ¡°Dozens, huh? I¡¯ve been tortured to death hundreds of times, so it¡¯s gonna take a little more-¡° The last thing Sam saw was a claw, point-first, then the hair raising sensation of a smooth claw sliding into his ocular cavity,


    Along with pain. Lots and lots of pain.


    ¡°GAAAH!¡± Sam screamed, trying to remove the claw with an animal frenzy, his mission forgotten. The only reason his arms weren¡¯t revealed was because the dragon literally couldn¡¯t feel sam¡¯s forearms beating agains his claws.


    ¡°Heal him.¡±


    Sam felt Maria¡¯s hand on his shoulder, and the pain in his eye faded, but he was still cast in complete darkness, a dragon looming over him. Sam could feel his breath.


    Sam could feel his whole body shivering as he panted. His heart hammering in his chest.


    ¡°-Than this.¡±


    Billy chuckled, the sound high above him.


    ¡°I admit, you¡¯re the most interesting person to talk to I¡¯ve met in the last four hundred years.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the company you keep.¡± Sam jerked his head toward Maria¡¯s Last Known Location.


    Doesn¡¯t get much weaker looking than this. Sam thought to himself.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get back to the important matter. Where. Are. The. Jeeps?¡±


    ¡°The ones filled with treasure, yeah?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°There were ten, and in a matter of seconds, they vanished while I was distracted by the tenth.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s it worth to you?¡± Sam asked.


    ¡°Tell me or I¡¯ll make you experience liver failure for the next month, and eat the girl. Or maybe I¡¯ll make you eat her. She¡¯s nearly outlived her usefulness, as you can¡¯t see what I¡¯m doing to her.¡±


    That¡¯s what you think, asshole. Sam thought, watching the dragon through his floating eye. Time to check the situation. Sam sent the floating eye to the Fabricator in the corner of the room and was pleased to discover a discarded tanker-trailer beside it. It was full, or close to it.


    Looks like he went and got the supplies for me. What a nice present.


    ¡°All right, just keep her alive and I¡¯ll give you something new every day. I¡¯ll tell you what you want to know.¡± Sam withdrew the floating eye and planting it just in front of his face, narrowing its field of view until he couldn¡¯t see himself.


    ¡°You remember the silver scorpion?¡±


    The dragon nodded. ¡°I see, one of the elves used the Torensaga to make the jeeps portable. Where did they go?¡±


    ¡°They got drawn back to First word by Theold. Kind of an emergency get out of jail free card in case we were attacked.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± The dragon tapped his claws on the marble floor, heat radiating outward from his blood-red scales.


    ¡°I find it irritating that I have to win back my own property, but I suppose that¡¯s the way it goes. Tell me about this Theold fellow that can teleport people.¡±


    ¡°Well, he¡¯s-¡°


    Faera shouted wordlessly before Maria clapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes pleaded with him not to tell the dragon about what Sam could only assume was their strongest wizard.


    ¡°I assume he¡¯s their strongest wizard. They expected him to beat Kein¡¯Maddal back when Sam Classic was killing monsters for their amusement, if that gives you any ballpark estimate of how dangerous he is.¡±


    ¡°It does.¡± Billy said with a grin. ¡°He¡¯ll be the key ingredient for a new Molt.¡±


    Billy stretched lazily, gave a great yawn and settled on his bed of gold.


    ¡°Send him back, leave the other one. I¡¯m hungry.¡± Maria motioned for the brutes to pick up Sam. Crap. Was this where Sam would have to make a break for it? It was cutting it far too close for comfort. Sam wasn¡¯t even sure if he could stand; he hadn¡¯t tried.

 Chapter 39: Sam the Dragon Slayer

    In an instant, Sam stretched his Nuetta out to the Fabricator. He needed a distraction, and there was only one thing he could think of that would do that. The harsh squeal of the Fabricator would be sure to grab everyone¡¯s attention.


    Sam directed the floating eye to the Fabricator and entered the code for twenty pounds of C-4, with detonators, of course.


    The CONFIRM button was blinking when Sam spoke.


    ¡°I told you I¡¯d tell you everything if you kept her alive, why the hell do you want to make this harder on yourself!?¡± Sam demanded.


    ¡°Because,¡± Billy said between yawns. ¡°You¡¯ll tell me whatever I want to know sooner or later, and a god does not compromise.¡±


    ¡°Guess you¡¯ve actually bought into your own bullshit.¡± Sam said, about to press CONFIRM. Once the black box started printing, it would take about three seconds to finish, during which they would be distracted by the high-pitched screech. Then Sam would reach into the box with his Nuetta and trigger the C-4. That would take maybe another five seconds. That gave Billy about eight seconds to stop Sam.


    That was tight. It would take the dragon a fraction of a second to kill Sam, so the only thing keeping Sam safe was the belief that Sam was absolutely harmless. That wouldn¡¯t last forever.


    A concussive blast rocked the entire treasure room, and Billy¡¯s head rose in alarm, bits of stone and dust falling onto his scales.


    ¡°What was that!?¡± Maria shouted. A second later, another explosion shook the room, followed by the rumble of tumbling stone.


    ¡°Howitzers.¡± Sam and Billy said at the same time.


    The explosions picked up in pace, and Sam could hear distant screams as Billy¡¯s precious tower began to crumble above them.


    ¡°Return them to their cells then report to the wall!¡± Billy shouted, scattering gold everywhere as he rose to his feet and rushed toward a blank stone wall, phasing through the apparently solid marble. Secret entrance, Sam noted. He¡¯d been wondering how something as big as the dragon got in and out of the room.


    ¡°You heard him.¡± Maria said, turning her back on the brutes leaning down to pick up Sam and Faera, intending to go ahead of them.


    Here we go, watch my back.


    You got it. Gurd said.


    Two Jyin Suata leapt from Sam, the bright white spheres arching through the air to drill a hole through each of the two men tasked with carrying them. They slumped to the ground with sighs, the air leaking from their lungs.


    Sam placed a hand beneath himself, and slowly climbed to his feet, his limbs shaking. He glanced up in time to see Maria turn, her eyes widening in surprise, and then fear.


    ¡°This must look odd.¡± Sam said.


    You can drop the illusion.


    Sam¡¯s limbs became visible, gnarled and thin on an emaciated, scarred body. He flexed his hand, studying the bone structure beneath the skin. He tapped his left foot, happy to have it back, albeit underdeveloped. He¡¯d have to take the time to regrow his eyes later.


    It must be a little creepy to be unerringly stared at by an eyeless man that looked like a mummy.


    ¡°You should have warned your god about me.¡±


    Maria screamed, throwing three Jyin Suata toward Sam, who met them with his own. He tried to leap forward, but his leg gave out, toppling him forward.


    Sam caught himself with his Nuetta, pushing himself forward. Bracing his arm, he drove his knuckles into Maria¡¯s throat. Maria clutched her neck, tears in her eyes as she stumbled back, wheezing.


    Sam summoned three more Jyin Suata, aiming them at her brain, heart, and liver.


    She blocked two of them.


    Sam stepped forward on trembling limbs as Maria clutched her right side, desperately trying to heal herself as dark red blood spilled from her liver.


    Sam wanted to say something clever, but he was just tired.


    He hit her with another three Jyin Suata, and she sprawled backward, a hole in her heart, and one in her hand where she tried to stop the one aimed at her head. She watched him for a moment before her eyes went still.


    Sam wanted to collapse, go to sleep for a month and let the battle outside settle itself while Gurd continued healing him, but he had things to do. This wasn¡¯t over until the dragon was dead.


    ¡°C¡¯mere.¡± Sam said, grabbing Faera with his Nuetta and lifting her off the ground. Now that he was free to use it, he was amazed at how much easier everything was. Between the eight rings of his Isayatta increasing fuel efficiency and the extra molts, Sam still had Nuetta to spare.


    Faera didn¡¯t take her eyes off him while she sailed through the air, her Suppressing Collar landing in his grasp.


    Sam gave the curse a little juice, and it grew its way through the magic of the collar, causing it to crumble.


    Oh, that¡¯s what you use it for. Gurd said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid, I¡¯m just using an eye made of Nuetta to see, and I got some help with the arms and legs.¡±


    ¡°Eh hee ae uu aakiii abaaa? Eeh kii a Agaa.¡±


    Translation? Cass asked Gurd internally.


    I think she said, ¡®The hell are you talking about? Let¡¯s kill a dragon.¡¯


    ¡°Alright then,¡± Sam said with a smile. ¡°Can you move things with your Nuetta? I could use some backup.¡±


    ¡°iii aa oow¡±


    I can now.


    ¡°Alright, I¡¯m gonna put you in a spot where you can see the whole room, then you¡¯re going to provide support.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Kay.¡±


    ¡®kay.


    Sam set Faera up with her bird¡¯s eye view, then walked to the fabricator, dismissing the order of C-4.


    ¡°I¡¯m starting on the order, but first, do you want a ham sandwich?¡±


    ¡°EEAH!¡±


    Yeah!


    Sam began building a qeue, starting with two ham sandwiches, water bottles, G.I Sludge, Kamikaze syringes, nannites, flame redardent body armor, claymores, grenades, a couple Anti-material rifles¡ªSans biometric locks--, ammo to go with it, and everything else Sam could think of.


    Gonna show that evil fucker a real good time. Sam thought, his teeth bared in a feral grin. Maybe he had taken some of the torture personally.


    #


    Billy was mad with rage.


    He¡¯d flown above his city, looking for the elves with the artillery they¡¯d stolen two weeks ago, and found nothing. Not a damn sign. Looking at the angle of the strikes, he¡¯d flown west, searching the ground below for any sign of the hardware.


    After an exhaustive search, he found a single hill with marks where a battery of howitzers had sat, gouging troughs in the grass every time they fired. There were no tracks leading to or from the location.


    The Torensaga, Billy thought, fuming as molten hot liquid spattered from his jaws, catching the grass beneath him on fire. They were using the relic of the other world to steal and transport his own artillery without a trace, use it on his city, then pack up and leave as soon as they saw the tips of his wings above the city walls.


    Whoever had introduced the concept of guerilla warfare to the elves was going to die slowly.


    Billy screamed his frustration to the sky in a torrent of flame before taking to wing again, heading for Hope, not noticing the hawk circling high above him, where the air was too thin to support a dragon.


    Billy flew back to the city, his mind churning out plan after plan to catch such elusive prey. Theold, an elven wizard powerful enough to just zap people around Billy¡¯s domain was choosing to fight dirty rather than directly attack him.


    Bastard was too scared of a fair fight.


    I suppose that¡¯s how those idiots felt when I blew them up. Billy reminisced about the other dragons he¡¯d wiped from the face of the earth. Billy didn¡¯t like feeling like them.


    There wasn¡¯t much he could do now but increase security. Twenty miles around the city. In every direction.


    ¡°Fuck!¡±


    Ten minutes later he was approaching the walls of the city, finally calm. He didn¡¯t care if a few elves turned a few of his people to meat paste, what bothered him was the smack in the face of being attacked without a chance to retaliate. The sheer rage built up inside him had turned cold. He could give that back.


    If anything, this had convinced him to push against the elf homeland harder. Once he¡¯d strangled out the roots of the nearby infestation of the long-lived meat candies, the bastard shooting up his property would have to choose between eating and fighting. he could get back to his work.


    Maybe he¡¯d string oubliettes with live elves along his walls, as further incentive not to shoot at him.


    Maybe he¡¯d shoot live elves back at them. That would be amusing.


    Billy was finally in a better mood when he arrived at the castle wall, where his Acolytes were assembled. Every one of them about the equivalent of a meager Special Forces elf, with a little power and a few basic spells under their belt. Still, it made them much more dangerous than an average human.


    Like how a common spider is more dangerous than a caterpillar.


    The idea of a dangerous human was the most ridiculous oxymoron he¡¯d ever considered, so when the image of the toy soldier flashed through his mind, his claws sank into the stone in irritation. Billy¡¯s good mood had lasted a few seconds.


    I can always take it out on my squeezy toy later, he thought. He¡¯d wished for just such a thing after the toy soldier had tried to kill him, and lo, he¡¯d been delivered into Billy¡¯s hands.


    But for now, put the livestock to work. What¡¯s the point of all these years raising them and training them if you don¡¯t use them?


    ¡°Acolytes, I want all of you to report to the front lines. Cut a path straight to the elven capital and cut out their beating hearts. This assault was a distraction, pay it back with blood.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord Tyranus!¡±


    ¡°Maria, you return to the tower of blessing to guide the students until I have need of you.¡±


    Billy cast his gaze over at the tower, which had an enormous, smoking hole in the side of it. That would take hours of Billy¡¯s own time to fix.


    ¡°Belay that. It¡¯s not safe in the tower. Move your students to the underground barracks.¡±


    Billy didn¡¯t hear a response. He tilted his head, and glanced back at the acolytes, his cooled rage once again igniting.


    ¡°How dare you¡­¡± he scanned the hundred or so Acolytes, searching for her familiar face.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°Where is the Headmistress?¡± he demanded. Maria would never refuse an order. If anything, she would have trusted the brutes to put away the prisoners so she could be on the wall a few seconds faser. The way Billy saw it, only one of two things could have happened:


    Maria neglected to obey a simple order. Fat chance.


    Something stopped Maria from obeying a simple order. Much more more likely.


    What was it, though? The shelling had stopped as soon as he¡¯d left the castle. Billy¡¯s eyes widened. Theold. The wizard who could teleport. The shelling had stopped just as he¡¯d left. As soon as they knew exactly where Billy was.


    Was it some kind of rescue mission for his prisoners, or did the greedy little bastards want to steal even more of his property? Both were stealing his property, come to think of it.


    Billy roared, flaming spit spattering around the wall. He pushed off of the stone, subtlety disregarded as he launched himself forward, a section of the wall collapsing in his wake and dropping a few acolytes to their deaths.


    Billy ran to his stone monument and entered the pool of water, swimming down and then up, arriving in the tunnel leading to his chamber. He sprinted down the narrow tunnel he¡¯d dug for himself eighty years ago, when he¡¯d first started construction on the city.


    As he ran, he could make out his bed, a massive, comfortable pile of gold that lay on the other side of the one-way illusionary wall.


    Sitting on top of it was a disturbingly skinny, eyeless black man in body armor. He sat his monkey ass on Billy¡¯s bed and waved, apparently able to see Billy beyond the illusion.


    Billy unleashed a river of fire as he ran down the tunnel, charging toward the cocky little bastard. He didn¡¯t know how he¡¯d gotten his arms and legs back, but Billy was going to take steps to correct that. Assuming the toy soldier wasn¡¯t vaporized.


    Billy charged through the entrance, focusing his flame on the upstart, when he heard a click.


    #


    ¡°Here he comes.¡± Sam said, dismissing the arcane eye and popping the plastic top off the needle before jabbing himself with it. Sam could feel every blood vessel expand uncomfortably, along with shivering energy that made his weak muscles feel stronger than they had been originally. His heart began to hammer in his chest.


    ¡°----¡°


    ¡°What? Sam asked, lifting his ear protection. Things were about to get loud.


    ¡°Ii AA Ae?¡±


    Is that safe?


    ¡°Not really,¡± Sam said, tossing the Kamikaze syringe aside. It was a viscious little cocktail whipped up by scientists of the twenty-second century that boosted combat effectiveness of an individual soldier manyfold for hours. Sometimes it caused organ failure, but Sam had tougher than usual organs. At least he hoped so.


    A second later, a blast of flame shot through the hidden doorway beneath them, filling the entire chamber with searing heat. The illusion of Sam resting on the dragon¡¯s bed was lost in the fire as the pile of gold slowly fused together.


    Sam leveled his gun on the entrance beneath him, and sure enough, Billy¡¯s head came through, mindlessly blasting away. A moment later, the dragons foot caught the beam of the claymore, and the fireworks started.


    The dragon¡¯s foot was knocked out from under him, dropping his head to the ground, where his momentum carried it into some more explosives.


    The marble chamber rocked with concentrated acoustics so loud that their eardrums should have been destroyed beyond repair. As it stood, between the drugs and the overwhelming reverberations, Sam felt like something inside as going to come loose.


    Once the explosions stopped, Sam squeezed the trigger on the rifle, bracing himself with Nuetta. A fountain of blood shot from behind Billy¡¯s shoulder blade.


    Sam nearly flew back, the recoil was so intense. The dragon that was struggling to lift its head slumped to the ground, eyes wide in shock.


    Sam briefly considered gloating. Then he emptied the rest of the clip, perforating the dragon¡¯s vital organs with three more bullets half as long as his forearm.


    The ringing sound of gunfire and explosions slowly left the chamber, and Sam took his ear protection off, hopping off their perch and slowing his fall with Nuetta.


    Sam eyed the corpse, pulling a grenade from his belt. It wasn¡¯t just Tyranus that was the problem. The people who came to retrieve his corpse were bound to make a martyr out of him and carry on his work. After all, the dragon didn¡¯t have to be present for men to gain power on the leylines.


    He had to kill the zealots too.


    Grenades made some of the simplest traps. He¡¯d remove the pin and place one under Billy¡¯s claw, then when they tried to move the dragon, he¡¯d take a big chunk of them out then and there.


    Sam walked toward the dragon¡¯s front claw, squatting down and pulling the pin, avoiding the dragon¡¯s blood burning a hole in the marble floor.


    ¡°AAH!¡±


    Move!


    Sam turned his head and saw a gaping maw surrounding him on every side with teeth, snapping shut around him with breakneck speed. He channeled Nuetta into the Time ring, only managing to slow time after Billy¡¯s lower teeth had sunk a couple inches into his shoulder.


    Another curveball.


    Gotta make the most distance with the least movement. Even as he thought that, the sword-like tooth was slowly sinking further into his shoulder.


    Sam pulled his shoulder away from the teeth, put a hand on one canine and pulled himself up, intending to escape up rather than trying to step backward. He left Billy a little present.


    As soon as Sam¡¯s limbs were out of the way, he stopped using the ring, his Yuenan dangerously low.


    The teeth slammed shut inches beneath him. Sam pushed off the dragon¡¯s jaw, and the two of them looked each other in the eye for an instant.


    Billy¡¯s head jerked up, his teeth bared in a snarl as he tried to snap at Sam. Sam put his hand on his gums and used the upward momentum to ride out of the wounded dragon¡¯s reach.


    ¡°Damn you!¡± Billy roared, looking up at Sam, who was tumbling toward a pillar some twenty feet off the ground. As he was flying, Sam remembered the pinless grenade, rolling on the floor beside the dragon.


    Sam gave the explosive a little mental shove before he impacted against the marble pillar, placing it directly under the dragon¡¯s stomach. Dividing his attention in two stopped Sam from sticking the landing, and his spine hit the unforgiving stone, sending a wave of schock through his entire body.


    The drugs helped him ignore some of the pain, but Sam still tumbled to the ground, heading for the floor head first. Sam put his hands toward the floor, intending to absorb some of the impact, when he felt something gentle push against his whole body at the last second, turning his headlong fall into a backward tumble.


    Faera, watching from her perch on the ceiling, had given him a little nudge.


    ¡°I¡¯m killing you this time, toy soldier!¡± The dragon boomed, dragging himself toward Sam, aiming to get his long neck close enough to bite him in half.


    Sam didn¡¯t know how Billy was still alive after being shot six times in the chest with an anti tank rifle, but he didn¡¯t have time to think about it. Sam climbed to his feet, his limbs nearly giving out beneath him.


    ¡°Try it, Billy boy!¡± Sam shouted as a raging inferno built inside the dragon¡¯s mouth, aimed at him. ¡°I¡¯ll make a fucking coat out of-¡± An explosion of dust and debris shot outward from beneath the dragon.


    The dragon¡¯s eye¡¯s widened, the flames in his maw blinking out. Billy had been crawling forward, so the grenade wound up a bit lower than Sam intended. Sam didn¡¯t mind.


    ¡°Looks like you joined the club, little Billy!¡± Sam cackled.


    ¡°Enough!¡±


    Sam felt something seize his head and twist. Sam¡¯s head spun on his shoulders, and the most intense pain he¡¯d felt in his life echoed through his body for a brief second as his spine popped free.


    Sam¡¯s body went numb and collapsed to the floor, his high-tech body armor soaked with piss as his bowels lost all control.


    ¡°OOO!¡±


    Noo!  Gurd faithfully translated.


    Sam¡¯s face was pressed into the floor, in the middle of the all-too-familiar whitening of oxygen loss just before brain-death. With his arcane eye, Sam saw Billy turn his head upward, attracted by Faera¡¯s scream.


    Had a good run, I guess. Sam thought. Why the hell didn¡¯t the gun kill him?


    Hold on Sam, I want to keep your vital organs running artificially, but I¡¯m going to have to stop rebuilding your muscle mass. Is that acceptable?


    Are you fucking kidding me?


    Is that acceptable? Gurd repeated as everything in Sam¡¯s mind was turning white. The sound echoed in his mind as he began to lose consciousness.


    Yes!


    The white began to fade. Sam¡¯s thought¡¯s cleared.


    Above him, Billy was lumbering to his feet, turning his attention towards Faera. Sam could barely see above the dragon¡¯s chest from his vantage point.


    Sam reached for his Yuenan, mentally touched his Isayatta and began drawing raw power through the connection. Nice to know the Yuenan doesn¡¯t require a connection to my nervous system.


    Sam grabbed his shoulders with Nuetta and turned them to face the dragon, letting the mind-numbing pain fade into the background. He had shit to do.


    The wounds on the dragon were closing as he approached Faera. Jyin Suata came flying down from the ledge, splashing harmlessly off the dragon¡¯s scales.


    ¡°Little piggy, it looks like you¡¯ve slipped your pen. Well, you were fat enough to eat before, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be absolutely delicious now. Killing your friend has left me rather hungry.¡± Billy stretched his neck and almost daintily reached out, nipping at Faera on the ledge above the entrance. His teeth pressed against an invisible barrier, stopping just short of piercing her skin.


    ¡°Pathetic creature!¡± Billy roared. ¡°Give up now, or I¡¯ll eat you slow in the center of your smoldering capital!¡±


    Sam slipped his remaining two grenades from their belt with two strands on Neutta, and recovered his rifle with a third. Sam pulled the pins out, floating the grenades fast and low, out of Billy¡¯s field of view. He had them hug the bottom of the dragon¡¯s huge body, floating up just underneath his jaw.


    The grenades tumbled up and into Billy¡¯s gaping mouth, never once entering his field of view. Feeling the steel balls hitting the back of his throat, Billy closed his mouth and frowned.


    ¡°What-¡° a muffled explosion preceded a fountain of flaming blood bursting forward, soaking the ledge in fiery dragonblood. The only exception was a small semicircle where Faera¡¯s barrier held out the stone-melting liquid.


    Billy collapsed onto the ground, a few feet away from Sam, shaking the chamber with his weight, molten blood pooling from his mouth. A pained, raspy, choked groan escaped from the dragon¡¯s mouth.


    Sam reached out with his Nuetta, looped it around the dragon¡¯s head, and hauled it toward him, using his full strength to slide Billy¡¯s head across the floor until his eye was an arm¡¯s length from Sam¡¯s face.


    Sam gave him a grin.


    ¡°You-¡° Billy croaked.


    Sam¡¯s rifle speared downward, the long, heavy rifle puncturing the dragon¡¯s eye. Billy flinched, reaching toward the foreign object. Sam pulled the trigger with a flick of Nuetta.


    The Anti-Material rifle shot backward, the recoil sending it spinning outward, along with a fountain of molten blood and brains. Sam was spattered all over his body with the burning blood, but he could only feel it on his face. That was plenty.


    The dragon began to thrash, twitching mindlessly, claws shredding the surrounding marble in it¡¯s death throes. Sam grabbed himself and slid out of the way just before the dragon flipped over and destroyed the floor where he had just been.


    Sam felt the individual droplets of molten blood burrowing into his face as he used the last of his Nuetta to retreat. The blood cooled in a matter of seconds, and the dragon stopped thrashing in less than a minute, slowing down to a faint twitch.


    Sam stared at the corpse another minute before relaxing. Even if Sam didn¡¯t make it, he¡¯d done what he set out to do. Scratch one evil megolamaniac intent on making life hell for everyone.


    Gurd, am I gonna die?


    Working to stop that, boss. I think you¡¯ll be in the-sssshshsh


    Gurd¡¯s voice was drowned out by a harsh static in the back of Sam¡¯s mind. Sam¡¯s arcane eye was swept away by a tide of energy, leaving Sam lying in the dark, completely blind and numb from the neck down.


    Gurd must have stopped moving his heart and lungs, as Sam became lightheaded almost immediately. Small patches of Sam¡¯s unwounded skin felt the cold, clammy sensation of a molt.


    Sam touched his Yuenan. The surface looked like an ocean whipped by a hurricane as wave after wave of powerful death energy exploded from the dragon. It rebounded off the walls of the chamber and created a vortex of raw power in the room, with nowhere to go.


    Sam tried to channel Nuetta to his lungs and heart, to keep them moving by himself, at least until the storm passed. The strands of magic were torn apart and joined the larger storm before he could do anything with them.


    Son of a bitch is gonna take me with him! Sam tried again, ignoring the molt and forcing his body to take even one more breath, one more heartbeat. At least the oven-like properties of Billy¡¯s lair should insolate the people outside and keep them safe.


    With that thought, Sam lost consciousness.


    ¡°Can you hear me?¡± the voice of an old woman entered Sam¡¯s ears. Ella?


    ¡°You¡¯re in the hospital in First Word. Move your eyebrows if you can hear me.¡±


    Sam wiggled his brows.


    ¡°We organized a raid on Tyranus¡¯s cave, with the best First Word has to offer, and found you and Faera with the dead dragon. It must have been short minutes after he died, he was still twitching. We saw you were still alive, so we did first aid and brought you back here.¡±


    Thanks for that. Gurd must have rebooted shortly after he¡¯d passed out.


    It¡¯s my calling, boss. I haven¡¯t had that much excitement in eight thousand years.


    ¡°The city of Hope has collapsed. Without the dragon, the entire country is most likely going to fall apart.¡± Thousands of people were going to die or be enslaved because Sam had killed the dragon, but millions, or even billions more would be safe. If Sam could feel his stomach, it would have twisted. He made the right choice, but it didn¡¯t feel good.


    What¡¯s the ETA on my spine?


    Splitting my attention between your spine and your vitals will be tough, I give it¡­ maybe two weeks.


    ¡°The elves of First Word are indebted to you, and the ones born in the last four hundred and fifty years actually think you¡¯re pretty awesome. With my vote and the pressure of the younger ones, you¡¯ve been granted citizenship, if you still want it.¡±


    Damn right I do. Sam twitched his brows vigorously.


    Ella chuckled, and her voice raised above him, as if she were standing. ¡°With any luck, you¡¯ll walk again, you¡¯re receiving the best treatment we have. No one can recreate eyes from scratch, though.¡±


    I can. Gurd chimed in.


    ¡°Try to get some more sleep, Sam. Your recovery will be a long journey. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow.¡± Sam heard her footsteps on a clean tiled floor. Looked like it really was First Word.


    Sam summoned an eye and glanced around the room, revealing a typical hospital room like he¡¯d seen in so many of his simulations. Beside him, Faera lay on a bed, an I.V. bag full of painkillers above her. When his spine was repaired, he¡¯d need to discreetly slip Gurd onto one of her stumps. A moment later, Sam dropped the eye, releasing the flow of Nuetta.


    His Yuenan felt sore, like an overworked muscle the day after. Sam entered his Yuenan, and looked down at the burning ball of light. It had more than tripled in size, and his Isayatta looked like it¡¯d been through a major earthquake, with cracks running through the entire tower.


    Sam floated down to the entrance to his Isayatta, where he saw Gurd with a clipboard, inspecting the tower¡¯s insides. Next to the construct was a floating pair of lungs and heart that pulsed rhythmically. below them were a liver and kidneys. All presumably facsimiles of Sam¡¯s own organs.


    ¡°Looks like we¡¯ve got a lot of downtime over the next few weeks.¡± Sam said.


    ¡°You do. I¡¯ve actually got as much work as I can handle. Although once your spine is repaired and I don¡¯t have to manage your vitals, my workload will get much lighter.¡±


    ¡°Think you can show me to the movie theatre?¡± Sam said with a grin. Although if he thought about it hard enough, he was able to draw the information straight out of the implant, it wasn¡¯t as though he kept all five million years of information in his mind all at the same time. Watching a movie or two would be a great way to spend his impromteu vacation.


    ¡°There¡¯s also a beach on the eighth floor.¡±


    ¡°A beach by myself? I¡¯ll pass.¡±


    ¡°I could invite Faera.¡±


    You can do that??¡± Sam asked as they approached the elevator.


    ¡°By all accounts, he¡¯s a great guy,¡± Gunderson Kine, the mayor of First Word said as Ellanore joined him in the hall outside the hospital room. ¡°But I don¡¯t see the value in keeping him alive, he¡¯s damn near a vegetable.¡±


    ¡°We know his spine is severed, but he¡¯s breathing anyway. He¡¯s hiding something that I can¡¯t see. I think he¡¯ll be up and on his feet sooner than anyone expects.¡± Ellanore said, glancing at Kine. The man wasn¡¯t the bravest, or the brightest, but he did try to put the welfare of his people above his own.


    ¡°And when he is,¡± She continued. ¡°We¡¯ll have use for him.¡±


    ¡°Umm, I¡¯m not sure he would be happy about us using him. He killed a dragon the size of a house essentially by himself, so if he decided he didn¡¯t like it¡­¡±


    ¡°Make him happy to be used,¡± Ella said as if talking to an ignorant child. ¡°Give him a peaceful job, let him bond with the community and find love before we ask him to defend it. And if all else fails¡­¡±


    Ella¡¯s gaze settled on the blocky, armored military laptop she¡¯d printed in the dragon¡¯s lair.


    ¡°We have the Failsafe.¡±