I jumped to my feet but the fight was over. I should probably feel bad about killing my own. The girl I’d just slain was tall and lanky, with dark hair with the slightest hint of red, and large, green eyes staring lifelessly at the sky. She could be my sister.
But I felt nothing. They were enemies. They would slaughter me without remorse, so why should I hesitate?
“Evens, back on your bikes.”
I didn’t turn to see if my orders were followed. I didn’t turn to see how many of my evens were no longer able to follow. All I cared about was pushing on.
I climbed back on my bike.
Once again, ssothians were trying to overtake the rest of us and this time, I didn’t stop them. Tarvissi dragged heavy furniture from upper floors to form a provisional barricade where the gate used to be, but the ssothians barged through it like battering rams. The enemy pelted them with bolts, but I doubted that they dug deep through the fur. A shame I didn’t have more of them in my Cohort.
The first of our bikers also approached, but they needed a moment to dismount, and the enemy took this opportunity to rain bolts and crystal balls at their heads. Some Mespanians tried to aim at the invisible shooters, but most of their spells bounced off the walls.
I got an idea.
Just before reaching the battle, I jerked my bike upright and jumped off of it. The momentum carried it on, straight into one of the windows. It exploded—not enough to break through the wall, but if the screams coming from the other side were anything to go by, just enough to burn a few assholes.
“Odds to defense; evens attack,” I commanded and saw a wall of fire rising before our troops.
Saral Tal appeared beside me, conjuring a wall of flame. I switched my helmet to magic vision and from that moment on, the battle became a blur, as muscle memory took over. Just like I was trained: walk, kill, move on.
That’s why I joined Mespana. It was easy. Mechanical. Walk, kill, move on. No drama. No nuances. No making a fool of myself. Just me versus them. Kill or be killed. Simple.
Walk, kill, move on.
I lost track of time. My universe shrank to contain only the nearest enemy, until they fell and another took their place. My sword snapped at some point, stuck in one guy’s ribcage, but I just grabbed the one he dropped—shorter and heavier than a Dahlsian blade, but I could work with that—and moved on.
Walk, kill, move on.
Until my visor exploded, and a myriad of glass shards bit into my face. Vaka made everything more intense, even pain. But before I could as much so grunt, a kick in the chest sent me tumbling. I fell on my back, the stolen sword slipping away. I opened my eyes—miraculously, none of the shards got to them—to at least see the one to kill me.
Well, fuck.
Karlan Peridion towered over me, grinning like a maniac. He clutched a weapon I’d never seen—a spiky ball connected via a long chain to a wooden handle. That’s what he must’ve hit me with. Or rather brushed—a proper blow would most likely turn my head inside out.
He took a swing, and the spiked ball rushed at me, but I rolled out of its way. I tried to send a distress signal—no answer. Saral Tal, I thought. Where was he? He was supposed to be my defense. But all around us there were only corpses. The clangor of battle still sounded in the distance, but here, there were only two of us.
Another swing, another roll. I tried to kick his shin, but he evaded and swung at me with the sword he held in his left hand. I felt it brush my suit, but didn’t have time to stop and check the damage. The spiked ball flew toward me. I pulled back, then raised my wand. Before I used it, a perfectly marked stroke of the sword cut it in half.
“You really should stick to farming, Tearshan,” rasped Karlan.
At least I wasn’t the only one struggling for breath, I thought irrationally.
“A pitchfork is a right tool for you, not a sword.”
His grin got wider. I crawled back, feeling around for something to use. We were in the side yard, though I didn’t remember how we got there. Bodies littered the ground, their hands still clutching uselessly at their weapons, but before I could get any of them, Karlan attacked, forcing me to back off.
“It’s a shame your old man died,” he said, taking another swing. “I’d love to kill him, too, avenge my father. Alas, you’ll do.”
Another swing, another roll.
My ribs caught something, sending a flash of pain through my body. With a striking clarity I realized I was going to die.
And despite everything, calmness descended over me. It was over. Nothing more I could do.
Peridion stood over me, grinning. He lifted his spiked ball, ready to crush my skull.
“I’ll cut your head off and hang it over the gate for all to see. That’s how peons who don’t know their place end up.”
My hand, which apparently didn’t get the memo from my brain, grasped something.
Without thinking, I grabbed it and thrust it forward. Peridion’s face widened in shock, and his mouth hung open, sputtering blood. Only then did I look at the object I held.
I burst into laughter.
A pitchfork. Somehow we made our way to the stables, unused for some time but still cluttered with old tools.
And so it came that Karlan Peridion, facing the most advanced human civilization
