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[>>Now replaying: Log 1.15 - Bending ‘Til You Break]

Date: Error

Location: Zephyro’s Domain?

//Around the bend//

//—ees are flexible beings. In physique, yes, but also in spirit. Imagine you woke up one morning and found yourself reborn as a tree by some sort of demonic interference. Think about how you would stir from your slumber, wakened by a stranger entering your courtyard…//

[>>DATA CORRUPTED]

E1 %Don’t call her that! This is her temple, and she’s the one keeping us safe!%

E2 %You can’t honestly believe the Outcast who killed the Emperor of Heroes cares about us?!%

E3 %Guys! Who are you talking about?%

Zephyro couldn’t engage both Shackled at once. They were just too strong, and to make him fight both alone would only end in his death. Even as I gave the order, however, I knew that sending our soldiers against them was probably even worse.

I watched helplessly as the first soldier, a young woman, was struck down, spilling her blood and the cyan half-gas, half-liquid that probably was what Zephyro called ‘Essence’. Was it their soul? Did it possess other people and drive them insane that way? If they were machines, perhaps it was some sort of toxic waste. Whatever it was, the Shackled raised his hand and the energy flowed into him obediently. Instantly, the figure’s movements became just a little faster, allowing it to kill another soldier who’d tried to sneak up on it from behind.

The process repeated ad nauseam.

The soldiers kept swarming the Shackled, and even though they briefly managed to overwhelm it, it soon broke free in a shower of blood, its body glowing a bright blue, fading to sinister crimson. This time, the soldiers fell back, and by luck more than anything else the Shackled’s next attack hit nothing but air. It wanted to go after another victim, but the second it turned, a member of the militia stepped forward as if to attack, then retreated before the counterstrike could hit him.

We wouldn’t be able to keep this up for long. My entire body felt heavy. Soon, another soldier would fall, and then another, each death making our enemy that much stronger. I wondered how long it would take for it to be stronger than Zephyro. Perhaps it already was. Even with all our ranged fighters pinning his opponent down, the Vizier struggled to finish it off.

Perhaps the battle was lost. Perhaps, when the first Shackled refused to fall, its actions had uttered a cataclysmic prophecy, and try as I might, I didn’t know what I could do to change its outcome.

I hadn’t felt so powerless for a long, long time, and with each second another portentous syllable came true, that feeling swelled. I’d been almost used to it, once, back on earth. Feeling like nothing I did mattered, and that I couldn’t avert the disaster that was so easy to see, but no one but me believed was coming. It had only been a company, then, its end spelled out in resigned eyes, a series of people quitting their jobs, and increased workloads.

Later on, after I arrived on Tobes, but before I could control my Wish, it would burst out of my soul without rhyme or reason and wreak havoc all around me. I could feel it becoming stronger for days, but I had no idea how to stop it, so I ran away and prayed no living thing would come close enough this time.

The answer to both issues had been my anger. It had given me power, and control, and I forged myself into a blade of pure will. A blade eager to cut anything that came too close. It kept me safe and I thought being a little lonely was a small price to pay for that safety. But then I met Chris, who admired my will no matter how often it cut them. Then Patti, who’d taught me that loneliness is a good place to visit but not to stay in, and Olre, who made me appreciate just how much my anger pushed me forward. All of my friends had their little ways of helping me deal with all of that rage. I wanted to be a better person for them, and by some miracle, they saw that, stayed, and helped.

If only they could help me now.

But no matter how much I wished they could be with me, they weren’t.

So I was alone with the fear, the powerlessness, the anger, and the lonely promise I’d made to be a better person.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

When the feelings swelled and threatened to overwhelm me, I grabbed the Torch with both hands and all my strength and counted to ten. When I was done, my fingers hurt, my mind was clear, and the metal had been bent just a little bit straighter.

I wasn’t powerless. I would get out of here, no matter how often I had to reset this damn Dream Maze. I would see my friends again. It was just a matter of time.

Time, and trying my damn best.

I strode forward. “Separate them! Do not let them die next to each other!” I bellowed over the din of the battle.

There was a grunt of acknowledgment, my order repeated in a ripple of yells, carrying it as far as possible. I spun, and after a moment of scanning the battlefield, I found the person I was looking for and ran over to her.

“Kasha!” I yelled, coming to a stop close to her with heavy breaths.

“Sultana!” she said, punctuating the word with a deep thrum of her crossbow as it launched another bolt. The air smelled of ozone.

“Zephyro’s Shackled is target One, the other Two, got it?”

“Yes, Sultana,” she said, briefly eying me over the back of her weapon before going back to shooting.

“Focus on Two,” I said.

“What?” Kasha’s attention snapped to me.

“Zephyro can survive against that thing for a while, but if we allow the other one to grow even further, we are done for.”

There was another fear-filled second before the Scout nodded, and a small wave of relief washed over me as she relayed my order.

The focus of our fire switched almost instantly, and this time, the Shackled wasn’t expecting it. Balls of crackling energy crashed into it, exploding into flashes of blue light with the sound of golf balls hitting glass. The figure staggered a couple of steps, clearly injured, but then the volley was over. When the next one came, it deflected the projectiles with significantly diminished finesse, but unfortunately, that was more than good enough. Stray bolts bounced off its weapon and into our front lines, so I immediately yelled to focus fire on Zephyro’s opponent again.

Zephyro must have understood my plan, because a split second before the Scouts could fire, he locked blades with the Shackled, allowing for nearly all our projectiles to hit its unprotected back. As it stumbled forward, Zephyro let its blade slide off his and tripped the figure up, then slammed the pommel of his sword into the Shackled’s neck. It landed with enough force that I thought I could feel the sickening crunch all the from way across the market, but the Vizier wasn’t done.

“Kun darban!” Pure white energy coalesced around his fist as he held it aloft. Then, with a violent gesture from Zephyro, the power he collected shot into his opponent. The red shape seized as a constant stream of blinding light seared its back. When it finally ceased, the Shackled collapsed, shattering into a heap of red and orange shards. A fountain of cyan sparks rose from the remnants, which, unlike its brother’s death, immediately caught the attention of the other Shackled.

“Fire everything you got!” I yelled, and I didn’t need to specify at what. A constant barrage of energy bolts erupted from the scouts next to me. The smell of ozone intensified as the temperature around us rose sharply, making me wonder when, rather than if, the Scout’s crossbows would overheat.

Zephyro almost looked as if he was stumbling a little, but then he grimaced and glitched through a bizarre series of violent spasms. When he stopped, he seemed as fresh as at the beginning of the fight. Without wasting another second, he rushed the remaining Shackled.

Even outnumbered and outgunned, however, our last enemy didn’t give up so easily. Parrying our suppressive fire with erratic movements, its eyeless face shifted, jaggedly looking at the militia surrounding it, then the Vizier, then the Scouts.

And then at me.

Its gaze snapped onto me like a magnetic charging cable, and even though the pale red face was nothing more than a couple of triangles, its scrutiny drilled into me like a physical force.

Again that sinking feeling threatened to pull my lungs out of my stomach, but I clenched my teeth and grabbed the scepter tighter. I wasn’t helpless. I wasn’t alone. I would overcome.

As my vision threatened to reduce to a hateful red pinprick, I screamed defiance and rage into the face of my adversary. I’d taken a step forward, scepter raised as if to strike despite the distance, but before I could come any closer, the red figure blurred.

Then it stood in front of me, gray bar of shapeless form raised to strike. I didn’t hesitate, brought the scepter down in a desperately furious strike, and by some crazy twist of fortune, that saved me. The golden torch met the gray bar head-on. The soft metal of my weapon crumpled immediately, bending so far out of shape it was hard to even recognize it as what it had been. Still, it also folded itself into a wedge that trapped the Shackled’s weapon a centimeter from my face.

My face flushed with heat as I screamed and put all the weight of my will against my opponent. It wasn’t enough. My muscles grew weaker by the microsecond, my breath transformed into a ragged cough that I had to fight to suppress. The Shackled smelled of blood and spring water and dusty paper. I could see my face, still so foreign, reflected in its crystalline features. There was a whisper there, so faint, and yet louder than the entire battlefield.

“Do not forget history or, history forgets you, it is written, your life, and still no, one remembers, not even you, and like dark, ink on white pages, your blood will write, onto the sands, an epitaph that no one, will read…” It was a continuous, rasping swell of nonsense, its meter like a quill scratching over vellum, stopping when parched for ink.

In the span of less than a second, the world had turned into a small speck of red and orange, threatening to become my searing tomb.

Then the light shone through.

In an explosion of force and magic, I was catapulted backward. I saw the starry sky up above, moonless still, and felt dust on my lips and cheek, and only then did I realize I had fallen and that my back hurt like a motherfucker. Kasha was by my side and pulled me up as fast as she could, ignoring her own injury. Other scouts helped her and a ragged breath later, I was standing again, broken mace still in my hand.

The Vizier’s magic had blown a hole through the Shackled’s back, and it struggled to keep standing. Even so, it took a lurching step toward me, even through a veritable hail of crossbows impacting so rapidly it was hard to see its form through the glare. It turned its head, almost ponderously, saw Zephyro approaching in a full-on sprint, and seemed to reach a conclusion.

It held up one hand, aimed it at the closest guard tower, and made a weird grasping motion as if it were plucking an orange from a tree.

A mighty sound thrummed through the world, and everything froze.

In the same instant, the Guardtower exploded and the Shackled vanished.