Peter pulled the trigger. The buck of the Slagter was becoming familiar in his hands.

The enforcers yelled and moved for better cover. It was easy enough to find; this block of Stalpia had burned down months ago, leaving charred remains of the old buildings. From his best guess, they were old estates. Peter hadn’t come this way often before.

Peter ducked behind a thick pillar and flipped a new shell into the Slagter that he took from an unfortunate enforcer who had tried to apprehend him. He didn’t know why the enforcers also preferred the heavy hand cannon. Maybe it made them more comfortable working with ghouls.

Peter peered into the street, and the two remaining enforcers darted further away.

Fighting humans was more aggravating than fighting ghouls. Not only did Peter hate having to fight his own kind, but their annoying sense of self-preservation made it difficult. On top of that, they could strategize and coordinate with each other in ways the undead never could. Firing, covering each other, and running made for a prolonged game of cat and mouse. The ghouls would just press on until they died. Peter preferred things that way.

Peter stayed low as he picked his way through a burned building. He found the bodies of two enforcers. One he had leeched. The enforcer stared at the sky with youthful eyes that didn’t match his aged features. Peter killed the man the same way Anubis had killed his mother. What was he becoming? He should have been horrified about it, but there was something unsettlingly satisfying about turning court weapons on the Nosmerians, who betrayed their people because they feared court power.

The other enforcer, he had shot. After dying, the bodies couldn’t be leeched, so the enforcer lay back with the blooming crimson stain of a bullet wound spreading across his white dress shirt.

Peter pulled another pistol from the limp hand of one of the fallen enforcers. Checking to see if it was loaded, he smiled.

He was getting better at this. Men of war trained their whole lives for what usually turned out only to be a few moments of time. Peter had received less than a day of training but was improving through the deadly teacher of combative experience. Experience was a great instructor seldom granted to those who professed war, but Peter was quite literally coming upon many lives worth of practice, refining the craft and shaping his abilities every time he died.

Peter stuffed the pistol in his belt, grabbed the other fallen man’s weapon, and ejected the shell, leaving it empty. Satisfied, Peter moved and stalked around, trying to get behind his enemy's cover.

Peter was getting better at remaining calm under fire, and that proved critical to moving with any degree of stealthy grace. He crept forward, keeping his breath steady. Two enforcers left.

He peeked over a crumbled portion of a blackened brick wall. There they were. They were crouching behind what looked like it was once an organ in a handsome estate. The pipes survived the fire, but the keys and body of the instrument were charred.

Peter slowly stood, but neither caught the motion. They would be challenging targets crouching the way they did. He needed to get them on their feet.

He pulled the trigger on the empty pistol, and it let out an empty metallic click.

The men stood up and spun on him.

Peter dropped the empty weapon, drawing his second gun off of his belt and leveling his two loaded pistols at the men. They rapidly pulled their own weapons.

All four pistols hissed, spitting droplets of condensation and lubricant, filling the air with sickly sweet premernox.

Peter took both shots to the chest, but both of his shots hit. All three of them staggered and fell to the ground. Peter pulled himself back to his feet after he could reorient himself; the enforcers did not.

Gunshot wounds were interesting; they didn't always feel the same. Sometimes, gunshot wounds buzzed or stung; sometimes, they were numb; other times, they were agonizing. What was pretty consistent was the impact and the cold. Each shot from a slug was so jarring it felt like being hit with a club or a hammer. They also burned with ice worse than he would have thought. His wounds healed, but that only sealed in the icy shards.

Peter clenched his teeth as he waited for the slugs inside to heat up. He rolled his shoulders and shook his legs, feeling for abnormal lumps, and sure enough, he had no less than three bullets still lodged in his body.

He sighed as he loaded another round. The feeling of metal under healed flesh was more unsettling than actually getting shot.

Peter grimaced as he put his pistol to his temple and pulled the trigger.

Peter didn’t catch himself before he hit the ground. Resetting was like getting your bearings after waking up deep in a dream. It was disorienting, and he couldn’t always stay on his feet.

Peter lay on the ground and shivered. Peter hated the fact that he had to get rid of slugs by shooting himself, but even if someone could get close enough to surgically remove them without being leeched to death, they would have to act exceedingly fast before the wounds closed again. It was simply the most efficient option for his current situation.

Something primal roared in the distance. Peter checked over his shoulder, but the sound was no closer than before he ran into the patrol.

His head twitched as he pulled himself to his feet, crossed over to the grounded men, and stripped them of their ammunition. With two cross belts loaded with shells strung across his bare chest and long open coat, he reloaded his gear. He left to pick up the short sword, spear, and backpack with the book where he had left them.

Peter had meant to sneak around and try to find Iris, but the attack on the library roused a dramatic degree of alarm, so he cut and blasted his way into west Stalpia, going through one patrol of enforcers or ghouls at a time. His progress was slow and grueling. It seemed as if every degree of resistance moved to stop him.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Peter was thoroughly grateful he didn’t run into Vincent, Jasper, or Dirk as he traveled. His memory of their last encounter still made him queasy.

In the sky, Chur was slipping from the horizon, and Dinn was nowhere to be found. On top of that, the sun was also getting low. Peter had to find Iris now or give up and return to base.

He was startled by a loud, bestial roar. It sounded as if something was in pain. The roars started as he got further west. Peter didn’t want to run into whatever it was, so he cut south, across BakerBoulevard, and shimmied between an old law firm and a provisions store to come onto Black Tile junction.

And there she was.

Standing in a small herd of five crops, she shuffled with the rest, albeit with her signature jerky gait.

Peter’s heart leaped. It was definitely Iris. Her skin wrinkled and her hair white it broke his heart to see her that way. She was still young, but her youth had been stripped away by the cursed ring. Peter felt a pang of sorrow.

“Iris!” he cried after her.

She looked at him, but so did the two sentinels he had missed on the street. These sentinels didn’t stand idle. After the alarm had been sounded, they seemed to be able to recognize him as an enemy. They attacked him on sight.

Peter took a careful shot, smacking the first one in the chest, and dropped it. He finished the second one with his spear, avoiding its blade entirely.

He ripped his spear out of the mummy, then fed a new slug into his Slagter and turned back to her. “Iris!” he said again. The other four crops shuffled on, but the small part of her that recognized her name kept Iris behind.

Peter approached but was careful not to get too close. “Iris, you need to come with me!”

Iris looked at him, but the spark of recognition didn’t return to her eyes. She looked at him as though she would any other enforcer.

Peter’s heart plunged into his gut. She didn’t even seem to know or care about him. Had she forgotten him?

“Iris! It’s me … Peter.”

“Pe-ter,” she whispered, and then she smiled as a memory of her childhood friend blossomed onto her face.

“So this is what you were looking for?” A familiar voice sounded from behind Peter.

Peter pulled back the seal breacher on his pistol and turned to find himself staring at his mother’s killer. The head of a jackal, the smile of a murderer. Anubis, elder lich to Court Rahashel.

Peter’s grip tightened on the weapon.

“I was at the beast pit thinking about how I’m missing out on all the fun at the Tijd vault. Then, I was notified that a human priest warrior had slipped past my fellow servants and was in my area. I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when I find you, a court-child attacking the record vault. I’ve been watching you wander and carve through Stalpia for hours now.” Anubis stepped forward, smoothly, his muscles rippling. “Court Rahashel will be pleased when I return the Bedorven to him.”

“Stop,” Peter said flatly as he tried to suppress the inward rage. After he had the jackal’s head on his spear, he could manage the roar of rage in his head. Not now.

“I know you,” Anubis said as he curved around, circling Peter. “Both of you.”

Peter ignored Anubis’ confidence. “If you know me, then you know I won’t let you go.” Peter cursed himself for letting his emotions slip into his words, but they ran on, headless of composure.

“Now let me think …” Anubis pondered. “You’re the one who didn’t fight. The one who volunteered to be cropped. Doesn’t sound at all like the kind of person who won’t let me go.” He stood squarely with hands casually at his side—a sign of confidence and readiness.

“That boy who volunteered,” Peter spat, “Is dead. That damn ring leeched him away. The man you now face is Van Seur.” Peter trembled and felt a bout of nausea. Rage and fear didn’t mix well. He had to fight with his head. Not his wrath. But that was proving difficult, especially because Iris was standing weak and feeble behind him.

Anubis laughed loudly, his jackal’s face glinting in the light. “You’re still a boy.”

“I’m a court now!”

“Not for long.”

“I’ve killed your kind before.”

Anubis shrugged mockingly. “Poor Thoth. You killed our bookkeeper; our clerk, if you will. Administration will be a nightmare for a while because of you.”

“Enough talk!” Peter cried, and he shot Anubis in the chest.

Anubis didn’t flinch as the slug tore through his chest. Smoke flowed from the bloody hole for a moment like a pressurized plume from a factory smokestack.

The smoke stopped as suddenly as it started. Anubis’ deep chest, though wet with blood, was fine.

“You know,” Anubis said as he stepped forward. “You don’t know how to use that court band, do you? The things you are doing with the court band are easy for me to recreate. Take your physical reformation, for example. That’s child’s play.”

The elder lich stepped into Peter’s leech field, and as Peter’s tendril of purple light sucked into him, another one of equal light started to come out of Peter and into Anubis. Peter felt himself age and grow weak. It was a violating feeling.

“A passive leech field would be impressive for a novice lich. But for a court, I’m disappointed. I can easily make one of my own.”

Peter panicked at the two leech flairs, one from Anubis and one from Peter. As the light flowed and flickered, they seemed to cancel each other, and nothing happened to Anubis. Peter died of old age and caught himself. He had reset his age when he initially put the court band on.

“Where are your undead armies, great court? Where’s your true leech? Rip all of my Tijd from my body! Or you can’t; something’s wrong with you, isn’t it?”

“I’ve never been trained,” Peter muttered.

“Don’t you know what the band does, boy? You need no training with that band. It manifests your will. It transforms your very thoughts and intentions into programming. The defenses it gives you are rudimentary. I could give that court band to any of these crops, and they would become a god with a hundred times your strength! You’re unworthy, and it’s not working right for you at all. You’re broken, or maybe you don’t have any thoughts, no intentions for it to follow. I can’t conceive of anyone worse to have such power.

Give it to me, and your death will be quick. I’ll return it to the new God, and with your passing, you may be pardoned for your sin of playing equal with Rahashel.”

Lights flickered and flared as Peter aged and reset.

“You’re giving me a choice,” Peter said as he began to sweat. There was nothing about Anubis’ behavior that was like Thoth. Maybe he had been rash in thinking he could face him.

“You don’t have a chance.” Anubis corrected him. “Are you going to complain about the mercy I offer?”

“Where was your mercy when you murdered my mother?” Peter demanded as he choked on a sob.

Anubis frowned. “Are you crying? How very unoriginal. I killed your mother because she was weak, annoying, low. I can see now that you’re no different.”

“She was infinitely better than I could hope to be!” Peter said. “She was strong and caring. She —”

Anubis waved a hand. “I don’t care. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well, you should!” Peter challenged. “You should be aware of what you destroy!”

“You say after murdering humans as fast as you destroy ghouls.”

“Don’t turn this on me!” Peter snapped. “I’m not the one invading your world.”

Anubis frowned. “Court Rahashel is perfecting your world. What right do you have to be ungrateful?”

“Every right, from the moment he murdered half the people and put crop rings on the rest!” Peter shouted.

“He was only doing what he has every right to do.”

“How is that his right?”

“He’s God!”

Peter stepped back aghast, the light flairs running between the two fading slightly. Peter could see it now. If these liches had ever been people before, there was something drastically wrong with them now. They had no notion of logic or reason. No morals or ethical code. Only an unquestioning loyalty to their master, which guided their every thought and action.

“This crop you came to find is special to you,” Anubis said slowly, realization dawning on his jackal’s face. “She tried to avenge your mother. She’s family.”

Fear subverted Peter’s wrath as Anubis made the connection. The lich advanced, and the leech flared, aging and resetting Peter faster and growing brighter with each step he took.

Peter looked at Iris, watching the bright lights with wide eyes. He had to get Anubis away from her.

Peter loaded another shell and fired.