Peter darted in a wide circle, trying to get around the jackal.

Anubis countered with a blur of speed and kicked Peter in the side of the head.

Peter’s world spun as his feet left the ground, and he crashed through the wide bay window of a former art shop. Peter slammed into a display of canvas, stands, and paint, decayed with artificially-quickened age. His head reeled from crushing force paired with whiplash.

Peter gasped as he got back up. The tome in his rucksack dug painfully into his back.

The jackal laughed mockingly. “No physical enhancements whatsoever? You’re nothing more than a human who won’t die.”

Peter lost hold of his spear and a pistol in his flight, so he drew his short sword and his second pistol. His surroundings seemed to spin, and he stumbled as he sprinted for the door, nearing Anubis again. The jackal lich had drawn a pair of vicious-looking hand sickles from his belt.

Peter aimed his pistol and fired. It was an easy shot; Anubis was near, and a big target.

The slug caught Anubis in his upper shoulder, causing him to flinch. The stopping force had purchase on the large lich, but if he felt any pain at all, he showed no sign of it. Another thick, purple smoke whiff drifted off Anubis as his flesh became whole.

Peter ran across the street and loaded as fast as he could, but the blade in his hand made it difficult.

He managed to feed in a fresh shell in place and snapping the barrel up. A flash of two purple streams announced Anubis coming in fast.

Before Peter could register, Anubis slammed into him. He lost hold of his second gun and was thrown again in a disorienting whirlwind of motion. Before Peter got out of reach, Anubis hooked into him with one of his sickles and ripped a jagged hole across his abdomen.

Peter hit the ground and rolled to a stop. He gasped in pain as Anubis showed up in another flash and cut him deeply across the chest. Peter’s crossed gun belts fell from his chest, torn by Anubis’ sickles. He tried to worm away, but Anubis stomped onto the back of his head.

Peter screamed and sank his thick ghoul short sword into Anubis’ calf.

The blade burned away, leaving Peter with only an inch or two of the blade. Was it possible that Anubis could burn metals from his body without dying? Peter rammed the remaining metal into Anubis’ foot. Anubis uttered a low, almost inaudible growl. So he did feel pain.

Peter rolled onto his shoulders and kicked up between Anubis’ legs with both feet.

Anubis doubled over as he groaned; at least that much was human.

Peter scampered away and snatched one of his severed slug belts and the pistol he dropped from the ground.

Peter loaded as he ran for cover.

Anubis let out a strange, high-pitched howl.

Peter got to a printing shop, turned, and shot Anubis in the eye. It was a lucky shot. Anubis’ head snapped back.

Peter caught sight of purple smoke bleeding from the eye, and the wound vanished.

Peter darted up some stairs with the jackal on his tail. Anubis’ immense stature was a disadvantage in these close quarters. Peter threw his shoulder into a splintered, black door and shoved it open.

He made his way into what looked like a spacious printing loft. The whole far wall was a window that looked out onto the street. The gloomy and open room had a high, vaulted roof. The loft was stacked with heavy presses, rolls of yellow and cracked paper, and other strange and cast iron machines — the vital organs of the printing industry.

Peter dove and hid behind a large sheet feeder with several huge rolls of aged paper mounted on the sides. Moments later, he heard Anubis charge into the room.

Think, Peter, think. Peter frantically pulled the last four slug shells from the severed belt and held them in his hand. He needed more data.

“Hiding?” Anubis growled. “Really?

Anubis was fast, dangerously so, but his speed seemed to be limited to a committed charge or singular motion. A room full of cast iron obstacles could help Peter mitigate Anubis’ speed. Peter quietly opened his pistol and slowly drew out the old shell casing.

“I’ll go out and kill the girl if you don’t come out.”

Peter tossed the casing back towards the door, and Anubis spun on the noise. Peter used the moment to feed another shell and snap the barrel up.

Anubis whirled on him and jumped over three presses, using the loft’s high roof to clear the obstacles. As he dropped, the two leech lights cackled back into existence.

Peter turned, but the book in his pack banged into a corner and threw him off. Two sickles found Peter and flipped him around as they tore through him. His head slammed against a black iron leg, and he blinked tears as he saw stars.

Peter tried to scramble away, but a hook-like sickle arched down and pinned his ankle to the loft floor.

Peter wailed as he aimed down and fired. The slug shattered the sickle and Anubis’ hand. The jackal cursed and shook his hand, but it was fine a moment later.

He resets faster than me, Peter realized dismally.

Peter clambered around a printing press. The shard of the blade was still in his ankle, and it flashed like fire with each step.

“That was my favorite knife!” Anubis howled as he lunged into the press, trying to pin Peter between two machines.

Anubis must have underestimated the weight of the cast iron, because even with his inhuman strength, he was only able to shove it half a foot towards Peter. His shoulder folded, and his head cracked dully against the metal.

Anubis shook his head, and Peter loaded.

Anubis looked disoriented. How did this physical reformation thing work? Peter still got hungry and thirsty and still had to use the latrine, but if he were to die of hunger, he would probably just reset and feel sustained. Even as Anubis apparently blinked stars away, Peter concluded that his organs worked as they were meant to until they healed. He could use that.

Anubis held out his now empty hand, and with a flash of purple fire, a short sword appeared. Slightly longer and thinner than the issues short swords ghouls carried, it was still, by Peter’s reckoning, a nasty knife.

Peter saw several jars of what looked like ink. He lunged for them.

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The leech lights continued to wail like tormented souls in an eternally macabre song, flashing brighter when they were closer and growing more faded with distance.

Anubis leaped again, soaring over printing gear, and Peter tried to crawl under a press. The bulge in Peter’s back snagged, and Peter cried as he slipped the bag off and rolled under himself, pulling it after him just as sickle and blade bit deep into the wood floor behind.

Peter threw his pack on his shoulders, and once on the other side of the press, he grabbed a jar of printer ink from a wooden table.

Anubis lunged after him, and his weapons disappeared in a flash of purple fire. He grabbed Peter with his hands.

Peter spun and splashed about a gallon of black ink into Anubis’ fiery eyes.

Anubis snarled and let go of Peter, rubbing his ink-stained eyes. Peter considered the lich’s hybrid biology, pointed his pistol less than an inch beside the Jackal’s large pointed hear, and shot the wall behind him.

Anubis hissed as he pushed Peter away and covered his sensitive ears. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. If the ink damaged his eyes, they would heal, but healing didn’t get rid of the ink.

Peter turned and ran for the window that made up the wall on the other side; the shard of blade lodged in his ankle caused a buzz of agony to wash up his leg with each step. He jumped, throwing his weight through the glass. The window was made of many smaller panels in a thin wood frame. Breaking through it was easy. Dealing with the pain, however, was not.

Glass sliced Peter everywhere on his way out. He slammed into the ground, breaking both knees and the glass that showered him, cutting him in many places. The glass wounds healed, but the glass still embedded in his skin hurt with every movement.

Peter loaded the second to last shell, put it to his head, and reset. All foreign entities vanished from his body, and he sat up, physically renewed.

Iris was staring at him from far down the road in what looked to be unusually glassy eyes. Was she crying? She held Van Gutter’s hat clutched in her aged hands. It must have come off when Anubis kicked him.

A scream from above and a stream of light flashed prelude to a jump from Peter’s adversary.

Peter clambered to his feet and spun as the lich landed on the cobbles. The evening was growing dark and cold, but the two fighters ignored it as they glared at each other. Peter, without a shirt and a bloodied, tattered, paint-splattered coat, glowered at the ruffled Jackal-headed lich, who had a black ink stain all down his head, neck, and shoulders.

The ground rumbled, and something exploded several streets over, causing a slight tremor through the street.

Anubis scowled at it and drew what looked like a rectangular black glass tile from his pocket. It seemed to be made from the same thing the leech rings were made of and had small glyphs that glowed with purple light.

“What was that?” Anubis growled into the tile.

“He’s here!” a voice shouted as if from far away. It was coming from the tile. Peter recognized the raspy voice. It was Horus, the falcon-headed lich. The tile must have been some sort of communication medium.

“The priest?” Anubis asked.

“In the den. Do you have the Bedorven yet?”

“Soon,” Anubis assured the voice speaking from the tile.

“Use a Druk,” Horus suggested.

Anubis smiled wickedly.

“Anubis, this priest here killed General Montu. Let’s finish the job before he does any more damage.”

Another explosion rocked the streets nearby, and Horus’ voice cursed from the tile.

Anubis pocketed the tile and turned his attention back to Peter.

“Well, you heard him. No more games?”

Peter frantically searched for a strategy to give him an edge, but his mind didn’t work. Although he had recently reset, the mental strain from the day still left him exhausted.

Anubis’ weapons disappeared with a flash of fire, and he lunged at Peter at inhuman speed. Tight hands grabbed Peter by the collar, and Anubis threw Peter across the street as though he were made of straw.

Peter broke through several corroded walls and flew into Baker Boulevard. He slammed into two by-standing crops. He didn’t know if the impact or his leech killed them. But they lay, shriveled and filthy, beneath him.

Peter cried in despair. These were his trapped countrymen.

Peter stood, and his shoulder stung with ice. Peter realized he had been shot. He looked to see several enforcers running at him with drawn guns.

The building behind splintered and cracked as Anubis came charging through — not through the door or the recently made (Peter-shaped) hole, but charging through the walls as if they were made of paper.

When the enforcers saw the elder lich, they turned and fled, not wanting to be near the hunter or his prey.

Anubis leaped on Peter, but Peter hit the Jackal head’s chin in an uppercut. He tore the ink-spattered headdress away from Anubis’ head as he clawed for hair.

A purple fire flashed in Anubis’ hand and materialized into a spear that had a barbed, spiked, bladed cylinder as a point. Anubis tore into him again with his new weapon, and Peter fell and screamed. Anubis rammed the spiked metal deep into Peter’s gut and with a twist, the head detached, staying in as Peter’s flesh healed over.

The spearhead began to spin inside him, with different portions of the cylinder spinning in opposite directions, dragging spikes and barbs with it and thoroughly blending his insides.

Peter writhed and thrashed. Anubis laughed.

“A god-killer blade. The Druk. The Incentiviser! How does it feel, child?”

Peter screamed and cried as he clawed for his abdomen, trying anything to get it out. It started to heat up, searing as it blended.

“This is how we kill courts! Death won't expel the Druk. I offered to let you die quickly; you chose justice!”

Anubis stomped on Peter’s head, forcing his face into the stone road.

Peter sobbed as the thing burrowed on the inside. He should have died. It should have burned away, but it seemed he wasn’t healing.

“Please!” Peter begged through tears.

“There is one way through this, native,” Anubis laughed with malicious glee. “Take your armband off! There’s no shame in yielding to a Druk. All mortals wish for immortality, but they’re never prepared for its consequences!”

Peter gasped only to spit out blood. With a tight hand, he fumbled for the armband.

“Die like you were born to!”

Peter slipped the band down his forearm, but a peculiar mixture of shock and rage stayed in his hand. With the heavy sandaled foot of his enemy holding his head down, he looked into the eyes of one of the crops he killed when Anubis threw him through the wall. Peter knew the face.

Jaap?

His old friend’s body had crumbled under the impact of his flight. Peter had killed Jaap. Once optimistic and good-mannered, Peter’s friend’s face now stared glass-eyed, lifeless, and stricken with age. Like the rest of Nosmeria, Jaap had been defiled by Court Rahashel.

An undignified groan of despair escaped Peter and let go of the Bedorven, which shrunk to fit tight around his wrist. It was as if it knew he wasn’t taking it off and didn’t want to fall off by accident. Indeed, it was hissing and clicking in encouragement.

“What are you doing?” Anubis demanded.

Peter pushed into the ground, exposing new organs to the blades of the Druk.

“Hey!”

Peter slumped down. Anubis was too heavy.

Something close bellowed, something big, something angry. Both Peter and Anubis looked up as the ground began to tremble.

“Take off the band!” Anubis hissed, leaning down so his dog-like lips were inches from Peter’s ear. Anubis clawed at Peter’s shredded coat.

Peter tried to say no but just spat out blood instead. His body, mind, everything screamed at him to take it off. But Jaap’s dead eyes compelled him to endure.

The ground started to shake violently, and Anubis cursed in a tongue that Peter didn’t understand. Peter screamed and threw up blood as he started to stand on shaking limbs.

“How —” Anubis started. “Court Rasminfrey didn’t resist this long. How can you? You’re just a child!”

Something big rounded the corner—many things. They looked like massive chimeric — hybrid of crocodiles, cats, and hippos. At least ten of the giant beasts were stampeding the street towards them. On the back of the beast in the lead was the domestic, Julian.

Peter would have laughed and rejoiced at the sight if he could. But instead, he sobbed and threw up more blood.

“No, no, no, no, no …” Anubis panicked, waving his hands desperately as if the gesture would ward off the charge, but it didn’t. A flash of light and a cackling bolt of sparking and flickering light appeared in Anubis’ hand like a javelin of purple lightning.

“Die, priest!” he cried as he threw the bolt at the oncoming charge, and it hissed forward like a bolt of lightning, random offshoots of energy cracking off and burning holes into buildings on either side.

Julian threw a palm forward, and the light slammed into an unseeable barrier, causing a ripple of green runes to pulse in an invisible wall before him.

“No!” Anubis stepped away from Peter, and Peter held up a shaking hand.

Julian guided the beast to pass Peter by some unseen means, and skillfully avoided crushing him. Julian leaned down to the side as far as he could and whisked Peter away by hand, pulling him onto the beast behind him.

If there was any pain or whiplash from the move, Peter didn’t feel it. He was too busy worrying about the demon that was devouring him from the inside.

Anubis leaped out of the way and onto the roof. He ran alongside them, jumping from roof to roof, but quickly fell behind. The stampede charged down the street, and Peter didn’t look to see how many enforcers or crops fell prey to the landslide of the beast. He just whimpered as he moved to slide the ring off. Peter did his job; he kept it out of enemy hands. Now, he could die.

Peter felt a strong hand grab his wrist.

“What are you doing?” Julian cried as he held it on Peter’s wrist.

Peter spat blood. There were no more lungs to breathe.

“Nyamar,” Julian cursed, and he put his hand on Peter’s exposed belly. His eyes widened, and he grabbed Peter. “Hold on, Peter!” he cried. “Just hold on!”