Donning spears, ill-fitting armour and eggs that spat fire, the rescuers and survivors split in two.

The most injured and vulnerable had barracked themselves within the armoury, blocking the hallway with crates. Paul tinkered with the door mechanism, rendering it only able to be opened from the inside. The set-up was makeshift, but the result was a fortress equipped with a long kill zone. Junior commanded the defending force.

Thomas with five of the most able of the bunch were guided by Paul towards the helm. All previous regard to stealth had been forgotten. With constant pointing of his fingers, Paul commanded doorways to slam open before them and to lock behind them. There was no back tracking or having to squeeze into closets to hide from what might be around the corner. Unlike their previous slow and winding progress, the group raced forward with the speed and accuracy of an arrow.

Thomas eyed Paul with suspicion and concern. He remembered him convulsing in the mud after the worm dug into his skull, and he remembered the boy crouched on the floor bracing himself for what he thought would happen after he led the beast away. The wasps must have been aware of him now, with how reckless he had become with the use of his abilities. Thomas assumed that he didn’t care. Maybe the only thing that mattered to him now was reaching the helm and exacting vengeance on the monsters that murdered Jackson, maybe he just wanted to get the rest of the group there as fast as possible and didn’t care if he died in the process, maybe he didn’t care what happens next as long as he got to see his brother again.

Thomas couldn’t tell. Besides paying attention to Paul’s directions as they raced through the intestinal labyrinth, he found his mind occupied by his free hand fiddling with his quiver.

There was only one arrow left.

He wasn’t unarmed however, he had one of the eggs with him; although he hadn’t practised with it, Paul told him it was an easy weapon to use. But when he was learning to hunt under Flannigan, the old man beat into him the importance of always being prepared.

Thomas couldn’t remember the last time he lugged around an almost empty quiver.

He felt naked.

A set of doors, taller and wider than the others, stood at the end of the hallway. With a flick of Paul’s wrist, it opened just the same. It sealed behind them with a harsh clang.

The room on the other side was enormous, like the inside of a bare silver cathedral. Several of the crab-legged wagons were lined up in rows that spanned the length of the room. There were two doors on Thomas’s left and two more on his right.

The group stood in place confused, looking around, trying to figure out where they were meant to go next. One of them asked why Paul wasn’t telling them where to go. Thomas turned back and saw him slumped over a wagon, sweating and struggling to breathe. Before he could say a word to him, Paul collapsed to the floor and fire poured through the four now open doors.

One man fell to the ground with a small burn in the back of his neck, the rest ducked behind the wagons. Scuttling over on his hands and knees, Thomas pulled Paul down into cover. Each doorway was stuffed with frogtaurs, a few in the back with accompanying wasps sent rays of red pouring over the group’s head, they could only send back a few retaliatory shots of their own before the hail of fire forced them to duck.

Under the cover of fire, frogtaurs with spears slowly inched towards their improvised cover. A few fled once someone from the group was able to poke their head up long enough to loose a ray, the rest died during their mad rush towards them. Despite the casualties, Thomas noticed the corpses fell increasingly closer to them. They used their fallen brethren as cover so they could get one step closer before they dropped.

They needed a plan.

Fast.

As the shock of the ambush wore off, Thomas watched the bolts of flame as they struck the wagons and the walls when a shot went wide. They were much weaker than what he saw outside in the clearing.

He knew they could tear through the wagons with ease and turn him and the rest of the group into burnt paste. Thomas saw what they could do to flesh and metal. But in here where they struck metal there were glowing pockmarks instead of fist sized craters.

Examining the fallen ally, the wound on the back of his neck was about a thumb wide and deep, Thomas knew if it was as strong as the blow that killed Rodrick the man wouldn’t still have his head and at least one other man would've died from the residual explosion.

His thoughts clicked into place.

They weren’t letting off blasts as strong as they could because they don’t want to damage the ship. They were using a flurry of weaker rays just to scare the group into keeping their heads down till the spear men could paralyse them.

Thomas examined the room, searching for something to give him the upper hand. His eyes lit up. With the dead man and unconscious Paul, there were two silver eggs spare. There were small gaps between the wagons, too small to shoot through, but big enough to see what's on the other side without losing one's head. And through the gap he saw the top left doorway only had two frogtaurs and one wasp skulking inside. While the frogtaurs peppered the group with the same intensity as the rest, the wasp stayed back and was selective with its shots.

Thomas couldn’t read people, let alone pony sized insects, but the creature seemed skittish.

“Oi! Everyone!” Thomas yelled, pulling the group’s attention towards him. They nodded or mumbled an acknowledgement as they kept their eyes focused on the storm of fire that rushed towards them. “I have a plan to get us out of here, but you need to listen. When I say, mark, everyone needs to send a shot towards the top left door.”

A man replied as he returned fire, “If we do that, we are going to be turning our backs to these two groups of bastards either side of us.”

“Right now, they are not focusing on kill shots. They want to keep our heads down long enough till those frogtaurs with the spears get close enough to shock us.”

“Frogtaurs?” said a confused voice.

“Frog centaur,” replied Thomas.

“That is a stupid –” the man’s criticism was cut short as a bolt skimmed the top of the wrapped padding he fashioned into a helmet. With a yelp, he dropped to the floor, covering his head.

Thomas continued, “The armour we have on now is good enough to block the weaker shots. As long as you all duck down afterwards, they shouldn’t have the time to send something stronger at you.”

“Us? What about you, what are you even going to do?”

Thomas slipped his hands into the two unequipped silver eggs, they slowly began to hum as he squeezed his hands around the squirming mess of wires, “I’m going to give a little surprise to the door on the top right.”

The group was filled with wicked chuckles or shocked expressions. Either way, they were convinced.

The group continued to return fire as Thomas crawled on his knees and elbows towards the end of the room. He found a gap between two wagons where his head would be visible to anything in the top left doorway. He stuck his head through, whistled loudly and pulled the stupidest shit eating grin he could muster, an annoying expression that would've made Rodrick proud if he was alive to see it.

The frogtaurs and Wasp stepped forward as they aimed towards him. Before the three monsters could fire, Thomas screamed mark at the top of his lungs. On cue, the men stood tall and launched a volley of fire towards the monsters. The wasp let out a shrill whine. The door bolted closed before the wave reached its target.

Thomas leapt backwards out of cover towards the nearly molten door, there was a flash as he released the overcharged shots towards the shocked creatures in front of him.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

There were several thuds as he tumbled blind into the wall next to the barely standing doorway.

He dropped one of the eggs as his hand began to burn. Cracks covered the hissing silver weapon. The other bared similar damage, but was less mutilated by the twin blast.

There was nothing left of the frogtaurs, wasps or the door. Splatters of orange and blue blood painted the hallway. Thick black smoke poured out from the door. Thomas looked up as the ruined door creaked open.

The wasp and frogtaurs leaned forward to examine the aftermath of the explosion. Thomas grabbed the arm holding the silver egg of the nearest frogtaur and placed a cavernous crater through the head of the other. The wasp fell over backwards in panic. Before it could stand to flee, Thomas shot it in the back of the head. The last frogtaur was dispatched in the manner of the first.

Without the extra marksmen preventing the group from retaliating as often, those at the remaining two doorways started finding themselves overwhelmed. The suicidal charges had stopped. The group found themselves shooting more often than they had to duck. Then without warning, the three working doors slid closed, locking with an audible click. The group turned around to face a groan, then sighed with relief as Paul began to stand.

“Are you alright?” asked Thomas.

Paul gagged as he cleared his throat, “Whoever is in charge of trying to keep me down, they are getting better at it. I think I’m going to be sick.”

Just as Paul regained his footing, a thunderous roar filled the air, knocking Paul off balance again.

Out from the billowing veil of black smoke that poured from the top right doorway, the demonic ape worm came charging in. The room shook as it slammed against the opposite wall. Its thin, wiry legs splayed out wildly as it adjusted from its cramped crawling posture to a more upright stance.

Volley after volley of burning light was unleashed at the monster the moment it came into view. The beast's hide reddened and blistered like a sunburn, but the flame did nothing more. The ape worm rushed bothered towards the source of fire, stomping its hoofed spider legs onto where the marksmen stood.

The rain of fire stopped as the men awkwardly threw themselves over the wagons or across the floor to avoid being impaled.

Paul snapped his fingers and a wagon on the far side of the room sprung to life and scuttled away, stomping as loud as possible as it ran towards a wall. The blind beast’s attention locked onto the racket and pounced onto the wagon; its front legs speared through it as metal plates were torn loose with jagged teeth.

The group gingerly stepped towards the corner opposite to the beast.

“As long as we aren’t the loudest thing in the room, it won’t hear us,” Paul whispered.

A small amount of tension was released as the group learnt that talking wasn't a death sentence.

“We need to leave. Can you open a door?” asked one of the men.

“Can’t,” replied Paul, “Something locked the doors. I tried to order them to open, but they said I didn't have the correct rank. And from what I can get from the background chatter, they aren’t opening until either more guards arrive or that thing eats us.”

“What about the busted one.”

“The whole hallway behind it is on fire and that thing is right next to it,” Paul said bluntly. “Even if we do, it’ll still be tracking us. If we leg it, it will notice us. But if we try to do this slow, the rest of the freaks will catch up to us.”

The man struggled to keep his voice down as his face twitched with frustration, “What are we meant to do then? We can’t kill it, not even the eggs do anything to it.”

Thomas chimed in, “A normal one? No. But when they get damaged, they let off a horrifically large explosion.”

Paul cocked an eyebrow, “I assume you have a plan?”

“The rest of you keep it distracted and don’t die. I’m going to prepare some bait.”

Another wagon sprung to life and the beast rammed into it, piercing a leg straight through its shell. The vehicle went limp. Paul repeated this, slowly driving the ape worm away from Thomas as he made his way across the room. Whenever the beast began to notice him, a few prodding blasts from the silver eggs drew its attention away.

The group were bruised and sore from the number of times they had to dive out of the way of an impaling hoof or a flurry of enraged bites. Paul and the rest were sweating, panting messes. Keeping quiet and avoiding drawing the monster’s attention was a labour.

With a wave, Thomas drew Paul’s attention. On one of the remaining wagons, he stacked a mound of dead frogtaurs. Giving the broken egg a final firm squeeze before cutting the wires with his arrowhead. He tenderly placed the unstable improvised bomb on top the corpse pile.

Counting down with his fingers, Paul activated the wagon at the same moment Thomas shot a beam at the ape worm. He quickly stepped away as the beast dived onto the bait. It ripped metal and flesh with the same ease.

Raising the weapon, Thomas aimed at the silver egg the ape was gnawing on between its teeth.

He whistled.

The beast turned and roared.

There was a flash of red inside its mouth, and the room was filled with the blinding light of the sun.

When Thomas regained his vision, the ape worm laid limp before him, headless. The stump was a mesh of thick white fibres and twisted shards of metal, black oil and snot wept from the wound.

⁂

There was a clank as the two bottom doors opened, frogtaurs poured forth, accompanied by a wasp. Thomas heard the always recognisable tone of confusion and anger through the unintelligible croaks, whistles and clicks.

He followed their motions with his ears, listening for the right moment for him and the rest of the group to quietly escape. Everyone held their breath as they hid behind the decapitated carcase.

He heard their footsteps grow louder and louder.

They stopped.

It sounded like two of the frogtaurs were arguing.

Thomas tapped Paul gently on the shoulder.

The arguing pair stumbled and slipped on their backsides as the sound of a dozen legs echoed out from the burning doorway, the sound grew quiet as whatever made the noise was quickly running away from the main room.

The wasp hissed.

From the burning hallway, Thomas heard the sound of spilt oatmeal and the sizzle of a doused fire. His eyes stung and the taste of chalk filled his mouth.

The wasp let out a series of high pitch trills, on its command the frogtaurs galloped down the burnt hallway.

There was a long pause before Thomas signalled the group to come out of hiding. One head after another popped up over the dead beast.

From what he knew, Thomas reckoned they had ten to fifteen good minutes before the frogtaurs and wasp caught up with the wagon Paul sent on a lap around the ship.

Paul opened one of the now unlocked doors, and he and the rest dashed through it.

It began as an ache. A pocket of heat and pressure that slithered through Thomas’s thigh. He bit his tongue to stifle a moan. His knee locked straight as the pain of a knife dragged down the back of his leg. His calf spasmed, desperate to tear free from the skin.

“Tommy! You alright?” Paul’s face was pale. His hand bobbed towards and then away from Thomas, the boy was unsure if he needed help standing up or not. Thomas’s hand thankfully had caught onto a door frame and had kept him slamming his face into a cold metal floor for the second time in a day. He shifted his weight onto his good leg and stretched out the bad one. Just as fast as it came, the cramp vanished. “Do you know what happened?” asked the boy.

“Don’t know,” replied Thomas. “It's been a long day, and I’m more used to having a nap between my rescue attempts and monster slaying outings,” A few awkwardly smiled at the joke, but Thomas only heard himself chuckled. “I’ll be fine, just please tell me how close we are to the helm?”

“A few more turns and one last straight.” answered Paul as they continued to run.

“How many of the crew are inside?”

“Four guards and three officers. It's really quiet in there, I don’t think they know we’re coming.”

Thomas wanted to ask what the plan was once they got control over the helm. But he caught the question before it left his mouth and pushed it down deep. He desperately wanted to know what was going to happen next, but after everything he had seen, Thomas was too afraid to ask.

From the mayor’s speech till the current moment, his life had become a twisted mockery of his beloved storybook. All the trials, horrors and monsters were made real in ways he couldn’t imagine, but with none of the splendour, the heroics and the triumph.

Thomas wasn’t a hero, a knight in shining armour riding a noble steed to rescue a princess from a terrible dragon.

Thomas was a drunk, lonely, smelly hermit who squatted on the edge of town. Forever mourning the childhood that was stolen from him by a mother who abandoned him, leaving him to drift from one foster home to another. Until one day when he was finally able to care for himself and forge his own path in the world, he realised he didn’t know what he wanted to do with himself, nor how to connect to anyone or anything.

Thomas once longed to be one of the heroes in his old stories, to have his life have a point, and for there to be a happily ever after waiting for him.

As the group approached the helm room door, Thomas took a deep breath and braced himself for whatever ending his story had prepared for him.