As night approached, the grand stone wall became a bridge.

One hundred freed slaves marched on the manor. Their skin aglow in the darkness; the air abuzz with their wheezing breaths, frantic for their feverish pace.

Murmurs of destruction emanated from the hollow cavern ahead. Gwil.

At the head of the pack, Leira sat in Brock’s palm while Ansoir and Diom rode in the litter. Cort and the other leaders among the escapees moved along below.

“I thought they’d defend the wall,” Leira said. “Especially after the explosion.”

Cort grunted. “Defend what? They’re hiding. Just trying to survive. The Kaia is gone. They have nothing left.”

***

Gwil had just destroyed his sixth Talus. His book-hammer had broken. He now wielded an iron stag's head like a mace, using the antlers as handles.

As he faced down the remaining few statues, something quivered through them. They went still, turned as one, and began stomping toward the manor.

Gwil gave chase. The skeleton with the centipede ribs was lagging behind. He especially wanted to kill that one after it had sneak-attacked him earlier.

He squinted and glimpsed the distorted void that was the Kaia. Since this Talus’s torso was all holey, the engine was hidden within its alabaster loin cloth.

Gripping the antlers with both hands, Gwil sprinted, spun and smashed the stag's head through the posterior of the skeleton. Its legs snapped off and its arms clawed weakly at the ground as it spent its last breaths of Kaia.

The rest of the Taluses had reached the front door of the manor, which had been thrown open to admit them.

Gwil stopped as a sharp sense drew his eyes up to the roof of the manor. Sheriff Jackson stood at the edge, obscured by the darkness but recognizable by his hat. Suspended beside him in a bundle of ropes was a second figure.

Unbidden, Nirva flowed into Gwil’s eyes as he strained to see. It stung like alcohol. Once, when he was a kid, Caris had washed his eyes out with vodka after a lizard had spit venom into them.

Gwil heard the agonized Nirva whispers take up a chant. He saw, not further, or with more clarity, rather something peeled away the darkness to reveal a deeper layer.

Disparate auras engulfed the two figures.

There was Jackson. He was painted with earthy hues, browns and tans, composed of twisting coils and bunches of knots.

And the other man, like a pile of gravel, gray and crumbling. Beaten and battered, head lolling, pudgy body hanging limp. Red-black Yalda’blood seeped through his cracks.

Littered throughout the garden were traces of the same aura, fizzling from the broken pieces of the statues, like smoldering coals.

Gwil knew that had to be the Burger, because the Burger loved these rocks.

Jackson tipped his cap and then beckoned Gwil forward. A shift in the clouds cast a sliver of red moonlight upon his face, illuminating the sheriff’s broken gold smile. He turned away, disappearing into the manor’s embrace.

***

The sounds of fighting within the manor’s cavern had ceased. Cort broke into a full sprint. With a spear in each hand, he hurtled up the stairs.

And saw Gwil, standing alone near the foot of the manor, surrounded by a torn-up garden and piles of sparkling rubble.

Cort’s eyes darted back and forth as he approached, but it looked like Gwil had mopped everything up. The rest of his comrades streamed into the cavern.

Gwil turned and ran toward him.

“What happened?” Cort called.

Gwil shook his head. “Nothin’. I destroyed a bunch of Taluses—you would’ve loved it.” He made an explosion sound to accompany his hand gesture and then laughed.

Cort fiddled with his nose ring. “That can’t be all they have for us.”

Gwil shrugged. “The sheriff came out on the roof and told us to come inside.”

Brock rolled up with Leira and the first wave of fighters.

“Yo!” Cort barked, waving his hands over his head. “Get back. Don’t go near the manor. Stick close, everyone.”

“Hey, Gwil,” Leira said. She bent over and picked up a little butterfly ornament made of silver and jade. “What is this? It’s so cute!”

“Ah, I bet you can find all sorts of good stuff,” Leira said. “I knocked the head off a valkyrie lady. She had a winged helmet.”

Leira breathed in through her teeth and her eyeflower fluttered. “I love valkyries.”

Ansoir exited the litter as if in a trance, wide-eyed and swaying as he surveyed the garden. He went pale as chalk. “Why?”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

They stared at him.

He grabbed Gwil by the shoulders and shook him. “Why? Why would you destroy the statues?”

“I didn’t want to!” Gwil said. “They’re really cool, but they were trying to kill me.”

“No,” Ansoir muttered, more to himself. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “No, the statues never fight. They can’t.”

“Mmm, they definitely can,” Gwil said.

“What has happened?” Ansoir said, staring at the manor. “Father!”

On the edges of the garden, fountains of dirt erupted from the ground. Trees splintered. Flecks of dirt rained down on the fighters like hail.

All around them, hulking figures emerged from the ground. Blue light shone through clouds of dust.

Twelve huge Taluses—these were like Brock. A story tall, two meters wide.

Speeding on their rolling legs, the Taluses fanned out to encircle the escapees.

“Fuck! It’s my fault!” Gwil and Cort cried in unison.

Brock’s engine squealed like a dying animal. He reached into the litter upon his head, placed Diom on the ground, and then rolled away.

“Brock, wait!” Ansoir screamed.

But the Talus was gone, moving at full speed as he zipped around the ring that his brethren had formed. He had his giant hands pressed together as if in prayer.

The enemy Taluses continued to advance.

***

“They walked right into it, boss!” Toothpick shouted. “A hundred of ‘em, at least.”

Toothpick manned a periscope that could see out into the garden.

Jackson had just returned to the cavernous throne room. Dragging Stondemaier along the ground, he passed by the host of statues that stood guard.

“Good. Should be an easy slaughter. The Hallow won’t die. But hopefully they’ll kill everyone else. Don’t feel like dealin’ with none of this liberation bullshit.”

Jackson let go of Stondemaier and watched with a sneer as the grotesque man crawled across the floor like a crippled dog. Frantic murmurs sputtered from his gravel-coated lips as he reached his marble mockery of a wife, who lay in chains on the floor.

Old Stony rested his head on her chest as the statue of Ophelia lifted her head as much as the chains allowed, just barely nuzzling her forehead against her husband’s shoulder.

They’d planted a spike two fingers deep over Ophelia’s Kaia engine. It sat right where her heart should’ve been.

Jackson needed Stondemaier to be nice and cooperative. If a hammer struck the spike, Ophelia would die. Jackson’s man, Bart, stood over her, ready to do just that.

Jackson shook his head at the twisted union. He gave Bart a fake signal. Bart raised the hammer over his head as if he intended to deliver that fatal blow.

“NOOO!” Stondemaier screamed, throwing his whole clump of a body over top of Ophelia.

Jackson and his officers howled with laughter.

Stondemaier dragged himself like a slug to lie at Jackson’s feet. “Please, Teddy, stop this!”

Jackson kicked Stondemaier in the face as he tried to wrap his stunted little arms around Jackson’s legs.

The sheriff conjured a harness of rope—sturdy enough to hold this rocky lug of a man—and hoisted Stondemaier into the air.

Jackson squinted, inspecting Stondemaier like he was a muskrat he’d just killed. He felt that same type of pity, too.

“You’re a real piece of work,” Jackson said.

“The Taluses have sensitive, fragile minds!” Stondemaier said. “Have mercy, I beg you. They are like children. This will cause irreparable damage.”

One of Jackson’s men said, “The slaves are gonna suffer some ‘irreparable damage’ too, when we pound ‘em into juice.”

“Humans who were born to be slaves are worthless compared to my creations,” Stondemaier said. A glint flashed in his disease-ridden, bloodshot eyes.

Jackson raised his eyebrows and rubbed his chin. It’d been a couple of years since he heard Stondemaier say anything so coherent.

With a wave of his hand, the ropes vanished. Stondemaier’s sludgy body slapped against the floor. A few flakes of rock chipped off his skin.

“What a self-righteous, delusional prick you are,” Jackson said. “I’m glad I played you like a fiddle for all these years. You deserve to be ripped off.

“Lemme tell ya something. The fuckin’ mental well-being of your statues don’t matter. As soon as this whole mess is over, I’m gonna kill you and you’ll all die together. Ain’t that nice?”

“Teddy, please,” Stondemaier groaned. “We can call the Leviathan for aid. You’re risking too much! There are powerful foreigners staying in the resort. We will be punished for this.”

Jackson kicked the pile of rubble again, this time aiming for the fleshy mouth. Blood sprayed out.

“Do you even know where you are, you old bastard? How many fuckin’ times do I need to say it for it to stick in your dementia-riddled head?” Jackson spat. He shoved his boot into Stondemaier’s mouth. “The Kaia is destroyed. All of it. There’s nothin’ to risk anymore. It’s over. Chateau Podexia is ruined. You’re as good as dead. The only thing the Leviathan’d do for us is fuckin’ vaporize the whole city.”

Stondemaier gagged on his boot.

“I’m burning everything down,” Jackson continued. “There’s only two things I want. One is to make sure those slaves don’t taste a single lick of freedom. And I wanna fight that little bastard and see if I’m supposed to keep living.

“And here’s what you’re gonna do, Burgermeister. Exactly what the fuck I tell you, that’s what. Otherwise, Ophelia gets a spike through her metal heart. So just control the Taluses and stop pissin’ me off.”

Stondemaier crawled back to Ophelia. Her stupid lips were stuck in a permanent half-smile, which painted this whole scene with an extra bit of madness. Jackson chuckled.

“What’s next, boss?”

“We hunker down and wait. Whatever few of ‘em make it inside’ll get butchered by the Taluses in the halls. The Hallow’ll make it here, and I reckon he’ll be real pissed off cause all his people will be dead. Good. That’s how I want him.

“I’m not gonna play this time. He broke the rules with that Erithist shit, and he taught me a lesson. This World has passed on, and it left honor in the dust.

“I’m too old and too far gone to deal with that shit anymore. We got us—the old gang—and twenty statues. We’ll fuckin’ mob the kid the moment he runs in and turn him into ground beef.”

The sheriff raised his voice. “Most important of all, we get the hell out of here before the Leviathan shows up. Alright? Now, let’s get the whiskey flowing.”

The men cheered and started pouring drinks.

Then, Toothpick, still on the periscope, said, “Erm, boss? Trouble.”

***

Not one death. Not one death.

Gwil burst out of the throng, beelining for the nearest Talus. He flooded so much Nirva into his wrists that they became impossible to bend.

His palms slammed against the Talus’s body. He planted his feet and started pushing with all his might.

The stone behemoth’s boulder legs churned through the dirt as it tried to push back. But Gwil was winning the contest.

The Talus flailed its hands at him, but Gwil was in too close for its bulbous limbs to reach.

It was like pushing an enormously overburdened wheelbarrow. Gwil veered and crashed the Talus into another Talus that had come to try to help its ally.

Gwil sent some Nirva into his legs so that he could handle the weight of two Taluses. The voices sang their anguished song as his legs chewed through the dirt like a tiller.

“Argh!”

Gwil’s comrades rushed past him, pouring through the gap in the blockade that he’d created. They spread out across the garden, fleeing the stone monsters. Brock served as the rear guard, fending off his pursuing brethren as best he could.

Not one death.

The tremendous weight that Gwil had been wrestling with vanished. He looked over the cliff’s edge.

Just in time to see the plummeting Taluses explode against the ground. A blue and black cloud enveloped their remains.