Jake tried not to look at Hanna’s face.
He focused on removing his hook and attaching his magitech hand.
Everyone seated at the table frantically pulled their weapons out of the phones and tablets of holding, counting on all eyes being drawn to the Slaver King’s disgusting display.
When Hanna had first risen out of the floor they had almost attacked right then.
The voice in their heads held them back… barely.
Amber would’ve launched herself at the Slaver King had it not been for Trevor’s death grip around her arm.
Del and Hillary sobbed quietly.
Oscar and Tobin had gone as pale as ghosts.
A low growl rumbled out of Cara’s throat.
Ginessa had gone as still as a statue.
Alexa’s eyes had gone black.
He could feel her magic simmering just below the surface, an instant away from boiling over.
Vines writhed around Max’s arm of wood and earth. Thorns growing on their surface.
Rebekah went cold.
Watch Commander Lawrence… she only had eyes for Hanna.
She gave him a silent signal with a calm gesture.
One shot.
They had discussed this.
One of many potential plans.
A decapitation strike.
His strongest spell.
Go for the head or center mass?
They had seen the king heal from what had looked like fatal damage.
The first target seemed more certain, but the king was supernaturally quick.
It didn’t take much effort to slip one’s head to the side.
The second would be harder to dodge, but the king had taken arrows to the chest without flinching.
They needed to destroy a vital organ, brain or heart, in one massive burst of damage.
Jake wasn’t sure that he could do it, but it looked like he was about to find out.
Their jaws dropped as Hanna freed every enslaved person in the great hall.
The Slaver King charged Jake’s friend as the hall erupted into chaos.
He didn’t need the order.
He rose, thrusting a smartphone from beneath the table, aiming for the center of the king’s broad, muscular back.
“Mana Laser.”
A bright blue-white beam scorched the air, burning through the king’s back and out his chest.
Jake had the satisfaction of looking straight through the charred hole the size of a fist in the king’s torso.
Then he passed out.
The spell was all or nothing.
Instantaneous expenditure of all one’s mana, even with the addition of the stored amount in the device, tended to be hard on the body.
He didn’t see the king rise as the hole slowly closed.
He also missed the opening stages of the battle as all the king’s men joined in.
“Incoming!” Trevor called out.
A grenade arced through the air.
Who the fuck would throw a grenade in the middle of a crowded dining hall filled with people, children included?
“Delay Detonation,” Rebekah pointed.
“Thanks!” Trevor snatched it out of the air, spun and threw it back to the biker. “Catch, bitch!” he laughed as a Skill turned the one grenade into several.
Explosions shook the air.
N.A.R. citizens screamed in panic as they rushed for the exits, running into more of the king’s fighters and the nobles’ bodyguards trying to get inside.
Freed slaves either tried to flee as well or turned on their tormentors with anything they could get their hands on.
Spells splashed against magic shields, creating a dazzling show of lights that would’ve been a wonder to watch if it wasn’t for the dying.
Watch Commander Demi Lawrence took command.
“Max, wall!”
He thrust his arm of wood and earth.
Thorny vines snaked forward, forming a large, curved wall and shielding the Watch’s six from incoming fire.
“Rebekah, suppression!” she tossed her recoilless rifle over without looking.
The old soldier caught it and brought it into firing position in one smooth motion. She squeezed the trigger while sweeping the weapon across a group of the king’s fighters. Several dropped, the rest scrambled for cover.
“Del, status of priority threats?”
“King’s down, but not out. Swamp wolves are— they’re just watching. Same with the gladiators. I can’t find the vampires…”
She listened while throwing out orders.
They acted and reacted with perfect coordination as they followed without hesitation under the effect of her Skill.
“King’s getting up!” Del screamed.
She cursed.
That was too fast!
Jake’s ultimate spell had burned right through the slaver’s heart.
“I’m going for his head,” Amber, shining brightly in her mage armor, tightened her grip on Hanna’s Threnosh-made longsword.
“Shared Skills,” Demi pointed.
She boosted Amber with strength from Rebekah, hand-eye coordination from Trevor, agility from Tobin and speed from Oscar. Gave her Del’s ability to hide from the enemy’s notice. And through Cara, Licorice’s dogged determination and ferocity.
Amber shot across the space between her and the Slaver King faster than any Olympic sprinter.
Demi caught a glint out of the corner of her eye.
“Commander!” Cara reacted with cat quickness, yanking her to the floor.
Ginessa covered them with Hanna’s Threnosh-made round shield.
The bullet spray raked across the Watch’s position.
Partially-transformed Rino and Kare growled as they took hits.
“Get in your armor already!” Rebekah grunted.
“Here!” Hillary thrust a tablet into Demi’s hands.
The Watch Commander kept one eye on the battle while she hurriedly began extracting her Threnosh-made armor out of the tablet of holding.
The Slaver King was on his hands and knees.
Amber roared, bringing Hanna’s sword straight down on the slaver’s neck.
She sheared through—
The blade cut down to the bone and stopped.
The vibration traveled up her arms.
The slaver grabbed the blade and pushed it out.
“Amberknight,” he grunted. “Interesting weapon. I’m looking forward to studying it,” he yanked, ignoring the blade cutting into his hand.
Amber wasn’t going to let go.
Time slowed.
Wide eyes stared at a fist heralding doom.
Out of nowhere a huge, golden-furred dogwoman clamped down on the slaver’s arm.
Kare’s teeth sank into tough flesh.
“You bit—”
Rino leapt in, scoring five thin, red lines across the slaver’s face.
Amber pitched backward, recovering quickly she lunged in with a thrust even as the slaver backhanded Rino into a fleeing mass of people fifty feet away.
The weredog’s heavy, muscular body crushed dozens as she knocked them over like bowling pins.
Amber twisted and pulled the blade out of the slaver’s chest.
“You people are costing me a ton of resources.”
The wound healed before their eyes.
Kare grabbed the king’s head in one huge, clawed hand.
The weredog pushed while pulling the arm in her mouth the other way.
“Fuck!” he stabbed his thumb into Kare’s eye.
She yelped, releasing her bite.
The Slaver King broke her muzzle with a punch that sent teeth flying.
He was on Amber before she knew it.
A lazy punch shattered her magic armor and sent her flying.
“Amber! Throw the sword!”
Though she was on the verge of unconsciousness, Amber heard her commander. Somehow, she knew where to toss the sword. Her body obeyed as her vision went dark.
“Am I paying you to just stand around!” the Slaver King roared.
Flechettes perforated his body.
Followed by a barrage of pale, pink eldritch darts.
The huge, golden-furred weredog, jaw hanging loosely, rammed the slaver into the path of a descending blade.
Too fast to dodge.
The slaver raised a hand.
Superior alien metal combined with the skill and Skills of, perhaps, the greatest sword in the world cut right through the arm and into the head.
“Heal from this!” Hanna roared.
Vibrating Blade.
She worked it slowly into the slaver’s skull like an electric knife through a turkey breast.
Their enemies chose that moment to finally act.
Orb hit Hanna in the shoulder with a fist-sized orb glowing with blue-white light that turned into spreading ice on impact. He followed it up with a stream of yellow-orange orbs that scorched her naked skin and blew her away from the Slaver King.
Disarm Immunity.
She took her sword with her, painting the metal ‘X’ she had just been chained to with blood and gore.
The Slaver King grabbed his severed arm and held it to his bloody stump.
Nearby, Hammer slammed a bearded biker into the floor, cratering him.
The man sputtered, choking on blood and teeth, trying and failing to activate a Skill.
She ended it by stomping her boot through his chest.
The magus had conjured a magical forcefield from one of those creepy orbiting eyes to protect the Emerald Bomber while the green and purple armored woman was still trying to get her flying wing out of the tablet of holding.
“Tsk.”
That’s what happened when one relied on their gear too much.
Speaking of which… Gearlok, Luther, shot magic from his mechanical arm and bullets from the assault rifle he wielded one handed. The man-machine’s son, Colin, took potshots while using his father’s body as cover.
Hammer scanned the battlefield.
Too many people running around like their lives were in danger or something.
Too easy for someone to catch a stray bullet or spell.
A loud explosion rang in her ears.
“They using grenades now? In here?” she muttered.
“Yo, skyscraper!”
The Emerald Bomber’s voice grated.
“Catch!”
Hammer looked into the bag.
The bomber’s bombs.
“What? You can’t throw them yourself?”
“The king, moron!” the Emerald Bomber snapped. “Grab him and make a bomb sandwich. I know you can take it, but can he? I’d like to see him heal up when he’s in a hundred pieces.”
Well— fuck!
That was a decent idea.
“The fuck do I trigger them?”
“Leave it to me, you gigantic bitch.”
Hammer rumbled across the great hall with floor-shaking steps.
King’s fighters barred her way with a line of shields and spears. Behind these, fighters sprayed her with bullets.
She raised an arm to protect her eyes while holding the bad of bombs behind her.
A touch of the coldest winter washed over the back of her head.
It made her shiver.
It froze the king’s fighters.
She glanced back only to find herself staring into a levitating monster’s eye.
Its pupil glowed a faint blue.
It blinked.
The glow had turned red to bathe a bestial-looking man charging from her left.
Hammer continued her charge, breaking through the frozen line.
A whirling disk of lightning skimmed her front on its way into a group of the king’s gladiators.
Tiny arcs played across her metallic skin.
Unpleasant, but not enough to slow her down.
The Furies were indiscriminate with their magic.
Pillars of fire erupted out of glowing spell circles at Megaera’s direction.
The woman scorched just as many nobles and VIP’s as she did the king’s fighters.
The blue-clad Tisiphone had frozen a dozen people in her ice-cold aura.
Hammer shrugged.
As far as she was concerned the slavers had fucked around and they were finding out.
The only thing that tugged at her conscience were the kids getting caught up in it.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Not their fault that their parents were slaver scum.
She was within touching distance of the Slaver King when sharp claws shredded the back of her shirt, drawing blood.
Hammer went for a short flight.
She smashed a table and destroyed the floor when she landed a few dozen feet away.
“Oh, c’mon!” the Emerald Bomber’s annoying voice whined.
Hammer rose to her feet quickly.
It’d take more than that to rattle her even a little bit.
A werewolf lifted the bag of bombs and sniffed it.
“Eat shit, furry!”
The Emerald Bomber triggered the explosion, swallowing the werewolf in fire and knocking the Slaver King and everyone in the vicinity to the floor.
On the other side of the central platform clowns had gotten the jump on the Heartfuries.
“Get off!” Jayde grunted, struggling to keep the thin clown’s knife from sinking into her eye.
The clown squeezed bony legs around her stomach, making it hard to breathe despite the chainmail and padded armor.
She held the clown’s knife arm off while fighting to pull a bony arm from around her neck.
That fat clown’s laughter reverberated through them.
Hayden bit down on the inside of her cheek.
It wasn’t going to work on her this time.
She was ready.
Pain made a good focus to ignore the urge to fly into a frothing rage.
Unfortunately, there were plenty of people around for the clown to affect.
Nobles and VIP’s in the immediate vicinity of the fat clown erupted into an orgy of violence.
Wife attacked husband.
Children attacked parents.
Freed people and slavers tore into each other.
Dayana flickered around the big clown like the world’s most dangerous hummingbird.
Her knife painted his stained, patchwork costume with new blood.
Nearby, Mouthy tried to find a shot through the thick melee surrounding the clowns. “Fucking taint smears,” she muttered.
Rayna’s Rangers huddled low to the floor crouched in the shadow of overturned tables and scattered chairs.
The Watch had done them a favor by being so violently noticeable.
“The king’s healing from everything,” Neckbeard said. “The explosion burned him, but he’s already getting up.”
“Should’ve gone for the head,” X-Ray said.
“Hanna did!” Swan Princess snapped.
“Nah, I meant you got to cut it off, like, all the way, you know?” X-Ray traced a finger across his neck.
“Less talk, more gearing up,” Mouthy said.
“Almost done…” Chandra, Tuxedo Cake and Wichita echoed.
“I been ready,” X-Ray pounded his muscular chest, flexing the eagle tattoo. “One of you just got to get me started.”
“Not it!” Chandra and Wichita echoed, both pointing at Swan Princess.
“I’m putting on my armor,” Chandra added.
“Same,” Wichita said.
“Just do it, Swanny,” Mouthy sighed. “The sooner you charge this mouth-breather up the sooner he stops breathing on me.”
“Hey, that’s, like, harassment. Don’t matter if you a sergeant. They made me take classes about that shit,” X-Ray said.
“Fine!” Swan Princess blasted X-Ray in the chest with a barrage of magic missiles.
The man’s skin glowed with magical energy before dimming.
One could almost see his skeleton and internal organs glow through.
More absorbed spells and he’d resemble a walking X-Ray.
“Alright, you degenerate puto. Go find some enemy mages to beat up,” Mouthy said.
“That’s racist bullying, sergeant. I’m gonna have to report you later,” X-Ray whooped before running off.
“Joke’s on him, I’ve got dozens of complaints on my record and only half of them are bullcock,” Mouthy said. “Alright, everyone ready?”
“Almost, just one last thing,” Neckbeard pulled his tricorne hat out of smartphone and donned it. He thought better of its placement and moved to adjust.
“Don’t even think about tipping or doffing it you incel,” Mouthy said.
“I would never—”
“If ‘milady’ is the next word out of your mouth I’m throwing you into that,” Mouthy gestured at the ball of insanity around the clown.
“Well… my hat does have an enchantment to protect my mind from influencing-type spells and Skills,” Neckbeard said.
“His long coat might keep him from being torn to pieces long enough to get close to the clown,” Swan Princess volunteered.
“Might, being the operative word,” Neckbeard said.
“Only one dumbass here is gonna go for any sorta bullshit sacrifice plays,” Mouthy said. “King’s too dangerous for you kids,” she muttered, scanning the battle for heavy hitters that she didn’t personally care about.
“It’s them…”
Chandra’s voice went flat.
Mouthy snapped to attention.
She followed Chandra’s gaze.
Flesheaters fought through the mass of people trying to squeeze through an exit.
The bottleneck had been made worse by king’s fighters trying to get inside.
“Chandra— shit!”
Too late.
The young woman ignited her sword and hair, trailing flames as she charged.
“God-fucking-damn it!”
“It’s the Meat Parade, sergeant,” Wichita quivered with rage. “They killed my dad and brother.”
“Wichita, Tuxedo, help Chandra.”
“What about us?” Swan Princess said.
“You blast the king’s face, while me and Neckbeard watch your back,” Mouthy said. Goddamn clusterfuck. This was definitely not according to Cruces’ plans, she thought.
Orb shielded his eyes from the explosion that ate up that werewolf.
When his vision returned to normal he resumed shooting elemental orbs out of his hand.
The hot, half-Asian chick cut them out of the air with her sword even though she was down to one arm after he had frozen her other one at the shoulder.
He blamed her nakedness for his inability to land a hit.
Way too hot and distracting… as long as he didn’t look at her face.
That bloody mess killed his chub worse than a hairy, fat chick.
Not getting anywhere with the sword chick, he looked for another target.
Right… the fodder.
Hit them, force the hot chick to protect them, then nail her when she left herself open.
He wondered if he could ask the king for some time with her after.
That fine body was too good not to give a little ride.
The face issue was easily solved.
He just had to bend her over or put a bag over it.
He sent a stream of orange balls at an old woman and a man with a gnarly scar on both cheeks.
Fire-aspected, a tried and true classic when you wanted straightforward damage.
They exploded.
He blinked.
Too soon.
He fired again.
Blackstar shot the balls, detonating them in midair with her black, star-shaped blasts of concussive force.
“Taunting!”
“Stun Bolt!”
Her teammates kept her back clear as she dueled Orb.
The effects of the clown’s maddening laughter had began to spillover into the rest of the battle.
Crazed and enraged people began to attack the Blackstar 3.
“There are kids!”
“Keep stunning them!”
“On our four!”
“Crap! It’s that Gator asshole! Shield of the Immovable Hill!”
Two-hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle and fat crashed into the shield like a truck into a concrete pillar.
Gator bounced backward onto his ass.
“Dang, boy, you a hard one ain’tcha,” Gator shook the stars out of his eyes, “bet that makes ya slow as molasses in winter.”
The hairy, bestial man began to shift.
“Blackstar! Some help here!”
“Nah, big boy, that fine piece of ass gonna be too busy with that ball-shooting queer. You and me gonna dance. Imma gut ya, then imma breed yer two bitches like they deserve,” Gator said.
“No means no, you monster!”
“I told you, you inbred redneck!” Blackstar snapped. “I’d die first before letting you lay one greasy hand on me.”
“You only be dyin’ after I’d done had my fun.”
Gator completed his transformation with a howl.
The grey-furred werewolf loomed over the Blackstar 3.
Blackstar split her fire. One hand aimed at Orb’s balls, while the other switched over to Gator.
The werewolf continued to advance despite taking hits that were strong enough to break concrete and dent iron.
Ray, Silver Axe, cursed from underneath the table. He had one primary job as part of the plan that was now a fucking shitshow. It was so important and integral to him that he had gotten a sub-quest out of it.
Kill a werewolf or three.
He coated his bearded battle-axe with his special liquid silver.
A Skill kept the substance liquid under any temperature.
A Skill hardened it to a razor edge after he coated the edge of his weapon.
He pulled his shield out of the phone and ran out of reasons to stay hidden.
In theory he had a great counter to the werewolves. The silver would stop their ability to heal quickly, while causing greater pain.
In practice, he realized that a werewolf was orders of magnitude larger and scarier than the wererodents he had to deal with back home.
Gator looked to have grown to ten-feet tall with teeth as long as knives and claws that looked like they could gut a man with a glancing blow.
Silver Axe regretted coming out from under the table.
But like many things in life, it was always too late to take it back after jumping off the branch.
His silvered axe bit deep into Gator’s hamstring.
The werewolf snarled and whipped his clawed hand back.
A glancing blow staggered him and made his shield arm throb.
Shimmer Strike!
Three axes struck from varied angles.
Which one was the real one?
Only Silver Axe knew.
Gator blocked the wrong ones.
The axe blade sank into the side of Gator’s thickly muscled neck. Grey fur grew matted with deep red blood.
A swipe caught Silver Axe cleanly, splintering his shield and knocking the air from his lungs.
The man turned monster loomed over him with hunger in those yellow eyes.
Assholes finally decided to earn what he was paying them.
The Slaver King spat blood.
It had been awhile.
How many slaves had he lost healing from all that damage?
Probably too much.
Humans were a finite resource in the world post-spires. Too many dangers out there added to the spires pushing people into seeking out said danger meant population growth would remain static in the near to medium term.
At least that was what his numbers nerds had mapped out.
The problem was compounded by the fact that he didn’t get much out of children. He needed full-grown adults to fuel his personal power. It took over twenty years to grow one human into their prime.
How many years had these outsiders set him back?
He saw it now.
The obvious conspiracy.
California had to be behind it. Then they brought in the other Gold Division competitors.
What had they promised that was better than his offers?
He regarded Steel Hammer bludgeoning a gang of bikers.
Gearlok and son trading fire with his fighters.
Emerald Bomber strafing and dropping bombs from her flying wing.
The magus… that one was easier to understand.
“I suppose it makes sense that they wouldn’t be cool with slavery.”
He found Hanabi, still naked, still fighting.
The woman was badly wounded, yet she moved with precision and grace as she cut down his fighters while they fought with the fodder.
He climbed up the steps of the circular platform, pulling out a slightly singed phone.
Eric didn’t answer.
Neither did Kim.
Something was wrong.
Were they lying dead in his great hall?
Trampled?
Murdered by one of their enemies?
He rang General Mark.
“Sir,” the voice sounded breathless.
“Where are you, general?”
“On my way to the command center. I’m following protocol—”
“I know, I know. Listen, this is too fucked. My gut’s tingling and not in a good way. I want you to send all available forces to the central control unit. Then, prep Clean Slate Protocols. If I call you again, you are to enact them without hesitation.”
“I— I— understood.”
“Oh, one last thing. Send my fists up,” he terminated the call and tucked the phone back into his pocket. “Now, who do I kill first?”
The fighting lulled under his commanding aura.
Combatants warily backed away from each other and gave him their attention as was his due in this the heart of his kingdom.
He loved fighting, but things had gotten real.
One last chance to honor the guts shown to attack him in the middle of his kingdom.
“Listen to me, now!” They did. Even the ones still trying to get out of the great hall. He’d take care of his nobles and important subjects first. “You will evacuate in an orderly fashion.” They did, at least the ones that could still walk. There were too many dead and broken bodies around the exits from them stampeding like animals. His fighters streamed in as the people walked out. He focused on his enemies, surprised that his aura hadn’t driven them to their knees. Sure, a few of them were strong enough to resist, but even the young women and lower leveled ones stayed on their feet. “There are limits to one’s usefulness. However, I am a merciful king and I’m giving all of you one last chance. Surrender and swear allegiance to me and you get to live. There’ll be punishment, but you’ll have the chance to earn my people’s forgiveness. And eventually all the generous rewards you’ve thrown in my face. I’m not so small and petty that I’d let personal insult stand in the way of bettering the New American Republic. You can be a part of that or your blood and bones can be the mortar and brick of its foundation. What say you all?”
“We’d never willingly join slavers,” a middle-aged woman wearing intriguing-looking armor stood at the forefront of the Watch.
Their Watch Commander.
A former cop according to his spies’ reports.
“Well, yeah, that’s kind of how it works if you reject my overly generous offer. And that’s if you manage to survive this fight,” he shrugged. “You people are always so naive. Leaving aside the fact that I’m only following the course of human history, what is better about how you’re doing things? Over fifteen years since the apocalypse happened and I’m the one rebuilding human society. The New American Republic is larger than all of your little settlements combined. Seriously, I’m just talking facts. Verifiable numbers. If we do it your way then we’re doomed the next time the spires pulls the rug. You live a lie, always have. We never got rid of slavery. African kids picked our chocolate. Asians made our clothes and iPhones. There were countless prostitutes and brothels all over the world. You think those were really choices? It was even in the Constitution. You just need to be convicted of a crime and we all know how easy that was. But you couldn’t see it because you weren’t at the same level as I was. You thought you were better than all those people, but you were really just a few steps ahead of them and thousands of steps behind me.”
He felt something creep up the back of his neck. He reached for it then stopped, suppressing a shiver. It was just the moment getting to him. The tension that had been building over the last few months. He pushed it aside. This was his triumph. He wouldn’t allow them to ruin it.
“Your kind had college loans, car loans, a mortgage, things you could never pay off in one lifetime, and so you worked, put up with whatever your bosses, your masters shit on your plate because if you didn’t you were out on the street. How could you call that anything else but slavery. You were slaves to your wages. There was only ever the wealthy and everyone else. If you weren’t sure where I stood then you were a slave. You just had a few extra steps letting you pretend otherwise.” He locked onto the Watch Commander’s hard-eyed glare. “You were a cop. Did you realize back then that your job, your true job was to protect my interests? To keep my wealth in my hands and to make sure that the masses didn’t stray from the path we forced on them? Protect and serve. You cops did that wonderfully. You protected my wealth and served my interests. Just what we created you for. So, kneel and do what you’re meant to. It’s only natural.”
Silence greeted him.
A long moment.
An instant of eternity.
Until…
Someone coughed.
“Dude, you just explained why I keep saying this was conscience-free killing time,” Punchy smirked. She used the moment to flip the thin clown over her shoulder and send her shooting at him like a cannonball with an explosive punch.
He slapped the clown away.
“Thanks for volunteering,” he stepped toward the insolent woman.
He suddenly stumbled.
Pain, bright and sharp stabbed behind his eyes.
A migraine?
Impossible.
It should’ve been shunted to one of his slaves.
Instead it grew stronger.
His skull suddenly felt too small for his brain.
As though a spiked balloon was being inflated within.
“Let me free you from your pain.”
The last sensation he felt before going dark was an impossibly sharp sword stabbing into his chest.
----------------------------------------
The elevator stopped.
The door opened.
Drake was so close to salvation.
The toddler had been crying in his ear and hitting his face the entire time.
He was greeted by Shrewed and two temporary allies, Death’s Dancer, a lesser spear user and the short, hairy, feral dude, Howard.
Weird name for the look. Didn’t really fit.
“The hell is this?” Howard bristled.
The man looked like an angry little badger ready to tear someone’s face off.
“Relax,” Shrewed threw an arm out to bar Howard’s path. “We’re rescuing the kid. King’s breeding program.”
“That’s dark,” Death’s Dancer said.
“I smell blood,” Howard sniffed.
“It’s mine,” Drake sighed.
“You ran into trouble? It should’ve been easy, what with Cal knocking out the guards,” Shrewed said.
“Uh… he missed the nanny. She had a knife… and teeth,” Drake pointed to his cheek.
“That’s why I wear a full mask,” Death’s Dancer said.
“I prefer an unobstructed field of view,” Drake scowled. “Here,” he tried to pass the little boy to Shrewed.
“Yeah, go ahead and put him over there,” Shrewed gestured toward the chamber holding the central control unit.
“C’mon, man…”
“Sorry, kid, we’ve got to get these guards into the elevator,” Shrewed smirked.
“Hang on,” Howard sniffed the crying boy, “ain’t mine.”
“Whose is it then?” Death’s Dancer said.
“The king’s,” Shrewed said.
“We going to use him to force the king to surrender? Cold, but efficient,” Death’s Dancer said.
“Naw, we’re keeping him,” Shrewed said.
Drake left them to their task.
The three men stacked unconscious guards like sacks of rice in the elevator.
They sent it back to the lowest level before Death’s Dancer forced the door open and cut the cable with his short spear.
“Hey, uh, where’s Cal?” Drake said.
Lyta’s eyes narrowed as they flicked to the crying boy.
“He said he’s going to start destroying that slavery machine.”
“Not much time left then,” he nodded. “Here,” he held the crying boy to her.
“What? No,” she said flatly.
“You got to keep him safe.”
“That’s not—”
“You’re not even fighting. Just take him and hide in the command room or something. Maybe in an armory if there is one in this chamber,” Drake placed the boy on the cold floor. “We’re going to be under attack at any moment,” he ignored her protests, “lock the door and probably, barricade it if you can find something.”
Drake absently twirled his spear as he walked back to the other three men.
“Do you guys have a plan to defend this place?” Death’s Dancer said.
“Elevator’s out. So that leaves the main entrance, the back entrance and the stairs,” Shrewed said. “Drake here does better in open spaces with his spear.”
“I’ll take the stairs. I’ll start at the bottom and make em bleed all the way up,” Howard grabbed several guns and melee weapons from the pile they had taken from the guards.
“I can just break the stairs then jump back up,” Death’s Dancer said.
“Alright, so that just leaves the front and back,” Howard said.
Shrewed nodded. “Back entrance is at the end of a decently narrow hallway. Good spot for me.”
“Three up front then, fine with me,” Howard grunted.
“Fight smart, kid,” Shrewed bumped fists with Drake. “See you on the other side.”
“See you on the other side.”
“So… I think, you should let me draw their attention and take shots with your spells. Since I’m a lot stronger and tougher than you,” Death’s Dancer said as they walked to the main entrance.
“Fine.”
That worked for Drake.
This wasn’t going to be one of those doomed last stands.
He just had to stay alive long enough for Cal to finish ruining the Slaver King’s life.