“I am not toying with you,” yelled Bun as he ran.

The giant pachyderm ruffled its ears; as it did, the space between his hands crackled with thin veiny electricity. Then the air there tinged yellow. That electrical yellow air morphed into a ball that the giant pachyderm turned and span.

As the giant pachyderm rolled his yellow ball back and forth between his hands, he shouted after Bun, “get back here! Sot spy!”

“I am not a Sot spy,” said Bun, panting, “whatever that is!”

The giant pachyderm stretched his palms wide open. The yellow energy there shot out of his hands, blasting a thick line through the forest. It vaporized everything in its path–2 meters across, 500 meters ahead–except for one figure left standing there in its wake–Bun.

“A-ha,” yelled the giant pachyderm, “a Sot spy, I knew it!”

“In my quest for an adventure,” said Bun, much to himself, “I may have gotten more than I bargained for.”

All along the path of the giant pachyderm’s beam, charred tree stumps and powdered charcoal smoked. Bun gaped at the carnage wreaked upon the forest. Then, the giant pachyderm pointed dramatically at Bun from across that dead corridor.

“Liar,” he said in an eruption of spittle, “only my quarry could protect you from my Shining Yellow Blast of Cynicism. Only the Thermock could have saved you.”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Then Bun remembered the small furry creature who had tried to lick the egg yolk residue off his shorts.

“Thermock?” he said.

“Don’t be coy,” said the giant pachyderm. He approached, slowly. He was breathing heavily. It was as if casting his Shining Yellow Blast of Cynicism had come at some great, mysterious cost. He coughed. Then coughed again. In a moment, the giant pachyderm was in the midst of a violent coughing fit. His face turned red. Bun didn’t know whether to help the creature or run away while he had the chance.

“No, no, don’t get up, I’ll be fine,” said the giant pachyderm sarcastically, clearing his throat, then spitting off to the side. “Spy or not, children these days need to learn their manners.”

“Sir,” said Bun, remembering the module on gentlemanliness given by Teewin, one of his next older builder brothers who aspired to be a town teacher too (well, actually, for Bun, remembering his etiquette classes was more like remembering getting smacked on the back of the hand for being forgetful, but Bun did manage to remember to call the giant pachyderm sir, for what it was worth).

“I need that little devil,” said the giant pachyderm, ruffling its ears, “alive if possible…or dead, if not…so tell me what you know. Do it now, if you wish to live.”

The blast hadn’t killed Bun. It hadn’t even given him brain damage. The boy was no genius, but he was no fool either. If that enormous creature was able to get close enough to Bun…well, one look at those meaty hands of his told him that one smack would be enough to knock his brains through his ears.

“Stay back,” said Bun.

The Thermock, wherever it was, had been so cute. Bun had to know.

“Sir,” Bun ventured, “why is it that you want to kill the Thermock?”