Denor burst into the room with all the subtlety of an Aurox on a bad hair day, startling everyone. His sword, radiating fury, swept upward in a cruel arc that had no place in polite company. The blade made an unceremonious acquaintance with Rhysio's face, producing a stomach-turning scent of burning flesh as it removed his nose in a crimson shower. Rhysio, staggered back, clutching at his newly acquired lack of nose, while the energy of the strike charitably cauterized the wound.

He was too caught up in the blinding rage that he didn’t notice the imbued energy he had just struck the villain with.

Before anyone could ask, ‘Did you just see that?!’ Denor was already spinning like a top on a caffeine high, eyes fixed on Val Madoon. Madoon, the epitome of smirking villainy, casually raised his great sword, ready to swat away Denor’s attack like one might a bothersome fly. The block failed, and Denor's blade lunged for Madoon’s head. But Madoon, ever the master of dramatic flair, kicked Denor back into the embrace of his mountainous ally, who was less a man and more a mobile cliff face. Ledo, spotting his son in trouble, made to intervene but was promptly introduced to the other guarding brute's helmet in a manner that could only be described as "painfully unpleasant."

Val Madoon, always the showman, touched his ear, bringing his fingers away stained with blood. His eyes widened theatrically before a slow smile spread across his face. "Is that your son? It must be, I can see the rage in his eyes. I like him. Rare to see a boy like that land a blow. Unfortunately he will pay for marring my glorious features... pay with his life!"

Denor growled, or at least attempted to with his current pitch, but his growl was muffled by the rock creature’s vice-like grip.

"There's a lot of fire in him, Andronian," Madoon continued. "You must be proud, as any father would be. A shame there are no brains to match his passions."

Ledo, stoic in the face of certain death, said nothing. Denor, taking his cue, bit back any retort, since it was unlikely that Val Madoon was going to be killed by stupidity.

"Unfortunately," Madoon sighed with a mix of regret and malevolence as he strut forth on his imaginary stage, "a child can bring as much sorrow as joy. Or be a... weakness."

With a flourish of his hand that spelled danger even to Denor’s brain, Madoon ordered his men. Rhysio, now the noseless, and a giant straight out of a nightmare, dragged Ledo to the workbench, binding him with manacles of pure energy. The giant then disappeared, returning with the hammer in his hands and the impassive look on his features that every working professional sports. No gleeful chuckling from this one, as his line of work required him to fetch dangerous weaponry so often that it had become a mind-numbing obligation.

One of Madoon’s acolytes, a sorcerer with a penchant for melodrama, traced a finger over the hammer with a flourish that rivalled his master’s overwrought expressions. A golden seal flickered and faded, but the hammer began to glow ominously. Denor watched, horror-struck, as campfire tales of dark magic sprang to life before his eyes.

The big bandit lifted the enchanted hammer slowly, and as the acolyte retreated, a drop of molten steel from the head of the glowing weapon seared Ledo's thigh. The gunsmith gritted his teeth, his face a mask of pain, but he did not cry out.

Val Madoon shrugged. "You can scream. I will think no less of you. A molten hammer is a horrible way to go for those who don’t divest their secrets."

Ledo remained silent.

"As a gunsmith, I thought you might appreciate what a whisper of magic can do. Hours spent melting metal with machines, and here, a mere touch suffices to imbue a hammer with the same properties. Imagine the power I could share if I were a god."

Ledo snorted. "Many megalomaniacal idiots claim themselves to be gods, there are few and far between that actually reach divine status."

"Who are you to doubt the Great Madoon?" the villain practically spat, frowning with indignation and turning to his subordinates. "Find it!" he shrieked, his voice cracking slightly.

Rhysio, blood spattered on his face, lowered his head. "Exalted One, the missing shard was never found. This village has no temple, nor a sanctuary to house it in."

Madoon’s eyes narrowed. "They may not even know of the mask. Begin the search again, but this time check all of the houses. Tear what’s left of this village apart if you must. But start with this building!"

Denor, seeing his father's grim determination and the inevitable villainous torment being prepared, knew he had to act. This sorcerer was straight out of the Litarn class of prima-donna with delusions of grandeur. Perhaps there was some sort of academy that pumped them out.

"I’m surrounded by idiots." Madoon added, grandly gesturing with his great sword at the man’s back and not helping his case. "The Andronians do not pray. No priests or preachers. It will be here in this workshop, I sense its presence."

Madoon's underlings, save for the monster inconveniently restraining Denor, began searching the workshop, half-heartedly overturning things as if it were mandated in their villainous henchmen contract. Denor watched with quiet confidence. His father must have hidden it well, or it was in Tycho’s weathered hands instead. They would never find it, and Ledo would never reveal its location.

Father and son shared a look of silent agreement. They were Andronians. No matter the pain, no matter the torture, they would say nothing. Val Madoon would never let them live, and a life won by surrendering to a tyrant this theatrical was not worth living. With a resolute nod, Denor let his father know he would gladly die by his side to protect their secret.

The tattooed man collapsed at his master’s feet, the very embodiment of failure. "The bone shard is not here."

Val Madoon sighed, the kind of sigh that trained librarians used in their daily arsenal against the endless hordes of stupidity thrown their way. He probed his ear, now mercifully free of blood, and then fixed his gaze on Ledo. "Your son has courage and talent. He reminds me of my daughter."

The bandit leader glanced towards a shadowy corner of the workshop, which had somehow hidden itself from the ample illumination as if it had a fear of fluorescence. "Lumiya, I need you."

From the darkness emerged a slender girl, draped in a shimmering purple cloak that seemed to absorb light. Denor felt a shiver of unease skitter down his spine. Her eyes, despite her youth, held a depth that was unsettling, as if she were gazing beyond the confines of this room into realms best left unseen. Her dark and wavy hair framed a pale, almost bloodless face, and Denor half-expected her to smell of the grave. A scent he was far too familiar with already for one so young.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Yes, father?" she inquired, her voice as soft and eerie as moonlight on a tombstone.

Val Madoon's smile was thin and sharp. "These incompetents claim the shard of the mask isn’t here."

"They simply lack the proper eyes." Her own smile barely touched her lips.

"Will you find it for me, Lumiya?" Madoon practically purred in an unsettling fashion that had no business coming out of a paternal mouth.

She bowed her head, a parody of obedience. "As you wish, father darling."

A hand emerged from her scaly purple cloak, fingers adorned with silver claws. She moved them through the air as if playing an invisible instrument. A strange resonance thrummed through Denor’s chest. Even the massive rock creature shifted uneasily in a passable impression of continental drift, though not enough to release the boy.

The onlookers retreated as Lumiya began her search. Her path spiraled outward, her cloak swirling like dark water. Every movement was deliberate, each step a precise note in an unseen melody. She cocked her head, listening, then altered her course towards a darkened niche. She was very much her father’s daughter. Denor half-expected her to break out into song, if only to increase their torment further.

"There, father. I have it."

With a flick of her wrist, a previously unseen metal hatch snapped back, revealing a hidden compartment. From within, she drew a simple black box, which she carried reverently to her father, kneeling and presenting it to him with bowed head.

Val Madoon set down his great sword and reached for the box, his hands trembling. He lifted the lid and peered inside, his eyes gleaming with unholy light. He cradled the object with the tenderness of a father holding his firstborn.

"You have served me well, daughter. Your mother would be proud," Madoon stated for the audience at large, making sure that everyone knew of the familial connection.

Lumiya’s head remained bowed, but a smile of pure satisfaction curved her lips.

Val Madoon continued caressing what looked to be a shard lovingly for a prolonged period, which was almost as unsettling as the giant molten hammer, then his gaze hardened. "Oh, Andronian, you could have saved me so much trouble. Just as I wished to grant you glory, I will now bestow upon you pain. But how? Ah, yes… the hammer. How silly of me to forget!"

The henchmen shifted in discomfort, and collectively wondered if watching an amateur theatrical production every day was worth the loot bestowed upon them for serving as muscle.

He turned to his daughter. "Lumiya, do you desire a brother? I sense something about this Andronian that I cannot place, but he can be broken to do as we will."

Her eyes flashed with venom as she looked at Denor, then she smiled sweetly at her father. "If you insist, father dearest."

"My lord, you cannot do that," protested Rhysio, his voice shaking as much as his hands, which clutched a bloody cloth to his face.

"‘Cannot,’ Rhysio?" Val Madoon’s tone was dangerously soft. "Did you say I cannot do something?"

Rhysio paled further. "No, sir, I meant..." He hastily drew his short sword and crackling energy rose up the blade. "I meant that I hoped you would instead do me the honor of destroying this little pest."

Rhysio was a Trunian who could charitably be described as a ‘go-getter’, but in these unfortunate times the ‘getting’ he might achieve from heckling his master may eventually be a strong case of death.

"That may satisfy you, Rhysio, but it will not suffice for my needs." Val Madoon tapped the shard against his chin thoughtfully. "No, I have a better plan. Ronis, Baltris, kill the Andronian, but do it slowly so the boy can watch and develop a life-long vendetta against me. The rest of you, gather the men and set fire to the rest of the village. I want there to be no trace after the next storm."

This was, of course, the one thing you shouldn’t do. It was villain 101: don’t orphan a child and then leave your bumbling side-kick to finish him off.

At his command, the acolyte levitated the glowing hammer above the gunsmith’s head. They charged further energy into the weapon with a glow of their hands, and it began to slowly descend.

Val Madoon crouched beside Ledo. "This is the only way to punish you, Andronian. You do not scream in pain. You fear no insult to your honor. The worst I can do is make your son watch you die, powerless in his attempts at trying to save you. And both you and I, as fathers, and observers of the hero’s journey, know that is exactly what will happen."

With a final, cruel smile, Madoon led his men out. Flames licked hungrily at the building as energy bolts were discharged onto the roof and against the walls. Lumiya lingered, and so did her gaze, specifically Denor. Etched into her features was not a look of friendliness.

"It is good that you die here, Andronian. If you were to live, I sense that you would be nothing but trouble," she said, not quite grasping how accurate her foresight was as she watched her father’s retreating figure. She then moved to Denor’s side and sealed her fate by licking sweat and blood from his cheek. Her whisper was a cold caress. "Goodbye little boy, send your father my most sincere regards."

She swept out of the room with all the aplomb of a grand stage exit, her cloak billowing like a dramatic thundercloud in her wake. Outside, the men were basking in the glory of their total victory, their boisterous cheers battling for dominance with the relentless crackling of flames that edged ever closer.

Ledo locked eyes with his son. Bound, dirty, bloodied, and utterly exhausted, yet he still refused to bend to defeat. “Denor, save yourself. You cannot save me. The energies they have put into that hammer are beyond any attempt you could make to prevent it.”

The hammer continued to slowly descend, but the boy shook his head with all the stubbornness of a chained Aurox contemplating a slowly descending burning hammer enchanted by an evil sorcerer’s acolyte henchman. “An Andronian warrior does not abandon his friends, let alone his father. I cannot leave you here.”

“An Andronian warrior also doesn't throw himself into it like a lemming off a cliff.” Ledo snarled at him. “Wait for them to depart, then sneak out of this building before it goes up in flames. Go to your grandfather’s house, he will explain everything to you.”

“I am not afraid of dying here with you.” A burning piece of roof fell, searing Denor’s cheek. Pain radiated through him, but he refused to wipe away the lingering dirt. All his focus was on the hammer, and a strange feeling radiated from his arm.

“Denor, that isn’t going to work. You have power, but you cannot control its energy. Especially against advanced sorcery like this, it is beyond either of us.”

The boy refused to meet his father's gaze, extending his glowing arm towards the hammer.

“You are destined for greater things than this.” Ledo said. “Those villains saw it in you clearly, and so do I.”

Still Denor refused to listen to his father, sticking his hands out even further towards the molten metal hammer and feeling the first waves of superheated air.

“Boy, just what in the blazes do you think it is you will accomplish? This hammer is going to fall and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

Except his father’s words weren’t painting the picture that lay before Denor’s single-minded vision. The hammer was slowing, and his hand, now coated in bright energy, was doing the slowing.

“Okay, that’s very impressive and all, but you’re directing the energy at the wrong thing.”

Denor’s concentration was broken, and the hammer began speeding up.

“Focus, idiot child!” Ledo roared, sweat breaking out as the heated weapon drew closer.

“Sorry, Ledo,” Denor replied, “so what should I be focusing on exactly?”

“If you can disrupt these energy manacles, I’ll be able to roll off this workshop bench and then let the hammer go wherever it wants. I can do it myself, but not before the hammer falls, but you can do it now!”

Denor’s mind carefully focused on listening to the man’s words, then looked back and forth from the hammer to the manacles.

“Denor, if ever there was a moment for that brain of yours to start working, now would be it.”

Denor tore his gaze away from the hammer and reached out to the manacles with his hand.

A sizzling pain roared up his arm. “Ow!” he cried, immediately withdrawing. “That really hurt!”

Ledo looked aghast at the boy’s appendage. “Denor, for Tamet’s sake! Your energy!”

Denor looked down at the hand, and realised that the glowing thing it had been doing before had unfortunately decided to stop. He had no way of knowing how to start it again either. Plus the hammer had happily continued its descent, mere inches away from his father’s face.

“No,” Denor stated to the world at large.

“What do you mean ‘no’, boy? There’s nothing you can do here. Escape while you can!”

Denor climbed atop the workbench, placing himself between the raging heat of the hammer and his father’s prone body.

“No,” he repeated.