Gazing at the new battlefield before him, Zan’s breath caught in his throat. Pushing the breath back to his lungs, he observed the scene: of the half-dozen wagons locked in battle, only two of them still stood, the people, obviously, on the losing side of an enemy forcing pushing them back, the wagons becoming sites of conflict. The survivors were now huddled between the final two wagons. Zan thankfully saw no human bodies littering the battlefield.

Observing next, the enemy, Zan watched at least a dozen gold-golems glint in the rising sun. Alongside them, aiding the gold-painted golems in their assault, were dozens — of which Zan could see — regular infantry automotrons. More than enough to overwhelm inexperienced fighters. Looking over the scene, Zan felt surprise at seeing the civilians last as long as they did; apparently, Colonel Winters was, in fact, one heck of a soldier.

Not waiting around anymore, though, Zan felt he took in enough of the scene. Now was the time for action! Jumping off the wagon’s front seat, Zan drew his sword and charged headfirst into the battle. Zan entered the battle with a bang by throwing his final smoke grenade to cover his entry and to put all his remaining energy into a brazen assault on the gold-golems.

His efforts paid off and after a few good strained minutes, claimed victory over two ‘golds’ and many of their minion helpers.

Yet, as grand as Zan’s efforts were, they were for naught.

At that moment, his body succumbed to exhaustion. Zan keeled over and vomited. He then slid to his knees and then to his side, nearly falling headfirst into his puke.

Zan didn’t know what happened. It was like his body slammed into a wall. He guessed the only likelihood: he had reached his limit. Prone on the ground, Zan felt a multitude of bleak thoughts cross to his mind. Unlike the times in the past where he thought he had reached the end, this time, Zan felt no such thing. Maybe it was because he had come too far already, but the last thing Zan wanted was to accept defeat. The idea gave him strength, despite it not being able to grant him the stamina to continue the fight. So he felt rage. It couldn’t end here, it can’t!

Struggling to his feet using every ounce of power which remained in his body, Zan felt his belly burn with purpose. The crystal parasite — inside him, it was moving! Doing — something!

Zan’s whole body swelled with a burning tide. His skin felt crisped, his mind awash in a fiery goo he couldn’t identify. His whole personhood became entombed in a magma-induced shell.

Inside the shell, Zan saw nothing of the outside world. He heard the lumbering footsteps of automotrons, felt the air punctuate with screams. He had to free himself from the hot cacoon — struggling, Zan tried to pierce the material. But his limbs were sealed. Then he tried to wiggle out like a worm on its side. Even so basic a movement, however, Zan could not do.

Gods, please, let me out! I have to save the people; I have—!

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

From Zan’s stomach and heart then burst forth a great power, one which tore the cacoon to shreds.

Able to move, Zan stood, and felt a renewal of energy, stamina, and something which felt like magic but wasn’t exactly magic. Taking in the whole scene instantly, Zan saw legions of golems advance on the wagon survivors, now huddled behind a single wagon with Colonel Winters valiantly defending the prisoners with a few dedicated men.

Between the enemy, Zan looked ahead, then back. Enemies were everywhere.

He turned and stuck his palm toward the golems assaulting Winters. Speaking in an archaic tongue, Zan conjured a powerful, semi-magical current; of the dozen golems, which included a gold-golem and several red, none survived the flames which suddenly engulfed the enemy and burned them to ash.

Zan then turned ahead and faced the enemy's oncoming.

Holding his sword high, a powerful current of fire engulfed it, churning along each itch and groove until the blade resembled a raging firestorm. Bringing the blade down in a wide arc, the fire leaped from the sword, engulfing the two dozen or more golems advancing down to his position.

The devastation did not end there, however.

Once the foe and flame engulfed one another, the flames jumped, danced, but did not expire.

Zan witnessed the flames seemingly come alive as they rose from their victim’s corpses and took form as vaguely humanoid entities. ‘What the heck is happening?!’ Zan whispered. In their new form, the ‘flame-figures’ advanced to other golems and engulfed them by merely walking into them in a manner no more seriously than two civilians bumping into each other on the street. Finally, the spectacle ended not even there, for, from the new victims, Zan saw yet more flame-entities be born, who just as casually walked into more golem victims. Minutes passed and the processes repeated, the flames multiplying until, as suddenly as it all began, everything ended. Everything — the multiplying flame creatures, the power surging within Zan, everything. In a whir of smoke, ended.

With the spectacle over, Zan felt empty. Inside him, the crystal-parasite creature (thing…) no longer churned. It lay dormant. Causing Zan to think, but moreover, fall to his knees. With the strange power no longer relentlessly boiling in his gut, the withdrawal of energy left him as before: devoid of the ability to stand.

With such excitement upon him as equal levels of devastation among the enemy’s ranks, Zan would have believed the battle over. The civilians safe. Unfortunately, this was not the case.

Still strong enough to waddle on his knees, Colonel Winters rushed over to help him stand. Standing, Zan saw — in the distance — a mighty marching column of enemy soldiers. Whispering in his ear, the Colonel said, “No doubt in my mind, Zan. That enemy is a splinter from a much larger force. What are we going to do? I won’t lie… I don’t have any suggestions myself. If we are to die, I am merely thankful to both the gods, and you, that it won’t be in some forced-labor camp.”

Zan’s face fell crestfallen. Over and over again, he could not catch a break. When he thought he was out of the frying pan, he entered the fire; out of the fire, he found himself within some deeper fire, and a fire yet below that fire — how many tiers of agony existed to this life?!

Barely able to speak, Zan said, “We’ll die fighting, then.”

Squeezing his shoulders as the Colonel supported him, the Colonel said, “Darn right we will!”

He would have liked to give a rousing speech, but Zan could hardly mutter, let alone inspire. The Colonel was not much for a speech giver, though he tried to give a few meaningful words about ‘duty’ and ‘honor.’ A petty cheer went up, though no one would be under a false impression about what lay before them. Certain doom.

And this time, Zan knew, there would be no rescue.