The solid surface leaned against his back. He knew not of what he was, or where he was. The screams and crackling sounds poured into his ears with jelly. The reality remained a stain on the canvas, refusing to shape into the complete painting.

Someone grabbed his arm. He felt the jagged plane dragging against his body. His fingers refused to cooperate, his body asked for a holiday in advance. His Mind grimly chuckled, putting pieces of the puzzle together as the situation around him provided more clues.

The explosion. It arrived from nowhere and scattered the crowd in time it took him to blink once. The blast wave concussed him and knocked his lights out, and right now the stout hand carried his helpless shell away from the fires that were spreading around.

“Ralf… give me a moment…”

The hand released him, but then two of them gently helped him stand upright. Joseph leaned on a wall, waiting for the sight to be fully operational.

“It’s Black Island all over again…”

“This time you were not the reason, however,” this cold voice could’ve killed a man just by presence alone. “Someone launched a projectile from the south-eastern tower right into the middle of the crowd. The four of us stood far enough, but ‘Rolling Suns’ and ‘Bloody Bane’ crews, together with everyone who was too close, are out of commission for a very long time.”

The voice fell silent for a moment.

“...Then another one finished the job.”

Joseph winced from the screaming head. His eyes could see the alleyway clearly enough, but his mind was not in the freshest of states.

“Do we know who did that?”

“I have an idea.”

The shots and explosions rumbled above the entirety of Ghastly Wail, with the echo of something crumbling shuddering the entire settlement to its core. One second, the guard tower was rising up in the sky, intimidating the foes of the seekers of glory and gold with its silhouette, wearing the shroud of the moonlight as the mark of authority. It stood as the vanguard and the reminder that even greed and violence can have a place of levity and peace among the chaos of the Threshold. The place, that even the nastiest of pirates would be proud to call home.

...Not anymore. The very next second, the silhouette disappeared.

“Tower is gone…”

Ralf exhaled.

“The entire Ghastly Wail is gone. Grab the rifle, kid. We are going to war.”

His friend reached his hand, holding the sniper rifle. Joseph guessed that he dropped it at some point.

It didn’t carry much importance either way. Ghastly Wail burst into flames, demonstrating just how fragile this illusion of peace truly was. The lulling safety was erased with a snap of someone’s finger, summoning the roaring beasts of bullets and carnage.

The shots were coming from every single direction. Joseph emerged from the alleyways onto the edge of the main road and quickly hid behind the corner of the nearest house.

Something burrowed through the sky, leaving a smoke trail behind. A loud boom reached his ears a moment later. He gathered whatever confidence he had and peeked around the cover.

The spectacle was cut off by the smoke, but the tall wall of fire stood amidst the battlezone still, challenging the fortress' barriers in sheer presence. The sudden obstacle barricaded the far end of the main road, cutting the access to the ‘Rattlebones’ altogether.

He followed the trail of smoke with his eyes. It led to the south-eastern tower. A figure showed up in the window, sent out another projectile, and quickly hid inside of the tower.

Joseph crouched down and aimed his rifle at the window. The screams, profanity, and explosions dulled, becoming distant music for his Mind.

There was no time for hesitation.

The figure stood up. Joe pulled the trigger.

The silhouette in the window dropped the large object it carried, grabbed its shoulder and disappeared. Joseph cursed under his breath.

“Joe!”

Ralf pushed him down and shot into the alleyway across the street. The person on the other end fell down.

They retreated into the maze of passageways, when he heard a sharp whistle. The rifle ripped itself out from his hands and stormed away.

His hand pulled out the revolver and shot into the darkness of the alleyway. The scream pleased his ears.

Another bullet shattered the stone near his shoulder. Joe ducked and dashed after Ralf right when pain pierced his right hand.

“Argh!!!”

Ralf unloaded his two pistols into someone ahead of them.

“Joe, keep up!”

Joseph could barely discern the words. His arm stung and his confidence cried. He felt nothing wet on the inside of his sleeve, but aiming with his right hand was out of the question.

He raised the revolver with his left. The arid in brown jacket emerged from behind the corner where they just were. He pulled the trigger.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The arid shuddered and stood in place, convulsing for a long time, before the corpse finally tumbled down on the ground.

Joe didn’t have time to contemplate who he just attacked. The shouts and gunfire behind his back told him that Ralf was doing fine. He pushed himself to the wall with the help of his legs.

Not a single soul came to check on them from behind. The right hand felt alive again, with the lingering pain as the only reminder about the injury. He and Ralf guarded the short alley on both ends. So far, most of the fighting raged to the south from them, where the main road laid.

“What is our move, Ralf?!”

“’Rattlebones’. Xander was over there, and that’s where the wall of fire is.”

There was no hesitation, nor fear. His handler spoke with absolute conviction. Joseph appreciated that. The confidence of his friend guided his hands too.

They moved towards the end of the passage. No one came out to greet them, and Joe was thankful for getting such a lucky hand of Fate. He caught a glimpse of a mimic’s bloodied corpse collapsing, covered in purple stains.

The house shattered in a few steps away from them, with the exhaust trail betraying the reason why. The red ray cut the sky in half, disintegrating the wall at the other end of the alleyway they were prowling in, the droning sound getting lost amongst the feast of its brothers.

Something pushed into his side, tossing his body away. The hole appeared in the wall, exactly where his head was a second ago.

“Marksman in the eastern tower!!” shouted Ralf over the gunfire.

Joseph nodded, when a projectile slammed into the house between them, collapsing the structure behind his back. Joe pushed himself off with all four limbs, feeling the approaching pieces of stone above his head. The dust clouded his vision for a while, then he heard someone shouting from the nearest alleyway.

The first victim received a headshot straight away. Joe didn’t have time to think as the hail of bullets bombed the metal crate he used for a cover.

The lethal whistles passed by his hair. The smell of burnt sulfurous substance crawled into his nostrils. His fingers enveloped the grip of the gun.

He had fifteen bombs, two pistols, the electrical revolver, and the semi-automatic rifle against the unknown number of opponents, who were hiding in the labyrinth of passages near the ‘Rattlebones’.

Who the fuck set the difficulty to ‘impossible’?!

The remains of the house laid behind him.

He was well aware that his position was nowhere near close to advantageous. Two long alleyways stretched near him, one in the eastern direction behind the crate, and another in front of him, with the open passage peeking on the eastern wall. Two ways for his opponents to pincer his position. The roofs got lost within the smog, born from the rising flames and bringing the fear with them into his simple life.

I have the armour on the left arm, the chest, and the Archrhyder coat… I have fire bombs and smoke bombs… I have only one chance to act fast and in one motion. If they hit me, it better be my left arm.

His plan had all the checkmarks of a kamikaze job application, but the longer he stayed behind the box, the fewer chances he would get. He put a bomb on the ground and concentrated.

They have to shoot my left arm… sayonara!!!

Joe threw his right hand up. The small orb exploded into a tight cloud, accompanied by the barrage of lead injections into the opposite direction.

Next part of the plan?

The orange puddle emerged behind the corner in the alley at the front. The loud scream confirmed his success, yet the relentless assault only intensified.

Joe dashed forward. His left arm caught the sting of a passing bullet. His face distorted, his protection snatched away the worst, yet the pain lingered still.

The liquid flame was still there when he appeared from behind the corner. The lone silhouette flashed in Joe's mind. He pulled the trigger.

The thunder left behind the human with three new holes, who fell down right beside the half-burned arid, hand-in-hand.

There was no time to be merciful. Joe turned around and met another foe with a point-blank shot. The rhevalian still reacted quicker, grazing his chest armour and collapsing right after.

Joe could barely hear anything aside from the drums of the gunfight and his own heart. The smoke from his shots cleared, yet the alertness didn’t.

The distinct sound rocketed from the rooftops. Joe jerked the rifle up and shot without looking, when the huge body jumped down on him. Something heavy crushed his face, causing the world to go dark.

The burly hands grabbed his throat. His vision distorted, his bones screamed. The knife jumped into his hand and he slammed the blade into the space where he guessed his opponent was.

The assaulter roared. The hands released his neck. Joe threw his fist towards the darkest stain, feeling the resistance vibrating through the bones.

The stain disappeared. Joseph scrambled to get up and rammed into a wall with his shoulder. The air refused to come back, his throat felt like it was ignited on fire. His body shuddered from all the coughing. Something wet and salty invaded his mouth, with his nose signalling about the unpleasant condition his entire body was in.

The sight steadily recovered. On the ground in front of him, the familiar face was lying on its back, holding the bleeding wound on the stomach. The smoke rose from the dark green blood, with a hissing sound and a smoke putting out a clear warning.

Joseph coughed a few more times and stared at his injured opponent.

“You?!”

The arid belonged to the group of five mercenaries they left back in the tavern. Only this time, the foe was dressed in a grey jacket and white pants, which would be more in line with the standards of the pirate fashion. The horned man sneered, briefly squinting his eyes.

“What a meeting… huh… how are you... doing?…”

His tone was unstable. Small wonder why.

“What the hell did you do?! Why attack Ghastly Wail?!”

The arid grimaced.

“The order… man… the order…”

“Who?! Evalyn?!”

The mercenary shut his eyes. The severity of the agony he was experiencing couldn’t be more obvious to Joe. He wasn’t surprised - his shot pierced the lower abdomen of his foe. The stab wound only accelerated the demise.

He crouched down with the knife in his hand, avoiding the suspicious blood.

“Talk to me, man. It’s not too late for you.”

“Like… you would… help me…” Despite the pain, the arid tried his best to smile.

“I will. Kon’jar curse me to the ends of my days if I won’t. Just answer me.”

The mercenary chuckled. The sharp cough reminded them both that Death was standing right behind the corner.

“I… argh… screw…”

Joseph stood up and pointed the barrel of the revolver at the arid. The latter’s expression changed.

“Help... please...”

The arid gargled, spitting out green blood. Joe shut his eyes and shook his head.

This genuine fear wormed its way into his Mind. His hand shook, refusing the orders of its own master.

The end of the scene was at the end of his finger, and yet, the words carried the weight he could never hope to endure.

Endure... Would he have it? Could he?...

The arid gasped for air. The light in the mercenary’s eyes was withering away with every passing flinch of hesitation.

The gunshots played over Ghastly Wail like a march, the smoke and flames reflecting into the very Spirit.

He saw his own barriers falling, one by one. The last chain melted down.

He pulled the trigger. This single shot meant nothing for the theatre of war.

Yet for him... it came down like a nuclear bomb.

The path of old, complacent and forgiving crashed down into the green blood, which ate the brick walls of the houses around with the hunger of a woken-up beast. In came the triumph of his new path, seething with thorns. Seething with glory and grim.

Joseph inhaled and exhaled.

“I am… sorry.”

The simple words felt more disgusting than swallowing bile. Nobody came for him. The battle danced all around the intersection, keeping its claws away from the places that were already taken by the Death.

The wind rode into the alleyway like a postman on a horse. And it delivered a simple thought.

Two of them crossed the paths three times already. And even on the third time, Joe had never asked for his name.