“Intruders detected. Engaging hostile lifeforms,” the war-golem said. Empress Aoibheann’s maid began limping across the living room, straight towards Oak.

“Oh boy,” Oak said.

The golem sure looked angry. He had really hoped the golem would recognize Ur-Namma, and stand down, but it seemed like that was not in the cards. They would have to fight.

Nothing for it.

“I will head through that door to my sister's private quarters and try to find that vault. Keep the golem busy,” Ur-Namma said and hobbled towards the door on their left.

“Right. Keep it busy. How exactly am I supposed to do that?” Oak asked, but only the click of a door closing answered his question.

The elf was already gone.

Son of a bitch, Oak thought and drew his falchion. It would not do much against a golem, but it wasn’t like he had anything better on hand.

Geezer was still resolutely hiding behind the overturned couch on Oak’s right, so he circled away from the hellhound. It wasn’t like teeth would deal with enchanted bronze any better than elvish steel, so Oak thought it best to keep the golem away from his dog.

The war-golem’s dented, featureless face turned in tandem with Oak’s steps, eyes following his every movement. It launched itself forward without warning, claws aimed right at his chest. For a cripple, the thing was deceptively fast. Oak dodged to the left and barely got out of harm's way. The enraged war-golem followed him, furious swipes of its clawed hand leading the way.

Oak made the mistake of blocking a blow and almost paid for it with his life. It was a lucky thing that falchions only have a single edge because even in its damaged state, the golem was monstrously strong. The impact of the golems' claws against Elven steel reverberated through Oak’s entire body. It nearly made Oak lose his grip on the handle of his sword and sent the blade flying right at his face.

The spine of Oak’s blade bashed its owner in the face and broke his nose with a crack. Stars danced in his vision and tears of pain filled his eyes. Instinct took over, and he dove away from the golem, jumping over a nearby loveseat to make some much needed distance between himself and the killing machine.

Oak’s arms felt numb. The golem, as was expected with a metallic monster crafted for war, did not care a whit and limped after him. The lame leg and the missing arm barely slowed the thing down. Disregarding the unfortunate fact that the golem was trying its best to kill him, Oak could admit it was an impressive piece of magic.

Geezer poked his head out from behind the couch and took stock of the situation. Oak could not begin to guess the hellhound's exact thoughts, but apparently the situation was not yet dire enough for him to join the battle. Not much of a surprise. The dog was and had always been a lovable coward.

“Right,” Oak said. “Let's try this again.”

The golem did not answer. It tried to climb over the loveseat Oak had dived over. The thing had probably tired of walking around furniture. From Oak’s point of view the end result was a fortunate disaster. The golem was so heavy that its narrow foot went through the cushions and snapped the frame. Its left knee joint did not seem able to extend the leg properly, and as a result, the golem fell on its face, the loveseat still attached to its leg.

Oak did not stand around and wait. The ghosts inside his falchion wailed in alarm as he repeatedly struck the golem’s head with all of his considerable strength, before the golems' grasping hand made him retreat.

By the Chariot. I barely left a scratch.

While the thing freed itself from the clutches of the loveseat and got back on its feet, Oak examined the surface of the golem. There wasn’t even a scratch on the golem’s forehead. If he kept at it, he might actually snap the falchion in two.

Before they had stepped into the tower, Oak had already felt sympathetic towards Ur-Namma. Losing loved ones was difficult. Now he felt genuine sorrow for the loss of Aoibheann. If possible, he would have liked to bring her back to life just so he could put her back in the dirt with his own two hands.

Who the fuck has a war-golem as their maid? These rich bastards were clearly out of control and someone should have been keeping them in check. I mean, what’s wrong with having help that’s made of flesh and blood?

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Desperate and out of ideas, Oak turned tail and ran towards the double doors leading onto the balcony. Beating the golem with his fists seemed like a terrible plan doomed to failure. That was concerning because it was the only plan he had at the moment. Maybe he could figure out a solution while he ran away.

Still breathing. Still time to fuck up someone's day. He burst through the doors and found himself on a large balcony.

It was strange to be outside again. Ma’aseh Merkavah spread out all around him and Oak looked at the city from on high, like the ruler of this city once had. The distance to the ground below was long enough to give him pause.

Perfect.

Breathing hard, Oak sprinted away from the doorway. If the sound of metal striking stone behind him was any sign, the golem was hot on his heels. When he was two paces from the balcony’s railing, he turned around and readied himself.

The golem cleared the doorway with jerky motions and stepped onto the balcony. It stared at Oak, and somehow its expressionless face conveyed murderous intent. The claws in the golem's remaining hand twitched back and forth.

“Come on then,” Oak whispered. “Take a swing at me. You know you want to.”

The golem charged, and Oak prepared himself. He would only have one chance at this. When the war-machine was almost upon him, it lunged right for his throat. Oak dropped low and rolled to the side.

Lots of things happened very quickly.

The golems claw missed Oak’s neck by the width of a hair, and instead snagged on the collar of his jacket. The mad lunge of the bronze machine of war sent it careening past him, and when the weight of the golem landed on its lame leg, the damaged knee buckled and it pitched forward. Straight towards the railing of the balcony and the empty air behind it.

The momentum of a charging statue made of bronze was a frightening thing to witness. It was like a heavy stone, rolling downhill. Oak felt it firsthand when he was pulled along for the ride as the golem smashed through the railing of the balcony, dragging him towards the edge.

Towards a long drop and a sudden stop.

Oak clawed at the floorboards of the balcony, leaving fingernails and a trail of blood behind. Hands reaching, clawing for salvation, Oak grabbed hold of a still intact piece of railing as the golem dragged him past it, and then there was nothing between him and the merciless streets and rooftops below.

Shit, shit, shit!

Even if he had been able to remember a single prayer, no such thing would have passed between his lips. He was too scared to form a coherent thought, let alone pray.

The collar of Oak’s jacket tore when the weight of the golem yanked on it, trying to pull him along to his death. The sound of ripping fabric lifted him from the deepest pit of fear and dragged him gasping to the light. It had torn. The collar had torn. In utter silence, the golem fell from the tower, towards the roof of the Imperial Library. Oak followed its descent with his gaze, waiting for the inevitable impact.

Accompanied by a tremendous bang, the golem crashed through the roof of the Imperial Library. Roof tiles shattered, and the pieces flew in all directions. By the sound of it, the golem also crashed through the ceiling of the fifth floor before it finally stopped.

Dazed as he was, Oak still made a note about where the golem landed. If possible, he wanted to have a look at the thing. The loci holding the golems ghosts might be intact, and he wanted them all.

Geezer’s snout poked Oak in the forehead, waking him from his musings. The hellhound licked his cheek and pulled on his sleeve, whining all the while. Apparently the dog did not like the fact that Oak was dangling from the edge of the balcony.

“Right. I almost pissed myself.” Oak attempted to climb back up onto the balcony. For some reason, his arms had trouble letting go of the railing, but in the end he just about managed it, and dragged himself to safety with Geezer’s help.

When he no longer felt like his limbs were made of jelly, Oak sat up and shook himself. That had been a tad too close for comfort.

“You know what Geezer? I’m starting to think me and high places are a poor combination,” he said, and gave Geezer a kiss on the top of his head. “Every single time I give one of these spots with a good view a chance, I end up hanging from a ledge by the tips of my fingers.”

Geezer just wagged his tail and gave Oak’s nose a lick.

What a creature. The smile on Oak’s face was so wide his cheeks hurt. It was good to be alive. Great, even. He scratched Geezer behind the ears, and just enjoyed the moment.

Now, hold up. Am I seeing things or has he grown bigger again?

As far as he could tell, the dog was at least two inches taller than he had been before. Slightly more muscular as well. Geezer was growing fast. At this rate, the hellhound would be bigger than him in no time. Based on the strange, otherworldly growl the hellhound had let out downstairs, he was also developing his first magical ability.

“Good boy. Very good boy,” Oak said and gave Geezer a hug. The hellhound took it as an invitation to wrestle, and Oak obliged the young dog. He even let the doofus win.

Oak lay there on the balcony with a victorious Geezer drooped over his chest and let out a content sigh. He had never doubted that Ashmedai would keep his word, but seeing the results with his own eyes still filled him with happiness and relief.

It would take time, but Geezer was eventually going to become a force to be reckoned with.

“Let’s go big boy, and see what Ur-Namma has been up to while I risked my life,” Oak said, and struggled back to his feet. “If the elf has not made himself useful, I will give him a quick introduction to that golem. By throwing him after it.”