The forest seemed to thicken with every breath.

  All around them, orcs pushed through the trees—massive silhouettes wrapped in fur and iron. Their steps landed like mallets on the earth, slow and deliberate, the kind of pacing creatures used when they knew their prey had nowhere left to run. A few raised great curling horns to their mouths and blew, each blast rolling over the clearing like a physical force meant to shake human bones.

  Barrett didn’t flinch, though his burnt trench coat snapped violently in the rising wind. He silently thanked his shades for hiding the concern flickering in his eyes.

  Lance stepped up beside him. The kid’s face was set, brave on the surface, but Barrett caught the tension in his jaw, the quiet determination of someone who had recently made a decision and intended to follow through.

  “Got a plan, Coach?” Lance asked quietly.

  Barrett leaned down, voice low. “Go grab my stuff.”

  Lance blinked. “Your…stuff?”

  “Especially the cigars.” Barrett winked.

  The boy nodded and sprinted off.

  The orcs were close enough now that Barrett could hear their breathing—deep, animal, like bellows stoking a forge. Rei scanned the growing circle, genuine worry pulling her expression tight. Barrett wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her look uncertain before.

  Fred paced next to her, eyes wide, scanning for gaps in the ring. He would find none. Barrett could tell he knew it too.

  Tanya stepped in, her posture controlled but tense. “How badly are we screwed here?”

  “Very,” Barrett answered without humor.

  Rei’s voice was thin but steady. “Any chance they actually want to talk?”

  Barrett almost smiled. The idea of her trying diplomacy on orcs was almost enough to distract him from the situation.

  “First time seeing them,” he admitted. “But from what I’ve heard…” He let the sentence trail off. The shake of his head said the rest.

  “Damn it!” Fred snapped. “All your prep work and we’re still dead. You’re a real moron, you know that?”

  Barrett barked a quiet laugh. “Guess I am.”

  Arthur edged forward, small and pale. “Um…Coach—”

  “We can rush their weakest point,” Tanya said. “Try for a breakout.”

  “What weak points?” Fred shot back, incredulous.

  “Maybe we can negotiate,” Rei added, though her voice lacked conviction.

  “Coach,” Arthur tried again, voice tiny. “I—I have an idea.”

  “Not now!” Fred barked.

  Barrett ignored him completely and beckoned Arthur closer.

  The boy swallowed, stepped in, and whispered his plan quickly. Barrett’s brow lifted. Then a grin slowly carved its way across his face.

  He straightened, voice booming across the clearing.

  “Listen up!” Barrett shouted. “The kid’s got a plan.”

  —

  The orcs closed in until they were a mere twenty feet away—giant shapes framed by twins suns and fog. The earth trembled under their advancing boots.

  Then the crowd of monsters parted.

  And he stepped forward.

  A massive orc, easily a head taller than the rest. Red feathers jutted from his helmet like a war crown. His quads were so thick and defined they looked carved from rock, muscles banded beneath skin the color of charred iron. A broad chestplate wrapped his torso, dented and scarred from countless battles. In his hands hung a sword so large it bordered on absurd, its hooked tip designed for tearing, not cutting.

  He approached without a hint of caution, as though he were strolling up to a litter of puppies rather than an armed group of humans. When he stopped only a few strides from them, he surveyed the camp with a slow, bored sweep of his eyes.

  “Who is chief here?” he rumbled, his voice a calm, low avalanche.

  Fear rippled through the humans. Whispers. Shifting feet. Tanya’s jaw tightened. Fred swallowed hard. Even Rei’s mask flickered. Maku just smiled at him—that bastard.

  Barrett looked down at Pippy—her wide, worried eyes searching his face. He gave her a small, confident grin.

  If the price of leadership keeps sending me bills, I swear I’m canceling the subscription, he muttered under his breath.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Then he stepped forward.

  “So,” Barrett said, casually resting his machete across his shoulder, “you wanna speak to the manager?”

  A ripple of shock passed through both groups. The orc leader’s gaze drifted down slowly, deliberately, as if inspecting a particularly disappointing insect.

  Barrett lowered his shades just enough to meet those pitch-black eyes directly.

  The orc opened his mouth to speak—

  Barrett moved first.

  He inhaled sharply, planted his back foot, and launched forward like a cannon blast. [Blood Rush] ignited through his veins, gold fire racing under his skin. His machete came down with enough force to split a mountain.

  For a single exquisite heartbeat, Barrett saw shock flicker in the orc’s eyes.

  Got him.

  Then—

  A black hand snapped up and caught the blade mid-swing.

  Stopped it cold.

  Barrett’s grin faltered into horror as the dust settled. The orc held the machete in one hand—fingers wrapped tight around the steel, unmoving.

  “A dirty trick,” the orc growled. Hatred and malice burned behind his gaze now.

  “Didn’t like the way you face you were makin’ at me,” he said, forcing swagger into his voice. “This one looks better.”

  “What is your name, worm?” the orc spat.

  “Who’s asking?” Barrett replied casually. If he were going to die anyway, he would at least live like a badass until the end.

  The orcs eyes narrowed. “Gabul, leader of the Blood Eagles.

  “Barrett Donovan, leader of Team Donovan…and Maku, I’m also his boss.” He aimed a thumb back at his black-haired friend.

  Maku just rolled his eyes.

  “Barrett Donovan, you have condemned your entire tribe to death,” the orc leader growled.

  Barrett chuckled. “C’mon. You had no intention of anything else.”

  At that, the orc’s lips curled into a wicked smile. “It seems you know something of our ways.”

  “That’s not all I know.” Barrett took one step back, raised his voice, and declared:

  “I, Barrett Donovan of Team Donovan, challenge you, Gabul of the Blood Eagles to single combat. Winner takes life and tribe.”

  A roar erupted from the orcs—thunderous approval shaking the trees.

  The leader’s eyes narrowed, glinting with cruel delight.

  “Very well, I will play with my food before eating it.” Gabul smiled.

  “You can play with yourself,” Barrett replied, “leave Team Donovan out of it, you sick freak.”

  Barrett looked back for the expected laughter.

  Everyone remained silent. Only Maku looked around and then shrugged, “I thought it was funny.”

  —

  “You got this?” Tanya asked, her voice steady, eyes sharp as forged steel.

  Barrett gave a single nod.

  Maku stepped closer, concern tightening his brows. “You sure you wanna do this?”

  Barrett exhaled slowly through his nose. The air left him in a heavy plume, misting in the cold. He lifted his eyes to the sky as if searching for something in the clouds.

  After a long, quiet beat, he spoke.

  “All my life—”

  “Seriously?” Fred snapped.

  Every member of Team Donovan turned to glare at him.

  Fred froze, hands rising in surrender. Even Rei didn’t bother acknowledging the outburst—her gaze remained fixed on the ring of orcs, calculating.

  “Continue, Barrett,” Tanya said.

  Barrett stared ahead for a moment, then frowned. “I don’t want to anymore. Moment’s gone.”

  Everyone exchanged baffled looks and resumed murmuring their battle plan.

  “WELL,” Barrett barked suddenly, hands flying up, “if you’re gonna put a gun to my head!”

  Someone—probably Maku—sighed.

  Barrett cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and tried again. “I’ve spent my whole life in the darkness. Wandering. Searching for…something, or someone. Didn’t know what at the time. Just knew there was something better out there, a better life, or…a better me, waiting, if only—”

  He paused for effect.

  Pippy stared up at him, rapt.

  “—if only I had the guts to reach out,” Barrett continued, stretching his hand toward the sky, “and TAKE IT!” He finished the last words with a granite resolve.

  A rumbling voice interrupted:

  “HU-MANS!”

  The orc leader, Gabul, towered in the center of the clearing, impatience radiating from his massive frame.

  “You waste my time.”

  “No,” Barrett said quietly.

  Then he raised his voice, fierce and sharp:

  “This is MY time!”

  Team Donovan roared in support. Even some of the unaffiliated survivors shouted with them.

  Fred and Rei did not.

  Inside, Barrett was shaking. He forced his breathing steady. Big inhale, hold, then slow and steady exhale. Repeat. Dragon Breathing, Sensei Baha had called it.

  Doubt slithered into the back of his mind.

  Would Barrett Donovan be enough?

  He didn’t have the luxury of questioning it.

  He would die before he ever became Brad again.

  But unwelcome memories of that man crept in anyway. Soft and pathetic.

  He shoved them down, disgust curling in his gut.

  Brad had never been enough.

  Barrett had to be.

  Gabul stood motionless—only his eyes moved, black and cold as obsidian pools tracking Barrett’s every shift.

  Barrett lowered his arms, fists hanging loose beside him. The machete in his right hand gleamed faintly in the camp firelight. He tightened his grip until his knuckles whitened.

  Then—

  A small hand slid into his left.

  He looked down to find Pippy beside him, face set with determination far beyond her years.

  “Feel the fear,” she said softly, “and do it anyway.”

  Barrett’s chest tightened. He nodded. “Feel the fear.”

  “Go get ’em, Coach!” Lance shouted.

  He turned to see his apprentice had returned with some of Barrett’s gear. He silently prayed he’d get the chance to smoke one of those cigars again.

  Barrett turned to see the rest—Granny, Arthur, Maku, Tanya, even some stragglers from the camp—cheering him on.

  Most surprising of all, Fred gave him a stiff nod.

  Rei smiled too, but he didn’t trust that smile. It had stabbed him in the back one too many times.

  A thunderous roar tore through the clearing as Gabul’s patience snapped. His tribe answered with a bellow that rattled the trees, sending birds scattering into the sky.

  Barrett squeezed Pippy’s hand once more.

  “Your boys are a little close, don’t you think?” he called to Gabul.

  Gabul narrowed his eyes, then turned and barked,

  “WIDEN THE CIRCLE!”

  The orcs stepped back in unison, thinning the line and enlarging the battlefield. The twin suns sagged toward the horizon, casting long, jagged shadows over the hulking figures.

  “I will make this quick,” Gabul grunted.

  Barrett winked at Pippy. “I’ll make it quicker.”

  She squeezed his hand—and the world snapped into slow motion as her [Haste] flowed through him. Sound warped. Shapes stretched. Every heartbeat thudded like a drum underwater.

  Barrett’s grin spread.

  He broke into a sprint—

  —and launched himself at Gabul like a predator finally let off its leash.