The captive people who are now free‐ I see them, scavenging the dead, taking clothes, armor for protection. Though none seemed to wield any weapons, they lacked the proper training to use any of that equipment. Not only clothes and armor, but began putting the injured and the old in what remained of the wagons. And conveniently, the horses didn’t stray far from the mines, even after Veyra and I rampaged through the mined encampment.

  Once everyone was settled and ready, we began the journey back.

  The caravan began to crawl through the thickening mist at dusk, wagons creaking under the weight of too many exhausted bodies. Kids clung to parents, beastkin families huddled close, still half-expecting chains to snap back around their necks. Veyra rode beside me, her tail occasionally brushing my leg, a quiet check-in that had become our thing.

  I kept my hand resting on the hilt of the merchant sword I’d bought in Kharzad two weeks back, simple steel, good balance, nothing fancy. A little bit more my niche than the magic bestowed on me by the author.

  The raid high was fading fast. The “someone in the family” line from the mine boss kept rattling around my skull like loose change. Growing up, family was everything for me. My brother, my sisters, my parents, each one I once cared for before coming here. I still do, hopefully their doing well without my absence.

  Author, of course, couldn’t resist to butt in. *Romantic twilight ride with the dragon girlfriend. You gonna serenade her or just brood like a discount Batman?*

  *I am not brooding,* I snapped back, almost popping a vein. *I am heavily thinking over here. A lot has transpired, I may not be brooding like Batman, but I’m sure as hell trying to connect the dots like him. I was, still am, a detective. Hard not to think of suspects and trails with all this mystery you’ve been throwing at me.*

  *Touché,* he didn’t seem to bite back after that remark. *I like that mentality, keep having it. Its good for driving the plot. Plus, I’m sure those skills, I’ll definitely be putting them to good use.*

  *What am? A henchmen? A dog with leash?* I rolled my eyes, annoyed from that last comment. I am still a human being.

  *Oh yeah definitely. Definitely my goon for sure.* I sensed a smirk from the author, almost taunting me.

  “Shut up,” I muttered under my breath.

  Veyra glanced over, eyebrow raised. “The voice again?”

  “Yeah. His last comment makes me out to be his crony of some kind. Definitely not pleased about that.” I explained to her.

  “With everything that has been revealed to us so far, I'm sure his teasing was just meant to be heartfelt…” She almost smiled. Almost. I knew she had a lot on her mind, just as I did.

  Then the crossbows twanged. Immediate danger.

  The first bolt took out a horse. The animal screamed and went down, tipping a wagon. Chaos exploded, shouts, kids crying, hunters melting out of the trees in black leathers and mismatched armor. “One million gold for the Butcher! Reyes - dead or alive!”

  One million. I thought back of that moment, the moment the Kharzad general showed me my bounty. And I knew then, obstacles were gonna come. And this was one of them.

  Veyra’s wings snapped wide, a curtain of heat and shadow between the remaining hunters and the freed slaves. Flames danced along her arms, controlled bursts that scorched the ground in warning lines whenever a hunter tried to flank. Nets burned to ash mid-air. Crossbow bolts melted before they could reach the wagons.

  A young beastkin girl, maybe ten, still wearing the collar’s scar around her neck, clung to her mother’s leg, eyes wide with awe. “Thank you so much for protecting us Lady Veyra!” She loudly said over the chaos.

  The mother pulled her close, but her own eyes were shining. “The Crimson Terror… they said she was a monster. But look at her, risking her life for ours. We truly thank you, Lady Veyra.”

  Another freed captive, an older wolfkin man with graying fur, raised a fist, helping out as well. “For Lady Veyra!”

  A ragged cheer went up from the group, weak at first, then stronger. “For Veyra! For Kharzad!”

  Veyra didn’t turn. Her focus stayed locked on the hunters, tail lashing, flames coiling tighter. But the tip of her tail flicked once, almost like a smile.

  One hunter tried a desperate charge. Veyra stepped forward, slammed a palm into the ground. A ring of fire erupted, hot enough to singe hair but not kill. The man stumbled back, screaming, clothes smoking.

  “Stay down,” she said, voice low and thunderous. “Or burn. Your one and only warning.” Her demeanor, was ever so more intimidating, even hot, from where I’m standing.

  The hunters broke. But none wavered, continuing their assault, almost coordinated in fact. Then he stepped forward through the smoke.

  Tall, lean, scarred jaw, dark hair cropped short. And something noticeable - a faded Yankees cap under a Valthar royal guard cloak, jeans visible beneath leather greaves. I knew in that moment, he and I, were from the same world. Had eyes like he’d seen every bad ending and stopped caring.

  “Another Otherworlder?” I was shocked. I didn’t expect to meet one, especially in the fray of battle.

  He held up the poster - my face, scar and all, flames around the edges, 1,000,000 gold in bold.

  “Reyes,” he said, accent pure New York, rough and fast like he was hailing a cab in Midtown. “They doubled it ‘cause you’re makin’ waves, kid. You’re pissing off the wrong people. Learned that the hard way: heroes don’t last unless they learn to play ball.”

  I stared. “No mistaken, you’re like me, from Earth.”

  “Queens, born and raised.” He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Name’s Kane. Summoned like you, back when Valthar still pretended to be the good guys. They gave me a nice cushy spot. Purpose. Coin. You? You’re just the latest pain in their ass. One I’m here to correct.”

  “Surprised you weren’t there at my entrance ceremony,” I said sarcastically. “What? Were you busy?”

  “You can say that,” he smirked back at me. “Consider this the welcome party.”

  Veyra growled low from the road, still shielding the slaves. “I remember you, Valthar’s purge slayer, Kane.”

  Kane shrugged. “Purges happen. Winners write history. Losers get bounties and the death penalty.”

  *FYI, you’re in for a treat my guy.* And from the back of my head, the author finally decided to butt in.

  “Shut up,” I hissed aloud. “I do not need your backseat talking right now!’

  Kane laughed - short, sharp. “Already talkin’ to yourself? That’s cute. Maybe that’s why you didn’t last long. You’re probably fucking crazy already. Hey I’m not judging, in another lifetime, maybe I would’ve done the same thing and destroyed that kingdom myself. Bunch of useless pansies.”

  *Hey, do you talk to this guy here too?* I raised an eyebrow. He knows I’m talking to him, of all people.

  *If you’re talking about clinically insane over there,* I can hear the snark in his voice. *No, I do not and never talked to anyone else. You’re the only 4th wall breaker. At least to my knowledge.*

  *Okay, now what does that mean!?* He was giving me more questions than answers.

  *Hold that thought. Incoming.*

  Kane raised a hand. Violet runes ignited under his boots, under mines as well – teleportation? No, worse. A damn barrier glyph, sharp and practiced. The world snapped.

  One second I was on the road. The next, everything folded. Caravan, mist, Veyra – on the other side of the barrier. Just me and Kane in a small clearing ringed by pulsing violet lines, like a cage made of light.

  1v1. No backup. No Veyra.

  Like a wrestling match, the bell rung and our swords began to clash.

  The duel had become a war of attrition, every clash ringing out in the violet-lit clearing like a hammer on anvil. My merchant sword - plain steel, bought cheap from that Kharzad trader - was starting to feel heavy, the grip slick with sweat and a thin film of blood from where a glancing blow had split my knuckles. Kane’s curved blade danced in his hands like an extension of his arm, precise, economical, never wasting a motion.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  He blinked - short teleport - and came in high. I raised my guard, caught the strike, twisted my wrists to slide his blade down and away. Sparks flew. He didn’t retreat; he pivoted, blade whipping back in a low arc for my thigh. I jumped, landed awkwardly, countered with an overhead chop. He sidestepped, blinked again, appeared at my blind side. The tip of his sword kissed my ribs through the torn hoodie, drawing a thin line of fire.

  *WAIT! HE CAN TELEPORT!?* Confusion set in my mind. I don’t have anything in my arsenal, at least to my knowledge, to deal with that.

  *I mean he’s been here a lot longer, of course he’s going to be a lot more refined than you.* The author in my head explained.

  *I do not need your backseat talking right now dammit!* I quipped back at him. I needed to concentrate. My foe, Kane, definitely is keeping me on my toes.

  *Is this the part where I put awesome music in the background?*

  I stopped replying. He kept coming at me, more with his teleportation magic, jumping in and out on my blindspots. What am I, fighting Nightcrawler over here?

  I tried my appraisal skill, and just like me, only a bunch of ??? appeared, exactly. But one thing stood out, and that was his skills. Unlike me, most his weren’t locked. Great. Just great.

  I hissed, spun, slashed. He blocked, our swords locking at the crossguards once more. Faces inches apart. Breath ragged. Eyes locked. I began channel some of my magic onto my sword, glowing yellow, almost like a lightsaber in a way.

  “You’re slowing down, kid,” Kane said, New York accent thick and mocking. “That glowy trick of yours is neat, ain’t gonna save you forever though.”

  *He’s right. You may have an abundance of mana, but you’re gonna burn right through it like it’s free. Also, not to backseat drive like I’ve been doing, but its time to be on the offensive. You’re all defense right now-*

  “Not now,” I growled through clenched teeth. “I’m trying to ascertain my situation, can’t you see?”

  Kane’s eyes narrowed. “Talking to yourself again? You’re really losing it, Reyes.”

  I shoved hard - light magic, from earlier, surging down the blade in a sudden flare. The force broke the lock; we both staggered back. He blinked immediately, reappearing low, sweeping for my legs. I leaped, came down swinging. He rolled, came up slashing. Blade met blade again. The impact vibrated through my shoulders.

  We circled. Sweat stung my eyes. My arms burned. Kane wasn’t even breathing hard yet.

  “You think you’re special?” he said, voice low. “I was you once. Fresh off the summon. Thought I could fix this shithole. Then the crown showed me how things really work. Gave me a place. A purpose. Then I realized how good I was at genocide. Killing people, the blood thirst, it pumps me up!”

  *Translation: They gave him a paycheck and a rune-shaped leash, on top of his insane lust for blood. Classic fantasy trope.* Almost sounded like sarcasm.

  *Wait, what rune shaped leash?* Was that a hint? I know he doesn’t deliberately do that one purpose. *You really love these collars don’t you, you sick asshole.*

  *Oops, spoke too soon. I’ll let you find out in a bit.* And just like when I thought the author was being helpful, he goes and hightails it outta here.

  *DICK!*

  I feinted left, struck right. Kane blocked, barely. His left shoulder hitched again, old wound, predictable now that I’d seen it twice. Once more, he was expecting it, but this time, I faked him out, slashing upward, grazing him but I scraped off that ugly Yankee hat, only to reveal what the author said moments ago.

  “You’re lying to yourself,” I said. “That rune on your head? It’s not loyalty. It’s a collar.”

  His smirk flickered. “You don’t know shit kid.”

  Well, at least the author wasn’t kidding about Valthar’s motives. If they can’t convince you with words, then looking back at Kane, is more than enough evidence to know that they weren’t ever going to take no for an answer. The living proof is right in front of me: indoctrination magic, or whatever.

  “I know enough.” I pressed - slash, thrust, feint high, strike low. He parried the first two, missed the third. My blade bit shallow into his forearm. Blood welled. He hissed.

  *Nice. Keep the pressure. Now don’t get cocky though, he’s still got twenty pounds and four years on you.* Author was back, finally gave me my props.

  *Right.* I simply nodded, accepting the light compliment on my current work. After this, I’ll make sure he sings high and mighty about my praises.

  For once, Kane finally started sweating in our match. “For a guy that’s been here longer, you sure bitch a lot.” I mocked him.

  Kane wiped the blood on his cloak. “You talk a lot for a guy who’s about to die.”

  He came again - faster this time, angrier. Blink, slash, blink, thrust. I blocked, blocked, blocked - each impact driving me back. My boots slid in the grass. Mana flickered low; the light on my sword dimmed.

  He saw it. Pressed harder. Blink, slash, blink, thrust. I twisted, took a shallow cut across the bicep. Pain flared hot. I growled, countered, slashed wide. He ducked, came up inside my guard, elbow smashing into my nose.

  Cartilage crunched. Blood poured. Vision blurred. I staggered. He didn’t let up, blade arcing for my neck. I dropped my sword, pure instinct, caught his wrist with both hands, twisted hard. The blade flew from his grip, spinning into the grass. He snarled, grabbed my collar with his free hand.

  My sword clattered away. So did his. No weapons. Just fists.

  *Oh nice, a classic fist fight,* he butted in again. *This the part where I add awesome fight song? X Gon’ Give To You? Or perhaps of the metal variety? Maybe Enter Sandman?*

  *Stop yapping.*

  Kane swung first - wild, angry haymaker. I slipped it like I’d done a thousand times in the academy gym, the muscle memory kicking in clean and automatic. Black belt in MMA - earned through years of cop training, night classes, and sparring sessions where bigger guys tried to prove a point. I’d taken beatings from rookies twice my size and still walked out smiling.

  I came up with a short, sharp jab - crisp, textbook - straight to his solar plexus. Air whooshed out of him. He doubled over. I hooked an arm around his neck, dragged him into a guillotine choke - tight, controlled, no wasted effort.

  He clawed at my arm, nails raking skin, but I cranked the hold. His face turned red. He stomped for my instep; I shifted my weight, took it on the shin, and drove a knee into his ribs. Crack - something gave.

  He roared, broke free with a desperate shove, and came back swinging. Wild punches - street brawler style, no form, just fury. I slipped the first, ate the second on the cheek - stars again - but countered with a spinning backfist that caught him flush across the jaw. His head snapped sideways. He stumbled.

  *Holy shit, Reyes. Are you sure you’re not Batman? You’re kicking his ass a lot more competently than I had given you credit for.* The amusement and shock in his voice, told you I’d somehow get him to start singing my praise.

  I didn’t answer. Just pressed.

  Kane charged - low tackle, trying to take me down. I sprawled - classic sprawl from wrestling drills - spread my hips, dropped weight, stuffed his head into the dirt. He grunted, tried to power through. I switched to a front headlock, spun behind him, locked in a rear naked choke.

  He thrashed - strong, desperate - but I had the angle. Legs wrapped around his waist in a body triangle, arms sunk deep under his chin. I squeezed. His struggles slowed. Face purple. Eyes bulging.

  He tapped my arm - once, twice. Weak. Surrender.

  I held for another second - long enough to be sure - then released. He collapsed face-first, gasping, coughing blood onto the rune-lit grass.

  I rolled off him, chest heaving, every muscle screaming. Blood dripped from my nose, my split lip, the cuts on my arms. But I was standing.

  Kane stayed down. Chest rising and falling. He rolled onto his back, stared at the sky.

  The rune on his temple flickered - bright violet - then stuttered. Cracked. A thin black line spiderwebbed through it.

  *Good work dude, seems like that did the trick.* He chimed in.

  His hand shook as he touched it. “I… I remember,” he choked out. “Queens. The subway. My sister… she laughed at my shitty jokes. Then… nothing. Just orders. Just blood. Justice, in the wrong hands.”

  He laughed - short, ugly, self-loathing. “I killed them,” he whispered. “There were more like us, before you. Three kids like you. Because they said so, because the rune made me do so. Because I believed it was right. When I knew it was wrong. Magic so strong, I couldn’t choose wrong from right.” Tears cut tracks through the dirt on his face.

  “I’m not even sure I hate you, Reyes. I just… hate what I let them turn me into.”

  I stood over him, breathing hard. “You’re done being their dog,” I said. “You’re coming with us. You’re gonna tell the king everything. And if there’s any piece of the old Kane left… maybe you get to be him again.”

  “You want to know more about this ‘Master’ guy right?” He said, so calmly as he laid on the floor, finally defeated.

  I looked back at him. Figured with that collar, that was putting 2 and 2 together. “I guess that’s why you were in my way, huh?”

  He didn’t answer. Just closed his eyes, tears mixing with blood. That was all I needed for confirmation.

  The cage flickered and died. As my battle ended, so did Veyra’s. I wasn’t paying too much attention at hers, I knew in full confidence she had everything under control. Not once did she worry about me, she knew, confidently I’d come out on top. And so did she.

  My gaze went back to her, Veyra stood like a living wall of fire and scales. While I was done beating the crap out of Kane, she was the wall that stood between the other bounty hunters and her freed people.

  The last bounty hunter, ran away as she and I triumphed over our individual victories. Her people, right behind her, cheered for her, cheered for me. First time I wasn’t seen as just the guy who ended a kingdom. Not a slayer, but a protector. That in itself was another victory for me and I couldn’t help but smile.

  She saw my face, how it lit up. In return, she too lit up like the sun. She ran towards me, where I and Kane laid. “Alex!” She gave me a hug.

  “Sorry about the blood,” I couldn’t help but apologize for my cleanliness as she wrapped herself around me. I didn’t want to leave any stains on her. “Don’t hug too tightly.”

  “You think I care about that?” Veyra continued to hug tightly. I like it very much. And then she finally let go, her eyes met mine. “I’m just as dirty as you. My fire kicks up more dirt than anything.” She laughed. I followed with mine.

  *Sorry to ruin the mood but what about Mr. Yankee over there?* He just had to pick the wrong time to butt in.

  *Dude, you’re really trying to win Third Wheel award aren't you?* I snickered back at him, annoyed at his intrusion of my love life.

  *Hey, I’m a professional third wheeler, don’t test me.* He quipped back at me, with a lot of snark in his voice.

  Then I looked back at Kane, still laying next to me. Seemed our fight worn him out, knocked out and snoring next to me. “It seems he still alive, should I finish him off?” Veyra quickly gripped the hilt of her sword.

  “No,” I told her. “He was just like you. Used. Abused. Chained by the very thing we’re chasing.”

  “The Master?” She uttered those words. Slight disgust at that.

  “Yeah, he said he’ll tell us everything we need to know,” I finally got up, a bit wounded as I stepped back to adjust my equilibrium. “We’ll finally have a lead to that bastard.”

  This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

  One million gold. A broken New Yorker who’d just remembered he used to be someone else. And someone in the shadows who’d carved runes into heroes and turned them into dogs.

  We had a long road to Kharzad.

  And I had a feeling we were about to drag a lot more ghosts along with us.