The fireballs came to Alex’s hands in a rush of instinctive desperation, and he hastily tossed them at the incoming missile in the form of a giant red-skinned beast. Diana had the same idea. The air hissed as shimmering blades zipped from her hands toward the Kruwal.

  It was no use. Even as he damn near flew in the air, leaping clear of Valerian and Cedric, Scarface blocked all their spells, his arm swinging in an arc to absorb the magic into his silver vambrace. The carved runes on its surface pulsed hungrily.

  Alex felt the bridge shake when Scarface landed not ten feet in front of him like a superhero, three points of contact onto the ground. He rose to his feet as if he had no hurry, slow and languid like a panther, teeth flashing in a fanged smile.

  Floundering, Alex scrambled back. Fear lanced through him like a stab in the gut. His magic was useless against this new monster. He was helpless. For the thousandth time, he cursed that first Wild Boar and all its ill-begotten ilk for making him miss click the Mage class.

  His eyes flickered to the sides wildly, hoping to find salvation already on the way. But it wouldn’t come. The ritualistic beating of metal had turned into the more natural clashing of weapons. Valerian and Cedric were being mobbed by the Kruwal warriors even as they tried to move toward him, and Diana and the others now had their hands full trying to stop the rest of the horde from overrunning the bridge. Looking behind, he saw the village people still waiting for a gap in the barricade. There was nowhere to retreat.

  His heel struck a rut in his moment of inattentiveness and he fell back to the ground on his ass, hitting his head against the bridge’s railing. Scarface stalked up to him. Each step seemed to take an eternity in Alex’s mind, though he doubted the monster took more than a second before he loomed over him, larger than life itself.

  This is it, then. The thought was a sad, resigned thing. It came from a part of his mind he’d long tried to suppress, an old part that had come about when his days were spent crying on the bed of an orphanage. A piece that had fed on his misery and grown like a malignant tumor. A leech.

  Alex hated it.

  Power welled up inside him. Power fed by this old hatred. He could feel the heat suffuse his body, his blood metaphysically boiling.

  In front of him, Scarface growled something in that strange tongue of the Kruwals. Something derisive, given his teeth-filled smile.

  Alex growled back. It wasn’t Scarface’s smug smile that he wanted to wipe off, he realized. It was something inside of him that he wanted gone. The thing that pokes its head up when life gets tough and whispers, This is how it’s supposed to be. This is who you are. Now sit down and cry about it. That’s all you’re good for.

  His hands whipped up. Power coursed through his veins, and a torrent of bright-red fire roared up at the Kruwal, fire Alex knew was hotter and more destructive than anything he’d manage to create so far.

  His arms felt like bursting from the inside, and from where he sat, it looked as if the flames had completely consumed Scarface. The MP counter on the corner of his eyes ticked down rapidly, yet he paid no mind to it. He just had to—

  The gurgling, sucking sound killed any hope Alex had that his attack worked. The red flames suddenly twisted and whirled until they were gone in a whoosh. Scarface just stood there, the air around him shimmering from the heat. The vambrace on his arm glowed red like the blood moon, and a strange burnt smell filled Alex’s nose.

  The Kruwal growled something, then laughed down at him, his cackles sounding like rocks being ground into gravel.

  Alex grit his teeth. Maybe it wasn’t just his past self he wanted to wipe off the face of the earth after all. Scarface was proving to be just as much of a dick.

  Quickly racking his mind for his next move, a very stupid idea presented itself to him. But then again, that’s what he had it for. He could feel its weight as it sat tied around his right hip. If the magic isn’t working… Well, it truly was the last line of defense now.

  Slowly, his hand reached down toward his looted dagger and—

  A lance of sharp pain raced up his leg. Alex suddenly found himself screaming. His body rocked back against the bridge as if seizing. His own pain-filled voice rang in his head, muddying his thoughts. Dazed, he forced himself to look up through the agony.

  Scarface smiled down at him, and this smile looked almost pleasant. Polite. He nodded toward the dagger and clicked his tongue as if to chide a little child misbehaving, even as he pushed his foot harder down on Alex’s ankle.

  He held back the scream clogging his throat out of pure spite, but an even more pathetic whimper came out. Black spots filled his vision, and for a moment he thought he would pass out from the pain. Jagged laughter shook him out of his stupor.

  Locking his jaw tight, he stared back at Scarface. He wouldn’t give the Kruwal the satisfaction of seeing him pass out. If he was going to die, then he might as well look death in the eye and spit on its face.

  Scarface seemed delighted by the defiance. His dark eyes shone with a manic glee, and for the first time, human words came out of his mouth. “You. Are. Weak,” he growled out. “Your. Kind. Is. Weak. We. Will—”

  Alex would never know what Scarface wanted to say. Daven, it seemed, didn’t have the pop-culture background to care about a villain’s monologue, and a fist-sized stone suddenly struck the scarred Kruwal on the right temple. Right where his scar started above his eye.

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  Scarface howled in anger, staggering back a step. Blood welled up on his forehead as the stone fell to the ground with a dull thud.

  Alex didn’t even stop to think.

  He sprung up, ready to rip open Scarface’s heart with his looted dagger, only to stumble. Pain flared around his ruined ankle, but Alex forced himself to ignore it. He knew this was the only chance to save himself and the others, and he would put all on the line.

  He stabbed out with the dagger even as his ankle gave out, and the blade found purchase onto Scarface’s thigh. The Kruwal roared, tried to yank his leg back. Alex hung on to the dagger’s hilt for all he was worth and, using it the way a winter climber would an ice-axe, heaved himself up until he came face to face with his enemy.

  Scarface’s eyes widened. For the first time since he stepped up from behind the horde, Alex saw a hint of fear appear on his face.

  Smiling through the pain, Alex pushed his free hand right up against Scarface’s chest where he couldn’t block it with his vambrace. The crammed, explosive fireball—the same he’d used against the Sage Treant, bloomed on his palm, a second away from detonating.

  Back then, that spell had almost killed him with the backlash of the explosion, sending him sprawling through the air like a ragdoll. But he’d come a long way since that happened. His level of control was much greater—and just as important, so was his power.

  When he pulled on the spell now, the small, coin-sized fireball wasn’t nearly as unstable. Alex was confident he could control it, channel all its power away from him.

  Red-hot flames blasted outward just as Scarface punched Alex’s hand away. Bone crunched and there was a cry of pain, but Alex didn’t know if it came from him or from the Kruwal leader. The concentrated explosion of fire clipped Scarface on the side, driving him against the railing. The harsh smell of charred meat wafted in the air.

  With the last of his strength, Alex slammed his shoulder against Scarface’s back and threw him over the bridge. The Kruwal fell, screaming in pain and anger, into the waters below.

  Gasping, Alex dropped to his knees as the explosive trace ended—one arm completely useless, the other holding on to a bloody dagger. The pain was blinding. It felt like the bones on his ankle and forearm had been turned to mush.

  He blinked away hot tears and crawled like a toddler to the side of the bridge. Looking down, he saw nothing but the dark waters of the Dunnser flowing downriver.

  “The bastard’s still alive,” he muttered to himself.

  Alex knew it, somehow. A gut feeling. Or maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t leveled up despite defeating a much stronger enemy.

  He cursed silently and pulled himself up against the railing despite the flare of agony on his right ankle. He had hoped that leveling up would be like a shot of morphine, his HP back to full, his injuries magically healed; but he was out of luck.

  And out of time to daydream about what could have been, as someone suddenly shouted behind him.

  “Alex!”

  He turned, spooked for a second, only to see Bryon pushing Lanna toward the newly-formed gap between two overturned carts in the make-shift barricade. The villagers crowded around the spot like ants with syrup, squeezing through one by one as fast as they could.

  “Alex!” Lanna shouted again even as she was shoved forward. Her voice quivered with desperation. “Please, get my dad. Please!”

  Then the smith pushed her through the gap and stood aside to let the rest of the villagers move across the bridge.

  Alex shook his head. Lanna probably thought he was some kind of big deal chaser since he’d pretended to be with the CCC. He hadn’t expected that to come back to bite him in the behind. Not like this.

  I’ll try, he told himself. Though it wasn’t the type of promise he liked to make. More importantly, they had a way out, and he had an idea of how to stop the Kruwal from following.

  Glancing at the mouth of the bridge, he finally took stock of the others.

  Four warriors hounded Cedric, forcing him ever backward. These weren’t the dungeon skeletons he could easily overpower, and the crew leader couldn’t seem to score anything more than glancing cuts against one of the Kruwals before he had to defend against another. He was slowly retreating away from the bridge toward the tall riverbank, and if this kept going, Cedric would end up thrown in the river like Scarface.

  On the other side, Valerian’s golden-edged axe might’ve had the advantage against the mix of iron and steel weapons of the Kruwal, but the paladin proved himself to be a poor axeman in skill. With many blows passing cleanly through his guard, he was forced to use his hard-light shields to block them. But he was getting tired. Alex could see how weak the light seemed compared to before.

  Holding the center just behind the giant log he had thrown, Orson looked the worst. He huffed tiredly as he held off a trio of Kruwals on his own, a single wooden pole swinging deftly in his hands.

  He killed one of the monsters as Alex watched, smashing the pole against its head hard enough splinters flew from the impact. Orson was strong, but he wasn’t quick enough to block the sword slashing at his chest. The mayor hissed as the Kruwal scored a nasty cut against him, and Daven’s well-timed thrown rock hitting the warrior on his swordhand was the only reason Orson managed to parry the sloppy backswing that had been aiming to take his head off.

  But they would all be done for if it wasn’t Diana. The entire road leading up to the bridge had turned into a kind of sand trap that had most of the Kruwal warriors buried up to their hips. The sand seemed to roil from within, pulling the horde deeper as they struggled to break free. Even some of the houses bordering the road had sunk up to their windows.

  For a moment, Alex could only stare in awe. He had no idea Diana had that kind of power.

  That lasted until he turned to Diana herself. She looked deathly pale, almost swaying in place as she knelt with her hands on the ground. She wouldn’t last much longer.

  First the rolling earthquake and now this. He shook his head. Two traces of that magnitude must have drained her, and if the bulk of the horde managed to escape her sand pit, they’d mob them all and finish them off before he could finish praying to whatever system gods existed.

  He quickly brought up his own status and winced.

  HP: 55/80

  MP: 30/160

  Shit. Not a lot of MP to work with.

  Sheathing his dagger, Alex held onto the wooden railing with his good hand and started hopping closer to where the Daven and Diana battled on the western side of the bridge.

  Pain shot up his wounded leg with every hop. His HP held strong and nothing vital beyond his ego had been hit, but he knew he wouldn’t get far even if his plan worked. Not like this. Limp and one-handed.

  He needed to heal, and fast. He needed to level up.