The Dark Lord marched beneath a blood red sky, trudging through a field of ash and soot. It was technically sunset, but with all the smog it may as well have been midnight. A shadowy monolith dominated the horizon: the primary coal plant, a massive complex of industrial towers and smoke stacks. Smog and dirt was being dumped into the heavens. The air reeked of charcoal, its embers gently falling around Terran. It was no wonder that locals called this the Flaming Valley. In Terran’s day, much of these wastelands would have been underwater. Modern technology was extraordinary. It was capable of feats which put even the old magic to shame. Though all this technology had one weakness: it was physical. According to Derik’s books, this plant was the main source of Diveky’s electric power. Destroying the plant would kill much of the electric grid. Without electricity, many modern toys would cease functioning. Chaos would follow.

  Within the hour, Terran would destroy this blemish in the skyline. No one would stop him. Not even that egomaniac Raven. By the time she figured things out, it would already be too late. The island would descend into chaos. He’d be a ghost. In and out. No one would know.

  Once near the complex, Terran crouched low and crawled through the field. Soot stained his palms. Every subtle movement kicked up more dust, making a low cloud hover around Terran. He coughed and coughed, but still the dust infested his dry lungs. It was disgusting, how this technology decayed everything which it touched. These factories would be replaced by something better when Terran took hold. Perhaps troop barracks. Yes, they’d need a place to house his army. And perhaps some apartments too. Their families would need to be housed as well. This barren begged for use.

  There was a ladder on the side of the building. It led to a small deck by the roof, from which Terran could sneak in unimpeded. He just had to get to that ladder. Despite the fortress’ grandeur, there was a singular soul outside. And he wasn’t even a guard. The worker simply transported packages in a strange vehicle. Terran waited five minutes. The vehicle drove off, and the man retreated into the fortress.

  Terran sprinted to the ladder. He strengthened his arms, and began the climb. The ladder rattled. Many of its rusted hinges had decayed away. Many rungs snapped off. Howling wind intensified as Terran ascended. That only worsened the rattle, making the whole thing uneasy. Yet Terran kept his pace up. From one rung to the next, his hands were a blur.

  A rung cracked when Terran stepped on it. Terran fell a good foot before digging his claws into the wall. Sparks flared off metal. Terran stopped himself. He now dangled. He reached for the other rung with his free hand. It took a few tries. Strengthening his arms through vinye, Terran found the strength to hoist himself up. He put his feet firmly beneath two rungs, then leaned against the wall. He paused to collect himself. Then he got lost in the view.

  The entire city was visible.

  Before Terran there were brown fields with only the occasional condemned shack. Beyond that were the small buildings of the Historical District, varied in their brick facade with character abundant. Beyond that were the skyscrapers. From up here, they resembled the mast of an iron ship sailing a sea of light. There were transitory places too, as each district flowed from one to the next. Yellow streaks peppered the buildings, the burning lights of the city. The lights merged together, as did the buildings. From this vantage point, the entire city resembled one distinct organism.

  One that Terran was set to ruin.

  A creak forced Terran back to reality. This ladder was unstable. He had to go on. If he fell… well he might be fine but it would be best not to test that theory. He continued to the top. The deck Terran found himself on was just as unstable as the ladder. Rust covered the grated floor, which wavered with each step. There was a door labeled “emergency exit.” How stupid. Imagine all those coal workers, rushing out only to meet a stupid demise as they all struggled over the ladder. What a waste!

  Terran took the door. He found himself in a white room. Everything was white. The floor, the walls, even the box which many were so enamored with nowadays. It was playing some of that bombastic rock music. A youngish man was on screen, prancing about in a star-studded jumpsuit and similarly ridiculous cape. A cape of all things! Like a cape was practical for anything. Then Terran remembered how he once wore a similar one in his youth, and decided it would be best to ignore the man on screen. There was a desk on the opposite side of the room. Also white. Terran approached, and got soot all over the pristine carpet. He cursed himself. So much for stealth. Now everyone would know he’d been here. Perhaps that was the trick. Or maybe the owner of that office was just that dumb, preferring white despite its contrast against soot.

  Nothing here would sabotage the plant, so Terran made his way to the exit. A muffled rattling intensified as he got closer to the doorway. That rattle grew deafening once Terran made his way outside.

  The building was all one room. The walls stretched on, and the opposing wall was marred by fog. Below him were five great machines which hummed with energy. Each machine was a great cylinder with countless moving parts that together produced a cacophony of bangs, buzzes and rings. A symphony of perpetual explosions. Workers ran from one machine to the other, so small that they resembled ants. These ants worked in grime and soot, while their boss watched from within a pristine palace. Despite the distance, Terran could see much with his keen eyes. These workers were thin and boney. One tripped over themselves, but as soon as he hit the ground, he was forced along by a fat man with a clipboard. None were resting, save for one poor soul behind lead out in a stretcher. The rest seemed in perpetual motion. Such loathsome conditions, Terran thought. It was a wonder these workers had not rebelled yet. Whoever owned this plant had a time bomb on their hands.

  Their miserable status could be useful… later. For now, Terran should return to his primary goal. Destabilize the city. Destroy the plant. The balcony continued into an elevated bridge that spanned the length of the building. Although the way forward was unclear, barred by steam and smog. Still, he could just make out the silhouette of a man. Terran approached slowly but surely, masking his steps by walking in cadence with exploding machines. Steam grew thicker as Terran neared. It mixed with sweat and smog, creating a noxious odor that made even he cringe.

  Soon, Terran was close enough to make out the man with some detail. A plump elder, he leaned against the railing as he casually smoked a cigar. Terran recognized him from the energy book. Charlov K. Gurne: the owner of this plant. Gurne did not notice Terran, even when the Dark Lord was mere meters behind him. He was too busy surveying his people, tapping his foot to the beat of that music Terran had heard earlier on the box.

  Terran coughed. Gurne looked his way, then his eyes grew wide as dinner plates. He tripped over himself, and may have fallen off the railing entirely if Terran weren’t there to catch him. “By the gods,” he said. “What are you?”

  “Quit your blithering.” Terran picked up the man, such that they were now at eye level. He smelled like perfume. The scent was strong. Too strong. Terran said, “I need this plant destroyed. Tell your workers to blow the boilers. Overrun them with steam. Nothing can remain.” If the books were right, this was the fastest way to destroy the factory. It’d be done long before any cops could arrive.

  “B-By the gods,” Gurne said. “Y-You’re a Dark Lord, aren’t you?”

  A Dark Lord? As if there were more than one. No. No. Such language was unacceptable. Terran brought his claws out. Gurne yelped like a scared puppy. “Do as I say,” Terran said. “Or else…”

  “Okay okay,” he said. “Lemme go back to the office. I can make the announcement from there.” Terran carried him by his collar as they made their way back to the office. Once inside, the man sighed at the stained rug. Terran let Gurne go, and he waddled towards the desk from which he got out a small microphone.

  “Do not make them suspicious,” Terran said, crossing his arms. He paced around the desk like a lion around its kill. “If you even hint at something being wrong, I will gut you. No tricks. Do you understand?”

  “What should I say?”

  “Exactly as I told you,” Terran said. “Do not deviate. Not a word.”

  “But-”

  Terran slammed his hands on the desk. “Do it!”

  Gurne pressed on the microphone. “I need this plant destroyed. Blow the boilers. Overrun them with steam. Nothing can remain.” He looked at Terran, frowning deeply. But then he sighed with relief. It seemed he thought the job was done.

  Terran lifted the man by his throat. “Why did you say it like that?”

  Gurne sobbed like a child. The fat man gagged out a reply whilst choking on his own spit and tears.“I said it just as you did. You told me not to deviate.”

  “Not like that,” Terran yelled. “The people will get suspicious.” He grumbled. Of course it wouldn’t work this way. The announcement had to be real. Terran marched back out to the balcony, dragging the blithering Gurne by his suit collar.

  “Stop,” Gurne begged, between bouts of crying. “I’ve done what you asked. Lemme go. Please! I’ll make it worth ya while. How would you like to own this building? No - better. Two buildings. I have one in Pansfinre that-”

  Terran hoisted Gurne up in one motion, so fast that the man briefly choked on his collar. Terran’s glare shut him up, as expected. This man was spineless, kind of like Derik. No, worse than that. Derik at least had skills. This man had nothing. He just led from his office while the true men toiled below. Gurne looked to the ground, unable to even look Terran in the eye. “What are we trying now?”

  “Don’t speak,” Terran said, bringing Gurne in front of him and putting a claw to the man’s plump throat. “Show me the central boiler.” A trembling hand pointed to a large machine at the far end of the power plant. It was twice the size of the other machines, and so there were naturally more workers near it compared to the others. These workers stood in a circle, chatting amongst themselves. That oaf’s message had confused them, no doubt. No matter. Terran was all too happy to provide clarification.

  Terran continued down the bridge, dragging Gurne behind him. He didn’t need to. A worker on standby could help with the boiler. But the man was their leader. Abusing him this way would put all those grunts in line. “You don’t even have to mess with the boilers,” Gurne said. Terran snapped his neck to face him, but Gurne continued. “I-I know. No talking. And I’m sorry. But I want to say something. Please let me say it.”

  Terran sighed, “Out with it.”

  “There’s a mechanism to make this whole place blow,” he said. “I can show you.”

  Terran stopped. They were now above the central boiler. He forced Gurne against the fence. “Show me,” he said. “This better not be a trick.”

  “It’s not,” he said, straining. “It’s not.” Gurne pointed to a valve at the top of the central boiler. It was isolated from everything else, but easy to spot thanks to the red paint. “See that mechanism down there? Turning that will release all the coal at once. I’d be too much. Fire will engulf this place.”

  “Everyone would die then.”

  “Not us,” Gurne said. “The fire starts below us. There’d be time to run out.”

  Terran sighed, “You’d turn on your own men?”

  “I would,” he said. “If you let me go, I can help you.”

  “I don’t see a point,” Terran gave a wide smile, and his pupils grew small. “You already told me what to do.” The life left Gurne’s face. He started begging again. Begging! Not even Derik begged this much. This man was no leader. He was rot. Rot which had infested this glorious city. Such rot could not be sustained. To hell with stealth. Terran was the Dark Lord. This power plant was his by birthright. It was best for him to assert himself, here and now.

  With Gurne in hand, Terran leapt off the ledge. Wind rushed past them, the roaring mixing with Gurne’s screams. The world passed them by in a rush. They slammed against the boiler, denting its metal. Terran’s strengthened legs absorbed the blow. He stood tall. Gurne fell behind Terran. His body slid off the boiler, then fell to the worker’s level. A guttural splat sounded when his form hit the ground.

  Damn it. Emotion had overwhelmed Terran again. Stupid emotion. Now the workers would know he was here. They’d scatter. The police would be notified. But the situation wasn’t unsalvageable. If Terran swiped a man, he could use him to destroy the boilers. The plant would be ash before the police were even notified. He had to act fast.

  Yet the workers were faster. Most had already bolted it for the exit. It seemed Terran was more visible from the top of the machine than he thought. Though most had fled, roughly twenty men remained in a half circle before the main boiler. They stayed in place, gazes locked on the dead Gurne. All were still. One clenched his fist. Others scowled. These weren’t mourners, no. There was contempt here. Contempt which overpowered the fear to run. Interesting. Most interesting. He crouched low to watch the men from above.

  A young man stepped up from the crowd. His biceps were large and his muscles hardened. Sunglasses covered his eyes. His hair was slicked back. He wore a leather jacket over his orange uniform. “See, I was right,” the greaser said, gesturing to the crowd with arms out wide. “Gurne was gonna get what’s coming to him.”

  “Don’t laugh at this,” a far older man said. He was skinnier than the greaser, though weak by no means. He had an unkempt beard and troubled eyes. The old man approached Gurne, then sighed. “Poor boss. I knew this would happen. Ya can’t just lean over the balcony like that. Easy way to sink the iron.” They thought Gurne had just fallen. That explained a lot. Somehow, they had missed Terran entirely. Terran glanced behind him. The red valve was there, the one that would overload everything. He could turn it now, but decided against it. These workers were intriguing, not instantly fleeing from death. Their contempt for the system was clear. Terran had been so focused on destabilizing the city before acquiring an army. Perhaps he could do both at once. Manipulating these fools would be easy work.

  One said, “Should we report it?”

  “Someone will,” the greaser Pisk said. He gave the corpse a good kick. Blood spread over his shoe. “Let’s have some fun…first.” He kicked again and again, blood smearing his legs and lower chest.

  The oldest among them, who seemed the most rational to Terran’s eye, pulled Pisk back. “By the Hero, have ya gone mad?”

  “Can it, Zolin,” Pisk yelled. He walked away from the body, brushing past Zolin as he did so. He gestured to the other men.“Like none of you ever wanted to do it to ‘im. It’s karma. Don’t lie. He deserves this.”

  “Maybe,” the older Zolin said, scratching his beard. He shook his head and backed away from the corpse. “But you could pay to show some respect. This was an accident. A horrible accident. Now it’ll look like… something else.”

  “What,” Pisk asked. “You mean murder?”

  “Aye.”

  “That’s exactly what it is,” Terran yelled, his booming voice echoing through the great chamber. He leapt down to the worker’s level. Stone cracked when he landed. Terran stood to face the workers. “Dark Lord Terran. Though I suppose the introduction is redundant.”

  Half the men ran. Ten remained, gazes fixed to Terran as they stood parlazyed in a crescent formation. Zolin’s face turned green. He stepped back on uneasy legs. “By the gods,” he said. “Wh-What is that thing?”

  “Why’s it matter?” Pisk asked. The greaser strode towards Terran, a sickening grin on his face. “Dude killed that rich bastard. Means he’s on our side.” He extended his hand for Terran to shake. The gall! Was this grunt brave or stupid? Terran had no idea. The lines often blurred together, especially for a youth.

  At any rate, these men had potential. Aside from Zolin, they all were of fighting age. Most had the sense to be dissatisfied with their loathsome conditions, yet none had the sense to fear Terran. A good basis for an army. Terran said, “I’ve seen your struggle. It pained me to see that man mistreat you. He got on my nerves too, so I disposed of him for you.”

  “That’s what I’m sayin’,” Pisk said. He turned back to the others. “This guy’s doin’ the work for us. I think it's time we practiced like I preached.” The other nine simply stayed, gaping at Terran. Fear held them in place. Terran had to act fast, before their senses got a hold of them.

  All Terran knew of these men was that they were a band of unsatisfied peasants. Best to play into that. “Do not be afraid,” he said, cringing as he said the line. “I am here for you. For our city. It has been corrupted by the wealthy, but together we can correct it.” That jargon seemed to pique their curiosity. Most stopped gaping at the very least. It was almost absurd. Were these people really that desperate? It couldn’t be this easy.

  Indeed, it wouldn’t. Zolin stared with a mix of skepticism and fear. The old timer was locked in position. Sweat pooled down his wrinkled forehead. He looked at Terran, then Gurne’s neglected corpse, then Terran again. Zolin managed to meet Terran’s glare. “What are you?”

  “Someone who sympathizes with your struggle,” said Terran. “I want the same as you.”

  “And what’s that?”

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “It’s as Gurne said.” Terran clenched his fist. His ancient fingers creaked, making the onlookers shiver. “I want this plant destroyed. Eviscerated. This monument to the wealthy can not stand. We shall destroy this coal plant, and in so doing destabilize the wealthy’s iron grip.”

  The men gasped at once. Terran sighed, “What?”

  The men backed away, though Zolin held his ground. “Y-you can’t be serious,” the old man said, meaty fist trembling. “This ‘ere’s a monument to working folk. We power this city, even if nobody respects us. That’s something worth keeping!”

  Terran resisted the urge to cackle. The fool was critiquing him. Such insolence, such stupidity. That’s why he hadn’t fled. Yet he had zeal. They all did. If molded, they would be the perfect replacement for his followers. But they had their damn standards. Worker’s rights, revolution, and all that nonsensical jargon. If Terran led them, he’d be forced to take the role of revolutionary. Though it wasn’t everyday that a group of fighting age men fell into your lap. An army would be vital for retaking the city. Playing into their dreams, at least for now, would give him that army. “My apologies,” Terran said, again cringing at the word. “I still have much to learn about the modern world. I saw you being worked like mules, and assumed you wanted an escape.”

  The men were silent for a moment. “We don’t,” said one of the younger ones. He couldn’t have been much older than twenty. “The work’s good work. We just want better conditions.”

  “Very well,” Terran said. “We will not destroy the coal plant.”

  Some murmuring began again. Aman at the back whispered to his friend. They exchanged nervous glances.Terran ordered one to speak. He got some judgmental looks, then sighed. “What troubles you?”

  The man was silent. Terran took a step. It rattled the ground. In one breath, the man said, “I-I-I recognize you. From the radio. They said you were just a force of death…killing passerbys in the dead of night. You’re only here to spread destruction.”

  He said that so fast, nobody seemed to have registered it. But Terran was still fast with an explanation. “Mere state propaganda. If you look into it, my plights are only with the upper class.” He nodded, hoping that nobody here had checked the true facts.

  “It’s true,” someone said. It was an indistinct part of the ten who did make themselves separate from the crowd.“My tailor’s aunt nearly got evicted from her home before the guy kicking her out became a victim. She’s still in that apartment. Whatever happened scared the government off!”

  The crowd got back to muttering. Not that the people were unhappy, per say. None scowled at least. Pisk jabbed Zolin’s side, who rolled his eyes. A strange gesture. A casual one. They were all rather casual about this in fact. None had even commented on Terran’s horrid form. Maybe these people weren’t fully sane. They were perfect. “Listen,” Terran said. “I am on your side.”

  Zolin tried to look Terran in the eye, but was unable, focusing on the boiler instead. The man looked so small against the sleeping giant. “So you aren’t destroying the plant? Then what’s the plan?”

  “Simple,” Terran said. “We will force change by spreading disorder. We shall usher in a glorious revolution. I will not destroy the coal plant, but it's best if we make it inoperable for a few week’s time.”

  “That we can do,” Zolin said, though he didn’t sound happy about it. He approached Terran, paying no heed to his putrid stench and mangled body. The elder instead pointed to a spot on the side of the boiler, about twenty meters out. “See that panel over there? There’s a thermal regulator inside. Very rare part. Replacin’ it would take awhile.”

  Thermal regulator. The books had said nothing about that one. Terran’s other plan would be better. “What about the kill valve?” Terran asked. “Could that be of assistance?”

  “The what?”

  “The kill valve,” Terran said, now unsure. He pointed to the top of the boiler. “The manager said that it could destroy this factory before his… accident. Could we repurpose it to disable the factory?”

  Pisk howled like a laughing dog, slapping his side and giggling over crazy. He jabbed two of his compatriots, who shoved him back, only for Pisk to wrap his arms around them. Terran marched up to him. His friends leapt back. Pisk did not. Terran leaned over the madman. “And what, pray tell, is so funny?”

  The maniac smiled wide, as if he did not realize how close he was to having his throat slit. “Gurne pulled one on ya,” Pisk said between snickers. “There is no kill valve. It’s got a cap!”

  The fat man had tricked him? Damn it. Terran hadn’t given him enough credit. Still, to be tricked in such a way. Such a humiliation! And in front of those he had to impress. Terran shook the thought aside. It did not matter. Not when Gurne was dead. “Let us do the first plan. Could you point it out again, Zolin?”

  Zolin did so again. Terran ran for it with Gifted speed. He was there in a flash. It was an unnecessary use of the power, for the panel wasn’t all that far. But the stunt was worth it, as his swiftness shocked the men into silence. There. That made up for his blunder. Terran ripped out the panel. He was greeted with a mess of wires which criss-crossed like veins in a body. They hummed with electricity. Terran looked to the others, “How does this work?”

  Zolin called out, “You see a blue wire?”

  “I think it’s a green one,” someone said. “You do the blue wire first.”

  “No no,” another said. “You—”

  The ten continued to debate it. Terran growled. There wasn’t even a green wire present. This puzzle was a waste of time, especially when the solution here was so obvious. He’d slice all wires, shutting the factory in one swoop. That would be sure to impress.

  Terran lifted his clawed hand. Cries of protest poured out, but they went ignored as Terran slashed against the thing. Upon contact, a flaming sensation shot down from his hand to his feet. Flesh charred and Terran was forced to the ground.

  Electricity. He knew it was vital, but never did he expect it to hurt. Such a powerful weapon. It really did put magic to shame. Brief contact had charred what little flesh remained in the hand. It reeked of cooked meat. Terran could no longer bend the middle finger on his left hand. That wasn’t normal, right? No matter. He’d worry about that later. Standing tall, Terran found his onlookers paralyzed once again. Even Pisk’s eyes were wide. They had clearly expected that to kill him. “I am fine,” Terran said. “There is nothing I can’t overcome.”

  Clop. Clop. Clop.

  Everyone looked back. Someone was approaching, despite all the other workers having fled already. Whoever this was had spoiled their cover. Terran sighed. Only one person was that dumb. “Yoo whoo,” Raven’s unmistakable voice called out. “Terran. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  “It’s Blackwell,” someone said. “Why’s she here?”

  “She’s here for me,” Terran said. “Scatter. I shall face her myself.”

  Zolin swallowed, “But-”

  “Do it,” Terran said, pointing back to the distant exit. “She cannot know we’re together.” They obeyed, though Zolin had to pull an unwilling Pisk along. That maniac might be trouble. But it was not the time to worry about him. There were more pressing matters.

  He rounded the boiler. There Raven was, sauntering in the empty space between this boiler and the next. She stopped at one of the dust-covered boilers. She rubbed her hand along it, then marveled at the dust which coated her hand. She coughed a bunch before moving on. Such a vulnerable position. It was an obvious bid to get Terran to atack. That brat thought she was so clever because of that book she had read. But Terran could not be read so easily. He would not fall for the trap.

  The Dark Lord would make his presence known, but it would be on his terms. Terran marched out there, approaching from a distance. Raven put her hand on her holster.“Terran,” she said. “What are the odds?”

  “I should’ve known we’d meet again,” Terran said. He rushed around the corner to face her head on. They now stood in front of separate boilers, and were several meters away from each other. Terran chose to keep his distance. “How are your injuries treating you? Is your flesh still burnt from that steam?”

  Her finger twitched. Slight, but clear. That comment got to her. She did not fire. She simply walked towards Terran, hand on her weapon. “Your plan won’t work,” Raven said.“There are fail safes here. Tons of redundancies. A hundred workers with their own parts to play. Someone of your skill could not destroy the coal plant alone.”

  There was a distant ladder behind Raven. Pisk and three others climbed up to the balconies. They wished to watch. Terran would give a spectacle. “Like I’d want to destroy this plant,” the Dark Lord said. “This place of modern working culture.”

  Raven stopped in her tracks. “Come now?”

  “You know what I’m talking about,” Terran said, marching towards Raven. He began transferring vinye to his legs. “The tyranny of the Blackwells is at an end. I shall retake the city from the wealthy’s iron grip.” Terran leapt mid-sentence, giving Raven no time to ponder how out of character that last remark was. She weaved out of the way. She got her gun out, but was slow on the trigger. Terran kicked it from her hand. That left him open to a punch. Raven’s vinye-charged attack sent Terran flying back.

  He landed on his feet, skidding to a stop. Terran was beside a stairwell, which led to a bridge between two boilers. He ran for it. Raven caught her gun off the floor. She aimed and fired. Terran focused vinye into his legs. He dodged each strike with ease. He waited. Bang! Bang! Click.

  The girl moved to get another gun. Terran leapt off the stairwell, ready to slit her throat. The girl dodged narrowly. His swipe hit her across the abdomen. She cried in pain. The Dark Lord grabbed her arm. She broke free, then leapt back for the stairwell.

  Terran sprung onto her, claws at the ready. He grabbed her by the arm, and whirled Raven around. The Dark Lord’s arms glowed. Vinye coarse through his veins. Such raw power. He was going to throw this brat straight into the boilers. The explosion would kill her this time.

  Raven dug her heels into the dirt. Her legs were aglow with a purple aura. Terran stopped, then stumbled ahead. A shot pierced his arm. He ducked low to dodge the next. Raven tried to shoot again, but Terran swatted the second gun from her hand.

  She gripped his forearm, and Terran growled. “You cannot win.”

  Terran leaned over her. The metal spikes of his armor stabbed her. Raven grabbed his shoulders, and pulled close. She shrieked in pain, the metal spikes now stabbing her. She fought through the pain. This got Raven close. Too close. She poured vinye into her fist, then punched Terran right in the chest.

  Flesh split as Terran was flung back. He landed on his face this time, but was quick to recover. Something snapped. A rib, perhaps? Scraps littered his body. Something black oozed from his left arm. Blood. Terran paused. He still bled?

  “I think I can manage a win,” Raven said, standing tall with arms akimbo. “I’m doing pretty good so far.” That grin. That pose. Terran growled. Did this girl have any emotion besides idiotic hubris? Once more, he charged towards Raven. She charged back, seeming ready to strike his left. Terran guarded the side. But then Raven slipped past him, diving back around. They ran past each other.

  Terran growled, and charged again. The same thing happened. Raven slipped past him, and both ran off without striking. Raven shrugged.

  They charged once again. This time, nobody would get away. Terran would rip her to pieces if he had to. He moved to attack her right. That’s when she striked. In a flash, she delivered a nasty uppercut to Terran’s left side.

  Everything flashed white.

  A crack sounded, like a hundred. Terran was thrown back. He hit the ground twice before slamming into a far-side wall. Prying himself off, Terran hit the floor with a thud. The world shook. Everything rang.

  He tried to stand, only for his weak arms to give way. Not that it mattered. Terran’s left foot was twisted such that it pointed back. Pain flared with every minuscule movement. Even if his arms weren’t weak, standing would be impossible.

  Raven was but a figure in the distance. She took her sweet time, laughing as she said some sour remark which Terran could not discern over the ringing in his ears. Harsh winds blew towards her, taunting Terran as they stung his skin. His eyes. His very face…

  Wait a minute…

  Terran felt his chin. He could feel his rough skull. The lower left portion of his helmet, from his lower cheek to his chin, had been obliterated. Skin was exposed to the elements. No. No. No. It couldn’t be. Not the helmet. Anything but the helmet. This armor. H-He needed it. He needed it!

  Raven blurred in Terran’s vision. He had to stand. Had to get away. But his legs protested. Everything hurt. His strength was leaving him. But he wasn't dying. He couldn’t be dying. His helmet was still on his head. The armor still kept his soul bound to his body.

  This wasn’t it. No, it couldn’t be it. Please. Terran still had more to do. What a waste it would be if his pitiful attempt failed. He had to move!

  But what if he did? Raven stood whilst he struggled to even crawl. She could kill him with ease. This was it. He was going to die. All this was in vain. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t…

  No. No. A leader did not succumb to such loathsome thoughts. Terran was above that. He began to move, despite his protesting form. He reached out with a trembling hand, then pulled himself forwards along his aching belly. Then he did it again. And again, going through the same agonizing motion multiple times.

  Each time, he gained a mere inches. Ground one could walk in an instant. But there had to be some place he could hide. There! A metal grate in the distance. Low on the floor, maybe unseen by Raven who was still far. That was it, his only hope.

  “You can’t win Terran,” Raven cried from far away. “I’ve got you.” She raised her weapon, and fired. The shot pierced Terran’s back. Then another. And yet another. But Terran did not stop. Iron pellets would not stop him. He’d never give in, not even if Death himself loomed besides Raven to guide her bullets. The bangs became noise. Pain grew dull. Escape was all there was.

  Another bullet whizzed past Terran’s side. Then a click. “You really aren’t gonna stop, huh?” Raven asked. “Well, guess we just gotta do it the old fashioned way.”

  She kneeled forwards, no doubt to transfer vinye into her legs. Terran looked at his own trembling hand. Perhaps if he strengthened it, he could beat her back with one momentous punch. Such force may disintegrate his hand, but it gave him a chance to scurry away. He had to try. Giving in was not an option…

  A metallic lurch echoed as machinery strained above them. Raven and Terran looked up. A pipe by the central boiler gave way. Gallons of and smoke poured out, coating the battlefield in toxic mist. Five silhouettes rushed to Raven, hollering about a demon which chased them. They went in front of her, blocking her from Terran’s view. “H-Hey,” she yelled. “Get back!”

  Zolin and some peasant came to Terran. They dragged him towards the grate. They opened it. There was a narrow tunnel about a foot deep which led on into darkness. “This will take you to the sewers,” Zolin said. “Take it ya know your way from there.”

  Terran moved slightly. The men cringed, letting go, and Terran fell into the pit. He bit back his pride. It was not time to belabor that transgression. “Why are you helping me? You do not even know that I am a man.”

  “Anyone who’s an enemy of the Blackwells is an enemy of ours,” Zolin said. “We’re still not fully sure, but we know that.” The peasant besides Zolin nodded with support. Strong comradery. Yes, there was potential here. Potential prime for exploitation.

  “We must meet again,” Terran said, cringing slightly at his own voice. It was not as fearsome with his jaw partly exposed. “I can convince you of my cause. Do you know where the…legendary hero statue is? In the Historical District?”

  The peasant asked, “Which one?”

  There were multiple? Terran cast the thought aside. It wasn’t relevant. “The one by the blacksmithery? Near nothing of importance.”

  “I know the one,” Zolin said.

  “Good,” Terran said. “There is a way to the sewers nearby. Let us meet there in twelve hours.” Yes, twelve hours. That should give Terran ample amount of time to crawl if need be. His bad foot would not get better, so he may very well have to.

  “Terran!” Raven yelled. “I know you’re there! We’re not finished!” Raven. She was almost through the steam. Terran’s new followers did well to keep her back, but they could only do so much when Raven was shoving them aside.

  The men covered the pit with the grate, then covered that with some wood. Terran was left alone in the dark. Thunderous footsteps shook the tunnel. “The demon,” Raven yelled. “Which way did it go?”

  “This way ma’am,” a shrill voice said. It was Zolin, but Terran hardly recognized the old timer. The man knew how to mimic fear. A shove, then a grunt, and the thunderous footsteps died down. Then, there was silence. The tunnel before him was a foot tall. It was roughly as wide as his shoulders. A stream of trek flowed through. So vile. So cramped. But Raven and the police would turn this place upside down in search of him. Terran had to be gone.

  With a hefty sigh, the Dark Lord shimmied through the tunnel. He gained ground inch by inch. Mud soaked his chest and Terran swore he could feel it rusting. All was black. There was no sound either. No life desired this sinkhole. Not even a rat or beetle. The tunnel walls turned to dirt. Then the dirt turned to mud. Moisture dripped down from the ceiling. A drop splattered onto Terran’s exposed chin. It itched long sealed skin. Terran wished to scratch, but he couldn’t with his arms stuck behind him. He had to shuffle on. When one droplet fell, another took its place. Terran cursed the tunnel. Diveky engineers were scum. They couldn’t even be bothered to pad their drainage pipe. Such laziness would never be when he took charge. For now though, he could only shuffle along through the muck. Progress soon halted. Terran’s heart skipped a beat. His arms had gotten stuck.

  He thrashed about like a caged animal. Ten seconds. Nothing. Twenty. No. Please, he had to keep going. The armor was still on. This tunnel would not kill him. Yet he could get stuck. That would be worse than death. Terran continued his thrashing. Stone shifted. Then he was through. After taking a second to pant, Terran continued on.

  He had to get out of here, lest he actually become stuck.

  A warmth soon swelled within Terran’s chest. Not a pleasant warmth, but this aching gnawing feeling — his soul was begging to get out. To stand. And yet, the darkness did not waver. There were more moments when Terran feared he was stuck. Each time, he’d free himself with bouts of maddened thrashing. It took longer each time. Getting trapped was a true possibility. Terran tried to distract himself with thoughts of the future. His inevitable return to the black throne. Himself restoring Diveky. Righting all the wrongs he had seen. He was setting this twisted modernity aflame and creating something new but beautiful in his image. A combination of old and now.

  Terran moved over something warm. He cringed, realizing it was a living thing. Something which recently died. It felt soft and furry. A rat. It stayed under him even as Terran continued on. Terran sighed. Try as he might, he could not leave the dirt.

  Raven would pay for his humiliation. When Terran took the city, he’d kill everyone she loved and respected. Then Terran would do to her all those twisted things that had been done to him. Maybe he’d even revive the lost magic and get her armor. Yes, he’d make her immortal. Death would not save the pitiful Raven Blackwell from her future torment. And only when she begged for mercy, groveled before him, would Terran throw the brat’s pitiful form into the harbor. Terran focused on that final image, letting it infest his brain like a weed. So many elaborate ways to get back on her, to earn his vengeance. His pitiful misery was but a temporary setback on his inevitable road to greatness. After an eternity of wallowing on this, Terran was finally blessed by something different: light. The end of the tunnel. Freedom. Terran rushed for it, ignoring the bits of metal and stone jabbing his flesh. Soon he would be out. Almost there….

  Terran fell into muck. Liquid seeped into him through the cracks in his armor. Dirty water licked Terran’s black heart. He tried to stand, but was unable. His knees were weak, and his left foot was now mangled beyond use. A figure appeared before him, standing stiff as could be several feet away. Brown hair, tan skin, silver eyes. Raven! Terran cursed himself. Had all that really been for nothing? No. She had yet to taunt him. This was someone else…

  The woman’s face was rounder. She had a long scar which stretched across her forearm. A scar Terran had given her. This wasn’t Raven. It was Gratia, everyone’s precocious hero. She shook her head, but said no more before fading into a puff of smoke.

  Terran was on his own. He crawled onto the brick bank of the sewage river. He used the wall for support and channeled vinye into his legs. He tried to stand. His bad leg snapped. Terran fell. Sighing once again, the Dark Lord began the arduous crawl back to safety.