Bart

  Keith was giving everything he had to hold Dad back. Steve was running low on stamina and had to keep taking frequent breaks. I asked Powers how much magic he had left.

  “I got a bunch of mana. It regenerates pretty fast. Let’s go.”

  I grabbed his offered hand, got up, and followed him. My health was not quite full, but it would have to do. I was moving slower than I wanted to, running on coffee I drank 20 years ago. I could only hope my stamina and magic would refill enough for this conflict.

  I pulled my machete and hatchet free of the deerbear and dismissed the notifications to loot the body. I felt bad for killing it, and I hoped we wouldn’t have to kill the next one. I felt they could be avoided.

  Now to face my dad.

  “Hey!” I shouted. “Dad! That’s enough! Leave them alone!”

  He turned to face me. My companions had only a second to rest, then he lunged and stabbed four fingers of his right hand right into Keith’s chest, exploding out his back.

  “NO!” I shouted and then charged.

  Pow was keeping his distance and started shooting Dad with electricity. Each shock had a minor stunning effect as well as causing damage.

  Dad dropped Keith, shaking the gore from his fingers, looking at me, challenging me to bring it on.

  Steve took a knee next to Keith and started trying to plug the wounds using whatever he could find as bandages.

  Somehow, Starla showed up just in time and started licking Keith’s wounds.

  I struck first and struck hard, swinging the machete with vengeance. I timed my strike just right. A lightning bolt from Pow stunned my dad just long enough for my machete to slice deeply into his chest. The lightning stun effect was short, and as soon as the effect wore off, Dad backhanded me with so much force it felt like getting hit by a truck. Have you ever watched one of those slap competitions where the two people just stand there and slap each other as hard as they can and one of them finally gets hit so hard he drops like a bag of bricks?

  While I was down, Pow hit Dad again and again. After each strike, my dad got closer and closer to me, completely ignoring Pow. Apparently, he thought I was the real threat.

  I got up and charged again, timing my strike with Pow’s bolts. This time I used the hatchet, and again, I made contact, burying that blade deep into the other side of his chest. He tried to backhand me again, but I blocked. I could tell there was less power in that strike than in the one before.

  I noticed my magic bar was about halfway full. It had to be enough. I cast Whisper on him, almost completely depleting my magic bar. I heard the winds reach out and whisper, “Whhhiiiillllll---aaaammmm.”

  Man, this is a creepy spell.

  He froze. He transformed back into human form. I quickly got behind him and put him in a sleeper hold. He didn’t struggle for the first 30 seconds. When he regained his senses, he went haywire.

  “Hit him again with your shock spell!” I yelled at Pow.

  “It might hurt you too!”

  “DO IT!” I screamed. “Charge it up for a few extra seconds, then DO IT!”

  Pow did as I asked and built up the charge before casting. I felt the waves of electricity course through me, but Dad definitely got the brunt of the damage.

  “Can you do it again?!” I struggled to keep the grip as we went to our knees. He had to be losing blood to the brain.

  “I think so—”

  “DO IT, DAMNIT! DO IT!”

  Pow hit us hard. The surge was so strong my bladder released, and Dad’s flailing finally ceased. I held him for another thirty seconds, then I dropped his limp body to the ground.

  “Watch him! If he gets up, build your spell up even more and hit him with everything you've got!”

  I hurried over to Keith.

  “He’s not doing well,” Steve said.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  I moved Starla over so I could triage Keith’s wounds. It was bad. He had puncture wounds in his left lung, his stomach, his liver, and his bowels.

  I couldn’t heal him; my magic only worked on me. He couldn’t heal himself; his magic only worked on others. Starla’s magic was effective for cuts and small wounds, but she just didn’t have enough magic for wounds this deep.

  I lifted his head off the ground. “Steve, check our packs and see if there is any water in there. It’s not much, but every bit helps. Starla, come here, sweetie. Keep doing what you can for him, okay?”

  We tried to pour some water into his mouth, but it just ran out. I checked his pulse, and it was critically slow. He was barely breathing.

  “Keith, buddy,” I tried to wake him up. “We need you to hold on until we get you some help.”

  I didn’t know Keith well, but he was part of my crew. I was responsible for him and the rest of the guys with me. I had now lost Jeremy, and I was about to lose Keith. It stung. Memories flooded my mind from the explosion in Afghanistan. I lost my team there too. I wanted to cry, but I had to hold back the tears. I had to be strong.

  I sat there rocking. Steve sat beside me, eyes watering. Pow monitored my dad but kept glancing at us.

  I didn’t hear Keith breathing anymore.

  The silence hit all of us. No more wheezing breaths; no spark behind his blood-streaked eyes. Just... stillness.

  I lowered his head gently, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I checked his pulse one last time. Nothing.

  Starla whimpered beside me; her muzzle streaked with blood. She nudged Keith’s face again, confused, desperate, but even she seemed to know the truth.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered to Keith, to Starla, to the guys, to myself.

  Pow edged closer, taking his eyes off Dad’s body for just a moment. “Is he—?”

  “He’s gone,” I said, and I hated the certainty in my voice.

  Steve didn’t speak. He just sat there, arms wrapped around his knees, face buried. No sobbing, no screaming, just a quiet breakdown.

  I wanted to scream. To lash out. My machete still hung from my fingers, slick with blood, but what good was it now?

  Behind us, Dad’s body twitched.

  Pow bristled. “He moved.”

  I scrambled to my feet, yanking my weapon up, heart thudding like war drums. But Dad didn’t rise. Just a spasm, maybe a dream twitch.

  “Keep your distance,” I told Pow. “If he moves again, light him up like it’s the Fourth of July.”

  Pow nodded, hands crackling.

  I turned back to Keith and knelt again. My crew was falling apart. I was falling apart. We were all battered, drained, running on fumes and desperation. I could feel my magic trying to rebuild itself—slowly.

  If only I’d been faster. Stronger. If my healing worked on others. If I had chosen a different lineage. If Dad hadn’t turned into a damn monster.

  I hated this new world. The rules, the system. I hoped it wasn’t just a game to whatever entity was controlling everything.

  I looked at Pow and Steve. “We’re not losing anyone else,” I said with sudden resolve.

  Steve looked up, his eyes hollow but alert.

  “Grab what you can,” I said. “Water, cloth, food. Check Dad’s body—maybe he’s carrying something y’all can use. We’re going to survive this. No matter what it takes.”

  Pow nodded and moved over to Dad cautiously.

  Steve stood up slowly, wordless, but ready. He inventoried our gear.

  Starla was still trying to heal Keith.

  I wished she could.

  I scooped her up and thanked her for trying, grabbed a water bottle and poured it into her mouth.

  “Once you have what you need, get going. I don’t think we’ll survive another fight. Not in our current condition. Get to the boat and get those guys some help, then come back here and help me.”

  They obeyed silently, like dutiful soldiers.

  I sauntered to the dead deer bear thing and got a loot notification.

  “Yes,” I said.

  Hopefully, I could use this stuff effectively. I got to work on the body, carving as respectively as I could.

  While performing the field dressing, I couldn’t help but think about this situation. I was still dumbfounded. I had just choked out my father. I couldn’t believe we were fighting freaks of nature. I couldn’t believe magic had entered our world, screwing everything up.

  I felt pissed. I wanted to quit. I wanted to break down and cry. I wanted to run.

  “NO!” I growled.

  I’m not giving up.

  Not now.

  Not ever.