To the left. To the right. Demund’s eyes darted around, watching out for any potential aggravators.

He’d been away from school for quite some time, including winter break. If there was anything different, it was that he biked to school now, and Enariss no longer was around. He’d been worried that the small traces of hostility would worsen—the soft snickers would turn into mocking, and the scornful eyes would begin to take physical action.

But the whole day, there had been none of that. None at all. It made him unsettled instead, and he wondered what had happened. What made it worse were the strangers who said hello to him, who sent him smiles instead of smirking—the change in attitudes made him alert. Was it a ploy? Did they mean to make him let his guard down?

Or maybe...he’d become popular?

He still remembered the day when he’d won the relay race against Enariss. The cheering, the whooping, the high-fives, and recognition had made him swell with pride and happiness. He’d forgotten about that feeling after transferring classes, but maybe—maybe something had changed. Edan knew him now, and he’d been pretty cool at the party if he said so himself. He was becoming one of the ‘cool guys.’

Or it was just all a trap. He couldn’t tell.

It had been too long since he’d visited the MMA Club, but now that his project was over, he knew he had to go there to meet Riley and Rhyne. He went out of the school building, one foot heavier than the other as he headed towards the club building. It looked busy as usual, and despite going there right after his classes had ended, he was not the early ones to arrive. The fighting rings were limited, and the club ran on a first-come-first-serve basis.

Some people glanced at him when he entered but otherwise paid him no mind. He searched around to look for his friends, but to his surprise, someone had spotted him first.

“Demund!” Edan called, walking up to him. He was in a dark tank top that highlighted his muscles. Seeing him without the expensive attire was more intimidating for some reason.

“What’s up,” Demund replied. “I knew I’d seen you around here.”

“Yeah. It’s the only place where we’re allowed to use our abilities, after all.”

Demund nodded. When the school had learned about the new tricks he’d learned, he’d had to register everything—well, omitting some powers—to the database, going through several sheets of paper. Abilities that could affect the environment were generally not allowed on campus.

“Whatcha up to?” Edan asked. “Cool of you to participate with a missing leg.”

“I manage somehow,” Demund said. “Have you seen Riley and Rhyne?”

“Those two? They’re where they’re always at,” Edan said, pointing towards a corner where the weights and machines were. “But before you go, want to join me?”

“Join you?”

“Yeah. I’m leading a workout team.”

“Well…”

Demund peered through the crowd, trying to spot his friends. He couldn’t see them, but they were probably behind there somewhere.

“How long?”

“Thirty minutes at least, and you can’t leave halfway.”

“Can’t leave?”

“Quitting is for losers, right?” Edan humphed. “Regardless of whether you can finish the workout or not, you have to keep trying.”

Demund flinched. “I guess.”

“So—are you coming or not? Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Thirty minutes. He had plenty of time to join his friends later.

“Alright, I’ll try the thirty-minute workout,” Demund accepted, taking out his phone to message his friends.

“I’m giving you special treatment,” Edan winked.

“Thanks. But why?”

“You’re smart, and by the looks of it, also pretty fit. I think you’ll fit right in with us.”

Demund didn’t have anything more to say other than a simple “thanks.” Something about Edan’s expression was strange—was it expectation? He hadn’t known the guy for long, and he wasn’t sure why he was receiving so much consideration all of the sudden. It wasn’t a bad feeling though. He liked being relevant.

“Everyone, this is Demund,” Edan introduced to the group of fit, popular-looking guys. “He’ll join us for our workout session. Do you want to introduce yourself?”

Someone’s eyes had widened, then narrowed again. Davis. It was the large guy who’d pestered him to battle with him. He seemed out of place. Demund looked away to the others, who examined him.

“Hey, I’m Demund,” Demund said. “Nice to meet you. Let’s see how tough the workout is.”

Some guys smiled. They didn’t look like kind smiles. Looking at everyone more closely, their bodies looked toned and athletic.

His own body—not so much. He hadn’t particularly worked out recently.

“Right. Let’s begin. Go get a mat, Demund. Hey, make room for the newcomer.”

Demund quickly got his mat and placed it in between two other guys, right in front of Edan. He led the session.

Something felt off. He felt like he was trapped, surrounded by these people he didn’t know well.

“Welcome to hell,” someone muttered behind him. He looked back. The guy was grinning.

“Try not to embarrass yourself,” said the guy next to him.

An old memory began to crawl into Demund’s mind. Rhyne had mentioned this group before. He didn’t remember much, but his initial impression hadn’t been...good.

Demund looked at Edan, who was stretching. Then he realized that he hadn’t been told the workout routine.

“Alright. Let’s begin. Fifty squats!” Edan declared. “Just copy me.”

By the tenth minute, Demund had resorted to circulation. These people weren’t slowing down at all; set after set, they labored on. Sweat poured down his forehead and back, and the mat below him was starting to get slippery. Besides Edan, who briefly shouted the next workout, no one spoke. Only the sound of huffing and heavy breathing and body heat could be felt around him.

It was nowhere close to what Shaden had done, but as Demund, his muscles screamed to rest. Every time, he’d increase his circulation until the pain died down. It was only natural; recently, the only workout he’d done was running and stretches. Some pushups and situps if he felt like it. Circulating constantly had slowed his muscle loss, but he would have collapsed from muscle fatigue halfway.

But he had a strong heart. And the muscles he lacked, he made up with circulation. By the twentieth minute, he knew he’d fall over if he stopped circulating, but his reserves were sufficient. Months of practice had increased his mana pool, and he was reaping the results. He gritted his teeth and moved on—from legs, to the stomach, to the back, to the chest, to the arms. It was closer to a warmup than a workout, but the lack of rest made it seem worse than anything he’d done before. It made him remember the times when Enariss had pushed him to his limits.

But unlike then, he had mana by his side.

Despite his head buzzing with blood, he noticed the people around him making pained expressions. He did as well, but he was worse off physically than them, so he wondered why. His prosthetic leg knee didn’t help during knee-bending situations, and his left leg was dying because of it. He was taking on twice as much stress as them. So why were they in pain?

Someone had already stopped—Wane. A few were lagging. Demund focused on Edan, copying every movement—he’d gotten an earful because of that by the squadron in the other world. He knew what muscles to move, that joins to bend. At this point, he could feel his heart trying to give him nausea, causing a red haze to form in his vision, but circulating made his mind clear. And he still had a lot of juice to spare.

He thought he heard Edan groan. The guy was more incredible than he’d thought, leading this group and all. Smart, rich, and athletic.

Demund didn’t want to lose—even if it wasn’t a competition. Because thirty minutes had passed, and the guys around them were stopping one by one. And they watched the ones that remained—until it was just Edan, Demund, and three others.

“Final set—” Edan announced.

They completed it without fail, and when Edan fell on his mat, his chest heaving up and down, Demund did the same, though he was trying his best not to undo his circulation. He knew that if he did, he’d be in for more pain than he was comfortable with. Every part of his body was vibrating, steaming with rawness and torn muscles, screaming for help.

“Fifty minutes, damn!” one of the surviving students said, wiping his face. “Trying to kill us, Edan?”

“Sorry, sorry, I went a little overboard,” Edan grinned, breathing deeply, his head down on the mat. “That was a good workout. Hey, you made it, didn’t you?”

“Somehow,” Demund replied weakly. “A lot of people stopped though.”

“Yeah—I went overboard.”

Edan slowly got up, stretching his body. He looked relaxed and passive, but other thoughts were clouding in Demund’s mind.

Had the guy wanted to see how far he could have gone? Had he wanted him to quit? Then why mention that quitting was for losers? Maybe he was overthinking things. After being among brute soldiers, the negative thoughts had increased, but at least they were straightforward. Here, he wasn’t sure.

It was a good workout, he decided. Edan hadn’t been hostile to him. Looking at the things he’d done beforehand, Demund felt bad for doubting the guy.

“You okay?”

Demund took Edan’s hand, who hoisted him up. “Yeah,” he replied, wiping his brow. “That was bad. Really bad. Do you do this every day?”

“Well, I wish we could.”

“You’re joking.”

“Keep it at thirty minutes, please.”

“He wants us to be spaghetti—”

Complaints rose from all over, and Edan raised his hand apologetically. “Okay, okay, I went too far today. But the newcomer beat most of you, didn’t he?”

At that, they all shut their mouths, some shrugging. The ones who had finished looked somewhat proud of themselves.

“Who wants to waste energy on this?”

“I have a leg workout reserved.”

Again, excuses rose. Not directly at Edan, but amongst themselves. Demund caught some—others didn’t reach his eyes.

“You can stay for other things,” Edan told Demund. “But we’re done with the main event. Care to join us every day?”

“Maybe,” Demund said, “but I’m not a fan of torture.”

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Edan laughed.

Demund looked at the clock. Forty-three minutes. His runs were never that long. He shrugged, still circulating.

“Anyway, thanks for the workout,” Demund smiled. “I gotta go to them now.”

He’d spotted his friends watching at a distance, doing weights. They’d seen his message.

“Might as well bring them over,” Edan suggested.

“We’ll see. Maybe next time,” Demund answered, remembering his friends’ not-so-positive attitude towards Edan’s group. He hadn’t particularly liked them either, though he hadn’t known Edan back then.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Edan shrugged. “You can go now. Don’t worry about the mat—we’ll clean it up later.”

Demund nodded, heading to Riley and Rhyne. They were expecting him, and he felt glad when he was finally around people he could relax with. It was never forceful when he worked out with them; it was motivating, and he wanted to feel that again. After living in Fort Avagal, he’d yearned for some light-hearted, imperfect training, workouts that could be done without pressure.

His body was worse here, but his heart felt freer. It was a strange feeling.

“Dang, Demund,” Rhyne clapped. “You’re a mad lad.”

“Mad lad?”

“It means you’re crazy,” Rhyne grinned. “What the heck? I never knew you were so—so—”

“Athletic?” Riley added.

“No, not that word. The other word—”

“Vigorous?”

“Yeah, vigorous! Dang, I dunno if I could do it for that long.”

“Well, we never tried.”

“Would hate to go on for an hour. That’s crazy.”

“More like forty,” Demund corrected, “but yeah, it sucked. You guys know Edan, right? He wants you to join if you want.”

Both of his friends’ faces scrunched up at that sentence, and Rhyne snorted through his nose, lifting his dumbbell.

“I know you don’t like gossiping,” Rhyne said. “But, well, dunno about you, but that’s the kind of group my parents want me to stay away from.”

“Same,” Riley said. “Even the teachers know they drink at his parties. Which is why the popular kids want to go there.”

Demund scratched his cheek. “Dang. Will I get into trouble if someone finds out that I—you know?”

“Probably. You’ll get an earful,” Riley told him. “They’ll tell your parents at least.”

Turning his head, Demund glanced back at Edan’s group, who had continued on with other workouts. They all looked so hard-working, motivating each other, clapping and grinning and hooting. His friends were right on one hand, but was Edan’s group really that bad?

“Oh well, I’d rather be with you guys,” Demund shrugged. “It’s been a while since I’ve come here.”

“No, duh. Welcome back,” Rhyne grinned. “By the way, where’s Enariss? I haven’t seen her around.”

“Oh, her. She went to the Islands.”

“The Islands? You mean the Preliminary Islands?”

“Yeah. According to her, she’ll be staying there for…a couple of months?”

“Oh. Dang. Sounds fun.”

His friend was trying to be cool about it, but Demund could sense the disappointment in his voice.

Maybe this was a good thing. Time would let them figure out their emotions since Demund didn’t know whether or not he genuinely liked Enariss or not. She was like a hero to him, someone who’d pushed him through the darkness, someone who’d lent a hand to him when he’d been at his lowest. He liked her—but their positions were different.

He knew that if they began dating, it wouldn’t last long.

“Want to do biceps with us?” Riley offered. “Today is bicep day.”

“That, I can do,” Demund grinned. “Urgh, my body’s starting to hurt all over.”

“Visit the infirmary later?”

“Sounds good.”

He was back. No longer were the tiring hours of preparation, the stress of competition that had strained his nerves. He could relax now with his friends. He still had studying to do, but he was used to that now. It was time to return to his routine again.

Only, without Enariss. That was sure to be a large hole in his life.

Demund began to curl his arms with his friends, circulating to keep himself from falling over from fatigue.

⤙ ◯ ⤚

It was becoming much, much colder now, and the sight of falling snow had become common at the fortress. Mornings were usually spent shoveling snow out of the courtyard and roads to warm their bodies before breakfast, and the slow ones were shouted at.

Shaden had thought the cold would make people more sluggish, as it usually did at school, but here, the frost was like whips, lashing the soldiers to move faster. The captains’ voices were a degree louder now, and whoever appeared to be sleepy was quickly punished with a kick in the shin, hard enough to make them grimace in pain despite the thicker clothing. One of them was Nicar, whose activity was shooting through the roof.

“Faster, men! Let the snow pile, and you still stumble when the beastmen attack,” Nicar yelled.

She was one of the people who followed every protocol by the letter, but no one could complain. Even as she yelled, she was shoveling as much, if not more snow than the other men. Shaden still didn’t like hearing her loud voice, and he still had a bad image of her, but she was a hard worker. He could respect that at least.

“Hey, kid. Can’t you use some of that magic of yours?” Gel sighed, sticking his shovel into the hard ground. “I hate sweating in the mornings.”

“Don’t rely too much on him,” Enov muttered. “But a peaceful, eventless morning sure would be nice. A cup of warm milk, sitting by the fire, ah, my chest is warm. Come on, get moving!”

“I think the whole courtyard would be too much, even for him,” Dilli said, throwing a pile to the side.

“It would be nothing compared to the time when he restored my leg,” Patran said proudly. “You only see that in children’s stories.”

“I believe it would be very possible for him to empty the courtyard,” Geloi nodded.

Hinz was the only one who didn’t say anything. There was still an uncomfortable tension between him and Shaden, though it was mostly him acting like Shaden didn’t exist. He was a stubborn man true to his word. Shaden didn’t like him at all, because quite often, he’d eavesdrop on Hinz complaining about his minor mistakes, or how he did this when he should have done that. Lately, the reproachful remarks towards him were rare, mostly Hinz talking to himself. Shaden had managed to win the soldiers over with his magic, and they were treating him like a resourceful companion.

“Now, now, we are doing this for a reason,” Pillen said, shoveling a generous amount of snow. “Alertness and energy. Keep that in mind.”

“Maybe I could remove the snow, and everyone else could do other exercises,” Shaden proposed. “Honestly, moving snow around doesn’t do much.”

“He’s right.”

“He says the truth.”

“Sir, we could be running. Or practicing.”

“It’s about the dedication, men,” Pillen told them, though with less certainty.

“It would be good to ask the Lord Commander.”

“I believe so too.”

“Shaden will only be here for less than a year. Don’t rely too much on him.”

“Then we should enjoy the opportunity while it lasts.”

Eventually, Pillen relented, and a promise was given to the soldiers. And consequently, from the very next day, Shaden began to clear the courtyard of snow, and in turn, the soldiers began their day off with running. His presence had affected everyone at the fortress, and there was no one who didn’t know about him now.

It was simple enough to clear the snow, so he began to experiment with his magic. He’d sometimes melt it with heat, scoop it up with telekinesis, turn it into water, flatten it into the ground (a bad idea, since it had caused the floor to become very slippery), turn it into a giant snowman, and whatever came to mind. He was enjoying himself. He knew what to do now, and everything he did was easy. He never sweated, and he could take long, warm baths while the others doused themselves quickly. He slept in peace while the others shivered. Though, no one knew about that. Who knew what more they’d ask of him. He’d allowed himself to be used, though he didn’t want to bear too much of a responsibility.

Looking back, he should have done this earlier. Without caring about what he was told to do, he should have done everything to make himself comfortable, because he had the ability to do so. Pain and suffering had increased his tolerance, especially for his waking self, but he didn’t feel like it had done much. Even without the irritating experience, he knew he would have been resilient.

Now, people knew him and what he could do. A small part, but he didn’t have to reveal everything. Just enough to be comfortable.

Then, the first day of the Winter Trials began.

⤙ ◯ ⤚

It was a long and quiet march. As if they’d been put under a spell, the entirety of the soldiers was quiet—only the sound of faint steps in the snow could be heard. It was terribly cold too; while the snow had stopped falling, the wind was like icy daggers on their skin.

Though that didn’t matter to Shaden anyway. He comfortably trod along, warm in his clothes and more importantly, magic. He didn’t have to use much anyway. Simply walking was enough to make his body hot.

The fortress had been abandoned, and apparently, another Commander or General from the west (the city of Enthimer, Shaden had heard) would occupy it. It made sense why the soldiers of Fort Avagal were so careless about personal belongings, because every winter, the more things they had, the worse it would be for them. Items left behind would likely be stolen, and items taken would be damaged. They were heading towards a life-and-death situation, and if they died, their belongings would be shared amongst the remaining soldiers or be sent to their families if anyone cared. Patran had explained this to him, so Shaden had brought everything he had on him along, including his white wyvern cloak and boots and everything from Nafar. It had increased his load twofold, but that wasn’t a problem for him.

What he did worry about was his flute. There was the danger of it cracking if it became too dry, and the weather was sure to damage it. He’d oiled it thoroughly and was using his magic to check it now and then, but when training began, he wondered if it would stay intact. It would be terrible if it broke.

They marched on, and Shaden was wondering how they would all climb the mountain when they began to go sideways, along the cliffs. Those on horses scouted ahead, and the Commander himself was riding on one, positioned relative to the center of the army. The man was old, but he showed no signs of faltering.

“Rest!” the Commander’s speaker would announce, and they’d sit and catch their breaths for ten minutes before they set out again. Eventually, a long way from the cliff Shaden had climbed, they entered a deep ravine that slanted upwards, heading into the mountains—towards beastman territory. A battle would be unavoidable. Shaden watched out for enemies lest he made a mistake again. Every few minutes, he’d feel the Commander’s subtle magic flash out, touching everything in the vicinity. His sons’ and daughter’s detection waves were more noticeable.

They hadn’t asked for his help. Then again, he wouldn’t be here later on. Still, he was wary, determined to be the first one to spot out the enemy.

They ascended, and the wind grew worse. Everyone’s hands and faces were red and caked with ice. Still, they continued, not a single person letting out a voice of complaint. This was only the beginning—the worst was far to come.

Under the stars, they walked. When morning came, they pushed on—sleeping out here would mean death. They had supplies to set camp with, but they were not for the initial journey. Without sleeping, they walked—and Shaden was counting his eight-hundred and twenty-sixth animal when they finally arrived at Mentir Hold.

He’d wondered why the stronghold had been so large and empty the first time they’d come. Now he knew. But the stronghold was not enough to fit all of them, and after a drawing of lots by the captains, Shaden’s squadron was able to get a position inside.

“Ah, I love my sister,” Pillen yawned, dropping his bag on the floor. “I would hate to sleep outside.”

“I felt her use detection,” Shaden commented.

“Good. That evil sister of mine didn’t volunteer to sleep outside this year. The cold would be too much to bear. Or maybe she was being considerate of you.”

“Of me?”

Pillen cracked his neck. “Squad, I’m proud of you. Sleep tightly—I will wake you up.”

This was a temporary rest; afterwards, they’d stay here if they were lucky or go to the other outposts to prepare for the Winter Trials. And that wouldn’t be permanent either. They’d continue to travel across the mountains, into beastman territory—conflict was imminent. When it arrived, Shaden wasn’t sure how he’d react.

But for now, he closed his eyes, enjoying the bliss of sleep.

⤙ ◯ ⤚

It took them a whole day to get to the outpost. Now, they moved as a larger unit under Captain Nicar, consisting of multiple squadrons. They were over fifty in total, and the squadrons took turns scouting as they progressed deeper into the mountains.

Shaden didn’t know how they remembered the way. He’d been taught to look out for the mountain peaks and remember them by name, using them as navigational markers. Unlike him, many of the soldiers had traversed this area a couple of times in the past, so it was natural that they knew more than him, especially the captain.

But she didn’t look to be thirty. Yet, she already had years of experience under her belt. Just becoming a captain took many years, and he wondered why a woman as beautiful as her would choose to fight as a soldier, even if Fort Avagal’s management had been passed down among the Nieuts for the recent generations. She was the only woman there, surrounded by hardened men.

It was natural that she caught his attention much more now that they were traveling together. Among the mass of muscles and greasy hair, Nicar was like a wild rose—a pleasant sight for the eyes. But if she caught anyone staring at her too long, she’d berate them for not being alert. Though, for some reason, she never said anything to him when she saw him staring. Maybe it was because he was a child; she simply didn’t care.

Shaden could think about many things while they moved. How many would die? How many would they kill? As long as he was with them, he would try to prevent any casualties. But as for killing beastmen, he wasn’t so sure. He’d never killed before. Committing murder—given the nature of his family, it would be inevitable. Would this be the moment when he tasted his first kill?

Killing. He looked at his hands. It was easy. He’d hunted animals before. But the thought of taking the life away from a person was—was unsettling. They’d be gone for good. There would be no bringing them back, and he hadn’t seen any necromancy-related texts anywhere. He’d tried before to revive animals he’d killed, but things that were dead couldn’t be brought back to life. People died when they were killed.

Was it inevitable?

The first few days were eventless. They took turns guarding, using their free time to hunt and scavenge for food. They had brought rations, but everyone wanted the taste of fresh meat. The third day was a good day, as Pillen caught a deer. His aim with the bow was incredible, and they enjoyed a warm feast that night, singing songs. Shaden followed along. It was one of the few moments that Nicar wasn’t commanding them to be alert.

They received the message to proceed forward. From now on, they would have to sleep in their tents. The main force would follow them from behind while the scouting squadrons would report from the front. Shaden’s unit was right in between them—the first actual line of attack. They would either rake in the most feats or die in the process.

It unsettled him. It unsettled him that even though they were going deeper, they hadn’t met any enemies. It unsettled him that the snow was sometimes thick enough to make them lose sight of people a few meters away, though Nicar always seemed to know when someone, very rarely, lost their way. Maybe they were walking into an ambush.

His magic told him otherwise. There wasn’t anyone near. No one except them in the vast mountain range.

Shaden could tell where he was now. When they’d dropped off Prem, the beastman boy, they’d traveled along the Hyla River, and he’d seen a mountain range far in the distance, though he hadn’t paid much attention to it. Now, he was there. He was crossing over, straight into the land he’d toured briefly before.

He didn’t understand. Weren’t all the nations at a truce? According to the books he’d read, the world was enjoying a long period of peace because of Saiton’s accomplishments. But up here, none of that seemed to apply—no one seemed to know. The soldiers bet on who would get the first kill and joked about who’d die first. About who would get the most kills, about who would be promoted next.

“If you do well here, you could easily become a captain.”

“I don’t plan on continuing, but if I do, you can take credit for it.”

And this had been Enov and Pillen talking. Some viewed the upcoming battle as an opportunity. It made sense—they needed their revenge. They needed to show their enemies who they were and what they would do to those who crossed them.

But—he wasn’t a part of them. He wasn’t from Bughast. He was an outsider, a visitor, someone who had a beastman friend, someone who wanted to stay neutral.

Maybe he could think of it as a game. He’d pull the trigger, hit some headshots, and call it a day, not giving a second look to the ones he killed. It would earn him respect and prestige and the medallion of honor so many people were talking about. He was the best shot out of all of them. After all, his fuel was limitless and his control meticulous. He could become the ultimate killing machine if he wanted to.

But these were real, living beings. His family here was real, his magic was real, and he, himself, was real.

The thoughts continued to boil and somersault and twist within his mind.

Then suddenly, the fateful day came.

Shaden’s eyes widened, and he quickly got out from his tent, looking for Pillen. Finding him, he ran to the man and motioned for attention.

“Yes?”

“Someone’s here,” Shaden said, pointing towards the east. “They’re coming up.”

“Numbers? Distance?”

“Over twenty. Less than thirty. Distance would be—two kilometers.”

“Impressive. I’ll go tell the captain.”

Within two minutes, their squad and two other squads were ready with blasting rods in their hands. Nicar allowed them to proceed, and they began to head towards the intruders silently, hiding behind the snow.

“There they are,” Pillen muttered. “Can you see them? They’re dots.”

The others nodded. Shaden could see them as well. He didn’t know what they were doing, but they were coming their way.

The squadron leaders signaled to each other, and they lay down, weapons aimed towards the strangers. They continued to travel in their direction, becoming bigger now.

Within range, Pillen signaled. Then he made a signal Shaden did not recognize. The other squadron leaders nodded. Pillen tapped his blasting rod, nodding once.

Shaden could feel the mana build up in their weapons now. They were doing it. He looked at the strangers once more, focusing on them with his magic. While he couldn’t improve his sight, he could make out their forms using his mana.

These people—

They had no weapons.

They had bags full of food and blankets.

The shots rang out, and Shaden turned his head away, shutting off his mana after feeling the bullets thud into their bodies.