Chapter 31: Two Madmen Walk Into a Bar

“Once, I fasted for ten days so I could know how the starved wolf feels when it stalks its prey.”

-Emile Dryden, 184 U.E.

The lubbard woman—Dryden’s first mate, by the looks of it—approached the edge of the flaming circle with confident strides. She whispered to her captain, smirking, eyes fixed on Torch while she spoke. Eventually, she disengaged with a noncommittal shrug and returned to her chair.

“Izja tells me that you’re a mage,” Dryden said, turning to Torch.

“More or less,” Torch admitted, keeping an eye on the first mate. She knew more than she had any right to.

“I think that warrants some kind of handicap. You’ve got your magic, and I’ll use my weapons of choice. Sound fair?”

“Your weapons of choice being, what? Boxing gloves?”

“Axe and slug thrower.”

Torch swallowed. Slug throwers were wicked things. They could blow a hole clean through you. He’d always wanted one.

“That’s fine,” he said.

Dryden had his deckhands toss him the weapons—a crescent-shaped hand axe and a one-handed slug thrower. It was the largest pistol Torch had ever seen, with a barrel you could stick a whole finger into. It looked damned heavy.

“Now, then, some ground rules,” Quintilla said.

“We don’t need rules,” Torch growled.

Dryden laughed. “I like this one. Man after my own heart.”

Torch had the fire’s heat at his back, its crackling in his ears. He remembered the smell of burning corpses.

Dryden weighed the axe in his left hand, tested a few swings. He itched the scabby remains of his nose with the back of his hand. “Ready, little man?”

“Ready.”

“We’ll let your captain hold the count.”

Quintilla sighed. “Very well. Three!”

Torch prepared a Baku spell.

“Two!”

He settled into a low stance, staring at the big man opposite until his vision swam.

“One!”

No tears for the dead.

“Fight!”

Torch threw up his hand. He unleashed the prepared spell, propelling a bone-rattling explosion forward. Dryden whirled out of the way, laughing, sand flying all around him.

“Fuck,” Torch growled. He had hoped to end the duel quickly. Baku was an expensive rune—he couldn’t afford many of those.

Dryden came towards him at a full sprint, axe held high, eyes plastered wide. He closed the distance quickly. The axe came down like a guillotine, hard and fast. Torch deflected the blow with his prosthetic and twisted away half a step.

“Gneist!” he cried, throwing a shower of sparks in Dryden’s face to create some distance. The captain stumbled back, rubbing at raw, weepy eyes.

Torch went in after him without a moment’s hesitation, feet skidding in the soft sand. He prepared another Baku spell. At point-blank range, there was no way he’d miss, and no way Dryden would be walking it off.

Dryden swung out blind with his axe, making a sound halfway between a hiss and a growl. Torch’s momentum carried him into the swing, and the wedge of cold steel bit deep into his left shoulder.

Torch grunted and jumped back, the axe still lodged inside him. The bones in his shoulder crunched with every movement, jabs of sharp pain putting stars in his vision.

Dryden blinked, eyes red. “This has been a blast, little man. But I’m gonna have to ask you to die now.” He raised the heavy slug thrower, a brick of dull metal.

Torch fought through the stars, through the pain, through the rattling of gunfire and artillery. He skidded to a stop, teeth gritted, clenched so hard they nearly cracked.

He shot the primed Baku rune into the ground, throwing up a plume of sand like a cloud of dense smoke. He ducked low. With a loud whoosh, the red-hot round of the slug thrower passed over his head.

“Afraid I’ll have to leave you waiting,” Torch said with a giggle. “Yala!”

A jagged line of electricity shot from his fingertips through the cloud of sand. He heard a cry. Teeth chattering. A dull thud.

Torch clawed the axe from his shoulder and held it in his metal fist, blood dripping from the edge. He strode through the fading plume, seeing Dryden on his back, a fresh black mark on his stomach where the Yala spell had struck.

“Never killed a captain before,” he said, smile going so wide his cheeks hurt. “I wonder if confetti will spray out when I gut you.”

Dryden spasmed—chest jumping, eyes rolling. Torch approached, raising the axe to put an end to the man.

“Don’t kill him!” Quintilla shouted. “We need him to hold up his end of the bargain!”

Torch hesitated. He let the weapon slip a hair. “Oh. How disappointing. I wanted to see that confetti, too.”

Dryden shot up with a start, hoisting his slug thrower in a white-knuckled grip. Torch’s eyes widened. He threw up his biomech arm to block.

The shot rang like thunder. Metal parts scattered across the sand, broken enchantments sparking around his stump. He stumbled back, prosthetic completely ruined, its remains dangling by a wire.

Dryden leapt up, swaying on his feet. “Good, good, good! Oh, I’ve enjoyed this. I like to work for it.”

He leveled the slug thrower at Torch’s midsection.

“Baku!” Torch cried. A controlled detonation knocked off the captain’s aim, forced him to jump back.

Torch was running out of anima. Running out of time. Needed to finish it.

He ran at Dryden and tackled the man with all his weight. They both hit the sand, Torch on top.

Torch growled, spit flying. He pulled back and headbutted the captain. Dryden’s scabbed-over nose welled with blood, running onto his lips. He cackled with joy, showing teeth stained red.

Using his superior strength, Dryden flipped them around. He got Torch on the bottom and placed his big, rough hands over Torch’s face, thumbs digging into his eyes.

Torch didn’t have the strength to throw him off. One of his arms was shattered, the other clipped at the shoulder. He could only wriggle and scream.

Accept it, a voice told him. No tears for the dead, remember? You’re about to be one of them.

Dryden squeezed. Torch’s eyes bloomed with pain. A vice clamped down on his skull.

Torch swatted at him with his one remaining hand. It achieved nothing but drawing a hoarse laugh from the captain.

Don’t struggle, the voice told him. It’s unsightly. Can’t you feel it? The Beyond.

He did feel something. It was cold and inviting, like freshwater pooling around his body. It soothed his aching stump, his scarred flesh.

Just drift away. You won’t be in pain ever again. This is what you want.

No. No, it’s not.

Don’t fool yourself. You’ve always wanted this.

“C’mon, Torch!” Yin’s shrieking voice pierced right through him, and he sucked in a deep breath like it was his first. “Get up! You can beat this guy!”

That’s right, Torch thought. I can’t lose. If I die here, my family suffers.

A Baku spell wouldn’t work. It’d catch them both at this range.

“Yala!” Torch howled.

A weak spell. The electricity arced from his chest right into Dryden’s. The man’s grip loosened. It went through Torch, too, on its way to the ground, but he was ready for it. His limbs seized, but only for a moment. When he regained control, he struck out with a knee. Hit groin.

Dryden fell backward, groaning. He tried to get up, but Torch was faster, standing over him.

So little anima left.

But it would be enough.

Torch held out his hand.

“Gneist,” he said.

Dryden’s skin ignited. The man laughed uncontrollably, mad and shrill, as bright flames licked at his flesh, spreading across his torso and up to his face.

“There,” Torch said. “Now, maybe you’ll be as pretty as me.”

The captain rolled in the sand, rubbing it all over him to halt the flames. He howled and cackled and wept. A minute later, he was a shuddering, smoking wreck, barely able to move a limb.

“Good…” the captain worked out, spitting sand. “Good duel. I concede.”

He was grinning.

Torch was, too. “Good duel.”