Alex watched in awe as Fisk muttered a few words, held his hands over his wounds, and his legs began to visibly heal right before their eyes.

“You’re a mage?” Alex asked incredulously, “Why didn’t you say something before?”

“There was no point,” Fisk replied, grimacing slightly as flesh knit itself back together, “Quiet, I need to focus.”

They both watched as Fisk’s mangled legs healed in less than two minutes.

“That seems like really impressive magic, what tier are you?” Alex asked.

Fisk glared at the question, but then seemed to reconsider and replied, “I’m a journeyman, tier four. Didn’t anyone ever teach you how rude it is to ask that? The only reason I’m telling you now is that it is vaguely relevant to us escaping this cursed place.”

Alex looked down, feeling chastised. He’d forgotten proper etiquette in his excitement. In his defense, the last few weeks had been a bit stressful and the last few minutes even moreso. He looked over at the corpse of the man he’d just killed. He felt… less than he expected. Part of him was revolted at how easy he found it to kill the slavers, while another part felt supremely justified. These were people taking part in a trade that was anathema to a civilized society. Sure ancient humans, or what he thought were ancient humans, who knew what the time scales of this new world were like, commonly practiced slavery in one form or another. That didn’t make it acceptable.

He wasn’t one to judge another society for their practices, especially after having a particularly enlightening conversation with a philosophy major about moral relativism. That being said, he drew the line at cannibalism, slaver, murder, and a number of other practices.

“You all there, kid?” Fisk asked. Alex looked up at him and noticed concern in the man’s eyes, “Killing isn’t always easy, but if anyone deserved it, these people did.”

“I know that,” Alex responded, “I’m just still getting used to how brutal the world is. Where I grew up, killing and slavery were more like abstract concepts than realities.”

“Well you better get used to it fast, we’ve got a lot of killing ahead of us,” Fisk said, “Are you good to move or do you need some healing as well?”

Alex scanned over his body, he was surprisingly healthy. The itchy had reduced to a manageable level and most of his wounds were closed.

“I think I’m good,” he stated, “Do you have any combat training?”

“I was in the Roc Imperial Marines for over a decade,” Fisk responded, “What about you? So far all you’ve demonstrated is raw aggression.”

Alex considered for a moment, he really hadn’t utilized any of Torval and Orsk’s training in his fights, had he?

“I’ve had some training, I guess I just got caught up in the moment. I’m not sure why I didn’t use much of it,” Alex finally said.

“You must be pretty new to combat training then, it usually takes a few years before the training becomes instinctual. That or a few active encounters. Either way, we need to go. It’s only a matter of time before the slavers come to investigate why these two haven’t come back.”

Alex offered to trade the rifle for Fisk’s pistol, but the man said he needed a free hand for his magics. He shrugged, and the two headed up the tunnel the slavers came from.

After several hundred meters of tunnel, the two came to an intersection. To the left the tunnel gently sloped downward, and to the right upward.

“Up?” Alex asked. Fisked nodded, so they turned and continued upward. As they walked, the two stayed silent and alert.

An echo of a voice drifted down the tunnel towards them. Fisk held up his right hand, signalling Alex to stop moving.

“I’ll take point, you follow behind and just try to not shoot me,” Fisk whispered. Alex shook his head.

“I’m a little bit more resilient than you, I’ll take point. I’m confident you won’t shoot me, but I’m more likely to survive if you do.”

Fisk acquiesced with a nod, and the two stalked forward. Alex felt a bit like an imposter acting like a soldier, but quickly pushed that train of thought aside. They had a long way to go to get to freedom.

As they pressed forward, the voices got louder. The dim red light also began to get replaced by brighter, white lighting.

“...up. We need to get everything packed. Dross gave us an hour, and half that has passed already. I’m not going to be here when the mine blows.”

“We get it, Briss, we need to move quickly. But there's like fifty of these containers left. No way will we get everything loaded in the next half an hour.”

“You better, or the slaves won’t be the only bodies left behind,” the first voice replied.

Alex slowed as they neared a corner. He glanced back at Fisk who nodded, so Alex inched forward.

He glanced around the corner and found a large cavernous room with two large trucks. Five men were actively shifting crates from a pile into the trucks. Alex swung back around the corner and looked at Fisk. He held up his right hand and extended all 5 fingers. Fisk nodded, then pulled Alex back and took a look himself.

When the man came back, he shook his head and raised seven fingers. Alex felt a flash of embarrassment. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Fisk shook his head. They communicated silently for a few more seconds, mostly Fisk, and set out a plan. Fisk would fire off the first shot, and Alex would rush the survivors with Fisk providing suppressing fire. At least that is what Alex thought Fisk was getting at.

When the man started shifting his arms in a complex series of movements around a steadily growing blue ball of flame, Alex figured he misunderstood what the man meant. The ball grew for three seconds before Fisk stepped out and released it. It shot out silently and was so fast Alex had difficulty tracking it with his eyes as it disappeared around the corner.

“Go,” Fisk shouted, and Alex sprinted after the ball. He rounded the corner just in time to see an expanding blue inferno enveloping the slavers and their cargo. A wave of pressure passed through him, but he didn’t slow down. As the flames receded, he found a group of scorched bodies. None of them were moving. He skidded to a halt. That was anticlimactic, he thought to himself.

Then he noticed that there were only six bodies. The last man was sprinting towards an exit at the back of the room. Alex lifted his rifle, aimed down its iron sights, and squeezed the trigger. A pulse of white light shot from the tip of the rifle with a whisper and impacted the man’s back. He collapsed to the ground with a whimper.

"Good shot," Fisk said, "Now go finish him off. I'll clear the trucks and make sure everyone else is dead."

"Wait, what?" Alex asked, "Shouldn't we just keep moving?"

"Never give someone an opportunity to shoot you in the back," Fisk replied as he walked towards the immolated bodies.

Alex took a deep breathe and turned back toward the man he'd shot. Several steps across the red, rocky terrain brought him to the man. He was crying softly with the occasional cough bringing a spray of crimson up to dye the rust colored floor.

"Please…" the man managed to let out, "Just let me…"

He was unable to finish the sentence before he started coughing heavily. Alex instinctively crouched down and laid a hand on the man's shoulder. That proved to be a mistake when the man shifted his body to reveal a dagger in his hand. The blade shot towards Alex's throat.

Relying on reflexes from his recent training, Alex parried the blade to the side with his right hand. His left hand shot out in a rapid punch that collapsed the man's face inward with a sickening crunch. Alex barely even registered the pain from his knuckles shattering with the impact.

He stumbled backward from the body in horror. Why the hell had the man tried to kill him? He was bleeding out, from the blood he was coughing up he probably had major lung damage, and he was outnumbered.

"You could have just shot him," Fisk said from across the room.

Alex whirled towards his companion, "What the fuck is wrong with everyone here? Why are you all so violent?"

"It's a brutal galaxy, kid. You should know, I've seen you kill three people so far."

"In self defense!" Alex protested, "You expected me to just kill the guy in cold blood. And when I tried to help him he tried killing me!"

Alex cursed and punched a nearby crate. The wood shattered and several blue hued ingots crashed to the ground. Fisk glanced down at the ingots then back at Alex. He froze then slowly looked down again.

"Boy, that's Sky Steel," Fisk said breathlessly, "That shouldn't be here."

"Did you hear anything I just said?" Alex asked incredulously.

"Yeah, but now's not the time. Open another one of these crates."

Cursing quietly, Alex complied and ripped open another crate. Inside were dozens of neatly stacked blue ingots.

"How in the nine hells did they find Sky Steel in this backwater place?" Fisk wondered aloud. He stared at the metal pensive for a moment before speaking again. "Okay, change of plans. Load up one of the trucks with as much as you can while I keep an eye out for more of these bastards. Once the truck is full we drive out of here as fast as we can, sell the steel, and retire happily ever after."

"Are you insane?" Alex replied, "We need to focus on getting out of here. Money means nothing if we're dead!"

Fisk laughed in response, "Boy, life means nothing in the universe if you aren't obscenely wealthy or backed by a noble house. If you have neither of those, life is brutal and short. Now pack the fucking truck."

Alex grumbled, but complied. Fisk was still his best shot at getting out of here and he wasn't about to share his status as the heir to house Skaya.