Chapter 4
Lila pulled the trigger.
The bolt screamed out and drove into a crack in the tunnel rock below. The head punched into the seam; powder flashed. Deep inside the crack a chain reaction kicked off—buried charges blew one after another. A muffled roar surged up from the earth; dust and rubble erupted from the mouth.
On the heights, the leg-mutant was already on her. Lila still held the trigger pose, no time to dodge. She could only throw her arms over her face and lean back on instinct.
His boot caught her right shoulder dead-on. The impact hit like a sledge; her shoulder blade cracked dull against bone, and her entire right arm went numb in a flash. The shoulder wrenched back hard. The crossbow flew from her grip, spinning through the air before it clattered into a gap between rocks. Lila grunted; her chest heaved, and blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. She staggered back two steps. Her right arm hung limp—she could not lift it. Pain whited out her vision.
Inside the tunnel, the blast swallowed the bandits who had charged in.
Their feet had barely found purchase when fire bloomed beneath them. One snarled and tried to leap clear; the shockwave flipped him, his body twisting in midair. He hit the ground chest-first—ribs caved, blood spraying. Those closer were gone in red mist, limbs flying. Farther back, a man shielded his head, but his legs snapped with a crack; he dropped to his knees screaming. The stench of char and hot metal filled the tunnel.
Dust choked the air. Heat warped the space before the tunnel mouth. Victor's face was caked in gray; his beard looked plastered with cement. Nova's face was no better. The rabbits' ears drooped; a thick layer of dust coated the crates. All of them looked like they had been dug out of the ground.
Nova coughed until his face went red. He rubbed his eyes, blinked several times before he could see. Victor crouched in front of him, holding a curved piece of metal at a slant, braced between the two of them and the tunnel mouth. The heat and debris from the blast had been caught on its far side.
Nova leaned closer. He realized Victor was holding a busted lampshade.
He stared at the thing, voice half-shocked, half-furious:
"What the hell is that?!"
Victor shook the dust off his face. The lampshade clicked back into shape. He scratched his beard, sheepish, and gave a dry laugh:
"Fireproof Mantle… in theory."
Nova looked at the layer of ash on himself and the rabbits:
"…We were saved by a lampshade?"
Victor dropped his voice low, one finger pressed to his lips: "Keep it between us—not a word outside."
"Why?"
"What did Eren say when he dragged me up front? If things go south, grab you and run. If he finds out about this…" Victor gave a wink. "You don't want us to stop hanging out, do you?"
"Oh, right… Fireproof Mantle, works great!"
"Don't even say the name!"
At the same moment, outside the tunnel mouth.
Eren held his faceted war hammer across his chest, eyes locked on Stalrik.
Stalrik was not fighting from horseback now. His left hand gripped the mace handle, his right closed around the chain at mid-length—both hands on the weapon, faster and more nimble than he had ever been in the saddle.
The iron ball whipped out in a short arc, whistling for Eren's head. Eren shifted his feet, leaned right-forward, then spun with a backstep. The iron ball grazed past his left shoulder. In the same instant he used the torque of the spin—his right hand drove the war hammer up from below, the faceted head aimed straight at Stalrik's right wrist where he gripped the chain. Stalrik's arm jerked; the chain wrapped his wrist, and something flashed beneath the skin—an unnatural sheen. Sparks flew. A notch bit into the hammer's crown, but Stalrik's wrist was untouched.
Stalrik let out a cold, satisfied laugh. Then he whipped the chain mace at Eren's flank. Eren's belt-wrapped left hand shot out and caught the chain at mid-length; he hauled, and at the same time brought the hammer around at Stalrik's left ribs. Stalrik twisted aside; the chain drew taut between them—a deadlock.
The explosion roared out of the tunnel. Eren's ears caught the boom first, and something in him loosened half a notch. He knew—the buried trap had done its work.
But his peripheral vision swept the cliff. Lila was staggering back, right arm dangling at her side, shoulder visibly sunk. The leg-mutant closed on her with a savage grin, winding up for a finishing blow.
Eren's back teeth locked. He was the one who had posted her up there.
Heat surged from his chest into his skull. The pale gray lines around his left eye flared bright; a faint electromagnetic hum rose along his spine.
"Get down!"
His right hand flung the war hammer. It spun faster and faster, trailing pressure and grit, carving a clean arc through the air before it buried itself in the mutant's shoulder blade.
Bone cracked.
The spinning head struck like thunder, caving the man's shoulder in. Faceted ridges drove deep into ruined flesh.
The mutant howled; half his body buckled. The follow-up kick collapsed mid-swing, and his raised leg slammed into the ground.
Lila spat blood from her lips. Her right arm was done—she could not lift it—but she braced a knee against the man toppling toward her. Her left hand found the short crossbow at her belt, its bolt leveled at his skull. The string snapped; the bolt punched through the back of his head. Red mist burst. His eyes went wide; his body crumpled.
Lila slumped against the rock and slid down, vision going dark…
Eren had barely pulled his gaze back from the cliff when Stalrik's iron fist arrived.
It grazed his left arm. The iron bracer rang with a dull clang and dented inward; half his shoulder felt driven into the earth.
The fire in Eren's chest had not died. Now it had fresh fuel.
The lines around his left eye flared. His left hand tightened on the chain, and he wrenched Stalrik forward; at the same moment his left foot cut in, his body torqued, and he threw a leg sweep.
Stalrik used the balance and leg strength honed from years in the saddle; he tried to root his stance. It was not enough. His whole body twisted half a turn in the air and slammed back-first into the dirt.
But Stalrik was no ordinary man. The instant he hit, he rolled with the force, relying on his iron-skin gift to tank the impact.
Eren wanted to press forward and pin him. But beneath the gray lines, dark yellow had crept up—and his strength could not follow through.
Stalrik used that half-beat. He rolled to a knee, drove a right elbow at Eren's chest, and pulled the chain back with his left hand, gaining a half-step of distance.
The elbow caught Eren square. He grunted and fell back half a step.
Stalrik opened space and immediately flung the chain mace—iron shrieking straight for Eren's left shoulder.
Eren should have dodged in time. He was half a beat slow. The iron ball scraped past his left shoulder; the shock numbed the bone.
Stalrik's mouth twisted into a grin. His eyes flicked over Eren's left eye, and something eager flashed: Slower… that eye with the lines can't see clearly.
He shifted his weight at once. Every strike from then on targeted Eren's left side—chain mace swinging for left shoulder, left flank, left temple in rapid succession.
Eren retreated step by step, fighting as he gave ground. Beneath the gray lines the dark yellow crept higher, burning him half a beat behind. The iron ball missed once; the second swing scraped across his left flank, tearing a line of blood. Heat welled from the wound.
Eren tried to lunge, to break the trap with his fists. His left-side vision blurred; the punch missed. As he pulled back, Stalrik's iron ball had already looped in close.
Eren's breath grew heavier. His left eye swam; somehow his right eye caught the iron ball's outline more sharply. He grabbed the chain and hauled; both men pulled against each other, but Stalrik's cracked skin bulged with veins—raw strength surging. Eren was dragged two steps sideways. A rock wall stopped his retreat. Nowhere left to go.