An arrow descended like the heavens themselves rebuked the beasts. Heralded by a thunderclap, Kaius watched it tear across the sky with an ashen taste in his mouth.

  Moments later, one of the wolf-like creatures disintegrated into a fountain of blood and meat chunks. It was simply no longer there — weak in comparison to them. Kenva’s Howl of the North Wind had vaporised it.

  The start of their assault had still taken too long. Another of the survivors had fallen.

  Kaius was certain there was malevolence behind the creatures’ intent. While only a handful immediately pursued the survivors, others watched and waited, happy to take their time as those closest picked away at the flagging defenders, inflaming their terror. It was cruelty, plain and simple. A raking claw here, cutting an arm to the bone. A snagging fang there, slicing through boots, just enough to send a villager stumbling — long enough to make them think they might not make it.

  This was no fight over territory, nor a hunt driven by basal needs.

  It was torture.

  And the sight of it made Kaius furious.

  This was unnatural.

  As the survivors registered the sudden crack of Kenva’s assault, Kaius watched them scramble — a burst of speed driving them forward at the sound and spray of blood.

  Their unified scream came seconds later, carried on distant winds.

  Another arrow shot down; another wolf detonated.

  The remaining beasts scattered, feral howls filling the air as primal instinct sensed the presence of a true predator. Good. It would buy them time. They were still a minute or two off from landing. They had to keep the beasts on the back foot. With the tyrant’s control granting the creatures tactical insight, it would be all too easy for them to realise just how much devastation they could wreak on the survivors in that time.

  This time, one of the hunters at the edge of the group saw them. The man thrust his hand high, screaming in their direction. The others swept their eyes up, full of desperate, heart-wrenching hope. Kaius tightened his grip on A Father’s Gift. He would not fail them — not in the final hour.

  “Drop us down behind them!” Kaius screamed. “Porkchop’s going to terrify them!”

  Ophelia just nodded, too focused on her casting to respond.

  As for who the mage would take with her on her return trip, it had already been decided: the weakest, the most injured, and the children. She could take fourteen with her — most, but not all, of the flagging villagers who lacked combat-capable classes.

  Kaius kept his eyes peeled for flying beasts. They were present — leagues behind, held within the main line of the army. Entire flocks of birds, bats, and insectile creatures buzzed in living clouds. They were more tightly corralled than the outliers and outriders, and none had been sent to harass those fleeing.

  A small mercy. They would be lethal once Ophelia flew away.

  Drifting downward, they approached the survivors. They were still — twenty strides above the ground and a full fifty ahead of the group racing toward them. Kaius felt the grip of Ophelia’s magic slacken against his body.

  “Dropping!” the mage yelled.

  A moment later, gravity’s avaricious hold found him once more. Momentum alone kept him moving. Kaius grit his teeth, bracing himself. He could have broken his fall with a shunt, but it would have been a waste. He was strong enough.

  Hitting the ground hard, he bent his knees, staggering forward as the lack of feedback from his prosthetic led to the metal limb digging a little too deep into the packed soil of the plains.

  His team landed around him. Porkchop summoned his armour mid-air, slamming down like a battering ram as dust plumed and the ground cratered beneath him. Spells and arrows flew, skewering beasts that still lurked behind brush and long grass. Pained squeals rang out, silenced moments later by follow-up shots.

  Yet the creatures were many, and they were few. Sensing the sudden arrival of true resistance, the rabid monsters surged together, gathering into a war party that charged toward them.

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  Porkchop would have none of it.

  Kaius felt his brother’s certainty — none would pass.

  A warden’s challenge filled the air, rattling Kaius to his bones as his brother’s demonic visage faced down the approaching beasts. Their frenzy only peaked.

  Dozens of creatures that had surpassed the hundredth level — each a town-ending threat in the old world — surged forward toward a titan of orichalcum.

  As a Shardwall raced forth, and arrows and spells cut down the approaching monsters, Kaius left his team to their tasks.

  He had to get the survivors onto the landyacht, or they were all doomed. Already he could spy more beasts approaching. No longer faced with the defenceless, their previous cruel harassment vanished — now they came in for the kill, converging on their position.

  A shunt burst behind him, throwing him over the heads of the fleeing survivors.

  “Delvers, gods be praised!” one screamed.

  Their plea was joined by fresh squeals of terror as Ophelia’s spell wrapped around a chunk of the party. Unaware of the plan, desperate allies clung to those who rose into the sky, trying frantically to pull them back down.

  “Release them!” Kaius roared. “Ophelia is a storm mage. She ferries the vulnerable to Deadacre!”

  “What of the rest of us?” someone yelled in hoarse terror. “Are we to be left to die?”

  Kaius flicked his will to the chained orb at his waist.

  The Pegleg was summoned a moment later — a mechanical spider as large as a barge. As it appeared, a wave of compressed air rolled over Kaius, ruffling his hair. Responding to his will, the landyacht surged forward, though slower than the survivors ran.

  Kaius knew intuitively that it could move much, much faster. For now, this would do — he needed to get people aboard.

  The Pegleg’s door slid open. A set of stairs unfolded, a handspan above the frontier.

  As soon as the stunned survivors registered the sudden appearance of the landyacht, Kaius willed it to slow to a steady halt.

  “Onto the landyacht!” he yelled. “Any with a bow — go to the upper deck and assist us how you can!”

  Before he kicked off, a snapping surge of physical strength carried him upward. He leapt straight onto the armoured upper deck of the landyacht, depositing a barrel full of arrows that Kenva had sung from the governor’s tree. Their potency would help even a weak hunter pierce steel-beast defences.

  The survivors stared at him like he was mad, almost unable to comprehend the sudden change.

  “Go!” he yelled. “We have no time for ogling!”

  With some giving final, desperate looks to those who rose into the sky, they surged forward, clambering into the side of the vehicle.

  Moments later, Kaius was joined by twelve men. To the last, their faces were dirtied and bloodstained, thick leathers cut to bare ribbons, sweat and tears streaking down their faces.

  An elderly man — the strongest of the lot — stepped forward, holding a longbow in a white-knuckled grip.

  “W-what would you have us do?”

  Kaius did not blame him for his fear. They had lived through a nightmare by the skin of their teeth. None of them were warriors — he’d seen men of their like everywhere, by the sea. Simple hunters, pursuing gain from beasts far weaker than them, for survival, coin, and nourishment — not for strength, nor for the fight.

  He locked eyes with the man.

  “You are safe now. You hear me? We are Silver, and this is a fighting retreat. Ophelia will be back to ferry you in groups. It will take several trips. We may reach the city before she is done — but you will survive. All I ask is that you shoot what you can and call out threats we may have missed. If it becomes too dangerous, go below decks. The landyacht is armoured.”

  Each of the twelve men nearly crumpled when they heard that they were Silver. Their middle-aged leader gave him a shaky nod. He reached into the barrel, grabbing one of the arrows, his eyes widening as he no doubt identified it.

  “We can help, my lord.”

  “Good. You’re all strong men to have made it this far — but we’ll take it from here.”

  Sensing that the last survivor had boarded, Kaius willed the hatch closed.

  The Pegleg charged forward, building speed. It moved smoothly, ripping across the frontier as fast as a charging horse, without bob or sway.

  Kaius looked up to see Ophelia shooting into the distance, her charges clustered around her.

  Trusting the hunters atop the Pegleg’s deck to do as he’d asked, he launched himself free without another word.

  Hitting the ground, he charged back toward his team, blade held ready. At full tilt on soft terrain, he was relieved to feel only minimal resistance from his prosthetic — he would be hampered, but not enough to matter against Steel-level beasts.

  Dust clouded the horizon. Dozens upon dozens of beasts were approaching. He and his team would be fine — they were strong enough to flee. But if they were overwhelmed, if the creatures caught the Pegleg, the remaining survivors would be torn to shreds.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  Kaius detonated another shunt, a war cry on his lips. Scanning the closest beasts, he caught sight of one circling, attempting to flank. It was a strange creature — bovine, with jutting tusks and a single curved horn on its forehead.

  Thrusting one hand out, he reached for Drak’thar — for the long-range potency of his hateful nail.

  It roared forth an instant later.

  Twisted steel punched through a neck thicker than his chest. His spell unfurled, ripping the beast’s head clean off in a detonation of blood and gristle.

  Kaius touched down next to Porkchop, ready for battle.