"Hah, I am truly sitting in deep shit this time. It's the ultimate tactical dilemma: if I walk in front, I risk being stabbed in the back by a vengeful Angel. If I send Jessica ahead, she might find a jagged rock to saw through her bindings and slit my throat before I can blink. What a wonderful life I lead."
I stood there in the damp, stinking dark of the abyss, my shadow-grafted foot throbbing with every heartbeat. I had no idea what to do, so I did what I do best: I opened my big, stupid mouth.
"Hey, you fat witch," I called out, my voice echoing off the slime-covered walls. "Are you afraid of the dark? Or do you want to be a big girl and lead the way?"
Jessica stopped dead. Her silver hair was matted with grime, but her eyes burned with a holy fury that could have lit up the entire cave. She walked toward me with a calm that was far more terrifying than screaming. Before I could react, she brought her heavy, armored boot down directly onto my mangled foot.
"AGH—!" I buckled, the world spinning in white-hot agony.
"Listen to me, you little piece of shit," she hissed, leaning down until our noses almost touched. "Before I cooperate with a filth-stained creature like you, I'd rather rot in this pit! You are a disgrace to the very air you breathe."
"That's hurtful, Jessica," I rasped through the pain, a bloody grin spreading across my face. "And besides, if I had the chance, I'd kill you in a heartbeat, you daughter of a prostitute. Understand?"
That hit a nerve. Her face flushed a deep crimson. "You miserable bastard son of a slave! You are worthless! A bug to be crushed!"
The mention of being a "slave's son" triggered something dark in me—a primal, jagged rage that bypassed my usual sarcasm. I snapped. I stepped into her space, ignoring the pain in my leg.
"Who's a worthless bastard? Hmm? You're just a mangy hunting dog for that pathetic excuse of a King! You live and die for the ideals of a man who orders the slaughter of children! You're nothing but a royal lapdog in silver tin, you bitch!"
I saw the blow land mentally before it ever could physically. She recoiled as if I'd slapped her. Then she let out a roar of pure, unadulterated frustration. "A lapdog?! You only stand there because that freakish Prince wants you alive! You're a tool! The only reason you haven't stabbed me like a cowardly pig yet is because your 'idiot prince' ordered you not to! You have no will of your own, sewer rat!"
I opened my mouth to deliver a retort that would have stripped the paint off a house, but the words died in my throat. From the deeper shadows of the tunnel came a sound—a wet, guttural grunting followed by the rhythmic thud of heavy feet.
A horde of orks. And not just a few. A sea of green, muscled flesh and rusted iron emerged from the gloom, their eyes glowing with a primitive, starving hunger.
Jessica let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. "Well, it looks like we're both thoroughly screwed now. Unless, of course, you want to untie me? Haha!"
I hated it. I absolutely loathed the fact that she was right. But my pride was a stubborn beast. "Use your white flames while bound, or die," I said, my voice cold. "I don't trust you."
"If I die, you die too," she countered, her voice eerily calm as the orks closed in. "Without me, you're too weak to survive this."
I felt a dark grin pull at my lips. "I'd think that too, if I were you. Too bad for you... I now possess the Sawing Sun of the Four Colors."
We were so distracted by our venomous bickering that we didn't see the first wave. Three massive orks lunged from the flank. One rusted dagger sank into my right leg, another pierced my left shoulder, and a jagged spear went clean through my right hand.
"FU—!"
The pain was a physical wall. I stumbled back, my blood—my corrosive, snake-tainted blood—hissing as it coated the orks' weapons. These bastards were dead. They just didn't know it yet.
"You ugly, green shits," I growled. "You're done."
I didn't have time for complex magic. I smeared my own toxic blood onto my fists and lunged. I landed one solid punch on the throat of each of the three attackers. At first, they just grunted and tried to swing again. But then, the ten-second mark hit. Their veins turned a bruised, bulging purple. Their eyes turned blood-red as their internal vessels began to pop like overripe grapes. One by one, they collapsed into a heap of dissolving organs.
1-0 for me. But damn, those stab wounds were stinging like hell.
"Hey, witch! Free yourself!" I screamed, ripping the dagger out of my own shoulder with a sickening squelch and hurling it toward her. It sliced through her bindings just as the main horde swarmed her.
Orks are vile creatures; they don't just kill. They "savor" their prey, especially women. Even as much as I hated Jessica, I wouldn't wish that fate on a plague rat.
She caught the blade, sliced through the remaining silk, and erupted in a pillar of white fire. A magnificent, burning dragon of flame spiraled out from her, incinerating fifteen orks in a single breath. It was an impressive display, but it was a drop in the ocean. There were at least two hundred of them.
The next hour was a blur of blood and desperation. I fought like a cornered animal, using every scrap of shadow magic I had left. But at my current mana level, I was flagging. I managed to kill twenty-three orks, while Jessica, moving like a silver whirlwind, cut down thirty with her bare hands and stolen blades.
But the weight of numbers began to tell. We were becoming slow. Clumsy.
I watched in horror as an ork's heavy club shattered Jessica's shoulder with a sickening crunch. Another one landed a crushing blow to her shin, snapping the bone. She went down on one knee, still fighting, but the "Angel" was falling.
I wasn't doing any better. They'd sliced off two of my fingers. My ribs felt like a bag of broken glass inside my chest, and my right arm had been wrenched out of its socket. I was leaning against the cold cave wall, my vision fading to black at the edges.
Is this it? Is this where the cockroach finally gets squashed?
"USE THE MAGIC!" Jessica screamed at me, her voice cracked and desperate. "Use the Sawing Sun, you total idiot!"
I'm not an idiot, but she was right. I had enough mana for exactly one shot. But my hands were shaking. If I tried to channel the Sawing Sun of the Four Colors in this state, my arm wouldn't just break—it would probably disintegrate in a solar explosion.
I looked at the hundred orks still charging. I looked at the broken Angel. I looked at my own mangled hand.
"Fine," I whispered, the violet light of the suns beginning to flicker in my palm. "Let's see who blows up first."
Until next time.