I scream and scramble to my feet, backing away from the gun in horror. I’ve never seen a gun before today, and now, I’ve seen two in less than an hour.
A set of arms snake out from behind me, wrapping tightly around my throat. My breaths come in painful gasps. I struggle, looking around wildly. Five men surround me and the Dark Worlder, the hatred in their eyes clawing through the darkness.
The lights sweep over our clearing once more. The Boundary hunter’s face is twisted into a thoughtful scowl as he eyes the Dark Worlder with apparent interest. “Well, look it here, Eulogius,” he says to the man restraining me. “Wonder what kind of price we can get for the little Similian if we throw in a wretched Ferusian, too.”
Eulogius’ arm tightens against my throat and then loosens once more, in time with his cackle of laughter. Blossoms of color begin to swim at the corners of my vision as I struggle to take shallow breaths. “Come on, Murph. Ya know they ain’t gonna pay us for a Dark Worlder, less he’s dead.”
The lights pass, darkness lying thickly over the clearing once more.
Another man raises a lantern and I watch as the man called Murph shoves the gun harder against the Dark World man’s temple. Murph laughs humorlessly. “You hear that, boy? You ain’t worth nothing to this world ‘less there’s a bullet in your brain.”
Desperation is a hard knock against my rib cage. My air is running out. With every sweep of the Similian lights, my chance for escape drifts farther out of reach.
I claw at Eulogius’ arm, digging my fingernails into his skin until I feel blood bloom beneath them. He lets out a surprised cry, but his arm remains a hot iron bar across my windpipe. The lights sweep the clearing again. His other arm presses against my chest, pinning my arms to my sides.
I twist my body, kicking and thrashing in his grip.
My thoughts are repetitive and panicked.Get out, get out, get out.
In contrast, the Dark Worlder seems perfectly poised as the lights sweep over him, as if he has guns pointed at him all the time. He stares at the men, each in turn, his face blank. He is all chiseled angles and planes, appearing all at once both younger and older than I imagined. His gaze flicks to mine, and though his eyes are impossible to see from this distance, my heartbeat slows as if he has willed it.
He looks away from me quickly. “Typical of the Covinus’ finest,” he spits, his tone harsher than it was when he was speaking to me, “doesn’t even know the proper way to point a gun at someone.”
My jaw drops and that odd wave of calm dissipates completely. Taunting me about my punching skills is one thing; taunting a man with a gun pressed to your head, and five others to back it up, is entirely another.
He’s insane. I’ve gone and shackled myself to an absolute mad man.
Murph’s eyes narrow, his face lined with cruel malice. Leaning closer to the man, his voice is dangerous. “Whenever my gun is pointed at a Dark Worlder brain like yours, it’s in the proper place.”
“That’s the problem with guns,” the Dark Worlder replies conversationally, and I wonder what’s happened to him prior that he’s able to keep his voice so nonchalant. “They make cowards feel brave.”
And then he moves, so quickly it takes my brain a lagging moment to catch up to my eyes. He twists, swatting the weapon deftly out of Murph’s hand. Latching on to Murph’s wrist, he leverages the Boundary hunter’s weight against him and in one smooth movement, flips him to the ground. Murph lands with a thick thud. The gun skids across the forest floor.
His face still terrifyingly calm, the Dark Worlder levels a blow to Murph’s head, knocking him unconscious. The move is neat and methodical; undoubtedly used many times before. The man flies toward the next hunter, throwing a kick to his gut before any of the others have even managed to draw their weapons.
“Now would be as good a time as any, Cal!” he yells out, sounding only slightly annoyed, as he dodges two well aimed blows to the head and retaliates with a sweeping kick. He knocks two hunters’ feet from under them.
I have no idea who he is talking to, but I don’t take the time to ponder it. Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, I throw a well-aimed kick at Eulogius’ kneecap. He bellows in rage, and I wriggle out of his grasp. I take off at a sprint, my lungs burning as I gasp for air. My clouded vision finally begins to clear as I force down oxygen.
The Dark Worlder has knocked another man unconscious, or perhaps worse, the hunter lying in a crumpled heap beside the fray. The two remaining hunters attack him with renewed vengeance for their fallen companions. They slash out at him with knives, but he ducks and weaves with a mesmerizing grace. All of the fighting in the Dark World videos has always appeared dirty and savage; this, though still brutal, looks like an exhilarating sort of dance.
One hunter brings his knife down in a vicious arc, catching the man’s arm. Blood spills, but he doesn’t even hesitate. He ignores the injury completely, his face calm and assessing, his actions smooth and efficient. But he will only last so long against these odds.
Feeling an unwarranted sense of comradery with the arrogant man, I scan the ground for the gun. If I can keep it away from them, we will stand a better chance.
As I run, my toe catches on a tree root and I tumble to the ground. Ignoring the flash of pain that shoots up my wrist, I claw my way over the underbrush. A hand grabs my ankle for the second time tonight, this one calloused and clammy against my skin. I scream, struggling against Eulogius’ grip. I kick as hard as I can, my fingers reaching across the damp ground, scrabbling in the dirt until my nails are caked with it.
The cool, alien metal of the gun feels almost merciful when my fingers finally wrap around the hilt. I spin around, the weight foreign, but victorious in my hand.
Eulogius blinks at me, his attempt to yank me toward him abandoned. I can see the details of his face now. The way his eyebrows curl toward his forehead and the way his skin is discolored in large, unseemly patches. His thin lips twist in an ugly sneer, revealing several missing teeth and gums that have turned an unappetizing shade of gray. “You don’t even know how to shoot that thing,” he says confidently. “You don’t even know where the trigger is.”
He’s right. I’ve never witnessed how the mechanisms work or how to even tell if it’s loaded. But it doesn’t matter. I won’t give up. For Easton. For Harlan. I don’t know how to shoot a gun, but as long as there issomethingin my hand, I will continue to fight.
“You’re right,” I tell him. While he is still trying to figure out my sudden acquiescence, I throw the gun as hard as I can at his head. It cracks against his skull with a sickening thud, the sound of metal colliding with skin and bone, and he slumps over in an unconscious heap.
Fire burns through my veins as I scramble to my feet. The Dark World man has disarmed another of the hunters and done significant damage to the other’s shoulder, his arm dangling uselessly at his side. The hunter throws a punch at the man’s head, which he promptly ducks to avoid, kicking out at the other hunter’s legs.
His movements are no longer too fast to track and his eyes flash toward me, wide and telling. He is tiring. He won’t last much longer by himself.
