This story takes place in an age of magic and chaos, where mad wizards and fantastical beasts roam the countryside, wreaking havoc for the poor common folk. Harmony and peace are but a distant dream, and the people cry out in desperation for a hero to bring peace to the world.

  In other words: it is the year 2028 AD, and the world has ended.

  Nobody had known what to do when the Wizards returned. Thousands of people around the world gained the power of magic, with seemingly no rhyme or reason—and with magic came an exquisite and unquenchable madness of the soul. The most powerful of these new Wizards had wasted no time in flaunting their powers and warping the world to their liking—and with no military able to stand against them, their urges had been truly devastating

  Warren, the Wizard of Beasts, mutated common animals into colossal terrors that could fell a skyscraper in a single swipe. Kenji, the Wizard of Tides, drowned the coasts of East Asia underneath an onslaught of thousand-foot tsunamis. Talia, the Wizard of Gravity, turned Australia into a shimmering second moon. These few examples are only a fraction of what the Wizards carried out with impunity; within the year, billions had died and the Earth was utterly unrecognizable.

  Even so, the governments of the old world clung to what little power they had left and attempted to take back what they had lost. Holed up in his bunker far beneath the surface, the President of the United States has decided to strike back, deploying the full force of the military in order to take back the remaining cities in America from the wrath of the Wizards. It is on such a mission that our story begins.

  Hiding behind an upturned chunk of concrete, Private First-Class Murphy Lindon takes a moment to clean out his ears. He thinks he’s just heard something, almost like a distant voice recapping the last three years since the Wizards had arrived in an overly narrative tone. He shakes his head and dismisses it—he has bigger things on his plate now, such as the twenty-foot-tall dragon terrorizing his platoon.

  The mission was supposed to be simple, if not necessarily easy: assassinate Zane, the Wizard of Lightning, who had taken up residence in Chicago's Sears Tower, and take back the city to make it into a stronghold against the Wizards. They had expected a great deal of firepower from the man himself, but they thought they had prepared for every outcome based on their analysis of his lightning magic.

  When they arrived at the base of the tower, it was the dead of night, with the light from the two moons bathing the city in an otherworldly glow. Unfortunately, they found the entrance guarded by a dragon, formed out of scrap metal and plumbing with sparks coming off of its back. Unprepared for such a roadblock, they were pushed back, and now they hide among the ruined streets from their pursuer.

  “Hey, Murphy! Quit daydreaming and get your head back in the fight!”

  Murphy hears the voice of his superior, Sergeant Elwood, and snaps back to reality. He could have sworn he had heard that same voice describing his mission, as if explaining the context to an unseen audience. And now he’s hearing it describing him hearing a mysterious voice, describing itself, and he realizes it would be much better for all of us—I mean, much better for him to just shake it off and move on.

  “Sorry, Sergeant,” Murphy replies, “It’s just… I’ve been hearing this weird voice ever since we started this mission. Haven’t you heard anything?”

  Elwood takes only a moment to think about it, then shoots back “No, I can’t say I have. We have bigger things to worry about, though.” He gestures at the dragon, who is currently throwing their armored truck around like a toy and pinning down the rest of the team with its lightning breath. “How the hell did he even make that thing? I thought Zane’s deal was just lightning!”

  Murphy shrugs his shoulders. “I mean, he is a wizard,” he says, “maybe he just learned a new spell or something.”

  Elwood grimaces. “If the Wizards can learn new tricks beyond what their specialties are,” he says grimly, “Then I don’t know if we’ll ever have what it takes to beat them…”

  Murphy nods in solemn agreement. They had come with special insulated armor and weapons so as to stave off the brunt of the electricity, but it was hardly enough for such close range and such high magnitude. Not to mention they hadn’t brought along nearly the kind of firepower needed to take down a creature such as this. If Zane had more tricks up his sleeve than this, was there really any sort of hope of success?

  “We can’t get tripped up here, not after we’ve gotten this far,” Murphy insists. “We should regroup and attempt to sneak into the building while some of us distract that thing.”

  “Good thinking, soldier,” Elwood nods and fiddles with this walkie-talkie. “Let's hope we’re able to reach them through all this interference…”

  Murphy pulls out his walkie-talkie as well, but before he gets a chance to try anything, something catches his eye that makes his blood run cold: a young boy, no more than ten years old with mid-length blond hair, walking towards the battlefield without hesitation. He has a red blanket draped around his neck in the form of a cape, and a wooden sword at his hip. He has no fear in his eyes; in fact, he seems more focused than anyone else on the battlefield.

  The nearby soldiers take note of the boy, but do not move from their position so as not to—no, wait, actually, Murphy runs over to the boy frantically, much to the horror of Sergeant Elwood and the others. He grabs the boy and pulls him behind another outcropping of concrete. “What the heck are you doing out here, kid?!” Murphy hisses.

  The boy looks back at Murphy, only mildly annoyed, and wriggles out of his grip. “Please let me go, sir,” he says with surprising sternness, “I must climb that tower and slay the evil Wizard within it. It is my duty.”

  Murphy gawks at the boy’s brazenness before grabbing the boy by the shoulders and replying “Kid, this isn’t some fairy tale or whatever! This is a highly classified military operation! How did you even get—doesn’t matter. Look, just stay out of sight until we finish the operation, then we’ll take you back to the bunkers. Got it?”

  The boy places his hand on the hilt of his wooden sword and narrows his eyes at Murphy. “Unhand me, sir,” the boy says, more forcefully this time, “Or I will be forced to cut you down. I am sure you are a fine man, and I would rather not stain my sword with your blood.” His tone has no hint of playfulness or japery; he is entirely convinced of his words.

  What the hell is this kid on? Is he stupid or something? Murphy thinks despite himself. Before he is able to retort, however, he hears an ominous clank-clank sound and sees something approaching in the corner of his eye—it is the dragon, who has overheard their scuffle after all.

  Murphy whips his head around and instinctively reaches for his weapon, putting himself between the dragon and the boy. The dragon flashes a toothy grin of rusty rebar and arcing electricity, as if taunting Murphy for his powerlessness.

  Before Murphy can react, the dragon shoots out a blast of lightning, striking the ground in front of Murphy with a deafening crack and throwing him back away from the boy. His armor blocks the worst of the electricity, but he still feels a sharp arc of pain throughout his body at this range. His ears ring and his vision drifts in and out of blackness for several agonizing moments. Through the ringing, he can just barely make out a blood-curdling roar and the sound of grinding metal in front of him.

  When Murphy comes to his senses, he expects to see the fried corpse of the boy under the claw of the dragon, and prepares himself mentally for the image. What he sees when the dust clears, however, is not what he is prepared for in the slightest: the boy is standing perfectly intact, his hand still on his sword in a relaxed fashion. In front of him lies a heap of scrap metal—at a closer look, it is the body of the dragon, with a clean cut bisecting the neck.

  Murphy spends a dumbfounded moment processing this scene before him; he knows exactly what is being implied here, but his brain refuses to connect the dots—after all, it is an utterly ludicrous conclusion. The rest of the soldiers on the battlefield gawk at the scene in a similarly flabbergasted manner. For just a moment, the soldiers’ mission is forgotten, and they all bask in the absurdity of the situation.

  This moment is quickly dispelled when a booming voice calls down from the clouds, paired with a sneering giant face formed out of lightning, “How dare you worms destroy my beautiful creation!” it snarls, “I was content to let you squabble about down there, but for your insolence I shall smite thee with all my fury!”

  Within the same second, massive bolts of lightning slam down onto the squad from the sky, annihilating the team’s transport as well as dozens of their members. The boy however, is undeterred by this peril, who makes a dash for the entrance to the tower…but not before yelling for Murphy to follow him. How unexpected. Murphy, caught up in the chaos, obeys instinctively, and the pair barely make it into the building as the soldiers are torn apart outside.

  Once inside, Murphy takes a moment to catch his breath and places his head in his hands in utter exasperation. He turns to the boy and yells “What…the hell…just happened?!”

  The boy nonchalantly responds “I have defeated the dragon, obviously, and now I must ascend the tower to defeat the wicked Wizard.” He then starts making his way to the staircase. “We ought to make haste, he will not be distracted by the others forever.”

  Murphy, starting to feel irritated by the boy’s demeanor, follows after him into the stairwell “Look, even if you really did kill that dragon thing,” he says, “The Wizard…Zane…he’s on a totally different level! This isn’t something a kid like you can handle! This is a job for the army!”

  It occurs to him as he says this that the army had just been effortlessly decimated by the Wizard moments before, thus rendering his point moot and making him look very foolish. “No need to be a prick about it, jeez,” he mumbles to nobody in particular.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “Your armies aren’t suited to fight the Wizards, I know that much,” the boy said, and he pulls out his sword and holds it aloft. “This righteous blade is the only thing capable of standing against their power, and it is my duty to wield it for good.”

  Yeah, this kid is nuts, Murphy thinks, but he can’t help but think there may be some truth to his statement. Maybe he has some sort of magic as well? He’s not sure if he can believe it yet. “So if that sword of yours is so powerful, what do you need me for, huh?”

  The boy sheaths his sword and replies “My sword’s power is great, but I will need allies if I continue my quest. You seem like a good person—after all, you did think to protect me from that dragon. The other adults I’ve come across on my travels have been…unsatisfactory.”

  For just a fraction of a second, the boy’s face shifts from its determined expression, and he actually looks like the ten-year-old he is, with all the uncertainty and fear that entails—and then it is gone.

  Murphy is silent for a moment, then sighs and says “All right, I’ll stay with you for now. We can scope out the scene, but if it’s too dicey, we’re going back to the bunkers. Got it?” The boy doesn’t respond, which Murphy takes as a “yes.” Secretly, he hopes to get a chance to take down Zane for good; he is the last member of his squad, after all, and he feels an obligation to see their goal through to the end. He will have time to mourn them once the job is done.

  The pair walk all the way up the long staircase to the topmost floor of the tower, which has been modified so the roof is missing and a large orb of lightning is perpetually suspended five feet up in the middle. Under the orb, Zane himself reads what looks to be an ancient tome with wild eyes and a mumbling voice. His black hair has grown out into a tangled mess, and he is dressed in a flowing robe made from torn curtains.

  Murphy and the boy stand at the entrance to the room, not having been spotted by Zane yet. Murphy, still panting heavily and slumped against the wall, says “What the…huff…what was that? It was like…we just skipped walking up all those steps…huff…like a video game cutscene or a scene transition in a movie or something. Didn’t you notice it, kid?”

  The boy, not acknowledging the idiotic and nonsensical observation that would obviously break the suspension of disbelief if it actually meant anything, steps out ahead of Murphy and declares “Zane! I have come to challenge you to a fight!”

  Murphy curses and steps back, pulling out his pistol and readying his aim. Zane turns around at the boy’s declaration, and chortles with bemusement when he sees who it is. “Oh ho, so you’re the brat that took down my dragon, then!” he says with a malicious edge, “You must think quite highly of yourself to challenge the great Wizard of Lightning!”

  “For a Wizard so weak as to rely on familiars to do his bidding, you speak highly of your strength,” the boy retorts as he draws his blade. “Your days of tormenting the powerless are over, for I shall put an end to them here.”

  Zane’s face contorts into a mask of rage, and he begins rising several feet off the ground with lightning arcing off his hands and feet. Murphy fires several rounds from his gun at the Wizard, but they are stopped when several arcs of electricity Murphy out from the orb and intercept the bullets automatically.

  Zane, who seems to have not ever registered Murphy’s presence, holds up his tome—which, upon closer inspection, is an ordinary composition notebook with the words ZANES SPELLS scrawled on the front—and declares “How dare you call me weak, boy! I have been crafting my spells to their absolute limit of lethality! Why, with my Sphere of Total Interception,” he gestures to the orb behind him, “you shall not even lay a hand upon me! Now begone, you worm!”

  Zane raises his hand and gathers a handful of lightning, far more ferocious than the dragon’s breath. Before Murphy can yell for the boy and run for cover, Zane launches the lightning, and Murphy fully expects to be turned into a charred outline against the wall. What he doesn’t expect is for the harsh lightning to be replaced by a powerful golden glow, and for the deadly bolt to be deflected into the opposite wall—much to Zane’s shock and horror.

  The boy is now outlined by a resplendent golden aura, and his toy sword shimmers with power and panache. Before Zane can retort, the boy lunges at him faster than Murphy can perceive and releases a thrust that Zane barely dodges, leaving a gaping hole in the opposite wall. Zane recovers his wits quickly, and lets out a guttural battle cry as he retaliates with a hail of thunderbolts.

  Their duel is tense and awe-inspiring, with attacks flying by faster than the eye can see. Zane, even with the speed of lightning on his side, is barely able to evade the boy’s powerful slashes while retaliating with blows of his own. The boy is relentless, but his approach is hindered by the Sphere, which strikes him instantly and throws him back when he gets too close. He is repeatedly hammered with blows from both the Wizard and his Sphere, but he does not let up in his attack, for he knows his cause is righteous and his—

  “Shut up! Shut the hell up already! I’m sick of hearing your voice over everything I do!”

  …

  …for he knows his cause—

  “I know you can hear me, goddamn it! Don’t think I haven’t heard all your little jabs at my expense!”

  Well, can you hardly blame me? You’ve been mucking up the story ever since you showed up! You were meant to die to the dragon like the rest, and yet here you are interrupting the epic climax with your blathering! If you’d just keep quiet I might have been able to tolerate your presence, but now you’ve forced me into the first person! I can’t believe you!

  “Oh, cry me a river! I’m pretty sure I’m owed some sort of an explanation, what with you poking around in my head and all!”

  Just my luck, really. This world’s narrative structure finally returns, and the one person who can perceive it is some nobody with a bad attitude!

  “Hey! My attitude is…no, it doesn’t matter! Who the hell are you, anyways? And what was that about ‘the world’s narrative structure?’”

  Why, who else would I be? I’m the narrator! I weave the stories of the world into words for the pleasure of those throughout all of reality! I didn’t have a whole lot to do for several centuries there, but with this re-awakening of magic, I’ve been called to the task again! And while I’ve been arguing with you, Mr. Lindon, the readers are missing out on the epic final showdown between hero and villain!

  “What, that fight? The kid’s getting mauled out there! I’ve gotta help him somehow, but I can’t think straight with you yammering on in my head!”

  You, save the day? Pah! It would serve you better to get hit by a stray lightning bolt and keel over dead! At least I could wring an emotional death scene out of that…

  “You know what? Screw you! How about you let me write my own story, huh? I’m sure it would be better than whatever hackneyed crap you would come up with!”

  Oh, is that so! Well, then, have at it! This story is beyond salvaging anyways. Maybe I’ll pop in to Greece or Brazil to see if anything interesting is happening there. But here? No thank you! You can write the story for all I care! Goodbye!

  Fine by me!

  …

  Wait, he’s actually gone?

  Woah, what happened to my voice? No, this is like…a different voice, somehow. “This is my real voice,” I say. Wait, why did I say ‘I say’? Oh jeez…I’m the narrator now, aren’t I? Whatever that means…this is going to take some getting used to.

  Focus, Murphy. You’re writing the story now, you gotta figure out what to do. And you should probably stop speaking your thoughts like this, it doesn’t read very well. Not sure how I know that, but whatever, here we go.

  So, the kid is fighting Zane, and it's not looking good for him. He’s tough, and that golden light seems to be mitigating a lot of the damage, but he’s taking a lot of hits, and he’s starting to slow down. It’s only a matter of time before Zane breaks him down for good. Shit. It’s his big orb thing, whatever he called it: it’s slamming him with attacks whenever he gets too close, and Zane is making sure to stay in its range. Gotta do something about that.

  I, uh, look around the room for something to use, and I see an elongated piece of scrap metal on the ground that’s angled upwards. I get an idea—if I’m able to ground the lightning to something and dissipate the electricity, then maybe the orb will lose its power! It’s a long shot, but hey, the world doesn’t make sense anymore, so it's worth a try.

  I run over to the piece of metal and try to move it over to the orb—but it doesn’t budge. It must be almost half a ton. Still, I keep trying to push it with all my might, until my bones creak and muscles scream with pain. I have to do this, I have to do something for help, or else I came up here for nothing.

  I glance up at the kid, still fighting earnestly despite everything. I remember when I was his age, when I believed so strongly I could be a superhero and save the world whenever I put on a cape made of an old blanket. When did I stop believing that? Was it really the right choice?

  I decide, right then and there, that I will believe in the boy, in the hope that he can do this, that I can really do this. I continue pushing the metal with all my might, and as I do so, a golden aura envelops me as well, and I find just enough strength to move the piece of metal into position. I don’t know where this power is coming from, and at this point, I don’t really care.

  Once the metal is in place, I grasp under it firmly and, with a passionate war cry, raise it up into the Sphere, which reacts instantly and violently. Electricity surges into the metal and across my body, and though the golden aura and my armor block most of the damage, it still hurts like a bitch. I manage to hold the metal aloft as the orb gets smaller and smaller, until it disappears in a flash.

  Zane notices this instinctively, and turns his head to see me for the first time as I collapse on the ground and the gold aura dissipates. His face twists into an expression of rage, and he screeches “You! How dare you interfere with this battle! You shall pay for that!”

  I’m hardly able to move from my spot, but I manage a grin and call out “Do it, kid! You got this!”

  As if responding to a cue, the boy appears above Zane and readies a final attack, this one glowing more radiantly than ever. Zane turns back around just in time to see this, and the rage in his eyes turns to horror as he realizes his fate. He throws up his hands in a desperate attempt to block, but it does nothing—the attack cleaves through Zane like butter, and with one final screech of agony, he explodes into a shower of sparks and golden dust.

  The battle is over, and the two of us are battered and singed, but very much alive. The residual electricity disappears and the sky finally starts to clear up. I glance up at the two moons in the sky, and I realize the hardest truth of all—the old world is gone for good, but we can still work to make the new world better.

  (Man, where did that come from? I guess narrating brings out the motivational speaker in a person, huh.)

  The boy turns to face me and says “Thank you, sir…without your help, I would likely have fallen to that wicked Wizard. Pray tell, what is your name?”

  “The name’s Murphy. Murphy Lindon,” I reply. Despite my screaming muscles, I pull myself into a kneeling position before the boy. “Kid…I’ve seen your strength and determination, and…I want to follow it. If you’ll allow it, I promise to stay at your side wherever you go, and assist you in whatever you might need.”

  The boy thinks this over for a moment, then nods sagely in acknowledgment. He pulls out his sword and taps it lightly on both of my shoulders. “Very well,” he says, “I dub thee Sir Murphy Lindon.”

  Even though the sword is made of simple wood, I can feel the weight of circumstance in this moment. Once it is finished, I raise my head and say “This is a little embarrassing, but…I didn't get your name, either.” At this, the boy actually smiles, the first I’ve seen out of him this whole time.

  “My name is Arthur,” the boy says with a regal tone, “and it is my greatest dream to bring peace to this world. We still have much to do.”

  Well, I guess this is where I say to be continued…