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  …oh shit, I’m narrating again.

  Sorry guys, still new to this. I don’t know if anyone’s reading this or whatever, but the other guy did imply it. So, uh, just cut me some slack here. Thanks. Anyways…

  Arthur and I walk down the long staircase of the tower in silence. Earlier, I found Zane’s spellbook and decided to take it with us, and now I open it up to look at its contents. Maybe it’s got some magic secrets that we can use to our advantage.

  I glance through the pages…and it's all gibberish. The handwriting is total chicken-scratch, and whatever I can make out is a nonsensical string of letters, numbers, and symbols. Fan-fucking-tastic. Guess spellbooks can only be read with the screwed-up brain of another Wizard.

  Even so, the tome feels weighty and significant in my hands, and it’s clear that power courses through its contents. I put it away for now, just in case it comes in handy later.

  I turn my attention back to Arthur, the boy who saved my life and killed Zane just minutes ago. He’s stern and silent as always. Truthfully, I was pretty caught up in the moment when I pledged myself to help this kid, and I didn’t really have time to really process what was up with him. I mean, he killed a Wizard with a glowing toy sword! No person can do that as far as I know.

  He could be a Wizard himself; he’s got a crazy enough mindset for it. But he doesn’t have a spellbook or a robe, which all Wizards seem to have. If he is a Wizard, then who’s to say I can trust him? Could I really work with one of the insane monsters that destroyed the world?

  No, none of that. I made a promise to help this kid out, no matter what. His heart seems to be in the right place, and he’s invested in taking down the Wizards as much as I am. He could be the key to bringing back some semblance of peace.

  …besides, if he does turn out to be crazy, I’d prefer to be on his good side.

  Finally, we arrive at the ground floor. Outside, the remains of my squad are scattered about, fried and torn apart by Zane’s lighting bolts. A lump forms in my throat as it really sinks in that all of them are dead—and I’m still alive. The realization creates a pit in my stomach that almost nauseates me.

  Arthur tugs my sleeve, and I look to see him staring at me with concern. “I am sorry for your fallen friends, Murphy,” he says, “We can take the time to mourn them before moving on.”

  I force a smile onto my face. “Thanks, but don’t worry about me,” I say as casually as possible, “I’m a soldier, and the mission comes first.” That’s right, I’ve gotta stay strong for Arthur; he’s still just a kid, and he’s counting on me to help him out. He shouldn’t need to carry my emotional baggage as well.

  I start searching the battlefield for anything that could be useful—weapons, armor, vehicles, and survivors, if possible. We had three armored transports when we arrived, and by the looks of it all of them have been flipped over and trashed by Zane. From behind the nearest one, I can hear a moaning sound—a survivor! I run around to the other side to see who it is.

  Turns out it’s none other than Sergeant Elwood, who’s been pinned under one of the flipped-over transports. He’s also got a gash on his forehead, which thankfully isn’t bleeding anymore. He’s just barely conscious, and when he sees me he mumbles something unintelligible at me.

  I rush over to the transport and tell Elwood to stay calm as I try to get him out of there. I grab the underside of the transport and attempt to lift it off the ground, but it doesn’t budge one bit—it’s far heavier than the rebar from earlier. Where’s that magic golden light when you need it, huh?

  I call out “Hey, Arthur! I could use some help over here!” Arthur, who’s been waiting by the door, rushes over and gets into position to help move the transport. Upon seeing Arthur, Elwood looked confused and distressed.

  With a three, two, one, the two of us lift with all our might. Golden light begins to pour out of Arthur again, and I can feel it envelop me not long after. With the added boost, we’re able to lift the several-ton transport with ease, even managing to flip it right-side up.

  I rush over to Elwood to examine him now that he’s freed. His legs are a mangled mess; I’m no doctor, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he never walked again after this. No matter, I’m gonna make sure he gets out of this alive, at least. I grab his hand to pull him into a sitting position and say “Sergeant! Are you hurt anywhere else? We’re going to get you out of here, don’t worry.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “We?” Elwood wheezes, a look of disgust on his face, “So you’re really working with that Wizard? And you expect me to as well?”

  My heart sinks, and Arthur remains silent and stoic as he watches this encounter. “Listen, he defeated Zane! He’s on our side! And for god’s sake, he’s just a kid!”

  “None of that fucking matters!” Elwood grabs my collar and gets in close, his face growing red with anger. “I wouldn’t care even if he saved a hundred orphans and widows in that building! He’s a god-damned Wizard, one of the freaks who turned the world to shit! It’ll be a cold day in hell before I work alongside them!”

  Arthur’s turned away from the conversation now; I can’t tell how much it’s really getting to him. I guess now I understand why he didn’t trust any adults before me…

  “Sarge, please,” I plead, “If you would just…”

  “I don’t want to hear it, not from you!” Elwood spits back, and the malice in his voice genuinely hurts. “I saw you use those powers! You can go become a crazed magic fanatic for all I care, but I would sooner die than allow myself to be corrupted by one of those filthy, insane, depraved—”

  Before Elwood can finish his expletive, something shoots past my head and lodges itself in Elwood’s throat. It’s a piece of glass, and Elwood begins spewing blood at a lethal rate. As he gurgles his last breaths, he weakly points behind me, and I slowly turn my head.

  “Gosh, he was awfully rude. Good riddance to stuffy fellas like him, I say!”

  A figure stands on top of the transport, silhouetted by the morning sun. He has a tattered coat and a cape that looks to be made of a shredded tablecloth flowing behind him. He sports cracked glasses, a crop of patchy black hair, and a sadistic sneer on his face. Most alarmingly, he is surrounded by dozens of floating glass shards, all pointed at me.

  Another Wizard. Of course, it couldn't be more than a couple hours before running into another one. Just our luck, then. I pull out my gun, and behind me Arthur unsheathes his sword.

  The Wizard cackles in return. “Ha! The peasants think they can harm me with their paltry mortal weapons! My superior glass blades will cut you to ribbons before you can even blink.”

  God, do all Wizards really talk like that? It gets to a point.

  Before anyone can make another move, a gurgling sound grabs our attention. On the street, a manhole cover pops open and a deluge of black sludge pours out, revealing a woman in the center of it all. She has oily black hair and wild eyes, and the black sludge is clinging to her body like a ballgown. “Come now, Waylon,” she says, “You ought not speak so highly when you know you’re outclassed.”

  At the same time, a large pile of rubble clears out of the way to reveal a muscular man in a dirty bathrobe. With a wave of his hand, the man forms the mass of concrete rubble into an army of golems. He silently scowls at the two other wizards, and they scowl right back.

  So we’re stuck in a deadlock between three pissed-off wizards. Fantastic. Though by the way they’re all glaring at each other, they seem to not be on good terms with each other either; with any luck, they’ll start fighting each other and we can slip away in the chaos.

  Arthur holds his sword out and points at each of the Wizards. “Who might you all be, and where did you come from?”

  “I am Waylon!” declares the first, “the Wizard of Glass!”

  “And I am Yvette,” says the second with a flourish, “the Wizard of Tar!”

  “Dobrik,” the third says bluntly, “Wizard of Concrete. You’re the one who killed Zane, ain’t ya?”

  “Indeed,” Arthur says pridefully, “I am Arthur Penwick, and I seek to rid this world of evil Wizards. And this man is one of my knights.” He gestures at me, and I’m totally off guard.

  “Yeah, I’m Murphy,” I say, shrugging my shoulders “uh, Lindon. I’m just a normal guy.”

  The Wizards take no notice of me, their attention focused squarely on Arthur. “You took down Zane?” Waylon cackled, “A shrimpy little thing like you? Ha! I could tear you to shreds in an instant!”

  “Believe whatever you like,” Arthur replied, “You’ll know the truth when I cut you down.”

  Yvette chortled primly. “Really, we ought to be thanking you. Zane was far too powerful for any of us to handle. His lightning bolts could have struck us anywhere under the sky, so we were all trapped underground while Zane ruled the city from above. But now that he’s gone, this city shall become my dominion once more! So bow down, worms!”

  Waylon whips his head towards Yvette and scoffs indignantly. “Yeah, right!” he growls, “I’m gonna be the one ruling this place, not you! You’d better get down on your knees before I slice that pretty face of yours to ribbons!”

  “Ohoho, how impertinent!” Yvette retorts, “As if your paltry little splinters could ever match my beautiful black tar. I could smother you in seconds.”

  The two are staring daggers at each other now; Waylon menacingly turns his glass shards towards Yvette, and Yvette raises mounds of her tar in preparation to counterattack.

  Good, they’re fighting each other. Now if we can slip out before they notice…

  Dobrik clears his throat, getting the other two’s attention. “Hey, guys, how’s about we work together for now? If this kid really beat Zane, then he’s probably strong enough to beat any one of us individually. Let’s team up to beat ‘em, then we’ll go back to being enemies.”

  God dammit.

  Waylon and Yvette consider this, weighing their pride against the potential risk. Yvette sighs and says “Very well, I shall deign to work with you for the time being.” Waylon shrugs his shoulders and says “Yeah, alright, me too. But don’t try anything funny!”

  The three wizards begin advancing on us menacingly. Arthur readies his sword, and I reload my gun. I look over to where Elwood’s body lays, pale and motionless in a pool of blood. A lump of disgust forms in my throat, and I’m reminded of what it is we’re really fighting against.

  “Hey, kid,” I say to Arthur, “Let’s do this thing,” Arthur nods, and the golden light envelops us both as we charge at the Wizards.