Asherex of Adreia

“Why don’t you sit down and have a drink?” the gang leader asked.

“I would appreciate that, sir.” I sat on the wooden porch in front of the store while another guy brought me a bottle of water. I guzzled it down and continued my scan of the town. Across the street, a guy was holding two people from the Torah community hostage with West: Kyandra and another man I didn’t recognize. Kyandra locked eyes with me; from here, I could see the tears shining in her green eyes.

The man in charge handed me another bottle of water and offered me something to eat, but I declined because I knew I would end up throwing it up. He smiled at me and said, “I haven’t seen you around these parts before. Where are you from?”

“I’m just passing through. I don’t belong here.” I kept my reply short and devoid of emotion.

He gazed at me with an odd look in his eyes as his men resumed loading their truck with stolen goods from the store. I rested there, making small talk with the guy in charge, rehydrating, and waiting for the right time to make my move. There was a good chance I would end up dying once I started the fight, but death by firefight was preferable to the slow death this disease had waiting for me.

Once rested, I stood up, and the man in charge walked over to me and said, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I won’t let you steal from these people.”

The guy laughed, pulled his gun, poked me in the chest with it, and said, “And what are you going to do about it, boy?”

“If you pull a gun on someone, you’d better be ready to pull the trigger.”

He waved the gun in my face, making a show of it for his guys, and started mocking me. I took a deep, controlled inhale; flipped the switch that turned off my ability to feel; and released my breath. In one fluid motion, I snatched the gun from him, smashed the buttstock into his throat, and knocked him unconscious by slamming him headfirst into the wooden beam holding the porch roof up. Without blinking, I turned, firing a round into the chest of the man holding Kyandra captive, before turning on the man inside the store.

The guy inside was definitely dead from the shot, and as I turned toward the center of town, where the sheriff was hanging upside down from the fountain, I took a hit to my left shoulder. I didn’t feel any pain, but tightness pulled at the injury.

I headed for a wooden shipping crate for cover while firing rounds at the remaining seven men. With three rounds left in my gun, I waited patiently for them to fire off enough to reload. These men were not military-trained and were just firing off rounds like they were in unlimited supply. Once they stopped to reload, I stood, firing a round at the nearest guy who was attempting to move to a better vantage point. It was a headshot, and I knew I would feel guilty about that later. Stop killing people, Asherex. The thought swirled through my mind while I fired the last two rounds at number five, hitting him through his wooden hiding spot.

With my last round spent, I made it to number four’s gun and quickly swapped out my useless gun for his semiautomatic rifle and the extra magazine. Rounds whizzed past my head as I rolled behind a parked car, hoping the gasoline-powered vehicle wouldn’t catch fire somehow while I was near it, before letting loose a volley of fire and putting six and seven out of commission. They were both screaming and moaning in pain, letting me know they were alive for now.

Guy number eight came out of the alley behind me, forcing me out of my hiding place and back into the street. I took another hit in my abdomen from number nine before I could put two rounds in him, ensuring he wouldn’t be able to pick up another gun. Number ten made a beeline for the military truck, so I turned on number eight and put him on the ground with rounds to his firing hand and both his legs.

The truck fired up as I slapped the spare mag into the rifle. It roared down the gravel road, swerving all over the place, and I opened fire on it, aiming for the tires. The already unstable truck blew a tire, causing it to jump a ditch and slam into a power-line pole. Smoke billowed as the engine sputtered and died a moment before the pole fell over, dragging live power lines on top of the vehicle.

An angry shout drew my attention as the man in charge shot a round into my leg, bringing me to my knees. I looked at him while he walked toward me, took aim at my head, and squeezed the trigger.

The gun jammed, and he cursed while trying his hardest to fix it. I forced myself to my feet, even though my leg did not want to hold my weight. I could see an airship heading our way in the distance, but it was about five minutes out.

I walked toward him and fired a round into his leg, causing him to scream and fall down. He clutched his injured leg, and tears streamed down his face as I approached. I stood over him, and in a whimper, he asked, “Who are you?”

“I am High Commander Asherex Reach of the Crimson Division.”

His face paled as the reality sank in that he hadn’t stood a chance.