The wind howled between the two of them, carrying the scent of smoke and old blood.

  The Gunslinger didn't lower his weapon, but he didn't fire either. He just leaned against a rib-bone and looked at the wolf leader.

  "So... how does a guy like you end up leading a pack of murderers in a hole like this?"

  The wolf leader spat a glob of red saliva into the snow.

  "Same as anyone. My sisters and I were caught raiding a merchant's silo in the capital. They sent us here to 'repent.' My sisters didn't last the first winter. Now, I just do what I'm told so I don't join them in the dirt."

  The Gunslinger nodded, though he looked disappointed. It was the same old story. Everyone here was just a broken piece of a world that didn't want them.

  "I see," the cat muttered.

  "How about I ask you a question for once?" the wolf said, his smirk returning. He looked at the horizon, his ears twitching.

  "Have you ever heard of a commander named Lancelot?"

  The Gunslinger's fur stood on end. His instincts screamed at him, and he whipped his head to the left. In the span of a single heartbeat, the air behind him literally exploded.

  A flash of silver light cut through the gloom, and a massive pressure of wind threw the Gunslinger forward.

  He rolled through the snow, narrowly dodging a blade that moved so fast it was almost invisible.

  When he skidded to a stop, he saw the newcomer standing where he had just been.

  It was an Equine-kin---a Centaur of the High Valleys---but he stood on two legs with a grace that was almost sickening. He had flowing blonde hair that looked like spun gold and a face so symmetrical it felt fake.

  On his chest sat a purple crest, pulsing with a heavy, regal light.

  A Rank 3 veteran, the Gunslinger thought, his grip tightening on his iron. He's literally on another level. He's stronger than me.

  "Commander Lancelot, I presume?" the cat asked, baring his teeth.

  "An astute observation from a mere vagabond!" Lancelot replied.

  "You stand in the presence of a soul whose magnanimity is only eclipsed by his martial prowess! I am the herald of the Peak's final judgment!"

  The wolf leader laughed behind him.

  "He's all yours, Commander! I have a little moth to squash inside!" The wolf turned and bolted back into the base, heading straight for where Sissy had gone.

  "Hey! Get back here!" the Gunslinger yelled, but Lancelot was already moving.

  The Commander didn't run. He just... was there.

  In a blink, he appeared three inches from the Gunslinger's face. It wasn't just speed; it was like the space between them had ceased to exist.

  The Gunslinger fired his teeth-reloaded rounds.

  Bang!

  Bang!

  Bang!

  Lancelot tilted his head with a bored expression, the bullets whistling past his ears. He swung a silver rapier in a tight arc.

  The Gunslinger blocked it with the barrel of his gun, the sparks showering his face.

  He's teleporting, the cat realized, his mind racing. No, he's locking onto my body and jumping through the folds of the air. This is going to be a nightmare.

  Lancelot flickered again. He appeared above the cat, bringing his blade down in a vertical strike.

  The Gunslinger dove between the Commander's legs, firing a shot upward, but Lancelot was already gone, appearing ten feet away with his cape fluttering perfectly in the wind.

  "Your movements are so... plebeian," Lancelot tutted, his blonde hair barely out of place.

  "Is this the best the rebellion has to offer? A scruffy feline with a penchant for metallurgy?"

  The Gunslinger spat out a spent casing and slammed another round into the chamber with his teeth.

  I can't hit what I can't catch, the cat thought, his eyes narrowing. I need to stop thinking about where he is and start thinking about where I'm going to be when he lands.

  Lancelot vanished again.

  This time, the Gunslinger didn't look. He felt the ripple in the air behind his left shoulder and fired blindly behind his back while spinning low to the ground.

  The bullet grazed Lancelot's golden shoulder pauldron, finally drawing a tiny scratch. The Commander stopped, his majestic face twisting into a frown.

  "You dare mar my resplendent armor?" Lancelot hissed.

  "I'm just getting started, Sparky," the Gunslinger growled.

  The air was literally screaming as Lancelot began to move in earnest. He didn't just run; he became a flickering ghost of silver and gold.

  Every time the Gunslinger pulled the trigger, the hammer clicked against an empty space where the Commander had been a millisecond before.

  He's jumping too fast, the cat thought, his eyes darting wildly. I can't even find a rhythm. It's like fighting a shadow that has a blade.

  Within ten seconds, the snowy field was filled with the sound of rapid-fire shots.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Bang!

  Bang!

  Bang!

  Bang!

  The Gunslinger was burning through his ammo, his teeth aching from the constant reloads, but every bullet just hit the air.

  Lancelot was laughing, a high, musical sound that was actually starting to get annoying.

  "Your futility is almost melancholy to behold!"

  Then, it happened. The Gunslinger went to fire one more time, but Lancelot appeared right inside his guard.

  The silver rapier flashed like a streak of lightning. Before the cat could even blink, the blade punctured his shoulder, going straight through the leather of his coat and out the back.

  "Tsk," Lancelot muttered, looking down at the wounded cat.

  He ripped the blade out with a wet sound. The Gunslinger let out a ragged gasp and fell into the snow, his revolver slipping from his hand. Blood began to pool under him, turning the white ground into a dark, steaming puddle.

  "Well, that's done," Lancelot said, wiping a single drop of blood off his rapier with a silk handkerchief.

  "A mess, but a necessary one for the sake of aesthetic order."

  He didn't even bother to finish the cat off. He just started walking toward the base, his boots barely making a sound. He saw the bodies near the entrance and flickered forward, teleporting until he reached the large rib-bone structures.

  He stopped and tilted his majestic head. Under the curve of a massive bone, he saw them. A dozen small children, shaking and huddling together for warmth.

  "Ah, the progeny of the wretched. Better to end your travail now than let you rot in this cold."

  But as he stepped forward, the ground didn't just shake... it groaned!

  A heavy, ancient pressure filled the air, so thick it actually made Lancelot's ears pop. He spun around, his blonde hair whipping across his face.

  Behind him, what he thought was a giant rock began to shift. The snow fell off in heavy clumps, revealing thick, green moss and gnarled, stone-like skin. A massive head, the size of a wagon, lowered itself to look the Commander in the eye.

  It was Fiji.

  And he didn't look like a happy kid anymore.

  "I... Fiji... No hurt... small ones."

  Lancelot actually looked surprised. His majestic mask slipped for a second as he looked up at the legendary beast.

  "How preposterous."

  This entity is gigantic, Lancelot thought, his grip tightening on his sword.

  ----------------------------------------------------------

  The base was a literal oven. Sissy was running through the halls, her lungs burning from the thick, black smoke. She was checking every single room, her hands shaking as she pulled back curtains and kicked open doors.

  "Please," she whispered, her voice cracking.

  "Just one person. Anyone."

  She reached the very last door at the end of the hall. She yanked it open, but there was nothing but a single, lifeless body staring back at her. The sight made her stomach turn. She slammed the door shut, locked it, and actually threw up a little bit on the floor. Her shoulder was throbbing, so she ripped a piece of her sleeve and tied it tight over the stab wound.

  When she looked up, the wolf leader was standing at the end of the hallway, blocking the only way out.

  Why is he here? she thought, her heart sinking. Did that cat actually lose?

  The wolf walked toward her, his claws scraping against the bone-floor.

  "I don't know how you survived that fall, little moth. But it ends here. I'm sorry, I really am. But I have sisters to look after, and the Commander doesn't like loose ends."

  Sissy didn't say a word. She didn't have any words left. She just charged.

  It was a messy, brutal struggle.

  The wolf's blade bit into her side, another hot flash of pain that almost made her black out. But she fought back, scratching and biting like a wild animal.

  Eventually, the wolf's superior strength won out. He pinned her to the floor, his weight crushing the air out of her. He raised his dagger, his eyes looking almost sad.

  "I have to do this," he begged, like he was the victim. "For my sisters!"

  Your sisters? Sissy thought.

  What about my... sister?

  What about... Crysorgo?

  What about the... home you just burned down?

  She felt something snap inside her. It wasn't her bones; it was her restraint.

  Her long, white hair suddenly moved like it had a mind of its own. It lashed out like a nest of vipers, wrapping around the wolf's thick neck. She pulled with everything she had, her hair tightening like a steel cable.

  The wolf's eyes bulged. He tried to claw at the hair, but it was useless.

  She held on until he stopped moving.

  It was a new move, something she didn't even know she could do, but she didn't stop to think about it.

  She dragged his heavy body back to the main hall and threw him into the center of the fire with the others.

  "Go be with your sisters," she muttered.

  She stumbled out of the base and stopped dead. The scene was total chaos.

  The cat was down in the snow, unconscious. There was a new, majestic-looking guy with blonde hair, and in front of him stood the massive, mossy form of Fiji.

  "Fiji?" she gasped.

  "How did you get up here?"

  Fiji turned his giant head. He looked at her and let out a rumble that felt like a mountain's blessing. He reached into the moss on his chest and pulled out a glowing glass bottle, tossing it through the air. Sissy caught it with her good hand. She knew exactly what it was.

  Mosswater.

  Lancelot saw the girl and sneered. "A peasant girl with a vial of filth? How insignificant!"

  He tried to flicker toward her to end it, but Fiji was faster than he looked. Thick, iron-like vines erupted from the snow, wrapping around Lancelot's legs and yanking him back.

  The Commander let out a cry of pure indignation. He slashed through the vines, but Fiji was already swinging a massive stone fist.

  Lancelot teleported behind the giant, trying to find a weak spot in the rock, but the moss seemed to absorb the impact. It was a dance of a silver needle against a rolling mountain.

  Meanwhile, Sissy didn't waste a second.

  She ran to Crysorgo's body and forced his mouth open, pouring a good amount of the glowing liquid down his throat.

  Then she ran to Koro, who was a mess of stabs and bruises, and did the same. Finally, she reached the cat Gunslinger, letting the mossy water drip into his mouth. She took the last swig herself.

  Lancelot stopped mid-teleport, his golden hair disheveled. "What is this sorcery? You think a mere decoction can undo the finality of my blade? This is an affront to the very laws of mortality!"

  He realized it too late.

  One by one, they stood up.

  The wounds on Koro's chest literally knitted themselves back together.

  Crysorgo's eyes snapped open, his strength returning like a flood.

  The Gunslinger spit out a glob of blood and picked up his revolver, his shoulder completely healed.

  "Thanks, kid... I owed you one."

  Koro stood up to his full, terrifying height, his four eyes locked on the blonde commander. Crysorgo stood next to him, his old hands tightening into fists.

  "That's the guy?" Koro asked, his voice a low growl.

  "That's him," Sissy said, her wings buzzing with new energy.

  They all stepped forward together, surrounding the "majestic" commander.

  Lancelot's face went pale.

  He was good, but he wasn't "four-against-one" good.