Chapter 6.1: Twin Bridges I

The candle burned low, its flame flickering against the damp stone walls of my workshop. The air smelled of iron and old parchment, a mixture of ink-stained research notes and the acrid scent of burnt ozone from my last failed experiment.

I ran a hand through my graying hair, staring at the scribbled equations before me. None of it made sense. The slime shouldn't have spread this far. It shouldn't be growing this fast. It shouldn't have adapted. It was never designed for this.

"Any progress?"

"Gahhh! Use the door!"

I exhaled sharply and turned to my sister, who had teleported straight into my room instead of knocking like a civilized person. The dim light outlined her sharp features—dark skin glistening with sweat from another night spent teleporting between strongholds, thick hair rumpled under the wide wizard hat she always insisted on wearing.

She leaned against the heavy wooden door, arms crossed, exhaustion evident in her narrowed eyes.

"If I had progress, we wouldn't be sitting in a glorified graveyard waiting to be eaten alive," I muttered. The slime had already consumed most of the north side of the kingdom, and there wasn't enough fuel to eradicate all of it.

"And it gets worse…"

She pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer. "What?"

I hesitated, running my tongue over my teeth. "It's like… it's learning."

She tensed. "That's not possible."

"Neither was this," I snapped, motioning to the thick black slime creeping up through the tower of PrideFall Castle on the map before me.

Weeks ago, I had marked the first outbreaks, tracking where survivors had gathered and where fires had been lit in desperate attempts to hold back the tide. Now, most of the map was blackened, covered in frantic scratches and notes—failed attempts at understanding.

"The black slime in the castle seems to be the root of this 'learning' you're talking about, then?" my sister asked.

"You've figured it out too, huh?"

She was right. Probably. I had come to the same conclusion myself. The black slime was a new variant, one that wasn't found anywhere else—only in the castle.

From what we had gathered, every time we discovered a new way to kill the slime, it somehow adapted. Either it found a new route to avoid us altogether, or it formulated a strategy to overwhelm our forces.

That's how most of the fine knights had perished. And why our combat force was significantly reduced.

"Well, you really screwed this one up, Bolt!" she said, giving me a hard pat on the back.

"Please don't let anyone hear—"

A knock at the door sent a jolt through us both. Mage immediately reached for the staff she'd left resting on my table.

"Who is it?" she called.

"It's us," came a sigh from the other side. One of the archers, probably. They had been patrolling the area, keeping an eye out for survivors and scavengers.

"See, Mage? Knock on the door, like a regular person."

She rolled her eyes as I unlocked the door, and a young woman stepped in. Lessa. Her blonde hair was dirty and disheveled, her face flushed from running.

"We've got people at the bridge."

I frowned. "Scavengers? Rogue knights? Bandits?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "A knight, yes, but I don't think he's rogue. And his group… they look like hell."

Mage and I exchanged glances. Survivors? That far into slime territory? Anything that deep in the infestation was supposed to be dead.

. . .

The streets of PrideFall were nearly unrecognizable. The libraries, the shops, the schools—they all resembled a graveyard. The buildings still stood, but many had been hollowed out, stripped of anything valuable.

The sun rose over the city, its light flickering against the crumbling stone walls.

We reached the edge of Twin Bridges with Lessa and Leil, another archer, where a group of weary travelers stood under heavy guard.

A knight in full armor, a junior knight by his side, a lumberjack with a war axe, a young girl clutching a wolf's fur, a humanoid rabbit thing, and—goddesses above—an elf.

Those were rare to see anywhere aside from Tartarus. I had even started to think that place was a myth, considering no one had been there in over a millennium. But here was living proof that I was wrong.

The knight stepped closer, and I couldn't believe it.

Lancelot Lionheart.

The Pride of PrideFall.

I always wondered where that guy went. Some rumors said he had died. Others, that he'd fled. But if he really did leave—why was he back?

Lancelot stood with his good arm gripping the hilt of his sword, his other wrapped tightly in a crude splint. His rust-colored hair was disheveled, his once-polished armor dented, cracked, and blackened with soot.

The others weren't much better.

The rabbit-woman—the strangest specimen I had ever seen—stood beside him, her fur singed and her clothes tattered. I racked my brain for all the mystical creatures I knew: Anubians, Dwarves, Goblins, Dragons, Snow Trolls, Myrks. None of them fit the description of the strange rabbit creature before me.

How intelligent was she compared to humans? What unique traits did she have? How did her insides look? Human guts? Ruminant intestines? A combination of both?

Her ears flicked, and her sharp gaze locked onto mine.

I stiffened. Right. I'd save my thoughts for another time.

The lumberjack had a gash on his forehead, his bandana barely concealing it, his axe resting heavily on his shoulder. The girl looked barely conscious, leaning against the wolf beside her.

And then there was the elf.

Her orange-brown hair was wild, her expression unreadable. She stood aloof, thumbs hooked on the straps of her oversized trousers, watching everything with a detached ease that set my nerves on edge.

I stepped forward. "How are any of you even still alive?"

Lancelot let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "I ask myself that all the time."

I glanced around. The streets were empty—for now. The slime had been temporarily contained away from this section of the city.

But we had to move. Unless we wanted the rogue knights and their Ogre masters to catch us.

I turned back to Lancelot.

"We have a lot to talk about, Sir Lancelot," I said. "Come with us."

"I would like to speak with the other Royal Knights," Lance said.

I sucked air through my teeth. "About that... That's another thing we need to discuss."

Then I heard it. The clobbering of hooves against the ground. They were coming.

"Now! Let's go! Mage!"

"Got it!" she said, quickly raising her staff, its arcane crystals humming with energy as she carved a glyph into the air. She had specialized in this spell since the invasion started.

"What's going—" Lance started, but before he could finish, I grabbed his armor. Not enough to drag him along—but enough to send the message.

"Everyone, jump!"

The air split. Space folded.

And in the next moment, gravity yanked me sideways, my boots skidding against an unfamiliar surface. The rush of teleportation always left me reeling, my vision tilting before settling.

I nearly toppled backward—until a strong hand caught my forearm.

"Gotcha, old man." The lumberjack hoisted me up with ease.

I grumbled. "I'm not that old." But I still nodded. "Thanks."

"What in the world just—" the younger knight began, but Mage clamped a hand over his mouth.

Below us, a rough voice growled.

"Oi, oi. I was sure I heard voices down here. Even the Hog heard 'em too."

We had moved from the cobblestone streets to the ceramic tiles of a rooftop, several feet above where we once stood.

I had to hand it to my sister—space magic really came in handy.

Lance squinted at the scene below. "Wait. Is that—Sir Ralph Corgstin?"

Yes.

But he wasn't the man Lance knew anymore.

Ralph Corgstin rode atop a massive, copper-colored wild hog, its tusks glistening in the morning light. His scraggly beard was unkempt, his armor battered, and as the hog sniffed at the ground where we'd just been, it huffed sharply, exhaling steam.

Good. He hadn't heard us.

We had been waiting for a clean shot at him for a long time.

"Do you have an aim, Leil? Lessa?" I asked, keeping my eyes trained on the rogue knight.

"At the ready," Leil confirmed, her blonde hair shifting in the wind.

"On the mark," Lessa affirmed, her bowstring taut.

Lance turned sharply. "Why are you aiming at a knight?" His eyes narrowed. "Unless... you're enemies of the kingdom."

Damn it.

"No, no—you're very mistaken—" I started, but Lance was already moving.

He shoved me to the ground, knocking the arrows from the archers' hands in a single, fluid motion.

"You guys, restrain them. I'm going in."

Then, before I could stop him—Lancelot Lionheart leapt from the roof.

Completely blowing our cover.

A shadow loomed over me.

"Sorry, old man." Hogan said, pinning me down.

"Again, I am not that old!" I yelled back, clenching my molars. Kids these days.

The lower knight wrestled the bow out of Leil's hands while the elf easily handled Lessa.

Which left—

"Come on, Connie! Get that wizard!" the squire yelled, pointing his chin in Mage's direction as he struggled with Leil.

That was the rabbit woman's name, then. Connie. She just shrugged her shoulders and turned away.

"I'm already in PrideFall, you dunderheads. I don't need you guys for anything anymore." She walked in the opposite direction and leapt away, clearing the rooftops in a few powerful jumps until she was out of sight.

"What a lovely goodbye," Fee said dryly as a wolf darted toward Mage. All she had to defend herself was her arcane staff.

I looked down at the scene below. Lancelot had already jumped from the roof, landing before Ralph and his hulking hog.

Ralph's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. The hog pawed at the earth, muscles tensing. Ready to charge.

"Sir Ralph," Lancelot said, giving the formal bow knights always offered each other.

"And who the hell are you?" Ralph responded, spitting a wad of saliva onto the dirt.

He didn't recognize him. The battered armor, the helmet concealing his face—Lancelot was just another nameless soldier to him.

Even through the helmet, I could see the change in Lancelot's posture. Pride Knights weren't supposed to speak to each other like this. Not with such open disdain.

Still, Lancelot pressed forward. "Lancelot Lionheart. Chief of the Royal Guard of Their Majesties."

Ralph's eyes widened, just for a fraction of a second. The name still carried weight, even here.

Then—he laughed.

"Ha! I heard rumors! Some said you ran when we needed you most. Others said you died like a dog in the castle." Ralph bellowed, his gut shaking with amusement. "And here you are—alive and well."

His gaze drifted upward. He spotted the scuffle on the rooftops—Lancelot's own group, keeping us restrained.

"And would you look at that," he mused. "You caught the rebels too!"

Even Lancelot must have realized the shift in power. Ralph wasn't addressing him like a subordinate anymore. He wasn't treating him as a superior, either.

Lancelot's fingers twitched toward his hilt. Ralph saw it. He smirked.

"So?" Ralph spread his arms. "Are you ready to join our forces? We have some civilians to round up."

Lancelot's grip on his sword tightened. "The only forces I serve are the PrideFall military and its protective order."

Ralph sneered. "Trust me, little knight. You do not want to fight."

He raised his hand in a silent signal.

Lancelot gave his own—a barely perceptible flick of his fingers.

The tension snapped.

Lancelot's group released us.

And from the alleyway behind Ralph, a massive figure lumbered forward.

A troll.

The thing was taller than any man, its shoulders as broad as a carriage. It swung an uprooted tree in its fist like a club, the wood splintered and jagged at the edges.

With a guttural roar, it rushed toward us.