My shadow—no, the leech—clicks his tongue and sneers. “Well, stand up, pathetic. It seems this is your last day.”

  I turn my head towards him and shove myself upright. Silence is my answer. Thoughts spin.

  This leech—where exactly is he? Latched onto my soul, gnawing at the trauma from foresight loops just to keep me sane? Did he flare up only after Riegt, or has he been here all along, feeding until he fattened into this? And if I manage to break him in, what then—what power does that buy me? A beast that feeds on the soul… Father of the year.

  But the bigger question: how do I kill him? Can I even touch him? If I fail, do I reset—or does he finish the meal and swallow me whole?

  The leech flashes me a grin. “It’s a bit rushed, but luckily for me, you’re so weak. Crushingly, even.”

  I let the jab pass. No point in giving it the satisfaction. Curiosity gnaws louder.

  “Yeah, sure I am… but before you eat me and all that, why’d you call Swart old man?”

  His grin stretches wider, teeth like knives. “Oh, you didn’t know? He’s just like me. He’s also a ‘leech.’ What, don’t tell me that’s a deal breaker. Because if it is, ignore what I said. Wouldn’t want to come between you two’s relationship.”

  My brows furrow. Hard to believe him. The leech isn’t exactly the most trustworthy thing in the world—but fine, let’s play along.

  “What? So he’s also feeding on my emotions?”

  The leech’s face twitches, irritation flashing across it. “No. He wouldn’t touch what’s mine.”

  “Then who’s he feeding on? My father?”

  “Your father? No. This old man’s been here far longer than you think. But after I’m done with you—after I’ve had my fill—I’ll make sure he pays for this humiliation.”

  I snort. “You sure like to talk. Always answering me. Quite obedient already.”

  His face floods with anger, but he swallows it back down.

  “Hmm. Why is that?” I prod.

  He grunts, low and animal, then grudgingly answers, “Because I’m tied to your soul. But don’t worry—after I lick my fingers with you, you won’t be asking anything anymore.”

  I flash my own grin. ‘This isn’t so hard, then. I’ll just ask him how to defeat him.’

  “Alright, then how do I defeat you?”

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  “Soul at—” he starts, but his mouth snaps shut as a finger snap cracks overhead.

  Swart lounges in a non-existent hammock, one leg swinging between the pillars, eyes locked on us.

  He mocks, “No need for you to know that. This wouldn’t be all that interesting then, would it?”

  “Why interrupt? Is my downfall your wish, that man’s wish?”

  “What? Of course not.” His tone drips with mock offense. “But we can’t have you taking the easy way. No, that just won’t do.”

  “Great,” I mutter under my breath.

  “What are you still doing here? I thought you left.” I ask.

  “What’s the problem? A man can’t be where he wants in his own home?” He answers waving me away.

  Before I can push another question, Swart’s gone—just like that. I’m left with a faceful of annoyance, perplexed that anything could act like that. And of course, the muzzle holding the leech quiet vanishes with him.

  The leech bursts into laughter. “You thought it was that easy, huh? I hate that old man’s guts with everything I have, but this—this is just too funny. The look on your face, ha—”

  Mid-laughter, I swing with everything I’ve got, forcing him to reel back. My fist arcs overhead — no magic this time, but boosting my mana still seems to sharpen the body. Wind whistles as my punch flies toward his head.

  My knuckles slam into him—nothing. Cold static crawls up my arm as my fist passes through. I follow through so hard I almost eat dirt and wind up behind him. I open and close my fist. ‘Did I just go through him?’

  He turns toward my back and laughs. “Did you think your measly strength is enough to strike me down?”

  I swing again. My fist ghosts through him—kick, punch, jab, everything; it all goes clean through. I keep hitting until the leech gets bored. He withdraws his arm and barrels a fist into my stomach. The impact steals my breath; I cough and wheeze, stumble backward.

  ‘How the hell am I supposed to win.’

  “Did that hurt?” he sneers, elation dripping from every syllable.

  I clutch my stomach, drag in air until the burning eases, and force myself upright again. The leech watches with amusement. I get it now—he’s playing with his food.

  ***

  I keep swinging, again and again. Each time he knocks me down. Each time I stand back up. Every action meaningless except giving him another excuse to hit me.

  While he treats me like a punching bag, my mind circles back to what he said before Swart had to meddle. “Soul at—” then he shut his mouth. Something with the soul. Maybe a way to hit it. An attack.

  The thought clicks. A soul attack. That’s the answer.

  So I attack his soul and he dies—simple. Probably the easiest next step, right?

  ‘…how do I attack something I can’t see or touch?’

  Back at square one.

  ***

  A boot heel thuds against stone.

  Hein sits on the fortress wall, feet dangling over the edge, staring out across the ruined valley of trenches. Dirt banks and muzzle flashes. Gunshots popping without pause. The flood presses harder each second, desperate to soak every inch of earth with rancid blood. The stench of bile rots the air, tainting even the fresh breath that drifts from the jungle.

  And then there’s something else. Not a smell but a weight. A looming darkness off in the distance, rising from the flood’s origin. Even the flood feels it—their excitement boils louder, sharper.

  Only a few can sense it coming. Those with higher mana: Koln, Hein, and the attack-mage he dragged along.

  That mage holds the line now with Hein’s squad, ice snapping and freezing, piercing and crushing irregulars and giants. Hein’s men add what they can, their mana pushed a notch above average by whatever hell they endured.

  Alfrick still clings on. Barely. More corpse than man, but his will won’t let him fall.

  Koln appears behind Hein. “Will he wake before?” he asks.

  Hein smiles, lips cracked, and lets out a dry chuckle. “Well, I hope so.”

  For once, Koln shows a flicker of discomfort at the joke.

  “…Right.” He mutters, eyes fixed on the distance, on the place where the flood comes roaring from.

  ***

  I collapse to one knee, panting and coughing. My body feels bruised and splintered; my left arm hangs limp, shattered by the leech. Blood leaks from my mouth, soaking my clothes. The world tastes of iron and burns with flaring pain.

  He kicks me square in the chest. I hit the ground hard, coughing up more blood. No matter how many times I’ve swung, I’ve landed nothing—no damage, no clue how to hit a soul. His amusement at my struggle has curdled into something more violent. He started with a broken finger and worked up to leaving me sprawled on the floor.

  He looms over me, the most elated expression I’ve ever seen stretching across his face.

  “Looks like I was right.” He kicks my side; I spit more red onto the white marble.

  “Crushingly weak.” He laughs hysterically, kicking again and again until a slick pool spreads beneath me.

  “Fuck you,” I rasp between coughing fits.

  “Say what you want,” he chuckles. “You won’t be talking for much longer.”

  Kaizer

  I felt nothing

  Blood frozen dull

  A clean slate

  Dreaming endlessly

  In a hollow skull

  A starved fate

  The earth shook—

  Skull whining alive.

  Ears, heart, body bled,

  I broke from the mundane.

  Guns cracked.

  For life I fought insane.

  My boredom shed,

  This new life—survive.

  Dreaming endlessly

  In a brimming skull,

  A crushing fate.

  I feel everything—

  Blood roaring,

  ‘A new slate.’