The orc leaned in closer, sniffing Jack’s face while he used his weight to pin Jack’s limbs down.

  “You… Fresh… You… Make good meal for Master,” it spoke with halting English.

  Jack spat in his face.

  He only grinned wider.

  “I make you scream now,” he breathed, pulling back his black nails so that they glinted above Jack’s vision.

  “Go to hell,” the mechanic from Earth shot back.

  All the while, Jack watched that hand. He knew that when it descended, he would die. He had no real strength left. He wanted to fight. He wanted to shove this cannibal off his body and run for freedom, but his limbs simply wouldn’t budge, pinned as they were.

  There was a faint twang, and suddenly the hand that would spell his gruesome death simply wasn’t there, leaving in its wake a stump. He couldn’t tell who was more shocked—himself or the orc. There was a chorus of echoing twangs, and more descending orcs cried out in both pain and death throes.

  “Bleed for the fallen!” a bright baritone voice shouted from the direction of the great wall.

  “BLEED FOR THE FREE!” came the mighty reply of over a dozen voices.

  Jack careened his head backward in time to see a full platoon of unmounted knights enter through the wall of darkness and charge the small horde of orcs. Each one brandished a disproportionately large weapon overhead, and each plate and contour of their armor was dyed various shades of red.

  And over each of their heads, a rectangular bar fizzled in and out of existence as he looked their way.

  To Jack’s shock, they displayed little cohesion after their battle cry. One knight used the flat of his blade to shove one of his comrades to the ground, cackling wildly as he saw his fellow soldier trip over his own feet. Another flipped over the heads of two of her friends, using their helmets as platforms for a second, greater leap. It was like watching children play tag, all rushing about and eager to get ahead of their playmates.

  Except this wasn’t tag. This was a battle.

  Still, seeing reinforcements bolstered Jack’s strength in the same moment that it made the huge orc’s willpower falter. With a roar of his own, Jack bucked the orc off his chest and scrambled awkwardly to his feet. Bruised, cut, and bleeding, Jack raised his fists and prepared to fight.

  He never got the chance.

  A searing blast of blue flames engulfed the orc in front of him. It was so quick. So brutal. So effortless. He absently followed the trail of fire to its source and witnessed the maniacal grin of a feminine knight with an outstretched hand.

  “You… You shot fire out of your hand,” Jack commented lamely, pointing between the knight and the barbequed corpse. He took a step back, then another.

  It was one thing to know he was now in a world of magic, levels, and power. It was another to smell the burning hair and charred skin from the result of that power.

  Nausea threatened to overwhelm Jack’s body. He took another step back.

  “Oy, Commander Derrick! We got one bonepicker over here!” she yelled over to the man with the huge plumed helm.

  The knight rushed past him, though she gave him an odd look as she did.

  Before he could stop her, she leapt into the air and threw a spear at another orc at the top of the mount. It was briefly cocooned in more blue flames before it pierced through the chest of another orc berserker. It screamed. She laughed.

  “Oh, God. I’ve got to get out of here,” Jack muttered, looking around for a route of escape as much as for any imminent threats.

  All around him, carnage reigned. Green blood baptized the cobblestone and red armor alike. There was nowhere to look that wasn’t touched by battle. Jack was no stranger to blood, but this was different. This was death, and its bringers were reveling in it. Motion drew Jack’s reeling mind back to the present.

  One orc, shorter than the rest, slunk toward Jack, its bone-white dagger held in a reverse grip.

  Jack prepared to knock its brains out with a quick combo he’d long since ingrained into his muscle memory, but before the creature made it three feet, a knight appeared behind it with a shimmer of air. A distant part of Jack’s mind categorized this display of magic as a stealth skill or some form of invisibility.

  Every other part of him was screaming to run, to fight, to hide.

  They weren’t there, now they are, Jack’s brain struggled to catch up.

  It was like watching a heat mirage clear, and the knight was already slicing his rapier across the orc’s throat. The monster gave Jack a surprised look before its shoulders were relieved of its head.

  “Gotta be quicker if you want the EXP, eh, bonepicker?” the knight said as he flicked his blade to clear it of blood.

  “Is that all of them?” the same knight who’d started the battle cry shouted from atop the pile of bricks. His enormous blade had two orc scouts skewered along it.

  The guy didn’t even sound winded.

  “Yes, commander!” came the barked reply of all the other knights. Jack thought he heard a mixture of disappointment and elation color some of their responses.

  So this is Commander Derrick? Jack concluded, recalling the name that the pyromancer had used moments earlier.

  Derrick scanned the battlefield, and his eyes came to rest on Jack. He cursed loudly.

  “Just you?” He pointed a gauntleted finger at Jack’s chest. “You’re the reason these pigs came so close to our border?! Ardent’s beard! We thought a full caravan of you bastards was out here, given all the ruckus we heard.”

  Derrick spat on the ground and shook his head.

  “Why couldn’t you at least be one of those whores we find lurking out here? At least that way, we would’ve been properly thanked for our troubles!” the commander declared with a wild sneer.

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  There was a spattering of chuckles and curses from the gathered knights. A few of the female knights had tighter smiles than the men, but it was little consolation right then. None of them countered their commander.

  The leader unsheathed his sword from where it was stuck in the dead, and moved with surprising grace toward Jack. He reached behind his head to the small of his neck, and there was a flash of red light along previously invisible lines along his helm. With a whir of something in between gears rotating and the hiss of releasing pressure, his helm collapsed into a high collar around his shoulders.

  It reminded Jack faintly of how Transformers were animated, but the knight did it so casually, he had to assume that this was a normal occurrence. Still, he couldn’t help but want to know how it all worked. And if he could get his hands on some blueprints…

  “Well?” the commander demanded, coming to stand just a few feet in front of Jack.

  Jack looked him over. Dark stubble framed his haggard face and shaggy mop of dirty blonde hair. He was tall, though Jack wasn’t sure how much of that was from the armor. And even from this distance, the mechanic could faintly smell the hard bite of liquor on his breath.

  “Well?” Jack repeated, not sure what the man was fishing for.

  The commander backhanded him with such speed, all Jack saw was a blur of red metal before his face exploded with fresh agony. He spun around and fell to his hands and knees. The wound in his side wrung out a scream that he just barely managed to hold back.

  “What the hell?!” Jack shouted, finding it difficult to catch his breath.

  “You dare speak so flippantly with a Red Knight? Are you seriously this daft, or has the voidlands invaded your mind already?” the commander asked haughtily. “We braved the dark for you. We saved your miserable life. The least you can do is grovel and pay us our due.”

  “Seems to have gotten the first part down!” a knight to Jack’s left commented with a laugh. “Maybe we can keep him as our dog! He looks good on all fours like that.”

  Jack tried to stand back up, but the commander’s boots caught him squarely in the back and shoved him back on the ground. Stones dug into his chest, his sides, his face.

  “What’ll it be, pup? Pay up, or be our pet for the evening?”

  There were several lecherous whistles and whoops from the collective soldiers at this ultimatum.

  “I… I don’t have any money,” Jack finally said. “But I’ll–”

  “Pup it is!” a knight to his right roared to the cheer of several others.

  He was going to tell them that he could find a job and pay them that way, but decided he wasn’t going to give these bastards a single dime. Nor was he going to go along with their disgusting bargain.

  “Sounds like you’re about to show us your gratitude after all,” the commander said just loud enough for Jack to hear. He felt something cold and metallic press against his neck. “It would’ve been better if you’d stayed past the wall. Maybe this will teach you not to bring trouble to our doorstep next time you’re scavenging out here.”

  “Commander!” another knight shouted, this time considerably more frantic than before. “Pigs on the roof!”

  Jack felt the boot slip off his back, and he was finally able to take in a full lungful of air.

  “Drinks are on whoever levels up, eh, comrades?!” Derrick bellowed as he brandished his sword.

  There were a few twangs of bowstrings, and Jack rolled onto his back to get a better view of whatever fresh hell was about to descend on him. He spotted several orcs right as the crossbow bolts wreathed in several types of magic crashed into their ranks.

  His throat went dry, and this time, it had nothing to do with the pain. Orcs were gathering along the rooftops. There had to be at least fifty in total. And unlike those Jack had encountered before, these looked considerably stronger. They were larger, had sturdier gear, and he caught the glint of fierce and malicious intelligence in several of their beady eyes.

  “Ak ‘akorl graknul grala! Vorgek-ak lakh—Khar-ulkhul grakolak-eth! ‘Akor krulorl thrakolak!” a massive orc shouted from atop the largest of the rooftops. He was bare-bellied and had tusks thicker than Jack’s torso dominating his lower lip. He wielded a huge mallet stained red and gray.

  “Dammit! It’s him! It’s Flakerash!” the human commander roared and got into a defensive position. “Hold ranks!”

  The one they called Flakerash raised his mallet, and all the orcs started to chant. Hearing so many of them grunt and sing and pound their weapons against shields and stone sent a fresh chill down Jack’s spine.

  Each and every knight watched the new threats with wide and unblinking gazes. Jack, still bleeding, took advantage of their distraction. He crawled to his feet, using a nearby wall for support. The edges of his vision were starting to mirror the hue of darkness up ahead.

  I am not going to die here, he promised himself again and again. I can do this. I can still fix this.

  The words, however hollow, fueled his next step. Then his next.

  The chanting grew louder.

  I am not going to die here!

  “HOLD!” the commander bellowed.

  Jack glanced at the noise just in time to see the mallet fall, and all hell broke loose. The orcs on the roofs poured over the sides of the dilapidated buildings like spiders. Some hopped straight off, while others crawled and slid down. Still others were shoved by the impatience of those behind them. The chant devolved into a cacophony of screeches and clicks.

  “HOLD!”

  I can do this. I can make it!

  Jack knew with utter certainty that he would die here if he lingered a moment longer. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he broke out into a jog. His speed was quickly reduced to an awkward shamble, but he forced his limbs to move. Each and every step sent a fresh shockwave of pain up his body, but he didn’t slow down.

  Behind him, he heard metal greet flesh, and the sound of nails scraping against steel. Jack didn’t look back. Still, he imagined the orcs digging for purchase against the impressive armor of those knights.

  The mere thought of them made Jack grimace. He was starting to get a very clear picture of how this world worked, and he did not like it one bit.

  “RETREAT!” he heard Derrick bellow, his voice somehow cutting through the din of battle.

  Jack picked up his pace. He was ten feet away from the wall of shadows.

  Five.

  Three.

  “NOOOOOO!” he heard a knight scream right before their cry was cut brutally short.

  When he reached the wall, he finally gave in to his morbid curiosity and looked back. What he saw would’ve made any depiction of hell seem whitewashed by comparison. Of the thirteen knights, he could only spot the helms of seven. They were fighting tooth and nail to retreat, but the enormous orc was making it all but impossible.

  He stood on the street between the knights and their escape route, and Jack could already spot the crumpled forms of at least two armored soldiers at his feet. They were barely recognizable. The others were all fighting back-to-back in a tight circle.

  With a burst of blue flames, Jack watched the tides turn. The knight wielding the fire sent a spherical blast around herself and her fellow knights. The orcs that weren’t cinders backed up. Flakerash yelled something in orcish, and the horde backed up further.

  Jack could just barely see the commander, who bore a dozen wounds across his armored body. He was slumped precariously against his broadsword and looked little better than Jack felt. He knew he should leave, that he should slip past the barrier, but he couldn’t. He had to stay. He had to know what happened, however foolish it was.

  “Don’t, Freya,” the lead knight groaned, raising a weary arm at the wielder of flames, who stood tall even as blue orbs danced in a slow halo around her upturned palms.

  Freya didn’t look back at her commanding officer, but Jack caught the words meant for him all the same. “Blood for the fallen, you handsome bastard. Take care of my boy, won’t you?”

  The commander hesitated before he nodded once. “Blood for the free.”

  Flakerash laughed and started to say something in orcish again, but Freya shoved her palms forward, and the world turned briefly blue. Twin torrents of plasmic fire tore through the small distance between herself and Flakerash, and Jack had to raise a hand in front of his face to avoid getting blinded.

  Through the heat and light, he could just barely glimpse the edges of a hastily erected barrier that Flakerash formed between himself and the fire. It was composed of the darkest shade of night, and flickered and swirled in much the same way as the wall of shadows before Jack.

  The remaining knights did not waste their comrade’s sacrificial distraction. They rushed to either side of the blasts, rushing back toward safety. Toward the light.

  Toward Jack.

  He spared one final glance at the knight of flames, then slipped through the barrier and into a whole new world.