“Yael, why am I the one reading the map?”

  “I do not know how to read a map. I had servants for that.”

  “Then how did you cross four whole planets without any sense of direction?”

  “Slowly.”

  John does his best to follow directions. Stars are stars, even if these are very different from what he is used to. To help better see the stars and beat the heat, they have started travelling at night. The Night Fiends would make this dangerous if not for the Hephas’ provisions. Among the supplies were a number of wooden sticks with a thick amber substance on one side. They proved to be exceptionally bright and long lasting torches. Without the searing light burning them, John and Yael were able to make great progress. Hopefully in the correct direction.

  “Sun’s coming up. We should build a camp.”

  “Yes, I suppose we have made enough progress for one day.”

  Yael begins setting up their shelter. A few long sticks and a cloth tarp give shade, which is all they truly need at this time. John prepares their breakfast. He insists on doing all the cooking now after experiencing Yael’s talents as a chef first hand. As he peels these starch tubers for a stew, John hears something off in the distance. A strange, new sound. Like a droning hum off in the distance.

  “Get down!”

  Yael pushes John to the ground and covers them both with the tan colored tarp. Yael does his best to bury his body into the sands. Hiding as much of himself as possible.

  “What is-”

  “Quiet.”

  The hum grows louder. Air starts to feel heavier as this unknown enemy approaches. As the hum reaches its crescendo, sand all around Yael and John's hiding place is sent flying and the tarp flaps against a gustless wind. Something passed directly over them at speeds that seem impossible. The hum starts to lessen as the source continues on its journey. Yael lifts the tarp up just enough to allow a slit of vision.

  Off in the distance are three vehicles. The blood red armor of the Crimson Knights is clearly visible as three ride upon each of the three craft. The vehicles themselves are harder for John to grasp. They appear like chariots of the ancient age of myth. However, there is no horse nor any other beast of burden that this world may use as an equivalent. Instead they hovered above the ground, propelled by some invisible force that kicks up the sand behind it. Yael speaks in a hushed growl.

  “Looks like we hid just in time. They should leave us alone. So long as they do not possess a finding stone.”

  A blue light shoots out of the lead chariot, which points directly at John and Yael’s hiding spot.

  “...that’s a finding stone, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, that is indeed a finding stone.”

  The chariots turn, charging towards them. Yael tosses the tarp aside and pulls his limbs out of the sand.

  “Get your rifle, John. You must fire!”

  John’s old training takes over. His rifle is loaded, racked and aimed before he even realises it was in his hand. It’s a sickeningly familiar feeling. What makes it easier is the distance and the face masks. No need to look into the eyes of the man he’s going to kill.

  John guesses the chariots are around 800 yards away and closing fast. He has maybe 30 seconds before they are upon them. The chariots approach in an odd formation. The lead chariot is to the right and the others in a descending order to its left. Regardless of their tactics, basic logic dictates to take out the leader first. John aims for the right most chariot. The sights are basic and stock awkward. A far cry from the Springfield he used in the trenches. Of course the crudeness of the guns itself is only half the equation. The bullets also matter and they are something else. Much thicker than the 30-06 and longer as well. Only three rounds fit in the magazine. These are sure to hit like a runaway freight train.

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  The recoil is even harder than John expected. Feels like he was punched in the shoulder by a professional boxer with an iron gauntlet. Luckily the iron found its mark, striking the chariot on the far left. A spark turns to an explosion as steel is shattered. You'd think John had fired an artillery shell at them.

  “Excellent shot. You must have struck the power heart.”

  John doesn’t know how to tell Yael he was aiming for the chariot on the exact opposite side of the formation. Or if he even should. Instead, John pulls back the bolt, racking another round into the chamber. The action is a modified straight pull bolt-action. The handle’s placement is awkwardly sticking up and to the right. Seems reliable enough, though. John aims far to the right. In his eyes a shot fired from here should miss by a mile.

  Another punch in the arm and a bright spark as a bullet grazes Crimson armor. He hit one of the passengers of the middle chariot. A hit like that should be able to put down a rhinoceros. This guy barely flinched. Bright, blue energy bolts start shooting out from the chariots. They are close enough to return fire. The sand where their blasts strike turns to glass from the intense heat. Each bolt getting closer to hitting the mark. John fires his last bullet, unaimed, before rushing to cover. By some miracle this hits the middle chariot, causing a shower of sparks to erupt from its side. The two passengers jump from the doomed vehicle while the pilot, either due to excessive loyalty or inability to flee, stays in his seat as it spins out and crashes with another artillery-like explosion.

  The last chariot is 100 yards away and closing. John fumbles for another bullet in his pack. Yael doesn’t wait. Within his toothy maw a green, gelatinous orb of sulfuric plasma forms. With a deep breath, Yael propels the blob at the chariot. One of the Knights jumps off less than a second before the fiery breath reaches its victim, causing the whole of the chariot to be covered in its acidic grasp. Metal fixtures that kept the Chariot in one piece began to liquify. The two helpless riders fare no better. Soon all that is left is a pile of bubbling green magma left across the sands where it fell, and the Crimson Armor left untouched but now empty.

  “Jesus Christ Yael! Why didn’t you do that-”

  John quickly learns why Yael had not used this powerful attack earlier. Yael is on all fours, green acid dripping from his mouth and nostrils. Coughing heavily between gasping breaths. Asphyxiation and pain kept him pinned to the ground.

  As the sole survivor, the last Crimson Knight of the now melted chariot rushes forward. John, figuring he would be on his own for a while, meets him. This one lacks a spear or sword. Probably lost during the haste to flee. Previously, bullets were unable to pierce their armor. So the rifle is no good. John raises his fists. He’s been in more than his share of bar room brawls. With his strength, this should be a short fight.

  Punch, kick, chop, jap, headbutt. The Crimson Knight fights with a lightning fast flurry of blows. Chest, knee, neck, stomach, teeth. John responds by being beaten into the ground. His strength may be great, but his tolerance for pain is not.

  A red leg plants itself upon John’s neck as he is pushed into the sand. A blood colored fist raised to pound his face as he is down. With the desperation of a man not getting proper airflow to his brain, John throws a punch back so that his fist will meet the Knights. Hitting the seemingly indestructible metal of the Crimson gauntlet is like punching a wall at full force. John sees a few drops of blood falling from his knuckles as he pulls them back. Then he sees the Knight's hand, bent so far back his knuckles are touching his forearm.

  Remembering his strength, John grabs the Knight by the belt buckle and lifts him in the air, and as if a small dog that needs discipline, tosses him aside. Now at his feet and with anger getting the better of him, John kicks the Knight with the full force of his right leg. While John cannot know the exact distance, if he were a betting man and he is not, he’d bet the Knight landed about six miles away.

  The two Knights who ejected themselves from the second chariot finally come close enough to be a threat. Yael struggles to his feet.

  “I can handle these two. You can’t-”

  Yael lifts a clawed hand to silence John. He seems determined to fight regardless.

  “Fine. Distract them. I will attack their flank.”

  Yael nods. Still wheezing with each breath. He runs off to one side, drawing their fire. Jumping from dune to dune to keep the Knights attention. Meanwhile, John sneaks behind them. He gets close enough to see each has a spear, and from the spear tips the blue bolts are fired. Odd, but he doesn’t have time to question that. Getting into another fist fight with these Knights seems like a painful prospect, let alone two. It is good fortune he kept hold of that Night Fiend tail.

  One moment a Knight is aiming its spear for another volley, the next his hands are empty. Pulled away by the organic whip in a single motion. By the time the other turned to fight, Yael had already made a move of his own. Grabbing and raising him into the air, before breaking his back upon a scaled knee.

  “You’re outnumbered and outgunned. Surrender.”

  The last Knight ignores the order and the odds. He draws a long knife from its sheath and charges John with total abandon. A whip crack knocks the Knight off his feet. THe Knight attempts to rise again, but stumbles. His own knife had embedded itself in an open spot of the neck plate.

  “Stay still! We might be able to-”

  John does not finish his words. The Knight pulls the blade out from his own necks, spilling black blood all across the sands. It takes a few, small steps forward. Swinging the blade as if to slash John despite being tens of feet away, before collapsing. Dead.