Lenny watched the knife go into Krav’s gut, and he knew for sure his brother was dead. The weakling he was at the beginning of his journey would have froze right there and pissed himself. Now he was filled with rage. Miss minnie was his first kill, but Jackmaw would be his last.

  He wore the gas mask now. It wasn’t for his own visions. He needed a way to block out the drug Mac had spliced together. The tank was still full of the Gordo clan’s psychedelic, but to Lenny, it was as easy to breathe as air.

  There was no weapon in his hands, no plan in his head. He simply charged the rampaging warlord with one name on his lips.

  “Krav!”

  His small fist hammered Jackmaw in the floating ribs. It smacked against him like a baby throwing a tantrum. The hellish gaze of the warlord left his brother and trailed to meet the circle eyes of the mask.

  “War sage? No…” Jackmaw was staring down at a very bright and radiant being. He had to squint his eyes to keep them from burning out of his head. It didn’t matter who this was, they laid their pathetic hands on him. The warlord left one knife in Krav and swung the other at Lenny.

  A heavy aura interrupted him. It was… a bear? Jackmaw couldn’t figure out what he was looking at, but it hit like a truck. It was enough to hold his attention. Powerful strikes came in, harder than any man could possibly deal.

  They traded blows now. One of the bear’s arms was heavier, and when he struck with it, it shattered bone and bruised Jackmaw’s skin. Wet pops sounded all over his body, and Jackmaw could feel his ligaments struggle to keep his broken frame together. The bear prepared another swipe, and the warlord swung his blade.

  The knife passed through the bear’s skin and opened a gash from one shoulder to his belly. Inside, Jackmaw saw something staring back at him. It looked like a large man was slumbering in the flesh of the bear. With a distressed grunt, his eyes went wide and he sent the bear flying backwards with a heavy kick.

  Another figure appeared. It was all flashing blades and heavy poleaxe. To the warlord, it looked like a scarecrow had pulled itself off of its post and creaked in front of him. The speed was incredible and hard to defend against. Jackmaw was rolling his knife in front of him, blocking from his left to his right in a figure-eight pattern.

  Tears opened up in his skin as the large blades caught and sliced. The blood coming out of his wounds oozed and glimmered like the shale. Jackmaw knew he had to escape this creature, so when the heavy poleaxe struck again, he caught the blade in his hand.

  It smashed the bones in his hand and cleaved it half off. He was lucky to be under the effects of the concoction, otherwise he would be forced to feel every wound he had just suffered. Now, he didn’t even have to grit his teeth. He pulled the scarecrow into an embrace, lifted it off of the floor, and slammed it into the sand and concrete.

  “I’m… king of… the world,” he panted. There were too many enemies now. He could see even more approaching in his failing sight. No… there was no such thing as too many enemies for Jackmaw Yapyap.

  The next aura that approached was a massive bird on fire. It attacked with grace and martial prowess. Its wings were a well-greased windmill that sent a spin of hooks and jabs as it twisted. Clawed toes kicked and balanced like a dancer.

  The bird’s attacks met his skin with more power than he was expecting, and the warlord was quickly forced to his knees. Jackmaw reestablished himself by backhanding the creature so hard, it took off the rest of his hand that the poleaxe had failed to cut through. He watched the bird roll away from him as his own fingers fell to the sand.

  Then came the final aura. The last one he had to worry about, anyways. This one was simply a man. He was bathed in the emerald glow, and his eyes were a deep pitch. Something about this creature angered him to his core. His shale-colored blood felt like it was burning just beneath the skin.

  The man’s attacks were weak, but his spirit was powerful. He reminded Jackmaw of Shi-Toh, and he didn’t like being reminded of the feathered man. With his remaining hand, Jackmaw sent him a grave punch to the head. The man faltered and swayed as the injury rocked his balance, then the warlord caught him by the throat.

  Jackmaw lifted him from the sand and squeezed until he thought he might break his neck.

  “I am Jackmaw Yapyap! I’m king of the world!” he shouted so loud the vocal cords vibrated until his throat might split open.

  Greenblatt struggled in Jackmaw’s grasp. Regret had flooded him the moment his legs began to move towards this warlord, but he couldn’t stop himself. Everyone had to fight this evil. Even if they all died here, he remembered what the high priestess of the Disciples had told them. There was no doubt that this battle would determine the fate of the valley.

  Life was leaving him. The strain on his neck wasn’t just choking him; it was crushing his throat like a bent pipe. He could feel the muscles in his neck break and collapse. There had to be a bomb in his pocket or something. Anything to make the most of this situation.

  If he had to die, he would take down this ultimate evil as well. That was what he had hoped at least. In reality, some heroes die before they get to achieve anything. It seemed like that was his fate now.

  But behind Jackmaw, he could see the boy from Agua Fria. His hands were wrapped around the blade in his gut.

  “What was an army of brats like you ever going to do to me?” Jackmaw asked Greenblatt. He shook him when he didn’t answer, but how could he? “Nothing! That’s what! Nothing! You idiots can’t stop destiny! This whole wasteland belongs to the Gordo clan, and the Gordo clan belongs to me!”

  Suddenly, he dropped Greenblatt. Lenny was standing under him holding a machete that jutted from Jackmaw’s waist like an axe caught in a tree. Blood leaked from his lips like a vampire after a feast, and he snatched Lenny by the hair. His red skin was turning pale.

  “War sage… you couldn’t just enjoy a good fucking thing, could you? Imagine…” he coughed up flecks of blood onto the boy’s mask, then continued. “Imagine what we could have done… the fun we could have had if you were just a little more like your brother and I.”

  Lenny held Jackmaw’s wrist and tried to hold himself up as he kicked. The hair spilling out of his mask felt like it was going to rip from his scalp and expose the skull beneath. Pained screams filled the mask, but his flailing legs still aimed for the red devil’s face.

  “We could have conquered Karma itself. The warlord… the war sage… the princeling… no one could have stopped us…”

  His balance was failing. A few times, Lenny was able to kick the machete and wrench it deeper into Jackmaw’s side. The warlord swayed like he was out of vigor, then caught his balance before bringing Lenny close and screaming in his face.

  “This was our world! They destroyed it a hundred years ago to pave the way for men like us! Without the gamma bombs you’d be some nerdy runt, and your brother would be a washed-up junkie! But look at us now! Look at what we can be in this new world! In our world!”

  He could have gone on for hours screaming at them. He would have too, but there was a fresh pain in his back that finally stopped his rampage.

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  Pain wasn’t the right word. He felt like a puppet with its strings suddenly cut. There was pain, but only for a moment. Then it was a numbness like he had never felt.

  Lenny fell from his grip and rolled away as the warlord collapsed to his knees. Jutting from his back, just above his tailbone, was his own knife. It severed his spinal cord and left him paralyzed from the waist down. Behind him, Krav was dragging his axe through the sand and holding his gushing guts.

  “Jackmaw…” he strained. “Jackmaw Yapyap.”

  All of his allies watched, stunned. They had seen him handle more punishment than most, but that last blow surely had to have killed him. Jackmaw’s knives were scimitars in the hands of a normal human, and they had seen Krav get hit to the hilt by one.

  Mac held her bruised and bloodied face, watching through one swollen eye. Ulrich was lying on his back and preventing himself from bleeding out. Greenblatt rubbed his throat and stared wide eyed. Lenny stood over Jackmaw and waited for his brother to end this nightmare.

  Jackmaw Yapyap managed to turn his head and see his death coming. He didn’t see Krav, but he could feel that terrible soul. Instead, he saw a great shadow wielding an executioner’s axe. He was a dust devil carried by tumultuous winds. He was an earthquake that shattered worlds. He was the death of kings and Karma for warlords.

  The axe came in one swift motion. Even in the face of certain death, Jackmaw didn’t go down that easily. Krav chopped his neck like a great tree, unable to cut it down in a single strike. It got halfway through and caught. The blood red eyes focused on that terrible shade, and Jackmaw couldn’t help but smile. His destiny hade finally come.

  Somewhere in that shade, he could sense a smile being cast back at him. It was one of great relief and finality. Krav pulled the axe out, casting a fountain of blood over the warlord’s shoulder. He wound it up like a baseball player over Homeplate, then swung.

  This time, the warlord’s head came off.

  They all watched as Krav picked up the head and held it high in the air. With the last of the air in his lungs, he held the head high above himself and screamed a victory cry until he collapsed backwards.

  It was done. Now he could die.

  He didn’t know how long he was on the floor for. The world around him had lost all of its color and texture. A sea of white was all he had to float in, but he would float for what felt like an eternity.

  Peace had never come easy in the Valley of the Twin Suns. There were pockets of it, and he remembered those fondly. He could remember the long days spent in the safety of settlements. Back then, he was in a hurry to get back on the road and face the dangers of the world. Now, he missed those days dearly.

  But here was peace. It wasn’t a welcome one, in fact it was pretty lonely. He hadn’t heard Rufus’s voice in quite some time, and it felt like he had lost a connection to something dire. His own voice didn’t seem to answer him when he tried to use it. There was only the sea of noiseless white, and perhaps that was his own Karmic hell.

  He wandered. It was what lost souls do, he figured. Perhaps in smashing his door of destiny, he had doomed himself to this place. That would make sense. The punishment for straying from your path was to have all paths destroyed for you.

  Yeah, that sounded like the kind of poetic bullshit Karma would do to him.

  In his wanderings, memories tormented him. The memory of his reading with the High Priestess bugged him the most. She had warned him that this would be the death of him, but the way she had said it wasn’t the way Rufus would. His master was calm and direct, but she seemed confused.

  “You will die on this journey,” she said back then. “But you have died multiple deaths, and you will die many more. Your life is a very thin line that seems to know how to weave itself back together.”

  He didn’t know what that meant. How many more deaths would he have to suffer? Was this just one in that chain of deaths? Could he…

  No. He had been here for far too long to believe that. If he was ever convinced that this wasn’t the end, it would have been hours ago. Days ago? Weeks? Years? He wasn’t sure how long he had wandered, but it had been long enough to convince him that this was his afterlife now.

  A thin line that knew how to weave itself back together. Maybe he had cut that line too many times. That was alright.

  When he had finally accepted his fate, he sat down. It seemed like the only thing to do now. Maybe if he was lucky, the impending doom of his situation wouldn’t burden his mind soon. Then he could spend eternity sleeping off the life he’d lived. He closed his eyes and tried to meditate the way Lenny and Rufus did.

  His eyes were closed for a second eternity. No sleep had ever come to him. Sometimes, like a fish, it swam up close to him, but then it darted off when he tried to snatch it up. He could feel himself slipping, then a dreadful question would pop into his head and ruin it.

  Did Lenny survive?

  Would they bury Rufus, so he wasn’t a wandering soul forever?

  Would they bury him?

  They plagued his mind, and the answers didn’t come so simply. Did Lenny survive? He hadn’t seen him during the whole melee. His brother could have been dead for a long time before they even showed up. He didn’t trust the words of Shi-Toh while under duress. The feathered bitch could say anything to save his sniveling life.

  Would they bury Rufus? They didn’t know he was a wandering soul. Mac would know he could communicate through DMD, but it didn’t seem like she would try that. She didn’t really like looking at him. If he was lucky, they would bury the head with him.

  But would they even bury him? It seemed more than likely, but then, was there anything left to bury? He couldn’t remember his death, but he had seen what kind of corpses the Gordo clan left behind, and those guys were better off being put in a burn pile.

  There were no guarantees in this death. He would have to be happy in the sea of white. So, he sat and thought for an eternity. That was, until something shifted outside his closed eyes.

  The temperature of the white sea changed. He hadn’t even realized there was a temperature here, but it went from an unbearable neutral to a calm warmth. It was the kind not common in the valley. If you travelled to Mac’s hometown in the north, you might be able to feel it in the cooling periods just before winter.

  The smell returned to his nose. In the white sea, he sensed nothing, and now the first thing he noticed was the sweet scent of a forest after rain. It was thick and earthy, and it refilled him with life.

  Rustling leaves filled his ears with a melody. They sounded like the light percussion of a parade of tiny dead things. There was crunching too, and he realized something was coming for him.

  When his eyes opened, he had to adjust to his surroundings. It felt like it did when he was born, he assumed, although now he came from a terribly bright light into the calm of coming darkness. Not too bright, not too dim. It was the dawn where he would have eaten a very early breakfast, or the dusk where he kicked his feet up after a long day. And there was someone here.

  “Rufus?” he asked. This time, his voice worked, and he almost didn’t recognize it as his own. “Rufus is that you?”

  “Yes,” his master answered. “You did it, Krav. You killed him.”

  His master still didn’t have his head. He stood over Krav wearing a white robe. Blood made a ring around his neckline that looked like a priest’s shawl. Rufus bent his knobbed knees and helped the boy to his feet, then he offered him something. It was wrapped in linen and had the weight of a head.

  “I don’t think I need this anymore,” Krav said. He was overjoyed to be able to share a conversation with his master again. “I think you can just put it back on and then we can go back to being dead together.”

  “This isn’t mine.”

  Krav looked down at the bundle. He was right. It was too big, and there was a stain of blood around the neck. Rufus’s skull didn’t bleed. It was his prize. After his journey, he had earned himself a death and a brand-new head to wear on his hip.

  The boy unclipped the skull from his belt and offered it as a trade.

  “I don’t think I’ll need that,” the skull thrummed. “You said you wouldn’t go through that door without two heads. I think you’ll need both.”

  “You’re the only one I need, Rufus. His head would just piss me off if it could talk like you.”

  “It can’t,” Rufus laughed. “We have a special bond, you and I. Maybe Lenny could call my soul to him too, but talking with the dead is a difficult thing. Besides, I don’t think he’d want to talk to you anyways. Last I saw of his soul, it didn’t want to talk.”

  “Even in death, you feel the need to guide souls?”

  “It’s my purpose. It’s what the crystals behind my eyes demand of me. They command each of us to delve deeper into particularities. Our friend Greenblatt is a brilliant mind, and I think the shale wanted him to progress our understanding of it forward. Shi-Toh, I believe, was convinced to spread its influence outside of the valley. I wonder… what did it expect of you?”

  “Maybe it just wanted me to kill Jackmaw Yapyap. I already did it though. Now it doesn’t need me anymore.”

  Rufus’s headless corpse turned and led the way up the path. “I don’t think so. Come with me.” The corpse led him back to his door, the one that had been smashed to pieces. It looked like an apprentice carpenter had stapled it back together.

  “Is this going to send me to reincarnate into a flea? I feel like Karma’s got it out for me at this point.”

  “Karma or not, I’ve seen where this door leads. The question is, do you have the key?” The corpse offered him the head one last time.

  Krav took it, and he clipped both to his belt. Jackmaw’s head felt like a millstone tied around the boy’s neck. It had the weight of the world to it. “What key do I need?”

  “I won’t know until you turn the handle. Go on, open the door to your destiny, Krav.”

  He nodded. The doorknob felt like a sunbaked stone in his hand, but he twisted it. A smooth series of mechanisms turned and clicked, and the door accepted him. He stepped through and accepted his fate.