[ASC 923.7.16]

  193 cycles since the Xolarii Purge.

  The beast loomed ever larger, devouring the sky above as it grew.

  Sound seemed to follow, growing eerily quiet as they approached. The steady crunch of paws on sand was the metronome counting down their arrival.

  The group hesitated, loitering on the threshold of the yawning gullet.

  The last chance to turn back before the fangs could slam shut—before an unseen ambush might spring.

  Each waited for the others to succumb to fear. To utter the words they all secretly longed to hear. But none did.

  They urged their begrudging quadrals forward. The burning sun vanished behind beckoning darkness, but instead of relief, Xaryk was overcome by tension.

  Sheer walls of black stone reached skyward, cupping the last sliver of blue, impossibly far away.

  Their footsteps resounded heavily off the confines: each one a gunshot in a starless night.

  A clutch of rocks pierced the earth ahead, a set of fangs rising from the depths. They almost disappeared in the muted abyss.

  Drakkan signalled forward. Tu’rak complied, drawing an iron-class shotgun from his saddle holster. He primed it, guiding his quadral forward with his knees.

  The stock snapped to his shoulder as he rounded the corner, the barrel rearing like a steel cobra, ready to strike at the slightest twitch.

  No gunshot came.

  Despite Tu’rak’s keen eye sweeping every crack and crevice, nothing stirred.

  He raised a meaty hand. All clear.

  The party exhaled as one, the tension finally breaking—

  —BOOM!

  An explosion ripped through the air above, sending a shower of debris raining down.

  A large splinter of ravine dislodged in the chaos, plummeting towards Tu’rak like a roaring meteor.

  Xaryk’s revolver spun into his hand with as little effort as flexing a finger. Three shots rang out. Three golden missiles slammed into the rock. The bolts blasted it into dust that joined the rest of the harmless deluge.

  “Ambush!” Xaryk bellowed, spurring Mayweather into a sprint.

  The others followed, hot on his heels. They overtook a stunned Tu’rak, who charged after them with a curse.

  Xaryk could barely make out movement ahead. Small creatures emerged from the rock like termites from an infested abode.

  Grey skin, ridged brows, and void-like eyes were framed by limp patches of black hair that hung in greasy ropes.

  Clawed fingers curled and fangs like broken whiskey bottles gnashed.

  Takalan homunculi, Xaryk thought grimly—

  —Seconds before a barrage of primitive javelins cut through the air.

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  He yanked back on the reins, sending Mayweather skidding to a halt behind a cluster of stalagmites.

  The reprieve was short-lived. A chorus of chittering cries above heralded another explosion, and the thunderous crack of collapsing stone.

  Dying light!

  Xaryk hurried to set Mayweather back into motion, nearly colliding with the scrambling takalans.

  Mayweather slammed into Zhella’s mount with a jolt. Zhella cursed soundlessly, shooting him a venomous glare as she shoved away with practiced fury.

  They fell into a brittle formation.

  Letkhan above shrieked with glee, setting off crude explosives that rained deadly debris into the ravine.

  Letkhan below hurled projectiles, barely visible in the dim light.

  The jaws of the canyon had snapped shut, and the only way out was through.

  Xaryk’s thoughts buzzed like a kicked hornets’ nest.

  If I can clear the ones below, I just have to worry about the—

  A javelin winked into view, streaking toward his face. He lashed out on instinct, catching the point an inch from his eyes. It was bone, rough-hewn and splintered. He shuddered to imagine what it had been carved from.

  The bounty hunter briefly entertained the idea of hurling it back, but abandoned it—he was no tribal warrior.

  “Tu’rak!” Drakkan shouted, nodding toward Xaryk.

  The large takalan turned, eyes lighting up as he spotted the weapon.

  Xaryk tossed it to him.

  Tu’rak pulled back, shoulders bulging, before exploding into movement. The bleached shaft pierced the slice of blue—

  A strangled cry and a body thumped hard into the rocks.

  Their quadrals leapt over the crumpled Letkhan seconds before a delayed blast of dynamite reduced it to mangled parts, scattering its remains across the ravine floor.

  “Tu’rak, Zhella!” Drakkan barked. “Make a mess on the ground! Xolus, we have high.” He snatched his rifle from his back, hands steady despite the galloping beast beneath him.

  His shots rang out—steady, precise—a constant beat in the rhythm of battle.

  Xaryk peered above, barely glimpsing gaunt shoulders and twisting fangs over the precipice. It wasn’t much of a target, but for the bounty hunter, it was more than enough.

  Grey cadavers soon outnumbered tumbling rocks as the pair cleared the skyline, trusting those ahead to deal with the rest.

  An enraged letkhan raised a lit explosive in its clawed hand, set to hurtle it towards the troublesome group.

  Xaryk closed one eye, breathing deep.

  Exhale and squeeze.

  The shot rang out, eliciting a maelstrom of burning fire that consumed a cluster of the homunculi attackers in an instant.

  The rest would think twice before acting so boldly again.

  Xaryk was allowed only a moment of satisfaction before a flurry of movement drew his eye. An instant later, a tumultuous tangle of razors and gnashing teeth slammed into his shoulder.

  He cursed, fighting to keep Mayweather steady as the letkhan thrashed—claws scrabbling, jaws snapping, trying to tear out his throat.

  The earthy scent of soil sat placidly beneath the overpowering stench of rotten meat.

  He holstered his revolver, fumbling for his knife with one hand while using the other to hold the frenzied creature at bay.

  He swiped at it angrily. The letkhan ducked back, then lunged, seizing his arm. With exaggerated glee, it opened its foul mouth and bit down hard.

  The xolus cried, pain lancing up his arm. His hand sprang open and the dagger spiralled away into the dark.

  The creature giggled victoriously, blood bubbling from the fangs clamped down upon Xaryk’s flesh.

  Scowling in fury and disgust, Xaryk twisted. He reached his arm behind the letkhan and pivoted hard, positioning the creature to face Mayweather’s flank.

  He pressed his hand to the back of the creature’s skull and clicked.

  The homunculus had just enough time to frown in confusion before the golden blade returned to its master. It plunged deep into the letkhan’s eye with a spray of blood. It shuddered briefly and went limp, tumbling from the saddle.

  Xaryk yanked the blade free as it fell—a parting gift.

  More letkhan poured through the rocks. The explosions above had slowed, but not stopped, and each one was followed by deadly consequences.

  Kra-koom!

  The world tilted and the air fractured, as if the beast of the ravine itself was tearing itself free to join the skirmish.

  Ahead, the largest chunk of cliff sheared loose. It plummeted down and shattered on impact, sending a wave of dust hammering into the riders.

  The bounty hunter shielded his face, teeth clenched. He blinked back tears as the haze cleared with agonising delay.

  The dust finally settled, leaving only shadows to conceal their ambushers. Ahead rose a malformed wall of broken rock, barring their exit.

  It was too large for their quadrals to leap. Too steep to climb without getting skewered mid-way. Too thick to blast through.

  They were trapped with an impenetrable barrier forward and a growing swarm of letkhan behind…

  This is going to be rough.

  The echoing laughter of hundreds of letkhan seemed to mock their misfortune as they surrounded their prey, savouring the meal to come.