Welcome to the beginning of Season 2 of The Wizard Killer.
Note that this is posted RAW, meaning it has not been edited nor revised.
Season 2 – Episode 6
The sound of a single pair of boots grinding rocks and dirt a few feet away consumes me.
“Open’er up,” says a woman. She makes a creepy giddy noise right after, like a jackal.
There’s some shuffling about, and then a scream. “It’s full of freaking bodies!” yells a guy. “Who does that?”
A thump follows, then a twisted laugh by the woman, then another thump. He must be kicking the trunk.
I take hold of my pistol and concentrate. Yig, I don’t know if I’ve got anything in the tank to fire this thing if I need to.
Glancing about, I confirm the swords are still where I left them, not that I’m sure I really know how to use them.
“Maybe they got robbed after the spiders?” says the guy.
“Or maybe the spiders got smarter,” replies the woman.
They then wait.
Why are they waiting?
“Well?” says the woman jackal. “You heard him.”
I didn’t. So that means there’s a leader and two jackals that means there’s got to be at least two enforcers lurking about somewhere.
My eyes move about as I become aware of a weird hum in the background.
“Open it!” says the woman.
“I’m getting there!” The boots come closer.
My stomach twists and turns. At first, I figure that magic’s about to fail again, but it’s almost the opposite. Rubbing my tongue against the top of my mouth I’ve got a sour taste running through me. What the yig?
I start rubbing the middle of my chest with my free hand. There’s a pain building up. My face tightens in a nasty grimace. I really don’t need this right now. My eyes are fixed on that slice of light of the trunk door.
Stay focused, stay in control. There’s more of them than me, I’ve got to keep frosty.
The boots scuff along, back and forth. He must be pacing. He keeps stopping and starting like they’re talking but I can’t hear them. What gives?
My heart’s racing. The growing sour taste in my mouth and the pain in my chest are driving me crazy. I fight with my body that just wants to jump up bring the world down around me to make it stop.
A wave of nausea hits me. I throw up in my mouth but stop myself from making a mess everywhere. My body breaks into a fresh sweat. I tighten my grip on my mana-pistol
As the hard soled boots scrape closer and closer, my sanity’s hanging on by a thread. Come on!
The boots grind the ground right in front of me. Shadow falls over me.
Just breath. Remember, you covered yourself specifically for this situation. He should open it up, see some silks, and close it. They’ll plan on taking it, and I’ll get out. Simple. Stay focused, and this could work.
The trunk door twitches open.
In a flash of blue from my mana-pistol, a huge hole is ripped through the trunk and the guy opening it.
As the remains of the guy falls backward, a blue smoking hole through him, I scramble out of the trunk and crouch down.
What the yig do I do now?
My mind’s going a mile a minute. I think all the water I drank last night’s pouring out as sweat.
Slipping the swords and scabbards on to my back, I keep coming back to one plan. It’s a bad one, but I’ve got seconds before they’re all over me.
“Hey!” I say, waving a hand and tucking my mana-pistol in the back of my pants. “I didn’t do that to your guy, but he is dead. I was trapped in that trunk… There was a magical lock. I guess your guy didn’t check for bobby traps.”
I push against my chest where the pain’s building back up. I’ve got to be careful, because if that guy was any sign, I can just go off without realizing it.
Licking my lips, I lean forward hoping to catch a word or something. All I get is the sounds of a few pairs of boots scraping about, and pieces of the tents flapping in the wind.
They talked to that guy, so they’re not Oners, so what’s going on?
My eyes dart about thinking. Ah! I almost snap my fingers but stop myself in time. I have a vague memory of a mute guy once talking with his hands. Maybe they’re doing that. I nod, reassuring myself that there’s at least one non-horrific possible answer.
“I’m going to stand up, no weapons. I just want to walk out of here.” I doubt there’s any chance they’ll let me leave, but at least I can see what I’m dealing with.
I wait for any kind of reply. Again, all I get is boots shifting about. Judging by the sound of the tent flaps snapping about, the wind’s picking up. I might be able to use that.
Why isn’t that woman jackal yammering on at me? Taunting me? By every right, she should be. Instead, she’s just staring. They just lost a key guy and all they’re doing giving me the silent treatment. I don’t like this at all.
The sound of a rifle being cocked yanks my attention. So they’ve got someone over to my right who’s eager to be dangerous, good to know.
The jackal woman was over to the left if I recall, but she could have moved. I doubt she had that rifle, jackals are usually pistols and…
My eyes lower and forehead wrinkles as I swear there’s a little voice inside me breaking everything down. Maybe I’m just losing my yigging marbles, and I’m actually standing in the middle of someone’s garden, peeing on the flowers. Wouldn’t that be a kick?
Time to get this show on the road.
I start standing when my legs go weak, and I double over. My chest’s going nuts. There’s not enough air. My body heaves as it tries to get me to throw up, but I fight back with everything I’ve got.
“I’m in control here!” I yell, breaking into a full body sweat.
Finally, I catch a fresh breath. Along with it, comes a feeling of heightened tension from those on the other side of the travel trunks.
I strike myself in the chest with a fist, as if that’ll stop my ribs from feeling like they’re about to burst. Still, the different type of pain’s a momentary distraction, and I need that.
Taking a steadying breath, I listen. There’s nothing.
“I’m standing up in five seconds. I don’t want to kill you all.”
I shake my head. First saying things were an accident, and then threatening them? I’m just making this mess worse. Sometimes the only way through a mess is by making a bigger one.
Closing my eyes tightly, I hear that familiar voice of a demonic child rhyming. They’ve got someone who can use magic, and they’re preparing something.
I’m about to open my eyes when I catch that strange hum again. There’s something there.
My chest pain’s blocking out any instincts or little voices to help me. I reach over my shoulder and touch one of the serrated blades strapped to my back for comfort.
I tap my mana-pistol and nod to myself.
Time to go big, or go home, and I ain’t got a home.
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