“There! Get them supplied, now!”

  Alfrick barked.

  “You! Get your shit together!” he shouted at another.

  He drew in a breath, ready to yell again—until one of his men leaned close.

  “Sir. It’s almost time to pull back. They’re nearly on the buffer.”

  Alfrick straightened, gaze narrowing over the trench line. Ahead, rifles and machine guns roared without pause. Bullets stitched streaks of light through the dusk. The fleshlings came in waves—meat, bile and bones—mowed down in clumps. Farther off, lightning ripped the horizon, giants crashing like felled trees.

  “Alright. Launch the flares for lighting. If our commander doesn’t return before the beasts hit the buffer, we pull. Tell the rest to square everything away.”

  “Sir.” The runner vanished into the dark.

  This was the eleventh line. Almost two weeks of slaughter without pause. Every day, more monstrosities. Every day, the commander bled himself closer to ruin. Kaizer fought harder, wounds piling, skin torn, yet he never faltered.

  Alfrick admired him for it—too much, maybe. Admired him enough to try and match it. Unlike the others, Alfrick worked both intervals of the defense. He barely caught an hour or two of sleep, if that.

  Admiration carried him only so far. Now the cracks showed: bloodshot eyes, blackened hollows beneath them, fingers twitching against his side. His skin had gone pale, sweat-damp, like a corpse still upright. But his stare stayed sharp.

  Kaizer had mana to burn through his skull. Alfrick didn’t. Sleep was still a need, not a luxury. And yet—through sheer will alone—he stood, grim and sleepless, unwilling to break.

  Alfrick turned to another major at his side and clamped a hand on the man’s shoulder. The officer straightened at the touch. He was the one who should be in charge of this line—if Alfrick ever behaved like the others and rotated out for rest.

  “Keep this under control. I’m going to survey the line.”

  The major nodded, and Alfrick strode off.

  He went left first, eyes raking the trench. Guns spat light into the dusk, the soldiers nearing exhaustion were still firing. Near the flank, he spotted the fresh officer—promoted at Kaizer’s request.

  ‘Retief, was it?’ Alfrick asked himself. He gave a faint nod. The boy was holding up. Almost fearless, hunger carved into his face. A sharp shot, better than most. Quick to give orders, even if still raw. Kaizer had an eye for talent; Retief was proof.

  Alfrick crossed to the right, found the same grit, then returned to the center. He was drawing breath to resume command when lightning tore the horizon. A figure burst through the smoke and slammed down behind the line.

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  A man drowned in rancid blood. Clothes torn open, wounds beneath raw and wet. White hair matted and red-streaked, brushing his shoulders. Golden eyes cut over the trench like blades. And the scar—always the scar. A gouge down Kaizer’s face, something Alfrick never stopped marveling at.

  ***

  I spotted Alfrick and beckoned him closer with a wave of my hand.

  “How is the situation holding up?”

  “Sir, it’s holding—but barely. At this rate, you’ll be overrun. Even if you kept the tempo with the irregulars and giants, the regulars of the horde pushes harder every day. If it keeps up like this, we’ll have to hold out for two days at the fortress instead of wrapping it up outside the gate.”

  “Hmm.” I pressed a hand over my face, letting the silence stretch. Minutes dragged by before the truth settled in. Nothing. Nothing to do except fight.

  “Well, Alfrick, we’ll just have to keep fighting—and pray for a miracle.”

  Alfrick blew out a breath and stared at the flood chewing its way closer.

  “Yup. Nothing short of a miracle.”

  “But keep that between us. If the other majors realize what’s happening, shut them down. Panic now will only dig us deeper into the grave.”

  “Of course, sir.” His eyes shifted back to me as I sank onto a crate, bones heavier than steel.

  “You don’t look so good, sir.”

  “What? I’m fine. It just stinks.”

  Alfrick knew the truth: the ever-growing exhaustion was eating at me, and the whole of the machine, the pace was ramping up to unrealistic levels. But we had no choice except to fight.

  “Alright. We’re retreating to the twelfth soon,” Alfrick said.

  I nodded, and he slipped back into his role, barking orders and steadying the line.

  “Aww, you’re tired?” my shadow sneered, causing me to click my tongue. Every time I sat for a break this pest showed up. I spent the whole day cutting and killing for a few stolen hours of rest, and some monkey had to chirp in my damned ear.

  “Hey, I’m not a monkey. Well, if I am, then you are too—since you and I are the same.”

  “Shut it. Bother me another time, pest.”

  “What? You don’t like my company?” he asked in mock offense.

  “You know the fucking answer.” I snapped, glaring.

  “Sheesh, anger issues much—” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “Anyway, enough of your bile—”

  “Bile. Look who’s talking.” I cut him off. Nearby men glanced and looked away, too familiar with my madness to care. He clicked his tongue and echoed me,

  “Bile. Look who’s talking.” The voice a maddening mimic that matched my own.

  I frowned. “What a fucking child. Leave, idiot.”

  He sighed. “Whatever. Useless. What I wanted to say is—you won’t hold, you know that, don’t you? You’ll die eventually, and who knows who dies before you. Maybe the reset won’t save them. Maybe the reset will make your mistakes permanent again.” He said it with utter elation dripping from every word, his glee twisting me into anger.

  “…”

  Silence stretched; my jaw ached from clenching. He’d hit the truth, and that stung more than any blade. It was only a matter of time before their numbers overwhelmed whatever edge I—we still had. The reset had already proven unreliable in keeping everything perfect. Letting go of the anger I unclenched my jaw and blew a breath.

  “What’s there to do except try?” I muttered, pushing myself upright and shrugging like his point was pointless.

  “That’s your plan? To fight?” he drawled, mock heavy in his tone.

  A sigh scraped out of me. “Yeah. That’s the plan. If I give everything and still fail, then it is what it is. I’ll learn, I’ll improve, cut down the mistakes next time. But not trying at all? That’s the real failure. That’s the true evil.”

  “So if everyone dies under you—even with you bleeding yourself dry—that’s fine?” he sneered.

  “No. It’s not fine.” My jaw clenched. “But at least I’ll know I tried. Better to have blood on my hands with a reason than excuses with none. Maybe it’s just me lying to myself, a way to scrub them clean. But it’s what I believe.”

  “Wow. What noble trash. Except—are you even sure you are giving it your all?” His grin widened, daring me.

  “We’ll see,” I said. No answer left but the one I’ve decided to live by—to try.

  I shoved past the silence he left behind and walked the line, boots grinding toward the left flank.

  I clicked my tongue, chewing on what he said. Always has to pester me.

  Reason I’m heading left is simple: I want to see the idiot I promoted, see how he’s faring.

  When I finally reach him, there he is—Retief—rifle up, eyes locked. Every shot lands, clean and brutal. Between bursts, he bellows orders to his squad without missing a beat.

  “Focus on that cluster!”

  “We’re short on supplies—grab more!”

  “Hmm.” Strange. I feel drawn to this dumbass. Truly a mystery.

  “Welp.” Enough of that. I need to rest while I can. I turned back, found a crate, and dropped against it. Maybe half an hour of peace, if I’m lucky.