There’s the cabin in the distance.
The only problem is that this rogue is leading us right into a pack of cultist’s hands.
Some wear blood on their faces, a sign of murderous consecration. Others bear arms and spikes, their faces covered by clay masks and crudely designed cloth veils. They’re waiting for our entrance, but if we stop running, this realm will close in on us for good.
I draw a breath and dive through the door. Immediately, we are met by the onslaught of cultists, a blur of shapes coming straight for us.
“Run,” Kalxor growls.
I know I should listen, but I can’t run as these men gather to kill him. I don’t care if he isn’t real. He’s real to me.
The rogue man grabs my collar, pulling me back, locking my arms, so I can’t fight this.
Frantic, I lunge, but I don’t get far. I am easily held, and I’m forced to watch the cultists surround Kalxor. I blink, and one of them knocks the butt of his rifle against his cheek. Kalxor falls, and they kick him down. The leader combs through the crowd, brandishing a blade. He holds it in front of his chest, ushering a prayer met with wholehearted support.
And then he sinks the blade into Kalxor’s abdomen, and I feel it as though he stabbed me. He stands back, and I watch the blood begin to pool and trickle down Kalxor’s muscles. My alien cyborg’s eyes roll upward, staring directly at mine, a hurt beast on the verge of meeting his maker.
I’ve been here before. Helpless and alone.
Held back, held down, and still held above the rest. Made to take on the burden of the family.
This man, the rogue who led us back into the maze, holds me still. His smell, rugged and old. His voice, far too familiar.
And his laugh, a deep chuckle that resonates at a frequency I call my own.
He is my father. What’s left of him inside my head, anyway. That place built him, and now he’s here with us.
Did he know he’d catch us?
“I love this part,” he says.
My arms throb with pain.
My heart pounds, cold.
My eyes witness Kalxor drifting away as the cultist’s surround him.
“Dad. Let me go,” I cry. “Please.”
It’s not him. It can’t be him.
“Run,” Kalxor pants.
All of a sudden, my father lets me go and spins me around. He throws his rifle into his chest, barrel aimed straight for my heart.
I fall to the ground, spinning and covering my ears as bullets sink into each of the cultist’s heads with clean precision.
I roll over and look back at my father. And you know what?
He hits me over the head with his rifle.
Open my eyes. Head hurts like a bitch. Where am I?
I take a deep breath and cough, saliva tasting faintly like iron. My muscles ache like I’ve been through hell and back. Oh, that’s right. I have.
The first thing I see is Kalxor’s tied up body. His head is bent with exhaustion, but he’s still breathing. The wound on his stomach has been stitched with careful precision.
My father snaps his fingers near my eyes, and I come to my senses a little more. There’s a fire behind him cooking in the recess of the wall.