Lord of the Night

Chapter 11: Attack

My father stood on the steps outside of his shanty. Rain sluiced over him, plastering his shirt to his shivering frame. His wide eyes fixed on the distant storm, jaw open.

"Go back inside, Dad!" I yelled. "Hide in the cellar."

He pointed a trembling finger at the lightning streaking the sky. In the white flash, I saw his mouth move to form a word: my name. Did he now remember who I was? Or was he still Hefgar to help me?

I grasped his arm and forced him back into the shanty. I flipped up a rug and tugged open the trapdoor beneath it. As I guided my father's feet down the ladder, he provided no resistance except for an occasional twitching and mumbling. I had the uncanny sensation that I was kidnapping him instead of protecting him.

He probably would have reacted with the same lost gaze.

I swallowed hard. "Stay down here until I—" I wanted to say until I come back, but what if I never did? "Stay here until this is over."

Without another glance in his direction, I snagged the key hanging at the bottom of the ladder and located the Demon-Slayer mace Hefgar had once used. Though fourteen years had passed since the weapon had killed a Demon, the rubber-infused obsidian spikes remained sharp and—hopefully—lethal.

With the mace clipped onto my belt, I burst back out into the pouring rain and darted toward the warper. I unlocked the shackle, freeing the warper, and scrambled inside. But when the key slid into the ignition, I paused.

The last time I rode in this warper, my family died.

Unwillingly, I craned my neck to seek out the space in the back where I had hidden, squeezed away under the storage shelf. Now, the space looked impossibly small.

How had I ever fit in there?

There had been room for my First Guardian action figure, too. The toy had prodded my chest while I held my breath, waiting for my mother to start the engine. While rummaging for my Guardian uniform—really just a costume my father had stitched together for me—the toy had tumbled out of the drawer. And in that moment of need, her proud posture and triumphant fist had inspired me.

When the Demons overpowered us, the First Guardian toy had slipped from my fingers. The clatter of plastic against the marble floor drowned in the roaring thunder and the yells of my family.

'Remgar, run!'

My feet, lungs, and even heart had frozen still, but my eyes had moved, seeking help from the fallen First Guardian.

Covered in blood, the toy looked far less inspiring.

A pinching pain drew me back to the present—the metal key dug into my clenched fist. In a rush of reckless abandon, I twisted the key, punched the buttons to program the warper to head toward the base, and jabbed the start button.

The engine whirred, and thunder boomed, rattling the windshield. Fear twisted my gut. Was I any more competent than the delusional boy who hid in the storage compartment of this warper fourteen years ago? Maybe I would do more good cowering underground alongside my father than I could do anywhere else.

But how could I hide in safety, while the Guardian Leader Rakimar met her death? While my best friend Borgal faced a horrific end after all he'd been through? While Isalio...

What the fuck was happening to Isalio, and why did I even care about that?

Still, kissing him had planted some kind of responsibility on my shoulders. Whether he was getting tortured or torturing others, I couldn't sit back and allow it to happen.