Chapter 13 - Province 429
Bullet stumbled out of the rusted swamp that was Province 108 and into something entirely different altogether.
Province 429 hit him like stepping into an oven.
His bare feet sank into cracked, burning ground. Beneath the blackened earth, red fissures glowed with molten fire, hissing and bubbling with heat that felt like it would cook him from below.
The heat seared his soles immediately, adding fresh blisters to feet already brutalized by rust and ice and glass. The air was thick with ash that stung his lungs with every breath. Each inhale felt sharp, like breathing in soot and broken glass mixed together.
The tug in his chest was onward, that old pulse, weak yet insistent, that pulled him across the burnt-out waste, his body protesting all the while.
His shoulder still dripped blood from the gash torn open by Obsidian Shades back in Province 927. His arm ached despite whatever healing the etched shard was doing. He could feel it working, but it wasn't enough, not nearly fast enough. His thigh bore fresh scars from the rust-born serpents' venom, the wounds still tender and angry. His ribs throbbed with layered bruises that made every breath painful.
His pipe hung heavy at his side, sheathed for now. The scarred weapon looked too much like a threat, and he didn't need to start fights. But it was there, ready, comforting, familiar weight against his leg.
The puckering scar above his heart, that constant reminder of a past he couldn't reach, clung to him like something lost.
The shard of etched glass pressed against his thigh through his pocket, the circle bisected by a jagged line, still warm, still mysterious, still unexplained.
Spark's unetched shard sat cool beside it, faintly glowing. A debt he carried whether he wanted to or not.
No name beyond what others had given him. No past that he could recall. Only the tug, the scar, and a world that seemed built to break him piece by piece.
The metal swamp of Province 108 was behind him now, fading into a vague memory.
Before him stretched the fiery wasteland of Province 429, a new challenge, a new trial, a new chance to die.
The plain was a burning inferno.
The ground was blackened earth that crunched under his feet, brittle and hot. Red fissures crisscrossed the landscape, bubbling with molten fire that occasionally spurted upward in small geysers of flame.
Ash storms swirled constantly, wind carrying embers that stung exposed skin like angry insects. Particles got in everything, his eyes, his nose, his throat coating him in a layer of grey grit.
The plain was alive...not sentient, like the swamp of Province 108, but with a predatory will, a hunger. And the heat leaned upon his chest like a physical weight, hard to breathe, hard to think.
Bullet wove through the fissures gingerly, seeking out paths where the ground was coolest. His feet blistered with every step. Blood mixed with ash on his soles. His eyes watered continually from the grit in the air.
This place wanted to burn him. Slowly. Thoroughly.
Then, he saw it.
Then form coalesced through the choking ash haze. She was an enormous, impossible, terrible shape.
A fire elemental.
It stood ten feet tall, a colossus of pure flame. Its form was vaguely humanoid. Head, torso, arms, and legs, but contrived of swirling molten currents that moved like living fire. Its eyes blazed red like molten coals, burning with an intelligence that was deeply unsettling.
At the center, where the heart would have been if this thing were human, was a core...a pulsating orb of white-hot fire that radiated heat so intense it warped the air around it like standing in front of an open furnace.
The scorched plain quaked with the elemental's movement. Fissures louder in their hisses now as if trying to speak, cast their crimson glow across the blazing form. Bullet instinctively backward, crunching the ground under his bare feet as fresh pain went through his blistered soles with every step.
His shoulder ached, the gash still seeping blood. Scars throbbed in his thigh. His ribs seemed to be rubbing against each other at every breath.
But the tug in his chest burned brighter. A competing fire, urging him forward through the chaos rather than away from it.
His pipe was suddenly in his hand, though he had no recollection of drawing it. The scarred metal gleamed in the firelight, slick with his sweat and covered in ash.
His scar pulsed over his heart, anchoring him against the plain's carnivorous will.
Guilt clawed at him like it always did. Patch's blood pooling in crimson sands, Quarry's chest caving under a raider's blow, Glow's vines snapping as she stayed behind, Thorn's despair on the frozen tundra, Frosthawk's misplaced trust, Silt staying when she should have run. All of them, weights heavier than the heat pressing down on him.
But he couldn't think about that now. The elemental charged.
The creature surged forward with impossible speed for something so massive.
Its roar was like a thunderclap that shook the ground and made Bullet's ears ring. Flames danced around it, a living storm, as it raised one molten hand and hurled a fireball.
The projectile was a comet of searing light, tearing across the ash storm, making a sound like ripping fabric.
Bullet dove to the side, ash clouding around him as he hit the ground. The fireball grazed his arm as it passed...just the edge of it, barely touching, but his flesh blistered instantly with a sharp hiss. Pain roared through his nerves like wildfire spreading through dry grass.
His cloak caught fire at the edges, the fabric curling black and smoking.
He rolled across the cracked earth, coming up onto a small plateau of scorched ground. His soles scrapped against the burning surface. Blood mixed with soot, leaving dark smears. His heart pounded so hard in his chest that he could feel it in his throat. His vision blurred from the heat assault, everything wavering like a mirage.
The elemental charged, closing the distance with terrifying speed. Its molten claws slashed through the air every which way, each swipe releasing a burst of flame that singed everything around them. The heat itself was a physical wall pressed against Bullet's chest, stealing his breath, making it impossible to think clearly.
Bullet pivoted, trying to dodge. His leg buckled. The thigh wound from the rust serpents screaming in protest. He swung his pipe with desperate force, the steel clanging against the creature's fiery arm.
Sparks burst like a hammer against the anvil of a forge, jarring his fractured arm and sending pain lancing through the bone. For a second, his vision went white.
The eyes of the elemental flared brighter, burning with rage as its core pulsed faster, beating like an angry white-hot orb.
It unleashed a barrage of fireballs, not just one, dozens, each a blazing sphere that ignited the air around it. The plain trembled with their impact, fissures cracking wider, molten fire bubbling up.
One struck near Bullet's feet. The explosion sent molten spray erupting upward, scorching his legs. The pain was a white-hot lash that nearly dropped him to his knees. His partially frostbitten toes screamed against the burning ground, the damaged tissue unable to handle this new assault.
He scrambled backward, desperate for an edge.
His eyes fell upon the layer of ash that covered everything. Through the pain and haze of heat, an idea began to formulate.
Scooping up handfuls of ash from the plateau, he hurled them at the elemental's core. The gray cloud choked the blazing orb, smothering it for a moment. The flickering flames dimmed in the creature as its roar faltered into uncertainty.
Bullet took advantage of the opening. He baited the elemental toward one of the larger fissure, a pool of bubbly, molten lava.
Another fireball came at him. He dodged, but barely. The projectile slammed into the pool of molten lava instead of him, and the impact created a huge explosion of steam. The geyser erupted in a scalding hiss as if it were the dying beast's last breath, the superheated vapor dousing the creature's lower flames.
The elemental shrieked, a sound of pain and rage mixed together. Its white-flamed claws raked wildly at the air, striking at nothing.
The scar above Bullet's heart flared hot. The pull surged inside him, no longer just urging him forward but demanding that he fight, demanding that he survive.
He hauled more tightly on the pipe, muscles afire. Then he sprang.
He was aiming for the core. That pulsing white orb at the creature's center. The length of steel pipe sliced through flame like it was cutting through water, ringing out as it struck the orb.
Sparks showered outward in a storm of embers, singeing his hair and face. The reek of burning hair filled his nostrils.
The elemental staggered, its form wavering like a candle flame in wind, but it didn't die. It reformed, flames coiling tighter, more concentrated, more dangerous.
Bullet rolled beneath another swipe of those molten claws. Ash clung to his smoldering cloak, coating him in gray powder.
He sprang up as the creature's hand passed overhead, bringing the pipe around in an upward arc. It struck the core again, another resounding impact that shuddered through his arms and shoulders.
Metal met fire. The orb dimmed slightly. Cracks began spider-webbing across its surface, thin lines of darkness spreading through the glow.
The plain shuddered beneath them. Fissures tore wider, molten rivulets bubbling up and flowing like slow rivers of fire. The ash storm howled louder, as if the province itself was responding to the battle.
The roar of the elemental grew desperate, higher pitched, less controlled.
It flung one last fireball...massive, easily twice the size of its predecessors. The projectile lit up the entire sky to orange and red.
Bullet dove behind a scorched ridge barely in time. The fireball hit where he'd been standing, and the heat seared his back even through the cover. His cloak burst into flames for real this time, not just smoking but actively burning. The pain was a red-hot vice clamping down on his spine.
He ripped the cloak off, hurling it to one side and leaving him in his torn shirt and trousers.
He reached and grabbed more ash, handfuls of it, and tossed it directly onto the elemental's blazing eyes.
The creature clawed at its own face, disoriented, temporarily blinded. Its flames flickered and stuttered as it struggled to see, to breathe, suffocating on the ash.
Bullet didn't waste the opening.
He sprinted forward, ignoring the screaming pain in his leg wound, the blood pouring from his thigh, his grinding ribs that felt like they might puncture a lung.
With a bound, he leaped on a chunk of the broken earth as on a stepping stone, propelling himself towards the elemental's core.
The pipe plunged into the orb with a wet crunch, an impossible sound from something made of fire, and there it was.
Flames burst in every direction in a fiery explosion that singed every inch of exposed skin on Bullet's body. The elemental screamed, shaking the ground, cracking the fissures wider, and sending ash billowing up in huge clouds.
The core was utterly shattered.
Embers scattered like dying stars, floating down through ash-choked air. The elemental's massive form collapsed inward, folding like a puppet whose strings had been cut. In a matter of seconds, it was nothing more than a pile of cooling ash, gray and lifeless.
Its red eyes dimmed, flickered and went black.
The pulse of the plain quieted, as if the province itself was catching its breath.
The weight of his body collapsed onto his knees, scraping the scorched earth.
His chest heaved. Every breath was a hot fire that he inhaled into his lungs. The pipe fell from his numb fingers, clattering to the floor with a dull clang.
His body was a roadmap of hurt. A fiery graze had blistered his arm, the skin red and weeping. His chest was charred, where fire had kissed him directly, flesh blackened around the edges. His thigh was bleeding, reopened, the blood running down his leg. His ribs felt like shattered glass grinding into one another. His shoulder still open from that original gash.
Ash clogged his nose and throat. His breath came in raspy gasps. His vision swam, everything blurring at the edges.
The shard in his pocket throbbed, harder than usual. its warmth spread through his body in ways he didn't consciously notice, easing the worst of the charring, softening the pain just enough to keep him conscious, providing subtle aid he couldn't sense.
He just knew that, somehow, impossibly, he was alive.
The ringing in his ears yielded to the sound of voices.
Figures approached through the ash storm, dwellers who had watched the fight from a distance, emerging now that it was safe.
They collected in what appeared to be a camp of ash-heaps and scorched stone. Shelters, precarious and temporary, leaned against a fissured wall. The faces of these people were cracked, like dry earth, and their hands raw from the constant contact with very high temperatures. Every line in their features told stories of desperation.
A man stood on the charred ridge nearby, his cheek bearing a puckered scar, his eyes steady, his gaze unflinching. His voice was hoarse but calm.
"That...was impressive." Tusk, apparently that was his name, judging from the way the others were looking at him, regarded Bullet with an expression of both respect and confusion. "How are you even possible?"
His stance was relaxed, but ready too, like someone who had learned long ago to be prepared for violence.
He was caught out of breath, enough to rasp out, "Don't know, just passing through. Won't be no trouble to you." He paused, then added, "Name's Bullet though."
Another dweller stepped forward. Scorch, with hands blackened by old burns. He extended a singed cloth. "Cover your face with this. Keeps the ash out." His voice was soft despite the rough environment. His hands shook slightly but moved with deliberation. "You look half-dead. Sit. We've got broth. Barely edible, and it'll burn your insides going down, but..."
In his eyes flickered a hint of real politeness. True courtesy, which one would never find easily in such a merciless world.
A woman, huddled in on herself near one of the shelters, was called Ember. Her eyes were dim, unfocused. She muttered quietly: "This place burns everything...us, hope, all of it."
Her voice trembled. Her hands were clutched around scorched rags, as if those alone were unchanging. Her whole body was pulled taut with fear.
"You seen the elementals?" she continued, wide-eyed on Bullet. "They don't stop. They'll be back. They always come back."
A man with a weathered face leaned against a nearby stone, Hearth. His eyes were keen and calculative.
"Do not waste broth on him, Scorch." Hearth snapped, hard and suspicious.
Tusk shot Hearth a glare, shaking his head firmly. "He's a fighter. Lay off."
Scorch poured something from a cracked pot...ember-broth, steaming and smelling acrid. He handed it to Bullet warily. "Drink up. It'll keep you going." He glanced at Hearth with frank irritation. "Ignore him. He's always looking for a quick trade."
Bullet sipped the broth. It was bitter, coating his tongue with a bad taste. However, it was hot, and heat equated to life here.
Guilt stirred in his chest, the familiar weight of faces he'd left behind. Patch's blood on crimson sands. Quarry's chest caving. Glow's vines snapping. Thorn's despair. Frosthawk's trust. Silt staying when she should have run. And now Scorch offering kindness he didn't deserve.
"Thanks." Bullet growled. His scar pulsed over his heart. The tension in the camp was thick enough to cut.
Ember rocked slightly where she sat, her voice dropping lower. "He's trouble, isn't he?"
She looked at Bullet with eyes wide with something between fear and poignancy. Then she looked away in a flash, as if almost afraid of her own words.
Hearth snorted, stepping closer. "Trouble? He's a thief, stealing what's ours. You hoarding again, Tusk? Protecting him so you can get your own cut later?"
Tusk's knife flashed into his hand, his stance becoming defensive. "Back off, Hearth. He's no thief. You're the one always scheming, always looking to profit off others' suffering."
Scorch raised his hand. Despite his rising anger, his tone didn't waver, calm and authoritative. "Enough, both of you! We're barely holding on here as it is. Fighting each other won't do any good."
Ember's voice cracked, genuine distress breaking through. "Just share, please! If we don't stick together, the plain'll burn us all!" Her hands shook. Rags slipped from her fingers. Her fear was raw, contagious.
Hearth suddenly lunged, his ember-blade slashing out.
It grazed Bullet's arm. A shallow cut, but painful. His blood sizzled where it hit the ash-covered ground, the heat evaporating it almost instantly. Pain stung through his already extensive collection of burns.
"Enough of that!" Hearth snarled wildly, his eyes desperate and covetous. "He's mine! That flesh will keep us alive for months!"
Bullet dodged the next strike, scooping ash off the ground and flinging it at Hearth's blade. The glow faded as the ash smothered the flames.
The shard pulsed, forgotten in his pocket, soothing some of the pain from the charred skin.
Tusk tackled Hearth before he could strike again. Their knives flashed against one another, the sparks swathing their faces. The ash-heaps shook with the force of their combat.
"Stay down!" Tusk grunted, pinning Hearth's arm against the scorched ground.
Scorch caught Tusk's shoulder and tried to pull him back. "Knock it off! We can't afford it! We're already dying out here!"
Ember cowered against the shelter, muttering over and over, "It's all burning. it's all burning."
Bullet sprang into action, pinning Hearth completely to the ground, using what little strength he had left. His knee was in Hearth's chest, while his eyes, though tired, were hard and unyielding.
"Enough." he said with quiet, but absolute, finality.
He could have killed Hearth. The pipe was right there. Just one strike would do it.
But he didn't. He just held him there until the fight went out of him.
There was silence over the camp. The truce was fragile, held together by exhaustion and the ever-present threat of fire on the plain.
Tusk nodded hard for breath. "You're alright, stranger."
Scorch offered more broth. Ember kept silent, muttering now and then. Hearth glared but remained down, his blade sheathed.
Bullet sat with them for a while longer, letting his body rest even though the pull urged him onward.
His scars pulsed in time, arm and thigh and ribs all chiming in to create a symphony of pain.
Guilt weighed heavy: Patch, Quarry, Glow, Thorn, Frosthawk, Silt, and now Scorch. Those who'd shown him some kindness in a world that offered none.
But as if it were firmly planted in the ground, the pull swore to keep him going, while its presence here held him fast for this quick pause.
"Why stay here?" he asked, his voice rough from ash and smoke.
Scorch sighed, stirring the pot of broth. "Where else would we go? The plain's all we've got."
Tusk added, leaning against scorched stone, "Some think that there's a way out, past the volcanic ridge. Never seen it myself. You heading there?"
Bullet just nodded, his scar pulsed with agreement. "There's always a way out, if you want it bad enough."
Ember spoke up from the corner, her voice barely in a whisper. "It's a lie. The plain burns everything eventually. Everything."
Still sulky from his defeat, Hearth muttered, "He'll burn too." But he kept quiet under Tusk's threatening gaze.
Eventually, Bullet stood up, nodding to the survivors.
His scar seared over his heart, anchoring him against the exhaustion. The pull blazed through his battered body, urging him toward the volcanic ridge ahead.
Guilt remained. Patch, Quarry, Glow, Thorn, Frosthawk, Silt, and now these people too. Each heavier than the fire that oppressed the plain.
But he did not budge an inch. The fight with the elemental testified to survival in a no-mercy world.
He veered towards the volcanic ridge, where the pull guided him through the chaos. Small bursts of flame heaved from fissures as he passed, but they were manageable in comparison to what he'd just survived. The respite was almost soothing.
The ridge opened into something new.
Province 998 before him lay a crystalline expanse of jagged prisms, each one pulsing with light from within. They reflected his battered form in dozens of fractured images, showing him from every angle, multiplying his wounds, his exhaustion, his determination.
His scar throbbed more powerfully, sensing that new tests were coming, visible in the crystal mist up ahead.
Guilt remained. Patch, Quarry, Glow, Thorn, Frosthawk, Silt, Scorch. He had the weight of each name.
The shards in his pocket pulsed with their usual rhythm. The etched one warm, the unetched one cool. Riddles still unsolved.
His scar remained a link to a past he couldn't access. Before him, Province 998 prisms dazzled and twisted light into impossible shapes. Dust scratched his throat as he breathed.
Shadows stirred within the crystalline structures, shapes insinuating dangers stirred, waiting. The tug took him deeper into a maze of glass and light. The fire on the plain was burning out behind him. Other challenges lay ahead.
Always forward. Always surviving. Always onward toward whatever destination the pull required of him.