Ian’s hands moved before his brain caught up. He raised the rifle, not fully, not with precision. Just enough to show he wasn’t going to let them take him without a fight. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until he saw the shift in the guards’ faces.
One of them reacted immediately. No weapons, he remembered. But they didn’t need any.
The guard closest to the front held out a single hand. From thin air, no spark, no chant, fire burst to life. Real, hot, impossible fire. It swirled into two orbs, each the size of a football, hovering and hissing in the air like they were alive.
Ian’s jaw dropped. "What the—"
The guard didn’t wait. With a flick of the wrist, the fireballs launched. Ian dove to the side.
One missed him by a hair, the heat licking at his jacket. The other scorched through the air and caught his ribs as he hit the dirt. The pain was instant, sharp, hot, like being slapped with a frying pan. He bit down a yell, teeth gritting hard as the smell of burnt fabric and flesh filled his nose.
Still, he didn’t let go of the rifle.
His fingers moved fast, out of pain, out of instinct, out of sheer fear. He cocked the rifle, brought it up, and fired at the one who had thrown the fire.
The shot rang out with a loud, echoing crack. It wasn’t clean. His aim was off but the bullet still hit. Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on novel[f]ire.net
The guard jerked back in his saddle with a shout, clutching his right shoulder. Blood bloomed quickly beneath his cloak, and the horse beneath him reared slightly from the noise.
The others froze for a full second, nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Their eyes locked onto Ian, then onto the weapon in his hands.
They had never seen anything like that, for the first time since they stopped him, the guards looked afraid.
"Kill him!" the leader roared.
And just like that, all hesitation vanished.
They moved fast — too fast. Ian barely had time to react.
One of the guards raised both hands and twisted them in the air. The wind answered. A sudden gust swept through the path like a whip, tearing at Ian’s jacket and lifting him off his feet.
He hit the ground hard, back-first, the rifle skidding from his grip and landing a few feet away. The impact knocked the breath out of him, and for a split second, he just lay there, stunned.
"Fuck." He rolled, grabbing at the dirt, scrambling to his knees. But they weren’t done.
Another rider, further back, thrust his hand toward the ground, and the earth moved.
Ian saw the first spike break through the surface. Then another, and many more. Sharp, jagged stones shot upward from the dirt like spears, angling toward him, fast and unrelenting.
His eyes widened. If they touched him,
He’d be skewered alive.
He threw himself to the side, barely dodging the first wave. Dirt exploded behind him as one spike tore through where his leg had just been. He stumbled, ran backward down the path, panting, ribs screaming from the earlier burn.
More spikes followed. The earth chased him. They weren’t going to stop. They didn’t want to question him. They didn’t want to take him in. They were going to kill him. And he knew it now with perfect clarity.
His fingers found the rifle, half-buried in the path. He yanked it up, turned, saw the one man with both arms outstretched, still shaping the stone.
Ian didn’t think. He didn’t weigh the morality.
He did what anyone would do when death was charging at them. He raised the rifle, steadied his arms, and fired.
The shot cracked through the trees. The guard’s head snapped back with a sickening jolt, a spray of red flashing in the air. His body slumped forward, dropped from the saddle like a sack of cloth and the horse ran away out of fright...the other riders had to keep their horses under control.
The ground stilled the spikes stopped rising. Everything was quiet except for the ragged sound of Ian’s breathing. His hands trembled, he had just killed a man.
The other guards... they didn’t move, they dare not to. They stared at the man Ian had just killed, then back at Ian. No one said a word, but Ian saw fear in their faces now. Real, solid fear.
They quickly realised the situation has shifted in Ian’s favor.
Ian swallowed hard, fingers tight around the rifle.
His heart was pounding out of rhythm, breath shaky, sweat trailing down his temple. His nerves were screaming, but his grip didn’t waver.
He raised his voice, sharper now, angrier, masking the fear with whatever fire he could summon.
"Don’t even f**king try it," he snapped, eyes darting between their stunned faces. "One move. Just one, and I’ll blow another one of you off your damn horse."
He wasn’t sure what gave him the courage to say it, but he wasn’t bluffing and they could see it.
He shifted the barrel toward the nearest one, then the next, slowly. Letting it sink in.
"You think your spells are fast?" he said through gritted teeth. "Maybe. But you’re not faster than a bullet."
The guards stared at him, tense, unsure. They could cast spells. He knew that. They could hit him all at once, probably turn him to ash right there, but that wasn’t the point.
He’d kill two, maybe three of them before they even got their hands up. They didn’t want more bodies. Not with that... thing in his hands. So they stayed still.