Maddening! Maddening!

  The Prodigal Drudge raced across the landscape as quickly as he could, sparkles of his power swirling in his wake as he drove forward. The air itself seemed more like water at this speed, slowing him down, holding him back from revenge, from vengeance!

  Black smoke built a pillar into the sky behind him, visible for miles and miles. The entire city of drudges, his kingdom, was burning, blazing, soaked in oil and forming a pyre for every drudge that remained within it, the pillar a beacon for all those slaughtered in the countryside of the return of the Isparians!

  He didn’t know how many had died, but it was plain that years of work building up his little kingdom, of drawing in wild tribes with a promise of safety, protecting them with his own might and the ring of Summoned spirits around his lands, had been dealt a bloody blow.

  As he had once treated the Isparians, slaughtering them and driving them from the lands he deemed were his, so they had come back and delivered death to the lesser of his people who believed in him.

  Cubs, females, males, warriors, shamans… they’d all died, as he’d killed and even allowed to be eaten so many of the Isparians.

  It had actually been a directed tactic. When Isparians and wild drudges met, the Isparians attacked to kill. There was no hesitation, no mercy, no recognition of other tribes. They were attacked and they were slaughtered because of what Bonecrunch had done.

  Naturally that had driven those tribes to him for protection, and so he had built his kingdom.

  Nobody had dared to trespass on his lands without dying, especially after he dealt with the invasion of the olthoi. The bugs had swarmed in their numbers, trying to overcome his army of Summons, dare the walls of his fortress, drive his people forth.

  His people were not brave, he knew, and so did the olthoi. But Summons obeyed orders, they did not flee. And under his command, they had massed magic enough to tear into the olthoi, had stalwart warriors enough to slow them down, and what mere olthoi, Queen Matron or no, could compare to him?

  He had killed them all, and the olthoi had never come again in such numbers, running away whenever he inspected the borders of his realm.

  The one wandering Tremendous Monuga, towering above many of the trees, had been another challenger, but its size meant nothing to the Prodigal Drudge. He had ripped and torn at his far bigger opponent until it wailed and fled, massive legs moving faster than he could chase and bring it down. He had wanted to drag it back and make a great feast for his people of its corpse, mount its skull beside that of the Matron Queen at the gates of his fortress, but no. The giant thing had fled, and had not dared to return.

  Virindi, shadows, and undead had menaced his realm from time to time. He had killed the masters who had made him without hesitation. The shadows would corrupt and Taint his people, and so he killed them as well. The undead whispered lies and smelled of food gone to cold rot, and he slaughtered them, too.

  With him here, the drudges needed nobody. Without their precious magic and enchanted items, the Isparians were no match for him, proven when they’d died to their own exploding toys, and had none of their magic or spells or anything available to fight him when he came for them.

  They’d not been able to truly kill him, but without their big shiny blue rocks, when he killed them, they died forever, and formed a bloody carpet for the ascent of his people!

  Even when he could go no further from his fortress, still bound there by what magic remained to the Isparians, other forces had appeared to chase them away and continue the killing, further crippling them and leaving his kingdom to grow.

  To grow, until they had returned.

  The remembrance of what they had done still gnawed at him, made only worse by this latest catastrophe. Burning his Matron Queen trophy statue. Slaughtering the town on one of the coldest nights of the year as they huddled together, few standing guard. Slaying hundreds of his Summons and Sealing the Spawn Points, things he had to use much time and effort to pry back open and get to working again, restoring his ever-vigilant army to full strength.

  The entire surviving population should have fled to his fortress by now, now that the Isparians had fled. He had seen them fleeing to the west, and he had given chase with energy and enthusiasm, certain he could kill them all if he could but catch them…

  Except, he hadn’t been able to catch them.

  He had been able to close in on them, not noticed in the trees until he was a mere hundred yards away and the smell of them filled his nose. Then the floating Wagons and Disks packed with so many of them had picked up speed, racing him, keeping out of his grip as they tore through the forest with speed and surety, giving up no further ground to him.

  Whoever or whatever was leading them, pulling them along, had great speed and stamina. Despite his best efforts, he had not been able to close in on them any further.

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  And some of them were shooting at him. He actually recognized one of them.

  Their Queen! Tall and golden-haired, firm and resolute. She had been among the bands that had invaded his fortress back then, come to test him, kill him with their magical items and spells layered on spells, using trickery and temporary Buffs to be able to actually harm him, and numbers to overwhelm him as they sat safe behind that damnable Wall of fiery force and shot him down.

  When that Wall was lost, they died, but few made that mistake more than once.

  Aye, he recognized her, and moreso, he acknowledged who she was when the first shining arrow she shot at him sank into his shoulder and almost exploded with the damage it did.

  Nor did the injury start to automatically heal itself as it should have. There was an annoying magic clinging to the injury, and it wouldn’t regenerate. He could get rid of it easily, but that would mean stopping to do so, and falling behind.

  So he kept chasing, and the arrows kept coming in. Some he could swerve to avoid. Some he batted aside. But he was running at full speed, there was only so much he could do without falling back, and that meant the arrows kept hitting him, with incredible power behind them.

  True, they hadn’t managed to weaken his steely skin or make him Vulnerable to any damage, but the arrows were still hitting incredibly hard!

  The mounting pinpricks only made him angrier, and with a burst of rage, he managed to close within fifty yards.

  The number of arrows slamming into him doubled at the closer range, launched with such speed and skill were they, and he was unable to react in time to them.

  ---

  Half! Half his massive Health pool was gone to these insipid arrows!

  Bonecrunch finally realized he needed to Dispel the magic on his injuries so he could at least Heal back what he was losing. With three powerful steps, he slid to a halt, creating a furrow in the long grasses of the hills they were streaking through, grinding to a stop. The Isparians continued on ahead, and were rapidly out of shooting range.

  He stared after them as he worked the magic to Dispel the Curse-like magic clinging to him, washing it away and allowing his immense physical and magical vitality to begin restoring him to full strength. Indeed, without that magic hampering him, he could have chased them all the way to the edge of his range with little issue!

  An arrow came arcing in with profound accuracy and detonated against his chest, nearly blowing him off his feet.

  His enhanced vision saw the Queen Isparian smiling as she drew another arrow from her quiver, while those around her cheered the shot.

  The Isparians had come to a halt a hundred yards away, and were shooting at him while he Cast!

  Two more arrows hit his leg and shoulder, and the Prodigal Drudge, outraged over their effrontery and the taunting insult to his status and power, charged after them in a fury.

  Smoothly and quickly, the caravan of floating Disks and Wagons picked up speed and kept their distance from him once again.

  ---

  The edge of his range was coming up.

  He could feel it looming up before him, pulling at his soul, dragging him back towards the Wards in the fortress that he was bound to and still could not escape, despite all these years.

  He gnashed his teeth in helpless frustration. There they were, still shooting at him, still running away, and he could not catch them!

  It was obvious they were going to get away. The stamina of whoever was pulling them had not lagged in the slightest. They were going to escape after running so many miles, taunting and teasing him, not daring his claws, and he’d gained nothing on them.

  So many miles.

  So many miles away from his people.

  Bonecrunch the Prodigal Drudge skidded to a halt with one step, clawing at the dirt to stop himself, his large eyes threatening to pop out of his skull.

  This time, his course took him behind a rock, even as he watched the Isparians rapidly slow down, too.

  Automatically he Dispelled the Curse effect again, this time following it with the most potent Healing magic that he could, a terrible foreboding rising in his mind.

  The most recent slaughter of his people had taken place when he was gone for only an hour or so. It had probably not even begun until he was well on his way, and simply had not hurried back, pleased at the slaughter of the arrogant Isparians daring to come so close to his lands.

  Now, now he was at the end of his range, a full hour’s run away over rough terrain… and they knew where he was the whole time.

  They had lured him away from his people when he needed to be protecting them the most, and he had fallen for the bait! Taunted, teasing, stinging him, making sure he chased them as long as he could!

  And now, he needed an entire hour to make it back to his people!

  A terrible premonition filled him as the caravan of Isparians in front of him shifted aside, and a female of the species, dark-haired, scarred on one side of her face, came gliding through with steps that covered twice the length of her strides and did not touch the ground, the very grass parting in front of her.

  The one towing them all.

  Their eyes met across a hundred paces of distance, dark pits of large eyes on a half-transparent body meeting pale violet filled with killing intent.

  She smiled, and he saw eight canines in a deadly, lethal, cheerfully murderous row of white that made his sparking and energized blood suddenly go cold.

  She lifted a finger and pointed behind him, then slowly and clearly drew her other finger across her throat.

  Her meaning could not have been more clear.

  He knew how incredibly fast and deadly Isparians could slay, back when they had their magic. Clearly they had magic and power again!

  With a keening cry, the Prodigal Drudge turned and bolted back the way he’d come. Faster even than when he’d been chasing in a rage.

  His people! His people!…

  ========

  The fortress was burning.

  The great ring of his Summoned army, the grounds where they had been, was now stained with white.

  The balloons were gone from the sky. The center of the fortress was a pit, where once had stood buildings and the upper floors of the Dungeon that was his cage and leash.

  Every building and wall was ablaze. He could smell burning drudge on the wind, and knew nothing living remained behind here.

  The Prodigal Drudge tilted his head back and shrieked his hatred and vengeance at the skies.

  Skies where he saw a murderous smile with eight canines looking back at him.

  She would be coming for him. With friends, with magic, as they’d come long ago.

  Bonecrunch screamed again in rage and fear, knowing he could do nothing but wait for the Isparians to return, and finish the cycle of what he had begun long ago.

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