The dark crimson halls stretched on endlessly, their walls pulsing faintly with some unnatural life. Josen adjusted the strap of his pack and glanced inside. The twin poison daggers from the fallen Vaelith rested there, their blackened edges faintly steaming. His left eye still pulsed strangely in its socket, and his right arm shimmered faintly—veins glowing a dim violet.
This doesn't look good… I'm not even sure I can fully control it yet. I thought defectors could restrain mana-based powers… His jaw tightened. The old man's got a lot of explaining to do.
The two of them walked in silence. It wasn't an awkward kind, more like a shared calm after a storm.
"Hey," josen said suddenly, "how are your injuries? Did the potion help?"
"Yeah… the pain's numb now, and the bleeding stopped. So… yeah."
Josen noticed Zigmo's hand drifting to his shoulder, rubbing it as though the memory of pain lingered there.
"Thanks for all you've done," Zigmo added quietly. "Helping a random orc like me… you didn't have to, most humans would have just saw a free kill"
"You've helped me a lot too," Josen replied. "I've grown, I've learned… and I made a promise—we're going to set your mother free. Okay?"
Zigmo's head dipped, and for the first time since Josen met him, his expression softened into a pure, childlike smile—still stained in blood, but genuine.
"…Thank you. So much, sir."
They didn't get far before an army of over a thousand blocked the hall ahead. Goblins, orcs, and other warped creatures sneered at them, drool dripping from jagged teeth, eyes brimming with murderous glee.
A hulking orc general stepped forward, voice echoing like a drumbeat in the confined space.
"Greugh! You dare betray this great kingdom?! Your crimes are many—destruction of the sacred temples, murder of my sons, and treason against the nation! For this, I sentence you to death!"
Josen turned his head slightly toward Zigmo, eyes lighting up with a wolfish grin. Zigmo returned it—less confident, but steady.
"…Okay."
In the blink of an eye, Josen was gone. A head hit the ground before the nearest orc even realized he'd moved, Rrhita dripping with fresh blood. Compared to their last battle, this was nothing. After Vaelith, these enemies were child's play.
Josen blimped to the roof of the hall, raising one finger. Fire coiled and hissed around his hand, the heat distorting the air. His voice was cold as stone as he began to chant:
"Flame that devours, heed my call. All enemies who rise against me With this fire, bring them down.
Bolting Fire: Ignite Ball."
The massive sphere of fire tore through the air, detonating into a wave of flame that consumed the army in seconds. In the chaos, Zigmo appeared beside the general, blade flashing. A single horizontal slash opened the orc's throat; he fell without a sound as the fire swallowed the rest.
"Wanna get going?" Josen asked, landing lightly.
"Sure."
They walked for days, resting in back alleys and abandoned houses. Eventually, the smell of cooking food and the hum of voices told them they were close to a city. Passing food stalls, Josen's stomach growled audibly.
"Hey, I'm starving. How much longer does the crystal say?"
"We'll be there by tomorrow. Just hang on, friend."
"Fine…" Josen muttered.
He couldn't help but watch the street around him. It wasn't wealthy or glamorous, but people cared for each other. A muscular goblin fruit seller handed an orange to a young orc without asking for payment. A beautiful woman sang and danced for a group of laughing children. For a moment, Josen's lips curled into a faint smile.
Such a good community… if only home was like this. Hmph—what home? I don't even have one. Gramps is all I—… wait. Mrs. Addams. I haven't seen her in so long. I hope she's okay…
"You've been staring a lot," Zigmo said. "Something catch your eye?"
"Oh—no, I just… everyone's so friendly. No one's pushy, kids get to play and be free. It's… amazing."
Zigmo smiled faintly. He knew Josen was reflecting. He let him have the moment. Inside, Zigmo had sworn loyalty—not out of debt, but out of genuine friendship.
The dungeon wall loomed ahead. They tore it down without hesitation. Inside, the vilest of goblins lurked—murderers, smugglers, and worse. All eyes followed them, but none dared approach. Zigmo's pace quickened toward the glowing crystal at the center, its hum loud enough to rattle teeth.
"Mom. Mom—there you are!" Zigmo's voice cracked as he surged forward. He tore the reinforced gate from its hinges, metal screeching, and sprinted to the woman inside.
They collided in a crushing embrace. Her hands clutched him as if afraid he'd vanish. His shoulders trembled, his breath shuddered against her neck.
"Mother… oh, Mother—I'm so sorry it took so long. Please… please forgive me."
Ephilia's arms wrapped tighter. The sight of her boy—no longer little, but alive—warmed her heart enough to almost erase the memory of losing her husband. Almost.
"Oh, my boy… are you hurt? Any injuries—" Her hand froze on his shoulder. The absence of his forearm made her stomach drop. "What happened?! Are you—"
"It's okay, it's regrowing. I'll be fine. You can thank my friend here." Zigmo turned, smiling toward Josen.
Ephilia's eyes brightened. Zigmo had never had friends before. Seeing this one—the way her son looked at him—made her believe she hadn't failed as a mother.
"That's amazing, sweetie. He seems wonderful."
"Hey, Josen—come on in!" Zigmo called cheerfully.
"Uh… hey, ma'am," Josen said, stepping forward.