Damn Sense of Direction

The ash still hung in the air, even hours after the attack, and the wind carried the stench of smoke and blood through the streets.

Marcus and Gus stood in the middle of the village square, their car parking behind them.

“Uh… so, now what?” Marcus sounded unsure.

Gus planted his hands on his hips. “Now? We follow Caeriel. That was the plan.”

“And how are we supposed to know which way she went?”

Gus pointed across the charred fields. “She turned over there. So at least we’ve got a general direction.”

Marcus snorted. “What are you talking about? She went along that house and then straight toward the forest.”

Gus arched a brow, his tone turning sharp. “Yeah, and then she turned by the fields and went that way.”

“Bullshit. I would’ve noticed!”

“Guess what, you didn’t!”

They glared at each other, arms folded, the tension thick enough to cut.

Just as Marcus drew breath to fire back, a raspy cackle split the quiet.

Both heads snapped around.

Between the blackened ruins darted small shapes, hunched backs, filthy fur, needle teeth flashing. One dragged a frying pan, another hugged a half-burned chair leg like treasure.

“Oh no…” Marcus whispered. “Those creeps again!”

One kobold spotted them, screeched, and three more rushed onto the square, yellow eyes gleaming, drool dripping from their jaws.

“Perfect. Just what we needed,” Gus muttered, drawing his daggers and planting himself beside Marcus. “Well, Beer-Mage, show us what you’ve got.”

“Gladly!” Marcus flashed a crooked grin, lifted his staff, and aimed. 

“About time I gave this thing a proper test run.”

The gemstone flared, a deep WUMPH rolled across the square as a golden cloud of foam blasted out, swallowing three kobolds at once.

For a heartbeat they staggered inside the boozy haze, one coughed, another slipped.

Then sparks crackled, fire roared, WHOOF!, and the cloud erupted in a bright, clean explosion.

Marcus’ eyes went wide, then he burst out laughing. “Ha! Who’s next!?”

Four more kobolds hesitated, then charged with tiny axes raised.

Gus braced, daggers tight in his fists, ready to fight. 

But before they reached him, they were already getting shredded.

“Hop Missiles, go!”

The staff’s gem flared a green-brown, buzzing as fanned projectiles of light spun into being and ripped forward, shredding the kobolds in a withering barrage.

“Dude, chill! You’re gonna hit one of us!” Gus shouted.

“Sounds like someone’s jeeeaaalous!” Marcus sang back, obnoxiously smug.

“Of what, exactly!? You’re a fuckin’ walking beer tap!”

Marcus unleashed another blast that sent two kobolds spinning through the air. 

He laughed like a maniac while Gus only shook his head.

“That’s exactly what I mean… always over the top.”

When the last kobolds broke and fled, a sliver of seriousness slipped back in.

“Come on, just let me enjoy this! You did say I needed practice with the staff. That’s exactly what I’m doing!”

Gus sighed and started walking again while Marcus followed, clutching the staff.

“Whatever. Point is, we need to move if we wanna catch up with her. We can’t get the Golf through the fields, so we’re on foot, and we...”

“...I told you, she went toward the forest!” Marcus cut in.

Gus stopped dead, then turned with a hard look. “Will you drop it already? Stop acting like you’ve got it all figured out!”

Marcus’ eyes flashed. “Ha! I knew it, you are jealous that I finally have some power!”

“Jealous!?” Gus’ voice cracked. “Of you blasting around like a drunk Gandalf? Or of you acting like a complete asshole!?”

Marcus gasped. “Say. That. Again.”

Gus stared at him for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he raised his hand and shoved his middle finger right in Marcus’ face.

“Fuck you.”

Marcus’ jaw dropped. “…Did you just show me the finger!?”

“Exactly.” Gus turned on his heel and stomped off in his chosen direction.

“In-credible!” Marcus fumed after him. “After everything I’ve done for you!”

Without looking back, Gus raised his hand once more, that finger stabbing the air like a flag.

“That’s it! I’m done, see how you like being on your own!” Marcus yanked his hat low and stomped off the other way.

For a while he kept a furious pace, as if to prove to the whole world he was better off without Gus. 

But the silence pressed in. 

No banter, no snide remarks, only the crunch of his boots over scorched earth.

On and on he trudged, one hand shoved in his pocket, the staff slung over his shoulder like a rifle. 

Dust puffed up with every step as he muttered, “Ungrateful bastard… shows me the finger… I was just trying to protect us!”

But the farther he went, the quieter his grumbling grew. 

The village was long gone, trees closed in, the path all but vanished.

He stopped at last, looking around. 

Left and right, nothing but forest and thickets. 

No trace of Caeriel.

A knot twisted in his gut. “Damn it… how’s that idiot supposed to defend himself without me and my staff?”

He hesitated, chewing it over. “…Ah, screw it. I’ll head back. Be the bigger man…”

Finally, he turned, yet every tree looked the same. No path, no footprints; the wind had wiped his tracks clean.

“Brilliant, Marcus. Just brilliant.”

He growled and pushed through tangled brush. “This… is not where I came from…”

Then, through a screen of branches, a small clearing opened up.

“Finally! At least now I can see wh—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!”

The ground gave way beneath his boots. Roots tore, earth collapsed, and Marcus dropped out of the world.

A scream, the thunder of falling dirt, the dull clatter of stones, and then the dark swallowed him whole.

Only the fading echo of his cries seeped up from the depths.

---

Not far from the ruined village, Gus crouched by a charred stump, his daggers thrust into the soil at his sides.

Chewing a blade of grass, he squinted toward the empty square. “Where the hell is he…”

He waited. A minute. Two. 

“I know the guy. He should’ve slunk back already.”

Unease coiled in his gut. 

He pulled off his hat, raked a hand through his hair, glanced toward the village again. “Shit… maybe he really did get lost this time.”

Finally he rose, grabbed his daggers, and took a step to head back.

A loud crack came from the brush.

Gus’ head snapped up, and froze.

Squat, hulking shapes pushed out from between the trees. 

Greenish skin, crude armor of leather and bone, heavy blades in hand, their eyes burning red like embers.

Orcs.

He stepped back, but two of them were already there, weapons raised to block his path.

“Told you, there are still elves here,” one growled.

“Doesn’t look like an elf to me,” said another, scratching his scalp and baring his teeth.

“What else would he be? This land’s full of elves.”

“Are you blind? Elves are tall, slim, easy on the eyes. Especially the ladies, heh-heh. This one’s short, stocky, and ugly.”

Despite the fear in his chest, Gus bristled and muttered, almost inaudible, “Short, stocky, and ugly!?”

The orcs grinned, yellow fangs glinting.

One clamped a meaty hand on his shoulder; the other pressed cold steel to his throat.

“Doesn’t matter what he is. The master wants sacrifices. The more, the better.”

They yanked him into the trees, but Gus didn’t fight back; he knew it’d be pointless.

“Great,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Marcus, you dumb bastard… now would be a really good time to catch up.”

But he had no idea his friend was already far below the earth, dealing with problems of his own.