[Original Novel] Champion of the Little People, Part 19

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A commotion attracted my attention to the metal Tyrant, which had reduced the throng of attackers around it to twitching heaps of gore. It stood motionless, gaze fixed on a Tyrant discernibly different from the rest. It wore more ornate armor and bore one of the only swords, the one I’d recognized earlier.

The metal Tyrant made the first move. Swinging its own electric saw in an arc, the opponent deftly rolling out of the way. Then thrusting, only for it to deflect with its own blade, which sparked furiously as the rapidly vibrating saw teeth ground against it.

The metal Tyrant raised one of its arm mounted guns, but before it could fire, the opponent seized its arm and tore it off. More sparks blasted forth from the jagged socket. The upper torso of the robot began to spin, firing pellets wildly in all directions. The armored Tyrant ducked the shots, rushed in when it finished, and drove its blade straight through the metal Tyrant’s chest.

I gasped, remembering the shop keeper’s warning about the battery. Sure enough, it erupted in flames. The metal Tyrant stumbled backwards, twitching and sparking as the fire consumed it. The head launched from the body on a model rocket engine, not making it far due to the weight. When it landed perhaps ten feet away, the armored Tyrant was upon it.

It pried at the hatch on the back, finally peeling it away, plucking the pilot from inside and eating him in one bite. I felt nauseous, and familiar rage took me. Before I could get my hands on the little monster, Winston seized him in his jaws, then thrashed him about until his body split into the upper and lower halves, his intestines dangling from Winston’s mouth.

“TO MY SIDE, DOG!” I shouted. For once, Winston obeyed. The lightning strikes were now accompanied by deafening thunder, and the rain fell nearly sideways. Soaking wet, my hair tossed about, I barreled down the battlefield towards Dan. Ranks of Tyrants closed to protect him. But then, over the wind and thunder, I began to hear it.

Long and low at first. Raspy, reverberating. Then louder, and higher in pitch. Cackling. The stormclouds overhead began to swirl as the crone’s laughter sent the Tyrants into fits of terror. A lightning bolt arced to Earth right in the middle of the Tyrant platoon, shredding most of them to flaming nuggets of gore in an instant. Another bolt vaporized a group of Tyrants closing on the front lines, showering the little fellows in smoldering Tyrant viscera. Then another, finally decimating what was left of the Tyrant army.

The little ones cheered and sang. They knew what it was before I even grasped what was happening. I fell to my knees, rain plastering my face, and whispered thanks to the old crone. Then I heard a yelp. Returning my attention to the battlefield, I spotted Dan, wailing on Winston with the baseball bat.

“WINSTON!” I pumped my legs, bounding over piles of corpses, Tyrant and Homunculus alike. When I reached Dan, he was bringing the bat down on Winston’s head. I heard a sickening crack, and the yelping stopped. My fist impacted his side, where he’d been shot earlier.

He screamed in agony, distorted by the mask. The bat swung at me. I ducked, then kneed him in the groin. He doubled over, dropping the bat and howling in a mixture of pain and anger. Before he could recover, I snatched the bat from his feet. I’d never used a weapon on anybody. Even now I didn’t feel ready.

But one look at Winston, crumpled into a pitiful heap destroyed my last vestiges of restraint. I swung the bat, connecting with his wounded side. I heard a rib crack. Dan howled again, struggling to stand. I swung again, this time for his head. It cracked the welding mask, which then fell apart, revealing his face. Blood trickled from his scalp, diluted by the rain now falling on it.

He began begging. Told me it was the Tyrants, he couldn’t defy them. That he never understood how his life turned into this, he’d just tried to become stronger so the world couldn’t hurt him. A year ago, it might’ve worked. The little ones, having made their way across the battlefield slowly picking off the surviving Tyrants, now formed up behind me.

The one I recognized as their representative looked up at me expectantly. I looked at him, then down at Dan, crippled bloody mess laying in the increasingly muddy field at my feet. I realized at some point I’d raised the bat as if to strike him. Slowing my breath, I carefully lowered it, and chose my next words.

“How did it come to this? You hurt me, I hurt you, so you hurt me worse, then I do the same. The world doesn’t have to work like that. You choose it, every time you impose yourself on someone smaller.” He squinted at me, split lip trembling.

“I could stop it for now if I killed you. I badly want to return all the pain you’ve inflicted on others with interest. But there’s always more. It would accomplish nothing but to inject more suffering into the world, and increase its population of monsters by one.”

I dropped the bat. Dan, who’d been inching backwards as I spoke, now got up and ran. In time the rain subsided, the stormclouds cleared up and sunlight bathed the battleground. Distant sirens signalled the arrival of fire engines, too late the save the forest. As I’d been too late to save Winston. I knelt at his side, feeling his chest rise and fall. I knew if I lifted him onto the wagon he’d only die faster. Blood pooled beneath his head.

Hot, bitter tears streamed down my face, mixing with rainwater on the way down. I didn’t know if he could hear me. I just wanted him not to be scared. So I sang to him, stroked his ears and repeated what a good boy he was until his chest stopped moving.

I buried Winston in the forest, on the site where the city once stood. Nothing but charred wreckage remained when I found it. A kettle laid next to the entrance to the underground shelter, the hatch pried open. None of them sought refuge there that I know of, but the Tyrants must’ve poured boiling water in there to be sure.

Dad came along, but stood at some distance, letting me make peace. It took what felt like ages to dig a grave deep enough. I tried to come up with something suitable to say. I only made it to “I didn’t know you for long, but-” before it disintegrated into blubbering and I couldn’t get any more words out. Eventually gave up on it, laid Winston to rest, and began filling in the hole I’d dug.

I didn’t know how to handle pain this bad. I’d spent years isolating myself so I couldn’t be hurt. All undone the moment I started to care for someone else. All I wanted to do was lay on the floor, powerless to stop the sobbing, wishing I’d been faster. In dark moments I still regret, wishing I’d killed Dan.

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