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sense of greatness. And my father would have been naïve in doing so. The only greatness I will ever acquire is in the company I keep. And I won’t have any of your tigershit soiling the memory of those who died here today or anyone else in my life.”

He laughs at me with an evil I’ve never seen in anyone. “You are humorous, boy. You know, I was only interested in your girlfriend anyways.”

I look for her on the cliffside, and she’s only a quarter of the way up.

“She’s quite the marksman with that bow of hers. Very well. No gain, no loss.”

He unsheathes his blade from his back and slashes at me without delay. With an unsuspecting quickness, I drop to the dead warrior. His bark rapidly grows up my arm and around my neck when I place a firm hand on him. The assassin’s blade swings down and ricochets, accompanied by a few sparks.

Shit! I’m still alive. The assassin stares down on me. His arrogance fades into a flat line between his cheeks. His eyes narrow.

“It makes a formidable armor if you craft it right, asshole.” I let the bark spread over my body until I am covered from head to toe like Graytu was. Except I manipulate the bark to grow into small scale-like plates, giving me the flexibility of a man as opposed to a tree. I rise to my feet, fully clad in Greybark armor. The assassin swings at me again. I raise my arm to shield myself, barely able to lift the weight of the armor quick enough, and the force of the blow knocks me to the ground. However, I am unscathed.

Incredible! I can manipulate it, yet steel cannot penetrate it.

“Clever. Iron-infused tree bark. But primitive. It won’t stop me from killing you.” The assassin sheathes his sword and drops down on me, wrapping both hands around my neck. “If I cannot penetrate your armor, then I will suffocate you with it.”

His strength is inhuman. I pound at his arms to break away but without luck. I press my feet into his gut and push with all my might. He falters slightly, but he weighs more than Coloss.

Coloss!

I try calling to him across the meadow, but the weight of the armor restricts my airflow. It pulls me into the forest floor with incredible weight.

The assassin lets go, and I watch him unsheathe his blade once more.

“It is time to join your father in the afterlife, young lad.”

He raises his arms high into the air, one hand tightly wrapped around the grip and the other placed over the top of the pommel. Unable to move without extreme exertion, it will be impossible to dodge his attack. He will send the blade right down my throat. Even if I use what energy I have left to remove the armor, I will not be able to escape the blow. A tidal wave of desperation floods over me. My only hope is the beastly ape.

“Coloss!” I cry out via the conduit. “Coloss!” I cannot turn my head to see if the ape responds. “Help!” I manage to yell out loud.

The assassin looks around to see who I’m calling to. I take the opportunity to release the armor from my body, except nothing happens. Why is it not working? Why can’t I rescind the armor from my flesh? He must have made the bark dormant when he laid his hands on me. That’s why it became so heavy. He turned it to stone so I can no longer manipulate it.

“Coloss!” I cry out once more. This time out loud. “Coloss, help!” The ape continues to ignore my pleas.

“He’s an ape. What else would you expect of him?” the assassin mocks me.

He lifts my chin with his sword and raises it once again, this time placing the tip of the blade in my mouth. The blade slices my tongue, and an awkward metallic flavor aggravates my taste buds. I’m not sure if it’s the steel of the blade or the blood pooling in my mouth.

“You had potential, you know. It flows through your blood just as it did your father’s. Unfortunately, he made one too many poor choices, which cost him his life. Like father, like son, I suppose. Farewell, Goose.”

I’m not ready to die. I am better than this. I failed my father time after time. I have failed Fairview, and I have failed Graytu on more than one occasion, but… I never expected to fail Stone or…Jaymes.

While I reflect on my sad story, something flies just above my head. Falling back to the present situation, I see an arrow has pierced the assassin. With his hands still on his sword and the blade still in my mouth, he stumbles backward. The sword falls to his side and slices at my lips as it does. He smacks his neck where an arrow has impaled him. A fatal shot.

But he doesn’t fall to the ground, dead. His eyes widen, then his gaze narrows and his brow tightens as he stares at me with absolute rage crusted over him. There isn’t a drop of blood. And he doesn’t even appear to be pained by it. He snaps the fletching off and pulls the arrow free from his neck.

He then looks up to see where the bolt came from, and another impales him through the eye and out the back of his skull. Again, there’s no blood or any brain matter, but this time he does fall to the ground.

“Goose!” a youthful voice calls out. “Goose, hurry. We don’t have much time.”

I cannot turn to see where she is, but I know it’s Zoie. Not only because of her voice or the incredible shot, but sadly enough, because she is the sole survivor of her village.

“He’s dead,” I call out. What’s the hurry?

“You

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