54

The hunters line up riding ostriches, their carcasses full, their bows with freshly spun bowstrings. Their foreheads sweat from both the heat and the threat, but their hearts, and their gazes, remain temperate.

From the horizon comes a mountain that moves, crushes the stones and cracks the desert, dragging with it the sound of a giant, irregular drum. To the sides come the vehicles and cages of the slavers who remain loyal to Shura. Little more than two dozen, but the vehicles equipped with machine guns and assault rifles, make it a force with superior killing potential.

Catastrophe is in the air.

"We will take advantage of the river being dry so that those incapable of fighting can flee without being seen" says Gaita, standing next to Chester looking at the slaver horde. Despite the words of abandonment, none of the hunters show fear or disappointment, they are determined to die to give their people a chance. "You can come with us, Lancaster. The tribe needs a strong man now that my father is gone"

Chester regards the slaver vehicles with detachment, as if they do not exist. The heavy armor did pique his interest. But rather than provoking fear or respect, he looked thoughtful, as if searching for a factor in his brain, a decisive piece of information. His eyes are as calm as his voice.

"None of us will escape" says the lion.

Gaita trembles.

"Do you think we don't have a chance...?"

He looks at the princess.

"Nobody will fight. I'll settle this... Nadjela would want it that way"

The surprised and bewildered looks of the tribals fall on the swordsman's back. Gaita's own heart hammers with emotion. Far behind, a child cries out: The hero will save us! And though his mother hushes him, hopeful murmurs grow.

Gaita wants to believe, but she looks at the Crocodile, and his faith wavers. How could a man defeat a mountain? Even Zell, with humanity lost, can't compare to such a challenge. But Chester shows himself with the calmness of one who knows everything is under control.

"Give me an ostrich"

From the pen they bring him an albino specimen, the youngest and strongest of the litter. It belonged to Neddin, but he rarely used it. Now, at the level of average, it is natural that it passes to the control of the new strong man.

...

The slavers are rubbing their hands together. The scene promises a good gathering: juicy females; useful, strong men; good infants for auction; there are quite a few people with a fetish for the primitive.

"But isn't the Lancasterian among them?"

Someone whispers the uneasiness that caused the bulk of his companions to desert. But soon that doubt is overshadowed by bluster and bravado. What can one man do against the Crocodile? Nothing! They repeat like a mantra as they look at the armor built by the burned man.

But many smiles are lost when they catch a glimpse of a lone rider approaching. A courier, perhaps? Those with binoculars bring them up to sniff. One, recognizing the blue hair, lets out a panicked shriek, and fires up his motorcycle to make a U-turn and disappear in a cloud of dust. Why the horror? wonder those who lack long sight. Soon the distance is no longer an inconvenience, everyone recognizes the legend's features.

The broad chest.

The strong arms.

The light skin.

The tight buttocks (They can't see this, but they can sense it).

The tousled blue hair.

The sword at her waist.

And scarlet eyes devoid of any trace of fear, even after plunging into the shadow of the mighty Crocodile.

Why doesn't he fear? Why doesn't he flee? Why does he defy?

Faced with the incomprehensibility of these questions, and the possibility that the stories being told are closer to reality than fiction, half of the 24 chain gang members flee. But none of the protagonists of the scene pay any attention to these cowards.

Chester and Ashura. Both feel each other's gaze like a mask over the complexion. The woman is annoyed to notice the somewhat subdued Lancaster. It is still not the expression of a man facing death, but of one who lost something very precious.

"Lancasterian, your spirit seems battered, and not by my hand. What a nuisance"

Shura's voice echoes across the wasteland. Far behind, in La Cuna, many are surprised to realize that the giant is actually a woman. Chester, in order for his voice to reach the Crocodile's sensors, shouts at the top of his lungs.

"A friend of mine told me about your brother! Too bad! This final encounter should have been between me and him!"

"Take my brother out of your vocabulary, muskite. I'll make sure the legend of Deathmask lives on, and is used to make children obey and go to bed early. Your story, on the other hand, ends here. I suppose you will beg me for mercy, not to harm your slut and those people? But I've only shown understanding to two men in my life. And I've run out now"

She points a finger at the bottom, ready to fire the missiles at the tribe and let Chester see those he protects die first. Then she would capture the man and gift him years of the pain.

Ashura imagines him naked, with a scarred body, a dreary look, and a gold shackle around his neck, connected to a chain she would wear, walking him as if he were her favorite dog, and finally when Chester is left with his will beaten to a pulp, she would plant him in a pile where Achú's guillotine would conclude the story with an accurate slash. But Ashura's future plans collide with a shrill cackle in the present. It is the nobleman who, with his hands on his hips, brings his head back and laughs.

"What?! No! You're screwed! I've already won, woman!"

Ashura's eye twitches, her lips remain parted, unable to believe her ears.

"Lunatic... And imagine that I had feelings for you"

"Forget it! Not even in a hundred light years can you defeat me!"

A vein bulges in the woman's forehead.

"Light years measure distances! Not time, you idiot!"

She wanted to speed up and crush the Lancaster, to turn it into nothing. But then she hears a beeping sound and a voice that seems to come from the dead.

Hello? Can you hear me, Achu? Maybe you don't remember me, I'm just a simple burned man.

This is my last message to you, consider it a farewell gift. But before I go, a little note...

You're trash, and your tastes in movies are crap!

Ashura pales. She hears a crash, and an impossible force separates from the chair.