ENDGAME | 2 | Unmasked

The crash of the hammer sent sparks flying into the dark air. A man stood above the forge with sweat glistening off of his skin. His hand glowed a bright red as fire spilled from the fingertips into the container. He slammed the hammer down and grunted as it connected. More sparks flew into the sky.

Moonlight slipped in through the makeshift windows of the clay structure that he called his workshop. It was a secret to everybody. The heat from the forge held tight in the man's throat. He coughed out a black mess and turned back to his creation. It was smaller than his palm, and so much damned work for something this small, but it was necessary, so he weathered the heat.

It was probably the most important thing he had to do here. More important than acting as tech support—more important than feeding the Kosunagas with their feed of information. More than it all.

He gritted his teeth and brought down the fire as the shimmering metal cooled. He rested for a moment and let the golden ember cool off the pendant. He smiled as the edge of the pendant refined to a gleaming shine. He palmed the pendant and turned on the spot, vanishing into thin air. A small gust of air rushed to fill the space he occupied, brushing leaflets off the nearby desk.

Gripping heat seized his attention when he landed. Dark rock masses filled the atmosphere—a heavy pervasive ash hung all around him. His destination was clear—a column of crimson light erupted from inside the volcano.

It stood, imposing over the wasteland. No man dared step within a hundred miles of this corner of the land—the last water source dried up years ago.

He cared for neither—he was going to be gone as quickly as he had come as soon as he had made the exchange. He focused on the peak and instantly found himself on top. Even though he was capable of withstanding the heat—the smoke that billowed out of the surface would be too much if he kept the mask on. He lifted it and took in a deep breath. His body stung as the air rushed to greet his face in ways it hadn't in a long time.

Looking down inside, he saw the source of the crimson light—a pendant almost identical to the one he held. He flashed a grin and warped closer toward it. It stood on a stone pedestal that hung over the bubbling magma. He lands, gripping the tip of a stalagmite and swings around like a barber pole. He leaps over the magma onto another stalagmite. He rips the mask off the top of his head with his free hand—it had already started to melt. He cursed and tossed it aside. He's going to have to make another one.

The molten mask didn't hurt his skin—but if it were to remain on his skin it'd harden when he left—and it definitely hurt cutting it free.

Free of the only remnant of clothing on his body he leaps to a third stalagmite and grips it tight. From here he can jump to the podium in the center. He took a deep breath and began swinging back, and back, and…

He leapt!

He grabbed onto the rock and held himself up over the magma pit. The pendant that looked like the fake he had made glowed in response to his movement. He pulled himself up and wrapped his legs around the base of the rock, freeing up his hands so he could make the switch. He bared his teeth in a wild smile and all his eyes burned brightly.

His body erupted into flames and grew—taking the form of a gigantic dragon with eyes the size of boulders stretching across its body. He vanished into the night, with the echoes of his laughter resounding through the void for some time after.