The group of twelve survivors walked through the ruined church.

  “What is the situation?” Astrid asked, back to her closed, analytical self.

  “Gulschak saboteurs blew up the walls,” Wretch answered. “The fortress is overrun. Anyone still human is heading for the station.”

  “Then we should arm ourselves, with spears preferably. I am at one-fourth flame. You?” Astrid said, looking at him through glasses that somehow were undamaged.

  He was low, so low that something itched at the edge of his consciousness, whispers and growls. There was a truth there. A truth at the end of flame, one he knew must not be touched.

  “All out.”

  The edge of Astrid’s mouth twitched at his words.

  "What happened here?" he continued.

  Astrid shook her head.

  "We weren't staffed enough, we were prepared for the dead turning.

  “Let’s get moving. Take command.”

  Wretch blinked.

  “What? You're Richter's second in command. That makes—”

  “They’ll follow you,” she said, cutting him off. Her hand gestured toward the carnage. Hounds, all dead. Some ripped in two, others reduced to wet smears. “You did this.”

  Wretch turned. The group stared at him with awe, fear, and relief in the massacred grounds of his making. He hadn't thought of himself as a leader, why would he ever when Edmund was close? He was content with being their fighter, that was his talent ever since the cage incident had shed his restraint. But it seemed people confused that strength with leadership.

  Maybe she has a point.

  “Listen up!” he said with the roughest voice he could manage. “I’m taking command of this group. I am Wretchy, a Fireling. I killed the ones here, but don’t expect me to repeat that trick for a while.”

  He looked over the bunch.

  “The city is evacuating, and we’re deep behind the secured lines. We must fight our way to the station. Or we die.”

  The motley group shifted. Some prayed, others nodded. A big man with a thick beard and a bandaged eye gripped a war hammer, the only one in the group who looked truly able. This wasn't going to be easy.

  “Grab a weapon, preferably with long reach. A spear, a pole, a sharpened plank, anything pointy. You listen to Astrid or me, and maybe we’ll see tomorrow.”

  The group moved at his command, filled with sudden purpose, and scavenged the desecrated church.

  The bearded man approached. “You did all this?”

  “I did. Wasn’t pretty,” Wretch said. “They were newborn. Fought like shit.”

  He nodded, resting his hand on the hammer.

  “I almost wish I’d seen it.”

  “Stick with us, Corporal Conrad,” Astrid said. “You’ll see worse.”

  The group gathered with broken spears and chipped swords. Wretch nodded, handing Gulner’s Blessed crossbow to Astrid. The masterwork craftsmanship was now stained in cracked red, coming from the previous owner's gruesome demise.

  “I recognize this weapon. Did you…”

  Wretch shot her a glance.

  “Let’s go.”

  The gates of the church swung open. The suns were rising over the horizon while steam cannons rang in the distance. War drums thumped through the stronghold, filled with screams and laughter. On the street, three hounds fought over a corpse. His idea was simple, a dozen pointed weapons against the beast that seemed to only be capable of charging straight for prey. Or at least he hoped they wouldn't deploy any advanced tactics.

  “Spikes forward, keep moving!” Wretch shouted.

  The hounds saw them, bloodied snouts pulled back to toothy grins. They charged.

  “They’ll find no weakness here!”

  A pang from Astrid’s crossbow rang over the group and a bolt shot through the air, skewering into an eye of a yelping hound, showcasing the power of the Blessed weapon. The other two hounds leapt without a shred of regard for their bristling defense. Sharp metal and wood met them, piercing guts and muscles. The pair howled in pain and fury, reaching through the spikes. Wretch slashed a throat while Conrad’s hammer shattered the other’s skull, easy enough when the spears pinned them down.

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  The group cheered.

  “Dogs ain’t got nothing on us. Let’s move,” Wretch shouted, impersonating his own image of a certain captain.

  They stuck to the alleyways and away from the main roads, moving through the stronghold. The hounds there were freshly turned, most carrying the torn garbs of their past lives, marks of the defilement they had been subjected to. The fiery shots of the trebuchets raining over the wall couldn't have killed more humans than a few handfuls, but as the corpses turned and killed more, everything had spiraled out of control.

  With a shudder, Wretch thought what such a rampage would look like in the slums of Nov Yanosk.

  Still the freshly turned were by no means capable on their own, clearly unfamiliar with their monstrous forms and the ravaging urges made them mindless, almost drunk. They threw themselves at anything in sight, their bodies whittling down the tightly packed spears of the group.

  The scent of burned wood was growing stronger by the minute, accompanied by a haze of smoke and approaching drums.

  They could deal with the newborn, but the true horde was closing in.

  It took time to advance, far longer than Wretch would have liked. More than once, they had to reroute as he heard a particular concentrated group of hounds on their path. An hour later, the train station finally came into view, nestled at the heart of the city. A fortress inside a fortress, carved from ancient rock and renovated with new equipment and industrial barricades. Below ground lay the train tracks, their only path to salvation.

  The wide road that led to it was far from empty, however, a thin but continuous trickle of hounds rushed toward the battlement and the commotion at its gate. Wretch raised an eyebrow at the sight of the gate.

  It was open.

  Before it, the ground was littered with broken bodies. Cut hides and dismembered claws. A red-haired figure and a man with a shield stood at the forefront, backed up by a dozen crossbows and just as many spears. Edmund’s shield boomed as it sent a yelping hound flying. Elenya, on the other hand, was moving at inhuman speed with the cleaver. Each strike was enforced by her Blessing that tinted her skin red.

  How have the two of you not run out of flame already? Wretch thought from where he stood, peeking out of an alleyway. He turned, casting an uncanny glare at his group, holding broken planks and splintered poles. Their faces were contorted in shock and desperation.

  “Just a moment,” Wretch said with a smile.

  He peeked out again. He would need to catch the attention of the hunter duo to make them cover their charge safely, or at least safely enough. With a hint of guilt, he imagined hurting the captain in unspeakable ways. Those bloodthirsty thoughts came uncomfortably easily, he noted with a wince. But if Edmund looked in the right direction, his Blessed name should appear even across the battlefield.

  The captain cut down a limping hound, then froze, trailing his gaze over the road.

  Wretch waved from an alley and Edmund’s eyes shot wide. In the air he traced the letter "A".

  “I’ve already thought of that,” Wretch said out loud, casting a glance at the misplaced healer clutching her crossbow.

  He gave a thumbs up towards the captain and turned toward the group.

  “The gate is open. Just listen to me one last time and you’ll all be sipping tea in Stonemourn by evening.”

  A few moments later, the group moved out into the road, the makeshift spears jutting in every direction. They moved with quick steps across the pavement, their presence quickly drawing the attention of a handful of bloodied hounds.

  “Don’t break formation,” Astrid said matter-of-factly. A comment that only made the shivering men and women paler than they already were.

  Wretch and Conrad were in the back, taking the brunt of the hounds rushing out from the rest of the fortress. The man had gotten a grisly wound on his leg, and if the rest of the group outran him and the others who were crippled, it would all fall apart.

  A bolt from Astrid’s crossbow caught the throat of a hound sprinting on all four while Wretch and Conrad unceremoniously bashed another to death. Finally, the front line pierced their spears into the backs of the beasts still locked in combat with Elenya and Edmund.

  “Inside now!” Edmund called, grabbing Astrid and shoving her forward without a word of greeting. The survivors stumbled through the gate, more hounds close on their heels. With another command, the portcullis slammed shut, answered by a few frustrated howls from beyond the stone.

  The dirtied bunch mumbled prayers and cries of relief. Wretch just sighed in relief, fighting with so many vulnerable people around was both impractical and unpleasant. Conrad limped up to his side and clutched his shoulder, hammer bloody and beard stained.

  “Thanks for the save back there. If you ever need anything, let me—”

  He paused, then his eyes shot wide. A distinct fiery hue washed over his pupils. A faint burst of ethereal flame flowed out of him like mist, weak compared to the burst Elenya had forced him to endure.

  “Don’t listen to the whispers,” Wretch said. “Let your wounds ground you.”

  After a moment of visible struggle, the man breathed out and his eyes returned to normal.

  “Did I just?”

  “Welcome to the club, junior. Let’s get inside,” Wretch said. A scratching heat and bestial growls swept through his mind as well. He shook his head free of that thought and the residual ache from kindling his own flame. It was the seventh time as a Fireling. He was approaching the next rank fast, just as he wished. Though he found it strange, he'd gained a step from just leading a group of survivors and not the slaughter in the church.

  A moment later, Edmund shouted orders over the chaos of the soldiers and survivors.

  “New Ember, with us. The major will want to meet you. Richters, on me.”

  Wretch forced his way to his crew. Edmund carried a haggard but genuine smile, and his gloved hand ruffled his hair.

  “Forgive me. I should never have let the major split us up. Elenya told me everything.”

  Wretch turned to the blood-drenched girl, standing with arms crossed and leaning against the wall while Astrid examined her with healing hands.

  “We got the order to close the gate ten minutes ago. No other survivors have arrived in the last thirty,” Elenya said, trying to stave off the healer. “You know he would never leave without you, though.”

  A moment later, Astrid’s hands sealed Edmund’s shallow cuts, and he returned her an uncharacteristic hug.

  “I am—” he began.

  “Apology accepted,” she replied before he had finished.

  The group moved through a tunnel into the earth, closing gates and doors behind them. Wretch pushed himself closer to the oversized girl and squinted at her. She paid him no heed.

  “Well…”

  “You caught up to me, but what power did the flame see fit to grant you?”

  Elenya looked down at him, battered, with a crooked smile through exhaustion. Still, her eyes shone with childlike joy.

  “You are going to love this, you reckless flame guzzler.”

  this story that I thought was pretty good. Might as well give some love to the budding authors on here.