Free The Wizard Killer - Season One: A Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy Serial by Adam Dreece

to mana.
    The leecher plants her hands back on the carn and it moans, another wave of emotion washing over me. It’s mage-skull lies there, a foot away from the rest of the body, attached by the tendril. I feel like it’s looking at me.
    I’m tempted to touch the oner to see if I can drain her, given that she’s supposed to be alive, but for all I know I’d bring the infection along too. Involuntary suicide isn’t the plan, and I don’t know what I can safely drain or not. Is it people? Or was that guy I killed a weslek like me and I just pulled his mana too fast?  
    The leecher lets go of the carn and stands, staring straight at me. “Thanks for inviting your friends.”
    “No friends of mine,” I reply. The fire’s spreading to everything, last will be the wall behind the bar. Gazing up, I notice the big beams are well on their way. I think I’ve been in worse situations, but I was a different person then, and this version of me is a sweaty, heart-pounding mess.
    I straighten and raise my pistol arm, but she sees it coming a mile away. She’s a blur that sends me crashing over the bar into the shelves and bottles.  
    Groaning, I hastily right myself and search desperately for my pistol, quickly finding it. I catch a glimpse of Randmon and snatch him up too. “We’re getting out of here,” I say, placing him on my shoulder.  
    With a short, steadying breath, I peer over the bar. The leecher’s staring at the floor, her face tight in concentration. The oner woman looks like a statue.
    The carn’s starting to stir, its mage-skull tendril slowly pulling back into its neck. Yig, he’s a tough beast. The leecher has her back to him. In the distance, I hear the other carn calling out. It’s coming quickly.
    Biting my lip, I swiftly change my target to the drained carn. Just as it looks at me, I pull the trigger. My pistol fizzles, and I see in its eyes that I’ve truly made an enemy for life. Another idiot move. I can only hope that the scarred carn’s ticked off enough with the leecher to go for her before hunting me down.
    Using the bar for cover, I make my way towards the end until I catching a glimpse of light. I don’t see an actual door, but I throw all my weight in that direction and find myself outside the burning tavern.  
    Stumbling into the grassy area behind the burning building, I fall on the ground and laugh nervously. There is a sound like thunder. I glance up at the sky, but that’s not it. Turning, my sense of relief instantly evaporates as I see dozens of oners running full tilt towards the burning bar, and me.

episode seventeen

    The landscape is flooded with oners of all colors, creeds, ages and sizes. They move in disturbing unison, independently and collaboratively, helping the fallen up. They all have the same intense look on their white-eyed faces, and the same tattered clothes.
    I run as fast as I can but there’s nowhere to go. As the human river races around me, I’m elbowed, shouldered, kneed, and shoved mercilessly. Screaming at them is pointless, a whisper against their thunderous footfalls. As the wounds pile up, I find myself repeating the mantra: “Stay standing, stay alive.” The memory of seeing a man fall in a riot once flashes by, the horror reinforcing my resolve.
    The sea of white eyes glance at me as they sail onwards to surround the bar. I can tell I’m logged in their collective mind, and once they’re done with the carn, they’re coming for me.
    As the last oner passes, I’m shoved from behind and land face first in the once pristine grass, now pulpy mud. Every joint, every muscle and fiber of my being is in agony. Of all places to die, I don’t want it to be here in the mud.
    A shadow appears over me. I wonder if there’s a oner who’s been assigned to keep an eye on me. Coughing, I try to summon the strength to get up, but rolling over is as far as I get. I lazily watch the blazing bar and the swarm of oners around it, some on the shoulders or