Atticus stood on the russet red sandstone battlement atop the rugged Tower of Tribulation. He glared across the white and burnt sandscape flecked with cacti. Sparse sun-dried shrubbery spilled over a distant ravine. Bound with a black band, his red ponytail draped down the length of his back. Hands clasped behind him, he planted his boots on the tarnished parapet, the last place Rourn, had stood before he threw himself over the ledge.

Rourn had plunged a hundred-and-forty feet where he smashed face-first into the sand.

Healer Merrick had said the Twin warrior broke his neck on impact and passed from this world without torment.

Rourn abandoned him: no warrior partner, no confidant, no blood brother...no friend of worth.

Atticus gazed over the ledge and spat. “Coward!”

Sticky hot droplets splattered on the back of his neck. His head snapped up. Hovering yards above, a charcoal leather-skinned gargoyle flapped bat-like wings. Mustard-yellow saliva oozed from its open maw. It circled the tower, screeching like a banshee—a scavenger searching for its next meal.

“Come to me, fiend!” Atticus grasped the pistol in his leg holster, but hesitated. Not that way, he thought.

With rawhide gloved fingers, he snatched the pearl encrusted hilt of his sheathed short sword, freeing the blade from its scabbard.

The beast swooped. Talons reached for his scalp, but Atticus ducked and rolled. He bent his knees and thrust forward.

The gargoyle dodged to his right flank, evading Atticus’ strike.

Atticus cursed. Then repented for the swearing, and muttered a quick prayer for aid against the foe.

The creature took to the sky. It hissed and screeched. The gargoyle’s ruby eyes glowed as it descended.

Atticus scrambled, but the creature proved cunning and slammed into his chest like a sack of iron ingots. A crushing pain burst from under his breast.

Damnation!

A claw grazed his torso, slashing his shirt open. The padding beneath shielded his belly from serious injury.

Enraged, Atticus hurled his sword upward. The blade’s tip struck the gargoyle’s underbelly, but ricocheted off the scaly hide before clattering to the floor. Hissing, it swooped down, landing on the battlement a few yards away.

Through gritted teeth, Atticus inhaled a painful breath.

Lotus-eaters alive! A cracked rib.

He spat bile and snatched the pistol from his leg holster. The gargoyle crept closer. Rancid smoke blew from its black nostrils. Lines creased Atticus’ forehead. Nose scrunched, he stifled a gag. All Paladins were trained to use firearms as a last resort.

He leveled the gun, steadied his hand.

Then he tossed the gun aside.

He flexed his fingers and stepped toward the creature. Ruby eyes flashed bright, while leathery lips stretched to reveal rows of sharp gleaming fangs.

Atticus loosened his muscles. Facing the creature but turned slightly sideways, he assumed a staggered stance. His hands glided into position near his chest and abdomen, fingerer tips slanted and partially spaced. “Let’s end this, you bone-sucking fiend!”

The gargoyle lumbered forward, tilting its head back, mouth gaping, screeching vehemently.

Atticus swept past the gargoyle’s right flank, and immediately whirled his right boot, planting the heel harshly into the creature’s backside. A loud reverberating crack, and the gargoyle staggered forward. While the creature still remained dazed, Atticus dashed to its opposite flank where he delivered another high kick to the creature’s broad, bony shoulder blade.

When the pathetic creature slashed out in blind rage, Atticus sidestepped the strikes. He continued keeping his distance as the frenzied creature assailed the air in front of itself with wild abandonment. The glowing red eyes had lost much of their previous fervor.

Taking advantage of the creature’s loss of focus, Atticus raced to his sword lying a few feet away. Just as he gripped the hilt, the creature lunged forward with outstretched arms and hooked claws. With his side facing the lunging beast, and no time to reposition his stance, Atticus speared his sword forward and slid toward the creature’s deadly embrace.

The tip of the blade pierced into the creature’s throat, tender and soft; its arms went limp, and its whole body writhed, convulsing, before vanishing into a column of orange flames, leaving Atticus standing with sword held in mid-air.

From the far side of the tower, echoed the sounds of clapping hands, measured and slow.

With one hand, Atticus braced himself on the wall, and with his other, he palmed his aching chest. “Did I pass the test?”

Elder Cai crossed the battlement, his steps graceful and swift. A black robe flowed around him. Green leather pants hugged his nimble legs; a black leather vest with pearl-laden straps crisscrossed his chest. From each ear dangled a pearl earring—the symbolic gem of the Paladins. Elder Cai held a glass ball. Within it, lightning flickered and the tiny shadow of the gargoyle faded from view.

The dry desert wind carried the foul remnants of the gargoyle’s stench far into the endless desert.

“Superb, my boy! It is good that you resisted the use of the firearm. My cautions about relying too much on guns and bullets have embedded into your psyche; I can see that for certain. And your remarkable display of the Palakration martial arts will be more lethal than any modern weapon.”

“Yes, Elder, but it would have been so much easier to have just blown the fiend away with the gun.”

“But we are not akin to those Paladin factions who worship technology over innate skill. We can learn much from the strength of nature and the environment, and rely on its awesome and ancient knowledge, and not the marvels of the nuclear age.”

“My skills are superior but…” Wincing, Atticus holstered his sword and pistol, then cradled his upper torso. “I was a fool to relinquish my blade in a fit of rage.”

“You maintain an air of mourning for the death of Rourn that continues to obscure your judgment.”

“He was like my real brother, as you are like my real father. How can I simply forget that he is gone?”

“Because it is your duty to do so! Now get up and act the Twin warrior that you are. We must continue your training.” He extended a slender arm, palm up.

“Yes, sir.” Atticus grunted, his arm wrapped around his chest. “The gargoyle was more punishing than the vampyre you had us battle last week.”

If Rourn was still alive Elder Cai would have sent three gargoyles, and both of them would have yearned for a fourth.

“Do you think your adversaries will be merciful? If you cannot handle a gargoyle or a little soreness then how can you ever expect to face the Beast?”

“I will be prepared if the Beast ever comes.”

“He is coming soon, Atticus. Very soon. Rourn knew this, and so do I. You must be prepared.”

Atticus held his head high. “Then, I am,” he said with confidence. “If it is true that this Beast is coming, then I shall kill him in name of holy vengeance!”

“Revenge,” Elder Cai said the word wryly, “is possibly the least important reason for stopping the Beast. But go now, seek a healer, and prepare for the graduation ceremony later this evening. And we will hold a warrior’s funeral for Rourn tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, sir.” Atticus bowed before stumbling toward the mechanical lift.