Page 20

GUVAN

T he scaffolding rattles as I shift my weight, the metal beams groaning under my bulk.

From twenty feet up, the chaos of Mirror Lake looks almost organized.

Volunteers dart around like ants, lugging plywood, hammering stages into place, and unraveling cords for the sound system.

I’ve hoisted the speaker array up here with one hand, and now I’m securing it with the kind of precision that would make a Veritas engineer proud.

“Gary, watch your footing!” Reily’s voice cuts through the noise below.

I glance down, and there she is—cutoffs frayed at the edges, bikini top clinging to her like it’s holding on for dear life.

Her red hair shines in the sunlight, and she’s grinning up at me, waving like I’m some kind of rock star.

I wave back, a rare smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

And that’s when it happens. The scaffolding shifts, the metal groans, and my balance tips.

For a split second, I’m weightless, the ground rushing up to meet me.

I hit the dirt with a thud that sends a cloud of dust billowing into the air.

“Gary!”

The cry comes from all directions. Bodies close in around me, voices overlapping in a cacophony of concern.

“Is he okay?”

“Did he break anything?”

“How is he not a pancake right now?”

I sit up, brushing dirt off my… scales. My heart sinks as I realize the impact must’ve shorted out the image inducer. I’m exposed. My true form—red scales, ridges, all of it—on full display.

Boris is the first to break the silence. “Whoa, he’s got scales! Like a… a lizard man or something!”

Clem steps forward, his Skoal cap pulled low over his brow. He spits a wad of tobacco onto the ground and levels a glare at Boris. “No, he doesn’t.” His voice is a growl, low and dangerous. “I don’t see a damn thing but Gary Irons, billionaire philanthropist. Right?”

Mr. Dauber nods vigorously, adjusting his glasses. “That’s just Gary. I’d recognize him anywhere.”

Barfbag blinks, his face scrunching in confusion. “Um, are you guys all stupid or something? He’s clearly?—”

Boris slaps him on the back of the head. “Shut up, dude. We’re like, roleplaying.”

“Oh. Okay. Then I want to be a paladin with a charmed longstaff. Longstaff, get it?”

Seabus groans, rubbing his temples. “Barfbag, you moron. Paladins can’t use a charmed longstaff! ”

Everyone turns to stare at him. He freezes, his face flushing a deep red. “So I’m told,” he mutters, looking down at his boots.

Reily steps forward, her hands on her hips. “Alright, everyone, back to work! We’ve got a festival to build, and Gary’s fine. Aren’t you, Gary?”

I meet her gaze, my jaw tightening. She’s not just brushing this off—she’s protecting me. My chest tightens with an emotion I can’t quite name. Gratitude? Affection? Whatever it is, it feels alien.

“I’m fine,” I say, my voice gruff. The crowd disperses, though I catch a few lingering glances. Reily stays by my side, her hand on my arm.

“Nice save,” she says under her breath. “But next time, maybe don’t fall off the scaffolding, huh?”

I grunt, my eyes scanning the crowd. Clem’s watching me with a knowing look, his arms crossed over his chest. He gives me a small nod, and I nod back. In that moment, I realize something: the people of Coldwater aren’t just tolerating me. They’re accepting me.

Even if they’re pretending not to notice my scales.

The stage is finally up, the last nail hammered in just as the sun dips below the horizon.

The volunteers crack open beers, the sound of laughter and clinking bottles filling the air.

Reily’s leaning against the stage, her arms crossed, a satisfied smirk on her face.

I’m about to join her when the low rumble of motorcycles cuts through the celebration like a knife.

“Oh no,” Reily mutters, her eyes narrowing as she peers into the gathering darkness.

Cold Slither rides in, led by Jack. His gang colors—blue, black, and red—gleam under the fading light. The rest of the bikers fan out behind him, engines growling like feral beasts. The volunteers freeze, beers half-raised to their mouths, tension thickening the air.

I turn my image inducer back on, the human facade sliding into place. “Stay back,” I tell the crowd, my voice low but firm. “All of you.”

Reily steps forward, her jaw set. “Gary?—”

“Stay. Back.” I don’t look at her, but I feel her hesitation before she finally nods and starts herding the volunteers away from the approaching threat.

I stride out to meet Jack, stopping about a stone’s throw from the festival grounds. He dismounts, his boots crunching on the gravel as he saunters toward me. His grin is all teeth, no warmth.

“Step aside, Irons,” Jack says, his voice dripping with mockery. “We’re here to have some fun.”

“Fun?” I fold my arms over my chest, my tone flat. “What kind of fun involves tearing apart a community event?”

Jack’s grin widens. “The kind where we remind people who’s in charge. This little festival... It’s in our way. So we’re gonna tear it down. Piece by piece.”

“Over my dead body.”

He laughs, a harsh, grating sound. “That can be arranged.”

I pull my compad from my pocket, fingers flying over the interface. Jareth’s frequency disruptor activates, and the air shimmers with an invisible pulse. One by one, Cold Slither’s human disguises flicker and dissolve, revealing the grolgath beneath—scaly, reptilian, and bristling with malice.

The volunteers gasp, a ripple of fear spreading through the crowd. Jack snarls, his true form now exposed, his yellow eyes blazing with hatred.

“All you’ve done is sign your death warrant,” he hisses, raising a clawed hand. “And everyone else here.”

“The only dead man I see is you,” I reply, tossing the compad aside.

I let the image inducer drop, my true form—dark red scales, scars, and all—unleashed for the first time in front of the town. The gasps behind me are louder now, but I don’t have time to care.

Jack lunges, his claws slashing through the air. I sidestep, my tail whipping around to knock him off balance, and then I’m in the thick of it. Boneshaker charges at me, his hulking form a blur of muscle and rage. I meet him head-on, our collision sending shockwaves through the ground.

Crazzy Steve’s manic laughter echoes as he leaps onto my back, but I grab him by the arm and hurl him into Shegot Daboodie, sending them both sprawling.

Jack recovers, his claws glinting as he strikes at my side. I grunt, the pain sharp but familiar. I’ve fought worse than this. Much worse.

“You’re outnumbered, Irons,” Jack snarls, circling me with his gang closing in.

“Good,” I say, cracking my neck. “That means I don’t have to hold back.”

I launch myself at him, my claws meeting his in a clash of sparks and fury. The fight is brutal, unrelenting, and I feel alive.

I stagger to my feet, blood dripping from the gashes Jack’s claws left across my chest and arms. My scales itch as they try to knit themselves back together, but it’s not fast enough.

Not with the way Jack’s circling me like a shark, his yellow eyes gleaming with predatory delight.

He’s not as strong as I am, but he’s faster—much faster—and he’s been saving his energy for this moment.

“You’re slowing down, Irons,” Jack sneers, flicking a clawed hand to the side, splattering my blood on the ground. “Can’t keep up, can you?”

I don’t answer. Talking wastes energy, and every drop I’ve got left is going into staying upright.

My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath, but he’s already moving again, a blur of scales and fangs.

I barely manage to deflect his next strike, his claws screeching against my armored forearms. He darts back before I can counter, his laughter echoing across the festival grounds.

“Come on, big guy,” he taunts, circling me. “You’re supposed to be the big bad alien protector. Where’s that legendary Vakutan strength now?”

I lunge at him, but he sidesteps with ease, his tail whipping around to catch me across the ribs. I grunt, stumbling, and he’s on me in an instant, his claws raking across my back. The pain is white-hot, and I feel my legs buckle as I hit the dirt.

“Pathetic,” Jack spits, standing over me. “I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

I glance over to Reily. She’s standing at the edge of the crowd, her hands clenched into fists, her face a mask of fury and fear. The volunteers are behind her, frozen in place, their eyes wide as they watch this nightmare unfold.

And then, salvation comes in the most unlikely form.

“Hey, scaly dickface!” Boris’s voice rings out, followed by the distinct whoosh of something flaming through the air.

Jack barely has time to turn before the flaming bag of gasoline-soaked dog shit explodes against his head.

The smell is immediate and vile, and Jack lets out a roar of rage as he stumbles back, clawing at his face.

“Bullseye!” Boris crows, pumping his fist in the air. Beside him, Barfbag is already lighting another bag, his zit-covered face twisted in a manic grin.

“Eat flaming ass, lizard boy!” Barfbag yells, hurling the next bag with surprising accuracy. It hits Jack square in the chest, and he howls, stumbling back even further.

Clem steps forward, a fist-sized rock in his hand. “This one’s for my family,” he growls, winding up and launching it with all the force of a former miner. The rock catches Jack right in the crotch, and he doubles over with a strangled gasp.

“And this,” Seabus shouts, his fishing rod whipping through the air, “is for my son!” The hook embeds itself in Jack’s ass, and Seabus yanks hard, pulling the gang leader off balance.

I don’t waste the opportunity. Planting a hand on the ground, I push myself up, my body screaming in protest but my mind laser-focused.

Jack’s still struggling with the hook in his ass when I’m on him, my fist slamming into his jaw with a satisfying crunch.

He hits the ground hard, and I’m on top of him in an instant, my claws at his throat.

“Yield,” I growl, my voice low and dangerous.

Jack glares up at me, his eyes burning with hatred, but he knows he’s beaten. “This isn’t over,” he hisses, spitting blood onto the ground.

“It is for you,” I say, and with one final punch, I knock him out cold.