Chapter 7

The street had filled again overnight. Rex counted at least thirty puppets between him and the park entrance, maybe more lurking in the shadows between abandoned cars. Half of them were the improved types—the ones with that sickly green tinge to their skin and the predatory smoothness to their movements. Yesterday they'd been a challenge. Today, with demolition energy thrumming through his weapons, they were obstacles. Nothing more.

The first puppet didn't even see him coming. Rex's bone club caught it at the temple, demolition energy spreading through its skull like cracks in glass. It dropped without a sound. The second turned at the movement, mouth opening in that horrible howl, but Rex was already moving. The energy let him be efficient—no wasted motion, no excess force. Just precise destruction where it was needed most.

He carved a path through them, noting how the demolition dao changed everything. Before, he'd had to bludgeon the puppets into submission, using brute force and anger to overcome their unnatural durability. Now he could feel the energy seeking out weak points—joints, vertebrae, the places where even these twisted things were vulnerable. A strike to the knee dropped one. A blow to the spine paralyzed another. Each hit was surgical, calculated.

The empowered puppets took two or three strikes instead of one, their enhanced bodies resisting the demolition effect. But they still fell. They always fell.

By the time Rex reached the ridge overlooking the catacomb entrance, his arms ached pleasantly from the work, and a thin sheen of sweat covered his skin despite the cool morning air. The sun was barely up, casting long shadows across the park's ruined landscape. The puppet production had increased dramatically—they poured from the stone archway in a steady stream now, maybe one every few seconds. Whatever was down there was working overtime.

The guards were still at their posts. The gorilla beast sat hunched against the left side of the archway, its massive arms supporting its weight as it dozed. Or appeared to doze—Rex had learned not to trust appearances. The stitches across its body looked fresh in the morning light, weeping some kind of clear fluid that made the creature's green skin glisten. The human-looking guard stood on the right, that strange red gat hat catching the early sunlight. He was stretching, an exaggerated full-body motion that looked almost like a martial arts form.

They noticed Rex almost immediately. The gorilla's eyes snapped open—not human eyes, but something else, with horizontal pupils like a goat's. The guard completed his stretch and settled into a ready stance, one hand on his sword hilt.

Rex raised his weapons, the bone clubs catching the light. He made a "come on" gesture, almost playful. Let them come to him this time.

"Don't get cocky, Rex." Riasha's voice cut through his confidence. "I know you like your shiny new dao, but use all the tools at your disposal. That beast nearly killed you yesterday."

She was right. Rex reached for his anger node, letting the red energy flow into his body. The difference was immediate and remarkable. Yesterday, the anger had been a wild thing, threatening to consume him the moment he gave it any freedom. Now, with the demolition dao providing structure, he could control it better. The rage was still there, still potent, but it moved where he directed it instead of flooding everything.

He kept it at a low simmer, just enough to sharpen his reflexes and strengthen his muscles. The puppets emerging from the catacombs gave him a wide berth, sensing something dangerous in his stance.

At fifty yards, the gorilla charged. The ground trembled with each bound, clods of earth flying where its knuckles struck. The guard remained still, continuing that strange stretching routine. Something about it nagged at Rex—it looked almost like he was warming up for something specific.

Rex's anger flared suddenly, trying to break free of his control. He wrestled it back down, but the momentary lapse had cost him focus. The gorilla was already at the halfway point, building momentum for what looked like a devastating double hammer fist.

Rex dashed forward, faster than before. Much faster. The combination of anger enhancement and his growing familiarity with combat had increased his speed dramatically. Too dramatically—he nearly lost his footing, his body moving faster than his mind could process. At the last second, he converted his stumbling run into a controlled slide, skidding under the gorilla's attack.

His bone club, charged with demolition energy, cracked against the beast's knee. He felt the energy penetrate, seeking out cartilage and tendons, trying to unravel the joint from within. But the creature's flesh was dense, almost armor-like. The demolition effect was working, just slowly.

Rex used his momentum to slide to his feet, already turning for another attack. But the gorilla was faster than its size suggested. A massive backhand was already swinging toward him. Rex got both weapons up to block, crossing them in front of his chest. The impact lifted him off his feet, sent him flying backward through the air. He hit hard, tumbling across the grass, but managed to roll with the landing. His ribs ached and his arms felt numb from the impact, but nothing was broken.

His anger grew, fed by the pain and frustration. The beast was already charging again.

They met in a clash of bone and flesh. Rex's weapons thundered against the gorilla's thick hide, each strike leaving spider web cracks that the demolition energy tried to widen. The creature's fists came down like sledgehammers, forcing Rex to dodge and weave. When he couldn't dodge, he had to block, and each blocked hit sent shockwaves through his arms.

More anger. He let it flow hotter now, strengthening his strikes. More demolition energy, pouring into his weapons until they glowed with that sickly yellow light. A strike to the beast's ribs produced an audible crack. Its left arm, already weakened from yesterday's fight, began to move slower.

Rex pressed the advantage. He targeted the weak points—the damaged arm, the cracked ribs, the knee he'd struck earlier. The gorilla's movements became increasingly desperate, its attacks wilder. Rex could see fear in those strange horizontal pupils now. It knew it was losing.

The killing blow was almost anticlimactic. Rex feinted left, drawing a clumsy swing from the beast's damaged arm, then pivoted right and brought both clubs down on its skull. The demolition energy poured in, found every fracture in the bone, and expanded them simultaneously. The gorilla's head simply came apart, like a puzzle with its pieces scattered.

The massive body swayed for a moment, then toppled backward with a ground-shaking thud. Green-tinted blood pooled around the corpse, mixing with the morning dew.

Rex stood over the corpse, breathing hard. His control was fraying. The anger wanted more, wanted to keep destroying. Spit flew from his mouth as he turned to face the guard, who had finally stopped stretching and drawn his sword.

The guard's expression was unreadable behind that strange hat's shadow, but his posture had changed. He held his shield high, sword low, a defensive stance that said he'd watched Rex's entire fight with the gorilla. He'd studied Rex's patterns, his techniques.

Smart. But Rex was beyond caring about smart.

He rushed forward, anger and demolition swirling together in a chaotic mix. The guard's only response was to brace behind his shield. When Rex's weapons struck, the shield held—for about two seconds. Then the combined force of rage-enhanced strength and demolition energy shattered it into a dozen pieces. The guard himself was driven into the ground, his legs buckling under the impact.

But when Rex raised his weapons for the killing blow, dirt and debris filled the air. His wild strikes had torn up the ground around them, creating a dust cloud that obscured everything. He kept swinging, feeling his clubs hit earth and stone, but not flesh. When the dust cleared, the guard was gone. Rex caught a glimpse of him disappearing into the tree line, one arm hanging useless at his side, running like his life depended on it.

Which it did.

The loss of his prey sent Rex over the edge. The anger consumed him completely, rational thought drowning in red haze. The puppets that had been avoiding him suddenly became targets. He followed their stream backward, into the catacombs, his weapons rising and falling in a rhythm of destruction.

The stone passage was narrow, maybe eight feet wide, with a low ceiling that made Rex feel compressed, trapped. The walls were smooth, too smooth to be natural, carved with symbols that hurt to look at directly. Puppets filled the tunnel, but they might as well have been paper. Rex tore through them, demolition energy spreading from each strike to catch multiple targets. Bodies piled up behind him. Green blood painted the walls.

Deeper. The passage sloped downward, the air growing colder. Torches in wall sconces provided flickering light, though Rex couldn't tell what they were burning—the flames were the same sickly green as the puppets' blood. The symbols on the walls grew more complex, more disturbing. They seemed to writhe when he wasn't looking directly at them.

_"I see you, child."_

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once. Not heard but felt, reverberating through Rex's bones.

_"You carry my mark and you feed it well. Such beautiful anger. Such exquisite rage. Keep the gunk weak for me. Soften them up. We will win this, you and I."_

The voice laughed, a sound like breaking glass and screaming wind, and then—

Rex woke on cold stone, his head pounding. The red haze was gone, leaving him feeling hollow and sick. Riasha stood over him, all four arms crossed, her expression somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

"We really need to work on that." She helped him sit up, cackling with genuine laughter. "You pass out a LOT. It's becoming a problem."

Rex's throat felt like sandpaper. "How long was I out?"

"Not long. Ten minutes maybe." She tilted her head, listening. "Good thing too, because we've got friends coming."

Rex heard it then—footsteps echoing from deeper in the catacombs. Multiple sets, moving in synchronization. He grabbed his weapons and pushed himself to his feet, still unsteady. His body ached everywhere, that hollow feeling from the anger crash making him feel weak.

A pair of empowered puppets emerged from a doorway he hadn't noticed before. They moved differently from the ones above—more coordinated, almost military in their precision. Rex's first strike caught one in the throat, demolition energy crushing its windpipe. The second tried to flank him, but even exhausted, Rex was faster. His backhand strike caved in its chest.

"The room that makes them is further down the hall," Riasha said, pointing deeper into the complex. "That's where they're all coming from."

The hallway stretched ahead, lit by more of those unnatural green torches. Rex encountered more puppets as he advanced—pairs mostly, sometimes trios. They came at him with a coordination the surface puppets lacked, trying to use tactics against him. It didn't matter. The demolition dao made short work of them, each strike precisely placed to cause maximum damage with minimum effort.

He was conserving energy now, aware of how much the rage crash had taken out of him. Each movement was calculated, efficient. No wasted motion, no excess force. Just what was needed to clear the path ahead.

The hallway opened into a chamber that was smaller than Rex expected, maybe thirty feet square. But what it lacked in size, it made up for in disturbing complexity. A raised dais dominated the center, carved from a single block of black stone that seemed to absorb light. Four massive carved pillars extended from the ceiling, their points aimed at the dais like accusing fingers. Every surface—walls, ceiling, floor, pillars—was covered in intricate sigils and runes that made Rex's eyes water to follow.

As he watched, the sigils began to glow with that familiar green light. Energy crackled along the pillars, building to a crescendo. Then, with a sound like tearing fabric, beams of green fire shot from each pillar to strike the dais simultaneously. The air above the platform shimmered, twisted, and began to take shape.

Rex watched in horrified fascination as a puppet was built from nothing. First came the bones, materializing like a three-dimensional sketch. Then muscles, wrapping around the skeleton in ropy cords. Then skin, spreading like paint across canvas. The whole process took maybe thirty seconds. When it was complete, a final pulse of energy from the dais animated the creature, sending it stumbling toward the door where Rex stood.

He crushed its skull without thinking, his attention still on the device.

"You have two options," Riasha said, moving to stand beside him. "One, destroy this thing. Two, sit here and slaughter everything that comes out of it." She ran one hand along the nearest pillar, examining the runes with interest. "Something like this is invaluable to a kingdom looking to train its troops. Endless enemies, no real casualties. Military commanders would kill for such a device."

Rex looked at the machine, watching it begin the process again. Another skeleton forming, another soldier for the puppet army above. He thought about the bodies in the park, the children who'd died to feed this thing. He thought about his parents, turned into weapons so they could continue fighting even in death.

He imbued both clubs with as much demolition energy as they could hold. The bones grew warm in his hands, almost eager.

"I am no kingdom."

The first strike shattered the nearest pillar. Stone exploded outward, runes dying in showers of green sparks. The second pillar went down just as easily. The third took two hits—it was thicker, more heavily reinforced. By the time Rex reached the fourth, the entire room was shaking, dust falling from the ceiling in steady streams.

The final pillar fell, and the dais cracked down the middle with a sound like thunder. Green energy erupted from the break, washing over Rex in a wave that made his skin tingle and his teeth ache. Then, as suddenly as it had started, everything went quiet.

The puppet creation chamber was dead, its runes dark, its purpose ended.

Rex stood among the rubble, breathing hard but satisfied. "I am no kingdom," he repeated, softer this time. "Just a man trying to survive."

Riasha smiled, it was almost proud. "Sometimes," she said, "that's exactly what the world needs."