The war boar snorts, eyeing the fallen body of its master under the painted blood trail on the passage wall. Then it turns its tusked attention to me. It launches, an unnatural purple blur behind it as it moves at an absolutely impossible speed at me. I spin to dodge.

  Nope. I’m too slow for that magically enhanced speed. Nothing can move that fast. It’s a hog-shaped bullet train and I’m tied to the tracks.

  Sadie’s flaming fist comes down hard on top of the beast’s skull, slamming its jaw to the cavern floor, carving a divot in the ground with its face by sheer momentum. Once it’s in motion, the thing is hard to stop. I stumble backwards, those gnarled tusks goring my leg moments before I fall.

  Two years ago, I was in a battle of the bands (no boar was involved). We weren’t very good, but we had hair and attitude and a double bass drum set. Korey to my right, was headbanging, pounding on his bass. I got caught up in the moment. I screamed into the mic, did a jump kick, and landed on the side of my ankle, breaking my ankle and dislocating my knee at the same instant.

  We didn’t win, but I was told that that was the most metal scream the auditorium had ever experienced.

  My agonizing yell as I hit the ground is the more mature version of that scream. I watch this boar’s curved tusk go into my leg above my knee and poke back out from the middle of my thigh. I keep falling, he keeps running and rrriiiip. Like an earring pulled straight down out of an earlobe, my leg is cleft open. This was a glancing blow. A magically enhanced glancing blow, but what the hell? Not that I’ve ever been gored by a war boar before, but this seems a little intense. If that happened to my chest, I’d be dead.

  When the flashing light of dark blue and white pain dims from my eyes and the roar of my scream fades, I realize I’ve lost my spear during the attack. I’m on my back in the wet, a mix of water and blood, and now I’m going to die.

  “Distract it!” I yell. This is not the end, I need a moment to get my wits back.

  Sadie grabs a tusk in her flaming hand and starts to roll the boar to its side. The thing’s got to weigh more than she does. She digs her hooves into the ground, trying with all her might to take the thing down. She grabs a second tusk and pulls.

  The war boar bucks its massive head, throwing Sadie off like a kid off a mechanical bull. She lands hard on her side, a goat-like bleat of pain coming from her. Now she’s hurt, too. The boar lifts its bloodied head from the passage floor, shakes it and turns angry attention back to me, lying on the ground only feet away from it, weaponless. I can’t tell if the blood on its face is from my leg or its jaw hitting the hard floor.

  Some philosophers believe that when you die, all of your questions get answered. I really hope so, because I’m literally dying to know where the hell I am and what’s going on.

  Sadie is still lying down, shaking her head, clearly dazed, that fat thing right next to her.

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  She kicked my leg before. I’m sure those hooves can do major damage.

  “Kick it!” I yell.

  She nods, braces herself and kicks the pig hard in the side of the face, a loud smack from her hoof to its jowls. The thing coughs and spits out a finger sized tooth. Nice shot!

  She’s only going to slow that creature down so long before we’re both chew toys. I’m sweating from the pain, clamping my hand over the wet tear in my jeans. I fumble my free hand around the area near me to find my weapon, keeping pressure on the hot, warm wound. I’m not a doctor, but internal fluids shouldn’t come out this fast. How long before I bleed out? Is something severed?

  The boar turns to Sadie and lumbers toward her, trying to trample her. As it rears, she wriggles out from under it, boar feet scraping her arms when she rolls. It huffs and tries again. There’s no way an earthly pig can rear up like that. She pushes boar hooves away from her, kicking repeatedly into its ribs with her own hooves. I hear a satisfying crack of revenge. The boar jumps awkwardly, trying to land its full weight on her chest but she rolls out from under it.

  “By the wall behind you,” she shouts, pointing.

  I turn to whatever she’s pointing at. My spear. I drag myself to it and use it as a crutch, throwing my weight mostly against the wall to stand. I turn back to the fight.

  “Over here,” I shout, banging my spear to the floor. “Leave her alone, Baconator!”

  The war boar, now known as Baconator, turns to me. I think that’s a good thing. Maybe.

  “Light him up, Sadie!”

  Sadie, her lip and arm bleeding, staggers unevenly to the boar and slaps a rear haunch with an open flaming hand.

  The sound and look of surprise on Baconator’s face is hilarious. Smells like, well, bacon.

  The boar squeals and retreats up the passage away from us, a bright red hand-shaped raw spot steaming on its rump. Sadie moves between me and the boar, and strikes a pose, elbows against her hips, hooves set wide both hands brightly searing out of the sides, giving me time to plan and ready my spear. My newly metal tipped spear. Sadie is unsteady. I’m unsteady. The wall is holding me up more than my gored leg is. Her arm is bleeding. Still, she stands as a barrier, ready to take the next attack. Brave. The boar’s eyes glint that peculiar purple. Here we go again. The spell hasn’t worn off yet and it’s getting ready for the next charge.

  “Sadie,” I bark, wincing as I feel blood running down my calf, which means my jeans are soaked through. “When he charges, jump right!”

  I have never seen a real bullfight. I’m not even sure if they were legal anymore. But the way that boar keeps pawing the ground, the parallel is obvious. I have Sadie as my big red cape, hands still burning. That charge is his go-to tactic. A plan is in place. A stupid plan, but a plan nonetheless. We need more firepower to make this work. The spear is good, but when it comes down to it, it’s a pointy stick.

  “Fire power!” I exclaim. “Sadie, can you light my spear?”

  The boar stays wary, not attacking. He’s not as stupid as he looks. Sadie half turns to see where I am and gestures to my spear, spitting out a strange word. A spark spirals from her fingertips to the new metal tip. The spear ignites with a gentle whoosh.

  The flame rapidly pulses up and down the length of the weapon in a serpentine pattern, practically a snake around a branch. I feel warmth from it, but nothing more, even though the flame surges right next to my hand. The spear is burning, but the wood is not darkening or cracking or anything. I’m pretty sure the boar will feel the actual fire and I’m immune to my own weapon damaging me. Magic.

  I grin and ready the spear, wedging the flaming back end to the crook where the wall meets the floor in the damp with a sizzle. Then, I can’t hold myself up anymore. I get down on one knee, trying to make it look planned. I grimace and brace for impact.

  If this doesn’t work, I’m going to be smeared against the wall of this labyrinth like a ketchup packet under a biker’s boot.