When the Commission had made Kritzinger the head of the initiative to discover the truth behind the fabled golem city, he had invested himself wholeheartedly in the endeavour. His search for proof, however, had been a slow one. What little headway he had made was rarely enough to offset the ridicule professed by his more cynical peers. And none were more outspoken about their doubts than General Wilhelm Balsa, who possessed an imagination as narrow as a gun barrel. In one sense, Kritzinger had been pleased that it had been Balsa who had come. After recovering Dorothea and the wondrous parchment, Kritzinger had been convinced he could wipe that enduring contempt off the general's face and turn one of Kritzinger's most obstinate opponents into a believer, but he had failed and was now paying the price.

The room at the top of the tallest eyrie of Fortress Five's castle installation had once been Kritzinger's office, his refuge for study, work, and quiet contemplation. For the last hour, Balsa, had parked himself behind Kritzinger's desk and filled the room with his arrogant posturing and tireless condemnations. The key point to his rant was how Kritzinger's work had been nothing but a flagrant waste of Commission resources and, although decidedly belated, the Secretariat was wholly justified in its decision to shut him down once and for all.

Kritzinger knew in his heart that it hadn't been a waste. He was close, so close – he knew it – but his failure to revive the golem meant that any argument was a waste of time. All his authority was gone. All he could do was to sit in the chair opposite Balsa and his copious invective. His failure consumed him, his uncertainty over what had gone wrong gnawing at his thoughts like a pack of ravenous mice. There were many possible explanations for his failure, but Kritzinger was convinced that it was not because the golem and the spirit name weren't the genuine articles. This made the fact of Balsa commandeering his operation all the more frustrating, as he would certainly not be given another opportunity to explore why he had failed. Come morning, Balsa would likely commit one of the greatest finds in history to the trash heap, golem, parchment, and all. If only he had more time, he thought, filtering out Balsa's harsh voice, but there was simply no overcoming Balsa's stubborn resistance.

The phone ringing had brought a welcome respite from the diatribe. Kritzinger reached for the phone out of habit, but Balsa commandeered it.

"What do you mean the golem is alive?" barked the general into the phone. Kritzinger sat bolt upright. Balsa began shouting to speak up, that he couldn't make out what the caller was saying. The sound of an explosion roared through the phone, echoed almost immediately in the air. Somewhere below, a siren began to wail.

Both men shot over to the glass wall that overlooked the complex. A large hole was evident in the front of the fortress's secure storage facility, which was ablaze. A giant silhouette calmly emerged through the flames. Kritzinger considered the scene through a pair of brass binoculars he kept on the windowsill, confirming that the cause of the devastation was indeed the golem from the lockup, its body miraculously restored and quickened with life.

Balsa snatched the binoculars from his hands. Kritzinger didn't protest.

The well-trained fortress soldiers immediately attacked the golem with rifles, machine guns, and even a few shoulder-fired missiles, but it proved an exercise in futility. Oblivious to the attack, the golem strolled past the soldiers and towards the castle side of the fortress.

"What is this, Kritzinger?" Balsa asked, his knuckles whitening around the binoculars' leather grips. "You failed. I was there – I saw it. How is this travesty possible?"

"I warned you, General," Kritzinger said, his excitement dampened by the fact that Balsa had made him undertake such a foolish experiment without preparation. "There are things we still do not understand. But I can say it will take more than guns to end it."

Balsa stormed over to the phone on the table and hammered down on its cradle several times.

"This is Balsa! Mobilise the armoured division and have them engage the enemy with all force at once! You hear me? At once!"

Kritzinger watched the tanks roll from their hangers, nine hulking beasts of gleaming steel, sewn with rivets and emblazoned with the Commission's emblem. Their engines exhaled long plumes of thick grey smoke, and asphalt crunched beneath the ridged treads.

The armour regiment closed in quickly on the slow-moving target. With the tip of their arrowhead formation pointed at the golem's back, they turned their stout barrels upon it and moved to engage it in the fortress quadrangle, where there was sufficient room to expend their artillery without damaging the fortress. The first blazing projectile tore through the golem's right arm and part of its hip. A second took out its left leg, while a third punched a gaping hole in its hollow chest.

Balsa beamed, obviously pleased with the result. Kritzinger felt only dismay. After everything he had gone through to find this creature, to validate his work, and convince Balsa of his folly, it was being destroyed before their very eyes. Kritzinger swallowed hard.

The golem teetered from the force of the onslaught, like a helpless statue toppling from its pedestal. A brown cloud of sediment misted like a dense cloud of gnats, momentarily obscuring the golem from view. Before it could fall over, the haze solidified into a new leg and foot. Its heel slammed down on the ground so hard that it sunk an inch deep into the dark concrete as it righted itself.

Balsa gripped the binoculars, his demeanour a mixture of astonishment and frustration. The golem had regenerated completely, as if the attack had never happened.

All nine tanks aligned their cannons and fired, filling the air with a deafening roar. The golem held out its hand, palm up. As if subject to some intense magnetic pull, the radiant shells altered their trajectories, bobbing ineffectively in the air above the outstretched hand, like corks in water.

The golem backhanded the projectiles, flinging them back at the tanks, the salvo striking with unerring precision. Each of the nine tanks was lifted off the ground before blowing apart in a violent nova of torrid flame. The armoured division of Fortress Five was wiped out in an instant, its blazing remains blackening the earth, ruined beyond recognition.

Balsa was apoplectic. He watched the golem as it continued to advance towards the castle, looking ready to storm out of the castle and face the golem armed with nothing more than his searing rage.

Kritzinger's mind raced. He hadn't read or heard anywhere of the golem possessing such power. Was this ability inherent in all golem or was it a function unique to this particular one, he wondered? He recalled the patterns etched around its body and limbs. Could they be some kind of mystical circuitry intended to make such a feat possible? All he had were theories and suppositions.

Balsa snatched up the phone and barked into it.

"Captain? General Balsa here." There was a pause. "Yes, I can see that," he said, exasperated. "Have your planes sighted the target yet?" He paused again as the captain's excited voice filled his ear. "Do not beleaguer me with excuses, Captain. They have my permission to fire on fortress grounds. Do it. Do it now!"

Kritzinger heard the familiar whir of airplanes overhead but couldn't see them in the night sky. Several whistles filled the air, growing louder, stopping only when thick geysers of flame and rubble erupted in the open courtyard near the golem.

As the dust settled, the vaguely sullied details of the golem materialised. Brown dust whirled around its body, restoring what damage it had sustained. The golem did not advance. It remained among the smoking black craters and turned its blank stare up at the night's sky. A twinkling radiance appeared in one eye that convulsed spectacularly, launching a thin beam of white light that lanced the heavens. The rigid length sliced through the heavy blanket of clouds towards its two targets. Two explosions were punctuated by flaming wreckage that rained down over the ocean. There was no sign of the pilots.

"Damn it, Kritzinger," Balsa growled, his already foul mood deteriorating further with every failure, "you've made it your business studying these things. How do I kill it?"

"As long as the name survives, so will the golem."

"You mean the paper you shoved halfway down its throat?" Balsa roared. "How is that meant to help me?"

"By helping you understand the futility of your efforts." Kritzinger said, his voice even. Although diametrically opposed, right now they wanted essentially the same thing, to stop the golem before more damage occurred. "Tell your men to stand down."

Balsa looked incredulous.

"Stand down? Don't be absurd! That monster intends to destroy us!"

"We are the ones doing the attacking," Kritzinger pointed out. "All it appears to be doing is defending itself. Evacuate the fortress, General, for the sake of the soldiers at least."

Balsa pointed the phone at him like an accusing finger. "I haven't time to waste on your fool sentiment, Kritzinger. Run like the coward you are; I don't care! But I will not run from an enemy, no matter who or what it is." Balsa turned back to the window, pressing the binoculars against his eyes.

"And how many lives are you willing to sacrifice, General?" Kritzinger frowned. "How many, other than your own?"

Balsa ignored him. Frustrated, Kritzinger grabbed Balsa by the shoulder, pulling him around to face him. Balsa struck him in the face with the binoculars, sending Kritzinger staggering back, one hand cradling his jaw.

"Do you really think the men care where the order comes from?" Kritzinger asked bitterly, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the blood trickling from one side of his mouth. "Order the evacuation and save these men's lives. Do it, or I will, General." His stare hardened. "None of these children need to die."

Balsa looked as if he might lash out again, but controlled himself.

"Give the order then and get out of my sight. I have a job to do."

"It's hopeless, General. This isn't a fight you can win."

"This isn't your fight at all. Now leave."

Kritzinger wasn't willing to waste any more time arguing. Better to spend it saving those who wanted to be saved. As he took his cane and walked through the door, handkerchief pressed against his tender, swelling jaw, he heard the general pick up the phone.

"Connect me with Naval Command."