By now, Fortress Six was in danger of succumbing to the fast-rising water that lapped against its sides. Balsa, who was plugging another rocket into the launcher, failed to notice Herrera as he dropped from the bottom of the ladder. He could feel the heat through his boots, rising through the lower floors. The increased pressure was causing the fortress to strain and groan beneath him. He wiped his damp hands on his trousers and hefted his machine gun.

"Balsa!"

The general spun around, launcher loaded and ready. He froze when he saw the machine gun levelled at his head.

"My name is Silverio Herrera, leader of the Brigade of Truth, and I am here to stop you."

"Brigade of Truth?" Balsa spat. "Davishnan rats, pretending to be spies. So you're the ones behind these troubles."

"Why are you doing this?"

"You mean, why did I blow a plane full of worthless cowards out of the sky?" Balsa's eyes were windows to the murderous madness lurking behind them, their heat the equal to that seeking to smother the breath from Herrera's lungs. His clothes and hair were dishevelled and sweat stained his shirt and face. The hot wind blew his coattails, causing them to whip back and forth like the tail of an angry animal. "Cowardice is tantamount to treachery, in my eyes."

"It wasn't fear that drove your men away, Balsa," Herrera said.

"You think you know something about soldiers, you Davishnan vermin?"

"My comrades follow me, regardless of the danger, not for power or reward, but because what we set out to do is for the greater good. Once I thought the Commission shared this devotion, but you know as well as I that this is no longer the case."

Balsa gave him a pitying look. Herrera continued.

"Duty and honour no longer play a part in binding your army together, General. You operate from self-interest and they follow your example. When it came time to put their lives on the line, they naturally reverted to the self-interest you taught them. You trained them to do this, and yet, when they did what you taught them, you decided they deserved to die. And that you should be appointed executioner."

Herrera lowered the barrel of the machine gun slightly. "There's been enough death today, General. Come with us. Face justice and make your peace with the world."

"Make my peace?" Balsa gave him a scathing look. "This mission was to be my stepping-stone to a world of glory and privilege beyond your reckoning." He glanced around at what was left of the fortress, most of it submerged below the steamy surface. "My life is forfeit, whether I stay here, return to the Commission, or face your idea of justice. The only reason my heart still beats is for the sole purpose of putting a stop to yours," he roared, firing the rocket launcher from his side.

The heat of the missile seared Herrera's face as a tethering post just beyond him exploded. The percussive blast knocked him off his feet and sent him rolling across the searing ground towards the edge.

******

The explosion shook the ladder. Dorothea lost her grip and screamed. She swung to one side, holding on with just one hand. Turner was too far below her to be of any assistance. He shouted at her to hold on. She shrieked as the rung slipped from her fingers. She was past Turner before he could even react. Angeline reached out but she sailed past her before the engineer could grab her.

There was a loud grunt. Gorso had curled one leg around the side of the ladder and managed to grab onto her as she hurtled past, hooking one hand into her belt. Her shoulder bag fell and Kritzinger snatched it before he'd even had a chance to think about it. Bastion darted up the ladder, passing Kritzinger like a monkey, and wrapped himself around Dorothea's legs, pressing them securely against the ladder with his chest. Kritzinger clutched the ladder. He looked up to see Dorothea, white-faced, recovering her hold on the ladder.

"I missed my calling as a circus performer," Gorso muttered. "All right, let's keep moving."

Kritzinger watched Dorothea begin hesitantly to climb, following Gorso's heels. None of this misery would have befallen her had Kritzinger not revealed Dorothea's existence to the Commission, if he hadn't become Balsa's unwitting pawn. Hamish would still be alive, also. He glanced down at the two small figures, Balsa and Herrera. It was difficult to tell what was happening, but it looked like Balsa was the only one on his feet. His body sagged. If his intent had really been to ensure a favourable outcome for the world, he wasn't going to be able to accomplish it by turning tail and running. He needed to do what needed to be done. And that meant dealing with Wilhelm Balsa once and for all.

******

Herrera lunged for his gun, but a booted foot kicked it beyond his reach. He watched, helplessly, as it went skittering over the side. Herrera looked up at Balsa and immediately threw himself to one side, barely escaping the sword Balsa savagely swung at his head. Sparks flew as metal hit stone. Undeterred, Balsa swung again, narrowly missing the man's midsection as Herrera abruptly rolled the other way. Herrera's hand brushed the hilt of the sword he'd so proudly acquired from the golem and slid the blade from its sheath as he leapt to his feet. He'd barely raised the blade when Balsa's steel came down on it with staggering force. His damp palms struggled to keep a firm grip on it.

Recovering, the two men circled, jets of steam gushing past the steel plates around them, their feet crunching on the pebbly gravel covering the roof, wisps of pearly white smoke rising from the mat of grey stones, the rumble of bubbling water filling the air.

"Why are you so intent on killing us all?" Herrera gasped. "You can still come with us."

"My life is as good as over," Balsa grunted. "But before I go, at least I can deal with those responsible, starting with you!"

Balsa came with his sword again, bringing it down hard. Herrera blocked, feeling the force of the strike shoot painfully up his arm and into his shoulder. No swordsman, he wasn't sure how long he could survive such an onslaught. The intense heat was taking its toll and he was having trouble maintaining a solid grip on the hilt of his sword. What Balsa lacked in finesse and skill, he made up for in sheer force, attacking Herrera like a butcher a slab of meat.

"You really are a spectacular fool," the general said, chest heaving, his heavy blade whittling away at Herrera's more delicate weapon, "to destroy all this, an army without equal."

"Army? More like a plague without a cure," Herrera wheezed. "With no limits to its strength and no will of its own, a golem army would be a scourge in your hands."

"Not a scourge," the general growled, swinging hard and missing, "a panacea, a cure to all human conflict. If you had any sense at all, you would know this is right." The men circled each other again, warily.

"If you had any sense at all, we wouldn't be doing this." Herrera struck, but was thwarted when Balsa met him, blade against blade. Herrera hesitated at the sudden lightness of his weapon and looked at his sword. All that remained above the hilt was a nub of tempered steel.

Balsa grinned.

Herrera's right foot shot up and kicked the blade from Balsa's sweaty grip. The weapon tumbled over the edge of the fortress and sank like an anchor.

Herrera charged, wielding the broken blade like a dagger. Balsa intercepted with surprising speed, catching Herrera's wrist and twisting it savagely. The stubby sword fell from his hand. Balsa grabbed Herrera by the throat and squeezed with all of his might.

Gasping for air, Herrera flailed at Balsa's iron grip with one hand while blunting his knuckles against Balsa's cheek, the blows growing weaker as he failed to loosen Balsa's stranglehold. His vision blurred and he could hear a roaring sound in his ears.

The pressure against his throat vanished.

The moment he released Herrera, Balsa delivered a lightning blow with his elbow to Herrera's jaw, following it with a brutal mix of sharp jabs to Herrera's stomach and ribs, each as quick and fierce as the last. Herrera teetered on his feet, dizzy with pain. Balsa drove the length of his arm into Herrera's throat, lifting him into the air. He landed hard on the pebbled surface.

Herrera struggled to breathe, his body a vessel of agony. He felt himself balancing on the edge of consciousness. Finally, the pain began to subside in his throat and breathing became less of a struggle. He dimly wondered whether a contest with fists, one of brawn, man against man, without any crafted weapons, was perhaps what Balsa had wanted all along.

Balsa picked up the broken hilt of Herrera's sword and twirled it deftly in his hand.

"I knew it," he spat. "You're weak. So weak, you can't even save yourself. And we know what happens to the weak. They perish at the hands of the strong."

"Saving myself," Herrera rasped, his throat raw, "was never the plan." He grabbed a handful of hot pebbles, oblivious to how they burned his skin, and flung them at Balsa's face. Balsa retreated several steps, covering his face with his hands, cursing.

Herrera scrabbled towards the rocket launcher on his hands and knees, choking for breath, his vision still somewhat blurry. His hands brushed against the weapon as Balsa barrelled into him. Crushed under Balsa's weight, he flailed his legs and managed to kick the weapon over the edge and into the roiling waters. Balsa hauled Herrera onto his feet.

"Bravo, Davishnan. Facing me alone, ready to die to save your people – such foolish nobility will surely make you a hero in the hearts of the feebleminded. They will live on while you die. The last thing I wanted was to make a martyr out of you," he chuckled, "but I'll endure."

Balsa grunted in pain as if something had struck him from behind. He released Herrera, who collapsed.

"Kritzinger!" Balsa howled. "Finally dirtying your hands dirty, eh? Well, too little, too late."

Herrera struggled to sit upright. Kritzinger was holding a metal rod in his hands.

"This ends here, Balsa."

"If that means seeing an end to you two, I welcome it gladly."

Kritzinger charged at Balsa. The general dodged Kritzinger's attacks with insulting ease. Kritzinger swung wide and Balsa caught the bar under his arm. He struck Kritzinger across the face, wrenched the bar from his hands, and tossed it away. Kritzinger drove himself into Balsa like a raging bull, pushing him towards the edge. Balsa slid along the loose stone, trying frantically to stop his slide, until his heels hovered over the steamy precipice. The searing hot water bubbled uncomfortably close below.

Kritzinger reached out over the smoking grains for his broken sword, but the handle had grown too hot for him to take a hold of.

"I offered you the chance to be part of something greater than this world has ever known," Balsa grunted, struggling against Kritzinger's grip. "Instead, you're a puppet, doing someone else's bidding, no better than a golem yourself."

Balsa laced his hands together and brought them down on Kritzinger's bowed back. He did so repeatedly and without restraint, his bunched up knuckles landing squarely below the neck.

"It would take a god to beat me," Balsa railed, hammering Kritzinger's back. "A titan," he continued, each word accompanied by another blow. "A behemoth, a force of nature. It would take a—"

"Emet!"

Emet had crawled out from Dorothea's bag and onto Kritzinger's back. With surprising strength, it launched itself into Balsa's face. Confused, Balsa clawed at the creature clinging to his head. Emet kicked furiously at his chin. Balsa stumbled backwards, the golem clinging to him. Balsa bellowed as he fell into the angry broth, the two vanishing beneath the surface.

Herrera limped over to Kritzinger, who stood staring over the precipice.

"Are you alright, my friend?"

A fresh volley of sandstone and granite rained down around them, one chunk punching a hole through the fortress floor less than a metre from where they stood. A thick geyser of boiling water rose up through the opening.

"I can manage."

"Good, because I could do with a hand."

After Herrera put what remained in Dorothea's bag into his pocket and discarded the the burdensome weight of the article itself, he and Kritzinger made their way to the swaying ladder. The others were already safely inside the tethered zeppelin.

Herrera hoisted himself onto the ladder with Kritzinger's help as the zeppelin's engines spluttered and came to life. The ladder jerked as Kritzinger leapt and hauled himself up. They dangled helplessly, like worms on a line. The pain in Herrera's legs was so great that he knew in his heart he could never make the climb. He should have let Kritzinger go first, he thought, exhausted. Kritzinger would never climb past him and it would be Herrera's fault when neither of them made it. He closed his eyes.

The cables attaching the zeppelin to the fortress released and fell, their severed ends falling like weary snakes into the bubbling waters. The fortress followed suit, silently foundering. Herrera felt the swaying ladder being reeled up towards the undercarriage. He heaved a sigh of relief.

"Hang on," he yelled down to Kritzinger. "Just hang on."

******

"Are they in yet?" Gorso demanded, frantically navigating the controls.

"Almost there," Angeline yelled. The wind outside howled through the open doors and into the open bridge, nearly swallowing her words.

"Are we going to make it?" Turner asked, over the ringing of the stones hammering down onto the zeppelin.

"Without those cables anchoring us, the updraft is threatening to push us into the ceiling," Gorso said. "Not that it matters," he muttered, "since it's coming down to meet us anyway."

A boulder slammed into the zeppelin like a hammer. Turner fell hard against the flight panel. Gorso nearly landed on top of him, grunting as a lever jabbed him in the ribs. Collin, who had been reaching down through the open shaft as Herrera neared, narrowly missed tumbling out. He was jerked back by a quick-thinking Bastion, who grabbed a handful of his shirt and hauled him back inside. Collin threw Bastion a grateful look before sticking his head back out through the hatch that had just threatened to swallow him whole.

"Come on!" Gorso growled through gritted teeth, his eyes locked onto the narrow opening ahead through the veil of slate tumbling on all sides. Turner winced as the hammering on the zeppelin's shell grew more vigorous. He wondered how much more punishment it could take.

The crown of Herrera's head appeared in the hatch. Collin grasped him under the arms and hauled him inside, pushed him into Angeline's arms, and then reached down for Kritzinger.

"We've got them!" Angeline yelled to Gorso. Collin pulled the doors shut and latched them securely.

"Finally!" Gorso exclaimed. He twisted a knob slightly to the right and the zeppelin bucked. The airship started to spin on its axis, tilting to the right, and there were shouts as everyone fought to keep their footing. "Sorry! I've got it now. I've got it." Gorso cried, twisting another knob. The rear of the dirigible lifted, pointing them downward, the engines powering their descent.

"Why is the door on the roof?" Angeline asked, as she crawled towards Gorso. Gorso frantically manipulated the controls, and sagged with relief when the ship levelled. The zeppelin rose towards the opening overhead that beckoned tantalizingly. The passengers' cheers were aborted by a sudden, loud bang from the rear of the ship. The zeppelin pitched hard to one side. A warning alarm sounded. Gorso flipped a switch, silencing it, his finger slicing down on several other switches as he fought for control.

"Just lost one of the engines," he said, without turning his head. He scanned the various dials and readouts, pulling several levers. "Not to worry. The ship has three, so we've still got—"

There was another loud bang and another alarm sounded. Gorso silenced it with a flick, before glancing over his shoulder apologetically. "Uh, make that one more left."

"One?"

"We're almost out," Gorso said, as much to himself as anyone else. "Come on!" he urged. "I need more, just a little more," as he fought to ascend.

The zeppelin's long black frame glided through the gap in the crag's shuddering face, out of its hostile environs, and into the tranquil world beyond.

"We're out!" Gorso roared. "We made it! We made it!"

Everyone whooped and hollered. Dorothea threw her arms around Turner. Laughing, he hugged her back, elated to be alive. They had survived. Well, almost all, as he thought of Vale with a pang.

Herrera came up behind them and embraced the pair.

"We did it, my friends. We did it, and in no small part thanks to you. I have something for you, young Dovetail."

She gasped. "Emet?" Herrera hesitated.

"I'm afraid we had to leave Emet behind." At her crestfallen expression, he added, "It saved us. He ultimately took down Balsa. Emet and Hamish Vale will both be remembered as true heroes. But I do have something here that I hope will you some measure of happiness," Herrera said, reaching into his pocket. "I regret it's all that remains of your inheritance, but it will hopefully prove a worthy souvenir." He pulled out Corrin Dovetail's notebook. Dorothea looked at him in astonishment, before taking the book with gratitude.

The zeppelin suddenly began to shake and the air filled with a thunderous roar.

"It's not us," shouted Gorso. "It's the mountain! The mountain is-"

The peak of the crag began to collapse, throwing up great clouds of grit and smoke. The walls that had served for so long to hold the ocean at bay followed in its wake, caving into the newly exposed chasm. The ocean rolled in from both sides. Within moments, it was as if the ancient volcano, guardian of Golem City for centuries, had never existed.