RAVEN'S GAMBIT | Episode 64: The Last Stand of Brick
The sound was unbearable—stone on stone, crushing and echoing, an avalanche that had found its voice. The juggernaut’s wheels roared like thunder in a sealed canyon, each turn of its monstrous mass shaking the corridor.
Tessa coughed, stumbling as she tried to drag Thalia, who remained insensate from the mist. Her breath hitched. Her legs buckled.
“I’ve got her!” Bran shouted.
Tessa spun. “No—Bran, you can’t carry both of us—”
“Then go!” he barked, slinging his Colt back into its holster and heaving Thalia over his shoulder in one practiced motion. “I’ll be right behind you!”
“Damn you, Brick, don’t lie to me now!”
“I never did!” he growled.
Behind them, the juggernaut surged forward, nearly filling the corridor from floor to ceiling—its runes pulsing, its form inhuman and implacable. It was a death engine, born of magic and malevolence.
Ahead, the others struggled through a narrowing hall that curved back to the misty chamber’s far side. Sir Cedric, bloodied and groaning, pulled Elric’s unconscious form across the threshold.
Elowyn shouted something—inaudible over the noise. Lira vanished into the fog ahead, guiding the group’s retreat.
Bran turned.
He didn’t hesitate.
He placed Thalia gently against the wall. Her chest still rose and fell, shallow but steady.
Then he faced the beast.
The juggernaut’s eyes flared crimson. It gained speed. It was no longer just rolling—it was charging.
Bran cracked his neck and drew his revolver with one hand, a small, reverent smile on his lips.
“Well, you bastard,” he said quietly. “Let’s see if you bleed.”
He fired once—then again. Bullets sparked off the stone hide like raindrops against a tomb.
The juggernaut didn’t slow.
But Bran didn’t flinch.
With a scream, he ran forward—toward it.
As the others reached the misty chamber, a final, deafening explosion echoed behind them—followed by silence.
Tessa froze. Her breath caught. She turned—wanted to go back—but Thog wrapped one arm around her and yanked her forward.
“No.” The half-orc’s voice rumbled. “He made his choice.”
Tears cut through grime on her cheeks. “He was going to be fine...”
Theron stood at the edge of the mists, expression unreadable beneath his dark hood. “The gunfighter bought us time. Let’s not waste it.”
A long silence followed. Even the mist seemed to hang heavier in the chamber beyond—as if mourning.
Then Elowyn stepped forward, wiping her eyes, voice firm. “We honor him by surviving. Let’s move.”
They turned as one and stepped into the golden mist, Bran’s sacrifice sealing their path behind them.
From his prison, far away, Raven watched in silence, his fists clenched.
One more candle extinguished.
One fewer soul to save.