REYNARD CRAWLS FROM the ruins above the gate system providing his escape before. Surrounding the exit are hundreds of the were-ape creatures, all with skulls cracked open and empty.

Samantha sprawls on a rock sunning herself with the occasional flick of her tail. “The Sandmen grow stronger as the Hex Darmight dies.”

“Archaic riddles are of no help. If you know where fragments are, then tell me. I’ll recover them so we end this menace.”

“The universe won’t allow such simplicity.”

“Of course not.” Reynard plops next to the cat. “What happened here?”

“A powerful Sandman—made more powerful by all he consumed.”

The sword flashes into existence in Reynard’s hand as Archimago floats toward him. The mask bubbles with wear-ape souls scrambling against the inside of the ivory in hubristic attempts to escape.

“You ate all these minds.”

“I prevented them from devouring you. Your existence is paramount to mine,” Archimago bellows.

Doubting a Sandman’s capacity for truth, Reynard draws his magnum and fires. Three slugs sink into the massless robes, sputtering forth streams of sulfur. The azure powder burns itself through Archimago, leaving a trail of blue cracks weaving webs across the mask.

“You’re more resourceful than I estimated. I understand now why the higher Sandmen have taken an interest in the Commander.”

Not the dying monologue Reynard expected.

“Meow!” Samantha’s warning reaches his ears too late as the forearm of the hellish dream sends Reynard spiraling down the rubble. Nimbleness doesn’t counteract the force of the impact but does allow him to keep his gun in hand. Half in a recovering crouch and half in a duckwalk tumble, Reynard draws his gun as he slices the blade across the demon’s abdomen. Cracking skin like a porcelain vase produces a primordial ooze fouler than the sulfur aroma. Two sword thrusts spill out more gunk. The magnum thunders, but the durasteel ricochets off the skin.

“Smerth’n fuck!” Out of azure bullets. Scott only made—

“Destroy them!” Samantha cries.

The demon slithers to the convulsing Archimago melting into the cobblestones. Flesh drips from the demon as he drags himself along.

Reynard swings the blade, slicing through the clawed hand. More foul goop splashes out.

Plumes of sulfur hiss from Archimago as his black robes deflate.

Reynard helicopters his sword, bringing it above his head with the blade facing down. With both hands, he drives the edge with all his force toward the demon’s central chest. As the blade speeds toward its target, Reynard and Samantha are engulfed in the blinding white beam of the transporter.

“KHAAANNNN!” Reynard bellows as he materializes in the transporter cubical. Even knowing he is no longer on the planet’s surface, his body was driving home the blade with such force he’s unable to prevent himself from puncturing the floor. He does slow his assault but not enough to prevent a fissure in the transport panel.

“Not good, Commander.” Doug hops from the controls as sparks fizzle from the cleft in the floor. “You quoted Wrath of Khan. Though I’m not sure doing so during transport follows the rules.”

“Seemed appropriate, as the Sandman’s name didn’t have the same villainous appeal as Kirk’s nemesis.” Reynard releases the sword and it vanishes.

“There’s a Throgen battle cruiser in system,” Doug warns.

Samantha scampers from the cubical.

“I want to know where the next orb fragment is as soon as we’re back in hyperspace.”

“You have a Sandman to contend with,” the cat mews.

“I just ended Archimago.”

“Did you see him crumble to dust?” Samantha asks.

The Dragon bucks.

The lights cut off.