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them　as　sharp　as　he　remembered。
Then　Lorenzo　turned　back　to　the　blue　light；　and　found　it　waiting。
He　should　have　called　out　to　Dougan；　but　he　didn’t　want　to　scare　the　light　away。　He　should　have
woken　the　others；　but　the　light　made　him　think　they　would　steal　his　glory。　He　shouldn’t　have
abandoned　them；　sleeping；　helpless；　relying　on　him　to　keep　them　safe；　but　it　was　only　a　few　steps
and　he　was　in　control。
Just　a　few　steps。
Then　a　few　steps　more。
The　jungle　closed　around　Lorenzo；　but　that　was　alright　because　he　hadn’t　come　far。　He　knew　he
hadn’t　come　far；　because　he　hadn’t　reached　the　light　yet；　and　he　knew　the　light　hadn’t　moved。　He
knew　that；　if　he　looked　back；　he　would　still　see　the　camp。　His　comrades　would　hear　him　if　he　called。
Not　that　he　was　likely　to　call。　He　didn’t　need　them。　In　his　mind；　Lorenzo　had　left　the　jungle　of
Rogar　III　for　a　different　jungle　altogether：　that　of　his　home　world。　He　was　leading　a　group　of
children—some　of　them　his　children；　probably—on　a　hunt；　and　they　were　hanging　on　his　every
word　of　advice；　looking　at　him　with　awe　in　their　eyes。　A　man　who　had　earned　his　name；　and　more。
One　of　Catachan’s　greatest　heroes；　and　yet　still　humble　enough　to　spend　time　with　them；　to　pass　on
his　wisdom。
Lorenzo　pointed　out　a　deadly　spiker　plant　lurking　in　the　foliage；　and　they　gave　it　a　wide　berth。
He　heard　snuffling　ahead；　and　he　held　up　his　hand　for　silence。　He　crept　forward；　pushing　aside　the
vegetation　with　his　las…gun。　There　it　was；　in　the　centre　of　a　small　clearing；　basking　in　the　sunlight：
The　most　fearsome　of　his　world’s　predators；　near　legendary　throughout　the　Imperium。　The　beast
after　which　his　own　regiment　had　been　named。　A　Catachan　Devil。
They　were　downwind　of　it；　and　it　hadn’t　scented　them。　Lorenzo　beckoned　to　the　children　to
come　forward；　to　take　a　look　at　the　beast。　They　obeyed；　and　let　out　hushed　gasps　of　fear　and　wonder。
Lorenzo　recalled　how；　at　their　age；　he　had　been　afraid　too；　and　he　resolved　to　prove　to　them　that
there　was　no　need；　that　Man　could　always　triumph　over　Nature。　If　he　was　the　right　man。
At　their　age…
He　laid　his　gun　aside。　This　would　be　a　fair　fight。　Lorenzo　drew　his　knife—a　devil　claw；　the
finest　of　all　Catachan　blades；　over　a　metre　in　length—and　he　pounced。　The　creature　reared　up　on　six
bristling　legs；　opened　its　mighty　claws；　and　whipped　its　spiny　tail　around　to　sting　him。　It　was　fast。
He　had　almost　forgotten　how　fast。　Or　perhaps　it　was　just　that　he　had　slowed　down　with　age。　How
old　was　he　now；　anyway？
He　could　still　take　it。
Lorenzo　landed　in　the　spot　where　the　creature　had　been；　his　knife　raised　to　strike。　But　the　Devil
was　no　longer　there。　He　whirled；　disoriented；　but　saw　no　trace　of　it。　How　could　it　have　escaped　from
him？　From…　from…　what　was　his　earned　name；　anyway？　He　felt　confused；　standing　in　that
clearing　alone。　Confused　and　humiliated。　He　thought　he　could　hear　the　children　laughing　at　him。
40
Then　Lorenzo　glimpsed　a　spiny　tail　a　short　distance　ahead　of　him；　and　he　knew　what　had
happened。　The　Catachan　Devil　had　simply　wandered　away；　in　search　of　a　better　light。　A　soft　blue
light。　He　could　see　it　through　the　trees；　and　though　he　didn’t　know　what　the　light　was；　he　didn’t
wonder。　The　light　was　safe。　Everything　made　sense　again。　Except…
How　had　he　got　so　old？
Lorenzo　knew　what　the　children　said　about　him　behind　his　back。　They　said　he　couldn’t　be　a　hero
as　he　claimed；　because　he　had　survived　the　war　when　all　the　real　heroes　had　died。　They　called　him　a
coward；　said　he’d　never　taken　a　risk；　never　distinguished　himself。　Never　earned　his　name　after　all。
He　could　hear　their　taunts　now。　He　tried　to　blot　them　out；　tried　to　focus　on　the　creature　in　the　blue
light　ahead　of　him。　He　couldn’t　see　it　anymore；　but　he　could　see　the　light；　and　he　approached　it　with
increasingly　urgent　steps。　In　that　light；　he　would　prove　them　all　wrong　about　him。　“I　don’t　know　but
I’ve　been　told；　Jungle　Fighters　don’t　grow　old…”
This　wasn’t　what　Lorenzo　wanted。
Even　if　it　had　been；　he　knew　it　was　an　impossible　dream。　Few　Jungle　Fighters　ended　their　days
like　this；　and　he　had　never　expected　to　be　one　of　them。
It　wasn’t　real。
It　wasn’t　real。
With　that　sudden　knowledge；　he　snapped　back　to　the　present；　to　Rogar　III。　It　hit　him　between　the
eyes　like　a　smack　of　cold　air；　and　he　was　on　the　bank　of　a　stagnant　lake；　one　foot　poised　over　its
surface。　He　pulled　back；　and　sent　loose　dirt　skittering　over　the　side。　As　it　hit；　it　evaporated　in　a　cloud
of　white　steam。　Acid。
The　blue　light　was　hovering　in　the　centre　of　the　lake—but　now；　as　if　it　knew　its　ploy　had　failed；
it　blinked　out　again　and　left　Lorenzo　in　the　dark。　Alone。　Without　his　lasgun。
In　a　part　of　the　jungle　he　had　not　seen　before。
41
CHAPTER　SEVEN
Lorenzo　was　afraid。
It　was　a　feeling　to　which　he　wasn’t　accustomed。　But　then；　nor　was　he　used　to　being　alone；
separated　from　his　squad—to　having　abandoned　them。　It　was　their　lives　he　was　afraid　for；　not　his
own。
He　didn’t　know　where　he　was；　nor　where　Dougan　had　got　to。　He　didn’t　know　how　far　he　had
walked；　mesmerised　by　the　blue　light。　He　just　knew　he　had　to　get　back　to　the　campsite。　He　crashed
through　the　jungle；　following　a　trail　he　didn’t　remember　leaving；　cursing　himself　for　his　weakness。
It　wasn’t　as　if　he　hadn’t　been　warned。　He　could　see　it　clearly　now。　The　light　had　been　inside　him
all　the　time；　a　more　subtle　presence　than　he　could　have　imagined。　It　had　heightened　his　desires　and
his　fears；　whatever　it　had　taken　to　lead　him　where　it　had　wanted　him　to　go。　To　his　death。　He　had
been　lucky。　It　hadn’t　been　strong　enough。
Somehow；　he　had　found　the　will　to　focus；　to　snap　himself　out　of　its　spell。
The　only　thing　he　wanted　right　now；　the　total　of　his　hopes　and　ambitions；　was　to　find　his
comrades　alive。　He　remembered　what　Dougan　had　said；　how　he’d　suspected　that　the　blue　light　was
trying　to　lure　them　away。　What　if　there　had　been　an　attack　in　his　absence？　What　if　they　were　all
dead；　and　it　was　his　fault？
Dougan。　Suddenly；　Lorenzo　could　hear　his　voice　again；　and　see　the　intensity　in　his　gaze。　“Let
me　do　this…　I　need　to　do　this！”　He　hadn’t　questioned　him；　hadn’t　seen　that　the　light　had　cast　its
spell　over　Dougan　too。
He　stumbled　to　a　halt。　Somehow；　impossibly；　his　trail　had　petered　out。
He　was　lost　for　a　moment；　scrabbling　in　the　undergrowth；　looking　for　something—a　snapped
twig；　a　crushed　leaf—anything　to　show　he　had　passed　this　way　before。　There　was　nothing。　Until；
just　as　he　was　beginning　to　give　up　hope；　wondering　if　he　should　risk　calling　out　to　the　others；
Lorenzo’s　fingers　brushed　against　something。　Something　cold；　hard；　smooth；　angular。　Wood　and
metal。
His　lasgun。　He　had　to　tear　it　from　the　clutches　of　weeds；　as　if　it　had　lain　here　for　weeks；　been
claimed　as　the　jungle’s　own。　He　felt　another　stab　of　anxiety。　He　didn’t　feel　as　if　more　than　a　few
minutes；　maybe　a　half…hour；　had　passed；　and　the　pre…dawn　sky　supported　that　theory—but　in　the
blue　light’s　embrace；　time　hadn’t　meant　a　great　deal。　His　comrades’　corpses　could　be　rotting
already。
He　tried　not　to　think　about　it。　No　point　in　worrying　about　what　he　couldn’t　change。　Just　get　back
to　the　campsite；　and　deal　with　what　was　real。
A　pair　of　yellow　lizard　eyes　blinked　at　Lorenzo　from　under　a　flowering　plant。　He　fried　their
owner　with　a　las…round；　just　to　test　that　his　gun　wasn’t　clogged。
A　faint　breath　of　air　caressed　his　face；　and　made　his　scratches　sting。　So；　he　hadn’t　been
entranced　long　enough　for　them　to　heal。　He　remembered　stalking　an　imaginary　Devil；　standing
downwind　of　it。　He　had　to　hope　that　this　part　of　the　fantasy；　at　least；　had　been　real。　He　closed　his
eyes　and　oriented　himself　at　the　spot　where　he’d　found　the　lasgun；　tried　to　transport　himself　back　to
that　Catachan　clearing　and　to　mentally　retrace　his　steps　towards　it。
When　he　opened　his　eyes　again；　he　knew　which　way　he　had　to　go。
42
Lorenzo　heard　movements　through　the　trees—and　was　that　the　sergeant’s　voice？
He　broke　into　a　run；　and　came　up　short　when　two　familiar　figures　loomed　before　him；
Armstrong　and　Landon。
“What　happened？”　asked　Armstrong　and　Landon　at　the　same　time。
“We’ve　been　searching　for　you；”　said　Armstrong。　“Where—？”
“Is　every