The Owlman swung its feather blade, missing Sil and Oy as they jumped out of the way, but cleaving through the road with ease. Sil dropped both hands to the ground and conjured clay daggers, which she began hurling at the creature with practiced speed. The Owlman slashed confidently, batting away each projectile.

  “I don’t like it,” Oy muttered. “It’s just not right.”

  “It’s freaky, I agree,” Sil replied. “But it’s not that smart—too animalistic.”

  “You think it’s more owl or more man?” Oy asked.

  Sil didn’t answer. She didn’t know—and in that moment, she didn’t want to know.

  Daggers in hand, Sil lunged at the beast, aiming for its chest. Metal clanged as their weapons collided in a flurry of strikes, the Owlman’s feather blade proving stronger than her own. She reinforced her weapons, but couldn’t find a clean opening.

  Then the creature’s face twisted under the impact of Oy’s sucker punch, slamming into the dirt as he followed through with a powerful strike.

  Sil threw her daggers, then kicked up more clay blades and launched them too, peppering the Owlman with piercing wounds.

  Both fighters stepped back to catch their breath.

  “Is it dead?” Joe asked hopefully.

  The body twitched.

  “Not quite,” Oy replied.

  Two more bodies flew overhead, crashing into a house just feet away. Blū was locked in a grapple, pummeling the Owlman clinging to him. With a surge of strength, he threw it off and launched into a furious barrage of punches. The third Owlman, however, swooped in pursuit.

  Sil’s instinct told her to chase after and help even the odds—but then she heard Oy grunt. From the ground, the Owlman with the feather blade had reached up and stabbed him across the side of his abdomen. Sil struck the creature down alongside Oy, both their fists crashing into it until they heard bones snap. But they didn’t stop there. In a desperate, furious burst, they stomped it again and again, willing it to stay down. It was visceral. Disgusting. But it was all she could think to do.

  Even after fighting those bears, Sil hadn’t grown used to this feeling. Combat was fine. A slaughter was not. But this—this was what Surath had driven her to. His creatures didn’t value their own lives the way she did. They wouldn’t stay down. They fought until every bone broke—or until she broke every one for them. The nausea rose and bloomed in her throat. At last, she backed away, leaving the beast a shattered mess.

  She dropped to her knees, gasping for breath and peace of mind. Oy patted her back comfortingly but had to leave her to assist Blū. Fool. He was the one with the gaping wound, not her. But his aura… she hoped it would protect him.

  With effort, she pushed herself to her feet—just in time to see Oy and Blū, moving in remarkable synchronicity, engage the remaining Owlmen.

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  It was a mad scramble of combat that pushed Blū and Oy’s focus to its limits, pressing them into a rhythm that felt like a violent dance. Their mismatched sizes—average and broad—wove seamlessly around each other as they traded blows with their foes.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  A ribbon-like bandage flew overhead and wrapped around one of the Owlmen, binding its arms to its sides in seconds, held fast by the dagger tied at its end. The ribbon stretched back to Sil, who tugged it from afar.

  Blū adjusted quickly. Ducking past Oy and the other Owlman, still locked in a vicious clash, he focused his aura into a single, devastating fist.

  The bandage began to tear. The mana infused within it could only do so much. Blū took a soft, concentrated breath, centering his mind. Then, in the blink of an eye, he threw up his fist its immense, enhanced weight colliding with the creature’s head, shattering one side of its beak. Shrapnel burst around Blū’s knuckles. The beast went limp, collapsing onto the road with the bandage still wrapped tightly around it.

  Oy let out a deep, guttural shout as he lifted the remaining Owlman into the air, hoisting it over his tall, muscular frame—his wound still bleeding—then slammed it down across his knee with a snap that echoed down the street. The thing let out a strangled screech before being hurled down the road.

  It writhed, trying to force itself back up—just like all the others had. But this time, despite the pain, its body seemed spent, unable to lift its own weight. And yet, it still tried.

  Falling to one knee, Oy clutched just above his stomach, blood running over and down his forearm. Blū moved in to help, as did Joe, who frantically asked what he could do. One’s mana could be used to enhance healing speed, but its effectiveness varied from person to person. It was a trained skill—one Oy often neglected to develop. Sil conjured another length of bandage, and together she, Blū, and Joe wrapped it around Oy and tightened it, hoping it would slow the bleeding.

  “Such an easy job,” said a voice from down the street. “Yet you still messed it up.”

  Blū hadn’t sensed them—he’d been too distracted. But now they stood before him, and the pressure of their combined auras pressed down on his soul. Three figures emerged, stepping slowly into the faint light.

  One of the guards, whom Blū thought had been unconscious, pushed himself up. “They’re crazy! They’re just not right—!”

  One of the newcomers, large, bulky, and tinged green, stomped down on the guard, silencing him instantly. The beast of a man didn’t even seem to notice. He stood at least seven feet tall, with blotchy skin similar to the guards'. His white shirt was stained with something—Blū wasn’t quite sure what—and over it, he wore a cracked leather vest.

  “What’s all this?” he bellowed in a slow, gravelly tone, rubbing his belly. “These little guys took out our fancy new Owlmen?”

  “Looks like it to me, big guy,” replied another—a shorter man built like a tank. His head was square and narrow, with a deep scar across his fat chin. Not a hair on his head. Despite what he said, his expression was more skeptical than impressed. “If they did, then I’m sure master won’t—”

  “Let’s tear ‘em to shreds!!!” a third interrupted, cutting him off. “I’ve been itching for a fight ever since we bailed on the Stealth op!” His spiky blond hair jutted in uneven tufts—some patches reduced to a single thread, others sticking up like stakes.

  The muscular man grabbed the other’s throat. “Will you shut up! Let me speak, damn it!”

  The spiky-haired man gurgled something in response, clawing at the hand wrapped around his neck.

  “Never mind how they did it,” said the fourth man with a grin. “If they struggled with the Owlmen, they’ll never get one over on us.” He had long silver hair that reached his waist, glittering faintly in the dim light. His smile wasn’t right—tainted by a sickening excitement.

  Above, two more Owlmen hovered, making six enemies in total. And Blū had just spent a decent chunk of mana on that last punch.

  Fear.

  He hadn’t felt it often lately. But in a moment like this, he didn’t know what else to feel.

  “You!” Sil shouted. “You were at my village!”

  “D’ats wight…” the blond man rasped, struggling to breathe.

  “Has any town in this region not been attacked recently?” Oy muttered.

  “With little success,” the silver-haired man replied. “But I see no Master Stearna this time.”

  He drew twin cutlasses, leveling one at Sil. “The blond boy. You know him. Tell me where Mona and Yig are!”

  The sound of metal sliced through the street, carried by a sudden breeze. The large green brute’s stomach split open, skin peeling back. A blur darted between buildings, landing atop a tiled roof behind Blū, Oy, and Sil. As the wind lifted his hair, he sheathed his blade.

  “Trouble follows you everywhere, doesn’t it, Sil?” Pervoick said confidently, a mischievous grin on his face.

  As if from nowhere, a squad of Stearna leapt out from behind the buildings, weapons drawn and cheering.