Fritz had really messed up this time. There he was at the centre of another bloodbath.

Bert could see at least twenty unmoving bodies splayed in the Refuge's square. Some bore brown coats, but most were in common clothes. There were some moving amongst the dead or dying, they crawled away from the battlefield or huddled together fearfully in alcoves and alleys. The safely holed up residents of the Refuge peered out of windows, worriedly watching events unfurl.

Bert looked upon the man at the heart of the struggle. Fritz was covered in small cuts and bruises, and he grinned like a madman. Though he appeared to be enjoying the blood and chaos, the slight shake in his limbs and the hazy quality of his gaze told a different tale.

Bert stared down at the gang still surrounding his blood brother. While he met their many tired, fearful eyes, he scanned the battlefield. All the thugs bore some injury, and a few of them had withdrawn to the outskirts of the square, nursing bloody and bandaged wounds. They were in no way looking for another opponent, especially someone of his great might.

He regretted that he hadn't brought Dale along. Bert had been worried it would be too dangerous, as the message stone had indicated with the simple words: help, deadly and peril. Now that he was here, he could see that this ragged gang wouldn't pose a threat, not anymore.

Fritz, though he'd foolishly picked this fight, had exhausted his foes; he was like that, exhausting. He and the Refuge had also put up quite a defence the past fifteen minutes it took to arrive, if the state of the square was anything to go by.

Bert hid his weariness. He'd sprinted the entire way and had been exerting his Momentum to aid his speed. Adam had taught him the basics of such a Pattern. The trick was to wrap one's entire body in the power and push forward. It also helped to imagine he was a great stone rolling down a hill, since that matched his Boulder's Momentum.

While it wasn't a great increase in actual speed, nor did it truly compete with the Advanced Attribute of the same name. It felt good, like he was unstoppable and could smash through the ring's walls if he wanted to.

Now that he had stopped moving, he had lost that feeling. He knew he could call it up again, as soon as he began to run, and he'd be able to throw these idiots around like straw dolls. Starting with the fat thug who had just used a healing Ability on his ally and was now slurping down a yellow tonic that resembled a Stamina potion.

Bert encased himself in Momentum and activated his Bull Rush. His vision boiled into shades of red and darkened around the edges. The air roared in his ears as the world blurred past. Only his foe was clear to his eyes. His feet thundered like hooves. The thugs attempted to block his path. Some tried to tackle him, and some swung their weapons. It had little effect, they were knocked off their feet and their strikes barely slowed him.

What a feeling it was to feel them bounce right off his body. No one could stop him.

The healer's dazed expression twisted in fear and surprise. Bert's charge ended and he punched. It was a short, compact strike, one that looked to have the impact of a feather but held all the weight of a stone club. He felt the Browncoat's jaw dislocate and heard a sharp click. For a moment, the man wavered on his feet, then he collapsed, completely unconscious.

With the main trouble dealt with, Bert turned and rushed to Fritz's side. Again, he cast his Ability and the world narrowed to one point. He was just in time to shoulder barge a thug attempting to stab Fritz in the back, flinging him into the air before he came crashing down in a tangle of limbs.

Fritz gave Bert a grateful grin, but soon returned to defending himself with quick, clever cuts.

Bert took his place by his side, then they stood back to back facing their foes. A man came at him with a thick club of rock, he dodged the blow with ease and laid the man low with a swift, singular punch. Another man swept a long blade at his legs, and he leapt over it, lashing out with a kick as he did so. His foot caught the swordsman's chin, and he and his steel clattered to the ground.

Seeing the sublime skill and immense strength Bert possessed, the gang stopped assaulting him directly, instead forming up in a loose circle. He laughed at the cowards, then cast his Corrosive Spray. The clear fluid arced through the air, covering the closest thugs and foaming on their clothing and bared skin. They sizzled and screamed like cooking sausages ready to burst.

At that point, most lost any will to fight and fled, leaving Bert and Fritz against only three men. One was Todd, the boss, but his legs were shaky and he blinked furiously as if there was sand in his eyes. The other two closed in on Fritz, and at the end of his endurance, he stumbled. Bert caught him, pulled him around and moved into his place, taking a blade meant for his gut and a club meant for his head.

These two strikes landed across his ribs and on his shoulder, but he shrugged the pain off. He seized the wrist of the man with the shortsword, then broke it with a violent yank. A punch soon followed, smashing into and breaking his nose for good measure, then another, shattering teeth, just to be thorough. The thug's yells were drowned by the hot blood pouring from his face.

The club wielder took his chance with another swipe. Bert countered the blow by sliding under the bludgeon, grabbing the man's arm and moving with the motion, throwing the man over his shoulder and slamming him hard against the stone of the square. All the wind went out of him and he lay there stunned. Bert stomped his head once, then twice, when he wasn't knocked unconscious by the first strike. The second one did the trick.

Bert looked up from his fallen enemy and glanced over the bloody square, searching for any further resistance.

There was none.

With all other foes wounded, dead, knocked out or fled, the very last one left moving was Todd. The man had finally seen enough and was trying to escape. He limped and staggered, slipped and scrambled away in the red-tinted rainwater. He crawled over the body of one of his thugs, cursing and spitting.

Fritz might say that the gang boss was ruing his fate or swearing vengeance. Bert knew better. Todd was blaming his own men for the fight's failure and calling out luck for leaving him.

"Ah, Bert. Just in time," Fritz said as he lowered Quicksilver and leaned on it like it was a fine cane. "I would praise you for your punctuality, but that doesn't seem enough. You've saved me again."

"Praise me on my punch-uality then," Bert said wittily.

"I would rather perish," Fritz intoned solemnly, but he gave a wincing smile when he said it. "And I might just do so. Perish, that is. I'm at the edge of death, if you would believe it."

Bert looked him over. His skin was cut in many places, and his overcoat was torn, but it appeared that his sirensilk shirt had weathered the stabs well and without fraying at all. It was a tremendously tough fabric, he'd have to get a shirt like that of his very own.

"I don't believe it," Bert said, slapping Fritz on the shoulder. "You still have some fight in you."

"Speaking of fight, make sure Todd doesn't get away," Fritz casually demanded. "Best cut the head off the eel while it's struggling on the shore."

"Right, as you say, Sir Shade," Bert mocked.

Fritz waved his hand as if dismissing a courtier, before sighing and closing his eyes against the sweat and rain.

Bert whistled as he strolled over to the still-crawling Todd. He could hear the thug's ragged breaths and could see the man was suffering, though he had little in the way of obvious wounds. Bert heaved him up by the collar of his brown coat. The man twisted in his grip and grabbed his wrist. It was as tight as a hound's jaws.

A wave of weariness assailed Bert, he felt his eyelids sag from a sudden weight. Through gritty vision, he saw Todd grin and punch him in the gut. Sharp pain cut through the fog of his mind, and whatever magic had been used on him broke. Todd twisted his punch-dagger, the air around it warped and rippled. The tearing went deep. Bert bellowed and struck back, a right hook that took the bastard right off his feet and sent him tumbling.

"You bloody arsehole," Bert growled, holding the cut in his belly. It bled badly and throbbed in time with his heart.

Todd groaned, but Bert didn't let him lie there for long. Furiously, he kicked the prick while he was down, then stomped his bladed hand with a Concussive Strike. Todd's fist broke, leaving his fingers pointing at odd, wrong angles, ruined. He yelled. Bert silenced him with a kick to the chest before dragging him up by his shirt collar.

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Todd spat, and Bert punched him, striking him again and again until his too-tough skin broke and he was bleeding just as bad as Bert was.

"Bert," Fritz's exhausted drawl came. "Don't kill him. 'They' won't like it."

"Yeah. That's enough," a gravelly voice agreed.

Bert knew that voice well and turned to grin at his 'mentor'. He winced with the motion, but his voice came out strong. "Nic!"

"Bert." Nic nodded. He approached in his usual slumped stride.

"Jagged Nic," Fritz greeted warily. "I hope we haven't troubled you."

Nic stared around at all the bodies and raised a scarred eyebrow. "No more than usual."

Fritz chuckled.

"Don't laugh," a craggy whisper warned.

Fritz stiffened almost imperceptibly. Others wouldn't have seen the worry and fear, but Bert could. It must have been that cruel bastard Craig. And so it was. The cut-throat stepped out from a shadow, a scowl on his grizzled face.

"What a mess," Craig complained.

"S'not so bad," Nic said, a sly half smile on one side of his face. "Most of these bastards look alive. Been pulling your punches, Bert?"

"That's right," Bert agreed. "Wouldn't want to accidentally murder that Healer."

Both men stilled and went silent for a second.

"That... Healer?" Nic asked, his face going as blank and bleak as an ancient tombstone.

Craig hissed, his eyes darting.

"Over there," Bert said, pointing to the fat man he had laid low.

Craig was there in a moment, shifting through the shadows like Toby could. He was followed by Nic, who streaked through the rain.

They each checked that the Healer was alive, then both breathed sighs of relief.

"He's alright," Craig muttered.

"Thank Hargott and his thrice cloaked face," Nic said.

They straightened, then turned their glares on Bert. He was about to feign remorse, but realised they weren't angry with him, their eyes were locked on the weakly wheezing Todd, who lay at his feet.

Craig threw a sign at Nic. He returned the slightest of nods.

The cut-throat drew a dagger and stalked over to loom over Todd. The broken man tried to crawl away, spitting bloody apologies. They fell on deaf ears. Craig stooped and grabbed the thug roughly by the face, hooking his fingers under the jaw, then pulled up. He swiftly slid his blade across the exposed neck, then let go and straightened as Todd's life poured out.

Bert could have stopped him, but didn't see a need, nor did Fritz seem to mind. Though his brother wore that fine frown that he always did when a person was to die. It was that soft heart of his that the gutters hadn't quite drowned yet.

"Just like that?" Fritz asked.

"Just like that," Craig repeated. "No harm can come to Healers. That's law, true as the rain. He was dead as soon as he brought one along to this dispute. And these Browncoats..."

"They should know better. Far better. They'll be punished," Nic added grimly, finishing the other's words.

Craig spat on Todd's corpse.

"Good, you were gentle with this prick," Nic continued, jabbing the toe of his boot into the Healer's gut. "He's a real whiner, and if you had maimed him any the big boss would have to punish you too."

"We didn't involve him," Fritz protested.

"She wouldn't care," Craig said. He rubbed the top of his head and his hand came away with a couple of greasy strands of hair. He frowned. "Gods, havin' to watch you lot is making me lose my hair. Luckily, you're basically ready to be left to yourselves, or I'd be bald before the end of the year."

"Is that so?" Fritz said blandly. His face was grim and his eyes disinterested, but Bert could see a glint of cruel glee in his quick glance and stifled smirk.

"Finally," Bert said. "Does that mean we get our coats?"

"Yeah," Nic agreed.

"Are you going to present them? Is there some ceremony?" Fritz asked, straightening and sheathing his sword.

"What? Ceremony? Nah, you ain't being knighted. Just find the best fit from one of these bloody idiots and put it on," Nic said.

Fritz shook his head dejectedly and muttered to himself.

"What?" Craig growled.

Lifting his gaze, Fritz smiled. It was sharp yet compliant. "Oh, nothing. Not worth your esteemed attention, Cutter."

Craig nodded, then quietly growled, "Ungrateful, smirking little prick."

"Why are you two here?" Bert asked.

"To make sure this 'dispute' didn't get out of hand," Craig provided.

"Were you watching the entire time?" Fritz asked suspiciously.

"Course not, only just got here at the end," Craig said.

"I was sent to give you a message from up top, or rather from below if you catch my meaning," Nic said.

"A message," Fritz asked.

"Yeah," Nic replied. "Don't kill Todd. It's a bit late for that now. But seeing as it's not your fault, I'll make sure she knows it."

"How... gracious," Fritz said.

"Fair's fair," Nic stated. "You didn't do a damn fool thing like poaching a Healer and bringing him to be slaughtered."

"I also took it easy on the rest of these idiots," Fritz pointed out.

"Sure," Nic said, though it looked like he didn't believe it. "There was another bit to the message, but that's for your ears only."

"Oh?"

Nic nodded, then stared pointedly at Craig.

"Fine, I'm going," the cut-throat said.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Cutter?" Nic stated.

Craig grimaced, then turned to Fritz. "Good job breakin' the siege. Welcome to the ranks of the Browncoats, Scarlet Shade."

Fritz tilted his head slightly and nodded once, seemingly not knowing what to make of the praise. "An honour, thank you."

"Stupid name though. Embarrassin' it is, shoulda picked a better one," Craig said.

"I didn't pick it. It was given to me. And I wear it as well as I may," Fritz stated in those dramatic tones he tended to fall into.

Nic's face twitched, Craig spat and Bert grinned.

"I don't care. I'm just glad to be rid of you," the Cutter claimed.

"No more 'lessons' then?" Fritz asked.

"Nah, you've learned plenty and now the boss has real jobs for you," he said.

Fritz merely nodded to the statement, and the cut-throat stepped into a shadow and disappeared, slinking away.

"What about me?" Bert asked Nic.

He turned. "Yeah, welcome to the top, Bloody Bert," he said, attempting a smile that didn't threaten violence. He almost succeeded. "Right, better get this message out of the way and go report this... incident to you know who."

Fritz motioned for him to continue.

"You're to meet the boss in three days," he said. "A 'messenger' will come calling at your home, and leave you some orders."

Fritz nodded.

"And Bert, you have a fight tonight, so rest up. Have that gut wound looked at, looks pretty nasty and you wouldn't want it to go sour, or ruin your winning streak."

"Alright," Bert agreed. "Anything else?"

"Nah," Nic said. "But I'm taking 'him' with me." He gestured to the fallen Healer.

"Very well," Fritz said. "What do you want us to do with the rest of them?"

"Take all their coats, they don't deserve them no more," Nic ordered. "Then you can do whatever you want with them. Kill 'em, maim 'em, ain't nothin' to me."

"And here I thought I wasn't meant to be murdering you Browncoats," Fritz said.

"Us Browncoats, you mean. But these absolute idiots risked a Healer. That ain't done. Never ever done," Nic stated seriously. "They lost their coats when they followed Todd's fool plan."

Bert nodded. "Makes sense, Healers are rare. Worth more than a few thugs."

"Worth more than you or me," Nic said soberly. "And the 'lord', if he don't prove to be as good a Scout as he says."

Fritz said nothing, and a woman called out from the headquarters.

"Is it safe to come out!?"

Fritz turned his head to Nic, his gaze asking him the same question. He nodded, then made his way to the still-unconscious Healer.

"It's safe! Come help the wounded!" Fritz called with what looked like the last of his strength.

Nic crouched and heaved the fat man over his shoulders. He was barely burdened by the weight as he trudged away, then he waved a hand in farewell and left without further comment.

Fritz, now that any peril had passed, sighed and his shoulders sagged. His hands fell to his side and it seemed as though he would keel over at any moment.

Bert made his way to his blood brother's side before he lost his feet, bracing him with his arm and keeping him upright.

Residents of the Refuge began to leave their homes and rush to the aid of their fellows. They thanked Bert and Fritz as they passed, but were more concerned for the wellness of their friends and family than with celebrating their defenders. It was all the blood, Bert thought. They didn't expect a heroes work to be so bloody.

Bert knew better.

"Thank you, Bert," Fritz mumbled. "You're a saviour."

"I know. Now let's get you to bed," he replied.

"Prepare a gravestone for me, for I feel as though I will die," Fritz lamented.

Bert smiled. "What do you want written on it?"

"Here lies a true hero, the best of the bold. Both handsome and clever, valour held thricefold," Fritz said easily.

"Best I can do is: Here lies Fritz, a cordial cad. Many should hate him, but he wasn't so bad."

Fritz laughed. "That's good, Bert. I suppose our visit to the fairy realm didn't just heal your body, but also your artistic sense."

Bert guided Fritz into the headquarters, where he gave out some slightly slurred orders to those of the council that had gathered. He instructed them to do everything they could for the Refuge's wounded and not to touch the Browncoats. He worried that one would wake while they were being stripped of their things and would react violently, so he gave that particular job to Bert and those of the militia who were still unharmed.

From there, Bert took Fritz to Sid's much restored room and lay him down on a bedroll, the fool was asleep in moments. Bert did what he could for his many cuts, using a tin of healing grease to tend to them. Thankfully, the injuries were minor, the deepest of them only going an inch into Fritz's flesh. He was so exhausted he didn't even whimper as the cold, slippery substance was applied by Bert's calloused fingers.

When it was done, and all the cuts Bert could see were taken care of, he sighed, threw a blanket over his brother, then inspected his own wounds.

He had few, but the hole in his gut was worse by far than any other injury either of them had suffered. It had stopped bleeding a while ago due to his great Vitality, though it burned and throbbed. Still, he set to covering it with the bitter grease. He sat by Fritz's side and rested for a while, watching him sleep that deadman's sleep, unmoving save the slight rise and fall of his chest.

Bert smiled.

Some minutes later, he stood and made his way from the room. He set his face grimly and cracked his knuckles.

There was a mess outside, and someone needed to clean it.

He made his way to the Refuge's armoury and nodded to the man guarding it. Bloody Bert was let in without a word of challenge. He took up the Rat Cleaver's blade from where it rested against a wall. He hefted it, swung it once, checking it's deadly weight and wicked, whistling edge.

Perfect for hacking off a limb or a head. A quick chop for a quick death, for those that deserved it.

It would be put to great use.

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