I ducked the fiery comet of the axe that sought my skull, turned, and spun away. The glowing talons of an Arrow suit arced toward me, but I pulsed SHIELD and blocked the forearm with my own. As I gained a step from them, the corona of a Shield suit's impulsive charge caught me, but I let the kinetic energy lift me and move me away from the tangle of Griidlords rather than letting it knock me down.

One slip and I would be dead. Three against one was impossible.

I swept a long, sustained blast of BEAM toward them, trying to keep the space between us open long enough for me to understand what was happening and what I needed to do.

It made no sense. They had sighted three Griidlords at the other prong of the attack. My mind raced as I burned through my BEAM reserves, keeping space, creating a moment to think.

Had the Griidlords at Castle Chowwick raced back here after the feint drew our counterattack? Hardly—doing so would have shown their hand and only drawn the rest of my team here.

The light of BEAM and the dust and smoke of scorched earth and grass kept a wall between us. I thought on it. I faced three. An Axe would mean Snowfang. A Shield, Bonefrost. And… my pulse quickened with dark hunger… an Arrow would mean Perdinger.

I leapt back again, forcing everything I had into POWER and AGILITY. Getting tangled with them would allow the weight of their numbers to dominate me. There was a simple, exciting fact here. Things had changed since our last meeting. I was Level 36 and had to be on the cusp of 37. If I recalled, none of them was greater than mid-30s. I was more than a match for any one of them, with Axe-break leveling the field between me and Snowfang.

As the dust and smoke cleared, I saw them for the first time and my mind registered the glimpse that had so confused me when they first appeared. Their colors were wrong.

Yes, the Arrow bore the colors of Buffalo. My eyes glanced to the missing hand, saw how the suit had fashioned itself into a crude slashing appendage, and I smiled. As bad as things were, he was here. After the weeks spent craving the chance to take him to pieces, there was at least the ghost of an opportunity.

But the other two… It took me a moment to recognize the colors of South New York on the Axe. Startled, I saw that the Shield bore the markings of Cleveland.

"What…" I couldn't help but utter. They were trying to maneuver around me, to surround me. They were suddenly cautious after their first thrust failed. I had to keep backing up to avoid being surrounded.

Was this a conspiracy? No, it didn't bear considering. The conventional powers in the cities of the region simply wouldn't conspire with the Green Men. They may have had some concerns about Balthazar and his ambitions, but he had yet to show them cause for alarm—and even at their worst imaginings, even given Boston's improved military standing, there was simply no way they could be driven to ally themselves with Danefer and strengthen the societally disruptive force of the Green Men.

I said, "What are you doing here? This isn't your war!"

As I spoke, I cast ASSESS. They were being inordinately careful to position themselves, and I had a glimmer of hope.

Subject: Bartric Slayfast Status: Chosen Axe Level: 28 Skills: ***, Phase

I glanced to the Shield, who was circling to my left. Subject: Gallows Withertouch Status: Chosen Shield Level: 27 Skills: ***, ***, Dome-shield

I gritted my teeth. I could feel the ferocity of a glimmer of hope rising in me. I was substantially stronger than them. Perdinger had been Level 29 when I encountered him first. In the time since, he had wandered the wilds picking off trading caravans and living as a bandit. He was unlikely to have gained more than a level since then. I could see his suit had been healed in Buffalo. I could also see a twitchy flightiness to his movements. The degradation of his mind had only deepened. He would be mistake-prone. I glanced to where his hand used to be and felt a savage grin bloom on me. He would also be afraid.

I was still ill-advised to try and engage the three of them. Even with my greater level, there were three of them, and with type advantage, the Axe only needed one lucky hit while the others engaged me.

They kept circling. I couldn't back up forever. Even as I thought it, Perdinger bolted past me with the speed of the Arrow suit and blocked my retreat.

If I did escape from them, which was a good possibility, they would still be here when Olaf arrived for our rendezvous. Olaf was growing fast, especially with Synergy feeding his natural talent, but he was far below the level of any one of these men. I steeled myself. At the very least, I had to hold on until he arrived. With Olaf to reinforce me, we could fight our way out. There was no way I could abandon the field to expose him to an ambush on his own.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

"What are you doing here?" I roared again. "New York and Cleveland have no part in this war!"

Bartric just shook his head, his armored hands squeezing hard around the haft of his axe. Gallows rumbled, the deep voice of a prototypical Shield, "I'm not here for Cleveland. I'm here for the Betterment."

The Betterment?

They didn't give me more time. Together they were overwhelming favorites to take the fight, but they knew I was stronger than any one of them and treated me like a cornered lion.

I exhaled. My thoughts had raced, and I crystallized my actions. The odds were stacked badly against me. There had been no way to predict, to even imagine in the wildest eventuality, that Griidlords from other lands would appear in this fight. This was a test thrust on me by the universe.

I had learned that grasping Axe-Break, letting the light of my sword flare with the otherworldly power of the skill, could make an Axe hesitate. I used it as a feint. Bartric reacted, backing up, swinging at me from the full length of his long axe. Perdinger only lunged and twitched, letting me turn my CUT toward Gallows.

How much did my level advantage mean against the defensive powers of a Shield? I gave him everything, the edge of hungry blade blazing as it caught his charging shield from the side. Gallows staggered from the attack, the shield swaying, opening his body.

The opening was useless—Bartric's axe clove through the air between me and Gallows. I spun back. I predicted Perdinger would pounce on the opening and swept my sword up and behind me. Without even seeing him I heard the muffled shriek and felt the biting impact of sword on suit. Burned plastic smells bloomed and quick feet shuffled away from me. I was stronger than him. I had type advantage. And he had every reason to fear me. I felt—prayed—that I had a few seconds to not worry about him at my back.

Bartric and Gallows seemed to understand this too. They adjusted, splitting themselves and coming at me from the widest angles I would allow, trying to split me and force me to choose.

Choose I did.

I took hold of Axe-Break and swung for Bartric. Even the sudden surprise of the attack wasn't enough to catch him off guard. I knew he had Phase. I knew he would be coiled like a snake to trigger it, to avoid the crushing power of the skill. The comet of my sword passed through him like wisps of atmosphere.

It was exactly what I had intended.

Gallows committed himself. The force of Axe-Break had pulled me forward, upset my posture. I was exposed, and it was a momentary opening no Griidlord could forego. He raised his shield high, energy cracking at the pointed tip, and rushed at me.

It was such a gamble on my part. I was counting on everything to go right.

It all happened in a fraction of a heartbeat, with the chaotic rhythm of a brawl. The shield fell with all the strength and power that Gallows could muster. I was staggered from my failed attack, momentarily defenseless. Or so it seemed.

As the shield descended to deliver a truly awesome blow, I raised my left forearm and light bloomed from my armor. I couldn't see the look of total confusion on Gallows's face as a small dome of dense Shield sprouted from my forearm, but I knew it must be there. Perhaps he thought it was a skill. He couldn't know about the relic that Austin had delivered to me. He couldn't know how I had marveled at the innovations Joel and Danefer had used to make themselves into pseudo-Griidlords with a kingdom's ransom of relics instead of suits. He couldn't have predicted how I had decided to employ the vast financial resources at my disposal.

The plummeting shield ricocheted from the ghostly buckler that flared into existence. As quick as it came, the buckler flitted back from existence, but it had done its job. The trajectory of Gallows's shield was off, the force of attack robbing him of good footing. I surged into the opening—an underhand thrust, the tip of my sword thrusting up, frothing for the gap between helm and body.

Mad, terrifying cackling filled the air, an unnatural manifestation of murderous intent. It was mine.

The sword glanced from the lower edge of his helm and fed itself into his throat. Bartric's axe blacked like an inferno behind me, and I had to step in, my body following the thrust of my blade until I was nearly embracing Gallows. Blood geysered from the wound, spraying onto me. That had sickened me in the past. Now… now it seemed like a christening.

I had wasted Axe-Break on purpose for two reasons. Firstly, because of what happened immediately as Gallows spluttered to death at the end of my sword.

Level 37

It had been a risk, but facing the odds I faced, I had taken it. I leveled, and my cooldowns reset.

The second reason I had wasted the skill was the gift that emerged as I turned my body from the dead Shield, the huge body of the man still on its feet, only beginning to sink toward the earth.

Bartric had committed himself without Axe-Break to fear. Despite level, his type advantage had inspired him to throw caution aside. His axe was buried in the earth where it had missed me, his body below me at the bottom of the swing.

Axe-Break surged. I heard the laughter filling the air again. It was triumph, it was hunger. Three had come to take me. Three! One was literally dead on his feet, the other bowed before the executioner's axe.

Axe-Break had never seemed so bright, so blinding. It felt like I held the sun itself in my hands as I swung down, the heat and kinetic winds of the storm in my grasp descending on Bartric, his head just turning up to see his doom fall.

His helm cleaved in half. I had a flashed glimpse of tongue and teeth swimming in a geyser of blood and gore.

Level 38

I turned for my true quarry—for Perdinger.

He was gone.

I had wanted him so badly. More than anything. There was a younger Tiberius who would have followed that hunger, that impulse, and found himself dead at the end of the fight. I'd made the right choices, but the terrible murderous elation that filled me fled as I realized the fucker had escaped.

My fists clenched, fingers slipping over each other with the slickness of the blood that coated me. My arms trembled as my body tensed in rage. I howled, my soul drunk on the soup of my impossible victory and my crippling frustration.

I howled at the sky, painted crimson once more with the blood of my enemies.

Olaf, arriving a moment too late to join the fray, stood bewildered at the scene.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.