Despite how bad that strategy was in theory, he wasn’t quite dead yet. The adrenaline and rum mixed to make the world move in both slow motion and fuzzy speed at the same time, to the point that he didn’t know if he had been running for 5 minutes or 5 hours.

He vaulted over a garden fence, the owner of which yelped in surprise, falling off his chair, clattering over his secret midnight beer stash.

“Sorry, Mr Clacker.” Jonatan called, waving apologetically as he ducked round the other side of the house, trying to break Sylvia’s line of sight.

“The hell are you doing here Jon boy?” My Clacker yelled in his high-pitched voice. He was a regular at the tavern, so they knew each other rather well. “You here to get more of the missus’ cocoa?”

Jonatan glanced round the corner of the house, spotting Sylvia’s silhouette barely 30 seconds behind him. His chest tightened as the thought of anyone else getting shocked like he did, his cheeks flushing with rage. He turned his back on his escape route and went back into the open.

“Yeah, let me help you get it.” Jonatan said, forcing an eager smile as he jogged over to his old friend, leading him back inside his back door, his sunburnt beer-belly bobbing up and down.

“Oi oi, slow down there, ya muppet!” Mr Clacker complained, his feet unsteady from a familiar hint of alcohol.

“If you stay in and lock the doors in the next 10 seconds, your next drink is on me.” Jonatan pleaded, failing to keep the desperation out his voice, his eyes darting back to the angry Wizard who was flying straight towards them.

Mr Clacker didn’t say another word, practically throwing himself in the door, the snapping of locks following immediately after. Jonatan breathed a sigh of relief, some of the tension leaving his body. Himself getting hurt in a fight was one thing, but a gentle man like Clacker hadn’t had a fight in years, and didn’t sign up for another.

“Your petty tricks are spent! You have nowhere left to flee!” Sylvia came to a stop directly above him, staring her rage fuelled scarlet eyes down at him like he was roadkill. “Now lie down and submit, it will be easier for both of us.”

“If you think I’m ever going to do what I’m told by someone like you, maybe that smack I gave you was for the better, you know, shake the crazy out a bit.” Jonatan shrugged. He eyed the garden, the low red of the sunset didn’t do much for his perception, for anything he could use to try and get out in mostly one piece. Luckily for him, he could recognise the form of a whisky bottle in the pitch black, but 7 of them was like the holy grail to him.

He was glad his friend kept a good collection of secret booze out of his wife’s sight.

Sylvia didn’t care for quality alcohol, lighting her hands up with fire, and throwing a perfect sphere of blazing heat directly at his face. Taking full advantage of the sway in his feet, he tumbled forward into a roll, careful to roll on his shoulder as to not harm his precious instrument, coming to a stop a few feet from the overturned lounge chair.

Sylvia growled, readying another globe of fire in her fingers, trying to steady herself in the air. Jonatan lunged forward, his hand closing around an empty bottle, and he flung it straight towards her with uncanny precision. If he had any boons, it was his inherited muscles from his mother, his knack for cooking from his father, and his ability to fight like a beast when he was drunk off his head.

The bottle caught her by surprise, her fire dissipating as she raised her hands to catch it. She missed, her concentration on flying making her a split second late, the glass shattering to shards as it met her nose, sending her tumbling towards Mr Clacker’s roof, where she unceremoniously tumbled to the grass below.

Jonatan didn’t expect it to work quite that well, standing up with a slight dumbfounded look on his face.

“Huh.” He shifted awkwardly, turning around to jump over the fence again, maybe find a place to hide from her should she wake up.

A scorching pain shot up from his thigh, the light of fire rippling around him, knocking him off stride and stumbling into the fence. He grunted, his trousers singed at the back, but nothing that wouldn’t heal in a day or so. Still hurt like hell though. Sylvia was on her knees, several streams of blood flowing from her nose, panting deep breaths through her mouth.

“I will kill you.” Sylvia’s threat sounded slightly less serious now that she sounded like she was holding her nose and making fun of herself.

“I will run away.” Jonatan nodded at her, brushing the black specks of ash off his leg, standing as steady as he could.

She stood to match him, wiping the crimson from her chin. She started whispering arcane words to herself, her hands crackling with electricity. Jonatan ducked, grabbing another empty bottle, and slung it towards her.

This time she was ready, a beam of lightning firing out from her hands, shattering the bottle mid-air, streaking past his head, instantly burning a hole in the fence as big as a sheep. Jonatan looked back at it and shuddered. She tried to hit him with that, and had no hint of remorse. That made him shudder to his core.

He didn’t think twice, wrapping an arm around the chair and swinging it over his head, aiming for her side. A hard wall of what looked like glowing glass sprung into existence at her side, a superior smile creeping on her face as the chair cracked into pieces against the magic shield. He dropped the pieces of wood while raising his injured leg and slamming it into her stomach, launching her back.

The shield dissipated instantly as she crumpled into a groaning heap. Jonatan shook the ache of the impact from his hands and took a running jump over the fence, clearing it with ease. His body was starting to feel heavier, the adrenaline wearing thinner by the second to devastating effect.

He drew in a lungful of air, and started sprinting through the back gardens of people he knew for years, leaping fences and ducking under hedge arrangements with reckless abandon, trying to make himself as hard to find as possible. After one leap, his feet met stone rather than grass, the night-time lights of the town square filling his view several blocks away.

He had come to the end of easy hiding suburbs, and now had to make do with the slim alleys between the businesses. Luckily for him, he’d hidden from his mother before after beating her at cards once, Sylvia would be easy to evade by comparison.

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He brushed the leaves off his clothes, trying to make his appearance a little less conspicuous, then started walking down the street, being fast but careful to stick by the buildings. That way making him harder to spot in the low light.

He passed a number of empty alleyways, darting his eyes into them, a newfound fear for angry magic lizards.

“Ay Jon!” He jumped at the call of the voice, spinning around with his fists raised. He was met with the face of a guardsman whose name he didn’t recall, but whose voice was exactly the one that met with Sylvia earlier that night. “The conqueror has returned!”

“Oh, hi.” Jonatan lowering his fists, breathing an unsteady sigh. “What exactly did I do again?”

The guard laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.

“And here I was betting that no one could climb that mountain but then I see you and your drunk little rear tied to her table snoozing away!” He and the 4 other guards grow into a chorus of laughter. “You’ve gotta come by the barracks later, raid the betting pool and buy us all a round!”

His memories of that table were somewhat soured due to his recent lightning themed torture on it, but he managed an unsteady grin back at them, joining in on their merry chuckles.

“C’mon lads, we’re overdue a game.” He led Jonatan into the alleyway, producing a pack of cards and a coin purse from his pocket, followed swiftly by the other guardsmen. “Here, you get a share, consider it a gift from the others who failed where you succeeded.” He nudged Jonatan with his elbow, giving him 20 gold coins from his pouch before he dealt the cards out.

Jonatan slumped down, trying to distract himself from his thoughts by gambling with the men. He never was much good at the game but was too distracted by the ache of his magically and tower fall related injuries to get in anyone’s head, swiftly losing half of his loaned funds.

He joined them in the drinking of their rationed ale, a watered-down mess of bubbles and crude alcohol that was a crime against the name, laughing with them about how they were forced to drink the stuff.

They played several hands, Jonatan losing a few coins each round, his mind absent the game entirely. What was written on that wanted poster, and why did Sylvia react the way she did to it? If it had his picture, why didn’t these guards arrest him? And what crime anyway? He may have cheated in a few games of darts here and there but nothing worth a wanted poster.

Life had been getting steadily weirder since the night his voice turned into some bizarre theatre piece, and now he was being hunted by a stuck-up lizard with magic related murder issues. He didn’t even know what was real anymore, or if he may just be having a really terrible nightmare that was really long and realistic.

That hope died when he actually won a hand and got 5 coins back. Nothing good ever happened in his nightmares after all.

When the guard troupe had exhausted all their desires to flunk patrol duty, they started to pack away their gambling equipment, Jonatan following suit, pocketing the 7 shiny pieces of metal, and stumbling past them to get out of the alley. He stopped in his tracks when he realised that the entrance was now occupied by a familiar figure.

“Guards of Mirth, I request assistance with the apprehension of a criminal.” Sylvia wheezed, the blood dripping from her nose had dried up, but her voice was even hoarser than before. The entire alleyway froze.

“Uh, oh yes! Of course, where is the criminal?” One of the other guards asked, who Jonatan also did not recall, though he had a lovely beard. He and the rest of them all donned helmets and grasped their spears with a tipsy sway.

Sylvia raised her finger straight at Jonatan, death in her eyes and a cruel snarl on her face, probably from the pain.

“Wait, Jon? Are you sure this isn’t some kind of mistake, lass?” That same guard asked. God he really needed to learn names better.

“No mistake. He is guilty of the very crime you informed me of this afternoon, as well as assault on my person, property damage of a number of homes, as well as attempted murder.” She opened her hand wide, a spark of fire growing into a blaze at the tips of her nails.

Jonatan braced himself, glancing back at the dumbstruck guards. All but one of them at least. The bearded one stepped forward, producing a set of manacles from his belt.

“C’mon now Jon, lets talk about this at the barracks, don’t make this difficult.”

“You’re just going to believe her like that?” Jonatan raised an eyebrow at him, clenching his fists.

“Look at her. There’s a story here and you know something about it. Come quietly.”

“She’ll kill me before we get halfway to the square you know.” Jonatan kept his eyes on Sylvia and her ball of fire that he very much did not want to fly into his face.

“No I won’t. I’ll see to it that you get exactly what you deserve in every way.” Her voice was thick with venom.

Jonatan turned his eyes to the guards, who had now dropped their dumbfounded looks and now stared at him with hardened determination, their hands gripping their weapons. Jonatan took a deep breath, readying himself for one hell of a beating.

“Don’t do it, man. You’ll come out of it worse. So bad that not even your mother can bail you.” The guard ordered curtly.

“As amazing as she is, she cant bail me if I’m dead. I won’t let it get to that.” Jonatan narrowed his eyes, his slightly blurred gaze adjusted to the dark.

Now that his gaze had adjusted, he noticed something different. There was 8 people in the alley. With him, the 5 guards and Sylvia, there should only be 7, but a distinctly shorter figure was effortlessly weaving through the dark towards them. One that was both extremely unfamiliar, yet unforgettable to him.

“It won’t.” The voice spoke, once low and hoarse from sleepless nights and dehydration, now smoother, newer, more beautiful, but still edged and hardened, like a dagger, fierce but elegant.

All heads turned to the inside of the alley, where the figure of Jasper stepped silently into the low light, his left eye glinting purple with focussed ease, slowly analysing the situation in front of him.

“This is official business traveller, be on your way.” One guard spoke up, taking a step towards him, shooing him with a free hand.

Jasper responded with a flash of silver, his 2 curved blades removed from their sheathes in an instant, one knocking the guard’s helmet to one side, tipping his balance, the other sweeping his feet from under him, sending him tumbling to the ground with a sore thud. He dropped to a low stance, darting forward, using the downed man’s back as a step to leap into the air.

He brought his foot down on the next guard’s spear, bashing it to the paving stones beneath, following quickly with a swipe of each blade across the guard’s chest, severing the straps of his chain armour, loosening it enough where he could slash the exposed cloth beneath, before striding onwards, unfazed by the man’s cry of pain.

The remaining 3 guards turned their attention to their new adversary, pointing their spears at him in a defensive formation, ready for his attack. Jasper let his blades tumble from his grip, the steel rolling over his arms and up over his shoulders, in some strangely captivating steel dance, his blades were his partners, and the battlefield his ballroom.

The air grew thicker as Jasper danced with his blades, before he swiftly caught them again, the steel of the swords was practically singing with power. He went to strike the spears, and in one decisive blow, the shafts of the spears detonated like trees struck by lightning, tossing the guards backwards, and firmly on their behinds.

Sylvia squealed in surprise. Jonatan averted his gaze from the display to wind up his best right hook, knocking her out in one clean punch. It was satisfying.

Before the guards could get up, Jasper sheathed one of his blades, running his fingers gently across the other, as if giving it a gently lullaby. The steel began to sing again, but not as harshly this time. The echoing waves of sound washed over the alleyway, gently simmering Jonatan’s body as they passed by him.

Each of the guards went limp, slumping to the ground. Sylvia remained unresponsive, but her expression shifted from one of pain to one of ease. Before Jonatan could ask what he had done, he heard a quiet snore from one of the guards.

“You put them to sleep?” Jonatan gaped, eyes wide with awe. “And the thing you did with the swords, that was…what?”

Jasper deftly stepped between the sleeping bodies, walking up to Jonatan, keeping eye contact with him the entire time.

“I have questions. Come on, they’ll wake up in a minute or so.” Jasper gestured out the alley, towards the inn on the other side of the square, then walked off, not waiting for a response.

“You should be the one answering question, what in the hells is going on here?” Jonatan pointed to the snoring guards and Sylvia with increasing confusion as he followed the young red head.

“War.” Jasper muttered quietly, a mix of anger and sadness in his voice.