It was a good thing that Reg was closest to Beowulf, since he was the best duellist among them, and probably the fastest to boot. That didn’t necessarily mean best warrior, but being able to parry Beowulf was at least an option, even if it came with a degree of panic. Light raced up Reg’s sword as he infused his body and his weapon with magic granting him unnatural speed. He did his best to dodge or parry where possible, knowing that trying to block would involve a contest of strength he was unlikely to win. Even if this was a ghost, it was Beowulf’s ghost, which probably meant most of the rules were out of the window.

Elsewhere, things were just as frantic. Light and sound filled the chamber as magic and metal clashed. Talani was using broad sweeps of his axe to keep two of the Huscarls out of reach, whilst Alf and Tove peppered them with spellfire. Gialli had adopted a similar strategy, using Mersingmergr to keep one away from him as best as it could, whilst he fired arrows as fast as he could draw and aim them. That left Teclis to square off against the last one, a poor matchup. Teclis’ main strength was at range, and with nobody to interpose themselves between him and this warrior, he was at a distinct disadvantage.

The huscarl charged in, and was met by a bolt of green energy that lanced from the tip of Teclis’ staff. The magic physically shunted the huscarl away, but this was only a temporary reprieve. He raced in once more, before Teclis could prepare another spell, and swung his sword from low to high. Teclis backpedalled, but quickly found himself pressed up against a wall, out of space. He was not so lucky with the next slash, which scored a cut along his collarbone. He felt the blood begin to trickle out, and lamented his shirt being ruined. In spite of that, he managed to grit his teeth through the pain, and keep a resolute hold of his staff. Focusing, he whispered a quick incantation, and his own spilt blood leapt across to the huscarl, setting on fire as it did and scorching his sword arm. The dry, withered skin was like tinder, and immediately burst into flame. The huscarl seemed disturbingly unbothered by this, but if he burned away enough, then there’d be nothing of him left.

Things were not going well for Reg either. ‘Fast enough to parry’ was only working so well, and Beowulf was quite clearly a league apart from the rest of them. He was doing his best to weave magic through his fighting, being a wizard first and foremost, but Beowulf simply wasn’t giving him the space. Beowulf was also more than capable of seeing what worked best and what didn’t, and was swiftly abandoning finesse in favour of heavy, hewing strikes that Reg either had to dodge or simply get battered by. As a result, he was edging closer and closer towards Alf and Tove, threatening to break the already-tenuous frontline.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Regardless of his strength, two-on-one was not favourable odds for Talani. Even if Alf and Tove technically made it three-on-two to them, his role in keeping the huscarls away from those two dwarves meant that he was constantly being forced to make desperate, lunging movements that would expose him to the other. Around and through the armour he wore, a tableau of cuts and slashes was developing. It was working, but it was hard to tell for how long it would work. Talani couldn’t go on the offensive like this, which limits your options when it comes to ‘winning fights’.

Clearly this was a fight in which the only way out was through, and with that understanding came clarity. There could be no reservation if they were to win, no ‘holding back’ or giving it just enough. Almost simultaneously, Tove and Talani changed. The room lit with shimmering colours as Tove’s form became like that of the night sky. Her skin practically disappeared, becoming an inky blue as dozens of pinpricks of light burst to life across it, lines tracing constellations across her body. One in particular flared along the length of her right arm, the light from each star coalescing in her palm, and lancing towards the nearest huscarl, knocking him off balance and noticeably scorching a part of his skin.

At the same time, Talani underwent a transformation that was less visually exciting, but no less dramatic. He quickly shucked off his pack, and immediately there was a sound like stretching leather. The markings across his body flared briefly, the ancient language of the giants hidden in the natural ‘tattoos’ that his race had. As they did, that same ancient magic flooded his body, and his already large frame expanded again. In every dimension he grew, and his muscles became more defined, if possible. He stood now some 12 feet tall, practically hunched over in the chamber. His axe which had seemed almost comically large, was now a one-handed weapon to him, and he immediately used his now-free hand to grab the nearest huscarl, and bodily fling him away.

That had rebalanced the odds somewhat, but by no means tilted them in their favour. It did mean that Tove and Alf were now between them more of a match for the two they had initially engaged, with Alf’s staff lit more brightly than ever. This freed up Talani to take on Beowulf alongside Reg, and he did so, a bellowing charge signalling his intent. Beowulf accepted this challenge with a laugh, and axe met sword with a surprisingly metallic ring, and an even more surprising contest of physical strength, that seemed to be matched. Clearly there was more to this man than had met the eye.