“Yeah, we’ll be there. Just uh, give us a few minutes to wake up and change.”

The same polite voice resounded from the door. “Of course, my lord. We shall await your convenience.”

Cole retreated to the bedrooms, shaking Miles and Ethan awake.

Miles put on his vest. “What’s goin’ on?”

“King allegedly wants to see us so he sends goons to pick us up instead of hopping on the magic mirror.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Ethan grumbled. He readied his FAL. “Plan?”

The keyhole ahead was big enough for a peek. He could try to get a look, but if these weren’t actually knights, getting close to that door was asking to catch a bullet to the eye. Good thing they had a Scrying Pane. Perhaps the other guard posts would know.

“Give me a sec. I’ll check in with the guards.”

Cole returned to the master bedroom, moving the dial to the first guard post.

“Yes, my lord?” A bearded face appeared, torchlight flickering behind him.

“Quick question. Did the King send anyone up to get us?”

“No, my lord.” The man frowned. “His Majesty retired hours ago. Has someone –”

“Yes.” Cole slapped the emergency rune before the guard could finish. Red light blazed across the mirror’s surface.

The pounding at the door started before the glow even faded. “OPEN THIS DOOR!”

“Yo, they’re getting antsy out here,” Ethan called out as the china set up by the door rattled.

Shit. The emergency alert worked both fucking ways, apparently.

Another slam hit the door as Cole stepped into the living room. There went any pretense of legitimacy. These fuckers had just been waiting for an excuse.

“Ain’t lookin’ good, Mercer.” Miles flipped over a heavy table, taking cover behind it.

Cole positioned himself beside Miles, flipping his weapon’s selector to auto before fishing out a flashbang from his kit. “Yeah, no kidding.”

The door pounded again, splinters of wood flying off. The hinges were probably a few more hits from complete failure – maybe a minute before whoever was on the other side could force an entry.

They needed a way out. The window was right there, bright moonlight spilling in, but… well, it probably wasn’t the best idea. Sure, he’d managed to float his pack across the room earlier with barrier magic. Moving 30 pounds several feet without slipping had been hard enough; trying to control a full descent down four stories would be suicide. And that was just him.

Miles couldn’t even keep his pack from sliding off his barrier, and Ethan’s attempt barely fared better. Maybe shape the barrier into a box and give themselves an elevator ride?

Cole created a small proof-of-concept, the blue glow confirming it could work. Still, though, it wasn’t something he wanted to try unless absolutely necessary.

Parachute fall? They weren’t designed for unassisted falls, but what if they could strengthen their entire bodies with magic, to absorb the shock? Same principle as their arms during training. But one screwup trying magic they’d just learned today and they’d be testing if those healers could put them back together. Not exactly Plan A material.

Service corridor? Nah. Even if they could make a chokepoint out of it, all those locked doors meant they’d just be trapping themselves. They could try following the path into the service floor, but who knew what the layout was like? Not to mention getting some maids caught in the crossfire. Heroes probably shouldn’t start their career by getting civilians killed.

What else was there? Window was out, service hall was out, and staying to fight completely hinged on help arriving promptly. They just needed any way out of this box – one that Ethan’s kit might just have a solution for.

“Walker, think you can make a hole into the next suite?”

“Yeah.” Ethan grabbed his gear, already grabbing a breaching charge. “Four minutes, tops.”

4 minutes never sounded longer, though it wasn’t as if there were any better options. “Alright. We’ll keep ‘em busy. Let’s just hope I’m tripping.”

For once he actually hoped he was just being paranoid as fuck about these ‘knights.’ If tonight was just a false alarm, he’d gladly take the L on that one, and possibly try to find schizo meds. Castle maintenance was sure to bitch about the wall, but either way, they could take it up with whoever the fuck was trying to break down their door.

A barrier materialized ahead of Miles – akin to riot squad transparent plastic, but glowing blue. The angle and shape were good too; just enough space to work the shotgun’s barrel through.

Another hit rocked the door. Hinges had already popped out of the frame – one, maybe two more before they were gone entirely. Cole kept his thumb on the spoon of his flashbang and worked the pin out.

The door exploded inward. The first observation to grace his eyes was the fact that yes – these guys were indeed knights. Brigandine armor, tabards, just like the guys they’d seen patrolling. Most up front with swords, a couple in the back with older rifles – probably earlier versions of the ones they had messed around with earlier..

For a split second Cole wondered if he’d fucked up; if this really was some official business and he was about to flashbang legit royal guards.

But ain’t no way did a mere summons demand a whole breaching operation, nor did it warrant the use of those big-ass anti-demon rifles. He was almost flattered they considered them that much of a threat – which they were – but fuck if it wasn’t absurdly overkill. The two in the back raised their weapons, taking aim.

And after all that talk about how bad they needed heroes? Yeah, these definitely were not the king’s men.

As muzzle flashes lit up the doorway, Cole tossed his flashbang and immediately prepped a grenade. The concussion should’ve disoriented them, at least bought them a few crucial seconds, but these guys barely even flinched. Shit, they probably had that admittedly fantastic hearing protection under their helmets.

The frag would have to do more work then. He tossed it over the front line, the little ball of death rolling right under the doorway as Miles let his shotgun ring. Blue barriers flickered into existence at shin height while he worked the pump.

It was the type of shit Cole wished he could’ve had available to him; God knows how useful even a trick like this would’ve been. Coveting – let alone implementing – such cheap ass moves might’ve hardly been fair or honorable, perhaps even unheroic. But it was damn effective, and all’s fair in war – especially when the enemy couldn’t care less about stealing away a solid night’s sleep.

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The barriers caught their legs perfectly. First ‘knight’ hit it at a run, shins slamming straight into solid magic as the grenade detonated behind them. Somehow, tripping up seemed more effective at slowing them down.

High explosive plus frag coil in an enclosed space? That equation was supposed to equal chunks of dead motherfucker. These knights, it seemed, remained unfazed by it, barely staggering.

Their unholy shrieks and the purple blood leaking through the gaps confirmed what he’d suspected in the split second they entered – they were not human. It also confirmed another important thing: if they could bleed, they could die.

Good thing Cole decided to go full auto.

His 5.45 zipped through their brigandine armor easily enough, and while it was a relief that modern ammunition could still hold its weight, it ultimately didn’t matter when the rounds did jack shit. They penetrated, yeah – obvious enough given the blood flowing out, but they just kept pushing, absorbing the hits like they were nothing.

Three rounds center mass would fold any normal human. These fuckers? Barely slowed. Five rounds into the same target and it still advanced. Damn near a half a mag later and the monster was finally starting to stumble, but its sword arm was still trying to come up for a swing. He tripped it up with barrier magic to cover his reload. It was like trying to take down a bear with nine mil – possible, but not advisable.

Miles’ buckshot fared a hell of a lot better with the sheer kinetic energy and pellet count, having sent three of their number sprawling already. One got close to the table, but he caught it clean in the face. The helmet went flying and – Jesus. Grey skin pulled tight over a skull that was all wrong, a human face melting into something not quite.

Was this… one of those demons Fotham had mentioned? The damn thing was basically a skinwalker – some really uncanny valley type shit. Their disguises were falling apart now, that perfect royal guard illusion dissolving like a mirage. Maybe the magic couldn’t hold up the damage. Or maybe they just didn’t give a fuck about keeping up appearances anymore. Either way, what pushed through that doorway was not fucking human.

The swordsman Cole had expended his partial mag on dashed straight for him, immediately throwing up a barrier – just a flat plane of blue force between it and Cole’s fire. The next two did the same. Miles’ buckshot splattered harmlessly against the shields, which visibly thinned and flickered but didn’t crack.

Fuck. They hadn’t even killed one of them yet, and they were already pulling some Phase 2 boss fight bullshit? For all intents and purposes, their fight just went from a battle against some unnaturally powerful knights to a deathmatch against shielded alien supersoldiers sans the plasma guns and laser swords – and they didn’t have power armor to even the scales.

More pushed through behind them, each spawning their own protection. Eight of the sword-wielding bastards, all rushing them. As big as the room was, it might as well have been a closet with how fast they moved.

They wouldn’t be able to hold the table for long – not that it mattered anyway. To make a fucked situation even worse, the air suddenly went arctic right along the table, threatening to freeze their balls off. Whatever it was, Cole definitely wasn’t sticking around for it. He and Miles jumped backward just as spears of ice erupted from the overturned tabletop.

Should’ve fucking known they wouldn’t stick to plain old swords. Sure, at some point he’d expected to see what actual combat magic looked like in Tenria. He’d been pretty damn curious about it, even.

Just not a few hours after learning how to make a basic barrier. Not in a life-or-death slugfest.

And now they were caught in the open, right in their enemy’s line of sight. What the fuck could they do?

Block those massive rifles with barriers they’d barely learned to make? Shit, maybe Level 10 barriers would be enough, but risking their lives over it would be a fool’s gambit. Getting the swordsmen between them and the gunners, on the other hand…

Cole shifted left, trying to keep the charging skinwalkers between him and their riflemen. It worked; their own guys were blocking clear shots. Of course, they couldn’t catch a damn break as their small victory was rendered completely moot by the inevitable closing of the gap. So much for keeping this a ranged engagement.

At least proximity offered one consolation – the beautiful irony in how close quarters nullified their barriers. They couldn’t exactly bisect someone with a wall of their own design in the way. Be it through dispelling the shield or simply pushing it to the side, if they wanted to attack, they’d first have to make themselves vulnerable.

Coincidentally, the most vulnerable of the fuckers happened to be his first target, purple still leaking from where his AK had punched through earlier.

The monster raised its sword, shield dropping just like he’d hoped. Maybe being wounded made it expendable in whatever passed for their tactical doctrine, or maybe it was just too fucked up to swing fast enough. Cole put another burst through it, dodging back.

The thing staggered but kept coming – still took another two bursts before it finally went down. Shit, he may as well be playing Round 30 without Pack-a-Punch. Probably burned through another half a mag including the subsequent security tap, which wasn’t really sustainable considering he had two left. But hey, one less skinwalker to worry about.

Miles had his own problems sorted. He faced the one he blew the helmet off earlier, catching it exposed mid swing. The buckshot did what buckshot did best – most of its head just wasn’t there anymore; just gone with the fuckin’ wind. Grey matter and bone fragments decorated the wall behind it, splattering what was probably a priceless painting. Oh well.

The body dropped like a puppet, shield flickering out and sword clattering onto the floor. Two down – a minor victory. Not incredible per se, considering the effort that went into killing just two of them, but force reduction was force reduction. At least they had 8 bullet sponges to worry about instead of 10.

However, the skinwalkers’ attacks were driving them apart – Miles getting pressured toward the kitchen while the other half pushed Cole deeper into the living room. The enemy was trying to divide and conquer, but there was little he could do about it..

The living room, thankfully enough, was built for some noble’s fancy parties – plenty of space to work with, even with furniture scattered about. Another creature charged from behind a couch, blade swinging diagonally across. Cole angled a barrier to match, turning a killing stroke into a wide miss. The sword slid harmlessly past.

A shadow stretched across the floor from the windows – another one trying to flank. Its thrust came straight on – different problem entirely. No deflection angle would help when the point was coming right at his chest. Cole spawned a barrier offset to the side, catching the blade near its tip and forcing it to slide along the surface. The demon’s momentum carried it forward while Cole backed toward the center of the room, away from the corner they were trying to push him into.

The third rushed his new position from behind a toppled armchair, coming in high while he was managing those deflections. Another barrier, another deflected strike – sword scraping off with a sound like steel on glass. Then the fourth pressed in from the direction of the front door, and his barrier wobbled before stabilizing.

Fuck. This wasn’t from magical strain; he had plenty left in the tank. Nah, this was just cognitive overload – too much shit to worry about. Four different attacks, calculating angles, popping up barriers, trying to find an opening for his gun, managing positions… it’d probably be attrition that would fuck him over.

And that’s what made the next reprieve all the more appreciable. The one closest to him overcommitted, barrier nowhere to be found as it tried to take advantage of his tired guard. Cole had been waiting for exactly that kind of mistake. He emptied the last half of his mag straight into its skull, 5.45 rounds crashing into it in a spray of purple. He sidestepped as the body tumbled.

Three down, probably. But that still left way too many of these fuckers, and now he only had two magazines left. They weren’t giving him any breathing room either – no chance to actually confirm the kill or adjust position outside of a few dashes.

Cole hit his magazine release, arm already reaching for a fresh mag. The fencer that’d lunged at him earlier came in for another strike. A barrier pushed the sword up and away, but then rifle fire cracked from the doorway.

The rounds zipped past him, one striking the fencer square in the side. The shot ripped through the fencer, disintegrating it with the same brutality of a Bradley’s autocannon on an insurgent. Gore splattered the dining area, scattered remnants of monstrous organs sullying velvet.

One of the remaining two swordsmen got caught with shrapnel, sending it reeling – hopefully dead, but Cole would more than settle for temporarily incapacitated.

Four down and one out of commission, and he hadn’t even lifted a finger. But fuck him if anything ever came easy.

As ice began crystallizing across the floor, Cole pirouetted away from the jagged spears that erupted where he’d been standing. Whether they’d seen it coming or he’d just been too caught up to see it coming, the result was the same: he’d walked right into their trap.

In that split second of divided attention, a vice-like grip caught his arm.