Chapter 10: Enter the Hunter: Part Two
Marcello received no warning. One moment he’d been deep in his meditation, trying to strengthen one weak energy channel near his left hip, and then he was wrenched back to the world at large as a huge form slammed through one wall and brought part of the roof down.
The shock of it, the sudden noise, the billow of dust, the sight of the tent he’d been using for the past night being crushed under debris, all of it came at once! All he could do was gape at the massive form before him as it started to rise and find its huge, clawed feet, unable to make the mental leap from where he had been to where he now was.
Then the gigantic form shook itself and a rumbling growl seemed to make the very concrete beneath him shake as it turned. For just a moment small black eyes in a huge, furred face stared at him. Well, small in comparison to the rest of the face, in reality those eyes were larger than the mage’s fists. Then the eyes were gone as the huge beast finished turning and began to lumber out of the hole it had smashed into the warehouse.
That was when Marcello’s brain finally managed to kick into gear and start running up to speed. Thoughts that had been stunned into inactivity began to race and the reality of the situation hit home!
The first thing he did was to dive towards the table he’d left the scabbard on. Fortunately, even though he no longer needed physical contact he’d still kept it close. His arms closed around the wrapped artefact even as he came down into a roll that he’d used to dodge gunfire in the past. The sound of crashing metal and concrete filled the air as more of the building came down, but it was mere background noise compared to what held his attention.
The wards around the warehouse had served to contain all traces of magic that might have given them away. The only problem, as Marcello was only now realising, was that it also kept any trace coming in from outside. With the wards broken by the physical damage to the warehouse, he was now free to feel all the magic emanations beating down on him, and it was all he could do not to swallow his tongue in shock.
One, two, three, four . . . five? Six? He could feel massive beacons of power nearby, power that felt so strong! Some of them were greater than others, some of them blazed with such power it was as though he was standing in the presence of his patron once more! Was that what he was sensing, the power of gods?
They were fighting, the huge auras of power clashing in storms of energies he could barely get his head around. All he could do was clutch at the artefact in his arms and try to get his bearings. To the side, he saw the massive form of the creature that had smashed into the warehouse rear up, its form blotting out a nearby streetlight. Power radiated from the huge form like heat from a bonfire, but there was another force closing fast, one that felt larger and even more oppressive.
And then there was another power . . . the scarred magic user shook his head, trying to keep himself from getting lost in observing all the massive auras about him. Was this what a moth felt like when it was surrounded by fires? Aware it was in danger, but somehow captivatingly fascinated as well? Gritting his teeth he turned, trying to spot the other two. There was no sign of them, and for a moment he wondered if they’d been crushed under the falling debris.
Movement to his left caught his eye and he turned to see his collaborators in the theft, the woman dragging the man to his feet. Both of them looked fine, dusty and shaken, but fine. Marcello took a step towards them, then paused as he re-evaluated the situation. Did he really want to hamper himself with these two? He could conceal himself and the scabbard, but was he sure he could conceal them too? Could they help him? Could they be of use, or would they just be a millstone around his neck?
Suddenly they both went down, large black and furred bodies bearing them to the ground in a blur. Huge dogs, black as night, with eyes that burnt with greenish-yellow fires, crouched over them, fanged jaws gripping the backs of their necks but not yet biting down. His eyes widened as he recognised them.
Black dogs, Cu Sidhe, faerie hounds. These were beasts that belonged to the Sidhe Courts, the main powers of the fey realms. They were the monsters of folklore, stalkers of those who offended their masters, killers of children who broke the old rules, monsters in the night.
So why were they here? France might be in their general territory as was most of Europe, but this was a city, a metropolis of industry, metal and modern materials such as concrete, glass and plastic. Such a place should be repellent to beings of the fey, as foul as a cesspool would be to a mortal.
“Interesting. This hunt is indeed favoured by fortune sweet and ill.”
The words were spoken by a figure as it came out of the shadows. For a moment all Marcello could do was stare. Pale skin, dark hair, eyes the colour of freshly spilt blood, ears that were ever so slightly pointed, a slight flash of fangs as he spoke. Vampire! The thought ripped through his mind like a bolt of lightning across a stormy sky.
Vampires had been among the many races that had returned with the opening of the Pathways. They weren’t a power on par with the pantheons or the fey courts, but they had been one of the last supernatural races to lose their purchase in the mortal world. As such their legend had been of a more recent vintage than the ancient myths that remained of the gods and their ilk. There were rumours, unconfirmed as of yet, that Bram Stoker might have been tapping into something when he wrote his novel, some sort of bloodline memory, and there really was a vampire monarch called Dracula.
Vampires came in many breeds and bloodlines, Chinese hopping vampires, the Greek Empusa, and the African Asanbosam, the concept and nature of a creature of the night that drank blood was widespread and potent. The figure before seemed to be of the most famed European breed, the type made famous by Bram Stoker. Human-like, almost beautiful even. Physically powerful, but also possessing strong magical potential, and, potentially most dangerously, intelligent even with bloodlust.
A deadly creature alone, but one backed by fey hounds . . . not good.
The blooddrinker looked down on the two pinned mercenaries in much the same way a hunter would evaluate prey he had just cornered. No, not prey. Prey was worth the hunt, the effort, prey was a contestant to be overcome. The vampire was looking at them as though they were . . . cattle, helpless commodities to be bought, owned and bled dry at his whim.
“Strong, good stock, certainly not of the common rabble. I’m certain a use could be found for you both.”
His eyes flicked over towards Marcello, and the magic user tensed, every bit of magic he had control over going into hiding him, making him unnoticeable. For a moment those eyes passed over him, treating him as nothing more than part of the background. He didn’t even have time to feel relieved though, before they returned, spearing him as a hunter would prey.
“Not bad. A fine attempt, enough to let me know you have talent and power.” Pale lips spread in a smile that revealed those fangs once more, and Marcello felt a cold sweat break out on his back. “You aren’t what we came looking for, but I think you might have some value.”
HOW?! The thought ripped across the magic user’s mind as he frantically started to gather his magic together. He might not have possessed the raw power of his cloaked ally, but he was confident in his more subtle manipulations. Cloaking and scrying were his strongest talents. This vampire shouldn’t have been able to see through his efforts so easily. As though reading his mind the pale man before him offered up a smug smile.
“You can hide your form, but not your blood. Not from me.”
Shit! The situation was going from bad to worse. Another figure was emerging from the shadows behind the vampire, though this time it was far more monstrous. Gaunt to the point of being skeletal, clad in rags, disproportionate limbs, and eye sockets filled with the same sulphurous green fire as the fey hounds. Some sort of undead? Maybe some sort of monster or goblin? He couldn’t be sure, but he knew it was another threat.
“Don’t make this harder. If you’re broken, then it might reduce your value.”
Okay, that seemed to be one bright spot, the vampire was a talker. If he liked to hear himself, then it meant he was probably arrogant, the sort of egotistism that almost always came back to bite you in the ass. Of course, he might just be that good, but if that was the case then Marcello was screwed anyway, so he might as well keep operating as though he still had a chance.
“Take him!”
The order came in a sharp commanding tone, and the scarred mage had to struggle to keep a smile from forming. Good, this guy didn’t even seem willing to get his hands dirty, just palming it off to a lacky instead. The gaunt thing lurched forward, one arm swinging out with long and gnarled fingers reaching out to grab at him. Marcello didn’t hesitate, one arm still clutched the wrapped scabbard to his chest, and the other came up in a clawing gesture towards his attacker.
The creature froze in place, its eyes somehow widening even further before pale blue fire erupted across it in four lines, as though it had been scratched by a giant flaming cat. With a howl of pain, the gaunt monster fell on its back, flailing and rolling as it tried to extinguish the burning scratches. Trying and failing. The pale fire persisted, growing until it covered the creature until it stopped moving and just lay there, slowly burning.
And during it all the magic user never took his eyes off the vampire. Even as the monster continued to turn into charcoal and the smell of burning meat filled the air, he never took his eyes off the bigger monster. For his part, the vampire seemed utterly unmoved by what had happened. That kind of casual disregard, it might mean that the bloodsucker didn’t give a damn about his lackeys, but normally someone would only show that lack of caring if had lackeys to spare.
As though to confirm his thoughts two more figures emerged to either side of the vampire. These were perhaps even more inhuman than the other one. They had the same deformed appearance, stretched-out arms and legs, squat torsos, only elongated necks. The difference was that these new creatures were more muscular than the first ones. Long ropey muscles that coiled around their limbs like tight snakes. Of course, this only served to make them more repulsive due to the other difference, namely that the creature seemed to have no skin.
Marcello didn’t think of himself as having a weak stomach, some of the things he’d had to do to survive in the past would have left the average civilian in a crying mess. Still, something primal within him recoiled at the sight of the thing that shouldn’t be able to even move, yet did so at a skittering, juddering speed.
He knew what they were, he’d seen a hand-drawn picture of them in one of the tomes he’d studied. Ghouls, vicious undead corpse eaters that normally scavenged from graveyards and battlefields. In terms of physical prowess, they were on par with a vampire but were little more than animals as far as intelligence went. They had just enough wits to hide when they had to and plan ambushes on targets that looked weak enough, but that was their limit. However, it was when they were controlled by a more intelligent creature they became truly dangerous.
Ghouls were favourites of necromancers for a reason, strong of body, weak of mind, easily controlled and with little in the way of a will to resist. Under a user of death magic, a small pack of ghouls could go from scavengers to deadly marauders able to depopulate entire villages. Such servants were infamous and feared for good reason. A vampire wasn’t a necromancer, but they were a higher tier of undead, and most likely had the power and the will to force ghouls into servitude even without the use of spells.
Not good. Not good at all!
“An amusing bit of defiance,” The blood drinker spoke with the easy surety of absolute confidence. “But it doesn’t matter. Those of the Hunt shall not fall so easily.”
Marcello blinked at the vampire, wondering just what he was talking about, but then movement to the side drew his attention. Desperate not to be flanked, knowing that if he was then it was game over, the magic user retreated, trying to open up more space. To his surprise the vampire and his ghouls didn’t follow him, instead, they remained in place, the pale undead’s smiles seeming to grow as he watched him. All of Marcello’s instincts were screaming at him now, that smile was far too smug, it was the face of someone who knew they knew something that others didn’t. It was a dangerous smile, a smile he’d seen in the past, normally just before someone died.
The sight that greeted him when he’d made enough room to bring the movement into his line of sight was almost enough to break his concentration. It was the charcoaled remains of the first monster. Against all rational reason, they were moving! It was all Marcello could do not to goggle at the sight like a mortal seeing magic for the first time. The spell he’d struck the creature with had been claws of ghost fire, his best combat spell that didn’t require any set-up. It was a spiritually based attack, one that combined the essence of fire, spirituality and death to produce flames that burnt the soul as much as they did the spirit. Such an attack could be resisted, but once it got a hold of a target like it had then there shouldn’t be any way for them to survive.
And yet the blackened and burnt remains of the gaunt monster were twitching, shifting and then standing up. Before the scarred mage’s disbelieving eyes, the creature that should be dead stood, no longer burning with pale blue fires, but rather wreathed in the same yellowish-green flames that filled the eyes of the other monsters. Beneath the corona of flames, the gaunt figure seemed to unburn, every piece of harm done by the ghost fire reversing and becoming undone. In only a few moments the monster he’d taken down was back on its feet, even the dirty rags it wore were restored to what they’d been before.
This . . . this was impossible! But even as he finished the thought Marcello was railing at himself for being so naieve. He should know that he was only knowledgeable enough to know how ignorant he was. Yes, he’d been trained and educated, years’ worth of it being crammed into only a few months, but that was hardly all the knowledge the world had to offer. He knew there were wonders and horrors out there that he knew nothing about. And it looked like one of them was now right in front of him.
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“So . . . ? What shall you do now? What useless defiance can you offer up?”
The blood-drinking bastard was enjoying this. Watching him try, watching him fail, watching as it all dawned on him just how screwed he was. The fanged monster was practically getting off on it! Okay, okay . . . fighting wasn’t looking like it was really an option, and stealth looked like it was off the table as well, what did that leave him? Could he defend? Hold out until things changed? There were enough divine signatures of power nearby that it might work. If he could hold the vampire and his servants off long enough it might draw one of those signatures closer. Faced with something like that the bloodsucker would have to run.
. . . and then Marcello would end up facing that divinity on his own. Yeah, that was basically throwing himself into the lava to get away from the ash. Not the best move he could make.
That left running as his only real option.
His magic surged within him again, twisting, braiding, forming into the patterns needed to enforce an effect upon the word. This was the style of magic Marcello had carefully cultivated. A style that wasn’t dependent upon spells or artefacts, instead, he directly shaped the power within himself through superior control. It was s style suited to him, given his relatively low raw power but excellent deftness. Additionally, it had another advantage, namely that without a very high level of energy sensitivity there was no way to tell he was preparing to act.
He drew deeply on his core and upon the second mana pool in the geass-bound imprint Morrigan had branded him with. What he was going to do would consume most of his power, but this was an all-or-nothing situation, he either won, or he got dragged off for whatever the vampire wanted. He didn’t let any of it show on his face though. Even as he slowly backed away from the approaching ghouls, he didn’t let any hint of his internal efforts touch his expression. Instead, he built it up, let the pressure grow and waited for a chance.
“YAHHH!”
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The man who had been held down by the fey hound suddenly surged up, his arm whipping out from under his body, revealing the pistol that had been concealed. Quick as a snake he jammed it against the side of the hound’s head and pulled the trigger three times in quick succession. Each pull fired another bullet, and with each bullet that drove into it the black dog twitched and spasmed. Jaws poised to clamp down gaped open and the man took the chance to roll out from under the beast before it collapsed on top of him.
Cold iron bullets! In the wake of increasing activity in Europe and North America by the various fey forces such ammunition had been growing more common. They might not have been as good as the regular lead, but when it came to dealing with fey it was another matter. Fey might not be immortal in the same way as gods, but they were almost impossibly hard to put down. To kill a faerie or the like without some sort of magic or cold iron . . . well, it was normally best to go with the complete vampire approach.
Stake through the heart or cut off the head, preferably both, cremate the whole thing and then scatter the ashes over several different bodies of running water. Just to be safe. The problem with that was that taking down a fey by mundane means racked up a heavy cost in lives. Cold iron was the equaliser, the edge that had let mortals survive the fey rather than being subjugated by them. Used in swords and knives, it had been enough, in modern-day bullets . . . yeah, that dog should be dead!
Should be dead . . .
Why was it getting up?
Marcello watched in horror as the fey hound staggered back to its feet. Its movements were uncoordinated, and blood like tar oozed from the bullet holes, but somehow it was still alive.
“URK!”
He’d been distracted! In the brief moment his eyes had been focused on the dog the vampire had covered the distance between them and now had the gunman by the throat. Absently Marcello noted that even after almost a week he still had no idea as to the names of his co-conspirators. They were just the man and the woman, that was it. The absent thought wandered through his thoughts as he noticed just how little he cared about this development. The man was providing a distraction, there wasn’t much of importance beyond that.
“You are all just making this more difficult than it needs to be,” the vampire didn’t sound angry, just annoyed, as though he were dealing with children who kept making a mess. “All this does is increase the chances of me breaking you by accident.”
If the man was in any way intimidated by those words, he didn’t show it. Instead, he brought up the gun to the vampire’s chest and kept firing until the gun clicked on empty. Then he dropped the weapon and made to draw the combat knife at his belt. For his part the bloodsucker didn’t react, he just let the bullets hit home without flinching. It was only when the knife came up in an attempt to stab through his chin and up into his brain that he reacted.
The almost delicate-looking hand closed around the man’s wrist, and with a wet crunching sound closed his fingers tight.
To the man’s credit, he didn’t scream. His face drained of blood and Marcello could see the veins standing out on his neck as he clenched his jaw, but he didn’t make a sound. Instead, he tried to grab something else from his belt. The mage couldn’t see what it was, not from his angle, but whatever it was drew an irritated frown from the vampire. The bloodsucker’s eyes flicked downwards, returned to the man’s face, and then narrowed. In the next moment, there was another wet crack, though this one was far louder.
The scarred mage didn’t move, didn’t react, almost all his attention focused on the building power within him. He might not have large amounts of mana to work with, but even if you only had a cup of water if you boiled it, put it under pressure, and then let it all out at once, then you could get something dangerous. Every second given to him let him build his magic up a little more and gave him a better chance of making it out of this alive.
The vampire stared at the body he still held, frowned, then threw it aside as though it were just unwanted trash.
“Pointless. A pointless resistance, a pointless death. He has robbed me of little enough and lost all in the doing. Pointless and wasteful.”
It sounded more like he was talking to himself than anything else, but then those red eyes came up to focus on Marcello once more.
“Enough of this! You shall come quietly, or you shall be dragged along upon broken legs! Choose wisely, because-”
The bloodsucker was cut off by a sudden yelp as the second fey dog, the one that had been holding the woman down, released its hold upon her and flinched away from her. The woman had been biding her time it would seem but had now drawn a dagger of some sort and slashed at the hound with it. The scarred mage couldn’t get a good look at it, but he noted a wavey edge, discoloured metal and runes that glowed faintly upon it, all hints of a weapon enhanced with magic.
Well, it didn’t matter. What was important was that both the dead man’s actions and the woman’s had given him what he needed. Time and an opening.
His free hand came up, his intention disguised as ineffectual flailing. The vampire took his eyes off the new struggle to look at his captive, disdain and annoyance competing in his gaze. He then dismissed Marcello as a threat, his lip curling in contempt, and turned back as the woman stabbed the hound once more.
That was what the scarred mage had been waiting for!
Still clutching the wrapped-up scabbard to his body with one arm his other came up like a snake, pressing his palm against the vampire’s face. The pale bloodsucker just had time for his features to begin to shift towards disgust for the touch, and then Marcello’s accumulated power surged out, and the vampire’s entire head was reduced to a fine red mist.
Tumbling to the floor as the arm holding him went slack the scarred mage was immediately scrambling to his feet. A single glance told him that the woman had survived, killing the huge hound and making her escape in the chaos.
Good idea.
Focusing all his power Marcello wrapped himself in another cloak of magic, hiding himself as deeply as he could. He would escape! He would survive!
As prepared as he could be he took off, ducking into the shadows, moving quietly, uncaring that behind him sulphurous green energy was gathering around the headless body of his attacker.
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I was losing, no two ways about it.
The giant bear and I were holding on, we were fighting, tanking blows, striking back, not giving an inch without a struggle. We’d smashed at least two dozen of those phantom hounds into fading sparks, burnt at least three of those stabbing trees and torn up the docks until it looked like they’d been bombed.
Too bad none of that changed the basic fact that we were losing.
“Weak! Weak! WEAK!”
Again my shield shattered as the wooden spear struck it. Though it managed to hold together enough that the force of the blow sent me back, out of range of a follow-up strike. Off to the side, the bear roared as it smashed down again, crushing something that looked like a skeleton that had somehow kept its skin, that had been trying to stab him with a flaming dagger. I could hear the crunch of bones, but a second later I saw the flare of yellow-green flames that I was getting all too familiar with.
I thrust forward with both hands, the air responding to both my movement and my will, whipping up into a tunnel of gale-force winds no thicker than a telephone pole. It stabbed out like a battering ram, but Herne and his mount were already out of the way, the massive horse moving with a lightness and grace unnatural for something so big. Concrete shattered and flew, but the old god’s ghost showed it as much concern as he would a mild drizzle.
Damn it! That was this whole fight! I was throwing everything I had at him, fire, lightning, TK blasts, wind blades, water spouts, anything and everything I could think of, and it wasn’t doing anything! I’d thought Etienne was tough, given how he recovered from any wound I managed to inflict, but Herne wasn’t even getting hurt in the first place! He just took it all like a tank being attacked with arrows. I’d even tried to repeat my trick with the seawater and ice, a single slash of his spear had torn apart the magic before it could even get a proper hold on the water.
“Pitiful!”
With that declaration Herne swung his spear again, this time causing mist to billow up around him in response. Mist that followed his movements, forming a great arc that crashed outwards like a wave, a wave that hit me and the huge bear with the force of a runaway train.
I’d only just managed to put up another shield in time, the bubble of force barely able to absorb the impact before it shattered again, and I was sent flying back again. This time I didn’t have as easy a time of it though, since I’d lost track of my surroundings when I concentrated on the air ram. Stupid! A stupid mistake, Hadriel had always gone on about being aware, but there hadn’t been many obstacles back at the farmhouse to practice with. I’d drifted to the side and ended up with one of the taller warehouses behind me, a warehouse I now crashed into, and without a shield to soften the impact.
Concrete and plaster cracked behind me as my wings and back slammed into the wall between two windows. The only reason the whole wall didn’t come crashing down was that there was also some sort of metal support beam embedded in the wall, one I could feel since I’d smashed into it.
Pain shot up my back, hot and sharp. If it hadn’t been for the increases in endurance and durability since my awakening I was sure that my spine and ribs would have been nothing more than splinters in my pulped corpse. As it was I was hurt, but I could still fight. I just needed a couple of moments to pull myself back together.
The bear’s roar shook the night as it rose up on its hind legs and then came crashing down like an avalanche of muscle, fur and claws. Fire erupted out around it, a rolling wave of flames that consumed all attackers except for Herne. I’d seen the huge beast do this a couple of times already. It was a powerful attack, but not one that came free. The last time it had used it I’d noticed it getting a bit slower, losing some of its ferocity. It had recovered but for a moment . . .
The Horned Hunter had also seen it too, I guessed, because as soon as the flames subsided he was on the move, charging forward with his spear lowered like a knight’s lance.
I tried to move, to reach out and extend a shield in front of the bear. My halo chimed above me, responding to my desire and boosting my efforts. Then a line of red-hot pain shot up my back and I lost concentration, lost the power I was working with. I quickly recovered, but by then it was too late.
The bear had seen the charge coming and managed to lurch to the side. It might have been slowed, but it still moved impossibly fast for something that weighed as much as a full-grown elephant. It wasn’t enough though, not to completely dodge. Still, the impact that would have hit it head-on hit it in the flank instead.
I could feel my eyes widen in surprise and horror at what I saw next. The wooden tip of the spear didn’t sink into flesh as I’d expected. Instead, it was as though the spear, Herne and his mount were all surrounded by some sort of invisible force. Rather than being hit by a spear, it was as though an invisible tank had rammed into the side of the bear. With a yelp of pain and shock the huge form of the beast was sent spinning to the side, right into one of the only warehouses still standing. A whole wall came down, sheet metal doors came crashing down, along with bricks and metal beams. The sound was deafening, then it went quiet, the only sound was the heavy bellows-like breathing of the bear as it lay there, stunned and in pain.
“Is it worth it?!” Herne demanded, his voice cracking like the whip of some cruel slaver. “Is your defiance worth this pain? Is your pride worth your suffering? Surrender! Accept your fate with dignity.”
Where were the others? I knew that Kali and Athena had said they weren’t there to fight my battles for me, but a bodyguard or a protective teacher would be a real big help! Joan and Hadriel might not have as much firepower as a goddess, but they would be welcomed backup about now. What was keeping them? I couldn’t believe that this fight hadn’t drawn their attention.
As though to answer my thoughts I heard an explosion some distance away, followed by the tearing screech of ripping metal from another direction. How had I missed it until now? Well, the fight with the monsters had been loud, and then fighting with Herne had been louder. Had he just not noticed it until now?
“There shall be no aid,” The hunter’s voice answered my unasked question as the helmed head turned to face me. “The Hunt is strong, even your goddesses shall be kept away. No allies rush to aid you, no reinforcements come to offer succour. You are alone, against me, a god. Spare yourselves more torment. Accept your defeat.”
Damn it! We really couldn’t win!
So . . . why hadn’t we lost?
The thought grew in my mind, like a seed that had just found fertile soil. Herne was obviously stronger than me and the bear put together, so why hadn’t he beaten us unconscious and dragged us away? What was stopping him?
Like dominos lining up the thoughts came one after another. He kept on belittling us, demanding we accept, give up. Herne himself, he’d mentioned his hunt, and there were all these monsters . . . Herne the Hunter was often associated with the Wild Hunt, and that would explain what was holding up the others. The Wild Hunt . . . they weren’t something I knew a lot about, but I did know they had ties to loads of different mythologies. Germanic, Celtic, Norse, and even Greek. There were fairy tales as well, I was sure. And fairies had their own rules, rules they couldn’t break no matter how powerful they were.
Couldn’t break . . .
The last domino was set, then tilted over, setting off the chain.
That was it! I wasn’t sure why, but for some reason, Herne couldn’t just beat us unconscious and drag us away, he had to make us accept it, accept our defeat, break us! Until he did . . . well, it looked like he could still hurt us, but he couldn’t seem to finish us off.
Of course . . . that left a lot of unknowns. Maybe he could still kill us if he decided we weren’t worth the effort.
I could feel my mind eager to come up with questions, scenarios and possibilities, but I forced them all down. I couldn’t afford to overthink things. If I got distracted here then I wasn’t going to get another chance.
I didn’t like my options. This wasn’t a fight we could win, it was that simple. So, what did that leave me? I could cut and run, leave the bear and try to meet up with my allies. Not something I wanted to do. What about going to get help? I could leave the bear for a short time, then come back with reinforcements. But how long would that take? I didn’t think Joan or the others were being held up by goblins with sticks, whatever had them lagging had to be powerful. If I met up with them how long would it take me to free them up? How long could the bear last without me?
That just left fighting. Trying to buy time and hope reinforcements would arrive was an option, but I didn’t know how long we’d last. I was getting tired, and the bear looked more than a bit ragged.
That left my last option, the riskiest. Namely, going big.
As far as I could see it was the only option that stood any chance of turning things around. A gamble that would make or break me.
Gritting my teeth I forced myself out of the indentation in the concrete and into the air again, pulling on my magic as I did so.
More. More! I dragged it out of my core, out of my internal pathways, out of the air around me! As much power as I could, all of it funnelled down and condensed between my hands as I struggled to hold on to the growing mass of power.
Time to go big or go bust.