The voice was still warbling, "Where they play the right mus—"

“Could you cut that out!” I snapped.

Seven warriors moved toward me. I had bitten off more than I could chew. These were Hordesmen. The thought of retreat flashed through my mind. I could be gone in an instant with the Footfield... but Chowwick...

The voice chimed in, "This needs a score, young man! This is a legend-building battle! There’s an audience!"

I snarled, “I can’t concentrate with that noise!”

The voice sniffed. "Noise? Fine, if that’s the way you’re going to be, then I won’t give your legend a soundtrack."

Seven was surely too many. But what choice did I have? They spread out, trying to surround me, making it harder to defend myself. I couldn’t let them succeed.

There was no fear on their faces. Only savage, eager expressions. They wanted this. It made no sense to me. They might overwhelm me with those weapons, but I was a Griidlord—it would cost them dearly.

Their weapons glowed.

My visor blazed.

They sprang as I sprang. Everything turned into frenetic madness. My BEAM pulsed, cutting off the lateral movements of those trying to flank me. My sword flashed. AGILITY consumed me. I had to evade and keep evading—those power weapons could nullify my armor.

It felt like a fever dream. Without POWER, it wouldn’t have been possible. Even with the advantage of SPEED, slowing their movements relative to mine, it was a constant struggle to keep seven thrusting weapons from finding their mark.

CUT blazed, and I roared—an animalistic sound erupting from me without my awareness. My blade flashed, and an arm suddenly flew into the air, dark against the brightness of the sky, a stream of blood leaving dots in the air.

I pulsed BEAM at close range, and suddenly there was a cavern of light in the center of a man’s torso.

I went airborne as weapons surged toward me. AGILITY carried me over them. CUT blazed again. Another of them staggered away, clutching a gaping wound that ran from throat to shoulder. But there was no pause, no fear in the others as they watched their comrades meet such grisly ends.

I was exhausting myself. POWER could only last so long. I landed, and there was no respite. Four men now charged me, screaming and cackling with a strange glee.

The voice warned, "POWER won’t last forever... also, this would be better with music."

That wasn’t music! I roared as I stepped up to meet the charge. I used my SPEED to sidestep a thrusting sword, then moved bodily against the wielder, pulsing SHIELD while body-checking him with the full force of my armor. My sword worked to fend off the other blades. The impact of SHIELD and the momentum of my armored form sent the man sprawling. I heard the crunch of bones as he was thrown back. I turned, my sword still moving.

Exhilaration surged through me! I had started with seven—now there were four left, one of them badly hurt. I was winning. I was winning while my men and the empire soldiers watched. My heart pounded in my chest, now driven more by excitement than fear.

My blade screamed through the air and shattered the haft of a power axe. The warrior holding it staggered back, blinking in confusion as the light faded from his weapon. A savage thrust from my sword robbed the light from his eyes as I speared his chest.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Numbers flashed on my visor. CUT 6.0. SHIELD 4.0. The numbers streamed by too quickly for me to fully register.

The man I had body-checked lay writhing on the ground, one hand clawing at the dust and strands of grass in agony, the other gripping his chest. Mists of blood spurted from his mouth as he coughed and choked.

Two left!

I turned toward them. I must have seemed like a nightmare—my visor blazing with the power of a god, my armor painted in the blood of my enemies.

Then POWER vanished from me, and I staggered. I stumbled forward, barely managing to parry a thrust from a glowing sword.

I felt suddenly so slow after the rush of SPEED. I turned and deflected another sword. They were pressing harder, sensing the light gone from my helm. They smelled blood. They smelled a chance.

Frustration boiled in me. Rage rose, suddenly more prominent than anything else. I wouldn't be denied.

They threw everything into their next attack, hoping to finish me before POWER returned. One came low, striking for my legs, while the other leaped higher than I’d have imagined a mortal could.

The man below me met his end as CUT split his skull. As he died, his sword slashed my calf. Pain shot through me—the agony of flesh and the suit both. Smoke and sparks erupted from the wound, and my hot blood spilled and burned there too.

I staggered, twisting toward the man descending from above. My hand flashed out, pulsing SHIELD, turning his blade away. He twisted mid-air, but my hand continued, meeting his chest. The strength of the suit held him there, momentarily suspended in the air, a frozen moment.

The barest tip of my sword slipped into his throat. Then my vision was drowned in an avalanche of blood. His throat pulsed, waves of red pouring over me.

But it was over.

I didn’t discard him immediately. I just stood there, his dying form going limp in my grip, blood cascading over me.

In the distance, I could hear the howls and cheers of the crowd. I turned my head, the blood running out of my visor, allowing me to see. SIGHT showed hundreds of men cheering—my men, the Empire soldiers—all of them hooting and screaming.

I tossed the corpse aside, with more disdain than maybe I should have, casting the dead man away like garbage.

I hobbled toward where I had seen Chowwick go down. My calf was agony.

The grass parted as I moved, revealing movement ahead.

Chowwick’s helm emerged through a curtain of yellow-green as he crawled toward me.

“Ti! Lad! You’re alright! You shouldn’t have come!”

I looked down at my new friend. The chain was wrapped into his armor, as though it had melted together with it. I couldn’t tell if it was part of his flesh as well. I feared the worst. His organs might be choking and failing even as he tried to drag himself into the fight. His armor was blackened and smoking in places. The power weapons had done their work, but the thickness of the Shield suit’s armor seemed to have saved him from more savage injuries.

“I had to come! How badly are you hurt?”

His helm melted back to reveal his bearded face, grimacing. “I can’t move my legs... I think the chain melded with me... I might be done, lad.”

I shook my head. "No, not after this, not like this."

Chowwick rolled onto his back, levering himself up to look down at his legs. We both saw the chain disappearing into his armor and emerging on the other side in places.

He shook his head. "I never even got to fight alongside you..."

I knelt beside him. My calf burned and felt cold at the same time. "We’ll get you back to the Tower. We don’t know how bad it is."

He looked up at me, his small eyes narrowed with pain. "I’m the one meant to protect you, lad. You were my Shield today. I thank you. Whatever else happens, you saved my life."

We both turned our heads as we felt Tacita’s Footfield approach. She exited it neatly, closer than I would have liked—Arrows were known for their affinity with Footfield.

She stalked toward us, her eyes fixed on Chowwick’s wounds.

"I’ve seen worse," she said.

I asked quietly, "Will he be able to fight again, to keep his suit?"

Tacita shrugged. "The healing in a Tower can do miracles. Time will tell."

I stood, still heaving for breath, feeling the pain and weakness in my lower leg. The men in the distance were still cheering and roaring.

Tacita looked me up and down. I glanced at myself. My armor was painted with blood, nearly as bad as when the fiend had covered me in gore.

She lifted her helmet off with a hiss of air. I didn’t understand why some Griidlords removed their helms when they could just fold them away. It was a habit I would eventually develop as well.

She smiled. "That was a fine display. It’s hard to believe you’re in your first days with the suit."

She looked me up and down again, her smile widening. "You know, the Burghsmen were chanting 'Butcher' while you killed those men. I wonder what they’ll say when they see you painted like this."