“What was that?” Claire put a hand to her hood and tugged it firmly over her head. The sun was strong today. She was concerned about her skin.

Buttonweed stepped out into the clearing. “Their blacksmith is clever. He likely found a way for them to defend themselves against arrows of true faith.” He signaled to Veximarl’s body with a set of fingers and nodded at their archer. “Keep an arrow tracked on him.”

The archer notched another arrow and kept the bowstring taut.

Alton pushed against Sybil’s forearms. She barely budged. “Well… This was not a part of our plan,” he said with a weak laugh.

Tears were forming in the corner of Sybil’s eyes. Though vacant and glazed over, it appeared as though some of her was still trapped in there.

“No, it’s alright,” whispered Alton. “I love you,” he said with a nod. He then winced when Her dagger dug into his skin. Hold still. He needed to hold very still. “You’re going to be fine, Sybil. You know they don’t want to kill you. No matter what happens to me and Vex, know that you’re going to be okay. You’re going to survive.”

The tears were now falling free from Sybil’s eyes and dripping onto Alton’s face.

“I love you,” repeated Alton. “So many people love you, Sybil. Always remember that.”

Alton heard footsteps crunch through the dirt and gravel. He couldn’t turn his head without injuring himself, so he didn’t see what was coming. Sybil raised the dagger slightly, and Alton felt cold metal surround his throat. Opening his mouth to say something, he was surprised when not a sound escaped his lips.

Sybil stood up and bowed her head forward. She kept it down as Alton scrambled to a stand. He glanced over to where Veximarl was and immediately felt ill. He had no idea if Veximarl could recover for those injuries, but he felt like it would’ve already happened if it was possible.

Buttonweed snapped his fingers to catch Sybil’s attention. “We have a wagon,” he said. “As long as you behave yourself, your wife will remain safe.” Sybil raised her dagger to her throat. Her blood ran along the edge of the blade. “We only need her to survive the trip. She does not need to be intact when we reach our destination.”

Alton glared at Buttonweed. He had to form his hand into a fist. The urge to grow claws and attack the paladin was too great. Even if he knew he was outmatched, Alton would do anything he could to gain the chance to rip out that man’s throat. A deep breath was taken, and he nodded his head.

Another clang rang out through the air. It was closer this time. Grimhawk was closing in on them.

Buttonweed let out a heavy sigh. “Twist.”

Sybil lowered the dagger from her neck and dashed off into the woods.

“We’ll leave when she returns,” said Buttonweed with a flex of his hand. Next to him, Claire fell to her knees. “Stop being dramatic, Claire. You can wait in your carriage.”

Claire put a hand to her chest. Her clothes were quickly becoming stained with blood. Confusion crossed her features as she looked over to Buttonweed. She let out a gag as she attempted to say something, but all that came out was a mouthful of red ichor.

Buttonweed quickly turned to the archer. “Fire!”

Alton shoved past Buttonweed and went to dive upon Veximarl. In the few moments that Veximarl had pretended to be dead, his fingers had been slowly edging towards his spear. After he was able to grasp onto it, all he needed to do was to wait for the right moment to transfer over his wounds.

“Alex… R-Rite…”

Rite shot out like an arrow, chasing after Sybil’s fading trail. Veximarl’s line of sight from the archer was cut off by Alton landing on top of him. He attempted to push Alton out of the way, but staving off death and blood loss had taken too much out of him.

Only a single eye could see the arrow heading towards them. Veximarl couldn’t free his arm quickly enough to summon his shield, nor did he have the strength to channel divinity again. It was almost like time was slowing. In one instant, he saw the arrow, in the next moment, a flash of black fur was between them and death.

The arrow struck the side of Alex’s chest. There wasn’t so much as a yip or even a thud, as Alex failed to hit the ground. His body immediately evaporated into ash, followed by a clatter as the arrow fell.

Veximarl’s spear shuddered as Alex’s blood iron coin exploded. His mind went blank from the overwhelming sensation of horror and grief.

“Another!” Buttonweed hollered out to the archer.

The archer was already in the middle of notching another arrow when Martyr’s jaw clamped down upon him. Her long fangs cracked the bones in his chest as she began to shake him about as though he were a ragdoll toy.

“Alton,” whispered Veximarl. “... Help me stand.”

Buttonweed took a step back and drew his sword. Alton helped Veximarl stand up and remained propped under one of his arms. He was fully prepared to defend the necromancer while they took their chance to go on the offensive. Wordlessly, Veximarl began to limp not towards Buttonweed, but towards Claire’s limp body.

Alton held his ground and gestured to Buttonweed. He then pointed to Martyr, who was now tearing the archer’s body apart and very encouragingly gestured to Buttonweed again.

“There’s still time,” said Veximarl in a pained whisper. Now that he had a chance to breathe, he was somewhat starting to feel his strength return. “Paladin Buttonweed!” Veximarl pointed to Claire with his staff. “There is still time for me to save her child.”

“If you were worried about her child,” snarled Buttonweed, “you shouldn’t have murdered her.”

Veximarl put a hand to his chest. “I had no choice.”

“I had no choice,” growled Buttonweed back at him. “A soldier’s lament as ancient as war itself. Your words do nothing to lessen the weight of your crime.”

“Yet you still have a choice,” argued Veximarl. “I am a man of my word, Paladin Buttonweed. We may not have known each other for long, but surely you have learned that much about me?” Veximarl set down his spear and took a step back from it. “I will refrain from raising my hand in combat until after my work is done. Can you do the same?”

Alton couldn’t believe his ears. If Veximarl was going to waste time, then Alton was going to do what he could to stop Sybil from killing Grimhawk. He took a step to where his sword had fallen, only to be stopped by Buttonweed raising his sword.

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“Don’t move, Toval.” Buttonweed’s eyes flitted between Veximarl and Claire’s body. “... Be quick about it, brood. Don’t let this be some trick.”

“My word is my everything,” said Veximarl with a nod.

Though as quickly as he could work, he worried about what time he had taken from Grimhawk. Would the knight be able to defend himself, or had Veximarl doomed his mentor? Out in the woods, Sybil was still running. A finely tuned weapon who was now being given the chance to prove herself as a tool of death.

Sybil felt a disjointed sense of discomfort. She didn’t want to hurt either Veximarl or Alton, but her body reacted before she could stop it. Even though her body was screaming out in pain, and her mind was crying out for her to resist Buttonweed’s control, she continued to run.

Another clang rang out and Sybil skidded to a halt. Grimhawk was banging a hollow metal rod against whatever was closest to him. He was using the sound as a way for him to see the world around him, skillfully maneuvering himself to his squires.

Sybil tilted her head as she attempted to pinpoint his location. Her body tensed as she fought off the urge to move, but her efforts failed her. She pulled out Tal and Gnarl from her belt and began to run again.

Branches and leaves flew past her at blinding speed. Leaping up, she used her foot against the side of one tree to propel herself higher. She hooked her legs onto a branch and swung forward, aiming to strike Grimhawk from above.

The rod within Grimhawk’s hand shifted into black mist and reformed into a large tower shield. Sybil landed on top of it and plunged both of her daggers towards him. While Tal was easily deflected, Gnarl, crafted from Martyr’s fang, pierced through.

Sybil backflipped off the shield and went low, aiming to take out Grimhawk’s legs next. His shield shifted into a staff. The knight aimed the butt of his weapon in between Sybil’s arms, using his superior reach to aim a blow at her forehead. Realizing what he was doing, Sybil formed into mist and reappeared behind Grimhawk.

“Stonetoe would be proud,” grunted Grimhawk. “You’ve been a good student.”

Sybil put Tal back in her belt and went to reach for Gnarl’s partner, Nip. Her hand grasped at empty air, because she had left Nip embedded within Veximarl’s chest. She paused for a moment as her inner self fought to retake her senses, then returned to her fighting pose, this time with only Gnarl as her weapon.

“Toval and Tuton busy? Or are they dead?” Grimhawk asked.

He didn’t get a response. Sybil lunged forward again. Grimhawk sought to deflect with his staff, but Sybil sliced it in half. With surprising flexibility for someone his age, Grimhawk leaned backward. A button from his vest was cut off as Sybil’s dagger slid across his chest.

The broken halves of his weapon shifted into a rope dart. He hurled forward the knife half and the rope coiled about Sybil’s arm. She dropped the dagger from one hand and caught in the other. Now was the time to close the distance between them. Grimhawk’s reply to her charge was to shift his rope into barbed wire.

“That was always the problem with Krogastein,” muttered Grimhawk. “She was always too honest of a fighter.” He flicked his hand back and the barbed wire sliced deeper into Sybil’s flesh. “A clean conscience doesn’t help you survive. I’ve always known you were smart enough to realize that.”

Sybil shifted into mist and reappeared a few feet back, increasing the distance between herself and Grimhawk in the process. At this point, she was fighting purely on instinct. Her blood was hot and dripping off the tips of her twitching fingers. There was no mind in control of her actions, yet she had chosen to stall.

“I regret not being able to teach you properly,” muttered Grimhawk. “My body has been failing me for years, but I was too stubborn to let Braytons go. It’s my fault that you weren’t better prepared for battle. All the talent in the world, but you can’t even finish an old, blind man off.”

The two of them paused at the sound of something rushing towards them. Rite had finally arrived. Her three eyes darted between them before she put her head down low. Without warning, she ran off again.

Grimhawk let out a low chuckle. “You may struggle to kill, but Tuton is too stubborn to die. At least I can count on him for that.”

He must be using the scent of Sybil’s mist and blood to track her. Even if she was quiet with her movements and struck at unpredictable angles, she couldn’t stop herself from producing a smell. Sybil inhaled slowly and exhaled. She got down low and lunged at him again.

Once more did Grimhawk’s weapon shift, this time into a broad sword. Gnarl became partially embedded in it, forcing Sybil to leap away. She slashed her injured arm through the air, splattering blood across trees and dirt as she did so. Rotating about Grimhawk, she repeated the action. Attack then scatter blood.

“No pity for your old teacher?” Grimhawk’s lips spread into a wide grin. “Seems maybe I taught you right after all.”

His weapon shifted into a wide net that he spread wide in the air. It forced her to shift into mist, giving him some scent to track. When he didn’t feel anything get entangled, Grimhawk’s weapon shifted into a spear. He twisted it around and lunged it behind him, attempting to strike Sybil on the forehead again.

Rather than the crack of a skull, he was surprised by the sound of his spear thudding against a summoned shield. White with mist trailing off the edges. Sybil then lowered her hand, which had begun to glow. The wounds on her arm slowly began to heal. Much more slowly than Zaniyah’s did, but they were still regenerating before her eyes.

Grimhawk let out a booming laugh. “Just who am I fighting?!” He hollered out, clearly amused by this new skill. “You lot never cease to give me new surprises! Your squad has truly been a blessing in this old man’s life!”

They began to exchange blow for blow, Sybil using her newfound shield to deflect any attacks that Grimhawk attempted to sneak through. The old knight wasn’t as fast as Stonetoe, but he was three times as cunning. All Sybil could do was chip away at his weapons as he dodged and weaved around her attacks.

Then again, it was a blessing. The more time they wasted, the more chances there were for help to show up. At least, Sybil found herself praying that help would come. Either Veximarl would appear at any moment, or Alton would find a way here. Even Chickadee and Zaniyah had crossed her thoughts. In a moment of desperation, she saw Tyrtain’s face. Sybil prayed for anything to come along and stop their attack.

The heavy scent of oil stung the air as black webbing spread across the area. Sybil was able to dodge it by forming into mist, but Grimhawk was caught up. He became stuck to the ground while Sybil looked around.

Rite was standing nearby. She bit the webs away from her mouth and picked up a pouch from the ground. It must have been something that had been in their wagon, and the fox had run all the way there to fetch it.

“Conniving little… How is this any help?” Grimhawk grunted out. He shifted his weapon into a knife and he began to frantically slice at the webbing.

Sybil kept her eyes on Rite. The fox starred back. Whatever Sybil’s mind was thinking, her body thought it knew better. She shifted into mist and reappeared next to Rite, aiming to finish the fox off with a single strike.

A trick that Rite had seen before when she was still a living tainted beast. She flicked the pouch upward and Sybil slashed through it. Ill smelling power scattered over the pair, drowning out all of Sybil’s senses. She stumbled slightly to the left before collapsing on the ground.

Rite watched her for a moment, only moving when Sybil’s breathing became a little heavier. She shook the powder off her fur and trotted over to Grimhawk. Together, they tore the webbing off the knight.

Grimhawk remained sitting. He was breathing heavily. It had been years since he had had a fight like that. Maybe decades. With a shake of his head, his weapon formed into a chain that he looped about his neck like a scarf. Someplace where he wouldn’t need to carry it with his hands.

“Aye,” he muttered. He held his hand out and Rite gently pressed the top of her head against it. “Yes, you did well. Your master is ill at keeping secrets, but he’s always kept good company.”

While Grimhawk was still struggling to catch his breath, Alton stumbled through with a bundle in his arms. He glanced around, eyes falling on Sybil first. She seemed to be breathing, which was the best he could ask for at the moment. Stepping towards Grimhawk, he knelt next to the knight, took his hand, and placed it against his own neck.

Grimhawk felt the metal there. “Keeps ya from singing?” Alton nodded his head. “Ah… Always fun to have an opponent who's more clever than you are.” He then furrowed his brow as Alton put his hand to the bundle that he was carrying. “... Where did you get a baby?”

Alton frowned. Even if he could talk, he’d struggle with how to phrase it. How does one break the news that Veximarl had carved the child out of his dead mother?

“Right, right. No singing, no talking,” muttered Grimhawk. “Come, come.” He gestured with his arms. “Give me the babe. This dog of Tuton’s can lead me back to the wagon. You carry Twist.” Even with Alton attempting to help him, he struggled to stand up. “We’ve got to get this child somewhere warm and safe, and Twist needs to be as far away from this place as quickly as possible.”