Twain glanced at Fell, hooking an eyebrow. “Ring any bells?”

Fell shook his head.

The dark-haired man trembled with rage. “You deny me! How could you? Can you not feel the song of battle in your blood?”

“I’ll be honest, I’m not sure Fell has the song of battle in his blood,” Spar commented. “Or anywhere else, for that matter.”

“Shut up!” The man clawed at Fell. Long, spindly spider legs burst from the back of his shirt and slammed into the stage. Their pointed tips crunched through the wood.

The audience gasped and drew back from the stage. The music ground to a horrible halt as the musicians fled the foot of the stage.

Noticing, the man rounded on them. A second set of legs burst from his back. “Lesser races, cower in fear! I will lead to your ruin. Now that I have conquered your measly Barrier, it will be child’s play to conquer your nations. Remember the name of your undoer—”

Spar slipped up behind him and yanked his torn shirt apart. “Whoohoo, yeah! You tell them!”

Cheering burst out. Women reached up for the torn shirt.

“Zalazar… Vezkati…” Steaming, Zalazar rounded on Spar.

Spar spread his hands and gyrated backward. “Hey, you’re the one who busted in on our show. Shouldn’t have jumped on the stage if you didn’t want to show off.”

Zalazar plunged all four legs at Spar. Spar jumped nimbly out of reach and kicked him in the joints. He flinched back, curling his legs in on himself like a dead spider. Spar punched his guard and sent him flying backward.

He staggered to a stop and looked up, smug. “Foolish mortal! That didn’t hurt at all—”

Twain rocketed around on the pole and kicked him in the back of the head with both feet. He flew forward. Spittle flew from his mouth.

Fell raised his hand. Lightning dropped from the sky and struck Zalazar in the spine.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Ha! Is that the worst you can do? It tickles!” Zalazar exclaimed. His chest smoked gently, and a giant black mark discolored his shoulder. He gasped in a breath and wiped the sweat off his brow.

Fell raised his other hand. A second bolt of lightning slammed into Zalazar.

“I… barely…” Zalazar stumbled and caught himself on his spider legs. His chest heaved, and his knees buckled.

Fell pulled. Lightning rained from the heavens, bolt after bolt. Light strobed over the stage.

At last, the deluge ended. A blackened form stood amidst the ash.

“Aha, I…” Zalazar took a step. His hand reached out.

Fell raised his hand again.

Zalazar shuddered. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed to the stage.

The crowd stared, silent.

In the silence, Spar snarled, “No one fucks with ladies’ night.”

“Wow! Amazing! Everyone give our amazing performers a hand,” the curvy lady said, jumping onto the stage. She drew a circle in the air. The curtains began to close.

A smattering of applause burst out, confused more than anything else. The music swelled, musicians making an effort to play a cheery riff.

Spar and Twain exchanged a look. They grabbed Zalazar and backed into the closing curtains.

Smiling, the curvy lady clapped and waved. The second the curtains closed, she rounded on the men. She hooked an eyebrow at them. “What was that?”

“Er… we,” Twain started.

“Because it. Was. Amazing. Not what I was looking for, granted, but hell, a spectacle is a spectacle. If you boys want to bring that act back another day, I’ve got a few silver with your name on it.”

“Thanks. We appreciate it,” Twain said shortly. Zalazar twitched in his arms. He glanced down. Damn, that guy’s hardy.

“Hey, where’s my chaps?” a male voice shouted down the hallway.

“Who knows? If you were here on time, maybe you’d know!” the lady shouted back. She smiled at Twain and Spar. “Anytime, dears. Anytime.”

“Fell, the silvers?” Spar prompted.

Fell jumped and hurried over to the lady to collect their coins. Spar and Twain carried Zalazar out the back of the stage, through a small door, and into the night.

“Where should we leave him?” Spar asked.

Twain hummed. “He’s just crazy, not harmful. Lay him down on a dry spot in an alley down a turn or two, and we can call it done.”

Spar nodded. Abruptly, he yanked his hands away and shook them. “Yuck!”

“What?”

Black crawled up Twain’s hands. He frowned. Are those…

Spiders! He dropped Zalazar as well and slung the spiders off his hands, desperately wiping his hands on his clothes. Spiders dropped to the ground all around him.

“Disgusting, yuck, gross,” Spar muttered, wiping his hands on the wall.

“You know what, I think this is far enough,” Twain declared, brushing down his pants.

Spar nodded. “I concur.”

Twain sucked in a breath. He looked at Spar. “So… ale?”

Spar grinned wide and clapped Twain on the back. “Oh hell yes. No reason to deprive our gorgeous fans of our presence.”

Twain clapped him back. “You’re speaking sense for once.”

Together, they strutted back into the bar.