One day.

One day was all I had to unpack the absolute spiderweb of memories from Volés. To mourn for deaths, to come to terms with my new lifestyle, and everything in between. Needless to say, my attempts at mental recovery had barely started.

And here I was again. Death cultists on both sides, crossbows pointed at me and my companions’ faces. People threatening lives to resolve conflicts I didn’t fully understand.

Fantastic. Absolutely fucking phenomenal. Life in a fantasy world was so goddamned relaxing.

I observed the situation with relative calmness—if my state of not screaming in a mad panic counted as “calm.” The cultists were visibly afraid of Darko and our mages. They knew they were in a trap just as thoroughly as we were.

Darko held his sword in a defensive stance, facing the opposing mage. Rakash and Shena covered him with their staves, ready to react to crossbow attacks. Remy protected our back, appearing fully composed.

“Well, then,” Darko said to the cultist mage. A masked face revealed from underneath the figure’s cowl. “Let’s talk about the situation, shall we? We’ve got a lot more firepower. Your goons won’t have a chance.”

“We have hostages,” the masked mage said. A woman’s voice. “Drop your weapons, or they will all die.”

“I don’t give a damn about your hostages,” Darko said. “Our pay comes from clearing the cultist problem. If you wish to kill the hostages, go ahead. Your consciences will bear murder for no reason.”

The mage let out a laugh. “Pretty lies, adventurer. I know that look on your face. Our lives are a simple number for you. The villagers are what you’re truly after. I recommend you drop your weapons. I promise to spare the hostages.”

“Perhaps I do care for the hostages,” Darko said. “But certainly not more than I do for my own skin. I’ll be pissed if you harm a single one of them. Afterward, I’ll kill all of you. I’m sure you would prefer a more peaceful approach.”

The row of mana workers looked horrified. The young girl screamed, still struggling under the masked cultist’s grip. This was until the cultist pulled out a knife and pressed it against her throat. Her tears became silent whimpers. The men watched in horror.

“The cult does not save hostages,” the mage said. “If no resolution is agreed upon, the hostages will die at the cost of our own lives. This is my final warning.”

“And this is also my final warning,” Darko said. “If any of you wish to reconsider this cultism bullshit, I will do anything in my power to make sure you keep your lives. I have done the same to dozens of cultists who wished to change sides.”

The masked men appeared hesitant. Not for long, however, as a new order resounded from their leader.

“Kill the first hostage,” the mage said.

Hell broke loose. Everything that followed happened within seconds.

The cultists initiated the slaughter by cutting a worker’s throat. Darko screamed and growled at the same time, letting out a sound of pure anger. He dashed forward.

He swung at the cultist mage, who blocked the blow with her staff, grimacing. Darko immediately slid past the mage and towards the hostages, slashing any unfortunate cultists standing in his way in half with his now-glowing sword.

Crossbow bolts flew all around. A few hit Darko in the back, sticking to his skin but only barely. Certainly not deep enough to do real damage. One stray crossbow bolt hit a hostage in the left thigh, another pierced a cultist’s chest with friendly fire.

Shena and Rakash both defended and attacked at the same time. Any crossbow bolts that shot toward our mages were blocked with some sort of shiny window—a blockade spell that stopped attacks like a solid wall. Remy protected our back with a similar spell, all the while shooting a projectile at any cultist who attempted to escape.

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Crossbows we easily defended. The cultist mage, however, was a different story. The woman pointed her staff at our backline. At me.

My nerves exploded, faced with the orb of her staff. It glowed like a laser pointed directly at the eye. Magic sprouted from within. A purple arrow-shaped projectile formed, then shot at my head with the speed of light.

Shena jumped in front of me just in time. A magic-powered shield projected out of her staff. The shield spanned the length of the shaft, wielded like any ordinary shield. The arrow connected with the corner of the shield—a blow which knocked Shena sprawling on the ground, out of the fight.

No! I let out a gasp. There was no time to make sure Shena was alive. The cultist mage was preparing another attack.

Rakash dashed for the battle, slashing at the mage with the same claw attack she’d used in the church. The mage blocked physically with her staff. Then, she hit back with a spell I would see in my nightmares.

Daggers spawned around her body and over her head, shaping a circle. Translucent purple, the daggers floated in thin air, wielded by no one. The daggers thrust at Rakash periodically, hitting her blind spots. Rakash grimaced, requiring her all just to defend. There was no way to counter.

I could help, I thought. Shiela had given me one spell perfect for this situation. “Arcane Snare.” By its description, I had deduced the spell was overpowered. If I managed to land it, perhaps Rakash could win.

I opened my mouth.

Then my lips wavered. What if I missed and hit Rakash instead?

A dagger cut Rakash in the shoulder, the Gorthorn backed into a wall. I watched, frozen in horror, sure that another friend would die. I had to cast that spell!

Something shot at the cultist mage. Shena had risen and countered with a laser-like projectile toward the cultist’s neck.

The cultist grimaced and jumped back, dodging the blow. Shena shot another.

The cultist defended with a new spell. A chrysalis formed around her body, blocking Shena’s attack. The cocoon grew in brightness, opacity solidifying until the woman inside was no longer visible.

Rakash lunged, hitting the chrysalis with her claws. The cocoon broke in one clear swipe. It shattered into pieces.

The mage inside was gone. As if she’d teleported away.

Her escape was the least of our worries. Two hostages were dead by the time Darko arrived on the fence. He cut through the cultist with the knife, saving the rest of the hostages. Eight men lived.

Within the next ten seconds, the remainder of the masked goons were killed or immobilized. Shena shot them with magic projectiles, Rakash swiping with her claws. The whole room was a massacre-fest. A third of the floor was covered in blood.

All that remained was one single cultist, backed into a corner. The cultist holding a knife to the young girl’s throat.

His limbs trembled. A drop of blood escaped from where the knife scraped the girl’s skin.

“Drop your fucking weapons!” the cultist shouted. “And stay in view, all of you!”

This time, our team complied immediately. Darko dropped his sword, holding his hands up, and the mages dropped their staves. I didn’t know what to do, so I awkwardly raised my hands, heart beating.

“Let’s not be stupid, okay?” Darko said. “We’ll do as you say.”

The man kept his eyes mostly on Darko, as our leader appeared the most menacing. He barely paid attention to me or the staffless mages.

“Get in there, all of you!” He pointed at a corner opposite the door. “And stay together! I don’t want no surprises!”

Darko moved slowly towards the corner in question. He used big but slow movements, as if intentionally drawing attention to himself. It worked. The cultist’s attention was almost entirely on Darko.

“All of you, move!” the man called. He turned to the mages and me. “You too—”

The sentence broke as a well-aimed icicle pierced his forehead. I wasn’t sure who cast it, but the shot couldn’t have been more perfect. The man’s knife hand fell limp, and the girl in his arms was freed. Shock had replaced her cries.

The cultists were dead. The situation was saved.

There were no celebrations. Only silence as everyone acknowledged the mess we had created.

The young girl was first to move. She got up from the limp cultist’s hold on her own. “Dad?” she asked through her tears.

She walked to the fence of tied-down mana workers. “Dad? Are you okay?” She kneeled beside one of the two men unfortunate enough to have died. She poked him in the chest, as if not seeing the blood dripping from his slit throat. “Dad, wake up…?”

Finally, Shena picked up the girl and carried her out of the room, trying her best to comfort the child while no one else could.