Gino, for the first time since I met him, spoke without first being prompted. “I’ll go get my own flag.”

“Wait, what?” I blurted out, incredulous.

Roska’s question immediately followed mine, “Gino, what do you mean by that?”

His eyes darted back and forth between the two of us. He closed his eyes and sighed. “If I stay, I’ll be holding you guys back. You need to come with a plan. There’s not enough time to help me and prepare for Oliver. I’ll go off on my own.”

For a brief moment, there was an emotion other than disinclination that shown in Gino’s expression. It vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. He then turned to leave; his lumbering form swallowed by the sea of shuffling bodies.

There was a long pause where no one spoke. Everyone was still processing the abrupt one-eighty in Gino’s demeanor.

Honestly, I was skeptical. Gino didn’t strike me as someone who gave a damn about others. That spiel about not wanting to drag the team down was probably just a lie so that we wouldn’t part on bad terms.

The whole thing left a bad taste in my mouth.

Roska was the one to break the silence. “Well, now we don’t need a fourth flag. What we do need, though, is a plan,” she said.

“I’m out of Anima,” I informed them. “In about twenty minutes or so, I can maybe fire off another thunderclap.”

“Thunderclap?” Hartwin asked.

Roska answered for me, “Do you remember what happened to Oliver after Von snapped his fingers? Oliver flipped out and grabbed his head like he was in pain. Von must have blasted him with sound,” she said.

“Wow. That’s uh… that’s exactly right, actually,” I said. I had mentioned only once before that I could produce sound with my illusions. She had kept that in mind this entire time, enabling her to discern how exactly I had stunned Oliver.

Roska’s ear flicked, and her nose wiggled. She wore a smug smirk, an expression I hadn’t seen before.

“Anyways,” I continued, “we don’t have much time; only about fifteen minutes before Oliver starts moving. Any ideas?” I asked Roska and Hartwin.

“Von and I can keep up with each other, so we’ll go together. Hartwin, take a flag and put as much distance between us as possible. Oliver needs all three flags, so we can stall for time by splitting up,” Roska explained.

I nodded, “Sounds good.” I met Hartwin’s eyes. “Don’t worry, you got this. Just do what you can to keep him held up.”

Hartwin set his jaw and straightened his back. “Yes, sir.”

----------------------------------------

A man stepped out from around the corner at the end of the alley. He had white hair and wore a dirty, ragged poncho.

“Eep!” I yelped.

It hadn’t even been five minutes since Oliver was supposed to start moving. I couldn’t even run this far in five minutes, let alone find someone this quickly.

I knew I was going to be the first person he caught. I wasn’t fast like Roska, or clever like Von. I was just me, just Hartwin.

I knew what I wasn’t good at. I couldn’t swing a sword. I had terrible aim with a bow. I didn’t mind not having any natural talent. Real skill is forged through arduous work, dedication, and tireless practice. Talent can only get you so far.

The thing is, I can’t do anything right. Well, almost anything. I’ve tried handling every kind of weapon, dozens of fighting styles. Close combat, ranged combat, creating traps.

I narrowly avoided losing an eye the first time I fired a bow. I threw myself off balance every time I kicked or threw a punch. When I tried using a staff, I ended up with bruises all over my body from repeatedly hitting myself.

The issue was more than just failing horribly. I never got any better at it, no matter how much I practiced.

Oliver fell forwards. All the training I had done allowed me to study his movements in what felt like slow motion. Hands splayed out, fingers racing to meet the ground. Right knee tucked up against the chest. Left leg stuck out behind him.

I instinctively knew what was about to happen. My body moved automatically in response.

I stepped back with my right foot and held my shield out in front of me, bracing it with both arms.

Oliver exploded into action the moment his fingers touched the ground. I swore I could hear the sound of stone shattering as he launched himself at me like an arrow loosed from a bow.

I stood firm.

Oliver slammed a fist into the shield. My arms screamed in pain. The impact nearly threw me off my sharp, claw-tipped feet. I was able sink my claws between gaps in the uneven stone. The deep clang of solid metal against solid metal reverberated in my ears.

Huh?

I lowered my shield. Oliver hadn’t budged since the impact. His arm was still outstretched, body leaning forward, head lowered. I looked down at his fist.

A metal gauntlet, not too dissimilar to mine, had struck the shield. It left a massive dent behind as he gently pulled his arm back and stood up.

Oliver wore an inscrutable expression as his eyes flicked back and forth between his gauntlet and my shield. “…That’s… that’s never happened before,” he muttered to no one in particular.

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I pointed to the gauntlet and blurted out, “Where the hell did that come from?!”

“Trade secret,” he said, expression deadpan.

I had a guess, but I kept my mouth shut.

There was only one thing I could do now. Stepping forward, I slammed the shield into Oliver. He raised his gauntleted right hand and backhanded the oncoming battered shield with ease. A hand reached towards the flag at my waist. I leaned in and caught his left arm in the pit of my right arm. Both hands brought to grip his left. My shield protected my arms from his gauntleted fist.

“Hmph. Clingy, aren’t we?”

I chuckled. “It’s all I’m good for,” I smirked.

Oliver’s sneer disappeared, replaced with a frown. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re one of the toughest people I’ve ever seen.”

My mouth moved. My body wanted to speak but my mind couldn’t provide the right words.

A change in Oliver’s stance snapped me back to attention.

He stepped back with his right foot. His gauntleted hand clenched into a fist.

I had to make a decision. I could maintain my grip and try to block it with just my shield arm, or I let go and use both arms to hold the shield up.

The pain hadn’t fully subsided from my left forearm. It throbbed in time with my heartbeat. I’m pretty sure if I took off the bracer, I would find the skin already turning purple.

I let go, bracing for impact.

I leaned into the strike. This time, I was able to maintain my balance.

My shield had yet another dent in it.

“Hey! Please don’t break it!” I whined. I had saved up for months to get it custom made, and few blacksmiths in Lowestoft were willing to work with a shield this big. “The dent’s already going to cost me a fortune to fix!”

“I’ll pay for the repairs,” Oliver said nonchalantly.

I wanted to scream at him, “That doesn’t make it ok to destroy it!”

The shield had taken too much of a beating. I unstrapped it and set it off to the side. Legs spread apart, lowering my center of gravity, immovable. Arms held out, waiting for an opening to grab ahold of him.

He lunged, aiming for my legs. I brought my knee up, smashing it against his face. He took the blow, but his momentum had been disrupted. He fell on his hands and knees.

Oliver reached out with his gauntleted hand towards my left leg. I pulled it back, then brought it down on his elbow. He reeled, rolling away from me and quickly getting to his feet.

Why did I win that exchange?

The answer was simple. He couldn’t add his weight to his punches while he was on the ground.

“…This is taking longer than I would like.”

He lunged for me, holding out his gauntleted hand, fingers splayed. I side-stepped the attempted shove, having obtained some familiarity with his timings.

I turned around, my back to Oliver, and grabbed ahold of the right arm that now reached over my left shoulder. Like swinging an oversized hammer at one of those festival games, I leaned forward and pulled Oliver’s arm up and over my shoulder, using it as a fulcrum to drag the rest of body up and across my back. I leaned all the way forward, nearly tipping over, and pulled down hard, throwing him over my shoulder and slamming him against the ground.

Oliver made a pained noise, “Agh!” He laid on his back, head touching my feet, eyes shut tight.

A few moments passed. I used the time to regain some of my strength and steady my breathing.

Then Oliver began to speak as he stood up, “Thanks.”

“Hm?”

There, in Oliver’s right hand, was the flag. I looked down at my waist. Nothing.

“What?!”

By the time I looked back up, he had already taken several steps and was beyond my reach. There was nothing left I could do. I wouldn’t be able to catch up to him.

How much time did I buy the others?

I looked up at the fake evening sky. Eight minutes remained.

“Good enough,” I smiled.

----------------------------------------

“He’s coming,” Roska informed me. I glanced up at the sky. Four minutes left. More time that I initially thought we’d have. Roska had estimated he’d reach me with seven or eight minutes left. Hartwin must have put up one hell of a fight.

Oliver pulled himself up and over the edge of the roof, a flag stuck between his waist and belt. I patted at my hip, reassuring myself of the flag’s presence.

Oliver didn’t waste time with words. The clock was ticking, literally. He moved like a bolt of lightning.

As we had made our way across the city, Roska told me more about Oliver. He was nicknamed the Boulder Breaker, on account of the tales of his explosive speed and strength being enough to smash through any obstacle. As skeptical of those ridiculous claims as I may be, Roska insisted I not underestimate him.

Really, if anything, I think she understated what this monster was capable of.

Oliver’s explosive movements were impossible to react to. A black and grey blur sped past the space between Roska and I. A thunderous noise was accompanied by a concussive force that threw me forwards. Rocks pelted my back as I flew through the air. I brought my arms up to protect my head as I tumbled across the roof.

Slowly, I stood on unsteady feet. “What in the fresh hell was that!?” I coughed, clearing my throat of particles of debris. A quick once-over showed that I hadn’t sustained any injuries. Shattered fragments of brick and mortar came loose as I shook my cloak.

I looked over to my right. There, laying face down, was Roska. I could see the rise and fall of her chest. She wasn’t bleeding, but it looked like the blast had knocked her out.

The crunch of debris being crushed underfoot drew my attention away from further assessing Roska’s condition. Oliver stood atop a pile of rubble. Much to my disbelief, the wall had been shattered with a single strike. He didn’t immediately come after me. Perhaps he needed a moment to recover after that exerting himself like that.

Then I noticed something odd. Whereas there had been nothing on his right hand a few seconds ago, he now wore a metal gauntlet, one with additional reinforcements around the knuckles and fingers.

I flicked my gaze skyward. Two minutes and a handful of seconds left.

Oliver ran towards me, slower than he had been a few moments ago. He held his arms out to either side.

I pulled out my baton. Oliver leaned forward and snapped his right arm out to full length. I reacted just in time, pulling back out of reach and striking at the gauntleted hand, the force behind the swing and the weight of the baton knocking it off-course.

I took a step back. Oliver caught the other leg with his left hand. I was caught in a vice-like grip. With a sharp yank to the side, my foot slid out from under me, and I toppled over sideways.

I rolled over on my back, too disoriented to stand up. The clockface loomed overhead, there was a little over a minute remaining in the round.

Yeah, that should be enough.

I didn’t say a word as I watched Oliver hobble towards me, huffing with exhaustion. He might have had monstrous strength, but he was still human. He reached down and took the flag at my hip.

A booming voice reached my ears. “One minute remaining!” It was Cadius’s.

“You lose,” he said to me.

I remained silent, neither confirming nor denying it. Tired, my eyes closed shut.

“You’re better than I expected. Your team, too,” he continued.

“Thirty seconds!”

My whole body ached. The sprinting, climbing, and falls left me sore and out of breath. I really, really hope the next round is easier than this nonsense…

“Hey,” Oliver said, trying to get my attention, “are you alright?”

I delayed my response, “…Yeah. Just sore.” I slowly sat up. “Well, actually, I’m feeling pretty good,” I smirked.

“Alright, I guess,” he said, a hint of confusion and apprehension in his voice.

“Five! Four!”

“Oh, let me show you something,” I said as I reached behind my back.

“Three!”

Is Cadius purposefully dragging out the countdown? These three seconds are more like eight or nine.

I pulled out a cloth and held it out.

“Two!”

Oliver looked down at the cloth in his hand as I dispelled the illusion.

“One!”

His eyes went wide as he realized that he had been fooled. The flag he had taken was just a random scrap of cloth that I coated with an illusion. The real one had been tucked behind my back, hidden by my cloak.

The clang of a clock striking midnight rung out.

“I win.”