The civilian plaza of the Piper’s Hill commune was awash with shades of purple-crimson splashed on onyx—the armor of the Hitogi Zhurkin buckling under the pressure of the coordinated slaves. Their flanks began to push their frontline spearmen forward, desperately attempting to avoid the hail of arrows fired from the center of the Piper’s defensive knot.

But the equilibrium of the battle was brief. The warriors of Hitogi were known for their relentless pursuit of rebels. Their prince was hailed throughout the Arasaka for putting down revolt after revolt in the name of the House of Blades, and with every one of his men that died, another simply stepped up to take a stab at the Tigran at the edges of the enemy formation.

For their part, the Pipers were slowly managing to filter out into the Southern exit one by one. Mari was busy directing them as best she could, with Marcus’s voice giving each soldier assurances that this feigned retreat was nothing more than a ploy to get the enemy forces completely on the single metal platform that was giving way under their weight.

At least 1,000 Yokun Zhurkin were pushing against the collective effort of 300 former slaves. And such an affront to the honor of the Yokun was all that served to push the soldiers of Hitogi on, thrusting or throwing their spears into the furry forms dancing at the perimeter of the Piper’s knot.

And Mari saw her people fall. First the Tigrans, their fur punctured and matted with blood, then the humans tossing their Hakkatovs into the swelling crowd of thorns that was the enemy.

“Into them!” Marvin was screaming as he lit another grenade and watched it explode into brilliant life, the sticky orange flames chewing away at the scales of the small cluster of soldiers it hit.

“Nice plan, farmer,” the nimble Tigran Karliah scoffed as she punctured the elbow joints of two advancing Yokun with her shortswords. “What do you think we’re doing?”

“I swear, kitten, if we get outta this alive, we’re gonna have to just cut all the sexual tension between us and get right to the dirty stuff!”

You will get out of this alive, Marcus’s voice thundered over whatever furious retort the Tigran captain was about to make. Tigran rearguard, sling your weapons! Make room for your Brothers and Sisters. Yokun archers, keep your arrows fly—

A sudden crack of power whistled through the air, quicker than light, and stronger than steel. Without warning, one of the human Hakkatov throwers fell, a bloody hole punched clean through his forehead.

“Look to the roofs!” Hialja bellowed from the frontlines.

The eyes of the Pipers flew to the rusted roofing of the civilian shanty town—seeing that squads of Zhurkin had ascended them and dug in their claws, leveling the thin matchlock rifles that were the staple of the Yokun marksmen units. Their gunfire was beginning to tear clear holes in the center of the enemy’s formation.

The enemy of the defensive knot or Schiltron, Marcus telepathed. Ranged firepower. And there’s only one way we can counteract that.

Without even issuing the order, the Yokun bowmen in the center of the Piper’s formation began aiming high, their arrows trailing through the air to find the gaps in the enemy’s armor plating. There were only fifty of them in total. But the sharpness of Yokun eyes coupled with their lack of equipment weighing them down made the Yokun bowmen worth at least four ratmen shooters. There was a reason the Yokun archers of old were feared throughout all of Thean history.

All this, Mari knew, and yet she also knew that they were the only unit within the slowly dwindling knot that was not evacuating with the rest.

“Archers!” she cried out as she stood on the lip of the exit and watched the frontlines begin to fall back, Hilja’s massive axe keeping the surging enemy waves at bay. “It’s time!”

They fell back with almost mechanical precision, loosing a new bamboo-covered arrow with every step they took. Mari had to marvel once more at their utter skill with the bow and at the fact that their armored cousins above were being so outclassed by inferior technology.

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Then she realized what was holding them back.

The Hakka... she scoffed in her mind, watching the marksmen on the roofs take aim, lower their guns, and then attempt to find a new target at least three times before they actually took a shot. Of course. It’s the ‘Holy Flame of Akira made manifest,’ after all. They don’t want to risk destroying the Hakkatovs. Their Prince had probably ordered them to recover as much of the reserves she had escaped with as they could. And Yokun, Mari knew, followed the orders of their superiors to a T.

She smiled as she nodded to Karliah, who backflipped back into the Southern tunnel and offered a hand to her.

For once, Mari thought. Religious superstition is working in my favor. And I’m sure that’s a notion we can both appreciate, right, Marc?

“More than you know, Mari.”

She turned when she heard his voice—not a telepathic transmission whispered in her head—but the real voice of the man she loved, tinged with the grit she’d always known he had in him.

He always needed nothing more than the right chance to show it—the right stage to perform on.

And that’s exactly what he had.

She looked into Marcus’s face as he ordered the troops down the South hallway toward the great meeting chamber where this entire defense had been planned only an hour ago.

“I’m only sorry I didn’t come sooner,” Marcus told her as he helped her into the tunnel.

She held on to him only momentarily. She knew she couldn’t look too helpless in front of her still retreating troops.

Still, though...if it was only for a moment.

She planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Better late than never,” she whispered.

“I think I’m gonna cough up a furball...” Karliah spat. “Need I remind you two that we are still fighting here?”

As though punctuating her statement, Hialja beat down another advancing wave of Yokun and crushed their plated heads under her hooves.

“Hialja smash snake-fiends!” she bellowed. “Hialja kill!”

“Hialja will get over here if she wants to live!” Marcus yelped.

Still, the Tauron would not budge. She lowered her head to spear clean through two Zhurkin chests with her horns, then rose to her full height as she roared, wearing both of the fallen soldiers as a grisly headdress.

“...damn!” Marvin shouted as he lit another Hakkatov. “She’s finally went and gone berserk!”

The tiny opening to the Southern tunnel was beginning to shudder under the weight of those clambering down its length. The Piper’s forces had all but vacated the civilian square. All except the great brutish minotaur who was becoming bogged down in speartips and gunfire, shrugging them off like the greatest legendary warriors of her people.

“Hialja kill! Rest of you—go!”

“Heroic last stands are not what we need right now!” Marcus shouted, eyeing the shuddering chain links that were barely keeping the metal platform of the main square suspended.

He was about to bark another command when Mari stilled his hand.

“Marc,” she said. “A lady like this demands a more tender approach.”

At Mari’s calm demeanor, Marcus nodded once, allowing her to poke her head out of the doorframe of the tunnel and shout to her noble warrioress.

“Hialja! What happens to the rest of us if you die here? What happens to your people if the savior of the enslaved Tauron dies like this? You have a legacy, my brave warrior-princess. A legacy that will be written in the stars of the Thean skies themselves!”

Marcus couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.

...Princess?

He watched as the bloodied Tauron began to waver, her axe now coming up to defend her from a blast of bullets as she grimaced in pain and conflict.

“Who do you belong to, Hialja?” Mari cried out.

“...No one.”

“Then come with us and tell the bastard Prince that collared you that! Come take his head with us!”

Marcus smirked as he watched his girl work. She really did have a way with words that never failed to impress him. She had a way of knowing people. Only a true empath could soothe the spirit of a beast as savage as the one who was currently turning back from the raging tide of serpents that sought her skull.

“Hialja is coming!” she bellowed. “Hialja live to see Masters die!”

“Karliah, Marvin—give her some support!”

Mari’s two right hands were already launching Hakkatovs into the tide of spearmen, managing to give their friend enough time to reach the edge of the platform.

“She won’t make it through!” Marvin yelped.

The farmer then turned to see what had silenced everyone in the cavern—even the Zhurkin spearmen and the marksmen upon the roofs of the conquered square. From the very lip of the Southern tunnel entrance, Marcus unclenched his fist and showed everyone a light so blinding that even the Tigran assassin had to whistle with surprise.

“She doesn’t have to,” Marcus replied as he aimed his fingers at the chain links above. “All she has to do is hang on tight.”

***

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