An owl cried out in the night, breaking up the crackling of flames and the clacking of spoons against bowls as they finished off the last of their food.

“We’ll go with what we’ve already discussed,” Pigeon said. “You all keep the chaff busy, draw them out of the wayshrine, and I’ll deal with the wretcher. Once I’m finished, I’ll meet up with you and take you out of here.”

“How strong are the wretcher’s servants?” Will asked. “You said there were a few hundred of them, right? How much of a chance do we really have with them? And don’t bullshit me.”

Pigeon tapped her lip with her little finger, humming in thought. “Have you ever fought an orokh?”

“No, but I’ve heard of them.”

“The amalgams should be about that strong. On average.”

“And you expect us to fight hundreds of them? You do realize we’re not all Level 30 like you.”

“You’ll be fine. I’m leaving you some gadgets to help you. I’m not expecting you to kill them all—focus on keeping their attention and buying as much time as possible. If you get overrun, fall back.”

Will shook his head. He didn’t like it. The fact that he had no data at all on these ‘amalgams’ didn’t help, either.

“We’ll take a half day to scout out the wayshrine once we get there,” he said. “I want more information to go off of.”

Pigeon shrugged. “If you insist.”

“I do. And what about the wretcher’s body? I’m going to need it.”

“I’ll take the head with me. Easy to transport.”

“I’d very much prefer the whole body.”

Pigeon thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “Too big.”

“What if Bee goes with you? Would she be able to carry it?”

Pigeon looked in Bee’s direction, sizing her up. “Probably.”

Will nodded. “Right. “Then it’ll be the two of you, and the rest of us will hold down the fort outside.”

“Will that be all right?” Bee asked with a concerned frown. “That doesn’t leave a lot of people for the decoy team.”

“It should be fine,” Will replied with all the confidence he could muster, despite knowing that she would see right through him. “It would mostly be down to Nix either way. Everyone else is just backup. Are you on board with that?”

He turned towards the demon, who was working through Mongrel’s tangled beard with a comb. She had already snapped three wooden teeth in the effort.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she purred. “You’ll have ask my master what he thinks. He’s in charge, after all.”

“Will you stop that?” Mongrel hissed, trying to swat her away.

“Stay still,” Nix barked with all the tenderness of a drill sergeant. She grabbed a handful of hair with her free hand to keep him in place and pulled until he was squealing with discomfort.

Right. I can really tell who’s in charge here.

Once Mongrel had freed himself from his torture—his beard rendered straight and neat in a way that didn’t suit the rest of him at all—he gave his permission for Nix to act as their main front-liner.

Having seen her fight once before, Will was at least hopeful that she would be able to hold up their end of things.

There wasn’t much else to say about the plan before he had gotten more data on the amalgams, but he had one more topic he wanted to discuss.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“I’ve finished the texts on inspiration and gathered my thoughts on them,” he said. “It’s hard to get a clear consensus on it, but I’ve found a theory I like better than most. I wanted to go over it—especially for your sake, Bee.”

“Why me?” Bee asked. She lay down on the ground and stretched like a cat, arms and legs in the air.

“Because out of all of us, you have the most potential to consistently hit inspiration. It comes down to your fighting style.”

“Cool, I guess. How's it work?”

“Two of the scholars I read about subscribe to this theory that inspiration doesn’t come from any kind of a divine source, but a concept called ‘affection’.”

“So… like a ‘power of love’ kind thing, or?”

“Not really. Affection is a term that refers to a person’s… I guess you could call it their resonance with the universe. Their ability to affect the fabric of it. It’s a metaphysical thing.”

“Uh-huh,” Bee said. Her confusion was tangible through their bond.

“Let me give you an example. Take a gun and a sword. Typically, a gun is deadlier than a sword. It’s easy to use, it’s effective at long range, and it deals a lot of damage to a target. But according to this theory, a gun will have a low affection value, largely for the same reasons I just mentioned. It’s point and shoot. There’s not much metaphysical motion involved.

“A sword, on the other hand, has a high affection value. It asks a lot of its wielder. Attacks with a sword are telegraphed and scale with the wielder’s own strength, and you could argue it's a more evocative symbol.

“These are the kinds of factors that come into play with inspiration. Not only objective symbology, but also how you view yourself, how your opponent views you. Even small things like clothing, temperature, time of day, can all have an effect on your total affection score.

“You hit inspiration when you reach 100% affection. At 99% you get pseudo-inspiration, which is where you can see little white sparks emitting from a person. Like a warning that they're about to go hot. When you hit inspiration, your affection value will stay high afterwards, so the likelihood of going on a streak gets higher.”

The dull stare Bee hit him with said everything he needed to know.

Will sighed. “Basically, your… let’s call it ‘maximum effort’ fighting style is good for hitting inspiration. There are multiple factors involved, but… yeah. In order to capitalize on it, you just need to keep up the pressure and go with your gut. Efficiency or pure power aren’t necessarily the things that will get you inspiration, but more like passion, flair, something dazzling and unexpected delivered with complete confidence.”

“Like when I suplexed that bear?”

Will frowned. “You suplexed a bear?”

“Yeah, ‘course I did.”

“Uh… Yeah, that’s exactly the kind of thing I mean. Seriously, though. You…”

“Mmhmm.”

“Damn. Good job.”

“Thankyouuu.”

“Either way, that’s the theory. Pigeon, I’m guessing you would know more about this than me. What do you think?”

“Never researched it or anything,” Pigeon said, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. “But it rings true, I guess. It’s not something you can work out with logic. It's a feeling. When—”

“I’m sorry, but can I say one thing?” Nix interjected. She pointed at Pigeon with one clawed finger. “What is that thing you’re wearing under your shirt?”

“Oh, that?” Pigeon patted at her vest. “My lucky amulet. Wards off evil.”

“Is that so? Would you mind putting it away for a while? It burns.”

“I do mind. Never take it off.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s very dear to me.”

Will cleared his throat. “If it’s making our resident demon uncomfortable, maybe just for now…”

“Shut up,” Pigeon said, rising to her feet with no hands. “There’s something coming.”

Will reached for his pistol. “What’s coming?”

“I said shut up.” She closed her eyes and stood swaying for a minute. “Yes, amalgams. Coming this way. They must have gotten past my familiar.”

“Fuck’s sake. How long?”

“Soon. Best get ready for a fight.” She motioned at Bee. “You, woman. We’re moving up the plan. Heading out now.”

The camp became a chaos of running people and chimps. Will handed off his new rifle to Mongrel and the shotgun to Oatmeal. Pigeon opened her Inventory and withdrew a bag that contained stones connected by string into crude bolas. She threw out the little contraptions into the surrounding undergrowth.

“Traps,” she grunted. “Should keep some of them off you for a while. Best I can do right now. Once you finish off this wave, you’ll need to keep moving, get the rest of them engaged.”

“Fine.”

With that, the Jeweler headed out. Bee went after her with a glance back at Will.

“Don’t die,” she said.

“Ditto,” Will replied, nodding.

They vanished into the night, and Will felt a sense of unease grow in his stomach as he re-examined their chances.

We’ll be all right, he told himself.

Nix was in the process of stripping out of her clothes, thorns growing all over her body. He suspected that their survival would hinge on a transcendent performance on the demon’s part. He didn’t know if a demon could achieve inspiration, but he could only hope.